Fallen Grace - Mary Hooper [7]
The questions spun in her head and Lily let out a little cry, confused and worried about all the choices. Supposing Grace didn’t come home at all? She’d heard people talking about having babies, saying that the process of getting them was fraught and dangerous. Suppose Grace died and was put into the ground, like Mama had been? This notion was so bewildering and frightening that a wave of terror washed over Lily, causing her legs to tremble so much that she had to sit down on the bed. What would she do without Grace?
It took some time before she stopped shaking and was able to get moving again. By then, however, it was too late to go to the wholesale market and buy watercress. Besides, she still didn’t have any money. She looked through the things again and gave a sudden gasp. What about clothes for the baby Grace was going to bring home? What would it wear? How could they take it out when it had no shawl?
The baby must be dressed! Realising this, she went to the first crate and took out Mama’s teapot. Pawning this would bring in the most money; enough, surely, for several days’ cresses, food to eat that night (of course Grace would come home!) and a layette for the baby. She would go out and buy all the clothes herself and Grace would be so pleased that she wouldn’t ask what had been sold in order to provide them. She’d buy sleeping robes of brushed cotton, pretty lace bonnets and the softest white shawl. It would be like having Primrose again.
Lily took the teapot from its newspaper and stroked it. It was of fine china which rang out when you tapped it gently with your fingernail, and covered all over with little painted birds – bluebirds of happiness, Mama had called them. She had named them individually and told the girls on what sort of flowers they feasted, but Lily couldn’t remember all those details now. The teapot was very pretty, she thought, but it might as well be sold because they had no further use for it, tea being much too expensive a drink.
She rewrapped it carefully in the newspaper. She knew this was The Times, but she couldn’t read even the date on it. Grace could read. Sometimes she found a page or two of a newspaper blowing in the street, brought it home and read the advertisements on the front page. ‘Mr Lucas seeks a bay gelding,’ she’d declare. ‘A governess seeks a position with an aristocratic family. Five pound note lost in Bishopsgate Street. Madame Oliver sings tonight at Tremorne Gardens. Help wanted for destitute crippled boys.’ Sometimes Grace would make up stories about the people they read about – a governess had a bay gelding for sale, and she answered Mr Lucas’s advertisement and they fell in love. One of the destitute crippled boys found a five pound note and didn’t know whether to hand it in and claim the reward, or to buy meat pies for himself every day for a year. Madame Oliver had been going to sing at Tremorne Gardens, but instead had passed the time riding on a bay gelding.
Many a happy hour was spent