by Sam Michaels
‘Yeah. Thanks, Johnny. See ya.’
Charlotte gazed through the net curtains as Johnny sped off and she saw Lord Hamilton returning home with a newspaper tucked under his arm. He’d be another person who’d be happy to see the back of PC Batten. But rather than go banging on the copper’s door now, she’d let the man sleep for a while. It would give her time to think about what she was going to say. But he had to go, she’d promised Johnny, and she hoped he’d go amenably. If he didn’t, she chuckled to herself as the thought flashed through her mind of burying him in the cellar with the other corpses.
*
Georgina had discarded the prison warden’s hat and now her shoulder-length black hair hung loose. But she couldn’t get rid of the jacket. It was far too cold to be wandering around in just a shirt and would probably draw attention. She stood at a small crossroad of narrow streets, unsure of which direction to take. Left, she decided, hoping it was the direction that led away from the prison. The street was just about wide enough for a small cart to pass. Tall, neglected narrow houses flanked each side, blocking out most of the sunlight and leaving the street looking and smelling damp. A young woman in tatty clothes dragged a screaming small child indoors. She threw Georgina a filthy look before slamming her front door. A few houses further along, two women stood on their doorsteps chatting and as Georgina approached, she heard them talking unfavourably about her. One of them spat on the ground in front of her.
‘Slag,’ she said, scowling at Georgina.
‘You’ve got some front walking down here. My girl’s banged up in Camden Castle. Half the women on this street have been in there at one time or another. You wanna watch yourself.’
Georgina hurried on. She didn’t blame the women for holding her in such contempt. They had no idea that she wasn’t a prison warden. She reckoned if they knew the truth, they’d probably help her abscond, but she didn’t want to drag in an innocent stranger and had no idea if she could trust them.
She turned a corner into an even narrower street and more decrepit housing. It was deserted but she heard a baby crying, probably from hunger. The sound drifted out from an upstairs window. Then a woman yelled and a bloke shouted back a profanity. From another house, someone was coughing heavily. The street reeked of poverty yet Georgina felt comfortable here. It reminded her of home with her deceased grandmother, Dulcie, and her best friend, Molly.
Muddy alleyways ran between every fourth house, which she guessed led to a shared privy. She doubted they’d look for her here and she could hide out for a while, but then what? She still had to get across London in a warden’s uniform.
A door opened and an overweight man in a pair of grubby dungarees stepped out onto the street. He took a roll-up from his mouth and flicked it onto the ground as he leered at Georgina. She recognised that look in his eyes. She’d seen it when Kevin Kelly had raped her at her husband’s funeral. The memory turned her stomach.
‘You must be lost,’ the man said, eyeing her up and down.
‘Actually, I am,’ she answered.
‘Ha ha, fucking ironic, that is. Good luck. You’re gonna need it.’
‘You couldn’t help me out, could you?’ she asked, fluttering her dark lashes.
‘Depends. What’s in it for me?’
Georgina stepped towards the pot-bellied man. ‘Whatever you like, but I ain’t got any money,’ she purred.
He glanced up and down the street and nodded for her to come inside. Georgina followed him into the dark passageway, her nose wrinkling at his putrid body odour that wafted as she walked behind him. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and told her to go up first. The wooden staircase looked rickety and unsafe but she willingly followed his instruction. Wallpaper hung from the walls and in some areas, she could see the wooden lath where plaster had fallen away.
From the landing, he led her through to his room. Empty beer bottles littered the floor and Georgina was sure she saw rat droppings. She looked at the filthy mattress on the bare floorboards and tried not to appear disgusted.
‘You’re a fine looking woman,’ he said, pulling his boots off, ‘but what ya doing just standing there? Take your clothes off. Don’t be shy. You’re all sluts from that prison. The whores and the guards are as bad as each other.’
Georgina swallowed hard as she slowly unbuttoned her jacket.
‘Hurry up, I ain’t got all day,’ he said, now naked from the waist down and semi-erect.
‘Why don’t you give me a hand,’ she teased.
The man licked his lips as he walked towards her, his eyes fixed on the curve of her breasts. He reached out and yanked the jacket over her shoulders. She turned her face from his foul breath and at the same time, swiftly brought her knee up sharply into his groin.
He immediately doubled over, then fell to the floor, holding onto his now flaccid penis and testicles as he groaned and writhed in pain.
‘Bitch,’ he spat in between moans.
‘Yep, I am, but I ain’t a slut,’ she spat, kicking him hard in the back.
The man rolled over to his front and sat on his knees. She saw hatred in his eyes and knew he wanted to kill her.
‘I suggest you stay exactly where you are,’ she warned.
Still holding onto his testicles, he went to stand up but Georgina was quick and swung her arm round. Her fist connected hard with his chin, which sent him reeling backwards. She shook her hand and blew on her painful knuckles. It had been a while since she’d used her boxing skills but her father had taught her well in the use of a good right hook, and it appeared she could still throw a fierce punch.
As the man lay dazed and bruised, Georgina scrambled to undress, then threw on his dungarees. It was a relief to take off the pinching shoes but she didn’t relish the thought of slipping her feet into his stinking boots. Still, needs must, she thought as her eyes searched the room and she spotted a dark donkey-type jacket and flat cap. Now, fully dressed in the man’s attire, she gathered up the warden’s clothes before hovering over him.
‘Sorry about this,’ she said. ‘Keep your mouth shut, don’t tell anyone about it and I’ll see to it that you’re compensated for your silence. And if you do talk, I’ll arrange for your tongue to be cut out.’
He looked back at her, grimacing, but nodded his head. She knew his type. He wouldn’t go running to the Old Bill. Satisfied that he’d keep quiet, she dashed down the stairs and into the scullery, searching for something to cut her hair. The first knife she found was too blunt. Then she found a rusty pair of scissors and hacked at her mane.
She looked down into the sink at her dark locks and pulled the flat cap low over her face. As she turned, she caught her reflection in the scullery window. Having been brought up as a boy, she felt quite comfortable in the dungarees and boots.
‘Hello,’ she said, and smiled to herself. ‘It’s nice to meet you again, George.’
6
The next day, after a fraught night sleeping rough, Georgina had made her way through London and been shocked and saddened at the devastation she’d witnessed. Whole streets had been flattened by Hitler’s bombs. Ruins now stood where grand buildings had proudly lined affluent roads. Kids played on bomb sites and many women appeared worn-out looking and drab. The war was clearly taking its toll on the people of London.
Georgina ambled through Clapham Junction feeling inconspicuous dressed as a working-class man. She passed two soldiers who didn’t give her so much as a second glance. Had she been in her normal attire, they would have at least surreptitiously eyed her with admiration. But in the dungarees and heavy black jacket, her tall stature and broad shoulders helped to carry off the look of an unassuming bloke. She made sure she walked with splayed feet, her shoulders hunched and her hands tucked deeply into her pockets.
Georgina found it comforting to be back on familiar territory, though she hoped she wouldn’t be recognised. As she passed a newspaper stand outside the railway station, she scanned the front covers on display. There was no ment
ion of an escaped convict from Holloway, just headlines about troop movements. But that wasn’t to say there wouldn’t be coverage about her inside the papers. With empty pockets, she’d never know.
At last, and weary now from travelling, she reached Ezzy Harel’s jewellery shop. The old Jewish man, the best fence in Battersea, had been friends with her father long before she’d been born. His son, Benjamin, her accountant, still cared for her financial affairs. She rang the doorbell entry system but when Ezzy looked through the plate-glass door, he shooed her away dismissively with his hand. Her masculine disguise was more convincing than she’d given it credit for. She tapped on the door and when Ezzy looked up again, she smiled.
‘It’s me,’ she mouthed, ‘Georgina.’
Ezzy’s eyes widened in surprise and he hurried from behind his counter and across the shop.
‘Georgina… My goodness, come in… come in,’ he said.
Once inside, he quickly pulled down the shop shutters.
‘You are looking like George again. Very clever.’
‘Are they searching for me, Ezzy?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t know you’d escaped until I just saw you. Come, through to the back. Benjamin will be very pleased to see you.’
Georgina removed her flat cap and ruffled her short hair before popping her head around the door to Benjamin’s small office.
‘Psst,’ she whispered. ‘Special delivery for Benjamin Harel.’
Benjamin looked up from the books on his oak desk and pushed his round-rimmed glasses up his nose as he scrutinised her face.
She watched with amusement as it began to dawn on him that it was her.
‘I don’t believe it!’ he exclaimed, placing his hands on his desk as if to steady himself.
‘Yep, it’s me,’ she said, walking towards him.
‘What… what… what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in erm, prison.’
‘Not anymore.’
‘Did they release you early?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You’ve absconded?’
‘Yep.’
‘You do realise they will, erm, extend your sentence if you’re caught?’
‘Yes, of course I do. But I have no intention of being caught.’
At last, Benjamin smiled. ‘It’s good to see you. Really good. Though I’m not sure about the, erm, err, boots.’
‘You never met George but this was how I grew up. Ask your dad, he’ll remember.’
Ezzy came into the office carrying a tray of tea. ‘Oh yes, I remember George well. The young rascal who was the greatest pick-pocket in the borough. And the toughest girl I ever knew. Your father taught you well.’
‘Yes, he did,’ she replied fondly. ‘And thanks for the tea, I’m parched.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Benjamin asked.
‘I don’t know yet but I have to see my children. I need money though.’
Benjamin picked up a letter-opener, pushed his seat back and walked to the corner of the room. He moved a coat stand to one side and lifted the edge of a rug from the floor before jemmying up a floorboard. Georgina watched with fascination as he pulled out a file of papers and what she recognised to be one of his accounting books.
‘It’s all here but it’s not, erm, good news,’ he said in his usual nervous, stuttering manner.
‘I didn’t expect it would be. Nice hiding place, by the way.’
After sitting back at his desk, he opened the book and gave her the grave news. ‘You have very little money remaining.’
‘I know. But give me a breakdown. The short version.’
‘The house in Clapham didn’t achieve its erm, full value. No surprises there as people aren’t buying property during a war. Molly Mipple refused to accept fifty per cent of the profit. But the cost of the renovations to convert the house on Alexandra Avenue were substantial. Livingstone Road is bomb damaged. I was unable to claim any compensation from the government scheme due to your incarceration. The bicycle shop just about breaks even. Segal’s restaurant on Lavender Hill was also damaged, though the property is still viable – albeit requiring repairs. The insurance company refuse to pay out as they don’t cover acts of war. So the restaurant is now closed, as is The Penthouse Club, on your instruction.’
‘You’re not still smarting about me closing The Penthouse, are you?’
‘I was disappointed but I understand your reasons… you couldn’t, erm, protect me,’ Benjamin answered, glancing uncomfortably sideways towards his father.
Georgina didn’t say any more about it. Ezzy clearly had no idea that his only son was a queer and that The Penthouse Club which Benjamin managed was strictly men only. It had been profitable when Georgina had been running the small empire she’d created with the local coppers in her pocket. The police had known about the illegal meeting place for homosexuals but had willingly turned a blind eye – well, they had for a price.
‘So in a nutshell, you’re telling me that apart from two empty business premises, a poxy bicycle shop and the house on Alexandra Avenue, I’ve no money?’
‘You have a small amount,’ Benjamin answered and scribbled a figure on a piece of paper which he pushed across the desk to her. ‘Now you are no longer in prison, perhaps we could, erm, stop the payments to Miss Winter?’
Georgina looked at the measly amount. It wouldn’t last long. ‘No, carry on paying the old bint. If they capture me and send me back, I shall want her on my side. In the meantime, get word to her to keep an eye out for Fleur.’
‘Consider it done. Payment of rent has been maintained on your previous residence. The house is boarded up and the name on the rent book is Colleen O’Hara, the daughter of—’
‘—Yes, I know,’ Georgina interrupted, ‘Mary next door’s daughter. Does Mary have the key?’
‘Yes. Is that where you’ll be staying?’
‘For now. Are you able to contact Brian?’
‘Brian Harris? The man who worked in your printers before the police raided the premises and closed it down?’
‘Yes. If he can forge ration coupons then he can forge identity papers too. I need some, and sooner rather than later.’
‘I can see to that.’
‘It has to be done immediately. Arrange for the papers to be dropped with Charlotte. I’ll collect them from there.’
‘I don’t think that’s wise. Charlotte has an officer of the law residing at the premises and surely that is one of the first places they will look for you.’
‘She’s got a copper living at Alexandra Avenue?’
‘Yes, in erm, your apartment actually.’
‘Well, that’s a turn up for the books. They’ll never find me right under their nose and it will be the last place they’ll expect me to be. Anyway, even your dad didn’t recognise me so I’m sure I can fool the Old Bill.’ At least, she hoped she could. Now she was back in her world, Georgina knew she could never return to Holloway. ‘Benjamin, this is what I want you to do… sell the bicycle shop. I don’t care what you get for it, just as long as it’s enough to cover the costs of repairs to Segal’s. Once the restaurant is fixed, I want it opened as a less formal place, you know, sandwiches, cakes and cups of tea. Perhaps Ivy could manage it?’
Georgina saw Benjamin and his father look worriedly at each other.
‘Ivy, erm, err, Ivy didn’t make it.’
‘What, she’s dead?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. She was killed in a bombing raid. The shelter she was in took a direct hit.’
Georgina’s shoulders slumped and a sob caught in her throat. Poor Ivy, she’d been such a sweet and cheeky young lady who hadn’t had much of a life. First abused by her father and then raped and tortured by the Dentist who had removed her front teeth. The same man who had murdered Ethel, Molly’s and Charlotte’s backward sister.
‘She didn’t suffer. She wouldn’t have known what hit her, literally.’
‘Another casualty of this bastard war,’ she w
hispered under her breath. Then, pulling herself together, she continued, ‘Right. If not Ivy, maybe Dina? No, not Dina. She’s not exactly the friendly sort. What about one of the girls? Do you see or hear anything of Gerty, Babs or Tilly? I’m sure they’d rather run a café than be prostituting themselves.’
‘No, Miss Garrett. I’ve no idea what became of any of the ladies. Charlotte may be better informed.’
‘All right, for now, just get the bike shop sold and the repairs to Segal’s done. I’ll think about who can work in there later.’
‘Or the restaurant could be sold too? Just another, erm, suggestion.’
‘No,’ Georgina snapped. She wouldn’t consider selling the restaurant, not ever. It had been a gift from David and held sentimental value. After all, it was the only thing she had left of him.
‘Georgina, I think you should stay with us. We will hide you well,’ Ezzy offered, his dark, watery eyes full of kindness.
‘Thank you, but I won’t put you in a position where you could end up in trouble with the law. The last thing you need is the police going over your business with a fine toothcomb. I’ll be fine in my old house and to be honest, I’m that exhausted, I just want to sleep.’
‘You must come to me if you need anything. Anything at all.’
‘I will, thank you,’ she said, smiling at the dear man. ‘I’d best get going.’
Benjamin pulled a small metal box from his desk drawer and a key from his pocket. After opening the box, he handed her the contents. A few five pound notes and two guineas.
‘I can have more cash available for you tomorrow.’
‘This will do for now,’ she answered, acutely aware of her precarious financial situation and outgoings, now including paying Brian Harris to forge her identity documents.
She pulled her flat cap back on and smiled, asking, ‘How do I look?’