Babylon Read Free

newcomers from Russia and Eastern Europe meant that they were not as free from prejudice as they liked to believe.
    ‘I don’t think I heard you, my girl.’
    ‘Nothing’s the matter,’ I said, my voice breaking. ‘It’s just that—’
    ‘Leave her alone,’ said Mum. ‘She’s in a tizzy about something or other. You know how it is.’
    I continued to stare at my food. Dad fell silent. But a bashful acknowledgement of ‘the curse’ was writ large across his face. And I was tempted to tell the truth, the whole truth right there and then: that I was indeed accursed, but not in the way that he suspected.
    ‘The nights are drawing in,’ said Dad. ‘You make sure you come home as soon as you finish school. Understand?’ He looked at my mother and sighed. ‘The funeral’s Monday week.’
    ‘The funeral?’ said Mum.
    Dad’s eyes became darkly meaningful.
    ‘Of the last one. The one found in Miller’s Court — ’
    ‘Hush!’ said Mum.
    ‘Or so I heard from Freddie Lee,’ said Dad. He let his hands fall to either side of his plate. ‘Poor girl,’ he said. ‘Poor girl.’
    Mum shook her head. ‘God help us all. Such times we live in.’
    ‘It’ll be the talk of the town, I expect,’ said Dad. ‘Just like it was the last time around. To think that it takes such matters to bring the public’s conscience to bear on the life of the London poor.’
    ‘Very true,’ said Mum. ‘As Mr Shaw has pointed out, it’s little under a year since the West End was clamouring to muzzle such as them who dared complain they were starving.’
    Dad raised his knife and fork. ‘It’s taken some independent genius to focus their minds, it seems.’ He carved himself a thick slice of red-veined beef and brought it to his mouth. ‘A murderous genius,’ he added, chewing thoughtfully.
    ‘Don’t joke about such things,’ said Mum.
    ‘I’m just saying what needs to be said.’
    Silence descended on the table.
    ‘Oh, eat up do, Maddy,’ said Mum, as she nervously tried to change the subject. ‘You need your strength. You’re beginning to look as if you have the green sickness.’
    ‘Do as your mother says,’ said Dad.
    ‘That’s it, go on,’ said Mum, as I lifted a forkful of potato. ‘We don’t want you wasting away. You’ll be a pupil teacher soon.’
    ‘That’ll bring in a few bob,’ said Dad.
    ‘Oh, give over, Josh,’ said Mum. ‘It’s not the money. It’s just lovely to know she’s doing well.’
    ‘She’d make a fine governess,’ said Dad. ‘I believe Canon Barnett — ’
    ‘You remember the rally,’ I said, interrupting and turning to Dad, as eager to change the topic of conversation as Mum had been. ‘The rally in Hyde Park?’
    Three years ago Mum and Dad had taken me along to a big Hyde Park rally to demonstrate against the Maiden Tribute. Dad had carried a banner that read ‘Protection Of Young Girls’ and I had had my own little banner emblazoned with the legend ‘Sir, Pity Us.’ I’d been better off than the wagonloads of ‘maidens’ dressed in white that brought up the rear of the procession. They had held aloft a banner proclaiming ‘Innocents Will They Be Slaughtered?’ I detested ungainly syntax.
    ‘The Maiden Tribute? Of course,’ said Dad. ‘And the year after it, too,’ he laughed, ‘when King Mob came to the West End. Put a stone through the window of a Pall Mall gentleman’s club on that occasion, if I remember aright.’
    ‘But you feel sorry for Shulamites,’ I said. ‘You’ve always felt sorry for them, haven’t you?’
    ‘The sisterhood should be disbanded, that’s what I think, and Babylon shut down. Perhaps for good. The whole system is rotten. It’s merely something the establishment uses to preserve its power. But as for the young ladies themselves?’ He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘They’re innocents. Dupes. Sacrificial lambs. They’re lured off-world by all these promises of money and romance— romance ,