CHAPTER ONE
'No,' said Sally-Anne McAllister dazedly.
'No, please, no,' and she struggled fiercely against the arms which held her -- a man's, she noted, and that was enough to start her struggling even harder.
She would not be held by a man ever again.
No, not at all, and then, even in her confused state, her mind shied away from the reasons for her distaste, and she found herself saying even through her pain and shock, 'I will not think about that, I will not,' and so saying she stopped struggling and sank back into oblivion once more .
The next time she returned to consciousness she discovered that the whole right side of her face was numb, and that was all she registered.
The memory of being held in a man's hard arms had disappeared.
Her eyes opened; she was on her back.
Above her she saw a ceiling, grey and white, a plaster rose from which depended a gas-light inside a glass globe, engraved with roses.
She heard voices which at first made little sense, could not, for the moment, think where she might be or even who she was.
'Mama,' she said, her voice a thread, speech strangely difficult.
'She's coming round at last.'
It was a man's voice, educated, a pleasant if cold baritone.
An earlier memory returned.
Was he the man who had held her?
She did not want him to hold her again.
She tried to sit up, but was pushed gently back, by a woman's hand this time.
'Oh, dear God, Dr Neil.
Thanks be to Him she's conscious again.
I thought she would never recover,' said a woman's voice this time.
'The second blow was a cruel one.'
'Stupid,' said the man's cold voice.
'It was stupid of her to try to intervene between Jem Higgins and his Poll.'
Sally-Anne opened her eyes, tried to sit up -- a mistake that, everything reeled around her again; but memory had returned and she knew why she was in this room...and even why she had reached there, but not how.
And how dared the man standing between herself and the light so that she could not see him clearly speak so harshly of what she had done?
It might indeed be stupid to try to stop a man from attacking a helpless woman...but...
'Someone,' she announced, her voice suddenly strong again, 'someone has to try to prevent poor women from being beaten by great strong brutes.'
'Oh, yes,' said the man drily, 'I could not agree with you more.
But not young girls who could barely defend themselves against a schoolboy, let alone the professional bruiser Jem Higgins once was.
How came you here, anyway?'
And from what she could see of him, which was not much, he was giving her the coldest of stares.
Her memory returned fully...
She remembered quite clearly what she had been doing scarce ten minutes ago.
Sally-Anne McAllister -- although that was not her real name -- walked along Vetch Street in London's East End late on a hot afternoon in the early summer of 1903.
Not that summer did anything for Vetch Street; dust motes hung in the warm air and the sunlight was pitiless, starkly revealing the cracks in the broken pavement, the decaying brickwork of the small terrace houses, and the larger tenements which stood among them, and the rottenness of the wood in the unpainted doors and window-frames.
Here and there a larger house stood, once the home of some magnate now long gone, broken and rotten, a warren where different families lived in every room.
In all her short life Sally-Anne had never before encountered the squalor which she had seen in the few days since she had arrived in these poor streets in the hinterland between London Docks and Stepney.
Although she was not aware of it she was, in her shabby white cotton blouse and her dark green skirt, with her blue-black and glossy curls drawn up and knotted simply on the top of her head, her face glowing and vital, the only touch of colour in the grimy street.
She carried a small basket in her hand containing food for her frugal evening meal, although the rancid smells around her were strong enough to diminish any desire to eat -- she had not yet grown sufficiently accustomed to them to ignore them.
Later she was to think how little she was prepared for the simple events which were to change her life completely -- indeed she would have said that so much had happened to her already that any further incidents must be minor, a judgement which could not have been more faulty.
She had been living in Crow Court off Vetch Street for nearly a week, and the narrow lives of the people among whom she found herself appalled her.
What perhaps struck her the most was that, despite all, many of them appeared to be happy, while she, Sally-Anne, who could if she wished command the most luxurious life a woman could dream of, was most desperately unhappy, and had no idea of how she might become otherwise.
Her thoughts, which as usual these days were depressing, were disturbed by the noise of a fight, a fracas on the corner where Vetch Street met Millstone Lane.
A man, a large man, was beating a woman, a little woman who seemed scarcely more than a child, and was trying to drag her into one of the tenements which lined the opposite side of the road.
A group of ragged children and some idle women were watching him with amusement rather than disapproval, half applauding him with their cruel laughter, and although one woman boldly cried, 'Shame,' most seemed to be enjoying the unequal struggle.
The little woman suddenly broke away from him, ran across the ill-paved road towards her, tripped on the broken pavement, fell on to her knees before Sally-Anne, and, face wild, looked up at her imploringly, wailing, 'Help me, missis, please help me.
He'll kill me yet,' in a thin broken voice.
Sally-Anne, hampered by her basket, tried to pull herself free.
The woman stank of neglect, her clothes were torn and filthy, and tears had made twin furrows down her face.
Pity rose in her.
And anger -- anger at the man, at all men.
He had loomed up before her, had arrived to claim the woman again, pulling her away from Sally-Anne, his own face twisted with rage.
He cuffed the woman on the head, attempting to drag her back into the doorway.
Sally-Anne was almost choking between rage and fear.
She put her basket down on the pavement, held on to the woman with one arm, pulled on the man's huge arm with the other, said to him firmly, if more than a little fearfully, 'No, you are not to touch her again.
Leave her alone.'
This came out with more bravado than Sally-Anne really felt, and had she seen him more clearly before she intervened she might not have said anything at all.
The man was a bear, unshaven, face mottled purple, his eyes yellow and feral, his teeth broken, but his body, huge and strong, running to fat.
He paused to stare at Sally-Anne, face ugly.
'An' who might you be, to tell me what to do wi' mine?'
'Never mind who I might be,' said Sally-Anne firmly, trying to swallow her fear.
'Just stop what you're doing or I'll set the police on you.'
She might as well have saved her breath.
The feral eyes glared cruelly at her.
'Leave go, missis, or it'll be the worse for you.'
It was impossible for Sally-Anne to obey even if she had wished to.
The woman had sunk to the ground to avoid her tormentor, had clasped Sally-Anne around her knees, and was shrieking up at her, 'Oh, help me, help me, do.'
She cried and wailed into Sally-Anne's skirt so pitifully that Sally-Anne's own fear of the brute before her was lost in sympathy for his wretched victim.
The watchers were now bellowing encouragement to each of the players in a game which had taken a new turn.
They hallooed and shouted.
Windows were thrown open, heads appeared.
The unequal tug of war continued, and something kept the man from actually striking Sally-Anne, although he rained blows on the woman, who was now giving vent to a low, keening moan.
Emboldened, Sally-Anne cried to the watchers, 'Fetch a policeman.
He could arrest this man for assault.'
Guffaws greeted her.
'Not likely, missis; it's only Jem keeping his Poll in order.
No case for the Peelers.'
And their cruel laughter was that of any mindless mob finding entertainment in violence.
By now Jem had almost succeeded in prising Poll free from Sally-Anne, with the result that Poll's wailing went up an octave.
Almost dragged free, her hands had dropped around Sally-Anne's ankles, nearly bringing her, too, to the ground.
Looking up, eyes wild, Poll made one last supplication to Sally-Anne.
'Oh, don't let him take me, missis, please, don't let him take me.
He'll kill me this time, for sure.'
'No,' said Sally-Anne, breathless.
She fell on to her knees, held on to the woman, whose face was now on her shoulder.
She looked up at Jem bravely.
'No, I won't.
You, Jem, stop this at once.
Shame on you for hitting a woman.
I shall certainly set the police on you if you continue to go on as you are doing.'
This reasoned and ridiculous plea had no effect at all on Jem, other than to inflame him to further violence.
He bent down, thrust his unshaven face and stinking breath into Sally-Anne's, put his great hands under her armpits and hauled her to her feet by main force, Poll still clinging desperately to her.
'You will have it, then, damn you,' he growled, and he struck not Poll, but Sally-Anne, hard in the face.
She saw the blow coming, but hampered by Poll could take no avoiding action other than to turn her head slightly on receiving it.
All her senses stunned, she realised that he was about to strike her again, and this time, when he did so, oblivion took her, man, woman and jeering watchers all disappearing into the vacant dark...
And now, here she was, wherever here was, with a woman, short and comfortable, who possessed a kind face, and a man who was none of these things, judging by the coolly impersonal way in which he spoke to her.
She could see little of him, only his tall body, lean against the light.
'How did I get here?' she asked, looking around a shabby but pleasant room, feeling so frail that she might have been made of china, china broken into a thousand pieces.
She remembered Jem's first blow, but not his second.
'Dr Neil carried you in,' said the woman, who was now holding Sally-Anne's right hand with her own left hand, while gently wiping Sally-Anne's poor bruised face with a damp cloth held in her right.
Sally-Anne's returning senses told her that she was lying on an old-fashioned sofa with a high back at one end, and no sides.
The man standing before her had earlier been on his knees on the opposite side from the woman.
Painfully, looking up at him, she saw a good strong profile, sandy hair tipped with gold from the sun coming in through the lace-curtained window.
'Dr Neil?' she said questioningly.
'Dr Neil Cochrane,' he replied brusquely.
'What on earth possessed you to get involved with Jem Higgins?
Suicidal, if I may say so.
You have got off lightly, even if your face will be swollen and painful for some time.'
He looked hard at Sally-Anne, ignored her shabby clothes and shoes, looked instead at her hands and face, and all the signs of good care and feeding about her, so different from most of the women who lived around Vetch Street.
He was about to ask her what in the world she was doing in the East End when he was reproached by an angry Sally-Anne.
Oh, she hated all men, did she not?
Particularly officious, domineering ones.
She had not pushed into, or invited, the fight; Poll had involved her.
But she would not defend herself, by no means, and she answered him in tones as brusque and hard as his own.
'I could not see such a large man mistreating such a poor little woman.'
'I can only say, Miss...? that if you are to defend every maltreated woman in London's East End you will spend all your days in such labour, to no purpose.
The law does not like, or support, those who come between husband and wife.'
'Oh, indeed?' said Sally-Anne furiously to this supporter of wife-beaters -- and if only he would move so that she could see him, and not continue to stand between herself and the light --'How typically male.
Only a man could say such cruel things,' and then, belatedly, remembering her manners, which her mama had so often told her she was always forgetting, 'But I must thank you for taking me in.
And my name is Sally-Anne...
McAllister,' and she almost tripped over the last bit, but hoped he had not noticed.
She did notice that the nice little woman had gently squeezed her hand when Dr Neil was being at his most dictatorial over men's right to beat their wives.
Whether Dr Neil had noticed her hesitation or not, he said to the little woman -- ignoring both Sally-Anne's anger over his cruelty, and her thanks -- which just went to show, she thought crossly, that it was no use trying to placate the unpleasant creatures --'Matey, you will make us all a hot pot of tea, strong and sweet.
It will restore Miss...
McAllister a little.
She has received quite an unpleasant shock.'
'Thank you, no,' said Sally-Anne impatiently; she needed no condescension from him or any man.
Unpleasant shock, indeed.
She hardly knew which was worst, Jem with his blatant nastiness, or this man defending it -- implicitly, anyway.
'I will be on my way.
Drink your tea yourself.
You seem to need it more than I do.'
And how would Mama react to that ?
Oh, Sally-Anne, do you never think of what you are saying before you say it?-- all in the most sorrowful manner, no doubt.
She swung her legs over the side of the sofa, which reduced her defiance to mere childishness, alas, since her head began to swim dreadfully, and also caused him to say impatiently -- he really ought to meet Mama, at least he would agree with her --'Oh, do be quiet for a moment, madam.
You are in no condition to go any where.
Miss Mates will make us all some tea, give you some sweet biscuits, and only when I am fully satisfied that you are fit again shall I allow you to leave.
While you are here, in my home, you are my patient.
Perhaps some sweet tea will restore your temper a little-- or are you always so pointlessly combative?'
Pointlessly combative!
Only her spinning head prevented her from rising and leaving at once.
She stared fierily at him.
What was he doing in the East End?
His voice was educated, his clothing good, if a little careless -- a tweed suit, and a cream shirt, well cut, if his collar was a little frayed.
She could still see only his profile, and when he moved away, into the room's shadows, she could not even see that.
He seemed to take it for granted that everyone would do what he told them.
Miss Mates had already sped to do his bidding, giving Sally-Anne one last sympathetic squeeze of the hand before she left her.
Even in her dazed and painful state his imperious, if not to say imperial manner amused as well as annoyed her.
Few people ever expected Sally-Anne to do as she was told.
It was usually a vain hope.
She had been independent since childhood and hoped to remain so.
Thoroughly spoiled, her mama had said sadly, the last time she had seen her.
But suddenly the thought of her mama was painful to her, and to push it away she leaned back again, said, amusement plain in her voice, which, although she did not know it, surprised Neil Cochrane a little, 'Oh, I will be good, because in my present condition I cannot be anything else, I fear.'
She could almost feel her absent mother's approval of her belated politeness.
Dr Neil turned away from inspecting his own bookshelves, said, apropos of what she could not imagine, 'You are not English, I perceive, Miss McAllister.'
'You are quick, Dr Neil,' she said, a little surprised in her turn.
Her East Coast American accent deceived most people, it was so like, and yet in some ways so unlike, that of the society in which she had been living for the last six months.
'No, I am American, from the East Coast, but I have been living in England for some time.'
Neil Cochrane moved forward, sat down in an armchair facing her, and said, 'I am happy to see that you are prepared to rest a little, after all.'
But what he said had little effect on Sally-Anne compared with the sight of his face at last.
She had already noticed that when he walked he limped more than a little, favouring his left leg, but his face had taken a greater hurt.
His left profile, first glimpsed, was that of a handsome man, but the right side of his face was a ruin.
It was marred by a puckered scar which had destroyed his cheek, beginning just above the right-hand corner of his mouth, but, fortunately for him, narrowly missed his eye to disappear into his hair, twisting and distorting his whole face.
Neil Cochrane's mouth tightened when for the first time Sally-Anne saw his face plain, and reacted by controlling her own, so that the shock which she had received was only momentarily shown.
He gave no other sign of distress, merely turned his head to greet Miss Mates, saying coolly, 'You are prompt, Matey, even without your kitchen help.'
Miss Mates was carrying a black lacquered tray with a delicately flowered china tea-set on it -- Wedgwood, Sally-Anne noted -- and a silver teapot.
The elegantly shabby room in which she had found a haven was an oasis in the East End's desert, which could be glimpsed through the small bow window.
Sally-Anne took the tea which Miss Mates offered, and drank it gratefully.
Full awareness was returning to her, her head had ceased to swim, and all that was left of her recent encounter was the pain in her face, and her consequent anger at every member of the male sex.
'What happened to Poll?' she asked, determined not to be silenced by Dr Neil Cochrane, and not to allow the ruin of his looks to create any pity for him.
She did, though, wonder what dreadful accident had left him marked for life, and lame into the bargain.
She tried to eat a small biscuit, grimaced a little at the consequent pain.
This made her think suddenly of the pain which Neil Cochrane must have endured, so that she felt pity for him, after all.
'What do you think?' said Dr Neil, watching her.
He had already noted in her favour that she did not avoid looking him full in the face as many did; nor did she flinch or stare when she did.
'Jem took her home, as he intended to.'
He forbore to add that Poll might have earned a few more blows as the result of Sally-Anne's intervention, to prevent her from involving anyone else in future.
'And beat her again, no doubt,' said Sally-Anne acidly.
'No doubt.'
'You are annoyingly cool about it, sir.'
'Dr Neil, or Dr Cochrane, if you please,' he said, remaining determinedly cool -- to reproach her, no doubt, for what he considered misplaced pity.
'No sirs.
We cannot dance up and down about poor Poll; it would not help her.
That does not mean that I approve of what Jem does.'
'But the police --' began Sally-Anne.
'Oh, the police do not care about, or interfere in, domestic matters.
She is his wife, whether married in church, or what we call over here his common-law wife.
That is, she lives with him, and that, I fear, is the end of it.'
'You fear!' she flashed at him.
'The wrongs of women do not concern you?'
'Oh, everyone's wrongs concern me,' he said, but his voice was as cool as ever.
'But I do not flatter myself that I can do anything about them.
Except, of course, where they directly impinge on me, that is .
You are a suffragette, I take it?'
Sally-Anne could not tell whether he said this critically or not.
His cold, impassive manner had not changed when he spoke.
'What decent woman would not be,' said Sally-Anne, waving her biscuit at him, 'given the way in which society treats us?
It is not only East End bruisers who mistreat their women, by no means.'
She was fast recovering, Dr Neil saw; the pretty, wilful, if swollen and bruised face was vital, the springing blue-black curls were a sign of vigour and health.
Miss Sally-Anne McAllister had always been well fed and well cared for, he noted professionally.
She was also a young person well accustomed to having her own way -- there was no doubt of that.
'And what is this decent, well-educated woman doing wandering around London's East End?' he asked.
Before Sally-Anne could reply -- and fortunately for her, for she needed to consider her answer carefully -- there was a knocking at the door, and Dr Neil was required there for a moment.
In his temporary absence, Miss Mates refreshed Sally-Anne's cup again, said gently to her, 'Do not mind Dr Neil's manner, my dear.
He is the kindest of men beneath his brusque exterior.
His patients swear by him.
Do not let him frighten you.'
'Oh, he does not do that ,' said Sally-Anne cheerfully; all her normal brio had returned, and she was not going to allow Dr Neil to put her down, and when he came back she gave him her most dazzling smile, and prepared to do battle with him, whenever battle was necessary.
Kind he might be, although it seemed improbable from what she had so far seen of him, but Sally-Anne wanted nothing from men, neither kindness...nor love...nor anything.
CHAPTER TWO
But when Dr Neil Cochrane returned to the business of Miss Sally-Anne McAllister who had so strangely arrived in his home he was as firmly pressing of her as he was before.
Miss Mates had brought in Sally-Anne's basket after Dr Neil had intervened to save her, and driven off a Jem Higgins who was by then a little fearful at having laid Sally-Anne so low.
Dr Neil had seen her few poor items of food decently arranged upon a napkin in the bottom of the basket, and there seemed little doubt that she was actually living in the district -- although why he could not imagine.
He sat down by Sally-Anne, his ruined cheek slightly averted, poured himself another cup of tea and began to question her again.
Sally-Anne stirred restlessly.
He might have saved her from Jem, but did that give him the right to such a ruthless inquisition?
She demurred a little when he said, picking up his teacup, and looking at her over the top of it, 'You never answered my question, Miss McAllister.
What exactly are you doing here?
I see by your basket and your dress that you are domiciled in the neighbourhood.'
Domiciled in the neighbourhood, indeed!
What a pompous way of putting it.
Amusement at that made her tone light.
'If you must know, Dr Neil, and I suppose I owe you that, I am looking for work.'
'Work?' he said, raising his eyebrows and looking at her as though she had said drilling for oil or prospecting for gold.
'Yes, work,' she said sharply.
'One must eat.
Money is needed to buy food.
One is given money for work.
What is so surprising about that?'
Dr Neil could have given her several answers, beginning with the beautiful hands lying in her lap which had visibly never done a stroke of work in their owner's life, but said instead, 'A strange place for a young lady like yourself to look for it.'
'Indeed not,' replied Sally-Anne, with all the fiery determination which her own family knew so well.
'It is hard for an unqualified and unapprenticed female to find any work in London, except in the East End where, I am reliably informed, there is casual labour aplenty, and unskilled work, too.'
'Yes, I know that,' he said, smiling a little at her charming vehemence.
'But how does a young American lady --' and he stressed the last word slightly '-- come to be alone and seeking work in London?'
How indeed? thought Sally-Anne ruefully.
Her fertile and inventive imagination came to her aid.
She was frequently appalled at her own ability to lie convincingly, thought that perhaps she got it from Papa, one of the world's great tricksters -- not knowing that on occasion her apparently innocent mama had the gift as well.
She had no alternative but to tell him a series of absolute whoppers, as her younger brother, Rob, would have said.
The poser being, of course, that she could not tell him either the true reason she was here, or even who she really was.
She improvised wildly and skilfully, dabbing at her eyes while she spoke with a rather grubby handkerchief.
'My papa died after he lost all our money in the last great depression.
My...mama...had long gone.'
Even an unscrupulous Sally-Anne could not quite kill her mama off completely -- if he thought that her mama had bolted, well, so be it.
She gave a half-sob, added, 'I had to find work.
An old acquaintance of the family needed a governess-companion for her little girl during a prolonged visit to Europe.
She came from New York State, too -- her husband was an executive in an automobile works there -- and I thought my troubles were over.'
She heaved a great sigh of which she was privately rather proud, thinking that it added a touch of verisimilitude to the sad tale she was spinning.
Later she was to wish that she had neither been so deceitful, nor so colourful, but at the time excitement and expediency combined carried her away.
'Unfortunately my employer's husband...'
And she cast her eyes modestly downwards.
'Yes?' prompted Dr Neil with a grin -- for some reason he did not believe a word of this farrago -- to hear her reply in a low voice,
'He took more than a proper liking to me, and when I indicated that I was not interested in his advances he had me cast off...without a reference, so that I cannot find suitable employment.'
Sally-Anne was particularly pleased with the last bit, and saw by Miss Mates's sympathetic expression that she was swallowing every word.
She was not quite so sure of Dr Neil, but she ploughed steadily on.
'I was left with very little money, came here to live in Crow Court, because it is cheap.
I need employment to live, and in the hope that I can save my passage home again.
I would do anything to earn a wage, however small -- be a servant, even.
I would not mind being trained, and I am not afraid of hard work.'
'A servant?' said Miss Mates, coming over and taking Sally-Anne's hand.
'You poor child,' and Sally-Anne swallowed a little at this, feeling ashamed of telling such a kind-hearted creature such whoppers.
'But the work is so hard, for so little.
And you are so old.'
'Old?' said Sally-Anne a little indignantly, to Dr Neil's amusement as he watched the two women.
'Why, I am not yet twenty-one.'
'Oh, but one starts training housemaids and cooks at twelve and thirteen,' said Miss Mates gently, but at the same time she was thinking of her own problems in finding and keeping satisfactory girls, and Miss McAllister looked both strong and willing.
A little high-spirited, perhaps, but hard work and long hours would soon cool her down.
'I learn very quickly,' said Sally-Anne submissively.
'And I really do need to earn my passage home.
I meant it when I said that I would do anything.
Perhaps you might know where I could usefully apply?'
Was it her imagination or was the man opposite her regarding her warily?
Since Miss Mates had intervened he had said little, although he had had enough to say before that, goodness knew, thought Sally-Anne briskly.
Strange how handsome he looked with the shadow concealing his ruined cheek a little.
What a pity for him.
She thought that perhaps her manner was somewhat too bold for one who so recently had been only a governess, and now wanted to be even less.
She smiled and bent her head.
She must remember not to be her usual confidently aggressive self if she was offering to take up such a subordinate post.
'Are you serious, Miss McAllister?'
Dr Neil asked.
'About becoming a servant, I mean.
You do know how hard the work is, I hope?'
'Oh, yes!' exclaimed Sally-Anne eagerly.
'But I do not intend to do it forever, and I am very strong.
Papa says that most horses would envy me in that line!'
This frankly offered statement brought an almost unwilling laugh from him.
'Did he, indeed?
Let us put Papa's notions to the test, then.
I know that Matey here wants a maid of all work, and that the last two were highly unsatisfactory.
You could hardly be worse, I suppose.'
Sally-Anne bridled a little at this.
She liked to think that she was very efficient in all she did.
From what she had seen of maid's work it was not very difficult.
An idiot could do it.
What she did not know was that it was not so much that the work was difficult, but that there was so very much of it, and all tiring.
Like most young ladies of her class she had no idea at all of the effort which went into making her own charmed life easy.
She was not so much spoilt as totally unaware.
'I'm sure that I should be satisfactory,' she said stiffly.
'You could put me on probation, I suppose.'
'I have no intention of doing anything else,' said Dr Neil briskly.
He was now all employer, coolly assessing Sally-Anne as a prospective slave about the house.
zzz