A Wanton Tale (16 page)

The only two people in the public gallery were Betsy and Lottie who were sitting as far apart from one another as they could. Neither of the defendants had a friend in the world. Both men knew that when you were in this sort of trouble all your fair weather friends would desert you, just like rats from a sinking ship.

Lottie had been given her final warning by the judge, she had been heckling from the public gallery. She was begging for leniency for Charlie. She had pleaded for the sake of her three children and the judge was running out of patience.

Freddie had seen him red cheeked before, he had enjoyed seeing his spanking spectacle. He recalled the times that Lily would whack his bare bottom in the front room. The landing spy hole had been crudely concealed with a picture. He would stand there looking, when of course, there was no one else around. He had seen this man at the mercy of a whore’s whip, at her whim he was naked and being caned. Many times he had left their brothel with a reddened, sore backside, hardly able to sit down in his carriage.

The judge was a different man today, his angular features were sharper and sterner than ever. His eyebrows were prominent as he was staring across the gloomy, dark panelled court room at Freddie. He was afraid of what was being written by the magistrates who sat either side of him. Their quill pens were scratching furiously. The two men had pleaded guilty.

Today, the judge’s role was reversed. He was now sitting in this elevated position, the ‘high and mighty’ judge was now so powerful. He could ruin him within seconds of wielding his gavel. Freddie was frightened. Judge Cuthbert Rees had the power to destroy him. He had never felt so small and vulnerable and wasn’t sure that this would go in his favour. In fact it didn’t appear to be going very well at all.

‘Mr. Hale, you, as the receiver of stolen goods, the said three bottles of gin, indirectly encouraged the thief.’ His penetrating eyes shot a look towards Charlie as though he were fit to burn. ‘If it was not for handlers there would be fewer thefts, there would not be so many thieves if there were no receivers.’ Beads of sweat began to appear on Freddie’s brow. This was not the outcome he had envisaged.

The judge carefully avoided any eye contact with the woman who stood to the left of the public gallery. Even if he had not recognised her, her profession was all too obvious. She was undoubtedly a whore house madam, her style of dress was a tell tale sign. Today, she looked calm almost dignified. The judge had every faith in her that she wouldn’t have an outburst, unlike the woman she shared a bench with.

‘Please, Your Honour, have mercy on my Charlie, he’s never done anything before, I’m sick and I have children!’ Pleaded Lottie. The blustery judge was not prepared to tolerate any more of her behaviour, he had ran out of patience. With force he banged down his gavel three times.

‘I have warned you before, Mrs. Boyle.’

‘Please!’

‘Silence in court, remove this woman at once, take her down!’ He spluttered, his face was red with anger. Within moments she was flanked by two policemen and was marched out of the court, crying and wailing on the way.

Lottie was thrown in the cells where she collapsed on the stone floor. She cut a pathetic figure and looked just like a bundle of rags, she was holding her stomach, crying out in pain. She was menstruating and needed some poorly cloths, when the policeman came in, he immediately thought she was ill.

‘Take the poor woman to hospital.’ He said as he shook his head, he felt genuinely sorry for her, even though she was the wife of a criminal.

Soon she was taken to the Royal Infirmary. ‘Best place for her.’ Said his colleague with a sigh of relief. They had more than enough to do without a sick woman screaming in the cells.

Meanwhile, in the court room, the judge continued his summing up. He was addressing Freddie.

‘I have listened to the evidence. You received stolen goods and had conspired to receive them. You had knowledge and belief that they were stolen. The clandestine meeting with your co-accused, a man you know full well to be an out of work docker, in the early hours of the morning leaves me in no doubt of your guilt. Therefore, you were not blind to the circumstances of your purchase.’

‘You have both pleaded guilty and this I will take into consideration. Frederick Reginald Hale, you are indeed guilty as charged and the sentence of this court is one year in prison.’ He continued, ‘Charles Henry Boyle, you are a common thief and your recklessness for selling these items in a dark city doorway for a fraction of their true value makes you equally culpable.’

The judge paused as he was interrupted by the magistrate to the right. There was a brief moment of whispering and deliberation. ‘The same goes for you, one year in prison.’

Again, the judge paused, ‘I haven’t finished yet, I have taken into account your circumstances. I also order that your children are taken from your wife and will be cared for by Dr. Barnardo Homes. Your wife is clearly unfit to look after them and judging by her outbursts in this court I conclude that she is over emotional and extremely unstable. I therefore order that she shall undergo treatment in a mental institution. She shall be taken to Rainhill Asylum to receive such treatment.’

Betsy gasped in disbelief. ‘How would she get her hands on Rachel and Ruby now? She would have to work fast. As for Freddie, ‘He could languish in hell!’

She had heard about Thomas Barnardo, the founder of this children’s charity. He stood up for the most vulnerable children. He set up the Ragged School in 1867 and rescued children sleeping in the street who were forced to beg for food. Betsy knew that there was help for such children, no child would be turned away by Dr. Barnardo. Time was of the essence for Betsy, she then rushed out of the Court in a lather, she was determined to find the girls.

Meanwhile in Circus Street, Lottie’s children were hungry, they were huddled together and sitting on the doorstep. Their bellies were aching with the pangs of hunger, making them feel even more frightened. They knew something bad was happening to their father. The girls understood the meaning of being sent to jail. Even worse, they were locked out of their home and their mother was no longer there.

The prisoners were taken down in irons. They had both got off lightly, particularly Freddie, the tariff for his misdemeanour could have been up to twenty years! The two men, who had in the past been partners in crime and useful to one another, now harboured a mutual hatred. Charlie felt safe in the knowledge that his children would be taken in by Barnado’s and as for Lottie he thought that the ‘Nut House’ was the best place for her.

Sophie felt safe with the rest of the children, the atmosphere was convivial and warm.

Larry spoke intently to her. ‘It is now 1887. You know what your mission is, two girls desperately need help. Be brave and show them the way to me. If you have lost us, just listen and you will hear my voice calling you. Go now, you must bring them to me, I can only help them if they join this troupe. There will be three but the boy won’t come, take a good look at the boy and remember him.’

Sophie stepped out and watched them go up the street and turn at the top. It was suddenly quiet, the street had returned to normal. No music, no acts, no laughter, they had all gone.

She was distraught to see that, in fact, this was not a normal ordinary street, it was far worse than that, it was ugly. There was an acrid stench of effluent, the houses were flat fronted, some of the windows were broken, from which ragged curtains hung. The broken squares of glass had just been patched up with board. The houses were in a rundown state with green slime running down the walls through years of damp and neglect. All of the dwellings had roof slates missing.

Sophie felt frightened and out of place. She was concerned for the people who had to live in these terrible conditions. She was anxious to rescue the girls. Instinctively, she was drawn to the house. There were women standing at their doors with their arms folded, gossiping at the same time noticing the well dressed girl. All had hair parted in the middle, dragged back into tight buns. They all wore black clothes with shawls around their shoulders, she noticed that many of them had holes in their dresses and soles coming away from their boots.

Sophie nervously walked a little way and was soon standing in front of number 10. The three children were sitting on the steps. They looked wary.

‘Are you all alone?’ Asked Sophie.

‘Our Ma and Pa are in trouble and we don’t think they are coming back.’ The younger girl, Ruby, spoke tearfully. ‘The lady across the street, called Sally, has always been there for us. She has gone out. If Sally had been here we would know what to do.’

Sophie was taken aback by the girls’ prettiness, they looked like Alice except they were very thin and shoddily dressed. The small boy, looked strangely familiar. She didn’t immediately realise that the boy must be a younger Jim. She had no time to think too deeply. She had been instructed to save the girls, it didn’t matter about the boy but she hadn’t been told why. ‘Why not all three?’ Thought Sophie. ‘And from what?’

The three angelic faces before her eyed her with suspicion. She smiled back at them, her voice was gentle. ‘Come with me, you must hurry, you are in danger, your mother and father are not coming back.’ She stretched out her hands towards the children, still huddled together on the step as though they were one.

The boy was, suddenly, defensive and stood up. ‘NO, NO!’ He shouted and ran away.

He skilfully dodged passed her and darted down the street as fast as his feet could carry him. He ran across the street, then through an alleyway leading to the court dwellings, leaving Sophie looking at the two girls urgently.

They seemed to consider their next move. Apparently decided, as they stood up, Ruby took hold of Sophie’s outstretched hand. Her fingers were trembling. Timidly, the older girl took her other hand. All three began walking to the top of the street. The drably dressed women in the doorways looked on, but said nothing. Previously, they had shown little concern for the girls and today was no exception.

Sophie could feel the presence of Larry’s entity coming nearer. She could feel good energy, now running through every fibre of her body, a sense of warmth was embracing her. Then she heard the music and laughter.

Sophie looked at her two charges as they neared the troupe. They were no longer frightened, their forlorn faces broke into smiles. Their filthy house and the dirty streets were fading behind them as was the drone of the gossiping women.

For the very first time in their young and miserable lives they were smiling. Sophie heard the familiar voice of Larry and watched the girls stare at him with wonder on their faces. They were safe.

T
he Royal Liverpool Infirmary was a dark and dismal place. Lottie could smell illness and death as soon as she arrived in the austere and cavernous entrance hall. She was still crying and was highly distressed. The two policemen, who had escorted her handed over the papers from the court to the matron in charge. They then hastily left, having done their duty, they had no desire to stay there any longer than was necessary.

The matron eyed Lottie with disdain, her immediate impression was that she must be an ageing street walker. Two young nurses quickly came over to help the new patient. Their starched white uniforms and smartness were an intimidating presence. Lottie looked and felt dirty, she was both dishevelled and frightened.

‘Get her in the bath and give her something to eat and drink.’ The matron didn’t even look at the patient, it was as though she wasn’t there. Lottie felt worthless and even more so when she overheard the nurses talking. They were whispering to each other but she could hear every word.

‘Some women don’t know how to look after themselves, disgusting.’ She heard one say. ‘At her age an’ all, as though we haven’t got enough to do with really sick people without having the likes of her in here.’ The matron read the papers from the court and shook her head. ‘She’s not physically sick.’

Lottie was staring wildly into space, hardly noticing the other patients. Their cries of pain and suffering were stifled by her own disturbed thoughts. She felt as though she wasn’t really there, as though she was an outsider, an observer, not in the reality of her situation. Within an hour she was seen by a psychiatrist. She was propped up in the bed in the corner of the high ceilinged ward, now wearing a clean night dress. Lottie had no idea that she would be seeing a psychiatrist, nothing was explained to her.

Lottie had no idea what a psychiatrist was. She had no control over the situation she was in, everything was just happening around her. She was weak and meekly relinquished all decisions about her life to the care of others.

The tall balding man wore spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He was wearing a white coat and was a frightening figure before her. His voice was harsh and patronising. He had come across women ‘like her’ on many occasions. He considered women the weaker sex, believed them to be more susceptible to emotional breakdowns and mental illness.

‘I see she is in her late thirties, nurse.’ He remarked. The nurse was slightly intimidated by his presence. Her professional demeanour never betrayed her inner feelings. This man had the same effect on all of the nurses, he was an ogre. At all times they conveyed to the doctor an air of confidence. He asked Lottie several pertinent questions, hardly making eye contact, he continued writing. With a flourish of his hand he wrote the word ‘Hysteria’ on her notes in large letters.

He believed that women were synonymous with madness. ‘This one was living proof that they were deemed to be emotional and unstable.’ Thought the doctor dismissively, ‘Mmm, classic symptoms, prone to emotional outbursts.’ He spoke down his nose.

Bed rest was recommended, seclusion, bland food. He then arrogantly added, ‘And refrain from mental activities such as reading.’ The poor woman could barely write her name, never mind read. The nurses rightly suspected that she was an alcoholic, her gin gut was a tell-tale sign. Her mournful face, before them, did nothing to inspire any sympathy. It was established that she would be sent to Rainhill. The solitary confinement she was about to face in the Asylum would sadly drive her to further insanity.