Seven Dials Page 0,49

other girl stopped. She could not afford to be refused. "I come wi' a message. I'm sorry ter disturb yer just before luncheon, like. I know as yer'll be terrible busy, but I need ter tell yer." She did not have to pretend to anxiety, and her emotion must have carried through every part of her aspect, because the girl's face filled with immediate sympathy.

"Yer'd better come in," she invited, backing inside for Gracie to pass. It was a generous gesture.

"Ta," Gracie said with appreciation. It was a good beginning-in fact, the only one that could be a beginning at all. She gave the girl a quick half smile. "Me name's Gracie Phipps. I come from Keppel Street, jus' 'round the corner, but that's not really got nuffin' ter do wif it. Me message is 'cos o' somewhere else." She glanced around the well-stocked scullery hung with ropes of onions, sacks of potatoes on the floor, and several hard, white cabbages and various other root vegetables on wooden slatted shelves. On hooks on the walls were larger cooking vessels, handles looped over the pegs, and on the floor in the corner, jars of what were presumably different kinds of vinegars, oils and perhaps cooking wines.

"I'm Dorothy," the other girl responded. "Me ma called me Dora, but they call me Dottie 'ere, an' I don't mind. 'Oo'd yer come ter see?"

Gracie blinked as if she were fighting tears. She could not afford to begin by mentioning Martin Garvie's name, or the girl might simply tell her he was not there and show her out again, and she would have learned nothing. A bit of dramatic acting might be called for. "It's 'bout me friend Tilda," she replied. "I dunno 'er that close, but she's got no one else, an' she's terrible sick. She's got no family 'cept 'er brother, an' he's gotter know afore-" She stopped. She did not actually want to say that Tilda was dying, unless it was absolutely necessary, but she was happy for it to be understood. Of course if she really had to, then she would invent anything at all that would help.

"Oh, cor!" Dottie said, her face crumpling with sympathy. " 'Ow 'orrible!"

"I gotta tell 'im," Gracie repeated. "They in't got nobody else, either of 'em. 'E'll be that upset..." She allowed imagination to paint the picture.

" 'Course!" Dottie agreed, moving towards the step up to the kitchen, and the warmth and smells of cooking that drifted towards them. "Come in an' 'ave a cup o' tea. Yer look perished."

"Ta," Gracie accepted. "Ta very much." Actually she was not really cold; it was a very pleasant day and she had walked briskly, but fear had welled up inside her just as it did when one was tense with cold, and it must look the same. To be inside and form some opinion of the household was what she wanted. She followed Dottie up the wooden steps into a large kitchen with a high ceiling strung with an airing rail, presently carrying only towels for drying dishes, and several strings of dried herbs. On the walls copper pans gleamed bright and warm.

The cook, a rotund woman who obviously sampled her own skills, was muttering to herself as she beat a creamy mixture in a round bowl, rough brown on the outside, white earthenware within. She looked up as Gracie came in tentatively.

"Oh?" the cook said, fixing her with boot-button eyes. "An' what 'ave we got 'ere, then? We don' need no more maids, an' if we do, we'll get our own. Yer look like a twopenny rabbit anyway. Don' nobody feed yer?"

A thoroughly sharp rejoinder that would have put the cook in her place in a hurry rose to Gracie's lips, but she bit it back. Tilda would owe her for her forbearance.

"I in't lookin' fer work, ma'am," she said respectfully. "I got a position as suits me very well. I'm maid to a lady and gentleman in Keppel Street, wi' me own 'ouse'old, an' two children to care for." That was a bit of an exaggeration-there was only the cleaning woman under her instruction-but it was not an outright lie either. She saw the look of disbelief in the cook's round face. "I came ter give a message," she hurried on.

"A friend of 'ers is dyin', Mrs. Culpepper," Dottie added helpfully. "Gracie's tryin' ter tell 'er family, all there is of 'em."

"Dyin'?" Mrs. Culpepper said with surprise. It was obviously not at all what she