Jack the Ripper Victims Series: The Double Event (18 page)

September 29, 1888

Sipping a glass of ale at half-past seven in the evening in The Hoop and Grapes pub, Elizabeth watched two loud, drunken women make nuisances of themselves. One of the women looked familiar. Elizabeth couldn’t quite place her. The management of the pub tolerated their antics at first. When the women began upsetting furniture and throwing glasses, they were put out.

Elizabeth finished her ale and decided to move on. When she stepped out of the establishment, she found a crowd had gathered to watch a woman running up and down, shouting, whistling, and spitting in the middle of Aldgate High Street. The creature had been one of the drunkards causing trouble inside the pub, the one that seemed familiar to Elizabeth. The people crowding the footway on either side of the street laughed as they watched the woman run to and fro in the road, but Elizabeth couldn’t make out why at first. The drunkard huffed and puffed and spit some more. “Clang, Clang, Clang,” she yelled, warning folks out of her way.

Elizabeth smiled, realizing the woman imitated a steam-powered fire engine. Simultaneously, she knew why the drunkard seemed familiar. Elizabeth had seen her earlier that summer, crouched among crates in an alley, playing Grandmother’s Trunk with an unseen companion. Clearly, madness had claimed the poor creature.

Remembering the woman talking to her imaginary opponent during her game in the alley, Elizabeth thought about Liza and Bess.

Am I that mad? No, I don’t hear voices like that.

Although Elizabeth’s voices had argued over a year ago during a drinking binge, the altercation had occurred during extreme intoxication and therefore didn’t represent her ordinary grasp of reality. Her voices were part of herself.

She saw a man among the crowd across the street, watching the woman intently, a strange fascination in his gaze. He glanced up, even as Elizabeth recognized him as the one she sought. She made her way across the street toward him, carefully avoiding contact with the madwoman.

“Elizabeth,” the gentleman said.

How does he know my name?

You’ve seen him eyeing you,
Bess said.
He’s become so interested in you that he’s asked around to find out your name.

Bess's voice sounded foolishly hopeful. Elizabeth listened for her cynical voice.

No doubt you met him during one of your benders and don’t remember,
Liza said.

That seemed more probable, though the suggestion held no charm at all. Short of believable, Bess’s idea was more appealing.

“Hello,” Elizabeth said to the gentleman, smiling brightly.

He pointed toward the woman acting like a fire engine and smirked.

“They threw her out of the tavern a while ago,” Elizabeth said with a chuckle.

While he seemed somewhat familiar, she thought she would remember more clearly a gentleman of his appearance. He was a square-built man, old enough to be established but young enough—younger than her forty-five years—to have kept his looks. In his dark suit, overcoat, and billycock, he appeared to be a man of business, not a laborer.

Perhaps he knew Lettie. Had her twin become dissatisfied with her marriage and become involved with the man behind her husband’s back?

Could be she has something going with the fellow that might help you,
Liza said.
Take what you can and get out before things get ugly.

Lettie is your deserving half,
Bess said.
You won’t feel good about taking from her.

Lettie belongs to herself,
Liza said.
She deserves nothing while you suffer. Play along with him and see what he has to offer.

Liza’s words were ugly, but excusable because Elizabeth didn’t want to care about her twin.

“Let’s get out of the crowd and have a drink,” he said, taking her hand. He had an odd accent, possibly American.

Elizabeth and the gentleman, who she could not help but think of as a client, hurried away from the crowd.

“You’re a beauty tonight,” he said as they walked, turning to her several times to take a look.

The rose has done me a lot of good.
She smiled for him.

They hurried up Aldgate High Street and took the fork onto Commercial Road. Elizabeth stole glances at him, still trying to figure out where she might have met the man.

He had yet to say where they were going. She became winded, and slowed to rest at the intersection with Church Lane.

“I’m going too fast,” he said turning back for her. “I’m sorry.” He approached, took her in his arms, and kissed her mouth. He smelled good. His embrace was intimate and strong as he put his whole body into the effort. Elizabeth kissed him back with a passion partly driven by the hope that she’d found the man Jon had wanted her to have.

When the gentleman stepped back, she asked, “Where shall we go?” Hopefully, he would suggest a place to eat and then feed her.

“The Bricklayer’s Arms,” he said. “Now, no more questions.” Again, he kissed her, then hurried off up the road. She followed and he turned north at Settles Street. She caught up with him as he entered the pub. They sat and had a simple meal of potatoes, bread and cheese. Elizabeth had nothing to drink. He had a glass of bitter.

To draw him out, she questioned him, but he deflected her questions for a while, then said, “No more!” He held up his hands as if fending her off. “I’ll keep my secrets, and you keep yours. I prefer you a mystery. Please allow me to be the same for you.”

He’s hiding something,
Liza said,
but then most men hide their true nature to get what they want. Just make sure to get something out of him in return.

The gentleman had an imagination. Elizabeth liked that. He kept his eyes on her as they finished their meal. His expression and shifting gaze suggested that he thought her fascinating. Although somewhat uncomfortable with the rapt attention, she also felt flattered. Exiting the pub, they encountered falling rain. The gentleman laughed and turned her back toward the entrance. He pressed her against the wall gently, and kissed her again.

A man sitting near the exit within the establishment, shouted through the open door, “Bring her back in and buy her a drink—buy us all a drink!” Elizabeth and her client ignored the man. The fellow sitting next to the patron called out, “That’s Leather Apron got his arms ‘round you.”

Elizabeth recognized that as one of the names the papers had given to the Whitechapel Murderer.

Could be that’s what he’s hiding,
Liza said.

Nobody would bother to harm me,
Elizabeth thought.
How could anyone find satisfaction in that?

She laughed and ran out into the rain, heading back toward Commercial Road. The gentleman followed, and when he caught up with her, they continued together in the light downpour.

You only think that because you feel sorry for yourself,
Liza said.
It’s easy to think you’re immune to danger when you don’t value your own life, especially if you believe you’ve gone unpunished for too long.

Elizabeth knew what Liza referred to, and was tired of her sniping.

Crossing Commercial Road and moving west, they entered Back Church Lane where several of the lamps along the way were not lit and the gloom thickened. Her client’s face hid in the shadow beneath the brim of his hat.

The risk is worthwhile,
Elizabeth thought, then added defiantly,
and it’s exciting too.

The intermittent showers continued as they moved south to Boyd Street and turned west. Again, shadows choked the way ahead.

Do you mean the risk is worth it,
Liza asked,
even if you’re not?

Perhaps I have him fooled.

Or the other way round.

They turned north into Berner Street and paused to rest out of the wetness under the overhanging eve of a building. All the gas lamps glowed all along the street, at least six of them. Several people moved about the area. Seeing her client’s smiling face clearly reassured her. Excitement over the attention easily took her mind off the discomfort of her wet clothes and a slight chill. He took her in his arms and reached around to pet her backside.

“It’s been a long time,” she said.

“Do you mean since you felt the touch of a man?”

“Yes,” she said, then she donned a sad expression. “I lost my husband when the Princess Alice went down.”

“You’re saying you haven’t been touched in ten years?” He had a playful smile and she knew he’d seen through her lie.

Elizabeth didn’t want to appear more lascivious than he wanted her to be. “Perhaps a little bit,” she said, risking a coquettish smile.

“Ha!” he said, clearly pleased, “you would say anything but your prayers.”

Elizabeth laughed.
Good
, she thought,
he’s not prudish
.

She also didn’t want to appear too eager. She broke from him gently and walked north and he went with her. They passed The Nelson public house at Fairclough Street, and heard singing coming from within.

Although near midnight, a greengrocer shop north of the pub remained open and selling through its front window.

“The grapes look good,” the gentleman said. “Which will you have, my dear, black or white?”

Elizabeth would suffer a stomach ache if she swallowed anything other than the juice of the fruit, yet she craved the sweetness. “The black ones are plump,” she said. “I’ll have those.”

“Half a pound, sir,” he said to the shopkeeper.

The elderly fellow folded newspaper into a sack, placed a couple of black grape bunches in it, and passed the package through the window. Her client took the sack, paid the man, chose a few grapes for himself, and handed the rest to Elizabeth.

Holding the sack of grapes, she moved north on Berner Street and he followed.

The fruit is a delightful extravagance,
Bess said.
This is a generous and imaginative fellow.

Yes,
Elizabeth thought.
Quite possibly, he already sees our time together as something more than a transaction.

He’s buying your affection,
Liza said.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and pushed the cynical words from her mind. She put a grape in her mouth and crushed it lightly. They had not walked far before the gentleman guided her toward the wall of a building. He pressed her against it lightly while kissing her, sharing the grape juice in his mouth and using his tongue to take the grape from her mouth. As they lingered in the light drizzle, embracing and kissing, Elizabeth tried to think of how to draw her client ever closer, to encourage him to treat her as a lover.

Abruptly, he pulled away with a crooked smile. “You hold here. I’ll go to my room and be back in a trice with a bottle of fine, sweet wine.”

“You could get a bottle at The Nelson,” Elizabeth said. She placed another grape in her mouth.

“Not like the bottle I’ve got in my room.”

Elizabeth didn’t want him to get away. “I’ll go with you.”

He looked down, shaking his head slowly, and she knew he didn’t want to be seen entering his home with a woman of her caliber. “It’s not far,” he said, looking up again. “I’ll be right back with the sweetest wine you’ve ever tasted.”

Since her voices remained silent, Elizabeth assumed both accepted the possible loss of the client.

The grapes were good, but thinking about the sweet nectar of the fruit with alcohol in it, she decided to bear the risk for a chance to have some of the wine. She also needed to spit out the skin, seeds, and pulp of the grape in her mouth, and not wanting to be indelicate in his presence, she merely nodded her head, and he walked away.

12:30 AM, September 30, 1888

Chilled from standing alone on Berner Street in the damp night for the last ten minutes, Elizabeth cursed herself silently, and decided that if her client didn’t come back by the time she finished her grapes, she’d give up on him.

She ate the grapes slowly. Seven remained in the sack she held in her left hand. One stem of the fruit lay on the wet footway at her feet. As she wiped grape juice from her lips with one of her handkerchiefs, Elizabeth peered into the gloom, looking out for her gentleman among the people moving about the area. The lane seemed busy for such a late hour. Her vision wasn’t what it had been in her youth, and she saw most clearly near rather than far. Despite the numerous street lamps, people walking along the lane were almost upon her by the time she saw them. Accustomed to the risks of waiting on the street, however, she restrained her unease.

The dampness from the scattered rains brought out an ache in her old leg injury. Elizabeth bent and rubbed the unevenness of her right shin, where the bones had not been set correctly after her fall in the barn so long ago. Wanting a drink right away to ease her aches and pains, she thought about going into The Nelson and trying to find a fellow to buy her one.

No, I might miss my client.
She could kick herself for not trying harder to get the gentleman’s name.

There will be plenty of time for that,
Bess assured her.

The words from her innocent voice were exactly what Elizabeth needed to hear. She welcomed the hopeful perspective.

He’s worth the wait,
Bess continued,
because he’s a different sort. There’s something special in his eyes, his manner, something that says he cares deeply about you. He’s an educated gentleman, a fellow with taste and—

—and most importantly, an income,
Liza added.
It doesn’t matter much what sort he is, as long as he spends his money on you and you get away in the end.

So, Liza did still have some enthusiasm for the gent
.

The liaison will lead to a warm, clean bed and plenty to eat,
Bess said.

With your luck, you won’t get anything so grand,
Liza said.
Although he might be something better, it doesn’t take much to be superior to Mr. Kidney.

She tries to take my courage away,
Elizabeth thought
, just when I need it the most.
Ever since she had promised herself that she’d always listen to the opinions of both her voices, Liza’s black tongue had become increasingly cruel, testing Elizabeth’s resolve to keep the pledge.

You made that promise for your own protection,
Liza said.

Protection indeed,
Elizabeth thought.
At what cost? How many opportunities have your warnings kept me from enjoying over the years?

How many dire straits might you have avoided by ignoring the child?
Liza asked.

Elizabeth didn’t want to know the answer to either question. What she wanted was distraction from her own thoughts.

She put a grape in her mouth and tore the peel off with her teeth and spat it out. She extracted the seeds and spit them out, then rolled the globular fruit pulp around with her tongue, slowly crushing it and extracting the sweet, delicious juice.

As she spit out the depleted pulp, she saw a young couple in quiet conversation pass through the open gates across the street beside the International Working Men’s Educational Club, perhaps coming out from the tenement behind it. They moved slowly down the street, touching and laughing.

A man emerged out of the darkness to the South. Seeing that he had a mustache and wore a small, peaked cap, Elizabeth knew with disappointment that he wasn’t her returning client.

He saw her and approached. “Do you want company?” he asked.

“No, not tonight,” she said. Not wanting to squash a future opportunity, she added, “some other night.”

He grumbled and backed away slowly, reluctantly, and stumbled off into the night toward the North. She could tell he’d been drinking heavily.

You’re better off without him,
Liza said.

Still, if he’d made an offer,
Elizabeth thought,
I should have gone with him.

Earlier in the evening at the Hoop and Grapes Pub, she had spent the six pence earned working for Mrs. Tanner. Elizabeth didn’t have the price of a night’s doss. She had confidence, though, that if she knocked up the deputy at the common lodging, the woman would let her in, and allow her to sit in the kitchen through the night.

Elizabeth leaned against the brick building behind her and gave another glance up Berner Street toward the South, the direction her client had taken when he’d departed. She put another grape in her mouth and repeated the long process of taking it apart, swallowing the juice, and spitting out the rest.

With a flicker of yellow flame, a man she hadn’t noticed before caught her attention. He stood partly in shadow across the street, lighting his pipe.

She put another grape in her mouth as she watched him.

Since Bess had said favorable things about her client, Elizabeth would have to listen to what Liza had to say about him. Indeed, Elizabeth felt the cynical voice rising up. She knew Liza would likely insist that he wouldn’t return. Even if she agreed that he might come back, she’d say that he merely wanted to fornicate, and that he was just another adulterer who had no interest in her wellbeing

But before Liza could have her say, Elizabeth’s thoughts were interrupted as the mustachioed drunkard with the peaked cap returned.

“You’re coming with me,” he said, grabbing her left wrist and yanking her into the street. The sack of grapes hit granite paving stones, and he accidentally kicked it away into shadows.

“No,” Elizabeth cried. “No.” She twisted out of his grip. “No!”

She saw a bearded man walking up the lane behind the mustachioed man, and thought perhaps he’d help her. Instead, the bearded one moved to the other side of the road and continued on his way.

The drunkard reached for her shoulders, held her for a brief moment, and looked her in the eyes.

Don’t show fear,
Liza said.

“You’re no’ such a fine Judy,” he hissed. Then he spun Elizabeth around and shoved her down onto the damp footway.

She cried out in pain as her knees struck paving stones.

The drunkard turned and shouted something she couldn’t make out, possibly to the man smoking the pipe in the shadows or to the bearded fellow. Both reacted as if threatened, and hurried away toward the South, while the drunkard disappeared into the night, back to the North.

Elizabeth had endured worse from clients on other occasions. Shortly after the danger had past, her calm returned. She didn’t know what had become of her bag of grapes. One piece of the fruit remained in her right hand, and she placed it in her mouth. As she got up and dusted herself off, something nagged at her—she knew she’d forgotten to do something of great personal importance. With increasing unease, she struggled unsuccessfully to recollect.

She backed up against the wall of the brick building behind her, straightened her clothing, and tried to adopt a dignified stance. Since she’d lost a couple of the grapes in the scuffle, she considered rescinding her promise to give up on her client if he didn’t return before she finished the fruit.

Rolling the pulp of her last grape around in her mouth and trying to decide how much longer to wait, Elizabeth realized what had been bothering her: She hadn’t heard what Liza wanted to say about the gentleman.

Again, the cynical voice rose up, but suffered another interruption. Before Liza could have her say, Elizabeth’s client appeared out of the gloom on the opposite side of the street, carrying an oblong package wrapped in newspaper. He had yet to see her. She quickly spit out the remains of her last grape.

Why would he wrap the wine in newspaper?
Liza said.
This fellow is up to no good.

I won’t have it,
Elizabeth thought.
Your black tongue will not dissuade me from taking up with this man.

He waved to her as he approached.

He’ll
—Liza began.

“Enough!” Elizabeth said, cutting her off.

Startled, the gentleman stopped. He glanced to either side as if looking out for danger.

She repeated the word, “enough,” as if coughing; as if that were the sound of her cough.

Silencing Liza was a serious breach of her promise to herself, but at the moment Elizabeth could not listen to endless warnings. She needed hope.

She walked quickly across the street to meet the gentleman at the gates beside the International Working Men’s Educational Club.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.

He had calmed quickly.

“For your cough, my dear,” he said, offering her a small packet.

She could feel pills inside—cachous, perhaps.

They embraced and kissed, leaning back. The gate gave a little as they pressed against it. The gentleman pushed on the doorway and it opened further. “Let’s go in for some privacy.”

Elizabeth nodded enthusiastically, and followed him through the opening into the darkness beyond. She heard a fumbling as if he’d stumbled and felt him grab for her. She tried to steady him and he grabbed her by the neck and squeezed so hard Elizabeth felt her eyes bulge from their sockets. She clutched at his arms to break his grip, but they held firm as the limbs of an oak. She tried to cry out, to gasp for air. Nothing flowed in either direction.

She looked toward her client’s face, hoping he’d see that she suffered and relent. His features were hidden in shadow. Elizabeth couldn’t believe he meant to harm her. They were having such a good time together. Somehow, his grip was a mistake.

Blackness crept into the edges of her vision. She had finally reached the darkest bowels of the London beast, and as her thoughts dimmed, she knew that at least she wouldn’t have to face the inevitable and final insult.

~ ~ ~

Elizabeth lay on damp paving stones. Lightheaded, she found she couldn’t rise. Her client had released her.

Elizabeth’s neck felt strange. She placed the back of her hand to her throat, and felt a warm flow. Pulling the hand away, she saw dark liquid on her knuckles. Even in the dim light, the droplets were red.

Elizabeth tried to cry out. The effort brought a pain to her throat.

No, I haven’t been cut!
Elizabeth screamed within. Her panicked thoughts came in a rush, looking for a way out.

If the man had cut someone, that would be her twin.

The wound was meant for Lettie! The fellow belongs to her. I don’t know him. I should be safe in bed at this hour, not with a stranger. Let it be Lettie.

The silhouette of the man—her client—crouched over Elizabeth.

Though she tried to picture Lettie lying beneath him, though she tried to see her twin’s throat cut, Elizabeth couldn’t wish such cruelty on her friend. No, she would accept the wound rather than that.

His shoulder rolled, his arm flexed, and his hand drew a long blade into the air. The gleaming metal point hung just above her abdomen, ready to strike.

Frozen in terror, Elizabeth knew she couldn’t avoid the next wound. She could only close her eyes in denial.

She heard a pony and trap moving along the paving stones on the street outside. The sounds ceased just beyond the gate.

Elizabeth felt the stranger shift, and she glanced up.

The gate rattled, and he went rigid, his hand trembling slightly, the knife’s sharpened edge catching and reflecting a flickering orange light.

The man, her client, the shadow, withdrew the knife, rose, and fled away from the gate, deeper into the yard.

She let out a ragged, gurgling breath through the wound in her throat. The gash stung. The warm blood cooled quickly. A hollow grew in her head, in her thoughts as the dark liquid ran away into the gloom.

You’re merely weary,
Bess said.
Rest until help comes.

Unable to feel Liza’s presence, Elizabeth had a frightening thought:
She’s gone because my battles are over.

With each excited pulse, her heart dumped more of her life onto the pavement.

Turning onto her left side, Elizabeth tried again to rise. One struggle—one with herself—remained unsettled.

Liza stirred—she had
not
fled.

Bess is right
, Liza said as if fighting to speak, as if the wound were in
her
throat.
You’re strong. You’ll recover.

Still, Elizabeth fought weakly to lift herself.

The old woman would have forgiven you,
Liza said.
You gave her what she needed. You gave her—

—
rest,
Elizabeth thought, and the word itself calmed her. She ceased to fight, and gratefully closed her eyes.