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Whitechapel

I met her in a pub in Cable Street. What was its name, now? I can't remember, but it was the sort of pub you'd find the likes of us in. She was singing, along with a crowd of other people, while a blind beggar played the fiddle. She was smiling, but I could see from her eyes that she was frightened. But then everyone was. We didn't dare go out to work, but we would starve if we didn't. We were in a bind all right.

"A-rovin' a-rovin', since rovin's been my ru-i-n, I'll go no more a rovin' with you fair maid..."

I joined the singing crowd and sang along. Eventually my eyes met hers, and I smiled at her. She seemed relieved to see a face that was genuinely friendly, and the fear in her eyes dimmed a little, to be replaced by shyness. Shyness – the likes of us? But she was young, if I was any judge. Ours is not a trade which encourages youthfulness to stay, unless it be painted on, but there was something about her which spoke of a childhood amongst green meadows and cornfields, rather than the warren of streets and dirty alleys between Shadwell Dock Stairs and the Tower. After the song died down, half-finished, and the beggar had moved on to another knot of people, hoping for more largesse, I pushed through the dispersing crowd and went up to her.

"Haven't seen you in these parts before," I said.

"Nah, I'm usually at work over Ratcliff way," she answered. "But I live not far away from 'ere, and I don't like walking all that way, not these days." She shuddered a little, and I put an arm round her shoulders.

"You want to watch out, though," I said. "I don't mind, but there's some of the other girls as would turn a bit nasty over someone new on their patch. Some of them have got protectors who can get rough too."

"I ain't half as afraid of them as I am of HIM!" she said, not naming "him" of course, but giving another little shudder. I didn't have to ask who she was talking about. Everyone was talking about "him". Everyone was afraid, especially girls of our kind. "The Peelers can't do nothin'. They're just chasin' their arses round and round. Every time you go with a customer you're in a cold sweat in case it's him. The sailors are all right – they 'ave a laugh and a joke – it's the gentlemen I can't stand no more. They seem to 'ate themselves. They call me dirty names, and I'm used to that, but it's themselves they seem to hate, really. I keep wonderin' about each one – could this be HIM?"

Deep thoughts, girl, for one such as us. I motioned her to wait, got a couple of mugs of gin from the bar, and we went over to a corner to sit. We watched in silence for a while, as the pub crowd thinned and thinned. He face became drawn, as she began to face the time when she would have to walk home. I took her chin between my forefinger and thumb, and turned her face towards me.

"Look here, girl," I said. "You're in a funk, and no mistake. See, if it'll make you feel better, come home with me. I've got room enough for two for the night. We'll be safer together. What do you say?"

"I'd rather be in me own gaff," she said. "I don't think I could sleep in a strange bed."

"All right then. I'll walk along with you – see you home."

She thought about that for a while, and then said, "Would you stay with me? I know it's a funny thing to ask, but would you?"

"Of course I will. Don't you worry now."

She told me where she lived, and I said we would walk back past my own place, and I'd pick up a few things first. I could see the relief on her face when it was all agreed. The fear in her eyes dwindled to almost nothing, and I couldn't resist giving her a hug. I perched my hat on my head, and buttoned up my coat, she threw her shawl round her shoulders, and we stepped out into the night.

If we had looked round, we would have seen the pub as a vague pool of yellow light, growing dimmer and more indistinct the further we walked into the dark and the fog. Sounds behind us became more muffled, to be replaced by others – sudden footsteps as a shape lurched towards us, by us, past us, or the drip of running water somewhere. There was the occasional wordless shout, or a cackle of harsh laughter. Familiar objects, such as horse-troughs, cast looming Brocken-spectres, menacing. She clung to my arm and held herself close. I liked the warmth of her side against mine, and I put my hand over hers.

At my place I left her very briefly in the doorway, while I went inside for my bag. "Hurry!" she called from outside. We resumed our winding journey through the pea-souper. She hurried me along, and our breathing became harsh and quick, in the damp, foul air. We were practically running by the time we reached the door to her lodgings. She fumbled with the key, opened the door, and all but pushed me inside, slamming it behind us, and leaning her back against it, panting. Then she laughed, a brittle laugh of relief.

There was hardly any light in her lodging. What little there was came from the embers of a fire in the grate. I made out her silhouette as she went over to it, attacked it vigorously with a poker, and put a few more lumps of precious coal on it. Then she lit a lamp. She looked round and spread her hands out before her.

"It's not much but it'll do," she said. "I can call it 'ome anyhow."

"A girl could be cosy here," I said, and she grinned – her first completely open smile. She took off her shawl. I took off my coat and hat, put them on a chair, and looked around. Yes, the room was small and cosy, with one bed, and the furniture and belongings of one young woman. A jug of water stood in a bowl, on the top of a small chest of drawers. Top-clothes – only a few – hung wherever she had been able to find a space. My hat and coat were on the only chair. There were some shelves with tins. There was a kettle and a teapot, which she took down and busied herself with.

"When I asked you to come here I wasn't thinking," she said. "There's only my little bed."

"It's all right. I'll be fine. Don't worry."

The kettle boiled, and she brewed us some tea, which we drank without milk from two odd cups. It warmed us up, as we sat side-by-side on her bed, as did the touching-together of our shoulders and the glow of the little fire. Still she gave a shudder, but then grinned.

"He seems a thousand miles away, now I'm 'ere with you," she said.

"He is. You can be sure of that."

She held her cup in both hands, and leant her head against my shoulder. We sat like that for a while. She breathed quietly and regularly, and once gave a contented little sigh.

"Where's the privy?" I asked.

"There's a yard – the back door's over there – and it's straight across. It's not much to write 'ome about, but it'll do for what you need."

There was a key on the inside of the back door, which I turned to unlock it. It opened with a creak. I stepped outside, quickly closing the door so as not to let heat out of the room. I heard her call "Don't be long" as I crossed the yard. The yard was enclosed on three sides by buildings, and on one by a high wall, on the other side of which an alleyway must have run. The fog, which seemed to swirl through the streets, had left this yard as a chilly oasis of clear air. I could see two other doors apart from hers. One was nailed up, the other gave way to a pull, and revealed an unoccupied, decaying house. The privy was a wooden hut leaning against the high wall. I went in, and came out after a couple of minutes, hardly having needed it at all. I crossed back to her door, and quickly went inside again, locking it after me. She was standing in the middle of the room.

"You look cold," she said.

"Warm me up," I replied, holding my arms out to her. She almost ran to me, and she was smiling. She snuggled into my arms, and put hers round me, rubbing my back, murmuring contentedly. I realised that she was about half a head shorter than me, and she felt small and fragile, like a child or a china doll. We stood like that for a little while, then she looked up at me, her eyes meeting mine.

"I'm glad we met," she said

"Me too."

I kissed her, and she closed her eyes, allowing me to do that intimate thing, responding gently herself. She didn't seem surprised, nor did she pull away. Her breath was sweet with gin and tea. She had little idea how to kiss, but took her lead from me, learning quickly how to open her mouth and make the kiss a deep one. Eventually we pulled apart; she looked down shyly and gave a little laugh.

"You kiss nice," I said.

"I ain't been kissed since I kissed me mother goodbye," she said, and sat on the bed with a downcast look. "They don't kiss us, do they – that lot I mean – they just fuck us and leave."

I sat down beside her, and began to unfasten the buttons on her dress. She didn't stop me, but she did look at me.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Get undressed," I replied. "I'm going to show you something wonderful."

Without saying anything more she stood up and began to take her clothes off. She kept her eyes on me though, looking sideways at me as if slightly puzzled, watching as I undressed too. I did it slowly, with my back to her, but watching her in the small mirror that stood on the chest of drawers. I folded each garment carefully, and put them in a neat pile on the chair. When I had finished and turned round she was as naked as I was. Pale, slender, without a blemish, she could have been one of those marble statues in the British Museum, except for the pink of her nipples and cheeks, and the little, dark triangle that pointed downwards. She made me aware of the roundness of my limbs, the touch of gypsy in my colour, the texture of goose-pimples on my arms. I stepped towards her, taking her in my arms again. She leant her whole body against me, almost pressing our breasts flat, nestling the inside of one leg against the outside of mine.

"Ooh, this is lovely!" she said, taking me by surprise. "I've never 'eld another woman like this before. You're so beautiful!"

We kissed again, and half-fell onto the bed. Chuckling, I had to stop myself falling off, because it was so narrow, but she caught me and held me, drawing me to her. I let her explore me with her hands and eyes, showing her with touches of my own how to give and receive pleasure. She took a great delight in nuzzling and sucking at my nipples, as if some lost memory of her infancy was coming back to her. As the fire gradually died down in the grate, we made our own warmth. Eventually, I told her to lie back at her ease. I pushed her legs wide apart, and slid down until I could bury my nose in that triangle of curls. I began to lick her, gently sucking up her little button and flicking it with my tongue, all the time watching for her reaction, repeating movements and actions which obviously gave her pleasure – but a little at a time, to tease her and to prolong her pleasure. Together we produced a wetness which began to flow like a little river.

I dipped my fingers in it, and went to work with them, ignoring her poor little cunt, bruised by so many customers, and circling her bum instead. As I licked her, I probed with one fingertip into her back passage; she gave a little "eek", clenching her muscles, and my fingertip was squeezed out. Another lick at her clit, another probe with my fingertip – slightly deeper. Again the little cry and the clenching of her muscles, and out popped my finger. Again, deeper – again the cry and the clenching. But after a while the resistance weakened, and I moved a bit more than a couple of inches in and out of her bum, as I licked insistently at her. She came all of a sudden, with something approaching a yell, bucking and shuddering, clenching her muscles again so that this time she almost caught my finger fast inside her, then flopping exhausted on the bed.

I got up and sat, or rather perched, beside her. She was crying a little, and laughing too. I stroked her cheek, then I bent down and kissed her tears away.

"Why are you crying?"

"Because – well, this'll sound daft – I've just lost me virginity all over again!"

"And why are you laughing?"

"Because it's so bloody funny, seeing as I've lost count of the number of times I've been fucked!" We both laughed at that, because I knew exactly what she meant. I was in exactly the same position, and yes it was risible. I stood up, walked over to the mirror, and looked at myself in it. I looked honestly into my own eyes. Was there cruelty there? I couldn't see any. Was there madness? No, not so as you'd notice. What then? I thought to myself, "Stay the night with her, hold her in your arms, and go home in the morning. Let's leave it at that." And then I thought, "Get dressed and go home now. Leave her be."

I stood like that for – oh, I don't know how long. I was on the point of reaching for my clothes, getting dressed, and making an excuse to go, when I heard her moving. I shifted my head slightly, and saw that she had sat up, and was now at the end of the bed. The view in the mirror made her seem far away, tiny, and weak. Her porcelain paleness now seemed like the pallor of death, and she sat with a round-shouldered hunch. Suddenly I felt sick. Yes, I would go – that would be best.

But then she decided things for me.

"You've brought the wrong bag," she said, and I turned my head to see that she had my bag open at her feet. "What happened – did you 'ave a surgeon for a customer, and he wouldn't pay?"

"Something like that," I said, and walked towards her. That laughter was still in her eyes, but puzzlement too.

I did what I had to do. Afterwards I poured water from the jug into the bowl, and washed all the blood off myself. When I was sure I was completely clean, I stood for a while to dry off. The room was strange now, and silent. I had turned it into a place on a different world. I got dressed, buttoned my coat, put on my hat, and picked up my bag. Then I let myself out into the back yard, locking the door behind me. I went into the derelict house next door, found a door into the street, and carefully forced it open. The fog was still thick, and there was a muffled sound of retreating footsteps. I stepped into the street unseen.

As I walked home I was suddenly elated. The city was in a state of fear close to panic. You have no idea how exciting it was to know that I walked in absolute safety in the midst of all that fear. I was safe for two reasons. Firstly, I knew I was not going to be seized and violently murdered, and I was the only woman in those dark streets who could possibly be that sure! Secondly I was not going to be taken up by the Peelers as a suspect; everyone was looking for a man, and they had even given him a name – "Jack"! I could have danced down that street. I could have burst into song. Already I had forgotten the small, white, scared girl.

I thought to myself: "Maybe I'll call it a day." I had saved up enough to take a passage – South Africa, maybe Australia. With my knowledge of anatomy I could easily pass as a nurse...

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