The Best of Sisters (11 page)

‘It’s all right, love,’ Daisy said softly. ‘I ain’t no angel. You don’t have to be shy with me.’

He finished his drink, wiping his mouth on the
back of his hand. ‘You’ve been good to me, Daisy. I ain’t one to take advantage of a woman.’

‘Glory be to God, a gent.’ Daisy’s laughter echoed round the bar, causing a few heads to turn. ‘I tell you what you need, love.’ She leaned closer so that her breasts grazed Bart’s bare forearm. ‘A bath, a shave and a bit of food.’

He closed his eyes, inhaling the intoxicating smell of woman laced with beer and cheap cologne. ‘I never had a more tempting offer, but I can’t leave Tate on his own.’

‘He’s a big boy, just like you,’ Daisy said, running her hand up Bart’s leg to his thigh. ‘Here, Jim,’ she called to the barman. ‘If that fellow over there wants to find his mate, tell him where I live and he’s to wait outside. Me and this big fellow have got a bit of business to do.’ She slid off the stool, taking Bart by the hand and chuckling at Jim’s crude response.

Unable to believe his luck, Bart snatched up his pack and leaving Tate’s belongings in the care of the barman, he followed Daisy out of the hotel, along the crowded boardwalk and through a narrow doorway into a wooden building just a little way down the street. As she opened a door at the end of a dark passage, Bart felt the steam hit him in the face together with the smell of carbolic soap.

She walked in ahead of him, taking no notice of a naked man sitting in a zinc bathtub, or the man
towelling himself down in the corner. She tossed a coin to a red-faced woman with muscular forearms, whose job appeared to be filling the tubs with hot water from a bubbling copper. ‘Here, Flo, give this one some clean water and a razor.’ Daisy patted Bart on the cheek. ‘Me room’s next door, love. See you in ten minutes or so.’ She sashayed to the door and blew him a kiss as she left the room.

‘Get in then, what are you waiting for?’ demanded Flo, tipping a pitcher of water into the tub. ‘You’re lucky, fellah. Daisy don’t usually take to strangers.’

‘Is that so?’ Bart stripped off his clothes, hesitating when he got down to his breeches and glancing warily at Flo.

‘Get them off then, love. You ain’t got nothing that I ain’t seen a dozen or more times a day.’ She stood, arms akimbo, watching him with a wide grin.

Acutely conscious that his close encounter with Daisy, and the promise of more to come, had left him with an erection that would have done justice to a stallion, Bart dropped his pants and leapt into the hot water, but not before Flo had given him an admiring nod of approval. He ducked his head beneath the scalding water, praying that his manhood was not going to end up braised like a plateful of sweetbreads.

Fifteen minutes later, clean-shaven and glowing all over, Bart felt almost shy as he went into Daisy’s room.

‘So I was right,’ Daisy said, eyeing him appreciatively. ‘I knew there was a good-looking chap beneath all that dirt and fuzz.’

As he set his pack down on the earth floor, Bart was only dimly aware of his surroundings as his eyes feasted on Daisy, voluptuous in her state of undress. Her shapely body was clearly visible beneath a diaphanous wrap made of some thin, gauzy material, leaving little to the imagination. She came towards him, moving slowly with her arms outstretched and her pale hair hanging loose about her shoulders. She smiled up at him as she twined her arms around his neck. ‘We’ll have supper afterwards.’ With her lips parted and her eyes half closed, Daisy pulled his head down so that their lips met.

Her mouth tasted sweeter than honey and Bart slid his hands beneath her robe. Her skin was smooth, soft and cool as silk and he cupped her heavy breasts in his hands with a feeling of awe. Her lips opened beneath his and she returned his kiss with a ferocity and hunger that took him by surprise. He forgot everything except his need to take this woman who was offering herself to him with such unashamed enthusiasm. Lifting her off her feet, he carried her across the floor and laid her on the crude wooden bed. Her hands were
expertly stripping him of his clothes even as her mouth devoured his lips. She arched her body beneath him, guiding him into her and wrapping her legs around him. Bart gave in to sheer physical pleasure and abandoned himself to the expertise of a woman well versed in the art of lovemaking.

As they lay together in the satiated afterglow, Bart stroked Daisy’s cheek and was shocked to find it wet with tears. He raised himself on his elbow, peering into her face as he attempted to read her expression in the flickering candlelight.

‘What’s up, Daisy. I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

Daisy sniffed and hiccuped. ‘No, of course you never. You was wonderful, Bart. And you was such a gent. I ain’t used to being treated like a lady. It’s usually just a grunt and a fumble and then it’s over. They does up their breeches and stomps off without even a thank you.’

‘I thank you, Daisy. I thanks you from the bottom of me heart,’ Bart whispered, nuzzling her neck. ‘You saved me life tonight, girl. And I won’t forget it.’

‘Get on with you,’ Daisy said, snuggling into the curve of Bart’s body. ‘You’ll forget all about me when you find that big gold nugget.’

He stroked her hair, closing his eyes and luxuriating in the sensual delight of holding a naked woman in his arms, the softness of her
flesh and the weight of her breasts against his chest. ‘I’ll never forget this, ducks. You’re a star, Daisy, a shining star.’

Halfway between crying and laughing, Daisy traced the outline of Bart’s jaw with her tongue. ‘I been called a lot of things in my time, but never a star.’

He inhaled the scent of her, tasting her sweetness and feeling himself hardening against her plump thighs. Bart let out a sigh. ‘You’re too good for this sort of life, sweetheart. Much too good.’

‘I’m good at being bad,’ Daisy said, nipping Bart’s lips with a mischievous chuckle and moving as swiftly as an eel to straddle him.

‘Hey, wake up in there.’ Tate’s voice outside the door awakened Bart, bringing him abruptly back to reality. The candle had burnt out and the room was in darkness except for a shaft of moonlight coming from a small window high up in the wall. A fist was hammering on the door, making the thin panels shake.

‘Bart, are you in there?’

Daisy raised her tousled head, blinking drowsily. ‘Who the bleeding hell is that banging on me door?’

Bart raised himself to a sitting position and kissed her damp forehead. ‘Shut up, Tate. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

Outside the door, Bart could hear Tate mumbling. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, turning to kiss Daisy once more but this time on her full lips. ‘Ta for everything, Daisy, love. I’ll pay you back one day, I swear I will.’

She stretched and smiled up at him, taking his hand and holding it to her breast. ‘Forget the money, darling, it ain’t everything. Just promise that you’ll not forget me.’

He kissed her again, removing his hand reluctantly as he felt her nipple harden beneath his touch. He tucked the patchwork quilt up around her neck. ‘Never. I’ll never forget you, ducks. Take care of yourself.’

He went outside to face Tate, who was leaning against the wall smoking a cheroot. ‘Had a good time, mate?’

Even in the darkness, Bart knew that Tate was grinning. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, shouldering his pack. ‘I bet you lost the lot.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong. I lost a bit and then I won.’ Tate pressed a bag of coins into Bart’s hand. ‘There’s enough cash to stake us for a month and a bit more besides.’

The leather pouch felt reassuringly heavy in Bart’s hand. Now he would be able to repay Daisy for her generosity. He could still taste her and her fragrance clung to his body, filling his senses with delight. ‘Let’s go then, and get some food. I’m bleeding starving.’

‘Not so fast,’ Tate said, snatching the pouch from Bart’s hand. ‘You’ve had the best of it as far as I can see. I want a woman and the whore’s free now.’

A red mist blotted out Tate’s shadowy figure: vicious, blood-curdling rage seized Bart as his temper flared white-hot. Daisy was his woman. She belonged to him now, and just as Eliza was his little sister to be loved and protected from the evils of the world, it had become so with Daisy. He grabbed Tate by the throat and smashed him against the wall. ‘Leave her alone. If you go anywhere near her, I’ll kill you.’

It had been a strange Christmas without Bart. Although Eliza had Dolly and Ted to care for her, there was always a painful void that only Bart could fill. It was too soon to expect to hear from him, but not knowing whether he was safe and well, or even if he had survived the perils of the voyage, made her anxious and unsettled. She had bought him a present in Spitalfields Market, a woollen scarf that she tucked under her mattress to await his return. No matter what anyone said, and Ted had tried to warn her that Bart might never be able to come home, she was certain that God would not be so cruel as to part her for ever from her beloved brother. She prayed every night for his safe homecoming.

Despite missing Bart, Eliza was not unhappy; she had a real family with Dolly, Ted and Millie. Then there was Davy, dear, faithful Davy, who came round almost every evening when he had finished work. Sometimes they would sit on the wall of the workhouse in New Gravel Lane, swinging their feet and chatting about what they had done that day; at other times they would go
for walks along the dockside, looking at the vessels and making up stories about their voyages to exotic parts of the world. Occasionally Millie went with them, but Dolly was strict with her, sending her to bed early saying that she was a growing girl and needed her sleep.

And, of course, there was Freddie, who was now her employer and her mentor. Eliza admired Freddie for his medical knowledge, his undoubted charm, and his ability to convince the public that he had the magic nostrum that would cure all ills. She loved him for his sense of humour and boundless good nature. But she was also aware that he was all dash and panache, and his brashness had in it an element of childish naivety: sometimes Eliza felt that she was the adult and Freddie was her wayward offspring. Since the episode when she had caught him
in flagrante
with Beattie Larkin, Eliza had learnt that his weakness was women. Catching them in the compromising position had shocked and temporarily sickened her, and she might never have gone back to that hateful house if Freddie had not followed her that fateful day.

Now, with the passing of several months, when winter had reluctantly given way to a faltering spring, Eliza could look back on that time with a rueful grin. Freddie had found her in despair on Execution Dock and he had been the
soul of kindness and contrition. He had taken her by the hand, and had led her to a quiet place in the churchyard where he sat down beside her on a lichen-encrusted tombstone. He had explained the facts of life in such a calm and matter-of-fact manner that Dolly’s previous, embarrassed explanation about Eliza’s monthly courses had seemed, by comparison, quite comical. He had gone on to give her a paternal lecture on the general untrustworthiness of young men, who had but one thing on their minds. When he was satisfied that she had listened and understood, he had confessed that sometimes his own carnal desires overcame common sense, but that he was just a man and subject to human frailty. He hoped that she would think none the worse of him. He had assured her that Beattie meant nothing to him other than a release for his physical needs, and that he would make sure that Eliza was not subjected to a similar circumstance in the future. They had walked back to Anchor Street, hand in hand and with harmony restored.

Since then, Eliza had been an apt pupil, and she had absorbed everything that Freddie had to teach her with regard to the crocussing trade. After a few weeks he had been satisfied to leave her to work on her own while he went out selling door to door. She was proud that he trusted her to make up the cough mixtures, throat tablets
and liniments unsupervised. With the usual epidemic of winter colds, chills and inflammation of the lungs, business had been booming and, even with spring on the way, had shown no signs of slowing down.

Eliza had left Millie at the school gates and she wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders as the March wind brought with it a smattering of snow, and a temporary return of winter weather. She trudged, slipping and sliding on the slushy pavements, to Freddie’s lodgings. She knocked on the door and waited, cupping her numbed hands to her lips and warming them with her breath. These days, she never entered unannounced, even though Freddie promised her that he had tired of Beattie’s demanding ways and their relationship was strictly platonic. Eliza knew very well that Beattie blamed her for the waning of his desire, but it seemed a small price to pay for saving Freddie from a predatory female with a vulgar tongue and loose morals.

Beattie’s eldest boy opened the door, squinting at Eliza with dumb insolence. ‘You can’t come in,’ he said, scratching his skinny body in a way that made Eliza feel unclean and itchy.

‘Don’t be daft,’ Eliza said, pushing past him and heading for Freddie’s room. The door was open and she could hear raised voices.

Inside, Beattie stood with her hands clutched to her belly, sobbing hysterically and screaming at Freddie.

‘Calm down, Beattie.’ Freddie caught sight of Eliza and his worried frown gave way to a relieved smile. ‘Thank goodness you’ve come.’

‘It’s all her fault,’ Beattie screeched. ‘You’ve been cool to me ever since that snooty little bitch caught us in the act, and she’s to blame. I give you everything, I did, and look what I gets in return. Coldness, neglect and me in the family way again.’ She turned on Eliza with her fingers hooked into claws.

Freddie caught her by the wrists. ‘Beattie, be reasonable. You know it can’t be mine. We haven’t – er – you know what, for months. Anyway, I’m a doctor and I wouldn’t have allowed it to happen.’

‘You’re a man and you don’t bloody care.’ Beattie clawed ineffectually at his face. ‘It’s your little bastard what’s in me belly and don’t you go saying it ain’t.’

Eliza edged towards the door. ‘Perhaps I should go.’