by Anna King
‘Fancy a couple hours of bliss, ’Arry?’ Clara was back by his side, her eager painted face garish in the bright, over-hanging gas lamp.
Laughing loudly, Harry disentangled her arm. ‘Now then Clara, you know me better than that,’ he answered good naturedly. ‘I come here merely for the pleasure of the company, nothing more.’
‘’Ere, you ain’t one of them nancy boys are yer, ’Arry? Be a crying shame if yer was, a fine figure of a gentleman like yerself.’
‘Clara, how could you think such a thing?’ Harry said reproachfully, his eyes twinkling as he enjoyed the familiar repartée. Edging closer to his side the woman stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, ‘I could make yer ’appy, ’Arry. I knows what men like, and I wouldn’t charge yer, and yer’d be doing me a favour as well. It’s years since I ’ad a real man in me bed.’
‘Sorry, Clara, thanks all the same, but it’s time for me to leave. I’ll see you next week. Be good.’
The woman’s face fell, her eyes turning hard at the all too familiar rejection, then pulling her arm away she smiled tiredly, ‘Go on then, but I’ll get yer upstairs one of these days, ’Arry, I don’t give up easily.’ With a toss of her head she walked back to her friends.
Weaving his way through the tap-room Harry made for the door. He normally stayed longer, but the incident with the young girl had left a sour taste in his mouth. He wondered briefly where she would go, then dismissed her from his mind. Taking out his pocket watch he saw that it was nearly ten o’clock, plenty of time to get to his club and play a few hands of cards in the back room before returning home. His mind decided, he buttoned up his thick woollen coat and set off for the club.
* * *
Maggie walked along the cobbled road, her head hung dejectedly as she fought a silent war within herself. How could she have been so stupid? What on earth had possessed her to come here tonight when she knew deep down that she would never have gone through with it? The idea had seemed so easy back in the basement, but faced with the reality her nerve had quickly vanished. Her bolstered-up courage had lasted no longer than it had taken her to walk into the pub; it had only been the spectre of the workhouse that had enabled her to order a glass of ale and sit at the table by the wall. As she’d sipped the strange-tasting liquid she’d tried to keep her resolve, her mind forming questions such as how much should she ask? Where would she go to accomplish the deed, and most fearful of all, what was she supposed to do while the act was being performed? Would she be expected to participate or simply let the man get on with it? The more she thought about what she had planned to do, the more frightened she had become. And when those horrible women had ganged up on her she’d needed no second bidding to abandon her plans and flee.
God, she must had have a brainstorm to have even thought of such an idea. Things were desperate, but she could always apply for parish relief, even though it was next to nothing. Then there were the soup kitchens run by the Sally Army; this thought caused her to shiver with shame and quickly she pulled herself upright. Neither she nor her family could afford the luxury of pride, and when Mr Bates came for the rent tomorrow, she would make one last attempt and plead with him for an extra week, even though she knew it wasn’t up to him, but instead the faceless man or woman who owned the house she lived in. Hugging her shawl tighter around her chest she hurried on, ignoring the tears that were stinging her eyes. It was hopeless, there was no way they could survive without a wage coming into the house. The workhouse loomed before her eyes, causing her to stop in her tracks. The streets were her only chance of keeping herself and her family out of the grim building, but she couldn’t do it; she just couldn’t. The tears were falling freely now and as she stumbled into the darkness of the alleyway she failed to see the man waiting by the wall. The first she knew of his presence was a rough hand on her arm, and then she was being pulled into a narrow alley and thrown roughly against the brick wall.
‘How much?’ the man’s voice whispered urgently, his hands tugging at the buttons of her blouse. Stunned by the attack Maggie could only pull at the strange hands that were invading her breasts, her mouth opening and closing futilely as she tried to find her voice.
‘No, no, you’ve made a mistake, I’m not a pr—’
She got no further. Her skirt was suddenly pulled up and over her face muffling any sound she might have made. When the cold hands came into contact with her bare stomach she froze for a moment, then as if coming out of a stupor she began to fight the unknown stranger. Her hands clenched into tight fists she pounded the man’s head and shoulders while trying to move her legs in an attempt to kick out at the man’s shins, but he had her pinned firmly against the wall. The cold night air hit her exposed body and then she felt the pain as the man invaded her body. She tried to scream but the heavy skirt muffled any sound she may have made. As the pain became more intense she thrashed about wildly, but the more she struggled the more excited the man became. And then mercifully it was over, and with a soft moan she slid silently down the wall and onto the cold, dirty pathway. She sensed rather than saw the man bend down towards her, then her fingers were prised apart and the unmistakeable feel of money pressed into her palm.
‘I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought… I thought you were looking for… for a customer. Oh, God, I’m sorry…’
Maggie heard the mumbled apology through a mist of pain, but kept her eyes firmly shut. Only when she heard the footsteps hurry away did she open them, her gaze concentrating on the dim coins nestling in her outstretched hand. The coldness of the ground was seeping through her clothes and with all the effort she could muster she rose shakily to her feet.
The sound of footsteps approaching hastened her effort, and when she felt her arm grabbed for the second time that night she didn’t hesitate. Opening her mouth wide she went to let out a loud scream, a scream that was cut off by a hand being placed gently but firmly over her lips.
‘Shush, it’s all right, don’t be frightened. I’m not going to hurt you.’
The alley was situated between the two lamp-posts that lined both ends of the street, their pale light showing the dim outline of the man beside her. Her heart was beating so wildly she thought it must surely burst from her chest. The man was still talking although his head was turned in the direction of her assailant.
Harry peered into the gloom. He had seen the man run off and had wondered at his haste. Now he squinted as if to see him better. As the man reached the lamppost at the end of the road Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. It couldn’t be, not Hugh. No, of course it wasn’t, there must be hundreds of men with that colour hair, his mind was playing tricks on him.
Turning his attention back to the girl he gently removed his hand, and his voice pitched low, he said kindly, ‘He’s gone, are you all right? Did he hurt you?’ The violent trembling of the slight body answered his question, and moving away, he screwed up his eyes as if to see her better.
‘You were in the pub, weren’t you? Just a little while back, before Clara and her cronies set about you.’ He saw the head nod silently and wondered what to do now. He had assured himself she was all right; there was nothing more he could do for her – by the look of it the damage had already been done. Yet he was loath to leave her standing here alone. That maniac the papers had daubed ‘The Ripper’ was still at large, and even though he hadn’t struck for over a year, who could tell when he might return to the back streets of the East End. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight unless he knew she had reached home safely, he took hold of her arm, his face twisting with compassion as he felt her flinch under his touch.
‘It’s all right, I intend you no harm, I just want to see you get home safely. Now come along, I’ll find you a cab.’
‘I don’t have money to waste on a cab.’ The words were spoken so low he had to strain in order to hear her properly.
‘Don’t worry about the money. I’m on my way to Piccadilly, you can ride with me. If you tell me where you liv
e, I can get the cab driver to let you off on the way.’
Maggie looked at the man in astonishment. Why on earth would a gentleman like him be worried about her welfare unless he was after something?
Moving away from him she answered stiffly, ‘Bethnal Green, but I can make my own way home, thanks all the same.’
‘Don’t be a fool!’ The man’s voice had risen. ‘You don’t know who may be waiting to jump out on you. You don’t want another repetition, do you?’
Did she want a repetition? God, no. She never wanted to feel a man’s hand on her ever again. Anxious to get away she began to walk on, then stopped as her foot came into contact with something lying in her path, and without thinking she stooped to pick it up.
‘What have you found?’ Harry asked curiously.
Not trusting herself to speak she held out her hand, revealing the brown leather wallet she held between her fingers. Even in the gloom of the street Harry recognised the wallet, and felt his stomach contract painfully. It was the one he had given Hugh for Christmas; he could just make out the fancy initials set in gold lettering on the flap of the wallet. So it had been Hugh he’d seen running away. But why? What in God’s name had brought his young brother to this part of London. Had he taken a leaf out of Bella’s book and taken to following him. No, he shook his head, that wasn’t it; then why?
The girl was walking away from him, her movements stiff as if she were in pain and again he shook his head. Hugh would never deliberately hurt anyone. Oh, Lord, Lord, what should he do? His first impulse was to race home and confront his brother, but he dismissed this idea. Firstly he would have to explain what he himself had been doing in the area, and secondly, his brother was no longer a young boy to be chastised for his actions. And it wasn’t as if he had pounced on some unsuspecting young lady out for a stroll in Hyde Park. Quickening his step he caught up with the girl as she passed under the lamp-post, the bright light illuminating the warm brown colour of her hair as it fell in curls over her shoulders and back. Careful not to alarm her, he gently placed his hands on both her arms and pulled her round to face him. The warm brown eyes he had first seen in the pub stared up at him, still defiant in spite of the tears that glistened on the black eyelashes.
Clearing his throat he said softly, ‘I’m sorry for what happened to you, but you must have known what you were walking into when you came down here; why did you come if you weren’t prepared to… to…’ His voice trailed off, not knowing quite what to say next.
Maggie gulped noisily, then dashing away the tears with the back of her hand, she shouted angrily, ‘Look, mister, I don’t know who you are or why you’re so bothered about me but seeing as you’re so interested I’ll tell you. I’ve got a brother and sister at home depending on me to look after them, but I can’t look after them any more because I can’t find any work. We’re cold and hungry and behind with the rent. If I don’t pay it by tomorrow we’ll be thrown out into the street, and from there it’s only a short step to the workhouse.’ Her chest heaving with anger, she glared at the well-dressed man who looked as if he’d never done a day’s work in his life.
‘But what would you know about being hungry and cold,’ she carried on bitterly. ‘You come here from your big houses to do a bit of slumming, and once you’ve had your fill you go back to your comfy beds with servants to wait on you hand and foot. People like you never have to worry about where the next meal is coming from, or if you’ll have enough coal to keep you warm – you just take it all for granted. Well, some of us aren’t that lucky, some of us have to sell whatever we can just to keep alive for one more day, and when there’s nothing left to sell we end up in a place like this. So, now you know why I came here, only, only I changed my mind, I… I couldn’t go through with it. I was about to leave the pub when those horrible women started on me, and then, just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, that man grabbed me. I tried to… to tell him I wasn’t on the game, but he wouldn’t listen to me.’
Her voice broke, and she would have fallen if Harry hadn’t grabbed hold of her.
Fighting down the impulse to gather her into his arms he carefully held her away from him and said soothingly, ‘I’m sorry, truly I am, but what’s done is done. Now, please let me see you home safely, your family will be waiting for you.’ Her body totally drained, Maggie allowed herself to be led from the alley and into the main road.
Minutes later she was sitting for the first time in a hansom cab, but the experience meant nothing to her. Her body rigid, she sat stiffly on the edge of the red leather seat, her eyes averted from the man sitting opposite her. Watching her, Harry wondered how much Hugh had paid the girl. Whatever the amount, it wasn’t enough. Opening the flap of the wallet he held in his hand he extracted the four white £5 notes and folded them in a small square. When the cab drew up outside the address she had given him, he alighted quickly and helped her down from the carriage.
‘It’s none of my business, but I hope you’ll never find it necessary to visit the Black Swan again,’ he said quietly. His gaze dropped to her tightly clenched fist and taking hold of her other hand he pressed the wad of notes into her palm together with a gold-printed card.
‘This is my card. If ever you need a friend, please don’t hesitate to call upon me.’ The moment the words were out of his mouth he cursed himself for a fool. He didn’t know the girl; for all he knew she could be the sort who would cause trouble – but he didn’t think so. Also he felt in a way responsible for her, seeing it was his brother who had brought her to this pass. Bowing slightly from the waist he left her standing on the pavement and climbed back into the carriage.
Lord, what a night, and how he was going to face Hugh knowing what he did he couldn’t imagine. Closing his eyes wearily he tried to rest but the image of a pair of brown eyes kept floating in front of his eyelids. With an impatient ‘tut’ he sat upright and shook his head. The girl had made an impression on him, but now he must put her out of his mind. Their paths would never cross again; it had been mere chance that they had met tonight. The knowledge that he had seen the last of the girl should have been met with relief; so why then did he feel so despondent? All at once the prospect of an evening spent playing cards lost its appeal, and banging on the roof of the cab he ordered the cab driver to change direction and take him to the house in Bow.
Nine
Maggie stood and watched until the hansom cab disappeared from sight, then turning slowly she walked stiffly to the basement railings and leant against the black iron bars. Her initial shock had faded to be replaced by a feeling of lethargy and a curious sense of unreality. It was as if she had somehow climbed out of her body and was looking down at herself from a great height. She knew she should make an effort to move, but the cocoon her mind had created to block out the events of the evening was so comforting she was reluctant to break free from its grasp. The icy February wind swirled round her body, cutting through her clothes, and with an involuntary shiver she came back to her senses. As if coming out of a deep sleep she shuddered, wondering if she had imagined the whole thing. Then she felt the dull ache between her legs and the warmth of the coins in her palm and knew with shameful certainty that it had been no dream.
The card she held in her other hand was scratching her skin, and her first instinct was to throw it into the gutter along with the wad of paper that accompanied it. The man, whoever he was, was probably already regretting his rash impulse, but what was the wad of paper for? Maybe he had written her a love letter on the journey home. She gave a soft hiccup of a laugh and thrust the card and paper into her pocket, she couldn’t be bothered to look at it now, all she wanted to do at the moment was to crawl into bed and try to lose all memory of the past hours in sleep. But she couldn’t get into bed with Liz and Charlie, not now, not after what she’d done. She felt dirty, inside and out, she felt dirty. If only she could climb into a hot, soapy bath and stay there indefinitely, but no amount of scrubbing would ever make her feel clean again. Another shudde
r shook her body, and pulling her shawl tighter she reluctantly descended the basement stairs. Careful not to make any noise she crept across the darkened room towards the sofa but before she could reach her goal the sound of a match being struck brought her to a startled halt, the flickering light revealing Liz sitting in the armchair, her face set and accusing.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ she demanded. ‘You’ve been gone for over two hours. What’ve you been up to?’
‘L… Liz, what are you doing up. I… I thought you were asleep.’ Maggie stuttered nervously as she frantically sought a plausible excuse for her absence.
‘Never mind about me, I asked you a question,’ Liz shot back sharply. The match she was holding went out, plunging the room once more into total darkness. Cursing softly she groped for the matchbox on the floor giving Maggie a few precious moments to compose herself. She heard Liz move from the chair and when the half-used candle on the mantel shelf spurted a weak flame she was ready with her story.
‘I couldn’t settle so I went for a walk, you know, to try and sort things out in my head. And… and while I was out, I asked in a couple of pubs to see if they needed any help. I didn’t have any luck around here, so I went down to Whitechapel and I got set on for a couple of hours. One of the barmaids hadn’t come into work and… and the landlord, he said I could stand in for her. Just for tonight, like. That’s where I’ve been, and look, Liz, he paid me straight away, see…’ Her whole body was trembling now as she stumbled over the lie, and without stopping to think she opened her shaking hand to show Liz the money.
Too late she realised her mistake, for there nestling in her palm lay three golden guineas. The shock at seeing such a vast amount knocked the wind from her body. Since the moment the money had been placed there, she had kept her hand tightly shut, not wanting to look at the price she’d paid for the degrading act she’d been forced to endure. A far corner of her mind had imagined the coins to be florins, or maybe half-crowns, but never guineas. In normal circumstances she would have recognised the contents of her hand simply by the feel of the coins, but the money hadn’t been put there in normal circumstances. She felt the colour drain from her face and tried to close her hand, but she was too late.