by Sarah Burton
The fact that the landlord had not recognised me strengthened my resolve. It all now seemed possible. I struck out for Covent Garden.
23
Evening was now drawing in, and I dawdled at the stalls, turning over the lace and nick-nacks on sale, and I was trying on some gloves and had almost forgot why I was there when a gentleman spoke to me.
“How much?” he said.
Did he mean the gloves? Or did he mean Doll? I suddenly realised, little fool that I was, that I had no idea how much to ask for.
“Two and six,” I said. From his expression it seemed I had hit on just the right amount. Then I wondered if it was too little. Well, I thought, I would learn.
“Lead on,” he said. He evidently expected me to take him home.
“I live on the other side of town, sir,” said Doll.
“Very well,” he said, “follow me.” And though I knew it a foolish thing to go Lord knew where with Lord knows who, what did I expect? And he was young to middle-aged and well-dressed and reminded me a little of my uncle, whom I had liked, so I obeyed, and he led me to a coffee-house and after a brief interview with the landlord, we were shown up to a room. There was no fire, but a bed and a table and chair and it seemed quite clean. He called for wine and asked my name, and sat at the table and told me to sit on his lap, which I did.
“Are you not going to remove your cloak?” he said. I obeyed and I don’t know whether he observed I was with child or just thought I was fat. He put his arms round me and kissed me, so I put my arms round him and kissed him. Then in one deft movement that spoke of years of practice he all of a sudden had one of my breasts out of the top of my dress and fell to kissing it. This rather shocked me, but did not hurt, and then he put his hand up my skirt and ran it all the way up to my most private part, and again though it was rather a surprise, it did not hurt. These were all new and extreme sensations and I did not know how to respond. Suddenly he stopped and said, “You’re a queer one, Doll.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“You’re a cold fish, girl. Show a little passion, won’t you? Give a man a little encouragement at least.”
And then I knew I was failing and not carrying it off at all. I began crying.
“Oons!” he exclaimed, getting up so suddenly I nearly fell on the floor, “what a witch it is!” And he poured himself some wine and went to stand by the fireplace.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “The truth is,” and as I started talking truth I checked myself and remembered I must be Doll, “I don’t know what to do. I ain’t done this before.”
At this he first looked astounded and then burst out laughing.
“That is the prettiest play-acting I have seen outside Drury Lane,” he said. “So you play the innocent do you? You are the first virgin with child I have ever known. Still, this game may have some relish in it.” He poured me a glass of wine and I drank it down in two draughts. He continued to look at me with some amusement. “So, tell me your story.” I began to think of a history for Doll, but before I could formulate a tale, he said, “No, no, let me see if I can guess. Let me see.” And he began to stride around the room as he spoke. “You are a poor innocent country girl, a milkmaid, I daresay?” I inclined my head as though this might be correct. “Or a maid in a great house, perhaps. Yes, and you were ruined by… the son of the house?” I shook my head most definitely. The further from the truth the better. “The squire himself, then?” I nodded. “And when you found you were with child he turned you out?” I nodded. “And you came to London, the goodliest forest in the world to shelter a great belly?”
“You have it, sir,” I said.
“And, check me if I have hit it wrong, but you only had ado with the squire just the one time, and have never looked at a man since?” He seemed to be enjoying this enormously.
“Yes, sir. He took me against my will and it was just the once.”
“Marvellous!” he exclaimed. “This has spice in it! In fact this may take all evening!” And he called for a fire to be lit and ordered some dinner to be sent up and more wine, and seemed to be very pleased.
“In that case it will be five shillings, sir,” said Doll, quite to my surprise.
“You are a cunning jade, Doll, but fair’s fair, five shillings it is.” And he gave me the money and there was no going back.
“Now, shall I be myself? Or shall I be the squire?”
“I did not like the squire, sir,” I said.
“Well we can’t have that,” he said. “I shall be myself, then. The first man to show you what pleasure really is.”
And then we had dinner and I drank more wine and with each mouthful I felt less uneasy about where I was and what I was doing, especially as Pinky, as he said his friends called him, seemed to be enjoying himself so heartily. When we had finished Pinky pushed back his chair and said, “Now Doll, it is time.”
I stood up and he led me over to the bed and began kissing me and undressing me, but the first thing he did was to pull off my cap and I put up my hand to try and stop him, but he did anyway.
“You have cut off your hair,” he said, as if I didn’t know.
“Well sir,” I said, “I needed the money.”
“That squire,” he sighed, continuing to undress me and to kiss each part that was newly exposed. “What bastards men are.” When I was just in my shift he bade me lie on the bed and undid his breeches, and I was most surprised at what lay within. I had seen men’s members before, of course, when bathing or pissing, but this had grown to a mighty size and he put my hand on it and it felt quite firm like a fresh-made black pudding.
Then he lay next to me and kissed my breasts again which I began to like a great deal, and then put his hand between my legs which I was less sure of, and then he said, “You must protest, Doll.”
“What? I mean, I beg your pardon?” I said.
“You must protest. You have been ruined once, but you are yet a good girl. You must protest, and then, when I ravish you, only then must you like it.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. So I protested a good deal, but I do not think I was very convincing, as I did not convince myself, and found I did not mind being ravished nearly so much as I had thought I would, and though it was uncomfortable, it had its merits, and it was gratifying to see how much it pleased Pinky, and I seemed to know what to say then, but then Pinky cried out as if in pain and it all ended abruptly and I knew I must have done something wrong.
But I had done nothing wrong, Pinky said. I should go on the stage, he said. Which I took to be a compliment. We got dressed and finished off the wine and Pinky said he would recommend me to his friends and asked where I could be found. As I did not want to give H’s address I said I would be in Covent Garden at about the same time most evenings. And then we parted.
24
The most significant consequence of the encounter with Pinky (apart from the five shillings of course) was that I was no longer afraid of having ado with a man. I had not realised that there would be quite so much playing involved and this made it much easier. It seemed that as well as H pretending to be Doll, Doll could also pretend, and this was all part of the service. It had all been most illuminating, and I slept better that night than I had for a very long time.
Over the following weeks I learned a great deal more about my new profession. Pinky and his friends proved a reliable source both of income and education and these evenings had the advantage of often being entertaining as well, as I enjoyed playing my part, and they enjoyed it too. I also discovered, thanks to Noddy (all Pinky’s friends had odd names), the purpose of a part of the female body that I had seen in a picture in one of the books in Aunt Madge’s library, which was labelled ‘Clitoris’ but which seemed to be called anything but that by real people. Noddy had shown it to me with my ever-useful mirror and demonstrated what could be achieved with it. I was most surprised and gratified and must confess to not minding Noddy’s visits nearly so much as some of the others. He called it “th
e mount of pleasure”, and said it was “near the well-spring”, which itself was next “the valley of desire” so I supposed he had been to one of the universities.
However, the novelty of the ruined maid soon wore off on both sides and in any case I needed to make more money, more than was sufficient to live on, as when the baby came I would not be able to work and I would have to have money put by. So Doll engaged in street work, which was sheer drudgery and often disheartening as the men did not care about stories or playing parts but just used her in a doorway or an alley or some filthy room. Still, these had the advantage of being quick to accomplish, and Doll could do several a day, and all those shillings and sixpences added up.
And then I fell ill. To this day I do not know what was wrong with me, but I could not get out of bed for weeks together for fatigue. To cut a long and sorry episode short, though the landlord and landlady were very kind to me (I took care they never saw Doll), I had soon used up all my savings and by the time I was half-recovered I was worse off than I had ever been, and by this time I was great with child and even your citizen in search of a few moments of relief will baulk at a woman who looks likely to calve at any moment when there are plenty of skinny whores about. I had to face the fact that I was unable to earn the means to keep me alive, let alone a baby as well, and then I happened across something which fairly finished me off.
I had decided to take myself to the parish workhouse. Although these are not pleasant places at least one has somewhere to sleep and something to eat. It would give me a safe place to have the baby without incurring debts which I could not repay, which was the only other alternative, and would lead inexorably to the debtors’ prison, which would not be so easy a matter to leave. All I needed was a space in which to get through my confinement, and then when I was set on my feet again I could go back to the game and keep myself and the baby tolerably well. I decided that I would say my husband was a sailor and overseas, and then they would not be able to take my baby away, which was my main concern. In short, it was a desperate but necessary measure. And winter was coming.
I happened to approach the workhouse just as a detachment of women was coming out, escorted by their superintendents, I supposed to work in the watercress beds I had passed down the lane. They were a sorry sight indeed, their skin, hair and clothes all seemed a uniform grey and there was not one smile to share between them. And then I got a hard shock, as I thought I recognised a woman among them. And as I looked harder, I saw that it was my sister Grace, most sadly aged, and dead-seeming in the eyes. She looked at me, but did not see me. I made to call out to her, but, as in a dream, could make no sound with my mouth. And what, after all, would be the point? I could do nothing for her, and the sight of me in my desperate condition could only add to her distress.
Who knows what trials she had endured since running away from the House of Correction in Ware? What had brought her to London and then abandoned her here? And how desperate must she have been to end up back in a workhouse? And what had happened to her poor baby? Well that changed my purpose. I would not go into the workhouse, as however you went in, you all ended up like these grey people, the walking dead, I decided. I would rather be truly dead. And that was the direction in which my thoughts now turned.
Three days later I was on London Bridge with nothing to my name but the clothes on my back and a shawl in which were wrapped my paints, patches, looking glass and comb. I had decided to see the bridge before I died, and to choose a house for myself, that I might have lived in one day, if things had gone differently. Even in my utterly cast down state I experienced a kind of satisfaction from being on the bridge at last. It was not at all as I had imagined. I had thought the thoroughfare running down the middle would be broad and bright, like a wide street, but it was both narrow and dark, carts passing each other with some difficulty, and over-reaching upper storeys of the houses almost touched across the street, so it had more the feeling of a tunnel than a bridge. You could not even properly see Nonesuch House, the buildings were so close together, but as it spanned the entire width of the bridge traffic passed under it through a great arch. And then further on there was a space between the houses, where some washing was hanging up to dry on one side and just a pile of rubbish on the other. Here you could go right to the parapet and see all the way up the river. I did this and then crossed to the other side and looked downriver, imagining I could see all the way to the sea, which was most exhilarating, and then down at the water, which flowed especially fast between the pillars. Here there were places where the parapet was fallen down and I could stand right on the edge.
I looked about for stones and began filling my pockets with them. The advantage I had was that I could not swim, but I knew that people could naturally float so people intent on drowning themselves were wise to weigh themselves down. And then I considered my bundle, and how it might be useful to some poor whore, might indeed make the difference between eating and going to bed hungry, so I went back into the street and soon saw a painted lady, who on closer inspection proved little more than a slip of a girl.
“Here,” I said, holding out the bundle. “There are paints and things. You are welcome to them.” She looked at me uncomprehendingly but took the bundle just the same, and I went away.
My pockets were dragging me down something terrible and that and the weight of the child made me unconscionably tired. Still, my journey was nearly at an end, and my babe and I should soon have blissful rest together for ever. All I looked forward to was the relief death would bring, and not one more morning of waking up dreading how I would get through the day. I placed myself right on the edge of the bridge and closed my eyes and said a prayer. I prayed for my sisters, my aunt and my cousins. Though I knew what I was doing was sinful and that I would not go to Heaven I made a special prayer to Evelyn to be ready to meet my innocent baby if it went there, and look after it as I imagined she looked after our sister Belinda and brother Abraham that had died young. And then I realised that I should never now meet my mother. That thought put a stop to all others and an end to caring. Just nothingness would be a relief, so weary was I of life.
I was so tired and had not eaten for so long I believe I was a little delirious, and I seemed to feel the river pulling me downwards. I readied myself to jump forwards and did jump, but had the sensation of flying backwards and then remembered no more.
25
I thought I was back in my bed in my old room again at Cheapside, and Puss was licking my hand. It was a most pleasant sensation and I remember thinking that perhaps Heaven was my old room in Cheapside with Puss licking my hand, and the sensation of Evelyn being there, and me being ill and cared for and not having to do or say anything.
I awoke again, as I thought, and this time felt sure I was in Heaven, for out of the window I could see only open sky and the river and boats, so I must be in my dream house on the bridge. Yet Puss was still licking my hand and someone was moving about in the room and I had an impression of kindness. Perhaps Puss and Evelyn and everyone I loved could be in Heaven with me in my house on the bridge, I thought. And I drifted away again.
I seemed to be swimming in treacle, to be struggling to awaken, and each time I thought I had awoken, there seemed another pair of eyelids over mine, and I had to struggle to open those, and then there were more closed lids beyond, and it was a tremendous effort to open those, and yet it was still not light and all I knew was that Evelyn was dead and the sense of her being there had been a cruel fantasy.
Eventually the light came. It began as a dull square in the wall. Then it gradually brightened, and then I saw that it was a window and I really was in a bed in a room on the bridge. I looked about me. The room was small and sparsely furnished but tidy and clean, and there was a girl asleep on a chair under the window, and beside her was my bundle, and on the floor beside my bed lay Puss.
“Hello Puss!” I said, and he jumped up and licked my face to welcome me back and barked and barked so that the girl woke up.
“We’re old friends,” I said, fussing Puss. “And his name is Puss.”
“Puss?” shrieked Janey, as I soon discovered her name to be. “I ain’t having no dog called Puss. That’s a girl’s name!” she objected. And then she went off and returned with some broth for me and a bit of bread and as I was famished it was all gone in an instant.
“Blind me!” she said. “You’d better not have any more till that’s gone down a bit. Don’t want to make you sick.” She considered me for a moment, and then tended the fire, and then returned her attention to me.
“Now then. Where d’you live?” she demanded.
“Nowhere,” I said. “I left when I couldn’t pay for my room.”
“Alright. Who are your friends?”
“I have no friends.”
“Come on now,” chivvied Janey, “everyone’s got friends.” And when she saw that I did not, she said, “Family?” and I shook my head, and she said, “Really? No one at all?” and I shook my head again.
“Pfffff!” said Janey, which I was to learn was her regular expression of exasperation. “You’re in a right pickle ain’t you?”
I confessed that I was.
“Still, worse things happen at sea, eh?” and with a grin she took my bowl to fetch me more broth.
While she was gone, I stroked Puss’s ears and wondered what journey had brought him here, and whether he had escaped the house before or after it had been shut up. Still, it mattered little now. The miracle was that he had found me again.
“Right, missy,” said Janey, when she came in again. “While you was asleep I took the liberty of inviting a certain lady here who may be able to help you. I don’t say she will, mind, I just say she might.”
