“I suppose I ought to tell you, before I go further,” she explained, “that ‘ax’ meant ask, or find out.
“Just then a door opened, and an old woman came out of a room which seemed to me to be the parlour. ‘Come in, my dear,’ she exclaimed, ‘and sit down.’ I followed her into the room, and she pulled out a bottle of gin, asking me if I would have a drop of something short, while she poured out some, which I was too frightened to refuse. She said, ‘I likes to be jolly myself and see others so. I’m getting on now. Ain’t what I was once. But as I says I likes to be jolly, and I always is. A old fiddle, you know, makes the best music.
“‘Market full, my dear,’ she added, pushing the wine-glass of gin towards me. ‘Ah! I s’pose not yet; too arly, so it is. I’s glad you’ve dropped in to see a body. I’ve noticed your face lots of times, but I thought you was one of Lotty’s girls, and wouldn’t condescend to come so far up the street, though, why one part should be better nor another, I’m sure, I can’t make out.’
“‘Really you must make a mistake,’ I interposed. ‘I am quite a stranger in London; indeed I have only been three days in town. The fact is, I lost myself this evening, and seeing your door open, I thought I would come in and ask the way.’
“Whilst I was saying this, the old woman listened attentively. She seemed to drink in every word of my explanation, and a great change came over her features.
“‘Well, pet,’ she replied, ‘I’m glad you’ve come to my house. You must excuse my taking you for some one else; but you are so like a gal I knows, one Polly Gay, I couldn’t help mistaking you. Where are you staying?’
“I told her I was staying with my aunt in Bank Place.
“‘Oh! really,’ she exclaimed; ‘well, that is fortunate, ’pon my word, that is lucky. I’m gladder than ever now you came to my shop—I mean my house—cos I knows your aunt very well. Me an’ ’er’s great frens, leastways was, though I haven’t seen her for six months come next Christmas. Is she’s took bad, is she? Ah! well, it’s the weather, or somethink, that’s what it is; we’re all ill sometimes; and what is it as is the matter with her? Influenzy, is it? Now, Lor’ bless us, the influenzy! Well, you’ll stay with me to-night; you’s ever so far from your place. Don’t say No; you must, my dear, and we’ll go down to aunt’s to-morrow morning arly; she’ll be glad to see me, I know. She always was fond of her old friends.’
“At first I protested and held out, but at last I gave in to her persuasion, fully believing all she told me. She talked about my father, said she hadn’t the pleasure of knowing him personally, but she’d often heard of him, and hoped he was quite well, more especially as it left her at that time. Presently she asked if I wasn’t tired, and said she’d show me a room up-stairs where I should sleep comfortable no end. When I was undressed and in bed, she brought me a glass of gin and water hot, which she called a night-cap, and said would do me good. I drank this at her solicitation, and soon fell into a sound slumber. The ‘night-cap’ was evidently drugged, and during my state of insensibility my ruin was accomplished. The next day I was wretchedly ill and weak, but I need not tell you what followed. My prayers and entreaties were of no good, and I in a few days became this woman’s slave, and have remained so ever since; though, as she has more than one house, I am occasionally shifted from one to the other. The reason of this is very simple. Suppose the bawd has a house in St. James’s and one in Portland Place. When I am known to the habitués of St. James’s, I am sent as something new to Portland Place, and so on.”
If I were to expatiate for pages on bawds, I don’t think I could give a better idea than this affords. Their characteristics are selfishness and avariciousness, combined with want of principle and the most unblushing effrontery.