Danny declared the next day a holiday and they all tromped off in the late afternoon toward Vauxhall Gardens. When she found out about his plans, Imo fetched a bucket of clean water and scrubbed herself spotless. She’d never been to the gardens before, but she’d heard plenty about the fancy ladies and gentlemen of quality who frequented the place.
They headed through the borough via London Bridge and kept to the high streets until they got to the Obelisk and then angled off toward Lambeth Palace.
Boats were anchored along the entrance and dislodged the nobility and peers. The Farrells found a perch and watched the procession, commenting on the nattily dressed dandies and the elegant finery of the women.
Such a fierce longing pierced Imo’s chest.
Imo yearned to touch the silk of just one of those pretty gowns. Just one of those ribbons adorning her own hair would have satisfied her for the rest of her life. Just one.
Danny made them stay together. Any one of them alone could come to trouble without trying too hard. They passed statues of Diana and another with Neptune, standing in a basin of water, holding a spear. A trident, Danny called it. They admired performances of ballet dancers and tightrope walkers. Imo barely blinked, fearful she’d miss something. And in the background, over the sound of chatter, was the most heavenly music Imo had ever heard.
After they watched an exhibition of horses where they stood crammed shoulder-to-shoulder with every level of London society, they returned to the well-lit area with the brightly colored colonnades.
A brotherly promise had been exacted from Danny regarding Frank’s whore. A whole shilling would be spent for the momentous occasion and Frank hadn’t stopped talking about the day.
They both seemed to forget Imo was well on her way toward that same dismal end, but no one ever spoke of the coming event. Imo planned to put it off as long as possible and she planned on asking the most ridiculous price when the time came. Maybe fifty pounds. Not that Danny knew her plan or approved.
Imo didn’t want to watch Frank select his strumpet for she had no doubt that was what they were doing, sneaking off, whispering and pointing. Like she didn’t know the one thing in the world Frank wanted more than food and sleep, was a whore.
The brightly colored birds of paradise made Imo look like a plain old wren. She thought longingly of the dress she seemed destined to live without.
There would be no dress. Not now.
Charlie stood between her and the boys. She should march over and pull him away from the group, but since he was a young man, she supposed he would be lured the way of all men. In a couple of years, he’d be whining about his turn, which seemed a shame. Charlie seemed destined for a life of innocence after they’d rescued him from the darkness.
Imo shoved her hands in her breeches and walked away in spite of Danny’s warning to stay together. The crowds were thick, the one place in London where nob and nobody could meet and rub shoulders without a care. They’d agreed to be back at the entrance to the garden after the fireworks for the long walk home.
She didn’t feel tired. She wanted to spend the whole night in the garden and look at every single thing, from the ordinary to the spectacular. She had one copper for food—whatever she wanted.
The hanging lights led into a grove of trees with winding paths. A fancy woman and her partner headed into the dense growth. Imo followed, enjoying the happy laughter and quiet sounds of the night. The smell of clean permeated the air inside the lighted forest.
Inside the path split in three directions. She went to the right; the couple she followed had disappeared into the night.
She heard the distant sound of music. She couldn’t help but smile. It was like getting something for free. She bowed to a fake partner and made a quick twirl on the path, nearly falling when she tripped on a tree root.
Somehow she had to get away from London. There was nothing here except the boys, and they would all find women soon. None would want her around. Overwhelming sadness descended. The dark suddenly seemed less friendly. Little treasures like tonight were few and far between, but they left a bitter taste and a longing for things best left unthought and unsaid.
Mam would have understood. She would have found a way for Imo to be a girl, to grow into a woman and maybe marry a shopkeeper’s son or a minister. There were suitable men for a girl of inadequate means and decent looks as long as she could work hard and drop babes every year. But Mam was gone and there was no one to sympathize with her.
Only Danny’s limited learning and Mary FitzPatrick watching over them from a distance had kept them from the workhouse and a life of destitution and disease in the dust-yards.
Last night was another reminder that her life wasn’t her own. With a quick toss, the young sailor might have stolen her maidenhead and then she would have had nothing.
Imo glanced around when she realized she had traveled well into the dark recesses of the forested area. Footfalls crunched along the path. Imo fortified her resolve and straightened her shoulders. She had brothers who’d taught her well. She stayed near the hanging lantern so as not to frighten the other person either.
A tall man appeared in the light.
“Hallo, little boy. I thought it was you.”
Her mouth watered as if a hot apple tart was waved in front of her nose and she fought keep her balance. The stranger was no stranger. How much of a stranger could a man be who had had his cock in her mouth?
“Good evenin’, sir.” She reached for her hat and then realized she wasn’t wearing one. Her chest heaved as she tried to get air.
Even in the dark, his eyes seemed to sparkle. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You remember me?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“You are scared? I’m sorry. Would you rather I leave?”
“Why are ya here?” she murmured. Her hand rubbed at her chest, partly because a sharp pain dug into her and partly because her titties suddenly seemed hard and large and in the way.
“I saw your brothers first and then you. I followed.”
“Why?”
“You are a pretty girl, you know.”
Imo bristled at the sudden implication. “I ain’t sucking your cock just ’cause it’s dark and you think I’m a whore.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I gotta go.” She glanced around for a quick way to escape—around him or farther into the darkness of the surrounding trees. She didn’t dare leave the path.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Imo pressed her lips together and tried not to look at him.
“You do have a name?”
“Imogene.”
“Imogene,” he repeated. “Are you here looking for someone? Are you meeting a man?”
“No...I-I just want to see the lights in the trees and the path was longer than I thought and I should get back. My brothers are probably looking for me.”
“They seemed greatly interested in one of those colorful birds out front. I don’t think they’ll be missing you just yet.”
“I still gotta go.”
“You have something I want, Imogene. And I’m willing to pay.”
“I’m not doing that tonight.” Just once she didn’t want to think about having a man’s cock in her hand. She wanted to pretend she wasn’t already as good as a whore, or at least she was in all ways but one.
“Have you had a man yet, Imogene?”
“No, and I’m not going to anytime soon. ’Sides, no one will pay me what I want.”
“Maybe I would.”
“No.”
He advanced a few steps and she stepped backward, bumping up against a tree. Her hands braced against the rough bark.
“Imogene, I’m not going to hurt you. And I’m not going to take anything you aren’t willing to give, but since the moment I saw you tonight, I’ve had an erection that is dying for your mouth, at the very least.” His hand slid into his jacket and the sound of coins clinked as he searched for his money.
Imo hated him for the temptation. Hated him for knowing he could buy whatever he wanted, including her.
“Same as last time?” he asked.
She shook her head, trying to resist him. The act was nothing to her, but she didn’t want to just give in to his subtle and manipulative encouragements. Of all the stupid things, she wanted it to be her choice.
He held out his hand. “Imogene, you’re a proud girl, but poor. I’m not asking you to do anything you haven’t done before. Give me your hand.”
“Why? Why do you want it from me when there are a hundred molls out there who’ll do whatever you want?”
“That’s precisely why I don’t want them.” He worked at the flaps of his trousers and Imo stared as he brought his cock into view. Musky and male, his scent brought back memories of what he had been like those weeks ago, of what they had done. Weighty silver coins would fit nicely into the palm of her hand. Itchy want made her curl her fingers. “Imogene,” he whispered.
His glittery gaze lured her like diamonds.
She took a hesitant step forward. Danny said she would know when she was a whore, and who could deny it now? When she opened her hands, several coins covered her palm and she wrapped a tight grip around the metal before shoving the coins into the one pocket without holes.
Kneeling, she licked her lips.
“Yes, that’s my girl. I’ve been dying to feel those lips again.”
She gripped the root of his cock, knowing how to handle him.
Slipping her mouth over the end of the hard top, she leaned forward, taking his length to the back of her throat, but not all of him. A good finger length and the thickest part of him he held back. He groaned and ran his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head while he ground his hips forward.
“Suck me dry, Imogene.” He held her head in a loose grip and did more of the work than she expected. She kept her lips and tongue in a firm suction that he seemed to like and he thrust his hips in an even movement that neither threatened nor gagged her. Reaching for his thighs, she dug her fingers into the firm, muscled legs. One hand slid upward, over the round hardness of his arse.
“Good girl. You were born for this, Imogene.” He groaned again and started a faster pace. She closed her eyes, trying to remember his face and laughing eyes. One of her hands slid inside his trousers and reached for the firm balls that swung with every movement. She kneaded, matching his slow thrusts. Another half moan, half whine escaped his mouth.
“Open wide, honey. Swallow when I go deep. Can you do that?” With his thumbs, he tilted her head back and pushed slow. With weeks of experience, Imo knew the pleasure men got from the action she performed on his testicles and she did what she knew how to do.
For a moment she felt the gag reflex, but then he reminded her to swallow. Every inch found a home inside her mouth. Her nose pressed into the coarse hair at his groin. And then the hot, wet fluid trickled down her throat.
“Again,” he whispered as he drew the length halfway out and slid forward again. The second time was easier. She swallowed and felt the pleasant hardness fill her mouth and his scent fill her nose. The third time, he groaned his final release. The sound erupted from his open mouth as if he were in pain.
He gasped several mouthfuls of air before he straightened and, with gentleness, eased from her mouth. “You are worth every pound,” he said as he buttoned the flap.
When the intercourse was finished, Imo wanted him gone. She didn’t want to think about what she’d done and that she always did it with complete strangers. She didn’t want to think about being a whore, not tonight, not at Vauxhall. Not when today was supposed to be a holiday.
His hands gripped her shoulders and lifted her from the ground. Her legs wobbled and he embraced her. The large, annoying titties pressed into his chest, causing her embarrassment. His hands slid over her arse and pulled her into his cock again.
Then he lowered his mouth. She gasped in surprise. His lips fit over hers, his mouth opened and his tongue brushed against her own. She jerked back and turned her face away.
“You’ve never been kissed?”
“I have. I don’t like it. You need to let me go now.” She didn’t think a crazed sailor counted as being kissed, but he didn’t need to know otherwise.
“Not just yet. I want to give you something before you have to get back to your brothers. I don’t think you’ll mind.”
She stopped struggling. “What?”
He laughed at her sudden eagerness. “The lure of money? No, chick, something better, I think.” His hands slipped around her waist. “You have a lot hidden underneath these baggy old clothes, don’t you?”
Bracing her hands against his forearms, she wiggled, trying to get loose. His hold wasn’t that tight, but she was well caught with her arse hard against the tree. Her breathing turned raspy and fear of the inevitable clouded her reasoning. “Let me go. Please.”
“Imogene,” he said softly, “be still. I said I’m not going to hurt you.”
She stopped struggling, thinking she could trick him and escape if he thought she was compliant.
“Now tell me what you like. This?” His hands slid inside her shirt. She gasped at the contact of long male fingers touching the skin of her stomach. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat worse than Tess’s week-old hardtack. The frightful in and out of her breath sounded loud to her ears. She clutched him tighter, this time in order to prevent her fall.
His palms slid up, cupping the bottom of her titties and lifting. His thumbs brushed beneath the bindings and toyed with her hard nipples.
“You’re all sweetness underneath. Could I convince you to remove your shirt? I would love to see your breasts.”
“No,” she gasped. She kept her gaze on his white cravat, a single bright spot in the eerie darkness surrounding her.
“What do you feel, Imogene? Do you feel like a whore? Or do you feel something else? Something that makes you feel like a woman?”
“Don’t. Please.”
The teasing continued. Her tits, her breasts, were so hard they ached. She gripped his arms tighter.
“Does this feel better?” His wicked hands covered her titties and squeezed. The pointed nipples were caught between his fingers. “Tell me,” he whispered, “between your legs, do you feel empty? Do you feel like you need relief, but you don’t know what it is?” He stepped closer, his body herding her back against a tree. “I won’t hurt you. Relax.”
His hand slid down into the loose band of her trousers. She moaned and turned her head away. Imo had no control of her body, and the weakness in her legs extended clear into her brain.
She squirmed against his searching hand. Open-mouthed and out of air, she gasped, “Ah. I-I—”
Rising on her toes, she tried to get away. Wicked, wicked fingers followed. Her eyes slid shut when his long finger slipped between the secret folds hidden above her thighs.
When his mouth returned to her lips, she didn’t fight him. Every sense, every nerve centered on the little place where his finger circled. She’d touched herself there before, but came away feeling shamed and naughty, even though she’d liked the gentle pleasure the rubbing provided. The place was like a man’s, but smaller.
She moaned into his mouth and she sensed that he smiled. Her body relaxed into his caress and then she thrust her hips against his movement. He did laugh then.
“How I wish I had time to train you properly. I think I would bury my cock inside you for a month before I’d grow tired of the fucking.”
The building pressure caused Imo extreme agony. She rubbed faster against his hard fingers and she heard the sounds coming from her throat.
“Do you know what you need?”
She couldn’t answer. She wouldn’t say that she needed what he was doing, because it didn’t seem like enough. Her hand went from gripping his to urging him onward.
“You need that hot little cunny stuffed with cock. Would you like that?”
Imo felt wretched. She hurt and she ached and she felt as if she’d never get relief for the absolute want tearing at her body. And that was just her physical need. Her heart and mind ached too, accepting fully her future.
“Don’t fight it, Imogene. Enjoy what I’m doing for you.” His finger didn’t seem like enough, but she couldn’t ask for any more. She didn’t know what she wanted, except she wanted relief from the pleasurable torture.
With a gentle push, his finger, maybe fingers, slid into her cunny. His thumb circled the nub between her legs. She groaned, arching into him.
“Damn, you’re still as tight as a virgin.” His lips nipped along her neck and then he sucked on her ear.
She loosened her grip from his arms and then slid her hand inside her pants to cover his larger, stronger fingers. His rumble of laughter vibrated through her. She clenched her eyes. Her hand pushed his into a faster rhythm. Imo cried out, “Please!”
“That’s it. Do you feel your body coiled like a spring? Squeeze my finger, Imogene.”
“I can’t.” She clamped her legs together, trapping their hands.
“Squeeze tight.”
She quivered inside and clenched her body to stop the trembling. Then she discovered what he meant as her body clutched his finger in a strong, viselike grip. The ache blossomed. Her eyes widened and her gaze bore into the stygian depths of his own. He swooped down and his mouth covered hers just as a harsh moan escaped and a rapturous flood of pleasure washed over her body.
She breathed him in. She pressed her mouth against his and searched for his tongue. She squeezed with all her might against the hand doing those wicked things between her legs, never wanting to give it up. A sharp jerk crashed over her and then her hips shuddered as her body throbbed hard and then gentled into tiny pulses.
He shifted, trying to take his hand away, but she didn’t want to let him go. Lips over hers curled into a smile she could feel with her sensitive mouth. The kissing deepened and his hand searched under her shirt once again.
Against her lips he whispered, “Come with me, Imogene. Let me lay you on the grass. I want to put my cock deep inside you. You’ll let me do that, won’t you? It felt good, didn’t it? I can make it even better.” He gripped her hand and gently guided her pliant fingers to the stiff erection. “I want to put that inside you. You haven’t done it before, have you? I’ll treat you right, Imogene. You won’t regret it for a minute.”
Ache turned into panic.
Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes.
Never had she imagined pleasure. What she did was supposed to be a job. A way to earn money. To keep them warm and fed.
What she did wasn’t supposed to involve happiness and pleasure and closeness. She didn’t want to feel him, remember him, know him, want him.
She had wanted his money. She wanted him to disappear afterward.
“No.” She shoved against his chest and stepped away, her breath coming hard and fast. “No. That’s not what I want. I’m not a whore. I’m not.”
She was nothing and nobody to him, yet he encouraged her into giving things she had no intention of giving yet. He’d been the one to tell her that what she had had value and he coaxed her into trusting him. He could have taken everything and she’d been gullible and silly-stupid enough to let him.
Imogene turned and with the speed of a London-born street rat scurried away, as fast and as quiet as the dark of night.
* * * * *
Charlie knew her best. On the way home from Vauxhall, he clutched her hand and kept close to her side. Her other hand rested comfortably in her pocket, her money firmly clutched in her palm. The weight of it had her curious and angry.
Danny could smell money at one hundred paces. This time she was determined to keep it to herself.
Frank had had his whore and was yapping on and on about the big event.
“I can still feel it,” he said. “Oh shit, when I slipped inside her, I thought I’d entered heaven. And she gets all quiet-like and says, ‘darling, it’s your first time, you have to go slow and make it last.’ Oh hell, I thought I’d spill all over her.” He slapped Danny’s arm. “Was it like that for you?”
Danny smiled. Imo fumed. There was something totally unfair about earning the family money rubbing other men’s cocks and then Frank turning around and spending it on a whore.
What really angered her was the way men thought it their right to have women.
Any other man who’d come upon her on that trail would have raped her and left her lying on the path. She wasn’t a weakling, not like other women, and yet she was powerless against the nob’s strength and his coaxing words.
Maybe he was right about her. She was born for such a life.
“I have to find me a woman. Just like you got Molly and all. I need one too. You know... Someone I can be with when I need it and not have to pay for it all the time. I mean, it’s worth it. Really, it is. I know you don’t think so, Imo, but you’re not a man.”
“Shut your trap, Frank. I don’t want to hear about your silly whore.”
No. She didn’t. All of her thoughts were centered on a London nob who thought he could sweet talk her into giving what she intended to sell for a lot of money. Fifty pounds, maybe. Maybe one hundred. Her mouth dripped in longing. If only she could find a way to make that much money, she’d sell it to the first man who came along.
Except him. He’d probably expect her to say thank you afterward.
What irritated her most was his easy attitude and acceptance that she would perform a second time. Like one of them jungle monkeys all dressed up and holding out a tin cup while the master played a song.
Damn it. She wasn’t a whore. Not yet anyway and she resented that he’d taken it for granted. He didn’t know her. He didn’t know their circumstances.
“What are you so quiet about, Imo?” Danny asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing. Always nothing,” Frank said.
“It’s nothing to you,” she spat back. “Go on. Tell us more about your stinkin’ whore and how you poked her right proper with your heaven-sent wanker. I’ll bet she said it was the biggest one she ever did see.”
“Don’t go ruining his fun. We talked about this before. You’re just feeling sore because of what you do,” Danny said with his usual calm.
“Well, I ain’t doing it no more,” she blurted out.
“You gotta,” Frank said. “How are we going to eat? And pay Mrs. Bunton?”
“Fine time for you to be worrying about that now. Now that you went and spent a whole shilling for two minutes of pleasure. Was it worth all the fuss?”
“It was more than two minutes.” He beseeched Danny, “You ain’t gonna let Imo stop, are you?”
“I always told Imogene it was her decision. If she thinks two months is long enough, then it’s long enough.”
“Told you.”
“’Course we’ve already paid for the building for the whole month. Got three weeks left. Be a shame to waste the money.”
Backed into a corner again, Imo gave in. “Fine. Three more weeks, then I’m done.”
“Done? Why, you ain’t even started being a whore yet. What you do is like free money. Ain’t nobody getting hurt,” Frank said.
Frank had such a man’s view of things. A view with which Imo thoroughly disagreed. “It’s disgusting what I do.”
“To you, maybe. Guaranteed those men are happy.”
“Just like you and your whore?”
“Will you two ever agree on anything?” Danny asked.
They both mouthed “No,” at the same time.
“But since you asked and I’m now experienced enough to tell you, yes, they’re happy when they leave, Imo. Don’t that count for something?”
“Hell no. Most of them are too disgusting for whores.”
“What? Just ’cause they ain’t fancy and rich like that nob over at the docks don’t mean they don’t enjoy having a pretty girl’s hand on ’em and doing nice things for ’em,” Frank said.
“’Tweren’t good enough for you. No, you had to have a whore. And what was so blasted important about having that particular whore? Were her tits bigger? Did she smell like a flower garden? Did she tell you pretty words about how you pleased her?”
“Pleased her? Ain’t no whore gets pleasure. She gets money.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I’ll have you know she was the prettiest whore there tonight, and she let me fuck her, not them fancy blokes with tight breeches. Me!”
“Probably ’cause she’s got the pox and no rich man was stupid enough.”
“She let me ’cause I was nice to her. I told her she was pretty and she had good teeth and she smelled nice.”
“And she fell for that?”
“It was the truth. I already paid her. Why would I lie to her?”
“You’d lie to her to get between her legs. Ain’t that what all men do?”
Their running argument lasted until they got to London Bridge, at which point Imo had vented enough of her anger on Frank. He couldn’t help that he was a man. Just like that rich nob couldn’t help it he had the money to buy any willing woman.
Had she not knelt in front of him back at the docks, he would have believed her to be just another street urchin lost in the Vauxhall forest instead of a young woman hiding in boy’s clothes who did nearly anything for money.
Danny had stayed quiet until they turned on Fish Street. “Imo, why don’t we see if Mrs. Bunton will help you buy a dress tomorrow?”
* * * * *
Visions of pink silk and shimmery satin and long ribbons and ruffled lace danced in Imo’s head throughout the night. She didn’t want none of them colors like whores wore—not red or blue or black. That she slept at all was amazing—she could only think about tomorrow’s visit to the dressmaker. Mrs. Bunton had smiled in cheery agreement when asked to accompany her.
For a second, Imogene thought Danny might have felt a little guilty about Frank’s whore. Imo pushed the idea aside because she really didn’t care about the reasons why, only that she would have a dress today. Another proof Danny was for sure the smartest of them. Suggesting Mrs. Bunton help made sense, since Imo didn’t know any dressmakers or what to ask.
When she woke, she also told Danny she’d keep doing what she was doing so long as nobody expected anything else. He nodded and for a wicked moment, she wondered if that was the reason he promised to pay for the dress.
Danny gave her two crowns to add to her secret stash. Since she wasn’t wearing her bindings, she rolled the money tight in one of the rags and tied it at the ends so the coins didn’t rattle. The bundle bounced against her leg as she walked, and a comforting presence it was.
Inside was a guinea, three crowns and seven shillings. The nob must have made a mistake. What she did for him couldn’t have been worth that much. ’Sides, it was dark and he probably didn’t realize how generous he’d been.
Imo sat on Mrs. Bunton’s doorstep waiting the next morning. The boys had left for the docks long ago. The door opened and Mrs. Bunton waved her hand.
“Come inside, Imogene.” Mrs. Bunton worked behind her back to loosen the ties of her apron, finally tugging the ribbons free. She pulled the cloth over her head and then folded it as they walked toward the kitchen. “I know just the shop. The proprietress won’t cheat you, her seams will hold and she won’t turn her nose up at your money. Seven shillings ought to buy something serviceable. Ten, something good enough for church wear. Do you have enough, child?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Bunton walked to a closet built into the staircase and reached for her hat. She pinned it in place and then swung a shawl over her shoulders.
“Well, girl, we haven’t got all day.”
Mrs. Bunton politely asked about her brothers and Mrs. FitzPatrick.
“No, Mrs. Bunton, I haven’t seen Mary since before last Christ Mass when she brought us bread and jam. She’s married now and working for some nobleman or some such near Fitzroy Square. Says he keeps her busy. Wouldn’t want her to come see us when she’s got more important things to do.”
“Have you considered that Mrs. FitzPatrick might find a position for you? A young girl like you would get into a lot less trouble if she had a position in a fine home.”
“I don’t get into trouble. Danny sees we stay clear of it. Mam would expect him to watch out for us and he does.” Mrs. Bunton had always been kind, so Imo listened rather than tell her friend it was none of her business.
“You won’t always have Danny’s protection. You’ll need a man of your own someday, and most working men want a woman who can work hard right beside him.”
“No offense, Mrs. Bunton, but you don’t and you seem to get along just fine.”
“Well, that wasn’t always the case. And I can see now that I don’t have a man, how useful they can be in a lot of matters. Besides, someday you’ll want to have babies of your own and you need to have a husband for that.”
Imo bit her tongue. She didn’t think Mrs. Bunton would appreciate being reminded that husbands weren’t necessary for children, and that most men seemed willing to complete the task with little encouragement.
Children. Another reason she needed to proceed with caution in this whoring business. She didn’t want her children to grow up without at least one parent to love them and provide for them. Not that Mam hadn’t tried after Pa was lost at sea.
“Ah, here we are.”
A tiny bell rang as they walked into the street-front shop. Right away, Imo could tell it was a store for the working classes. Bolts of wool cloth in greys and browns and dark blues lined one wall. She looked around for the silk she’d imagined for her dress. Pink and white bolts were hidden in one corner.
Mrs. Bunton seemed on familiar terms with the shopkeeper and they jawed about this and that while Imo dreamily stared at the fabric and imagined how it would feel against her skin.
If she had a fancy dress, then that rich nob wouldn’t think her so low.
“Imogene, go with Mrs. Tate. She needs to measure you for your dress.”
Surprised, she turned to Mrs. Bunton to protest.
“Your dress won’t fit right otherwise. Go along now.”
Mrs. Tate gripped Imo’s elbow and led her into a tiny back room where she proceeded to remove Imo’s rough jacket. Imo didn’t go anywhere without it, even in the middle of summer. Mrs. Bunton hummed in the other room, oblivious to Imo’s needs.
She wanted to protest. She had imagined walking into the shop, pointing to the prettiest dress and getting on her way.
“Now, we’ll need to remove your shirt and trousers, dear.” Mrs. Tate acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a girl to be standing in front of her wearing boy’s clothes and to be asking her to strip them from her body.
“I can’t. I ain’t wearing nothing else, ma’am.”
“You’ve no undergarments?”
“Ain’t had a need.” Imo’s face reddened. She knew she lacked, but to have it so forcibly stated by a complete stranger reminded her of their poverty.
“We’ll see what we can do about that. Hurry now. We don’t have all day.”
Lud, what was the almighty rush? Mrs. Tate turned her back. No amount of privacy could induce Imo to remove her clothing. She bit at her lip, trying to think of a way to get her dress without incurring Danny’s and Mrs. Bunton’s anger for being importuned and certainly without having to stand naked in front of Mrs. Tate.
She fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt and then clasped one hand against the opposite elbow. Stubbornness had a way of sneaking up on her at the worst times.
Mrs. Tate glanced over her shoulder and then said, “I would hate to take a scissors to your only set of clothes, but when Mrs. Bunton says you need a dress, I’ll see that you have one.”
Unless she ran into the street and stubbornly refused, she was caught. Who knew if Danny would ever agree to another dress if she turned this opportunity away?
She bent and lowered her trousers. Imo heard the thud as her money stash hit the wooden floor.
Mrs. Tate turned around holding a long flimsy tape in one hand. “That should do.”
Imo obeyed every command after that: Lift your arms, turn around, hold this, don’t move. Finally, she got to put her clothes back on and return to Mrs. Bunton’s side.
Mrs. Tate yanked out a bolt of cloth. “Now which wool would you like? The grey or the brown?”
Finally, Imo smiled. “Oh no, ma’am, I want that fine pink in the corner.”
“I’m afraid it’s rather expensive.”
“I’ve got money.”
The hand on her shoulder felt leaden. “Imogene, it’s too expensive and you have no place to go that you’ll be needing such a fine material.”
“But that’s what I want.”
“It’s twenty-seven shillings for the yardage you’ll need, not counting the costs to sew.”
“We’ll have the grey,” Mrs. Bunton said.
Imo hadn’t cried for ages, but the disappoint that crushed her soul nearly left her breathless. She had money she couldn’t spend. She was getting a dress she didn’t want.
For two days, she fumed. The boys avoided her until Mrs. Bunton fetched her back to the milliner shop. The entire exercise had to be repeated only this time she was forced into an itchy, ugly dress she swore she’d never wear.
Buttons went down the front. The collar was tight around her neck, the fitted bodice, sleeves and waist made her feel trapped and suffocated. Worse, when she looked in the mirror she didn’t recognize the person staring back.
She couldn’t get out of it fast enough.
On the way home, she held the paper-covered dress loosely, hoping someone would snatch the package from her.
She hated it. She hated every ugly inch.