The Crimson Bed (27 page)

    'I'm always willin',' Jessaline said with a little giggle. 'I work 'ard, honest I do, and I'm punctual. I was brought up to be punctual as a kid and got beaten if I wasn't. So I can be very good. And I don't mind sittin' still. I can do that all right.'

    'Well, no one is going to beat you now. Take me to where you live and I shall collect you tomorrow and introduce you to one of my friends. We'll see what he thinks of you.'

    She rose eagerly and put on her bonnet and gloves, suddenly looking very prim and proper. Her teasing seductions were over; she was to be a proper working girl. He smiled.

    Her home it turned out was over a shop along the Lambeth Road and having noted the address, Fred said goodnight.

    'Ain't you comin' up?' she asked curiously. 'I don't mind. You're a real gennulman. Me pal won't be 'ome yet. She's takes 'er catch to a place she 'as in Suvvurk. Leaves me this place to bring mine to.'

    'You sound like fishers of men,' said Fred, shaking his head, 'but not in the Biblical sense, alas!'

    'Men ain't 'ard to fish for,' said Jessaline, 'they falls for the bait every time.'

    'Not all of them,' said Fred seriously. 'No, I won't come up,' he added, 'you go to bed like a good girl and don't come out again looking for work. You're to be good from now on, mind?'

    'You will come though... tomorrow?' she said. 'I 'ave to pay my rent, you know. If you don't come, I'll 'ave to go out.'

    'I will come. Here's a bit towards your rent.'

    He passed her a sovereign and she took it, open-mouthed.

    'You are such a g
ennulman
! Thank you, Mister George!'

    He kissed her on the cheek, a cheek so soft and childlike. Fred walked off feeling oddly noble and good at having rescued a Fallen Woman rather than adding further to her and his own degradation.

Chapter 23

Fred did not forget his promise to Jessaline. He considered taking her to Henry who had now returned from Cambridge but in Henry's present state of bereavement over the faithless Rosie Gamm, felt it might not be such a good idea nor the sort of influence Jessaline needed. Henry could never keep his hands off an available woman and Jessaline was likely to always feel available. The very situation he wished to avoid.

    Instead he introduced her to Farley Millbank, a happily married man and one of those peripheral artists who considered themselves to be Pre-Raphaelite but were more like charming imitators. However, Millbank sold his pictures easily and was supporting himself and his family very well in this manner.

    Millbank liked Jessaline very much and could afford to hire her on a frequent basis and introduce her to a couple of his own acquaintances as well. He reported that the girl did very well, was obedient and good, that she got on splendidly with his children and enjoyed playing with them.

    'If it wasn't for her bad breeding, I would have made use of her in the nursery. She has a real knack with children and they absolutely adore her,' he said, 'but Bella won't hear of having her here permanently, knowing her background.'

    Fred felt a sense of comfort from this good deed and it went a long way to cheering him in his present state of loneliness. He had recently received a letter from Ellie who was still in Hertfordshire. Joshua, her father, had joined her there, which secretly pleased Fred for he felt that someone was keeping an eye on Ellie. Foolish of him, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Ellie's account was mainly full of the children, their pretty doings and miserable ailments. She enjoyed Charlotte's company and reported in detail the outings they made to local beauty spots and how they had been entertained at the beautiful Derbyshire country estate of the Pendleton family.

    'I don't like Jack Pendleton much,' she wrote. 'Oh, he's a good looking, fine figure of a fellow and I think he cares about Lottie in his off-hand way but he is totally absorbed by farming and outdoor pursuits while Lottie prefers to read and play the piano. I'm not sure they are at all compatible. On the other hand, maybe she will enjoy the peace and quiet of being left to run her home in her own fashion. Let us wish them well at any rate. Father is in fine spirits and enjoying the change of air. I suspect he enjoys leaving his crosspatch of a sister in Oxford for a while also. Though he would never ever say anything so disloyal! Come and see us soon, dearest. The children miss you and ask after you. You could probably do with a change of air yourself and Hertfordshire is a lovely county.'

    Fred however still had a good deal of business to attend to in London and much as he admired Oreton Hall and missed his wife and children, he had no great wish to be there. Rather, he wished they would return home and be with him in their own cosy little house in Hampstead. It was selfish of him. The children and Joshua also were all benefiting from their stay in the country.

    His mother made much of his wife's prolonged stay from home and made it clear that it was time Ellie returned.

    'I realise that the Dillingers have had their share of misfortune of late but it seems to me a wife's place is with her husband,' she remarked one evening at dinner.

    'Ellie is happy at Oreton Hall, Mama. It was her childhood home in a sense; she spent many summers there with the family. After all, Lord Dillinger is her godfather.'

    'Hmm,' sniffed Beatrice, 'that may be so. However, she is not a child any more but a wife and I feel she deserts you far too often.'

    Privately Fred thought so too but he made no comment. Fanning the flames of his mother's gossiping tongue was never a good idea. Besides, Ellie was to return within a fortnight and then all would be well. He looked forward to seeing them with all his heart and soul.

Fred needed to call in on Farley Millbank over a business matter one afternoon. He found the artist painting in his studio at the back of the house. Jessaline was sitting for him that day. Over by the window, watching the proceedings, was seated another woman. This woman was a good deal older than Jessie, perhaps in her late twenties and she had an air of affluence and well-mannered elegance. Fred wondered who the visitor might be.

    'This is my dear friend, Susan Witherspoon,' said Jessie by way of introduction, 'Sue, this is my dear, dear Georgie-Porgie.'

    She still called him by that nickname though by now she knew what his real name was. It was a little joke between them.

    Mrs Witherspoon rose and bowed to Fred who looked at her appreciatively. She was a fair-haired, good-looking woman, had a pleasing and ample figure, and on the surface seemed refined. However as she spoke, he detected the twang of some Cockney dialect beneath the surface. Her striking blue eyes had a hard, cold stare; her thin mouth drawn in a straight line looked as if it seldom smiled. She was very proper but almost too much so as if constantly striving to make a good impression.

    Raising her head now, she stared Fred directly in the eye and he felt a certain sense of discomfort and surprise at this bold look. The thin straight line of the mouth now moved a trifle at the corners into a little smile. It was not a smile of friendliness or greeting. Rather, an amused, knowing look that sent a slight shiver down his spine.

    
I wonder if she is the friend Jessie mentioned
, he mused.
I am
almost sure she is. Why do I feel as if I couldn't trust this woman?
She doesn't have Jessie's open-ness and sweetness.

    Nevertheless, he felt an odd, compulsive attraction as he looked at her. In some way she appealed to him though he had no idea why a woman who was possibly a harlot should do so.

    As he sat and chatted to Millbank, Fred noticed that Mrs Witherspoon kept glancing at him. She seemed to be watching
him
as much as the progress of the painting and Fred felt awkward as well as puzzled. Why, he wondered, was she so interested in him? Was she attracted to him? The idea was flattering as well as alarming. He glanced over now and then and almost invariably caught her eye.

    After a while, during a pause in order that the model might rest a little, she arose and announced that she had to leave.

    'Oh, Sue... wait with me till I've done,' said Jessaline, pouting a little.

    'I have business, my dear. I really must attend to it. I will see you later in the day.'

    'You never said anyfink about it before,' said the young lady, put out by her friend's desertion.

    Mrs Witherspoon made no reply but politely bid everyone adieu and the maid saw her out. Fred felt a strange sense of relief at her departure as if a snake had slithered away just as he felt it was going to flick forth its forked tongue and bite him.

    After another ten minutes conversation, he also took his leave.

    'Be good, Jessie,' he said with a smile, dropping a guinea into her purse which lay with her shawl on one side.

    She smiled at him with affection. 'I always am good, ain't, I, Mr Millbank, sir?'

    Millbank smiled as he daubed at his picture in which Jessie was dressed up as a mediaeval lady reading a letter.

    'She is very good. And a very patient sitter.'

    Fred nodded, pleased with the result of his experiment in rescuing fallen women.

    He set off down the steps of the house and into the street, meaning to walk along to the Royal Academy and see some paintings there. As he set off down the road, a voice called his name from an old hansom cab that was standing and waiting a little way down the street.

    Surprised, he turned and saw Sue Witherspoon leaning out and calling to him.

    His heart stopped for a moment and he felt that he wanted to hurry on but he could not ignore a woman, even one of such dubious standing as this one. He paused and lifted his hat.

    'Did you call me, Madam?'

    'Yes, Mr Thorpe. I did. May I not offer you a lift somewhere?'

    'Very kind of you, ma'am, but I plan to walk to the Royal Academy. '

    'My dear sir, it's on my way. Please let me take you. I waited for you because there is something I wish to say.'

    Something drew him to look intently into those calm blue eyes and then enter the cab. She moved over on the seat, pulling her voluminous skirts out of his way, and knocked on the roof to urge on the cabman. The horse began to canter off and she sat back and regarded Fred, who was squeezed in beside her, with a faint smile and a cool steadfastness.

    'I waited for you, Mr Thorpe,' she said, 'hoping you might be coming soon because I wanted to thank you personally for having helped young Jessie so much. She sings your praises and never ceases to tell me that you are her saviour and how all your friends are such "gennulmen"! You have helped my dear little friend and I am very grateful.'

    'It is my pleasure, Mrs Witherspoon. She seemed so young, sweet, and vulnerable that I couldn't help but give her some hope. That's to say rather than the life she would otherwise have led.'

    Mrs Witherspoon gave him a sarcastic smile, 'Indeed,
such
a life!' she murmured and he felt a sense of mockery in her reply. He remembered then that she probably led the same life from which he hoped he had rescued Jessie. That is, if she was the same person whom Jessie had described as helping her on the road to prostitution. Suddenly he wondered what on earth he was doing riding in a cab in close proximity with such a woman. The cabman seemed to take a delight in dashing his horse between omnibuses, wagons and carts as if he had the Devil after him, which sent Mrs Witherspoon into Fred's arms as often as not.

    A herd of cows heading for some farm or market now advanced towards them, urged on by the drovers' cries. The noise of their lowing and the shouts of other cabbies and the general hubbub was quite deafening. Fred wished he had never been such a fool as to accept this hair-raising lift in a cab with an unknown and very dubious woman. A peaceful walk along the back streets would have been infinitely preferable to this bedlam.

    Henry, he knew, would have seen it as an adventure and been amused by it. Fred felt she was all he disliked in a woman. Those mocking blue eyes held him, stirred something within and troubled him deeply. Silence fell between them. Mrs Witherspoon looked at the passing scene with a thoughtful expression.

    'Do you and Jessie share the same lodgings?' Fred asked.

    'Not any longer. I have moved out. Jessie can fend for herself now. I have lodgings at 41, Cresswell St.' Changing the subject suddenly, she leant towards him and he inhaled the faint perfume of her hair. 'Mr Thorpe, I hope to have a little birthday celebration for Jessie... she is motherless now, poor thing. I look on myself as her mother substitute, you know. Would some of you kind gentlemen have any objection to attending such a celebration?'

    'It is very kind of you, Mrs Witherspoon – I cannot speak for the others but I don't think I can. Business you know... ' Fred trailed away lamely.

    She smiled and nodded as if to show she was not surprised by his reply.

    'I understand you deal in art, sell pictures, Mr Thorpe?'

    'Yes, I do.'

    'Will these pictures with Jessie sell well?'

    'Oh, yes, Farley Millbank is always a popular artist. He knows how to please his public, rather like Millais. They will sell easily.'

    'I would like you to buy them for me. It would be a good investment.'

'If you wish,' he said dubiously.

    'Oh, I have the wherewithal, Mr. Thorpe, I assure you. Mr Millbank would have no objection, surely?'

    'I don't see why he would.'

    'And our Jessie will be famous then, forever young and beautiful, captured on canvas.'

    Fred looked at her in surprise. He would not have expected such a sensitive remark from her.

    'That's well put,' he said. 'Yes, all these women will be goddesses forever, all of them. Future generations will look on their faces and see their beauty.'