I ask the driver to wait a moment, as I do not know what will happen inside. I walk up the stairs, brush my hands over my skirt, adjust my g*y bonnet, take a deep breath, and lift the knocker and rap three times. The old Brotherhood secret number.
You calm down now, you. Jaimy's probably not even here, he's surely at sea, he's...
The door opens and a young woman in serving gear peeks out.
"Yes, Miss?" she says. She is ginger haired, round faced, and appears cheerful and good-natured.
"Good day, Miss. My name is Jacky Faber and..."
Her smile broadens and she says, "Oh, yes, Miss! Please come in."
Well, that's a good sign, I'm thinking, as I step into the foyer and look about.
"I'll go get me mistress," says the girl as she spins and leaves the room.
I look about at the pictures on the wall, thinking that Jaimy must have known this room very well. Is that a portrait of him and his brother? I think the one on the left is...
I hear a rustle behind me and I spin around to find a woman of medium height with dark hair going gray. She is well dressed in what I know to be the latest fashion and in what appears to be the finest of fabrics. She holds herself rigidly upright, and she is glaring at me most severely.
Uh, oh...
I gulp and drop down in my best curtsy. "Good day, Missus," I quavers, coming up from the curtsy and meeting her eyes, eyes that look to have very little love for me in them. "If it please you, my name is Jacky Faber and I'm a friend of..."
"It does not please me in the slightest. I know who you are and I know what you are," she says, coldly, indignation plain upon her face. "You will not step any further into this house."
What?
"I cannot believe you would be so brazen as to come here," she continues, biting off every word. "Even one such as you."
"I ... I don't understand, Missus," says I, stunned. "I was only..."
"You have come here only to bring more disgrace upon my family. I know your history, and I must say I find it appalling. And now, with this latest outrage, the whole world knows of your illicit liaison with my son."
This latest outrage? What is she talking about? What latest outrage? What... I ain't believin' this, but she ain't done yet, oh no, she ain't.
"You are obviously a cunning and opportunistic adventuress. As such, you forced your attentions on a young and impressionable boy under very questionable circumstances, and now you come here to seek to better yourself by marrying into my family." She takes a deep breath, looking down her long nose at me. "I can assure you that will not happen, not as long as I live. He is not a match for you and you are certainly not a match for him."
She has worked herself up into a fine lather of hatred for my poor self, me standin' there shakin' in front of her, my belly churnin' in dismay. I am unable to speak.
"I am gratified to inform you that James has, at last, seen the folly of his ways and wishes no more to see you nor to have any sort of communication with you."
Oh, Jaimy, please, no, it can't be, it can't...
"Be gone, girl, and do not come back. You will receive no welcome from anyone in this house, as we do not welcome tramps!"
Tramp? She called me a tramp? That's enough to shake me out of my confusion, and I throw my chin in the air and put on the Look and rear back and say, "What you say may be true, Mrs. Fletcher, but I'll believe it when I hear it from Jaimy's own dear lips! Lips with which, I might add, I am very familiar!"
"His name is James, you dirty thing, you! Pah!" spits Mrs. Fletcher. "Hattie, put her out!"
The girl rushes to the door and opens it.
Shattered, I stumble through the door and it slams behind me. I grab the railing and stand there stunned and disbelieving. My worst fears ... My chest is heaving and my heart is pounding and I think I'm going to be sick. I think I'm going to throw up. I think...
I hear the sound of a window opening behind me, and in a daze I turn to see that it is Hattie, the serving girl, who has opened it. She leans out and whispers loudly to me, "Don't you believe everything the old dragon says, Miss. Mr. James is home on leave and is out in the country with friends today, but he'll be at the races at Epsom Downs tomorrow. And, Miss, he always speaks most highly ... Ow! Oh! Mistress, please!"
The girl disappears back into the house and there are more cries of pain.
I stand there and bite my knuckles, thinking ... I am sorry, girl, that you got a beating because of me, but I bless you for it, I do, for you have given me back some hope. I will see Jaimy and I will hear it from him.
I climb back into the carriage and take several deep, very deep, breaths to calm myself down. Well, that couldn't have gone any worse, I reflect, after I've collected my mind somewhat, and settle back in the seat.
"Cheapside, Coachman," I say to the driver. "The Admiral Benbow Inn, near Blackfriars Bridge."
We rattle off.
The coachman gets me to the Benbow, but he doesn't want to leave me off.
"It's a dangerous place, Miss, are you sure..."
"I am sure, and I thank you for your concern," I say as I pay him his fare. "Don't wait for me as I will be taking lodgings here." He drives off, shaking his head.
I pick up my seabag and look at the Admiral Benbow, sitting there on the corner of Water Street and Union. Was it only a little over two years ago that I stood right here on this spot, a beggar in rags, listening to sailors singing of Bombay Rats and Cathay Cats and Kangaroos? Then, ragged Little Mary Faber couldn't even go in the back door of this place. Now, with the Look—eyes hooded, head up, lips together, teeth apart—she sails right in through the front door.
"Ah yes, my good woman," I say to the astounded landlady behind the bar, frosting her with my Look, "I am Lady Faber and I have business hereabouts and I will have a room." With that, I snap one of my silver coins down on the counter. Then I brush off my fingers as if I am not used to handling money directly, because of my high station, don'cha know?
She eyes the coin greedily, with nary a thought in her mind to deny me entry.
"Yes, Milady," she says, scooping up the coin. "Jim, take up the Lady's bag, for Chris'sakes; don'cha know quality when you sees it?" Jim shambles out of the shadows and picks up my seabag. "The good room, Jim. I'm sure it will be to milady's likin'," she says, grinning a gap-toothed smile.
"I am sure it will be ... adequate," says I, growing not the least bit less haughty. "I will go up and refresh myself and when I come down in an hour, will you see that I have a basket of food prepared—breads, meats, cheeses, puddings? Some cider, perhaps? A large basket, if you would? Thank you so very much."
I follow this Jim up to my room, give him a penny for his troubles, and, after the door closes behind him, Lady Faber flops back on the bed and reflects that all the world's a fake.
A tousled head pops up from under the pile of rags and straw that is the old Blackfriars Bridge kip. It belongs to a boy of about eight years of age, and it is plain that he is the sentry posted to stay behind and watch and make sure that no one tries to take over the kip while the rest of the gang was out and up to the day's mischief. His eyes go wide at seeing me ducking my head under the edge of the bridge and entering the hideout. Scurrying outside, he puts two fingers in his mouth and lets out three piercing whistles.
Three blasts—that was our old signal, too—trouble at the kip! Everybody get back! Guess it got handed down from gang to gang. Ah, tradition...
It all comes rushing back at me—the memories of this place. ... The kip itself, the place where we slept all in a pile of urchin, rag, and hay, sits up on a sort of stone ledge. I dust off a spot on it and sit myself down, placing the basket next to me. I don't remember the kip smelling quite this bad, but back then I was part of the smell and so wouldn't notice. The rest of it is the same, too—the river slipping by below, the heavy stones looming overhead, interlocking together to form the underside of the bridge, arching away in the distance. Those stones always scared me a bit, thinkin' that some day or night they would let loose and come down and crush us all like bugs. But they never did, and I guess they never will.
The boy comes back and sits down on the pile of old rags and smelly hay and stares at me, saying nothing. I don't say anything, either—I'll wait for the others to get here.
While I wait, I look about and think back to that first terrible night I spent in this place—the gang had picked me up in some dark alley where I had run to in grief and horror after my family had died and I had been put out in the streets in order to conveniently follow them in death—put out and placed in the streets by Muck, the Corpse Seller himself, may he rot in everlasting Hell for his crimes. But I didn't die, and Charlie and the bunch picked me up and brought me here, and the next day I was set to the begging and, after a while, this dank and forbidding place began to look like home. I shiver a bit, thinking of all that.
Soon there's the sound of pounding feet outside coming from several directions, and then a boy and a girl, both about twelve, come in. Then from the other side, two girls about nine and then another boy of the same age. The boys are all dressed in ragged shirts and trousers, most barely reaching their knees before turning into tatters, and the girls in formless shifts that come down to midthigh in some, midcalf in others. The shifts, once white, are now gray. One of the younger girls has tied up her hair with a piece of old blue ribbon that she undoubtedly had picked out of the trash. Her face is dirty, her hair is a tangled mess, and the ribbon itself is wrinkled and stained. Still, the sight of it touches me.
The oldest girl looks at me with deep suspicion plain on her face. I do not blame her—what's somebody like me, dressed as I am, doing in their kip? I look at her with special interest 'cause I know she's the me of a couple of years ago, and it is she who says, "Ain't nobody here wants to be 'dopted, Mum, so you best be on your way."
My, my. It's a great day for putting Jacky Faber out, I'll own.
"That's right, Mum. Now...," begins the older boy. I notice that all of them are carrying rocks.
"Now, now, mates," I say, turnin' back to the old talk to put them at their ease, "I ain't here to adopt none of yiz. I'm just here to visit me old kip and maybe find out what happened to me old mates what used to live 'ere with me."
There are snorts of disbelief all around.
"Nay, it's true, and I'll prove it to you," says I, and I point to a place between two of the overhead stones. "There's a leak there, and there, and there, but the biggest one is right there, which we called Old Guzzler, from the sound it made when it was really rippin'."
"That's what we call it, too," says one of the younger girls, shyly.
"There. You see? I lived here when I was with Rooster Charlie's gang, two years back. I was called Little Mary then, but you can call me Jacky now."
"I remembers you," says the older girl, coming closer to me now and looking in my face. "I was with Toby's bunch when you came that night to where we was livin' under the gratin' on West Street and said we should all come here 'cause Rooster Charlie was killed and we should put the two gangs together."