Red Jack's Daughter

by Edith Layton

  He leaned back, well-pleased with his stunning rejoinder, and was shocked to hear the trollop ask in dulcet tones, “And what direction might that be in?”

  Holding his temper as best he might, he answered—(as sweetly as a dove, as he later related to his breathless staff)—“To the east of here, my Lady. Just follow the river and you will end up just where you belong.”

  Then he watched in stunned stupefaction as she nodded, thanked him kindly, and took herself off again through the doors. Several of his clients whistled after her, and a few teased him about being so mean to them by forbidding such a pretty piece a roof for the night.

  “Why, there are acres of room in my bed, sir,” one portly gentleman said, guffawing, while another lamented that Stephen’s should have thought of such amenities for its guests years before. But it was a seven-minute wonder and soon the room calmed down to the quiet, respectable place it was meant to be, with only the memory of the brazen light-skirts to remain and take its place with the other minutia of the hotel’s long history.

  Jessica walked on in the direction that the manager had indicated. She had gone a long way before the outer world began to intrude upon her consciousness again. She could never sustain anger for too long, her rages being like summer storms that created noise and light but then moved swiftly on, leaving the air cleansed behind them. Then, too, she had little experience with anger, having never had that much commerce with people she really cared about before. In fact, she mused as she slowed her pace, she had experienced more anger, more shock, and more disappointment this very day than she had in the whole of her previous life.

  Now, and only now that she was free of the grip of her emotions, could she begin to take in what she had done and where she now was. Neither aspect was pleasing.

  She seemed to have left the part of London that she knew far behind. She had gone east and followed the river, as the manager had specified, and the landscape about her had changed drastically. Here there were no sedate clean town houses or fashionable couples out for a stroll. She found herself on a mean street, walking past piles of rubbish and among crowds of rough-looking persons. While she had seen a few children in the care of nursemaids before, now she saw flocks of swooping, running, laughing urchins, winding in and out of the alleyways. Here the women wore no fashionable frocks and the gentlemen no beaver hats. The women wore tattered drab clothes and looked at her hard-eyed. And the men, she noted suddenly, were begrimed and eyed her with frank interest.

  Suddenly aware that somewhere she had erred enormously, Jessica turned abruptly and tried to retrace her steps. But now she heard the muttered suggestions as she passed, and now she began to grow very much alarmed. For while she had been oblivious to her surroundings, she had been impervious of them. Once aware, it was as if her armor had been pierced and her very fright fueled further comment.

  “Here, miss,” one obese villainous-looking fellow uttered as she rushed past him, “you lookin’ for something you forgot? I got just what you’re wanting.”

  Another brushed against her as she tried to push through the crowd and asked, “Lost, little missy? Let old Joe give you a hand. Or two.” He laughed as she gasped and evaded him.

  No female came to her aid, for it was clear she was not of their sort and none of their business.

  Trying to avoid the grasping hands and muttered invitations, Jessica began to run. Finding that attracted even more comment, she turned as she came to the head of a street, and walking down it, she saw a fistfight between two rowdies and turned aside again. Now, as she stood gasping on a quieter yet dilapidated side street, she realized that though she had successfully evaded pursuit, she was quite lost. The dreadful slum seemed to stretch on for miles.

  She stood still for a moment, catching her breath, leaning against a half-fallen fence that had at one time been erected to protect grass, but now provided safety for only a bare patch of dirt and dust. Jessica stared about her at the sullen derelict houses, scented the noisome aromas of the district, and knew at last that she had been a fool. Now she recalled the exact expression upon the manager’s face, and now she remembered the shock on all the peripheral faces that had been within the entry hall of Stephen’s Hotel. Now she admitted the commotion when she had left, and she acknowledged what the reaction to her passage through the fashionable streets had been. For she had not been unconscious then, only totally self-absorbed.

  But primarily now, Miss Jessica Eastwood did not feel indomitable. She was, at last, only very young and very confused. The worst of it was that as she stood and regulated her breathing she could visualize an elegant face and hear his words, “You are beautiful, Jessica, and as such, you would be at risk.” It was not only her present risk that made her shudder, thinking of her rash actions.

  She looked about her for some sign of a friendly or at least unthreatening face. But she saw only shabby houses, some one-eyed with broken windows and some with faded curtains stirring in the afternoon breeze. Jessica was about to go on, to attempt to find her way home again, when she perceived a small figure hurrying along the street. As it approached, she allowed hope to spring up, for it was a welcome sight.

  The older woman who came toward her looked as though she might be as misplaced as Jessica herself. She was short, plump, and very gray, dressed cleanly and properly in a dress of light lavender color and expensive design. There was an amethyst necklet at her throat and she wore a turban of dove gray. She did not seem to notice Jessica and had come almost abreast of her, her eyes intent on the street, casting glances down at the pavement left and right, when Jessica thought to reach out and ask her assistance. But there was no need for her to utter a word, for as the woman passed her by a pace, she turned and looked back with a puzzled frown.

  “Why, my dear,” she said in deep cultured accents, “excuse me, but are you in any distress? You seem to be, I don’t wish to presume, but you seem quite discomposed.”

  “Oh, ma’am,” Jessica cried with relief, “you do not presume. You are quite right. I seem, to my folly, to have lost my way.”

  “I thought it,” the older woman exclaimed. “Then some good can come from this dreadful day, after all! You see,” she said, looking at Jessica forlornly, “I have lost my naughty little Sampson. He’s only a foolish little dog, and when my coach stopped in traffic, he espied a cat or some such and leaped straight from my arms to the street.

  “I have been searching everywhere for him. John, my coachman, would have it that I ought to go straight home and rest. But I said, and say it still, how shall I get my Sampson back if I don’t call him myself? For he won’t come to any other hand. So, despite all protests, I have left John to search another street and here I am. But how does such a child as yourself come to this place? For I must say you look quite out of place.”

  “I am, I am,” Jessica said eagerly. “You see I was looking for lodgings and was directed this way, quite by mistake, I now see, and I became hopelessly lost and cannot find my way back home.”

  The older woman nodded as though she knew the whole of the tangled tale Jessica was not quite sure how to tell. She looked appraisingly and said in more confidential tones, “Lodgings? I see. But to where were you returning? I don’t wish to presume, but where is home?”

  “Why, Yorkshire, actually,” Jessica said ruefully, “but I wasn’t returning there. I am staying with some friends in London presently.” And here Jessica faltered, for she was not at all sure she wanted to bruit Lady Grantham’s name about, feeling that she had done enough in one day to bring disgrace upon herself and her hostess. “And I wanted to strike out on my own, you see.”

  But as the older woman’s expression became more thoughtful and Jessica realized she couldn’t actually see anything from what she had been told, she went on to say quickly, “But for now, all I want to do is to be reunited with my friends and find my way back to ... Grosvenor Square,” she invented quickly, knowing that to be a street nearby Lady Grantham’s home.

  “Oh, I
do see.” The older woman nodded, as if coming to some swift understanding. “Why, then, my dear,” she said, looking up at Jessica kindly and taking her arm and linking it in her own, “I shall abandon my search for naughty Sampson and devote my energies to you. For the Bible says one must help the wayfaring stranger, and my little doggie will have to come home on his own. It’s not the first time he’s done it, so don’t fret. But you look very exhausted, my dear. I think I shall take you home to tea and then, when you have recovered, I’ll see you safely back to your friends. My name is Mrs. Carey, dearie. What’s yours?”

  The little woman began to urge Jessica forward, but Jessica hung back. She did not at all wish to divulge her own name, not knowing what sort of gossip this kind Mrs. Carey was. Neither did she wish to go to some strange female’s home for tea; she was embarrassed enough at her situation and did not care to complicate matters further.

  Mrs. Carey stopped in her tracks at Jessica’s first sign of resistance. Before Jessica could utter a word of explanation, she nodded and exclaimed in a brittle voice, “The more fool! I see, you are so tired, you cannot budge another step, and who shall blame you? Well, just you wait here, my dear, and I shall go and get John with the coach. We’ll have you snug and secure in a shake of a lamb’s tail. Just you wait here, my love, and all will be well.”

  As Mrs. Carey began to bustle back along the street, Jessica protested that there was no need for such assistance, but the little woman was far more spry than she had thought. She was already disappearing up the street, calling back, “Don’t stir, love. There’s a dear. Just you wait.”

  Jessica stood alone again, as her benefactor vanished from view. The whole incident seemed to be an illusion brought about by exhaustion and she was shaking her head to clear it and about to start out again when she heard a woman’s mocking laughter behind her.

  “Oh, yes. ‘Just you stay there, luv. Don’t you stir.’ We’ll have you safe as houses, don’t you fear. Aye, safe as burning houses, luv, you’ll be with Mother Carey.”

  Jessica spun around to see a face regarding her from a ground-floor window behind a fence. It was a raddled visage; the face of a female with carmined lips and rouged cheeks, the whole surmounted with a frizz of hennaed hair. As the worn; spoke, Jessica noted that two of her none-too-white teeth were missing from the front of her mouth, a deficit that the creature sought to conceal by speaking with one grimy hand in front of her lips, causing her speech to sound oddly distorted.

  “I beg your pardon?” Jessica said, not knowing what else to say and feeling all the while that the whole of this day might only be some distorted fantastic dream.

  “Don’t beg me, luv,” the woman answered. “It’s a higher person you will be begging if Old Mother Carey gets her claws into you. S’truth you’re staying with friends in London? Or are you in the trade, after all?”

  Jessica wanted very badly to move on and not reply to the strange female, but years of breeding could not be denied. She answered hesitantly, wishing Mrs. Carey would come back, for she’d sooner sit through six dishes of tea with that strange female than address two more words to this one.

  “It is true. And I wished to find a decent hotel because I grew impatient with being so dependent upon them.”

  “Thought so,” the other woman said. “Now look sharp, missy. I’ll say it the once, for who knows when the old harridan will come pelting back. She’s no friend of yours or mine, for that matter, else I’d not be sticking my nose in where it ain’t asked. Mark me well, missy. Mother Carey’s in the trade. She’s got a house full of chicks like you. She waits about posting houses, she’s got agents at the inns. She gets young milkmaids from the country in town for the first time and she gets them to come to her house to work for her, all unawares. And once they start the work, they stay, mark me well. So if you think it’s all soft and gravy, let me tell you she don’t give them up till they don’t attract the gents anymore. Then it’s the streets for them.”

  Jessica had not sat at her father’s knee and listened from quiet corners of the house while he entertained Ollie, Tom, and other local men for years, for nothing. She made more sense of this artless speech than many another girl of her years might have done, but still she could not believe her ears.

  “But if I don’t agree to go with her...” she began, but the other interrupted her by giving out a raucous laugh.

  “And who’s to stop John from flinging you into the coach, miss? All these helpful neighbors?” She indicated the empty street. “Besides, no one would interfere with Mother Carey and one of her chicks. You’re far from home, alone, and as good-looking as you can hold together. You’re her meal ticket, luv. She must have come running full tilt from her house when she got word that there was an innocent young smasher wandering lost through her streets. ‘Naughty Sampson.’ Oh, there’s a laugh. Mother Carey don’t give a free scrap to nothing that walks upon this earth.”

  “Then I’ll go now,” Jessica cried, staring up the street in fright. “And thank you.”

  “How far do you think you’ll get?” The other woman laughed.

  “Then what’s to do?” Jessica whispered in real panic.

  “Come on in. And be smart about it. She’s bound to be back in a minute. I’ve only the one room, but I can see she don’t come in. Well, what are you waiting for? Do you think I’ve got a grand and gaudy fancy house in here? Oh, yes, with dozens of pretties to choose from, lined up on my grand stair case,” the woman mocked.

  “But,” Jessica protested, even though she yearned to hide beneath any available bed, “why should you do this for me?” There was a silence and she feared that she had so insulted her would-be helper that she had taken offense and gone from the window.

  But in a moment the voice came back low and hard, “Because I owe her one back. Now are you coming in or not?”

  Jessica paused. She weighed both women’s words and aspects. She called on her highest reasonings, she called upon her greatest judgment. In the end, she called upon her feet to move. She turned, hesitated, then fled into the shabby house.

  10

  The room was not as seedy as Jessica had expected it to be. It was small, with mean furnishings, but it was, withall, clean and tidy. The narrow bed was made up with a colorful quilt, the few pieces of furniture were old but clutter-free, and there was even a dainty vase filled with flowers upon a table. The woman gave Jessica an ironic and knowing smile when she saw her surprise, and told her to stay well back from the window. Then, nodding as though satisfied, she picked up a light shawl, went with slow and unhurried step to the door, and stepped out into the tiny yard in front of the house.

  Jessica hung back, close to the wall. From her vantage point she could peep through the curtains to see the street, and she could hear whatever transpired through the open window as if the persons were in the very room with her.

  After what were only a few minutes, Jessica’s breath caught in her throat as she saw Mrs. Carey arrive in a large old-fashioned gray coach. The horses stopped and Mrs. Carey hopped down as sprightly as a girl. She looked up and down the street, quite ignoring Jessica’s unknown new friend, and then began to call out in a high sweet voice, “Oh, my dear, you can come out now. All is well. My coach is here. Oh, my dear, it’s Mrs. Carey, do come along now. Oh, young woman...”

  After a few more tries, Mrs. Carey grew still. She muttered beneath her breath and finally turned to the woman who stood insolently leaning against the half-fallen fence. She asked abruptly, “Have you seen a young woman hereabouts, Maria?”

  “I might have,” the woman answered, yawning.

  “Don’t play with me, Maria,” Mrs. Carey flashed back in anger. “Have you seen a young girl?”

  “Seeing how I live right here, Mother,” the woman retorted idly, “I’d have to be deaf not to have heard your nattering outside my window.”

  “Well?” Mrs. Carey asked angrily, crossing her arms about her breast. “Are you going to enlighten me as to her whereabout
s?”

  “Begging your pardon, Mother,” Maria answered, “but why should I, after all?”

  “Oh, very well,” the older woman complained, and fishing in her purse, she extracted some coins and passed them to Maria, who stood holding them in her open palm and gazing at them as though she had never seen coin of the realm before.

  “There,” said Mrs. Carey, adding a few more to the others, “now have done, Maria, I’m a busy woman and you shan’t have a ha’penny more. Where is she?”

  Maria slid the coins into a pocket of her skirts and laughed in such a friendly fashion that Jessica’s heart sank and she looked wildly about the room for either a bolt hole or a weapon.

  “Too slow off the mark, Mother,” Maria said. “I saw it all. Didn’t blame you in the least, either. She was a love all right. But as soon as you’d turned the corner, and I was wondering whether I ought to ask her in, just to make sure she was right and tight when you got back, a young blade comes tooling down the street in a curricle. He sees her and gives out a shout, ‘Mary, my love!’ He’s at her side in a second and the two of them fall about each other like Romeo and Juliet. She’s crying and he’s telling her he never meant a word of it, and begging her forgiveness, and giving her such slop that it fair turned my stomach, Quick as you can stare, he’s got her up on the seat with him, and they’re driving off. Don’t fret, though, Mother, for by the look of him, she was well connected and you’d have found her more trouble than she was worth.”

  Mrs. Carey stood seething. She finally gave Maria one long direct look and shook her head. “There’s where you’re out, Maria. For once I’d had the chit a day, her family would have been done with her forever.”

  Maria shrugged. “What’s done, done. I told you all I know.”

  Mrs. Carey gave her one last long piercing look. “You’d better have done, my dear. I pay well for service, but I pay back for a disservice twice as well.”