her bodice; again I felt that twinge of envy. Yet I was not so taken with her on this occasion that I would be swayed from my purpose and talk mere pleasantries to her. Nor would I try to win her with my fantasies of escape.
“Do you recall,” said I, “that earlier, when I was dressed as I am now and thought to talk with you, you became annoyed and fled down Drury Lane without speaking to me?”
“But you pardon me, yes? I was not gentle that time. I tell you before I am sorry.”
“Oh, I accepted your apology then, and I bear no ill feelings toward you now. But you sent a young man to speak to me, to send me away. I was wondering, what is his relation to you?”
“Relation?” She sounded the word out carefully; there seemed a hint of suspicion in her tone.
“Yes, what I mean to say, is he your friend? How do you know him?”
She set her face, considering, and found it quite impossible to lie: “He is not my friend, no. I owe him money. I must pay.”
I had in no wise expected such an answer. How could she owe him money? How much could it be?
“I don’t understand,” said I “Did you sign a contract of some sort? Is this why you work as you do?”
“I think you go now. We talk another time. Perhaps.”
“But …” I felt quite baffled, knowing not what to say or do. “At least tell me his name?”
“Why you want to know?”
“Well … I have seen him since. I would like to know … so I may greet him by name should I see him on the street again.”
“Ha! You leam to lie better, or you tell the truth. Here …”
And with that, she dove her hand down into her bosom and found my shilling, or one just like it.
“Take this,” she resumed. “No more talk. Don’ come back unless you pay two shillings and come with me. Now go!
Indeed I went, but I left her holding the shilling. I could not take it from her, of course. In my fantasies, at least, I was her rescuer. How could one who pretended to such a role take back money freely given?
I stumbled on, attempting to master what I had just learned, forgetting for a bit that I had a specific destination — yet perhaps not forgetting entirely, for somehow I made the proper turn up Drury Lane and continued along the route I had been given by Constable Perkins to reach his place of lodging.
Mr. Perkins lived atop one of the stables in the stable yard at the foot of Little Russell Street, just behind Blooms-bury Square. He held it to be a favorable location for a man such as he, who lived alone. He had told me he had two rooms there, good and spacious, and did not mind the smell of the horses, for he grew up among them on a farm in Kent. (“They’re cleaner than us,” he had once confided.) Best of all he liked the space afforded him by the stable yard for the pursuit of his favorite pastime, which he declared to be “keepin’ fit.” He was most regular at it, devoting an hour each day to the maintenance of his astonishing strength. (I myself had seen him use his only arm to lift a man of ten stone or more off the floor.) His hour for “keepin’ fit” was the one directly preceding his departure for duty as a member of Sir John’s Bow Street constabulary. He had invited me to come by that I might begin a course of instruction in methods of defense, for he thought me ill-prepared to traverse certain low precincts of London, “where they’d as soon cut you as not.” It so happened that that very day was the one appointed for my first lesson. I knew not what to expect from it and was therefore in some manner uneasy.
Though not tardy, I found him already hard at work, perspiring freely, banging away with his fist at a great bag of sailcloth about the size of a man’s trunk which swung free from a tree in one comer of the yard. It seemed to be filled with sand or dirt, for its weight was substantial.
He happened to turn as I crossed the stable yard, which was empty but for two grooms lounging indifferently about. I was glad he spied me
“Do you recall,” said I, “that earlier, when I was dressed as I am now and thought to talk with you, you became annoyed and fled down Drury Lane without speaking to me?”
“But you pardon me, yes? I was not gentle that time. I tell you before I am sorry.”
“Oh, I accepted your apology then, and I bear no ill feelings toward you now. But you sent a young man to speak to me, to send me away. I was wondering, what is his relation to you?”
“Relation?” She sounded the word out carefully; there seemed a hint of suspicion in her tone.
“Yes, what I mean to say, is he your friend? How do you know him?”
She set her face, considering, and found it quite impossible to lie: “He is not my friend, no. I owe him money. I must pay.”
I had in no wise expected such an answer. How could she owe him money? How much could it be?
“I don’t understand,” said I “Did you sign a contract of some sort? Is this why you work as you do?”
“I think you go now. We talk another time. Perhaps.”
“But …” I felt quite baffled, knowing not what to say or do. “At least tell me his name?”
“Why you want to know?”
“Well … I have seen him since. I would like to know … so I may greet him by name should I see him on the street again.”
“Ha! You leam to lie better, or you tell the truth. Here …”
And with that, she dove her hand down into her bosom and found my shilling, or one just like it.
“Take this,” she resumed. “No more talk. Don’ come back unless you pay two shillings and come with me. Now go!
Indeed I went, but I left her holding the shilling. I could not take it from her, of course. In my fantasies, at least, I was her rescuer. How could one who pretended to such a role take back money freely given?
I stumbled on, attempting to master what I had just learned, forgetting for a bit that I had a specific destination — yet perhaps not forgetting entirely, for somehow I made the proper turn up Drury Lane and continued along the route I had been given by Constable Perkins to reach his place of lodging.
Mr. Perkins lived atop one of the stables in the stable yard at the foot of Little Russell Street, just behind Blooms-bury Square. He held it to be a favorable location for a man such as he, who lived alone. He had told me he had two rooms there, good and spacious, and did not mind the smell of the horses, for he grew up among them on a farm in Kent. (“They’re cleaner than us,” he had once confided.) Best of all he liked the space afforded him by the stable yard for the pursuit of his favorite pastime, which he declared to be “keepin’ fit.” He was most regular at it, devoting an hour each day to the maintenance of his astonishing strength. (I myself had seen him use his only arm to lift a man of ten stone or more off the floor.) His hour for “keepin’ fit” was the one directly preceding his departure for duty as a member of Sir John’s Bow Street constabulary. He had invited me to come by that I might begin a course of instruction in methods of defense, for he thought me ill-prepared to traverse certain low precincts of London, “where they’d as soon cut you as not.” It so happened that that very day was the one appointed for my first lesson. I knew not what to expect from it and was therefore in some manner uneasy.
Though not tardy, I found him already hard at work, perspiring freely, banging away with his fist at a great bag of sailcloth about the size of a man’s trunk which swung free from a tree in one comer of the yard. It seemed to be filled with sand or dirt, for its weight was substantial.
He happened to turn as I crossed the stable yard, which was empty but for two grooms lounging indifferently about. I was glad he spied me
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