Imogene

by Eliza Lloyd

  “I want him to be our brother always. Don’t give him to McGreggor.”

  “I’d as soon give him Frank.”

  “Maybe we could pay the Scot to take him.”

  That lightened the mood. They chatted on the walk all the way back to Fish Street.

  “Do you think Jack will come tonight?” Danny asked.

  “Why?” she asked suspiciously. She tilted her head to look at his face.

  He scratched his nose in an attempt to hide his smile. “I’m thinking you ought to negotiate with him.”

  “You mean sell myself?”

  “Why do you get all prickly about it? You know it’s going to happen. Happens to every girl, married or not. Best it be someone you like rather than one of those sweaty sailors with crusty balls. ’Sides, you seem eager enough with Jack.”

  “I’m not eager.”

  “Oh really? Before God and on Mam’s grave, you don’t feel something when he walks in the door? Like you want his cock sliding in your cunny?”

  “Shut up. You don’t know anything.”

  “I know he’s the best thing we run across in the last year. His pockets are lined and he’s been generous with you, considering how hard you make him work to get between your legs.”

  Imo’s brows lowered dangerously. “You best watch your tongue or I’ll cut it out with Frank’s knife.”

  “You are no different than Old Man Kramer’s black-and-white dog. Barking all the time but no teeth.”

  Imo balled her fist and took two quick steps, lunging at Danny. Caught unawares, Danny crumpled to the dirt-packed ground, taking Imo with him. She hauled off and smacked him in the face, leaving a red mark on his cheek.

  “You little bitch! I should tan your hide!”

  “I ain’t eager. I don’t want Jack. And fer once, you should mind yer own business.”

  Danny pushed her off and she landed on her arse, raising dust around her. “I should just give you to Tiny. Give you, if she’d take you.”

  He stood up and reached for her. She rolled away and jumped to her feet, brushing the dirt from her bottom.

  “All I’m saying is Jack would give you a whole pocketful of money if you were reasonable and amiable. Some nights, he leaves wound up tighter than when he came in. You don’t have gold between your legs, but what you do have, you should use to your advantage while you have his attention. You keep saying no and eventually him and his money ain’t coming back. Just let him fuck you and get it over with.”

  Imo had thought about it up one side and down the other. She turned it inside out and upside down and still she couldn’t bring herself to make the decision.

  But if she did, she might be the only Farrell in the last one hundred years to have a man worth more than her next meal crawl between her legs.

  * * * * *

  Sure enough, Jack waited his turn, the boys were paid and they disappeared, pretending their sister was safe in the one-room shack with a man none of them really knew. Trust was something he bought rather than earned.

  He carried a tall hat and a cane with a silver knob on top.

  “Imogene.”

  “Hallo, Jack.” Her belly burned. Everything except her brain reacted to him and that organ completely rejected the needs and wants that clamored for fulfillment.

  Jack’s constant hovering wasn’t good for her. It gave her hope when she knew there was none.

  “We need to talk.”

  “’Bout what?” They’d never said more than fifty words any time they were together. He wore his serious expression and his bleak eyes made him look as if he was in pain.

  “Imogene, I will pay you to stop what you are doing here. It’s not safe. I can’t stand that the dregs of society pant and paw all over you. You are better than this.”

  She hmpfed and turned away from him. “You came for a hand job, didn’t ya? I’m tired and I want to go home.”

  “I won’t hurt you, Imogene.” He threw his hat and cane toward the corner where a lumpy pile of dry sawdust lay undisturbed since they’d rented the building.

  “Jack, why are you here? I don’t give you encouragement. I reject your offers, nice as they’ve been,” she said smartly. His hand reached toward her face. All she could do was stand stone cold still as his fingers then his palm slid over her skin. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she clenched her jaw, trying not to wrap her arms around him. She did not want to be one of those women who became silly at a man’s touch.

  “I can’t give you anything,” she whispered.

  “But I can give you everything. A month. That’s all I’m asking. I’ll pay you well.”

  “And then what? I’ll be right back where I started.”

  “What do you want, then?”

  “I don’t know. I know it’s not to be a kept woman, used for a time and then tossed aside like I mean nothing.”

  “Imogene, it’s a business transaction. Something to make your life more comfortable. It isn’t supposed to have meaning, but at the end of the day you’ll at least have enough to be comfortable and not have to come back to this.” He waved his hand, dismissing the possibility that this was her future.

  “I don’t belong in your life. Not even for the minute it would take to fuck me. You upset me. You make me feel—”

  “What do I make you feel?” He took a step closer.

  The sound of his soft voice made her turn her face into his palm. Even his hands smelled clean.

  “Lost. And afraid. And sure that what little I do have would become meaningless. I don’t want to go through the door of your world. My soul would get trapped there, but my mind and body would have to come back to all this.”

  “I’m not going to give up.”

  “Your cock would be perfectly happy tupping any girl in London. Don’t make it me.”

  “It’s as simple as wanting you. No one else. I can’t sleep for thinking of sinking into your body. I relive every minute I spend in this flea-infested shithole and damn if I don’t enjoy it. I can’t explain the need, but I know what my body wants and it is demanding satisfaction with you. No other explanation is necessary. You are a willing seller and I’m a willing buyer. Why will you not come to an agreement with me?”

  “Maybe because I’m not really for sale.”

  His hands gripped her shoulders and he pulled her close. His lips touched hers for a moment while his hands slid down her back and cupped her arse, then he stepped backward, trapping her against the flimsy wall, his hands sliding to her waist. “See what you do to me?” he asked. “Everyone is for sale, Imogene. I just haven’t met your price.”

  His hands worked inside her shirt, but she didn’t stop him. His beautiful hands, hard but not calloused, slid over her skin until his palms settled over her breasts.

  “I’ve told you my price.” Her voice squeaked trying to get the words out.

  “If money grew on trees, I might be willing to accommodate you.”

  Her chest heaved like Mrs. Bunton’s fireplace bellows. “Or you don’t think I’m worth it. Or you don’t really want me that badly.”

  He smiled for a moment. “You have a way of shedding light on a situation, don’t you?”

  “I just prefer not to lie to myself.”

  His thumbs did this awful thing to the hard points under her shirt. She grasped his forearms, thinking to push him away, but instead holding on to him.

  “I think you are the worst sort of liar. You want the same thing I do. If I used a little persuasion, I think you would lie down on the ground and spread your legs for me without your ridiculous price. And I think if you wait much longer, one of these drunken merchantmen, or whatever you call them, is going to rape you in a back alley. Neither one of us wants that. And you could have something better.”

  Imo spent too much time trying not to think about Jack. When he did things with his fingers, her body responded no matter how hard she fought to remain neutral. Deep, deep, deep inside of her, she had allowed a few secret thoughts about being wi
th him, dressed in one of those fancy dresses like the woman in Hyde Park. Maybe yellow, with a pretty black feather in her hair.

  “I don’t want to want you. I don’t.”

  “But you do.”

  “I want your money. Nothing else will keep food in my belly or a roof over my head. Or my brothers’,” she spat out.

  As if he hadn’t heard a word, he slid one hand downward. Once, at Vauxhall, he’d done the same thing and she’d died. One of her hands reached for the velvet black collar of his jacket. Her fingers dug into the material and she pressed her forehead into his chest. She spread her legs and moaned as his fingers slid into the wet heat of her.

  Nobody else did this to her. Maybe ’cause she didn’t care about the others.

  She liked his touch, the way he smelled and the way he kept coming back when he said he wouldn’t. The nights he didn’t come were a disappointment. The nights he did were a temptation.

  If Jack knew she had an itch for him, he would press her all the more.

  “Gawd, Jack. Don’t do this to me.” She bit at her lips. She needed a good swig of ale to quench the awful dryness in her mouth.

  “Shh. One night, Imogene, or every night. I’ll do this for you and more.”

  Her bones melted as she gave in to the pleasure building between her legs. His lips kissed her temple and the slow circling combined with the in-and-out movements of his fingers made her panting breath turn to urgent moans.

  At Vauxhall, Jack had coaxed her to squeeze and she tried again. The familiar but distant pleasure returned.

  Jack pulled his finger from between her legs. The hand playing at her breast disappeared, leaving cold emptiness.

  She blinked, looking up at him. The smirk on this face announced that he was very pleased to leave her aroused and wanting. “Don’t stop now,” she said.

  “How much do you want it, Imogene? Ask yourself that tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow and we’ll finish our negotiations.”

  Jack’s smile deepened. He turned toward the corner to fetch his belongings, batted his hat against his thigh and disappeared out the door without looking back.

  Imo’s legs shook so she leaned against the wall. Jack didn’t play fair.

  A minute later, Danny glanced around the sheet. “How much did ya get?”

  “Nothing. He didn’t want anything tonight.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Imo glared at him. “I said so, didn’t I?”

  She was one step closer to giving in. One step closer to having her heart broken when Jack took what he wanted and disappeared from her life.

  Idiot. Fool. Who am I but a street rat? Mooning over Jack. Jack who? He is nothing to me.

  It was best to forget about him. Wanting something she couldn’t have...

  She took the dirtied ribbon from her hair and threw it to the ground.

  Chapter Nine

  Slinking along darkened London streets was second nature to them. They arrived home, the boys full of spit and vinegar. However, Imo trod along quietly, contemplating her seemingly certain future. She kicked at a stone, sending it clinking along the cobbles.

  A man such as Jack would be embarrassed to be seen with a woman like her unless it was in the murky recesses of the night, where sin and debauchery could hide their faces. And names. When she thought of a woman who would be with Jack forever, the vision of the golden beauty came to her memory.

  That bit of baggage had all the social graces and opportunities afforded to young ladies of quality. Jack came to Imo because she was available. She’d bet her next meal the prim and proper miss hadn’t even kissed Jack yet. Gah! His kisses. She could faint just remembering the fiery heat.

  She wondered how many other whores in London got caught up with emotion when dealing with their lovers. Did they cry and plead when they were rejected? Did they think they’d have their lover forever? Were they taken care of afterward? Were they happy during? Or did they die alone, heartbroken, in one room hovels with no one to remember them?

  Maybe a few weeks of happiness was enough. Just like those few years with Mam had to be enough.

  “Maybe he would take care of us,” Charlie said unexpectedly, as Charlie liked to do.

  “Who, Charlie?” Danny asked.

  “Jack. If Imo was his wife, maybe he’d give us a bed to sleep on and we could fetch his wood and water and deliver his messages. Important men always have messages. Or maybe Danny could take care of his horses and Frank could guard his house.”

  “Jack doesn’t want a wife,” Imo said, feeling both bitter and stupid to even think the ridiculous thought.

  “He probably goes to church at St. Paul’s and he’d want to take his wife there, if’n he was married and all. And maybe he would take me.”

  “Maybe he would,” Imo said, though she doubted Jack had been inside a church since he’d left the protection of his mother’s care. “No. He’d want you the most of all of us, Charlie.”

  “I thought so,” Charlie said with a strange confidence.

  They clomped up the stairs and were settled on the floor in no time at all. A breeze came in from somewhere. Maybe Mrs. Cookson had her window and door open, allowing a breeze to tunnel through the attic rooms. Imo’s spot during the summer was a small corner of the house that had cracks running under several of the slats. They stuffed them with rags in the winter.

  Her last thought was that she must be the dumbest girl in London not to take Jack up on his offer, even though she really didn’t know what it was, other than the loss of her virginity.

  Imo’s next thought was that her eyes burned. She rolled, trying to fully wake, coughing and choking. “Danny? Frank?” She couldn’t see and felt a raw moment of panic. Patting across the floor, she felt Charlie’s small leg.

  She breathed in again and her lungs burst with acrid smoke. Smoke! “Danny! Wake up.” She got to her hands and knees and searched along the floor, finding another set of legs. Her hands searched up the still body until she realized it was Frank. She shook his shoulders, but he didn’t respond. “Frank!” Imo cracked her palm across his face and backhanded him on the return.

  He rolled and then he coughed. “Imo, what the hell are you doing?” He gripped her wrist hard enough to cause pain.

  “There’s a fire. You have to get Charlie out of here.” Fire was the worst thing to happen in a row of houses in London’s poor districts.

  Frank sat there, dumber and stupider than usual. She tapped his face again.

  “Stop it.”

  “Are you listening to me? You have to get Charlie downstairs.”

  “All right. There’s a fire? Right.”

  “Come on,” she said.

  His words gave her no assurance, but she crawled along until she found Danny in the same condition. The smoke was thicker here and she thought the floor seemed warm to the touch. She repeated her rousing techniques although it took longer with Danny.

  “Frank?” she yelled.

  “Yes. Did you get Charlie?”

  “I will.”

  “No! You do it now. Get off the floor.” Imo’s lungs burned. She pushed to her feet and grabbed Danny’s arm, dragging him to their door, which she kicked open. She saw the flames licking up the outside of Mrs. Cookson’s far wall.

  Frank saw them too. “Oh Peter, Paul and Mary! Imo, the house is on fire.”

  She didn’t have time for a sarcastic remark. When she got Danny to the attic door, she reached up and pushed the door out. The flames behind her roared.

  Once she got Danny’s head and shoulders out the door, she went back. Frank was just staggering out the door with Charlie in his hands. “Don’t worry, I got your dress.”

  Imo nearly laughed in hysteria. “I’m gonna see if I can get Mrs. Cookson. Get them downstairs and see if you can find Mrs. Bunton. And make sure the tenants on the second floor are awake.”

  “Be careful,” Frank said. She heard the heavy pounding footsteps as he headed to the alley. They’d be all right. The Far
rells always landed on their feet.

  The heat of the flames made her put her hand to her face. The metal doorknob was already hot, but Imo pushed through. Smoke filled the room. Imo dropped to her knees and starting searching along the floor. Her lungs were on fire and she stopped as racking coughs overcame her. Her next breath was even worse. She crawled faster, her arms sweeping out wide as she went. Her head hit the far wall. “Mrs. Cookson!”

  A faint cough got her started in the right direction. At last, she found her. She didn’t even try to wake the woman. She grabbed her arm, heaved and had her out the door in no time. The other residents in the attic stumbled out in front of them.

  Someone was there to help and got Mrs. Cookson down the stairs. Clamoring down below indicated several people had gotten out and that the neighborhood had been warned of the fire. A man she didn’t know yelled at her, “You need to get out now!”

  “But there’s a girl in the room next door.” She tried to push past him.

  “I’ll get her if I can.”

  Imo took off like a shot, pushing past a few people still struggling down the staircase. She searched for the boys, and then at the sound of the collective gasp, looked up. Flames shot through the roof. A cracking moan started at the front of the house. Imo stared in horrid fascination as new flames licked up the side boards where she had been lying on the floor not ten minutes ago. She waited for the man to come out with the child.

  “Somebody needs to get the rest of them,” she said. Shock and disbelief colored her words. No one listened, intent on resolving their own tragedies. The house started to cave in and the milling crowd nearly trampled each other to get out of the alley.

  Imo pushed back against the wall of the shop next door, hoping to see one of the boys as they left the alley. She stepped in behind them, still searching. The cool night air brushed her skin on one side, the licking flames made the skin on the other half of her face feel blistered.

  Then she saw Danny, on his feet, with Frank and Charlie trailing behind him.

  “Danny!” She waved.

  A hand clamped over her mouth. A man with a strong grip and beefy forearms dragged her backward toward Old Man Kramer’s store.