Goodnight Lady (3 page)

‘You brought me this low, Paddy Cavanagh, and I allowed it. I tried to stand by you, with your drinking and your whoring. Never a full meal for any of the children. But this last act has finished you with me. My lovely Eileen sold to an old man! You sicken me. Sicken me to my stomach.’

Paddy picked up one of the sovereigns and walked from the room. As he opened the door a gust of icy wind blew in.

 

Eileen was lying in a big copper bath and Mrs Horlock was combing the lice from her hair. The smell of paraffin, sickly sweet, hung over them.

‘You’ve got lovely hair, child. Nice and thick. Once you get some meat inside you, it’ll shine. Like a raven’s wing, it is.’

She smiled a toothless smile and Eileen smiled tremulously back.

Mrs Horlock stood up. ‘You lie there now and Cissy will bring you in some more water to rinse yourself off. The scum in the bath is as thick as me four fingers.’

She walked from the room and went to the kitchen where she prepared a meal for the girl. She shook her head. Poor little mite. Still, Mr Dumas was a rich man, and in fairness not really a nasty one. Providing the girl did as she was told, everything would be fine, and she didn’t look like a fighter. Not like the last one. A red-headed bitch with a tongue that could cut glass, and a scream to match. It had taken a few good hidings from her father and a stern talking to from her mother to bring that one round, and by then Mr Dumas was fed up. The mother had finally taken her to Nellie Deakins and if she, Maria Horlock, knew anything about it, the little madam would soon wish she was back here. At least Mr Dumas would only bother her once a day. At Nellie Deakins’ she was guaranteed six or seven fellows, and not all as clean and kind as Mr Dumas. Once Nellie had got the big money for the actual breaking in, the girl was worthless to her. Unless she was very young, when Nellie would use the piece of linen and the chicken blood trick a few times.

Mrs Horlock shook her head at the skulduggery of Nellie Deakins. Well, at least that little red-headed bitch would get her comeuppance there. This one though, this Eileen, seemed an amenable little thing. When she had scrubbed the child’s body she had checked for tell-tale hairs around her privates but there was nothing, not even any raised follicles, so she wouldn’t get anything in that department for a while yet. And a few leading questions had ascertained she hadn’t started her periods just yet. Oh, Mr Dumas was going to get his money’s worth with this one. The tiny budding breasts were like little plump cherries. Hard little nodules, just the way he liked them. She’d fill out though, this one, be all breasts and hips in a few years. But by that time she should have learnt enough to keep her in good stead for the rest of her life. Plus Mr Dumas always gave the girls a decent leaving present. One young lass had walked out of here with fifty pounds in her pocket!

Eileen allowed Cissy to pour the water over her body, ridding it of the residue from the bath water. Then Cissy wrapped her in a large white towel and dried off her hair. Pulling a comb through it gently, she began chattering to Eileen.

‘Mr Dumas will insist you bathe every day. Me, I only have to once a week. You’ll have the run of the house, but you can’t go out without Mrs Horlock or one of the stable boys with you. That’s not ’cos you’re a prisoner or nothing, it’s in case you get robbed of your togs.’

‘What work will I be doing, Cissy?’

She bit her lip before answering. This one was greener than the grass in Barking Park.

‘Don’t you know, ducks?’

Eileen stared into the troubled brown eyes before her and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

‘You’re living here now, Miss Eileen, with Mr Dumas.’

Cissy threw in the ‘Miss Eileen’ bit because they usually liked that. It made them more amenable to their situation.

‘You mean, I’m living with Mr Dumas. What as? A kind of daughter?’ Eileen had heard of rich people buying children, but they were usually babies.

Cissy frowned. This one was definitely green. ‘Look, supposing you was to get married, right?’

Eileen nodded, unsure where this conversation was taking her.

‘Well, you’d have to sleep with your husband, wouldn’t you?’

Eileen nodded again. This time a feeling of panic was welling up inside her ribcage.

‘Well then, just pretend Mr Dumas is your husband, see. It’s simple really, and you’ll get used to it. They always do.’

Eileen began to shake her head.

‘No ... you’re telling me lies. My father wouldn’t do that to me.’

Cissy was losing patience now.

‘Listen, miss, if Mrs Horlock gets wind of what I’ve told you she’ll slap the pair of us from here to Timbuktu. Take my advice. Just keep your head down, open your legs and think of England. The last one we had who caused trouble was carted off to Nellie Deakins’ brothel, and believe me, you don’t want to end up there! The master’s paid for you fair and square, your dad’s already got the money and it’ll come in regular every week. If you’ve any brothers and sisters, then they’ll eat well. Look on it from that point of view and just remember what Cissy told you. Smile at the master and you’ll have everything you want. Cause trouble and you’ll regret it to the end of your days.’

Eileen allowed Cissy to dress her in a nightdress of white lawn and followed her meekly up the stairs and through the green baize door into the morning room. Mr Dumas stood up as she entered and smiled at her.

‘Come over here to the fire, my dear. That will be all, Cissy. Tell Mrs Horlock to bring up the food.’

Cissy bobbed a curtsy and, winking at Eileen, left the room.

Mr Dumas took Eileen’s hand and led her over to a large chair by the fire. She sat in it gingerly. The unaccustomed softness of the nightdress made her frightened in case she tore it. Mr Dumas took a small foot into his hand and knelt in front of her, kneading its coldness. Eileen watched him fearfully.

‘Your poor little feet are frozen, my dear. First thing in the morning Mrs Horlock is going to rig you out from head to toe. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

Eileen stared at the big man kneeling in front of her. His hands were now on her shins and she suppressed an urge to scream. Cissy’s threats of Nellie Deakins had had their desired effect, though. Everyone knew about Nellie Deakins’ house. Eileen wasn’t sure until tonight what actually went on in there, but she knew that once girls passed through the doors they were never seen again.

The man’s hands were now lifting up the nightdress and caressing her thighs. She had no drawers on and tried to squeeze her skinny legs together, but the man was parting them, gently but firmly, with his fingers. Eileen closed her eyes as his moustache began tickling her legs, its wetness roaming up her shins and along her thighs. He was lifting her off the chair now and on to the rug by the fire. She closed her eyes tightly as he began to undo the little bows on the front of the nightdress. As his cold hand enveloped one of her breasts she bit down on her lip, drawing blood.

Mrs Horlock walked into the room with a tray. Taking in the scene before her, she hastily left again, leaving the tray on the table in the hall. She smiled to herself. This one was more amenable than the last, praise God.

She was humming as she passed through the green baize door into the kitchen.

 

Eileen lay in a dream. Every bone in her body was aching, a fire raging between her legs. As the man pulled away from her she expelled her breath in a long sigh. She closed her eyes as he lay beside her and caressed her open body. She felt numbness invade her mind.

‘There, there, my beauty, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Now you’re busted, it’ll be easier for you in the future. I’m starving. Shall I get us something to eat?’

Eileen kept her eyes closed until he called in Mrs Horlock. The housekeeper said it had been a long day for the child and she needed her rest after all the excitement. Eileen walked from the room with the woman, feeling semen and blood running down her legs. She was tucked up into a nice soft bed, a compress of rags dipped in icewater between her legs.

Mrs Horlock spoke to her softly and kissed her sweating forehead.

Eileen didn’t sleep for three days. She never said a whole sentence to anyone for six months.

Her reign with Mr Dumas lasted one year.

‘Briony!’ Molly’s voice was harsh.

Briony, who had been sitting on the steps outside the door rushed into the room.

‘What’s wrong, Ma?’

‘Go and fetch the money from Mr Dumas.’ This was said through clenched teeth. Briony nodded and pulled on her boots. Molly watched her as she rushed from the room, a coldness settling on her heart. She would have to watch Briony.

She put the kettle on for a cup of tea and sighed. It was a year since Eileen had gone and the room looked a different place altogether. It now had two proper beds, with good feather mattresses. Two brightly coloured mats on the floor, and a table and chairs somehow squeezed in. The fire was always alight, there was plenty of food in the house - and all of it stuck in Molly’s throat like gall. She had saved enough to move them to a small house in Oxlow Lane, which would be a step up after this place, and still she wasn’t happy about it.

It was the way they got the money that tormented her, night after night. Her baby boy had been stillborn and Eileen, her lovely Eileen, who had been so full of life, so vibrant, was now a shadow of her old self. Withdrawn and moody, she visited once a fortnight, bedecked in her finery, her lovely face white and drawn. It was written there for all to see what Mr Dumas did to her. Eileen had been there a year and every day it broke her more.

Briony walked through the streets towards Mr Dumas’ house with a shiver of excitement. She loved going there. She loved the little garden, the lovely carpets and the sweet-smelling warmth. She made her way past The Bull in Dagenham and into Barking, hurrying. She normally stayed and had a bite with Eileen, and tonight she had a little plan. She smiled and waved at people as she went, a familiar figure in her large black boots, courtesy of Mr Dumas’ two pounds a week, and her long brick red coat, courtesy of Eileen. Her red hair had as usual sprung out of the ribbon and curled around her face and shoulders.

At just gone ten years old she was a tiny little thing. Her face was open, with milk white skin covered in freckles and green eyes that took in everything around her.

She skipped up the street that housed Eileen, her eyes taking in the lace curtains at the respectable windows, and the scrubbed doorsteps. No smelly children playing five stones out on these streets, no drunken brawling men. This was a beautiful place as far as Briony was concerned. Near to Barking Park, it exuded respectability. Briony walked up the pathway and knocked at the big green front door.

Cissy answered and Briony walked into the hallway.

‘Hiya, Cissy. How’s me sister?’ Briony slipped off her coat and gave it to the girl.

Cissy took the coat and laid it across her arm. ‘Not too good, Briony. I think she’s gonna get her monthly visitor soon.’

Briony frowned and nodded. As yet Eileen had not had her period, but it was due. Her breasts had grown and she had developed pubic hair. Mr Dumas was not bothering her much these days, and it pleased Eileen but bothered Briony. Because Briony knew, through the talkative Cissy, that once his girls reached adolescence Mr Dumas wanted shot, and then the two pounds a week would dry up. She bit her lip in consternation. If the money went, then so would the food, the new house in Oxlow Lane and the schooling.

She followed Cissy through to the morning room where Eileen was sitting in front of the fire with a tray of tea and scones. Cissy gave Briony a large wink and she nodded slightly then threw herself across the room into Eileen’s arms.

Her sister’s long black hair was tied back off her face. She smiled at Briony tremulously.

‘Sit yourself down and I’ll pour you a cuppa. Help yourself to the scones.’

Briony picked up a scone and placed the whole thing into her mouth, cramming it full. She surveyed Eileen as she chewed. Her hands were shaking as she poured the tea, and Briony felt a moment’s sorrow for her. She washed down the scone with a big sip of milk from the little jug and smiled at her sister.

‘You all right, our Eileen?’

Eileen nodded. She handed Briony the tea and then stared into the fire.

‘I’m not too bad. I keep getting a pain in me belly. I hope it’s me monthlies, Briony, I really do.’

She gulped at her tea and swore under her breath. It was steaming hot.

Eileen stared at her.

‘You shouldn’t swear, Briony, it’s not ladylike. Our mum would go mad if she heard you.’

Briony laughed. ‘Well, she won’t.’

Eileen laughed softly. She wished she was like her sister.

‘How’s Mr Dumas, Eileen?’

She sighed heavily, her hands fluttering nervously in her lap.

‘Oh he’s all right, I suppose.’

‘How’s the ... you know ... the other business going?’

‘Oh, Briony, it’s horrible. Honestly, how people can do that to one another... It’s disgusting!’

Briony raised her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation.

‘I don’t mean what’s it like! I mean, is he doing it to you very often?’

Eileen shook her head violently. ‘No, thank God.’

Briony screwed up her eyes and looked at her sister. ‘That’s good then.’

But it wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.

She heard the front door open and relaxed. Mr Dumas was here. Eileen stiffened in her chair and Briony winked at her.

‘Relax, our Eileen, worse things happen at sea!’

Eileen stared into the fire again and Briony had to stifle an urge to get out of her seat and shake her sister by the shoulders until her teeth rattled in her head. Eileen was helping all the family and shouldn’t make such a song and dance about it. That was Briony’s opinion. She could be doing a lot worse things for a lot worse money. She could be up in Aldgate, in Myrdle Street, working in a sweat shop fourteen hours a day. That would soon sort her out! Let her know what side her bread was buttered. Briony knew what she’d rather be doing.