Free The Beggar Maid by Dilly Court

inside.’ Mrs Rose ushered her in and closed the door. ‘You look in a worse state than you did last winter when you turned up in a snowstorm. Go through to the kitchen.’
    â€˜I sh-should g-give the doctor his book first.’
    Mrs Rose snatched it from her. ‘He’s out on a house call, but I’ll put it on his desk. Now do as I say, and don’t argue.’
    The kitchen was warm and the aroma of roasting meat made Charity’s stomach rumble with hunger. ‘It’s you. You’ve come at last.’ Dorrie abandoned the task of shelling peas and flung her arms around Charity’s neck. She stepped back, pulling a face. ‘You’re soaking wet.’
    â€˜She is indeed.’ Mrs Rose bustled into the kitchen, carrying the now familiar missionary barrel, which spilled over with garments. She dumped it on the table. ‘Take off those wet things, my girl. I’m sure we’ve got something to fit you and that dress is all but ruined.’ She fingered the wet fabric, shaking her head. ‘Cheap material and badly made. You bought this in a dolly shop, I should imagine. Well, whatever you paid for it you were robbed, Charity my girl. Now take it off and pick something from the charity box.’ A grim smile lit her normally humourless features.
    Dorrie chuckled. ‘I see the joke, Mrs Rose. The box is called a charity box and Charity needs a new frock.’ She bit her lip, blushing. ‘I’m sorry, Charity. I weren’t laughing at you.’
    Charity slipped off her wet clothes and selected a clean cotton shift and a grey poplin dress. ‘It’s all right, Dorrie. No offence taken.’ She dressed quickly and immediately felt more comfortable. ‘I can pay for the clothes. I’m earning a wage at the bookshop.’
    Mrs Rose picked up Charity’s discarded garments and laid them over the back of a chair. ‘There’s no need. All were given freely by people who are far better off than you or I. Dorrie will wash these and put them in the box for the poor and needy. No one will be any the wiser.
    â€˜Ta,’ Charity said doubtfully. Mrs Rose might think she was one of the poor and needy but in her own mind she had risen above that now. She was a working girl, employed in a respectable trade. ‘When do you expect Dr Marchant to return? I have to get back to the shop.’
    Dorrie clutched her hand. ‘You can stay for a while, can’t you? I wants to hear all your news. You mustn’t go just yet.’
    Mrs Rose opened the oven door and a gust of fragrant steam billowed out. ‘The doctor will be home for his midday meal, especially as it’s collops of lamb with mint sauce and roast potatoes, which is his favourite. You must stay and eat with us, Charity. He would be very put out to think I’d sent you away with an empty stomach.’
    Charity eyed the meat and her mouth watered in anticipation. ‘I should be getting back, but I have to collect payment. Mr Dawkins made that very clear.’
    â€˜Then you’ll stay and eat with us.’ Mrs Rose closed the oven door. ‘Have you finished shelling the peas, Dorrie? I’ll need to get them on soon, so hurry up you stupid child.’
    â€˜I’ll help.’ Charity took a seat at the table.
    â€˜I think I heard the doctor’s key in the lock.’ Mrs Rose hurried from the room leaving Charity and Dorrie to finish their task.
    â€˜How are you?’ Charity asked in a whisper. ‘She’s not working you too hard, is she?’
    Dorrie’s bottom lip trembled. ‘I shouldn’t complain. I got a bed and a full belly. What more could a workhouse girl expect?’
    It was mid-afternoon when Charity left the doctor’s house. She had eaten well and enjoyed every last morsel of Mrs Rose’s excellent cooking. Dr Marchant had been pleased to see her and had questioned her at length about her situation at the