‘You could always claim he was right, and that you were adulterous, and then he could divorce you.’
‘Oh, Dora. Imagine the shame.’
‘Any less shameful than what you have been reduced to?’ She pondered for a while. ‘On second thoughts,’ I continued, ‘I have probably advised you ill. For if he divorces you, on grounds of adultery, he gains custody of Nathaniel.’
‘He would not claim it. He hates the child.’
‘Wouldn’t he? Not even to spite you?’
‘He loathes him, Dora.’
‘Not as much as he loathes you.’
‘You evil bitch! Hush your vile mouth!’
And then a thought crackled painfully across my brain, and I wondered why I had not realised before. I had no reason to believe the woman, or Din, for that matter. He had intimated as much about her soirées, only I wanted to believe him when he said that he was never touched in that way. But her ladyship’s excessive protestations against Jocelyn’s accusations only aroused my suspicions, and my cheeks flushed with anger, and no, surely not, with jealousy. Might it be true that Nathaniel was not Sir Jocelyn’s child after all? Was it possible, could it be, that Nathaniel was Din’s child?
I turned aside and caught my breath, as Sylvia scribbled beside me. Had she known him in that way? Had she possessed him? How blind I had been! How I had chosen to ignore the awful possibility! I looked at her with resentment and mistrust. I was vexed, and did not know what to do. I felt the urge to strike her.
Had she carried his child for nine months? Had she had what was mine? Had she been there first?
Did you molest unsuspecting black men? I wanted to shout at her. Did you ride a black cock and impregnate yourself with coloured seed? I was burning inside.
I watched her as she wrote, this woman, who allegedly worked hard to secure the freedom of the most exploited race on earth, and yet delighted in making them her own slaves – sexual slaves – of sorts. What a perfect match she was with her contradictory Sir Jocelyn.
And then we heard Nathaniel awaken upstairs, and start to holler.
‘Oh, Dora. Do go and look in on him, for I am quite weary.’
What did you do to Din?! I wanted to scream at her. But, to save myself from any rash action, I willingly fled upstairs and picked up Nathaniel, and placed him on my shoulder. I tried to angle him in the moonlight, to see what colour his skin really was, but we are all shades of grey at night.
‘Are you my Din’s baby?’ I cooed at him. ‘Are you my little Din? Ooh, what a din you are making. Ooh, what a din Din made here. Ooh, and do you want some din-dins? Din-din-din-da-din-dindin.’ And so it became a silly song, pounding though my heart was, and he was soon quiet but alert, and looking round at the dark shapes thrown by the moonlight around the room. I placed him back in his drawer. ‘Din-din-da-dindin.’
What with Jack, and me and Din, and Sylvia here too, I was indeed running a veritable atelier of transgression. I should have written on Pansy’s advertisement that those who trod the straight path in life need not apply. Was the road to Damage’s really such a crooked one? The streets outside looked straight and Roman, but Roman indeed was the dwelling to which it brought one.
The following morning I did not unlock the workshop at all. I knew I could not face Din now, were he to show, yet neither could I face another day without him. Curses on him. Was I really no better than all the other Ladies of the Society, in my desire for the man?
I wanted better things from today. I put the money for Lizzie, and some to buy leather, into my purse under my skirt, and then thought again, and took the bookmark with me too. I went to the grocer and ordered four weekly deliveries of food to Lizzie’s house, which cost the equivalent of a month of Jack’s wages. Then I went up to the river, and gave the other month to Lizzie in cash, with the futile plea that she didn’t spend it all on gin. And finally, I headed off to Bermondsey once more, to the tanners.
I did not go to Select Skins and Leather Dressings, but went instead to Felix Stephens. It was smaller than Select Skins, with only a handful of customers, and I waited by a stack of hides to be served. Curious, I thought, how being a women renders one both conspicuous and invisible at the same time. But soon, visibility won out, and a man came over to ask me my business there.
‘I’ve come to settle the account of Mr Peter Damage,’ I said, and was led into the office at the back. The man showed me into a chair, then went to the other side of the desk, from which he pulled out two large ledgers. He rifled through the first, then the second. He did not hurry, but was efficient and calm, and I warmed to him. Eventually he turned both ledgers round to me, and talked me through each item and the date of purchase, before ringing the totals owed in red ink, and adding them up.