‘Will it be me next who is cut and found dead?’ she wailed. ‘Really, what is to prevent it? Where do I go? What shall I do? I did not think myself a bad person, Susannah. Why has this happened? I have been foolish, yes, but not bad. I am desperate, Susannah. You must understand how desperate I am, to have come to you, the woman I was so jealous of, and to be begging you, quite without dignity. I have no one. The man who runs the shop you saw me in takes my wages to pay for my board. I can never earn enough to save any money. He and his wife, they keep us like billy goats upstairs in a bedroom cold as a barn with water running down the walls. I am always in their debt.’
She glanced up at me. ‘You haven’t asked how I came by this bruise on my face – I know you can see it.’
‘I didn’t think it polite to ask.’ I took a sip of my by now very cold tea, just to keep my hands occupied.
Mabel had refused to go to bed with the owner, who complained to his wife, who then screamed at her, called her ungrateful and told her that her husband always tried the girls first, so he would know how to price them. If Mabel did not lie with him willingly, she would be strapped to the bed by the woman herself and offered to whichever man came for the cheapest whore.
‘When I refused, she hit me, punched me with a closed fist like a man, then told me how she was in with the peelers and would have me fitted for stealing, unless I worked off my debt of £5, the debt I’d accrued for being rude.’
‘What about Dykes from the hospital?’
‘Dykes? I don’t have time for squatting over pots of steam or chewing herbs that will do nothing but give me a headache! There’s nothing I haven’t tried.’
‘How much money do you think you’ll need?’
‘I was thinking, what about your husband? He’s a doctor. He must know how to flush it out. Don’t tell me to go to the quacks for this – I’ll die, I know I will. I have a feeling, the same way I had a feeling about you.’
‘Then it’s not my help you are asking for, is it?’ I spat this out. I was beginning to tire and my head throbbed. I needed my drops but hadn’t taken them that day because I’d known Mabel would be calling.
‘Please, Susannah, I am begging you. If I have this baby, I swear I will throw it in the Thames along with myself.’ She grabbed my sleeve and her fingers pinched my forearm. It was the same hopeless grasp as Emma Smith’s when she’d lain bleeding to death in the hospital. It disgusted me.
‘That’s your choice, Mabel, not mine,’ I said, and pulled my arm free.
She had inched closer to me on the settee and I could smell the mouldy scent of the unwashed. There it was again: Emma Smith, the bag of twigs on the hospital bed. Blood dripping off her and running across the uneven floor.
I told Mabel I would think on it and would get a message to her at the millinery, but I only wanted her out of the house. I gave her five shillings at the door. She went to kiss me, but I flinched away and we were stuck in that excruciating moment. Then she nodded and smiled as if she knew I would not be sending any message, thanked me, and left. Because of the gentle way she managed my indifference, I felt I deserved my marriage after all.
18
As much as I tried to convince myself it wasn’t my problem, I kept feeling Mabel’s pain, and I cursed her. The next evening, I caught Thomas alone, without the cloying Mrs Wiggs. He was in the bathroom, tending to his precious whiskers, which were becoming sparser by the day, making his face thinner and drawn.
‘Thomas, do you remember a red-haired nurse from the hospital, pretty little thing called Mullens?’ I asked.
He turned a soapless patch of upper cheek to me, so I might kiss him. I stood with my back against the wall, next to the mirror, and faced him as he continued shaving.
‘No, not sure I do,’ he said.
‘You must remember her. Everybody knew Mabel Mullens: small, pretty, freckles, red curls, the most brilliant green eyes, always flashing them at the handsome doctors. I would be disappointed if she hadn’t flashed them at you.’
His pursed lips cracked into a small smile, and I understood he knew exactly who I was talking about. If only I could have suffered the pain of being a creep, my marriage might have been more successful.
‘I saw her in a shop on St James’s Street. She told me she’s left the hospital. I think she’s fallen on some hard luck, Thomas, and she asked for my help.’
‘What did she say to you?’
‘You remember her?’
‘I remember hearing about her. I assume she wants money.’
‘I thought it might be the charitable thing to do.’
‘You are most certainly not to give her any money, Chapman. If you give these people money, they’ll only come back for more.’
I smiled and swallowed down the lump of paternal condescension. There, I had tried. Mullens would have to find her own solution. I didn’t dare discuss the subject any further.
Thomas walked to where he had hung his jacket, took something out of a pocket, and pulled me by the arm to stand in front of him and face the mirror. He placed a heavy gold necklace around my neck and kissed me below the ear as he clasped it. I was ready; I did not flinch.
‘No more silly arguments between us,’ he said. ‘We are both as bad as each other. Call it a peace offering, if you will. I
