The Lace Balcony by Johanna Nicholls Read Free Book Online

Green, ‘Go hang yourself, you rotten bastard!’
    Fanny vented her own anger at God. All I asked of you was a quick, merciful death for the lad. You couldn’t even manage that!
    As she passed the fine carriage where the gentleman sat drinking a glass of wine, for an instant their eyes locked. She blinked back her tears, surprised when he inclined his head as if out of respect for her relationship to the dead youth.
    It was then that Fanny clasped her belt and gasped in horror. Her money purse had been stolen.
    That kind young gent who lifted me onto the wall! Don’t tell me he was the mongrel thief! Now I have nothing – not even my pawn ticket!
    The full impact of the theft shocked her. Now penniless and alone with no written character to gain her employment, and the threat of the law on her tail, Fanny felt overwhelmed by fatigue and hunger. What options were left to her?
    She walked the three quarters of a mile to the end of George Street, asking directions to the Sydney Benevolent Asylym, where she assumed a sad but brave face when seated before the matron, a thin middle-aged woman in Quaker grey.
    â€˜The prison Chaplain said to use his name as a reference. I am in urgent need of a cot for my stepsister. She’s barely two. As good as gold. No trouble at all. I won’t keep her here long, only until I secure a position. I’ve been offered two places, so I’ll gladly pay for her keep as soon as I’m paid myself.’
    The matron’s voice was weary but not unkind. ‘Thou had best take the first work that comes thy way, girl. I regret I cannot help thee. We have destitute women about to give birth, children sleeping three to a bed and in the corridors. And there’s a waiting list for many more abandoned on the streets.’ The matron reached across and touched her arm. ‘Do not think me unmindful of thy need, girl. But there are scores of little ones homeless in The Rocks, girls and boys who are forced to sell – themselves. Or they do not eat.’
    Child prostitutes – here, as in London.
    There was no overt emotion in the Quaker’s voice, but Fanny shared her pain at the horror of the fate of abandoned children.
    â€˜I understand, Matron. At least Daisy has me.’
    â€˜Put thy name down on this list and if thy new master is unkind to thee or thy sister, come back next month and see me again.’
    Fanny felt too embarrassed to admit she could not write. ‘I’ll manage. Thank you for your trouble,’ she said and remembered to curtsey as she departed.
    That will teach me to lie. Two offers of work doesn’t sound desperate enough – not when kiddies are forced to sell their bodies. I’d sell mine before I let Daisy go hungry.
    The route down George Street seemed twice as long on the return journey. Her feet were swollen with the heat. Madame Amora’s fine heeled shoes were designed for dancing, not traipsing the earth-baked roads of Sydney Town looking for work. Without a written character to offer, respectable women didn’t want a bar of her. When she asked one publican if he needed a cook or serving maid, his answer was simple. ‘You can serve me customers anytime, darlin’, in the back bedroom upstairs. Know what I mean?’
    Now, no longer bothering to cover the décolletage of her gown, she tied her shawl around her hips, leaving her hands free to defend herself from any groping male as she pushed through the crowd that buffeted her towards the Harbour foreshore.
    The magic of the intense blue of the darkening night sky reflected in the vast expanse of Port Jackson’s harbour was like a double-edged sword, its beauty consoling her at the same time as it taunted her with the taste of sea salt on her lips that increased her raging thirst.
    Fanny was well aware a smile from her could easily win some man’s invitation to buy her wine and a meal in one of the shanties lining the wharves. But