Jack the Ripper Victims Series: The Double Event

by Alan M. Clark

  She knew she trembled in fear.

  Chapter 14: The Beast’s Belly

  Elizabeth offered Herr Kirschner’s letter of introduction and her change of address certificate to the Customs and Immigration officers. The Customs officer concluded his business with her quickly. Standing before the Immigration Officer, she filled out two forms and signed both. Her hand shook as she did so. When the Officer asked where she would be staying, she lied, saying that she intended to reside in the Swedish Parish of London because that was what her change of address certificate stated.

  “That isn’t near your employer,” the officer said, pointing to the address in Herr Kirschner’s letter.

  “I will be staying in the home of my employer for now,” Elizabeth said, “I hope to one day live in the Swedish Parish.” Although she had no desire for such an eventuality, she would say anything that might end the interview.

  The officer had a long face that betrayed no emotion. He looked at Elizabeth in silence for a moment. Her heart beat so powerfully in her chest that she feared he might somehow notice and become more suspicious. Instead, he nodded and returned her documents. Relieved, Elizabeth assumed that he didn’t see her presence in his country as any sort of threat.

  More to the point, Liza said, they don’t consider Sweden a threat.

  The Immigration Officer gestured for her to proceed, and allowed her to walk away. She didn’t look back. She wished she’d asked for directions, but had wanted to appear to know what she was doing.

  The docks teemed with life and activity, cranes lifting cargo from ships, wagons drawn by giant draft horses maneuvering into position to receive cargo, coal deliveries for the steamships, victual and fresh water deliveries, porters pushing barrows, and a multitude of boys hurrying in all directions on various errands. Dockworkers shouted to each other in order to be understood over the hubbub of voices that rose from those who milled about with less purpose, to be heard over the hiss of steam, the crash and rumble of heavy objects colliding, the creak and groan of rope and metal cable, the clomp of hooves and the shuffle of countless leather soles on paving stones.

  The address she had for Mr. Pimberton placed him near Hyde Park, at 30 Ledbury Road. Elizabeth struggled to think about how to proceed while distracted by the sounding of a ship’s whistle and those of slightly more distant trains, while startled by sudden laughter on her right and a cry of pain from one whose foot she’d trod upon. Struck by the elbow of a child blundering through the crowd, she felt a rising panic.

  The London beast is trying to digest you, Liza said. You must get out of the tumult, now!

  Elizabeth turned away from the water and pushed forward. The crowd gave way with little resistance. She would ask for directions when she found an area with less commotion. Keeping a firm grip on her carpet bag, she followed people moving with purpose along a lane between two massive stone and brick warehouses. Beyond the buildings, she crossed several sets of railway tracks, passed between more brick structures and came to a road full of wagon and carriage traffic. Her panic had subsided. She kept to the footway that ran alongside the southern edge of the thoroughfare, and approached a gentleman leaning against a brick wall reading a newspaper.

  “Please sir,” she said haltingly in English, her heart in her throat, “can you tell me where to find number thirty, Ledbury Road?”

  “Swedish?” he asked with a Prussian accent.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said, and he smiled. She took a deep breath and her fear diminished a bit.

  “Five or more miles that way.” He pointed west, then turned back to his newspaper.

  He‘s very friendly, Bess said.

  Elizabeth walked, thinking the day would warm through the afternoon. The sun shone brightly, but the air held a thick haze and remained chill. Breathing deeply, she felt a tightness in her chest. Taking shallower breaths helped to ease the tightness. Now that she stood on solid ground again, her appetite had returned. She ate some of her bread and cheese.

  The types of structures along the road varied dramatically, from dwellings—both houses and tenements—to industrial buildings and places of business—warehouses, factories and shops. Sometimes the lane afforded a footway and sometimes not. The heavy traffic along the road frightened her, especially the fast moving carriages. Occasionally, Elizabeth pressed herself up against a building and waited until the road clear some before continuing.

  The Tower of London—a famous structure she’d seen in a dark photograph—came into view on her left, and she smiled at her foolish thinking. In the back of her mind, she’d entertained a fear that that somehow she’d misunderstood everything and everyone, all the way back to the purchase of her passage, and she’d been delivered to the wrong city. Seeing the landmark settled the issue. I am indeed in London.

  Yes, Bess said, you have arrived in the place where your life can begin again, without the burdens of your past.

  Elizabeth negotiated streets running in a westerly direction, until she had traveled about a mile. Then she asked for directions from a woman who had stepped out of a small stone building. The structure, perhaps a large kitchen of some sort, had numerous smoking chimney pots and smelled of pastry and broth. The woman had emerged with her arms full of parcels wrapped in newspaper and tied with string. She didn’t immediately understand Elizabeth, but was friendly enough. When she seemed certain about what Elizabeth asked, she pointed to the west.

  The Clock Tower that Elizabeth knew rose above Westminster Palace, the seat of British government, came into view to the South and dropped away as she continued. Elizabeth passed along streets through good and bad neighborhoods. One rookery in particular held wooden structures in worse condition than any she’d ever seen; houses with partially collapsed roofs, with destruction from fire and rot, with broken windows and boarded up doorways. Despite the damage, the structures were clearly still inhabited. Smoke rose from dangerously crooked chimney pots, holes in roofs or even windows. Clothes lines ran from window to window between the buildings. Items rested on windowsills. Voices emerged from the interiors.

  Smells of cooking cabbage and potatoes made her stomach growl. She considered eating more bread and cheese, but the foulness of horse dung and slops in the road, churned together by hoof and wheel and swarmed by flies, discouraged her appetite.

  As she moved through the rookery, she glanced fearfully at the slovenly inhabitants. Their clothing and their flesh spoke of disease and decay, yet their eyes did not. The Women on the street were not unfriendly, although some looked at her with suspicion.

  They are gently warning you off to protect their own, Bess said. They would become friends if they got to know you.

  The men, mostly elderly, sitting on stoops, gave her appraising looks and tipped their hats. Elizabeth lost some of her fear as she continued.

  Men, Liza said, ever hopeful of finding a way under your skirt.

  A filthy small boy ran by, trying to pluck her carpet bag from her as he went. Instead of breaking her grip, he was brought up short. As Elizabeth stepped back and broke free, his momentum, spun him around and he almost fell. Several more small, raggedy boys across the road shouted insults at him. A woman sweeping soot from a doorway, paused and shouted something angrily at the little thief. The boy turned his dirty face to Elizabeth and gave her a crooked grin full of good humor. The expression seemed to say, “Yes, you’re tough enough for London.”

  Elizabeth smiled. He nodded to her and ran to join the other boys. They laughed and poked at him playfully.

  They’re having fun, Bess said. What happy people Londoners are.

  They might be having fun, Elizabeth thought, but as thin as they are, they must be hungry.

  She asked for directions several more times as she walked. Only one person turned her away rudely. Within a short time, she gained a confidence about what route to take. Walking along Oxford Street, she came to the northern edge of Hyde Park. Looking through the leafless trees along the edge, Elizabeth saw lawns with manic
ured paths. She imagined how beautiful and green the park would become in springtime. The street had changed its name to Bayswater Road. She followed it west beyond the park to Pennbridge Gardens, where she turned right. Past a small garden square full of dormant trees and withered plants, she turned left at Ledbury Road and eventually found a tiny house with two doors. The door on the right had the number 30 painted on it, and the door on the left bore the number 30 1/2.

  Elizabeth knocked and waited, but no one answered.

  The long walk and recent lack of sleep had left her exhausted. Her feet hurt. She sat on the stairs that led to the door of number 30, and rested her head against an upright for the railing. She was relieved to put down her bag. Her left hand, which had done the bulk of the carrying, ached. She wrung the pain out of it with a few shakes.

  Elizabeth knew from his correspondence with Herr Kirschner that Mr. Pimberton worked on Friday evenings, going in after supper. Looking at the position of the sun overhead, she estimated that the time to be about three or four o’clock in the afternoon. Had she missed him? If so, night would descend and the temperature would drop as she waited.

  You are tired out, Liza said. If you wait here and fall asleep, you might not awaken. If the temperature plummets or ruffians find you, you’re as good as dead.

  Elizabeth didn’t have the energy for such alarm. Mr. Pimberton was expected to be staying at his home that night, so he would eventually appear. If need be, she’d open her bag and don extra clothing. The neighborhood seemed a moderately good one, and she decided she had little to fear.

  Elizabeth propped herself against the railing as best she could and closed her eyes.

  The London beast had not succeeded in digesting her—not yet.

  Chapter 15: The Beast Tamed

  A plump man of about thirty years of age in a checked suit roused Elizabeth from slumber. He had a round face and a bulbous nose, green eyes, and a head of light brown hair under a round brown felt hat. Perhaps thinking her a vagrant, he waved the backs of both his hands at Elizabeth, and said, “Shoo.” He wasn’t particularly aggressive. Even as a desire for more sleep encouraged her to ignore him, realization pulled her toward full wakefulness. “Mr. Pimberton?” she asked, frowning.

  He became still and his head tilted slightly as if he were trying to recall something. Finally, he said, “I’m so sorry, you’re Miss Gustavsson, aren’t you?”

  Elizabeth nodded and hugged herself. Night had come and the air was much colder.

  “I had forgotten you were to come today.”

  She was still not entirely awake as he helped her to stand, lifted her bag, ushered her into his small home, and shut the door. She stood quietly while he fumbled in the dark and finally lit a lamp which he set on an end table beside a settee.

  “A pleasure to meet you, sir.” Elizabeth said, shivering from the cold.

  “Please call me Larry.” He handed her the carpet bag.

  “Yes, Larry,” she said, despite discomfort using his first name.

  “I’ll get you a blanket to help you warm up.” He walked into the next room, leaving the door open. He lit another lamp, opened a trunk and rummaged within.

  The air in the house was nearly as chill as that outside. She wondered if she’d have to endure the cold all night, then saw a small stove against the far wall of the next room.

  Mr. Pimberton returned with a brown wool blanket and handed it to her. She set her bag down and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.

  “I’ll light a fire,” he said, moving toward the stove.

  Clothing lay strewn about both chambers. Discarded liquor and wine bottles cluttered one corner. A half-eaten meal of fried fish in its paper wrapper sat beside a lamp on the end table.

  When finished lighting the stove, Mr. Pimberton returned. He appeared to notice the fish for the first time, and snatched it up off the end table, disturbing several flies. They buzzed in circles about him as he carried the unfinished meal to a rubbish bin. Once he’d tossed the fish in and replaced the lid on the bin, he turned to Elizabeth with a look of embarrassment. Pleasantly, she found him not the least bit threatening. Still, she stood with the blanket draped over her shoulders, not knowing how to react.

  “I’m not here much of the time,” he said. “But clearly I need help keeping the place clean, and it would be better to return home in the winter months to a warm chamber. I can only afford to pay you one shilling per day, half of what you’re worth. That’s better than no job at all, I suppose, while you look for something better. You can sleep in the parlor tonight.” He gestured toward the settee. “Tomorrow, we can clear out the room next door, and you could make it your own so the neighbors won’t talk.” He raised his eyebrows comically to indicate that he thought such talk foolishness. “I take all my meals out. Well—” He glanced at the rubbish bin. “—most of them.” He raised his eyebrows in a questioning look. “What do you say?”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding her head, “Until I find other work, I’d be pleased to have the job.” She used her right foot to push her bag between the legs of the end table. Then, she began straightening the room.

  “Miss Gustavsson,” Mr. Pimberton said, “I’m sure you’re exhausted from your travels. The housekeeping can wait. Please rest. Make yourself comfortable on the settee and put your feet up. I’ll get you a pillow. Tomorrow isn’t far away.”

  Elizabeth abandoned her work and gratefully accepted a small pillow. “Thank you, sir,” she said with a smile.

  Over the last few years, she’d become unabashed about exposing her body to men. She wanted to leave that life behind, and had no intention of testing his sensibilities. “I’ll sleep in my clothing, Mr. Pimberton.”

  “As you wish, Miss Gustavsson,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, “but I’m not concerned with such decorum, and I am no threat to you.”

  Elizabeth nodded. She noted that he didn’t again insist she use his first name.

  Perhaps he is a pederast, Liza said.

  “In the morning then,” he said.

  As Mr. Pimberton took up a book and moved through the door to the next room, Elizabeth said, “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Miss Gustavsson.” He shut the door behind him.

  Chilled to the bone, Elizabeth became concerned that the warmth from the stove wouldn’t reach her until she saw that the fanlight above the door to Mr. Pimberton’s room was open. She reclined on the settee and pulled the blanket over her. The cushions and the blanket warmed with time, and her chill went away. Finally, she relaxed, and the day’s tensions, stored in her frame, were released.

  ~ ~ ~

  When Elizabeth awoke in the late morning, Mr. Pimberton was gone. The settee had been a tolerable bed. The room was still warm.

  On the end table, she found two keys, a silver coin with leaves and a crown on one side and a woman’s head on the other, and a note, resting in a residue of oil from the fried fish.

  Miss Gustavsson, thank you for your assistance. I hope you slept well. Here is a key to the lock on the door, one for the room next-door, and payment for your first day of charring. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I cleaned up the room next-door, 30 1/2, while you slept. The work might not be to your standards, and for that I apologize. There is a tin of biscuits in my room, and you are welcome to them. Again, I will be in late, around 10 o’clock.

  Elizabeth pocketed the keys and the coin.

  Mr. Pimberton is a good man, Bess said.

  Looking into the gentleman’s chamber, Elizabeth concluded that the place consist of just two rooms, an easy enough household to manage. She could not continue in his service for long or she’d spend her inheritance keeping herself fed, but the situation would help. Her first goal was to investigate her new world to see what it offered and what that would cost her.

  She located the privy behind the house and relieved herself. On the way back, she discovered a well pump from which to draw water and a clothes line that ran from a rear window to the fence
behind the privy.

  Returning to the front of the house, she located the key to the lock on the door marked 30 1/2. She opened the padlock, took it from its hasp and opened the door to find a dusty room, largely empty. In one corner Mr. Pimberton had left a couple of music stands and a battered cello case. The far wall of the room held a small fireplace. Against the interior wall rested a rope bed with straw mattress. Her employer had put fresh linens and a heavy wool blanket on it. Making the room livable looked to be quite possible.

  Elizabeth left the room, put the lock on the door, and returned to the other side of the house. She ate some of her bread and cheese as she looked around. In Mr. Pimberton’s room, she found a pitcher, a basin, a wash tub, and soap. The heating stove against the rear wall had a small surface for cooking and a reservoir for making hot water. The exhaust pipe was routed up the room’s small chimney flue.

  Finished eating, Elizabeth loaded the clothing scattered on the floor into the tub with some warm water. While the garments soaked, she worked on cleaning. She found no broom and did her best to sweep up using a newspaper that was a month out of date. Within a short time, she’d done what she could for the house and turned to the laundry. Mr. Pimberton lived in humble circumstances, but had clothing of good quality. Elizabeth was relieved to think that taking her on might not be a hardship for him.