‘One, anyway,’ Mrs Striker said, coming through the door. She was pushing a thin girl in front of her with jabs between the shoulder blades. ‘Move along, Sticks.’
The girl whined something about a shilling; Mrs Striker explained that the only way she’d been able to get the girl to come was to promise her a shilling. ‘After,’ she said to her and gave her another jab.
‘Leave off!’
Mrs Striker rolled her eyes and indicated the private rooms, and Denton hurried to open the door. Inside was a row of half a dozen swinging doors, theirs the third one along. Denton pushed through, found a space a little bigger than a coffin with a narrow banquette on each side covered in greasy, almost napless brown velour. At the far end was the same coloured glass that stood above the long bar, and a hatch that he guessed was for service.
The child — eleven, Denton thought, emaciated, not pretty — fell into one of the banquettes and stuck her feet out. Mrs Striker said she was off to find the others; she turned back before she went out and said to the girl, ‘Mind your manners, Sticks. You know what I mean.’
When she was gone, the child said in the door’s direction, ‘Cow.’ She looked at Denton and said, as if on a dare, ‘Stupid old cow.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Hate her.’ It was like trying to understand another language; he had got ‘cow’ all right, but she ran her words together, and she had an accent he couldn’t follow. He sat down next to the door, finding himself embarrassed, not sure why.
‘JerwantaFrenchwye?’ the girl said.
‘What?’
‘Frenchwye, French wye! Yer deaf? French, I does’t betternor’ny. Ask any gemmun. Quick, I am. Bring yer off in lessnor minute.’
Denton stared at her. What struck him most was how entirely sexless she seemed. Yet he supposed that ‘French way’ meant the same as Harris’s à la bouche. ‘How old are you?’ he said.
‘Fourteen, wot bus’ness’t to you? Yeserno, you wannit ’fore the cow comes back? Shilling.’
Denton said no, and she flounced back against the greasy velvet and folded her thin arms. She had no breasts at all that he could see, nor any hips; if she was fourteen, nature hadn’t brought her any maturity yet.
‘Wantersee my place?’ she said. He felt himself flush. She smiled. ‘No hair on it. Tenpence.’ She reached down to grasp the hem of her skirt; the door pushed open, and Janet Striker came in.
‘What are you doing?’ she said.
‘’E made a nindecent purposition ter me.’
Mrs Striker glanced at Denton and then at the girl. ‘You’re a terrible little liar, Sticks.’ She looked back at Denton. ‘I found the others outside the public bar; they’ll be right along.’ She sat on the same side as Denton, facing the girl, two adults apparently allied against her. ‘I know you better, Sticks. Drop it.’
The girl crossed her arms over her chest again and pouted her lips. ‘Where’s my shilling?’
‘After, I told you.’
‘Five shillings, you said!’
‘That’s if you had anything to tell us about Stella Minter. Well?’
‘Yerfinkiblab everyfink I know?’ She wiggled herself deeper into the banquette. ‘Fer five bloody shillin’? Make me larf.’
Janet Striker’s voice was tired. ‘She doesn’t know anything. I knew it was a mistake to spend time on her, but-Give her a shilling and I’ll send her on her way.’
‘I know wot I knows!’
‘Yes, nothing.’
Denton was trying to find a coin in his pocket, wondering if the tailor had taken his money. No, there it was-
‘I do know somethink, so there! Stella Minter tole me all her secrets!’
Mrs Striker took the coin and held it out. ‘Oh, Sticks — get out.’
The girl grabbed the coin and jumped up. ‘Stella Minter got the clap!’ she shouted and, giggling, ran out. She collided with two other girls, who shouted at her and she at them, and they came in red-faced. Both wore demure blouses and dark skirts and little round hats with brims. They looked at Denton and then at Mrs Striker and everybody seemed deeply embarrassed.
‘Sit down, do,’ Mrs Striker said. ‘That’s Lillian, and that’s Mary Kate.’ Lillian was plump, rather sleepy-looking, perhaps sixteen; Mary Kate was thinner, freckled. ‘This gentleman wants to know about Stella Minter, the girl who was murdered in the Minories. He’ll give you a shilling for being here and five shillings if you know something useful.’
The two girls looked at each other. They seemed still more embarrassed. Denton realized it was because of him — something about its being all right to sell themselves to a man like him but not all right to discuss their profession in front of him and another woman. Mary Kate put her feet flat on the wood floor and looked at her shoes; Lillian stared around as if she had never been in such a place before and then fanned herself with a hand and looked over Denton’s head. All at once, Mary Kate said, ‘Had a baby.’Three words, and he knew she was Irish.
Mrs Striker looked at Denton and then back at them and said, ‘Stella Minter? When?’
They looked at each other again. Lillian said, her voice so soft he could hardly hear it, ‘Wile ago.’ She glanced aside at Mary Kate and then murmured, ‘Waren’t married or nothin, she waren’t.’
‘What happened to the baby?’ Denton said. All three women turned towards him — they had been talking to each other — and frowned. Mrs Striker gave him a look and said that it was a good question, and did the girls know?
‘’Dopted,’ Lillian said.
‘She gave it up?’
Mary Kate studied her shoes but said, ‘She went to the Humphrey, an’ they kep’ it and all.’
Mrs Striker said aside to Denton, ‘The Humphrey is a home for unwed mothers.’ Then, to the other two, she said, ‘You’re sure? This is important information — you must be sure.’
‘Sure ’n’ I’m sure as sure,’ Mary Kate said, and Lillian giggled and got red.
‘Did she tell you?’
‘Sure, wasn’t she Lillian’s special pal, then? She was allus tellin’ you everthing, wasn’t she, Lil?’
‘Well, not everythin’.’ Lillian blushed deeper. ‘Oney oncet she tole me that when she were feelin’ low. She were a sad girl, she was. A’ways.’ Her face, which didn’t seem to know how to show sadness, got blank. ‘Never had no fun.’
‘Was she afraid of something?’ Denton said, and they all looked at him again.
‘Maybe. But I dunno. I do know she tole me oncet about the ’Umphrey and the awfu’ time they give ’er. Workin’ girls to death.’ She looked up at Janet Striker.
‘Yes, I know, dear.’ She glanced at Denton. ‘It’s like an old-fashioned workhouse.’Then, turning back to the others, she said, ‘Is that all? There’s nothing else you remember?’
They looked at each other once more, then around the little space as if for escape, and Lillian murmured, ‘Ever so eddicated.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Stella was eddicated. Nuffin’ she din’t know. G’ography. Reading.’
‘She owned a book,’ Mary Kate said.
Denton didn’t remember a book among Stella Minter’s belongings. Was that significant?
‘Name weren’t Stella, neither,’ Lillian said so low he wasn’t sure he had heard right.
‘What?’
‘Her name weren’t Stella. We was standin’ down Aldgate, nobody comin’ along, nuffing! And we was both sad and tellin’ things and she says, “My real name’s not Stella.” Well, lots o’ the girls change their names, don’t they? So I said, “Wot is it, then?” and she says, “Ruth, like the Bible.”’
‘Ruth what?’
‘She wooden tell that, would she? Oney Ruth.’ Lillian’s eyes were almost closed; she might have been a medium, hauling up these titbits from a trance. ‘Her sister’s name was Becca. Becky, but she says Becca. Re-becca. She’s ever so worried ’bout Becca.’