Jack the Ripper Victims Series: The Double Event (25 page)

Charlotte visited one evening while Conway was working. She’d come to play games with Katie and Annie and share a meal of potatoes and broxy.  She hadn’t had meat in over a month. 

After supper, Annie said. “I want to wash up the dishes.”

Katie would have to clean up later, but allowed her little girl to stand at the wash tub and make a mess. While Annie played in the soapy water, Katie and Charlotte shared jokes and had a smoke.

“How grand that you live in such a nice clean home,” Charlotte said with a loving smile and warm grip on Katie’s hands. “And to have lived here for so long—ten years! How welcoming it must be to walk in the door each day.”

Indeed, it was the nicest home Katie had ever had. She smiled, realizing how fortunate she was.

The three had fun playing games late into the night, then slept together in the bed until dawn when Conway returned. Charlotte got up and let herself out as he prepared to bathe. Eventually, he got in the bed.

~~~

With time, Annie had a good enough grasp of the alphabet that Katie introduced her to
Grandmother’s Trunk.
“It was my favorite game to play with my mother, your grandmother, Catherine.”

“Where is Catherine?” Annie asked.

“She’s gone now,” Katie said, “died when I was just a girl. Your uncle Christopher thinks she plays
Grandmother’s Trunk
with people in heaven.”

Annie smiled at the idea, then changed the opening line for the game. “My Grandmother, Catherine, has a trunk.” She beamed at her mother as if she’d surprised herself with her own cleverness. “In it was an ape!” Annie giggled so long and hard, she fell over backwards out of the bed. After a loud thump, there was a paused in which Katie’s heart caught in her throat. She hurried to help, but by the time she reached her, Annie was giggling again. Laughing, they fell together, hugging.

From then on, the game was known to them as
Catherine’s Trunk
. Whenever Annie had a hard time choosing an object, she’d say, “I have to ask Catherine what’s next.” She’d turn to one side and pretend to consult her grandmother, then listen as if Catherine were whispering in her ear.

That brought Catherine back to life, for Annie possessed a mischievous sense of humor much like that of Katie’s mother.

~~~

Conway was increasingly irritable while trying to write, which he was currently doing at home, since Katie cooked their meals to save the expense of eating at the tavern. 

Since he could not hear conversation and think of words to write at the same time, Katie and Annie were obliged to find something to do that required no talking. “In the tavern, the hubbub of voices has no meaning,” he explained. “But at home, if I hear one clear voice, I can’t help but think about what’s said. It breaks my thoughts. I can’t have that.” On the occasions when someone did speak while he wrote, he became cross.

One night he was unusually restless.  While he sat at the table, working on a ballad, Katie and Annie played a game of Jackstraws; one of several
quiet
games they played in the evenings when Conway was working. Annie won a round of the game and let out a tiny giggle.

Conway, making a show of having his thoughts interrupted, sat back in his chair and loaded his pipe. “I’m not blaming you for the poor quality of the ballads,” he said to Katie, “but sales for the last two would have been better if I’d depended solely upon myself.”

He was talking about money, not ballads, and Katie knew better than to respond. She and Annie started a new round of Jackstraws.

Conway leaned forward again and began to write. He grumbled and cursed, scratched out lines, wadded the paper angrily, then carefully smoothed it back out.

Finally, he shouted, “This room is a
cage
!” He grabbed his coat and hat and fled out into the night.

“Is Papa angry with me?” Annie asked.

“No, he’s angry with himself,” Katie said. “If he were a different man, I should worry about him. But he’s not.”

“I don’t understand,” Annie said.

“That’s all right,” Katie said. “You’re not meant to
.”
She tousled the girl’s hair and smiled. “He’ll be back soon. He’s never had anywhere to go at night.”

~~~

Katie wasn’t frightened to go to the workhouse to give birth in 1871. As the pressure suddenly began to increase on her lower pelvis, she knew the time was approaching and was determined to be in the lying-in ward before labor began.

When Conway delivered her to the workhouse, he said, “Give me a boy this time so I can put him to work.”

Katie’s eyes blazed. “Have you been thinking of sending Annie out to find work?

“No, she is too young,” Conway said, his face set and his eyes narrowed.

“If I give you a son today, he would not be able to work for at least ten years, except in the cruelest and worst conditions.”

“I don’t mean to send my children to work in the mines.”

Katie didn’t like his dismissive tone. “You know there is education for all children now, ages five to twelve.”

“I was educated until I was ten, and as you know, that has served me well,” Conway said, disgust in his voice.

“You will not be putting Annie to work in four years!” Katie said, struggling to keep from spitting the words. “If she’s to have a good life, she must have a full education.” She lowered the volume and pitch of her voice to make sure Conway felt the threat in it and said, “I will do whatever I have to do to make sure of that.”

Conway glared back at her for a moment, then said, “I’ll not stand in the street and argue.” He turned on his heels and headed for home.

Katie took deep breaths, allowing her anger to dissipate in the cool evening air. 

She checked her pockets and located her thimble before making her way into the building.

Katie’s new infant was a boy. She wasn’t as attached to him as she had been to Annie when she was first born, but assumed that would change with time.

Conway named him Thomas, and clearly didn’t look upon the boy as mere chattel. Indeed, he was so delighted to have a son that his recent bad temper faded for a time.  He cooed and tickled the boy. He sang “This is the Way the Ladies Ride” and bounced him gently on his knee. “Look at the smiles he gives his papa. He has your good looks, but my humor.”

Surely he would not be able to send Thomas off to work when he became ten years old. Perhaps he would not be willing to cut Annie’s childhood short either. Katie was glad his good humor had returned. Their room was too crowded for such unhappiness. Thomas slept with the adults. Annie had a small child’s bed of her own.

Conway shared in the duties of getting up and down in the night for the first months. The assistance was more than he’d provided when Annie was an infant. Katie was grateful for the help, for Thomas made a mess of his nappy at every opportunity. She sewed two new calico pockets to wear under her top skirt so she could carry extra nappies, a flannel and other infant needs while not at home.

With Annie making her own way to school, walking the two miles with friends, Katie was able to stay home with Thomas.

One afternoon, while Conway was off meeting a new printer, Katie went to the fish market to buy eel. They’d had little but potatoes for several days and she was feeling weak. She set out, carrying Thomas in his swaddling within a loop of calico supported on her left shoulder. He was cranky until she shifted him a couple times and got him settled.  She walked the mile and a half to market in a little less than an hour, along narrow streets and lanes, past houses shuttered against the bitter air, past shops with doors wide open and shopkeepers shouting slogans to the street from within, past publicans with their large lamps lit and glowing begrudgingly within the bright, hazy air.

She came upon a group of people clustered around a child crying at the kerb. The little girl pointed to a drain. “I dropped the penny Mum gave me to buy the family supper. She’ll beat me for making us go hungry.” A man, in the dress of a laborer, took pity on the child and gave her a coin.

At the market, shuffling along, at times shoulder to shoulder with other customers, moving from one fish cart to another, Katie became nauseated by the closeness and the foul odors. She stepped away into more open air where the human traffic thinned, but swirled in a more chaotic manner, and was startled when she happened upon her sister, Emma.

Like the last time she’d seen her, Katie had an impression her sister was a ghost. So many years had passed, it was as if Emma was gone from her life, swallowed up by the workhouse. Katie had not thought much of her chances of surviving the experience and coming out of it a whole human being, but there she was, healthy, soberly dressed and with color in her cheeks.

Barely aware of the people flowing around them in the market, Katie approached Emma. Her dark hair had a touch gray at the temples and her features had lost their softness, her skin looking somewhat coarse. Emma smiled warmly. Noticing Thomas, her smile grew larger, revealing gaps in her teeth.

“This is your nephew, Thomas,” Katie said, smiling through her distress at the chance meeting.  She was gripped by shame for having not communicated with her sisters and brother for so long. Watching her sister gently stroke Thomas’s cheek, she knew there was no reason for it—Emma held no hard feelings. Love still held them together. With that, Katie had a sudden longing to see Margaret and Christopher.

“He’s beautiful,” Emma said. “Mr. Matthews and I have not been blessed with children.”

“The gentleman you met at the workhouse?”

“Yes, we were married five years ago. He’s now a master-lumper under a publican in Bermondsey. Most of what they unload are the ships hauling timber. I work for a trotter boiler. We have a good life, but it could be better.” Emma shrugged and smiled tightly.

Work at the trotter boilers, peeling the fur from the scalded sheep’s feet, was tough. Katie looked at Emma’s prematurely aged hands, remembering the state they were in when she picked oakum in the workhouse.

Emma anticipated her. “I’m an overseer. I was on my way to visit one of the girls who works under me. She’s staying with her mother after having a baby of her own, a girl.”

“What have you heard from Christopher and Margaret?”

“Margaret is a spinster, living with us. Her health hasn’t been the same since the Lump Hotel. When she can, she works with me.”

Emma turned and looked toward the river and nearby docks before continuing. “When we were in the workhouse, we received a letter from Christopher saying he was working for a boot manufacturer in Bermondsey, but he didn’t say what company and we never found him, nor anyone who knew much about him. A man I talked to at the Beckham Boot Company said that if it was the Christopher he knew, he thought the press gang got him and he died in the West Indies. But there’s no way to know the truth of it.”

“If he’s abroad, I’m certain he’s found a way to survive,” Katie said. “Christopher is clever and capable.”

She didn’t want to believe her brother was dead, but arguing against the mere idea of it was unsatisfying and she changed the subject. “I’m glad to hear you and Mr. Matthews are doing well.”

“And you?” Emma asked. “You have a family now.”

Katie told her about Conway, of being turned out of Aunt Elizabeth’s home, her life in Westminster and the chapman business. “Thomas is my second child,” she said. “I hope you’ll meet my oldest, Annie. She is so like our Mum.”  She shifted Thomas to her other hip, considering what more to tell Emma about her life, her feelings.

She wanted to tell her about all her frustrations with Conway, how cold and calculating he could be while appearing to be solicitous. She wanted to admit that she didn’t have the same feelings for Thomas she did for Annie, that there were times when she could see the world through her daughter’s eyes, when she knew what she was thinking and felt what Annie felt. Perhaps it was because Thomas was male, but she never experienced that sort of bond with him. She’d kept that to herself. As a pressure on her heart, she needed to express it, but somehow she wasn’t close enough to Emma that she could say those things. Still, she needed to talk, and no telling when she would see Emma again.

“I work for the Hargis Laundry, run by Conway’s cousin. Since Thomas was born, I’ve stayed home to care for him. Every couple of days I pick up the mending at the laundry and do it at home. But I need to work more. I’m afraid if our income doesn’t improve, Conway will want to send Annie out to work.”

“How old is she?”

“Six.”

“That’s too young. Just a few more years and she’ll be ready.”

“No!” Katie stepped back to get a broader view of her sister.

Emma’s brow went up and she tilted her head, clearly not understanding Katie’s reaction.

“She will get a full education, as the new law allows,” Katie said.

“That law is fine for some,” Emma said, “but those who have need still send their children to work.”

“That’s just what I’m afraid Conway is thinking.”  Katie swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “There are some in Parliament who believe all children
must
go to school. They want to make it the law.”

“Until then,” Emma said, “quite reasonably, parents will choose depending on their needs.”

“An education is important,” Katie said

“You finished school—has it helped you earn a better crust?”

Katie frowned as she thought about her life of menial labor. Her contributions to Conway’s ballads—that had been something she might not have provided without an education. Some of those ballads had sold well.

But Emma shook her head emphatically, as if anticipating Katie again.

“If you had children,” Katie asked, “at what age would you send them out to work?”

“But I don’t have children,” Emma said, frowning.

“That is a cowardly answer,” Katie said, raising her voice. “Pray tell, what age?”

“I cannot answer,” Emma said, her voice curt and eyes fiery. “I won’t answer. It’s not my place.”

“You’re lucky you won’t have to.” Katie didn’t hide the disgust in her voice. “As I recall, when you were just a girl, you were a piecer at the cotton mill, working ten hours a day. Of all people, you should know what hard labor does to a child.”

“What I
know
is that I would have nothing but misery if it weren’t for Mr. Matthews.” Emma spoke quickly, as if she needed to have her say before her emotions prevented her from putting the words together properly. “What I
know
is that women have little in this world and must allow their husbands to make these decisions. Don’t jeopardize what you have. Don’t fight your husband’s will. It is not your place.”

“A mouthy haybag is what you are,” Katie said. “Can you not think for yourself?”

“How can you speak to me this way?” Emma’s face was pinched with hurt instead of anger.

“How should I speak to you when you want my children sent off to work, but cannot say if you’d commit your own children to hard labor?” Katie knew she was too strident in her language and tone, even cruel, but it felt good.

“Please, Katie,” Emma’s lip quivered and she lowered her gaze to the pavement. “We haven’t seen each other in so long. Don’t let it be like this.”

“It shouldn’t be up to me how things are. You’ve made that clear.”

Emma merely expressed conventional wisdom, but Katie couldn’t help taking it personally. “Goodbye, Emma. Take good care of yourself.” She turned and walked away from her sister.

“Please,” Emma called out, but Katie ignored her.

She didn’t feel good about her anger or the way she’d treated Emma. Because she didn’t get her address, she might not see Emma or Margaret again for a long time, but her pride kept her walking.

Trying not to think about it, Katie finished her errand and started for home. 

I’d about convinced myself Conway loves his children too much to send them off to work. Wishful thinking. He thought about it when he was penniless and desperate. When he feels the pinch again, he’ll know, as I do, he’s not alone—many take as a given that Annie should toil away her childhood, her health. I can’t fight them all. I must choose my battles—it did no good to argue with Emma.

Katie came upon the little girl she’d seen earlier. Again, she cried about losing her penny, this time down a different drain. Katie understood the girl’s fakement, but such cozening was better than laboring in some mill. She gave her one of her precious pennies and moved on.

Thomas fussed and cried the rest of the way home. The reek of his soiled nappy rose up around her as she walked. The sun was lowering to the horizon as they arrived home. Annie would be back from school soon. Conway wasn’t home yet. Katie unlocked the padlock on the door and let herself in. Her back hurt. She put Thomas on the bed and changed his nappy. He still fussed and she knew he must be hungry. She lit a lamp and sat at the table to feed him. He always took her nipples too hard and she suspected that was part of why she didn’t take to him the way she did Annie. A petty thing, if it were true, but she couldn’t help it.  When he was done, Katie placed him in the bed.

Reaching into the corner behind the bed, she removed the short piece of baseboard and pulled out the tin match box containing her savings and put the board back in place. She sat at the table and spilled the contents of the matchbox onto the surface.

Katie counted five pounds, sixteen shillings, eight pence—enough to buy a beautiful silk and velvet bodice, skirt and bonnet, the type of finery worn by an entertainer. Conway should understand her potential to make good money as a singer, but it all hinged on Katie being allowed to spend time in places where so many people became drunk. In the end, he would never permit it.

Understanding that and being reconciled to it, she made some decisions.
All will have to wait
. Her aspirations to be a professional singer would be delayed until after Annie had finished her education. She stirred the coins with her fingers.
Put these savings back into the household funds so Conway will be none the wiser.
Stop holding back earnings from the Hargis Laundry.
Since staying home with Thomas, she’d turned over half these earnings to Conway so he wouldn’t think she worked for nothing.
Find more mending work and toil late into the night, every night, if need be. Return to work full-time when Thomas starts school.

Katie lit her cuttie and puffed it to life, then reached for her silver thimble and rolled it in her rough, dry hands. They were the hands of a scourer, like her mother’s.

The silver plate was long gone from the outside of the thimble.

Catherine’s words chimed softly in her memory. “Take care you don’t wear yourself out the way your poor mum has.” Her mother worked herself into an early grave at the age of forty, trying to take care of her children.

The warning was good to remember, but Katie had little choice—she must do what she could to earn her daughter’s keep. Thomas’s future was too far off to worry about.