Jack the Ripper Victims Series: The Double Event (29 page)

Tuesday night after work Katie and Rebecca walked home together.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do if Mr. Matthews puts me out.”

“You know there are men willing to pay for companionship,” Rebecca said.

Katie shook her head and turned away, but Rebecca was undeterred. “Men of all sorts, gentle ones among them. If you need to know who they are to safely earn a bit extra, ask any of us girls working The Black Anchor.”

Katie’s reaction wasn’t one of moral superiority and she didn’t want it to be received as such. She looked Rebecca in eye and said. “Thank you. I’m just afraid. I’ve never done that.”

But haven’t I, with Uncle William.

“Most of the men are so drunk,” Rebecca said, “they don’t know or care if they’re getting it right. A little firkytoodle is all it takes for some.”

Katie turned away again, blushing.

“For others,” Rebecca continued, “one hole is as good as another.”

Katie had tricked Uncle William. If she could do it that way, it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Think about it,” Rebecca said. “There
are
some decent ones. I couldn’t get along without the help.”

Yes
,
I could try. It’s worth it to remain here and sing. I’m not too proud for that.

~~~

Katie’s experience was much like what Rebecca had suggested and her own plan worked. With a little saliva spread on the insides of her legs, her technique of squeezing her upper thighs tightly around a man’s penis worked flawlessly.  The plan worked until the night she made the mistake of choosing the man herself.

He had been making eye contact with her much of the night while she sang. Perhaps forty years old, he had sandy blonde hair and a round, handsome face despite a crooked nose. His fine clothing made him stand out among the laborers who were The Black Anchor’s main clientele. The way he looked at her, the gentle longing in his eyes, suggested he was like the other ones.

A storage room for barrels of wine and spirits was used by some of the women for their transactions. Once Katie had taken the man into the room and shut the door, he changed.  His face became cold and angry. She wanted out, but he stood between her and the door. Katie took in a deep breath to cry out for help, but he struck her in the face so hard she blacked out momentarily. When she came to, she was draped, face down, over a barrel and he was brutally penetrating her anus.

“No!” she screamed, jerking herself up and back. She had to fight. The table knife was in its pocket under her skirt, if she could get to it.

He struck her in the back of the head and she fell forward, dazed.

“Sing for me!” he shouted, plunging deeper inside her, but Katie cried out in pain. “Don’t scream! Sing for me.” His voice was deep and guttural. He struck her again, and as she swam back up to full consciousness again, something told her to try to become calm.

“Sing, damn it, sing!”

Katie tried to reach her right hand under her skirt to grab her knife, but he pulled that arm behind her back and up. Pain tore through the muscles of her arm and shoulder. She pushed all thoughts from her head and concentrated on what he wanted. Katie sang, haltingly at first, the piece she’d last sung, an inane song titled “Drinking Your Troubles Away.”

He pulled out of her anus and penetrated her vagina, matching his thrust to the rhythm of the song. “Better—you must do better, louder!” he shouted.

Crushed against the barrel, her arm pulled up behind her, it was difficult to fill her lungs and belt out the song, but she did her best, lifting her voice higher and fuller.

Then it was over. A draft was cooling her bare behind as his seed spilled out of her and ran down her legs. The door was open and he was gone. But the world beyond the door was too frightening, for
he
was out there, somewhere.

Katie remained against the barrel, retreating from consciousness, until Barbara Olesen discovered her some time later and helped her to fix her skirts and regain her composure. As they were leaving the storeroom, Katie kicked an object with a shuffling step. Something red with white metal fittings slid into view on the floor.

The barmaid stooped to pick it up.
“You dropped your cigarette case,” she said.

Katie accepted it and put it in a pocket.

Katie didn’t return to The Black Anchor for two weeks. Emma and family were sympathetic, but Katie was left to take care of herself during the day as everyone in the household had daytime responsibilities. 

Rebecca came to see her, but didn’t stay long. She said that no one at the tavern remembered seeing the man.

Perhaps it didn’t really happen.

The aches and pains would not allow the denial for long. Lumps and bruises on her head were the least of her troubles. Two days after the rape, Katie began to feel an incessant need to urinate, but had difficulty doing so. When she succeeded, there was an intense burning sensation and the flow contained blood. As the week progressed, she spent much of her time in bed, but increasingly more time on the privy out back. As she sat, waiting for relief, she pressed the second finger of her right hand into her thimble until it hurt to distract herself from the pain.

Angrily, she plucked at her regret, shame, resentment and self pity, trying to tease out the loose ends and unravel the tangle of her thoughts. But the more she plucked, the more the tangle rolled around, presenting the same thoughts and feelings over and over and exposing her rage.

She revised her memory of the rape to allow her to pull her sharp table knife from its pocket and slam it into the rapist’s face over and over. But it was merely a fantasy. He had got away with it. Nothing could change that.

Then the anger turned.

I chose him! Foolish. Poor judge of character. Too daft to leave it in the hands of the barmaids. Shouldn’t be on my own.

Her voice had somehow provoked him to rape her. Perhaps because she drew attention publicly, she had brought it all upon herself.

Everyone at The Black Anchor knew what happened even if no one saw the man. Along with the shame of that, a dread gripped her that she would never sing again without thinking of what happened, thinking about
him
.

I cannot go back. If I return to sing at The Four Winds, it will happen again.

Wasn’t Conway warning me about this? Life with him was good most of the time. He was cold-hearted, but still a decent man. He would take me back. I could go home. I must try.

The decision was firm, if unsatisfactory, until suddenly it was not.

Foolish thoughts! My singing is nothing but a pleasure. No one need suffer for it.

The criminal not only took her sexually, he violated her singing as well.

I could not have known. His kindly face was part of a deception. He was hunting and I fell into his trap, nothing more.

If I allow his violation to take this from me
,
I make his cruel act whole and complete. I can’t do that.

The decision was made mid-afternoon, leaving enough time for her to get ready to go to work. Katie prepared quickly, dressing and eating a small meal. She drank little liquid with it to prevent the intense need to relieve herself on the walk to The Black Anchor. 

Emma came home as Katie was leaving. “I saw your Conway at market today. He said he was looking for you, wants you to come home. If he’ll have you back, perhaps it’s time.”

Katie shook her head. She had almost succeeded in bargaining with herself a return to her old life, but she still had her singing. No good reason existed for Conway to be strolling through the markets where her sister bought her goods. Had Mr. Matthews sent Emma looking for him? None of it mattered.

“I have to get to work or I’ll be late,” she said and hurried on.

Katie immediately used one of the outhouse privies in the back before entering The Black Anchor. Inside, Mr. Poulton saw her and approached. “If you’d stayed out longer, I’d’ve had to sack you,” he said sternly.

Katie frowned and looked away.

“But I’m glad you’re back,” he said, squinting at her comically. “You were missed.”

Katie smiled.

“I called on Victoria to take your place tonight, but she won’t mind giving it up. She didn’t want to come in anyway.”

Katie thanked him and entered The Four Winds. As Mr. Poulton suggested, Victoria was happy to go home. Katie got a glass of water to place on the small table in the corner, took up her position and, when the time came for her to start, she was ready to sing.

The pressure her diaphragm placed on her bladder as she sang caused her voice to emerge with more force, slightly higher in pitch and with greater volume. Katie struggled to control her breathing to relieve the pressure and discovered new, more effective ways to modulate her voice.  She carefully sipped water between songs, taking enough to moisten her throat against the bitter, smoke-charged air, but not so much that she added to the problem of having to frequently relieve herself. Even so, after every few songs Katie endured the disappointment of her audience as she took a break to visit the privy. Each time she was gone for so long, Katie feared she’d lost the tavern its patrons, but when she returned the same faces were at the tables, along with new ones. They applauded her return like never before. Her head was held high and her heart beat with renewed hope as she stepped away from her corner during a scheduled break.

Rebecca approached. “There’s a man named Carver wanting to meet you and buy you a drink. He’s in the tavern proper. He’s a booking agent who has the ear of the promoters at Wilton’s in Whitechapel. He got them to hire Ellen Byrn, Marie Courtenay and Alice Hurley.”

Katie froze as she listened to Rebecca, her flesh tingling with excitement. The names meant little, but she would meet with anyone who could help her.

Rebecca looked at her expectantly.

Katie had stopped breathing. She shook herself and gulped a breath. “Yes, take me to him,” she said urgently.

She took deep, even, calming breaths as she followed Rebecca through the crowded tavern, weaving between the tables filled with jovial and raucous patrons, toward the front of the establishment. She split her lip chewing on it and had to decide to leave it alone. Rebecca was not moving swiftly enough. Katie looked to the left and right, craned her neck to see beyond her guide’s taller head and shoulders, trying to get her first look at the man. Finally Rebecca stopped, gestured toward a gentleman seated alone at a table by the front window, then she walked away.

He faced the window, watching her reflection as she approached, his features reflected in the glass slowly coming into focus; sandy blonde hair, round cheeks and crooked nose. She froze not five feet away from him.

Did he watch me again tonight? Should I tell Mr. Poulton the criminal is here? Would I be believed since no one saw him?

“If you want to move from here to the music hall,” he said, his deep voice calm and reasonable. “You’ll have to talk to me.”

Katie had been ready to bolt, but he’d caught her attention, and better, he cast a bright spark into her imagination with only the one sentence. The world outside her experience, beyond her imagination, shifted suddenly, and she found herself moving with it and considering something unthinkable as she asked herself how much she wanted to sing in a music hall.

“Come and sit,” he said. “I’ve bought you a whiskey.” He stood and pulled out a chair for her. “My name is Frank Carver. I’m very much interested in your singing.” He offered her a calling card, with his name and address printed on it.

He has no fear of being revealed.

Nothing but appearance suggested he was the man who had raped and beaten her.
It must be his twin brother.
No, the violent man was here. He could be that man in an instant.

Still, the spark he’d cast had lit a fire in her mind. Katie imagined the response she’d got from tonight’s audience multiplied by twenty or more in a high-ceilinged hall with proper lights and musicians to support her voice.

She sat down.

“Wilton’s in Whitechapel could use a voice like yours,” Mr. Carver said.

Katie tried to look at him and smile, but could manage only a glance. Questions about the possibilities and the process of being hired by Wilton’s occurred to her, but she couldn’t find her voice.

Out of sight beneath the table top, Katie’s hands felt around in her pockets—nothing but fidgeting perhaps, caused by her agitated state. 

How can he make pleasant conversation with me after what he did, as if none of it happened? Does he think what he’s done is acceptable because of his influence?

“You
are
interested in such a situation,
aren’t
you?” Mr. Carver sounded impatient. He lit a cigar, and then a candle-lamp on the table which he slid over next to Katie. “Please look at me,” he said.

Her right hand found the thimble in her pocket. Catherine would not approve of what she was doing, but she had given her the thimble for protection of a sort, and it had always brought Katie comfort. By reaching inside with a finger to touch the silver, she touched her mother.

She coughed several times, then took a deep, steadying breath and looked him in the eye. Despite the composed and handsome figure he cut, his features
were
anger and violence. In exchange for his help, she would endure his brutality again and again.

Even so, she managed to smile brightly for him. He smiled back around the glowing ember of his cigar, an expression meant to engender confidence, and it worked, for Katie finally found her voice. “I would be pleased to be considered by the promoters at Wilton’s.”

“We’ll have to get you over there straight away.” Mr. Carver placed his hand on her thigh and she flinched, but he had no reaction and left his hand there. “You have a great voice, and it must be getting better by the moment, for the first performance I attended was good, but nothing compared to what I heard tonight.”

“Do you mean my performance in the store room?” Katie asked, an edge of accusation in her tone. She didn’t know why she’d said it and immediately regretted it. Somehow her mouth had betrayed her. The question reminded her of the sort of sarcastic scorn Catherine used to give her when Katie was dissembling.

Mr. Carver removed his hand from her thigh, took the cigar out of his mouth and leaned back, staring hard at her for a moment.

Katie stared back with equal intensity, her features set in a subtle expression of defiance. Her anger got the better of her again, but it felt good and she couldn’t help it. Still, she wanted to sing in a music hall, and this was her chance. Surely she could control herself long enough to win the prize.

“If you don’t get work through me,” Mr. Carver said coldly, “you’ll never make it to the music halls. I’ll see to that.”

Katie swallowed hard, then looked him in the eye.  “I’m sorry,” she said, struggling against disgust and outrage. “I
do
want this.”

Mr. Carver shifted the candle lamp from side to side, examining Katie’s face. Awaiting his response, she froze, caught between conflicting desires.

“You gave me a cold look and it revealed your age,” he said. “Too bad I didn’t meet you ten years ago.”

Nonplussed, Katie’s mouth opened to speak the words that would turn the conversation back in a more favorable direction. But what might they be? None came to mind.

“The music halls need much younger talent. Now that I see you more clearly, I know mere makeup will not be enough.”

No, it’s only my voice that matters,
her mind screamed, but they were not the right words and so could not find their way out.

“Oh,” Mr. Carver said, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. “I dropped my cigarette case, perhaps in the store room. Did you happen to find it?”

Stunned by his callousness, Katie could only shake her head slowly, stupidly, and then she was still. Mr. Carver looked at her frozen features for a moment and chuckled. 

“Too bad. It was a gift.” He got up abruptly and walked out of The Black Anchor, leaving Katie sitting before the glass of whiskey he’d bought her. The haze of his cigar smoke remained, hanging over her like a pall.

I’m too old.  I waited too long. All those wasted years waiting for Conway to change. He knew all along my hope would rape me.

And all the time spent defending Annie’s childhood so her life would be better. And for what—two shillings when I need so much more? Her life
is
better, but mine….
The bitterness toward Annie could not be helped, but it burned a hole in her heart.

Katie pulled at the threads of her regret and resentment, but it only made her head ache. The stitches were too tight, too deep, and tied off so neatly they would never come undone.

Katie couldn’t face it, and the whiskey offered a way out, an escape craved for years. She would drink it and order another and then another until she was insensible, oblivious to the pain that gripped head and heart. Rebecca would see that she got home all right. Tomorrow she would take the long walk back to Conway. If he
did
want her, so much the better. If not, she’d beg him to take her back.

Katie wiped the tears from her eyes. Then she raised the glass of whiskey to her lips at the moment Conway entered the front door of the tavern, not ten feet away.