Jack the Ripper Victims Series: The Double Event

by Alan M. Clark

She decided she must depend on both Bess’s and Liza’s perspectives. Each voice contributed a different form of defense through flawed counsel.

  Concerning her question about whether Bess and Liza solved more problems than they caused, no clear answer presented itself. Elizabeth was exhausted at dawn, when the nursemaid roused her from bed.

  She could see no other course but to follow Leena to her mother’s home, and to take her voices with her.

  Chapter 8:Prostitution

  Leena sent Elizabeth to a cafe in the Haga district to meet the man who could help her find work. The nursemaid referred to him as Klaus.

  Although the door to the establishment stood open, and the time was well past noon, the place seemed unusually quiet for a cafe. As she stepped inside, the low murmur of conversations within ceased. Once her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw a young girl making a halfhearted effort to clean the filthy interior, sweeping dirt and ash from the floor and wiping down tables that were hopelessly spattered and stained. A broken chair crouched in the walkway. Eight women—a sullen lot—occupied three tables near the entrance. They appeared to be permanent fixtures rather than patrons. Elizabeth got the impression they waited for something, as if their day had not yet begun. Several of the women gave her assessing glances full of resentment before returning to desultory conversations.

  Elizabeth made her way around the broken chair, and found a man seated at a table in a corner of the cafe, his head down as he went over figures in a small book. She knew the man must be Klaus, but when he saw her and looked up, he had the blonde hair, strong nose, and square jaw of Klaudio. Herr Lydersson was Klaus. The realization startled Elizabeth, yet he appeared to have been expecting her. He gestured for her to join him.

  Without taking a seat and offering no greeting, she asked Klaudio, “Did you believe you would see me again?”

  “You should not speak to me that way,” he said coldly. “To answer your question, yes.” He shrugged. “I could see it in your eyes when last I saw you.”

  Elizabeth knew he thought her easy to manipulate, and that he had no compunction about doing so. She wanted to turn and walk out immediately. She wasn’t his whore!

  Or was she? Why shouldn’t he think so? She’d taken money from him for sex once before.

  Elizabeth had resisted Leena’s suggestion that prostitution was gainful employment. After a short stay with the nursemaid’s mother, Elizabeth had found a room in a tenement and then tried to find work. Within a short time, she had spent all the money she’d saved and still had no employment. At present, Elizabeth was hungry, and didn’t have enough money to pay for her lodging.

  She sat heavily at the table across from Klaudio.

  “I can get you a room and clients,” he said.

  She didn’t respond for a long time, and he waited patiently. The employment he offered was certainly not something better than what she’d had. Unable to put a rosy glow on Elizabeth’s future, even Bess remained silent. Finally, Elizabeth lowered her head into her hands on the coffee-stained tabletop and said, “Tell me everything I’ll need to know.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The room turned out to be a damp and drafty one, located in a crooked wooden house on Pilgatan Street, Eastern Haga. The chamber was furnished with a small metal stove against one wall, a rickety table, a small cabinet, a wash tub, chamber pot, ewer, basin, and a bed with a sagging straw mattress infested with mice. To protect food from the rodent pests, she stored what little she kept in the room in the cabinet with her clothing. While she slept, mice frequently congregated on or around the cabinet, trying to get to the food. As she stirred upon awakening, she’d hear them scurrying away.

  For the next year, Elizabeth’s comfort and happiness seemed to be of little consequence to anyone as she went about the business of satisfying strange men. Often fouled by poor hygiene, disease, parasites, mental instability or simply alcohol, they came to her room from the waterfront. Klaudio found her clients among the seamen of various nationalities coming ashore while their ships were in port. Her respite came when a client wanted only to talk. Grateful for the talkative ones, she made sure to show that she listened, even when their words meant nothing to her, even when they spoke a language she could not understand and they knew it. With or without sex, they paid Klaudio the same. Those who came only to talk were the least likely to beat her.

  Klaudio insisted that Elizabeth wash her hair with paraffin once a week to remove lice, and to leave a residue of the fuel in her hair to discourage the parasites. To make the treatment more tolerable for both herself and clients, she perfumed her hair.

  “Fru Jensson did not suffer such indignities to work for you,” Elizabeth said to Klaudio.

  “You know little of her,” he said. “She has a way about her that draws a certain clientele. With time, you might develop such a gift, but at present, you’re learning the ropes and can’t be trusted on the street.”

  The only characteristics Leena had that stood out in Elizabeth’s memory were her baby talk and childlike ways. Those traits didn’t seem like something a man would find attractive.

  Elizabeth kept a supply of both vulcanized rubber and sheep’s gut sheaths for men to wear while having sexual intercourse. Many would not wear them, and she learned quickly not to demand it. Some withdrew prior to climax. When a man ejaculated inside her, she douched as soon as possible with a solution provided by Klaudio that left her nauseated.

  The pay she received per client was a small fraction of what she’d been given for sex with Robert Turner.

  Early on, Klaudio had explained, “On that occasion I was presenting the Englishman with an innocent. You weren’t a virgin—I’d taken that—but your bearing was certainly that of an innocent, and that was what he paid for. You no longer bear yourself in that manner. Life has taken that from you, and I cannot sell you for more than I’ve indicated. And, of course, my share, and the cost of your room, board, and fuel for your stove comes out of what is paid.”

  Elizabeth found Klaudio’s confidence infuriating, yet compelling. Although she hated him, she’d never been more attracted to the man. She wanted to make love to him and then drown him in the Göta river. When Klaudio was good to Elizabeth, buying her new clothing, a meal at a good tavern or merely complimenting her appearance, her heart swelled with warmth for him, and Liza would warn her that his actions were all part of his continued manipulation. When he was the cruel ponce, withholding her pay, striking her in places least likely to cause bruising, or simply berating her for not pleasing a client, her rage boiled up—a reaction she could not show the man—and Bess would calm her with hopes of getting away and going to England to live.

  Bess had once quietly hinted that Klaudio might change, take a tender interest in her, and they’d find true love. The suggestion sent Elizabeth into a worse rage, one turned upon herself, with recriminations of hopeless naiveté, of stupidity, and of worthlessness. The bout of anger, like so many others she had while under Klaudio’s thumb, turned to a deep melancholy as she saw no way out of her situation.

  I would not be here if I had treated Fru Andersdotter better.

  As advised, Elizabeth told the police about her occupation and was registered with them as a prostitute in March of 1865. They kept a watch on her, periodically coming to her room to inspect it and question her.

  An older woman, named Ada, lived in the room next-door. She also worked for Klaudio. Ada always looked unhappy. She was dirty and unkempt. The first time they’d spoken to one another, Elizabeth had lied to her. “I’m working for Klaudio only until my family is settled in London, England,” she’d said. “Then they’ll send for me to join them.”

  She’d known even as she said it that the lie wasn’t believable. The older woman had covered a smile with her hand, and turned away.

  She will think you are too proud, Liza said.

  After that, Ada shunned her. That suited Elizabeth perfectly well, since the woman represented a disturbing mirror into which she feared
to gaze.

  Even so, Elizabeth needed someone with experience to consult. As the months passed, she felt ill with increasing frequency, and suffered a chronic soreness within her abused and swollen vagina. She knocked on Ada’s door, and asked her to suggest a remedy. Ada invited her into the room. The place reeked of stale sex, unwashed linens, and dirty clothes.

  Ada took a tin of ointment out of a chest beside her bed, and offered it reluctantly. “Use this for the pain.”

  The salve helped a little.

  Having missed her monthly flow twice, Elizabeth sought Ada’s advice again.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you, foolish girl,” Ada said, reminding Elizabeth of her mother. “You’re pregnant. Better do something quick before Klaus finds out.”

  Elizabeth had suspected as much. Feeling something of Bess, she had a thrill at the thought that a life grew inside her. Then, something of Liza made her see the impossibility of bringing an infant into her world.

  Ada wrote out a name and address on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “This is where you should go.”

  Afraid for the child and for herself, Elizabeth saved the slip of paper, but allowed time to pass. Despite knowing she would not be welcome on the farm, especially in her condition, she considered running away from Klaudio and returning to her family.

  When she’d first taken the room, Elizabeth had written to her mother with her new address, and their correspondence continued. Eight months after taking up prostitution, she was still pretending for her mother that she worked as a domestic servant in the Olovsson household. She didn’t write about her pregnancy.

  Apparently, her mother was withholding the truth as well. The woman had been suffering for some time. Elizabeth found out about Beata’s illness from her father, as she sat on the lumpy mattress in her room one afternoon in April, reading the first letter she had ever received from him.

  Dear Daughter Elizabeth,

  I’m sad to write to tell you that your dear mother has passed away. She had been having chest pains for several months but was unwilling to see the doctor. Her thoughts were with you and your sister with the hope that you are doing well. I too hope you are prospering in the city.

  Caspar and Svein have ambitions beyond Hisingen.

  Now that my dear Beata is gone, I will finish the year and then try to sell the farm.

  Please send me news.

  Regards from my heart,

  Herr Gustav Ericsson

  Soon, there would be no place and no family to run to.

  Caspar and Svein are smart to dream of something greater, Liza said.

  Elizabeth had no desire to write to her father. She was furious with her mother. How dare she withhold her illness. I might have seen you one last time! She pounded the mattress in frustration, upsetting the most recent litter of mice within.

  Listening to their tiny cries, Elizabeth fell forward and wept. She knew that feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t help anything, but she couldn’t resist the idea that she meant little to her family and nothing at all to anyone else in the world.

  You hold within, one who will love you dearly someday, Bess said.

  After a time, Elizabeth rolled over and considered the slight swell of her belly. No, having had a hard time merely providing for herself, she didn’t want to become a mother. Still, she had hidden her pregnancy from Klaudio for fear that he would harm the child and herself trying to force a miscarriage.

  A knocking came from her door, the insistent rhythm the police used when they wanted to inspect her room. Elizabeth got up and answered the door. Police Constable Lindquist stood in the threshold. He pushed his way inside as Elizabeth backed away to make room.

  She liked him. He was young, somewhat handsome, and he’d treated her with some small respect. Both Elizabeth’s inner voices had thought he might be a valuable ally in helping her get away from Klaudio, Liza suggesting she use the lure of sex and Bess proposing that Elizabeth should make him fall in love with her.

  The Police Constable looked her up and down. He seemed different somehow, and then she realized that the difference was how he looked at her.

  “Herr Lydersson has sent me for my share,” he said awkwardly.

  “Money?” Elizabeth asked.

  “No,” he said, taking a deep breath. He had a timid look as he reached for her.

  Now’s your chance, Liza said.

  Elizabeth allowed him to guide her gently back onto the bed. He slowly undressed her. Although she had long since lost her discomfort when naked around men, she became embarrassed as he looked at her. He had such a little-boy-gawking expression.

  Elizabeth backed up onto the mattress as he undressed, never taking his eyes off her.

  Don’t be afraid, Bess said. He looks at you with love in his eye.

  Finally, he climbed onto the bed with a massive erection. “Please, spread your legs,” he said.

  As she complied, he hungrily looked toward her crotch.

  A sour expression twisted his features and he withdrew, stood, and reached for his clothing. “Dress yourself, Fru Gustavsdotter. I must take you to Kurhuset.”

  Elizabeth’s heart beat rapidly in her chest. “What have I done?” she asked, fear of the unknown rising.

  He’s arresting you, Liza said.

  “Nothing,” he said, a sorrow in his voice. “You’ve done nothing, but you have a chancre.”

  Chapter 9: Kurhus

  On her way out with Police Constable Lindquist, Elizabeth saw Ada going to her room, and told her she was going to Kurhuset. Ada gave her a sad smile that did nothing to ease Elizabeth’s fears.

  All the sick prostitutes went for treatment at Kurhuset. Four stories tall, the facility stood in Eastern Haga, a half mile away from Elizabeth’s room. As she walked with the constable, she suffered the worst her imagination had to offer. She’d seen a woman afflicted with Syphilis who had lost her nose and lips, and she knew of other sufferers whose legs and arms had become so ravaged by ulcers the limbs were amputated.

  Halfway to Kurhuset, she felt unusually painful cramping. She thought perhaps her monthly flow had resumed, and had a small hope that she was not pregnant after all. By the time they arrived at Kurhuset, Elizabeth’s skirts were stained with blood. Although he clearly noticed the stains, Constable Lindquist had the courtesy to say nothing. She swallowed her pride, calmed her fears, and entered the building.

  Inside, the chill air increased her fretful state, giving her gooseflesh and occasional shivers. Echoes off the hard walls and high ceilings startled Elizabeth. She found the efficient and businesslike behavior of the staff intimidating.

  Steel yourself to endure their scorn, Liza said.

  Contrary to what her cynical voice suggested, Elizabeth was treated respectfully. In a small, unadorned office, a matron asked numerous questions and made notations of Elizabeth’s answers. Eventually, she was led by a red-headed female dressed in starched blue cotton to a small, clean room furnished with a table and cabinets along the walls.

  “Fru Gustavsdotter,” the assistant said, glancing at the piece of paper in her hand, “I am Fru Finberg, assistant physician. Please take off your clothes, put them in the basket in the corner, and wear this.” She handed Elizabeth a light cotton robe. “Then lie back on the table with your knees bent.”

  Elizabeth climbed onto the hard, wooden surface and tried to become comfortable, a difficult task as boney as she had become in recent months.

  Fru Finberg stood at the end of the table and spread Elizabeth’s legs. “You have an unusual quantity of blood flow,” she said with a frown, “Are you experiencing the beginning of your menstrual cycle?”

  “Yes, it always begins that way,” Elizabeth lied, feeling embarrassed. Again, she felt relieved to think she wasn’t pregnant.

  Fru Finberg cleaned the blood away. “The chancre is small and soft. The evidence is insufficient to make a determination of syphilis, but treatment should have a good effect.”

  A small hope
peeked out from behind Elizabeth’s large fear. “I’m certain it’s an insect bite. There’s nothing else it could be.”

  Fru Finberg looked for a moment as if she might contest the statement, then simply shook her head.

  She will be able to cure your ills, Bess advised.

  If the cure doesn’t kill you first, Liza warned.

  The assistant physician applied an ointment to the chancre and the surrounding area, and gave Elizabeth a dose of a clear liquid to drink.

  “You’ll be given a quantity of the ointment and quinine to take with you when you return home,” Fru Finberg said. “You’ll also be given instructions on how the use the medicine and when you must return for another examination. You are required to present a report to the police after each examination. Your clothes will be burned, and we will give you fresh clothing to wear home. Your clothes and bedding at home should be thoroughly washed or burned. Please, climb down and I’ll give you clothing.”

  As Elizabeth slid off the edge of the table, she felt something slippery issue from between her legs. The texture was different from the ointment. She stood and turned to see a slimy substance, streaked with brown and red, clinging to the edge of the table. Abruptly, an amber liquid with an odd smell poured from her onto the floor.

  “Back onto the table, please,” the startled assistant physician said. She helped Elizabeth back up and began another examination.

  I’m coming apart! Elizabeth took sharp, short breaths, a panic welling up, along with a severe abdominal pain.

  “You are pregnant, Fru Gustavsdotter.”

  “No, I couldn’t be,” Elizabeth said with no conviction.

  “That’s often not for us to decide,” Fru Finberg said. “Are you experiencing pain?”

  “Yes, but it’s subsiding.” Elizabeth lied to both the assistant physician and to herself. “I ate some bad fish. I’m sure that’s all it is.”