The Penmaker's Wife Read online

  A slow smile spread across the man’s face. ‘I think you know why I’m here,’ he said. ‘Reginald Price. Seen Reggie lately, have you?’ When Angelica gave no reply, the man sneered and continued. ‘As to what I want . . .’ He left his words hanging as he eyed her up and down. ‘I want you to work for me. A pretty penny you’ll make, too. A man likes a bit of class, and you’ve got plenty. Look at you, all dressed up to the nines – a right treat on the eyes, and on the ears with that fancy French accent of yours.’ He continued to study her, sucking spittle from the corners of his mouth as his imagination ran away with him. ‘Yes, a pretty penny indeed.’

  Angelica shook her head. ‘You’re insane!’

  The man spat down at the seat beside him, then as he turned back to Angelica he stepped towards her so fast she had no time to react. He grabbed her by the throat, his coarse hands scratching like a hangman’s rope around her neck. He threw her down beside William, sat uncomfortably close beside her and held her cheeks in his vice-like grip.

  ‘I’m going to live like a king for a change,’ he said, his eyes boring into hers. ‘You’re going to look after me in whatever manner I see fit. Do you understand? You see, I know what you did.’

  Angelica’s eyes widened.

  The man began to nod. ‘That’s right,’ he said, smiling again, revealing heavily stained teeth, of which several were missing. ‘I was there,’ he continued. ‘I saw what happened all right, so I followed you. Your play-acting in the Thames didn’t fool me. And how do you suppose to support yourself and your boy here without a husband anyway? Shop girl? Factory worker? I don’t much fancy you for a servant in someone else’s fancy house, scrubbing floors on your hands and knees all day. Those jobs don’t pay well, either, and not half as much as what I have in mind.’ With that, he shoved Angelica’s head back into the headrest and got to his feet. ‘So, you’re going to do as I say, or your little game’s up. You hear me?’

  Angelica straightened her dress and sat up. She cast a glance at William, who remained curled into a tight ball beside her, as was often the case whenever Tom Blanchard and his cronies were around.

  ‘How did you find me?’ she asked, wondering how he could possibly have followed their course along the murky Thames in the fog. She and William might have gone ashore just about anywhere, on either side of the bank.

  ‘That was easy,’ Blanchard said, full of himself. ‘I was following you, remember? After you left Reggie’s place last night with the boy, I waited outside your house to see what you would do next. You had a large carpet bag with you when you set out this morning, just like that one there,’ he added, pointing up to a floral woven bag on the overhead luggage rack. ‘I saw where you put it. I took a quick look, and lo and behold, what did I see if it wasn’t the clothes you’re both wearing now.’ He paused, and his dark features brightened. ‘I saw something else in there, too. It was enough to make me think about letting you off the hook, but then I got to thinking. Why settle for that and let you go when I could have both?’ He stepped towards the bag. ‘Is it still there?’

  Angelica began to stand up, but Blanchard shoved her back down into her seat again.

  ‘Don’t trouble yourself, Angelica,’ he said. ‘I can get it.’

  With that, Blanchard lifted the bag down and opened it. A moment later he pulled out a black velvet drawstring purse, and his face lit up as he peered inside, the sovereign coins it contained casting a golden glow on to his face. ‘There must be thirty pounds in there,’ he said, weighing the purse in his hand. ‘That’s why I knew you didn’t mean to kill yourself. That’s how come I knew where to find you again. I knew you’d be back for your bag soon enough. All I had to do was wait.’ He held the purse up by its drawstring and let it dangle in front of Angelica. ‘Steal it, did you?’

  Angelica reached for the purse. ‘Give it to me! It’s all we have.’

  Blanchard snatched the purse away, smiling, clearly enjoying the torment he was causing. ‘I think I’ll hang on to it, if you don’t mind.’ His coarse laugh played in his throat again. He was clearly amused with himself. ‘I was being what a fancy piece like you would call rhetorical. I’m keeping it whether you mind or not. And how far do think you and your boy would get without it? You’d be in the poorhouse within the week, working your fingers to the bone, your boy here sent up the chimneys and made to sweep. That’s if I was kind-hearted enough to keep the peelers off your back, which I’m not. So, you see, my demands really are to everyone’s mutual benefit.’

  Angelica felt trapped. What choice did she have but to acquiesce? To protest would surely bring out the darkest in this man’s temper, and she already knew first-hand just how dark it could be. Neither was she prepared to see her son suffer any further for her misdoings if it could be avoided – whatever the cost to her pride or person.

  ‘Very well,’ she said, her eyes locked on his, her already stern features sharpening further. ‘As you leave me no choice, I will do as you say, but you must leave William alone. You’re not to touch him – not one hair of his head. Do you understand?’

  ‘You’re in no position to make demands,’ Blanchard said, ‘but what do I care for the boy? As long as he keeps to himself and pulls his weight, he’ll give me no reason to touch him. And as long as you continue to please the clients I find for you, why, we’ll all get along handsomely.’ He offered his hand as if to shake on their arrangement. ‘Agreed,’ he said. ‘Now, give me that dainty little hand of yours.’

  Angelica was hesitant, but she obliged. As soon as her hand was within reach, Blanchard grabbed it firmly and pulled her out of her seat, forcing them together. Then, in a low voice that was laced with menace, he said, ‘I won’t touch the boy, but I’ll be keeping him very close. Cross me once and the deal’s off. Then he’ll feel more than the back of my hand. Do you understand?’

  Angelica swallowed hard and quickly nodded. Then she felt his hands on her shoulders, pressing into them until she thought he intended to crush the life out of her. He didn’t. Instead, he turned and threw her down on to the bench, away from the troubled boy. When Angelica looked up at Blanchard again she saw him loosening his belt. She began to shake her head.

  ‘Come now, Angelica. I have to try the goods. How can I extol your many virtues to all those potential clients if I haven’t experienced them for myself?’

  He came closer, lascivious intent burning in his eyes, his crooked mouth drooling like a rabid dog.

  ‘Please! Not in front of William.’

  ‘Let him watch. The boy’s got to learn sometime.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Angelica and William spent the first week of their new lives in Birmingham living in a tiny, dank cellar in a small back-to-back terrace house in the slum area of Hockley. While Tom Blanchard sought more suitable accommodation for them, they were forced to share the single room with an unfortunate family from Ireland who, like so many, had flocked to the town and its booming industry in search of work, only to find that the reality fell woefully short of their expectations.

  The house shared a yard, with its communal washhouses and filthy privies, with forty other houses and their occupants, far too many for the cramped, dimly lit and poorly ventilated rooms in which they were forced to live. As with the Irish family, this was a far, far cry from the new life Angelica had imagined for herself and William. She had previously been concerned that they might contract cholera or typhoid from their encounter with the River Thames, but it seemed all the more likely to her now that some deadly disease would find them here among the squalor of their neighbours’ effluvia. Angelica dreaded each and every night they had to endure there, lying awake for the most part, listening to the night-men as they cleared the detritus from the yard and the stinking waste from the cesspit, which she was convinced had somehow leaked into the space beneath their floorboards, the smell was so bad.

  It was with great relief, then, that on the evening of their seventh day in Hockley, Tom Blanchard returned, full of himself and a
good amount of liquor too, judging from the reek of alcohol of his breath. Without saying a word, he began collecting up their things.

  ‘Have you found somewhere?’ Angelica asked, wondering whether there was enough money left in her purse to rent anywhere better than this after the man had spent so much of it on drink and the fat cigars he’d taken to smoking.

  He had one in his mouth now, unlit and greasy with saliva from having sucked it more than smoked it, to make it last. ‘Indeed I have,’ Blanchard said, flashing his eyebrows at her. ‘Now, wake that useless boy of yours and follow me.’

  They walked and walked, following his crooked steps along countless streets in the early evening half-light, until the soles of Angelica’s feet became sore and William began to cry and drag on her arm.

  ‘Shut him up,’ Blanchard told her. ‘I’ll not tolerate his whimpering. I don’t care what we agreed. Keep him quiet, or I’ll do it for you.’

  William must have known what Blanchard meant to do if he didn’t stop whining, because Angelica didn’t need to ask him to be quiet. They continued on in silence. As they drew closer to the town centre, carriages and omnibuses began to pass them by. There was even a horse tram running alongside them at one point, and Angelica wished they could board any one of these vehicles just for the rest.

  At length, she asked, ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ Blanchard said without turning around. ‘It’s not far now. I’ve got a gentleman coming to see you soon, so step it out. I don’t want to disappoint him.’

  Blanchard picked up the pace, and for all his awkwardness of gait, Angelica and William had difficulty keeping up with him. Neither had eaten a decent meal all week. Their faces were beginning to look gaunt, their bones more prominent through their pallid skin, especially Angelica’s hands, which she thought had begun to look old before their time. She didn’t know how either of them managed to keep going.

  ‘You’ve arranged a client for me already?’ she said, surprised to hear that Blanchard had been able to find them new lodgings and her first client on the very same day.

  ‘Of course,’ Blanchard said. ‘We’ve already lost a week since we arrived, and this place doesn’t come cheap.’

  After fifteen minutes or so, they turned into another street and followed its narrow pavement for no more than twenty steps before Blanchard stopped. He put his hands on his hips and stared up at a house to their left.

  ‘There,’ he said, sounding proud of himself. ‘A one-up-one-down on Kings Terrace. Right posh-sounding, that is. Should do us nicely until things pick up.’

  Angelica gazed up at the terrace of houses, with their regimented chimney stacks and Welsh-slate roofs. She saw no broken windows anywhere, which was certainly an improvement.

  ‘You’ll have a room to work in while I keep an eye on the boy in the room below,’ Blanchard continued. ‘I want to see smiling faces coming down those stairs, you hear me?’

  Angelica ignored the remark. ‘Are you sure it’s affordable?’ she asked, stepping towards it and noticing the flower baskets beneath the windows. There were no flowers in them, just a few weeds.

  Blanchard rolled his cigar back and forth in his mouth, sucking the warm evening air in through his teeth. ‘As I’ve said, it wasn’t cheap, but you’ve got to speculate to accumulate, haven’t you? Any right-minded gentleman of position and wealth wouldn’t go near a place like the one we’ve just come from. They don’t want to do their business in squalor. They expect the likes of this, and more. If things go well, I aim to move us into even better accommodation so we can attract a higher class of gentleman still.’ He laughed to himself. ‘I’m sure you’d rather fuck for pounds than pennies, wouldn’t you?’

  Angelica didn’t answer him. She wanted to earn neither in that way.

  ‘And you’re young and educated,’ Blanchard continued, moving towards the front door. ‘You’re also more than a little pleasing to the eye. Why, your looks and my business acumen will keep the landlord from our door, don’t you worry. Once we’re nicely set up I’ll see about getting you listed in the sporting guides. You could earn some serious sovs then – and a fine young courtesan you’ll make, too.’ He scrunched his brow. ‘Exactly how old are you anyway?’

  ‘I’m twenty-two.’

  Blanchard sucked the air again. ‘That’s pushing it a bit. Still, I’m sure you could pass for nineteen right enough, so that’s your age from now on, should anyone ask. Do you understand me? Because that’s what I’ll be telling them.’

  Angelica nodded and Blanchard opened the front door, mumbling, ‘It’s a pity the boy isn’t older. He won’t be legal for some years yet, although I’m sure he can be passed off soon enough. Now, have a quick look around, then get out to the washhouse and clean yourself up. I don’t want any complaints.’

  Angelica’s first client in Tom Blanchard’s deplorable business venture was due to arrive at the house at eight o’clock that evening, and while Angelica longed for a quiet bed for the night, away from the heady stench of poor hygiene and the sanitary inadequacies of her previous abode, she had no intention of being there when the door knocker fell. As pleasant as the place seemed after her week in the slums of Hockley, she was leaving before anyone had the chance to so much as lay a hand on her knee.

  But how to go about it?

  On her brief look around the house when they first came in, she’d noticed that the clock on the mantelpiece in the downstairs room showed half past seven. That only gave her thirty minutes to come up with something, so when she left by the back door and crossed the yard to the washhouse under Blanchard’s watchful eye, she wasted no time bothering to prepare herself for the gentleman who was coming to see her. Instead, she stood at one of the washbasins, gazing at her drawn and haggard face between the cracks in the mirror while she continued to think.

  She had noticed that Blanchard was keeping William closer to him than ever, seemingly to ensure that she went to work for him without a fuss now that the time had arrived. How was she going to get William away from him long enough during the limited time she had for them to make their escape? She began to wish they had fled sooner, while Blanchard was out procuring their new accommodation, but she no longer had any money. She wondered how much was left in her purse, and it angered her to think that Blanchard had probably squandered most of it by now. How on earth was she going to get that back from him, too? She was in no doubt that they would not last more than a few days on the streets without at least a few shillings to get by on.

  When Angelica returned to the downstairs room, William was sitting in the corner, silently sobbing with his hands over his face. She went to him and saw that his little body was trembling.

  ‘What is it, William?’ she asked, kneeling before him. She began to rub his shoulders. ‘What’s wrong?’

  William gave no answer.

  Angelica gently lowered his hands from his face. One side glowed bright red. She turned and fixed Blanchard with a cold glare. He was sitting on a low stool on the other side of the sparsely furnished room, nonchalantly picking the dirt from under his fingernails. He glanced at her briefly, then chewed at one of his nails and spat at the floor.

  ‘What have you done to my son?’ Angelica demanded, getting to her feet.

  ‘Nothing the brat didn’t deserve,’ Blanchard said, sneering back at her as he spoke. ‘He started making a proper fuss as soon as you left him – didn’t want to be alone with his Uncle Tom while you were in the yard primping yourself.’ He paused to study her. ‘You’ve not brushed up too well, have you?’ he added. ‘Still, maybe the gentleman won’t notice if you half draw the curtain and keep the lamp low.’

  Angelica drew a deep breath. She looked down at William again, trying to calm herself. ‘Don’t cry, William,’ she said. ‘I’m here now.’

  ‘Yes,’ Blanchard cut in. He stood up. ‘And you’d better get yourself upstairs, hadn’t you? Your gentleman will be here in ten minutes.’

  ‘We had a deal!�
�� Angelica snapped.

  ‘It was nothing. Just a slap, that’s all.’

  ‘I won’t leave you alone with my son tonight. Not while he’s like this.’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told, or maybe you’d like to feel the back of my hand, too.’

  Angelica mocked him. ‘What, and give your first customer spoiled goods?’

  Blanchard came closer, withdrawing from his lapel pocket the stubby leftovers of his cigar, which he licked and set into the corner of his mouth. ‘Then I’ll come upstairs and sit with you until the gentleman arrives. The boy can stay in here by himself, safe and sound. While you’re working upstairs, I’ll wait out in the yard. How about that?’

  Angelica gave a nod and made for the door.

  Blanchard followed after her, and in a low voice, he added, ‘And you’ll be sure to give the gentleman his money’s worth, won’t you? If he doesn’t come down smiling, or heaven forbid he comes down complaining and asking for his money back, I’ll be after your boy with my belt. Do you hear me?’

  Angelica ignored him. She had far more important things on her mind. She had managed to get Blanchard away from William. So far so good, but what now? She reminded herself then that even if they did manage to escape from him altogether, he knew she was still alive, and he knew what she had done in London the week before. She couldn’t be sure whether or not he would follow through with his threats to go to the authorities and expose her, but it was not a risk she was prepared to take.

  ‘Get up there with you!’ Blanchard croaked. ‘And be quick about it.’

  As Angelica reached the foot of the narrow staircase in the equally narrow hallway, which was bereft of any ornament or furniture, she paused and invited Blanchard to go up ahead of her, thinking only that she had to end this nightmare if she could. If not for her sake, then for William’s.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Winson Green, Birmingham

  1896

  It was indeed an inauspicious new beginning for Angelica and her son. There they were, having fled from one situation only to find that they must now flee from another, and who would choose otherwise given the unthinkable things Tom Blanchard would have them do for his own immoral gains? I did not learn the manner of their escape from Blanchard until some time after my relationship with Angelica had begun, once she had come to trust and confide in me, so I shall return to it at the appropriate time. Suffice it to say for now that they did manage to escape that night, and having heard what Blanchard had in mind for them both, I am glad of it, despite every terrible thing that followed.