Flower Read Free Page A

Doesn’t she have lovely hair and eyes? You’ve got nice brown eyes too, Lillie.”
    In the afternoon we cross the Albert Bridge and look down at the River Thames. Helen says, “Ooh, I would like to go on one of those big ships across the ocean.” Helen’s always wishing for things. It makes me shiver to look down into that dark water.
    We walk along the embankment. My feet hurt, but Helen likes to show me the fine ladies and gentlemen, and the smart carriages driving along. “Can we sit down for a bit, Helen? I’m tired,” I say.
    “Try thinking about something nice and you’ll soon forget you’re tired…. Well, look who’s here, that’s a surprise. I didn’t expect to see him.”
    Helen straightens her hat and smiles up at a young man, who whips off his cap and smiles back at her.
    “Good afternoon, Miss Helen, this is a pleasure. And who might this be?” he asks, looking down at me.
    Helen squeezes my fingers hard. There is no need to do that–I know when to keep quiet.
    “Good afternoon, Mr. Charles. My little sister and I are taking a walk; it’s her birthday. Say hello to the gentleman, Lillie. He’s the under footman where I work.”
    “Hello,” I whisper.
    “Doesn’t look much like you, does she?” He smiles again at Helen, and her cheeks go pink.
    “Her father, my mother’s second husband, was a sailor from Malta. She takes after him. She’s his spitting image, with all those dark curls. He’s dead now.”
    This is the first time Helen has mentioned my father. I look at her.
Is it true, or is she telling a fib?
    “Come on, Lillie, I’ve got to get you home,” Helen says. But she’s standing here looking up at Mr. Charlie, in no hurry to leave as far as I can tell.
    “Allow me to escort you to the tea stall across the road, young ladies. And won’t you give me the pleasure of buying you a nice cup of tea and a meat pie for little Miss Lillie here?”
    The pie is full of meat and onions, with pastry so flaky it melts in my mouth.
    “You’re late. Supper’s over,” Mrs. Riley says, when I get back. Bert sticks his tongue out at me, but tonight I don’t care that he ate my portion.
    A few weeks go by before I see Helen again. There must’ve been goings-on at the big house. Mrs. Riley is extra mean ’cause the money is late. When Helen does come, Mrs. Riley says, “Ain’t forgotten us, then?” She counts the coppers as usual, and Helen says, “It’s all there, and a bit over for being late. I’m sorry–I’ve been poorly with a cough.”
    Later, when we go out, she gives me a pair of boots wrapped in newspaper. “Miss Sadie outgrew them, and Gertie was supposed to throw them out. I’d told her about you and how fast you’re growing. I can trust her; she’s my friend. She asked me to get rid of them, and winked when she handed them over.”
    I’ve never had anything so beautiful to wear before. The leather is soft and the boots are only a little bit too big. We stuff newspaper in the toes. Then I wrap the boots up again and hide them under my shawl. Later I put them under the bed, in the corner. I do the sweeping so Mrs. Riley won’t see them, unless she’s snooping.
    This afternoon Helen said, “You remember that nice Mr. Charles? Last week he took me to the Music Hall. We sat up high in the gallery and looked down at all the toffs and their ladies, and the commotion in theprivate gold boxes–the ladies fanning themselves and drinking champagne. Lovely it was. There was this singer, Lottie Collins. She’s been to America and is ever so famous. She came out on the platform, with all the lights shining round her. She was wearing the most beautiful red satin dress. When she danced, she lifted up her skirt and showed her petticoats. Rows and rows of frills, hundreds there must’ve been. She sang a song, and got us all to sing the chorus: ‘Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay, Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay.’” Helen sang it for me and I hummed along.
    “On the way home, Mr. Charles bought