Fallen Grace - Mary Hooper [32]
‘But I couldn’t come here without her!’ Grace looked at Mrs Unwin with some desperation. ‘We’ve always lived together.’
‘Then I’m sorry.’ Mrs Unwin turned away, shaking her head again. She was certainly not in the business of charity, to take on two girls in the place of one.
This might have been the end of the matter, except that Mr George Unwin happened to be passing the red room on his way to check on something with one of the stonemasons. Hearing his wife speaking to someone (and hoping that it was a wealthy customer), he waited to hear more.
Grace tried – and failed – to maintain her calm. ‘Please,’ she said to Mrs Unwin, ‘you are my last hope. We have no father, and due to circumstances beyond our control Lily and I have lost our lodgings. Our money has been stolen and with winter coming on . . .’ She stopped here, put her hand to her mouth and bit her fingers to prevent herself from crying.
Mr Unwin heard the words ‘We have no father’ and the name Lily, and stood, suddenly rapt. It was a long shot, he thought with mounting excitement, but the missing Parkes had to be somewhere.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Mrs Unwin briskly, ‘but there are many in London who are in dire circumstances. I can’t take them all on! I suggest you apply to one of the charities. Or the workhouse.’
Realising that they were being rejected, Lily burst into noisy sobs just as Mr Unwin swept into the room.
‘Forgive me, my dear! Forgive me!’ he said to his wife. ‘I was passing and couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.’
Mrs Unwin frowned. The hiring and firing of staff was always left to her.
‘This is a very sad tale I’ve just heard,’ he said to the two girls. ‘Your father dead, you say, and you’ve lost your lodgings? And is your mother dead, too?’
Grace nodded, startled by this sudden intrusion.
‘Our papa sailed away to make his fortune,’ Lily blurted out, wiping her nose on her sleeve. ‘He might come back one day, mightn’t he?’ she appealed to Grace.
‘Perhaps,’ Grace said in a low voice.
‘And what have you been doing since your mother died?’
‘We . . . went into an orphanage,’ Grace said, and glanced at Lily warningly not to say any more.
‘And how old are you both now?’ George Unwin asked.
‘I think I am seventeen.’ Lily looked at her sister for confirmation.
Grace nodded. ‘I am almost sixteen.’
‘And how long has your poor father been gone, Miss . . . ?’
‘Parkes. We are Grace and Lily Parkes,’ Grace said, and, looking at Lily to try and stop her bouncing on the sofa, missed the flash of utter joy which passed over the face of Mr Unwin. ‘Father has been gone over fifteen years,’ she added.
As Mr Unwin said to his wife later, he had never heard anything so marvellous in his entire life. ‘Sad, exceedingly sad,’ he said, endeavouring to stop himself whooping with glee. ‘Don’t you think so, my dear?’ he said to Mrs Unwin.
His wife stared at him, wondering if he had gone mad.
‘Can we not afford to offer these two well-born young ladies a little charity?’
‘Charity?’ The very word was abhorrent to Mrs Unwin, reeking as it did of fusty clothes, workhouses and fleas.
He pointed at Grace. ‘This young lady, with training, would make an excellent mute, surely?’
‘Yes, I had already –’
‘And this one . . .’ He hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘This one could be trained, too, I’m sure.’
‘What on earth as?’ said his wife.
‘A maid!’ he announced. ‘And Miss Charlotte needs a maid!’
Mrs Unwin looked at her husband as if he had completely lost his wits. It was true, their daughter was sixteen and would soon need a maid of her own, but certainly not this gawky, dim-looking girl. Mr Unwin returned a look to his wife. This said that she was to go along with him for now, only for now, and he would explain everything later.
Grace pressed her lips together nervously. What Mrs Unwin said next would determine their fate.
‘Well,’ said Mrs Unwin, ‘I suppose