by Dilly Court
She took a deep breath of frosty air, ignoring the stench of boiled cabbage that wafted from the basement kitchen of the adjoining house and the unmistakeable odour of cat’s piss that made her eyes water. Nothing could spoil this moment. It had been all too easy. She was free and it felt wonderful, but as she stepped out with long masculine strides she remembered that there were some drawbacks to wearing breeches: the coarse material chafed the soft skin of her inner thighs, but it was a small price to pay for regaining her liberty, even if it was only temporary. Her first stop was to be Newgate prison, and she cut through a narrow passage between the houses which led from the mews into Love Lane. She walked at a brisk pace, adding a slight swagger to her gait just for the fun of it. She went unrecognised by those in Wood Street who would have known and greeted Irene Angel, and she made her way to Cheapside. No one seemed to be interested in a shabbily dressed youth; she might as well have been invisible. It was most encouraging.
She hurried along Newgate Street, which was little more than a lane that ran beneath the grim smoke-blackened walls of the prison, and she threaded her way between market stalls selling anything and everything from potatoes to silver plate. Judging by the villainous-looking characters who hung around the place, a great many of the items on the stalls were stolen property. The whole area had the sordid atmosphere of a lawless twilight world just beyond the reach of the Court House in Old Bailey. Irene would not normally have set foot in this place, but in her male guise she felt supremely confident and unafraid. The only person who accosted her was a snot-nosed urchin who accused her of stealing his pitch when she stopped for a moment to get her bearings. He shoved his grubby face close to hers, and the smell of his unwashed body made her want to retch. She was not in the mood for arguing and she pushed him out of the way, receiving a mouthful of foul invective that seemed to impress one of the costermongers who tossed the boy an apple.
Irene hurried on past the debtor’s door where public hangings took place with depressing regularity. These never failed to attract huge crowds of spectators who, she had been informed on good authority, watched the gruesome spectacle as if it were a sport akin to bear baiting or cock fighting. There were those who actually paid huge sums to watch the grisly proceedings from upper windows in the prison itself. Irene had never wanted to see such dreadful sights but no one could live in the city without being aware of what was happening on their doorstep.
She made her way to the main gate and rang the bell. A small hatch in the door flew open and a gaunt, unshaven face peered out at her. ‘What’s your business here?’
Irene lowered her voice to what she hoped was a more masculine tone. ‘I want to visit a prisoner.’
‘No visits allowed.’ The voice was firm, but the beady eyes stared out at her as if expecting something in return for this information. She had no money with which to bribe the screw and so she tried another tack.
‘If you please, mister. You got me dad in there and us twelve children is close to starving. Let me see him just for one minute, please.’
‘Can’t be done. Clear off.’
‘I would pay you, but I ain’t got no money.’ A sudden idea flashed into her mind and Irene moved closer to the grille. ‘I knows Vic and Wally Sykes. They’ll see you right if you’ll turn a blind eye and let me in.’
‘I am an officer of the law and not open to bribes,’ the man said stiffly, but Irene was quick to note a sly look flicker across his face.
‘Vic and Wally think the world of me dad,’ Irene said, pressing home her advantage.
‘I’m known for me tender heart, young ’un, and I might just be persuaded to pass a message to your dad. What’s his moniker?’
‘Billy Angel, guv. He shouldn’t be in prison. He ain’t no criminal.’
‘They never are, boy. What’s the message?’
‘We want to know if he’s been up before the beak, and if he has then how long is he in for?’
‘You say that he’s a mate of the Sykes brothers?’
Irene nodded her head emphatically. There had to be some advantage in Pa’s mixing with notorious criminals.
‘What’s your name then, boy? I need to know it if I’m going to speak to your dad.’
‘It’s Jim.’
‘Wait here, Jim.’ The hatch snapped shut and there was nothing that Irene could do other than wait and hope that the screw kept his word. It was cold and getting colder. Above her the sky was the same granite-grey as the prison walls and a bitter wind was blowing from the north, threatening snow. She stamped her feet and cupped her hands over her mouth, breathing on her fingers in an attempt to keep them warm. She had no idea of the time, but the wait seemed like hours rather than minutes as she paced up and down outside the prison gates. She had just about given up when the hatch flew open and the same pair of beady eyes peered at her through the grille. ‘Come here, boy.’
Obediently she moved closer. ‘You’ve spoken to me dad?’
‘He don’t seem too fond of you. He went quite pale when I spoke your name and he said you was a great disappointment to him, but you was to take care of your ma and sisters since he’s going to be in here for the next six years. Now clear off. I’ve done me bit.’
Shocked to the core by this harsh sentence, Irene walked away, barely knowing where she was headed. How would she break the news to Ma and Emmie she was at a loss to know. Perhaps it would be better to keep this piece of information to herself as it would only upset them, and if they realised that she had been roaming the streets dressed as a boy there would quite literally be hell to pay. There was nothing for it; she had to get back into the house unseen and keep her own counsel. With her head down, Irene pushed and shoved with the rest of the crowds in Newgate market, ignoring angry accusations that she had jostled a fat woman or had trodden on someone’s big toe.
When she reached the corner of Wood Street she saw Yapp standing on the pavement outside the pickle shop. He was hammering on the door and shouting. She could not hear his exact words, but he was obviously extremely angry. She caught sight of Danny standing in the road, holding the horse’s reins, and she crossed the street to speak to him. ‘Hello, Danny.’
He stared at her, uncomprehending.
‘Don’t make a fuss, but it’s me – Irene.’
He stared at her for a moment and then his face cracked into a grin. ‘Miss Irene, what are you doing dressed up like that?’
‘It’s a long story and I don’t want Yapp to recognise me.’ She glanced over her shoulder, but Yapp was fully occupied in his attack on the shop door. ‘Why is he banging on the door like a madman? He must know we aren’t there any more.’
Danny eyed Yapp nervously. ‘Of course he does, miss. He’s making out you owe him money so that he can reclaim the stock to cover the money he says you owes him.’
‘But I paid him in advance, you know that.’
‘He’d skin me alive if I was to say anything. I can’t afford to lose me job.’
‘I understand, Danny.’ Irene laid her hand on his arm with a sympathetic smile.
He eyed her curiously. ‘But the outfit, miss. Why?’
‘It’s a long story and it would take too long to go into it now, but I want you to do something for me, Danny.’
‘Just name it, miss.’
‘I believe that you live next door to Alice Kent.’
‘I do,’ Danny said, his eyes widening with surprise. ‘I didn’t know you was friends with Alice.’
‘Will you give her a message from me? Tell her that I am very sorry for leaving so abruptly, and that I am safe.’
‘I’ll do that, of course I will, but supposing she wants to send you a message? Where will I find you?’
‘At my sister’s home in Love Lane,’ Irene whispered. ‘Josiah Tippet’s house. Anyone will direct you there.’
‘You can trust me. I’d do anything for you, miss,’ Danny said, blushing.
Irene resisted the temptation to plant a kiss on his freckled face, and in
stead she gave him a hearty slap on the back before hurrying off in the direction of Love Lane.
She arrived in the mews just as the poulterer’s boy was delivering a tray of game. Leaning nonchalantly against the railings of the adjoining property Irene waited her chance, and when the boy had left she slipped into the house unnoticed. Judging by the sound of raised voices emanating from the kitchen, Cook harboured suspicions that the purveyor of game and poultry had short-changed them. She could hear Jessie’s plaintive voice protesting that it was not her fault, followed by the slap of a hand connecting to soft flesh and a loud howl. Poor Jessie, Irene thought as she ran up the stairs two at a time. No wonder she was a surly little beast if that was the way she was treated.
As she changed back into the clothes donated by Emmie, Irene thought long and hard about what she would do next. She must find a way to earn her own living, but the drudgery of service in a household such as this was less than appealing. She did not have a good enough education to teach in a school or to put herself up as a governess, and her lack of experience with small children made it unlikely that anyone would employ her as a nanny. She could, perhaps, get a job serving in a shop, but that would not provide her with the necessary accommodation. She toyed with the idea of working in the blacking factory or picking oakum or even washing bottles in the brewery, but again she would have nowhere to live. Josiah would be so thunderstruck by the notion of his sister-in-law doing menial work that she would never be allowed over the threshold again. She sat down at the dressing table and brushed her hair until it glinted with golden lights. She studied her features critically and sighed. She was fair enough, but hardly a ravishing beauty. If her face was not her fortune then she would have to live by her wits. She sighed as she coiled her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, securing it with the tortoiseshell combs.
The knowledge that Pa was to be locked up for six years hung over her like one of the potbellied snow clouds that she could see from her window. Ma and Emmie would find out in time, of course, but for now it was best that they remained ignorant of the truth. She had not a hope of raising enough money to pay a lawyer to appeal against the sentence, and the only person in authority who knew that Billy Angel was not a member of the Sykes gang was Inspector Edward Kent. Hell would freeze over before she would beg him for help.
* * *
The threatened snow began to fall in earnest that evening and it continued night and day for a fortnight. Irene found herself virtually a prisoner in her sister’s home. Ma and Emmie would not venture out for fear of slipping on the icy pavements or catching a chill in the bitter cold. Irene had to content herself with remaining indoors and occupying her time as best she could. She found a sudden interest in reading, and when she tired of listening to her mother and sister chattering endlessly about the baby she would retire to her room and curl up on the bed with a novel. Josiah had filled his study with books bought by the yard, but on the shelves Irene found volumes by Jane Austen, Mrs Gaskell and Charles Dickens, which she devoured avidly. These stories opened up a whole new world to her, far removed from selling pickles in Wood Lane or the seedy gaming establishments that Pa used to frequent. Reading made life just a little less dreary, and enabled her to put a brave face on dull mealtimes with Josiah presiding at the head of the table and Ephraim watching her, ready to draw attention to any lapse in her manners. Erasmus rarely ate with the family and even managed to time his breakfast so that everyone else had long finished and his father and brother had already left for the emporium.
‘How do you get away with it?’ Irene asked one morning when he bowled into the dining room just as she was about to leave.
He paused with a silver serving spoon hovering over the last of the devilled kidneys in the salver. ‘Get away with what, my dear Aunt-in-law?’
‘You know very well what I mean, Ras. You flout every rule in the house and you go to work late and finish early. I wonder that your pa doesn’t send you packing, or at least force a good day’s work out of you.’
Erasmus piled sausages onto the kidneys, followed by a golden mound of buttered eggs. ‘Blast, they’ve eaten all the bacon and the toast is stone cold.’ He reached for the bell pull and gave it a tug before taking his plate to the table, where he seated himself in his father’s place at the head. ‘I’m the master here for the moment,’ he said, chuckling. ‘Sit down and keep me company, Aunt-in-law.’
‘Stop calling me that. I’m not your aunt, and you haven’t answered my question. Why do you get special treatment in this house? The rest of us have to behave like little mice when your pa is around, and yet you seem to do as you please.’
‘I do, don’t I?’ Erasmus bit the end of a sausage and chewed it thoughtfully. ‘I’ve never bothered my head with such a question, but now I come to think of it, perhaps the old man has just given up with me. I have been a bit of a trial to him, I suppose.’ He shrugged his shoulders and attacked the kidneys with relish.
Hesitating for a moment, Irene tossed up between joining Ma and Emmie in the morning parlour and listening to a discussion about clothes for the expectant mother and the infant’s layette, or talking to Ras and discovering how he managed to do exactly as he liked. She took a seat at the table and sat with her chin resting on her cupped hands. ‘Go on then, tell me how you do it.’
Ras chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. ‘Well,’ he said, waving his knife in the air as if to emphasise the point, ‘I just do it. I don’t give a fig what the old man says and he knows it. No matter how many times he tanned my hide when I was a boy it didn’t make a scrap of difference, whereas he only had to glower at poor old Eph and he collapsed in a quivering heap like a pink blancmange. As to the emporium, well now, Papa knows that I can charm the bloomers off the ladies.’ He winked and grinned. ‘Sometimes quite literally.’
‘You’re disgusting,’ Irene said, stifling a chuckle.
‘But charming, you must admit.’ Ras polished off the remainder of his meal and pushed his plate away. ‘Now what can I do for you, sweet Irene? You look a little down in the mouth to me. Aren’t you enjoying your stay in Tippet’s Castle?’
‘I’m bored out of my mind, if you must know. If I hear the word baby mentioned once more, I think I’ll scream. I’m used to working, not lazing around like some kept woman.’
‘What you need,’ Ras said slowly, eyeing her with his head on one side and a thoughtful frown, ‘is to be taken out of yourself and I know the very thing.’
‘Oh, yes, and what is that? A trip to a penny gaff with you and a quick grope in the hansom cab on the way home when, I should add, I would have to slap you round the chops for your cheek.’
‘Nothing so vulgar. You’ve spent too much time dragging your pa out of cheap gaming houses and mixing with the wrong sort, old girl. No, I meant the Christmas Ball at the magnificent premises of the Drapers’ Company in Throgmorton Street. It is next week, as it happens, and I haven’t arranged to escort any particular young lady. I’m sure that Emmie would want you to go if only to keep her company.’
‘A ball?’ Irene shook her head. ‘Crikey! Me going to a ball with all them toffs. Anyway, it’s out of the question. I can’t dance and I haven’t got a ball gown. It’s not for me.’
‘Rubbish! I’ll teach you a few dance steps, and as to the rest you just smile and copy what everyone else is doing. Emmie will lend you a gown. I daresay she has a wardrobe bursting with frocks for every occasion, judging by the yards and yards of fine materials that have been sent home from the shop. Come on, Renie. Say you will and turn a dull event into a romp.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ Irene said, rising from her seat. ‘And now I’d best put in an appearance in the morning parlour before Ma and Emmie send out a search party.’
Ras sprang to his feet and barred her way. ‘Say yes or I’ll keep you prisoner in the dining room until you do.’
‘Move aside, you fool.’
‘I mean it. Be my partner for the evening and save me from utter boredom.�
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She found that she could not resist the wicked twinkle in his blackberry-bright eyes and the thought of getting out of the house, if only for one evening, was irresistible. ‘Oh, all right then. I suppose it might be interesting to see how the toffs amuse themselves.’
Emily was only too pleased to loan one of her splendid gowns for the coming event. She said she had been going to ask Irene to accompany her anyway, but what with the baby and everything it had quite gone out of her head. It would be her last chance to dance in public before her confinement in April, and she wanted to make the most of it. If she put her top hoop a little higher and wore the Brussels lace shawl that Josiah had given her for her birthday, her condition would scarcely be noticed. Irene bit back a sharp retort. Women had babies every day in Wood Street and Cheapside and they went about their business until they were about to give birth. Emmie might aspire to be like the pampered wives of the rising middle classes, but she was still an East End girl at heart. However, it would be mean to spoil her enjoyment and excitement over the preparations for the social event of the year in the drapery world.
The corsages were ordered and a private carriage had been hired for the evening. Josiah, it seemed, was sparing no expense. Irene guessed that this sudden burst of generosity had more to do with his desire to be made alderman than a change in his parsimonious nature, but she kept that thought to herself. She was looking forward to getting out of the house for an evening of music and dancing, but on the day of the ball disaster loomed in the shape of Emmie’s expanding waistline. When she tried on her new gown, it did not fit. There were screams and hysterics and an urgent need to have the garment taken to the dressmaker in order for the necessary alterations to be made. Irene offered to go, seizing the chance to get out of the house even if it was only for an hour, but Emmie was afraid of what Josiah would say if he found out that Irene had been allowed out unchaperoned.