East End Alice, A Victorian Girls Escape From Sin

By Charlie B.

The East End of London, Victorian London 1884. The crowded tenements, the poor standard of living, the diseases, the crime and the vice are all inhabitants of this darkest of places, yet people here are not insular nor vying to be better than their neighbour’s. This is an environment where everyone looks out for one another, where despite poverty, friendship is watchword and this is the world in which twelve-year-old Alice Kettle sweeps her street crossing, keeping it clear for people to cross the road without the detritus of Victorian traffic fouling their person. A job she does to earn pennies to help support her mother’s family through these hard times.
Alice however is an unsuspecting target for that most foul of purveyors of human flesh, the purchasers of young girls who take them from their homes and then force them to work in the high class brothels which are mostly frequented by the moneyed classes.
Charlie Atkin has Alice in his sights and he sets his devious plans into action in order to make a pretty penny from the appropriation of Alice, this despite the efforts of the Social Sisters movement to change the laws on the current age of consent and prostitution in general.
A book that follows Alice through the trials that await her as her life is suddenly turned on her head. Will she escape her fate?

Excerpts from reviews of East End Alice.
This book grabbed me from the start with its gritty, dark image of late 1880s London's East End and the vivid, raw representation of its characters. I have always been fascinated by the history and images of the period, and this book delivers that. One of the first things to draw me was the author’s use of dialect. The depiction of the abject poverty of the people that lived in London’s East End was heart breaking, but the character of Alice was heart-warming and uplifting.

Before reading the book, I delved into the author’s page at Amazon. Charley B. is a writer of erotica, but this book is not erotica at all. Instead, the author begins each chapter with excerpts and snippets illustrating the history of the fight in England for social reform pertaining to the prostitution and forced enslavement of young girls in the brothels that catered to the upper class. The book is quite enlightening and educational, while at the same time, entertaining. It moves at a fast pace and is never boring.
East End Alice is about a 12 year old girl living with her mother in East End, London. A nasty character comes into her life, and gets her sold into slavery, working as a maid in a high end brothel in London. The rather evil owners of the brothel sees poor Alicia as a future prospect for a new prostitute.

Without revealing any more of the plot, I will only note that this to me is a feel-good story, it's not a tragedy, and that in itself is an important point. Its not nice to read tragedies involving a child and prostitution.

The story is paralleled by the real development of legislation against child prostitution in England in the late 19th century. Reading the novel made me think a lot about the fates of children trafficked into prostitution today. It a really horrible situation.

I really enjoyed reading East End Alice. The dialogue took getting used to, as much of it is written in Cockney English, but that really adds to the authenticity of the novel. I highly recommend this novel!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlie B.
• Release date: Sep 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005733827

Charlie B.

Well my name is Charlie B but you already know that. I live in the UK, Bromley, Kent, any GR peeps close by, friend me by all means. I write hot steamy stories. Why, well because if it turns me on I hope it will do the same for you, guy or girl!For those of you that might be interested my web site address is www.dollhouse-books.com. all of my books are individually listed there along with synopsis and other interesting articles. you can also sign up to my new releases newsletter and receive a free short storyCommecial finished, please read on!I write a lot, a book a month sometimes even more and I like to do something different every time. Sometimes the sexy scenes are part of the story and other times the story is the vehicle for the sex scenes but one thing is always present in my stories, Sex!Most of my stories feature women as the lead characters, I liker strong women, women who know what they want and go get it. They want men who can satisfy them in every way, who can excite and give then totally fulfilling sex. Women today have found their freedom, they want books that excite and arouse, they want a hot read that will give them a thrill and why not.Ah, but I hear you guys saying , ‘what about us?Well I know what guys like, after all I am one. Fresh young women, cheerleaders, raunchy college girls that are naughty rather than nice. Older women that bend the rules, blur the lines because they are hell bent on satisfaction and they will do their devious best to get it. In actual fact, although there’s a possible division in what I write, I think men and women will enjoy most of my books as many sit in the middle road.

Book preview

EAST END ALICE

A VICTORIAN GIRLS ESCAPE FROM SIN

SMASHWORDS EDITION

By

BARRY G.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1. THE CROSSING SWEEPER

CHAPTER 2. CHARLIE ATKINS

CHAPTER 3. WILLIAM. PERCIVAL

CHAPTER 4. STREET LIFE

CHAPTER 5. THE MEETING

CHAPTER 6. A BAD DAY FOR ALICE

CHAPTER 7. SETTLING IN

CHAPTER 8. THE PENNY DROPS

CHAPTER 9. WILLIAMS DESPAIR AND HIS NEW RESOLVE

CHAPTER 10. FLIGHT.

CHAPTER 11. REFUGE

CHAPTER 12. A NEW DAY DAWNS BRIGHT

CHAPTER 13. LOOSE ENDS

CHAPTER 14. THE PAPER TRAIL

CHAPTER 15. CONVERSATIONS

CHAPTER 16. ENTER THE PRINCESS

CHAPTER 17. EVENTS BEFORE THE TRIAL

CHAPTER 18. THE TRIAL

CHAPTER 19. LOOSE ENDS.

CHAPTER 20. AFTER THOUGHTS

COPYRIGHT.

The right of Barry G. Author, to be identified as the owner of this work (East End Alice by Charlie B.) has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher.

While the Author has taken reasonable care in the preparation of this book, the Author makes no representation, express or implied, with regard to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and cannot accept legal responsibility or liability for any errors or omissions from the book or the consequences thereof.

Products or services that are referred to in this book may be either trademarks and/or registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publisher and author make no claims to these trademarks.

A CIP Catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Formatting and cover design by ebook-designs.co.uk

DISCLAIMER:

This is a work of fiction. Any Similarity to actual persons, alive or deceased is purely coincidental.

CHAPTER 1. THE CROSSING SWEEPER

‘Josephine Butler was the leading figure in the ‘Social Purity movement’ that she herself founded. She campaigned to end child sex slavery in the 1880’s and also devoted much of her life to bringing about legislative change to protect young girls from sexual exploitation.’

Oi! Get yer bloody arse orf my street!

Alice brandishes her broom like a wild Dervish as she races across the street, in and out of the passing traffic; always a perilous undertaking in Victorian London. She swats it at the young lad she was addressing, who immediately squeals and then turns and flees as fast as his short legs can manage. He still feels the tip of the broom as it swipes across the back of his head and subsequently, yelps out aloud as he stumbles for an instant before regaining his feet and then disappearing around the corner.

Cheeky little sod. Don’tcher come back, she sends after him in her caustic, East London accent.

Alice stands with her hands on her hips glaring around about her for any other incursions onto her patch, then sighs as another passing horse drops its load.

Bloody ‘orses! Oi mister; can’t yer keep yer bloody ‘orse from droppin’ on me street? she cries out; hands resting on slim hips as she glares after the miscreant creature’s driver then hurriedly sweeps the muck away so as to keep her road crossing clear. Not many Gardens around this part of London that would want manure.

12-year-old Alice, not that she knows her real age for sure, since she has never bothered to work it out; earns her pennies as a street sweeper. Pennies that help her Ma keep the family going in the current hard times that all East Enders suffer. She rises at sunrise every morn, for there is no clock to tell the time in her house, and then after dousing her head under the local pump, races to claim her crossing spot on New Road. The competition for the best ones is always fierce but there’s few dare cross her path anyway.

New Road runs between Whitechapel High Street and Commercial Road and is a busy cut through for horse drawn and pedestrian traffic alike. She has no idea why it is called New Road. To her it looks no newer than the rest of the dingy, dark, soot coated area that houses the poor of East London. New Road is a stupid name, but it is a source of income for Alice and that’s what matters to her.

The year? 1885. The Ripper will not scourge these streets for another 12 years, the legal age of consent is set at 13 years old, not that the poor of the area take much notice, and the district is a hotbed of petty crime and prostitution. The knowledgeable Alice knows all of this and knows that the coarser women dressed in brighter clothing than the others who pass her by are certainly not engaged in such proper occupations as other respectable persons might be.

She smiles as she gains another tip. Alice has manned her sweep for some two years now; she’d fought off those who had claimed it before her and established it as her own and the local people all know her and most appreciate her cheeky ways.

Thank e kindly ma’am, she calls after her generous remunerator. Off to see a toff are you then?

She gets a smile in return as she jumps out of the way of yet another passing vehicle, this one a commercial brewery dray drawn by two huge horses.

Here you are Alice? Catch, greets the driver as he throws her a bottle of beer. Alice fields it deftly and raises it after the grinning man. He always sees her right.

Give us a sip girl? begs young Archie, who looks after the next stretch along the road from hers.

Just the one, she orders sternly as she works with a corkscrew to loosen the cork in its neck, while sitting upon the curbs edge with her legs all akimbo.

Fanks Alice, he cries, wiping his mouth on his coat sleeve as the bottle is snatched back by Alice before he can take much more than a swallow or two.

Archie is a year younger and is dressed in someone’s old castoffs. His trousers ending not far below his knees, his jacket without any buttons and he wears a flat cap on his head that Alice takes a fancy too. His worn shoes flap open at the toes.

Lend me yer ‘at then an’ yer can ‘ave some more, she promises, after taking a goodly measure herself.

Me ‘at? It’s the only one I got?

Please yoursel’ then, she grins as more of the fiery brew finds its way down her throat.

Bloody ‘ell, alright then, don’t drink the bloody lot, mutters Archie ruefully, before she can drain the lot down

Alice takes another swig then captures the trophy from him while relinquishing the bottle. Archie finishes what is left and then gives it back. Returned bottles are worth a farthing each.

Alice places the cap on her head after brushing her long blonde hair back; the red ribbon that holds it a little stained but it does the job. She turns and looks in a local shop window at her reflection and sees a smudge on her chin that a quick wipe with her spit-wet apron soon removes then, pleased with her new acquisition, she sends another noisy earful after a cart that has spilled some potatoes on the road. Such spoils however do not need her broom to clear them up. Half a dozen urchins appear from nowhere and soon have them all away before the driver can rescue his spill.

Better get back to yer spot Archie case someone nabs it, she warns, smoothing down her apron over her long dark dress. She shivers slightly as a sharp wind blows along the street. Autumn is approaching fast and on the one side there is the chance to get up later in the morning but on the other the colder winter months are approaching and that means getting a decent overcoat from ‘Old Levi the Jew,’ so as to ward off the winter cold, possibly some woollen stockings too if she is lucky. She’d asked him to look out for such and Levi always does his best in order to make a sale. Levi would turn up soon enough, besides he likes Alice a lot. Calls her his ‘little Alicia.’

Ere ducks, where’s the way to Essel Street, asks a man as he examines her somewhat curiously.

End of the road Mister. Turn right; cross over an’ it’s on the uver side of the road.

Fanks, so wot’s yer name girl? You’re a right pretty one.

Piss orf Mister. Yer too bloody old fer me an’ you ain’t rich niver.

Sorry miss to ‘ave bovered you, he smirks, doffing his tall bowler before he turns away; not actually going toward Essel Street at all.

Alice stares after the man for some moments, then shrugs her shoulders. Men were always chatting her up even at her young age. She turns and smiles as a couple cross the road and hand her a couple of coins. Today is going well.

As the evening chill comes on, Alice decides to call it a day. The walk home is not the safest to undertake after dark. Laden with the spuds that Archie has given her from his own spoils, and stops off en-route to buy two loaves of bread from her day’s takings as her ma had requested. She then braves the dim, gas lit streets and the chilling autumn air as well as the incoming mist from the Thames, that will surely turn to thick fog quite soon.

Alice lives in two dingy rooms on the first floor of an enclosed tenement yard on Grey Street. Grey by name and grey by definition. The three story slum dwelling has lost its former grandeur long ago, is set around a dark courtyard and is now divided into as many flats as possible in order to house as many residents as possible. No sanitation, no running water; just the street pump. Not much of anything by way of luxury, but it is a home, with a small coal fire for warmth and the necessary meagre furniture that a family of three might need.

She holds her nose as she passes the rotting refuse that lay around about on her way home. Only the worst of it being noticed since she is immune to the smell of the detritus that is a major feature of the East End.

Tonight is bath night. Something that happens just once a week. Not a private affair, and since she is the second oldest, but third in line for it, not such a warm one either, unless the water in the big cooking pot has been heated up enough to once again to refurbish the bath with a little more warmth. But water has to be fetched from the local street pump and heated up on the range; more work.

Alice enters through the communal downstairs door; always open of course, and begins to trudge up the stairs. It seems that the clumping of her shoes is not enough to warn her eldest brother Frederick of her approach, or maybe the pleasure he is receiving from Mrs Chapple’s eldest girl Violet, who has just turned 14, and lives across the landing, is more important than his sister’s approach. Alice stops and stares at the scene that is taking place before her; immediately comprehending its meaning. She is no innocent where sex is concerned, though all is of course hearsay and is passed on whisperings from her friends. She knows full well what is transpiring before her. Violet is perched on the stairway before her standing brother, the girls head bobbing back and forth and he seems to be lost in in the throes of what she perceives to be extreme pleasure, judging by his groans. Surely the pair can find some more private place to indulge themselves?

Alice stands frozen as the act culminates in the normal manner. She is wise as to the meaning of it, yet realises that this is something that is of a private nature, not that privacy is normal in these times, in or out of the house. She waits until Freddie has buttoned up his trousers and has left then climbs up and sits next to her young neighbour.

Ere? What was that all about then?

What?

I saw you. You was doing my Freddie.

Oh that. Well I reckon you’re too young to be told.

Bloody well ain’t so. I know full well what you two was at.

Well what’d you ask for? So what if it was a blowsy job!

A what?

A blowsy job. You ‘eard didn’t cha? ‘E asked me for it an’ I likes to do it; though ‘e does ‘ave to wash his todger first mind.

What’s it like then?

"Sorta nice. Maybe you