Imogene

by Eliza Lloyd

  Imo heard the crowd growing restless as she slipped her arm into her shirtsleeves. Before she could tuck the shirt into her trousers, she heard the door crash and splinter. Accustomed to such startling noises in and around their home and at all hours of the night, she didn’t think much about the sound, but peeked around the sheet anyway.

  Two burly men, broad and mean-looking, stood in front of Frank. Danny had the pistol drawn and the other men in the room stood dazedly looking at one another. Imo knew they were trouble, even if they hadn’t kicked the door in. One sported a fresh scar across his chin. The other looked like one of them fancy men she saw at Vauxhall who herded and guarded a group of whores. He wore a green silky waistcoat with a brown stain where his belly protruded.

  When the pistol cocked, the room got deathly quiet. Imo liked the sound of the threat.

  “You’ve no business with us,” Danny said with his usual calm demeanor. “You gents don’t belong here.”

  “We’re in the right place. It’s you that’s got to go.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Imo caught sight of Frank backing into the shadows. The fight wasn’t so unfair as it might seem, even with the slim build of her brothers. Frank would as soon kill either of them as look at them.

  “Tiny Etherton’s girls tap this whole area and she don’t appreciate anyone taking her business.”

  “Don’t know the lady. We rent and we’ve paid our footing to the Scot. You’ve no business here.”

  “Tiny says you have a week to clear out. Or she says she’ll give you five pounds for the girl. That’s her only offer.” Both men leered in Imo’s direction. She was forcibly reminded why being a whore was a bad thing. She would not like to fall into their clutches.

  Danny leveled the gun at the brute who spoke. “Please tell the Abbess we are declining her kind offer. We’ve been here three months and we aim to stay.”

  Imo noticed the two bounders weren’t very afraid of Danny’s threats. Maybe ’cause there was only one gun. She peeked at the others in the room. None of them seemed inclined to offer assistance, not when their only business here involved their peckers.

  Frank had eased behind them and stood at the door. In each hand he held a knife. Late as it was, Charlie had curled in a ball on the floor and slept. Him she wouldn’t have to worry over.

  “Now, what’s it going to be, little boy?” the leader said. He pushed back his jacket to reveal his own gun. Danny didn’t budge.

  “What’s it going to be?” Danny repeated, as if he was really considering their words. “I’m thinking one of you is going to end up with a bullet in your head, but both of you are going to lose your balls. No problem for the one who dies. Big damn inconvenience for the one who lives.”

  With one step, Frank moved in behind them. The knives appeared between their legs. The one on the right pressed deeply into the left leg. The one on the left, the knife angled hard against the right leg. One slice would bring them both down. Imo could see Frank’s face between the broad shoulders. He would kill them without a second thought.

  The one who hadn’t spoken had his hands lifted from his side and sweat beaded on his forehead.

  “Ten pounds for her and we leave you be.”

  “She ain’t for sale and you’re trespassing.”

  Both men stood stock still, but the chatty one glanced toward Imo and stared hard. “All right. For now. Tiny ain’t going to like this and next time it ain’t gonna go your way.”

  Danny took a step forward and placed the barrel of the gun to the man’s stomach. “Let him go,” Danny said of the non-talker. Frank eased the knife away and the man turned and ran out the door. “You owe me for a new door. I think two pounds ought to cover the cost, don’t you? These other fine gents want their sport and they don’t appreciate being interrupted. Do you all?”

  The general agreement gave her comfort and confidence that there would be no fight. Tonight, anyway. And now that the waiting pack would get jack-a-nannied, they were all toothless smiles and bobbing heads. Imo pushed her shoulders back to relieve the tension. If Danny asked for two pounds, the door would probably cost less than half that to repair.

  The man’s lips pressed together and his eyes squinted lower in a gesture of defiance. One hand eased inside his jacket. “I won’t forget this.”

  “Neither will I.”

  The coins changed hands. Frank withdrew his knife but didn’t disappear from sight. The man glared at Frank and Danny. Out the door, the night swallowed him up.

  Imo went to Danny’s side and was joined by Frank. “What are we gonna do?”

  “Nothing. Get back to work, Imo—these gentlemen would like to go home.” Imo glared for a moment. “Now. Get it done so we can go home too.”

  She nodded and the first man came back. The servicing didn’t take long. She found out men were hard as nails after fights and usually ready for a quick job. Tonight especially, Imo was glad for the swift release. She was ready for the safety of Mrs. Bunton’s attic.

  Afterward, they walked home in silence and they walked fast. Danny and Frank looked over their shoulders as they passed dark alleyways and sinister corners. Imo pulled a still half-sleeping Charlie along, bumping into him but hanging on to his hand.

  “Imo, come back down after you get Charlie to bed.”

  Frank and Danny waited in the back alley beside Mrs. Bunton’s house. She hurried Charlie up the stairs, got his jacket and shoes off before he went right back to sleep.

  The boys were whispering when she returned. “Well?”

  “We made an enemy tonight,” Danny started.

  “I’ve heard of Tiny. Tough old bird who’s always on the look for new girls,” Frank added.

  “We’ll have to be extra careful. Frank, you buy another gun in the morning.”

  “What are you going to do?” Imo asked.

  “I’m going to talk to the Scot tomorrow. We paid money and he knew what we were doing and didn’t stop us. He’ll know what to do about the Abbess. And if I had to guess, I’d say keeping the Scot happy is the more important of the two.”

  “Will we have to pay him more footing?”

  “Do you think I’m going to tell him no?”

  * * * * *

  “Why do I have to go with you?”

  “Because I said so. ’Sides, Frank and Charlie have to fix the door.”

  “But I could go with them instead.”

  “No. The Scot needs to see you, and then he’ll know why Tiny wants you. You’re the only reason they are bothering us.”

  Imo frowned at the implication. There were bawds all along the dock that were much prettier and actually knew what they were doing. What did it matter Imo made ten or twelve coppers each night for a couple hours of work?

  They pushed into the courtyard of the Scot’s home at 9 Kepple Street, several houses that were cobbled together to form a little area known as Number Nine. The Scot controlled a good amount of the area, with his own set of bawds, cadgers and queers who either enforced the rules or made him money. If you were poor and wanted to run a business near the docks, a body had to discuss it with the Scot first. ’Course, the rich never came down this way, except to the docks, and the Scot left the Marine Police to maintain the disorder brought on by too many ships trying to get into too small an area.

  Danny had been here before, over three months ago, and knew right where he was going. Imo had trouble keeping up with his long strides and had to tug at her breeches several times to keep them from slipping over her bottom.

  Now that they were inside the square on Kepple Street, Danny wanted the business done, but nearly forty people filled the courtyard.

  “Danny, look.” She tugged at his coat sleeve and he glanced back at her before catching her expression and the subtle jerk of her head. He stared off in the direction she indicated.

  “That’s Tiny Etherton.”

  “That’s Tiny!” Imo squeaked. She recognized the two henchmen, but Tiny was the size of
a coal barge! Except this barge had more purple feathers in her hair than a peacock had on its bum.

  “Are we too late?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

  “No. We just have to tell our side of the story. The Scot’s as wise as Solomon. So they say.”

  “Betcha he’s wise to needful. Why don’t we just go finish what you boys started last night? Frank could slice ’em up nice and drop ’em in the Thames. No one would know.”

  Danny rolled his eyes.

  Imo knew the Scot would favor money over rights every time. They didn’t stand a chance. The Abbess was swathed in yards of the prettiest pink silk Imo had ever seen. Some shiny beads were at her neck and around her arms. The bobs on her ears were the size of chicken eggs.

  “We gotta do something,” she said.

  “We ain’t causing no shindy. He’ll fer sure come down on her side then. Now hold your peace and stop staring.”

  They waited two hours. The single consolation was that Tiny waited too. The silk under her arms had darkened. She’d fanned herself with a white lace foldout. The heat and her temper produced an occasional muted curse that sent one of her two men scampering.

  When they were called, the Abbess went in first. She cast a shuttered glance in Imo’s direction and disappeared inside the largest house. Her hips scraped the sides of each door, but she pushed through.

  “Lud, I ain’t never seen such a fat woman! Betcha it took four horses to haul her arse over here.”

  “Imo, I swear, sometimes you act like you haven’t set a foot off Cable Street. Leave her be. She ain’t doing nothing more than we’re doing.”

  “Don’t be chaffing at me. She’s the one tried to kill us last night. Fat old biddy.”

  For that, Danny cuffed the back of her head and her ribbon fell loose, falling into a dank puddle of watery filth. Her hair tumbled across her shoulders. Imo bent quickly, but the ribbon was already soaked through.

  She clenched the ribbon in her fist and turned to face him. “You...I had to pay money for that ribbon. It won’t never clean up now.”

  “If you bought something useful, that wouldn’t have happened.”

  “It was mine.” Tears burst out of her eyes and trailed down her check. She wasn’t sad, she was blindingly mad.

  “It’s still yours, just a little dirty. Run over to that water trough and clean it off.”

  “I won’t forgive you for this. Never.”

  He grabbed her ear and yanked her to the far side of the court. Imo was too stunned to cry out. She grabbed his wrist and ran to keep up with him.

  “Imo, I’ve just about had it with you. You can’t decide if you want to be a whore, even if it means we all eat and have a place to sleep. You lie to me about money, including the pretty pennies it took to buy that fancy ribbon. You had to have a dress that you won’t wear. You ain’t some fancy piece who speaks French and knows how to paint. You’re Imo Farrell and you better get your head out of the clouds. I’ve a mind to sell you to the first person who asks.”

  Danny let go of her ear. She clapped her hand over it and then ran her sleeve across her nose. “I know who I am.”

  Tears poured down her face and she wiped them away with the sleeve of her jacket. She hung her head, partly in anger for the words she wanted to say, partly in shame that he was right. Ever since that day at the docks, she’d had fleeting hopes that someday, someone, maybe that fancy nob, would want her. They’d pay a lot of money and she’d be their mistress.

  “Dammit, Imogene. This ain’t fun and games. Mam made me promise I’d take care of the family, not just you, but you make it damn difficult with all your sneaking around and high demands. We’re poor, Imo. You need to get that through your head.”

  “We have money.”

  “Enough to eat one meal a day. Enough for a roof over our heads, nothing more.”

  She rubbed at her ear. “You’re just fretting ’cause of Molly. No need to take it out on me.”

  “Don’t be bringing her into this. It’s your behavior makes me think I can’t rely on you ’tall.”

  “I don’t want to whore for nobody. I mean really whore. I can’t stand most of them. Don’t make me do more, Danny. Don’t. Not unless I get paid enough to leave this stink-hole forever.”

  “Oh, and where would you go?”

  “Mary FitzPatrick would tell me. She’d know.”

  “Imogene, we’re luckier than most.” A man waved at them. Danny put his arm over her shoulder. “For now, we have to do this. And I told you before, I ain’t making you do anything, but it seems about the easiest money we’ve ever made. Now, come on. Dry your tears. The Scot don’t want to see a red-faced cry-baby.”

  * * * * *

  They walked through the decorated portal into a darkened foyer and then up a creaky set of stairs, giving Imogene a shiver as if she walked to her doom.

  Tiny Etherton hadn’t come out or at least Imo hadn’t seen her. The place was almost like a lodging house. They walked along a balcony and down below, several cadgers lounged at tables where they played cards or dice or scratched themselves while smoking. She’d seen them around. Most of them were scammers. Best to steer clear lest they saw something they liked and then took. ’Course, most of them wouldn’t poach if the Scot was involved, but later, in the dark of night, when a person couldn’t see the face of an attacker, who knows what they would do.

  Imo put her head down and followed along. She didn’t like being noticed this way. She didn’t want to be bought or sold or decided about or handled.

  The room they entered was full of people, including the girthy Tiny Etherton. She smiled and fawned over a red-haired man who sat behind a massive desk. She batted her fan against his arm and said something near his ear as they entered. He leaned back in his chair with a thumb tucked in his waistcoat. Three whores were behind him. One had her arms around his neck and a hand inside his shirt. The other two looked bored—one played with her feather boa, the other fingered her necklace.

  His fierce green eyes greeted Imo, the intensity nearly propelling her backward. He batted one of the whores away. “So this is the famed Virgin Whore?”

  “My name is Imogene.” She hadn’t been invited to speak and Danny hadn’t elbowed her so she thought she could say more. “And I’m not a whore. Not yet.” With the Scot, she thought the distinction might be important.

  “Tiny says you’re poaching on her territory. That true?” Green eyes danced from Imo to Danny. She thought McGreggor saw every little thing, including her missing buttons. He was a gentlemanly Cain, only killing those who deserved it—and that only with a nod to one of his henchmen. Vice and crime was his profession which meant she was in as much danger from the Scot as she was from Tiny Etherton.

  “No, Mr. McGreggor. You know we paid a footing near three months ago for doing what we’re doing,” Danny said.

  “Tiny says you’re taking all of her clients.”

  Imo laughed. “Hell, they can’t afford any of them fancy pieces she has. Why do you think they come to me? So I can rub their feet?”

  She heard a few guffaws behind her, and in front of her, Tiny’s lips pursed and her eyelids lowered threateningly.

  Danny interjected. “Doesn’t matter what we’re doing. We paid for the right and you agreed.”

  “If I offered you fifteen pounds for her, would you consider the business settled?” the Scot asked as he reached for a cigar he’d left burning in a round, blackened ashtray. Imogene was the her.

  Tiny hmpfed. “I found her first. By rights, she’s mine.” Her husky man voice surprised Imo and she turned to stare at the madam.

  “Tiny, do you want me to cut her down the middle so we can each have a piece or are you going to accept the fact she ain’t whoring and the clients she gets would never cross your threshold anyway?” Whoring rolled off his tongue with a proper Scottish burr.

  Imo hadn’t realized she might be going to the highest bidder. She peered up at Danny and he shook his head. With his gaze
, he implored her to hold her tongue.

  “Mr. McGreggor, sir, Imogene isn’t for sale.”

  “Fifteen pounds would go a long way to making you warm in winter and your stomach full at bedtime.”

  “You heard him. I ain’t for sale,” Imogene shot back. She thought it best to make sure everyone in the room knew her feelings on the matter.

  His gaze settled on Imo again. He was clean and strong and proper looking compared to the others in the room, but Imo could see the man was used to getting what he wanted. The heat of the frying pan now seemed safer than the flames of the fire.

  “I’m not talking to you, girl, but I would like to see the goods before I make another offer.”

  Imo gritted her teeth and took a step toward Danny’s side. Danny’s hand clasped her elbow. She’d been in other rooms with this many men, but Danny and Frank had been in control. Here at Number Nine, everyone did what the Scot ordered.

  He braced his hands against his desk and shoved to his feet. With a few long strides he stood in front of Imogene. His gaze took in her features. Imo didn’t dare look him in the eye. Everything they’d ever heard about him had to be true. He was a hard, ruthless bastard, and Imo would do anything to stay out of his clutches.

  “I want to know what I’m buying—now take off your shirt.”

  “Danny?”

  “Do it, Imogene.”

  Her hands trembled as she tugged the shirttail from the band of her trousers. She sucked in a bunch of air and held it deep in her belly so her heart wouldn’t jump out her throat. She slipped the ties that held her shirt together and let the ends sag. She wished she’d worn her bindings, but the tight material made her ache something awful.

  The Scot brushed one hand toward her, sweeping the material aside and conveniently brushing over the tight nub that got embarrassingly hard. Imo turned her head away and stared at the hanging herbs in the corner. Air brushed her skin as he parted both sides and gazed down appreciatively.

  She gritted her teeth, seething in anger.

  He licked at his lips and then, without restraint, cupped both tits in his big rough paws. Danny’s hand gripped her elbow tighter and had he not, she would have batted the man’s hands away then punched him in the bollocks. He had no right, and those that did had paid money. This man would take whatever he wanted and he’d do it in front of everyone in this room.