‘We’re coming back for you,’ she said. ‘We won’t be long.’
Dolores carried the very badly injured black girl, crooning gently to her as they made their way down the stairs. A padding of bare feet behind them made them pause – the little black girl was following them cautiously.
‘Come on then,’ Matilda nodded to her. ‘There’s nothing to fear.’
While Matilda put the Chinese girl straight into the bath, Dolores felt her girl was too badly hurt even to sit up, so she laid her on the kitchen table and began to strip off her bloodstained shift. ‘Come and look at this,’ she whispered.
Matilda moved nearer, but the shock of what she saw made her nauseous. The girl’s ribs were sticking out through her skin at odd angles, hardly an inch of her body was left unbruised, and as Dolores parted the girl’s stick-thin legs she saw her vagina was torn and swollen.
It took a long time to get each of the girls clean and into their new beds. Every movement had to be slow and gentle so as not to frighten them further, and they couldn’t even discover the girls’ names to make it easier to communicate with them. Matilda followed Dolores’ lead by chatting gently about nothing in particular, in a crooning manner, for they seemed to find that soothing.
But then the doctor arrived, and the moment he walked into the room with Matilda, they all began to wail, except for the badly injured one who didn’t seem to be aware of anything.
‘He’s not a bad man,’ Matilda said firmly. She knew Polish Dr Wilinsky slightly, as he sometimes came to the saloon. ‘He’s a doctor, and he’s come to make you well,’ But her words did nothing to calm their fears.
Matilda sensed Dr Wilinsky was only there under duress, and his examination of them was neither thorough nor particularly sympathetic. It was at that moment that she truly began to believe women should be allowed to practise medicine, if only to girls and women who had been abused by men.
Outside the parlour half an hour later, the doctor told Matilda he held out no hope for the badly injured Negro, as he thought her broken rib had punctured her lung, but suggested they bound her ribs firmly with a bandage to ease the pain and gave her laudanum. Of the others, he thought that rest, good food and tender care would bring them round, as he didn’t think any of them were suffering from anything infectious.
She was just about to admonish the slight man for his lack of interest, when he suddenly said he would write a full report to Mr Rodrigious, and he was prepared to stand up in court to see Mrs Honeymead hang for what she’d done to these girls.
‘Well, thank you, doctor,’ she said, glad she hadn’t laid into him after all.
‘I didn’t want to come,’ he admitted, having the grace to look bashful. ‘I’m just like most folk, I guess, but you have shamed me, Mrs Jennings. Now, what will you do with the girls when they are better?’
‘I don’t know right now,’ she said with a sigh. ‘But I believe every grown man and woman in this city ought to join me in trying to put a stop to this kind of bestiality.’
‘You will have my support,’ he said to her surprise. ‘Especially if you can think of a way of rehabilitating these girls, so they can forget what they’ve learnt in this place.’
A week later, back at London Lil’s, Dolores was packing a big basket with fried chicken, a flagon of soup and some of her home-made bread, ready to go down and relieve Matilda for the night, when Sidney came rushing into the kitchen.
‘Captain Russell’s down in the saloon,’ he said breathlessly.
‘Lord above!’ Dolores exclaimed, her expression a mixture of both delight and apprehension, for like Sidney she realized he couldn’t possibly know about the tragic deaths in Oregon. He’d only left in July, it was now early October, and if he’d spent the past few weeks travelling from Kansas, he couldn’t have got Matty’s letter.
‘I guess we’ll have to tell him before he sees her,’ Sidney said. ‘But I surely don’t want to.’
Dolores patted the lad’s shoulder in understanding. ‘Bring him up, Sidney,’ she said. ‘Master Peter’s in his room doing his homework, I’ll jist make sure he stays there and we’ll tell the Captain together.’
Downstairs in the bar James was puzzled. First, Sidney hadn’t greeted him with his usual warmth, but hurried off saying he had to have a word with Dolores. Then he’d turned towards Mary and Albert, but they seemed to be going out of their way to serve customers at the other end of the bar. Could it be that Matilda had found a new man?
But as Sidney came back downstairs looking strained and asked him if he’d like to step up for a chat with him and Dolores, James suddenly felt frightened that something had happened to her.
He voiced that fear as he was ushered into the parlour.
‘A great deal has happened to her since you were last here,’ Sidney said. ‘That’s what we need to tell you before you see her.’
Dolores came in, poured him a glass of whiskey, then launched into the story.
‘Amelia, Cissie and Susanna all dead?’ he whispered in horror. ‘Oh no! And she’s brought Peter here?’
Dolores nodded. ‘She sure sunk down pretty low for a time, Captain, and no mistake, but she gone and picked herself up again now.’
‘But what about Tabitha?’ he asked. All colour had left his face, and he slumped back in a chair as if the deaths were his own family.
Dolores explained that she’d stayed with the Reverend Glover, and that now she was in Boston at school.
‘So that was Treacle who came to greet me outside?’ James said in a hushed tone. ‘I thought he was remarkably like him, and wondered why he was making a fuss of me. So she brought him back here too?’
‘Well, Tabby couldn’t take him to Boston,’ Sidney explained. ‘And it cheered Peter to have him come. But I’ve got more to tell you yet.’
Sidney went on to tell him about Fern, Gilbert Green, the shooting, and finally what was going on down at Girlie Town.
James looked stunned, and confused, but he managed to get out a few questions.
‘Fern’s better now,’ Dolores said. ‘She’s still here, helping out a bit. But Miz Matilda, she’m putting everything she’s got into gettin’ those girls well again. One died, never stood a chance poor little thing, but Miz Matilda sure ain’t gonna give up on the others, she’s talking all sorts of nonsense, ’bout opening a place for girls like that. You gotta talk some sense into her pretty little head, Captain!’
James was so deeply shocked by the deaths of Cissie and the two little girls that he could hardly take anything more in.
‘Are you in agreement with Dolores?’ he asked Sidney after a moment’s thought.
‘No, I ain’t.’ Sidney looked at Dolores and smiled. ‘Dolores is just afraid for Matty. It’s not that she don’t like the idea of a girls’ home, she’s worked just as hard as Matty with those girls, and without her help I dare say some more of them would have died. But Dolores wants her mistress to be a lady and she don’t think this is what real ladies do.’
James had to laugh at that. ‘Well, that’s true, they sit in their carriages and twirl their parasols, but I don’t think any of us can see Matty doing that.’
Dolores scowled at him. ‘You knows what I mean, sir,’ she exclaimed. ‘She’s the talk of the city now, famous as that English nurse, Florence Nightingale. She’ll be thirty soon, and if she don’t mend her ways she’ll never find a respectable man to marry her, all she’ll have is a parcel of children who don’t belong to her, all her money will be gone, and she’ll be all alone.’
James knew a maternal speech when he heard one and he smiled fondly at Dolores. ‘Why, you’ve become her mammy,’ he exclaimed. ‘So she won’t ever be alone, you’ll be there.’
‘That’s the truth,’ Dolores said, wiggling a finger at him. ‘And if I’d been her mammy when she first got entangled with you I’d have sent you packing. Don’t s’pose you can give us some good news, like your wife’s bin carried off with a fever or kicked by her horse.’
/> ‘Dolores!’ Sidney said in a horrified tone.
‘That’s okay, Sidney,’ James chuckled. ‘You see, down South it’s fine for a mammy to air such views, when her darlin’s future is at stake. But I’m sorry to disappoint you, by all accounts Evelyn’s in the rudest of health. Happy because I’m posted so far off.’
Although Sidney didn’t hold with married men having mistresses in general, he admired the Captain so much he allowed himself to overlook this one flaw.
‘Here, in San Francisco?’ he asked.
‘At the Presidio, no less,’ James said with a smile. ‘Not for long, I suspect, they’ll have us out chasing renegade Indians and guarding mail coaches. But here for a while.’
Dolores stood up. ‘I guess I’d better be gettin’ down to Miz Matilda,’ she said. ‘She’ll be a-wondrin’ what’s keeping me. I’m sure glad to see you, sir. Maybe with you here Miss Matilda will get better still. See, she’s still grievin’ badly for her baby, I reckons that’s why she got so all fired up ’bout these girls.’
‘I’ll come with you to carry that basket,’ he said. ‘And I’ll bring Matty home too.’
‘You can’t go in there,’ Dolores said in some alarm. ‘Miz Matilda don’t allow no men in, those girls get so scared.’
‘Then I’ll wait outside,’ He grinned. ‘It will be like old times seeing your mistress caring for folk. I guess that’s what made me love her in the first place.’
Chapter Twenty-three
Matilda leaned up on one elbow to watch James sleeping beside her. She thought he was handsome in any light, with or without his uniform, travel-stained or on parade. But lying here next to her in a sheltered hollow, by the beach at Santa Cruz, with sunshine playing on his fair hair, and his features relaxed, he looked much younger than his thirty-six years.
It was January of 1856, and three months since he came back to San Francisco. Next week he would be going back to Kansas with his company, and she had no idea when she’d see him again. But they had shared so much happiness in the past months that she wasn’t going to let anything spoil these last few days in Santa Cruz together.
They had ridden here on the coastal path, and they were staying in a little beach cabin which they’d rented from a man in the fishing village. They woke each morning to the sound of rolling waves and the shriek of sea birds, and they had spent their days riding, walking and making love. For two days now they hadn’t seen another soul, and if Matilda could have just one wish, it would be that they could stay here for ever.
There was nothing here to remind her of Amelia. Back in San Francisco there were Peter and Sidney, and so often when they talked about the past Amelia’s little face sprang into her mind and just stayed there. Not that she needed reminders to recall every last thing about her, but at least here she could control the memories, savouring the sweet ones, pushing the nasty ones of her death away.
She was so glad she’d helped Fern now, and that it had led to finding the other girls. It would never make up for losing Amelia, but doing something worthwhile had soothed the heart ache. As Dolores had said that day when she was angry, she did have Tabitha, Peter and Sidney. Tabitha was very happy at her new school and doing well. Peter had made friends in San Francisco and seemed more settled. As for Sidney, well, sometimes she wondered what on earth she would do without him.
Rolling over, she sat up, looking towards the sea just a couple of hundred yards away. It was turquoise, the sky above clear and blue with just a few wispy white clouds, the sun as warm as a spring day back in England.
She smiled at the thought, for her memory seemed to be playing tricks on her these days. Why was it that when she thought of England she visualized trees in blossom, the scarlet coats of the Beefeaters in the Tower of London bright against the ancient grey walls, and the Thames sparkling in sunshine? She knew that in reality if she was to be transported back there now in January, the wind would be biting cold, the streets awash with filth, and the people every bit as ragged and forlorn as when she left thirteen years ago. Yet she sometimes yearned to go back there.
She knew such thoughts were foolish, everyone she cared about was here in America, and besides, after this holiday she was going to open the Jennings Bureau, an employment agency for young ladies.
There were many in San Francisco who believed she was crazy to consider such a venture during a financial crisis, but she believed they were all short-sighted. People were still flocking to California, attracted by its gentle climate, and they were a steadier, sturdier bunch than those who’d come during the gold rush. A great many of these would need servants, nursemaids, seamstresses and shop assistants, and she was going to supply them. At Christmas she had made Sidney manager of London Lil’s, to leave her free to concentrate fully on this new project.
The idea had come to her during the time she was nursing the sick girls from the brothel. As they recovered physically, she saw the only way to heal their mental scars and to prevent them ever being drawn back into a life of vice was to find some way of training them for some kind of decent employment. But none of them was old enough for that, and at first she had tried to induce some of the more upstanding people in the community to take a girl into their own home and care for her until she was thirteen or so. This had failed miserably – no one, it seemed, had a big enough heart to take on such damaged girls. But some of the more charitable of them had offered her donations to help with the girls’ upkeep.
It had been her old friend Henry Slocum who had suggested that she take these donations and set up a trust fund. He said if she were able to find and equip a house to take these girls to herself, and care for them until they were old enough to work, he would personally see that the city council gave her funds to help. She could then appeal to the public for more donations to meet the rest of the costs.
Back in late November Matilda had found such a house in Folsom Street, at a low rent. The owners had gone to South America but were undecided about selling it. She set up the Jennings Trust, and started it off by paying the first year’s rent herself, then began persuading people to donate funds, clothes, furniture and equipment.
The girls’ spirits rose dramatically as soon as they were moved out of the old brothel building with its terrible memories. Although that first week in December the new house was scantily furnished and chilly, the day they moved in was the first time Matilda had heard real laughter from any of them.
Fern had proved to be invaluable. Matilda had kept her at London Lil’s after she recovered, and while Dolores was down at the brothel nursing, Fern took over her old jobs. She was also an ideal go-between down in Girlie Town for Matilda, as the much younger ones there trusted her, knowing she had been there too. It was she who managed to get them to talk, sitting in with an interpreter for both the Chinese and Mexican girls. Mr Rodrigious got his statements, and Mrs Honeymead was convicted of procuring and sentenced to hard labour for ten years.
Now Fern was at the house with the other girls. Although she was old enough at fourteen to work, both Matilda and Dolores felt she was made of the right stuff to train to become housekeeper eventually.
For now Dolores was in charge at the house, having taken up residence in the front room. Each one of the girls knew that behind her stern front lay a kind and understanding woman, but they’d learnt since then that she was vigilant, nobody’s fool and very tough. She had high standards of hygiene she expected them all to follow, they had to eat what they were given or they got nothing else, and she made it quite clear that even when they were well enough to go outdoors, it would be with her, not by themselves.
Matilda had let the girls know that although this was to be a safe home for them for as long as they needed it, they were there to learn too. They were to share the chores, the Mexicans and Chinese had to learn to speak English. All of them would learn to read and write, sewing, cooking and other housekeeping skills.
James stirred beside her, his hand coming up to caress her back. ‘I must have dropped o
ff,’ he said. ‘That wasn’t very gentlemanly of me.’
Matilda turned to him and kissed his nose. ‘Perhaps you should try sleeping at night,’ she giggled.
‘What were you thinking about?’ he asked, sitting up beside her. ‘I hope it wasn’t something sad.’
‘Not at all,’ she said. James coming back was the best kind of medicine for her heart ache. He had let her talk and cry about Cissie and the girls, but he’d also given her a great deal to laugh about too, and often that was better than sympathy. ‘Though I suppose I was kind of wondering if the Jennings Bureau will ever have any clients.’
‘Of course it will,’ he said firmly. ‘It might take a while to get going, but I’m sure a year from now it will be a roaring success, just as your lumber business and London Lil’s were.’
‘My first advertisement will be in the Alta Chronicle next week,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘They promised they would write an article about it too. But I’m afraid I might get dozens of women wanting work, but no work to offer them. I’ll look pretty silly if that happens, won’t I?’
‘Have faith,’ he said.
‘That’s what Giles always said about everything,’
‘Did it work?’
‘Some of the time,’ she said with a smile. ‘But if it didn’t, he just used to turn it around and claim God had refused for a reason. I often wonder if when he got to the Pearly Gates he was cross that he’d been called too early.’
James looked up to the sky and cupped his hands round his mouth. ‘If you’re listening, Giles, make sure it works for Matty,’ he called out.
Matilda giggled. ‘I think he’s looking after Tabitha, in her last letter she said she was top of her class.’
‘Peter’s bright too,’ James said. ‘He was speaking about a mathematical problem to me the last time I called around, I couldn’t even begin to think how to work it out, but he knew. He’s such a nice lad, most thirteen-year-olds are so awkward, and after all he’s been through in the past six months one would expect him to be difficult.’