by Roy Lewis
Charlie Wilkins was not averse to the additional company: he’d already slipped his arm around one of the young girls and was whispering in her ear: she giggled and leaned provocatively against him so that the scarf she was wearing fell forward loosely and we were all treated to the sight of a half-exposed bosom of generous proportions. Hilliard sat down on the other side of the girl, across the table from me and looked a little angry. He had clearly been drinking heavily, and his plum-coloured roll-collared waistcoat was stained, marked with porter and chalk. I guessed he had helped prepare Grenwood for the Sam Small chorus, before going out into the Lane to pick up the dollymops.
‘Right, Crosier, we made a wager, so pay up.’ Grenwood stuck his open hand under Hilliard’s nose. Reluctantly Hilliard slipped some notes into Grenwood’s hand.
I eyed them acquisitively as Grenwood crowed, ‘Never thought I’d do it, did you?’
‘Never thought you’d be fool enough, that’s for sure.’ Crosier Hilliard scowled behind his flamboyant moustaches.
‘Aw, go on,’ the second girl disagreed, stroking Grenwood’s face. ‘I heard him as we came in. He’s got a beeyewtiful voice. Good enough for the hopera, says I.’
But Hilliard barely paid attention to her. He was out of temper, glaring at the elderly lawyer seated opposite and the young woman girl placed beside him, clearly incensed by the manner in which Charlie Wilkins was fumbling drunkenly at the girl’s bosom. His blue eyes were cold with fury and there was a line of perspiration in his thinning fair hair. He tugged at his side whiskers and leaned forward to remonstrate with Wilkins.
Things could get ugly very quickly in such circumstances as you’ll be aware: you’ll have seen more than a few bar-room brawls in American waterfronts, no doubt. I’ve never been one for settling business with fists so to create a diversion I tugged at Grenwood’s sleeve. ‘So, about this Running Rein business—’
Grenwood gave me an owlish look. ‘Colonel Peel is welshing, I hear, but if you ask me it’ll be that bugger Bentinck behind him, flicking his flanks with the whip.’
‘That’s as may be, but there’s also the matter of the money you borrowed against that paper I signed—’
But Grenwood was turning away, guffawing, amused at Hilliard’s discomfiture at the sight of his projected conquest being enjoyed by Wilkins. He himself had his own prey firmly embraced, and he leered at her, taunting Hilliard. ‘And what did you say your name was, my pretty chick?’
His left hand was gripping the girl’s chin while his right pawed at her half exposed bosom. The tightness of his grip had caused her heavily-rouged cheeks to puff out, and she was unable to reply. Hilliard, drunk as he was, frowned and put out a restraining hand. ‘Go easy, Grenwood, that’s not the way—’
‘To hell with you, Hilliard,’ Grenwood flashed in a quick burst of temper. He was always a bit that way, quick to take offence. ‘The arrangement was that you were taking the other one.’
‘There’s not much chance of that, with this old lecher mauling her!’
‘Lecher?’ Charlie Wilkins was fuddled, but had enough wit left to pretend to resent the term. ‘Now I could show you lechers, if you desire, but my intentions …’ He hiccupped, and leered at the young dollymop, while he squeezed her knee and fumbled with her skirt. ‘I assure you my intentions are entirely dis … dishonourable..’
‘Then I’ll trouble you to find your own company,’ Hilliard snarled. He stood up, reached across the table, grabbed old Charlie’s wrist and twisted it, pulling his hand from the girl’s thigh and shouldering Wilkins away from her. The push was a violent one and Charlie Wilkins was sitting on the end of the bench. I put out a restraining hand but was too late: my fat friend lost his balance and lurched sideways: his ungainly, portly body was too heavy for his drunken legs and he went down in a heap beside the table, his head under the stairs. He let out a shout of indignation, and struggled for a moment, but then looked up at the sneering Hilliard, seemed to have second thoughts about getting to his feet: he wriggled a little, sighed and gave up the fight. He put his head back, began breathing with a deep snoring sound, smiling at the stairs above his head. After a little while his eyes began to close.
‘He’ll be all right there, and out of harm’s way,’ Crosier Hilliard said roughly, and sniggered in a high, nasal tone. He slipped into Wilkins’s place and put his arm around the girl he had selected for his own conquest. ‘Now then, Cissie – that’s your pretty name, isn’t it? Drink up, and we’ll have a good time here before we take you to one of the supper houses.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Lester Grenwood agreed. He drained his pint pot, thumped it on the table, and roared for the waiter. He glanced at me. ‘James, you’ll be joining us?’
Suddenly, I was bored with the whole scene. It was clear to me that Grenwood was in no state to listen to my pleas for a little financial assistance to tide me over. I was flogging a horse that’d already expired. I shook my head, and gestured towards the man lying below the stairs. ‘No, four’s company – five gives a problem. Besides, I’d better get Charlie back to Serjeants Inn. He’s due on his feet in the Old Bailey tomorrow morning.’
‘Get the fat lecher home,’ Hilliard said, his mouth vicious beneath his flamboyant cavalry moustaches. ‘That’ll teach him to interfere in another man’s pleasures and handle what he’s not paying for. For a penny on a drum I’d just as well—’
‘Leave it, Hilliard,’ Grenwood interrupted. ‘He’s beyond it, anyway, rumbling away down there like a flatulent horse. So, James, if you’re leaving—’
I was rising to my feet but Grenwood suddenly stopped speaking. His glance had slid past me and was fixed on someone standing behind me. I turned, looked over my shoulder.
It’s more than thirty years ago, you know, but the odd thing is I can still see her in my mind’s eye, even after all these years. She was no more than eighteen, I guessed. She had soft brown hair that lay curling about her face, and she was dressed carefully in a becoming fashion, a white silk bonnet trimmed with ribbon, light cotton gown and a grey cloak. Her eyes were wide, dark in colour, and her complexion was fair, but she had applied a little too much rouge to her cheeks, and there were dark rings under her eyes. She was dressed for a night out in the West End, showing a fine bosom, but her mouth was edged with unhappiness, and in her eyes there was a mingling of anxiety, anger and sadness. She stood there silently, eyeing Grenwood and the dollymop in his arms, clearly distressed.
‘Harriet,’ Grenwood said after a moment, with an unpleasant sneer. ‘Sweet Harriet … come and join us! Here you are, James, here’s company.’
The young woman’s glance slid away from the girl Grenwood was caressing, to look briefly at me. She shook her head, almost helplessly, turned back to Grenwood. ‘No, not tonight. I came… I would like a word with you, Lester.’
Crosier Hilliard snorted, glanced at Grenwood and giggled in a high falsetto. ‘Lester, hey?’
‘Come and join us,’ Grenwood insisted roughly, nettled at Hilliard’s jibe. ‘You can take your pick of the company. I’m already engaged of course, but there’s James here – or there’s the old ruffian on the floor, if you can wake him up before morning.’ He laughed uproariously. ‘Get him into a hansom cab and you could turn out his pockets and he wouldn’t know a thing about it. Or take him back to his chambers in Serjeants Inn and you could dun him for all he’s got!’ He eyed her with an insulting calculation. ‘Now that could bring you a far better fee than you’d be accustomed to.’
She started as though slapped. ‘Lester, please.’
The girl’s voice was low and urgent. I watched her. Her hands clutched at the handkerchief at her waist, and her eyes were pleading with Grenwood.
‘Please what? You want a word? Have as many as you desire! We’re all friends together. Come and join us. James here, by the way, is an up-and-coming man of the law and you’d be well advised—’
I was sober enough to feel irritated. ‘I’m leaving, Grenwood,’ I snapped cu
rtly. I was uneasy about the girl and disliked Grenwood’s tone with her.
‘Lester, please, I’d like a word in private.’ The girl was near to tears.
Grenwood shook his head. ‘Harriet, sweet Harriet, I’m having a good time. I’m not inclined to be interrupted at my leisure. You can’t come in here with a mournful look and expect me to walk outside with you, when I’ve other arrangements in hand.’ He grinned at the bold-eyed dollymop beside him and plunged his hand into the top of her dress, jiggled her breasts roughly while she squealed and wriggled in mock distress. He looked back challengingly at the woman in front of him. ‘So, if you don’t want to join us and look after James here, or the old sot on the floor, well, then get out of here!’
She blinked and there was the glistening of tears on her cheeks. ‘Lester, I—’
‘Lester, Lester, Lester … who gave you permission to use my name freely in public?’ Grenwood snarled. His eyes were suddenly filled with a cold fury and his tone was contemptuous. ‘How clearly do I have to give you the message? I’m busy; I’m having a good time with friends. New friends,’ he added emphatically, as he pulled at the girl beside him, hugged her to him fiercely, until she gasped in open-mouthed protest. ‘You’ve had your time with me, Harriet, and for a while it was a good time, but it’s over. You begin to bore me with your whining, you hear? So I’m not going to have a word with you – in public or private – so get out of my sight.’
A vein throbbed angrily in his temple. As he glared at her, I could almost feel the rage building up inside him. His tone suddenly became even more vicious. ‘And another thing – that sporting brother of yours had the temerity to accost me in the street! You tell him if he approaches me again I’ll horsewhip him within an inch of his life! Now, get out, unless you’ve got some other fancy young buck you can turn to here. Back to the street, before I get the waiters to turn you out. They don’t care for unaccompanied sluts in here!’
It was as though he had punched her in the stomach. Her face paled. She took a step backward. For a long moment she stood there staring at him, as though she was unable to comprehend. Then her paleness was replaced by a slow, staining crimson as she became aware that curious faces were turned towards her from nearby tables, hearing Grenwood’s upraised voice. She hesitated, trembling, helpless fingers twisting together. She seemed to be about to say something but the passionate words died on her lips. There was desperation in her eyes as she turned away, pushing through the crowd. A few moments later she was lost to view.
I had watched her go in silence. I turned back to Grenwood. I no longer wanted to borrow money from him or talk to him about maybe taking on my paper at a discount. I felt that badly about his vicious behaviour. ‘That was ill-done, Grenwood, and harsh.’
‘Harsh?’ Grenwood snorted in contempt. ‘If you’re so concerned about her, go after her. No one’s going to make a fool of me.’ He pushed the dollymop aside in a sudden movement, stood up and leaned forward drunkenly, a vicious anger twisting his mouth. He faced me, knuckles on the table. ‘Are you criticizing me? Over a slut like that? Because let me tell you about our sweet little Harriet. Have no illusions. I’ve given her a good time for three months now, which is longer than I’d give most of her kind, but she was fun, she could hold her liquor better than most, and she was good in bed. But if she thinks she can come in here to touch me for money, she can think again. I’ve told her it’s over, and that’s enough. I won’t be embarrassed by a whore in front of my friends.’
‘She was distressed—’
‘Distressed be damned. It was an act. I know what it’s all about. She reckons she’s pregnant.’ He sneered at me. ‘And we’ve all heard that story before, haven’t we? She says she was a virgin when we met, and now she’s with child—’
‘The Immaculate Deception,’ Hilliard sniggered.
Grenwood whooped with laughter. ‘I can hardly claim that’s the case, the way I’ve been rogering her these last months! But when she came up with that old story, I gave her five pounds and told her to seek some other fool to dun. And then her thug of a brother comes complaining to me! I told him he could go to the devil! Pregnant be damned!’
He snorted indignantly. ‘It could be anyone’s. She’ll not convince me I’m the only man who’s been mounting her at night. She’s nothing but an amateur whore trying to step up market. But not with me, she won’t – not on my back!’
‘Nor on your front, either, hey, Grenwood?’ Crosier Hilliard laughed, and pulled the girl called Cissie closer to him. I looked at the two dollymops: they seemed somewhat sobered by the conversation, a little scared by the appearance of Harriet, a girl not too much different from themselves, and alarmed by the turn of the conversation. But they’d soon come round, I guessed: with two drunken gentlemen to wine and dine them, they would take what they could get, and then give what they had available in turn.
‘Stay on, James,’ Grenwood glowered, sitting down again, wrinkling his nose. He bared his teeth, half-regretting his outburst. ‘Look here, the evening’s young. Let’s talk, see what we can do about that damned Running Rein business. I tapped up my old man but—’
I shook my head. I’d had my fill of Grenwood that evening. ‘I’d better get Wilkins back to the Inn.’
I called for assistance from the waiters: they were well used to this kind of thing and two came forward immediately. When I finally managed with their help to get Charlie lurching out into the street he was barely able to stand. One of the waiters called to a waiting cabman outside the Adelphi Theatre: he cracked his whip and rattled forward, scattering the small knot of hopeful whores at the stage-door entrance. I pushed my drunken colleague into the hansom cab and he immediately collapsed in the corner and began to snore. I climbed in beside him. There was a smell of damp leather in the close darkness. ‘Serjeant’s Inn. Then on to the Inner Temple.’
As we clattered down into the darkness of Maiden Lane it began to rain, a fine light drizzle that thinned the clinging yellow mist, and I shuddered, drew my roquelaire more closely about me. It was an old cloak, and the style was going out of fashion. I’d have to get a new Chesterfield, I thought gloomily, as Wilkins belched, farted, and muttered incoherently in his stupor.
We reached the corner of Maiden Lane and turned towards the Strand. It was then that, in one of the doorways, head down, arms crossed over her breasts, huddling against the rain, I caught sight of a young woman. She was familiar; I wondered briefly whether it was Harriet, and I hesitated, was tempted to call on the driver to stop. But I made no move; then we were rumbling on and I sank back in his seat. It was Grenwood’s business, I told myself. It was not for me to interfere.
Looking back now, I realize that was a fateful error: if I had interfered, things might have been so very different, for her, and in the long run for me too. If I had stopped the cabman, got out, spoken to her, who knows but I might have taken a different path in my life? I doubt it, but who can tell?
We clattered and lurched on through the damp streets. I deposited Wilkins with the gate keeper at Serjeants Inn and went on in the hansom to my own chambers at Inner Temple Lane. I felt vaguely depressed. The fire had died. I shook out my cloak, took off my boots and settled into an armchair to partake of another brandy and water alone in my rooms before making my way to my lodgings on the floor above. I contemplated looking over the papers my clerk Villiers had prepared for me, but then discarded the dispiriting thought. There’d be time enough in the morning I lied to myself. After another brandy and water I went to my chamber.
I slept badly and when I woke it was still dark, perhaps four in the morning, and the feeling of depression was still with me. I drifted back into a semi-comatose state and finally rose, later than usual, groggy with snatched sleep; I was due in court at nine o’clock. Bewigged and gowned, I barely made it in time, clutching the unread brief papers that Villiers had prepared.
To my amazement, when I entered the Old Bailey I saw that Charles Wilkins was already there, bright-eyed
as a squirrel and beaming about him. He nodded a cheerful greeting to me and then, papers in hand, rose to his feet. He seemed completely unaffected by his night’s activities. He clapped his hand upon my shoulder. ‘An enjoyable evening, what I remember of it,’ he said, and winked. ‘I gather it was you who conducted me back to the Inn: you have my thanks.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘We must do it again some time.’ He looked about him. ‘Meanwhile, your clerk’s been looking for you.’
Sure enough, that scoundrel Villiers was standing near the door. He caught sight of me, hurried forward, apologized for missing me at my chambers. ‘Mr James, I need to speak to you. I’ve arranged an appointment for later this morning, at Mr Cockburn’s chambers.’
I raised my eyebrows. An appointment with one of the leading lights at the Bar? Alexander Cockburn, QC? ‘What’s Cockburn want with me?’
The collar of Villiers’ shirt was grubby. He fingered it in his usual obsequious fashion. ‘It’s the Running Rein business. As is commonly known, Colonel Peel has defaulted. Mr Ernest Wood has taken out a writ. It is reported that the case will come on in the Exchequer Court. The Solicitor General has been retained for Colonel Peel. Mr Cockburn has accepted the brief for Mr Wood.’
I can still remember the surge of anticipatory excitement that travelled through my veins. But I managed to retain my casual tone. ‘So?’
Villiers handed me a document, tied in pink string. ‘Mr Cockburn will naturally require a junior to support him. Mr Wood has requested that you be briefed.’
I stared at the writing on the face of the brief. The solicitors were identified as Bulstrode and Bulstrode from Exeter. But I also saw other names. Cockburn and James. A fine combination. And it would mean a fine fat fee.