William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

an’ water. ’E don’ really do ’er that bad. She jus’ likes ter mouth orff. It were a geezer she picked up, an’ ’e punched ’er summink rotten an’ then kicked ’er, after ’e took ’er. She’s all tore, an’ still bleedin’. Yer sure yer ’appy ter go out there lookin’, are yer?”
    Betty stared at her. “Then I’ll stay ’ome,” she said between clenched teeth. “Or I’ll go up the ’Aymarket.”
    “Don’t be a bloody fool!” Vida spat back contemptuously. “You in’t ’Aymarket quality, an’ yer knows it. Nor’d they let yer jus’ wander up there an’ butt in, an’ yer knows that too.”
    “Then I’ll ’ave ter stay ’ome an’ make do, won’t I?” Betty retaliated, her cheeks a dull pink.
    Vida stared at the sleeping man in the corner, unutterable scorn in her face. “An’ ’e’s gonna feed yer kids, is ’e? Grow up, Betty. Yer’ll be out there again, rape or no rape, an’ yer knows it as well as I do. Answer Monk’s questions. We’re gonna get these sods. Work together an’ we can.”
    Betty was too tired to argue. Just that moment, Vida was a worse threat than hunger or violence. She turned to Monk resignedly.
    He asked her the same questions he had asked Nellie West, and received roughly the same answers. She had been out in the street to earn a little extra money. It had been a thin week for her husband—she referred to him loosely by that term. He had tried hard, but because of the weather there was nothing. Winters were always hard, especially at the fish market where he often picked up a little work. They had had a fight, over nothing in particular. He had hit her, blackening her eye and pulling out a handful of her hair. She had hit him over the head with an empty gin bottle, knocking him out. It had broken, and she had cut her hand picking up the pieces before the children could tread on them and cut their feet.
    It was after that that she had gone to look for a spot of trade to make up the money. She had earned seventeen and sixpence,quite a tidy sum, and was looking to improve on it, when three men had approached her, two from in front, one from behind, and after no more than a few moments’ verbal abuse, one of them had held her while the other two had raped her, one after the other. She was left badly bruised, one shoulder wrenched and her knees and elbows grazed and bleeding. She had been too frightened to go out again for three weeks after that, or even to allow George anywhere near her. In fact, the thought of going out again made her nearly sick with fear—although hunger drove her past the door eventually.
    Monk questioned her closely for anything she could remember of them. They had abused her verbally. What were their voices like?
    “They spoke proper … like gents. Weren’t from around ’ere!” There was no doubt in her at all.
    “Old or young?”
    “Dunno. Din’t see. Can’t tell from a voice.”
    “Clean shaven or bearded?”
    “Clean … I think! Don’ remember no whiskers. Least … I don’ think so.”
    “What kind of clothes?”
    “Dunno.”
    “Do you remember anything else? A smell, words, a name, anything at all?”
    “Dunno.” Her eyes clouded. “Smell? Wot yer mean? They din’t smell o’ nuffink.”
    “No drink?”
    “Not as I can think of. No … din’t smell o’ nuffink at all.”
    “Not soap?” Then instantly he wished he had not said it. He was putting the suggestion into her mind.
    “Soap? Yeah, I s’pose so. Funny, like … diff’rent.”
    Did she know what cleanliness smelled like? Perhaps it would be odd to her, an absence rather than a presence. It did not tell him anything more than Nellie West had, but it reinforced the same picture: two or three men coming into the area from somewhere else and becoming increasingly violent in their appetites. They apparently knew enough to pick on the women alone—not the professional prostitutes, who mighthave pimps to protect them, but the amateurs, the women who only took to the streets occasionally, in times of need.
    It was dark when they left, and the snow was beginning to stick. The few unbroken street lamps reflected glittering shards of light on the running gutters. But Vida had no intention of stopping. This was when they would find the women at home, and apart from the fact that they might not speak in the company of their colleagues, she was not going to lose good work-time by asking the questions when they should be