Belle Read online

  Annie didn’t approve of Belle doing what she called ‘raking the streets’ either. Belle wasn’t sure whether this was because her mother thought she’d get into mischief, or because she didn’t want her daughter to hear gossip about her.

  In one of her rare nostalgic and communicative moods, Annie had told Belle that she’d been the favourite of ‘the Countess’, who ran the house at the time Belle was born. If it had not been for the woman’s affection Annie would have been thrown out on to the streets and ended up in the workhouse. She explained that the Countess was given the nickname as she had a grand manner, and because she’d been a real beauty in her younger days, with male admirers in high places. It was one of these, rumoured to be a member of the royal family, who had set her up in the house in Jake’s Court.

  When Belle was still just a small child, the Countess became ill and Annie nursed her for over a year. Before the woman died, she made a will and left everything she had to Annie.

  Annie had run the house ever since. She hired and fired, acted as hostess and took care of the money. It was often said around Seven Dials that she ran a good house, even if she was as hard as nails.

  Belle had heard the word ‘brothel’ all through her childhood but she didn’t know its precise meaning, only that it was something you didn’t talk about at school. Annie’s Place was also known as a ‘whorehouse’: years ago Belle had asked her mother what that meant and was told it was a place of entertainment for gentlemen. Just the way Annie rapped out her reply told Belle she shouldn’t question her further.

  Around Seven Dials any common woman or girl who dressed in a vulgar manner, acted a bit flighty or saucy, and liked a few drinks and a dance was likely to be called a whore. It was a derogatory term, of course, but as it was used so often there was an almost affectionate ring to it, in the way people called someone ‘a minx’ or ‘a witch’. So until a few months ago Belle had believed that her mother’s business was just a nightly party where gentlemen could meet saucy, fun girls for drinking and dancing.

  But recently, through bawdy songs, jokes and overheard conversations, Belle had come to realize that men had some kind of urge and it was for the satisfaction of this urge that they came to places like Annie’s.

  The details of what this entailed Belle hadn’t discovered. Neither Annie nor Mog could be drawn on the subject, and the girls themselves were much too afraid of incurring Annie’s wrath to divulge any secrets to Belle.

  At night, lying in her bed down in the basement, sounds of merriment filtered down to Belle; the piano played with spirit, clinking glasses, guffaws of male laughter, thumping, dancing feet and even singing – it sounded such fun. Belle sometimes wished she dared creep up the stairs and peep around the door.

  Yet however much she wanted to know the entire truth about her mother’s business, something told her that there was also a dark side to it. On occasions she’d heard crying, pleading and even screaming, and she was well aware that the girls were not always happy. There were many days when they came down for their dinner with red-rimmed eyes, and ate their meal in sullen, heavy silence. Occasionally one of them would have a black eye or bruises on their arms. Even on the best of days the girls were always pale and wan. They were not very kindly disposed to Belle either. Mog said this was because they felt she was Annie’s spy, and that they were jealous of her. Belle couldn’t imagine what they were jealous for – she didn’t get anything more than they did – but they never included her in their conversations and would stop chatting to one another when she came into the room.

  Only Millie, the oldest girl, was different. She smiled at Belle and liked to chat. But then Millie wasn’t the full shilling; she flitted from one subject to another like a butterfly, unable to sustain a meaningful conversation with anyone.

  Mog was in reality Belle’s only friend, and far more of a mother to her than Annie. Her real name was Mowenna Davis, and she came from the Welsh valleys. Belle hadn’t been able to say Mowenna when she was a baby and had called her Mog, and the name had stuck with everyone. She had told Belle once that if she were called Mowenna now she wouldn’t recognize it as her name.

  A plain, slight woman in her late thirties, with dull brown hair and pale blue eyes, Mog had worked in the house as a maid since she was twelve. Maybe it was her plainness that kept her cleaning rooms and lighting fires, wearing a black dress and white apron and cap rather than the gaudy satin and beribboned hair of the girls upstairs. But she alone in the house was constant. She didn’t throw tantrums, argue or fight. She went about her household duties with serene happiness, her loyalty and devotion to Annie and her love for Belle unwavering.

  The front door of Annie’s Place was in Monmouth Street, at least tucked back in a small alley off it, but it was only the gentlemen callers who entered that way, up four steps to the front door and into the hall and the parlour. The entrance used by all the residents was around the corner in Jake’s Court, and they came into the small yard, then down six steps to the back door into what was a semi-basement.

  Mog was cutting up some meat on the kitchen table as Belle came in through the scullery. The kitchen was a big, low-ceilinged room with a flagstone floor, dominated by the vast table in the centre. A dresser along one wall held all the china and on the opposite side was the stove, saucepans and other pans hanging above it on hooks. It was always warm because of the stove but a little dark because it was in the basement. During the winter months the gas lighting was on all the time. There were also several other rooms on this floor, a laundry room, Belle’s and Mog’s bedrooms, and several storage rooms as well as the coal cellar.

  ‘Come and warm up by the stove,’ Mog said as she saw Belle. ‘I don’t know what you find to do out on the streets! I can’t bear all that noise and pushing and shoving.’

  Mog seldom went further than the immediate area because she had a fear of crowds. She said that when she went to watch Queen Victoria’s funeral procession nine years earlier, she was so hemmed in by people that she got heart palpitations and thought she was going to die.

  ‘There’s a lot of noise here too but that doesn’t seem to bother you,’ Belle pointed out as she took off her cape and scarf. From upstairs she could hear Sally, the newest girl, screaming about something.

  ‘That one won’t last long,’ Mog said sagely. ‘Too much fire in her belly!’

  It was rare for Mog to make any comment about the girls and Belle hoped that as she’d said this much, maybe she could get her to continue.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ she asked, warming her hands on the stove.

  ‘She thinks she ought to be the top girl,’ Mog replied. ‘Always arguing, always pushing herself forward. The other girls don’t like that, or the way she plays up to the gentlemen.’

  ‘In what way?’ Belle asked, hoping she didn’t sound too obvious.

  But Mog stiffened visibly, clearly suddenly aware she had been talking about something her charge shouldn’t know of. ‘That’s enough, we’ve got jobs to do, Belle. As soon as I’ve put this stew on I want to give the parlour a real bottoming. You’ll help me, won’t you?’

  Belle knew that she didn’t really have a choice, but she liked the way Mog always put orders to her as if they were requests.

  ‘Of course, Mog. Have we got time for a cup of tea first?’ she replied. ‘I’ve just met Garth Franklin’s nephew. He’s a really nice boy!’

  Over the tea Belle told Mog all about Jimmy, and how they’d gone for a walk in the park. She always told Mog everything, for she was far closer to her than to Annie. In most people’s eyes Mog was an old maid, but Belle saw her as very modern in many ways. She read the newspapers and was keenly interested in politics. She was a supporter of Keir Hardie, the socialist MP, and of the suffragettes who were campaigning for votes for women. Hardly a day passed when Mog didn’t comment on their latest meeting, march on Parliament or story about them being force-fed in prison because they’d gone on hunger strike. She often said she’d like to joi
n them.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve found a friend,’ Mog said fondly. ‘But you mind he don’t take no liberties with you or he’ll have worse than Garth Franklin to deal with! But we’d best get on with the parlour now.’

  Annie boasted that she had the finest parlour outside of Mayfair, and it was true that she had spent vast sums of money on the Italian mirrors, crystal chandelier, Persian carpet and beautiful velvet curtains at the windows. But with upwards of twenty gentlemen a night visiting, the girls in and out and cigars and pipes being smoked, along with drinks spilt, it needed spring-cleaning frequently.

  Belle thought the parlour might look good by night, but she didn’t think much of it by day. The curtains were hardly ever drawn back or the windows opened, and the gold paper on the walls just looked a dirty yellow when daylight entered. Likewise, the plum-coloured curtains had dust and cobwebs on them, and a stale odour of tobacco clung to them. But Belle liked spring-cleaning the room. There was something really satisfying about removing a month of dirt from the mirrors and seeing them sparkle, or beating the rug outside until the colours became bright again. And she liked working alongside Mog because she was a happy soul who worked hard and appreciated the help of others.

  As always in a spring-clean, they stacked up the sofas and tables in one corner first, then rolled up the Persian rug and carried it downstairs between them.

  The parlour took up most of the ground floor. There was a small area for hats and coats by the front door, which Mog answered when the bell was rung. Behind the staircase which led to the other three floors was what they called the office, which was an L shape, and was also Annie’s room. Tucked in here too, behind a door, were the stairs to the basement. Mog had often remarked that the layout of the house was ideal. Belle supposed she meant that Belle never saw who came calling, and the gentlemen never saw how they lived.

  There was a lavatory on the ground floor too. It had only been installed a couple of years ago; before that everyone had to use the outside privy.

  Belle often felt aggrieved that the girls didn’t always go to this lavatory, using their chamberpots in their rooms instead. She felt that if she could make her way on a wild, cold night to the outside privy and not use the pot under her bed, they could at least go down a couple of flights of stairs inside the house.

  Yet Mog never backed her up when she grumbled about having to empty the pots. She just shrugged and said perhaps the girls had been caught short. Belle thought that was absurd; after all, if they were entertaining the gentlemen in the parlour it would take far longer to go to their bedrooms for a pee in a chamberpot than to use the lavatory by the parlour.

  It was bitterly cold as they lifted the rug over the washing line in the back yard, their breath like smoke in the icy air. But once they began beating the rug with the bamboo paddles, they were soon warm again.

  ‘We’ll leave it here till the floor’s dry,’ Mog said when they’d finished and they both had a grey film of dirt all over them.

  It was only as they went back upstairs that Belle saw her mother. As always in the mornings, Annie was wearing her dark blue velvet dressing-gown over her nightdress and she had her curlers covered by a lace cap.

  Mog was close in age to Annie, both being in their late thirties, and they had formed what Mog called an alliance as young girls because they came to this house when it was owned by the Countess at around the same time. Belle often wondered why Mog didn’t say they had become friends, but then Annie was not a very warm person, so perhaps she didn’t want a friend.

  Dressed up, with her face painted, Annie was still beautiful. She had a tiny waist, a firm, high bosom and a queenly air. But in her dressing-gown her complexion looked grey, her lips thin and bloodless, her eyes dull. Even the shapely body was gone without her corset. The spiteful way she often spoke to her girls suggested she resented that her own looks were fading while they were still in their prime.

  ‘Hello, Ma,’ Belle said from her position on her knees scrubbing the floor. ‘We’re giving it a spring-clean, and not before time, it’s filthy.’

  ‘We’ll leave the rug outside till we’ve finished,’ Mog added.

  ‘You should give the girls some instruction on cleaning,’ Annie addressed Mog tartly. ‘Their rooms are like rats’ nests, they do no more than make the bed. It’s not good enough.’

  ‘That’s not good for business,’ Mog replied. ‘No point in keeping the parlour beautiful, then taking a gentleman into a midden.’

  Belle was still looking at her mother as Mog was speaking, and she saw Annie’s eyes widen in shock at the remark about taking gentlemen into a midden. Mog saw the look too and blanched, and as Belle glanced from one to the other she realized her mother hadn’t wanted her to know the gentlemen went to the girls’ rooms.

  Belle had learned long ago that if she wanted to keep on the right side of her mother it was best to pretend she was too dumb to understand much of what was said around her. ‘I could spring-clean the girls’ rooms,’ she offered. ‘I could do one each day and get them to help.’

  ‘Let her do it,’ Mog said. ‘She likes to keep busy.’

  For a few seconds Annie just stood there, looking down at Mog and Belle, not saying a word. It seemed to Belle she was trying to find a way of dealing with the information which had slipped out.

  ‘A good idea. She can make a start on Millie’s today because that’s the worst. I doubt Millie will be much help though, she can’t stick at anything for long.’

  By half past one, with the parlour now gleaming and smelling fresh, Belle embarked on cleaning Millie’s room at the top of the house. Millie had gone out somewhere with Sally, and the other girls were in one of their rooms downstairs. Belle had had a huge bowl of soup for dinner, followed by treacle tart, and the appeal of spring-cleaning was waning fast. But it had just started to snow so she couldn’t go out, and Millie’s room was the warmest in the house as all the heat from the many fires wafted up there.

  Millie held a unique position in the house. Although she was much older than all the other girls, around twenty-eight, she was still outstandingly lovely, with silky, long blonde hair, wide blue eyes and a soft, childlike mouth. Being slow-witted, she had everyone’s affection: indeed it was perhaps because of her childlike, naive nature that everyone cared about her.

  Millie was also the only girl remaining from the days when the Countess ran the house. Belle sensed that both Annie and Mog tolerated her laziness because of a shared past. It had also been said on many an occasion that she was very popular with the gentlemen because of her sweet nature.

  Belle was equally fond of Millie. She liked her sunny, friendly temperament, and her kindness and generosity. She often gave Belle little presents – a few beads, a hair ribbon or some chocolates – and would hug her tight if she was hurt or sad.

  Millie’s room reflected her childlike nature. She had cut up chocolate box lids with pictures of kittens and puppies and tacked them to the walls. She had tied a lace parasol to a chair back with a length of pink ribbon and beneath it sat several dolls. Some were rag dolls in gaudy cotton dresses which looked as if she might have made them herself. But there was also a rather grand doll with a porcelain face, wavy blonde hair and a pink satin gown.

  As Belle looked around she saw that Millie had ten times more possessions than any of the other girls: china ornaments, silver-backed hairbrushes, a wooden toy train, a cuckoo clock that didn’t work, and many ribbon-trimmed cushions.

  Belle got to work, making the big brass bed first, then covering it with a dust sheet before piling on to it as much of the furniture and other items as she could.

  The floor was thick with dust, and the only rug a small one which could be shaken from the window. Once she’d cleaned out the fire grate and swept and washed the floor, she laid a fire and lit it to dry the floor more quickly.

  An hour later she was almost finished, shelves cleaned and dusted, mirrors and windows gleaming, all Millie’s possessions arranged careful
ly again.

  It was dark now and still snowing hard. Looking out of the window on to Jake’s Court, Belle saw the snow had transformed it. Seven Dials was notorious in London for having the most brothels, gambling dens, public houses and other low dives within a square mile. With the Covent Garden market starting its day in the middle of the night just as the drinkers and gamblers were going home to their beds, there was never a silent time. It was always being said that the slums in London would soon be a thing of the past, and it was true that many such areas were being cleared, but no one in the government took into account where the residents of a cleared slum would go. At present they were flocking here, finding a modicum of shelter with hundreds of other desperate men, women and children in the many courts, fetid alleys and narrow winding lanes. Even to Belle, who had never known anywhere else, it was a dirty, stinking, noisy place, and she could understand how terrifying it must be to anyone who stumbled into it by accident when they’d taken a wrong turning from the neighbouring smart streets.

  But now, in the yellow glow of the gaslight, the Court looked enchanted and beautiful under a thick blanket of snow. It was also deserted, a very unusual occurrence, and Belle guessed the house would remain very quiet tonight.

  The room was very warm now and, with the curtains closed and just the light of the fire and the gaslight turned down low, it was so cosy that Belle couldn’t resist lying down on the bed for a rest. She expected Millie to come in at any minute, and be thrilled to find her room looking so nice.