Tattycoram

Tattycoram by Audrey Thomas Read Free Book Online Page A

Book: Tattycoram by Audrey Thomas Read Free Book Online
Authors: Audrey Thomas
Tags: FIC019000, FIC014000
lived over the stables in Doughty Mews; and myself. Cook was uneven in temper and liked port, the nursemaid gave herself airs, and William I rarely saw except when he brought a horse round for Mr. Dickens to go out riding to Richmond with one of his friends. When I went there first, I slept with Cook in a little closet off the kitchen, but later, after the nursemaid left — dismissed for having a follower — I slept in a garret room across from Fred and next to the nursery and, until the next baby came, more or less took over the care of Charley, as well as doing my regular tasks. This was the first time in my life I had ever slept in a room alone, and in the beginning it unnerved me. I felt like the only chick in a nest, and I even missed Cook’s snores. But gradually I came to look forward to retreating to my little room at the end of a long day, and when I couldn’t sleep — I learned that one can be too tired to sleep — I opened my window, which looked down on to Doughty Street, and leaned on the sill, listening to the faraway roar of those parts of the city which never really slept, or not until the last hours of the night, and heard the chimes of St. Paul’s: one o’clock, dong; two o’clock, dong dong; and the halves and quarters in between. Sometimes I wondered if Jonnie were out there somewhere, listening as well, or whether Sam in Australia ever looked up at the moon that looked down upon us all.
    There had been a sister of Mrs. Dickens — Mary — who haddied suddenly in May. Cook said that it was a terrible tragedy because everyone loved her and she was just seventeen. Mr. Dickens wore her ring on his little finger. Her sister’s death on top of her advancing pregnancy seemed to make Mrs. Dickens somewhat melancholy. Often, when I took Charley down to her after his nap, I could see that she had been crying. She was always very kind to me, and I was truly sorry when I heard later what had happened to her.
    She brightened when Mr. Dickens came into the room — we all did. He was such a whirlwind of energy and liveliness it was hard not to smile when he was downstairs. And he bestowed funny nicknames on everyone — he called baby Charley “Flasher Phoby,” I don’t know why. But he could be very strict. He had a place for everything and could not bear disorder. Mrs. Dickens told me that even when he travelled, he would rearrange his rooms until they suited him. She said he had such charm the landladies never objected.
    Various relations came to dinner, but with one exception I didn’t know any of them well enough to form an opinion. Cook said Mr. Dickens’s father was a trial and he expected too much from his son, but then, she said, now that he was famous, the whole world had its hand in his pocket.
    â€œIs he very famous, Cook?”
    â€œOh Lord, yes, and gettin’ famouser by the minute. And him such a young man, too, not yet thirty.”
    On Sunday Mr. Dickens went to chapel at the Foundling; Mrs. Dickens accompanied him if she felt well enough. One day he invited me to go, for Mr. Brownlow had told him I liked music and sang in the choir. I thanked him but told him no. I had no desire to go back through those iron gates until the obligatory visit the next Whitsuntide.
    â€œI am concerned about your spiritual health, Harriet.” I felt that he was teasing me.
    â€œI read my Bible, sir, and I say my prayers.”
    â€œWouldn’t you like to go for the music?”
    â€œNo, sir.” (Even so, it was the one thing about the place I missed, and I often sang quietly to Charley or to myself when I was in my room.)
    On my half-day I put on my new bonnet and shawl and went out of Doughty Street and into the wide world, the fat boy in his ridiculous livery whispering, “Oh yes, we knows
you
,” from where he sat on his stool. I always walked on the other side of the street as I passed the hospital and headed for

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