by Dilly Court
She walked in ahead of him, taking no notice of a naked man sitting in a zinc bathtub, or the man towelling himself down in the corner. She tossed a coin to a red-faced woman with muscular forearms, whose job appeared to be filling the tubs with hot water from a bubbling copper. ‘Here, Flo, give this one some clean water and a razor.’ Daisy patted Bart on the cheek. ‘Me room’s next door, love. See you in ten minutes or so.’ She sashayed to the door and blew him a kiss as she left the room.
‘Get in then, what are you waiting for?’ demanded Flo, tipping a pitcher of water into the tub. ‘You’re lucky, fellah. Daisy don’t usually take to strangers.’
‘Is that so?’ Bart stripped off his clothes, hesitating when he got down to his breeches and glancing warily at Flo.
‘Get them off then, love. You ain’t got nothing that I ain’t seen a dozen or more times a day.’ She stood, arms akimbo, watching him with a wide grin.
Acutely conscious that his close encounter with Daisy, and the promise of more to come, had left him with an erection that would have done justice to a stallion, Bart dropped his pants and leapt into the hot water, but not before Flo had given him an admiring nod of approval. He ducked his head beneath the scalding water, praying that his manhood was not going to end up braised like a plateful of sweetbreads.
Fifteen minutes later, clean-shaven and glowing all over, Bart felt almost shy as he went into Daisy’s room.
‘So I was right,’ Daisy said, eyeing him appreciatively. ‘I knew there was a good-looking chap beneath all that dirt and fuzz.’
As he set his pack down on the earth floor, Bart was only dimly aware of his surroundings as his eyes feasted on Daisy, voluptuous in her state of undress. Her shapely body was clearly visible beneath a diaphanous wrap made of some thin, gauzy material, leaving little to the imagination. She came towards him, moving slowly with her arms outstretched and her pale hair hanging loose about her shoulders. She smiled up at him as she twined her arms around his neck. ‘We’ll have supper afterwards.’ With her lips parted and her eyes half closed, Daisy pulled his head down so that their lips met.
Her mouth tasted sweeter than honey and Bart slid his hands beneath her robe. Her skin was smooth, soft and cool as silk and he cupped her heavy breasts in his hands with a feeling of awe. Her lips opened beneath his and she returned his kiss with a ferocity and hunger that took him by surprise. He forgot everything except his need to take this woman who was offering herself to him with such unashamed enthusiasm. Lifting her off her feet, he carried her across the floor and laid her on the crude wooden bed. Her hands were expertly stripping him of his clothes even as her mouth devoured his lips. She arched her body beneath him, guiding him into her and wrapping her legs around him. Bart gave in to sheer physical pleasure and abandoned himself to the expertise of a woman well versed in the art of lovemaking.
As they lay together in the satiated afterglow, Bart stroked Daisy’s cheek and was shocked to find it wet with tears. He raised himself on his elbow, peering into her face as he attempted to read her expression in the flickering candlelight.
‘What’s up, Daisy. I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
Daisy sniffed and hiccuped. ‘No, of course you never. You was wonderful, Bart. And you was such a gent. I ain’t used to being treated like a lady. It’s usually just a grunt and a fumble and then it’s over. They does up their breeches and stomps off without even a thank you.’
‘I thank you, Daisy. I thanks you from the bottom of me heart,’ Bart whispered, nuzzling her neck. ‘You saved me life tonight, girl. And I won’t forget it.’
‘Get on with you,’ Daisy said, snuggling into the curve of Bart’s body. ‘You’ll forget all about me when you find that big gold nugget.’
He stroked her hair, closing his eyes and luxuriating in the sensual delight of holding a naked woman in his arms, the softness of her flesh and the weight of her breasts against his chest. ‘I’ll never forget this, ducks. You’re a star, Daisy, a shining star.’
Halfway between crying and laughing, Daisy traced the outline of Bart’s jaw with her tongue. ‘I been called a lot of things in my time, but never a star.’
He inhaled the scent of her, tasting her sweetness and feeling himself hardening against her plump thighs. Bart let out a sigh. ‘You’re too good for this sort of life, sweetheart. Much too good.’
‘I’m good at being bad,’ Daisy said, nipping Bart’s lips with a mischievous chuckle and moving as swiftly as an eel to straddle him.
‘Hey, wake up in there.’ Tate’s voice outside the door awakened Bart, bringing him abruptly back to reality. The candle had burnt out and the room was in darkness except for a shaft of moonlight coming from a small window high up in the wall. A fist was hammering on the door, making the thin panels shake.
‘Bart, are you in there?’
Daisy raised her tousled head, blinking drowsily. ‘Who the bleeding hell is that banging on me door?’
Bart raised himself to a sitting position and kissed her damp forehead. ‘Shut up, Tate. I’ll be with you in a minute.’
Outside the door, Bart could hear Tate mumbling. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, turning to kiss Daisy once more but this time on her full lips. ‘Ta for everything, Daisy, love. I’ll pay you back one day, I swear I will.’
She stretched and smiled up at him, taking his hand and holding it to her breast. ‘Forget the money, darling, it ain’t everything. Just promise that you’ll not forget me.’
He kissed her again, removing his hand reluctantly as he felt her nipple harden beneath his touch. He tucked the patchwork quilt up around her neck. ‘Never. I’ll never forget you, ducks. Take care of yourself.’
He went outside to face Tate, who was leaning against the wall smoking a cheroot. ‘Had a good time, mate?’
Even in the darkness, Bart knew that Tate was grinning. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, shouldering his pack. ‘I bet you lost the lot.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. I lost a bit and then I won.’ Tate pressed a bag of coins into Bart’s hand. ‘There’s enough cash to stake us for a month and a bit more besides.’
The leather pouch felt reassuringly heavy in Bart’s hand. Now he would be able to repay Daisy for her generosity. He could still taste her and her fragrance clung to his body, filling his senses with delight. ‘Let’s go then, and get some food. I’m bleeding starving.’
‘Not so fast,’ Tate said, snatching the pouch from Bart’s hand. ‘You’ve had the best of it as far as I can see. I want a woman and the whore’s free now.’
A red mist blotted out Tate’s shadowy figure: vicious, blood-curdling rage seized Bart as his temper flared white-hot. Daisy was his woman. She belonged to him now, and just as Eliza was his little sister to be loved and protected from the evils of the world, it had become so with Daisy. He grabbed Tate by the throat and smashed him against the wall. ‘Leave her alone. If you go anywhere near her, I’ll kill you.’
Chapter Six
It had been a strange Christmas without Bart. Although Eliza had Dolly and Ted to care for her, there was always a painful void that only Bart could fill. It was too soon to expect to hear from him, but not knowing whether he was safe and well, or even if he had survived the perils of the voyage, made her anxious and unsettled. She had bought him a present in Spitalfields Market, a woollen scarf that she tucked under her mattress to await his return. No matter what anyone said, and Ted had tried to warn her that Bart might never be able to come home, she was certain that God would not be so cruel as to part her for ever from her beloved brother. She prayed every night for his safe homecoming.
Despite missing Bart, Eliza was not unhappy; she had a real family with Dolly, Ted and Millie. Then there was Davy, dear, faithful Davy, who came round almost every evening when he had finished work. Sometimes they would sit on the wall of the workhouse in New Gravel Lane, swinging their feet and chatting about what they had done that day; at other times they would go for walks along the dockside, looking at
the vessels and making up stories about their voyages to exotic parts of the world. Occasionally Millie went with them, but Dolly was strict with her, sending her to bed early saying that she was a growing girl and needed her sleep.
And, of course, there was Freddie, who was now her employer and her mentor. Eliza admired Freddie for his medical knowledge, his undoubted charm, and his ability to convince the public that he had the magic nostrum that would cure all ills. She loved him for his sense of humour and boundless good nature. But she was also aware that he was all dash and panache, and his brashness had in it an element of childish naivety: sometimes Eliza felt that she was the adult and Freddie was her wayward offspring. Since the episode when she had caught him in flagrante with Beattie Larkin, Eliza had learnt that his weakness was women. Catching them in the compromising position had shocked and temporarily sickened her, and she might never have gone back to that hateful house if Freddie had not followed her that fateful day.
Now, with the passing of several months, when winter had reluctantly given way to a faltering spring, Eliza could look back on that time with a rueful grin. Freddie had found her in despair on Execution Dock and he had been the soul of kindness and contrition. He had taken her by the hand, and had led her to a quiet place in the churchyard where he sat down beside her on a lichen-encrusted tombstone. He had explained the facts of life in such a calm and matter-of-fact manner that Dolly’s previous, embarrassed explanation about Eliza’s monthly courses had seemed, by comparison, quite comical. He had gone on to give her a paternal lecture on the general untrustworthiness of young men, who had but one thing on their minds. When he was satisfied that she had listened and understood, he had confessed that sometimes his own carnal desires overcame common sense, but that he was just a man and subject to human frailty. He hoped that she would think none the worse of him. He had assured her that Beattie meant nothing to him other than a release for his physical needs, and that he would make sure that Eliza was not subjected to a similar circumstance in the future. They had walked back to Anchor Street, hand in hand and with harmony restored.
Since then, Eliza had been an apt pupil, and she had absorbed everything that Freddie had to teach her with regard to the crocussing trade. After a few weeks he had been satisfied to leave her to work on her own while he went out selling door to door. She was proud that he trusted her to make up the cough mixtures, throat tablets and liniments unsupervised. With the usual epidemic of winter colds, chills and inflammation of the lungs, business had been booming and, even with spring on the way, had shown no signs of slowing down.
Eliza had left Millie at the school gates and she wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders as the March wind brought with it a smattering of snow, and a temporary return of winter weather. She trudged, slipping and sliding on the slushy pavements, to Freddie’s lodgings. She knocked on the door and waited, cupping her numbed hands to her lips and warming them with her breath. These days, she never entered unannounced, even though Freddie promised her that he had tired of Beattie’s demanding ways and their relationship was strictly platonic. Eliza knew very well that Beattie blamed her for the waning of his desire, but it seemed a small price to pay for saving Freddie from a predatory female with a vulgar tongue and loose morals.
Beattie’s eldest boy opened the door, squinting at Eliza with dumb insolence. ‘You can’t come in,’ he said, scratching his skinny body in a way that made Eliza feel unclean and itchy.
‘Don’t be daft,’ Eliza said, pushing past him and heading for Freddie’s room. The door was open and she could hear raised voices.
Inside, Beattie stood with her hands clutched to her belly, sobbing hysterically and screaming at Freddie.
‘Calm down, Beattie.’ Freddie caught sight of Eliza and his worried frown gave way to a relieved smile. ‘Thank goodness you’ve come.’
‘It’s all her fault,’ Beattie screeched. ‘You’ve been cool to me ever since that snooty little bitch caught us in the act, and she’s to blame. I give you everything, I did, and look what I gets in return. Coldness, neglect and me in the family way again.’ She turned on Eliza with her fingers hooked into claws.
Freddie caught her by the wrists. ‘Beattie, be reasonable. You know it can’t be mine. We haven’t – er – you know what, for months. Anyway, I’m a doctor and I wouldn’t have allowed it to happen.’
‘You’re a man and you don’t bloody care.’ Beattie clawed ineffectually at his face. ‘It’s your little bastard what’s in me belly and don’t you go saying it ain’t.’
Eliza edged towards the door. ‘Perhaps I should go.’
‘No, please wait.’ Freddie helped Beattie to a chair and made her sit down. He patted her hand. ‘I know you’re upset, but you’re talking nonsense.’
‘You bastard,’ Beattie hissed. ‘You know it’s yours.’
Freddie backed towards the door, shaking his head. ‘I know nothing of the sort. Fetch my things, Eliza, we’re leaving.’
‘Leaving!’ Beattie’s voice rose to a scream. ‘You can’t leave me, you vile blackguard. I’ll report you to the magistrate for crocussing. I’ll ruin you, you swine.’
‘Do as you please, but I swear that the child is not mine.’ Freddie delved in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. He tossed them onto the bed. ‘That will keep you and your boys until you are fit to go back to your old profession, my dear.’
‘Libertine!’ Beattie took off her shoe and pitched it at Freddie’s head. ‘I won’t let you get away with this. I’ll make you pay.’
Freddie pushed Eliza unceremoniously out of the door as he attempted to deal with Beattie’s eldest son, who had run to his mother’s aid, and was kicking him in the shins and using swear words that were hitherto unknown to Eliza. ‘Here,’ Freddie said, taking a threepeny bit from his pocket and pressing it into the boy’s hand. ‘Take this and bugger off.’
Outside in the street, he leaned against the door with a sigh of relief. ‘That was not something I would have wanted you to witness, Eliza. And I’m sorry for it.’
‘Actually,’ Eliza said, grinning, ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’
His relieved expression changed to one of alarm as the noises within the house grew louder. Beattie’s caterwauling appeared to have reached the ears of the Donatiello family upstairs. The sound of booted feet thudding down the bare stair treads, and the deep baritone voices of Carlo and Guido trumpeting like angry bulls, made Freddie snatch up his bags.
‘Leg it, Eliza,’ he said, breaking into a run.
She needed no second bidding. She had heard the Donatiello family’s verbal battles often enough. She had seen Carlo and Guido using their fists one minute and then, having blackened each other’s eyes or bloodied a nose, flinging their arms around one another and hugging. As all their quarrels were conducted in mellifluous Italian, Eliza had never understood a word that was said, but she knew one thing and that was that the brothers used their fists first and asked questions later. She ran.
Breathless, red in the face and sweating, despite the extreme cold, Freddie stopped, setting his bags down and leaning against a wall. He had come to a halt outside Uncle Enoch’s chandlery and Eliza tugged at his sleeve. ‘This is my uncle’s shop, Freddie. Best move on a bit.’
He took a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped his brow. ‘Let me get my breath back. Look round the corner, Eliza. Make sure those mad Italians haven’t followed us.’
Before Eliza could move, the door to the chandlery opened and Enoch stepped out onto the pavement. He stopped, glaring at Eliza over the top of his woollen muffler. ‘What d’you want, girl?’
‘Nothing, Uncle, we was just – passing by.’ Eliza glanced anxiously at Freddie.
‘Passing by!’ Enoch spat the words at her. ‘Come to importune me for money, I expect. Well, I’ve washed my hands of you and that worthless brother of yours. You’ll not get another penny from me.’
‘As I see it, Mr Bragg,’ Freddie said, dra
wing himself upright, and hooking his arm around Eliza’s shoulders. ‘As I see it, sir, whichever way you care to look at it, you sold this girl to me for a couple of pounds just months ago. She is nothing to you and she wants nothing from you.’
‘No doubt she’s your whore, you damn crocusser.’ Enoch spat on the ground at Eliza’s feet. ‘I always knew you’d end up on the street, you bitch. You’re a harlot, just like your mother.’
Freddie lunged at Enoch; his aim was not scientific but he landed a blow on Enoch’s beaky nose with a resounding crack of bone and a spurt of blood. Squaring up, Freddie danced about on his toes, fisting his hands. ‘Take that for a start. Come on, Bragg. Fight like a man.’
Enoch backed into his shop doorway, clutching his bleeding nose. ‘I’ll have the law on you – you quack. Common assault is what this is. You’ve broke me nose, you bugger.’
Eliza caught Freddie by the arm, pulling him away. ‘Leave him be. Come away.’
But Freddie seemed to be elated by his prowess as a boxer and he continued to dodge backwards and forwards, dancing on his toes, daring Enoch to fight. ‘Come on, Bragg. You’re very brave when it comes to hurting little girls. Let’s see you take on someone your own size.’
‘Hooligan!’ Enoch muttered, and disappeared into the shop, slamming the door behind him.
Freddie stood still, a look of disappointment clouding his face. ‘Damn it, I was just beginning to enjoy myself.’
‘Stop it.’ Eliza grabbed him by the arm and shook him. ‘You’ll end up in jail if you carry on like this.’
He straightened his hat and picked up his bags. ‘Did you see that punch? Landed right on his conk and drew claret. I wonder if I should give up medicine and consider pugilism instead?’
