Belle

by Lesley Pearse

  It took ages for them to dry her hair. They rubbed and rubbed it with a dry towel, then twisted her curls till they were like long black corkscrews all around her face. Someone shouted something outside the door, and Delphine shouted back.

  Clearly the call had been a hurry up, for suddenly the two women seemed flustered and concerned that Belle’s hair was still damp. But they forgot to help her put on her dress again, just opened the bathroom door and, holding each of her hands, hurried her barefoot up the stairs again in her underwear.

  Four days earlier, when she arrived here, Belle had noticed very little about the house other than that the carpet was threadbare, but then she was scared and most of the gaslights had been turned off. They were all lit now, however, and she saw that the house was much bigger than she’d imagined, with five or six doors on every landing, and that the wallpaper was so old and stained it was impossible to see a pattern on it any longer.

  The two women opened a door on the third floor, inside which was a short passage as if it led to a separate wing of the house. At the end of this passage was another door.

  Delphine opened it, and inside was Madame Sondheim. Delphine said something which appeared to be an apology, gave Belle a little push forward and left, shutting the door behind her.

  It was another sparsely furnished room. There was an iron bed which was unmade except for a sheet and a couple of pillows, shutters at the windows, a washstand and nothing else. But while the room in the attic appeared quite cosy because it was small with sloping ceilings, this room was big and stark.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed was a big man with a fat, florid face. He was wearing a grey suit with a grey and black striped waistcoat beneath it and he was smiling at her.

  Madame was clearly introducing her for Belle recognized her name. She had butterflies in her stomach now and she tried to run back to the door, but Madame got there first and waved a key at her to show it was locked already.

  Without any further ado, Madame turned to Belle and yanked the new chemise off over her head. With another swift movement the drawers came off too and she was left completely naked.

  Belle began to cry and wrapped her arms around her naked body, but Madame slapped her hands away, then ran her hands down over Belle’s body, talking all the while, the way Belle had observed horse traders do when they were trying to sell an animal.

  But the man’s expression was what was really frightening. He was looking at Belle as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks and she was a hot steak dinner. His eyes were gleaming, he had sweat on his forehead and he was licking his lips. Madame had finished talking about her and she pulled Belle over to the man, then pushed her down on to the bed.

  With one last remark which Belle felt meant ‘She’s all yours now’, Madame was gone, locking the door behind her.

  ‘Ma chérie,’ the man said, and Belle knew it was an endearment, for the two maids had used it. He bent over her on the bed and kissed her on the lips. Belle turned her head away because he had a nasty smell on his breath and whiskers on his chin. But that didn’t seem to deter him for his hand was on her private parts and he was pulling the lips apart and peering at her.

  All at once he was flinging his clothes off like a man possessed until he was down to just a woolly undershirt. His legs were short, fat, very white and hairy, but much more terrifying to Belle was his penis because it looked huge, with a glistening purple tip.

  She tried to wriggle off the other side of the bed as he got on, but he grabbed hold of her arm and hauled her back, opening her legs and kneeling between them while he poked his fingers inside her with one hand, holding her arm tightly with the other. She was crying but he didn’t seem to care for he was muttering things as he touched her intimately and seemed as though he was in a world of his own. He kept playing with his penis too, rubbing it up and down and putting the tip on her in a way that revolted her.

  But suddenly he was pushing it into her, grabbing hold of her legs and pulling them up, while thrusting himself further in.

  Nothing in all her short life had hurt that much. It was as though he was tearing her in two. She screamed and screamed but he didn’t even seem to hear her. It was only when she tried desperately to get free that he actually took notice, and slapped her hard on the buttocks, pulling her even closer to him. He was talking constantly, at least saying the same words over and over again so she assumed they were dirty ones. But then his movements became faster and faster, the bed springs protesting almost as loudly, and the pain increased to the point where Belle felt she would die of it. She couldn’t even scream any more, her mouth and throat were too dry. She cried for her mother and Mog and prayed to God to make it end quickly.

  At last it was over and he sank down on to the bed, sweating like a pig. Belle got away and crouched down in the corner as far away from him as she could get. She had blood running down her legs and there was a horrible stickiness and smell too. She was shaking all over and she felt sick.

  The man fell asleep almost immediately. Belle could hear him snoring, but she was unable to move from her crouched position in the corner. Then the door opened and in came Madame. She looked at the man on the bed, and then down at Belle. She said something but Belle didn’t understand, so she caught hold of her wrist and pulled her up.

  The woman’s eyes ran down Belle’s body but her hard expression didn’t soften at all, she just turned to the door where a wrap hung behind it on a nail, took it down and gave it to Belle to put on. With that she picked up the new set of underwear, caught hold of Belle’s wrist again and made it clear she was taking her back to her room.

  There was not one kind word. Back in the room Madame pointed to the washstand and mimed washing herself. Then she turned and left, locking the door behind her.

  Later, washed and in bed wearing the nightdress she’d been given, Belle was too hurt and shocked even to cry. She just lay there, the aching and soreness inside her making it impossible to think of anything else. Seeing Millie doing that act had been horrible, but she’d been able to reconcile herself to it in a way by thinking Millie had chosen to be a whore, as all her mother’s girls had. It was just a job to them, not as bad as being a skivvy, and better paid, with shorter hours, than most jobs.

  But it must have been like this for all of them the first time. How did they keep going after it? How could they dress up in their best frock, do their hair and smile at the next man who wanted to do this to them?

  All the following day Belle stayed in bed, crying into her pillow. The maids came in with food, and the younger one said some words which Belle was sure were ones of sympathy, but she didn’t feel in the least comforted. Then again after the supper which she hadn’t eaten, she was taken downstairs and pushed into the bath. They didn’t wash her hair this time, and she was given the same set of underwear again, then taken to the room just like the night before.

  The man was a different one, older and thinner, and his penis was much smaller. After Madame Sondheim had left the room he tried to put it in her mouth, but when she gagged and then screamed at him he went straight to the main event. It didn’t hurt quite as much as the night before, but it was every bit as vile. She lay under him wishing she had a knife and could stick it in his skinny ribs and kill him.

  For three more nights it was the same routine, with a different man each time. She had another who made her hold his penis in her mouth, one who took her from behind like a dog, and the final one made her keep her underwear on and sit on his lap, as if she was his daughter or niece. But he wasn’t showing fatherly affection, his hands were under her drawers touching her, and she knew he was playing out some sick little game in his head. He too took her from behind finally and he was so long at it that she thought the pain and soreness would stay with her for a lifetime.

  The day after the fifth man Belle began vomiting and couldn’t stop. By the evening there was nothing left in her stomach to bring up, but she kept retching. As she became weaker, the housekeeper tried to make
her eat and drink something, but she brought that up too.

  Belle lay in bed unable even to want to get better for she felt dead inside. She was only vaguely aware of day turning to night, then back to day again. She had no idea how much time had passed, but she did pick up on the maids’ concern for her when she could no longer use the chamberpot unaided. They must have spoken to Madame Sondheim about her, for a doctor came in to examine her.

  He spoke a little English, and the mere fact that he was attempting to communicate with her made Belle cry.

  ‘’Ow you come to France?’ he asked once he’d sounded her chest, taken her blood pressure and felt her stomach.

  ‘In a box, with bad men,’ she sobbed out, and caught hold of his hands so he would listen to her. ‘My mother in England must think I am dead. Help me!’

  He looked round at Madame Sondheim enquiringly, but she just shrugged.

  ‘She is bad woman, make five men do this.’ She pushed down the covers and indicated her vagina because she didn’t know how else to explain.

  ‘I weel see what I can do,’ the doctor said carefully, and put his hand gently on her cheek as if to reassure her that he meant it.

  Belle felt just a little better after the doctor had gone, not because of the medicine he’d left for her, but because she felt help was at hand. She fell asleep imagining herself back home in the kitchen with Mog and her mother.

  She woke later at the sound of someone coming into the room. On seeing a man advancing on the bed she screamed at the top of her voice. But Delphine was with him and she darted forward and put her hand over Belle’s mouth, making hushing sounds. She then gabbled away in unintelligible French, but the way she waved her hands at the man, then sat Belle up and wrapped a blanket tightly around her implied that he was going to carry her somewhere else.

  Belle hoped it was a hospital for the shock of seeing the man was making her retch again even more violently.

  She thought she was dreaming the ride in the carriage, yet the whirring of the wheels and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves seemed very real.

  It was the silence which alerted her when she woke that she had indeed been moved somewhere else. In the other house there had been constant sounds – people’s voices, horses’ hooves out on the street, music, and by day a distant sawing and banging which might well have been a factory or workshop. Not necessarily loud noise, but always there like the buzz of insects in summer.

  This place was graveyard quiet, as though there was no other human being or even animal for miles. Belle turned her head towards the source of the pale gold light and saw there was a large window with drawn, thin, peach-coloured curtains undulating in a slight breeze.

  Her bed was warm and comfortable, but a slight fusty smell coming from beneath the covers suggested to her she’d been in it for some time, perhaps even days. She struggled to sit up, but found she felt so weak she fell back on to the pillow. The room was almost monastic in its bareness. Her bed was a narrow iron one, there was a simple wooden chair, a felt-covered card table next to her bed, and on it was a jug of water and a glass. The walls were whitewashed and there was a crucifix above her bed. No mirror, pictures, not even a washstand. She wondered where she was.

  It came back to her that she had been very sick and a doctor had come to see her. She didn’t feel sick now, and as she moved herself a little in the bed she found that her private parts were no longer sore. She managed to reach out and pour herself some water: it felt good to drink, her mouth was so dry.

  The sound of the door opening startled her and she cowered down involuntarily, hiding her eyes.

  A woman spoke in French, a gentle voice that was as soothing as the silence here.

  ‘You are feeling better now, ma chérie?’ she asked then in English.

  Belle’s eyes flew open to see a very pretty woman of about thirty. She had light brown hair in a chignon and wide grey eyes and was wearing a high-necked, grey wool dress with a pearl brooch at her throat.

  ‘You speak English?’ Belle said, and she thought her voice sounded cracked.

  ‘Yes, a leetle. I am Lisette, I have been nursing you since you came here.’

  ‘What is this place?’ Belle asked fearfully.

  Lisette smiled. Her lips were plump and she had the kind of smile that would warm anyone.

  ‘A good place,’ she said. ‘Nothing for you to fear.’

  ‘No more men?’ Belle asked in a small voice.

  Lisette took one of her hands in both of hers. ‘No more men. I know what they did to you. It will not happen again. You will get strong and well.’

  ‘Then I can go home to England?’

  She knew just by the look on Lisette’s face that wasn’t going to happen. ‘Not England, no. Madame Sondheim has passed you on, so you will not go back there.’

  That was good enough for Belle for now. She felt hungry, she needed to wash herself, and if she could sleep peacefully in this quiet place without threat of violence, that would do.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mog woke from a strange, somewhat disturbing dream, and lay for a moment in the darkness wondering what exactly it had been about, and if she should get up and make herself a cup of tea. But all at once she smelled smoke and leapt out of her bed.

  Fire was an ever-present danger all over London, but especially in places like Seven Dials where the houses were so close together and so many of them in a bad state of repair. Mog had always made a point of making the girls aware of how easily a fire could start with a hot cinder falling on a rug, a lighted candle knocked over, or even long skirts catching on an open fire.

  But by the time Mog had got three-quarters of the way up the stairs from the basement and saw the fire was by the front door, she knew it hadn’t started in any of those ways.

  It was obvious that a flaming rag or something similar had been put through the letter box. It didn’t take much to deduce who was responsible either, but for now her only concern was getting everyone out of the house to safety.

  Although the fire hadn’t yet reached the staircase which led to the upper floors, it would only take a few more minutes, so Mog knew it was foolhardy to go up there. Racing into the parlour, she grabbed the bell which they rang twenty minutes before closing to remind clients what time it was. She picked it up and rang it as hard as she could.

  Annie’s room was on the ground floor just behind the staircase and she appeared almost the moment Mog had started to ring the bell. She shrieked in horror to see the hall on fire, but Mog knew there was no time for hysterics or explanations.

  ‘Take this!,’ she said, shoving the bell into Annie’s hands. ‘Ring and scream till the girls get down here. But don’t you go up, you might get trapped. I’m going down to get some buckets of water to try and slow the fire down. Tell the girls to go out into Jake’s Court and make them scream so the fire engine comes.’

  As Mog disappeared down to the basement, Lily came running down the stairs. Sally shouted from the first-floor landing that she was going to make the others hurry. By the time Mog had staggered back up with two buckets of water, the fire was only three feet from the staircase and very hot, Annie snatched the buckets and threw the contents on to the fire, ordering Mog to refill them.

  The fire retreated a couple of feet, but it was clear it was only a temporary reprieve. Lily and Ruby came running down the stairs with Amy, coughing from the smoke.

  ‘Outside,’ Annie yelled, pushing them towards the basement. ‘You too, Lily,’ she yelled to the girl who was just standing there gawping. ‘And raise the alarm!’

  Sally still hadn’t reappeared with Dolly and Annie shouted for them to come at the top of her voice.

  The fire was roaring now. It filled the hallway, licking up the walls. Mog came back with another two buckets of water, and she was just throwing it at the fire as Sally and Dolly appeared at the top of the stairs. They were clinging to each other and crying, afraid to come down because they thought they’d got to go through the fire.


  Annie bravely ran up to them, took their hands and pulled them down. The fire suddenly licked forward to the bottom of the staircase, effectively blocking it off.

  ‘Over the side and jump,’ Annie ordered, bundling first Sally and then Dolly over the banister. Mog stood beneath to encourage and catch them, and Annie leapt nimbly after them.

  The two young girls were coughing violently from the smoke, bent over double, and Mog had to take their arms and practically drag them down the stairs to the basement.

  Mog was so caught up with getting the girls out into the yard, grabbing blankets, coats and anything else that would keep them warm out on the street, that she didn’t notice immediately that Annie wasn’t with them.

  Horror-struck, Mog ran back up the stairs. She guessed Annie had darted back to her room to collect the cash box they kept the takings in. But as she got to the door she could hear gas mantles exploding in the heat on the other side of it, and she realized the fire must now be in the parlour and sweeping down the passage to Annie’s room, trapping her in there.

  Mog’s heart was racing with fear for her friend, but she ran back downstairs, snatched up a blanket to cover her nightdress and ran outside, screaming at the top of her lungs for Annie to open her window and jump to safety.

  The kitchen was only a semi-basement at the back of the house. From the back door six stone steps led down from Jake’s Court into a small yard. This meant that the windows of Annie’s room were not very high up, in fact the wall around the yard was just three feet lower than her window. But sadly the wall wasn’t close enough to the window to gain access that way. A ladder was needed.

  The noise and commotion had brought quite a crowd out, but unlike Mog and the girls they had put coats, hats and boots on over their nightclothes. Mog glanced round at the girls and saw they were huddled together sharing blankets, just watching her.

  ‘Someone get a ladder!’ she yelled at the crowd, astounded that they were making no effort to help. ‘Annie’s still in there, we’ve got to try and get her out!’