Jack the Ripper Victims Series: The Double Event

by Alan M. Clark

  Elizabeth had never seen such a hard side to the man.

  “Don’t frown,” he said. “You’ve brought it on yourself.”

  He treats you like a child, Liza said, as if he’s never made a mistake.

  Yes, but he’s right to be cross, Elizabeth thought.

  He didn’t speak to her again until he said goodbye as he left for work.

  ~ ~ ~

  Elizabeth met her twin at the Barley Mow the following Saturday. Lettie didn’t look happy, and she’d already begun to drink.

  Elizabeth sat next to her and leaned on the table. “What’s troubling you? Has Mrs. Huntermoon’s demon got to you?”

  “I’ve had word that William died in America.” Fresh tears fell down her cheeks.

  Elizabeth regretted her attempt at humor.

  “I loved that man,” Lettie said, “and he loved me. I knew that when he came home, he’d help me find the children, and we’d all be together again. Now that will never happen.”

  Elizabeth tried to put her arm around her friend. Lettie shrugged off the embrace.

  “I hate them all,” she said, “his blooming family, those bloody people he called friends, and my own sister for helping them take my children.”

  Elizabeth sat in silence until her twin’s tears dried up.

  “I’m sorry,” Lettie said. “I know you’re trying to comfort me. I’ve had my troubles since Wednesday and I’m tired of them. I intend to drink, and I’d like you to join me. What will you have?”

  “I’ll have ale,” Elizabeth said. She knew the drink’s strength.

  Lettie got up, walked to the bar and fetched a glass of the brew.

  On the previous Saturday, three glasses of ale had pleasantly transported Elizabeth to the edge of oblivion. The consequences were not so pleasant, though.

  “I can only have two glasses,” Elizabeth said. “Edward didn’t like what he saw last week when I had three. I hadn’t fixed his supper.”

  “What did he say?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “That you are a bad influence. He had to eat at a kerbside cart. Took it out of my wages.”

  Lettie laughed. “Yes, I suppose I am a bad influence, but what of it? With people like him and my husband’s family running our lives, we need a bit of rebellion.”

  “I thought you liked Edward.”

  “You know I’ve never met him. I only know what you told me. Don’t let him push you around. He must need you as much as you need him or it won’t work. Don’t you forget that.”

  Elizabeth winced at Lettie’s drunken tone. The woman got louder by the minute.

  “You’ll have a third glass today, just to spite Mr. Winders.”

  Elizabeth shook her head almost imperceptibly, trying to say no to her own desire for more. She had firmly determined that two glasses of the beverage was her limit. Even so, as she finished her second glass, she had a sense that much needed rest and an escape from the stresses of daily life were one more swallow away. As Lettie’s mood lightened, and she told bawdy jokes and laughed, her manner called for Elizabeth to become boisterous too. She wanted to join Lettie. Concerned with what the other patrons would think of her, though, Elizabeth glanced around. Some of the patrons spoke or sang in an uproarious manner much louder than Lettie. No one paid any attention to her friend.

  Alcohol not only helped Elizabeth set aside her troubles, if she drank just enough, it also provided her with an exuberance that allowed her to express herself more openly, to laugh, and to love. She wanted to experience that again, and as Lettie poked and tickled her, Elizabeth’s craving for alcohol increased.

  “If you don’t order another drink they’ll put us out,” Lettie said.

  “We haven’t eaten anything yet.”

  Lettie shrugged her shoulders.

  Finally, Elizabeth gave in. She walked to the bar and ordered another glass of ale. Laughing and joking with her friend, she drank it within a short time.

  Later, upon returning from the privy, another glass of the brew stood at her place on the table. Lettie wore an exaggerated look of innocence.

  Elizabeth eagerly sat before the fresh full glass. She could easily imagine having so much alcohol that she might never awaken.

  No, Lettie will not let me come to harm, she decided. Elizabeth quaffed half of her glass at once.

  ~ ~ ~

  Lettie walked Elizabeth home from their luncheon and left her at her doorstep in Grafton Street. Elizabeth let herself in, and with some difficulty remained conscious as she set about to prepare a supper for the constable. He usually awoke about eight o’clock in the evening, and she hoped to recover her wits by then. She struggled to do her work quietly, but was so clumsy that a plate slipped from her hand and clattered loudly on the table. Shortly after that, on her way to the stove, she dropped a pot full of water and chopped potatoes. While she cleaned up the mess off the floor, Mr. Winders came out of the bedroom.

  “You woke me early!” he said.

  Elizabeth glanced up, unease rising in her throat and pinching her face. Mr. Winders came close, a curiosity in his eyes, and inhaled deeply through his nose. His mouth hardened, his eyes narrowed and his brow hung ominously above them for a moment as he looked at her silently.

  Elizabeth wanted to get up and run from the tenement, yet she stayed put, on her knees, her fingers frozen in the process of reaching for a stray bit of potato.

  “I should turn you out now,” the constable said coldly.

  “No,” Elizabeth said as she got up and sat at the table, “I promise I won’t drink again in the day.”

  “Not day or night,” he said, his eyes pinning her to her chair. “As long as you’re in my service, I forbid you to drink.”

  Unwilling to think about not drinking again, or being turned out into the street, Elizabeth simply nodded her head so he’d leave her alone.

  She got her wish: He dressed, picked up his equipment and left early.

  Elizabeth climbed in bed and slept.

  ~ ~ ~

  Mr. Winders became the constable at home ever after. He smelled Elizabeth’s breath every evening when he got up from bed. Elizabeth gave up drinking again. Still, if she stumbled or mispronounced a word he looked at her suspiciously. Slowly but surely, along with their treatment of each other, their sexual relations turned off cold. Elizabeth felt lucky that she had not become pregnant.

  Bess had been wrong in her assessment of Mr. Winders, and Liza had been right.

  Elizabeth became more wary of Bess’s advice.

  Chapter 19: In Her Path

  In the autumn of 1868 Elizabeth had had enough of PC Winders and began looking for another position. She’d become so disgusted with the man that she had a perverse desire to get drunk again to force an end to the situation, but feared he’d turn her out in the street.

  Lettie hadn’t liked what she’d heard of the constable’s behavior. She did her best to help Elizabeth find a new position.

  “I want to introduce you to someone,” Lettie said while they shopped at market together. “He’s a handsome fellow named Jon Stride, a carpenter hired to repair the stairway and banister in Mrs. Huntermoon’s house. He’s looking for a wife.”

  Elizabeth turned away so her friend wouldn’t see her frown. Mr. Winders had made her so unhappy, she wasn't looking forward to taking up with any man.

  “He asked if I was interested!” Lettie said, “He’s not my kind of fellow—too soft spoken. I thought you might like to meet a man who isn’t puffed up on himself. What do you say, Long Liz?”

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  “Meet him,” Lettie said, “then decide.”

  With some persuasion, Elizabeth agreed. She met with Lettie and Jon Stride at Hyde Park, midday on a Tuesday in November. Following introductions, as small talk began, Elizabeth’s bonnet was lifted by the wind and thrown onto the green off the path. Mr. Stride hurried after it. When he returned and gave the bonnet to Elizabeth, Lettie excused herself, saying she’d forgotten to run an err
and for Mrs. Huntermoon. Elizabeth knew her friend had planned the exit.

  “Miss Gustavsson,” Mr. Stride said, “Mrs. Watts said she told you I’m looking for a wife. Please don’t allow that to make you uneasy. If we get along, then perhaps we’ll see each other again, and that’s all there is to be expected, I should think.”

  Elizabeth had indeed been a bit uncomfortable, wondering if he sized her up, though his gaze was light and respectful. If he hadn’t brought up the subject, she might have forgotten about it with time. “I’m not uneasy,” she said.

  He stood close to six feet tall, with a thin, strong frame, fair skin, and hair almost black where it wasn’t graying at the sides. Elizabeth found his dark brown eyes, strong brow, and square chin handsome.

  They walked the paths of the park and talked. Their conversation was pleasant enough, but Elizabeth had no real hope that he’d find her interesting. He asked her about herself and she gave her history briefly, leaving out those things of which she was ashamed, and her current situation with Mr. Winders.

  “I come from Sheerness, Kent,” he told her, then paused when she raised her brows in a questioning look. “It’s a town on the Isle of Sheppey. How did you travel when you came to London from Sweden?”

  “A steamship that crossed the North Sea and passed up the Thames.”

  “Sheerness lies just south of where you entered the Thames.”

  The information meant little to her. Even so, she nodded out of politeness.

  “I came to London to work on a property in Poplar that belongs to my father. The structure needs a lot of help, and though he is a splendid carpenter and shipwright—taught me everything I know—he can’t do that kind of work anymore. He says the property is mine if I can make it whole again. I hope to open a shop to serve food and drink. Poplar is growing with more rail lines going in and the docks and warehouses receiving goods from the East.”

  Elizabeth saw him as a thoughtful fellow, willing to take a risk. Although somewhat reserved in manner, he was engaged in an adventure, having come from a faraway town to the bustling city of London to make a go of a little shop.

  “Will you make a public house or tavern?”

  “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s too small for all that. I was thinking of a pastry shop. Nothing too tender; shortbread, biscuits, scones, gingerbread, and fruitcake.”

  “Anything to drink?”

  “Coffee, I should think. ”

  Elizabeth stopped walking and took another look at Mr. Stride.

  He stopped and turned. “Don’t you like coffee?” he asked.

  Elizabeth tried to remember if she’d ever told Lettie about her dream of opening a coffee shop.

  Your friend has surely put him up to this, Liza said. Mr. Stride is teasing you.

  But no, Elizabeth was certain she’d never mentioned it.

  He has been placed in your path for a reason, Bess said.

  “Yes, I do like coffee. I must say, I make the best coffee of anyone I’ve known.”

  “You’ll have to make me a cup sometime.”

  Elizabeth thought for a moment about how to do that. “Are you working on the stairway in Mrs. Huntermoon’s house this afternoon?”

  He nodded.

  “And do I understand that she is away from home during the repairs.”

  “She’s been gone for the week.”

  “I know a shop nearby where I can get coffee beans. Then, if you’d like, I’ll walk you back to the house and we’ll ask Lettie if I can have the kitchen long enough to make us all a cup.”

  “That would be delightful,” he said with a big smile.

  Realizing that she liked the man, Elizabeth also smiled.

  ~ ~ ~

  Mr. Stride enjoyed his cup of coffee. He and Elizabeth got to know each other over the next few weeks during several meals at taverns in the afternoon and at pubs after 8 o’clock in the evening. They continued to see one another through the winter. He listened to what she had to say and asked about her days and nights in a manner that told her he was interested in her wellbeing. She didn’t offer much about the time she spent away from him, but he didn't pry. She’d told him she worked as a domestic servant for a family in Grafton Street, and that as part of her agreement with her master, she’d promised not to see any gentlemen while in his employ. Elizabeth made sure her rendezvous with Mr. Stride occurred well away from her doorstep.

  Either Mr. Stride didn’t move on women as fast as her previous beau had done or he had no romantic interest in her. He kept asking to see her, though, and discussing the plans for his enterprise.

  “I would very much enjoy working in your shop one day,” she told him more than once.

  Mr. Stride merely smiled each time, and Liza counseled her not to get her hopes up.

  On February 1, 1869, he took her to see the property he was restoring. They’d crossed London west to east, about seven miles, in a growler. The hackney carriage wasn’t as nice as the hansom cab Mr. Winders preferred, being louder and less open. Still, Elizabeth and Mr. Stride traveled in reasonable comfort for the hour and a half it took for them to arrive at their destination.

  The structure, a tiny two-room building with a shop front, sat between two tenements in Chrisp Street, Poplar, the East End of London. The stuffy front room held little but drifts of sawdust. The chamber in the rear had no window. Mr. Stride lit a lamp so she could see it. Lumber, saw horses, a miter box, various other tools and hardware were organized neatly within. A door in the far wall no doubt let onto a yard or alley. A fireplace occupied the South wall. The place didn’t look like much, yet Elizabeth could imagine what it would be like when the work was finished; the food and drinks, the customers, and the money changing hands.

  “I will easily sell food and drink through the front window,” Mr. Stride said proudly. “Poplar has plenty of activity, workers coming and going from the docks, the rail yard, and the workhouse.”

  “People don’t want to stand on the street to eat and drink,” Elizabeth said.

  He raised his brows as if he felt challenged, but then he pursed his lips and tilted his head as if waiting to hear more.

  “They prefer to sit. You should open up the front room and put in a couple of tables. Put a window in between the two rooms and serve your drinks and pastries from the rear.”

  He looked into the distance, and his clean-shaven chin jutted forward as he seemed to consider her suggestions. “Not only do you make a fine cup, you have good ideas for serving. Let’s look at other coffee shops to see what they’re like.”

  Over the next week, they visited eight coffee shops and discussed further ideas.

  “This coffee isn’t very good,” Elizabeth said as they sat in a shop in a small lane between Oxford and Broad Streets.

  She watched Mr. Stride looking around the establishment, politely watching the women and sizing up the men. Something about his manner allowed his unabashed gaze to appear unthreatening. He looked squarely at those of a higher class without the slightest risk of rebuke. She liked his confidence, and got the sense that he thought he was as good as anyone else. Elizabeth wished she felt the same way about herself.

  “This drink is bitter,” she said. “If coffee sits too long after it’s been prepared for drinking, the color of the liquid turns a little gray. Do you see, it’s not the warm brown it should be?”

  Mr. Stride, still looking around, nodded his head with a slight smile.

  “If I were serving, I’d have thrown this out and made fresh coffee for my patrons.”

  His smile grew to a grin.

  “Am I funny?” she asked.

  “No, but you’ve got the job if you want it. You plainly do.”

  Elizabeth pretended ignorance, and Mr. Stride sat back and looked at her squarely.

  “I’ve depended solely on my own counsel for many years now and not always for the best,” he said. “The desire for something different has come on me only recently. What do you think about you and me maki
ng that coffee shop of yours, and starting a family together? Would you marry me?”

  He was so matter-of fact, that she didn’t believe him at first. Then the warmth of his smile persuaded her that he truly did want her. Her throat became clogged with all the words she might say and nothing came out.

  “I suspect you’ve had troubles in your past,” he continued, “as have I. I don’t expect to know everything about you, although I hope we can be honest with each other. I know I enjoy your company very much, and that waking up to your sweet face will brighten my days.”

  She blinked rapidly to prevent tears from spilling.

  At forty-eight years of age, Mr. Stride was twenty-three years her senior, and, no doubt, set in his ways, but he was a gentle man who looked upon her with respect. He had a bearing next to which she would proudly stand. He expected to have children, and while she had trepidations about her worthiness as a mother, she would not let that get in her way. The idea of having children with the man gave her hope for the future. With Mr. Stride by her side, she would become a different, more capable, and loving person.

  You’d better keep your secrets well, Liza said, or he won’t be so proud to stand with you.

  If you are honest with him, he’ll love you all the more, Bess said. Don’t hide your past from him.

  Of the two, Elizabeth considered Liza the more astute when it came to men. Even so, she paid little attention to her voices as she struggled to prevent herself from shouting her delight.

  Finally, she composed herself and said simply, “Yes.”

  He reached across the table and grasped her hands. “You’ve made me very happy.”

  ~ ~ ~

  As jubilant as she was, Elizabeth knew that her relationship with Mr. Stride had already begun in falsehood. Her betrothed would probably be more concerned about the competition Mr. Winders represented than the fact that she lived with the man out of wedlock. Still, she felt compelled to bury the truth.

  That evening, after Mr. Winders had gone to work, Elizabeth walked the few miles to Mr. Pimberton’s house in Ledbury Road and sat on his step as she’d done three years earlier, waiting for him to return home from work.