With the laundry done and hung to dry, she left the house, locking the door behind her. She asked the first person she met on the street where she might find a grocer and received directions to the Portobello Road Market, less than half a mile away. Once there, she found meats and vegetables being sold from outdoor stalls and costermonger’s barrows. Among the establishments along the road, she found one selling readymade clothing, a bakery, a tavern, and a chandler’s shop, where she bought a broom. Merchants with barrows and those within the shops competed for attention, each shouting about their products and prices, some making a song or rhyme with their words. As Elizabeth strolled along the lane with others browsing the market, she saw various buskers along the street, singing, playing musical instruments, dancing or executing acrobatic feats. Some of them wore colorful costumes, others were more humbly dressed. Each employed a boy carrying a small vessel, such as a cup. The boys asked for contributions from any who happened by. Beggars held their own cups tightly, and told their tales of woe.
Elizabeth watched children, girls and boys, lurk in the shadows, their feral eyes casting about for opportunities. Occasionally one dashed out quietly, brushed past someone, and then disappeared quickly. If one of the urchins came too close to a costermonger’s or shopkeeper’s goods, they were warned off. When Elizabeth looked such a youngster in the eye, the child glanced away quickly.
If they come after me, I have the broom to fend them off.
The guttersnipes are not interested in you, Liza said. They can see you’re not an easy mark.
Or they see I have little of worth to steal, Elizabeth thought. She had almost brought her carpet bag, and was glad she hadn’t.
As she returned the way she’d come, Elizabeth discovered a hopeful spring in her step. Within a short time, she had found much of what she’d need to survive. Considering the prices she had encountered at market, she knew greater urgency to seek fuller employment, but felt confident that could be gained. Thinking about the possibilities, she became certain that something better was well within her grasp. Yes, she could live in London, and quite possibly thrive.
You have been liberated from your past, Bess said.
Chapter 16: The Guarded Secret
In the following months, Elizabeth’s inheritance diminished slightly as she dipped into the funds to purchase a few things at the Portobello Road Market to make her life more comfortable; cutlery, a cup, a bowl, a plate, a dutch oven for cooking, a few articles of clothing, a flannel, a towel, and a pillow for her bed.
She wrote to her father at the address he’d given her when he’d sent her inheritance, but didn’t expect an answer. Being her only connection to the place of her birth, she didn’t want to lose touch with him. With that post, she began the habit of writing to her father once a month.
One day at market, a woman’s voice took Elizabeth’s attention away from considering the worth of potatoes in a bin at a costermonger’s barrow.
“You could be my twin sister.”
The voice belonged to a woman about Elizabeth’s height, one who had a like shade of brown, somewhat curly hair, a long neck, grey eyes, and similar facial features.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, smiling. “You’re quite pretty!” Her smile turned to a mischievous grin.
“Ah, that’s how our mother would’ve told us apart,” the woman said. “Your speech tells me you’re from a distant land.”
“Yes, from far away,” Elizabeth said. “I’m Elizabeth, from Sweden.”
“We are more twin than I thought,” the woman said, laughing. “I am Elizabeth from England!”
After further introductions, the two went to the Windsor Castle Pub for what the English woman called a ploughman’s lunch. A market day for farmers selling livestock, men talking about their successes or failures at auction filled the Pub’s section for the lower class. The Elizabeths were the only females in the section, and as they looked for a place to sit, the English woman used good humor to fend off the suggestive remarks of ogling men. Once the women found a small table in a corner and sat, they were left to themselves.
In discussing their lives, Elizabeth held back what she considered unflattering about herself. She told of her early life on the farm in Torslanda, her service with families in Gothenburg, her desire to see London, and her experiences since.
“I come from Bath,” the English woman said. “I have two children with my husband, William Watts. He’s in America, seeing to property belonging to his family.”
Elizabeth smiled, picturing the woman’s children as looking something like Fru Ellstromsdotter’s little ones.
Her new friend was quiet for a time, then said, “I think your hands are bigger than mine.” She held up her right hand. “Put yours against mine,” she said.
Elizabeth winced to see the condition of the hand offered and didn’t want to touch it. Still, she lifted a hand and didn’t pull away as the English woman touched her with scaly, chapped skin that had cracked at the finger joints and scabbed over.
“Your fingers are longer,” the woman said. “You are Long Liz, then, and I must be Short Liz.”
“Ah, that’s another way our mother can tell us apart,” Long Liz said. “She measures our fingers to decide which of us deserves punishment for stealing the jam.”
The English woman chuckled, her face crinkling up at the corners much the way Elizabeth’s did when she laughed.
“I would be pleased if you would call me Lettie. That’s what William calls me and I miss it.”
“All right, Lettie,” Elizabeth said.
As the conversation continued, it seemed her image in a mirror had taken on a life of its own. She liked that life, but to look upon the woman’s hands pained her. Lettie used many hand gestures as she spoke. After a while, Elizabeth could take it no longer. She took Lettie’s hands into her own. “Your fingers must hurt…”
“A little. I work for an elderly woman, Mrs. Huntermoon, in Ledbury Road. I must scrub her kitchen floor every day. She believes rot is a demon. She calls him Eriot, and says he hides between the floorboards.” Her crooked smile revealed that she held some small scorn for her employer. “If I wear him down enough, she says, he’ll spend his time healing instead of doing more mischief in the kitchen.”
“Again, we’re twins,” Elizabeth said, glad to have something to divert the conversation—she did not like remembering what it was like to work for an unreasonable employer. “I work for a gentleman, Mr. Pimberton, in Ledbury Road.”
“Perhaps we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, Long Liz.”
“I hope so.”
“I should get back. I must continue the battle with Eriot this afternoon.”
Elizabeth walked with her new friend to Ledbury Road, then they went their separate ways.
~ ~ ~
The next time she saw Lettie at the market, Elizabeth invited her to take an excursion on the underground railway. “I will have at least one great adventure in my life,” Elizabeth told her friend. Lettie accepted and they met the following morning at Paddington Station. Elizabeth paid three pence for each of them to ride to Farringdon Station—a distance of about four miles—and the same to ride back again. Sitting on a hard bench crowded with other passengers, they rode in one of several gas-lit third class wooden carriages drawn by a steam powered locomotive. Pulling out of Paddington Station the carriage moved slowly, but by the time they passed underground, the speed of the vehicle was greater than any Elizabeth had experienced before. Although she had no frame of reference, she sensed an even greater speed in the darkness of the tunnel. The two friends choked on the smoke that filled the underground passage. Wanting to speak to Lettie, Elizabeth tried to suppress her incessant coughing. The clatter of the carriage moving along the rails drowned out most other sounds, though, and the two friends couldn't hear each other if they wanted to. Coughing fits had seized all the other passengers as well. With all that, Elizabeth was so thrilled she couldn’t tell what was vibration from the carriag
e and what was her own excited quaking. Lettie grinned as she held Elizabeth’s hands, and squeezed them when startled by loud sounds and sudden movements of the carriage.
On the return journey to Paddington Station, the steam engine pushed the carriages instead of pulled them, and the air within the compartment was more breathable. The flame within the gas lamp fixture on the lefthand wall flickered and went out. In the darkness, Elizabeth felt herself merge with her twin and could no longer feel her friend’s hands. Briefly, she had the notion that she’d always merely imagined Lettie. The woman no longer seemed to sit beside her and Elizabeth felt terribly alone. She had had few friends in life and feared the possible loss of her companion. The strange feeling built toward panic until a gentleman passenger relit the gas lamp and Elizabeth saw her twin beside her again.
Lettie mirrored Elizabeth’s own delight. They both suffered sore throats and coughing fits, yet the new experience was worth the discomfort. The carriage slowed, and a smell of burning wood entered the compartment.
The gentleman who’d lit the lamp must have seen the worried look on Elizabeth’s face. “That’s just the smell of the brakes,” he said.
“Thank you, Long Liz!” Lettie said when they disembarked at Paddington Station. “I will not do that again soon—” She paused to bend forward and cough, then drew herself back up and grinned. “I’ll need time to recover. But what a lark!”
“They say that one day the trains will be electric and there will be no s—” Elizabeth’s words were cut off by her own hacking fit. Lettie patted her on the back and laughed. “—smoke,” Elizabeth continued once she’d recovered. “The tunnels will be lit with electric lights and the lines will run everywhere in the city.”
“Perhaps I’ll wait until then to ride again,” Lettie said with a playful grimace.
Elizabeth nodded in agreement.
~ ~ ~
She had luncheon again with Lettie at the Windsor Castle Pub the following Saturday.
Her new friend looked exhausted.
“You must be so weary at night, working for Mrs. Huntermoon all day, while raising your children without their father,” Elizabeth said.
“I couldn’t have my children and work for Mrs. Huntermoon,” Lettie said. “I haven’t seen my little ones since shortly after William left for America. I don’t know what’s become of them.” She had a grim smile.
“How can you not know?” Elizabeth asked, uncertain that she wanted to hear the answer.
“I come from a poor family. William does not. We fell in love and stole away to be married.” The English Elizabeth smiled briefly, then her expression became grim again. “His family and friends didn’t approve of our marriage. William’s father sent him to America to separate us. Once he’d gone, William’s friends took my children and sent them away. Someone got a physician to certify me insane. My own sister, Mary Malcolms, helped them do it. I was locked up at the Fisherton House Asylum near Salisbury. It’s a private madhouse. They earn for each person they keep. Gaining released was difficult. The relieving office in Bath helped to get me out of the asylum, and I’ve worked as a domestic servant since. I hope to find my children one day. I’ve heard they might be in New Zealand, living with one of my husband’s sisters.”
Elizabeth thought of her time at Kurhuset, of her own pain and loss. “That’s horrible.” She took her friend’s rough, chapped hands in her own.
“They would be two and three now, a boy, William, and a girl, Clara.” Sniffling, Lettie took her hands away and wiped her face.
“I lost a child, a girl,” Elizabeth said. Then she shook her head dismissively, “No, a stillbirth—it’s not the same.”
“Yet I see it hurts all the same,” her friend said.
Elizabeth wanted to say more, but hesitated. Lettie had freely admitted that she had been in a lunatic asylum. In doing so, she’d shown no shame, and had trusted Elizabeth to understand and not judge too harshly. The English woman’s face reflected an open heart that seemed to invite Elizabeth in. Her troubles wanted out. She had kept them to herself for too long, guarding them against exposure to judgement. In doing so, in only allowing Bess and Liza to reflect on her past, she had the sense that the truth of her own history was lost. Perhaps some of that truth could be recovered if she told her story to someone she trusted.
“I’ve done terrible things in my life,” Elizabeth said.
Lettie didn’t shrink away, so Elizabeth continued. She spoke for half an hour, long after they had finished eating, telling about her experience with Klaudio. The kindliness of Lettie’s features didn’t waver.
Finally, the publican approached, “If you please,” he said, “have more or kindly leave.” Despite his language, his words were not a request.
Lettie took Elizabeth’s arm as they left the pub. “Let’s walk through Hyde Park together.”
Emboldened by her friend’s acceptance, Elizabeth spoke about her time as a prostitute. Concerned with how her words were received, she turned to her twin often to look her in the eyes.
“I’ve thought of doing the same during hard times,” Lettie said.
The two women made a circuit around Hyde Park as they talked. Spring had come and the colorful flower beds smelled wonderful. The lawns were dotted with picnicking couples and a few families. Children playing, ran and tumbled. Men and women of higher classes strolled slowly along the paths as if they wanted to provide ample opportunity for others to see their fine clothing.
If only they could hear you, Liza said, they would hound you out of the park.
Lettie’s acceptance shows that people are less scornful than you’ve believe them to be, Bess said.
Elizabeth told Lettie of her bout with venereal disease, about regrets for her ingratitude toward her mother.
“I too treated my mother poorly,” Lettie said. “She told me that marrying above my station would only bring me heartache. I pretended she was jealous of my happiness. I told her that I knew she’d had a loveless marriage to my father and how cruel that had been for him, even though I knew nothing of the kind. He was gone by then and couldn’t speak for himself. My mother and I didn’t talk after that. Now she’s gone too.”
When they arrived at 30 1/2 Ledbury Road, Lettie hugged Elizabeth. “You truly are my sister, Long Liz,” she said.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. She felt the need to say more, but what?
Lettie will become a loving friend if you let her, Bess said. Tell her about what happened with the old woman. You need to get it off your chest.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to do as Bess suggested. Lettie seemed poised to hear and accept more of Elizabeth’s history.
Don’t tell her, Liza said.
I made a mistake long ago, Elizabeth thought. That was all it was. If I can talk about it, perhaps I can find a way to forgive myself.
No, Liza said, she would know your inability to care for others, the weakness of your loyalty, your unfitness for love. Don’t reveal that to her. She won’t want to be your friend any longer.
Shame washed over Elizabeth in a wave that sent her mind tumbling. Her heart turned sickeningly in her chest with the memory of discovering on the same day, so long ago, that she was a prostitute, a drunk, and a murderer. Despite knowing that what Liza suggested wasn’t entirely true, Elizabeth feared she must bear the burden of that terrible day alone to the grave.
“You were about to say?” Lettie said. “Something more troubles you?”
How does she know? Elizabeth wondered.
“No,” she said, “not just now.”
Lettie nodded. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
Give it time, Bess said.
Once Lettie had left, Elizabeth expected she should feel greatly unburdened. As she unlocked the door and entered her room, she felt little relief. She had a sense that her past would continue to haunt her until she spoke about what happened with the old woman.
You cannot trust anyone with that tale, Liza said, her quick warning
squashing further consideration of the notion.
In the following months Elizabeth saw her new friend frequently, especially on Saturdays at market. They ate luncheon together at the Windsor Castle Pub many times. The more time she spent with Lettie, the closer they became, and yet Elizabeth continued to guard her secret.
Chapter 17: No Dirty Puzzle
Mr. Pimberton introduced Elizabeth to several of his friends who were looking for help. None could offer her a better situation than what she already had. By mid-July, fearing that she might be destined to run out her inheritance, become impoverished, and need help getting by, she decided to register at the Swedish Church.
Mr. Pimberton brought a friend to the house on a Sunday around noon in the winter of 1866. He knocked on her door, and called out to her. Elizabeth lay on her bed, practicing her reading of English with a book her employer had lent her, one by George Eliot titled Silas Marner.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, as she opened the door. “I’m here, Mr. Pimberton.” She recognized his voice, although the figures that stood before her appeared merely as silhouettes against the bright and hazy, smoke-charged air outside.
“Miss Gustavsson,” Mr. Pimberton said, “this is Police Constable Winders. He’s a good friend.”
“Mr. Edward Winders, Miss,” the constable said.
Something about being caught lounging and reading a book embarrassed Elizabeth, even though she wasn’t expected to work on a Sunday. “A pl-pleasure to meet you, sir,” she stammered.
“And you, Miss Gustavsson,” PC Winders said with a smile.
“Please come in.” She stepped back and allowed the gentlemen to enter. Once inside, they stood awkwardly with no place to sit.
“He says he’s looking for a housekeeper,” Mr. Pimberton said.
Jack the Ripper Victims Series: The Double Event Page 10