Fanny and Stella Read Online Free PDF Page B

made it vulnerable and made it dangerous. It was a house of accommodation for young men who liked to dress up as young women and go out on the spree, for young men who liked to get themselves up ‘in drag’ – as Mr Gibbings used to call it, though for the life of her she couldn’t see why.
    Running her house for the ‘so’ young gentlemen who liked to drag themselves up had seemed like a good idea to Martha Stacey. They were certainly a cut above the professional Mary-Anns, or male whores, she had met. There was Mr Gibbings, Mr Thomas, Mr Boulton, Mr Park, Mr Cumming and Lord knows how many other young gentlemen who used to come to her house. They were clean, always polite to her, and ever so friendly. She liked her boys when they were boys and she liked her boys even more when they were girls. What a lark it all was! She had often joined in the ‘laughing, chaffing and joking’ when her boys were getting dragged up, and in the mornings when they recounted their adventures of the night before.
    Besides, it was good business, very good business. They always paid on the nail. She charged five shillings a night, and a bit more besides if one of the young men entertained a gentleman – or two – overnight. She didn’t know and she couldn’t say, she was sure, how often this happened or if the young ‘ladies’ ever took money from their gentlemen callers. Her boys had their latchkeys and what they did in or out of their rooms was no concern of hers. She never saw anything – well, not much anyway. Mind you, she was quite ready to admit, you’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to have an inkling of what went on. Some nights there was an awful lot of to-ing and fro-ing; doors banging; moans and groans and giggles and screams. Judging from the state of the sheets, she had her suspicions – certainties, more like. Those boys certainly knew how to dance the ‘Slap-Bum Polka’!
    And for a modest charge of a few shillings a week she looked after the frocks, the wigs, the pots of paint, the unmentionables, the what-have-yous, the thingamajigs – and all the rest of the paraphernalia – and my goodness me there was enough of it; enough to open a shop nearly; enough to fill two rooms at Wakefield Street so tight you could barely squeeze your arse in. And for a few shillings more she wasn’t averse to doing the odd bit of laundry if Frances was there to help her out. But now the police were involved and what a to-do it had all turned out to be. It was all ruined and spoilt and if she was not very careful, she would find herself in hot water, very hot water, and no mistake.
    After twenty minutes or so of waiting, the stomping, thumping and banging from the room below stopped. Carlotta and the Comical Countess heard Chamberlain’s muffled voice and then the thud of the front door shutting. He was gone and there was silence. Cautiously, Carlotta crept downstairs. Old Mrs Stacey and Martha were staring at the door of Fanny and Stella’s room. They were plainly terrified. Chamberlain had locked it and he was coming back – and soon – with reinforcements.
    Miss Carlotta Gibbings did not hesitate. Despite her ‘very effeminate appearance’ and her girlish lisp, Carlotta was determined and resourceful. She was the only person present not completely paralysed by fear. She guessed that Chamberlain had found plenty of material that would incriminate Fanny and Stella and might perhaps incriminate them all. But if there was anything that Chamberlain hadn’t already grabbed, anything that he’d missed, anything that he’d overlooked, now was the time to remove it out of harm’s way. She put her shoulder to the door and pushed hard; the lock burst open, and with a girlish shriek of surprise, Carlotta almost fell into the room.
    It was a mess. Carlotta and the Comical Countess worked furiously. They could not be sure how long it would take Chamberlain to return. He might be back in an hour or two, as he had threatened;