by E M Jones
“I don’t care about all the others, Lizzie!” Ted bent forward towards her.
“But you will, Ted. When the other men taunt you, when your fellows and their wives don’t want to be in our company, when I go out, your mind will stray to where I am and with who, and then you will care. We can’t change how we met. And this is always who I will be to you, because this is who I am. Go, Ted. Thank you for everything, but I can’t be your wife.”
“Lizzie…”
Lizzie stood. “Go, Ted. Go and be happy and meet somebody who loves you on equal terms. Go.”
Ted raised himself slowly, his eyes cavernous as they turned from Lizzie. He carried himself to the door and left without looking back.
38
The darkness surprised Lizzie, and she quickened her steps towards Mrs Henry’s house. The rows of houses were quiet, the odd window part of a geometric jigsaw not yet complete. The cooling air touched her cheeks, and she enjoyed the response of her skin as it tightened and closed to protect her. She walked on quickly, feeling her body restore itself as she moved, growing sturdy in the chilly twilight.
Walking had calmed her. Her feet pressed hard to the ground, driving her through familiar streets. She had made her way through London, reclaiming the ground as hers and placing herself as a part of the city where she made her own way.
She was pleased to see Mrs Henry’s house in the distance; her feet ached a little, and she looked forward to enjoying her own room for a little longer. She opened the door and kept her pace.
The house was quiet, and she removed her boots before stepping quietly up the stairs. She ignited the lantern in her room and turned to sit on the bed, only to find Charlie reclined there like a queen.
“Hello.” Charlie smiled mischievously.
“Hello to you too.”
“I could hear that Ted wasn’t here when I got back, so I thought I was safe to come in.”
Lizzie sat on the bed and swung her sore legs up in the air.
“You look better,” Charlie observed. “From the colour of your cheeks, I’d say you’ve been enjoying yourself.”
“I have been.”
“Ted?”
“No. No Ted.”
Charlie nodded. “Are you alright?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
“How are the wounds?”
“Healing.” Lizzie noticed Charlie held two envelopes in her hand. “How was Johnny?”
“Happy to see me, a bit worried. With Mrs Henry closing the house, he thinks I might go off the rails.”
“Will you?” Lizzie looked towards Charlie like a schoolmistress.
“Lizzie, I will say the same to you as I did to him. I have always been off the rails, and so far I’ve done alright, so I’m going to stay that way.”
Lizzie smiled in acquiescence. “What do you have there?” She nodded towards the envelopes.
Charlie flourished them like a jester, holding them up to Lizzie. “Pick one.”
Lizzie hesitated, but took the smaller of the two with a smile. Charlie nodded for Lizzie to open it. Inside was a brief note in a child’s writing. Mary wished Charlie and Lizzie well. She had left and found a place at another house.
“Good luck to her, I say.” Charlie smiled openly. “I hope she’s treated well.”
“Me too.” Lizzie pressed her lips together and pushed all thoughts of Ted away. “What’s in the other one?” She tilted her head quizzically.
“Take a look.” Charlie handed the envelope to Lizzie, and before it was opened, she saw what was inside.
“Where’s this from?”
Charlie laughed. “From Beatrix! She sent a note for me, so I went to meet her. I told her what’s happening with Mrs Henry, and she seemed worried. Turns out she’s got to go on a northern tour with one of her aunts, and she wanted to say goodbye. When I told her about Mrs H, she fetched this for me to thank me and so that I would be alright while she’s away!”
“Does she expect you to go back to her when she returns?” Lizzie’s eyes were wide with wonder.
“Lizzie! She knows me better than that. No, this is a gift—not payment for me, not a fee to hold me, a gift given freely.” Charlie laughed and flicked one of the pound notes into the air.
Lizzie joined her laughter. “How much is here?”
“Two hundred pounds! We’re rich!” Charlie threw more notes into the air, which floated back to cover her and Lizzie.
“You’re rich, Charlie.”
Charlie stopped and turned to Lizzie. “We’re rich, Lizzie.”
“It’s your money.”
“Lizzie, I’ve never had anything in my life. Living here with you and Dina, and Mrs Henry, it’s the closest thing to a family I can imagine. Dina’s gone, and Mrs Henry’s finished. If you want to stay with me, I’d like to, Lizzie. Share this with me. We can get a little place, buy some nice food, I can treat you to another chair. We can have our garden! I might even pay for a Sunday Times!”
“Thank you, Charlie.” The pulse of emotion pushed towards Lizzie’s eyes for the second time that day. She blinked back the tears. “Thank you, but I’ve done nothing for this.”
Charlie took Lizzie’s hand. “Yes, you have. You’ve worked as hard as I have, you were nearly bloody killed. And you’re my friend.”
The two sat on the bed, hand in hand e, paper notes covering them like unfinished patchwork.
“What will we do with it?” Lizzie turned to her friend. A small smile settled on her lips and her healing face smoothed with relief.
“Well, we’ll gather it all up so you can get to bed, and then we can sleep for as long as we want—which will be until lunchtime at least for you.”
Lizzie nodded and her smile grew.
“And then, Lizzie, we can do whatever we want.”
Author Profile
Following an undergraduate degree in English Literature, E. M. Jones developed a passion for crime, the role of women and all things Victorian. It was whilst completing a MA in Victorian Studies that this growing interest in Victorian London developed into A House of Repute. Based on these studies, this mystery is set amongst the lives of Victorian London’s prostitutes.
A House of Repute was written alongside a career in education and being a mother to three small children. This is E. M. Jones’s first novel.
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