by AnonYMous
Apart from John Sweetapple and James, the only person I could talk to was my costermonger. Adam was one of those people who have the knack of getting you to open out and confide in them. It wasn't long before he knew all about my adventures in America and how I had met James and wed him in New York.
I asked him once if I talked too much. 'Nah!' he exclaimed, 'I like listening to your la-di-da lingo.'
Puzzled by this remark, I asked what he meant by my 'la-di-da lingo'.
'You talk proper-like a toff. You're not like me; you're edicated, ain't yer. You've got the words for ev'ryfink. I s'pose you got to 'ave, bein' married to a gent that is. I don't know why you bower wiv me. I'm just a costermonger.'
The idea of me talking with a 'la-di-da' accent seemed so absurd and ridiculous that I laughed out loud. My amusement quickly subsided when I saw the angry expression on his face. He thought I was laughing at him. To make amends I put a hand on his arm and said, 'Don't be angry, Adam. I'm laughing at myself not you. You are my friend. My best friend. Believe me I wouldn't do anything to upset you.'
To get over his embarrassment he began to pile up the apples into a neat heap. 'Don't just stand there like a loony,' he said brusquely. 'Make yerself busy. Tidy up them oranges.'
Because of this difference in speech he obviously felt some sense of inferiority. Up till then I hadn't given the matter any thought but he was painfully sensitive about his lack of education and somehow, when the opportunity arose, I would have to convince him that I loved his cockney accent. In fact, it added colour and life to his words. Everything he said held me fascinated and I never got tired of listening to the descriptive phrases he used.
We had been at the hotel about three weeks when I woke up one morning to find that James had dressed and left the hotel before I had opened my eyes. I was curious as to his haste because invariably I was the first one out of bed, but thought nothing of it, assuming that he had an early appointment that morning. Although I didn't see him that day, I wasn't unduly worried and settled down to sleep in the evening thinking that he was probably drinking with friends until the early hours of the morning.
Much to my concern, when morning came I found myself alone in bed. I dressed in a hurry of anxiety and went downstairs to enquire if anyone had seen my husband, as he had failed to make an appearance since the previous day. At a loss as to what I should do next, I sought out Adam to his advice.
He made light of my fretting saying, 'Nothin' to worry abaht. Got boozed up last night I s'pose. Mark my words, he'll wake up wiv a sore 'ead and crawl back to yer feelin' more dead than alive.'
His words were reassuring, but I couldn't help feeling apprehensive. It was unlike James to be out all night.
From the expression on Adam's face I could see he thought I was making too much of it. 'Don't just stand there lookin' like a sick cow. 'Ere, make yerself busy. I could do wiv some 'elp this mornin'.'
I stayed with him until midday then hurried back to the hotel. Mr. Dawkins, the owner of 'The Eight Bells', was waiting for me and hailed me as I was about to mount the stairs to our bedroom saying, 'Just one moment, Miss. I want a word with you.'
Nettled by him addressing me as 'Miss', I asked sternly, 'Did you say “Miss”?' Impatient to get to our chamber to see if James had returned, I took a step up the stairs and turned and fixed my eye on him. Aren't you aware that I'm Mrs. James Kennet?'
'Be that as it may. Your husband, if that's what he is, owes me a tidy bit of money and I want it now.'
'Have you seen Mr. Kennet?' I enquired hopefully.
'No. Not for two days. That is, not since I threatened him with the debtors' prison if he didn't pay me the seventeen pounds he owes me.'
I looked at him aghast, hardly believing my ears. Whatever could James be thinking about, allowing us to run into debt like this. He had assured me on the voyage coming over that there would be no more money problems once we got to London.
Mr. Dawkins snorted, 'Gents like him usually do a bunk when their debts get bigger than their pocket. I am sure we won't see him again so you're the one who will have to pay.'
'How can I pay you?' I exclaimed, 'I haven't got any money.'
'You can sell those two rings on your hand,' he answered. “That's if they are genuine.'
'But it's all the jewellery I have left,' I protested.
'He has taken you for a right mug, hasn't he? I'll bet this isn't the first time you have had to bail him out when he has been living above his means. I'm sorry, Miss, but you'll have to come with me. I'll show you where you can sell your rings.'
For the first time I began to doubt James' integrity. I didn't know what to think. Crestfallen at this sudden turn of events, I allowed Dawkins to take me by the arm and lead me along the road to a shop showing a window display of clocks and watches. He released my arm at the shop doorway saying he would wait outside.
'Vot have you got for me?' the man in the shop asked as soon as I entered. 'Or is it you vould like a vatch… maybe a clock? Eh?'
His dark, grizzled hair, topped by a little black skullcap, hung down in ringlets on each side of his heavy, sallow face. The dark eyes above his hooked nose fired with interest when I removed the two rings from my fingers and placed them before him but his words belied his thoughts.
Picking up the rings he gave them a quick glance. 'Glass!' he sneered. 'Pretty, but just glass. Not vorth more than a few shillings. Veil, vot do you vant for zem?'
My attention was distracted by a tapping on the window behind me. I looked around thinking it was Mr. Dawkins getting impatient for his money only to see a roguish street boy, nose and goggling eyes pressed up against the window with his tongue lolling out. Turning around I was about to speak when the tapping became more urgent and louder.
The shopman, furious at this interruption to our business, rushed to the door and shouted, 'If you vant to buy a vatch, come in and buy a vatch-if you don't vant to buy a vatch take your snotty nose away from my vindow!'
The boy pulled his mouth wide with his fingers, stuck out his tongue, then ran down the street. I made up my mind that I wasn't going to be intimidated nor was I going to enter into tedious bargaining about the rings.
T want seventeen pounds,' I announced. 'And if you won't give what I'm asking for them I'll take them elsewhere.'
He took an eyeglass out of his pocket and examined the rings minutely, giving me a sharp hard look. 'Not vorth more than fourteen pounds.'
I reached out for the rings. 'I owe that man out there seventeen pounds. I can't take a penny less for them.' He stepped back out of my reach. 'Give them back to me,' I said angrily.
'You owe ze man ze money?' His features softened but he wasn't going to give in without a protest. Raising his hands palm upwards he shrugged his shoulders. 'Pretty faces viz pretty rings will be ze ruin of me.'
After he had slowly counted out seventeen sovereigns he gave them to me with great reluctance and an anguished expression.
An impatient Mr. Dawkins wanted the money as soon as I left the shop but I wouldn't give it to him. 'You will have to wait until we get back to the hotel,' I said, 'where you can write me out a receipt for it.'
I went up to my bedchamber after settling the account where I intended to wait until James returned.
Sitting on the bed idly looking around the room it suddenly came to me that none of James' personal effects could be seen. Usually his hair brushes, writing paper, etc., were strewn around in various places. I remembered about a week ago having a fleeting thought about how tidy the room was and assumed that James, for once, had put all his things into drawers or his clothes cabinet. In a daze, I looked everywhere. He had left nothing, not even a small item of clothing. Everything that belonged to him had gone.
Stunned, I stood in the middle of the room unable for a while to accept the thought that he had walked out of my life without even saying goodbye. He wasn't strong in character, that I knew, but he had always been kind and considerate. It was unbelievable that he c
ould desert me in this way without any warning.
Flinging myself on the bed I cried out loud like a stricken animal. With tears flowing down my cheeks I sobbed quietly into the pillow. He had cast me aside when his debts had got too much for him. Cast me aside as a thing of no importance. How could he do this to me, I asked myself time and time again and spoke the words out loud but could find no reasonable answer in my mind.
There was nothing for it. I would have to leave the hotel before I got further into debt. Collecting clothing and everything that was mine I slowly packed them all into my leather bag and walked out of the hotel. With dragging feet and a feeling of rejection and dreadful loneliness I returned to Adam and his barrow.
There weren't many people about and Adam was trying to whip up some business by beating an old tin box and calling out the prices of his stock.
A-ho there! What d'you think of this 'ere? Carrots penny a bunch.'
Without a pause in his words he signalled me to come alongside of him. 'Hurrah for free trade. Pertater, turnips, onions. All fresh and good. Oy! Oy! Now's yer time. 'Ere y'are guv'nor, fine broccoli-i? Dirt cheap. Oranges 'n apples, thrupence a dozen.'
When Adam heard my tale of woe he asked me what I was going to do now that I was on my own.
'I've got no money and nowhere to go,' I answered tearfully. 'What can I do, Adam?'
He averted his eyes, embarrassed by my tears and misery, it's an 'ell 'ole where I live. Not fit for the likes of you,' he mumbled.
I was becoming more and more aware of the hopelessness of my situation and couldn't see any way out of it. In this world you've got to have either a man or money and I had neither. 'Where do you live, Adam?' I asked.
'I've got a room in an 'ouse that's old and musty. You wouldn't like it. It's the worst 'ouse on Exeter Street. Broken windows stuffed wiv rags and full of street hawkers, thieves, sluts and cryin' babies-the scum of London.' He hesitated. 'There's only one bed. You'd 'ave to sleep wiv me. How about that, my La-di-da Lady? You wouldn't like that-would yer now, eh?' He was grinning all over his face but uncertain as to how I would reply.
I had got the drift of where all this was leading to before he had finished and was ready with my answer. 'You're a lovely man, Adam. If I have got to share a bed, I would rather it was you than anyone else. Do you think you can put up with me? I'll try to earn my keep by helping you in any way I can. Whatever happens, I promise not to be a burden on you.'
It was obvious he hadn't expected such an easy conquest and I wondered if he thought I was too eager to get into bed with him, so I said, 'I can sleep on the floor, Adam, if you'd prefer it.'
'What d'yer take me for? I can relish a woman and bull 'er as good as the next man so don't let any of me mates 'ear yer say anyfink abaht sleeping on the floor. They would fink I was a proper Jessie boy.'
After many months of married celibacy his cheerful virility quickened my pulse and raised my spirits. What matter if I lived in a ramshackle old house with the castoffs of society? It wouldn't be anything new to me as I had experienced abject poverty in my years of childhood and had come out of it unscathed.
An hour or two passed before Adam decided that, as there was so little left on the barrow, it was time to knock off and get something to eat. We packed what was left into a sack and returned the barrow to the hiring yard. The hire of a barrow cost threepence a day during the winter months and fourpence during the summer.
There was no need to go to an eating house as all round us was a wide selection of food on the street stalls. There were pies, muffins, eels, plum puddings, fried fish, baked potatoes, all steaming hot, as well as ham sandwiches, pickled whelks and eggs. Despite the squalor and filth of the streets it was a cheerful scene with the warming red glow of the charcoal braziers and swinging oil lamps hanging from the stalls. Adam and I had two mutton pies each and finished off our meal with plum puddings.
On our way to Adam's favourite ale-house, 'The Half Moon' tavern, we passed several splendid gin houses with their glittering chandeliers lighting up the elegantly carved mahogany bars which extended the whole length of the saloon. I had a peek in one and viewed with awe the huge green and gold barrels of gin stacked behind brass rails labelled 'Corpse Reviver', 'The Real Knock Me Down', 'Blue Tarter', 'Mother's Favourite' and other enticing names.
At 'The Half Moon' tavern I was introduced to Tom Biggs, a crony of Adam's who was also a costermonger. He looked a slippery character to me and I was on my guard from the first moment he gave me an admiring leer. He had on the usual dandified costermonger's garb with a bright multi-coloured silk neckerchief. They were all proud of these pieces of silk around their necks. 'King's Men' they called them and when they took to living with a girl they usually gave her a similar neckerchief. Adam settled our arrangement the next day when he proudly tied one around my neck.
All Tom's words were over-emphasized by nods, sly winks, shrugging shoulders and extreme facial expressions.
Adam had a drink waiting for him. Tom raised his glass in a salute, ''Ere's to you, Adam; may your cock and purse never fail yer.'
His girlfriend turned up shortly after we arrived. She was coarse in language and manners but a pleasant, amiable girl who treated me with a certain amount of reserve until she got to know me better.
In answer to calls from Adam and Tom, Florrie, the barmaid, replenished our drinks. She was a full-breasted, plump, well-built woman, about forty years of age, who ruled the roost in the tavern, keeping everyone in order, including 'Pig Face', the landlord. When she returned to the bar I couldn't help commenting on the tattoos emblazoned on her arms. From her wrists upwards the tattoos covered almost every inch of her skin. The most outstanding was an impression of St Paul's Cathedral encircled by a multitude of pink roses.
Tom Biggs snorted and, with a wink at Adam, said, 'Yer should see the rest of 'er. She's tattooed from neck to foot wiv everyfink yer can fink of; ships, lovers' knots, sights o' London, devils and angels. You name it, she's got it. Up 'er legs, on 'er belly, everywhere.'
'But why?' I asked.
Tom laughed. 'Well, it's like this, see. She was married for two years to a tattoo artist who practised 'is craft on 'er when 'e 'ad nuffink better to do. At the time she worshipped the ground 'e trod on and would let 'im do anyfink 'e wanted wiv 'er. You women are bleedin' fools when a man takes your fancy. She's proud of 'em cos, now 'e's dead, she carries on 'er body the best tattooing 'e ever did do while 'e was 'er 'usband. She's got somefink to remember 'im by. See?'
Adam bent forward and whispered something to Tom which I didn't catch.
'What are they whispering about?' I asked Betty, Tom's friend.
'They're not gonna tell yer so I will. It's wot she's got tattooed dahn 'er back.'
'What's that?' I said, full of curiosity.
'Tell 'er abaht the fox,' said Tom, sniggering.
Betty ignored him. 'Startin' up near 'er waist she's got some 'untsmen on 'orses, jumpin' over fences and gallopin' like mad.'
'Tally-O!' shouted Adam. “Oo's gonna foller the fox?'
Betty was having difficulty suppressing her giggles and said, 'You've never seen anyfink like it. When she bends dahn you see all these 'ounds runnin' all over 'er backside arter the fox which is disappearin' up 'er arse 'ole.'
I looked round at Florrie. With her light grey hair tucked under a white bonnet, she looked so respectable and dignified it was difficult to imagine all those tattoos under her clothing and to understand why she had allowed her fair skin to be disfigured in this manner.
Adam and his friends were pushing each other and laughing uproariously at the shocked expression on my face. 'How do you know all this?' I asked.
Adam lit up a tuppenny cigar. “Cos she'll show it to anyone for 'alf a sovereign-would yer like to see it?'
'No!' I said quickly. 'It's bad enough thinking about it without seeing it.'
Adam sniffed. 'We've vexed Mrs. La-di-da,' he said to his friends. Then he turned to me and spat out, 'Don't put on
any airs and graces wiv us. Take us as yer find us, or 'oppit.'
Surprised and shocked, I could think of nothing to say in reply to his abrupt outburst. Luckily Betty chose that moment to get up from her seat and say to Tom, 'Well, I'm orf. If yer want to come wiv me put yer shillin' on the table.'
Tom looked at Adam, laughed and with a knowing wink gave Betty a shilling and followed her out of the tavern.
'What was all that about?' I asked Adam.
'Nothin' much,' he answered. 'She's a shillin' dolly mop. If she likes yer, she'll give yer all yer want for a shillin'.'
'Is she a prostitute then?' I asked.
'Nah. She works in the fish market. Yer get nuffink for nuffink in this world. The shillin's not important. She don't see no reason why she should give it for free. Even though she enjoys it as much as the cove 'oo's on top of 'er.'
'If you ask me,' I said, 'she's nothing but a common tart, selling herself cheap.'
'Ah. Yer don't understand. Yer not like us. She's just a good sport. I remember the first time Tom and me met 'er. They say two into one won't go but it did that night. Tom and me 'ad 'er sandwiched between us, piggin' it in the same 'ole as yer might say.'
It was pitch black when Adam and I stumbled up the stairs to his room later that evening and I paid scant attention to the decaying, fetid smells that seemed to infect the whole house. Adam's room was spotlessly clean but barely furnished, with its cold floorboards, bed, wash stand, clothes cupboard, small table and two chairs. In the fluttering light of a tallow candle I undressed and he did likewise, removing all his clothing except his shirt, before jumping into bed.
