Sinful Seduction (2 page)

By the time they got home the barrow felt as if it weighed twice as much as when they'd set off, even though it was almost empty now. She was exhausted, her bare feet were sore and swollen from so much walking and her shoulders ached from pushing and hauling the barrow over the cobbles, but her misery disappeared as soon as Fred pressed the two precious coppers into her hand.

‘Cheers, Fred,' she grinned.

‘You're welcome, gel,' he said. ‘You did a good job. Here,' he scraped up some of the leftover meat, wrapped it and handed it over.

‘Cor, ta!' she exclaimed. Boiled up into a stew, with a couple of carrots and onion and a few potatoes, it would keep them going for days! She grinned. ‘God bless yer, Fred. You're a real gent.'

He blushed with pleasure. ‘Go on with you, gel,' he grinned. ‘I'm off for a pint. Getcha, before I change me mind.'

Chuckling, she scampered down the cellar steps, the parcel of meat in one hand and her precious tuppence clutched tightly in the other.

Her mother was awake and sitting on their one broken chair. Her elbows were on the table and her head was in her hands. As Maggie came in she looked up with an expression of complete and utter misery.

‘I'm sorry, love,' she sighed. ‘Your dad's not back yet and there's not a bite to eat in the house.'

Maggie's smile disappeared, to be replaced by a black scowl. ‘Don't call him that!' she snapped. ‘He's not my dad and he never will be - thank God. He's just the bastard you married.' Her smile returned. ‘Anyway, who cares about him? Look at this!' She placed the parcel and coins triumphantly on the table, enjoying her mother's astonished expression.

‘Wh-where did that come from?' she quavered. She looked at her daughter. ‘You... you haven't done anything you shouldn't have?' Despite the dirt and matted hair, Maggie was still a pretty girl and there were plenty of so-called ‘gentlemen' who wouldn't scruple to take advantage of her.

‘Don't be daft, ma,' grinned Maggie. ‘I worked for it. Pushing old Fred's cart for him. Bloody hard work it was too.' She beamed at her own achievement. ‘Tuppence he give me - and one old dear give me two farthings for meself as well.' She rejoiced over her riches. ‘We'll put the meat past till I get some veg termorrow, and I'll nip out and get something nice and hot from the pie-shop...' Just then an arm reached over her shoulder and a dirty hand scooped up the coins.

‘I'll ‘ave that,' said a familiar voice. ‘It'll buy me a nice few pints down the Fevvers.'

Maggie whirled round to see her stepfather's gloating face grinning down at her. ‘You give that back!' she snarled, kicking him in the shins. ‘That's mine! I worked hard for that money...!' His grin disappeared, he lifted his arm and backhanded her, and she stumbled backwards and glared up at him like an enraged kitten.

‘It's mine now,' he sneered, ‘and I'm off down the pub now - but when I come back I'll deal with you good and proper. I'll teach you to kick me, you little bitch.' He grinned again. ‘That'll give you sumfing to look forward to while I'm gone.'

He turned on his heel and stomped out, and Maggie stared at the door and burst into tears. ‘It's not fair, ma. I worked me guts out for that money.'

‘Never mind, love,' sighed her mother, slipping an arm round her shoulders. ‘We've still got the meat. And once he's had a few, he'll ‘ave forgotten all about it by the time he gets ‘ome.'

 

A couple of hours later, with a plate of hot stew inside her, Maggie was feeling a bit more optimistic. Ma was right; he'd come rolling home, fall into a sodden sleep and that would be the end of it.

The cellar was hot and sticky from the cooking. Yawning, she pulled off her tattered dress to reveal an equally tattered petticoat and curled up in her pile of rags, and within moments she was sound asleep...

A kick woke her and the next thing she knew she'd been hauled out by the neck of her petticoat and was hanging with her toes barely touching the floor. ‘Thought you'd get the better of me, did you miss?' muttered Bert, drunkenly. ‘Well, you were wrong, weren'tcha. You're goin' to pay fer it now.'

The material of Maggie's thin petticoat gave way under the strain. There was a ripping sound and she was suddenly on her feet again, trying to clutch the shreds of ragged cotton to her breasts. Bert stared at her for a moment, and then an expression of lustful cunning crossed his face. ‘Seems to me there's another kind of lesson I could teach yer while I'm at it,' he chuckled, fumbling at the buttons on his trousers, and Maggie stared at him in horror.

‘For God's sake, Bert, no!' wailed her mother, grabbing his arm and hanging on to it like grim death. ‘She's your daughter!'

‘No she ain't,' he chuckled, shaking her off so that she staggered back and slumped against the wall. ‘Now, where was I?' he grinned. ‘Oh yes, I remember.' His grubby hands reached for Maggie, and she closed her eyes and shuddered in dreadful anticipation of what was to come... but it didn't. Instead there was a dull thud, and she opened her eyes again just in time to see him crumple slowly to the floor, her mother standing over him with the chamber pot in her hand. ‘Oh gawd, ma!' she squawked. ‘You ‘aven't killed him, ‘ave you? If you ‘ave, they'll hang you.'

Her mother gave Bert a poke with her foot and he gave a drunken moan. ‘No such luck,' she said bitterly. ‘I'd be well out of it if they did hang me.'

An equally horrible thought struck Maggie. ‘Oh gawd,' she said again. ‘When he wakes up again he's going to kill us!'

‘No he ain't,' said her mother contemptuously. ‘After the skinful he's had he won't remember a fing. He won't come round till noon.' She smiled at Maggie. ‘And by then you'll be long gone.'

‘Wh-what do you mean?' stammered Maggie.

Her mother's lips twisted grimly. ‘You don't think he's going to leave you alone now he's noticed how beautiful you've grown, do you? That's one thing he won't forget. He'll be after you like a dog after a bitch in heat till he ‘as ‘is way of you.' She shook her head. ‘I made my bed and I ‘ave to lie in it - but you ain't going to lie in it too.' Her lips set in determination. ‘First thing termorrow I'm getting you out of ‘ere.'

 

‘Come on, ma, where are we going?' demanded Maggie, hurrying breathlessly after her mother.

‘To see a man about a dog,' came the tart reply. ‘Just you wait and see, my girl.'

Maggie groaned with a mixture of frustration, excitement and apprehension. It was just one more mystery in an already bewildering morning. It had started almost before light with a hand on her shoulder, shaking her out of an uneasy sleep.

‘Come on,' hissed her mother. ‘We've got to get a move on in case His Nibs wakes up.'

Rubbing her eyes, Maggie cast an apprehensive glance across the room, then sighed with relief. Her stepfather was lying sprawled on the pallet, mouth open, still snoring in a befuddled sleep.

She turned back to look at her mother, and her jaw dropped in astonishment. Instead of her usual old dress and sacking apron, she was wearing a respectable black one. Admittedly it had seen better days; the skirt was shiny with wear, there were clumsy darns on each elbow and the whole thing had a distinctly greenish tinge - but compared to her usual ragged garb it was like one of Queen Victoria's blooming ballgowns!

‘Cor, where'd you get that, ma?' she asked, wide-eyed.

‘Borrowed it offen Missis O'Mally upstairs,' she replied. ‘It's her funeral dress.' She grinned with satisfaction, and held up a smaller version and a pair of cracked boots. ‘Got these an' all. Belong to her youngest. They'll suit you a treat.' Her smile vanished. ‘Now stop all this gabbing. We ain't got time for it. You gotta get washed and make yourself look presentable.'

That was easier said than done. Shivering at the standpipe in the yard, Maggie splashed cold water all over, but it did little to remove the ingrained grime from her hands and feet. The dress was far too small as well. Once it was on she could hardly breath for fear of the seams bursting, and the sleeves finished halfway down her arms, making her wrists look even bonier. She crammed her feet into the boots and winced; they were agony already and she hadn't even started walking in them yet.

‘Stick ‘em under yer arm then,' muttered her mother crossly. ‘Yer can put ‘em on when we gets there.'

‘Get where?' demanded Maggie, but her mother tapped the side of her nose and winked.

‘Ask me no questions and I'll tell yer no lies,' she chuckled, and at the sound there was a sudden drunken muttering from Bert and they both froze in horror. His eyes flickered open and for one terrifying moment it looked as if he was waking up - then he groaned, farted and rolled over again.

They looked at each other in relief. ‘Come on girl, shift yer arse,' hissed her mother. ‘We might not be so lucky next time.' Rummaging amongst the rags in the corner, she produced the jug of gin, finished off the last few dregs and wiped her mouth. ‘Thass better,' she winked again. ‘Bit o' Dutch courage never hurt anyone. You know what they says: “A little of what yer fancy does yer good”.'

Maggie sighed. One look at her mother put the lie to that saying. Her greying hair was pulled back into an untidy bun, her face was bone-white, apart from the dark bruise around her left eye, and her ‘new' dress hung from her emaciated frame. She looked liked an old, worn-out whore masquerading as a respectable housewife.

Her mother rubbed her sweating palms nervously over the skirt. ‘Do I look all right?' she asked, suddenly anxious. ‘I wants to make a good impression.'

‘Yer look loverly, ma,' lied Maggie, loyally. ‘A proper bobby-dazzler.'

‘Thanks, love,' said her mother. ‘Gotta try and look yer best, ‘aven't yer?' She smiled. ‘Now lets get outer ‘ere.'

 

‘Is it much farther?' whined Maggie. ‘My feet hurt.' They seemed to have trudged for miles and Maggie was totally confused. They'd left their own familiar streets behind ages ago and were now in a similar area to the ones she'd seen when delivering the cats-meat. The posher the houses became, the shabbier she felt. She shivered; this was no place for the likes of them.

Suddenly her mother turned into a wide tree-lined crescent and stopped before the most imposing house in the row. ‘‘Ere we are,' she announced triumphantly. ‘Number twelve, Regent's Terrace.'

Maggie stared in dismay at the imposing steps that led up to the entrance. ‘We can't go up there, ma,' she muttered. ‘They'd take one look at us and chuck us down them steps.'

‘Don't be daft, girl,' chuckled her mother. ‘We ain't going in the front door. That's only for the gentry. Come on.' She led Maggie to a tiny side gate and down the steps to the basement. ‘Get them boots on, girl,' she snapped, and wincing, Maggie did as she was told. Once that was done her mother smoothed down her skirts, patted her hair, took a deep breath and rapped on the door.

It seemed an eternity before they heard footsteps. The door creaked open and a girl, the spitting image of the one who'd been so rude to Maggie the other day, stared at them in disbelief. Her eyes ran over Maggie's too-tight dress and the bruises on her mother's face and her lip curled in contempt.

‘Get aht of it the pair of yer - before I set the dogs on yer,' she ordered. ‘We don't allow no beggars here,' and she began to shut the door, but Maggie's mother drew herself up to her full height and glared at the girl.

‘None of your cheek, miss,' she said haughtily. ‘I wish to speak to the housekeeper, Mrs Hardcastle.' Maggie gawped in astonishment; her accent had undergone a startling transformation, and she stared at her mother with new respect. Blimey, she sounded almost like one of the nobs herself!

The maid must have thought so too. Automatically bobbing a curtsey, she turned and disappeared.

Five minutes later a plump woman, in an immaculate black dress that made her mother's look like the shoddy article it was, appeared. ‘Well?' she demanded, folding her arms on her formidable bosom. ‘What do you want? Didn't the maid tell you? We want no beggars here.'

A look of hurt bewilderment crossed her mother's face. ‘Don't you recognise me, Moll?' she asked. ‘It's me, Kate. We were in service together.'

The woman stared at the ragged apparition. ‘Kate? Kate who?' She looked closer and an expression of horrified recognition crossed her face. ‘Kate Ellis?' She struggled to hide her dismay at the state of her friend. ‘Good heavens! Little Kate Ellis! Well I never! And this is your girl, is it?'

Maggie's mother nodded proudly, and Moll shook herself and forced a smile. ‘Where's my manners? You must be frozen stiff standing there. Come into the kitchen and we'll have a nice cup of tea and a chat about old times.'

Inside, Maggie looked round, wide-eyed. Cor, the kitchen was enormous! Their cellar room would have fitted into it four times easy. A massive black range took up half one wall and was covered in bubbling pots. At a long scrubbed deal table two girls with aprons over their brown uniform were sorting eggs and flour. Through a doorway was a scullery where another was peeling a huge mound of vegetables, and the smell of hot food made Maggie's mouth water. Her stomach rumbled loudly and she blushed with embarrassment.