A Wanton Tale

by Paula Marie Kenny

  ‘How are you involved in this?’ Asked Sophie.

  Jim didn’t answer.

  They walked in silence which gave Sophie time to think. ‘Why was she here? What is the destiny Larry had spoken of?’ No answers came into her head, she was even more confused. She wanted to go home to the house she could see as they entered Vale Park.

  Suddenly, it became too much for her. She didn’t know if she could trust Jim or even trust her own judgment. She backed away from him. Although she was never a girl to cry easily, she didn’t belong here and her bright green eyes began to fill with tears. Although her tears were obscuring the wiry figure of the young man before her, she could make out the concern on his face.

  ‘Sophie, we need to take you away from this while I try and find out what is happening. I know that Larry has brought you here from some date in the future. To try to understand why, is difficult. All I do know is that it will be for a good reason.’

  Sophie nodded. Just the mention of Larry’s name was, somehow, comforting. At least they had something in common.

  ‘I think it’s best that we take you somewhere safe where you can get some decent clothes. It looks like you’re in your underwear.’ Jim tried to smile and hoped to lighten the girl’s mood. ‘Decent?’ thought Sophie with a wry smile, she hadn’t seen a decent garment to her liking all day. He then took off his jacket and offered it to her.

  Sophie reluctantly put on his well-worn jacket. She felt scantily clad compared to the other girls and women she had seen. She couldn’t help noticing that Jim’s coat was smelly.

  ‘We must catch the ferry to take us over the water.’ Asked Jim, ‘Once we are there I will take you to my Aunty Margaret’s house.’ Jim couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s tentative expression. ‘She is a real Aunt, me Ma’s sister.’ He quickly reassured her and added, ‘Me Aunty Margaret is a kind soul.

  The fare on the ferry was only a penny and within an hour, they were knocking on the door of a terraced house on George’s Hill. It was a part of Liverpool Sophie didn’t know, other than by reputation, it was a modest area of decent folk. Margaret knew it was Jim by the manner in which he had ran tanned on the highly polished knocker. Three loud raps were always her nephew.

  As the door opened Sophie was practically leaning on Jim. She was worn out and was feeling apprehensive.

  Jim often paid a visit to his Aunty and sometimes brought her some fish and other fresh produce from the market.

  Sophie heard the woman speaking before she even opened the door. She was most surprised to see Jim at the door accompanied by a striking young girl and her shock was obvious. She almost jumped back on her heels, she surmised that he was two timing Florrie.

  ‘What have you brought me here now Jim? Who is this? Hope you are not bringing any trouble to me door.’ Aunty Margaret was immediately suspicious as to why he had brought a young girl to her home. Despite the forthright edge to her voice she was concerned. ‘This is most unusual.’ She thought.

  Jim had never brought a girl with him before, not even Florrie. Margaret had a soft spot for her nephew and if he needed help, he had come to the right place, he was always welcome.

  She quickly looked up and down the street, it was a respectable area and none of the neighbours were out.

  ‘Bring her inside lad.’

  Her arms were folded decisively across her plump figure, her inquisitive grey eyes were locked onto his. At the same time she was admiring the colour of Sophie’s hair and was intrigued as to who she might be. Margaret was a widow with no children of her own and was glad of some company. Her adopted niece Jessie, Jim’s sister had got married last year.

  ‘This is Sophie. She’s very tired Aunty Margaret and she’s in shock.’ Said Jim sheepishly, his bright blue eyes were looking towards the stairs.

  ‘Hasn’t she got a tongue? She can speak for herself. You don’t look well, dear and look at the way you are dressed. You’re almost naked. You don’t call that a dress, it looks like a butter rag and I can see your drawers. Now then, what is all this about? And I don’t want any tales.’

  ‘Thank you for having me here.’ Said Sophie as though talking to someone who had invited her for tea. Margaret’s face broke into a smile. She was impressed that she was well mannered too and thought she must be a ‘good’ girl.

  ‘You’re in good hands with our Jim.’ But Margaret could see that Sophie was clearly upset about something. She glanced over to Jim, who read her expression, his aunt wanted an explanation.

  ‘I found her in New Brighton. She doesn’t belong here Aunty, she’s from another time, she’s from the future, Larry told me.’

  ‘Not this again, Jim I said no tales. Since you were young you have talked of your imaginary friend Larry ……’ her eyes rolled to the heavens.

  ‘He is not imaginary!’ Joined in Sophie, she didn’t mean to sound so abrupt. Jim’s Aunt looked a little shocked but listened as Sophie explained how Larry had coaxed her onto the fairground ride, ahead in time in August 1928.

  Margaret continued to stare incredulously at Sophie.

  ‘Go on Jim.’ She said.

  ‘Aunty.’ Said Jim seriously. ‘Larry does exist. That’s how Sophie arrived here but I don’t know why she is here. All I know is that I must help her, people are counting on her but I don’t know who or why. Can we get her some clothes? A pretty girl like her is attracting too much of the wrong kind of attention. That’s how I met up with her.’

  ‘I should imagine she does. New Brighton has a bad reputation.’ She folded her arms whilst pursing her lips, ‘I’m not soft, I know what goes on over there, it’s a den of iniquity.’

  ‘Remember Betsy and Freddie Hale, the people who are after Florrie. They’ve got designs on Sophie now.’

  ‘I cannot believe they are still getting away with it. Exploiting girls, so much for the change in the law back in 1885. I am surprised they haven’t met their end. I expect they are too well protected after what they did to Alice. Thank goodness you brought her to this end of town. That evil pair won’t find her here, this is Everton and a respectable neighbourhood. I do believe you Jim, your encounters with Larry have helped you before.’

  There was a hint of scepticism in her voice at the mention of this mystical figure but at this time it suited her to believe her nephew.

  ‘Now then, let’s have a nice cup of tea, you will be safe with Jim he is a good lad.’ Said Margaret firmly as she grasped the kettle that was resting on her highly polished black lead range.

  Jim was intrigued as to what Sophie’s mission might be and hoped that all would be revealed to him soon.

  For a while, they sat quietly, each of them lost in thought, unable to explain why Sophie was with them. An over fed looking ginger cat came into the room and jumped on Sophie’s lap, purring. The animal gave Sophie comfort. She eventually broke the silence, she was fearful and uncomfortable with what she had heard.

  ‘What does this Betsy want with me?’ Her anxiety was obvious, her hands were shaking and she was biting her bottom lip.

  Jim looked at her intensely, ‘I need to start from the very beginning.’ He leant back in his chair as he clasped his hands together. He did this when deep in concentration.

  ‘I don’t want to shock you Sophie, but I must take you back to a very dark time in our family. Worse than the turmoil we are in right now. I need to tell you about what happened in the past when I was very young, this will help you understand.

  ‘That woman Betsy has always been a thorn in my side, she is an evil woman, a fiend and she’s destroyed our family.

  Jim began his tale. From the time that he was too young to remember he was helped by his aunt’s intimate knowledge of past events.

  Jim cast his mind back to his childhood. At this time he had discovered the perils and harsh realities for young people in his neighbourhood. He had been brought up in Circus Street, near town. The area had never been a good place and even worse if your family was large. Jim Boyle was the young
est of seven, all his older siblings were girls.

  His father, Charlie, worked on the docks and quite often found himself without work. He would stand in a group of men early in the morning eagerly waiting to be chosen for a day’s back breaking work. Only the fittest and strongest were picked and of course, the ones who were ‘in’ with the boss.

  He tried to make enough money for rent and food for his family. He kept his head above water by supplementing his income by theft from the docks. He stole mostly fruit and drink, luxuries in this most squalid of streets. His only son Jim was his favourite. He was an attractive boy with blonde wavy hair and appealing blue eyes. He was good at selling, and had started his trade when he was very young. His winning smile and precocious charm ensured he came back with an empty basket. The shillings jingling in the pocket of his shabby pants were proudly tipped up to his father.

  Life on the streets was tough, Jim’s instincts were sharp and he kept clear of any toff taking more than a cursory interest in him. Some of the scenes he had witnessed should never have been seen by a child nor experienced by the young girls who were habitually exploited. He knew that men were interested in boys too, particularly young ones. But Jim was careful and street wise too. He didn’t like men touching him, he had seen all manner of perversions and skilfully steered clear of it. He was aware that some contact was more than a friendly gesture. A pat on the arm would sometimes become an unwanted caress. They were men with money and knew that starving children were easy prey. Nevertheless, Jim would run a mile. It was just as well he was fast on his feet.

  His mother Lottie was a hard woman, deeply troubled by the squalor in which she lived. She always smelt of the fumes of her intoxication. By four o’clock, most days she had sunk a bottle of gin.

  ‘Don’t you come back here ‘til they’re all sold, do you hear me, a penny a pear and there’s two dozen, what does that make lad?’

  ‘Two shillin’ Ma.’ Jim stifled a stammer, he did feel nervous but that was no good at all, he had to be a man from a tender age.

  ‘Watch out for the coppers, they might give you a clip round the ear.’ His mother had shouted after him with a cynical chuckle. It was no wonder that the young boy felt that nobody cared about him.

  ‘The old bitch is drunk again, better sell all these or me life won’t be worth livin’ later.’

  Jim left their squalid dwelling and headed for town. He would cheekily approach the businessmen of Dale Street and Old Hall Street. He would call, ‘Nice juicy pears to take home to your good ladies.’

  He did love his father, even though he had shown no real interest in his children. Charlie had turned a blind eye to his wife’s drinking many moons ago. He was too busy thieving, playing cards and drinking with his cronies. He was hardly ever in the house.

  Lottie Boyle took another sip of cheap gin from her chipped teacup whilst setting about the task of stirring the stew on the range. It was ‘blind scouse,’ a vegetable stew without the meat. It was her own fault that she couldn’t afford any meat but Lottie, being Lottie, blamed everyone else except the right person. She was hopeless at running a home.

  She was deep in thought as she moodily stirred the dinner, it was burnt around the edges of the pot and she had almost boiled it to a pulp.

  ‘Don’t know who they think they are, them two miserable bitches.’ She was thinking aloud, referring to her twins who had already flown the nest. They had been lucky, they had found gainful employment with an elderly spinster in Princes Park. She had a big house and there was a lot to do, Rebecca and Vicky were glad to be working for the kind old dear. She was good to them and they worked hard in return. Their employer had two little spaniels and they enjoyed many a long walk in the lovely surroundings of Sefton Park. In time, they both had met and married tradesmen. ‘Lucky bitches.’ Thought Lottie resentfully.

  Lottie was always living in hopes of a visit. Not because she missed them but she wanted the money they may bring her.

  ‘After all I’ve done for them, bringing them into the world, they’ve got ideas above their station, huh.’ Thought Lottie, sighing bitterly. It was an idle pipe dream if she expected them to come anywhere near her. ‘Think they’re too good for ‘round here now.’ Lottie thought the world owed her something because she had spent more than a decade bringing up children.

  One of Jim’s friends was dawdling home from school, he had been approached by his teacher before he left for home. ‘Ask Jim’s mother why he was absent again.’

  ‘As if she didn’t know.’ He said to himself. ‘She knows they are poor and Jim would be out selling fruit.’ He was dreading going to number 10 Circus Street, it was a gloomy, depressing place.

  It was a mystery why some of Jim’s sisters had suddenly left home and people were talking. Rumours were circulating that there was a ‘child snatcher’ in the neighbourhood. Jim’s school friend was afraid to go near the house, it had an aura of foreboding.

  In 1886 the Boyle’s youngest daughter Jessie was five years old. Despite her tender years her recollection was vivid. She would never forget the day that Alice left the house with a wicked looking woman and was never seen again.

  Her Ma and Pa, Charlie and Lottie, were out drinking in the George pub at the Pierhead. It was a rough pub often frequented by sailors and dock workers. Two other regulars were Freddie and Betsy Hale. Betsy and Lottie had been brought up in the same streets and regarded one another with mutual contempt. Lottie was a drunk, a broken woman who sold stolen goods. Betsy lived off immoral earnings. Both saw each other as low life, there was no honour between them.

  Lottie’s drunken voice carried across the pub as she argued about money with her husband. Betsy’s sharp ears could hear every word she was saying from behind the screen of the snug, they sat back to back.

  Betsy winked at Freddie with a wry smile on her lips. They waited for Charlie and Lottie to leave the alehouse. Freddie and Betsy finished their pitcher of ale, then stood up after giving each other a knowing look, he adjusted his cap as she fastened her cape. They walked through the dense blanket of exhaled smoke and left unnoticed into the cold, damp night.

  ‘I think I’ll pay Lottie a visit tomorrow, I have a proposal to make.’ Said Betsy, slyly to Freddie. ‘Her Alice must be about twelve.’

  ‘Mmm, reckon she must be.’ He mused.

  Betsy headed off in the direction of Circus Street being careful where she stepped, as she walked through the filthy streets. There was no knocker on the Boyle’s front door and no number for that matter, ‘10’ had been crudely scrawled in chalk, on what was left of the paint.

  Betsy already knew the house, Lottie Boyle’s prepubescent daughter hadn’t failed to attract her attention. Alice was out and about a lot more running errands now that her two older sisters had left home. She was tall for a twelve year old, unusual for a child from that area. Most were undernourished and very few of the men were taller than five foot seven.

  The door of number 10 wasn’t immediately opened. It was eleven o’clock in the morning and Lottie was in. Her husband Charlie had gone to the docks looking for work. Alice was in charge of her younger siblings. Hearing the knock on the door she looked out of the parlour window. Through the dirty pane of cracked glass she could see it was a woman. She couldn’t see her face, because she was wearing a large hat. She felt it was safe to open the door to a woman.

  ‘Is your Ma there Alice? That is your name?’ Asked Betsy in a friendly voice, knowing full well the girl’s name.

  ‘She’s having a kip.’

  ‘Tell her it’s Betsy, I am a good friend of hers, I’d like to talk to your Ma, now.’ She said impatiently. She guessed that Lottie would be sleeping off the effects of the previous night’s drink and most probably this morning’s ‘hair of the dog.’

  Alice was wary of the woman at the door, to her she looked ancient. She had lots of paint and powder on her face and her teeth were bad. She seemed to snarl as she spoke and Alice took an instant dislike to her. A shaft of weak Ap
ril sunshine broke grudgingly down on the dismal street bringing golden highlights to Alice’s hair. She turned away and raced up the stairs to wake her mother. Betsy walked in boldly, glancing at the other children with disdain as she sniffed in disgust at the state of the place. It stunk of damp and stale cooking smells mixed in with body odour. Although she reeked of cheap perfume, the putrid smell of the Boyle’s hovel dominated the air.

  ‘It’s about time the lazy lie-in bitch was up and around.’ Thought Betsy contemptuously. She then turned to Alice. ‘Tell her I’ll be in the scullery, I want to see her on our own.’ Betsy shouted up the stairs after her.

  ‘What does that old bag want?’

  ‘Don’t know Ma?’

  ‘I better come down.’ Lottie was curious. Within minutes the two women were behind the closed door of the squalid scullery.

  ‘I know your fella’s been robbing off the docks, it’s common knowledge. Your bare foot brats have been seen by all and sundry, selling fruit and ‘veg’ all over town.’ Hissed Betsy, ‘Robbed off the docks!’ Her threat was hardly subtle.

  Lottie sat down on the broken backed chair and began to sob. It was a cry that was all too common. She was depressed by the withdrawal effects of the liquor she had consumed the night before, her deteriorating health and her predicament. She had nowhere to turn and the burden of having seven children had worn her down. The Boyles were living from hand to mouth. Betsy was smiling but her eyes were hard and glistening.

  ‘I might be the lady to help you out Lottie Boyle, you know like a Fairy Godmother.’ Her tone was cynical.

  ‘A fiver for her, goldilocks out there, I can find her some gainful employment, take her off your hands. Then next year, I’ll take care of Rachel, and the year after, Ruby, I will look after them.’

  Lottie looked down, feeling stripped of every shred of her pride.

  ‘My gentlemen are nice, some are well off too. You never know, they might find a rich husband, it has been known.’

  She didn’t have to convince Lottie that she had no choice, she couldn’t see any other way out of this chaos. She knew quite well that Betsy was a brothel keeper. She was about to become a drunken accomplice by selling her daughter into a life of prostitution. Lottie could see no alternative and didn’t really care to find one. If Betsy reported Charlie to the authorities he would go to jail and would never get work again. The whole family would have to face the grim prospect of the workhouse.