THE DEPRIVED... Chapter 3... Part 11.

A continuation of my book.

“Now then, you girl.” said one of the women, pointing at Beth. “You has a beauty and fine eyes. You can be a favourite to some fine fancy-pants as comes calling from time to time. You has a chance of gaining a wage as will buy your freedom.”
Beth shook her head, not understanding what was said.
“What she means is that there’s them young rakes as come calling. They pays the Warders to let them come into the cells and so choose a woman as takes their fancy. Them Jack-a-Dandies pays top privilege, if you gets me drift.” explained Bertha with a wink.
“So why don’t they collect one from the streets, the working ladies of the night?” queried Beth.
“Night-Girls?” exclaimed another woman, putting her basket down to lean over. “Aint you to knowing that them rakes aint into paying the price of them Night-Girls, along with paying for the drink? And then there’s the chance of catching any disease. We is noted for our cleaning, don’t you know? When we gets here, we was all under inspection for diseases, weren’t we girls?” she said.
Her words were accompanied by nods of agreement from the others.

 

Each night, the door would open and a Warder would call out his chosen woman for the hours of pleasure before the woman was returned to the cell. Each day they were fed well on meat and potatoes, sometimes with an extra pudding of suet and bacon chips if they had served the Warders in a particularly nice way. And each day the women weaved the baskets which were sold on the open market, to those more favoured in the prison and to those in higher nobility who felt cleansed of sins within the good of purchasing such property from the fallen women.
“It’s said His Highness, The Archbishop of Canterbury, does come here in good privacy to buy our baskets. That’s so his mischief with the Nuns is given a blind eye by Him on high.” said Bertha with a mischievous wink.

 

One night there was a knock on the door, a sharp rat-a-tap on the steel with the silver knob of a cane and the door opened to allow a man of some fifty years old  to enter. He wore the finery of a gentleman, satin britches and silks with the finest lace to collar and cuffs. Entering the room and holding a silver vinaigrette up to his nose, the rheumy eyes above it searching the room and alighting on Beth.
“You, dearie.” he said in an affected voice, now pointing at Beth with his cane.
“Bring her to my rooms.”
The man had turned to speak to a Warder before walking out of the room.
“You there, come along with me.” ordered the Warder and Beth rose and with a last look at Bertha, who winked broadly.

Beth followed the Warder down the corridor and descended some steps, to be halted outside a door. The Warder tapped politely on the door and waited before being allowed to open the door. Ushering Beth in, the Warder took the coin offered by the gentleman and left, closing the door behind him.
The man had discarded his dress and now stood in front of a gilded mirror, a velvet robe draping his form.
“Take off those rags and lay on the bed.” were the words he used.
He had taken off his wig, his hair tufted pieces of grey which he patted before taking off the robe and stood naked, his stomach pale and paunchy and seeming too ponderous to be set on such thin white legs.
“Get them off I say!” he demanded, coming over to pull at Beth’s shawl.
“Leave me be!” shouted Beth.
The man swore loudly, slapping Beth across the face and reaching forward to kiss her. He sprang back, shouting loud in surprise and anger, holding a hand to the bite mark which began to bleed on his cheek. Beth ran to the door and wrenched it open. The Warder, who had returned to stand outside on guard now had Beth in his arms and holding her tightly.
“Take her away!” cried the man. “She’s an animal, a s**t!”
The Warder dragged Beth away and was then joined by another Warder and between them carried her down the stairs to a small cell below. There she was stripped and chained with her face to the wall while one of the Warders who had left the cell returned with a long thin cane and began to slash at Beth till the blood ran and her back was ripped open to the bone. Mercifully Beth felt no more pain as she slipped into unconsciousness.
“Leave her there till she comes round.” ordered the Warder with the cane so that both Warders walked from the cell, slamming the door shut.

Beth opened her eyes and screamed out as the realisation of pain brought her mind to awareness and once again she escaped into a dark of mindlessness.

“Take her down and throw her back into the pig-cell.”
The Warders had returned and the one who had wielded the cane gave the order for the other Warder to remove the chains from Beth’s wrists and carry her to the small squalid cell in which she had been incarcerated at the beginning. There she was thrown down to the floor, her clothes thrown after her with the cell door slamming shut.
Beth was to remain there to lick her wounds among the swell of women who sat crammed together against the walls and poorly fed. Beth did not speak to the others, her eyes red and swollen through tears with her face hidden beneath the mat of hair which had not seen a comb in a while.