by E M Jones
“Woman’s body found near River Thames,” she read aloud in a childlike stilt. “The body of a woman, app-ar-ently that of a prostitute, has come to shore near the Embankment. Sources say the woman had been strangled. Police are in-ves-tig-ating.”
Suddenly every face around the table paled and their familial hubbub was silenced as each woman contemplated her own fear.
Lizzie put a hand on Charlie arm. “Did you know her, do you think?”
“I don’t know. I could, I suppose. We’re all the same, aren’t we? It could be any of us.”
Mrs Henry gathered herself first. “Don’t be silly, Charlie. It couldn’t be any of you. You’re sensible girls, and we look after each other here.”
Charlie’s face remained the colourless grey of mass-produced print. There wasn’t much point in arguing with Mrs Henry—she was, after all, the boss. “There are thousands of us, Mrs H, and we’re all careful, but one of us has ended up strangled at the bottom of the stinking Thames.”
“Come on now, forget about it.” Mrs Henry folded the paper shut like a judge bringing down a gavel. “You need to go and get ready for work. Lizzie, your hair does look nice. Well done, Dina. Come on, upstairs with you.”
The three young women exchanged a glance of tired acceptance as they rose from the table. As they walked in a row up the stairs, they looked like three schoolgirls, their different lives and personalities joined by the common position from which they viewed the world. Lizzie put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, and Dina even let her hand rest on Charlie’s hip.
They were almost at the top of the stairs when the voice bellowed from below, “Remember, girls, stick together.”
3
London was heaving. The sky weighed down on the buildings, which bore into the people, who dragged the weight of a clammy evening around with them. Making their way towards Piccadilly, Dina, Lizzie and Charlie pushed their way through the August air as if their old satin dresses were made of chainmail.
Lizzie had known it would be an uncomfortable evening from the moment she stepped out. Already she could feel her powder diluting and smudging above her lip. It was difficult to decide what to wear at this time of year. Too many layers and too much rouge led to a clownish appearance that was not popular with any but the most perverse customers. On the other hand, most customers liked to see that the girls had made some effort. Lizzie had settled on her coral dress, which was old but neatly repaired.
The girls nodded in acknowledgement to some of their colleagues. There was caution in their eyes. Most had heard the news, and all the girls were glad to see the others.
Since Sir Glynne was abroad, Dina suggested The Alhambra music hall to start their shift; it was brimming with intoxicated revellers woozy with wine and desire all year round, and tonight the heat would only add to their voracity. Johnny, the doorman at The Alhambra, knew the three well, and although they all entered separately, intending to meet their friends inside, Johnny waived the charge for his regulars.
Inside, the air was delirious. The oppressive heat lay in semi-darkness perfumed by sweat and smoke and wine. The bright rhythm of a band waved over the air from afar and Lizzie felt unsteady as she entered. An arm appeared under hers and Charlie led her to a corner bar. Lizzie smiled at Charlie and they stood together for a while. They rarely stayed together once inside a tavern or hall. They needed to advertise their trade, though few misread their dress, and for some reason men preferred to approach a woman alone. The girls were not here to enjoy the show; they were part of the show.
“Who are your top three customers?” asked Charlie with a little cheek, some colour returning to her face, which had been paste-like since reading the paper earlier that day.
“That one in the corner with the velvet jacket is definitely on the lookout,” said Lizzie, returning Charlie’s wry smile. “And the one with the moustache looks so respectable he’s about to burst, so I’d put some money on him.”
Both stared briefly at the tall, thin, brown-moustached, middle-aged man sat in a group near the stage. He did look like the veneer of his reputation was the only thing keeping his clothes on and his quick, shallow breaths in.
“What about that one?” asked Charlie, nodding towards a young man in army uniform on his own at the bar.
Lizzie hesitated—torn between her initial thought that he looked like quite a nice man, and the seasoned cynicism of her trade. “Not sure. Could be an angel, but then it’s the quiet ones you have to watch. How about you?”
Charlie surveyed the room as an act took their bow. The audience smudged to the bar, and the intoxicating air shifted to surround them all. She saw Dina approach the moustached man, and Charlie gave Lizzie a knowing smile. Dina knew the trade as well as they did.
“Well, there’s him,” said Charlie, nodding towards a small man in a striped shirt trying to buy a drink for one of the performers. “He’s not going to get anywhere with her tonight, so eventually he’ll turn to one of us. And her.” Charlie’s eyes swung to her right, where a woman in trousers sat laughing. Charlie attracted women in a way the other two never had, and although Mrs Henry didn’t entirely approve, they paid as well as any man and left the house neater, so she had come to accept Charlie’s place in the market.
As Lizzie turned towards Charlie with a raised eyebrow, the conversation was broken by Charlie’s wink across the room. The woman had caught her eye and raised an inquisitive glass.
Charlie smiled with vacant cheerfulness. “Right, back to work. Take care of yourself tonight. If you have any trouble, scream blue murder.”
Lizzie smiled genuinely at Charlie’s kindness.
“Are you ready? Smile. Hair. Dazzling eyes. Tight frock.” Charlie ruffled her skirt once more and gently pushed Lizzie into the crowded room.
The crowd applauded as the next act took to the stage.
Charlie gave Lizzie one last playful push and a wink as they parted. “Here we go. We’re on next.”
Now in the middle of the hall, Lizzie felt another moment of unsteadiness but caught herself. She had work to do. She put on a smile, steered herself to the bar and gave herself a minute to steady her legs. As she looked at the backs of the customers, she tried to work out who she would spend the evening with. Tall, short, rich, pretending to be rich: everybody was the same in the end, and their money kept Lizzie’s place.
Lizzie’s musing was broken by the approach of the man in the velvet jacket. His cheeks were inflated and ruddy, and he was making a reasonable effort at a straight line towards Lizzie.
“Hello, dear. Can I buy you a drink?”
Lizzie hesitated. Money was money and everybody was the same, but she knew an evening with this man would be particularly unpleasant. But she had no choice.
“A—”
“That’s where you got to.”
Lizzie twirled. The young man in uniform was by her side with a mild smile. “I thought you might have gone home. Are you ready for another drink?”
“Ah, yes, a cup of wine would be lovely. Thanks.” Lizzie’s colour deepened at their conspiracy, but under the paint and dimmed light nobody saw.
The man in the velvet jacket turned his head decidedly and offered a drink to the young woman on his other side.
Lizzie stood with a cup of wine in her hand.
“I’m Ted,” said the soldier, standing a little too formally in front of her.
“I’m Lizzie. Thank you.”
“I hope I didn’t embarrass you, but you didn’t seem that happy with the company you were keeping.”
“No, thanks, it’s fine. It’s just…” Lizzie floundered. It was unusual for men to be kind to her. It was unheard of for men to come to her rescue. Keeping unpleasant company was an occupational hazard the world seemed happy for her to experience.
“Would you like to sit down?” Ted led her to a table at the back of the audience.
Lizzie followed, still a little bewildered. She sat and stared at her wine. On the stage, a group of women hig
h-kicked and flung their bodies around. The sight of them was enough to make Lizzie feel exhausted and a little dizzy. She took a sip of wine and looked up.
Ted was staring at her inquisitively. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, fine, thanks. Just a little hot for a moment. Thank you for the wine.”
“Do you come here often?”
Lizzie laughed. She was reasonably sure Ted was being serious, and his naivety cheered her. “Yes, quite often, especially in the summer.”
“Oh. Well, this is my first time here. I’m home on leave.” His seriousness was endearing.
“How long will you be in London?”
“A month or two, then I’ll be called again. Do you like it here?”
Mrs Henry’s rule was to never say anything negative about anything; remain cheerful and charming at all times.
“Not really. Do you?”
Ted laughed this time. “What are we doing here then?”
Lizzie was a little taken aback. Was he mocking her? He couldn’t be that naïve. “We all follow the crowd, I suppose.”
“Are you here alone?”
She wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t making fun of her, but so far this had been a far more pleasant evening than if she had been contracted to the velvet-jacketed man, so she continued politely.
“I came with two friends.” Lizzie studied the room but couldn’t see Dina anywhere; she was efficient, make no mistake. “There’s one.” She pointed at Charlie. Charlie was sitting next to her customer and looked the picture of careless youth, laughing and drinking. The woman next to her smoked with one hand and held Charlie’s knee with the other.
“Looks like she’s having fun,” said Ted.
Lizzie was less convinced. Charlie’s eyes had none of their homely mischief, and the hand on her knee may as well have been a shackle. Charlie was working and doing a very good job.
Lizzie turned to Ted and gave him a half smile.
“Is it hard work?” he asked.
Her doubts about his tone grew again but then disappeared. She had thrown away Mrs Henry’s handbook already. “It can be. Some people are nice and just want a bit of comfort. Others think that they can do whatever they want and that you should be grateful.”
“Have you been… working… doing this a long time?”
“About two years now. There are three of us who live with a lady who’s in charge. She’s alright. A bit bossy sometimes but alright. The other two have been there longer.”
“And you take care of yourself?”
“We do the best we can. It’s part of the job to go off in the dark with strange people, so it’s a bit difficult to follow some of the more normal ways to keep safe. A police companion wouldn’t be very good for business, would it?”
Ted gave a subdued chuckle. “No, I suppose not.”
“What about you—why are you here?”
“An officer friend of mine suggested it. I don’t know London well and wanted to come out and relax and have fun. It’s not quite my sort of thing, but I’ve met you, which is nice.”
Lizzie tried to scrutinise him; was he mocking her? He smiled mildly.
The girls with the high kicks and budding skirts were approaching the end of their act. They flung themselves around with all their remaining energy, and the audience swayed as if mesmerised by appreciation of the act’s sheer vigour. As the audience cheered, Charlie’s customer got up and led Charlie towards the door. A wink was directed at Lizzie across the smoky haze, and then Charlie was gone.
Ted’s mild smile remained next to her. “Would you like another drink?”
“Um, I don’t know. I’ll have one if you would like some company, but I don’t want to keep you here.” Lizzie tried to read him. Was he a customer? A loner? An actual saint?
“I’m enjoying your company. But you don’t have to have another drink. Tell me something about yourself.”
Lizzie really was struggling now, but she grappled for some response. “I like to sew. I alter things and fix things—I help the other girls as well.”
“I can sew too. My mother taught me. It’s useful in the army.”
“My grandmother taught me. My mother was never really that interested.” Lizzie stopped. This was becoming fantastical. “Thanks for the drink.”
Ted looked a little taken aback but then his mild smile returned. “Of course. You are welcome. Shall we go then?”
“We?”
“Well, I thought so. I’ve lost you one customer, and I thought we were having a very pleasant time. Do we go to your rooms? Is that how it works?”
4
Lizzie woke up early and washed quickly. The tepid water swept the night before along her limbs and into the basin. She had never grown used to the feeling of waking up after a night’s work: the initial comfort of her bed invaded by her recollections of the day before, her innocence returned and lost again in a blink of her weary eyes. Mrs Henry had seen her washing in November once and had thought her as mad as that French Dina, but Lizzie continued to quietly collect her basin of water each morning through December and all the other months.
As she returned to the kitchen, she heard the front door slam. Charlie turned in her dressing gown to return to her room.
“All-nighter?”
“Yes, the lady wanted her money’s worth.” Charlie seemed exhausted, and Lizzie remembered how much the news in yesterday’s paper had upset her.
Charlie walked towards the stairs with her face bowed slightly. Lizzie put out a hand to comfort her, but as she gently touched Charlie’s satin sleeve, Charlie shrank away like a molested cat.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just tired. I’m going back to bed.” She turned towards the stairs.
Lizzie caught a shadow under Charlie’s eye. “What happened to you?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired.” Charlie continued to walk up the stairs.
“Charlie.”
Charlie had been kinder than anyone to Lizzie since she had arrived at Mrs Henry’s; she had comforted her, shown her how things worked and made her laugh when she felt that misery might take over. Charlie had been more loyal and loving than anyone in Lizzie’s life.
She stopped and turned, halfway up the staircase. Even in the dim light, the glorious bruise under Charlie’s left eye was clear. Lizzie gently stepped up to her and held her close. Enveloped, Charlie relaxed, and quiet, warm tears trickled onto Lizzie’s shoulder and down her back. Charlie’s weight, covered in cheap satin, slid into Lizzie’s hold, and for the first time in this house, Lizzie’s back straightened and her anger rose, defensive and ready to take on any enemy. They stood there, surrounded by the sympathy of a quiet house.
Slowly, Lizzie pulled back to look at Charlie, held her hand and led her to her room. Ignoring the frantic surroundings of overturned furniture and tangled sheets, Lizzie placed Charlie on the edge of the bed and kissed her dishevelled head. Charlie was silent and still.
“I’m just going to get a few things from my room. I’ll be two minutes.”
Lizzie hurried to her room, collected a blanket and a cloth and fetched a bowl of water.
When she returned, Charlie had not moved. She sat; a dejected sculpture surrounded by chaos. Lizzie studied her bruise and placed a light hand on her shoulder. She draped a blanket around Charlie’s shoulders and then held a damp, wet cloth on the bruised eye like a mother. They sat quietly.
***
“Do I look like a pirate?”
Lizzie had held a damp cloth on Charlie’s eyelid, and they had both fallen to dozing. Lizzie lifted her head. Charlie was grinning and doing her best to look like a pirate with her beclothed eye. Lizzie’s spirits brightened. Charlie was going to recover.
“Yes. Do you think you might get a better class of customer if we send you out as one?”
“No, but I’d have my parrot as defence. How would you feel about a new double act—the pirate and her vicious feathered temptress perched upon her shoulder?”
<
br /> “Well, it’s not that far from my activities at the moment, is it?”
Both laughed, but Charlie winced as her facial muscles moved too ambitiously for her bruised cheek.
“What happened to you, Charlie?”
Charlie pursed her lips.
“Charlie, you can pretend to everyone else that you’re a clown or a pirate or whatever else you want to be, but I know you. Tell me what happened. Then I’ll tell you about the army officer who’s courting me.”
Her unmarked brow raised in good-natured intrigue, Charlie acquiesced. “Well, as you know, the lady had taken a shine to me at The Alhambra and was enjoying showing off her female companion to her friends. Then she was ready to leave and get down to business, and here we came. She was very… energetic… and wanted as much as she could have for her money. I heard you come in with the gentleman officer and thought I must have done enough for a night’s work. But no. She liked to try things that are a bit… rough. It’s fine. To be honest I just wanted to lie down and sleep, but her stamina was incredible—I don’t think she has to get up to work in the mornings. Anyway, as she got into the swing of things, she got a bit carried away and whacked me across the face in her urgency to have… more.”
“Why didn’t you shout out? One of us would have heard you!”
“Thanks, Lizzie, but we both know that Mrs Henry would not have appreciated her customers being woken up by me screaming blue murder because one of my lady guests was getting overexcited. What if Sir Glynne heard about it? Or some of the other regulars? Black eye or not, I’d be out on my ear.”
Lizzie’s silence agreed.
“Anyway, she was fine as long as she was entertained, so I just kept going and waited for her to stop. I felt like that big new factory near the river. Just churning on and on. She’d just stopped when you saw me letting her out.”
