by Valerie Wood
‘Nobody you know,’ he said abruptly.
‘Huh! I know that all right.’ She was scornful. ‘She’s a street lass, en’t she? I’ve seen her about on a night.’
Mikey didn’t answer, only shrugged.
‘What did she give you?’
‘Nowt to do wi’ you.’
Bridget eyed him suspiciously. ‘It’s usually ’other way round. Men give them summat. For their services,’ she added.
‘How do you know?’ he retaliated. ‘Who telled you about such things?’
‘I just know,’ she said. ‘I’m older than you so I know about women like that.’
Mikey turned away. ‘Well you don’t know everything and like I said, it’s nowt to do wi’ you. Anyway, I’m off. See you about.’
‘Where you going, Mikey? Can I come?’ She seemed anxious, yet eager.
‘No,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘I’m going away and I don’t know where.’ He certainly wasn’t going to tell her he was going to London, as she would want to come with him. ‘I’m off to look for work.’
‘Go on then, see if I care. You won’t get far on your own,’ she sneered. ‘You was allus a mammy’s boy. Allus being good!’
‘What’s wrong wi’ that?’ he snapped. ‘My ma was a good woman. She’d not have turned anybody away if they were in trouble.’
He didn’t say ‘like your mother did’, but that’s what he meant and she knew it.
‘That was my fault,’ she said contritely. ‘I didn’t mean to get you thrown out of ’house.’ She gazed archly at him. ‘Ma wants me to stay pure till I’m wed. She thinks I’ll be a catch if I am.’ Her lips turned down in a cynical gesture. ‘As if any man would know!’
He turned to her one more time. ‘Some might,’ he said. ‘They’re not all like me. Cheerio, Bridget. Be seeing you.’
He walked away, leaving her looking forlornly after him. No, she thought. They’re not all like you, Mikey. But where was he going? He was heading towards the pier. She gave a gasp. I know! He’s going to catch ’ferry!
She turned swiftly and ran back home, hoping that her mother wouldn’t be in. She flew through the door and gathered up her few belongings, a shawl and an underskirt with a few coppers sewn into the hem. Then she searched for a stub of pencil and a scrap of paper, but finding none she called up the stairs to the woman who lived in the room above.
‘Mrs Brown! Mrs Brown!’
When an answering shout told her the woman was in, but too idle to come to the top of the stairs, she yelled up to her, ‘Will you tell my ma I’m going away for a bit? Tell her I’ll be all right.’
The door upstairs opened and a blowsy middle-aged woman appeared, smoking a pipe. ‘Where you going then?’
‘Away,’ she said. ‘I’ll be gone for a bit. Going to look for a job.’
‘That’ll be the day,’ the woman grunted. She turned back into her room and shut the door.
‘Thanks, you old cow,’ Bridget muttered. ‘I’ll do ’same for you sometime.’
She hurried back across the town and headed for the pier. Mikey could be catching a market boat, she thought, and not necessarily the New Holland ferry. But where’s he got ’money from, she wondered. Unless – what did that lass give him? She put something into his hand. Money. It had to be, but why? And where has he been since Ma threw him out?
She watched Mikey go into the ticket office and saw him come out a few minutes later looking down at something clasped in his hand. He’s bought a ticket, she thought. He really is going away. How am I going to get on ’ferry? I don’t have any money for ’fare.
Bridget had always been resourceful, artful some might have said, in getting her own way. If she was set on something then nothing would deter her, and she was set on Mikey. She checked the timetable on the wall and saw that she had twenty minutes before the boat departed.
She left the pier area and went round the corner of a building, arranged her shawl about her head and sat in the nearest doorway. With her head bent and her shoulders shaking, she began to rock and moan.
‘Glory be to God,’ she wailed softly. ‘What am I to do?’
Several people passed her and glanced down. One or two men seemed about to stop but were urged on by their womenfolk, then as she peered from under her shawl she saw a lone man coming her way. He was in his early forties, rather portly, and wearing a dark tailcoat and top hat.
She raised her eyes heavenwards, knowing how appealing they would be. The deepest green with dark-fringed lashes. ‘What am I to do?’ she moaned. ‘Who can I turn to?’
The man stopped. His face was florid, as if he’d been hurrying. ‘Something wrong, miss? Are you begging?’
Bridget scrambled to her feet. ‘Indeed I’m not, sir,’ she said in the sweetest Irish accent, filched from her mother. She wiped her eyes. ‘I need to get across the water. I came over yesterday to visit a sick relative and when I came to hand over my ticket to the clerk today it had gone. Lost,’ she wailed. ‘And I don’t know how to get home. My poor mammy will be waiting for me to bring her news of her dead sister.’
‘Dead?’ He stared at her. ‘I thought you said a sick relative?’
‘Sure I did.’ Bridget dropped her voice. ‘But my poor auntie passed away not ten minutes after I got there.’ She broke into sobs. ‘And I’ve no means of getting home.’
‘So, erm, where’s home?’ His eyes flickered over her face. ‘Do you mean you were going on the ferry?’
Haven’t I just said, she thought. Are you thick or something? ‘Yes,’ she hiccuped. ‘To New Holland. I can walk ’rest of ’way. But I can’t walk on water!’ She crossed herself reverently.
‘Well.’ He hesitated, and glanced round. ‘I’m going across myself.’
‘Oh, sir.’ She reached to clutch his arm. ‘If you’d be so kind as to lend me my fare and give me your address, I’d post it back to you tomorrow morning, honest to God.’ She was about to cross herself again but then thought better of it. No point in over-egging, she considered. He might not be a believer.
She gazed at him appealingly, and as she saw the doubt disappear from his face she gave him the merest hint of a tender coaxing smile.
‘Come on then,’ he said, yielding. ‘Let’s get the tickets. It’s nearly sailing time.’
Bridget scurried after him. ‘You’re so kind. I’m so grateful.’
‘Are you?’ He turned and gave her a grin. ‘How grateful?’
She lowered her eyes. ‘I’m not sure what you mean, sir.’
He gave a low laugh. ‘I think you do. How badly do you need to cross over into Lincolnshire? I know I’ll never see my money again.’
As she gazed up at him now, she saw that he was no gentleman. He was well dressed, but didn’t have the air, or the manners either, of a real gentleman. He’s probably just a jumped-up clerk in a shipping office, she decided.
‘I need to get on that ferry,’ she said softly. ‘What payment do you need? Sir,’ she added.
‘That’s more like it,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you know once we’re on board.’
Mikey leaned over the rail of the paddle steamer and looked down at the choppy water. He breathed in deeply. He was sure he could smell the sea. Couldn’t smell the aroma of seed oil or factory waste, anyway. Across the water he could see the low-lying Lincolnshire coastline. A few buildings, one or two chimneys belching out smoke, but otherwise it looked quite empty. Shan’t stop there, he thought. I’ll need a bit of company. But it’s a starting point and I’ll ask for the London road.
He felt a surge of excitement in the pit of his stomach at the prospect. I’ll come back one day, of course. He turned round and leaned against the rail to look back at the pier head before the ferry departed, and saw Bridget coming across the gangplank in the company of a man.
‘Dammit,’ he muttered. ‘She’s followed me.’
He saw her look his way but she didn’t acknowledge him and he was puzzled. Who’s she with? It’s nobody I know, and where did she get ’money for
’ticket? A faint suspicion filled his head when he saw the man put his hand on Bridget’s waist and usher her towards the saloon.
I don’t want to be responsible for anybody else. She’s a girl. I’ll have to look after her and how will I find work with her tagging on?
He dug his hands deep into his trouser pockets and jingled the remaining money. She’ll be a liability. Then he jumped as the ship’s steam whistle blew a warning and the last few passengers came running. The water churned beneath the paddles, throwing up sparkling frothy foam, and he caught his breath in anticipation at the knowledge that he was on his way at last. To where and what? It didn’t seem to matter. It was going to be exciting anyway.
‘Cheerio, Hull,’ he murmured, his throat tight. ‘See you again sometime.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bridget had intended to ditch the stranger as soon as she was on board ship but he kept hold of her, ushering her towards the saloon. Except that he didn’t enter, but steered her further along the companionway and into a corner, where he pinned her against the bulkhead.
‘Now,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Stay quite still until we set off.’ As he spoke she heard the shriek of the ship’s whistle and felt the throb of the paddles as they began to turn. ‘Nobody’ll take any notice of us,’ he went on. ‘The crew will be occupied and the passengers finding their seats.’
‘Wh-what ’you doing?’ she gasped. ‘I can’t breathe. Move off a bit!’
He smiled. ‘And let you escape? Have you forgotten already that you owe me?’
‘I said I’ll pay you back,’ she protested, struggling against him.
‘Lift your skirt,’ he commanded. ‘Come on, there’s nobody looking.’
She stared at him. ‘Here? Are you mad? Wait till we’re off ’ship, why don’t you?’
‘I’d not see you for dust,’ he grinned, and began unbuttoning his trousers.
‘Yes, you will. Honest.’ She began to panic. This wasn’t meant to happen. Bold, flirtatious and saucy as she knew she was, she was still a virgin. ‘Somebody’ll see us.’ What if Mikey should come, and find them? Or the captain? But no one did. The passengers it seemed had settled into the saloon or were leaning over the rails breathing in the salty air.
He roughly pulled up her skirt and pressed himself against her. ‘Come on,’ he demanded. ‘You know what to do.’
‘I don’t,’ she protested. ‘You’re hurting me.’
He licked his lips and she saw his eyes gleam. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t done this before? A brazen young madam like you? What are you, just a tease?’
She shook her head and tried to push him away, but it only seemed to make him more excited and he pushed harder and harder into her.
A crewman went by and glanced in their direction. He whistled and muttered, ‘Go it, mate,’ and walked on. Bridget opened her mouth to shout out but the stranger put his hand over it, stopping her breath.
‘Come on,’ he urged. ‘You’re enjoying it, you know you are.’ Just as she felt that she was being torn in two, his face became red and he started to grunt and pant. She wanted to scream; she felt as if she was on fire as he plunged deeper and deeper into her, gripping her buttocks with his sharp fingernails; and then suddenly it was over. He withdrew, leaving her sore and bleeding. She screwed up her eyes and pressed her lips together, trying not to cry.
He glanced over his shoulder and buttoned himself up. ‘Told you nobody would come, didn’t I?’ He laughed. ‘Good thing my wife isn’t on board!’
‘Bastard!’ she muttered.
He grinned. ‘Well I enjoyed it. Haven’t been with a virgin in a long time.’ He flicked imaginary specks from his jacket. ‘I honestly thought you were on the game. I didn’t believe that tale about your sick auntie. Or your Irish accent! I could meet you again, if you like.’ He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a sixpence. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Go and treat yourself.’
‘And you can jump up and bite your arse,’ she hissed at him, but snatched the coin from his hand. ‘You forced me. I would have paid you back.’
He pinched her cheek. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘And as for forcing you, I reckon you didn’t need much forcing. You were ripe for it. I just happened along at the right time.’ He straightened himself up. ‘Cheerio,’ he said. ‘Be seeing you.’
‘Not if I see you first,’ she retaliated. ‘Get lost!’
When he had gone, Bridget staggered to the rail and leaned over it, breathing in great gulps of air. She felt sick and very sore. I didn’t know it would be like that. I thought it would be thrilling and passionate. Perhaps it is with somebody you care for or maybe it’s always like this ’first time. Her eyes prickled with tears. She had enticed men before but had never allowed them to go too far. It’s your own fault, Bridget Turner, she thought pragmatically. It was bound to happen sooner or later, but I’d like to have chosen with which man. But there, it’s done with now. I’m a woman not a girl.
She spent ten minutes or so composing herself and then sauntered round the deck, coming across Mikey leaning on the ship’s rail. ‘Hello, Mikey. Fancy seeing you here!’
He turned, reluctantly it seemed to her. Perhaps he’d seen her come aboard with a man. Maybe he’s jealous, she thought hopefully.
‘You can’t come wi’ me, Bridget,’ were his first words. ‘I telled you I was going to look for work.’
‘I know. I know!’ she said. ‘But I’m seeking work too so we could travel together. You don’t have to watch out for me,’ she added. ‘I can watch out for myself. I’m older than you.’
He shrugged and turned back to look over the water and the nearing Lincolnshire shore. ‘Suit yoursen,’ he muttered. ‘But I’m heading for London.’
‘London! That’s miles away! I could come wi’ you,’ she said, as he knew she would. ‘Go on, Mikey,’ she urged. ‘Let me. I won’t be a bother and I’d be company for you.’
‘I said suit yoursen, didn’t I?’ he said irritably, but a small part of him thought that it would be quite good to have company, though Bridget wouldn’t have been his first choice. ‘But you’ll have to fend for yoursen.’
‘I will,’ she said. ‘I know how.’ She sat down on the bench near him, wincing and giving a small gasp as she did so.
He looked down at her. ‘What’s up?’
She shook her head. ‘Nowt. I’m a woman, en’t I? Sometimes we get stomach cramps.’ She gave a dismissive gesture. ‘We cope wi’ it.’
‘Have you got any money?’ he asked, as the ferry docked at the end of the journey.
‘A tanner,’ she said, fingering the sixpence the stranger had given her. ‘And a few coppers.’
‘Shan’t get far wi’ that,’ he muttered.
‘No,’ she said vaguely as she spotted the stranger waving to a woman on the shore. ‘But I might be able to get some more. Wait for me, Mikey,’ she said urgently. ‘Wait on ’dockside. Don’t go wi’out me.’
She dashed away and he saw her weaving her way through the passengers waiting to alight. What’s she up to, he wondered. Where’s she going?
‘Hello again,’ Bridget said, and the man jumped, startled, as she came next to him.
‘What do you want?’ He glanced nervously towards the dockside. ‘I’m in a hurry.’
She linked her arm in his. ‘You know when you said we could meet again? Well, perhaps I’d like that, after all.’
He shrugged her off. ‘Yes, but not now,’ he muttered. ‘I’m being met.’
‘Really?’ She affected surprise. ‘Your wife, is it? Perhaps you’d introduce us.’ She gazed up at him. ‘What would she think, eh, if she thought you’d been – you know? Wi’ me?’
He stared at her, a horrified expression on his face. ‘She – you wouldn’t,’ he blustered. ‘She wouldn’t believe you.’
Bridget pouted. ‘She’d wonder though, wouldn’t she? No smoke wi’out fire? And that crewman that went by, he’d know it was true. He wouldn’t know you’d forced me, of cou
rse; I’d have to admit to that.’ Her mouth turned down and tears filled her eyes. ‘And me a good Catholic girl.’
There was a thud as the gangplank hit the ground. ‘All right,’ he said hastily. ‘How much?’
She made a moue. ‘Five bob?’
He took a breath. ‘It wasn’t worth that much!’
‘It was to me,’ she said. ‘You took my virginity. It was worth all of that.’
He fumbled in his pocket as he was jostled by people anxious to be off, and looked down at the coins in his hand. ‘Four shillings,’ he said. ‘That’s all I’ve got.’
She took the silver. ‘Look in your other pocket,’ she said nonchalantly, as if she had all the time in the world.
Muttering, he did so and brought out sixpence and a silk handkerchief.
‘That’ll do,’ she said, taking them both. ‘Go on then.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Go and meet your lady wife, and don’t forget to look behind you.’
He hurried off and Bridget laughed as she saw him dash down the gangplank and greet the woman, then glance behind him before urging her away towards a waiting cabriolet.
Bridget ambled down to the dockside and then began to hurry as she saw Mikey pacing impatiently. ‘Mikey,’ she called. ‘I’m here. Sorry. Had a call o’ nature.’
‘Come on then,’ he said. ‘Let’s be off. I’d like to be in Lincoln by nightfall.’
‘He’s coming, poor lamb.’ Nanny peered from behind the window drapes as the chaise drew up at the door. Simon had suffered the ignominy of travelling by public coach from school to the railway station, and now a hired vehicle was transporting him and his luggage on the last lap of his journey.
Eleanor peered from beneath Nanny’s arm. ‘I hope Papa doesn’t beat him,’ she said softly. ‘I so hate it when Simon cries.’ And he takes it out on me sometimes if he thinks I’ve heard him, she thought. The last two times Simon had been beaten by his father he had held Eleanor against the wall afterwards and punched her in the stomach and warned her not to tell anyone.
‘We must be patient with him,’ Nanny said. ‘Though it will be difficult if we can’t speak to him.’
