Hope - Lesley Pearse [121]
Hope was afraid for herself too. Except for that one night when Albert had thrown her out into the rain, she’d always had someone to run to. Gussie and Betsy had rescued her soon after that, so she had never been tested to see if she could cope alone. She might have learned to make a living, to cook meals in one pan, even to keep clean under terrible conditions. But she’d had her friends to praise her efforts, comfort her when she felt like giving up, and they’d been there every night, their bodies keeping her warm and their laughter cheering her.
It was so quiet here in the woods, the only sounds the odd rustling in the undergrowth and the occasional coo of a wood pigeon. That was why she’d always liked it so much here, for down in the town the noise was incessant. But it wasn’t good to know there was absolutely no one around, not when at any moment she could begin to shiver and feel stomach cramps. She might very well die up here in the woods. There would be no one to hold a drink to her lips, to rub her limbs or offer any words of consolation. Her corpse would be picked clean by crows and no one would ever know what happened to her.
Just two days ago she’d been torn between her friends and the position in Royal York Crescent. Now both options were gone. Even if she felt well tomorrow morning, she couldn’t present herself at number 5 and risk taking the disease with her.
Ironically, she had more money on her today than she’d ever had in her life before. She’d found one pound eight shillings in Gussie’s pocket, another four shillings in Betsy’s, and she had five and sixpence of her own. She’d felt awkward about taking her friends’ money, but whoever came to collect their bodies would take it, and Gussie and Betsy would have wanted her to have it anyway.
If not for the cholera that money would have bought her a good second-hand dress and a pair of boots. There would be enough left over to set herself up in a cheap room, and buy flowers from the market to make a living for herself by selling them.
But she couldn’t go back into the town until she knew she was well. And if the cholera was raging there by then, it would be folly to return.
In the past weeks of hot weather she’d often tried to persuade Gussie and Betsy to come up here with her and sleep under the stars. But they’d been horrified at the idea. They said woods were scary and they liked being around people. Betsy had even laughingly said that too much fresh air was bad for a body used to Lewins Mead. Hope had done her best to tempt them by telling them it would be fun, describing how they’d make a shelter, light a fire and get water from a stream, but they only shuddered at the idea.
She had had the presence of mind to bring the old teapot and a few other essentials from Lamb Lane, but it didn’t look like fun now; without Betsy and Gussie it felt like a terrible punishment for not dying with them.
‘You’re just tired, you’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep,’ she told herself, struggling to get a grip on her emotions. Resolutely she turned and made her way back to where she’d left her things. Maybe tomorrow she’d recover the will to build a shelter, and find the pond she’d discovered some months back so she could bathe herself. But tonight she was too overwhelmed with grief and exhaustion to do anything more than wrap herself in her old cloak and sleep.
A week later, Hope woke to the sound of rain falling. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, then parted the branches she’d concealed her shelter with. It was barely dawn, and the rain on the parched earth smelled good.
She lay down again, smiling smugly to herself because her shelter was still dry, proving she’d chosen the right spot beneath the canopy of a large oak, and built it well. As small children,