A Wanton Tale (12 page)

Life on the streets was tough, Jim’s instincts were sharp and he kept clear of any toff taking more than a cursory interest in him. Some of the scenes he had witnessed should never have been seen by a child nor experienced by the young girls who were habitually exploited. He knew that men were interested in boys too, particularly young ones. But Jim was careful and street wise too. He didn’t like men touching him, he had seen all manner of perversions and skilfully steered clear of it. He was aware that some contact was more than a friendly gesture. A pat on the arm would sometimes become an unwanted caress. They were men with money and knew that starving children were easy prey. Nevertheless, Jim would run a mile. It was just as well he was fast on his feet.

His mother Lottie was a hard woman, deeply troubled by the squalor in which she lived. She always smelt of the fumes of her intoxication. By four o’clock, most days she had sunk a bottle of gin.

‘Don’t you come back here ‘til they’re all sold, do you hear me, a penny a pear and there’s two dozen, what does that make lad?’

‘Two shillin’ Ma.’ Jim stifled a stammer, he did feel nervous but that was no good at all, he had to be a man from a tender age.

‘Watch out for the coppers, they might give you a clip round the ear.’ His mother had shouted after him with a cynical chuckle. It was no wonder that the young boy felt that nobody cared about him.

‘The old bitch is drunk again, better sell all these or me life won’t be worth livin’ later.’

Jim left their squalid dwelling and headed for town. He would cheekily approach the businessmen of Dale Street and Old Hall Street. He would call, ‘Nice juicy pears to take home to your good ladies.’

He did love his father, even though he had shown no real interest in his children. Charlie had turned a blind eye to his wife’s drinking many moons ago. He was too busy thieving, playing cards and drinking with his cronies. He was hardly ever in the house.

Lottie Boyle took another sip of cheap gin from her chipped teacup whilst setting about the task of stirring the stew on the range. It was ‘blind scouse,’ a vegetable stew without the meat. It was her own fault that she couldn’t afford any meat but Lottie, being Lottie, blamed everyone else except the right person. She was hopeless at running a home.

She was deep in thought as she moodily stirred the dinner, it was burnt around the edges of the pot and she had almost boiled it to a pulp.

‘Don’t know who they think they are, them two miserable bitches.’ She was thinking aloud, referring to her twins who had already flown the nest. They had been lucky, they had found gainful employment with an elderly spinster in Princes Park. She had a big house and there was a lot to do, Rebecca and Vicky were glad to be working for the kind old dear. She was good to them and they worked hard in return. Their employer had two little spaniels and they enjoyed many a long walk in the lovely surroundings of Sefton Park. In time, they both had met and married tradesmen. ‘Lucky bitches.’ Thought Lottie resentfully.

Lottie was always living in hopes of a visit. Not because she missed them but she wanted the money they may bring her.

‘After all I’ve done for them, bringing them into the world, they’ve got ideas above their station, huh.’ Thought Lottie, sighing bitterly. It was an idle pipe dream if she expected them to come anywhere near her. ‘Think they’re too good for ‘round here now.’ Lottie thought the world owed her something because she had spent more than a decade bringing up children.

One of Jim’s friends was dawdling home from school, he had been approached by his teacher before he left for home. ‘Ask Jim’s mother why he was absent again.’

‘As if she didn’t know.’ He said to himself. ‘She knows they are poor and Jim would be out selling fruit.’ He was dreading going to number 10 Circus Street, it was a gloomy, depressing place.

It was a mystery why some of Jim’s sisters had suddenly left home and people were talking. Rumours were circulating that there was a ‘child snatcher’ in the neighbourhood. Jim’s school friend was afraid to go near the house, it had an aura of foreboding.

In 1886 the Boyle’s youngest daughter Jessie was five years old. Despite her tender years her recollection was vivid. She would never forget the day that Alice left the house with a wicked looking woman and was never seen again.

Her Ma and Pa, Charlie and Lottie, were out drinking in the George pub at the Pierhead. It was a rough pub often frequented by sailors and dock workers. Two other regulars were Freddie and Betsy Hale. Betsy and Lottie had been brought up in the same streets and regarded one another with mutual contempt. Lottie was a drunk, a broken woman who sold stolen goods. Betsy lived off immoral earnings. Both saw each other as low life, there was no honour between them.

Lottie’s drunken voice carried across the pub as she argued about money with her husband. Betsy’s sharp ears could hear every word she was saying from behind the screen of the snug, they sat back to back.

Betsy winked at Freddie with a wry smile on her lips. They waited for Charlie and Lottie to leave the alehouse. Freddie and Betsy finished their pitcher of ale, then stood up after giving each other a knowing look, he adjusted his cap as she fastened her cape. They walked through the dense blanket of exhaled smoke and left unnoticed into the cold, damp night.

‘I think I’ll pay Lottie a visit tomorrow, I have a proposal to make.’ Said Betsy, slyly to Freddie. ‘Her Alice must be about twelve.’

‘Mmm, reckon she must be.’ He mused.

Betsy headed off in the direction of Circus Street being careful where she stepped, as she walked through the filthy streets. There was no knocker on the Boyle’s front door and no number for that matter, ‘10’ had been crudely scrawled in chalk, on what was left of the paint.

Betsy already knew the house, Lottie Boyle’s prepubescent daughter hadn’t failed to attract her attention. Alice was out and about a lot more running errands now that her two older sisters had left home. She was tall for a twelve year old, unusual for a child from that area. Most were undernourished and very few of the men were taller than five foot seven.

The door of number 10 wasn’t immediately opened. It was eleven o’clock in the morning and Lottie was in. Her husband Charlie had gone to the docks looking for work. Alice was in charge of her younger siblings. Hearing the knock on the door she looked out of the parlour window. Through the dirty pane of cracked glass she could see it was a woman. She couldn’t see her face, because she was wearing a large hat. She felt it was safe to open the door to a woman.

‘Is your Ma there Alice? That is your name?’ Asked Betsy in a friendly voice, knowing full well the girl’s name.

‘She’s having a kip.’

‘Tell her it’s Betsy, I am a good friend of hers, I’d like to talk to your Ma, now.’ She said impatiently. She guessed that Lottie would be sleeping off the effects of the previous night’s drink and most probably this morning’s ‘hair of the dog.’

Alice was wary of the woman at the door, to her she looked ancient. She had lots of paint and powder on her face and her teeth were bad. She seemed to snarl as she spoke and Alice took an instant dislike to her. A shaft of weak April sunshine broke grudgingly down on the dismal street bringing golden highlights to Alice’s hair. She turned away and raced up the stairs to wake her mother. Betsy walked in boldly, glancing at the other children with disdain as she sniffed in disgust at the state of the place. It stunk of damp and stale cooking smells mixed in with body odour. Although she reeked of cheap perfume, the putrid smell of the Boyle’s hovel dominated the air.

‘It’s about time the lazy lie-in bitch was up and around.’ Thought Betsy contemptuously. She then turned to Alice. ‘Tell her I’ll be in the scullery, I want to see her on our own.’ Betsy shouted up the stairs after her.

‘What does that old bag want?’

‘Don’t know Ma?’

‘I better come down.’ Lottie was curious. Within minutes the two women were behind the closed door of the squalid scullery.

‘I know your fella’s been robbing off the docks, it’s common knowledge. Your bare foot brats have been seen by all and sundry, selling fruit and ‘veg’ all over town.’ Hissed Betsy, ‘
Robbed
off the docks!’ Her threat was hardly subtle.

Lottie sat down on the broken backed chair and began to sob. It was a cry that was all too common. She was depressed by the withdrawal effects of the liquor she had consumed the night before, her deteriorating health and her predicament. She had nowhere to turn and the burden of having seven children had worn her down. The Boyles were living from hand to mouth. Betsy was smiling but her eyes were hard and glistening.

‘I might be the lady to help you out Lottie Boyle, you know like a Fairy Godmother.’ Her tone was cynical.

‘A fiver for her, goldilocks out there, I can find her some gainful employment, take her off your hands. Then next year, I’ll take care of Rachel, and the year after, Ruby, I will look after them.’

Lottie looked down, feeling stripped of every shred of her pride.

‘My gentlemen are nice, some are well off too. You never know, they might find a rich husband, it has been known.’

She didn’t have to convince Lottie that she had no choice, she couldn’t see any other way out of this chaos. She knew quite well that Betsy was a brothel keeper. She was about to become a drunken accomplice by selling her daughter into a life of prostitution. Lottie could see no alternative and didn’t really care to find one. If Betsy reported Charlie to the authorities he would go to jail and would never get work again. The whole family would have to face the grim prospect of the workhouse.

Lottie held her head in her hands and sobbed like a woman in the depths of despair.

Betsy, was totally dispassionate as she pulled out a fiver from her dress pocket. The tawdry deal was done, Lottie Boyle had sold her own daughter for five pounds. It was either that or the workhouse, she knew of many who had gone in there and never came out. That evil, towering place on Brownlow Hill was foreboding, Lottie had conceded to blackmail.

With a rustle of her taffeta skirts, Betsy abruptly left. The children, peering round the door were unusually quiet.

Betsy Hale was indeed an evil woman and the children’s own mother was equally bad. There was no thought for morality in her sea of despair, she felt there was no way out.

In the comfort of Aunty Margaret’s kitchen in 1900, Jim stared into the glowing embers of the range thinking bitterly about his long dead mother. She had been a flawed character. She was selfish and had failed to protect her children. He had mixed feelings about her which could turn from pity to loathing in seconds.

A victim of circumstances, Lottie had succumbed to the likes of Betsy. Jim’s thoughts were disturbed, he was still troubled by the indomitable figure of Betsy.

He feared for Florrie and now he had Sophie to worry about. ‘Worse still.’ Thought Jim, ‘Betsy was still at large plying her evil trade but maybe, Sophie had come to wreak some retribution.

Although Sophie was hearing a sad tale, she was keen to learn more. She went quiet as she reflected on the shocking story she had heard.

‘Sophie, to understand more, it is important that you hear the whole story of Alice.’ Said Aunty Margaret.

‘Yes.’ Said Jim, ‘Maybe it will help us all make sense of why you are here.’

L
ottie felt some relief when she returned to her house after seeing her sister Margaret. Jessie was tearful at first when she was told that she would be going to live with her Aunty Margaret. She had only been to her Aunty’s a couple of times, she remembered her comfortable house and thought that she was a kind lady. Although she would miss her siblings, especially Jim, she wasn’t sorry to be leaving neither the house nor her mother but, nevertheless, the thought of such a change upset her.

Jessie’s dislike, almost hatred of her mother was because of the effects of her drinking on their life. She had overheard the grown-ups talk about Alice. The drink loosened Lottie’s tongue. She had carelessly let something slip which had sparked all the spurious gossip that her older sister had been sold by her mother.

Alice’s leaving had been shrouded in secrecy. Although Jessie was only six, she was exposed to the harsh realities of life in her squalid community. She’d heard that bad men would pay money to harm young girls. This conjured up fear in her mind and that of her sisters, Rachel and Ruby. She didn’t understand what men did to them but she knew it was bad.

Recently, there had been an air of despondency in the house. Jessie had heard the terrible rows between her parents and knew that her father was going to be sent to jail. In some ways she thought that it maybe a blessing. The violence had often sent all four of them running for refuge to the lady across the street. Spiteful, older children in the neighbourhood had told them about the Workhouse. They had told them what it entailed and just the thought of it made all of them shudder with fear and dread.

Jim was forlorn when he learnt that Jessie was leaving. He knew he would hardly see her again when she went to Everton. To Jim, it seemed so far away and worlds apart from Circus Street.

‘Can I go with her Ma?’ He sobbed, as he clung to Jessie.

‘No.’ Was Lottie’s curt reply, ‘No you can’t, Aunty Margaret can only take one of yous.’

Betsy was brooding in the parlour, a third glass of gin in her hand. She was deep in thought about two things.

The loss of business caused by Lily opening her own bordello and more worringly, the news that Alice was missing.

She had threatened the other ‘trollops’, as she called them, but she had an idea they would help Lily to steal her clients. She was sure that they too, would eventually leave her.

It was Alice’s disappearance that concerned her. It wasn’t Alice’s absence that bothered Betsy it was the harm she might cause if she was to tell anyone of her experiences in her bordello.

She was paranoid that Alice was doing her harm. She envisaged that she was out in the town somewhere and might be loose with her tongue. She had read it in Alice’s eyes, that unforgiving look, bordering on hatred. Betsy knew that Alice had never got over her ordeal at the hands of Maurice.