by Nancy Carson
‘She’s a good soul, you know, Daisy. Hardly a murmur from her.’
‘You’re lucky. Not all babies are as placid.’
‘Especially after what I put her through …’
Daisy straightened the knife and fork in front of her, making sure they were parallel to each other. Caitlin watched her and smiled, recognising it as a habit acquired from being in service.
‘I have a proposition to put to you, Caitlin.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. Something that would benefit all of us, I think.’ Her eyes met Caitlin’s. The candour of Caitlin’s expression told her that although the girl’s body had been defiled and abused, the quintessence of womanhood and the innate graciousness she had once possessed remained intact. ‘I would like you to bring the baby and come and live with me and Sarah – for the time being at any rate.’
‘Oh, Daisy, that’s very kind of you, but surely—’
‘Before you accept or decline, let me just explain a couple of things that might sway you. Whilst it would benefit you, inasmuch as you wouldn’t need to beg any more, and you would have a roof over your head that would cost you nothing, you would be helping me.’
‘As a maid, you mean?’
Daisy laughed. ‘No, not as a maid. I don’t want to employ you. In any case I couldn’t afford to employ you right now. But Sarah, as I explained, is still struggling to beat this addiction that you seem to have overcome already. You have so much in common, the two of you. You’ve suffered the same tribulations. I think it would help her back to good health if she had a close friend she could share her troubles with. You’d be somebody she could look up to. I’m sure you could become very good friends as well. As a matter of fact, I believe you would be a crutch for each other. Certainly, having a baby in the house again might restore her interest in life. Then there’s my father … He’s an invalid now and I have the distinct feeling he’s willing himself into his grave, he’s so heartbroken over the death of my mother. If I could leave them both, knowing they’re in your hands when I go out to work, I would feel a bit more at ease.’
‘You’re going out to work?’
‘I have to find work, Caitlin. The money I had is all but gone and I have the baby’s funeral to pay for, the rent on the house, the doctor’s bills …’
‘Oh, Daisy, I’d love to be of help. To be sure, living with you would make my life so much easier. But I don’t want to be a burden. I couldn’t afford to pay for my lodgings and you have enough on your plate …’
‘I’m hoping you’d take some of it off my plate. And I don’t want money off you for your keep. Do you agree? Will you come?’
‘Oh, yes …’ Caitlin raised her eyes as if in supplication to the Lord. ‘Thank you. Of course I’ll come.’
‘Good. Today … We’ll collect your things from your room later.’
‘There’s not a lot to collect, Daisy.’
‘But first, let’s go to the offices of the Dudley Herald. After the lack of interest from that police inspector, I’m even more determined to bring Lawson Maddox to book. I’m sure they’d be glad to expose his wickedness in the paper. Then the police will be forced to do something. The public will demand it.’
‘Daisy, there’s … there’s something I should have told you, but until now the time hasn’t been right … That police inspector … Inspector Marsh …’
‘Yes?’ Daisy looked at Caitlin, puzzled.
‘I think he recognised me. He was the first man I told you about. The very first man that Lawson wanted me to … to go with … The one I had to prove my love by sleeping with.’
Daisy groaned inwardly. ‘Oh, Caitlin. Are you quite sure? Remember you were drugged.’
‘Drugged or not, I’m quite sure. It was him.’
‘No wonder he wasn’t interested, if he’s a friend of Lawson.’
‘I bet Lawson knows already that you’ve been to report him, Daisy.’
‘I bet he does. All the more reason to get the newspaper to expose what he’s up to.’
After they left the Fountain Dining Rooms, Daisy and Caitlin went to the offices of the Dudley Herald. Mr Joshua Hatton deigned to see them and she told her story again, citing Caitlin as a victim of the vile trade in young girls by which Lawson Maddox was profiting.
‘As the publisher and printer of the Dudley Herald, I’m afraid I could never allow such accusations to taint the pages of our newspaper, Mrs Maddox,’ Mr Hatton replied. ‘Such stories, such sordid details, would most definitely offend our readers’ sensitivities. The church leaders, the town councillors, indeed all the dignitaries of the town would clamour for my blood if such degenerate reporting ever saw the light of day.’
‘But you report all other crimes and court cases in the borough,’ Daisy argued, astonished at such a negative reaction.
‘Indeed we do, including the arrest of the occasional prostitute plying her trade on the streets of this respectable Black Country town. But such as you are suggesting, never. It’s more than my position is worth.’
‘Do I take it then that you are either in favour of this corrupt abuse of young women, or are a regular visitor to such places that sell their services?’
Mr Hatton leaned back in his chair patiently and clasped his hands together in front of him. ‘Mrs Maddox, I can assure you that I have never set foot in such a place,’ he said calmly, and Daisy realised she had overstepped the mark. ‘And such remarks are not the way to ensure my co-operation.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But something has got to be done about this, and I thought you might like to be of help.’
‘Mrs Maddox …’ He leaned forward as if to divulge a great secret. ‘Respectability is the framework into which our society fits its life. That very respectability dictates that we protect our readers, more especially the wives and daughters of the borough, from such abominable, unspeakable events. They would not make pleasant reading and I would be called to account for publishing such material that many would find offensive. Hypocrisy and the evasion of morality of course exist within society, we know that. But it is not the purpose nor aim of my newspaper to report such alarming and astonishing goings-on.’
‘I am surprised and very disappointed,’ Daisy said evenly. ‘Those very wives and daughters you mention are the ones I am most anxious to protect. And I’m not so sure they’re as squeamish as you make out. But if they’re not made aware of the danger’s existence, they can’t be on their guard, can they? If the pretty daughters of the area have to be served up as dainty morsels to titillate rich and morally incontinent men, then let them at least be of an age that they can understand the nature of the sacrifice they’re asked to make …’ She paused for breath and to garner more thoughts. ‘Yes, I know that not all prostitutes are unwilling – some revel in it. But those that are unwilling should be allowed the same protection that you demand for your readers.’
‘I take your point, Mrs Maddox, and I do sympathise. However, let me remind you of the fuss and palaver caused as recently as 1885 by a certain Mr W T Stead, the editor of the Pall Mall Gazette, a London evening newspaper. Do you recall the “Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon”?’
‘I don’t think I do. Possibly I was protected from exposure to it then in the way you believe respectable girls should be protected.’
‘Then at the risk of being indelicate, let me enlighten you. In 1885, the age of consent, as you may recall, was twelve years old. Mr Stead, with the help of a Mrs Josephine Butler … You might remember Mrs Butler – she was the reformer who campaigned against the Contagious Diseases Act, which placed prostitutes under police supervision. Anyway, this Mr Stead – with the backing of Mrs Butler, the Salvation Army, Cardinal Manning and the Archbishop of Canterbury – exposed a trade in virgins by arranging to have one procured for himself.’
‘You mean he abused the poor young girl himself?’ Caitlin asked.
‘No, indeed he did not. He merely wanted to show that this traffic existed. The girl in question
was certified intact before and after the events that provided the research for his claims. Stead ran six pages of vivid sexual disclosure following his research, under such sub-headings as “The Violation of Virgins”, “Strapping Girls Down”, and the like. That evening, people were paying up to a shilling for a newspaper that normally would have cost a penny. Mr W. H. Smith helped the cause by refusing to handle what he called filth, thus enhancing its appeal. So the Salvation Army sold the copies instead. London was in uproar. But there were two sides to the coin …
‘A rival newspaper, the St James’s Gazette, complained about Stead for openly dealing, in the plainest of language, with what they called the vilest parcel of obscenity. In their eyes, the offence was not the abduction and rape of young girls but raising the issue in public—’
‘But that’s ridiculous,’ Daisy interrupted. ‘It’s absurd.’
Joshua Hatton shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s the society we live in, Mrs Maddox. Let me tell you … MPs vilified the Pall Mall Gazette as the very worst of the gutter press. One MP even demanded that Stead be imprisoned. I remember the Home Secretary telling the House that his countrymen were determined to uphold the purity of their homes, meaning that they must close their doors to the likes of Mr Stead’s article.’
‘And close their minds, too,’ Daisy commented.
‘For three days, Mrs Maddox, Stead ran more stories, giving more insights into the virgin trafficking and the goings-on in the underworld, and the hierarchy continued to be disgusted. Respectable people were appalled. His offices were besieged, newsboys selling the papers were arrested. The series, however, was syndicated in America and across Europe. He achieved notable success condemning the morals of some of his countrymen. It was said by some that he was merely the herald declaring this depravity. The government wanted to prosecute him nonetheless, until somebody realised that by doing so they might be seen as sympathisers of the virgin violators.
‘Petitions came in to Parliament thick and fast from Stead’s supporters, demanding that the age of consent be raised, and the Salvation Army blasted Westminster with several brass bands to reinforce the message. A major scandal had developed, Mrs Maddox. Meanwhile the Home Secretary declared that the publication of any obscene writing was a misdemeanour if so judged by a jury. Indeed, Mr Stead taunted the government further and evidence was contrived against him. He was indeed prosecuted and duly served his time in prison.
‘So you see, Mrs Maddox, I am not quite prepared to put my neck on the block when legal precedents have been set. Although I do earnestly sympathise with your cause.’
Chapter 31
‘Caitlin, don’t you think it’s beyond belief that Lawson Maddox should be allowed to prosper unchecked in his crimes?’ Daisy was agitated as they left the offices of the Dudley Herald. They crossed Priory Street near the Saracen’s Head where she used to meet Lawson in the early days, and headed towards the market place. ‘I feel we’re up against some sort of male conspiracy, as if they’re all conniving to protect, even deny the existence of what male society has created.’
‘Female too,’ Caitlin said resignedly. ‘Some women are as bad as the men. Those who exploit men, wilfully selling their bodies.’
‘Oh, some women too, I daresay … But that police inspector … no wonder he didn’t want to help if he’d been favoured with a free visit to Lawson’s bawdy house, and a night cavorting with you. But he needs exposing as well. He’s just as corrupt as Lawson. His wife should be told—’
‘But that newspaper man,’ Caitlin interjected. ‘I can understand his reluctance if there’s a chance he would go to jail for printing what we told him.’
‘I know. It says a lot about the society we live in when publishing the truth can be a crime, but those who perpetrate the real crimes, those who abuse and violate decent girls, are overlooked and get off scot-free.’
‘So what can we do, Daisy?’
‘I don’t see how we can do anything more. Nobody wants to talk about it. Nobody cares. Lawson will continue to get away with it.’
They walked on, ploughing through the shoppers in the market place. They continued down Castle Hill disheartened, and Caitlin led Daisy into Fisher Street on their right, a narrow, crumbling ravine of red-brick oppressiveness.
‘So you walk around here by yourself?’ Daisy queried. ‘At night?’
‘Not at night if I can help it. In the day, though. I have to.’
They hurried on and turned right into Birmingham Street at the Brewer’s Arms, avoiding a drunk who called after them from across the road. When they turned left almost at once, into a gruesome alley called Guest’s Fold, Daisy shuddered. A gutter running with foul, stinking slurry cut across the uneven brick paving of what amounted to nothing more than a squalid courtyard. Washing lines, slung between the dilapidated houses, bore poverty-stricken garments that flapped raggedly in the blustery March wind. Pieces of cardboard filled empty spaces in the windows left by broken panes. Roof tiles were missing, chimneys leaned precariously. These dwellings had been condemned as unfit for human habitation long ago yet still they stood, a blight on human dignity, a canker on the landscape. Children peeped warily from behind wooden doors that had not seen a lick of paint in sixty years, their curious, innocent eyes and dirty faces masked by sores and running noses.
‘You can’t live here, Caitlin,’ Daisy said, appalled.
‘I know.’
On the left was a decaying terrace of small houses rendered in crumbling cement, green with lichen. Caitlin opened the door to one of them.
‘Don’t come in with me, Daisy,’ she pleaded, turning back to face her. ‘You won’t like it. I’ll just tell Mrs Froggatt I’m leaving and get what’s mine.’
‘Let me hold the baby for you.’ Caitlin handed her the baby. ‘Do you have enough money to pay any rent that’s owing?’
‘I pay a week in advance, Daisy.’ Caitlin smiled and went inside.
Daisy looked about her warily while she waited. The grudging eyes of Guest’s Fold seemed to be upon her and her decent clothes, watching from behind old and limp net curtains and doors that clattered on their hinges. An urchin, a boy of about eight years, although it was difficult to determine exactly, approached and asked her for a penny. She was inclined to oblige him but knew that if she did, she would be besieged from all quarters when already she felt intimidated. She shook her head and the boy, scowling, let her be. Then, the shrieks of an embittered woman rang from a dwelling across the alley and a child wailed.
Caitlin at last emerged, carrying her scant possessions wrapped in a sheet tied up at the four corners. They set off for Bond Street, which, although far from salubrious, was a world away from the corrosive poverty of Guest’s Fold and the whole warren of insanitary courtyards around Birmingham Street. Daisy wondered how far she herself would have been from such a grisly existence if Lawson had subjected her to the same traumas that Caitlin and Sarah had undergone? How fortunate she had escaped his grip, married or not, for surely he had as little regard for the institution of marriage as for anything else.
The first thing Daisy did when they arrived home was to make up the fire, which had almost burnt out. While the kettle heated up she told Caitlin to make herself at home and led her upstairs with her baby to meet Sarah, who was sitting on her bed trimming her toenails.
‘Sarah, this is Caitlin, the girl I told you about. Caitlin – Sarah …’ The two girls greeted each other guardedly. ‘And this is Caitlin’s baby, Daisy …’
At once, Sarah asked to see her, to hold her, and Caitlin laid her in Sarah’s eager arms. The baby, it was obvious from the outset, would be the catalyst that Daisy had hoped for.
‘How old is she?’ Sarah asked, gently moving the child’s blanket from her face so she could gain a better look.
‘Seven months.’
‘She’s beautiful. Oh, look at her eyes, they’re so blue … Look, Daisy, she’s smiling at me … She’s a lovely little thing.’
Daisy the el
der smiled to herself. This was going to work. Already she could feel it. ‘You two have a lot in common and a lot to talk about. Do you mind if I leave you while I tend to Father? I need to see to him before the doctor gets here. Then I’ll make that cup of tea.’
Titus had hardly stirred. Daisy gently touched his forehead with the backs of her fingers. He felt hot, feverish. His face was flushed, his breathing was laboured and he was shivering. When he realised she was beside him, he muttered that he had a pain in the side of his chest.
‘Dr McCaskie will be here soon.’
He nodded feebly. In the weeks that she had been home, Titus had lost weight. He was thin to begin with; now he was emaciated, his frail body waxy and ashen. He had rapidly worsened.
‘I’m making a cup of tea. Would you like some?’
He nodded again, eyes still shut.
‘I won’t be long.’
The kettle was bubbling away when she returned downstairs. She brewed the tea and was putting it to steep when she heard a knock at the back door.
‘Dr McCaskie! You’ve timed it right. I’ve just brewed a pot of tea.’
‘Excellent,’ he replied and smiled admiringly. ‘Shall I see the patient first?’
‘Yes … And I should forewarn you, Doctor … we have two new family members. One is Caitlin O’Flanagan, the young lady I told you about who alerted me to Sarah’s suffering. The other is her seven-month-old baby. Considering what they’ve both been through they seem well on the road to recovery. But if you have time to examine them, I’d be grateful.’
‘What responsibilities you take on for yourself, Mrs Maddox …’
‘I’m counting on Caitlin taking some of the responsibility away from me, to tell you the truth. I’m hoping she’ll be able to look after Sarah and Father for me. I need to find work. What money I had is either gone or accounted for …’ She smiled reassuringly. ‘But there’s enough to meet your bill and the baby’s funeral.’
