"Hey, where're you off to, my beauty?" A young man grabbed her arm and grinned vapidly at her. "Haven't seen you in these parts before."
"Let me go," Juliana said coldly, shaking her arm free.
"Oho! Hoity-toity madam," another young man bellowed, his eyes small and red in a round, almost childlike, face. "Give us a kiss, m'dear, and we'll let you pass." He lurched toward her, leering.
Juliana gave him a push, and he tumbled backward against the table amid shrieks of laughter. Before he could recoup, Juliana had pushed through to the rear of the room.
"Juliana!" Lilly's fierce whisper reached her as she paused, wondering where to go and whom to ask. The young woman beckoned from a doorway. "Quickly. They don't know we're in here, but if they find out, they'll start such a ruckus." She pulled Juliana into the room, slamming the door behind her. " 'Tis the very devil, but there's no key to the door. And the young bloods are always the worst. They'll start a melee at the drop of a hat, and before we know it, we'll be in the middle of a riot."
"I can believe it," Juliana said grimly, shaking out the folds of her gown, which had become crushed as she'd fought her way through the room. "Nasty little beasts."
"Our bread and butter," a woman said from the table, raising a tankard of ale to her lips. "But not for the likes of you, my lady." She smiled sardonically. "It's all very well to be lull of grand plans when it's not yer livelihood at stake."
"Now, Tina, don't be so sharp. Let the girl say what she 'as in mind." An older woman in a tawdry yellow dress gave Juliana a much nicer smile. "Come on in, dearie. Take no notice of Tina, she's sour because 'er gentleman jest passed out on 'er an' she couldn't get a penny outta him."
Juliana looked around the room, recognizing amid the substantial group some faces from the earlier meeting. Women sat at the table, lounged on the broad windowsill, perched on the settles on either side of the hearth. They were all drinking, even the Russell Street women, and for the most part those unknown to Juliana looked skeptically at her when she introduced herself.
"Well, let's 'ear what ye've to say," Tina said, still belligerently. "We ain't got all night. Some of us 'ave a livin' to earn."
Juliana decided that attempting to justify her own position would be pointless. Let them believe what they would of her. She had more important matters to concentrate on. The street women were harried and thin-faced, their clothes shabby finery that she guessed had been on other backs before. Beside them, the girls from Russell Street and similar houses looked pampered and affluent, but they all shared something: A wariness, a darting mistrust in their eyes, an air of resignation to the vagaries of fate, as if what security they had today could be gone tomorrow and there was nothing they could do about it. Beside them, the safety and permanence of her own situation must look like heaven. And these were not the poorest of the women out there. There were women and young girls, little more than children, lying against the bulks, winter and summer, with whoever could give them a crust of bread or a sip of gin.
She began to explain her idea, slowly and simply, but soon the images of what she'd seen, the knowledge of what lives these women led, the deep knowledge that she had escaped it by a hairbreadth, took over, and her voice grew passionate, her eyes flashing with conviction.
"It's not inevitable that we should be obliged to live as the bawds and whoremasters dictate. It's not inevitable that we should see our earnings disappear into the pockets of greedy masters. It's not inevitable that we should live in fear of prison for the slightest offense, for the smallest word out of turn. None of this is inevitable if we support each other." She had instinctively used "we" throughout. If she didn't identify with the women, she would seem like a preacher, distant on a pulpit. And, besides, she did identify with them, even if her situation was vastly different.
She paused for breath and Lilly jumped in, her eyes misty with tears. "We have to have a fund, as Juliana says. We each put into it whatever we can afford-"
"Afford!" exclaimed Tina, coughing into a handkerchief. "That's rich, that is. It's all right fer you what've got a decent 'ouse an' all found. But fer us… there's nowt twixt us an' the devil but a sixpence now an' agin if we're lucky."
"But that's my point," Juliana said eagerly. "Listen, if you didn't have to pay all those expenses, you would be able to contribute to the Sisterhood's fund. Those of us who have the most will put in the most-that's only fair. And the rest contribute what they can. But we'll find our own suppliers for coal and light and food and wine. If we can guarantee a certain amount of business, I'm sure we'll find some merchants willing to do business with us. Willing to give us credit to get started."
"Lord luv us, darlin', but who's goin' to give us credit?" wheezed a woman on the settle, laughing at the absurdity of such a prospect.
"They'll give Viscountess Edgecombe credit," Juliana said stubbornly.
A thoughtful silence fell at this. Juliana waited, her blood on fire with her passionate need to persuade them that they could take control of their lives. It had to be possible.
"Ye'd be willin' to put yer name out, then?" Tina looked at her with a sudden degree of respect.
"Yes." She nodded in vigorous emphasis. "I will put my own money in every week, just like everyone else, and I will undertake to find the merchants willing to do business with us."
"But, Juliana, they aren't going to be doing business with you," Deborah pointed out. "You have no need to buy supplies to conduct your own business."
Juliana shrugged. "I don't see that that makes any difference."
"Well, if ye don't, then us'll thankee kindly fer yer assistance," Tina stated. "That so, ladies?"
"Aye." There was a chorus of hesitant agreement, and Juliana was about to expand on her plan when the piercing squeal of a whistle drowned her words. There was a crash, a bellow, shrieks, more whistles from the room beyond. The young bloods were calling in their high-pitched excitement, furniture crashed to the floor, the sound of blows.
"Oh, dear God, it's a riot," Emma said, her face as white as a sheet. "It's the beadles."
The women were surging to the back of the room, looking for another door. Someone flung up the casement sash and they hurled themselves at the opening. Juliana just stood there in astonishment, wondering what the panic was all about. The disturbance was all in the room next door. If they stayed quiet, no one would come in. They'd done nothing. They were doing nothing to disturb the peace.
Suddenly a voice bellowed from the open window, "No ye don't, woman. Y'are not gettin' away from me. All right, my pretties, settle down now. Mr. Justice Fielding is awaitin' on ye."
Deborah gave a low moan of despair. Juliana stared at the glowering face of the beadle in the window, his rod of office raised threateningly. Behind him, two others were wrestling with one of the women who'd managed to get through the window. Then the door flew open. She had a glimpse of the room behind, the scene of chaos, the mass of grinning or scowling faces lost in a frenzied orgy of destruction. Then she saw Mistress Mitchell standing with another woman in a print gown and mob cap. They were both talking to a constable as his fellows surged into the room where the women were now huddling, swinging their batons to left and right, grabbing the women, herding them toward the door.
Juliana was caught up with the rest. She lashed out with a fist and a foot and had the satisfaction of feeling them meet their mark, but it did her little good. She was hustled out, pushed and shoved by the officious and none too gentle constables. And as she looked over her shoulder, Mistress Mitchell smiled with cold triumph.