by Mary Wood
Spittle gathered in her mouth and she spat her hatred at him. ‘Fuck you!’
‘You fucking whore!’ Bobby’s hand whipped out and stung her cheek, but it was worth the pain, to see her spittle run down his face. Wiping it with his handkerchief, he ground out the words, ‘You’ll pay for that, you filthy bitch!’ Then he told his thugs, ‘Use the chair after you’ve raped her. Take it to its limit.’
As she was dragged by her hair like a dog on a lead along the corridors and down flights of stairs, the doors of the bedrooms they passed remained closed. No one dared to intervene, she knew that. When they approached Daisy’s room, she forced herself to clamp her lips together and endure the pain, because if Daisy heard her, she’d be out like a shot. Hattie didn’t want that to happen. By the time they reached the kitchen, the terror inside her had reached fever pitch. She fought for all she was worth, but her resistance was futile.
A cold shaft of air brushed her face as the door to the cellar clunked open. They shoved her into the dimness. Her foot missed the step and she crashed down onto the stone floor. Wally stepped over her, swiped a match on the brick wall and lit the gas mantle. The light took time to reach each part of the cellar. Fear caused her mouth to dry. The implements of torture, now visible, seemed to snarl at her. Straps, whips, knives, chains and unidentifiable objects lay on a huge table. In the far corner, a chair that wasn’t a chair in the proper sense mocked her. Made of wood and iron, it spoke of pain and death. Leather clamps positioned on the arms, feet and at chest-height hung ready to hold a victim like a vice, but what etched dread into her heart even more was the cage-like contraption fixed to the top. Please God, don’t let them put my head into that!
Fighting achieved nothing, serving only to amuse the men as they ripped the clothing from her body. With her arms screwed up behind her back and held as if in a clamp by Doug, she watched Wally send the implements clanging across the room with one swipe of his hand. The dreadful noise they made echoed around her, as Doug forced her backwards over the edge of the table.
She wouldn’t beg. She wouldn’t kick out or utter a sound, because to do so would only heighten their pleasure. She closed off her mind. Doug took his turn first. And though the skin on her back seared with the soreness of his thrusting her against the rough wood, she felt nothing of what was happening. Wally’s voice, thick and guttural, goaded him on. ‘Go on, Doug. Give it to her.’
Thankfully it didn’t last long.
‘Eeh, Doug lad, you enjoyed that, I can tell. I’ve never known you come that quick. It must be right, what’s said about her.’
Doug laughed, a breathless sound that repulsed her.
Wally shoved him. ‘Right, move over and let the big boy in!’
Doug’s laugh this time was pitched to a high, stupid-sounding note. He took her hands from Wally and together they turned her over.
Clenching her fists, she willed herself not to think about what was going to happen. Her only hope was to stay relaxed. The pain of him entering her tore through her and she screwed up her eyes. Her breath hissed through her gritted teeth. Spittle ran down her chin. Every thrust ripped her, causing a soreness that made her flesh feel like it was being rubbed with sandpaper, as he forced himself deeper and deeper. At last it was done. Doug groaned like an animal, then pulled himself from her and threw her onto the floor. She could see him leaning on the table above her, panting. Doug hovered around him. ‘You all right, Wally?’
‘Aye. Christ, that were sommat else. Get me baccy. I need time to recover.’
Their smoke filtered down to her, clogging her throat, and their talk was like that of schoolboys congratulating each other. Hattie screwed herself up tightly into a ball. Shivering, a tear trickled down her cheek. If she had a mam, she would have called out to her, but instead she thought of Susan and little Sally. And remembered why she’d had to endure them using her as they had.
In order to help her cope, she tried to bring Megan to her mind – sweet, untouched Megan. Thank God – thank God Megan’s fate had been so different. At least one of them had escaped, and how glad she was that it had been Megan.
‘Right.’ Wally dropped his fag-end on the floor and scrunched it out with his foot. ‘Back to work. Let’s make this whore pay for spitting at the boss. Get her in the chair, Doug.’
‘No – no. Don’t. I’ll do it. Tell Bobby I’ll do it. Tell him I’m sorry . . .’
‘Ah, but it’s not about that now, bitch. No one gets away with what you did.’
Her screams resounded off the wall, bouncing back at her. The nutcrackers clicked in her face, glinting in the flicker of the gas mantle, before crushing the bones of her fingers to the chant of ‘This little piggy went to market . . .’
Her soul hollered out cries for mercy, but they showed her none. Her mind sank into the vilest of places, where she felt the despair of a despising God as well as her very own being. But then the agony eased, as a blackness swept her into a deep, dark, closed part of her mind. There, the laughing, mocking faces of the hated Reverend Mother, the vile, filthy Lord Marley, his friend Felix and the rotten-to-the-core Mrs Barker yo-yoed at her, and she knew she was descending into madness.
The shock of ice-cold water hitting her body dragged her back to the present, and an acrid taste of smoke clogged her throat. Heat burned inside her nostrils. Terror gripped her as she came to the confusing realization that the room was on fire, and that the fire was licking at her, searing her skin. But, as her head cleared, she saw Doug wafting a lighted torch backwards and forwards before her eyes. The flames lit up the evil in his eyes as he smiled down at her, before dragging it along her arm. She opened her mouth to scream, but only a hoarse moan came from her.
12
Megan Enters Hattie’s World
Megan clutched the crumpled note in her pocket:
Megan, I need to see you. Forgive me for losing touch. Please come. I’ll meet you at six, down at the end of Fell Lane next Sunday. You know where it is. It’s the one as you turned off to go to the guesthouse when you visited me that time. Please, please come. All my love, your friend, Hattie x
Going over the words Hattie had written gave Megan the courage she needed to turn the corner into the dark ginnal that would take her into the streets where Hattie and the lassies who plied the same trade did their business. Hattie’s having made contact at last spurred her on. To think she’d been considering giving up trying to find Hattie, and resigning herself to having lost her for good!
As she turned into Fell Lane, she made out the shadowy figure of a woman pacing up and down just a few feet away. Could it be? The woman turned towards her. ‘Hattie? Hattie, is that you?’
‘Aye, it is, Megan. Eeh, Megan . . . Megan . . .’
‘Oh, Hattie!’ The years of separation rolled away as their laughter and tears mingled in a hug, but a wince of pain from Hattie made Megan jump back. Before she could ask what was wrong, Hattie’s urgent whisper beckoned her: ‘Quick, step into the ginnal. Don’t let anyone see you.’
‘Who? Are you all right? Are you hurt, Hattie? Is someone—’ She went to take Hattie’s hand. Hattie jerked it away from her, but not before she’d seen the bulky bandages. ‘Hattie love . . .’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be reet. Come on, let’s get off the street. Oh, Megan, it’s good to see you!’
‘I tried to find you, Hattie. I looked.’
‘I know you did, love, but I weren’t for being found. I’ll tell you of it all, I promise. But first we have to get ourselves to a safe place.’
They walked in silence, keeping as close together as they could through the narrow pathways. Neither wanted to let go of the other, even though they sometimes had to walk sideways so as not to unlink their arms. Hattie had asked Megan to hold on to her left arm, as she’d said it wasn’t as badly hurt as the other one. But even so, the feel of the bandages wrapped around it deepened Megan’s worry. It wasn’t just the injuries that were causing her concern, though: Hattie’s sudden gestures tel
ling her to get into a doorway and to keep quiet added to the fear already stirring in her stomach.
The winding paths went on and on. The stench of poverty worsened with every step as they passed rows of neglected houses, their back yards strewn with rotting masses of dumped waste. More than once pity at what had become of Hattie dragged at Megan’s heart, and she thanked God and Sister Bernadette for her own fortunes.
When they came to a wider but just as muddy road, the air became fresher and was tinged only by the smell of the horse dollop they had to weave around. There were gas lamps here, and though they only gave off a dim light, Megan could see the gates to a park on the other side of the track. Hattie’s whole body relaxed when they came up to these. ‘Nearly there, love. Just got to cross the grass. We’ll be fine now. I have a friend . . . Well, he’s a sort of friend. He started as one of me customers and got fond of me. He’s a gentleman. He got hurt bad in France, lost a leg and part of his face, and his wife won’t have owt to do with him. Anyroad, he came looking to satisfy his needs and that’s how we met. He’s took this house just round the corner from the other side of the park, and he’s helping me to get away from the fella who controls the patch I work on.’
Megan didn’t know how to react to all this information. Everything Hattie had said was far from what she already knew of her friend’s situation. She wanted to say she was pleased for Hattie, but on the other hand she didn’t want Hattie to be used by any man, gentleman or not. It was easier just to squeeze the unbandaged bit of her arm gently and smile at her.
‘Me man’s name is Arthur. He isn’t good to look on, with his injuries, but I know you’ll be like me and take that in your stride. He’s after me moving in with him, but I’ve other plans. I want to look out for all the lassies on the patch, and I have an idea for a business that would help them and could see me right an’ all.’ The damp undergrowth at last gave way to a cobbled road leading to a street so bright that it looked like night had turned into day. A dozen lamps lit the whole area and light shone from the windows of the type of houses that folk far above Megan and Hattie’s station lived in. Hattie grinned at her. She could only smile back. It was as if someone had tied her tongue in knots, making it hard to form words. But if it were possible for such a thing to happen, speaking became even harder when they stopped in front of huge ornate gates and Hattie said, ‘This is it’: before her stood what looked to Megan like a palace.
‘Come on, love. Stop trying to catch flies.’ This from Hattie, who strode not towards the servants’ entrance but right up to the front door, prompted a giggle from the pair such as they used to share. The sudden opening of the door, however, stopped the flow of their laughter, and a tall, upright young man smiled a welcome. ‘Hello, Hattie. Is this your friend, then?’ His voice didn’t go with his accent, which had a posh tinge to it.
‘Aye, this is Megan, Harry.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Megan. I’ll take your coat. Captain Naraday is still at his rest, Hattie, but I’ve a fire lit in the front room. If you and Megan go through, I’ll fetch some tea in for you.’
Megan handed him her coat and smiled at him, then watched as he helped Hattie off with hers, asking as he did so, ‘Are you feeling any better, lass?’
‘Aye, I’ll be reet. It’ll all be worth it in the end.’
The obvious friendship between them warmed Megan. Hattie did have folk who cared for her, and that was good to know, no matter what the circumstances.
The friendly welcome made her forget her awe at where she found herself. The hall they’d stepped into held beauty, in a manly kind of way, the dark mahogany of the doors and banister standing out against the background of the cream walls. Framed photographs of men in uniform hung in straight military lines, and the stairs, winding up from the centre, were carpeted in a plain, rich brown carpet.
The room they were shown into had a different feel, and its grandness made her catch her breath. There was a plush red carpet, and gold-and-red curtains formed a backdrop to pink-and-gold cushioned chairs and sofas with elaborately carved legs. The tables, some small and placed next to sofas and chairs, and one larger and round-topped standing in the window, were of a rich mahogany, and they too had beautifully carved, bowed legs.
‘It’s grand, isn’t it, Megan? And it could all be mine, if I wanted.’ Hattie’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, and a touch of bitterness had crept into her words, but Megan’s shock as she turned to answer stopped her from querying this. Without her coat and in the full glare of the many burning lamps, the full extent of Hattie’s injuries hit her. Looking gaunt and frail, her eyes were sunk into their sockets. Bruises – red, purple and angry-looking – covered every part of her exposed skin. The sight brought Megan down to earth with a painful jolt. ‘Oh, Hattie, what happened?’
‘Don’t worry, love, I had it coming to me. Fella I told you of as owns patch I work wanted me to do sommat, and I wasn’t for it. But I thought on how I could do it and get him caught for what I’d found out. Taking me beating and not giving in until he’d near killed me made him think I’d agreed, and hopefully kept me scheme from him.’
Megan clutched at her sleeve awkwardly. She didn’t understand Hattie’s world, peopled as it was with folk who would beat her and with others who would use her, but also with kind people like Harry. But what of Harry’s master, this Captain bloke? What would he do to her?
‘Tell me what’s been happening with your life, Megan. You look well. You’ve not changed. Only I didn’t think you’d make such a beauty!’ The laugh that accompanied this remark lightened the moment.
‘Go on with you! I’m no beauty. You should see Ciss – by, she’s sommat. I’ve never seen anyone prettier. Mind, you’ve not turned out so bad yourself, though you’re a mite thinner than you should be. Oh, Hattie, I’ve missed you. Why haven’t you been in touch until now?’
‘I wanted to – I did – but me life wasn’t what I wanted you mixed up in. Lassies as threatened you when you came looking were doing so at my bidding. It’s a dangerous place where I live, Megan; lassies like you – innocent lassies – are snatched regular and raped and such, then put on the game. And not only lassies of an age. Oh, Megan, I know things. Things I shouldn’t know of, and I’m—’
Harry came in at that moment. If he noticed the sudden silence, he didn’t say. Crossing the room, he put the tray laden with tea, sandwiches and cakes down onto the table next to the sofa. Hattie spoke to him as if she was used to dealing with servants: ‘Thank you, Harry. Is Captain Naraday up yet?’
‘His bell rang a few minutes ago. He asked for a tray and said he has a headache. He sends his apologies, but he won’t be joining you. Though he hopes you can go up, after your business with your friend is done. Now, if I pour for you both, will you give Hattie a hand, Megan? She’s not a good patient, so be careful when you feed her, so as you don’t lose a finger or two!’
They both laughed at this and, as he left the room, Hattie said, ‘That means Arthur isn’t up to seeing you after all. Poor Arthur, it’s hard for him looking like he does, and he’s afraid of meeting folk for the first time. Mind, he’s lucky to have Harry – he’s a good man, is Harry. He’s been with Arthur for all of his army career. He was his batman, and he’ll not leave him now. Especially how he is.’
Again there was the hint of a suggestion that there was something Hattie wasn’t telling, which she covered up by saying, ‘Well, tell me how things have worked out at that Madame Marie’s place, and then I’ve a lot to tell you an’ all.’
‘It’s worked out better than I thought it would, Hattie, and I know as it sounds funny, but the war has made me life better, which isn’t a good thing to say, seeing how so many are suffering. But business took a bad turn with the war. It wasn’t as if folk hadn’t got the money, more that it’d not be right to have parties and things. Even weddings are quiet affairs now.’ The expression of bewilderment on Hattie’s face made her giggle. ‘I’m not at making much sense, am I? I can see as you’r
e wondering how all this doom and gloom have been of benefit to me.’
‘Aye, I were at wondering.’
Megan helped Hattie take a sip of her tea, and lodged a sandwich between the only two fingers showing through the bandages, rather than feed it to her. Then, taking a sip of her own tea, she began to relax. It was easier to talk about her own life than to listen to Hattie’s tales about hers. ‘Well, it’s like this: me and Ciss’d thought at first we’d be down the road when Madame started cutting back, but it were the others – the posh lot – that she let go. She had us in her office and said as she’d keep us on if we took a dock in our wages and learned other skills, so as we could help out where needed. I were that glad to think I were going to get a chance to learn things like the cutting of patterns and making up that I were ready to agree straight off. But Ciss! Eeh, Hattie, you’d like Ciss; you wouldn’t think it to look at her, but she’s got some clout. She only ups and says me and her’ll only agree to stay if the rules are relaxed some. Madame looked right put out, but it were like Ciss said later: she’d not have been able to ask the posh lot to take a dock and do all the other work an’ all. So we were her only hope. Anyroad, Madame took on what Ciss’d said and now, once our work hours are done, we can come and go as we like and we get to go home every three to four weeks or so.’
‘Home?’
‘Aye. I’ve a proper home, Hattie. Like me and you always dreamed of. Issy – that’s Cissy’s mam – treats me like a daughter, and Ciss has become . . . Well, I mean—’