A House of Repute

by E M Jones

  “And you, Lizzie.” He gave her a warm hug from the side, his long arm almost encircling her whole body. “Why did you have to go and look, Charlie?” He looked into Charlie’s eyes like a concerned parent.

  “I had to know, Johnny. I had to see if it was her.”

  “I was so relieved when I heard.”

  “Have you heard who she is, Johnny?”

  “Poor thing. Called Betty, apparently. Not long down from the North. Young thing.”

  Lizzie pictured the skin rusted by blood, the pert, translucent lips.

  “Any news about Dina?” Charlie looked at Johnny like a frightened child seeking comfort from a grown-up.

  “Don’t worry, girls—she’ll show up. She knows how to take care of herself.”

  Charlie nodded. “Right then, we best get to work. Johnny, anything else you’ve heard about her, about Betty, that might help us find Dina?”

  “I don’t think so. I never met her. They say she was popular—you know what it’s like when they’re young and new to the city. Apparently she was a favourite at a gentlemen’s club in Mayfair. Try Kathy, she’s worked some of the gentlemen’s clubs. I’ll see if I can catch David in the next couple of days. I’ll let you know if he’s heard anything.”

  “Thanks, Johnny.” Charlie reached up and gave Johnny another delicate peck and turned to enter the music hall as his blushed cheek hid in the half-lit foyer.

  ***

  Lizzie and Charlie stood, each with a cup of diluted wine, at a bar table facing the audience rather than the stage. Lizzie held her glass and looked at the hall. As usual, only about a third of the audience paid any attention to the stage. The other two thirds were either more entertained by their increasingly intoxicated company or pretending to be.

  Beatrix was there at her usual table. Her hair was combed flat against her head and she wore a bottle-green waistcoat that framed her boyish build and introduced a flash of crimson on her lips. She had already glanced at Charlie a few times, and Charlie now met her eye more often than not, the beginning of the night’s manoeuvring under way.

  “Why do you keep going back to her, Charlie?”

  Charlie did not move her head, returning Beatrix’s admiring glance. “Why do we go back to any of them, Lizzie? It’s what we do.”

  “I know it’s what we do. But she hurts you.” Lizzie turned to look at Charlie, who did not move from her position on show.

  “She doesn’t mean to hurt me. It’s just how she is, what she likes. There are many worse customers around, as you know.”

  Lizzie looked at Beatrix, who was looking at Charlie. Her glances of admiration became longer stares, pulling Charlie towards her.

  “Why not just leave her alone? Stay by the bar. You might meet someone else who’s kinder.” Lizzie felt the impotence of her suggestion.

  “Like who, Lizzie? I’ve not been overrun by offers by kind gentlemen or ladies who want to run away and live in a cottage raising lambs. Bea likes me, she pays, and we both know where we stand.”

  “But, Charlie…”

  Charlie turned to Lizzie, an unfamiliar hint in her eyes. Frustration and tiredness rose in her voice. “Lizzie, stop it. I need to work, as do you. Bea is no Ted, I know. But she pays for my services and I haven’t turned up dead next to her yet. This is what we do, Lizzie. This is what we are.”

  Charlie finished her wine and turned towards Beatrix, whose fiery eyes danced as Charlie strode towards her. Charlie held Beatrix’s hand and stared at her. Lizzie watched them as if they were a performance on the stage; Charlie held Beatrix’s gaze and bowed slowly before placing a kiss in the middle of her proffered hand. Beatrix grew under Charlie’s attention: coloured, arched and swelled. All of Charlie’s senses were directed at her. The Alhambra could have been a side street or tavern or Mrs Henry’s house, Beatrix would still have captured Charlie entirely, or feel like she had at least.

  Lizzie wandered to the bar and bought another cup of tepid wine. The first had prepared her mouth and the second flowed down quickly. She bought another and walked back to her table, her senses now softened by the wine and The Alhambra’s heady vapours. She leant on the table and sipped the now-comfortable liquid.

  Charlie and Beatrix had disappeared. Lizzie swayed slightly to the music of the performers, who enacted an exaggerated tableau of a woman scorned, having given herself to her love and been cast out by her family. Lizzie turned away and made her way to the bar for another cup of wine. The drink was providing a false comfort that she was enjoying; a few more cups and she would blend into The Alhambra.

  Lizzie took a purposeful first sip of her new cup, unaware of Ted until he held her waist. She turned, slower than she’d intended, and he stood, holding her tenderly.

  “Ted.” She giggled.

  “Lizzie. Are you alright?”

  Lizzie searched the honest concern in his eyes for any cynicism or ulterior motive. She could find none. “I am alright, Ted. I’ve been stood here drinking a bit of wine, and now you’re here.”

  Ted smiled fondly. “How much wine have you had, Lizzie?”

  “Some. Would you like some?” She felt another involuntary giggle about to emerge, and she leant into Ted’s chest to hide it.

  Ted took a step back and smiled. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

  Lizzie stood up, smiled broadly, placed her arm in Ted’s and turned towards the doorway in readiness.

  15

  For a moment, Lizzie thought that Dina had returned. She’d come back from a walk to clear her head, her mind still fuzzy from alcohol and heat, and heard Mrs Henry talking animatedly as she approached the front door. Lizzie’s heart leapt, and she fumbled while opening the door. But once inside, the other voice was not Dina’s, but another girl’s. Lizzie made her way to the kitchen, swallowing her disappointment.

  Soon, Mrs Henry trundled into the kitchen behind her. “Lizzie, I’d like you to come and meet someone.”

  Lizzie turned to Mrs Henry and forced a smile, but Mrs Henry had already turned and was heading back towards the parlour. Lizzie followed the old woman into the best room in the house. It was not a room that any of them used during the day, and Lizzie preferred not to. It was the room in the house where the girls performed their work, and Lizzie felt very much the working girl within it. In the dim light of the evenings, with candles lit, cheap fabrics draped and fake flowers arranged, the parlour became presentable. In the light of an August day, the room felt like a tattered and worn shoe. Dust sparkled in sunbeams. Furniture unveiled its wounds. The walls presented the excess they presided over.

  When Mrs Henry creaked into her parlour throne, she uncovered a pretty girl who was trying her best to look relaxed. “Lizzie, this is Mary. She’s just come to London from the South.”

  Lizzie looked at the reflection of herself two years earlier and attempted to hide her sadness. She strode towards Mary with a welcoming smile and held out her hand. “Mary, nice to meet you. How was your journey?”

  “Fine, thank you. Nice to meet you.”

  Lizzie held Mary’s guarded eyes, trying to communicate empathy, care and support in one look.

  “Mary might take up Di—our spare room. We get on well here, don’t we Lizzie?”

  “Yes, we do. Well, if there’s anything Charlie or me can do to help you, let us know.” Lizzie smiled at Mary again.

  “Yes, my girls are good girls. We look after each other in this house and have a reputation as one of the best places. We count many men in high society as our regular visitors. Lizzie and Charlie will help you feel at home so that you can become a full member of the household.”

  Lizzie smiled again, acquiescing to the omissions in Mrs Henry’s story.

  “Have you seen Charlie this morning, Lizzie?”

  “No, not yet. She may still be in company.”

  Mrs Henry smiled as she accounted for Charlie’s night’s work. “You’ll meet her when you move, Mary. But yes, if you join us, we are a very contented household. Thank
you, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie was pleased to be dismissed from the parlour and to return backstage. As she crossed the threshold, she paused and looked back at Mary once more. For a moment, she considered telling her to go, to go back home, however bleak it seemed, to get away from Mrs Henry and her house. But she smiled, she hoped encouragingly, and Mary gave a small smile in return.

  ***

  Lizzie looked up at a quiet knock at her door. Charlie’s head appeared around the door. “Fancy a walk?”

  Despite the heat, Lizzie agreed at once.

  Charlie took her arm as they walked slowly. “Since they’ve opened up the park to ragamuffins like you and me, we may as well enjoy it.”

  Lizzie nodded, enjoying the proximity to her friend. They headed northwards, and Lizzie allowed Charlie to lead the way towards a different entrance to Regent’s Park.

  “I’m sorry about last night.” Charlie glanced briefly at Lizzie as she spoke.

  “You don’t need to be sorry, Charlie. I’m sorry. I was being silly.” Lizzie stopped and held Charlie to a halt. She looked directly at her friend. “I really am sorry, Charlie. I was wrong. You were just getting on with things.”

  Charlie steered Lizzie back into the rhythm of their walk. “Well, I’m glad you have seen the error of your ways and that we can return to our friendship governed by my superior sense.” She gave Lizzie a familiar wink, and they walked on in companionable silence.

  When they reached the park, Charlie stopped to admire the intricate wrought iron entrance like a thief cracking a safe.

  “Well, these are fine gates. Do you think they’ve remembered to actually plant something over this end, or is it all metal and machines?”

  Lizzie relaxed in Charlie’s jovial company. “Charlie, it’s the park. I’m reasonably sure there will be some grass, trees, flowers, that sort of thing. Come on, let’s see what we can find.”

  She pulled Charlie into the park, and they strode along the wide avenue leading from the gate.

  “Really, we could be ladies, parading here in our finery.” Charlie straightened her back and presented her hand to an invisible gentleman.

  Lizzie laughed and looked at her daytime frock, which was faded but fitted well and decorated with new yellow ribbon. “You’re right, Charlie. Shall we stroll to see the flower borders?”

  “Oh yes, I delight in flower borders. Lead the way, ma’am.”

  Despite the heat, they walked with girlish energy, their reconciliation lifting the August smog and energising them through their tiredness. They walked along one of the narrower paths and had to admit that the borders were indeed ornate. Some plants were wilting in the heat but there remained a speckled multicolour in borders and uncut wild grass swathing dry soil. Choreographed schemes leapt up in planted beds towards the young women.

  “Look, Lizzie—they’ve planted a bed in your honour.”

  They half-skipped towards a round, full bed planted with flowers of different sizes pleated together so long leaves and iris flowers leant opulently over buttercups and daisies. Roses filled every space remaining so no soil was visible, just a covering of colour.

  “And how does this honour me?”

  “When they opened the park to riffraff, they thought they would have a Lizzie garden rather than a ragamuffin garden. See? Everything in its place, in order. The park made prettier by its influence. Like you with us.”

  Both women stood at the edge of the bed and allowed themselves to ponder. The smell was strong and sweet in the heat, the colours striking and reflected a little in Lizzie’s cheeks.

  “Shall we jump in?” Charlie grinned as she asked Lizzie, knowing they would not, but summing up the urge that hung between them.

  Lizzie was captured more than by any music hall show. Nature had outdone all the tricks and machines of the stage. “Imagine having an actual garden.” She stared on.

  “I’d have to help you.”

  Lizzie turned, Charlie’s jocular tone bringing her pondering to an end. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’re hopeless with dirt and thorns. Who’s going to do the digging and tend to the plants through the winter?”

  “You’re right. You’d have to help. I’m in charge, mind.” Lizzie lifted herself above Charlie as the boss of the ploy.

  “Obviously. You have the vision; I have the practical skills. Can I have a section that’s mine? A little Charlie corner?”

  “Alright, yes. I’m in charge, but you can help under my direction. And yes, you can have a corner. What will you do with it?”

  “Grow the strangest things I can find. Exotic fruits and vegetables to enrich our cuisine. We can have homegrown dinner parties. And potatoes, we’ll need potatoes.”

  Lizzie smiled at Charlie and took her arm to walk towards home. “Yes, we’ll need potatoes. We could travel the world to find new flowers and plants and bring them back safely to grow in our little garden. The Sunday lunches would be unlike anything we had ever tasted.”

  “And Mrs Henry would be horrified!”

  The young women laughed, re-joining the main walkway back towards the ornate iron gates.

  “Well, the park does do justice to the gate.” Charlie admired the craftsmanship once more as they were about to leave, her appreciation of practical skill genuine. “Well, back to work, Lizzie?”

  “Yes, back to work. What do you think we should do next about Dina, Charlie?”

  “Keep looking. Keep talking, listening and looking. She’s somewhere, Lizzie, and no one else is going to bother finding her. We have to keep going until we do.”

  “Alright. The Alhambra?”

  “No. Let’s try one of the gentlemen’s clubs. I can get us in. It should make good business for us as well.”

  Lizzie nodded in agreement and walked with Charlie, the gate framing the two of them as they left the park behind. “Shall we come here again, Charlie? It is a nice park.”

  “We shall, Lizzie, and in the meanwhile, the park will come with you.” Charlie folded an iris, heavy with colour, into Lizzie’s hair, like a father preparing his eldest daughter on the morning of her wedding.

  ***

  For the second time, Lizzie was jolted as she approached Mrs Henry’s house. The door was open when she and Charlie arrived back, and two men stood in the hallway, caps in hand.

  “Johnny?”

  The taller of the two turned around with a look of dread. The second, slightly shorter, was David. Both looked drawn and beaten, as if they had waded with weights to get through to Mrs Henry’s house.

  “Johnny?” Charlie held Johnny’s arm, her tone like an imploring toddler.

  “It’s Dina, girls. They’ve found her; they’ve found her body.”

  Charlie slumped to the floor as if her spine had been removed, and Lizzie tried to catch her broken friend.

  16

  Lizzie tapped the door. There was a hurried rustling on the other side, but no response. She tapped the door again.

  “Yes?” The voice was quiet and harried.

  Lizzie pushed the door open enough for her to place her head into the room. “It’s only me. I just wanted to check that you have everything you need for tonight.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Mary did not turn whilst answering, continuing to compare ribbons on Dina’s dressing table and rummaging for rouge in her fraying bag.

  Lizzie retracted her head and pulled the door behind her. She made her way back to her own room but was pursued by light footsteps.

  “Sorry. Lizzie, do you think the yellow ribbon or the purple would be best?” Mary stood, a ribbon in each hand, looking as if the answer to her question was as distant as the moon.

  Lizzie once again saw a reflection of herself when she first moved to Mrs Henry’s. Mary’s face was over-rouged, giving her a surreal quality, more clown than doll. Her dress was tight and elaborate, probably her best taken in and altered, and made her look like a cross between a shepherdess and a flamenco dancer. She was far from ready for what was
ahead of her.

  “The yellow, definitely. Come with me—I’ll help.”

  ***

  “There.” Lizzie was pleased with her work. “Stand up and see how you feel.”

  Mary stood uncertainly and strode around Lizzie’s bedroom.

  “Thank you.”

  A human face now looked at Lizzie gratefully. Lizzie had removed much of the rouge and had simply added a little paint to bolden Mary’s already very pretty face. Mary wore an old dress of Lizzie’s, which they had decorated with ribbon, and the yellow framed her face.

  Lizzie sat back, conflicted. Mary was an attractive girl, and Lizzie’s help showed off her young beauty. She would definitely be profitable tonight.

  “Well, you look lovely.”

  Mary reddened under her paint. “Thank you.”

  Lizzie’s emerging guilt was held back by Charlie stepping into the room. Mary’s colour started to subside as Charlie charmed the young woman further. “Give us a twirl then.”

  Mary did, and Charlie and Lizzie clapped. The three young women laughed. As Mary sat down to regain her composure and gave a smile of thanks, Lizzie met Charlie’s eye. She was still pale and wore more paint than usual. Although she was gallant and charming with Mary, there was a shadow upon her, something paler and sunken since the news of Dina’s death.

  Lizzie gave her another smile, which Charlie returned with sad eyes.

  “Right, where shall I take you two lovely ladies to tonight?” Charlie’s performance as gentleman this evening seemed inevitable, and the jocular swagger seemed to be a part of what kept her upright.

  “Well, I have an idea.” Lizzie avoided Charlie’s eyes as she presented her plan. “There’s an army ball tonight. Lots of the soldiers are on leave, and it’s been arranged for them. It’s at one of the officers’ homes. It will be so grand, and I thought it would be a good first night for Mary. I can get us all in if you’d like to.” Lizzie had become aware of her own overly long speech and stopped, looking only at Mary.

  Mary nodded, but looked to Charlie for the final approval.

  Charlie gave Lizzie a brief and knowing look before meeting Mary’s enthusiastic smile. “That sounds good, Lizzie. Where is the house?”