by Dilly Court
'No, I haven't. And I'll never let my children go. They're all I've got.'
'Widow woman are you? Or wasn't you married to their dad?'
Eloise felt the colour rush to her cheeks. 'I'm a respectable widow. My father is a missionary in Africa and my wretched in-laws are trying to steal my son from me.' Her voice broke on a sob and she wrapped her arms around Joss and Beth, who were strangely and unnaturally silent as they took in their new surroundings.
'That's hard, love. But we've all had it rough. My old man used to knock us kids about something terrible. Battered me brother's brains out, he did, and ended up with a noose round his neck. Ma drank herself to death and the rest of us were left to fend for ourselves on the streets, so don't give me no hard luck story, because I ain't interested.' Poll lit her cigarette and drew in a lungful of smoke, then she seemed to relent and she grinned. 'Don't look so tragic. You got your health and strength so all you got to do is learn to live in the real world. You can earn good money at our trade, if you know what you're about. I'm saving me cash and as soon as I got enough I'm going to move to the country and set up in a sweet shop, where I can eat peppermint creams and chocolate all day if I wants to. That's me plan anyway, and a plan is what you need, girl.' Poll took another drag on her cigarette and offered her pouch to Eloise.
'No, thank you. I don't smoke.'
Poll chuckled. 'You will, love. And you'll be glad of a drop of tiddley on a Saturday night too when you've been here as long as I have.' She made for the door and paused with her hand on the latch. 'Let me know if you change your mind about coming out with me and Ivy. We'll see you right.'
Eloise managed a weak smile. 'You're very kind, Poll. But I won't be changing my mind.'
'Supper is at six. I'll bet them nippers is starving and the old witch ain't a bad cook. Her boiled cabbage and pig's head is one of the best suppers in St Giles.' With that parting piece of information, Poll went from the room leaving a trail of cigarette smoke in her wake.
Eloise sat very still, cuddling Joss and Beth. She murmured words of comfort to them as she rocked them in her arms. Their sleepy heads were heavy against her shoulders and their drooping eyelids were translucent with fatigue as they fought against sleep. A chill rose through the stone floor and the walls that were beneath ground level were oozing with damp. The smell of fungus and mould hung heavy in the air and Eloise struggled to hold back tears of exhaustion and desperation. What had they come to? And where would they go from here? Despite Poll's earthy kindness, Eloise felt that they had left purgatory and ended up in hell.
Chapter Fourteen
Despite all her concerted efforts, Eloise could not find work. She had answered advertisements in shop windows, and in the Situations Vacant columns of newspapers which had been discarded by other lodgers, but as soon as a prospective employer saw Joss and Beth, the door was closed in her face. She had walked miles in her search for employment, knocking on doors in the better areas of Bloomsbury and even venturing into the fashionable streets of the West End. This had proved to be a big mistake and she had suffered both humiliation and embarrassment when she was turned away from the tradesmen's entrances as if she were a gypsy or a vagrant begging for food. She had been forced to pawn her wedding ring in order to buy secondhand clothes from a dolly shop in Seven Dials for both herself and the children, and she had purchased a very old and extremely battered perambulator from a pawnbroker in George Street for Beth, who was only just beginning to take her first unaided steps and was now too heavy for Eloise to carry any great distance. When Joss grew tired, Eloise sat him in the perambulator next to Beth, and continued her increasingly desperate quest to find a job.
At Mother Hilton's lodging house, Eloise's first two days turned into four, then six, and at the end of a fortnight she still had not found work, and her money was all but gone. In this time she had learned that Mother Hilton had a heart of stone when it came to money, and if a tenant could not pay they were evicted no matter how much they pleaded their case. In just two weeks Eloise had seen things in this part of London which both shocked and appalled her. She was used to living in the East End, but in St Giles the old rookeries, which had been the haunts of thieves and criminals of all classes, might have been demolished, but it was still a savage place where only the toughest survived. She had seen barefoot and half-starved street urchins clad in rags begging on street corners and prostitutes as young as eleven. Some of these children had been left to care for their infant siblings, most of whom would succumb to starvation and disease before they reached their first birthday. There were men and women of all ages who were ravaged by hideous diseases, all vying with feral dogs and cats for scraps of food tossed out with the rubbish that littered the streets. Prostitutes, thieves, drunks and drug addicts inhabited this twilight existence, and Eloise knew that she only remained unmolested because the people of the underworld judged by her down-at-heel appearance that she was one of them. What hope did a poor woman have of raising herself from the gutter? It seemed to her that once a person had sunk this far it was almost impossible to claw their way back into decent society. Not for the first time, she wondered why her papa had thought it necessary to take his missionary zeal to Africa, when there were people living just a few miles from his old parish whose bodies and souls were in desperate need of being saved.
Her plight was becoming increasingly desperate and the conditions under which they were living were too awful to put down on paper. Eloise had not written to her mother since they came to Mother Hilton's lodging house. It would break Mama's heart if she knew how low her daughter had sunk, and Eloise could not lie to her. She was living from day to day, not daring to think what the future might hold, but her money was dwindling faster than she could have imagined possible, and the time was approaching when she would have to leave this dire place and face an even worse life on the streets. In order to save money, she had stopped taking the evening meal provided by Mother Hilton, and she bought just enough food each day to feed the children. She ate whatever they left, but it was barely enough to survive on and she went to bed hungry every night.
At the beginning of September the oppressive heat of summer had given way to more mellow temperatures with hazy golden days and cooler nights. The evenings were drawing in fast. Soon autumn would turn into winter and Eloise had only pennies left in her purse. She had not eaten at all that day, having given the children the last of the bread soaked in a little milk, and she had waited until Mother Hilton had gone off to meet her cronies in the pub and the kitchen was empty. Making certain that no one was about, Eloise took Joss and Beth into the kitchen and sat them on the floor at a safe distance from the range, but close enough to enjoy its warmth. The chill in their basement sleeping quarters rose through the flagstone floor and the walls seeped with foul-smelling water from overflowing privies and slops thrown into the street. Eloise was terrified that Joss and Beth might sicken from cholera or typhus, and Beth already had a cough and a runny nose. This was not a healthy place for adults, let alone small children.
She took a small screw of paper from her pocket. It contained a teaspoon of tea leaves which had been used several times and carefully dried. The resultant brew would be weak and barely recognisable as tea, but it was better than drinking plain water and safer too. Eloise went to lift the teapot from the shelf and suddenly the kitchen began to spin around her. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back on the floor in the midst of shards of broken china. Joss and Beth were screaming hysterically and someone was bending over her. Something cold and wet splashed her face and she attempted to sit up.
'What was you doing, you silly bitch?'
Poll's face hovered above her and Eloise sank back onto the hard tiles. 'I don't know. Everything went dark.'
'You're all right, girl. It was just a fainting fit. Ups-a-daisy.' Poll heaved Eloise to her feet and guided her to a chair. 'There, sit down and I'll clear up the broken china before the old cow gets back from the pub. We'll say that old Mar
tin, the French polisher, broke it. She don't like him much anyway and she's always complaining that he stinks of meths and shellac, so she'll be happy to give him the elbow.'
Joss had run to his mother and was peering anxiously up into her face, and Beth was about to crawl over the broken china when Poll saw the danger and swooped upon her. She dropped Beth unceremoniously on Eloise's lap. 'Here, take your kid before she cuts herself to bits, while I clear up the evidence.'
'Thank you, Poll,' Eloise murmured, watching her whisk a besom round the floor and then sweep the broken pieces of the teapot into a shovel. She disappeared from the room, returning seconds later with a satisfied grin on her face. That's that. Now I'll do what I come to do in the first place and that was to make meself a cup of tea and some toast. You look as though you could do with some too.'
'I've got my own tea,' Eloise began, stopping as she realised that she had spilt her precious tea leaves in her fall. Tears spurted from her eyes and she buried her face in Beth's soft curls.
'There, there,' Poll said brusquely. 'Don't take on so. It's just a bit of spilt tea.'
Giving Beth a reassuring hug, Eloise wiped her eyes on her sleeve. 'It's all I had left.'
Poll took another teapot from the dresser and she produced a poke of tea from her pocket, spooning the richly scented dark leaves into the warmed pot. 'And when did you last eat, my girl?' 'I had something last night.'
'Liar!' Poll said dispassionately. 'Just take a look at yourself, Ellie. You're a mass of skin and bone. I bet you ain't had a proper meal since you gave up eating supper with us. My guess is that you're broke.'
Eloise nodded mutely.
'And you can't find work with two nippers hanging round your neck.'
It was a statement rather than a question and Eloise shrugged her shoulders. It was too painful to admit the truth.
Poll handed her a cup of tea generously laced with sugar. 'Get that inside you and I'll make some toast. Come here, Joss. You can hold on to the toasting fork and if you're a good boy I'll give you some when it's done.'
She handed Joss a long brass toasting fork and allowed him to brandish it while she took a loaf of bread from the crock and cut several slices. 'There's a good chap. You watch Poll and see how it's done.'
Eloise hesitated as the words stuck in her throat. It pained her to admit the truth, but then, she thought with a wry smile, it was just her pride that was injured. Papa would have given her a lecture on the sin of false pride. For once she was glad that her parents were far away so that they could not see the depths to which she had plummeted. 'I can't pay you for the bread or the tea, Poll.'
'Shut up!' Poll said, stabbing a slice of bread on the toasting fork and directing Joss to hold it close to the glowing embers behind the bars of the range. 'Don't insult me, girl. I can spare a slice of bread for a friend in need, can't I?' She turned to Eloise with a stern look on her face. 'And you've got to pull yourself together unless you want to end up living in the workhouse across the way, because that's what will happen if you don't start earning some money.'
'I know,' Eloise said miserably. 'I've tried so hard, Poll. I've worn holes in my boots from tramping the streets in search of work, but no one will take me on.'
'What did you expect? I warned you from the start that no one would want you and the nippers.' Poll shook her head in exasperation and she bent down to turn the slice of bread on the toasting fork. She patted Joss on the shoulder. 'You're doing well, boy. The first slice will be for you and the baby. I'll butter it and you can eat it while I do one for your ma.'
Joss gave her a cherubic smile and puffed out his small chest. 'I'm a good boy.'
'You're all right down one side,' Poll conceded. She picked him up and sat him at the table while she buttered the toast and cut it into soldiers, which she divided between him and Beth. While they were busy eating, she toasted another slice for Eloise. 'You could still come out with Ivy and me,' she said, shooting a sideways glance at Eloise. 'You could earn enough in one night to pay old Mother Hilton's rent for a week. Ivy and me don't do knee-tremblers for the roughs who hang around these parts. We go up West and hang about outside the theatres. There's always a few toffs with a bob or two to spare on the lookout for a good time. How about it, ducks?'
Eloise opened her mouth to refuse, and then she looked down at Beth's innocent face smeared with butter as she chewed on a finger of toast, and at Joss who was busily demolishing soldiers with obvious enjoyment. Their well-being and even their lives hung in the balance, for without money she had no hope of supporting them. The threat of the workhouse loomed over them in a great, dark shadow. The thought of selling her body to strange men was appalling, but a small voice in her head reasoned that it could be no worse than the pain and indignity that she had suffered at the hands of Ephraim Hubble.
Poll shoved a thick slice of toast, dripping with butter, into Eloise's hand. 'Get this inside you, and think about what I just said.'
'I'll do it,' Eloise whispered. She took a large bite of buttered toast, chewed and swallowed. 'I'll do it, Poll. I won't let my babies die of starvation. I'll come with you tonight.'
Late that evening, when the children were asleep in their bed, Eloise crept out of the basement room to join Poll and Ivy in the kitchen. The heat hit her as she entered the room. The mixed odours of burning paraffin from the oil lamps and the greasy smell of boiled mutton that had been the lodgers' supper hit her already nervous stomach, making her retch. Poll and Ivy were sitting on a bench at the table, smoking and drinking gin. Mother Hilton was sprawled in her chair by the fire with her many chins resting on her chest, which rose and fell in rhythmic snores. Her mobcap sat askew on her iron-grey hair, giving her a harmless and comical look in slumber that she did not possess when awake.
Poll stubbed out her cigarette and exhaled a plume of blue smoke which floated up to the nicotine-stained ceiling. She rose to her feet and drew Eloise into the circle of lamplight, shaking her head and tut-tutting. 'You won't do like that, ducks. You look like a servant girl on her day off.'
Ivy studied Eloise's appearance with a practised eye. 'I could lend you me second best bonnet with the scarlet feathers that would perk you up a bit, love.'
Poll took a small pot of rouge from her pocket, opened it and proceeded to smear it on Eloise's cheeks and lips. 'I got a red satin blouse that would do a treat. You can take off that cotton thing for a start, Ellie. Go and fetch it for me, Ivy, together with your bonnet. We'll soon have her looking like one of us.'
Chuckling, Ivy jumped to her feet and hurried from the room. Eloise could feel her cheeks flaming and it wasn't just the rouge that was making them red. 'No. I mean, can't I go out like this? After all, it will be dark . . .'
'Not where we're going, ducks. Shaftesbury Avenue is lit up like a Christmas tree. We look out for the stage-door Johnnies and mashers who haven't managed to get off with chorus girls or high-class tarts. They're the best payers.' Poll hesitated, peering into Eloise's face. 'Are you all right, girl? You ain't going to swoon again, are you?'
'N-no. I'll be all right. Let's get it over with.'
But she was far from all right. As they made their way towards Shaftesbury Avenue, Eloise felt as though she had entered another world. The costermongers, shopkeepers, carters and street sweepers who plied their trades by day had gone home to their beds and the streets were now crowded with revellers intent on partying until dawn. Lurking in the shadows were thieves, pickpockets, card sharps, runners who lured young men into hidden-away opium dens, and pimps who offered young women and even children to those who were willing to pay handsomely for their services.
As she walked between Poll and Ivy, Eloise's stomach churned with fear and revulsion at the thought of what they were about to do. Wearing Poll's red satin blouse, which was cut so low that it revealed the swell of her breasts and only just covered the top of her stays, and Ivy's gaudy bonnet adorned with scarlet ostrich feathers, Eloise felt like an actress about to go out on the stage. It wa
s only that which kept her from running away. It was not she who was walking the streets like one of Papa's cherished fallen women, about whom he spoke with such passion; it was another woman who set off to earn her living in the oldest profession on earth. With difficulty, she managed to detach herself from the barrage of lewd remarks they received from the men who hung around outside the public houses and brothels. Poll and Ivy fended off prospective but unsuitable clients with practised good humour, and Eloise huddled between them wishing she was dead.
They reached Shaftesbury Avenue just as the theatre crowds were spilling out on the street. Poll and Ivy knew exactly where to position themselves so that they did not offend the respectable matrons who emerged from the theatre on the arms of their husbands. They waited in the shadows until they spotted a likely customer and Ivy was the first to sway into action. A man wearing evening dress, an opera cloak and a shiny black top hat came towards them, weaving slightly as if he had had too much to drink, but this did not deter Ivy. She approached him with a seductive smile and it seemed to Eloise that the drunken gentleman knew her, as they went off down an alley straight away.
'That'll be five bob in her pocket,' Poll said, nodding with approval. 'Maybe ten bob if she's lucky.'
'I – I don't think I can do it,' Eloise murmured, swallowing hard. 'I wouldn't know what to say to a man.'
'Lord love us, ducks. You don't have to say nothing, except ta when they hand over the cash. They ain't interested in what goes on in your head. It's your drawers they want to get into. Just smile and think of Mother Hilton's boiled beef and carrots, pease pudding and spotted dick. Think of chocolate and violet creams. That's what I do, and it works every time.'
Eloise ducked into a doorway as a gentleman well past the first flush of youth staggered towards them with his satin-lined opera cloak billowing out like the wings of a large, black raven. Eloise prayed silently that Poll would not push her forward, but her hopes were in vain.
