Adele Varens 6

 I apologise for being so late, I had a mammogram yesterday and it was a bit stressful plus walking half a marathon around the hospital so I am shattered 

Chapter 6

 

I confess, I was happy to return to school in September. It was nice to have no worries beyond turning in preparation work, and to have the greatest fear to be gaining no more than a ‘C’ on an essay for Mrs. Bridges, whose disappointment in such poor marks made me feel more wretched than the fear of being caught at burglary.

It was nice to be with friends, learning new things, and discovering that history did not have to be dry and boring, as I had found it with Mrs. Fielding.

“Oh!” I said, as I had a breakthrough. “History is about people!”

“Oh, well done, Adele!” said Mrs. Bridges. “You might say it is made of two words – ‘his story.’ And of course, many ‘her stories’ as well. The lives of real individuals go to make up the rich pattern of history; even kings and queens are people. A recent change in the customs of the Royal Navy is because the late King William, God bless him, was a tall man, and always banged his head on the deck beams when standing for the loyal toast. So, when he became king in 1830, he decreed that in the Navy, the loyal toast should be drunk seated.”

You don’t think about kings being human; at least, I never had done so before. Nor had I thought that things happening in our own lifetimes would be the history of tomorrow.

“We live in great times,” said Mrs. Bridges. “Railways are spreading across the country, connecting people in a way that was unthinkable before, even with the toll roads, and horses at every stage. York to London is now becoming a possibility, with travel by train a matter of a few hours, rather than taking something over a day round for the mail, travelling day and night. Why, now time is becoming standardised as ‘railway time’ to make sure there are no accidents where lines merge, and trains may run to a strict schedule. When I was your age, if you travelled across country, you had to alter your watch to be whatever the local time was, and it could easily be an hour or more different from one place to another.”

 

I was noticing by the Christmas holidays that my clothes were uncomfortably tight; and I was aware that I had started to acquire breasts. It hurt.

I was glad to get back to my apartment, dress as my grandmama, and take all my clothes, well-laundered, to exchange for those which fit better.

“I think the lass will need a corset,” said Mr. Cohen. “She will find it supports her changing figure better.”

Horrors!

We wore stays of course, and I never laced mine tightly, being naturally skinny. Now I must learn how to use a corset, whale-boned, and uncompromising.

I confess, however, it did support my burgeoning bosom, and my aching back as I grew upwards as well as in other directions.

I was shocked, however, when I came to nip into a household always good for some loose change to find that I no longer fitted through the narrow window into the footman’s bedroom. I scraped my new acquisitions getting out of the predicament of being half in and half out.

I was going to have to learn to climb, and use the wider windows upstairs.

It was a great object lesson; as was being clumsy, for not knowing where my feet were any more.

I had got back to school with somewhat fewer takings than I had hoped, only my proceeds from begging, when the real horror of incipient womanhood struck me.

I woke up one morning in a pool of blood.

My immediate first thought was that I had been struck down by the Good Lord for my thievery, and had the mark of Cain on me.  That his mark was for being a murderer not a thief did not occur to me.

Frances-Anne woke up and shrieked.

“What evil man has used you?” she cried.

Mary also awoke, and went running for Mrs. Bridges, whilst I denied being used, and both Frances and I indulged in what can only be described as full blown hysterics as she begged me to believe that she had not been made wicked and had not interfered with me. Nelly and Celia stood and looked on helplessly.

Into the middle of this came Mrs. Bridges, whose appearance had us trying to hiccup to a cessation of our sobbing, as she disliked an excessive display of emotion.

“Dear me, you appear to have begun your courses,” said Mrs. Bridges. “Well, don’t just sit there, find the cloths your grandmother provided, and I’ll help you wash and pack yourself up.”

I stared, foolishly.

“Cloths?” I said, in complete lack of comprehension.

“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Bridges. “Do any of you know about female courses?”

She had a chorus of negative answers.

“I will be back shortly,” she said. “The rest of you, get dressed, and strip the bed; we may need another mattress, but not to worry.”

She returned with cloths, as she always kept spare ones, and helped me to wash, putting a kettle on the fire so I should have warm water to wash in. She packed me up, and let me put on a clean nightgown, my dressing gown and slippers as I was to have a day off, and swept us into our classroom where she proceeded to draw graphic diagrams on the blackboard about how our wombs worked, and how a man might fill them, something poor Frances already knew, and which she had confided to me, though I knew nothing of the mechanics of fertility.

“I should have given this class sooner,” she said, apologetically. “I delayed it because…” her eye rested so briefly on Frances that I think Frances and I were the only ones to notice it.

“It’s good to be prepared,” said Frances, stoutly.

We were holding hands. I was well aware that if I had not been a bold planner, I might have ended up as one of the little whores in Covent Garden.

I wager I did better than any girl fascinated by acting who tried to make a living on the stage and ended up selling her body outside the theatre; Covent Garden teemed with those girls who couldn’t make enough on stage to make a living, and could see no alternative but to become prostitutes to keep body and soul together. I am afraid that in the arrogance of my youth, I had despised them, without reflecting that theirs was the life my mother had also led, lucky to find some wealthier protectors. To me, the use of makeup to be a beggar was a much more obvious ploy than to merely sell one’s body, less hard work, and less likely to end up with diseases. I was beginning to appreciate a few more of the realities of life.

We had a cosy breakfast with Mrs. Bridges instead of with the others, because I think we were all a little shocked at the realities of life.

We also had the practical lesson that blood-stained cloths were to be put to soak in cold water with salt on the stains; and a new, big bowl and salt cellar appeared in our dressing room. And I was permitted to spend my day in Mrs. Bridges’ study, reading the story-books she kept in there.

I was an active child, despite my dislike of organised sport; the dancing and games we played at Mrs. Bridges’ school fulfilled all the function of more formalised games and physical jerks, without feeling so regimented about it. As a consequence, I had little trouble with my flux once I knew what was going on.

I began to take more notice of the monkey bars and ropes hung in the hall where we played various kinds of tag, in inclement weather; being encouraged to go out into the small garden in good weather. I wanted to become acquainted with where the ends of my body were, once more, and I discovered I was good at climbing. This was a real boost! I could resume my career as a burglar if I could climb the sides of houses.

I had my opportunity to try my hand at climbing the downpipes when a cat from next door delicately crossed from the roof of their building to the roof of ours.

“Le pauvre!” I cried, directing attention to the cat.  I then proceeded to climb.

“Adele! Be careful!” called Frances.

“Adele! Come down!” called Celia.

I found my hands were inclined to slip, and my fingers needed strength; but I got up a fair way before I had a sudden fear of what I had done.

Mrs. Bridges,bless her, did not turn a hair.

She had mattresses brought and laid under me, and then talked me down.

“There was a cat,” I said.

“Your compassion does you credit, but Rooftop-Tom is a regular visitor, and he knows what he is doing,” said Mrs. Bridges, kindly. “And if you are truly worried, come to one of the staff, and we shall see what is to be done.”

Climbing was a skill I needed to practise; and I got myself some light leather gloves without fingers for it. It made all the difference. I became adept at climbing, including slipping away to climb the downpipes regularly.

I could laugh that I fulfilled that very English concept, ‘mens sana in corpore sano,’ a healthy mind in a healthy body. I kept myself in the peak of fitness, and worked hard to excel in all my classes as well.  I learned Italian and Latin, and Mrs. Bridges even knew a little Ancient Greek which was available to those older ones who were interested. A boy would learn such skills; and as I was beginning to consider my options, I thought it a good idea.

I had enough saved to go to an orthodontist for a gold brace during my last years at school, to correct the overbite, which was detrimental to my looks; and I debated with myself over giving myself a Season. I was determined not to be a governess, but I did not want to beg all my life. I did not want to go on the stage, and I was not sure that I wanted to get married. I did consider going back to teach French one day, to eke out my thievery, but I was not sure I wanted that, either, however accommodating Mrs. Bridges might be. Frances-Anne elected to stay on as a junior mistress, happy to accept low wages and her keep to avoid having to go home. Celia was to have her anonymous season; Nelly’s cousins were suitably and conventionally married and her aunt was willing to bring her out, despite being red, as her own daughters were already established. Mary’s father also provided her with an anonymous season, in a rather nipcheese sort of way, but Mary was resigned to having to be a governess if she did not ‘take’ in the bucolic setting in which she was to come out.

 

The rest of my schooling passed quite happily, enjoying being a schoolgirl with other girls I could call friends, during term time, and in the holidays, I blended into several different layers of society, paying for my schooling with the proceeds of crime, mine, or the reporting or other people’s. And yet, being a beggar full time, even with the excitement of a little police work, did not appeal. I doubt I might have stuck it out, had I not had the haven of school during term time.

I continued picking rags for Sam Cohen as well; he had got me started, and I felt a kind of loyalty to him. He greeted me cheerfully when I turned up, and did not ask where I was between whiles. We trusted each other, and there was a kind of friendship between us, but not enough for me to share my secrets. I did tell him, as Mrs. Deleven, of course, that I had a granddaughter, and that I spent much time now in Brighton.

I have no idea to this day whether he believed me, or whether he was well aware that I was a young girl who had come to his employment in some desperation, and stayed because I liked him. It was not a subject to ever be aired.

 

I had something of a breakthrough the last Christmas holidays before I left school, when I picked up a little prostitute – literally; she fainted with hunger, being on her courses as well. She thought I was a toff – I was in male attire, to see if I could maintain the imposture – and had tried to solicit. I took her home, and I taught her how to use make-up to beg, and I taught her how to steal. It was naive of me, but I was fortunate that Kitty was actually mostly quite honest, and not greedy, and was amenable to my ethic of collecting loose money only. Mislaying money happens, and the peelers don’t get involved. And then I branched out, collecting a number of street urchins, training them in my ways. I took ten percent, as payment for having taught them, and it really started adding up. I got them a place to live, a small house in Lambeth, by the expedient of paying the back taxes on a place which was not popular. I did not suppose that their self-discipline and scrupulous honesty in paying me their tithing would last, if not overseen, but they had the chance to make something of themselves. If they threw that away, well, the police could look for Aaron Devels until they were black in the face, it being the name I had given them; and having learned something of the Jewish community from Sam Cohen, had given the impression of being Jewish myself. And good luck indeed searching for me amongst that close-knit community which might be cagey even if such a person as Aaron Devels even existed. Kitty had done well by me, and I put her into Mrs. Bridges’ school for a couple of years, having taught her to read and write. She would have more opportunities, anyway.

 

And so, I decided I could afford to go to university and study law. I had taken Latin at school,  and I felt myself equal to the learning. And so much more profitable than to be a doctor, and without having to associate with sick people. And being a barrister satisfied my urge to act.

 

Adele Varens 5

 

Chapter Five

 

I had a broad and comfortable bed in with the two younger ones, Mary and Frances-Anne, which suited me fine well. I had a few more clothes than some, because ‘Grandmama’ had bought them from Mr. Cohen for her ‘granddaughter.’ And the room was paid for until the end of summer, but she was supposed to be staying with relatives in Brighton.  Unlike Mrs. Fielding’s, we all crammed into a room together, which had once been a grand bedroom in the big house we occupied, and the dressing room had a stool behind a screen, and ewers and bowls for washing.

“Laundry is sent out,” said Celia. “And once a week, we bathe in what had been the wash house, with a copper for heating water, taking turns in the bath behind a screen, having changed into night gowns and dressing gowns, the others of our time slot drinking chocolate and chatting whilst waiting to get into the bath, and after having got out and got dry. We are not encouraged to be prudish, but we are supposed to respect each other’s modesty and privacy.”

 

I knew how school worked; those who can work hard enough not to draw censure, and make enough effort at games not to stand out, and who do not sneak on the jokes of their fellows get through things tolerably well.

Nelly and Mary were the class pranksters.

They loved Natural Sciences, a new class for me.

“Why do we have to work with dangerous things like acids?” I asked. Miss Alice fixed me with her steely gaze.

“Because there is nothing attractive about a woman who is wilfully ignorant, who may prove a danger to herself and others for the lack of a little time spent learning about the world around her,” she said.

I subsided, well-told.

Actually, it was fun, making hydrogen gas by pouring sulphuric acid, also known as vitriol,  onto iron filings; Miss Alice demonstrated how to make a laboratory rubber balloon float, an invention of Mr. Faraday’s, whose experiments in electricity we also studied; we each had a pig’s bladder. We filled them, tied them off tightly, and attached a label, asking to have the label returned with the location where they landed, a penny black stamp, and a thruppenny piece as incentive.

I thought this quite thrilling.

Mary and Nelly were giggling.

“What are you up to?” I asked.

“Geography with globes,” said Nelly.

It took me a moment to understand.

“What, you will fill the globes?” I said.

“Yes, it will be a hoot,” said Nelly.

“Is not messing around with acid when there is no teacher somewhat dangerous?” I asked.

“Oh, don’t be a wet blanket,” said Nelly. “You aren’t going to tell, are you?”

I shrugged.

“It is your hands and faces,” I said.

The look on Mrs. Bridges’ face at the floating globes was, I confess, amusing, until her eyes blazed, and I found out that the easy-going woman was a skilful and ruthless interrogator.

“Mary and Nelly,” she said. “Am I wrong?”

They both giggled.

“You laugh. Would you laugh if you had tripped and burned your faces with your stolen acid? Nelly, you always leave your dressing-gown belt unfastened, and you have tripped on it before. Would you laugh if you had burned out your eyes? Lost the use of a hand? The reason we teach natural science is to prevent the misuse of common chemicals, since strong acids and bases are also used in the making of household cleaning products, which you will also learn about; because ignorant women are a danger to themselves and others. And wilfully stupid women  are worse. What did you do with the excess?”

“Put it on the midden, Mrs. Bridges,” said Mary.

“Oh, really? And do you think it funny to put the servants at risk for your games? You will be fined the cost of the materials, and you will each write a letter of apology to Miss Alice, for stealing from her cupboards and collectively to the servants for putting them at risk with noxious chemicals. And you will collect your excess acid and iron filings, and return them to Miss Alice for proper disposal. You will also donate a shilling each from your allowances to the Children’s Hospital for the Blind.”

The giggles had turned to sobs.

 

If the reader wondered, most of our pigs’ bladders ended up in East Anglia or Kent, one being returned much later by a crewman on the packet-boat out of Dover.

“It must have been Adele’s,” said Nelly, who had regained her sangfroid; “It was trying to escape to France.”

I laughed with everyone else. We had no way of telling whose balloon was which; Miss Alice had no intention of making a competition of it, and had written out identical labels.

 

We also learned that vitriol was used to take iron-stains out of marble, vital if a knife permitted to rust had rested on a marble baking slab, for example.

“And we have started with vitriol because most of you have heard of it, and should therefore be respectful of it,” said Miss Alice, in her beautiful deep voice. “Something I hope you have all learned.”

We all hastily murmured agreement, Nelly and Mary doing so too, their eyes down.

“What you will mostly work with for household cleaning is lyes, which are bases,” said Miss Alice. “And they can be quite as toxic and inclined to burn as acids when strong enough. And now you have seen what vitriol can do, I hope you are ready to listen to the lesson that strong bases are as dangerous as strong acids, and take care with them as much as with acids. We refer to them as ‘caustic.’”

She had made her point.

 

 

I found the lessons easy enough, so I had time to examine that little book of blackmail.

Blackmail is filthy, but knowing people’s secrets is a useful matter. The plumber had transcribed some very frisky letters of a most indiscreet nature, as well as noted legal documents he had found. He was a bold fellow; perhaps that was why he had ended up dead. It took me a while to find out that the letters were frisky; despite what He said, I was not flirtatious knowingly. I had copied my Maman; what little girl does not? I  have to say, I did not understand all I read; I spent some years wondering why it was blackmail material for a woman to refer to her lover’s horse, speaking about his sturdy stallion; it was only later, when I had read ‘Fanny Hill’ that I recognised some of James Clelland’s heroine’s descriptors of a man’s best friend. At twelve, I merely puzzled over ‘a stiff insinuation’ and a ‘stately piece of machinery,’ assuming for the latter that the man had a really fancy clock, perhaps with jousting knights, or kissing couple.

I never reflected on how lucky I was to be as innocent as I was; plenty of other children were not. I found out later, when Frances Anne had a nightmare that she had been packed off to school by her mother, who called her a whore, because the poor girl’s stepfather had been going to her bed. I cuddled her that night, and found out more than I might have wanted to know about the perfidies of some men. No wonder she did not believe in love! I got on a lot better with her after that, especially when she told me that he would call her ‘Fanny’ as a code word for expecting her to be ready for him, which was why she hated the nickname.  I should be grateful, I suppose, that He never used me thus.

Or maybe that was why Jane planned to send me off as someone’s companion; that she suspected that he was thinking about it. And then connived passively with my running away.

 

I had a run-in early on with the French master, who was not as French as he pretended; I suspected that, as he was in his fifties, he had been brought to England to avoid the Terror as a child, and had not managed to maintain his native idiom or a full vocabulary.

I ripped into him in French, and I could tell the other girls were absolutely delighted.

He stormed off to see Mrs. Bridges, demanding discipline for the new girl, who thought she already knew some French, and made-up words.

Mrs. Bridges listened to him.

So did we.

I suspect half of the west end did as well.

“You’re fired,” said Mrs. Bridges. “The child is French.”

I was, not to put too fine a point on it, astounded.

I had had my side upheld by an authority figure against another authority figure.

Mrs. Bridges came to our classroom.

“Adele,” she said, “You are teaching French until I can replace Monsieur Martin.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

I was paid for it!

I brought on the little ones with nursery rhymes, and played games of packing one’s valise with the next class up, and writing fairy tales with my own age, and those who were older.

“If you were older, I’d keep you on permanently,” said Mrs. Bridges to me, three weeks later. “But it is too much of a strain on you. Perhaps I can pay you to help out when I have a new teacher?  And when you are older, there will be a vacancy for you.”

“I want to go into the world before coming back to teach,” I said, thinking that it would be an option if I had nothing else.

“I understand,” she said.

We met our new French teacher soon; she was an English woman who had a French husband, and she was very earnest, but at least she knew her subject.

 

Mrs. Bridges herself taught English and literature; she did not censor our reading matter as such, but she tried to make sure that we were reading things that were suitable to our age and understanding.  If she caught any of us reading something she deemed not entirely suitable, she would make us discuss it with her, and go through our understanding of the work involved.  Thus, we largely learned to shelve the more lurid novels until we were ready to consider the subject matter, and debate it. I learned a great deal from Mrs. Bridges, about life, as well as about English. She did not hold back in discussing Shakespeare’s tendency to play for cheap laughs, and taught us to accept the spirit of his age without becoming prurient about it. She was a most remarkable woman, and those of us like me, who had enquiring minds on subjects young ladies were discouraged from enquiring about, gained a lot from her. She told us that as so many of us had backgrounds where we had been forced to know too much already, keeping us ignorant did us no favours.

Frances-Ann adored her; and it was easy to see why.

 

I was happy in this school, and had no trouble working hard for the preceptresses, who were encouraging and helpful. I found Natural Sciences fascinating for their own sake, and considered the possibilities for my thievery,

Then came the long holiday, and I went back to begging and thieving, to maintain my bank balance. I had a number of costumes which lived in old Sara Deleven’s rooms; the concierge cared little if I was there or not, alive or dead, as long as the rent was paid on time. I learned how to make sores, and some of our lessons in Natural Science came in useful in manipulating grease paint, to make it into raised sores to be applied. The trick was not to make them too hideous, or I would be shunned. Begging is an artform.

I also discovered that beggars are invisible, like servants and children when I overheard two men plotting to kill another.

I resumed my schoolgirl appearance to go to the Metropolitan Police Station, still in Bow Street. I was perfectly respectable, and spoke to the sergeant who was taking complaints.

“I heard a murder being plotted, sir,” I said.

I was not expecting to have my ears boxed.

“Run along, little girl, and don’t involve police in your fantasies!” roared the red-faced man.

“Well, I won’t bother another time,” I said, injured.

I had given my address and name before starting my report, and parbleu! Another policeman turned up, with the one who had boxed my ear.

“Sergeant Davis wants to apologise,” said the other. “I am Inspector Jack Pencastle; tell me your story.”

Davis muttered an apology with ill grace.

“I was giving money to an old woman beggar,” I said. “And two men were passing, discussing things. And the old woman said you would take no notice of her.”

“Perhaps some would not,” said Pencastle.  “But you tell her to ask for me, Jack Pencastle, and I’ll listen.”

And that, dear reader, is how I became a police informant.

It did not pay well, but it was a little bit extra, which I later found out came from Pencastle’s own wage packet. But just occasionally, there was a golden payout from someone who got a geegaw back, or who wasn’t killed.