The Lights of London (24 page)

Tibs was eyeing Kit closely, watching her squirm as she fought back the tears. Any minute now and Tibs would have no choice, she would have to do something. Cause some sort of distraction.

Why did this have to happen? Why now? Why this?

She was just about to take the sickening step of offering Albert a quick knee-trembler on the landing outside – anything to put off the potential fireworks if Kitty lost control – when she was saved, not by the bell, but by someone downstairs bashing on the street door.

‘Come in,’ Tibs hollered. She stared Albert in the eye, defiant and angry, but inside she was praying that it wasn’t just some other madman who’d decided to announce his arrival with a polite rat-tat-tat on the door jamb. They’d have to get a lock put on that door one day, but for now she just thanked her lucky stars that they hadn’t got round to taking Sal’s advice just yet.

They all heard the front door open and someone
shouting up the stairs. ‘You all right up there, Tibs? It’s only me, Archie.’

‘Thank Gawd,’ Tibs murmured.

‘Sorry to disturb you,’ he went on, his words echoing along the uncarpeted passageway, ‘but I was just locking up next door for Jack when the dog started whining at the fence. So I listened for a bit and I thought I could hear noises.’

Tibs could have kissed him – and Rex as well for that matter. ‘Thanks, Arch,’ she called, running over to the door and flinging it open. ‘It was just a rat wheedling its way up the drain-pipe. You know how they come out of the sewers on hot nights like this.’ She turned round and glared at Albert. ‘Here, Arch, tell you what, you wouldn’t mind coming up and having a quick look round in here, would you? It sounds like it might be one of them horrible big manky ones with mange.’

‘Course I wouldn’t mind.’ The sound of Archie taking the stairs two at a time was Albert’s cue to leave and Kitty’s to wrap herself in the bedclothes.

Albert dived over to the window, began to climb out, then turned and hissed over his shoulder, ‘I’ll be back for your answer, you two. And let’s just say it had better be yes.’

After Archie had bashed around the room – flushed with pleasure at what he insisted were vastly exaggerated thanks just for scaring away a common old rat – the girls wished him a grateful good-night. Then Kitty banged shut the window, while Tibs wedged a chair firmly under the door handle and lit some extra candles. They finally got back into bed, cuddling up close, despite the muggy heat.

‘Tell that Tressing we’ll do it, eh, Kit? I need that money.’

‘I’ll make sure I talk to him the very next time he comes in.’

‘I can only hope Albert ain’t found out where Polly’s staying,’ Tibs said quietly.

‘He won’t have. Or he’d have mentioned it to upset you. But I think it would be good to try and move her anyway.’

Tibs smiled at her. ‘You were right brave tonight, you know, Kit. With what he did to you. And him having the knife and everything. You did well.’

‘It’s because of you, Tibs. You’ve changed everything for me. That’s why I want to help. I just wish I’d met you years ago.’

‘Even though I make you sing up on the stage?’

‘Even that. I know I hate the thought of getting up there, doing the songs and dancing, but once I’m in my costume and I’m doing it … It’s not something I really like, but it’s so much better than anything I’ve ever had to do before. You can’t imagine what my life used to be like.’

‘No. I bet I can’t,’ Tibs said. She could have added,
If only you knew the half of what I’ve been through, love, you’d think you had it easy.
But Kitty was a kind sort of a girl, it wasn’t her fault she was a bit clueless.

‘You told me about Polly, Tibs, now there’s something I want to tell you.’

‘You don’t have to tell me anything.’

‘I want to. That night, when I bumped into your friend, Sal. I’d tried to drown myself.’

Tibs snorted affectionately. ‘You great daft lump. Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, Kit, but you was dripping wet from head to foot, and covered in river weed and mud. It was a bit bleed’n’ obvious, wasn’t it?’

‘Maybe.’ She hesitated. ‘And there’s something else too.’

‘Here, you don’t have to go spilling all your secrets to me, Kit.’

‘I told you, I want to.’

‘If you’re sure.’

‘I am. Remember what you said about Polly’s dad, hitting someone over the head?’

‘I ain’t likely to forget that, girl, now am I?’ Suddenly intrigued, Tibs sat up. ‘Here, you ain’t been bashing no blokes over the bonce, have you, Kit?’

She nodded, ashamed.

‘Blimey, you’re a dark horse. I thought you was like a little mouse. Or a big mouse, should I say.’

‘I am usually, but it was when I was at the big house. And I didn’t get thrown out. I ran away.’

‘Kitty Wallis, you told me lies!’

‘No. Not exactly. I just never told you the proper truth. See, the master, he called me to his room, to fetch some water for his bath and …’ She lowered her voice and whispered, ‘He said his son had been bragging to him that he’d
had me
and that he told his dad he should have me too.’ She turned her head away. ‘He’d told me he loved me, Tibs. Then he said that to his dad.’

‘Aw, Kit, I’m sorry.’

‘I dropped the water bucket and started to cry, and his dad, he grabbed me.’ She jerked her chin towards the window. ‘And touched me, like
he
did just now.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I whacked him over the head with his chamber pot.’

The shock of hearing Tibs burst out laughing had Kitty suddenly indignant. ‘You don’t understand, I hurt him. To get him off me.’

‘How bad?’

‘Bad enough.’

‘Sod me! You mean you killed him?’

Kitty was horrified. ‘No! But I gave him a nasty bump
on his forehead. And he went mad, said he’d get me put away. So I just ran. I’ve been really scared he’s going to find me and tell the police.’

Tibs laughed again. ‘You big dope.’ She pinched Kitty’s cheek, then patted it affectionately. ‘Look, you’ve got nothing to worry about, Kit. Trust me. No one would even recognise you now. In fact, what have either of us got to worry about? We’ll go to this ball thing, whatever it is, charm some rich old men, earn our fortunes, become ladies of leisure, bring Polly home to live with us and …’

‘And what?’

Tibs pinned on a thin smile. ‘And then we’ll all live happily ever after, of course.’

‘I know you’re only putting on a brave face, Tibs. I know how worried you are. I’m going to speak to Jack again. Make sure he realises what Albert’s really like. And get him to put some proper locks on for us and all.’

‘Kit, you don’t understand …’

‘Yes I do.’

‘You mean well, but don’t overstep the mark, eh, darling? This is a tough world I’m involved in. A right tough, horrible world. Just leave sorting it out to me, eh?’

Kitty looked hurt, but Tibs couldn’t help that. Jack Fisher might have been a well-meaning, decent sort of a bloke, but now Tibs knew him better she had doubts, serious doubts, that he’d be any more use than Kitty, or even a whole doorful of locks, in dealing with the likes of Albert Symes. Not now Albert knew where they lived.

Albert hung around the alley that led through to the back of the Dog, waiting for the nosy bastard with the dodgy arm to shut Fisher’s yapping mongrel away for
the night and lock up the place, then he slunk back into the now deserted Rosemary Lane. He stared up at the dilapidated narrow house next to the pub, focusing on the first-floor room he now knew was shared by Tibs and that tall sort she’d taken up with.

She interested him; wasn’t half bad, even attractive in her own sort of a way, although he usually preferred his women a bit smaller as they were easier to control. Not that you’d think it, as far as that little mare Tibs was concerned. She definitely seemed to have other ideas.

Tiny as she was, she was a real fighter and, by the look of it, she was encouraging this other one to be the same. It made him want to spit, women thinking they could have one over on him. But they’d soon see the error of their ways, once he’d
explained
the situation to them. And maybe that gammy-armed runt would see sense and all – if he didn’t put up too much of a struggle.

But the important thing was to get that pair where he wanted them – right under his thumb. A bit of novelty always meant getting a nice few quid extra off the punters and then things would all start getting back to normal, back to when birds did as they were told and kept their traps shut, and he, Albert Symes, got the loot.

That first moment of sensation, as the drug entered his vein, was really the only peace that Tressing now experienced; such was the condition of his disease-racked mind that he no longer even considered his use of the stuff to be aberrant. It was just his way of life.

The ritual over, Dr Bartholomew Tressing dropped the paraphernalia of his addiction into a silver kidney dish that stood on a beautifully carved and polished rosewood table by his side, slumped back into the depths of his leather wing-backed chair and gave himself over to his morphia-enhanced dreams.

Much of his reverie, as was now usual, featured his twisted imaginings as to what he might do to young Kitty Wallis.

If only Kitty, innocent country girl that she was, had known a fraction of what was being thought about her she would still not have believed it. Not only did she appear in both Tressing’s and Albert Symes’s tainted thoughts, but Jack Fisher also had her firmly on his mind. ‘Night, Archie, and thanks for looking in on the girls next door,’ he called down the stairs. Then, seemingly as an afterthought, he added, ‘Leave Rex down there when you come up, will you, Arch? In case there’s any more noises.’

‘All right, boss.’

Jack quietly closed his door and turned round to look at his cramped, uncomfortable room.

Stretched out on his narrow bed was Marie – the real reason he didn’t fancy having Rex in with him. She had been waiting for him, lying there, with her auburn hair spread out on the ticking pillow-slip and with her frock pulled up almost to her knees, as inviting as any red-blooded man could want.

The trouble was it still wasn’t her that Jack wanted, despite having her up here with him as an almost regular arrangement over the past few months. He knew he shouldn’t be so weak, but he had needs just like any other man and when she turned up of an evening, smiling and soft and warm …

And what would she think of him if he just sent her away?

Sighing wearily, he pulled off his hat and tossed it on the rickety chair that doubled as his bedside table, then slowly began unbuckling his belt.

As he put his hand to unbutton his fly, Marie smiled
up at him, pleased, apparently, to be there. She was a nice kid: bright, willing, almost pretty in a slovenly sort of a way.

But it was Kitty he wanted. Wanted so much he could taste it. He’d never felt like this before. Ever.

From almost the first time he’d seen her, the day after she and Tibs had done their turn in the bar and he’d drunkenly asked them to come the next day for an interview. An interview! What a pompous sort of a sod he had been then. But he’d known right away how she’d made him feel. And that feeling had made him realise that all his relationship with solid, reliable Tess had ever meant to him was a chance to have his first cack-handed fumblings up a woman’s skirt. Then, as the years went by, he had used her as no more than an outlet for his purely physical frustrations. He’d never come anywhere near loving her.

Poor Tess. He’d treated her shabbily. He’d have to write to her. He owed her, at the very least, an explanation as to why he’d run away like that. Just, he decided, as he rebuttoned his trousers, like he owed Marie some sort of explanation as to why he was about to throw her out.

‘Look, lass,’ he began, ‘I know what I said earlier …’

Marie, her eye on his now tightly buttoned fly, lifted her shoulders in a dainty shrug and stood up. ‘But you’ve got something better to do.’

‘No. I …’

‘It’s all right.’ She snatched up her moth-eaten velvet cape from the floor and slung it about her neat little neck. ‘I don’t need it spelling out, do I?’ She laughed ironically. ‘Not that I could read anything if you
did
spell it out.’

Marie was determined not to let her disappointment show. She had thought, during these past months, that
her relationship with Jack might somehow be different, even develop into something that might, one day, become respectable.

But now she knew she’d been kidding herself and she wasn’t about to let him even begin to think she could be that idiotic; that she had had the slightest thought that she was any better than any other two-bob trollop he could use or throw away as the fancy took him.

It was too shameful. Like the time she’d got it into her head that she could better herself by becoming a shop girl, when all along, all she was was the bastard daughter of a whore. She’d been born rubbish and would stay rubbish. That was her lot in life.

Why be simple-minded enough to kid herself that things could ever change? Fairy-tales and happy endings were for kids. And if anyone knew that better than Marie she’d hate to hear the poor cow’s story because it would probably break her heart.

It was Saturday afternoon and the new matinée that Jack had introduced because of the soaring popularity of his –
his, Jack Fisher’s
! – hall, was almost over, and ‘Sweet and Dandy’, as Tibs had decided they now should be known, were just finishing their big finale.

Tibs, who had been out all morning and hadn’t seen anything of Kitty until she’d dashed into the wings at the very last moment, still doing up the pink sash that clinched her tiny waist, was trilling her way through the final lines of ‘I’m Only a Poor Little Rich Girl’. Her voice was far less excruciating since Tressing had paid for a voice coach. She sashayed across the stage, twirling her parasol, swishing her skirts and flashing saucy, knowing looks at the audience, then stood to one side to ‘admire’ her dashing young blade of a soldier – Kit parading up and down in a suitably military fashion – while the coloured smoke bombs that Archie had produced from somewhere or other went off around them in loud, nose-prickling bursts.