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Authors: Gilda O'Neill
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child.’
‘Well? What age did you start work?’ Tibs asked defensively.
‘I was only a youngster, but I was working for someone. I’d have had no more idea about starting up a business than flying away in a balloon.’
‘You grow up fast on the streets. You have to.’ Tibs broke off another bit of wood and tossed it into the fire, watching as the flames threw spiky shadows across the slimy roof of the dripping arch.
‘Did you really set up a business?’
She nodded. ‘I did. Not that it was much of a success. I did wardrobe dealing. No rags or nothing. Only the best second- or third-hand gear.’ She glanced down at Kitty’s skirts. ‘No offence meant, sweetheart.’
Kitty felt her cheeks flush red. ‘None taken.’
‘Trouble was, it wasn’t that easy for a girl, especially a little dot like me. All the best stuff got grabbed by the blokes. In fact, I soon realised I’d made a real mistake. I’d given up me mud-larking pitch and I was desperate. So I started nicking stuff off of drunks and that.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I know what you must be thinking, Kit, but I wasn’t going in the spike for no one. Then, like plenty of other girls of my age, I drifted into the life of a Ratcliffe Highway bride.’
Kitty’s eyes widened. She leaned forward and whispered from behind the cover of her hand, ‘Are you saying …’
‘I’m a whore? Yeah. So?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean …’
‘I never said I
liked
it. I just do it. I either earn money or I starve. And I’ve got Polly to think about.’
‘Polly?’
‘Just someone I help out,’ Tibs said hurriedly, ‘and, let’s face it, being on the bash is better than some of the things I could have done.’
Kitty wanted to ask more about Polly and how Tibs could manage to care for her when she seemed to be in such a state herself; and what could possibly be worse than selling yourself for a living? But it was obvious that Tibs didn’t want to discuss any of those things.
After a few moments Tibs sighed and then went on, ‘You never do find the pearl ear-rings, or the gold watch when you’re mud-larking, you know, Kit. Well, the likes of me don’t. And at least whoring’s an honest living.’
‘And probably better than being tricked into doing it by a liar who doesn’t even pay you for the privilege.’
Tibs laughed out loud. ‘That’s my girl, Kit!’
Shocked at herself for such an outburst, Kitty dropped her chin and looked away.
‘Come on, let’s hear more.’
Kitty shook her head. ‘I don’t have much to tell.’
‘Course you have. How did you wind up here?’
She swallowed hard. ‘My dad was sick. Real bad. And then he died. There were all these doctor’s bills. Then the farmer said I had to get out of the cottage. I had nowhere to live.’ She picked at the damp serge of her skirts. ‘So I took a position in this big house.’
‘Was it all right?’
‘At first it was. I worked hard and the mistress was quite good to me, but then …’
‘Then she found out the master was more interested in you being in his bed than in making it?’
Kitty frowned. ‘It was her son, not her husband. And he said he loved me. But how did you know?’
‘Just a guess.’
‘He was so cruel to me.’
‘What was you doing before you went into service?’
‘My mother died when I was a toddler and Dad said he couldn’t keep me and my brothers. I don’t think he knew how. So he sent us off to live with the charity sisters.’ She tugged nervously at a matted lock of her heavy dark-brown hair. ‘We’d only been in the home for a few months when my brothers both died of diphtheria. But it wasn’t my dad’s fault we had to go to that place. He had no choice.’
Tibs nodded, but said nothing.
‘Then, when I was eleven, old enough to start earning, he said I could come home. I was so pleased to get away. The nuns were kind enough, but it was terrible in there. I was always hungry and it was so cold.’
‘Not much better
‘Well? What age did you start work?’ Tibs asked defensively.
‘I was only a youngster, but I was working for someone. I’d have had no more idea about starting up a business than flying away in a balloon.’
‘You grow up fast on the streets. You have to.’ Tibs broke off another bit of wood and tossed it into the fire, watching as the flames threw spiky shadows across the slimy roof of the dripping arch.
‘Did you really set up a business?’
She nodded. ‘I did. Not that it was much of a success. I did wardrobe dealing. No rags or nothing. Only the best second- or third-hand gear.’ She glanced down at Kitty’s skirts. ‘No offence meant, sweetheart.’
Kitty felt her cheeks flush red. ‘None taken.’
‘Trouble was, it wasn’t that easy for a girl, especially a little dot like me. All the best stuff got grabbed by the blokes. In fact, I soon realised I’d made a real mistake. I’d given up me mud-larking pitch and I was desperate. So I started nicking stuff off of drunks and that.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I know what you must be thinking, Kit, but I wasn’t going in the spike for no one. Then, like plenty of other girls of my age, I drifted into the life of a Ratcliffe Highway bride.’
Kitty’s eyes widened. She leaned forward and whispered from behind the cover of her hand, ‘Are you saying …’
‘I’m a whore? Yeah. So?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean …’
‘I never said I
liked
it. I just do it. I either earn money or I starve. And I’ve got Polly to think about.’
‘Polly?’
‘Just someone I help out,’ Tibs said hurriedly, ‘and, let’s face it, being on the bash is better than some of the things I could have done.’
Kitty wanted to ask more about Polly and how Tibs could manage to care for her when she seemed to be in such a state herself; and what could possibly be worse than selling yourself for a living? But it was obvious that Tibs didn’t want to discuss any of those things.
After a few moments Tibs sighed and then went on, ‘You never do find the pearl ear-rings, or the gold watch when you’re mud-larking, you know, Kit. Well, the likes of me don’t. And at least whoring’s an honest living.’
‘And probably better than being tricked into doing it by a liar who doesn’t even pay you for the privilege.’
Tibs laughed out loud. ‘That’s my girl, Kit!’
Shocked at herself for such an outburst, Kitty dropped her chin and looked away.
‘Come on, let’s hear more.’
Kitty shook her head. ‘I don’t have much to tell.’
‘Course you have. How did you wind up here?’
She swallowed hard. ‘My dad was sick. Real bad. And then he died. There were all these doctor’s bills. Then the farmer said I had to get out of the cottage. I had nowhere to live.’ She picked at the damp serge of her skirts. ‘So I took a position in this big house.’
‘Was it all right?’
‘At first it was. I worked hard and the mistress was quite good to me, but then …’
‘Then she found out the master was more interested in you being in his bed than in making it?’
Kitty frowned. ‘It was her son, not her husband. And he said he loved me. But how did you know?’
‘Just a guess.’
‘He was so cruel to me.’
‘What was you doing before you went into service?’
‘My mother died when I was a toddler and Dad said he couldn’t keep me and my brothers. I don’t think he knew how. So he sent us off to live with the charity sisters.’ She tugged nervously at a matted lock of her heavy dark-brown hair. ‘We’d only been in the home for a few months when my brothers both died of diphtheria. But it wasn’t my dad’s fault we had to go to that place. He had no choice.’
Tibs nodded, but said nothing.
‘Then, when I was eleven, old enough to start earning, he said I could come home. I was so pleased to get away. The nuns were kind enough, but it was terrible in there. I was always hungry and it was so cold.’
‘Not much better
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