Imogene

by Eliza Lloyd

  “How much it would cost if we rented another place?”

  “Why would we want to do that?”

  “Yeah, Imo, why?” Danny asked. “Why, when we already have a roof over our heads?”

  “Not for living; for business.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “A moneymaking one, that’s what kind.”

  “We don’t have nothing to sell,” Frank said.

  “We have me.”

  “If this is about whoring again, I don’t want to hear it,” Danny said.

  “Not exactly. What if we had a place to take men to, where they wanted to go? The same place every day and I’d do things for them. It’d be better than alleyways and dark corners, and maybe we could get more men to come. And more money. Six men would be a whole shilling every day. And if we charged more, say three pence, then I would only have to do...” She started counting on her fingers.

  “Only four men,” Danny said.

  “Mrs. Bunton would never let me do it at her boarding house. Not that I want anyone to know where we live. And if we had a place, I could buy a dress so’s they’d know it was a girl bringing ’em off.”

  Frank snorted. “Oh, Peter, Paul and Mary. That’s what this is about? First your dang ribbon, now you want a dress. Danny, if she gets a dress, I get a whore. It’s only fair.”

  “And I want a dress and a ribbon.” She punched him in the side, but not hard enough.

  “A stupid ribbon,” Frank scoffed and kicked at a rock.

  Danny remained quiet while the two of them quibbled. Charlie minded his own business, probably watching for angels, not caring if Imo had a space or whether Frank got his whore.

  She batted Danny on the shoulder. “Well, what do you think?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s simple. Tomorrow, we start asking around. We should ask Old Man Kramer. It’s not a bad idea,” Frank said, surprising Imo with his conclusion.

  “He owns his store. ’Sides, it’s on Fish Street, and I don’t want Mrs. Bunton telling Mary FitzPatrick you’re a queer hen,” Danny said.

  “I’m not a bad woman, but I want to live,” she said.

  “Imogene, this is our life.” He waved a hand toward the Old Fish Street houses and neighborhood. “Twenty years from now we’ll be walking this same street, having this same conversation. Tell me this—have we been outside five miles of this very spot? No, we haven’t and we won’t.”

  “I’m not asking for the world. I’m asking for a step up.”

  “Don’t come crying to me when your plan goes haywire.”

  “So we can check?”

  “Frank and I will, and I’ll make the decision, so don’t be pestering me about it.”

  Imo held her tongue for two days, but thought she might explode in the waiting. Her idea must have inspired them because one night she finished two men and the next night three. But all of them seemed boring and dirty compared to the nob with the night-black eyes. ’Course, it weren’t nothing but the money she wanted, so she put the toff out of her mind.

  Frank and Danny whispered often and she knew they talked about the possibilities. Danny would see the potential more than Frank. Frank would think of the next day and the next meal. Danny would have already calculated how much it would cost and how much money they could make. He’d also consider the cost to Imo.

  With Danny and Frank to protect her, she thought it well worth the risk.

  * * * * *

  The next morning Charlie was gone.

  “Imo, he was beside you all night. How could you not know he was gone?”

  “He snuck out. You were beside him too, Frank,” she said. She loved Charlie like a real brother. She didn’t know if Frank and Danny felt the same way, but she didn’t care. They all belonged together.

  “He’s gone. Ain’t no use fretting about it now. One less mouth to feed.”

  She lashed out, slamming a fist into Frank’s solar plexus. He doubled over, gasping and swearing. “You stupid prick. He’s my brother.” She faced Danny, who reached inside the wrapping that held yesterday’s bread. “He’s our brother, Danny. We have to find him.”

  He munched on a large hunk and while chewing said, “Oh, would you two stop kicking up a breeze? Charlie ain’t gone far and when he’s done getting to where he’s going, he’ll come back again.”

  “Well, I’m gonna find him,” Imo said.

  “Take his bread with you.”

  “Yeah, what’s left of it.” She grabbed the cloth covered leftovers.

  “He’s probably over at the church again.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah, sure. He’s always itching to get inside one of them places. Caught him staring up at the choirboys at St. Paul’s two weeks ago.”

  “Why?” Frank asked, still rubbing his stomach.

  “Who cares? He brings home a farthing or two, that’s all the matters. All them churchgoing do-gooders see the little homeless boy and throw money his way. ‘Course, it didn’t hurt that I told him to,” Danny said.

  Imo pulled her jacket around her. “You two coming or are you gonna stand there and jaw all day?” She bundled Charlie’s piece of bread and dropped it in her pocket. Running her hand between her tits, she confirmed her coins were firmly in place. The more she thought about him and his cock in her mouth, the more she believed it was the easiest money she’d ever made.

  They bound down the stairs—Frank jumping from the fourth step, Danny taking them two at a time.

  “I want to see Mrs. Bunton before we go,” Imogene said.

  “‘Hurry, let’s go. Oh wait, let’s stay.’ Shite, you’re getting more girly every day,” Frank moaned.

  “I want to use her copper tub, if’n she’ll let me.”

  He sniffed at her. “You do smell funny.”

  She knocked his hat off as they rounded the corner. “Don’t smell as bad as you.”

  The boys waited while Imo tapped at the door and then went into Mrs. Bunton’s house. Water was always difficult to come by since it was only piped into Mrs. Bunton’s kitchen, and during the winter sometimes the pipes burst, making a harsh life even more difficult. Heating and hauling was hard work, so she used the hip bath only once a month—ever since she’d become a woman. Just at the end, because she thought five days a month being a woman was disgusting.

  There were times when she wished she had been born a boy.

  She wondered if those whores at fancy houses had warm baths whenever they wanted. Maybe their soap smelled like flowers and maybe they got to put something nice in their hair to make it shiny. Why would a woman want to put on a pretty dress and not be pretty underneath?

  Mrs. Bunton’s dead husband left her the home, according to the rumors in the boarding house. She had her own room, which seemed like a gift from God to Imogene. No wonder Mrs. Bunton was always so happy.

  Imo was granted her request to use the portable hip bath.

  “Imogene.” Mrs. Bunton always called her Imogene, just like Mary FitzPatrick and Imo’s mother. “Imogene, would you and the boys like some tarts this morning?”

  “Have we ever said no?”

  She laughed and then went to the block counter and wrapped four tarts in paper, handing them to Imo. “Make sure Charlie gets the biggest one.”

  “I will.”

  Outside, Frank paced. “Here comes her ladyship. Lud, the Queen doesn’t take as long.”

  “That’s ‘cause the Queen ain’t waiting for Mrs. Bunton’s apple tarts.”

  “Cor, why didn’t ya say so?” Frank grabbed his tart and gobbled it down in a few bites.

  Danny led them down the street. Their procession felt small and incomplete without Charlie.

  She stopped when Danny turned toward the docks. “I thought we were going to St. Paul’s.” Imo asked, licking her fingers as she stuffed the last of her tart into her mouth.

  “I think he’s at St. George’s by the docks. He wanted to go in last night when we walked by.” />
  “He’s wanted to go in every night. Why now?”

  How had she not noticed Charlie’s desire sooner? She’d take him next time, and they’d sit together in the back of the church, quiet-like so nobody knew they were there. Perceptive Charlie would tell her that God knew.

  By the time they got to St George’s, the apple tarts were gone except the one she’d saved for Charlie. Frank did his best to steal it away from her until Danny barked a few words ordering them to stop horsing around.

  “I’ll go get him,” Imo said.

  “Don’t hurry,” Danny said as he yanked the tattered brown hat from his head. “You take the other side, Frank. These churchy folks love guilt, so lay it on thick.”

  Imo hunched her shoulders and looked down, slipping into the back of the church before His Supreme and Almighty Holiness Reverend Shanks could catch her and throw her out on the street again. There’d been a time when she was interested in the goings-on inside a church building. She heard the preaching at Hyde Park corner often enough to know the plight of the poor made for good sermons, but the sermons were never made reality when it came to opening the doors and welcoming them into their holy ranks.

  The few times they’d come to Shanks for charity, they’d been shooed away.

  The Reverend Alfred Shanks stood near the altar with his back to the doors, his parishioners no doubt petitioning or pestering for something the Reverend wasn’t about to give.

  Once her gaze adjusted to the darkened interior, she slipped to the left, passing behind the hardwood pews. The polished floor squeaked.

  Charlie sat in the second-to-last pew, next to a white pillar. He must have had the same idea about hiding.

  He didn’t say anything when she sat down. Brown eyes gazed at her for a moment before turning back to the stained glass windows. She opened the wrap with his tart. It had cooled down, so there wasn’t that rich apple aroma tempting her as before.

  “Can I eat it in here?”

  “God made food, didn’t He? And I think He especially blessed those tarts,” she whispered.

  After a couple of bites, he turned to her. “I like it here.”

  “What do you like about it?”

  “Everything. I wish I could sleep here.”

  “I don’t think Frank or Danny would want to do that, and you can’t stay here by yerself.”

  “You could stay with me.”

  “God don’t want people like me smelling up His church.”

  Charlie smiled like she spoke crazy, and maybe she did. She’d never had a conversation with God and didn’t even know His name. But if Reverend Shanks was His light on earth, well, it might be best if they didn’t become acquainted.

  “You know, we can ask God for things. That’s what the man said.” Charlie shoved the last of the apple tart in his mouth and then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth to get rid of the remaining crumbs.

  “What are you asking God for?” she whispered.

  “That you won’t be a whore, ’cause if you do, you’ll leave and won’t love me anymore.”

  “But maybe God wants me to be a whore so I can help feed you and you’ll grow tall and strong. And then when you’re tall and strong, I won’t have to whore anymore ’cause you’ll take care of me.”

  “Then I’ll pray that I grow tall and strong real quick.”

  “It’s a good prayer, Charlie.”

  His lips moved. Imo assumed he was reciting that very prayer and she wouldn’t stop him or tell him it was stupid or wrong. Charlie had just always believed in something bigger and higher and better. Which didn’t make sense because his life, if it were possible, had been so much worse than theirs.

  Maybe Charlie was the only one to recognize the true darkness of her choices.

  * * * * *

  “So you found a place?” Imo was oddly happy about this turn of events. Almost two weeks had passed and neither Frank nor Danny acted as if they remembered her request. ’Course, they didn’t forget to find willing men every night, but none she’d wanted to do anything special for.

  Imo couldn’t even remember what the nob looked like, but those coins still burned a hot patch in her side. She couldn’t use them without her brothers knowing what she did—and who she did it with. No one else had that kind of money, at least not among the wretched humanity they called friends.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Danny asked. They stood in the middle of London Bridge looking toward Tower Hill. Rain had soaked London overnight and the deluge had stopped about an hour ago. The clouds still hung low in the sky like dirty dumplings. They’d fought all morning in their crowded attic home—the close quarters were no place for four young people who were used to running the streets from dawn ’til dusk. And now that she was out in the open, the damp air chilled her to the bone.

  “It’s not like I’m getting my head whacked off if’n I do. Don’t look so glum.” She shivered inside her coat and wrapped her arms across her chest, tucking her hands into the warm hollow of her pits.

  Frank had Charlie in a headlock, threatening to throw him over the side.

  “If we set up shop, men are going to expect more. They’ll think you really are a whore, and when you don’t deliver there’ll be hell to pay,” Danny said.

  “You and Frank have to make sure they don’t expect nothing else.”

  “What about what you did for the gent over on the docks?”

  “What about it?” Imo’s body heated from her fingertips to her face. The money burned a hole right through her clothes.

  “I know what you did.”

  “Ain’t none of your business.”

  Danny sighed and leaned against the stone balustrade. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I know what you did, but I don’t care. I wish it didn’t have to be that way, but what you do is your decision. What I do care about is the lie. You ain’t never lied to me before, Imo.”

  Imo turned away, braced her forearms at the edge of the railing and looked out over the water. “I didn’t lie.”

  “No? You didn’t tell me the truth neither.”

  “I don’t know why I did it. He offered so much money. I couldn’t pass up the temptation. I’d do it again too.”

  “If you want to do this, I want to make sure you don’t get hurt. You understand?”

  “I shoulda told ya.”

  “Yeah, you should have. How much did he pay you?” Danny asked.

  Imo didn’t know how it was possible but her face swelled like one of them penny balloons a person could fetch over at the park. She pushed away from the rail and walked away. Danny followed.

  “I just wanted something for myself, that’s all.”

  “You have something for yourself: you. And me and Frank and Charlie. I don’t know what you think this is going to get you.”

  “It’s going to get us regular food and coal in the winter and cool ale and warm milk and hot bread whenever Charlie wants it.”

  “And you think you’ll get all of that spreading your legs for men?”

  Now she knew why her face felt ready to pop. Tears gushed out of her eyes. “Don’t you see, Danny? I ain’t got a choice. I may as well do it the way I want to do it, not the way some fat bitch of a madam tells me I have to do it. Do you think I want to spread my legs ten times a night and be lucky if I get a shilling for the effort? If you and Frank help me, at least we get to keep the money. At least I know I’ll be treated fair and be kept reasonably safe. And I can still be with my family. And there’s no law says I have to fuck ’em just ’cause they want me to.”

  Imo slipped her hand inside her shirt and her fingers wiggled underneath the band around her titties. She pried the coins loose. For a moment, she enjoyed the warmth in her palm and then, with some relief, handed them over to Danny. She walked off without looking back.

  Hell, life wasn’t fair and she didn’t know why she was complaining about it now—she’d always known that.

  “Frank! Charlie! Move!” Danny hollered.


  He caught up to Imo and slipped his hand across her shoulders. She’d lied to him, she’d taken one step closer to being a real whore, and Danny had to go and remind her that she was still his sister.

  “Ain’t worth all this fuss,” he said.

  “To you, maybe.”

  “I ain’t gonna ask again about that rich nob, but don’t go doing anything like it again unless Frank or me knows ahead a time what’ch yer thinking.”

  “How’d you know?” she asked.

  “And give away my secrets?” He laughed. “You had wet spots on your knees when you came out of the alley.”

  Always watching, that Danny.

  “So where’s this building?”

  Frank bounded up next to her. “Not far. We’ll show you.”

  As they walked back toward the dock, a light drizzle started up again and they huddled together, shoulders hunched as they walked. “Figure it’s cheaper by the docks. It’s on Cable Street.”

  “Is it clean?” she asked.

  “Peter, Paul and Mary. Is it clean, she asks?” Frank mocked. “It’s a right filthy mess. What’d you think we were going to get fer a shilling a month? And it’s next door to the stinkenest opium den in Christendom.” He laughed. “Once they stumble over, you can jack ’em and they won’t even know you didn’t fuck ’em.”

  “That sounds dangerous.”

  “Only rich folk go there. They like to come down and rub shoulders with the salt of the earth so they can go home and feel good about their pretty lives,” Frank said.

  “Rich folk can be dangerous.”

  “It’s the best we could do, Imo. If you don’t like it, we can keep looking. Or we can keep doing what we’re doing now,” Danny said. His usual evenhandedness was evident in his logical statement and laissez-faire attitude toward her business enterprise, now that is was happening.

  “What do you think, Danny? Will it work?”

  He raised his brows in a questioning look and shrugged, unwilling to commit.

  “You know people. It’ll work.” She bobbed her head, trying to convince them both.

  “We’ll have to pay footing to the Scot. And we’ll have to make sure we don’t crowd into someone else’s business or we’ll find out what danger really is. Some of those abbesses would kill you as soon as look at you if they thought you were stealing their customers. The Scot will know.”