‘I will not,’ she said indignantly. ‘That’s my apartment.’
‘Then I’ll break the dammed door down,’ he said.
Just the thought of him grabbing Fern out of bed and dragging her back to that brothel while she was still losing so much blood made Matilda’s legs almost buckle under her, for it would be like signing the girl’s death warrant. She knew too that Dolores would fight like a grizzly bear to protect Fern, and the man might very well turn his gun on her. Peter was in there too, and if he heard anything going on he’d be up to see about it.
As he turned to put his shoulder to the door, Matilda bent down, lifted her skirt and pulled her small pistol from her garter.
‘Come away from that door,’ she called out. ‘Or so help me, I’ll kill you.’
She hadn’t had any cause to threaten anyone with her gun in two years, but out of habit she always had it on her, loaded, and she had kept up her target practice.
The band suddenly stopped playing, the saloon instantly as quiet as a church, all eyes turned up to the scene on the balcony.
It was the sudden hush, more than her words, which made him turn, but as he saw the small gun he laughed derisively. ‘You couldn’t hit an elephant with that,’ he said.
Matilda was terrified. The hand holding the gun was shaking, she might not be able to pull the trigger if it was necessary. But she couldn’t let the man get the better of her. She’d got to stand her ground and prevent him from opening that door.
‘Don’t tempt me to prove you wrong,’ she said, her voice quivering as much as her hands. ‘Just come away from that door, now.’
As he moved away just slightly, then braced himself to run at the door, Matilda knew that bluff wasn’t going to be enough.
She aimed the gun at his shoulder, and pulled the trigger.
In the silent room the retort sounded like a cannon. The big man turned around, staggered towards her, and then fell face down just three feet from her. There on the back of his checked jacket was a clear hole, the material around it black and smoking.
Matilda was stunned. She had aimed at his shoulder, intending to wing him, nothing more, but he must have turned slightly as she fired. She stood transfixed with horror, the smoking gun still in her hand.
All at once the silence was broken, someone cheered, others stamped their feet and clapped. But it was the sound of feet racing up the stairs behind her which brought her back to reality. Sidney reached her first, clasping her in his arms. Alfred, the other barman, went over to the prone man, rolled him over on to his back, and removing his gun from his belt, fired one shot at the door of the private gaming room.
‘Why did he do that?’ Matilda asked weakly. The balcony seemed to be swaying and there was so much smoke she could hardly see. It felt like some strange dream, yet she knew it wasn’t.
‘So we can say Big Gee fired at you first,’ Sidney whispered.
‘Is he dead?’ she asked looking down at the man lying on the floor, Henry Slocum leaning over him.
‘Not yet,’ Henry said, his face as white as parchment. ‘But I guess he soon will be. Don’t you worry none, Matty. We’ll deal with it.’
Dolores came rushing out of the apartment door, quickly followed by Peter who was wearing only a night-shirt and they both gasped to see the man’s body on the landing.
‘Go back inside,’ Matilda managed to say. ‘It’s all over now.’
The last thing Matilda heard as Dolores ushered Peter back in was the boy’s excited voice, ‘Do you reckon Aunt Matty killed him?’
If Matilda had ever doubted the loyalty and admiration her staff and customers had for her, in the next few days such doubts were swept away. To a man they backed Sidney and Henry’s tale to the police of how Big Gee came into the bar threatening her, and how she’d drawn her gun as he went up the stairs just to try to prevent him entering her apartment. He’d turned, seen her gun, drawn his, and fired, missing her by inches, and she’d fired her own as a last resort as he once again attempted to break down her door.
The police, hardly efficient at any time, were happy to accept this story. Gilbert Green was hated and feared by hundreds of people and his death, a few hours after the shooting, was a cause for merriment and pleasure, not sadness.
Matilda was so deeply shocked that for a couple of days she found it almost impossible to go into the bar. While she had no misgivings about the man’s death – he was after all an evil brute – it stunned her to think that she was capable of killing another human being. She’d done a great many things in her time, but killing, even if it had turned out to be for the public good, was too much for her to cope with.
She was also rather perturbed to find that overnight she had become a heroine. While it was pleasant enough to be called a gutsy lady, and gain the respect of men who had previously thought she was a mere figure-head at London Lil’s, she knew her actions had propelled her rather too quickly towards having to make a public stand against the atrocities happening daily in the city.
On the third night after the event she braced herself to go downstairs again. Staying upstairs would only serve to fan more outrageous tales about her, and she knew she must appear calm and in control. The bar was crowded – Sidney had joked at supper-time that perhaps she ought to shoot someone every month as it was good for business. As she made her way through the throng, stopping to speak to regulars as she always did, many men called out words of praise.
Jack Skillern, an ex-gold miner who had used the gold he found to open a boot store, came up to her and kissed her cheek.
‘What’s that for, Jack?’ she laughed. She was fond of this scrawny little man, he’d been here on opening night and been a regular ever since.
‘It ain’t just from me,’ he said, looking bashful, ‘but from all the boys. See, we’re all right proud of you. You was real brave. Most of us would turn tail and run if Big Gee came our way.’
‘Well, thank you, Jack,’ she said, and kissed him on his cheek too. ‘And perhaps you can tell them all how much I appreciate them all standing by me. I was very touched by that, I didn’t know I had so many friends.’
‘You got a lot more than you know, ma’am,’ he said. ‘See, we think of London Lil’s as our special place. You always give us a good welcome, it’s friendly and happy here. All us boys would do anything for you’s.’
She just looked at him for a moment, a lump coming up in her throat. This funny little man had made a fortune from gold, lost it on the tables, and made another. Finally he’d had the sense to hold on to a little to open his store. He was like so many of her customers, noisy braggarts, feckless, improvident, warmhearted and very dear to her. His few words of praise meant more to her than anything.
‘You and the other boys must have a drink on the house,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell Sidney right now.’
Big Gee was hardly buried when Mrs Honeymead was arrested, charged with procuring girls for prostitution, and Matilda was asked by the prosecution lawyer to come with him to speak to some of the girls left in the brothel, to encourage them to come forward as witnesses.
It was raining hard the morning Mr Rodrigious took her in his buggy to meet the girls. He was a small, wiry South American, with oiled black hair and a droopy moustache, who spoke faultless English. He told her on the ride to the brothel that he had been educated in Boston, and he hoped one day to go to England as he believed British law to be the best in the world.
‘You may find the conditions the remaining girls are in very distressing,’ he said as he halted his buggy in Kearny Street. ‘Most of the girls vanished at the time of Mrs Honeymead’s arrest. What we have left is those too sick, confused, or even too feeble-minded to run. I took them in food and water, but they wouldn’t come out of their rooms, not while I was there,’
As they made their way along a winding, narrow, putrid-smelling alley, Matilda was reminded of that excursion into Rat’s Castle so long ago. Above the door standing at the end of the alley was a sign, ‘Girli
e Town’, and either side of it were lurid painted pictures of naked girls. The windows above were all blacked out and barred and even in daylight a sense of evil sent shivers down her spine.
Mr Rodrigious opened the door with a key, then looked back at her, as if expecting her to falter.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘And I want to see everything. Not just what you think is fit for a lady to see.’
The lawyer paused in the hall to light an oil lamp, as due to the covered windows everything was in darkness, and absolutely silent. Downstairs there was little to surprise her: a fair-sized saloon at the front with shabby plush couches, and a small bar which looked as if it had been ransacked just recently. Beyond that was a kitchen, notable only in that it was filthy, with piles of unwashed dishes and the table covered in mouse droppings. She pulled back the curtain on the door, and saw the yard and the wall over which Fern had made her escape. Mrs Honeymead’s rooms were next to the kitchen, an over-furnished parlour and a bedroom adjoining it, remarkable only in that it was surprisingly homely and well cleaned.
Then they went upstairs. There were six small rooms here, bare of furniture but for a central iron bed in each. There were no blankets or sheets, just dirty mattresses which even in the dim light from the lamp could be seen to be spotted with blood and other sickening stains.
‘These are the rooms the girls were taken to by Mrs Honeymead,’ Mr Rodrigious said, moving his light closer to the head of the bed so she could see the leather restraints still hanging there. He cast the light on to the walls to show her splatters of blood. ‘One can only guess at the horrors endured in these rooms.’
As they went up a further flight of stairs, Matilda could hear faint moaning.
The lawyer turned to her and spoke in a low voice. ‘You may wonder why they prefer to stay up here once you have seen their rooms. My conclusion was that they feel safer with what they know.’
Around a small central landing, on which lay an empty tray, presumably once holding the food the lawyer had taken them, and an empty pitcher, there were a dozen narrow doors, each with an open grille in it. Matilda looked through one and instantly recoiled from the smell of excrement.
‘They’ve eaten the food I brought them, but their slop pails haven’t been emptied since Mrs Honeymead’s arrest,’ Mr Rodrigious said, putting his hands over his nose. ‘I haven’t succeeded in getting anyone to come in here and see to anything.’
Matilda opened the door nearest to her, and taking the lamp from his hand, she walked in. A small girl was curled up on the floor like a dog. As she was caught in the beam of light she let out a yelp of terror and tried to back away into the corner.
The windowless room was more like a cage, less than three feet wide, approximately five feet long, the ceiling so low a man would need to stoop to go in. Not one stick of furniture, only a blanket on the floor and the stinking pail.
The girl was no more than ten and Chinese, her only covering a ragged stained shift. She wrapped her skinny arms around her legs, and her eyes darted fearfully between Matilda and the man in the doorway.
‘I’ve come to help you,’ Matilda said, moving closer to her. She reached out to caress the girl’s forehead. ‘That man wants to help too. He won’t harm you.’
There was no response, and Matilda guessed she didn’t understand English. ‘Friend,’ she said, taking one of the girl’s small hands between hers and rubbing it.
‘There is another Chinese girl, two Mexicans and four Negroes,’ Mr Rodrigious said from behind her. ‘I can translate Spanish, but I’m afraid I don’t know any Chinese.’
As Matilda saw each girl, so her anger and indignation at Mrs Honeymead and the men who had used these girls grew. Just the way they had stayed cowed in their own cages, instead of seeking comfort from the others, showed how terrified they were. One of the black girls had the most fearful wounds from a recent beating, and both the Mexicans looked near death, they were so still and silent on their blankets.
They were in a far worse state than the children in Five Points, for lack of food and clothes were easily rectified. But these girls had been imprisoned in the dark, subjected to untold cruelty and perversions, and it would take a great deal more than a hot bath and a few good meals to mend their broken spirits.
Mr Rodrigious stood out on the landing as she spoke to each of the girls. She felt he was a good man at heart, but even further out of his depth than she was.
‘We have to get them out of here,’ she said as she rejoined him. One of the youngest black girls seemed to understand she was there to help and had come nearer to her, slipping her hand into hers. ‘They are all sick, half starved, and heaven knows where their minds are.’
Mr Rodrigious looked dismayed. ‘But there’s nowhere to take them to,’ he said. ‘The orphanage won’t take girls like these.’
Matilda flared up with anger at his stupidity. ‘Surely you can see that before they can be questioned about what went on here, they have to be nursed back to health.’
‘But who will do that?’ he said, his sallow face blanching. ‘They could be harbouring any number of serious diseases.’
He was right in that, and much as she wanted to scoop them all up and take them to her own place, that would be foolhardy.
She thought fast. ‘I’ll do the nursing,’ she said. ‘And if there isn’t anywhere else to take them, then it will have to be here, downstairs in the saloon. But you’ll have to find a doctor prepared to come and examine them.’
‘No doctor I know would come here,’ he said, and he moved towards the stairs as if he intended to run off.
It was a sudden clear picture of Cissie, Amelia and Susanna lying in their beds dying that suddenly clarified Matilda’s mind. Nothing could have saved them, and nothing would ever wipe out the pain of losing them. But she could and would save these children, whatever it took.
She stepped in front of him, barring the stairs. ‘Look here, Mr Rodrigious, when you came to me asking for help, I believed that was because you had a kind heart and a caring nature. One of the biggest hurdles these girls will have to face is learning to trust men again. You can assist in that by doing something for them right now,’ she said fiercely.
‘But I don’t know any doctors likely to come!’
‘Go to Henry Slocum, he’ll know someone, tell him I insisted. And I want some clean mattresses brought here, sheets, blankets, food and a couple of women to clean the kitchen, I’ll pay whatever it costs.’
‘I don’t know about this,’ he said, backing away from her. ‘My instructions were merely to get you to help in bringing witnesses forward, not to turn the place into a hospital.’
‘There won’t be any witnesses left alive unless you do help,’ she snapped at him. ‘I’m not asking you to roll up your sleeves and do any dirty work, only to care enough for eight children that you’ll act on their behalf.’
He was now twitching with agitation, and she saw he was weak rather than heartless.
‘Two of those girls are the same race as yourself,’ she said, intent on driving her message home. ‘How would you feel if one of your daughters was lured away from home on the promise of a good job, only to find later that she’d died in a brothel for want of one man getting her help?’
He sighed deeply and pulled at his moustache. ‘Okay. I’ll do what I can, Mrs Jennings. But I must warn you, I think you are being overly emotional and foolhardy.’
‘Better foolhardy than a coward,’ she said in a determined manner. ‘Now, go on downstairs while I explain to this little one that I’ll be back.’
She knelt down in front of the little black girl and smoothed her face gently. ‘I’m going to take care of all of you,’ she said gently. ‘But first I have to go out and get some things for you. But I’ll be back very soon with food and other things. Don’t be scared when you hear noises downstairs, it will only be me coming back with some kind ladies. Can you try and tell the other girls that too?’
Three hours later, Matilda
was ready to bring the girls downstairs.
It occurred to her as Mr Rodrigious drove her back to London Lil’s that using the saloon as a dormitory wasn’t practical. If men came hammering on the door and windows at night, the girls would become even more distressed. So she’d decided to use Mrs Honeymead’s parlour and bedroom, which at least had a semblance of comfort, and windows that weren’t barred and blacked out. She asked Dolores to come with her too.
Two women were brought to her, one Irish and the other Negro, and although they seemed apprehensive, once Matilda had explained the position, and offered them extra money, they soon had the stove lit and pails of water heating, and the sound of scrubbing and the smell of soap filled the lower part of the house.
Dolores took soup and bread up to the girls while downstairs Matilda stripped out surplus furniture and anything which might be a reminder of Mrs Honeymead. When the mattresses and bedding were delivered, she made up beds on the floor.
The two women had made an excellent job of the kitchen. The last task Matilda gave them before paying them off was to bring in two tin baths from outside and fill them with hot water.
Then she and Dolores went upstairs to get the girls.
Dolores had already stated that she believed one of the Negro girls was beyond help, her entire body area was covered in bruises and she thought that she had internal injures too, both the Mexicans were too weak to take more then a few spoonfuls of soup, and the little Chinese girl Matilda had seen first was so fearful of her she had to leave the soup and bread on the floor and walk away.
‘We’ll jist have to carry the weakest ones,’ Dolores said as they reached the top landing. ‘Maybe the others will follow.’
Matilda went into each of the rooms to greet the girls before moving them. The small black one who had held her hand before came eagerly enough, and the first Chinese girl shuffled a couple of feet in her direction. Picking this one up in her arms, she was astounded to find she weighed around the same as Amelia, and holding her tightly she went back into each of the other rooms again.
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