Chapter 6 #2
Jenny felt a blush rising to her cheeks, partly from the heat of the room. She wished they were sitting closer to the door and further from the fire because she wasn’t confident enough to remove her coat but was growing too hot.
‘Goodness me, when we first met you thought I was a pickpocket and now you accuse me of being a pinchcock!’ Miss Sandler tilted her head, speaking in a mocking voice, but when Jenny began to apologise, she grinned and waved her hand dismissively.
‘I have been known to act the dollymop when the rent is due; but on the whole, I prefer to support myself by selling my expertise with a brush and pencil than with my madge.’
She might have been speaking another language, and when Jenny said so, it resulted in another laugh. A waitress arrived carrying a plate with a light-crusted pie covered liberally with green liquor and put it between the two women, along with a knife and two forks.
Miss Sandler cut the pastry in half, letting the chunks of gelatinous white flesh mix with the parsley sauce. She pushed a portion towards Jenny who shook her head quickly.
Miss Sandler laughed. ‘You seem very innocent for someone wearing whiskers and trousers. I’m very intrigued by you.’
‘Not as intrigued as I am by you, Miss Sandler,’ Jenny replied, feeling at ease enough to venture a smile, though not enough to sample the pie. ‘You must forgive me for my inexcusable assumption.’
‘Please, call me Miriam. It’s a fair assumption to make. A woman walking alone at night is bound to draw certain assumptions. For example, a person dressed in trousers and a greatcoat must be male, mustn’t he?’
She paused and raised her brows. Jenny acknowledged her jest with a grin.
‘As I said before, I’m an artist, and by that, I mean that by day I teach young girls from respectable families how to passably portray fruit with charcoal and watercolours.
When my time is my own, I attempt to capture the spectrum of human life.
Tonight, I was watching the canal basin workers returning home.
Their manner in the evening once they are weary is very much different to that in the morning. ’
She pulled a small sketchbook from her pocket and opened it on the table. The double page was filled with figures in different poses, and a few dogs. Even though they were small there was an animation to them. Jenny thought she recognised herself in a slim young man with his head down.
‘You’re good,’ she said, full of admiration for the adventurous woman.
‘Thank you.’ Miriam closed the book and accepted the compliment matter-of-factly.
‘Now, you know what I was doing out. Tell me about yourself. You aren’t the first to cross-dress, though most I’ve met have been en-femme and spend their time in the molly houses, but from the way you jumped as if you’d been shot when I asked you, I don’t think you were looking for a quick prigging. ’
‘I was just walking,’ Jenny said, aware of how boring it sounded.
She wasn’t entirely sure what her new friend was talking about, but had a suspicion it wasn’t anything she’d discuss in Uncle Conrad’s hearing.
‘I go to theatres or talks, but tonight there was nothing that took my fancy, so I just followed my feet.’
‘And your husband doesn’t mind you going out alone at this hour?’ Miss Sandler asked.
‘I don’t have a husband,’ Jenny answered. She dropped her eyes, feeling that admitting the fact was somehow shameful, not because it suggested she was an old maid but because of the inference that there were irregular reasons for her state.
‘And what of your husband, Miriam?’ she asked. ‘Does he mind you going out sketching at night?’
‘I have no husband. That is something else we have in common.’ Miriam reached her hand across the table and covered Jenny’s. ‘As well as our enjoyment of walking through the streets at night for our own amusement.’
Her touch felt like a brand of iron and it sent warm flickers up Jenny’s arm, raising the hairs that covered it. She stiffened and the tension in her muscles must have been apparent because Miriam gave a gentle cough.
‘There’s no need to look so concerned,’ she said, smiling into Jenny’s eyes. ‘Anyone watching would only see a couple of sweethearts holding hands and we are far from alone in doing that in this place. Scruples are a little bit less restrictive here, you’ll find.’
‘But we aren’t a couple of sweethearts,’ Jenny said. ‘And I’m not a man.’
‘I know, and I’m glad you’re not. Though you make a very handsome gentleman.’
Jenny dropped her eyes, uncertain why the compliment touched her so deeply.
‘Do you live alone, or with a companion or relatives?’ Miriam asked.
She ran her thumb underneath Jenny’s wrist and round to her palm, rubbing it in a slow circle.
Jenny couldn’t take her eyes from their hands.
Her throat tightened with worry that to look away might mean Miriam stopped, coupled with an awareness that if a man behaved in such a way it would be completely improper and by logical extension, the same should apply to a woman.
‘I live with my uncle. He fancies himself as an artist, too, though his subjects are natural objects.’
Mentioning her uncle made her anxious. She really should be going home, but the pub had such a welcoming atmosphere, and Miriam was still holding her hand.
‘And do you paint also?’ Miriam asked.
‘Me? No. I do nothing.’
Jenny reached for her tankard and took a swig of the porter.
It was disgusting but she swallowed it and took another.
As it travelled down her belly, it brought with it a taste of failure, of boredom, of the desperate dullness of her life.
How small her walls were. She saw herself through Miriam’s eyes and was overcome with the urge to break free of them and soar.