A Wanton Tale (7 page)

They came down one behind the other, Rachel now twelve, (the girl she had designs on) Ruby, eleven and young Jessie was only six. They were all fair haired and pretty, even in the tumultuous state of Betsy’s mind, the sight of the three of them prompted a smile.

Her original idea was to see Lottie about Rachel. She wanted to see Charlie to find out the truth about this morning. Unfortunately, for Betsy, her plans had been scuppered. Even she didn’t have the nerve to go near the house that day. She glanced up at the slightly open door, she could hear a terrible row in progress.

The three young daughters of the warring couple had ran into a neighbour’s house. They often sought refuge when things got out of hand with their parents, especially when Lottie had been drinking more than usual. The neighbour, who was a kind pensioner’s widow, often took them in and gave them a hot drink. If they were lucky she would give them a bowl of thin soup and a piece of bread.

Betsy then spotted four year old Jim playing up the street with some of his bare foot friends. There was a girl who was now always with them, her name was Florrie. Betsy murmured to herself, ‘One day she will be of interest.’

Betsy arrived back at the house in Duke Street. She was worn out with the walk and coughing, her painful corns had been playing up too. She took off her shoes and threw them down in the lobby. She had a strong inkling that Freddie would be in the parlour drinking. She could read him like a book and she knew full well that he wouldn’t crack on about the lumber he’d got himself into. Much to the annoyance of Betsy, Freddie was sprawled out on her chaise longue, still wearing his boots.

‘Where’ve you been since five o’clock in the morning?’ Asked Betsy calmly.

‘Nowhere.’

‘Nowhere? You stupid sod, I know you have been lifted for buying stolen goods off Charlie Boyle. Your brain is addled with drink and that muck you smoke. You’ve been careless. Someone has seen you, probably jealous and reported you or the coppers have been watching you for some time.’

‘Shut up you stupid old cunt.’ Said Freddie through gritted teeth as he stifled a hiccup.

‘Don’t you call me a cunt.’

‘You are a cunt.’ Freddie stayed on the chaise longue clutching his glass.

A shaft of sunlight made her jet earrings and choker glisten, although not as much as the burning black coals of her eyes.

‘When are you up before the beak then?’ Asked Betsy harshly.

‘Next week, it will be an open and shut case though, so don’t worry your crabby old head about it, guess who’s sitting as ‘Stipe’ at Dale Street ‘Mags.’’ Freddie’s smirk was smug and devious.

‘I expect you mean the judge who likes having his arse whipped.’

‘Ha, ha, ha, ha.’ Freddie threw back his head and laughed a wicked laugh, although Betsy detected that his laugh was slightly forced.

Freddie had met up with Charlie Boyle in the early hours of that morning. Their shadowy figures were huddled in a doorway as the street grew blue with the coming light. The choking smoke belched out from thousands of chimneys covering the town. At that hour, the town rooftops stood out against the grey sky with the sharpness of outline that is only seen in Liverpool.

This spot was chosen so they could blend with the homeless and destitute who were huddled together in the litter of St John’s Market. Poor wretched men and women stood around shivering in the little clothing they wore. Although it was summer, their attire was not adequate. On one doorstep there was a crouching, shoeless child. A day’s begging hadn’t brought enough to purchase a penny night’s lodging.

Charlie had a bag slung over his shoulder, it was clanking with several bottles of fine wines and spirits stolen from the docks. By now he was deep in conversation with Freddie. Charlie’s rent was due and with four children and a wife to feed, he was now desperate to sell his ill gotten wares. They had met here many times before and it had been safe. Oblivious beggars were crouched near the coke fire, they were dozing by their feet and looked like bundles of rags.

Amidst a ragged crowd who were now grouped around a glowing coke fire was a watching policeman. The gas streaming from a tall pipe, in a flag of flame gave him perfect cover.

It had been just another night of debauched carryings on and criminality. In the early hours of that morning when Charlie and Freddie had been arrested in the town. The pair of them were becoming a little careless and had failed to notice the law man staring at them intently, now slowly walking towards them.

The policeman already knew them. Charlie, from his beat around London Road which covered where he lived in Circus Street and Freddie was a familiar face around town. Unfortunately, for Freddie he was not the copper to whom Betsy had slipped a few bob in return for turning a blind eye to her bawdy house.

Charlie and Freddie were charged with handling stolen goods, it was the end of the world for Charlie. They both spent the next few hours languishing in rat invested Cheapside and for the very first time in his life he feared for his family. Surely, this will land them in the workhouse.

Until now, they had both been crafty. Charlie had been involved in running criminal clubs for many years, handling and selling stolen goods whether they were from the docks or the town shops. He wasn’t fussy and would go to extraordinary lengths to run his underground ‘business.’ He had even put his four year old son Jim at risk to carry out his trade so effectively. He knew a nearby yard seller who traded in scrap metal and whose building led from one street to another. The buildings were connected in such a manner that the task for the police in catching them was a virtual impossibility.

The notorious Court dwellings were joined by a labyrinth of cellars, two foot holes were made through the walls. A small, underweight boy like Jim could climb through them carrying all manner of booty and with no trouble at all.

Almost all of the residents earned money by theft. Those that didn’t, minded their own business. Bottles from the docks were sold to shady liquor shops and public houses for a fraction of their value. Vegetables were sold openly on the streets and anything stolen from a posh house would be ‘fenced’ in the city pubs.

Charlie was amazed at how wiry and strong his little lad had become, knowing full well that he was not feeding him properly nor treating him right at home. The greasy bed and damp housing offered little comfort, but incredibly the boy was fit. Charlie boasted, ‘He is as fit as a flea.’ He had a few flea bites too, as well as bug bites so it was surprising he was well at all.

No one was stupid enough to keep their goods in their homes. The ‘rat runs,’ as they were called, through the cellars were a perfect place to store stolen property and also a means of escape. Charlie didn’t care that his son would mix with dangerous characters. He would creep on his hands and knees through the cruel darkness of the underground. Several houses were connected in this way, and some had communication from one back window to another. Charlie’s was one of them.

The madams from the ‘gay’ houses, the brothels, bought gin and brandy, it was of the finest quality, stolen from the docks and the most splendid gin shops.

The shop that Charlie regularly stole from had an ornamented parapet. It’s illuminated clock, plate glass windows surrounded by stucco rosettes, stood in dazzling contrast to the darkness and dirt of the streets outside. It was a tale of two cities and the Boyles were the outsiders looking in from the cold. The profusion of gas lights in richly gilded burners were tantalising places where they could never step foot.

Soon most people in the neighbourhood had heard of Charlie’s arrest. News travelled fast, especially in the close knit communities of the Court dwellings and particularly in Circus Street. Young Jim, bright for a four year old, never missed a trick, he had to live on his wits. He never liked what his father had him doing, crawling around through cellars in the dark, trying not to drop the heavy glass bottles. He just got on with it with quiet acceptance and never complained. He just thought it was the way life was. To him it was perfectly normal.

There weren’t many boys around for him to play with so he hung around with Florrie who was a bit of a tomboy. They were playing with some broken pegs which they pretended were soldiers, the pegs were all lined up on Florrie’s mother’s step when they heard about Jim’s father’s arrest. Jim knew that stealing was wrong and he had been part of it. He was scared that he might be locked up himself. For the first time in his young life he experienced a panic attack, his pale face became flushed and his heart was pounding. He was fearful of what might happen next.

‘It’s a right how d’you do, this is.’ Betsy was brooding, she couldn’t stop harping, on and on about Freddie’s inadequacies. It was like water of a duck’s back to Freddie. The clock chimed four and he was itching to go out again, he had to get away from the needle tongued harpy. He was determined to treat himself to a little ‘do’ in Su May’s. Without her!

As soon as Freddie slipped into the dimly lit reception area of Su May’s bordello he grabbed a handful of sickly sweets from the jar on the counter. A tired eyed girl glared at him from her low stool behind. Her Oriental dress was black, red and gold and made from the finest silk.

‘I’ll be wanting me usual today, the one with the nipple rings.’ Said Freddie.

The pan faced girl didn’t answer him. She stood up to take his hat and coat, then led him into the dingy bar which was filled with a noxious blend of cigar smoke, opium and the smell of heady perfume.

For the first time in weeks, Freddie found Maurice sitting in a corner. He was twiddling impatiently with the fox’s head on his silver topped cane. He wouldn’t leave it at the counter as it was valuable, he was afraid of it being stolen. It was a weapon to defend himself if he was attacked in the streets. He also, used it as part of his sex games. He could be brutal and cruel. His cold, blue eyes met with Freddie’s. He immediately recognised him, although he hadn’t been back to Betsy’s since he had violated Alice.

He was cunning, he kept away from the house where Alice worked, not because of a guilt feeling. It was to make sure there was no trouble awaiting him. Either from the law or others.

The Chinese girl brought them whisky with a pitcher of water, then quietly left. ‘Have you any new flesh for me?’ Asked Maurice.

‘I will have soon, another light haired young ‘un, she’s twelve, the other one’s sister.’

Maurice quietly eyed Freddie. ‘I will never forget her, that nice girl with the golden hair. I saw her today in town, acting the goat with a crowd of brats and circus trash by the look of it.’ Said Maurice as he tapped his cane onto the carpeted floor.

His mind drifted back to a year ago when he was in Betsy’s front parlour. He was becoming aroused just by the thought of it. He would enjoy his afternoon in the brothel even more with the memory of this experience very much alive in his mind.

‘Nah, couldn’t have been her.’ Answered Freddie dismissively.

‘It bloody well was, thirteen now is she? I fancy paying her another visit.’ He sneered, supping his whisky. ‘She was with a man with carroty hair, he looked mad, wearing a shabby top hat.’ He licked his lips savouring the taste of the scotch and imagining the next encounter with the girl whose life he had ruined.

Maurice justified his foul actions by thinking that if it had not been him, it would have been someone else. He had absolutely no qualms and had been known to hire a ruthless midwife to prove a girl’s virginity before he would pay for her.

The Chinese hostess reappeared and whispered in Freddie’s ear, ‘Girl with nipple rings, she ready now.’ The men parted company, there was a girl waiting for Maurice, young but experienced.

Lottie Boyle’s three daughters were still in the widow’s house opposite. Lottie didn’t mind where they went. She wanted them from under her feet and she knew they would more than likely be fed across the street. Young Jim was rarely indoors now, he was either playing with Florrie or up to no good with young thieves. She didn’t care.

After the row with Charlie, she had stormed out. She then scrounged a lift on a coal wagon up to Everton. She was going to see her sister, Margaret. Lottie was desperate, the hard sour look on her face reflected an inner fear. She feared for the future and what would happen to her when Charlie was banged up. Things were bad now but would get a lot worse. The reality of her situation struck her like a hammer blow. She had to make her own decisions to protect herself and the children.

Her sister was thirty seven, a few years older than her. Lottie knew Margaret would be alone, her husband was at sea and Margaret had never had children.

Lottie grudgingly gave the driver a penny, she then approached Margaret’s house and tentatively knocked on the door. Her elder sister’s face fell as she opened the door. They had never got on as children and rarely saw each other these days. She knew all about Lottie’s drinking and suspected her involvement in handling stolen property. She disliked Charlie, she knew he was a thief but still, Lottie was her sister and her only sibling, so she couldn’t turn her away.

Margaret was not a hard woman and had some sympathy for Lottie who had suffered some misfortunes in early life.

Lottie’s down trodden appearance looked out of place in the neighbourhood. She looked and felt dirty after sitting on the coal wagon, she had lost every shred of pride. Facing her sister in the parlour, there were tears running down her face, she was terrified of being turned away.

Lottie’s sorry tale came as no surprise to Margaret. Today her sister was, in her manner of speech, unusually sensible. Quite different from her convoluted way of talking when she’d had a drink.

Crying and shaking, Lottie gripped her sister’s hands. ‘Please take Jessie!’

Margaret’s husband Joe had longed for children and they had often discussed taking one of Lottie’s on. Margaret always wanted a child and without hesitation, she agreed.

She felt sorry for the children, if not for her feckless sister. In these difficult times, she could only take one. It made sense to take the youngest girl, because she had always dreamt of having a daughter.