by Anna King
As she turned to go, the man, furious at being made to look a fool in front of the entire pub, stumbled to his feet and shouted after her, ‘I ain’t surprised yer can’t notice when you’re being screwed, ’cos an old slag like you would only notice if yer was shagged by an elephant. Maybe your new recruit will make yer more money. I saw yer take that little girl outta that old house. You teaching her all yer old tricks, ’cos if yer are, put me down for a visit. At least then I wouldn’t begrudge paying…’ The words were hardly out of his mouth when Sadie came rushing back at him, but this time the landlord, not wanting a full-scale riot in his pub, came out from behind the bar and grabbed Sadie roughly.
‘Leave it, I don’t want any trouble in ’ere, Sadie. Now go ’ome, there’s a good girl. He ain’t worth it. Go on, get yerself off outta ’ere, otherwise I’ll have ter throw yer out, and I don’t wanna do that.’
Her face still twisted with fury, Sadie shrugged off the restraining arms, and with one last murderous glare at the portly man standing within the safety of his group of friends, she slammed out of the pub.
At the back of the snug, a shabbily dressed man who had listened avidly to the heated exchange quietly followed Sadie from the pub.
Storming down the road, the irate woman, still fuming from the vicious verbal assault, didn’t notice she was being followed. Heading straight for home she was back at the block of flats within 15 minutes.
Careful not to be seen, Kenneth Wells, né Stokes, watched Sadie disappear into the building.
So that’s where young Molly had gone. At least he assumed the girl spoken about was his Molly. It was too much of a coincidence to be anyone else. Of course he might be wrong, but he didn’t think so. There was only one way to find out for sure. Come tomorrow he would return and watch and wait. Making sure of the name of the road, he walked off whistling, a satisfied smile on his lips.
* * *
‘I wish you didn’t have to go out ter work, Sadie. I get scared something might happen to yer, like my brother.’ Molly, her blue eyes reflecting her fear, stared at Sadie. ‘I mean, I like living with you, Sadie, but I miss me brother. What if he’s trying ter find me? He’ll be so worried, ’specially with that nasty man…’ Aware she had said too much, Molly clamped down on her tongue, but Sadie wasn’t to be deterred so easily. Apart from their initial encounter, this was the first time Molly had revealed anything about her past life.
‘What man, love?’ she asked gently, careful not to frighten the child into silence once more.
Molly’s childish emotions were running high. More than anything she wanted to tell Sadie about the man she still had nightmares about, but she was afraid to say too much in case Sadie decided to take her to the police. And if that happened, she would end up back at the workhouse, and she’d never go back there, she’d rather die first. But when Sadie lay down on the bed and took her into those warm, comforting arms, Molly found herself talking, and once she’d started, it was as if a dam had broken inside her. Between tears she told Sadie everything, starting from her parents’ death to running away from the workhouse, and ending up in the ruins of the house in Morning Lane where Sadie had found her. But most of all she talked about her brother Micky and how much she missed him. She also revealed the whereabouts of the bakery, and of the kind woman who had given Micky work, and found him a job working on a stall with a man called Ted Parker.
And as Sadie listened, all her dreams of starting a new life with the golden-haired child crashed around her ears. She had imagined Molly had accepted that her brother wasn’t coming back for her, but now she saw she had been deluding herself. Yet worse than that, she had put her own interests before those of Molly. Now she knew where to look she had no option but to make enquiries about Micky Masters. For if the boy was still alive, it would be the utmost cruelty to keep brother and sister apart. Even so she hoped the boy had abandoned his sister, and was immediately ashamed she could even think such a terrible thing. With a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach she held the weeping child in her arms until she finally fell into an exhausted sleep.
Tenderly tucking the small form under the blankets, Sadie looked down on the beautiful little girl and, amazed, she felt tears prick the back of her eyes. She hadn’t cried since she was twelve, after her first initiation into the seedy world of prostitution, and she hadn’t shed a tear since. She had imagined any form of emotion had died on that awful night when her mother had handed her over to her first customer. Even after all these years she could still see his face, sweating and excited at the prospect of having a virgin. For even though she had only been twelve at the time, it was relatively unusual for a girl of her age to still be a virgin, especially in her new profession. She could even remember how much he paid. Five pounds, a fortune back then. But child prostitution was a lucrative business, even now. She could still see the large, white five-pound note, handed to her delighted mother when the man had finished with her. After a while the price went down. Child or not, she had become soiled goods.
With a heavy heart she left the sleeping Molly and settled herself in the sitting room she was so proud of. Looking around the room she saw the polished furniture, the deep piled carpet and the flock wallpaper she had put up herself, but for once the sight gave her no pleasure. She finally had to admit to herself she had been living in a fool’s paradise. When she left these rooms she would take all her possessions with her to her new house, but given the choice she would give up all she had worked so hard for in exchange for Molly. It was the early hours of the morning before she climbed into bed. And, like Molly, she fell asleep with tears streaking her face.
Chapter Eighteen
Arthur Mitson’s modest bakery had never been so busy. In the past two weeks, a steady stream of customers had poured through its doors, but despite the constant ringing of the till, it was glaringly obvious that the owners of the thriving business appeared far from happy.
Along with the regulars had come the gossip-mongers, their curiosity fuelled by the story in the Hackney Gazette about the little girl that had gone missing, presumed abducted by a pervert well known to the police. Yet although every one of the idle curious were genuinely concerned about the fate of the missing child, the true reason behind their constant visits to the bakery was in the hope of meeting Agnes Handly, the woman who, according to the papers, had been in cahoots with the man it was said had snatched the eight-year-old girl.
Even though the newspaper articles had stated that the former assistant at the Mitson bakery had gone to ground, it didn’t stop the thrill seekers from visiting the place where the evil Agnes Handly had once worked – and she must be evil to have done what she had. But their efforts to elicit information from the young woman serving behind the counter had come up against a blank wall. Yet they continued to come. Unable to learn the truth they’d had to be content with the rumours that were circulating the streets surrounding the bakery, and a very juicy piece of gossip it was. As with most rumours, no one was quite sure where the original story had started. Some said it was old Ma Wilson who had started the ball rolling.
Apparently, the elderly widow had been woken by a frantic knocking on her door late one night. At first, fearful of being murdered in her bed, the terrified woman had stayed huddled beneath her quilted eiderdown praying whoever it was would get tired and go away, but the banging had continued relentlessly. It was only when she heard her name being called that she had ventured trembling from her bed and cautiously peered out of her window to see Agnes Handly’s worried face staring back at her. Relieved to see the familiar face, the elderly woman had let the agitated Agnes into her house, asking what had led Agnes to her door at this hour of night. And the answer she had received was nothing short of sensational.
Playing down her role in the abduction of the Masters child – something Ma Wilson knew nothing about, for she rarely ventured out of doors, nor did she read the newspapers due to her failing eyesight – Agnes had described her terror at the mounting
mob of outraged people baying for her blood, and how John Smith had taken her to Arthur Mitson’s home for her own safety-only for her to be terrorised by the very man the policeman had handed her over to for help.
‘…I’m telling yer, that’s what I heard.’ A plump woman was holding court outside the bakery, her face alight with excitement. ‘An’ that’s not all.’ The woman stopped for breath, making her moment of importance last as long as possible. Then, seeing she had the undivided attention of the group of women surrounding her she carried on, ‘It turns out old Arthur’s never done the business with young Ellen, yer know, in bed…!’
A woman in the small crowd gave a derisive laugh. ‘Is that all? Bleeding ’ell, Flo, I’d’ve been more surprised if he ’ad. I mean ter say, he’s a nice enough bloke, but he ain’t exactly the sort of man ter make a young girl go weak at the knees, or any other woman for that matter, now is he? Nah! I’ve always thought him and Ellen had what they call a marriage of convenience…’
‘Cor blimey! Hark at you, Gladys Brown. Marriage of convenience, my arse. You’ve been reading those fancy magazines again, ain’t yer?’ Another woman broke into the conversation. ‘Anyway, I don’t believe a word of it. I mean ter say, Arthur might be a boring old fart, but he’s still a man, ain’t he? Yer can’t tell me he’s been sharing a bed with a pretty girl like Ellen for how long is it? Two years, an’ kept ’is pecker tucked in ’is underclothes. Unless, of course, he can’t get it up anymore. An’ let’s face it, he can’t ’ave had much practice, poor old sod.’
The woman called Flo, seeing her audience slipping away from her, raised her voice, desperate not to have her moment of glory taken from her. ‘’Ang on, I ain’t got ter the best bit yet. Unless yer ain’t interested in what else I ’eard.’
The group of women fell silent, their curiosity getting the better of them. Satisfied she had their attention once more, Florrie Baxter hurried on.
‘Like I was saying, Arthur an’ Agnes were ’aving a row when he told ’er he’d never touched Ellen in that way, when who should walk in but young Ellen and Ted Parker. Well! Agnes told Ma Wilson all hell broke loose. First Arthur stormed out of the room, then Ted pulled Ellen into his arms like they was a couple of sweethearts, and told her that her marriage wasn’t legal… Well, not that exactly, but he was all excited, saying she could divorce Arthur on account of the marriage not being consummated; I think that’s the word he used. Anyway Ellen told him ter go and according ter Agnes’ version, Ted Parker told Ellen he loved her, but not ter keep him ’anging on too long, ’cos he wasn’t gonna wait fer ’er forever.’
Stopping for breath the delighted Florrie saw she had a captive audience and carried on quickly before someone else took it into their heads to steal her thunder.
‘So off he goes in a right old temper, but Agnes didn’t ’ave a chance ter talk ter Ellen ’cos she went straight ter bed. I gotta say, she’s a nice girl, is Ellen, ’cos even though she must ’ave been in a right state herself, she still thought of Agnes. Told her she could sleep downstairs fer the night. And let’s face it, she could’ve chucked her out, ’specially the way Agnes has treated Ellen since she married Arthur. Anyway, Agnes didn’t fancy sleeping in a chair downstairs, ’cos it’d turned chilly that night. So she stayed where she was, thinking she’d be able to slip away quietly in the morning, and Arthur and Ellen wouldn’t be any the wiser. She was just drifting off ter sleep when she heard raised voices, an’ yer know how nosy Agnes Handly is.’
She nodded to the spellbound group, not realising the hypocrisy of her words. As her eyes roamed over her audience she noticed a woman she’d never seen before. Unlike the others, this particular woman, although listening intently, didn’t appear to be as engrossed as the others. Mentally shrugging, Florrie Baxter finally got to the crux of her tale.
‘When she ’eard Arthur shouting, she didn’t take much notice at first, ’cos he’d been drinking, an’ yer know what men are like when they’ve had a few. But then she ’eard Ellen trying ter calm him down, then, according ter Agnes, Ellen started crying. Well, Agnes got worried, so she went over ter listen at the bedroom door, an’ you’ll never guess what she ’eard…’ She paused for effect, delighting in the rapt faces of the women crowding round her. ‘Only Arthur saying that it was time Ellen began ter act like a proper wife, and poor Ellen crying and begging Arthur to stop and that he was frightening her. The last thing Agnes ’eard was Ellen cry out, like she was in pain, then it all went quiet. Agnes was just wondering what ter do when she ’eard Arthur coming towards the door. According ter her, she was frightened Arthur might rape her too’ – a coarse laugh erupted from her thin lips – ‘Bleeding wishful thinking if yer ask me. So she grabbed ’er things an’ ran as if she ’ad a rocket up her arse. That’s how she ended up at Ma Wilson’s. She knew the old girl wouldn’t ’ave ’ard about that business with the little girl and that pervert she’d got herself tangled up with. When Ma Wilson woke up next morning, Agnes had gone without so much as a thank you or by yer leave. No one knows where she is now. If she’s any sense she’ll stay right away from the East End. People ’ave long memories round these parts. The only chance Agnes Handly ’as of coming back ’ome is if that poor little girl’s found safe and sound, please God! Though if Agnes’ story about Arthur forcing ’imself on Ellen is true, I hope fer ’is sake Ted don’t find out, ’cos if he does, there’ll be murder done.’
With no more news to impart the woman fell silent, her brief moment at the centre of attention over.
Slowly the women began to disperse, all except for the stranger who had been listening to the lurid story in silence.
Sadie remained where she was, then, anxious not to attract unwelcome attention, she began to pace up and down, giving the impression she was waiting for someone. Then, curiosity getting the better of her she stopped and looked into the shop window, only to give a nervous start as she saw the young woman, whom she surmised was the object of the conversation she had overheard, staring straight back at her. Flustered, Sadie quickly moved away. Her mind spinning she wondered what she should do for the best. Under the circumstances she didn’t think it a good idea to approach the baker’s wife at the moment. If what she had heard was true then the poor cow had enough on her plate to deal with. Knowing she was prevaricating, and hating herself for wasting valuable time she made a decision. Glancing to her right she saw the woman who had been holding court and made her way towards her.
Florrie Baxter was only too eager to have a sympathetic ear, and, after having to listen to the same story again, Sadie finally managed to get a word in, getting to the real purpose for striking up a conversation with the garrulous woman. Fifteen minutes later she was on a tram heading for Roman Road market where she had been reliably informed Ted Parker ran his stall. For reasons of her own she hadn’t asked about Micky Masters, telling herself it was best if she didn’t let anyone know she was looking for the boy. But no matter which excuse she tried to assuage her guilt, deep down she knew she was still hoping the boy would be long gone, and then she would be able to keep Molly with her without raising anyone’s suspicions as to why she was trying to locate the boy. It would also stop any awkward questions being asked.
But whatever the outcome, she must put her own feelings aside and do what was best for Molly.
When she alighted from the tram, she slowly made her way down the long lines of stalls, her feet dragging, a sick sensation in her stomach. It would have been quicker to ask the first stallholder where to locate Ted Parker, but she was in no hurry to find him. The longer it took her to find him, and ask about Micky Masters, the longer she could hold onto her dream of keeping Molly, of having a daughter to share her lonely life with.
* * *
‘I bet they’re having a field day out there, nosy cows. Still, I’m not complaining, we’ve never been so busy.’
Arthur, coming to relieve Ellen so she could have her lunch, attempted a jocular tone, but the icy look on his wife’s face chilled
him to the bone. The morning rush was over so it was safe for them to talk, until the next customer arrived.
His fleshy face reddening he said pleadingly, ‘Please, Ellen, love. I’ve apologised over and over again. I was mad with rage at seeing you with Ted Parker, and hearing what he said about you being able to leave me and go with him. I was almost out of my head with worry that I was going to lose you, but I swear to God, I never meant to hurt you. You must know I’m speaking the truth. God Almighty, we’ve been married and sharing a bed for over two years, and I’ve never laid a finger on you. Now be fair, there’s not many men would have done that. I’d cut off me right arm if I could turn back the clock, but I can’t. What’s done is done. But I swear to you, it’ll never happen again. Ellen… Ellen! Please, love, say something. It’s killing me having you look right through me as if I wasn’t there. What more can I do for you to forgive me? Just say the word and I’ll do whatever you ask.’
Taking off her apron, Ellen came out from behind the counter. Without looking at him she said in a cold, flat voice, ‘It’s not your right arm I’d like to cut off, Arthur. And no matter what excuse you use to try to justify what you did, the truth is you raped me. I know a husband can’t be charged with raping his wife, the law doesn’t recognise a woman’s rights in that matter once she’s married, more’s the pity. You say you’re sorry and it’ll never happen again, and that much is true.’ She turned to face him, and Arthur flinched at the dead look in those once sparkling eyes. ‘Because I’ll tell you now, Arthur, if you ever attempt such an act again, I swear I’ll pack up and move out without a backward glance, and you’ll never see me again.’
Arthur stared after the retreating figure, his entire body filled with an emotion he couldn’t put a name to. The Ellen he had married was gone forever. It was as if she had died. He felt what he could only term as a kind of bereavement. As the bell over the door tinkled, a wild thought entered his mind. Please God, let that one, never-to-be-repeated act result in a pregnancy. Only then would he be able to put his tortured mind at ease. For two long, agonising weeks he had been expecting Ellen to pack her bags and leave – and it wouldn’t have taken a genius to work out where she would go.
