The Petticoat Men (15 page)

The fashionable crowds were crammed in again – big hats and lovely gowns – and I thought the man who was asking me questions this time was rude, this horrible short person, Mr Poland, the main prosecuting man. All I thought of was them getting out today, even on bail so I tried not to get mad and to answer politely, me and Ma and Billy had talked last night about how to say things and then I’d decided a few other things to say when I lay in my bed. Mr Flowers the magistrate did look quite serious this morning, but not unkind, he had a face you could trust I thought. I wondered if someone had told him that Freddie’s grandfather was a Judge? and that his father was important in the courts? but understood it was not for me to speak out about any such thing. I just smiled at Freddie before Mr Poland began.

‘Mrs Stacey, you are perhaps rather young to be a landlady.’

‘No I’m not.’

Silence.

‘We run a particularly well-regarded establishment. And my mother may be rather old but she would certainly not stand for any disrespect.’ I hoped Ma wouldn’t stand up and ruffle. I thought I saw Freddie smiling to himself.

‘And who is the actual owner of 13 Wakefield-street?’

‘As I already explained to the policeman who put a lock on one of our doors, the house belongs to myself, my mother and my brother.’ I felt much more confident today.

‘The boarding-house trade must therefore be very lucrative, in Kings Cross.’ Everybody would have heard the sarcasm.

‘The house was left to our family by a – relative, in his will, when I was nine years old.’ I couldn’t punch him but I could punch him with words. I remembered Ma’s words:
It BELONGS to us, Mattie!
I looked at the magistrate and smiled at him. I hadn’t read lots of books for nothing, I knew how words could go.

‘Perhaps, Mr Flowers, you would like me to go home and get the legal papers for you to peruse since it seems to be implied that they are relevant to this case, though I dont know how, I’m sure.’ Mr Flowers coughed and harrumphed and looked at Mr Poland and Mr Poland left that line of questions.

‘Mrs Stacey, how many beds were there in the room they first rented from you?’

I was on the alert at once. This Mr Poland was looking for things to go in
Reynolds News.

‘There was one bed. A large one.’

‘So if they stayed the night the defendants slept in the same bed?’

There was that sort of hiss again, from the actors and the fashionable people.

‘Well, I s’pose they did, Mr Poland! Like I sleep with Ma if we’re short. But I didn’t go up to their room in the middle of the night and investigate their sleeping arrangements. And anyway like I said they didn’t stay very often, they had their own homes to go to.’

Another noise in court, not a hiss but agreement.

‘However, Mr Poland, when they first came to our address they asked most specifically for two rooms but we did not have two available.’

Take that, Mr Poland
, I thought to myself.

‘Did gentlemen visit them?’

‘D’you mean did they have any friends?’

‘Were they visited by gentlemen at 13 Wakefield-street, Mrs Stacey?’

‘I told yesterday that other friends rented a room sometimes. Mr Amos Gibbings had a room. Sometimes they had a visitor or two, or Mr Amos Gibbings had a friend, and sometimes they sang which was really enjoyable.’

I got a bit carried away here, remembering Ernest’s sweet voice,
which is the fairest gem? Eileen Aroon
,
drifting down the stairs.

‘Do you mean music and dancing?’

‘Just humming and singing, Mr Poland, perhaps you do the same in your house? We like music in our house, actually.’

Another murmur of agreement from the crowd.

‘And lately we hadn’t seen them for ages before they started coming again about a month ago, I believe, Mr Boulton went to Scotland for some months because he had been ill, to get better.’

‘Did he indeed?’ and Mr Poland gave a little nasty smile. ‘And tell me, Mrs Stacey, have you met Lord Arthur Pelham Clinton?’

What a queer little ripple there was in the audience after that question, it was like a gasp. Somehow my answer was listened for in a funny silence as if it was very important but I did not dare look at Freddie because everyone was looking at me and waiting to hear what I would say. I remembered what Ma said:
Everyone waiting for the nobility to be involved.
I felt sweat trickling under my arm. I had no way of knowing if anyone else had talked about Lord Arthur.

‘What was the name?’

Sarcastic: ‘Lord Arthur Pelham Clinton.’

‘I may have. Maybe many months ago. I have a busy life.’

‘Surely somebody of your – class, Mrs Stacey, would notice if a member of the nobility arrived at 13 Wakefield-street?’

I looked at him. He looked as if he kept nasturtiums, a flower I had an aversion to. ‘Mr Poland, perhaps your “class” would notice other people’s class, but my mother and I run a very busy lodging establishment—’

‘Some people may use other terms than merely a “lodging establishment”, Mrs Stacey.’

Blooming pig. I turned to Mr Flowers on the bench. ‘Mr Flowers, could you ask him not to cast further aspersions on our very respectable home?’

Mr Flowers looked at Mr Poland over his spectacles. Mr Poland bowed in apology and Mr Flowers indicated courteously to me to continue.

‘—because my mother and I run a very busy lodging establishment and very many people visit us from time to time, including many cotton salesmen from the North of England who are also regular patrons which perhaps you would like to verify. Possibly the person you mentioned came to the house but I cannot be absolutely certain and if he did it was a long time ago.’

And I folded my arms, making it clear that was the end of that.
Take that, Mr Poland
.

‘You say the defendants always came to your house dressed as men. Did they leave always as women?’

‘Course not. In fact’ – I suddenly had this idea – ‘Mr Frederick Park had a moustache a while ago as a matter of fact, for months actually, so he wasn’t always dressing as a woman, though they did quite a lot.’

Mr Poland looked at me very suspiciously. ‘Thank you, Mrs Stacey, that is all.’

Again I found it hard to get down but there was the noble lady from yesterday near by, beckoning me, again she squashed up and made room for me on the end even though we were all hot, while the policeman read out a list of the things that had been found in our house. The more the list was read out in the policeman’s flat voice the more the people in the court laughed and sort of applauded and Ernest seemed quite cheered at this and looked at the audience pleasedly, and sort of fluttered.

‘Sixteen dresses, silk. Moiré antique, ditto, white Japanese silk trimmed with white lace and swansdown, pink stripes, green cord silk. Thirteen petticoats in tulle, tarlatan, white frilled cambric, white book muslin. And a crinoline. Nine coats, ermine jacket and muff, crimson velvet shawl.’

The lady I was sat next to found this all very funny and laughed – her laugh sounded like a bell, ding-dong-ding-dong – in an elegant sort of way, other people laughing too of course, and Ernest looking coy. And she laughed even more at the next things.

‘Ten pairs of stays. Two pairs of drawers; garters, stockings, eight pairs of boots, shoes, etc. Curling tongs. A bottle containing a quantity of chloroform.’

‘Did you see these?’ the lady asked me, tears of laughter in her eyes now.

‘I did,’ I whispered back, ‘and some of the gowns were beautiful though some were a bit battered. But I never saw any chloroform, whatever that looks like.’

‘Now listen, if they ever ask you about chloroform, say it is for toothache,’ she whispered.

‘Is it?’ I said, surprised.

‘Never you mind,’ she whispered back, laughing still.

‘Seven chignons of different colours, chiefly of the prevalent golden hue. Two long curls. Ten plaits for hair and a grey beard.’

Here the court erupted and Mr Flowers made a banging noise with a hammer thing. Still the policeman hadn’t finished his list.

‘Artificial flowers and a great quantity of wadding, used apparently for bosom padding. Four boxes of powder and two of “Bloom of Roses”.’

Mr Flowers leaned forward. ‘Is it suggested by the prosecution, Mr Poland, that the aforementioned grey beard is an article of female attire somehow to be worn with “Bloom of Roses” which I presume is some sort of ladies’ powder?’

‘No, sir. Rather it is my opinion that the beard would have been used as an article of disguise. It is possible that the moustache mentioned by Mrs Stacey was a disguise also and she did not recognise it as such.’

I went to stand but the lady stopped me with her gloved hand. ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered.

And again I thought,
they will be let out on bail today and then we can all laugh about it together, it will be all right
.

But it wasn’t all right. It was terrible. Because we realised that it wasn’t just ladies’ clothes that that horrible lawyer was going to tell of. Or even photographs. Well they were just photographs of them dressed as women, I’d seen them plenty of times when I cleaned their room, both of them dressed as ladies in all sorts of different gowns, and often photographs with Lord Arthur Clinton – he was always playing the man and they were playing women – theatrical photographs, that’s all, and never Lord Arthur dressed as a woman, I couldn’t see how such photographs could matter in the least.

But it was the letters they’d talked about yesterday. They must have been in a drawer. (Well I didn’t look in their drawers when I was cleaning, I’m not a blooming spy.) And Mr Poland had kept the letters for his grand finale.

‘We have seized letters from several addresses, including 13 Wakefield-street,’ he said triumphantly, ‘that are very relevant to this case.’

‘You implied yesterday there was something in the letters we should know about,’ said Mr Flowers.

And the prosecutor held up a packet of them and then he said: ‘I would like to read just one of these letters to the court.’

‘Very well,’ said Mr Flowers.

And he stood there, that prosecutor, and he was smiling in a nasty way and all the laughing and gossiping people in court suddenly went very quiet, taken by the look on horrible Mr Poland’s face.

He started reading. It was from Scotland where Ernest had gone to stay.

My darling Ernie

And my heart did sink at once, because men dont write like that to other men.

My darling Ernie,

I had a letter last night from Louis. He tells me that you are living in drag. What a wonderful child it is! I have three minds to come to London and see your magnificence with my own eyes. Would you welcome me? Probably it is better I should stay at home and dream of you. But the thought of you – Lais and Antinous in one – is ravishing.

There was another funny gasp in the audience then, not a laugh. I looked at the lady who I sat next to, I wanted to ask her who Lais and Antinous are but she was looking serious now and muttered something to the lady next to her on the other side.

Let me ask your advice. A young lady, whose family are friends of mine, is coming here. She is a charmingly dressed beautiful fool with £30,000 a year. I have reason to believe that if I go for her, I can marry her. You know I should never care for her; but is the bait tempting enough for me to make this further sacrifice towards respectability? Of course, after we were married I should do pretty much as I pleased. People don’t mind what one does on £30,000 a year, and the lady wouldn’t much mind, as she hasn’t brains enough to trouble herself about much beyond her dresses, her carriage etc.

What shall I do?

You see I keep writing to you and expect some day an answer to some of my letters. In any case, with all the love in my heart,

I am yours etc

John

There was a funny feeling in the courtroom in the silence and I thought it was mainly because the letter was so cruel, but maybe it was the
all the love in my heart
bit.

But Mr Poland hadn’t finished. He turned to Mr Flowers and said: ‘There are many more letters of this ilk and much, much worse, Mr Flowers. I have another which I think will persuade you, but I do feel, sir, that I cannot read it aloud as its contents are much too shocking, and mention is made of – a certain lord – who has not yet been called to give evidence. I do suggest that you retire to read it, before you make any further decision about the prisoners.’

‘I think if the public can be saved the reading of them it will be beneficial,’ said Mr Flowers in a dry tone and he slowly got down from his big bench and disappeared, clutching the letter he had been given.

The good feeling in the court wasn’t so good now. I looked at Freddie and Ernest and I suddenly thought, very clearly:
all this is Ernest’s fault.
Whatever Lais and Antinous might mean it was quite clear to me that most of this was about Ernest, and not Freddie. Even Ernest looked pale now and had stopped smiling and nodding, he was in men’s clothes, yes, but it was true, he
did
look as if he was a woman trying to be a man. Whereas to me Freddie looked like – Freddie.

After a while Mr Flowers came back. He didn’t say anything at first but he looked serious. Again I wondered if he knew that Freddie’s family were important in the law. Surely that would count,
surely
?

‘I have decided to keep the defendants in custody,’ he said rather shortly. ‘This court is adjourned for a week.’

A week?
They’d already been incarcerated for blooming ages.

Now they both had their heads down and looked really distressed as they were escorted out to the van. There were such huge crowds waiting outside now, even bigger than before, it truly looked like thousands now, stretching way back down to the Strand, all yelling and peering and craning to have a look, it was like a Royal Procession or something. Ernest and Freddie couldn’t get to the van, the police had to move people, some were cheering and some were shouting. Ernest and Freddie did manage to wave and took off their hats. Before he entered the van Freddie spoke briefly to a man in a suit, I looked carefully but it wasn’t anyone I’d ever seen, maybe it was someone from his family; they shook hands. And I thought,
his family will be looking after him, of course they will, both of them, Freddie and Ernest are gentlemen and their families will know what to do
and then as he was stepping into the van Freddie saw me, and gave a small wave and I waved back.