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stairs – when those moments of peckishness come on between one visitor and the next. Louisa has many visitors. She is always in great demand, and to keep up her strength and her ample frame Mrs Hibbert has said that she may peck whenever, whatever it is she wants – iced cream and fruit puddings, pastries and honey; a veritable banquet every day.
    But Cook does not like the whores coming down, preferring to send trays up to their rooms. Cook does not like Louisa at all,and Cook can be just as tart as a plum – such as today when Louisa was sitting beside the fire eating some sugar-dipped buttery bread, her thunderous thighs splayed over a bench, and all dimpled they were, all marbled white, and in the kitchen’s dingy light she looked what you might call Rubenesque. Cook had been staring a good long while before curling her lip and commenting, ‘You fuck for nothing but food. How Mrs Hibbert sustains your greed is a constant mystery to me!’
    At first, Louisa gave no reply, only a long and arrogant stare. She slowly continued to chew her bread as if contemplating what best to say, which was, ‘I don’t mean to stick around here for long. I aims to find me a gentleman, like my mate Sally Hamilton did, when she married her German count . . . had three thousand pounds settled annually and her very own villa in Saint John’s Wood, and a nice little stipend for Hibbert and Tip . . . so everyone’s happy in the end. Everyone gets their retirement home, in Margate or Gravesend or Whitstable. And what’s more . . .’ she tilted her double chins, ‘in case you are still wondering, the men fuck me because they like me fat . . . they don’t want a skinny old drab like you, a raddled old witch whose best days are spent!’
    At that point I thought it best to run, knowing that altercation might very well end in a punching match, an event which sometimes does occur when people get their danders up. But while I was passing Louisa’s side I made the mistake of reaching out to grab at a crust on the edge of her plate, and I thought she was trying to snatch it back, only rather than that she caught hold of my arm, a lopsided smile on those scarlet lips when, ‘Look at this darling, darling girl. Would you believe it . . .’ She grinned at Cook, as if they were now the best of friends. ‘This dainty little slip of a thing could have been me a few years ago . . .’ She jabbed a finger against my chest as if to emphasise her point. ‘Nothing more than skin and bone!’
    Her free hand was cupping the back of my neck, pulling me closer when she said, ‘Come on, Pearly. Give us a kiss.’
    Her pouting lips slobbered wetly on mine, greasy they were,and grittily sweet. I flinched back and wiped a hand to my mouth to spit out the taste while she carried on, ‘Don’t you go and take any offence, my dear. You’re welcome to have a poke at me and play on Cupid’s kettledrums. Aren’t you curious, to see how my diddeys feel, what you’ve got to look forward to one day, when you finally start to fill out a bit?’
    Next thing she was pressing my hand to her breast, the flesh soft and doughy, repulsive to me, and perhaps that thought had shown in my eyes for she let my hand drop, and the malice barely concealed in hers when she asked, ‘How old
are
you, Miss Prim and Proper?’
    ‘Fourteen.’
    ‘Fourteen! Gracious Lud! D’you hear that, Cook? The nipper looks barely past ten to me!’ And then, ‘Oh . . .’ as blue eyes grew rounder, ‘will you hark at that. Am I green or what? Oh Lord, I’ll say. I’m as green as that cabbage you’re chopping today!’
    The vast hams of her arms were lifted, hands dramatically smacking her mouth when she leered at me with a knowing nod. ‘So, Miss Silver Bells and Cockle Shells and Pretty Maids all in a Row is already over the age of consent. I’ll wager in the next six months that little muff won’t be as tight.’
    ‘Won’t you shut your head!’ Cook snapped her response,