Walking in Pimlico by Ann Featherstone Read Free Book Online Page B

and it was the caterer who came to her rescue. Or rather his supporter, a small, stocky, square-headed fellow who throughout stood, unmoved, at the bar and showed little interest. But chairs and tables were being toppled and glasses broken, and Mr Pickuls was understandably nervous of his mirrors, of which there were many ranged about the walls. A nod, and his supporter was despatched to quietly confront Tiverton, who was not at all subdued by the request and continued to kick out at the unfortunate Bessie. A swift glance at his employer, another nod from Mr Pickuls and the stocky individual laid a hand upon Tiverton’s shoulder, who roared and, instead of Bessie, now treated this fellow to his repertoire of curses and followed it with a batteryof flailing fists. But the man, Minter by name and a bruiser by calling, simply caught him neatly upon the chin and Tiverton crumpled, from shoulders to knees, into a heap. There was a moment’s silence and then a laugh and a cheer, and Tiverton was unceremoniously bundled out of the room by the side door.
    I helped Bessie to her feet, and she clung to me weeping and shaking, protesting that she never robbed him, that she was a good girl, and if she had sometimes done bad things, they weren’t truly bad for she was sorry the moment she had done them. She was frightened and foolish, and I sat her down and called for gin to calm her spirits, at the same time filling my own glass to the brim.
    ‘Ah, you understand, cocky,’ she said, her lip trembling. ‘
You
know what a poor girl has to do to keep warm. These gents’ – and she nodded towards the company, now subdued and chewing over Tiverton’s bad character – ‘they don’t know how cold a doorway can be, do they? They don’t know what it’s like to have to oblige a gent when you have no inclination.’
    Her eyes were clear and wide, and black as a gully.
    ‘See, Mr Tiverton, he was a bad lot, cocky, but he paid well.’ She sniffed hard, and wiped her hand across her mouth. ‘He always handed over a shilling when the job was done, fair’s fair. And he liked a soft bed, too. But now he’s out for the night, so am I.’
    She tossed off the gin, refilled the glass and made another tearful assault.
    ‘He isn’t a bad bloke when he’s not in his cups, but he won’t come here again. Mr Pickuls won’t let him in. And Minter will have an eye open for him. So I’ve lost my bed and board, cocky. This time tomorrow some other poor girl’ll be getting it rough, but at least she’ll have a crib.’
    I listened intently now, for I knew what was coming, though the conversation was difficult and tedious, and Bessie was almost insensible and much inclined to slide into a stupor. What kept her eyesopen was that, as she reminded me more than once, ‘the Gov’ will not put up with no more ‘slummin” and if he found her sleeping under the tables again, she would be ‘out of a shop’.
    ‘I’ll see you all right, Bessie,’ I said, as brightly as I could.
    ‘Too right you will, cocky, or I’ll see you in quod.’
    She threw me a knowing look and her voice was suddenly as hard as flint. She got to her feet and staggered a little, for I’d helped her drop the quietener in her drink, and been over-generous.
    ‘Me and Mr cocky Jim are out for a breather,’ she informed the rest of the company and grabbed my hand. But they were too far gone to take any interest and we reeled unhindered towards the door into the yard. On the stage, the carroty-haired man was dancing and singing, and watched us across the room and out of the door. When I looked back, he was still dancing energetically.
    Outside the air was cool, though rank and Bessie’s stale breath upon my face was a sore trial. But I pushed her roughly against the wall and kissed her hard. She laughed drunkenly, and drew the back of her hand across her lips.
    ‘What you goin’ to do now, cocky?’ she whispered.
    It was a good question. Drunk as I was, I was desperate