by Martina Cole
Tommy flicked an imaginary speck of dirt from his trousers and sat back in his seat.
‘I’m working for Nellie Deakins now... I was working for some bloke - a right villain he was and all. But Nellie asked me to work for her exclusively, and so I do.’
Briony was intrigued. Nellie Deakins’ brothel was something she’d heard talked of since she could remember. It was a standard threat to most of the children roundabouts. ‘You do that again and I’ll cart you off to Nellie Deakins.’ But she had never spoken to anyone who actually worked there.
‘What’s it like?’
Tommy grinned.
‘It’s not so bad really, Briony. She gets a raw deal, old Nellie. The girls are looked after, she gets a quack to them if they’re feeling a bit rough. My job’s delivering them around London to private parties and that. I only deal with the women though, not the little girls.’
His voice was thick as he said the last sentence and looked back across the park at the people strolling around the boating pool feeding the ducks. Tommy had hated the job he had first taken with Davie Dobson. It had sickened him to be expected to drag kids, some no more than six or seven, around London. Boys as wells as girls. Then taking the poor little blighters back again, their faces filled with fear and their sobs reproaching him. He’d kissed that job goodbye without a backward glance. He had gone to Nellie’s on spec, and with one look at the big strapping lad, she had employed him there and then. He had given Dobson the bad news through his friend Willy and had not looked back since.
Briony bit her lower lip. She decided that although he got on her nerves, she liked Tommy.
‘My dad took me to the house I live at now. Me sister went first and then me. I like it there, I’ve always liked it there.’
Tommy nodded as if he understood. And the funny thing was, he did. He understood only too well what an empty belly and a dead fire could cause. People sold their only assets, whether it was a woman going on the game or a man selling off a child. It was some people’s only way out. It had been his mother’s and his sisters’. He smiled at Briony and she smiled back. They were both aware of the other’s way of life and it bonded them together. Standing up, Tommy held out his arm and Briony took it. Together they strolled around the park and chatted. More than one pair of eyes strayed to the well-dressed young couple. Briony, with her brazen hair tied back, looked older and more mature; Tommy, with his new clothes and confident gait, led her around with the pride of ownership.
He looked down on to the china white face and felt a lurch inside his chest. Her green eyes were so trusting as they looked into his, he felt a swelling of his heart.
He gleaned from her that she came to the park every day for an hour, and decided there and then that he’d make a point of being here when she arrived.
Isabel poured herself a cup of tea. She had arranged dinner with Mrs Horlock and had set Cissy the task of hemming the remainder of the baby garments that she herself had made. She sipped her tea delicately, breathing in the aroma. Briony joined her a few minutes later.
‘I really feel well, Mrs Dumas.’
Isabel smiled. The child did look well. The walks in the park were obviously doing her the world of good. Her white face had taken on a rosy glow and her body, nicely rounded now, looked more supple somehow, more relaxed.
Briony took a noisy sip of tea and ate a sandwich. ‘I’m hungry all the time lately.’
‘It’s the baby, Briony. You’re eating for two.’
She nodded and ate another sandwich. She had been meeting Tommy every day for a month now, and had gleaned a mine of information from him. Although she was shrewd in her own way, Tommy had first-hand knowledge of the world and relayed this knowledge to Briony in plain and simple language. She took a deep breath and spoke to Isabel Dumas.
‘You want this child, don’t you, Isabel?’
The fact she had called her ‘Isabel’ spoke volumes. The older woman looked into Briony’s face, searching for the reason for the question.
‘I do.’
Briony smiled widely.
‘You can have it. I can’t look after it properly, me mum’s got enough on her plate as it is, so I think the best thing for everyone would be for you to look after it.’
Isabel swallowed hard. This girl-woman sitting opposite had answered all her prayers and she felt an urge to kiss the white face and embrace Briony in her arms. Instead, she nodded.
‘Thank you. I do want your baby, I want it very much.’
Briony, in her youth and her naivety, just smiled. ‘That’s that, then. If you have it, I can see it sometimes, can’t I? Not every day like, but now and then?’
Isabel nodded again. ‘Of course you can, and my husband and I will see to it that you benefit by giving us your baby.’
Briony patted her stomach and said, ‘I wish I didn’t have to leave here. I love this house, and Mrs Horlock and Cissy ... And you.’
It was a simple statement of truth and Isabel took it as that, but still she said, ‘I’ll give you this house as a gift once you’re delivered of your child. I’ll also arrange a substantial sum of money for you to live on.’
Briony’s face opened like a book.
‘Really, you really mean that?’
Isabel smiled. ‘Yes, I do. It’s the very least we can do for you.’
Briony jumped from her seat and flung her arms around Isabel, hugging her tight. Isabel hugged her back, breathing in the smell of her, feeling a surge of love and sadness for the girl as she held her. Knowing that she was taking from her an integral part of her life.
Abel looked at Molly’s frightened face and sighed.
‘How long’s she been gone this time?’
Molly bit her lip before answering him.
‘Well, since this morning. Oh, Abel, she worries me!’
He pulled out a chair and sat Molly down, then, chucking a solemn-faced Rosalee under the chin, poured Molly a large mug of black tea.
‘Well, don’t worry, Moll. I’ll get out the cart and go looking for her. She’ll likely be up on Rainham Marshes again.’
Molly nodded, dull-eyed, as he walked from the cottage. Rosalee, sensing that something was wrong, pulled herself up from the cracket and went to her mother, pushing her bulky body between her legs. Instinctively, Molly pulled the child’s head to her breasts and stroked the short-cropped hair.
‘Oh, Rosalee, Rosalee. Where’s your sister?’
She hugged her mother back and said, ‘Bri Bri.’
Mother Jones bustled through the door then, all energy and common sense. Molly smiled weakly at her.
‘Now stop your worrying, Molly. Abel’s off looking for her and I’ll sit with you ’til he comes back.’
She didn’t say ‘comes back with Eileen’, because it was Mother Jones’ opinion that the girl was a few farthings short of a penny, and that what she needed was to see a doctor. If Eileen was to jump in the cut, it wouldn’t surprise her. That dirty blackguard of a father had seen to her ruin and now it was just a matter of time before she went completely off her head.
Eileen stood alone on Rainham Marshes. The sun was warm on her face, though the wind was cold. She took a deep breath and looked around her. She felt cleanliness envelop her when she was here. Here there was no one, no one and nothing. Just her, clean and pure. She loved it. She began to walk down towards the dirt track that would lead her through the marshes to the little hamlet of Rainham itself. Sometimes she ventured that far and sat by the big pond, watching the people come and go. People she didn’t know and who didn’t know her. The anonymity pleased her.
Every time she stood in her mother’s kitchen, she saw once more the flat iron coming down on her father’s head. She blinked back the picture in her mind and unconsciously walked faster, as if she could outwalk the picture, run away from it.
In the distance she saw a hare, leaping in the long grass. She walked towards it. In the sunlight its coat had a red tinge and she saw Briony then. Briony lying in the
big bed with Henry Dumas; Briony with her tiny hands and feet and her head of red hair. Eileen felt the familiar heaving of her stomach and swallowed hard. She hadn’t eaten again today. She never had an appetite, and the more her mother went on at her about eating, the less appetite she seemed to have. She had taken to forcing down an evening meal and then, when no one was looking, forcing it back up, up and out of her body. Enjoying the emptiness once more. Hating the feeling of being replete, of being filled with the food her sister’s degradation bought. It was evil food, bought with evil money.
She was walking fast again and the hare, seeing her approach, skittered away with wide, frightened eyes. A man was walking nearby with his dog. He noticed the girl and nodded at her. He frowned as she turned abruptly away from him. His dog, a small black mongrel, ran to her, jumping up at her dress in excitement and muddying the ragged hem with dirty paws. The man walked towards her and, pulling the dog away from her with one hand, put out the other to steady her.
Eileen saw his hard work-worn hand on her flesh and looked fearfully into his face. Pushing his hand from her, she backed away from him, eyes wild.
The man stared at her, puzzled. Thinking that the dog had frightened her, he walked towards her to apologise, to make amends, when Eileen opened her mouth wide and began shouting. She was threatening him, mouthing obscenities the like of which he had never heard before from a woman, let alone a young girl. She stumbled away from him, her arms outstretched, her face screwed up with hatred.
It was then that Abel came upon her. He had witnessed the scene and as the man saw the huge musclebound individual put his arms around the shouting girl, he felt fear overwhelm him.
‘I swear I never touched her, mister. I never touched her! The dog was jumping at her, that’s all. She just went mad, stark staring mad ...’
Abel held tightly on to Eileen. Strangely she never tried to fight him off but held on to him, sobbing into his barrel chest.
‘He touched me, Abel, he was touching me.’
‘I know, Eileen girl, I know. Calm down and I’ll take you home to your mother.’
He motioned with his hand to the man to go away and leave them. He grabbed his dog by the scruff of its neck and almost ran in his haste to escape.
Slowly Abel led Eileen back to the road and his cart. He lifted her up tenderly and placed her on the seat, all the time talking to her softly, calming her down.
‘He was touching me Abel, look at my arm. Look where he touched me, on my arm...’
Abel looked at the arm and nodded at her. She kept up a conversation with herself in low tones all the way home, rubbing furiously at the arm as if it was covered in filth.
It wasn’t the first time she had wandered off and it was not to be the last.
Briony and Tommy sat on their usual bench. As the weather was warmer they had both begun to bring picnics with them. Today, Tommy had brought some tongue sandwiches and a small stone flask of lemonade. Eating the sandwiches, they put down crumbs of bread for the ducks, laughing at their antics as they fought over the tiny morsels.
‘How are you feeling in yourself, Briony?’
She patted her stomach and smiled. ‘Not too bad. I’ve only a few weeks to go now, and I can’t wait until it’s all over.’
‘Has that woman, that Mrs Dumas, said any more about giving you the house?’
Briony nodded. ‘Oh, yeah, she’s like a nervous wreck waiting for this baby.’
Tommy nodded solemnly.
‘Well, you just make sure you get it all in writing. You’re thirteen now aren’t you?’
‘Yeah, I’m thirteen in a few months, why?’
‘Well, you might have to get it put in trust for you or something. With your mum. Either way, make sure you take any papers they give you to a good brief. I know a bloke who’s well up on all this kind of stuff, I’ll arrange for you to see him.’
Briony screwed up her little face.
‘Mrs Dumas wouldn’t tuck me up. She’s lovely.’
Tommy swallowed the last of his sandwich and threw the crust to the ducks.
‘’Course she’s lovely, she wants your baby. Once it’s born and she’s got her hands on it, you might as well piss in the wind with all the legal jargon they’ll baffle you with. You just listen to me, Briony, I’ve got contacts that could help you. You must look out for number one. If you don’t, no one else will.’
Briony digested this bit of logic and shrugged. She trusted Isabel Dumas with her life, but she didn’t trust Henry. Though he was never mentioned by Isabel, Briony sensed his baleful influence. What Tommy said made sense, and when the time came she would take his advice and see his lawyer friend.
‘Thanks, Tommy, I’ll keep that in mind. Now tell me some more stories about Nellie Deakins’ place. They make me laugh.’
He poured her another glass of cool lemonade and handed it to her.
‘First of all you tell me what’s been happening with you. Have you seen the doctor this week?’
Briony sighed and began telling him everything he wanted to know. Tommy relaxed on the bench and watched her tiny rosebud mouth. He could listen to her and watch her all day. They chatted until her cab driver came for her and then, after promising to see him the following day, Briony went off. Tommy watched her go. As she reached the park exit she turned and waved and he waved back, feeling low now she had gone. They had met nearly every day for over three months. In that time he had felt a closeness spring between them that was not just friendship. He found himself thinking about her at odd times of the day and the evenings. He would not call what he felt for her love, because in his youth he wasn’t sure what love was.
But whatever it was he felt for Briony, with her little button nose and that crackling red hair, he liked it.
He liked it, and he wanted to keep it.
Isabel was staying in her own home tonight. She made a point of staying two nights a week, eating dinner, seeing to her household bills, ordering the different cuts of meat and overseeing the general upkeep. The rest of the time she stayed with Briony.
As she sat in her room, she brushed out her long brown hair and was delighted to see the firelight pick out golden highlights. Her skin looked creamy in the triple mirrors on her dressing table and she smiled at herself. Since the night she had rescued Briony Cavanagh, her life had taken on a different slant. Her depression had lifted, and even the thought of being married to Henry didn’t stop her from enjoying herself. Briony had given her a new zest for living, and now she was certain to get the child, she couldn’t be happier.
She glanced at her heavy breasts in the mirror. Their rosy nipples peeping out from behind the thin lace brought a momentary return of her old longings. She quickly pushed these thoughts from her mind, concentrating once more on the coming child. She hoped it looked like its mother. That way she could guarantee it would be a beautiful child. If it looked like Henry and it was a girl child... She picked up her hand cream and began the laborious nightly ritual of softening her hands.
Henry walked in the room without knocking.
Isabel looked at his red face in the dressing-table mirror and saw at once he had been drinking.
‘What can I do for you?’
He sat unsteadily on the edge of her bed and looked at his wife. In his drunken state, he noticed everything about her as if for the first time. Her high breasts and slim waist, the length of her legs, her well-turned ankles. The dark brown hair that tumbled across her shoulders and down her back. And suddenly, all his hatred of her dissolved. He saw her for what she was in other men’s eyes. To any other man, she would be a desirable companion, a good wife. She was pleasing in face and figure, intelligent and well educated. She could talk on almost any subject and could also listen exceptionally well. He could almost pity her for being married to him.
‘It’s about the child, Isabel.’
He watched her smile as she turned to face him.
‘What child? The one you got pregnant? Or the child of the child
?’ Her tone was sarcastic and Henry closed his eyes.
‘You’re still intent on bringing it into this house then?’
‘1am.’
He shook his head.
‘What about the talk it’ll cause?’
Isabel laughed now.
‘There’s always talk, Henry. I am seeing my father tomorrow and telling him I’m barren. We both know that’s not true, don’t we? I will tell him that you have a mistress, a respectable widow of the lower middle classes who has found herself in an embarrassing predicament. You wish to take the child and bring it up as your own and I have agreed to it. My father will set the rumour abroad and everyone will think you are a rake who has taken on an illegitimate child because your legal wife can’t produce one. You’ll come out of it as rather a colourful character, a man with many women. I’ll come out of it as the poor barren wife taking another woman’s leavings. So don’t worry about the talk, Henry. It will all be grist to your mill really. Who would ever think that a rake like that really liked little girls?’
Henry sat still under the onslaught of his wife’s tongue, and as they stared at one another felt an urge to confess his feelings to her. To tell her about the demon that drove him to little girls. But even as he thought it, he dismissed it. She wouldn’t understand.
‘What if your father refuses to allow you to take on the child?’
‘Henry, I’m not going to ask his permission, I’m going to tell him. I don’t care what he thinks. All he is to me is a means to an end. I’ll talk him round, don’t worry. Now if you don’t mind, I want to get into bed.’
She was dismissing him and they both knew it.
‘I am the man of this house, madam. It would behove you to remember that.’
Isabel stood up and her laughter caused her breasts to shudder.
‘If you were the man of the house, Henry, indeed any kind of man, we would not be having this conversation!’ With that, she walked past him and opened the door wide.