Goodnight Lady

  ‘I heard a whisper that Willy Bolger done a brass yesterday, down the docks. It was just a whisper, mind, from another cutter. I don’t know the strength of it like...’

  Briony sighed heavily.

  ‘That’s all I wanted to know.’

  She nodded at the two Arabs and they let Sandy go. Briony handed his knife back to him and smiled.

  ‘No hard feelings, Sandy, this was just business, boy.’ She looked at Tommy. ‘Give him a monkey, he’s working for us now. Exclusively.’ She faced Sandy and smiled. ‘That OK with you?’

  He nodded furiously. ‘Yeah, I don’t mind. I’m ready when you are, girl.’

  ‘Then you can go.’ As Pete and Sandy were leaving the room, Briony shouted after them.

  ‘One last thing, Sandy. I don’t want any mention of what took place in this room, from either of you. If it did I would be very annoyed, you see, and let’s face it, Sandy, there’s more than a few cutters around, aren’t there?’

  He nodded again, his face serious.

  Outside on the pavement he walked along with his son, quiet and subdued. ‘Little Pete’, as his mother called him, searched his father’s face and swallowed down his disappointment. His dad was a grass. The knowledge broke his heart.

  Even worse, though, was the fact that his father was frightened of a tiny little lady with red hair and green eyes and the smallest feet he had ever seen. Even surrounded as she was with big men, little Pete had felt the fire from her, had felt the menace, and as upset as he was, felt a tremor of pity for whoever had angered her so much. If she could frighten his father, she could frighten old Nick himself.

  ‘Well, you was right, Bri. But it wasn’t Sandy. I heard a whisper a while back that Willy was branching out, but I didn’t dream it was in our game. He’s more a heavies’ heavy, if you know what I mean. He pimps, but not for our kind of girls. He’s always dealt exclusively with the rough trade.’

  Briony nodded, her face set in a frown that etched deep lines on her forehead.

  ‘I have to scoot in a minute, I have to see Nellie Deakins and then Mariah Jurgens. I wonder what Jurgens could possibly want? I have a feeling in me boots she’s involved in this somehow. It seems more than coincidence that she wants to see me after one of my girls gets topped.’

  ‘There’s no harm in Mariah, I knew her years back. She was always straight, Bri, always fair.’

  Briony laughed bitterly.

  ‘Tell that to Victoria Staines’ mother. Her daughter still carries the scars of her run-in with Mariah to this day!’

  Tommy sighed. ‘You’d have done the same, Briony. If a girl is thieving you got to put the hard word on them, otherwise before you know it all the brasses are having a field day.’

  ‘I can see you like her. Well, I promise to be very, very nice, unless she upsets me. I’ll hear her out. But if she tries to cross me, I don’t care how big she is, I’ll wrap her from one end of London to the other! I ain’t in the mood for fun and games at the moment.

  ‘Now, you find all the cutters in town, and see if they’re working for Bolger. I’m going to see him, but first I want to know exactly how much muscle he’s got. He’s more slippery than a greased eel, but he’s made two bad mistakes. One, he touched something of mine, and two, the bastard has the audacity to think he can frighten me. Me, Briony Cavanagh! Well, he’s got the shock of his fucking life coming to him. I’ll pay him back tenfold for Ginelle, and for taking the piss.’

  Tommy looked at her with awe and a tinge of respect. Never before had he seen her like this, and much as it troubled him, he was happy to know she would always look after herself and her own.

  ‘We’ll get him, Bri. We as in us.’ His voice was low.

  Briony went to him then and he pulled her into his arms. ‘Yes, Tommy boy. We’ll get him.’ She looked up into his face and tried to smile. ‘But I’ll cut the bastard, you owe me that. I’ll be the one to cut him.’

  Tommy nodded almost imperceptibly. It was what he had expected.

  Nellie Deakins had grown big over the years. Now she was ponderously fat. Her neck, which had once been long and smooth, sported several chins. Her eyes were embedded in the fat of her face. She looked constantly as if she had just run a considerable distance, though she rarely left her chair. She puffed herself through each day, and even her girls had begun remarking on the unsavoury smell emanating from her.

  Nellie had always ruled by fear; nowadays she relied heavily on her reputation from her younger days to keep order in her house. Nellie had once beaten a girl nearly to death, her crime to tip her hat at one of Nellie’s boys. As Nellie had grown older she had taken an undue interest in young men. Big handsome young men whose only duty was to treat Nellie with a bit of respect, light the cigars which she smoked constantly and hold doors open for her. It was the illusion of youth and desirability that Nellie still fostered, even though the illusion was nowadays quite incongruous. Nellie wasn’t really a jealous woman; she had beaten the whore for the simple reason that, if you let them get away with the little things, soon they’d try for bigger. Nellie had lived by that adage all her life. Until now, that is. Nellie was only sixty-two years old, not a great age for a madam. But she was so fat and lazy that the day to day running of her establishment had become something of a bind to her. She knew, deep down, that she had lost the urge to keep the place going, keep outwardly respectable and, worst of all for a madam, the urge to look out for her girls.

  Now she had that young scut Briony Cavanagh coming to see her. Nellie pursed her lips to stop them twitching into a smile. She was a clever girl, that Cavanagh. Clever, good-looking and sensible. A lethal combination for a madam. Opened her first house with Tommy Lane when she was just a little girl, a greenie. Now the word on the street was that Briony was branching out into all sorts of skulduggery, legal as well as illegal.

  Nellie sat back in her well-padded chair and absentmindedly unwrapped a sweet. Popping it into her mouth, she waited patiently for Briony Cavanagh to arrive and say what she had to say.

  Briony walked into Nellie’s house with barely concealed shock. The door had been opened by a girl of about nine who had sniffed loudly as Briony introduced herself and said at the top of her considerable little voice: ‘You’d better come in.’

  She had then been left in the hallway a good ten minutes before she realised the little minx had forgotten all about her. Briony was usually calm and fair in her dealings with children, but today she felt she had taken just about as much as she could stand.

  She walked unannounced into the large main lounge and surveyed the room and the girls in it while she pulled off her gloves. The room had once been beautiful, if overdone. The crystal chandeliers were now hung with cobwebs, and the floor covering was bare in places. Around the room were girls and women, smoking and chatting. They glanced at her and resumed their talking. Briony breathed in the foetid stench of unwashed bodies and lavender water. Nellie’s establishment had gone down even further than she had anticipated. The girls sprawled around this room would have been long gone from one of her own houses. She guessed they were lice-ridden and shuddered inwardly.

  ‘Where can I find Nellie?’ Her voice was loud and all the girls turned to face her with raised eyebrows.

  ‘You a new girl?’ This from a thin whore with non-existent breasts.

  All the occupants of the room were taking in Briony’s pale green dress and coat and costing it in their minds.

  ‘What’s your name, girl?’ Briony’s voice travelled across the room and hit the skinny one full on.

  ‘You what?’ The voice was belligerent now.

  ‘I said, what’s your name? Not too difficult a question, is it? I presume you know the answer.’

  The others laughed and this put the girl in a terrible dilemma. She either fronted the red-headed cow in front of her, who though small looked like she could handle herself, or she answered the question and lost face in front of her friends.

  ‘I’m Jinny Collins. And
who are you?’ It was said without any respect whatsoever and Jinny was pleased with herself. She had answered the question and asked one. To Jinny this showed considerable wit.

  Briony let her eyes travel the length of the girl’s body before she said: ‘I am Briony Cavanagh, and you, Jinny Collins, had better start talking to me with a bit of respect!’

  Briony nearly smiled at the different expressions on the girls’ faces. They ranged from fear to a healthy curiosity which she noted with pleasure.

  ‘I am here to see Nellie, and one thing I’ll say to all you girls before one of you kindly shows me where she is, is this. You stink! All of you stink, and you’re lousy. You’re also ignorant. I could have been anyone coming in here, and you let me. If one of my girls did that, I’d scalp the bitch. My advice to you lot if you want to carry on working here is this: get washed and get your miserable little lives sorted.’ She pointed to the skinny girl.

  ‘You, Jinny, show me where I can find Nellie. Now!’

  She practically jumped from her seat.

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  They all watched as Briony followed Jinny from the room. So that’s Briony Cavanagh, each thought, and then cursed themselves. Briony Cavanagh was the person to work for and they all had inadvertently buggered it up for themselves. It was quiet after she had left them. But the room was filled to the rafters with regrets.

  Jinny showed Briony into Nellie’s office.

  ‘It’s Miss Cavanagh to see you, Nell.’ Briony noted the use of the Christian name and sighed inwardly. This place was really run down.

  Nellie watched Briony dust off her chair before sitting on it. She noted everything about her, from the perfectly arranged hair to the pale green suit that was plain and simple yet screamed of money. She decided she liked the look of the girl. The only thing that threw her was the fact that Briony Cavanagh, the big Briony Cavanagh, was small. ‘Petite’ the French would call her. Nellie decided she would rather describe her as scrawny.

  ‘Now then, what can I do you for?’ Nellie wheezed with laughter at her own joke.

  ‘I think it’s more a case of what I can do for you. I am looking for some more houses. I want established businesses, like your own.’ She held up her hand as Nellie’s mouth opened.

  ‘Just hear me out, Nell, then answer me. I walked in here today to a bunch of filthy dirty brasses, the place is in tatters and looks unkempt - like its workforce. You are obviously losing heart in the place. I know that, in your day, you were one of the best madams this side of the water.’

  She saw the woman respond to the compliment.

  ‘Now what I want from you, Nell, is to buy this house outright, but I would still want you to run it. I will have a big say in what happens here, I admit, as will my associate, Tommy Lane. But you will be our mouthpiece, Nellie. I’ll clear this place of crooks and vagabonds and wandering thieves. I think the house is in a prime location, it’s big, and all it needs is a few quid poured into it to make it one of the best houses in the business once more. Now then, Nellie, what do you say?’

  She looked at the girl, because Briony was only a girl for all her sophistication and expensive clothes, and felt a grudging respect and admiration for her. She had simply and firmly stated her case which Nellie was shrewd enough to know she would carry, with or without Nellie’s co-operation. Briony Cavanagh struck her as that sort of person. What she offered was fair, and was also exactly what Nellie had dreamt of in her darker moments. She would have the status of head of the house without the real aggravation. It was a dream come true.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I think, little lady.’

  Briony raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I think you should go to the cupboard over there by the door and get out a bottle of my good brandy. Then we can toast our partnership.’

  Briony grinned and did as she was told.

  A little while later they were both pleasantly discussing the influential customers Nellie had had over the years, when Briony said: ‘What about Willy Bolger, Nellie? You ever had any dealings with him?

  Nellie waved her hand dismissively.

  ‘He’s a ponce of the worst order, Briony, but I know one thing about Willy that’s always served me in good stead with him: he’s a coward. He’d cut a brass or a bloke, but only mob-handed. Get Willy on his own and he shits bricks. He was in here not a week back telling me he wanted this, that and the other, but young Barry Black was in here. I’ve been hiding him up because the Old Bill’s after him for that jewellery robbery over in Kent. He saw Willy off, no trouble. Willy reckons he’s got a right royal backing now. I nearly laughed me head off! I mean, who in their right mind would back William Bolger? I remember him when he had no arse in his trousers and an empty stomach.’

  Briony smiled and changed the conversation again, listening with half an ear to Nellie telling her about Lord this and Lord that who’d frequented her house over the years. But her mind was on Bolger, and on Mariah Jurgens who was next on her list of things to do.

  It stood to reason Willy had backing, but from whom? That’s what she had to find out.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘You’re what?’ Molly looked at Eileen as if she had never before clapped eyes on her.

  ‘I’m getting married, Mum. Joshua asked me today and I said yes.’

  Molly grabbed her daughter in her arms and squeezed her tight. ‘Jesus, Mary and jumping Joseph! This is the best news I’ve heard for many a long day, and aren’t you the dark horse! I never guessed it was gone this far. All your gallivanting around and never a word! Oh, Eileen, I could shoot meself with happiness! You’ve made a good choice, child, a good choice!’

  Molly’s voice was loud enough to carry through the wall and beyond. Her pleasure was written all over her face. Rosalee picking up on this, grinned widely and clapped her hands together.

  ‘Your sister’s getting married, Rosie darlin’, now isn’t that something!’

  Eileen smiled at her mother’s obvious happiness.

  ‘Wait until I tell the others!’ Molly sat herself down by the fire and carried on making the tea. ‘Now then, first things first. He’s Catholic, thank God, so we’ll have to see the priest and put the banns up. Our Briony will have to be told first, though.’

  ‘What’s Briony got to be told first?’ Bernadette’s voice wafted in at the front door as she pushed herself in laden down with packages. Eileen took them from her and, blushing furiously, said: ‘I’m getting married, our Bernie, to Joshua.’

  Bernadette screwed up her eyes in wonder and said loudly, ‘You ain’t? But he’s an old man!’

  Molly, seeing Eileen’s face drop, gave Bernadette a stinging blow across the face and shrieked: ‘Shut your mawing, you jealous bitch! Your turn’ll come, if you can keep that galloping trap of yours shut for five minutes!

  ‘Our Kerry will walk down the aisle fastern’n you because she only opens her mouth to a bit of singing.’

  Molly’s hard eyes stared into her daughter’s with a warning and Bernie shook her head hard before saying, ‘Our Kerry won’t be walking down the aisle, as you put it. Our Kerry just might find herself getting a bit of a shock...’

  She stopped herself from saying any more because of the look on Eileen’s face. Even Rosalee seemed subdued now. Bernie realised that, as usual, she had walked into a merry situation and ruined it. It was a knack she had acquired as a child. Everyone was now angry or depressed on the day Eileen had announced she was getting married. For one of the few times in her life, Bernie felt ashamed. Poor Eileen had been so unhappy for so long, and now she was taking the shine off the news. She rubbed at the handprint that was glowing bright red on her cheek and grinned ruefully.

  ‘I’m sorry, Eileen, it’s great news. The best news ever!’

  She kissed her sister on the cheek and in all the consequent excitement and chattering about the big day, Molly ignored the quip about Kerry, but it stayed in the back of her mind nevertheless.

  Briony stood outside Mariah’s
house in Hyde Park and gave the large imposing building the once over. It really was a lovely old place. Painted white, the four-storey edifice blended in perfectly with its neighbours. It was class, and Briony felt a grudging respect for the woman who owned it.

  She walked up the flight of scrubbed stone steps that led to the front door and rang the bell. The door was opened by a finely muscled young man in his early-twenties dressed in the scarlet and silver livery that, Briony was to learn, was worn by all Mariah’s staff.

  He took her through a large entrance hall and into the office area of the house. He asked her politely to sit while he summoned his mistress. Briony was now impressed beyond her wildest imaginings. She might have been calling on Isabel Dumas. She sat herself in a leather winged chair and pulled off her gloves, her eyes greedily drinking in her surroundings.

  Mariah was like her; where she worked was obviously important to her. Briony scanned the rows of bookshelves along the far wall and smiled to herself. Other than the copy of Fanny Hill, she guessed correctly that none of the books had ever been opened. Nevertheless they gave the room an air of respectability that Briony admired. She would angle for a look around the house if she could. It was always good to get a look at what the opposition was offering, and Mariah was her only serious opposition as far as the houses went, which was why she had never tried to take over any of her properties. There was room in London for both of them, providing Mariah didn’t blot her copybook with Briony personally.

  Her mouth settled into a grim line as she thought about this. She would make that point clear enough. Mariah might have requested the meeting, but Briony had only deigned to come because she had an ulterior motive. No, Miss Jurgens didn’t scare her at all. Big as the bitch was, and as hard a reputation as she had, it would take more than a whore to frighten Briony Cavanagh.