Green Gooseberry Tarts
You may either use them whole, or make a marmalade of them with a good syrup. This last is recommended as the best method, for by this means you can judge easily how sweet they are, and ought to be, to please. For marmalade (if large) they ought to be cut in half.
The indigestible revelation that I bore the name Tully Spiggot kept me awake at night. I learned that the captain was twenty-two years old and resided with Mr Wrattan at Great Ormond Street. All that could be said in his favour, as far as I could tell, was that he had his own teeth and hair. Apart from that he was a known gambler and cheat. I felt more drained than the Thames at low tide. Why had this mudlark of a husband waited so long to climb out of the silt of the past to throttle my future?
The opening of the fairy house was only three weeks away and to make matters worse – or so it felt to me – two of London’s most notorious courtesans took up residence. Hope and Mercy were delighted to be reunited with their dear friends and, by degrees, I became excluded from their tête-à-têtes and card games.
Flora Dingley was a small, doll-like creature. She arrived in a carriage bearing the arms of the Earl of Wellborne; her costume immaculate, her hair and gown studded with diamonds.
Bethany Goodere arrived shortly after. It was she who had been found with the footman, doing what his lordship’s footman and his lordship’s mistress ought not. The papers were full of the scandal. There were cartoons, and much ridicule of Lord Bagley who had sent her packing. Bethany was the most beautiful and the most terrifying woman. She wore her curly hair high and powdered grey, her skin was the colour of honey, her features hard except for her liquid, light-brown eyes that became darker with passion. It was with Bethany that my trouble began.
Bethany was given the finest suite of rooms the fairy house had to offer. With her came her maid and a hairdresser, a mole of a man called Signor Florentini who wore tiny spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose.
I was certain that Bethany had taken a dislike to me the minute she met me and I’m afraid to say that the feeling was mutual.
When she heard that I was married to Ralph Spiggot, she said, ‘Why, he is an abomination. It is said that he likes young girls and enjoys nothing more than humiliating them.’ For the first time she studied me and, her curiosity satisfied, said, ‘Oh fie, he will make a pretty dinner of you. How old?’
I told her I was near seventeen.
‘He will whip you all the way to twenty and after that want no more to do with you. I have heard him boast on more than one occasion that he considers a woman over that age as being worthless to any man and better off dead. But I do declare,’ said Bethany, laughing, ‘once Ralph Spiggot has seen you, he will lose all interest. Those eyebrows are enough to make a bishop blush.’
I expected that at least Hope would defend me but she too laughed. Bethany had a cruel tongue and it near defeated my spirits that neither Hope, Mercy or Queenie ever came to my rescue. I did my best to keep out of Bethany’s way but, a few days later, her maid came to my chamber and told me her mistress wanted to see me.
I found Bethany lying naked on her bed, propped up on pillows. Signor Florentini was leaning over her, examining her Venus mound with great care.
‘Tully,’ said Bethany. ‘Come, sit beside me and tell me about yourself. You are a virgin?’
This was the exercise I had been dreading: she was determined to undo me, to make a fool of me. My eyes were fixed on Signor Florentini and my cheeks must have gone to fire for he had a barber’s razor in one hand and in the other a soap mixture which he was lathering over Bethany’s pretty garden as if very familiar with all its beds and furrows.
‘What is he doing?’ I asked.
‘Oh fie! Don’t you know? He’s making sure the path is smooth.’ She turned her gaze to my face. ‘Those eyebrows. I do declare they need attention. Do you have hair elsewhere in such profusion?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘Show me. This is no place for modesty.’
I was not going to be bear-baited. I stood up and ran to the door but her maid barred my way.
‘Sit,’ said Bethany.
I hate to admit it but I did, with tears in my eyes.
‘Where do you think you are?’ she asked me.
‘And what is the fairy house?’
‘A brothel.’
‘And what is your role in it?’
‘To assist Mr Crease.’
She had a deep, rounded laugh that made her breasts judder. ‘You are a pretty, naive little fool.’
I sniffed and the maid brought me a kerchief. Signor Florentini moved Bethany’s legs further apart and continued shaving.
‘And I suppose you think Queenie keeps you here because she doesn’t want you to be a whore?’
I said nothing. Bethany waved Signor Florentini away and her maid, too. When they had gone, her very mannered way of talking disappeared and her voice became low and musical with an unfamiliar accent.
‘Listen to me, little Miss Innocent, Queenie says that to all her gals – you are no exception. I’ll tell you this for a bag of nothing – there are three ways you can go: one, save that sweet maidenhead for your donkey of a husband and live with the consequences of slavery; two, find a convent – and live with the consequences of slavery; three, become your own mistress and learn, as I have done, to make a man pay. This, to me, is freedom, the best freedom a woman can have. I own my own money and no one owns me.’ She slowly rose from the bed. ‘Look at me.’
When I didn’t she took hold of my chin and moved my face towards her. ‘This is my gown, this skin given free when I was born. I have learned to wear it, be proud in it. Modesty is no whore’s friend and it is the enemy of pleasure. So, I ask you again: do you have hair on other parts that Signor Florentini might attend to?’
I said nothing, so hard was the lump of rage in my throat. Cook always said I had a face as good as an open book that anyone could read without turning the pages.
Bethany laughed. ‘I suggest you think about what I said. And this evening, join us for cards – but not with a face like that.’