“Linny,” Blue said, “this is one of my old girls, Sal. Can you make room for ’er wif you for a few months?”
“I prefer to be called Chinese Sally,” she said.
She looked different than any of the rest of us on Paradise. It wasn’t only her face, but her obvious style. The lace dress was new, pressed, and had been tailored to fit, not bought from a pawnshop or a market stall. And her voice was soft, cultured.
“Certainly,” I said. “There’s only Helen in the room with me right now.” Did she notice that my voice matched hers?
Chinese Sally smiled, a small, wry smile.
“She ’as a fancy man, doesn’t she,” Blue told me. “A real swell. Our Sal lives with the best of ’em as long as ’er feller don’t get lagged. But she’s lucky she’s got ’er old friends fer when times gets rough. This is the second time you’ve been back now, ain’t it?”
The girl nodded, studying the building behind my head. “I didn’t imagine I’d ever be back. We had planned to be off to London next month.”
“What does your man do, then?” I asked.
“He’s a mobsman,” Chinese Sally told me. “Best of the best. There isn’t a pickpocket in Liverpool better than my Louis.” She picked up her carpetbag, stifling a dainty yawn behind her glove. “I’m all done in,” she said. “I heard this morning, early, from one of Louis’s men that he’d been lagged. I was nervous to go out all day in case they were watching for me, too. I thought it best to come back here and lie low until he’s out.” She yawned again. “I’ll have a good sleep, then be out for full night’s work tomorrow.”
Blue nodded. “Linny, take ’er up to the room.” She gave the other girl a clap on the shoulder. “Good to have ya back, Sal.”
I saw Chinese Sally stiffen and her lips tighten but she didn’t say anything.
“This way,” I told her. “The room is over on Jack Street.”
She walked beside me. “I’m Chinese Sally down on the street. But I’m Miss Sing in my true life,” she said. And then she said nothing more, all the way to Jack. I left her sitting on the rumpled bed, looking around the tiny room with distaste, the carpetbag on her lap.
This wasn’t her true life, then. Like me. I thought of her words the rest of the night. “In my true life,” I whispered to myself, in that same superior tone Chinese Sally had used. “My true life.”
I GOT TO KNOW Chinese Sally well over the next few months. You do, don’t you, when you sleep beside someone, when you hear them cry out in their nightmares, when you know what kind of customer they’ve last had by the smell they carry on them. I knew that her eyes were brown when she was feeling her best, and that they glinted green when she was angry. She was eighteen, a few years older than me, and her life with Louis sounded exciting and wonderful.
“I’m his flash girl,” she told me one evening, as I sat on the bed, putting on my powder before I started work. “You know, dress up pretty and entertain the higher class of gentlemen. He buys me the fancy clothes and pays my rent on a lovely set of rooms. The gentlemen who come to visit me are of the upper caliber, none of the riffraff we have to contend with on Paradise.” She smiled, a wistful smile, and fell silent.
“And it’s not just the customers,” she eventually went on. “The life—well, Linny, it’s nothing like this.” She looked at her expensive dresses, hanging on nails on the wall, then studied my face, coming to stand in front of me, holding her gloves. “You’d be a good flash girl,” she said.
I set my ormolu mirror and the box of powder in my lap. “I would?”
“Of course. You’ve still got the freshness the gentlemen want—all your teeth, decent enough looks, your hair thick. And more than that, you’ve got a few manners, and a way with a phrase.”
Even though she was complimenting me, I still felt slightly insulted. “A few manners? I’ve got more than any of the other girls here, as you well know. My mother taught me,” I said, standing, letting a slightly disdainful tone creep into my voice. “Manners and proper speech.”
Chinese Sally smiled, her usual careful smile, keeping her bottom lip stiff. She had two missing bottom teeth, and was loath for anyone to see the dark gap. “You may think you’re quite fine, my girl,” she said, “but if you were to spend some time with me, among the right people, you’d learn a thing or two about what you call ‘proper’—from those actually born into the idle life. You’re only a small step above the rest of the girls, and I guarantee you, a few more years here and you’ll have fallen off that step and realize you really are just common baggage. And then it will be too late for any opportunities.”
I stared at her. Was she right? Would I just go on, night after night, customer after customer, my dream of leaving Paradise and Liverpool just that—a dream? Would I end up diseased, dying alone?
Chinese Sally must have seen the confusion on my face. She reached out and ran one finger down my cheek. “When Louis gets out, maybe I’ll bring you back with me. Would you like that?”
I shrugged, stepping back. Her finger was soft; she had a jar of lavender cream that she rubbed onto her hands before putting on her gloves each evening. “I don’t know, do I?” I raised my chin and narrowed my eyes as I spoke. “I don’t know what would be expected of me. It’s not so bad here,” I said, although she and I both knew I was bluffing.
“Well, I’ll ask you again, then, shall I, when you’ve had a chance to think about it? You don’t have to take it pushed up against a wall, you know. Not looking like you do. You could bring Louis in a tidy profit, and the sooner we can make enough to leave, the sooner Louis and I will be on our way to London. Did I tell you, Linny, that Louis is going to marry me—when the time is right, of course—once we’ve moved down to London? And then of course I shall stop working, for Louis will support me properly, with a fine house and a downstairs full of servants. Of course I shall have my own lady’s maid.”
I thought then that if I worked for Louis I could save my money even faster, and be able to book passage to America sooner than I had planned. The idea was appealing.
I AWOKE ONE COLD November afternoon to see Chinese Sally packing her carpetbag.
“He’s out,” she told me, seeing me sit up. “Louis is out. He sent word with one of his men just an hour ago.” She stopped folding a chemise, her hands poised in the air. “Well? Are you coming? I sent the message back that I was bringing a new girl. You can’t show up looking like a scarecrow. If you plan to join me, you’d best make yourself up smart.”
I tossed aside the patched coverlet, running my hands over my hair. “Do you really think I could do it?” I said.
“First of all, when we’re up there, remember to call me Miss Sing,” she said, answering my question in a roundabout way. “You can call me Chinese Sally when we’re on our own, but Miss Sing when we’re attending the theater or at a fine eating establishment, or any other social occasion.” She dug through her half-packed bag, pulling out a dress of beige watered gauze and tossing it on the bed beside me. “Here. Put this on. It’ll be too big for you, but it will do for today. I can’t introduce you to Louis in either of your street dresses; you look like a ragged peacock. Louis likes a quality look. You can keep it; Louis will buy us both more clothes.”
I picked up the frock, fingering the fabric. “Why, exactly, are you doing this for me?”
She stared at me. “For you? I’m not doing it for you. Do you think I have that big a heart?” She made a chuckling sound in her throat. “I told you. You’ll be part of the group and that will help Louis. Louis likes when I bring in new girls. He trusts my judgment. And he rewards me very handsomely if they work out, which they usually do. If they don’t . . .” She continued to look at me, although the stare now turned slightly hostile. “Well, that’s not a good thing for anybody then, is it?”
I recognized her warning. The watered gauze was smooth, cool beneath my fingers. I imagined having a wardrobe full of dresses like this one.
“Just give me time for a
good wash,” I told her, adding, “Miss Sing,” and was rewarded by her nod and that small tight smile I’d come to know so well.
BLUE HADN’T BEEN HAPPY to lose both of us but she held no grudges. Every morning, as each of us handed over half our wages, she would assure us, “Now youse owes me nuthin’, and I owes youse nuthin’.” There were always girls, and if she lost one or two, it would only be for a night. “I guarantee youse’ll be back,” she said to me now, frowning. “Just like ’er,” she continued, tossing her head in Chinese Sally’s direction. Chinese Sally stood impassive, looking down the street as if she couldn’t hear—and didn’t care—what Blue was saying. “Youse can’t count on that kind of life, up wif the nobs. It never lasts, believe me. Youse’ll be crawlin’ back to where youse can trust your mates and where youse knows your place. A fancy dress can only cover so much.”
I gripped the now heavy fruitwood box tighter. In it was the money I’d kept hidden under a board in the room on Jack Street, as well as my folding knife and mirror and pendant and Wordsworth. I’d also packed three small books, my favorites, the ones I couldn’t bear to part with.
Wearing the dress Chinese Sally had given me and the warm cape and fancy bonnet she’d lent me, I had left my old clothes behind for Helen. And, like Chinese Sally, I didn’t care what Blue said. I was leaving this place, with its stink and trouble. We walked to the corner of Chester and Roper streets and waited. Chinese Sally kept touching her hair, tying and retying her bonnet, smoothing her skirt. “When you meet Louis, Linny, extend your hand,” she said. “He’ll say that it’s his great pleasure to make your acquaintaince, and you must reply ‘No, oh no, sir, the pleasure is mine.’ He may kiss your glove. Allow him to do this and then say, ‘Why, thank you, sir.’” She glanced at me. “If you don’t make a good impression first thing, it won’t go well for me. So if you don’t know what to do or say, do and say nothing. Watch me.” She was speaking faster and faster. Suddenly I was nervous, frightened at what was expected of me. I hadn’t known this feeling for a long time, and realized I’d fallen into a steady, easy lull on Paradise.
Within a few moments a fancy curricle pulled by two dappled horses drew up. A man emerged and stood by the open door. From all of Chinese Sally’s talk, I had expected Louis to be more imposing looking. And younger. I was surprised at how short he was, and how plain. He was at least thirty; the lines around his mouth were already deep. He had a slightly sallow complexion, longish, dark hair, and yellow-brown eyes with curling lashes. There was almost something of the Eyetalian about him. Quite unremarkable, really; had I passed him on the street I might not have noticed him. I suppose that was important, him being a mobsman, working the crowds. One wouldn’t want to stand out in any way.
He bowed over Chinese Sally’s hand and she giggled, a sound I had never heard her make before. Then he turned to me, his eyes running over me from my bonnet to my boots.
“This is Miss Linny Gow,” Chinese Sally said. “The one I sent word to you about with Dirty Joe. What do you think? Will she do?”
I straightened my shoulders.
Louis kept up his survey of me; after thirty seconds he nodded slowly and then, remembering Chinese Sally’s instructions, I extended my hand. Louis looked at it and smiled, then took it in his and raised it to his lips, although he didn’t actually touch them to my glove.
“How lovely to meet you, my dear,” he said, his head bent over my hand and yet his eyes studying me from under those long lashes.
“It’s my pleasure, sir, I’m sure,” I said, with what I hoped was my prettiest smile.
He let go of my hand as if reluctant to do so. “Has Miss Sing instructed you of my expectations?”
I licked my lips. “Well, not in so many words. But I’ve been at the game since I was only a girl, and—”
He stepped closer and I saw the beginnings of veins on his nose. “I’ll collect all your earnings directly. You’ll take the customers I bring to you and never turn any away. You may be expected to entertain large numbers, with another girl, at one time. Do you understand?”
“Large numbers? You mean more than one customer at once?”
“Really, Sal. She looks like a scared rabbit,” he said, turning to Chinese Sally.
“She’ll be fine. I’ll keep her in line,” she said, as if I weren’t standing in front of her.
Scared rabbit? I pushed the wool cloak Chinese Sally had lent me back from my shoulders, suddenly too warm. “Did I hear you correctly in that I won’t be seeing any of the money I earn?”
“You’ll have your own room and clothing—good clothing, like Sal’s. You won’t need money for anything. All your meals will be brought to you. You won’t be going out except for the entertaining I plan.”
I swallowed. There was something about him that suddenly made me think of Ram and his control over me. What was I doing? I would lose the freedom I now knew. I imagined myself a prisoner in a locked room, the door only opening to allow in a man, and then locked again. And if the man proved foul in his requests, or even caused me pain, there would be nobody to protect me, no means of escape. I took a step back. “I think not,” I said.
Louis looked at Chinese Sally, and then they both looked at me. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice turning nasty.
I took off the cloak and bonnet and handed them to Sal. “You can come back and collect the gown, if you wish,” I told her. “It’s not for me. I won’t be any man’s possession.”
“Are you completely mad?” she said. “Don’t you see? Nobody gives a toss about you down on Paradise. Nobody cares if you live or die. You’re just another doxie on the street, with nothing to live for.” Her voice had become harder, angry, and she reached forward and shook my arm like a terrier with a rat in its jaws. The fruitwood box fell to the street, and I heard the tinkle of breaking glass. “Don’t make me look a fool, Linny.”
I picked up the box and held it against my chest, stepping further away from her. The November wind chilled me to the bone without the warm cloak. “At least I work for myself and make my own decisions. I choose my customers. I eat what I want, when I want. Blue looks out for me. I do as I please. You may see your life with him”—I tossed my head in Louis’s direction—“as all very well, Chinese Sally, but to me it sounds little more than a bird in a cage.”
“Fine, then,” she said, hooking her arm through Louis’s. “Stay on the street. Stay there and rot. Before you know it you’ll find you’re nothing but a used-up old whore who can’t even give it away for a pint of ale.”
Louis ignored me, helping Chinese Sally into the carriage. The door slammed and the horses moved forward, and still, I stayed where I was, thinking about what I’d just given up and what I had to go back to. Had I made the right decision? Chinese Sally had been right about no one caring whether I lived or died.
My feet and fingers grew numb with cold; my back ached from standing stiffly so long in one position. Eventually I heard the cheery whistle of the gaslight man with his ladder. The lamps were illuminated, one by one. The street glowed with a soft, deceptive light and I knew what I must do.
As I began the long walk back to Paradise I thought of the broken mirror in the box under my arm and imagined the knowing wink Blue would give me when I showed up back on the corner.
AND SO LIFE WENT ON. Winter blended to spring and spring to summer, summer to fall. I passed my sixteenth birthday, and then my seventeenth. The customers came and went like the seasons. I grew older, and my desire to leave this life grew stronger.
Chapter Eight
HE HAD HANDS THAT SMELLED OF FISH. TRYING TO PASS HIMSELF off as a gentleman with his fine black wool coat and top hat, I knew by the putrid odor ingrained in his thick fingers that he was no more than a fishmonger wearing a rented outfit for the evening. Well, we both play the game of pretending then, don’t we, I thought, supporting the man’s weight as he steered me into an alley, his arm draped heavily over my shoulders.
It was late October and
I went about my job with weary and practiced movements. I had been with Blue for well over three years now, having had my seventeenth birthday in August. I didn’t enjoy my time with the other girls as I once did, and I’d even lost the joy of reading. There seemed no time or privacy, and the energy and passion I had once felt in holding beautiful books, reading their magic and studying how they were made, had somehow trickled away.
Nor did I worry much about my appearance; I realized none of the customers cared one way or another. For the last few months thoughts of my mother came more often. As I waited for a customer to finish some nights I closed my eyes and envisioned the life she had so desperately wanted for me, away from the filth and stench of Back Phoebe Anne. I tried to picture myself at a table like the ones I remembered from the dining room with the man I called Uncle Horace, like the ones I had once read about. I saw myself among sparkling glass and china so delicate to be almost transparent; I envisioned reaching for the fish fork, the butter knife, the soup spoon, knowing when to pour the port and when the wine and when the sherry.
Now, my back pressed painfully against the rough brick of a dark building in an alley off Paradise Street—and I knew there would soon be a trail of bruises dark as inky kisses up my spine from the pressure—the thick fingers of the fishmonger’s left hand searched high inside me while he shook and jiggled himself against my skirt with his right hand, trying to ready himself. I idly thought how fortunate that he was the last for the night. Surely another customer would object to the smell he was leaving on me.
It was no good. The fishmonger finally gave up, roughly pulling his fingers out of me, his elbow giving my hipbone a hard knock as he angrily buttoned his trousers.
“That’ll be sixpence, sir,” I said, straightening my skirt and kneading my fingers against my sore hip. “A tanner, please.” I held out my hand.
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