don’t you like me?’ she demanded when they came to a halt on Mother Jolly’s doorstep.
Danny dropped the sack at Angel’s feet. ‘Who says I don’t like you?’
‘You’ve made it very obvious.’
‘I don’t like people taking advantage of my dad’s good nature. He’s always helping some lame dog or another and then they disappear and he never gets a word of thanks.’
‘I’m not like that,’ Angel protested. ‘I’ll pay you for the mistletoe when I’ve earned some money, and I’ll write a letter to your parents, thanking them for their hospitality.’
‘That’s what I find odd,’ Danny said warily. ‘You talk and act like a young lady, so why are you in this place? I don’t believe that story you told Pa. If your aunt loves you so much, why did she abandon you?’
Angel snatched up the sack, which for all its bulk weighed next to nothing. ‘It’s got nothing to do with you. You are a rude boy, just like your ma said. You should be ashamed of yourself. I’m younger than you, but I think I’m a lot more grown up than you are, Danny Wicks.’
She faced him angrily and he glared back at her. Then, to her surprise he threw back his head and laughed. ‘You’re a funny little thing. But I never meant to hurt your feelings.’
‘Then you should watch your tongue,’ Angel said crossly. ‘I didn’t ask you to bring me home.’
‘No, you didn’t.’ He held out his hand, smiling ruefully. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry, Angel. My dad would kill me if he knew I’d been mean to you, and I didn’t mean half of it. Cross my heart and hope to die.’
‘I won’t tell him, if that’s what’s worrying you.’ Angel tossed her head. ‘And I won’t bother you again.’ She let herself into the house and slammed the door behind her.
Forgetting everything other than Dolly’s welfare, Angel raced up the stairs to the dormitory. ‘Dolly, are you all right?’ She came to a halt at the sight of the empty bed, neatly made up, and her heart sank. Her worst fears were realised. ‘Oh, no …’ An empty bed meant one of two things: the occupant had recovered and gone to work, or she was heading for a pauper’s funeral. Abandoning her sack of mistletoe, Angel ran downstairs and hammered on the basement door.
‘Who is it and what d’you want?’ Mother Jolly wrenched the door open. She took the clay pipe from between her broken teeth and breathed smoke in Angel’s face. ‘Oh, it’s you. I thought you’d run off. You’re lucky I didn’t give your bed to someone else.’
‘Where’s Dolly?’
‘How would I know? She owes me for last night, and so do you. If I haven’t got the money by midday you’ll have to find another dosshouse.’
‘I will pay,’ Angel said urgently. ‘I’ve got mistletoe to sell. I’ll have plenty of money but maybe not until later on. Has Dolly gone to the market? She’s not …?’ Angel could not bring herself to speak the word.
‘Dead?’ Mother Jolly cackled with laughter. ‘She was well enough to get dressed and go out in the snow. Although who knows what’s happened to her since seven o’clock this morning. She might be frozen solid on the foreshore or floating down the Thames towards the sea.’
Angel turned her back on her landlady and took the stairs two at a time.
She found Dolly, barefoot and shivering, in Covent Garden market. She was slumped against the wall in the floral hall, surrounded by a collection of bruised and broken carnations and chrysanthemum petals.
‘What are you doing here?’ Angel was relieved to find her, but Dolly’s pallor was alarming. Her flame-red hair seemed to have sucked every last scrap of colour from her face and there were bruise-like shadows under her green eyes. ‘You’re not well, Dolly.’
‘I got no money to pay Mother Jolly. You never came back last night and I thought I might earn a penny or two here.’
Angel took off her shawl and wrapped it around Dolly’s thin shoulders. ‘You’ll catch your death of cold, sitting here on the bare stone. Can you get up?’
‘I can’t walk another step. Me feet are so numb I don’t think I can stand.’
Angel sat down beside her and took off her boots. ‘Put these on. They leak but they’re better than nothing.’
Dolly’s eyes widened in horror. ‘I can’t take your boots. How will you manage?’
‘I’ve got some money,’ Angel said, crossing her fingers behind her back. ‘I’ll get another pair at the dolly shop, so don’t worry about me. We’ve got to get you back to the warmth.’
Dolly was too weak to offer much resistance, and eventually Angel managed to get her to her feet. They made their way slowly back to Mother Jolly’s, Dolly dragging her feet and Angel trying hard to ignore the pain of being barefoot in the snow. She helped Dolly into bed but it was only a few degrees warmer in the dormitory than outside, and Mother Jolly’s worn blankets offered little protection from the cold. Having made sure that Dolly was comfortable, Angel put on her boots and went out to find a coffee stall. She returned minutes later with a hot drink and a ham roll, but Dolly complained feebly that her throat was too sore to allow her to eat. She sipped the coffee and collapsed back onto the lumpy mattress.
‘It’s no good, she’ll turn me out on the street, Angel. I’m done for.’
‘Don’t say that. I’ve got plenty of mistletoe and I’m going out to sell it right away. I’ll earn enough to pay Mother Jolly for both of us. Keep warm and try to sleep. I’ll be back later, I promise and I’ll bring you some nice hot cocoa. You like that.’ She picked up the sack and slung it over her shoulder.
Trade was slow. The threat of more snow to come seemed to have kept many people indoors, and those who were out on the street were intent on getting to their destinations as quickly as possible. Even so, by the end of the afternoon, Angel had earned enough to pay Mother Jolly with some left over, which would pay for a pint of pea soup, a bread roll and, more importantly, a pennyworth of laudanum to ease Dolly’s aches and pains. Better still, there was enough mistletoe in the sack for another day’s trading. That night Angel crawled into bed beside Dolly with a feeling of achievement. Gradually their shared warmth lulled her to sleep, despite Maisie’s loud snoring and the scrabbling of vermin behind the skirting boards.
Next day the snow that had fallen during the night lay thick on the ground, although its pristine whiteness was rapidly degrading into slush as people walked to their places of employment. Angel made her way eastwards along the Strand towards Fleet Street, pausing occasionally to linger outside shop windows and peer longingly at the festive food. The sight of crusty pork pies, snowy iced cakes, mince pies and Christmas puddings, stuffed with dried fruit, made her mouth water. Costermongers’ barrows were decorated with sprigs of berried holly and piled high with rosy red applies, dimpled oranges, bunches of black and green grapes and heaps of crinkled walnuts. It seemed like another life when such food had been plentiful, and the scent of chestnuts roasting on a brazier at the roadside made her stomach growl with hunger. She quickened her pace, heading towards the City where she hoped to sell the remainder of the mistletoe before noon, and that would enable her to go round the street markets in the hope of finding a fresh supply at a reasonable price. Up West she could make more on each sprig than
