The man with the red hair finished his fire eating act to the whoops and cheers of the delighted crowd. He spun round, removing his top hat, bowing low to the people who lined the street. Unexpectedly, he looked up and caught Alice’s eye. From where she was standing, she could see the colour of his eyes which were a peculiar shade of green.
She was amazed at the spectacle before her, she had never seen such exciting people before, assuming they must be clowns. The sight of them made her smile. Alice knew that she had to go outside and get a closer look at the intriguing throng. She rushed down the stairs as fast as she could. The red haired man in the top hat was beckoning her, his expression was fixed like a clown’s as though he had been born with a smile on his face.
Alice felt she could trust him and moved closer. ‘Come with us. You will be safe with us. As she fell into step with the others, she heard him bellow over his shoulder, ‘I am Larry The Hat, The Street Fire King!’
Alice joined the group who were heading towards the crowds of the town.
Chapter 4
In Search of Fresh Bait
Liverpool 1887
Lou and Ellen walked up Bold Street together, arms linked. They were deep in conversation, still talking about Lily and what her departure might mean to them. They were heading towards the tea rooms about half way up the street.
Their ‘town’ clothes were far more subdued than the revealing outfits they wore in Betsy’s. Their taste in fashion was a little common but, in a way, they fitted in with the elegantly dressed ladies and smartly attired gentlemen of the town. They wore their hats at a jaunty angle, their appearance had a slightly theatrical look which made them acceptable.
Lou’s billowing dark hair was neatly pinned under her hat. She pulled out a little mirror from her beaded purse to check her appearance before they entered the tea rooms. The bright summer rays made the mirror glimmer as she adjusted it. Much to her surprise, the reflection showed the striking figure of Lily walking into a bespoke furniture shop.
‘Look who I’ve just seen Ellen. Miss Crafty herself. She’s just gone in there.’ Lily spun round to face the shop, dragging Ellen with her.’ A passer-by who they jostled shot them a filthy look which was totally lost on them.
‘Who? Oh you mean the other one, our Lily!’ Ellen was excited. ‘We shall wait here ‘til she comes out, I must speak to her!’
They waited patiently on the pavement which was bustling with midday shoppers. Lily seemed to be in the shop for a long time and Ellen began hopping from one foot to another with impatience. They were both feeling thirsty and a trifle peckish, but it was worth the wait.
A conservatively dressed Lily eventually bounced out of the shop, the bell tinkled on the glass door, she firmly shut it behind her. She caught sight of her two friends who were standing opposite on the other side of the street. Lou and Ellen were a bit wary of speaking to her in such a public place, fearful that Betsy or Freddie might see them. There would be murder, a terrible scene.
Lily was pleased to see them and rushed over.
‘We found your note.’ Said Ellen.
‘Good, you have a lot to do. Make sure you bring the regulars with you, oh and by the by,’ she laughed, ‘Don’t bother asking ‘The Fat Man.’
Lou rolled her eyes, in understanding. She nodded her head towards the tea rooms. ‘We’re going in ‘ere, do you fancy a cuppa tea?’
‘Afraid not, got to get back to the house, having some furniture delivered. You will join me?’ Asked Lily, a touch anxiously, but her expression was warm.
‘We are and we’re made up for you Lily.’ Said Ellen as she squeezed her arm.
‘Good, and don’t bother asking the other little one, I don’t want the responsibility of her being under age like. I look forward to you both joining me.’ Said Lily as she was nervously looking up and down the street.
Still anxious not to be seen by the Hales, the girls were relieved when Lily turned away and bustled up the busy street. She was soon lost in the crowd as the other two sauntered quietly into the tea shop.
Betsy fancied a walk down to the Pier Head. It wasn’t her usual route in daylight but she just had to walk off her pent up anger and frustration. Lily had made a fool of her and she felt humiliated. She had designs on working it to her advantage, as it would make room for another young girl. Her corrupt mind was spinning with her next cunning plan, she was hungry for the money. She had designs on exploiting the next Boyle girl. ‘Rachel must be twelve now and I wager that Lottie Boyle’s got even less fucking money than she had last year.’ Thought Betsy deviously.
She went down School Lane, her footwear was highly unsuitable for the rough town streets. She insisted on wearing ridiculous shoes, her gait was almost comical. Many times before she had nearly broken her sparrow’s ankle as she had stumbled on the cobblestones. Today, she was trying to walk more carefully.
As she entered Lord Street, she found herself confronted with a happy gathering of street entertainers, jugglers and clowns led by a strange looking red haired man. The beat of the drum and the sound of a barrel organ, amidst the shouts of the children was a maddening racket in Betsy’s ears. Their brightly coloured costumes and painted faces were enough to give her a headache, she hated bright colours, noise and laughter.
‘What the hell’s going on here? Fucking stupid din.’ She muttered under her breath angrily as she became caught up in the entourage. Betsy hated clowning and frolics, she hadn’t had a proper laugh in her whole wretched life. She only ever cackled hideously and that was normally at someone else’s expense. This was at times when she had got one over on someone or at some poor soul’s misfortune.
A juggler dropped one of the balls. It rolled under Betsy’s feet. This made her launch into a bad tempered tirade at the man, at the same time she was trying not to fall. Fortunately, she didn’t recognise Alice who was walking alongside the juggler.
Today Alice looked different. Her head was bare and her hair was plaited, free of make-up, she just looked like any other thirteen year old. She glanced down to where the ball had fallen. Then to her horror she saw Betsy. Alice was thankful that she was wearing a new crimson dress that Betsy had not seen before. Even so, she gasped with fear when she heard Betsy’s shrieking voice…
‘Stupid sod, get that ball out of me way, get out of it!’ It was unmistakably Betsy in a tear, Alice had heard this tone of voice many times before and it made her fearful. One of the jugglers scooped up the ball from before Betsy’s feet. Sensing Alice’s alarm he put his arm around her waist and quickly led her to the front of the group where she blended with the others.
Betsy was seething with annoyance but soon shrugged off the disruption to her journey and continued her walk with a purpose. Her mind was fixed on nipping into the George Tavern. She wanted to see if she could spy on Charlie Boyle, to see if he had any work on. She imagined he’d be sitting there playing dominoes, idling away another workless day. If he was there, it would confirm her feelings that the Boyles were skint.
Her smoker’s cough was getting worse these days, especially when she had over exerted herself. It was a fair walk to the Mersey from Duke Street. Her lungs became irritated by the unaccustomed fresh river air as she approached the water. She coughed out a mouthful of dark stained phlegm into her clean lace handkerchief, she then stuffed it back into her skirt pocket.
She wore her hair in ringlets topped with a dated lace cap. Her puny, slight frame was swamped in black taffeta giving her the appearance of a wizened doll.
It had just gone one o’clock when she pushed open the heavy door of the alehouse. As she opened the door, she looked up at the stained glass window at the top, it depicted a colourful sailing ship. In her mind she wondered if she might find Freddie in the pub. He hadn’t returned that morning and The George was one of his favourite haunts.
As soon as the landlord and his barmaid looked at her, she at once detected hostility in their eyes and immediately felt unwelcome. As she walked towards them t
he landlord slapped the bar top with his hand and bawled, ‘You are not welcome in ‘ere you old bag, you’re barred. Get out!’
‘I haven’t come in ‘ere to be insulted, me and my Freddie spend all kinds of money in this establishment, I have never been so insulted in my entire life!’ Betsy’s voice was shrilly, she then started to cough uncontrollably, prompting the landlord to launch into a tirade.
There were a few men dotted around the pub sitting at tables engrossed in their chatter and dominoes, all fell silent and turned to watch the commotion.
‘Your slippery Freddie has been buying liquor off a thief, and the pair of them have been lifted this morning.’ He wrinkled up his nose, his language was as salty as the river. ‘What he and that Charlie Boyle do is their business but I will not allow any impropriety in my pub. And I’m not having his wife in ‘ere selling stolen goods. I know what your game is an’ all, you evil cow, you are exploiting young girls, I won’t have it. Listen to you, I will not have you coughing and spluttering your filthy germs amongst my clientele. Nor do I want you sitting on my chairs.’ He looked her up and down, he made her feel like dirt beneath his boots. ‘I’m not havin’ any of it.’
Betsy couldn’t take any more of this onslaught, she turned on her heels and almost ran out of the pub, mortified and humiliated. She slammed the door behind her. Seething with anger she headed towards Cheapside Bridewell. The hapless pair would either be banged up or, by now, released on bail.
After a long wait at the police station, the portly desk Sergeant told Betsy that both men were out on bail. He was even more rude to her than the pub landlord. The blustery sergeant made her feel angry and her mood was raw. Her feelings were numb towards Freddie, she was as cold as ice. She had no empathy with him at all. ‘How can he do this to me? The stupid bastard!’ She shrieked. The sergeant had by now lost patience and told her to get out.
She composed herself and calmed down. Now unperturbed, she took off in the direction of Circus Street. Self-preservation was foremost in Betsy’s mind and the day’s events had strengthened her resolve. She wanted words with Lottie and Charlie Boyle but not necessarily in that order.
‘Fat heads, the two of them, him and that Freddie, I’ll bang their heads together when I see them for being so thick.’
Betsy hated walking through this litter strewn street, she could smell the poverty. The sound of crying children and barking dogs grated on her. She tried to hold her breath as she got a whiff of stale urine where someone had peed on the cobbles the night before. Nothing bothered Betsy, she was as hard as nails and now had the stomach for anything. She was just four doors away from number 10 when she began to hear shouting and bawling. Three young girls emerged from the house and scurried down the worn out steps. The steps had seen so many feet in and out over many a decade, they were bowed with wear.
They came down one behind the other, Rachel now twelve, (the girl she had designs on) Ruby, eleven and young Jessie was only six. They were all fair haired and pretty, even in the tumultuous state of Betsy’s mind, the sight of the three of them prompted a smile.
Her original idea was to see Lottie about Rachel. She wanted to see Charlie to find out the truth about this morning. Unfortunately, for Betsy, her plans had been scuppered. Even she didn’t have the nerve to go near the house that day. She glanced up at the slightly open door, she could hear a terrible row in progress.
The three young daughters of the warring couple had ran into a neighbour’s house. They often sought refuge when things got out of hand with their parents, especially when Lottie had been drinking more than usual. The neighbour, who was a kind pensioner’s widow, often took them in and gave them a hot drink. If they were lucky she would give them a bowl of thin soup and a piece of bread.
Betsy then spotted four year old Jim playing up the street with some of his bare foot friends. There was a girl who was now always with them, her name was Florrie. Betsy murmured to herself, ‘One day she will be of interest.’
Betsy arrived back at the house in Duke Street. She was worn out with the walk and coughing, her painful corns had been playing up too. She took off her shoes and threw them down in the lobby. She had a strong inkling that Freddie would be in the parlour drinking. She could read him like a book and she knew full well that he wouldn’t crack on about the lumber he’d got himself into. Much to the annoyance of Betsy, Freddie was sprawled out on her chaise longue, still wearing his boots.
‘Where’ve you been since five o’clock in the morning?’ Asked Betsy calmly.
‘Nowhere.’
‘Nowhere? You stupid sod, I know you have been lifted for buying stolen goods off Charlie Boyle. Your brain is addled with drink and that muck you smoke. You’ve been careless. Someone has seen you, probably jealous and reported you or the coppers have been watching you for some time.’
‘Shut up you stupid old cunt.’ Said Freddie through gritted teeth as he stifled a hiccup.
‘Don’t you call me a cunt.’
‘You are a cunt.’ Freddie stayed on the chaise longue clutching his glass.
A shaft of sunlight made her jet earrings and choker glisten, although not as much as the burning black coals of her eyes.
‘When are you up before the beak then?’ Asked Betsy harshly.
‘Next week, it will be an open and shut case though, so don’t worry your crabby old head about it, guess who’s sitting as ‘Stipe’ at Dale Street ‘Mags.’’ Freddie’s smirk was smug and devious.
‘I expect you mean the judge who likes having his arse whipped.’
‘Ha, ha, ha, ha.’ Freddie threw back his head and laughed a wicked laugh, although Betsy detected that his laugh was slightly forced.
Freddie had met up with Charlie Boyle in the early hours of that morning. Their shadowy figures were huddled in a doorway as the street grew blue with the coming light. The choking smoke belched out from thousands of chimneys covering the town. At that hour, the town rooftops stood out against the grey sky with the sharpness of outline that is only seen in Liverpool.
This spot was chosen so they could blend with the homeless and destitute who were huddled together in the litter of St John’s Market. Poor wretched men and women stood around shivering in the little clothing they wore. Although it was summer, their attire was not adequate. On one doorstep there was a crouching, shoeless child. A day’s begging hadn’t brought enough to purchase a penny night’s lodging.
Charlie had a bag slung over his shoulder, it was clanking with several bottles of fine wines and spirits stolen from the docks. By now he was deep in conversation with Freddie. Charlie’s rent was due and with four children and a wife to feed, he was now desperate to sell his ill gotten wares. They had met here many times before and it had been safe. Oblivious beggars were crouched near the coke fire, they were dozing by their feet and looked like bundles of rags.
Amidst a ragged crowd who were now grouped around a glowing coke fire was a watching policeman. The gas streaming from a tall pipe, in a flag of flame gave him perfect cover.
It had been just another night of debauched carryings on and criminality. In the early hours of that morning when Charlie and Freddie had been arrested in the town. The pair of them were becoming a little careless and had failed to notice the law man staring at them intently, now slowly walking towards them.
The policeman already knew them. Charlie, from his beat around London Road which covered where he lived in Circus Street and Freddie was a familiar face around town. Unfortunately, for Freddie he was not the copper to whom Betsy had slipped a few bob in return for turning a blind eye to her bawdy house.
Charlie and Freddie were charged with handling stolen goods, it was the end of the world for Charlie. They both spent the next few hours languishing in rat invested Cheapside and for the very first time in his life he feared for his family. Surely, this will land them in the workhouse.
Until now, they had both been crafty. Charlie had been involved in running criminal clubs for many years, handling a
nd selling stolen goods whether they were from the docks or the town shops. He wasn’t fussy and would go to extraordinary lengths to run his underground ‘business.’ He had even put his four year old son Jim at risk to carry out his trade so effectively. He knew a nearby yard seller who traded in scrap metal and whose building led from one street to another. The buildings were connected in such a manner that the task for the police in catching them was a virtual impossibility.
The notorious Court dwellings were joined by a labyrinth of cellars, two foot holes were made through the walls. A small, underweight boy like Jim could climb through them carrying all manner of booty and with no trouble at all.
Almost all of the residents earned money by theft. Those that didn’t, minded their own business. Bottles from the docks were sold to shady liquor shops and public houses for a fraction of their value. Vegetables were sold openly on the streets and anything stolen from a posh house would be ‘fenced’ in the city pubs.
Charlie was amazed at how wiry and strong his little lad had become, knowing full well that he was not feeding him properly nor treating him right at home. The greasy bed and damp housing offered little comfort, but incredibly the boy was fit. Charlie boasted, ‘He is as fit as a flea.’ He had a few flea bites too, as well as bug bites so it was surprising he was well at all.
No one was stupid enough to keep their goods in their homes. The ‘rat runs,’ as they were called, through the cellars were a perfect place to store stolen property and also a means of escape. Charlie didn’t care that his son would mix with dangerous characters. He would creep on his hands and knees through the cruel darkness of the underground. Several houses were connected in this way, and some had communication from one back window to another. Charlie’s was one of them.
A Wanton Tale Page 5