The Best of Sisters by Dilly Court Page A

flour and her eyes underlined with smudges of soot. Freddie had procured small crutches from one of his shady contacts and Millie would lean on these until given a dose of the mixture by Eliza, when she would throw away the crutches with an exultant cry and do a little dance. This always went down very well, but they had to be careful not to repeat it too often in case someone had seen the act on a previous occasion.
    Eliza enjoyed working for Freddie: in fact, she hero-worshipped him. Despite the fact that most of his patent cures were simple placebos, she admired him for being an educated man dedicated to helping the poor and sick. She did not think of what they did as being dishonest. After all, she reasoned, if something made other people feel better, what harm was there in charging them a halfpenny or even a penny for a bottle of medicine or a poke of pills? Above all, Freddie’s medications gave poor people a little hope and that, thought Eliza, was worth more than money in a world where disease carried off young and old alike, rich and poor, but mostly the poor.
    Apart from being clever, Freddie was also funny, and when they were making up potions in his room, he would have Eliza in fits of laughter as he regaled her with stories of his adventures and amours. He was, he said, theyoungest son of a country squire, and, with no hope of an inheritance, he had been packed off to London to study medicine at Bart’s. But an unfortunate incident involving a wild party and a young woman with the colourful name of Spitalfields Sal, had led to his expulsion before he had qualified. When questioned, he admitted that a law writer who had fallen on hard times had drawn up the diploma from the University of Paris. It was not really a fake, just a slight bending of the truth. Had it not been for Spitalfields Sal he would in all probability have qualified as doctor of medicine, and would now be bored to death in a country practice with a dull wife and a quiverful of children. Eliza had wanted to know more about his family but Freddie had shrugged his shoulders. Father and mother deceased; one sister married to a local landowner and four brothers who considered him to be the black sheep of the family and wanted nothing to do with him. ‘So you see, Eliza,’ Freddie had said, with his customary charming smile, ‘you and I are both orphans. We have much in common and so we face the harsh world together.’ He had taken her hand and kissed it: at that moment, Eliza had fallen in love. Of course, he could not be compared to Bart who was all things wonderful to her, but he came a close second in her affections.
    Although Eliza kept well away from thechandlery, she saw Davy every evening when their day’s work was done and he came to call at the house in Hemp Yard. She always asked him the same question and he gave her the same answer: there had been no letter from Bart. She clung stubbornly to the belief that he was alive and continued to write letters to him, hoping that one day she would have a forwarding address. Every night, she mentioned him in her prayers.
    The summer faded into autumn and Ted decided that Millie, who could neither read nor write, ought to go to school. Dolly was tearful at the thought of being parted from her, but she had to agree that getting an education was important, even for a poor girl. She put on her specs and spent many evenings sewing a school dress and a pinafore. On her first day, Eliza took Millie to the Board School in Communion Street. The schoolyard was filled with children, the girls skipping and playing with hoops; the boys were either scrapping or racing round energetically, whipping tops and shouting.
    Millie hung back, clutching Eliza’s hand. ‘I’d rather go with you and Freddie,’ she whispered, biting her lip.
    Eliza brushed her cheek with a kiss and gave her a gentle push towards the gate. ‘You’ll be fine. Look, there’s Mary Little, Davy’s sister. She’s the same age as you.