Lady Lightfingers (8 page)

Celia had the door open in a moment and they were soon inside, bolting it securely behind them. A boot to the rotten wood would soon gain somebody entrance if they tried hard enough.

‘Wait there, Ma, I'll put a match to the candle.'

A light bloomed in the darkness, reminding her of a beautiful golden tulip that had once grown in her father's garden. He'd paid a fortune for a variety of the bulbs, she remembered, but the yellow one had always been Alice's favourite. She wished she were there now, in that solid and secure old house that she'd grown up in. Perhaps her family had forgiven her after all these years, and would give herself and the children shelter.

Unhappiness engulfed Alice and she began to cry, giving big, heaving sobs at the thought of all that had been lost to her.

‘Don't cry, Ma,' Celia said softly. ‘I was so proud of you, especially when you played the piano, just like a real lady.'

‘It was a lovely afternoon and Mr Hambert and his nephew were such good company. It reminded me of my home, when I was not much older than you and I didn't have a care in the world. I hate coming back here to this stinking hovel. It's sapping the life from me, and it will do the same to you and Lottie.'

‘Hush, Ma. At least we're out of the rain, which is more than a lot of people have got. We must be thankful for that. Here, take that wet cape off. We'll have a warm blanket to sleep under tonight.'

‘That was a kind and generous gesture. Mr Hambert lied about them being worn out. He just felt sorry for us.'

Celia kissed her cheek. ‘Don't you feel sorry for us, too. I'll settle Lottie down, while you get rid of your wet clothes.'

‘I've got a trouser seam to finished before I go to bed.'

‘And I want to finish my story, so we'll be company for one another. Afterwards, I'll put the food safely away before it attracts the rats. When I've finished that I'll have your bed rolled out and ready. We'll sleep warm tonight.'

They spent an hour at their tasks, but it was cold and their hands became numb before they finished.

As was usual, Lottie had fallen asleep almost instantly, snuggled under the cosy blanket. Celia was looking forward to joining her there before too long.

Turning to the battered lead-lined box that served as a pantry, Celia busied herself, unpacking the basket. ‘Who would have thought it?' she said a little later. ‘That superior housekeeper of his has put a small bag of tea in the basket, enough for a decent cup or two. And there's some boiled eggs and half a loaf of bread. You didn't eat much for tea, would you like an egg now with some of the bread?'

Alice bit through the thread and placed her work neatly over a chair. ‘I'm not hungry.' Alice knew that she'd choke on it. She was finding it hard to breathe after their dash through the alleys and she leaned her head on her arms, trying not to panic. If she concentrated on each breath the tightness would soon go away. But it felt as though there was pressure on her chest and it wouldn't allow air in. She began to cough, and tasted blood. She placed a rag to her mouth, muffling the sound.

Celia said when the bout of coughing subsided, ‘Ma, are you ill?'

‘It's nothing, Celia. The damp has got at me.'

Her daughter wouldn't be fooled. ‘I'll ask the doctor to come and see you tomorrow.'

‘We haven't got the money to pay him.'

‘Yes we have. You've got that money Mr Hambert gave you in case the cab fare was extra.'

‘You don't miss much, do you? I want that for the rent. Besides, I don't need a doctor to tell me that damp weather makes me cough. Neither do I need you telling me what I should do. Now, finish what you're doing then get yourself off to bed.'

‘Yes, Ma.'

Ten minutes later Celia said from behind the curtain, ‘I love you, Ma. One day, when I'm rich and famous – though I can't make up my mind between becoming a writer or an actress – I'm going to buy you a piano and the most entrancing gown made of blue satin and lace to wear while you're seated at it.'

Alice smiled into the darkness. She'd once had the same dream herself, only the gown she'd dreamed of had been a dark rose and she'd worn pearls in her hair. Still, a blue gown would do nicely.

Alice went out early the next morning, taking the finished trousers to the tailor. Her work earned her three shillings.

‘There will be no more work for the time being, Mrs Laws. I'll send the lad out with some next week for you.'

‘I'll be grateful to have it. Do you think you could pay me a little more, Mr Goldstein?'

The man spread his hands. ‘Times are hard, Mrs Laws. If I sent you some extra trousers, could you work a little faster perhaps?'

‘Impossible.' Her eyes were nearly dropping out of her head with fatigue already. She jiggled the ring in her pocket, the one she'd taken from behind the brick when Celia hadn't been looking. It was a risk, but she'd have to sell it.

Alice wasn't aware of anything amiss as she wandered from one dingy pawn shop to the next, though she'd probably get a better deal from a jeweller, she thought.

She was aware that somebody had overtaken her and had disappeared into an alley, but didn't take that much notice until she was grabbed from behind and dragged behind a cart. Something thudded against the base of her skull and her knees turned to jelly. The last thing she saw as she fell was a flash of red.

‘I found it,' the lad said to the jeweller a short time later.

The man examined it then he smiled. ‘Ah yes, I know of this ring. There's a reward offered for it.'

‘How much?' the lad said eagerly, but the jeweller just put a whistle to his mouth and blew it.

The doorway was blocked by a shadow and a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. ‘There's no reward in it for you, lad. The ring was stolen. You're going in front of the magistrate.'

He protested, ‘I didn't steal it. I took it from one of Bessie's whores, just a minute ago. She came from the tailor shop a little way back. I think she sews for him in her time off.'

Taken by the collar he was pushed along in front of the man. ‘Then let's question this whore. Point her out to me, lad.'

‘She's in that alley over there.'

When the man shook the woman she flopped about and blood oozed from the back of her skull.

‘I only gave her a little tap, honest. She must be drunk,' the lad said uneasily.

The man looked up at him. ‘She looks dead to me. You'll probably swing for this, lad.'

Colour fled from his face. ‘But I didn't steal the ring. She must've lifted it in the first place, and I just took it from her. I took money from her as well, that she earned sewing for the tailor. It's in my pocket.'

‘What do you call that, if it's not stealing?'

He said in desperation, ‘You can have the ring and the money if you let me go. I didn't kill her and it was only a little tap. She was drunk, I tell you. I expect she banged her head on the wall when she fell. She's only a whore, and nobody will miss her.'

The lad was taken away in a covered cart with bars on, still protesting his innocence. Alice Laws' body followed on another cart.

‘She was one of my best seamstresses, and a decent and honest woman,' the tailor told the constable when he enquired, and he spread his hands. ‘She was a good woman who was down on her luck.'

‘Does she have any kin to inform?'

‘Mrs Laws has two daughters. My lad will show you where they live.'

Five

Alice was buried in Potter's Field, along with other impoverished victims of crime.

Dry-eyed, because she'd exhausted every tear she'd produced for the previous two days, Celia, with Lottie astride her hip, followed after the coffin cart.

Lottie had asked for her mother several times, but was uncomprehending when Celia told her she was dead and wouldn't be coming back. Celia hoped that, as long as she was kept comfortable, and fed, Lottie would soon begin to forget their mother – which was more than she'd be afforded the comfort of doing.

It was a grey dismal morning; the river, and the bridge over it were embraced by the clinging, ghostly blanket of fog still lingering from the previous night. Stripped of leaves, the phantom branches of the trees reached out bony crooked fingers that clawed the grey blanket to them. Ravens circled over the cemetery, cawing harshly.

The roughly made burial boxes were lowered into the grave one on top of the other, the earth shovelled over. Celia didn't know which one held her mother.

One of the gravediggers offered her a sympathetic look. ‘Someone you know in there, lass?'

‘It's our mother. Somebody hit her on the head and she died. She was gentle and kind, and would never have hurt anybody.'

The man removed his hat. ‘Would you like me to say a prayer for her soul seeing as how you've taken the trouble to come and see her off?'

Celia, who'd been going to say her own prayer for her mother, nodded.

‘What's your mother's name, lass?'

‘Alice Laws.'

‘Bert, take your cap off,' he said to the younger man, and they all bowed their heads.

‘Amen,' they all said together.

Celia was touched that a stranger would be so thoughtful. She remembered her manners. ‘It was kind of you to say a prayer. It was a lovely prayer and my mother would have liked it. I'm sorry you lost your wife.'

The man shuffled his feet and said gruffly, ‘Mary left some time ago, when Bert was just a lad. As for the prayer, I knew you needed one as soon as I saw you, for you look like little lost lambs. It took no effort since it came from inside my heart. A soul that's loved should be sent off right, so the Lord will notice it and give it special attention.'

‘Pa wanted to be a preacher,' Bert said proudly.

‘He would make a good one,' she said.

‘Likely you girls should go home now. You're young and your place is with the living, not with the dead.'

‘I want to stay just a little bit longer.'

‘Happens you've got something private to say to your ma then, so we'll leave you with it, lass. Come on, Bert, let's get ourselves home.'

When it came down to it Celia couldn't think of one thing to say that hadn't already been said when her mother was still alive. Still, she hoped the little she did say would reassure her.

‘Goodbye, Ma. I love you. I'll look after Lottie, and I'll take her to your sisters' house, like you asked. They might give us a home. But first I'll have to earn some money for the journey, and I'll have to take Lottie with me while I'm earning it.' She gazed down at her sister. ‘Is that all right with you, Lottie?'

Lottie smiled up at her and nodded. ‘Lottie wanna wee,' she said.

Earning enough to keep herself and Lottie alive without her mother's input was hard enough. Earning enough to take the train to the country was impossible.

For a week, Celia moped, feeling lost and alone without her mother. They lived off the food they'd brought home from Thomas Hambert's house and swallowed the last stale morsels. When her stomach began to rattle and Lottie whimpered with hunger and cried out for her mama, Celia realized that she was being selfish by thinking only of her own feelings, and if they were to survive she'd best stop mourning for what had passed and concentrate on the present.

She took to dipping again, using Lottie as a distraction. And she taught the girl how to cup her hands and smile at people as she held them out. Nevertheless, Lottie slowed Celia down, and she couldn't take her out in bad weather in case she caught an infection and became ill. She was aware, too, that together they were unprotected, because she couldn't run fast with Lottie on her hip if someone decided to follow or attack them.

Yet the inevitable happened. One day, when she hadn't been vigilant enough, and was wearily unlocking the door, someone pushed her through it and followed her in – a woman.

Celia grabbed a blunt knife up off the table. ‘Get out!'

‘Oh, you wouldn't want to use that, my dear, especially with the child getting in the way. Besides, all I have to do is shout and my man will come in.'

A quick glance showed a muscular back blocking the doorway. The woman pushed the knife aside, calmly seated herself and took Lottie on to her lap. ‘My name is Bessie Jones. I have a proposition to put to you, my dear. A young, handsome gentleman has taken a fancy to you. He's offered one hundred pounds for your services for a week.'

One hundred pounds!
Celia found it difficult to breathe. She could barely imagine such an amount. ‘Services . . . what do you mean? Does he need a maid?'

Hard brown eyes came up to hers. ‘Don't act stupid. You know exactly what I mean, girl. Tell me . . . are you still intact?'

Celia's face flamed red and she stuttered, ‘Of course I am.'

‘Good, then we can charge him more for being the first. Men like to think they're the first.'

‘No . . . I promised my mother—'

‘Your mother did some whoring when she needed to. She worked in my establishment on a regular basis, two days a week, sometimes three if she had the mind to. I promised her only the best gentlemen . . . she was fussy who she went with, you see. They had to be clean. I approached her about this gentleman with regards to you. She said she'd think it over.'