Eddie Cooper stared at his friend and could think of nothing to reply. He could hardly say that the war had at least brought together his wife and daughter, so long estranged, and that the Goddards had decided reluctantly to accept Mary and her baby. The marriage had done Sidney no harm; on the contrary, it had made a man of him. The Yeomanses, however, could not forgive Mary for marrying their indispensable stockman whilst carrying Dick’s child, and old Yeomans had told Sidney in his surliest tones that they wouldn’t be visiting the young Goddards until after the baby was born – ‘to see who it looked like’.
Mrs Moore did not send Grace another client for Number Four in the next two weeks, though Madge Fraser entertained several while Grace went out with other ‘Dolly girls’ in foursomes to supper, gaining experience of a wide variety of men in the armed services. She was then introduced to Stanley, a sergeant who had served abroad and was about to return to the front; he had no illusions about life.
‘Soon as I saw you, I thought what a pretty little kid, lucky for me to get such a – how old are you, sweetheart? Seventeen, and on this game? Does your mother know what you’re up to?’
He didn’t wait for answers to his questions, but went on talking non-stop, commenting on their surroundings, and much impressed by room Number Four, with its clean bedlinen and champagne.
‘Blimey, this is posh! I haven’t been to many places as swanky as this – in fact I haven’t been to any places like this in England, only abroad, where you don’t know what you’re getting, and half the time they can’t speak English. D’you want me to open the bottle? Whoosh, watch out for the cork! I’ll have summat to tell the lads when I get back to…to…yer mustn’t blame me for wanting this, Gracie – that is your name, isn’t it? I reckon I’ve earned it after what I’ve seen and been through – terrible – couldn’t tell anybody at home. Come on, give us a kiss, dear – what a little darling you are, you remind me of another girl I once knew, that was before all this bloody war started. Proper little beauty, she was.’
Grace forced a smile and poured herself another glass of champagne.
‘That’s right, darling, you drink up. I’d better not have any more. To tell you the truth I’m feeling a bit shy, which isn’t like me, I’m usually as cheeky as a vicar’s parrot!’ He laughed, and seized her round the waist. ‘It must be ’cause you’re so pretty an’ young an’ sweet – come here, Gracie, let’s get ’em off! Kiss me, dear, hold me tight, let me forget, Gracie, make me forget!’
Lying on the bed, Grace obediently held Sergeant Stanley in her arms and let him lie between her thighs until his talking turned to gasps and groans, and finally to heaving sobs. She wondered uneasily if it always ended like this; his weight flattened her uncomfortably, and made breathing difficult, let alone speaking, but she endured it without protest until he became calmer, and rolled off to lie beside her.
A valuable service to the nation. That was what Mrs Moore called it, according to Madge, and Grace thought she was learning how to do it, adapting her speech and manners to the kind of man she encountered, and giving him what he needed before facing death and danger in the trenches. Surely it couldn’t be wrong!
February, 1917
The headmistress and staff were sorry to see young Mrs Storey leave Barnett Street School at half-term, the reason for which was ‘beginning to show’ as the women said among themselves, and there was much speculation about when the baby was due. Soon afterwards Mrs Clements had a fall while standing on a chair to reach a packet of sugar from a high shelf, and fractured her tibia, or as she said, broke her leg. She had to go into the London Hospital in Whitechapel, where Isabel visited her and found her blaming herself bitterly, wondering how young Mrs Storey would manage without her help in the vicarage; she was full of dire warnings.
‘Don’t go out after dark for any reason at all,’ she said, ‘specially on these cold winter nights. No respectable woman’s safe round ’ere, so don’t stop an’ talk to a woman unless yer know her, ’cause she’ll be a streetwalker, likely as not. Mind yer lock an’ bolt the doors at night, an’ close all the winders.’
‘I’ll carry out all your instructions, Mrs Clements,’ said Isabel, smiling, torn as usual between gratitude and exasperation at the woman’s anxiety over her.
‘Well, mind yer do, ’cause I lay awake ’ere at night worryin’ about yer. And don’t let ’em ride over yer roughshod at that Mothers’ Union,’ continued the lady, sitting up in bed wearing the mud-coloured cardigan that did duty as a bedjacket. ‘Some’ow or other ye’ll ’ave to carry on without me while I’m laid up ’ere, and don’t let that stuck-up schoolteacher worm ’er way in to bein’ the leader – though I can’t think of anybody who’d be best to do it. It’s no good, I can’t think straight. I’m sorry, Mrs Storey, I’ve let yer down!’ Her eyes filled with tears.
‘Don’t upset yourself, my dear,’ said Isabel patiently. ‘There’s no need at all for you to worry. As a matter of fact, I shall take over as leader until you’re well enough to come back. The lady treasurer can be temporary secretary, and her work can be taken over by Mrs Tanner who’s very good at figures.’
‘What? D’yer mean that Sally Tanner? Yer can’t put ’er in charge o’ the money, she drinks!’
‘Not any more, Mrs Clements. She’s changed her ways, and is a very useful member of the Mothers’ Union, and of the parish.’
‘That’s as maybe, Mrs Storey, but don’t go lettin’ ’er into the vicarage, whatever yer do. Take the money ’ome with yer, and put it in Mr Storey’s safe, or ye’ll rue the day, I’m tellin’ yer!’
Isabel stifled a sigh. There were times when Mrs Clements’ dedication could be extremely trying, but her concern was genuine, and Isabel leant over to kiss her when the visitors had to leave, and promised to come again soon.
Her spirits were low as she returned to the vicarage, dark and silent in the fading light of a February afternoon. There was no light on in the study, and the curtains were open, a sign that her father-in-law had fallen asleep in his chair. Poor old Pa, she thought, living apart from his wife in this cheerless place, endeavouring to cope with his son’s parish; he was looking frailer these days, six months after his arrival, and Isabel secretly feared that he might not live to be reunited with his wife in their little country cottage. Heaven only knew when this hateful war would end. Oh, Mark, she thought, when shall I see you again?
She gave herself a mental shake, and put her key in the lock – and suddenly, as she stepped inside, a dark figure emerged from the shadows and pushed her forward, slamming the door shut. She was seized round the waist from behind, and a hand was clamped over her mouth. She was too terrified to struggle, and thought she was going to faint: she drooped in the grip of her captor who shook her roughly.
‘Listen, missus, I need two things, grub an’ cash, an’ if yer know what’s good for yer, do as ye’re told,’ he growled. ‘Come on, missus, where’s the larder?’
She pointed a shaking finger towards the passage that led to the kitchen, and he hustled her along it. When they got there, he banged the door shut behind them, and she thought of her father-in-law: surely the noise would wake him up. The intruder took his hand from her mouth, and gripping her right arm, made her lead him to the bread bin which stood on the stone floor of the larder; on a shelf above it was a bowl of beef dripping. He tore off a hunk of bread, rubbed it in the dripping and ate it ravenously, tugging at the crust with his teeth and grunting from the sheer relief of assuaging his hunger.
She heard the doorbell ring, and he looked up sharply. ‘Don’t answer it, an’ they’ll go away.’ When it rang again, Isabel thought she heard her father-in-law’s chair creak, followed by the faint sound of his slippered footsteps crossing the hall. Evidently the intruder didn’t hear, gorging himself on bread and dripping, and drinking milk straight from the jug, but she made an effort to speak, to cover the sound of the front door opening. Oh, let it be a man or somebody to rescue her!
‘W-where have
you come from?’ she asked.
‘Out o’ the army,’ he muttered between mouthfuls, and Isabel guessed he must be a deserter.
‘Why did you come here?’
‘It’s a church ’ouse, innit? I’ve begged ’ere before, an’ got a dry crust an’ a penny. Well, missus, I’m gettin’ more ’n a penny orf yer today. Blimey, it’s too dark to see. Can yer light the gas mantle?’
‘We don’t have gaslight in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘But I’ll light the oil lamp.’
As with trembling fingers she put a match to the lamp and turned up the wick, she strained her ears to hear what was being said at the front door, and made out the old man’s voice, speaking low and rapidly. She would have run out of the kitchen, but the man kept a grip on her right arm.
‘Before yer scarper, missus, I need a bit o’ the ready. Where’d yer keep it?’
The church funds were stored in a safe in the study, and the key was in a desk drawer; by now Isabel was finding her courage and ability to think quickly.
‘There’s very little money in the house,’ she said. ‘My, er, husband takes it to the bank regularly.’
‘Ah, yeah, he would, I dare say. Nice easy job e’s got, stayin’ at ’ome while there’s men out there who—’
‘My husband’s in France, an army chaplain, so he’s got a good idea of what it’s like,’ she said sharply.
‘Yeah, an’ so ’ave I, missus – that’s why I can’t go back to it – sooner be shot for cowardice.’
Isabel turned and looked at him full in the face, and saw the blank despair, the haggard eyes in his thin face; and as she looked, she felt her fear melting away, to be replaced by deep pity.
‘I can let you have a little money,’ she said, ‘and you can take what food you can carry. There’s the last of the Christmas cake in a tin.’ She saw his eyes gleam, and realised that the man was truly starving.
‘Yeah, I could eat a bit o’ cake, missus.’
But before Isabel could reach for the cake tin on its shelf, the kitchen door was flung open, and Sally Tanner appeared, eyes wide with astonishment. Mr Storey, white-faced, stood behind her.
‘Bloody ’ell, what’s goin’ on? What’s ’e doin’ ’ere? ’As he ’urt yer, Isabel?’ demanded Sally, forgetting to say Mrs Storey.
‘No, Sally, no,’ answered Isabel quickly. ‘He hasn’t harmed me or anything. He’s deserted from the army, and has nowhere to go, and starving.’
‘Maybe so, but ’e can’t stay ’ere, Mrs Storey. Poor ol’ Mr Storey was frightened out of ’is wits – ’e woke up and ’eard this goin’ on in the kitchen, an’ when ’e opened the door to me, ’e said God ’ad sent me, but in fact it was Mrs Plumm who’s ’ad a summons, an’…but what’re yer goin’ to do with ’im?’
‘I’m going to send him on his way, and pray for him,’ said Isabel quietly but firmly. ‘It’s not our place to condemn a man who can’t face this dreadful war any longer.’ Taking down a teapot from the shelf above the oven, she took out a half-crown piece. ‘Here you are, then – and here’s the cake tin, and I’ll put the bread in with it, and some biscuits, but you must leave now. Goodbye, and God go with you.’
‘Thanks, missus. Cheerio,’ muttered the man as he left by the kitchen door, pointedly held open by Mrs Tanner who looked on in utter disbelief at such misplaced trust, but Mr Storey put a hand on Isabel’s shoulder and said, ‘Thank heaven for a good woman.’
After this incident, Mr Storey had a frank talk with his daughter-in-law, and said there would have to be changes.
‘A clergy house is vulnerable at the best of times, and I’m an old man and you are expecting a child, my dear,’ he reminded her. ‘We must advertise for a reliable resident housekeeper who will also be a companion for yourself. I shall go to the office of the local newspaper tomorrow.’
But no advertisement was necessary. When Isabel asked Sally Tanner if she would care to give up her job and move into the vicarage on a very small wage, the answer was so emphatic that no further discussion was needed.
‘Sybil Moore’s got big ’opes for yer, Gracie! She’s savin’ yer for the posh ones!’ laughed Madge, whose patrons far outnumbered Grace Munday’s. Mr Dean frequently chose Grace for the supper foursomes, introducing new ‘Dolly’s girls’ to the sort of light-hearted companionship expected of them, and to yield gracefully to the final kiss and cuddle in a taxi that ended the evening.
But for Mrs Moore’s girls a good deal more had to be learnt. The Dereks and Stanleys were in search of solace before facing the jaws of death awaiting them at the front. Patience and sensitivity were needed, and the girl had to discern the needs of her client: sympathy, gaiety, laughter or whispered encouragement, and to adapt her response accordingly. Grace was fast learning the arts of a skilful courtesan, and when she was introduced to Captain X, his tall figure and handsome features promised an enjoyable encounter; he didn’t look the type to break down and weep in her arms, and she smiled as she led him up the stairs of 17 Lamp Street and into room Number Four where a small fire burnt in the grate, the bed was freshly made up, and the usual bottle of champagne stood on the table with two glasses beside it.
Captain X’s cold blue eyes looked round the room. ‘Hm. This looks reasonably civilised – so it should, after what I had to pay that woman. I suppose you’re an expert at opening champagne bottles. Well, go on, then – get a move on, girl.’
Grace gave him a little sideways smile as she twisted the cork up out of the bottle’s neck, pulling on it with all her might. Up went a pillar of foaming liquid, spraying them both and raining down on the bed and floor. Grace began to laugh, but he turned on her furiously.
‘You haven’t got much idea, have you, you stupid creature,’ he said irritably. ‘Why didn’t you ask me to do it? Is any of it left in the bottle, or did you lose the lot?’
Grace held up the bottle in dismay. ‘There’s a bit left in the bottle, sir. Do you want it?’
‘Of course I do. That’s what it’s for, isn’t it? Oh, give it here.’
He snatched the bottle and poured himself a full glass from the remainder. ‘Well, don’t just stand there gaping, get your clothes off!’
Turning his back on her, he quickly divested himself of his jacket, tie, shirt, vest, trousers, underpants and socks. Grace began to undress, but her fingers shook and she was slow. ‘Can you, er, unhook these at the back for me?’ she asked shyly, for this was a move that nearly always worked with a nervous client.
‘Don’t tell me you can’t get it off yourself!’ he sneered. ‘It’s no use trying out your whorish tricks on me, girl, I’m here for one thing and one thing only, and we both know what it is. Christ Almighty, are you simple or something? I’ve paid a king’s ransom for this, so get ’em all off and get on that bed.’
Grace felt herself shivering, as much from apprehension as cold. This man clearly expected to be obeyed instantly. He now lay naked on the bed, his penis hardening as he watched her efforts to unhook her corselet which at last fell off her; she awkwardly pulled down her drawers which got caught on one foot, so that she nearly toppled over. Hesitating, she lay down beside him, turned her face to him and attempted a smile. She raised a hand to touch his face, trailing a forefinger down his cheek, intending to circle his mouth.
‘Do you want to kiss me?’ she asked, forcing a come-hither look. ‘Tell me what you want me to do, darling.’
For answer he pushed her hand away and slapped her across the mouth. ‘You know what I’ve come for, so don’t waste your tart’s talk on me. Get on to your back, spread your legs – wider – come on!’
He flung himself on top of her, pushed her thighs apart with hard fingers, and thrust himself inside her. She gave a low cry of pain and fear, and he slapped her face again.
‘Shut up! Just close your mouth and stay still.’
Grace was utterly terrified as he thrust his hardness back and forth inside her. She tried to heave herself up in an effort to shake him off, and got yet another vi
cious slap across her face.
‘Take that, you little whore, damn you to hell! If you only knew how I despise myself for using the likes of you – I find your flesh disgusting, your – ah! Oh, God…oh, God…aaah!’
His stream of invective changed to the familiar grunts and groans of a man reaching an orgasmic climax, crushing and bruising her, and when at last he slithered off her, she was unable to move, overcome by the horror she’d felt when Tupman had assaulted her on the Everham Road. Except that this was a far worse humiliation. Tupman had attacked her without her foreknowledge or consent, but Captain X had paid good money for the service of a prostitute.
He got off the bed, pulled on his clothes, and left without another word, leaving her to ponder on what she had become.
Meanwhile…
Annie Cooper was sitting at her stepdaughter’s bedside to give the midwife a rest, for it was now twelve hours since Mary’s pains had begun that morning; now it was nearly eight o’clock in the evening. Annie wiped the girl’s face with a damp towel, and held a cup of water to her dry lips.
Nine o’clock, and Eddie Cooper waited with Sidney Goddard in the kitchen. Both had done a full day’s work, hoping that Mary would be delivered by the time they came home. Betty Goddard had called twice, and returned home to tell her parents that there was as yet no news.
Upstairs the midwife was thinking about sending for Dr Stringer, but to her great relief the child’s head began to descend; the two women sat Mary upright, supporting her on either side, and encouraging her to push down with all her strength. And just after ten o’clock the child was born.
‘It’s a girl, Eddie!’ Annie called down the stairs. ‘Ye’ve got a granddaughter!’
Eddie Cooper and Sidney Goddard hugged each other, unable to speak, so great was their relief. The welcome sound of a newborn baby’s cry filled the air, and the midwife triumphantly showed her to her mother.
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