Outside, the temperature had plummeted.

'Hello,' he says.

'Hello to you, dearie,' I say.

He shuffles nervously on the spot.

'Are you coming in or not?'

He removes his cap and scratches the back of his head.

Bless him, I thought, but I can't be hanging about on the streets. I begin to lose patience.

'Why don't you come inside, dearie, and warm yourself. Mrs Bird's house does the best coffee in north London,'I say cheerily.

He looks around and then steps forward.

About bleedin' time, I thought before taking him by the arm and guiding him inside. I led him to the kitchen and sat him down. 'Are you partial to coffee, dearie?'

'I've never tried.'

'Well, there's a first time for everything,' I say with a twinkle in my eye. 'Don't tell Mrs Bird, mind, but I think it tastes like puddle water.' I cackled like a goose.

His soft lips curled into a nervous smile. The coffee soon wiped that away. His features contorted, and I, once more, cackled like a goose.

'Bitter, ain't it?'

He nodded, grimacing.

'Where are my bleedin' manners?' I exclaimed. 'Miss Martha Jolly's the name. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

'Stanley--Stanley Hobson.'

Bless him, I thought. I touched his arm. 'Once you cross the threshold of a molly-house, you take on a female moniker, dearie.'

He stared wide-eyed at me.

'Tenderfoots are known as sisters. If you become a regular, then you are christened. I liked the name Martha, and I'm jolly by nature, hence my moniker.'

After five minutes of chit-chat, he began to relax when the sound of moaning penetrated the thin walls. He didn't know where to look, bless him. I knew those moans, they belonged to Miss Fanny Leyton. 'She can't help herself, dearie. Fanny loves a bit of cock. Well, more than a bit.' I cackled like a goose.

Ten minutes later, the erstwhile Fanny sauntered into the kitchen and gave me a theatrical wink. She readjusted her long black tresses, and, using a vanity hand mirror, added rouge to her cheeks. She whistled jauntily as she sauntered over to the table and placed her hands gently on my shoulders.

'Cock like a maypole, that one.' She pecked my cheek. 'The chapel's vacant if you and the sister want to marry.'

'Marry!' he spluttered.

'Gawd blimey! She's as green as a sprout.' Fanny chortled.

'Leave her be, you dip-candle tart,' I yelled in mock umbrage. 'Come, sister, let's seek refuge elsewhere.'

I took Dearie by the arm and led him into the adjacent room: the chapel.

The lamp flickered its amber glow. He sat on the bed fiddling with his thumbs. What a sweetheart, I thought.

'Now, dearie, there are things you need to know, but, first, you must be honest with Martha. Am I right in thinking you haven't been with a molly before?'

His eyes melted into mine. 'No,' he said quietly.

I sat next to him and took hold of his delicate hands. 'But you've been with a gent before?'

'Yes.'

I stood and turned to face him. 'Do I look like a gent, dearie?' I said as I unbuttoned my dress from its high collar.

'Not a bit. You're as pretty as a picture, Martha.'

'I've natural traits. As a nipper, strangers always mistook me for a girl. And when I reached maturity, the eyes of gents lit up in my presence...followed by the stiffening of their cocks.' I cackled.

I slipped out of my dress and draped it over a chair. The sight of my voluptuous strapless corset inflamed dearie's passion. He knelt on the bed, his wide eyes devouring my body. Soft gasps vented from his slightly open mouth. The three studs popped open, and I peeled the corset away. I stood in my frilly bralette and panty set and sauntered to the bed, where I leaned teasingly against its edge. I bit my bottom lip saucily as I slipped my panties down. My stiff cock stood to attention.

Dearie reacted to its sight like a ravenous dog given a bone. He shot forward, gripped my hips, and lowered his head. I gasped as my meaty cock slipped into his warm, wet mouth. He knew what he was doing. My skin tingled as his soft lips ran up and down my quivering shaft. Pure bliss wrapped around me. As his head bobbed, my desire for gratification took hold. I held dearie's head still and thrust my member back and forth. The fuse burned rapidly and my body bucked as grapeshot exploded from the muzzle of my hot cannon.

Time stood still. 'La petite mort,' I gasped.

Three months had passed since that first encounter with Stanley, who was a private in the Royal Fusiliers. Now, I've had plenty of soldiers in my time, most were as rough as a badger's arse, but not Stanley. In fact, he reminded me of myself at the same age. He displayed a gentle, feathery touch. And what a charmer! " You have the prettiest eyes in Clerkenwell, Martha Jolly,' he'd often say.

We became sweethearts, spending many an hour 'marrying' in the chapel, where we dipped our wicks in each other.

We talked freely about our past. Neither of us had it easy as nippers. Stanley ended up in an orphanage at the age of five, ran away at ten, and joined the Fusiliers as a drummer boy at twelve. As for myself, I was regularly beaten black and blue by my father while my mother stood and watched meekly. "It's for your own good, Morris,' she'd whimper.

I was baptised Morris Harvey Jennings in 1842 and recently entered my thirty-eighth year. Stanley, by comparison, was a mere whippersnapper, still a few months short of celebrating his twenty-fourth year.

But deep down I knew a change had affected Stanley. I saw the same longing in his eyes that had shone from my own twenty years past. The life I lived seeped into his soul. On the day of his christening, he glowed with joy. He chose his own moniker. As he had taken the queen's shilling and been born in Bow, he became Miss Queenie Bow.

And what a picture she was: her dainty features beautified by rosy red cheeks and lips, framed by copper-coloured tresses, and her slender figure shaped alluringly by a curvaceous bodice. Men couldn't keep their eyes off her; her secret only hinted at when she spoke.

But Mrs Bird's house became a cage she yearned to fly from. She left me a note. Writing wasn't her strong point. Tears welled as I read words that were few but heartfelt. As I placed the letter against my chest, a smile wreathed my tear-stained features. I hoped with all my heart that Queenie found a safe, happy spot to roost.

***

'Hello, dearie. Why don't you come inside and warm your bones, there's always a cosy welcome at aunty Pearl's. That's right, gent, you take my arm. Hang on! There's no need to be so rough. What's your game!?'

'My game is the law. You are under arrest. Don't cause a fuss now, or you will find out how rough I can get. Face the wall while I clap these irons on.'

A shrill whistle pierced the night. Uniformed constables sprang from the shadows and stormed the three-storey house. Commotion reigned: hobnails banged against floorboards, doors slammed, furniture crashed and a melody of cries and curses resounded.

'Why can't you leave us be? We don't do any harm.'

'I do as I'm ordered. If I had a choice, I'd much rather be dealing with proper villains. Now, I don't have an issue with your sort, but the powers that be have decreed that you are a threat to decent society, so stop your squawking.'

'Get your hands off!'

'Let's have a butcher's at you. I've seen some ugly painted mugs in my time. Well well well, aren't you the daintiest little Molly? Uhm... I think we'll go for a walk round the corner. Don't cause a fuss now.'

A muffled cry melted into the night.

'Don't hurt me, I beg you. I won't cause a fuss, but don't use your fists on my face.'

'Gawds sake! What do you take me for? I'm letting you scarper.'

'You're what!?'

'As I mentioned, I'd rather be dealing with proper villains rather than your sort. But when I clocked your face, well. the cells at Old Street Nick are no place for someone so dainty.'

'You have a good heart, constable.'

'Constable Fisk. Now, take my advice and keep off the streets. Commissioner Munro is on a moral crusade.'

'He doesn't know what he's missing, that's his problem.' A throaty chuckle echoed.

The constable shook his head wearily as the dainty figure tiptoed away.

'Hold your horses! Aren't you going to introduce yourself?'

'Where are my bleedin' manners, constable? My name's Queenie --- Miss Queenie Bow.