by E M Jones
“Good evening, ma’am.”
She was handed from the footman to another servant, who led her along hallways lined with portraits of the Glynne family. Lizzie felt as if all of Sir Glynne’s ancestors were assessing her suitability as his mistress. Their eyes tested her, following her down the corridor with knowing stares: they knew her type and her trade. Would she compare favourably with the generations of women who had served the Glynne family?
The rugs along the hallways seemed to weigh her and evaluate her gait; the brasses searched her distorted reflection for blemishes, and the crystals of chandeliers manoeuvred their light to expose her flaws. The servant walked wordlessly, allowing the hall to question Lizzie.
After a walk long enough that Lizzie was sure she would soon be home, the servant opened a door to the right. “Please take a seat in here.”
Lizzie did as she was asked.
The room was small and would have been cosy were it not so resonant with wealth. There was a fire in a small grate and leather armchairs hooded by woollen blankets. The light was low, and the flames from the grate flicked occasionally, tilting shadows before righting them again.
Lizzie walked slowly towards one of the armchairs. The walls here were lined with pictures as well, but Lizzie could not see if they contained further peering relatives. As she turned to sit, all she could see were dark rectangles on the wooden walls. The rectangles could see her, and she tried not to fidget.
In an odd state of anticipatory calm, she watched the fire, hearing nothing but the odd crackle of disintegrating wood.
“Good evening, you must be Lizzie.”
He had approached her silently, as if always a part of the room.
Lizzie looked up. The lights dancing in her eyes from staring at the fire cleared to reveal a peer of the realm.
“Good evening, sir.” she rushed to stand, awkwardly, and attempted to smooth her dress, pat her hair and offer her hand in greeting at the same time. The feat was beyond her two hands, so she removed her hand from her head and stood with her arms by her sides as if awaiting inspection.
“I am Sir Glynne, but please, call me George. Please, sit down.”
“Thank you.”
“This is my private parlour. Where I come to escape the world. Do you like it?”
“I do. It’s very quiet here. You have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you. I like to fill it with beautiful things that bring me pleasure; Mrs Henry has assured me that you are such—a quiet beauty. And indeed, you seem to be.”
Lizzie recognised a conduit into the main purpose of her business whether she heard one in a grand hall or a filthy alleyway, and followed her master’s lead. “I hope so. I hope I am able to bring you pleasure, George.”
She looked across at Sir Glynne, and hoped that her disguise was working, and that she could perform as well as Dina had.
***
Lizzie almost fell asleep as the carriage carried her back home. Sir Glynne had not been unkind. He was clear in his role as master and demanded a service to meet his requirements. He was no different to any other in that.
A rock on the road jolted Lizzie, and the carriage stopped. The same footman with the same expressionless face guided her down and out.
“Good night, ma’am.”
“Good night.”
Myth-like, the carriage was gone, and Lizzie turned towards the house.
“Lizzie.”
She leapt into the air like a stung mule.
“It’s alright, it’s me.”
Lizzie returned to the ground and turned in fury. “Ted! What are you doing?”
“Checking that you’re safe. Where have you been? Whose was that carriage?”
Lizzie forced her heart to beat more slowly and her mind to consider its response before speaking. “I can’t talk to you about where I’ve been working. It was just a customer.”
“A rich one.”
“Yes, a rich one.”
Ted and Lizzie stared at each other, each defying the other to ask more of their relationship.
“Well, I’m glad you’re safe. I was getting worried.”
“Thank you, Ted. I don’t need a chaperone. I know what I’m doing.”
“I’m sure the girls who were killed all thought that too. I’m sure Dina did. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
Lizzie swallowed tears of exhaustion. “Thank you. I’m tired—I’m going to go in now.”
“Will I see you tomorrow?”
Lizzie reconsidered her instinctive response. “I don’t know, Ted. I don’t know. Good night.”
26
“Shh, sh. You’ll be alright.”
Lizzie peered into Mary’s room. Mary sat deflated on her bed, leaning against Charlie. Charlie stroked her hair like a mother caring for a little girl who had fallen and grazed her knee. Tears made their way steadily down Mary’s cheeks, and Charlie wiped them away.
“Shh, sh.” Charlie stroked Mary’s hair in time to her weeping, as if lulling her out of her sadness.
Lizzie intruded upon the two. “What’s wrong?”
They looked up. Charlie gave a knowing, sad smile, and Mary cried a little louder. Charlie stroked her head and her tears, unconsciously settled in her maternal role.
Mary’s face was turned towards Lizzie enough to reveal a large, raised, red area around her eye. Scratches ran along one of Mary’s arms. Lizzie nodded silently at Charlie and left the room.
“Shh, sh.”
Mary was stilled in Charlie’s rhythmic comfort. Lizzie stepped almost silently back into the room and tiptoed closer to Mary without breaking Charlie’s soft sound.
“I’m just going to clean you up a bit. If it hurts, just scream or squeeze Charlie’s hand.”
Mary nodded in consent. Lizzie wrung her cloth and drew it slowly over the scratches along Mary’s arm. Most of the marks were not deep, and the flesh either side of the scratch was already raising itself to repair the damage and cover over the wound. Lizzie washed the arm, then concentrated on the two scratches that had made their way deeper into Mary’s soft skin. They seemed to have been made by someone’s nails, and in one area they had dug deep. This area would remain marked, Lizzie imagined, a little bit of Mary that would not quite return to its old self.
Once Mary’s arms were clean, the red scratches looked like a child’s scribble.
“Now, can you sit up so I can wash your face?”
Mary nodded and lifted her head from Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie moved closer to Mary to support her upright sitting position. Lizzie drew her cloth around Mary’s eye and then down over her cheek. Mary’s flesh was livid. Her eye had retreated into her cheek for protection, and her flesh had risen around it. The blood throbbed angrily through the mound around Mary’s eye and was deepening purple. Lizzie’s gentle motion contrasted with the angry pulsing beneath Mary’s skin.
“There, it can heal now.”
Mary slumped back onto Charlie, who took the young girl back in her embrace.
“Are you hurt anywhere else, Mary?” Lizzie asked.
Mary shook her head.
“It’s happened to us all, Mary. You’ll get better.”
Lizzie’s platitudes seemed to have no effect on Mary, who remained hidden underneath Charlie’s arm. Charlie rocked her a little and then propped her into a sitting position.
“Lizzie’s right. You’ll get the hang of this.” Mary’s head drooped in defeat as Charlie continued. “My lady friend has been known to get a bit overexcited and knock me about here and there. Lizzie’s had to clean me up before today as well.” Charlie’s jocular conversation gained no response. “And even Lizzie. She’s as proper as they come, and she’s been up to some antics that led to a few bruises the other night. She may not look like much of a bruiser, but catch her on the right night and she’ll give any buxom girl a run for her money!”
Mary looked up and forced a smile, but the contracting of her swollen cheek turned into a wince. “Does it happen a
lot?”
Lizzie and Charlie’s eyes met, and Charlie took up the answer. “It can do. Some bastards just want to hurt us. That’s what excites them; it makes them feel good. You learn to see them when they’re coming. You get tall ones and small ones and fat ones. They come rich and poor. It’s not about what they look like—it’s what they’re after. It’s like Lizzie was saying the other day about Arthur. They are the ones who don’t have power and want it. They’re the men nobody takes any notice of, and when they meet us, they have a chance to be in control, to be a big man who can beat a small woman. But they won’t bloody beat us. Don’t let them.”
Anger hung in the room briefly and was then dissolved by Mary’s quiet voice. “How do you learn to see it before it’s too late?”
“You get a feeling about a customer.” Lizzie took over from Charlie, who remained staring at the door of Mary’s room. “That they’re too eager to get you away from other people. Often the rich ones order everyone around and think their money means that they can do anything they want. Sometimes it just doesn’t feel right. And you just try to get away before you’re stuck with them. Get back to a music hall or a tavern, anywhere there’s lots of people. At The Alhambra, Johnny will always help you.”
Charlie awoke from her reverie. “Yes, Johnny looks after us all, and we look after each other, Mary. Don’t go out by yourself for a bit. Stick with us. And we still get it wrong—Lizzie and me have both had a wallop or two these last few weeks, and we’ve been at this a long time.”
“And Dina.” Mary looked up at the more experienced women.
“And Dina.”
“Girls!” A cloud stood in the doorway, shading the three young women. “Girls. Here you are. I thought you were all asleep, and me here trying to run a house of repute.” The cloud waddled into the room, allowing strobes of light to dash in between its bulk. “We’ll need to prepare the parlour today for the season. I’m getting too old to do this all myself, and you girls should be up and busy. In my day, the mistress of the house would sit and bark orders at us, and we would run to fetch wine for her as well as keeping a tidy house and working all night. You young girls have no idea how easy things are for you—you sit up here gossiping while I try to make this a nice place for us all to…”
A flash of light had escaped past Mrs Henry’s hip and beamed onto Mary’s face. The old woman breathed heavily, and for a moment, Lizzie thought she was simply catching her breath.
Mrs Henry took a few more purposeful breaths and then looked from Charlie to Lizzie. “Mary, dear. What happened?”
“Nothing to worry about, Mrs Henry.” Mary successfully raised the tone of her voice to an unworried transience. “Just a difficult evening.”
“Oh, my dear. Are you alright?”
“I am, Mrs Henry. The odd bruise, but I’ll be fine.”
“Oh, I do tell you to be careful—don’t I, Charlie? I always tell you to be careful.”
“You do, Mrs H. And we are. Sometimes these things happen. But Lizzie and me have seen to Mary, and she’ll be right as rain in no time.” Charlie patted Mary’s knee and gave her a tender smile.
“Oh good.” Mrs Henry turned towards Lizzie like a ringmaster. “Lizzie, how was your evening?”
Lizzie turned away from Mary and stared blankly at the old woman. “Oh! My evening. I think it went well.”
“Did Sir Glynne enjoy your company?”
“I think so. I hope so. I did my best.”
The old woman’s face scrunched in displeasure, causing her eyes and mouth to disappear almost entirely. “Were you and he drowning in luxurious entertainment in his grand hall? Did he make a further arrangement to meet you?”
“Um. His home is very luxurious. I think he enjoys a bit of peace and quiet from time to time. He didn’t ask me to come again. I came back here, and his servants didn’t mention anything.”
Mrs Henry huffed and struck her arms down like an angry toddler. “Lizzie! Peace and quiet! He is a peer of the realm. We must show that we are glamorous and charming, as alluring as any women in London. You should have made a further arrangement before you left. You cannot expect a peer of the realm to chase you around London like a common customer!”
Lizzie looked to Charlie for support.
Charlie rose from the bed and took Mrs Henry by her arm. “The thing is, Mrs H, Lizzie comes across as a bit more demure than some of us. Had she invited herself round, she thought Sir Glynne would think her common and vulgar, having no manners, if you see what I mean. So she thought best to stick to her place as a servant of Sir Glynne and let him be the one with all the power—you know, like the great man that he is.”
Mrs Henry nodded through Charlie’s explanation of Lizzie’s actions. “You have a point. But demure will only get you so far in our business. Every house in London wants the invitation that was delivered to you, Lizzie. Dina before you held her place as Sir Glynne’s paramour against all the other women who sought him out. You need to do the same now. Well, we must wait and see then.”
“Yes, Mrs Henry. I hope that I did enough.”
“Me too, Lizzie. Right, well, we can’t sit here waiting for him to call. Girls, we need to prepare the house.”
All three young women stood to attention in front of their mistress.
“Lizzie and Mary, you polish the china and the brasses. Charlie, beat the rugs and curtains and dust the wood. Don’t you dare go anywhere near my china!”
“I wouldn’t dare, Mrs H. I’ll leave that to the more delicate hands in our house. I’ll be out in the yard.”
“Indeed, Charlie—at least you can’t break anything there. Right, girls, downstairs. Our customers will return soon and will want our delightful company.”
27
“Evening, all.”
Johnny raised his eyebrows at Charlie, who mimicked a punch to her own eye behind Mary, which turned into a twirl with a flourish that seemed to communicate that she would see Johnny later in the evening to explain.
The three young women looked up and smiled at Johnny.
His own usual smile filled his face. “Quiet here tonight, girls. See how you go; it might be worth trying somewhere else.”
Lizzie looked inside The Alhambra and saw Johnny was right. The air was uncharacteristically clear; she could make out the bar in full from the archway between the entrance hall and main auditorium. Music played uninterrupted by the yelling of those intoxicated by The Alhambra’s microclimate. Half the tables were empty, with tatty chairs scattered around sulking. Other young women stood at the bar and on the edges of the populated tables. They wallowed in rejection like teenagers stood up by their sweethearts.
“Shall we give it a go for a bit?” Charlie had moved to stand beside Lizzie.
“Yes, we may as well.”
“You never know, we might even have a little bit of a rest. It wouldn’t do her any harm.” Charlie gestured maternally towards Mary, and Lizzie nodded.
“Come on, let’s have a sit down at the bar.” Charlie put her hand gently through Mary’s arm as if she might receive an electric shock if she made contact with Mary’s flesh, and guided her towards the bar. “Drink, Mary?”
Mary looked at Charlie as if at a stranger. “No. No thanks.”
“Come on, I’ll get you some wine—it’ll do you the world of good.”
Charlie hopped towards the bar, and Lizzie lowered herself next to Mary. The young woman had shrunk; her shoulder no longer met Lizzie’s, and she seemed to be trying to retreat through her seat and disappear.
“Mary.” Lizzie took Mary’s hand. “You’re going to be alright. Tonight will be hard, and then tomorrow night will be easier, and the next one easier again. You have to keep going.”
Lizzie squeezed Mary’s hand and was repaid with an unconvincing smile.
“There.” Charlie plonked herself between Lizzie and Mary, closing their triangle. “Three cups of wine for three fair maidens. What did I miss?”
“Thanks, Charlie. Nothing muc
h. I was just telling Mary that things get easier.” Lizzie nodded towards Mary and squeezed her hand again.
“They do. Look at Lizzie and me, Mary. We’ve been around town and had a few knocks, and here we are, enjoying a drink and having a sit down. And Lizzie’s even courting the aristocracy! I’m still courting the odd and desperate, but that’s alright—we understand each other. Come on, drink some wine.”
Mary took a glug from her cup, and her other cheek reddened to meet her bruise.
“Looks like we’ll need a plan B tonight.” Charlie placed her glass on the table decisively. “Any ideas, Lizzie?”
“Piccadilly?”
Silence met Lizzie’s response.
“I don’t know why it’s so quiet. Everybody should be coming back to London now.” Lizzie looked around as she spoke, as if she might find the usual customers hidden in The Alhambra’s nooks and crannies.
“Maybe they’ve had enough of us.”
“Of you, Charlie? Never!”
Mary smiled and fell into listening to the jovial sparing between Charlie and Lizzie.
“Right, well, speaking of not having enough of me, I need to pop and see Johnny—I’ll be back with some more wine in a minute.”
Charlie leapt from her seat like a colt and sprang towards the doorway. Lizzie watched Johnny’s large frame lean over Charlie as he listened to her. Charlie’s dramatic punches failed to make contact with Johnny’s nose as her slight, agile arms reached into the air. Charlie fitted inside the arch of his body, like a fairy inside an old oak tree. As she stomped around the entrance hall of The Alhambra like a monster, Lizzie could see that Charlie had reached the part of her tale where Mrs Henry had come into Mary’s room that morning.
Charlie was swaying her bent legs like a tribal dancer when Beatrix tapped her on the shoulder. Charlie and Johnny reddened, then Charlie bowed with a flourish and a quip that left Beatrix and her companions giggling and gave Johnny an opportunity to turn away and consider the hinge of the front door. Beatrix held Charlie’s hand and pulled her into the music hall again.
“She’s brilliant.” Mary spoke quietly and nodded towards Charlie.