Ричард Вудмен: Under false colours

"Ave a piss, Capt'in, I'll get undressed.'

'No, wait... how much will you be paid for this, Zenobia?'

'Five shillin' plus me board and lodgin', why?' She had paused and was looking at him.

'Because I want you to do something special for me.'

She turned away and made to unhook her stays, her face uninterested. 'You'll still have to piss ... I'm a clean girl ...'

Drinkwater blushed, aware that, for all his bravado, he was not used to this sort of thing, was unfamiliar with the rituals of what passed for love, and of what exotic treats might be available to him.

'You don't understand, I'll give you two guineas ...'

The woman looked up sharply, throwing her skirt over the back of the chair and drawing her stays from her body. Her breasts, still tip-tilted, swung free, catching the light of the candles.

'You pay me what you like. I'll do what you want, but no beating. If you beat me, I'll scream for Jem. An' I wants to see yer 'and-spike ...'

'For God's sake, be quiet . Here ...' Drinkwater fished the coins from his pocket and held them out to her. She seized them and bit them.

'Is a man called Fagan in the house?' he asked, before she could say more.

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. Her hand reached out for her skirt and she drew it to cover her breasts as though he had asked her a most improper question. 'What's yer game?' She backed towards the door.

'It's all right Zenobia, I mean you no harm. Just tell me if a man called Fagan is in the house. If you help me I'll pay you another guinea.' He knew it was a mistake, the moment the words were out of his mouth. He saw the quick movement of her eyes to his waistcoat pocket, gauging how many more guineas reposed there. If she summoned Jem they might roll him for the contents of his pockets and that would be disastrous. He took a small step forward and she fell back towards the door.

'You ain't 'ere for a fuck, are you?' she asked, edging towards the door, her voice rising wildly. He raised his cane and stabbed its point into the door, preventing her from opening it. His left hand reached out and caught her black tresses. He gave a quick tug and pulled the wig from her head. With a sharp whimper she shrunk back into the room, crouching in her humiliation. He knelt quickly beside her, putting an arm about her shoulders. Strands of hair clung to her skull and suddenly he felt sorry for her.

'Please, Zenobia,' he hissed insistently into her ear, ' trust me. You will come to no harm and I will not forget you. Is the man Fagan here, now? A big man, like a prize fighter, with a thick left ear? Tell me.'

She looked up. 'You won't tell Mrs Hockley?' Her eyes were imploring.

'What? That I didn't bed you?'

'No, about my 'air. If she knows about my 'air, she'll chuck me out. I've a boy to feed, a good boy ...'

'No, of course not. I'll give you something for the boy if you help me ...'

'Will ya? Honest?'

'Yes, now come, I haven't much time ...' He stood and held out his hand. She took it and gave him a shy smile, sitting herself on the bed.

"E's 'ere,' she jerked her head, 'next door, wiv Annie, I means Lucinda. It was 'im, the pig, as was making all the bleedin' noise.'

'Will he stay all night?'

'No, not 'im. 'E'll be at it for an hour or so, then 'e'll sleep orf'is drunkenness, then 'e'll give 'er another turkin' afore he leaves. 'E likes 'is money's worth, does Mr Fagan.'

'Does he just leave? He doesn't stop below, for a drink or a chat with Mrs Hockley?'

'What you askin' all these questions for? Are you a runner, or a magistrate's man or somefink?'

'No ...' He fell silent, trying to think out his next move. He had to come upon Fagan in a situation of the most contrived casualness ...

'Have you ever been with him?'

'Fagan? No. 'e's the kind who gives a girl a rough time.'

'How d'you know?' Drinkwater asked.

'We talk, Mister,' Zenobia said, a note of contempt in her voice. 'We don't spend all our lives on our bleedin' backs. Annie, I means Lu, told me.'

'You mean you don't offer yourself to him because of...' He picked up the wig and held it out to her.

'Yeah, 'e'd soon find out, then 'e'd tell Ma Hockley and I'd be in the gutter.'

'D'you have a bottle of gin or anything here?'

'I got a bit.' She held up her skirt questioningly. 'You ain't going to ... ?'

He shook his head and said, 'Where's the bottle?'

Fastening her skirt she reached on to a shelf. The bottle was only a quarter full. 'It ain't free.'

'I'll give you tuppence for it. Now listen,' he dug for the pennies, 'I want you to be a very good girl. I want you to tell me the moment Mr Fagan comes out of the room next door ...'

'You ain't going to . . .' she made a lunging and twisting movement with her right hand, 'give 'im one wiv that rum degen of yours, are ya?' She nodded at the sword-stick. 'I don't want nuffink to do wiv you —'

'I only want to talk to him.'

She stared at him, weighing him up, her head cocked on one side. ' 'E's a dangerous bugger. If 'e gets wind I helped you ...'

'Look,' said Drinkwater urgently, exasperation creeping into his voice, 'if you do exactly what I ask, I'll leave another two guineas with the chandler next door. For your boy ...'

'How do I know ...?'

He did not blame her for her suspicions, but he could now hear the noise of voices from the adjacent room. All the indications were that Fagan had finished with the obliging Annie. He had no time to lose. 'Do as I say,' he said sharply, keeping his voice low, 'or I'll have that wig off again and I'll be on that landing screaming for Mrs Hockley that you've poxed me!'

The words struck her like a whip. Her face blanched. She turned and put her hand out to a framed print on the wall. Lifting it off its hook she jerked her head at the hole hidden behind it. 'See for yerself

He put an eye to the hole and peered through into the next room. The white body of a voluptuous girl lay spread in total abandonment on the bed. Her hands were tucked behind her head, her tawny hair fanned out across the pillow. She was laughing at some remark her companion was making. Then the bulk of a man came into view. He was almost dressed, his hands busy with his neckcloth. Drinkwater needed to see no more. He turned back into the room, took the print from Zenobia's hand and replaced it.

"E gets a bit rough sometimes,' she said, nodding at the erotic print, 'Ma Hockley sometimes keeps an eye on 'im. All the rough ones get that room.'

Her tone suggested a pathetic attempt to palliate what she had taken for anger on Drinkwater's part. The poor creature must be desperate for money.

'Get into bed, pull the sheets up ...'

She did as she was bid while he pulled off his coat and tugged at his own neckcloth until it hung loosely about his neck. He threw his coat over his arm and picked up his hat and cane. Hoping to look as if he had just risen from a bed of illicit love he stood beside the door, his right hand on the knob. He turned to Zenobia. 'I'll leave the money with Mr Davey next door. I've some business to transact with him.'

He opened the door a crack. Outside the landing was lit by a single lantern. From below came loud male laughter, more customers, Drinkwater guessed, which might make his task easier. He strove to catch the noise of the latch of the adjacent door, but Zenobia was saying something.

Angrily he turned. 'Quiet,' he hissed.

'Don't ya want it then?' She was holding out the nearly empty gin bottle.

'Damn!' he muttered, crossed to the bed and grabbed it from her. As he reached the door again he saw the light from Annie's opening door, and the shadow of a man's figure. The sound of his voice rolled along the bare passage.

'Let me go, you wanton bitch.'