and bare feet, blue with cold, touched the kind hearts of many a housewife, whereas Angel found herself largely ignored.
She no longer had Jack Wicks to help her out with bunches of lavender as he had closed his stall until the spring, but on his last day he had given Angel his address in Hackney. With Dolly too sick to work, Angel scraped the money together to pay Mother Jolly, but selling watercress at four bunches for a penny brought in barely enough to keep them from starvation. Dolly insisted that she was getting stronger every day, but she was weak and simply walking to the washroom exhausted her. Angel knew that she must do something drastic or neither of them would survive the winter. She had an open invitation to visit the Wicks family, and she was in dire need of help. Perhaps Jack could find her work in his market garden. Winter was closing in and Angel was growing more desperate with each passing day.
It was a long walk to Pratts Lane and it took Angel all morning to reach the red-brick cottage surrounded by market gardens. Her breath curled around her head and her cheeks tingled from the cold, but the air on the edge of the city was remarkably fresh and free from the worst of the smoke and stench from overflowing drains. She stopped to gaze out at the vast expanse of marshes that stretched as far as she could see, with the canal at Hackney Cut threaded through them like a silver ribbon. She knocked on the door and waited, hardly daring to breathe. Mr Wicks might have forgotten her or, even worse, he might regret having asked her to visit his home. The temptation to retrace her steps and hurry back to Seven Dials was almost irresistible, and she was about to turn on her heel when the door opened.
‘Good Lord. If it isn’t Angel Winter. You’d better come in out of the cold.’ Jack Wicks ushered her into the narrow hallway, and the warmth of the cottage and the smell of baking bread was almost too much for Angel. She leaned against the wall, struggling with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach and Jack’s voice seemed to fade into the distance.
The next thing she knew she was seated in a chair by the range and someone was chafing her cold hands.
‘Are you feeling better, dear?’
Angel’s vision cleared as she met the woman’s concerned gaze. ‘I’m sorry. I felt a bit faint.’
‘Jack says you must have walked all the way from Seven Dials. Is that right, Angel?’
‘Yes, ma’am. I shouldn’t have come.’
Jack’s face loomed into view. ‘I invited you here on many an occasion back in the summer, so let’s not hear any more of that talk.’ He handed Angel a steaming mug of tea. ‘Here, love, take a sip of this. I dare say you haven’t had a bite to eat since breakfast. Is that right?’
Angel did not want to admit that she had eaten nothing at all and very little had passed her lips the previous day, but she managed a nod as she sipped the hot, sweet tea.
‘I thought so.’ Jack exchanged meaningful glances with his wife. ‘Well, we can soon remedy that. Sally bakes the best bread you’ll ever have the luck to taste.’
Sally Wicks straightened up, wiping her floury hands on her apron. ‘We were about to eat, my dear, so I hope you’ll join us. But sit awhile first. You look done in.’ She turned away to stir the contents of a large black saucepan.
‘Thank you, but I don’t want to impose,’ Angel said anxiously. ‘I came to ask your advice, Mr Wicks. Things have been a bit tight lately.’
Jack pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. ‘I can understand that very well. Winter is always hard for those who depend on the market for their living. That’s where we’re fortunate in having our own market garden. I dunno how we’d survive the cold months if we didn’t have a store of vegetables and the sale of the dried lavender to rely on.’
‘I wouldn’t have bothered you, but Dolly is sick, and selling watercress doesn’t pay well. I wondered if you could give me some work. I’ll do anything.’
‘There, there, don’t fret, love. We’ll talk about it after you’ve got some good vittles inside you,’ Sally said, waving the wooden spoon in the air and sending drips of hot soup onto the floor, which were immediately lapped up by a small terrier who had been asleep in the corner and suddenly awakened.
Angel handed the mug to Jack. ‘Thank you for the tea. I feel better already.’ She leaned over to stroke the dog, and it leaped onto her lap, licking her face and wagging his stumpy tail.
‘Well, then,’ Jack said, laughing. ‘Stumpy doesn’t always take to strangers, but he obviously likes you, Angel. You must have a way with dogs.’
‘I’ve never had a pet,’ Angel said, laughing at the animal’s enthusiastic greeting. She stroked Stumpy’s head and he settled down on her lap. Warmth was beginning to seep into her bones and the sweet tea was also having its effect. ‘I’d like to have a dog like him. He’d keep me warm at night.’
‘And he’s a first-class ratter.’ Jack rose to his feet. ‘We get plagued by vermin, particularly in the winter. Stumpy deals with them for us.’
Stumpy looked up, wagging his tail and panting.
‘He looks as if he’s laughing.’ Angel gave the terrier a hug. ‘You are a funny little fellow.’
Jack moved his chair to the table. ‘Come and sit down, Angel. Sally’s vegetable broth will set you up for the rest of the day.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Where’s Danny? Are we waiting for him?’
Sally shook her head. ‘No, love, he’s gone looking for holly and mistletoe. I doubt if he’ll be back before dark.’
Angel made a move to rise and Stumpy clambered unwillingly to the floor. Behaving like a sulky child, he made his feelings very clear as he threw himself down on the scrap of blanket that served as his bed. Angel took her place at the table and Sally passed her a bowl of soup.
‘Help yourself to bread, my dear. It’s still warm from the oven.’
‘Thank you.’ Angel took a slice and buttered it sparingly. The fragrant aroma of the broth made her stomach rumble with anticipation, but, mindful of the manners drilled into her in the old days, she waited for her hosts to take their seats before she tasted the soup.
‘You could make a little money before Christmas if you sold mistletoe, Angel,’ Jack said thoughtfully. ‘Holly is always popular.’
Angel gulped down a mouthful of hot soup. ‘I’d try anything, Mr Wicks, but where would I get a supply? I haven’t seen any in the market.’
‘Mistletoe grows on all manner of trees. It’s particularly prolific in orchards and easy to pick from fruit trees. Danny will have gone a long way to find enough to fill his cart. Those who are in the know guard their sources as if they was gold dust. It’s a short season so they have to make the most of it.’
‘Maybe Danny could help her there, Jack.’ Sally took a slice of bread and broke it into small pieces. ‘A young girl selling mistletoe might be very appealing.’
‘We’ll ask him when he comes home.’ Jack turned to Angel with a beaming smile. ‘You’ll stay to meet our son, won’t you?’
‘I’d like to, but it gets dark very early, so I should start out soon. Thank you, all the same. Maybe I’ll just stick to watercress. After all, mistletoe isn’t wanted after Christmas.’
‘There’s
