Bred in Whitechapel by Tom Coleman & Tom Coleman

Author:Tom Coleman & Tom Coleman [Prior, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime Fiction
Publisher: eBook Versions
Published: 2013-09-03T00:00:00+00:00

29

Emma Smith considered herself a cut above the others. In her head she was something of a lady. She did not understand why the others resented her status. The way she held herself had more than a touch of culture about it and in the right company she could embellish her social standing by the way she spoke and with elegant hand movements. Emma appreciated music and art, and she could talk on such subjects with an awkward refinement in her words. Blaspheming and the brittle, broken sound of English spoken in the East End of London degraded the cultural interests that she wanted others to know she had. She could hold a conversation with a gentleman, if she met one, and the money he would give her for intimate contact was more of a gift or a donation than a price for services rendered. She did not see herself as a prostitute like the others. Her upbringing in the country meant she was a lady who provided company for men where they could appreciate her qualities as well as relieving the tensions of the day. In exchange for her company they would burnish gifts upon her. Emma found it convenient to have a set amount for these gifts of money; it simplified the discussion between her and the gentlemen she entertained, and in did not antagonise any of the girls who worked close by. Cultural differences she could cope with. Variations in fees invariably lead to physical fights in the street.

Given her time again she would have made different decisions at those pivotal times in her life. She was aware of her mistakes but she had acted in good faith and the craggy road she had mistakenly walked down would have shaped and distorted the life of any woman. She would certainly never have taken her second glass of gin but that first one had worked miracles in numbing her senses and sending memories to sleep. Now gin was her best friend and it felt like a duty to continue the friendship. Gin was always in her blood to kill the pain and the cold, and even when its effects wore thin in the early morning, gin was like a friend she would pop in to see as soon as she could. Gin was the companion always ready to support her and make things better. It never criticised her or doubted her. It was consistent and reliable. It asked little in return apart from the few coins Emma's gentlemen friends were willing to donate to her for her stimulating company. Gin was a clear liquid with nothing to hide. Emma would have liked people to have been as transparent as gin.

Although Emma would have chosen still to be living with her family in Finsbury Park, with those fine houses around her and her children able to play with other nice children in the parks and streets, she was doing her best to walk what was left of the craggy road ahead.

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