by E M Jones
Against the familiar backdrop of Dina and Charlie’s jostling, Lizzie had lapsed once more into her own thoughts. She returned to her present company as Charlie attempted to hug Dina from the side and Dina moved like a panther to avoid her.
“Lizzie, she loves us, she cares! I’ve broken the ice maiden!” Charlie laughed and continued to try to grab Dina, who moved to walk on Lizzie’s other side, safely away from Charlie’s physical affection.
Lizzie laughed at her two companions and walked with renewed purpose. She would enjoy her walk, despite the heat and the impending destination.
The Pleasure Gardens were in full swing—they had made a good choice to go there that evening. The three of them quickly earned several approving nods. After a few more glasses of wine to buoy their confidence, the paying admirers would approach and the night’s work would begin in earnest.
The bars clattered with customers’ enthusiasm and energy. The gardens seemed to have their own micro-climate; young men laughed through streaks of sweat, and women talked and drank, ignoring the slow downwards draw of their melting paint. Everybody was determined to have fun, and a bit of heat would not get in the way. Lizzie studied the careless gusto they gave to their evening and felt old and tired in her faded dress.
Charlie’s eye was taken by a light show, and even Dina acquiesced to take a look at it before they were all busy with customers. The August nightfall was characteristically slow as the concentrated air sunk begrudgingly under the sun. The lights lent the gardens a surreal quality as people were transformed into creatures by phosphor and shadow. Dina’s dress became a part of a glowing shade, and just as Charlie had joked, she looked like a sculpture that had come alive. They passed puppets and dancers, clowns and singers, and for a while the strolling women were as much a part of the carnival as any other visitors, enclosed in a microcosm of thoughtless delight.
Lizzie paused and the others stopped in step with her. A mannequin show was taking place to the right of the dancing stage. Lizzie approached as the shadowy figures strutted across the small stage and cast monstrous shadows on the simple sunset background. A dizzy gaggle circled the stage and responded as if prompted by the emotion and humour of the miniature epic. Lizzie was enthralled by the performance as the simple black paper shapes moved the audience from laughter to horror with their ungainly movements.
The show came to an abrupt end as the evil count murdered his innocent wife and was carried away to the local magistrate by the farmer’s strong and noble son. The audience laughed while the count leapt and squealed his way off the stage. Lizzie turned to her companions, still part of the gentle laughing waves of the audience. Charlie and Dina were laughing as well, in the company of three young men who seemed of reasonable means and moderate sobriety. Lizzie’s laughter became a tight private smile for Charlie before she put on her most charming, demure expression and joined Dina and Charlie and their newest circle of friends.
***
Mrs Henry did not mind how the women earned their place at the house, as long as they did. Within the bounds of the house’s rules, it was the women’s concern as to how they made their week’s wages. Mrs Henry would occasionally give some sage advice as a result of her own experience earning her crust, but she interfered with the women’s customers primarily for her own amusement rather than as a business concern.
When Lizzie had first moved into the house, after a few months working as a maid and hostess at a drinking house of questionable repute, Mrs Henry had shared all her wisdom with her. Lizzie had soon gathered from her tutor that the main thing was to make money and, if possible, ensure that customers of means would consider returning to Mrs Henry’s, potentially with other affluent associates. Mrs Henry had introduced her to some friends of Dina and Charlie’s customers, and after adjusting to the shocking nature of her new employment, Lizzie had built her list of customers and her professional demeanour to ensure she could meet Mrs Henry’s weekly requirements.
Lizzie felt proud that she was self-sufficient with Mrs Henry; she was popular with customers since she kept clean and was obedient and obliging. She was sometimes able to give Mrs Henry a bit extra, and the mistress of the house would beam at Lizzie as she held the worn notes in her cragged hand.
When her first summer came, Lizzie had been shocked at the absence of regular customers and felt once more the uncertainty in her stomach that had dispersed after her first month with Mrs Henry. She had tried to make herself useful in the house, contributing more to the weekly laundry and polishing Mrs Henry’s cheap ornaments. She made herself as small as possible—staying in her room when not helping or out looking for customers—as if this would make her burden on the house’s finances smaller.
It was during that July that Charlie had knocked on her door and popped her cropped head around the corner while Lizzie altered another dress.
Charlie smiled. “You alright, Lizzie?”
Lizzie looked up from her work. “Yes. Thank you, Charlie. And you?”
“Fine, as per, Lizzie. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you seem a bit down, a bit slumped at the moment. Is everything OK?”
Lizzie smiled at Charlie’s usual chivalry towards her. “I am fine, thanks, Charlie. I just… Business has been quiet, hasn’t it? I don’t want to disappoint Mrs Henry.”
“Ah, the summer drought. This your first one? Well, you don’t need to worry. Mrs Henry understands, you see—if you ask her, she might tell you about all her summers and her ingenious schemes to drum up business. She knows what it’s like, Lizzie; she’s been there herself many times.”
Lizzie relaxed as Charlie spoke and the possibility of being homeless and jobless grew a little more distant.
“Oh yes, Mrs Henry knows what the summer is like,” Charlie continued, “and as long as you make your way again in the autumn, you’ll be fine. Don’t get me wrong—we can’t stop trying to find some business, and we do in the most unlikely places, but don’t worry if you’re not making quite as much as usual.”
Charlie’s tomboyish attitude never failed to lighten Lizzie’s emotions and soften her posture. “Thank you, Charlie.”
“Come on, we’ll go and see Mrs Henry and ask her to tell us about one of her summer droughts. She’s got some great stories, and she loves telling them. I’m not sure they’re all completely true, to be honest, but once Mrs H gets chuckling, it’s hard not to laugh with her, even though you’re not quite sure what the joke is between her laughs. She’s got a great one about setting herself on a Ferris wheel—she paid the man on the tickets ten percent, and he kept her booth and put all the men who looked alright in there. If the men were a little wobbly on their return to land, he’d tell their companions it was the vibration of the fastest wheel in England!”
***
Lizzie was growing tired. She had worked three customers and wanted to go home. After Dina, Charlie and Lizzie had shared some light-hearted banter with the three men, they had quickly separated into pairs in different corners of the gardens, their intentions unspoken and obvious. Lizzie and Dina’s paths had crossed briefly later, Lizzie with a swaying and cheerful middle-aged man walking her to a quiet corner and Dina making a decisive path towards a group of men, including at least one or two she had met at one of Sir Glynne’s parties. Lizzie’s customers had grown more intoxicated as the night wore on, but luckily they were all jovial. After the third, who was downright drunk but seemed to enjoy their brief interaction, Lizzie felt she had made adequate money for one night and some sleep would be welcome. She had hoped that Dina or Charlie would walk home with her, but their customers had led them in different directions and it seemed unlikely.
Until that moment, she had not thought about the murdered girl, but as she set off from the Pleasure Gardens, the carnival inside oscillating to a close, the darkness punctuated by the odd hiccup and giggle, she felt alone in the dark, and vulnerable. She walked quickly and hoped her sober shoulders seemed self-possessed and able to defend themselves. She overtook cou
ples, leaning into each other to make up for the sense of gravity stolen by liquor, and crowds of young people leaving paths of bottles, scarves and beads as trails of their revelry. Unblinkingly, she continued, aware of a long-awaited breeze just before the sun started to heat the city once more.
Lizzie followed the river before heading north towards Trafalgar Square and beyond it home. Away from the river, she left the company of the Pleasure Gardens’ customers and quickened her pace. Her steps echoed through the streets of Whitehall as she approached Nelson’s Column. Looking up at the landmark, she felt closer to home.
A hand clutched her shoulder. She screamed and spun round, her mind engulfed by images of the dead girl. She met a pair of bloodshot eyes, pupils dilated, poked into the crevices between ruddy cheeks and forehead.
Lizzie recovered and straightened her back. A rubbery smile was directed towards her. “Working, sweetheart?”
“Um, yes,” Lizzie answered before she remembered her intention to go home and rest.
“Come on then; take me home.”
Lizzie exhaled her exhaustion, smiled demurely, and took the man’s arm. “Come with me, sir.”
7
The bedroom door flew open, making Lizzie jump up and awake.
“Thank God!”
The door swung closed again and the force responsible made its way down the landing and into Dina’s room, a storm of gales banging doors along the corridor until the whole household was started awake. Lizzie pulled on a dressing gown and headed into the upheaval to see what the noise was about.
Mrs Henry was walking a grumpy and dishevelled-looking man to the door, reassuring him that should he return, she would have something very special for him, whilst casting eyes like poison arrows towards Charlie over his shoulder.
“What’s wrong, Charlie?” Lizzie asked, holding her friend’s arm.
“At the moment, Mrs Henry is planning to kill me. But I don’t care. You’re both fine and that’s the main thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look.” Charlie pulled Lizzie into the kitchen and pointed to a small article in the newspaper. Another girl had been killed. Her body found down an alley.
Lizzie read that another unfortunate young woman’s life had come to an end through strangulation and the police would be investigating. Lizzie looked up at Charlie.
She seemed young, her eyes deep and innocent. “There’s a monster out there, Lizzie. What have we done to deserve this?”
Lizzie held her tightly and wished she had something reassuring to say. As she started to construct some platitudes that did not sound too incredulous, the kitchen door opened and Mrs Henry stomped in like a fuming elephant. Lizzie released Charlie but held on to her hand lest Mrs Henry’s tirade carry her away.
“Charlie, in all my days, I have never lost a customer because one of my girls had the cheek to storm in on him while he’s occupied in his pleasures. I’ve just had to give him half rates, and I’ve promised him acrobatics from the lampshade if he comes again. And you will be performing those acrobatics after that performance, Charlie!”
Charlie tried to look suitably ashamed and was about to turn on the charm for Mrs Henry, but the matriarch had not finished. “I mean bursting in like that, waking the house! I thought the place was on fire. And Dina hard at work and poor Lizzie tired after earning her place. And then you storm about as if this is some sort of circus! We’re a respectable house—discreet, quiet, I mean. A peer of the realm is one of our regulars. I can’t lose that name, Charlie, or we’ll all be done for. This is a house of repute. Reputation is everything in this business, Charlie, as I’ve told you, and I won’t have you undoing me in one swoop because of your excitable ways.”
It was clear there was no imminent danger of Charlie losing her position, and she tried some well-placed cheek and flattery to smooth things over with Mrs Henry. “I’m sorry, Mrs H. Really, I am. I’ll make it up to you. As well as swinging from the lampshade when that gentleman comes back, I’ll do all the cleaning this week, and bring in some extra to make up for anything we might have lost there. Come to think of it, that woman who was here the other night had some sort of posh ring—maybe she’s a bit of distant royalty, eh? Who but me does she have to spend all her spare pennies on?”
Subjected to the full force of Charlie’s tomboyish charm, Mrs Henry softened. “It’s alright, Charlie. It’s poor Dina and Lizzie I worry about, woken suddenly after working so hard.”
“I understand, Mrs H. And I’ll make it up to them too. They can have a lie-in tomorrow, and I’ll mend their stockings and polish their shoes.” Lizzie grimaced at the ordeal her stockings would go through with Charlie’s infantile needlework. “Mrs H—I just had to check they were OK. You do understand, don’t you?” Charlie’s gaze met Mrs Henry’s and all the cheerfulness of her mock supplication disappeared for a moment. Charlie’s innocent, deep eyes stared at the older woman’s weathered face, and the room was silent for a moment.
“Of course I do.” Mrs Henry took Charlie’s arm, their camaraderie restored. “You look after each other, not like some of the other girls.”
“Exactly, Mrs H. Now, cup of tea?”
“That would be lovely. This poor girl. Where was she found, Charlie?”
“An alley in Piccadilly.”
“Well, I’m glad you girls weren’t around there last night. I’m just pleased you’re all fine. In fact, I would have checked myself if you hadn’t been around, Charlie. What’s one disturbed customer to make sure my girls are safe?”
Lizzie and Charlie exchanged a glance but didn’t interrupt Mrs Henry’s false assertions.
“Who has lost a customer?” Dina entered the kitchen, tall and graceful even in her nightwear.
“I was just saying,” Mrs Henry explained, “that your gentleman might not be back, but I’m pleased you’re all safe.”
“Don’t worry.” Dina’s tone was calm and firm. “We are all safe and he will be back. I had made sure of that a long time before Charlie came in.”
***
When Mrs Henry’s ire had cooled and the house returned to its normal routine, Lizzie, Dina and Charlie left the lady of the house snoring in the parlour and made their way upstairs with the newspaper. Dina read aloud that the woman had been found in the early hours of the morning, naked with wounds around her neck.
The three women stared at each other. Charlie looked defeated once more, her charm dissolved. “What do you think, Dina?”
Lizzie was pleased Charlie did not ask for her opinion, since no comfort had come to her since the morning’s news. She had mulled all morning and simply felt frightened and alone, a drop of grey drizzle in a shower nobody paid any particular attention to.
Dina’s response broke Lizzie’s musing. “I think it is very sad. I think the police will not care. I think we need to be careful.”
The three women looked at each other once more, and a silent pact was made from eye to eye.
“Do you think we knew her?” Charlie searched the other women for answers.
“I do not know. We will find out tonight, oui?”
“Oui, Dina. We will. It just makes me want to stay in the house until the bugger is caught. As if Mrs H would have that.”
“We must work, Charlie, we must carry on. But we will not have another night like yesterday. We will stay together—you know how some men like that?”
“I do indeed. Alright then, we’ll have to try that. What about you, Lizzie?”
Lizzie had been lost in her own thoughts and had nothing to offer the other two. “I agree with you. We’ll have to try to look after each other.”
“You are very quiet, what is wrong?” Dina’s unsentimental concern was evident.
“Nothing.” Lizzie forced a half smile. “It’s just sad, isn’t it? Poor girl.”
Charlie gave Lizzie’s shoulders a squeeze, and Lizzie tried to move to a more convincing smile.
“What do you think the murderer’s got against us?” Cha
rlie exhaled her anger.
“I don’t know, Charlie,” Lizzie said. “That we’re sinners?”
“But he’s the bloody sinner, going around murdering young women.”
“Some men, and women, have a—what is it in English—perverted pleasure in seeing pain and death, I think.”
“Well, yes, Dina, we know that. I had that woman the other night beating me black and blue. But I don’t think she was trying to kill me; she was just getting carried away.”
“I do not mean like your woman. I mean people who are sick in the mind. They want to see pain and death, and they feed on it.”
Lizzie had got up to tidy some powders and paints, half listening to the conversation. Dina was right. The murderer—man or woman—was sick in the mind. That was what frightened Lizzie the most. She always felt safe with her customers if she could understand them, read their movements and language. The man at the end of the previous night, he’d been drunk and wanted a release. He wasn’t pleasant, but Lizzie could understand and give him what he wanted. Only once had she had a customer she’d thought was mad. He had scared her. He’d wanted more and more and wouldn’t relent. He didn’t seem to understand the terms of their interaction; he wanted all of her, to consume her entirely. It was only when Mrs Henry told him to leave that he had stopped. Lizzie often wondered what would have happened had he been a customer on the street rather than at the house. Would he ever have let her go? Could she have got away? Lizzie had always looked into the eyes of her customers since then. If she saw a hint of otherworldliness, disorder, she would walk away, even if it meant a longer night looking for a customer.
She looked out of the window briefly at the muggy street—it looked like a storm was due—and returned to her two friends on her bed. “So, where to tonight?”
Dina and Charlie looked up in unison, and Charlie said, “Somewhere we can stay reasonably close together and get some work done.”
“The Alhambra?” Dina’s suggestion was a good one. There were plenty of quiet corners nearby, and the barmen knew the girls reasonably well. “You might get another black eye, Charlie.”
