The Strange Adventures of H

by Sarah Burton

  “It’s only been built five years,” she told us, “and has every comfort.” She was eyeing Godfrey most unashamedly and I left them together while I explored. The rooms were large and bright and in excellent order, and all connected by large double doors.

  “Don’t you want to look with your wife, sir?” I heard Mrs Snags ask.

  “Oh she has an eye for these things. She wears the breeches, isn’t that so, H?”

  “If you say so dearest,” I called.

  “H,” repeated Mrs Snags. “That’s an odd name. What does it stand for?”

  There was the briefest of pauses.

  “Halcyon,” Godfrey decided.

  Damn him, I thought. Now I was lumbered with Halcyon.

  “Pretty,” said Mrs Snags.

  On one side the rooms looked into the street, but those on the other overlooked a small garden and then the park, so one had the impression of being in the town on one side and being in the country on the other. I liked it immensely. I completed a second tour of the rooms before returning to Godfrey and Mrs Snags.

  “I fear Mrs Snags has discovered our little secret, my dear,” Godfrey informed me.

  “I merely said he allowed his wife such liberties, my dear, that he spoke of her rather as one who pays court than one… shall we say… joined at the church door.” Mrs Snags smiled.

  “Oh Mrs Snags you will not betray us?” I moved urgently towards her and took her hand, looking appealingly into her face.

  “Oh my dear, there’s many a young couple sits down to dinner before grace is said, you’d be surprised.” She winked. “Come,” she said conspiratorially and beckoned us to follow her to the window overlooking the park. “Look down there,” she said softly, as though to emphasise her discretion. “See that alley that runs along the bottom of the gardens? And see the gate in the garden wall? Your young gentleman may come and go entirely unobserved.”

  “Mrs Snags, you are an angel!” exclaimed Godfrey.

  “We’ll take it!” I decided. “Godfrey – talk terms with Mrs Snags.”

  “You see Mrs Snags? I am a mere slave to Mistress Halcyon.”

  Godfrey paid the knowing Mrs Snags six months’ rent in advance from the purse I had previously given him and we spent the rest of the afternoon ordering and buying furniture and I explained my plan to Godfrey, of how I was to set myself up as a kept woman. He did not at first comprehend why I did not merely set up as an independent Miss, and why I insisted on the pretence of having a keeper, but I had an idea my gentlemen – who were to be a select, well-paying few – would be more easily governable with the shadowy figure of an absent protector in the background.

  “And if they misbehave I could rush in and fright them!” He demonstrated a swordly flourish with the cane that was a little too much.

  “There’ll be no need for that,” I said. “In any case, you are my keeper for today only. They need never see my gentleman. It’s better that way.”

  I had thought it all through, you understand. No woman could have real independence (except, of course, the wealthy widow, and I was saving her for my old age), so I sought liberty under the cover of a fictional protector. As it proved in the event, the existence of my fabled friend was to add spice to many of my encounters, for some like an element of danger to their love-making.

  Godfrey also expressed concern at the amount of money I was laying out and indeed the cost of the rent and the furniture had sadly depleted my store, reducing it to a mere ten pounds. Still, as I had a plot to restore my fortune, I treated us both to a fine dinner at the Bear at Bridgefoot. Although Godfrey protested he was tired and Southwark was entirely out of our way, he relented to humour me, knowing the pleasure I took in crossing the bridge. Besides, we had the coach, I reasoned, and it would take us home too. As for the money, I told him not to worry about it – as with the rest of my future, I had a plan.

  Over dinner came the moment I had been dreading.

  “Well, Mistress Halcyon,” said Godfrey, smiling. “I have played your game all day, and you have promised in return to tell me all your history, about you and your aunt and your cousins. I want the whole tale, nothing omitted.” Seeing my expression of anxiety he took my hand in his and said, gently, “Dearest Doll – or H – or whatever name you go by today – nothing you can say will shock me, or make me think less of you. But you have entrusted your aunt to my care, and besides you have a place in my heart, and I must know how it came about that you ever left her household and why you cannot return or even let her know you live and breathe.”

  Even within this private place, we had our own booth, so I knew I could unburden my tale away from the curious gaze of strangers. I both dreaded telling my story and desired the relief of sharing it, and indeed shed many tears of all kinds in the telling. I need not tell you, patient reader, my story so far, for you know it. Godfrey was silent throughout my tale and did not speak immediately when I had done. Eventually he said, “I can say nothing to what that evil woman Cresswell has done to you – she should be hanged for it. I see that you have passed through terrible times, H, and I am sorry for it. But I also think you see too much blame in yourself for these events. You cannot be the sole cause of your sister’s misadventures, or your father’s death.”

  “Oh but I was!” I exclaimed. “I whined to go to the fair; I insisted on seeing the play; don’t you see?”

  Godfrey stared at me.

  “You were a mere child, H. And I do not think you can blame yourself for your cousin’s abuse of you. His was a wicked, selfish and cruel crime. You were a victim merely. You did not comprehend the warning signs, you said so yourself. And in all probability you could not have saved the children and the cook.”

  Here I fell to weeping again and protesting that in dallying and worrying who to save I had saved no one, and no one could be blamed for that but myself.

  Godfrey sighed and took my hands in his again.

  “Listen to me. You do not see the good that is in you.”

  “What good could be in me?” I sobbed. “I am a common prostitute. I may wear a brave face, but I know what I have sunk to. And I have brought it on myself, and hurt others on the way.”

  “The good that is in you is what makes you feel responsible for all these things. Yes, your heart aches, but with pity for others, not for yourself. You care – even for your despicable cousin, you care. And when it has been in your power to take the right action, you have: you saved Joe. You saved your aunt from the fire, when no one else could move her. You mean to help Janey. The foolish, selfish little trollop you describe would not do these things. I think you have had bad luck, that is all.” And then, as if he suddenly remembered, he added with a laugh, “You even saved me! When I – a perfect stranger – fainted in the street for hunger, you helped me, and fed me, and gave me a guinea. Don’t you remember?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “But I wanted… a friend.”

  “And you have a friend! A friend who loves you even though you have been such a thoroughly wicked creature!” And he smiled and kissed me and wiped my eyes and told me my paint had all run.

  “Now, what about your Aunt Madge?” asked Godfrey. “I agree your history and Roger’s part in it would come as a terrible shock to her, and I can also understand that she could not take you back into the household, for though she may forgive you, the world will not, and will turn its back upon her as well as you. I know that as surely as you do. But it does seem cruel that she believes you dead. She believes herself responsible, you see. She feels she should never have left London without you and your sister. Anyone can see she is racked with guilt whenever either of you is mentioned or remembered.”

  It had never occurred to me that Aunt Madge might reproach herself for this and indeed I wished I could alleviate her suffering on that score.

  “Does she truly think about us so often?” I asked.

  “Oh yes! She and Frederick. Almost every day, I’d say. But Frederick is such a capital fellow he always reassure
s her that she could not have foreseen how things would turn out. Although, between us, he too blames himself.”

  “But he was not there!”

  “I know. He has spoken to me of the circumstances. He thought of coming back to London, but when the court turned up in Oxford was persuaded it was sheer folly to return. He has never forgiven himself, for he knew his brother’s character.”

  Were it possible to let them know – and indirectly the rest of my family – that I was yet alive and well, it would indeed seem a kindness both to them and to myself to know they were not suffering. But I knew that they would be bound then to make efforts to find me, and that I could not allow to happen.

  “Would you not consider,” suggested Godfrey, “reinventing your past somehow – some harmless fiction – to explain your absence?”

  I had thought about this more times than I could count. Had I been a boy it would have been simple. I could have been pressed into the navy and disappeared for years on end. But females don’t just disappear – not to reappear later, anyhow. I had heard stories of people who, having taken a knock on the head, or having a terrible shock, could forget who they were and become lost for a time, and had toyed with this idea. But in any event, I did not think I could lie every day to people I loved and remember the lies too. Godfrey looked wide-eyed at this, saying I had lived a lie ever since the day I became Doll, which hurt me a little, though I knew the truth of it. The question remained unresolved.

  The carriage took Godfrey to Lincoln’s Inn Fields and I travelled on alone to Clerkenwell, alighting a few streets away from home, as I did not want to arouse Mother Cresswell’s suspicions. As I walked the rest of the way I hugged my secret future life to myself. My new home was ready and waiting; Mrs Snags would supervise the delivery of the furniture, so when I arrived with Janey and little Mary in tow everything would be ready. All I had to do before making my final move was to inform the gentlemen I wished to keep on of my great good fortune.

  Suddenly I was grabbed from behind and dragged into an alleyway, the man who had hold of me slamming me against the wall.

  “Keep your trap shut or I’ll knife you, you thieving little bitch!”

  I tried to protest nonetheless but the man’s knuckle was pressed so hard on my throat I could only whimper.

  “Shut it!” he said, and smacked me across the face with his free hand. As he turned, the light caught both the blade he held and his face. The unnatural whiteness of his scarred cheek declared my assailant was Fricker. He must have seen me with Godfrey.

  “I know you’ve got him,” he snarled. “I saw you with him, and him with your backgammoner friend. Now you get him back to me or I’ll slit you from hole to hole. I won’t be bettered by a fucking whore and a Mary-Ann. I’ll be at the Bleeding Heart at Long Acre at this hour one week today and you’d better be there with my little monkey, or I do assure you, you will be sorry.” He let go of me and easily cut my purse from my belt. “That’s for loss of earnings.” He began to walk away down the alley, turning to call, “And I know where you live, so don’t try to be clever, you fucking slut, or I’ll burn you.”

  I made my way home, trying to calm myself by being thankful that I had only a small amount of coin in my purse, as I had been waylaid before, and ever since had carried any large sum in a privy pocket in my shift. At Clerkenwell I found Kat, pulled her into my room and told her what had happened.

  “At least it’s clear Fricker doesn’t know where Joe is,” I added. “He merely put two and two together when he saw me with Godfrey.”

  “But what happens when you don’t produce the boy?” asked Kat.

  I didn’t have an answer. Kat looked at the floor for a long time, then at the ceiling for longer, and then at me.

  “You won’t be free of Fricker while he is alive,” she said finally.

  My throat tightened.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We have to get rid of him,” said Kat. She was perfectly calm.

  “What do you mean?” I said again. “You don’t mean—”

  “There are people,” said Kat. “Soon, if all goes well, you will have money. You can pay them.”

  “Kat!”

  She grabbed my wrists.

  “What do you think he will do to you if you don’t produce Joe? Or maybe he’ll give you another warning. He’s seen you with Godfrey. He saw you with me. He must have worked out we were both involved in getting the boy home. Don’t you see? We’re at risk too.”

  It was all horrifying.

  “As you say, we will have money soon,” I stammered. “I will pay him to go away, to leave us all alone.”

  Kat shook her head.

  “He’ll keep coming back for more. Why should he not? You must make an end of him.”

  47

  I had a few days to decide what to do about Fricker and for the time being was grateful to have to devote my attention to the gentlemen I hoped would support me in my new venture. I had decided to keep, if I could, my city merchant, who I reminded of his first sweetheart; Sir Robert; my member of parliament, who liked to keep a check on the status of my depravity; Lord A, of course, of whom I was most fond; and young Jasper. I expected to attract more wealthy admirers once I was established, but these would do to be going on with. The first three were straightforward enough, and once they had been assured that my keeper would give me warning of his visits, agreed without question to substantially higher fees for longer sojourns in the greater comfort my new premises had to offer. Each of them, of course, believed himself the sole recipient of this, my special favour. I gave them the address and assigned a day of the week to each and advised them of when this new arrangement was to commence and forbade them to breathe a word of my design to anyone, especially Mother Cresswell.

  Lord A and Jasper reacted somewhat unexpectedly. I had enough respect for Lord A not to affect that he was the only one of my gentlemen to whom I was extending this invitation. When he understood me, Lord A asked me if I were sure I wanted to place myself under the protection of this man, and asked me many questions about his character, and once he was satisfied that I had not rushed into this agreement thoughtlessly, wished me good luck but regretted he could no longer pay me visits as, while he did not condemn me for wishing to entertain gentlemen other than my keeper he could not, in all conscience, be party to such a deception. This surprised me, as it is well known that a Miss set up in a fair way by one lover often supplements her income by allowing the attentions of one or more others, and as long as she exercises some discretion, this is tolerated. But I could see that Lord A was a man of principle and would not be moved in his decision. It was only then that I decided I could trust him, and him alone of all my gentlemen, with the true state of affairs.

  I asked him whether he would feel differently if there were, in fact, no gentleman supporting me; if I had invented one just to keep my other gentlemen in order? At this he looked at first astonished, then he laughed and said I was a rare one and the most cunning jade he ever knew. Then he stopped and said, “You are telling me the truth, Doll? You are not saying this just to make me easier? For I will not trespass on another man’s property. I have my good name to think of. And a conscience besides.”

  “I know that,” I said, “and I also know that for a whore to tell truth is as unlikely a discovery as cat’s eggs, but I swear this is the truth of the matter. My keeper is a phantom, a mere shadow. It is all my gentlemen who are my keepers. And I should like to lose you least of all.”

  Lord A took me in his arms and said, “I do not scruple to say, Doll, that I should sorely miss our time together. I believe you, and I swear to keep your secret, for the sake of what Madam Cresswell calls our little tit-à-tits.” We parted on good terms, Lord A pleased that my new address was much nearer his own, as he was finding the journey to Clerkenwell more troublesome as the town became more crowded, as it had done noticeably since the great fire.

  Jasper was altogether a different matter. He listened with
an expression of growing incredulity as I explained my new fortunate circumstances and then exclaimed: “Damn it all Dollie, I would have kept you if you’d only said!”

  This surprised me a great deal.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” I asked.

  He looked a little abashed.

  “Damn it all, a fellow doesn’t like to… I mean to say, if you’d said no… I would have felt a proper fool.” I suddenly felt very sorry for him. I knew he cared for me but had not realised quite how deep it went. “Truth is, Dollie old girl, a word from you could smash a fellow into a thousand pieces.” I saw he was very nearly in tears. I put my arms round him and laughed and kissed him and told him he was a dear.

  “I should have liked to have you all to myself,” he mumbled, blushing somewhat. “I don’t see any other young ladies, you know,” he said. “You know, like I see you.”

  “I know,” I said, and sat on his lap and hugged him.

  “I don’t say I haven’t tried,” he added. “It just ain’t the same.”

  I enumerated the advantages to him of the new arrangement and he was a little mollified, but added that he hoped he shouldn’t meet my protector, for he had pipped him at the post and he should very strongly like to knock his block off. I promised him that should I ever tire of my gentleman, Jasper would be first in line for promotion, and to see the effect this hope had on him was most pathetic. Still, he left me with the look of one who has learned his sweetheart is to be married and the memory of his crestfallen expression trailed around after me all day.

  That night I stayed in Clerkenwell. It was the night of my appointment with Fricker, which I of course did not intend to keep, as I did not intend to produce Joe. I had avoided Kat and thus any decision about Fricker and wondered what his next move would be. I had been careful not to go out alone since he had jumped me, but this was merely delaying things.

  I did not have to wait long to find out, for I was woken the next morning by a blood-curdling scream. I scrambled out of bed and ran down the stairs to find Janey sitting on the floor by the open front door cradling the baby, as I thought, in her lap, and weeping. Full of terror that something had happened to little Mary, I cried, “What is it Janey? What’s the matter?”