by Eliza Lloyd
Danny had stayed quiet until they turned on Fish Street. “Imo, why don’t we see if Mrs. Bunton will help you buy a dress tomorrow?”
* * * * *
Visions of pink silk and shimmery satin and long ribbons and ruffled lace danced in Imo’s head throughout the night. She didn’t want none of them colors like whores wore—not red or blue or black. That she slept at all was amazing—she could only think about tomorrow’s visit to the dressmaker. Mrs. Bunton had smiled in cheery agreement when asked to accompany her.
For a second, Imogene thought Danny might have felt a little guilty about Frank’s whore. Imo pushed the idea aside because she really didn’t care about the reasons why, only that she would have a dress today. Another proof Danny was for sure the smartest of them. Suggesting Mrs. Bunton help made sense, since Imo didn’t know any dressmakers or what to ask.
When she woke, she also told Danny she’d keep doing what she was doing so long as nobody expected anything else. He nodded and for a wicked moment, she wondered if that was the reason he promised to pay for the dress.
Danny gave her two crowns to add to her secret stash. Since she wasn’t wearing her bindings, she rolled the money tight in one of the rags and tied it at the ends so the coins didn’t rattle. The bundle bounced against her leg as she walked, and a comforting presence it was.
Inside was a guinea, three crowns and seven shillings. The nob must have made a mistake. What she did for him couldn’t have been worth that much. ’Sides, it was dark and he probably didn’t realize how generous he’d been.
Imo sat on Mrs. Bunton’s doorstep waiting the next morning. The boys had left for the docks long ago. The door opened and Mrs. Bunton waved her hand.
“Come inside, Imogene.” Mrs. Bunton worked behind her back to loosen the ties of her apron, finally tugging the ribbons free. She pulled the cloth over her head and then folded it as they walked toward the kitchen. “I know just the shop. The proprietress won’t cheat you, her seams will hold and she won’t turn her nose up at your money. Seven shillings ought to buy something serviceable. Ten, something good enough for church wear. Do you have enough, child?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Bunton walked to a closet built into the staircase and reached for her hat. She pinned it in place and then swung a shawl over her shoulders.
“Well, girl, we haven’t got all day.”
Mrs. Bunton politely asked about her brothers and Mrs. FitzPatrick.
“No, Mrs. Bunton, I haven’t seen Mary since before last Christ Mass when she brought us bread and jam. She’s married now and working for some nobleman or some such near Fitzroy Square. Says he keeps her busy. Wouldn’t want her to come see us when she’s got more important things to do.”
“Have you considered that Mrs. FitzPatrick might find a position for you? A young girl like you would get into a lot less trouble if she had a position in a fine home.”
“I don’t get into trouble. Danny sees we stay clear of it. Mam would expect him to watch out for us and he does.” Mrs. Bunton had always been kind, so Imo listened rather than tell her friend it was none of her business.
“You won’t always have Danny’s protection. You’ll need a man of your own someday, and most working men want a woman who can work hard right beside him.”
“No offense, Mrs. Bunton, but you don’t and you seem to get along just fine.”
“Well, that wasn’t always the case. And I can see now that I don’t have a man, how useful they can be in a lot of matters. Besides, someday you’ll want to have babies of your own and you need to have a husband for that.”
Imo bit her tongue. She didn’t think Mrs. Bunton would appreciate being reminded that husbands weren’t necessary for children, and that most men seemed willing to complete the task with little encouragement.
Children. Another reason she needed to proceed with caution in this whoring business. She didn’t want her children to grow up without at least one parent to love them and provide for them. Not that Mam hadn’t tried after Pa was lost at sea.
“Ah, here we are.”
A tiny bell rang as they walked into the street-front shop. Right away, Imo could tell it was a store for the working classes. Bolts of wool cloth in greys and browns and dark blues lined one wall. She looked around for the silk she’d imagined for her dress. Pink and white bolts were hidden in one corner.
Mrs. Bunton seemed on familiar terms with the shopkeeper and they jawed about this and that while Imo dreamily stared at the fabric and imagined how it would feel against her skin.
If she had a fancy dress, then that rich nob wouldn’t think her so low.
“Imogene, go with Mrs. Tate. She needs to measure you for your dress.”
Surprised, she turned to Mrs. Bunton to protest.
“Your dress won’t fit right otherwise. Go along now.”
Mrs. Tate gripped Imo’s elbow and led her into a tiny back room where she proceeded to remove Imo’s rough jacket. Imo didn’t go anywhere without it, even in the middle of summer. Mrs. Bunton hummed in the other room, oblivious to Imo’s needs.
She wanted to protest. She had imagined walking into the shop, pointing to the prettiest dress and getting on her way.
“Now, we’ll need to remove your shirt and trousers, dear.” Mrs. Tate acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a girl to be standing in front of her wearing boy’s clothes and to be asking her to strip them from her body.
“I can’t. I ain’t wearing nothing else, ma’am.”
“You’ve no undergarments?”
“Ain’t had a need.” Imo’s face reddened. She knew she lacked, but to have it so forcibly stated by a complete stranger reminded her of their poverty.
“We’ll see what we can do about that. Hurry now. We don’t have all day.”
Lud, what was the almighty rush? Mrs. Tate turned her back. No amount of privacy could induce Imo to remove her clothing. She bit at her lip, trying to think of a way to get her dress without incurring Danny’s and Mrs. Bunton’s anger for being importuned and certainly without having to stand naked in front of Mrs. Tate.
She fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt and then clasped one hand against the opposite elbow. Stubbornness had a way of sneaking up on her at the worst times.
Mrs. Tate glanced over her shoulder and then said, “I would hate to take a scissors to your only set of clothes, but when Mrs. Bunton says you need a dress, I’ll see that you have one.”
Unless she ran into the street and stubbornly refused, she was caught. Who knew if Danny would ever agree to another dress if she turned this opportunity away?
She bent and lowered her trousers. Imo heard the thud as her money stash hit the wooden floor.
Mrs. Tate turned around holding a long flimsy tape in one hand. “That should do.”
Imo obeyed every command after that: Lift your arms, turn around, hold this, don’t move. Finally, she got to put her clothes back on and return to Mrs. Bunton’s side.
Mrs. Tate yanked out a bolt of cloth. “Now which wool would you like? The grey or the brown?”
Finally, Imo smiled. “Oh no, ma’am, I want that fine pink in the corner.”
“I’m afraid it’s rather expensive.”
“I’ve got money.”
The hand on her shoulder felt leaden. “Imogene, it’s too expensive and you have no place to go that you’ll be needing such a fine material.”
“But that’s what I want.”
“It’s twenty-seven shillings for the yardage you’ll need, not counting the costs to sew.”
“We’ll have the grey,” Mrs. Bunton said.
Imo hadn’t cried for ages, but the disappoint that crushed her soul nearly left her breathless. She had money she couldn’t spend. She was getting a dress she didn’t want.
For two days, she fumed. The boys avoided her until Mrs. Bunton fetched her back to the milliner shop. The entire exercise had to be repeated only this time she was forced into an itchy, ugly dress sh
e swore she’d never wear.
Buttons went down the front. The collar was tight around her neck, the fitted bodice, sleeves and waist made her feel trapped and suffocated. Worse, when she looked in the mirror she didn’t recognize the person staring back.
She couldn’t get out of it fast enough.
On the way home, she held the paper-covered dress loosely, hoping someone would snatch the package from her.
She hated it. She hated every ugly inch.
Chapter Six
Spring turned into summer and Imo realized with some dismay seven weeks had passed since Vauxhall. No one mentioned a thing about her short disappearance, and she’d forgotten her threat to stop earning money with strangers. The one concession was on Sunday night when they didn’t go to the little building on Cable Street.
They’d played around at the docks until dark. Danny had left them before they got home. Frank jeered as Danny walked away, “Say hallo to Mistress Molly.”
Danny didn’t come home until very late. Imo and Frank sat with their backs to the fireplace while Charlie lay stretched out on the floor sleeping. The candle stub sputtered but kept the room with enough light that they could play cards well into the night. Early on they’d learned the tricks of every card game in London. It was one of those gifts bequeathed by God on poor people. Sleeping was only necessary when they were tired and the very warm day had made the attic unbearably uncomfortable. Danny had long ago told them they weren’t sleeping outside on nights like this, not when they had a roof over their heads. Mrs. Cookson had the small attic window for relief during the summer; they had the fireplace in the winter. Imo wouldn’t trade their room for all the tarts in Mrs. Bunton’s pantry.
Imo’s life had settled into a routine. Danny gave them a farthing a month for spending. Imo bought a hair ribbon and she’d refused hair trimming ever since. She wore the pink ribbon every day.
The ribbon cost more than the money she received from Danny, so she’d used the first of her own coins.
The men who came to Cable Street seemed to like the feminine addition and that was almost enough to make her leave the pretty ribbon in her pocket. They’d stopped seeing her as a girl. Frightening as that was, Imo had stopped seeing herself as a girl too.
Sometimes at the dock she’d see fancy blokes riding through on their big stallions and she always took a second look, wondering about the rich nob she’d met twice and who’d generously paid for things she hadn’t been willing to give, but in the end hadn’t minded so much. In the back of her mind she wondered if no other man thought about pleasure for a woman. She hadn’t felt a thing since the night at Vauxhall, no matter how big the cock or how excited she seemed to make them. She heard declarations of love enough to make her laugh. Twice she’d been offered marriage by men she didn’t know.
Sighting a tall rider with dark hair always warmed her uncomfortably. She’d take a deep breath and hold it in just to keep her heart from jumping from her chest. She didn’t know a word to describe how she felt, she only knew it made her feel hungry. And sad.
Imo rubbed her hand over her pocket, a habit she’d started to make sure her money was always in place. How could she explain where she’d gotten the coins? Where would she ever be able to spend them? When asked how much money they had, Danny shrugged and would only say “enough”. No one brought up buying whores or dresses and they continued in their odd little venture. No one complained; no one rocked the boat as they sailed along with full bellies and prospects for income each day.
Imo’s dress was still hidden away in paper packaging. Not once had she pulled it out to admire the white lace color or the wide skirt.
She glanced at the package, frowning. The wrapping was not as ugly as the dress inside. She supposed it was a good sign that they had something to call their own. Now they could burn a single candle at night. Mrs. Bunton had scolded them about being careless with a burning flame. The candle now had a place on a tin plate.
They ate one meal a day at their favorite common house, always bringing the bread home for breakfast and sometimes boiled eggs. For drinking, they had a jug of ale, which Danny only allowed them for breakfast. He also bought them a new pack of cards since their other pack was marked with corner tears and was incomplete with missing knaves. A second blanket was another careful purchase. She could hang it across the room for privacy or use it for sleeping. It was more than they’d ever had since Mam died.
Loud footfalls clomped on the creaky stairs, leading up to the entrance under the eaves. Danny opened their door and slipped in.
“You still awake.”
“Just waiting for you. Where you been?” Imo asked before turning a knave.
“Out.”
“You mean out with Molly. Did you get to fuck her tonight?” Frank asked without taking his gaze from the handful of cards he held.
“For once just shut your mouth, Frank.”
“I just asked. No need to get all cranky.”
“Yeah, well, it’s none of your business.”
Danny slurped up a handful of water and then dashed both hands into the bucket and drenched his face. He ran his hands through his hair, pushing back the brownish-red strands.
“Told you not to drink that water. Mrs. Bunton says the pipe is broke again and coming in all dirty.” When he sighed and hung his head, Imo couldn’t resist asking, “Your best friend die?”
Angry, he whirled and faced them both. “Would you both just shut up and leave me be.”
Imo glanced at Frank and for once neither of them had anything to say. Danny—solid, reliable Danny—never had a cross word.
“Didn’t mean no harm,” Imo said. She shrugged at Frank and he made a face.
Danny balled up his coat and lay down on the floor, his feet intruding into the space where they were playing cards. He sighed and closed his eyes. “Put out the light.”
Frank raised his brows and gathered the cards together. Imo crawled toward the light and blew it out before finding her own place and wadding up her jacket to use as a pillow. They didn’t sleep so close together during the summer.
The room grew quiet. Imo tried to close her eyes. She glanced toward Danny and saw his were wide open. “You’ll have the same problem in the morning. May as well tell us now.”
“Molly’s going to have a baby.”
Silence filled the room. Even the crickets stopped chirping.
“Is it yours?” Frank asked.
“Sometimes I think I ought to thrash you,” Danny said. “I suppose it is.”
“Are you gonna marry her?” Imo asked.
“Haven’t thought that far ahead. Her Pa may not care for the idea, but that won’t stop him from forcing me to do right by her.”
“Well, she ain’t had it yet. Don’t set up shop with her until you know there is a babe. You know how Tilly Beamon did that country boy from Surrey.” Imo didn’t trust Molly because she’d been dangling after Danny for months. Didn’t matter where they were, if Molly saw Danny, the world got more than a glimpse of her tits. The old cow.
“You gonna work for her pa?”
“I told you I haven’t decided anything yet.”
“Well, we have a business enterprise of our own. And I ain’t gonna whore just to feed that devious moo’er and some fishmonger’s get.”
“Keep your voice down, and you’ll do what I tell you. There ain’t no get yet.”
“T’ain’t likely neither. She’s stringing you along, that’s what she’s doing,” Imo said as she rolled to her back and propped her hands under her head.
“What for? I ain’t got nothing.”
“Men are so dumb. It’s you she wants. Her pa’s got the money.”
“Does she know about Jessy Spurloch?” Frank asked.
Imo’s neck nearly snapped as she turned toward Frank. “Who’s Jessy Spurloch?”
“A girl.”
“Well, I guess so, but what’s she to Danny?”
Neither of the boys said a thing.
“You stringing along two girls?” Imo demanded. Her gaze sought Danny’s and she could see him clear as day now that her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. “Saints in heaven, you’ve gone and done it now. Molly ain’t stupid. She’ll have you tied and licking her feet come the first frost. You watch.”
“I can always count on you to exaggerate.”
“Don’t do it. That’s all I can say. Run like the wind ’fore she sinks her claws into you.”
“Imogene, pipe down. Whether I do or whether I don’t, it’s my business. ’Sides, what if there is a babe? What if it’s mine?”
“Well, what are we gonna do with a squalling brat if there is? I’d lay all the money I have that get ain’t yours.”
“You ain’t got any money. And it’s my business to take care of.”
* * * * *
Imo didn’t like the nickname she’d acquired. Frank said they called her the Virgin Whore. Six or seven men were coming at night, sometimes more. The crowds made her a little frightened. Some nights she worried about her safety and whether one of the men wouldn’t forcibly take her. It would be a simple matter to take her out the back door, have a horse waiting, and she’d be long gone. Her virginity would disappear soon after. Not that the last vestige of innocence really meant anything. She didn’t know why she hung on to it with such determination. People already knew she was a whore. Just not one who spread her legs.
On the other side of the blanket, the men hooted. Taking off her shirt incited the group to want more. Some had forcefully moved past Danny or Frank to get to her, not caring that a flimsy white bedsheet separated her from them.
Danny bought a pistol that he kept loaded and stuffed in the waistband of his kicksies. Imo hadn’t asked him for that concession, but she was thankful for the concern. There would be a day when she’d readily agree to the things her clients wanted, but until then, Danny would do his best to keep her safe.
The most Danny had been offered for her virginity was ten pounds. Insult gave way to anger. Why did they always go to Danny to make their offers? As if she were his moll. As if she didn’t exist except as a means to an end.
