Jack the Ripper Victims Series: The Double Event

by Alan M. Clark

  “With the warm weather coming, the holes in the walls won’t be so bad,” Jon told Elizabeth as he showed her around her future home. “The holes in the floors are dangerous, but I’ve discovered the extent of the rot, and, you see,” he said, pointing, “I’ve marked the edges with white paint. The beams underneath are solid enough. The floorboards aren’t, so don’t walk there.”

  As bad as the place looked, the hope in Jon’s eyes reassured Elizabeth.

  By the beginning of summer, they were out of the old property and committed to the new. Business was slow at the coffee shop for the first few weeks. Following that, they did better than at the old location. Jon had repaired the floor in the loft, yet still needed to replace the temporary patches in the walls with more permanent materials.

  The teeth on either side of the one Elizabeth had lost became loose and ached in her lower left jaw. By mid-July, she could stand the increasing pain no longer, and begged Jon to pull the teeth. They weren’t loose enough for the string and door knob method. He fetched his pliers and a bottle of whiskey for her pain. Elizabeth refused the drink.

  ~ ~ ~

  In August while Jon was away, Lettie came to the shop on a Sunday to help with coffee preparations. “Joseph’s ship,” she said, “the Megaera, has been wrecked on St. Paul’s Island.”

  Elizabeth took her friends hands into her own. “Where is that?” she asked.

  “In the Pacific Ocean, southwest of Australia.” Lettie’s voice trembled and her eyes glistened with tears. “It’s a tiny piece of land at the ends of the Earth. The crew is stranded. They are too many for all to be rescued at once. They have supplies, but must survive until help comes.”

  “We’ll hope for the best,” Elizabeth said, embracing her friend.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Lettie said. She pulled away, forced a smile, and wiped at her tears.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jon came home early on a Thursday in September spitting mad. “I lost a job today because some-bloody-one told my client that I worked on the Megaera. The story of the wreck is in the Illustrated London News! I tried to tell him the hull had failed and I didn’t work on that part of the ship. He wouldn’t have it. Let’s hope he doesn’t spread the word.”

  Whether Jon’s client did or not, word got out, and it had a detrimental effect on his reputation as a carpenter right when they needed the income the most. The price of coffee had continued to climb. Olovsson’s Coffee Shop tried again to raise what they charged for their products. The competition took business from them when they did. Again, they had to restore the old prices. Despite the increased numbers of patrons at the coffee shop, Elizabeth worked harder, selling more coffee, but earning less per cup. At least she had his help on the days when Jon had no other work.

  ~ ~ ~

  The final repairs to the loft were made in October, 1871. Homey if nothing else, their one room dwelling above the shop had a corner hutch for clothing and linens, a chest for blankets and sundries, a large bed Jon had constructed of cherry wood, a table and chairs, a small desk, shelves, a curtained window, and a Persian rug. Elizabeth and Jon celebrated with a romp in bed. Afterward, they lay side by side, enjoying the warmth of a room with no drafts.

  “Perhaps, if you saw a doctor,” Jon said, “we might find out something we could do to help you become pregnant.”

  Elizabeth tried to laugh off the suggestion. “We already know how to make babies,” she said. “You were good tonight.”

  “No, I mean there might be something wrong a doctor could fix.”

  Elizabeth feared that a doctor’s examination might reveal something of her history, that the physician might see some evidence of her venereal disease and have a talk with Jon about it.

  “I won’t suffer a crow to examine my most private self,” she said with a touch of outrage.

  Jon’s face became tight with anger. “I don’t think you want very much to become a mother. Why do you think I work so hard if not to give what I build to my children?”

  “I would hope you do it for us, as well!” she said, outrage in her voice. “I’m not merely breeding stock, am I?”

  “Of course not, yet I made it clear to you that I wanted a family.”

  “Have I not met your every effort toward that end?”

  “Well, yes, but your behavior—your words…”

  “Words do not make children.”

  “No, but it’s as if you’re hiding something.”

  “Because I don’t want to be looked upon as half a woman?” Elizabeth wanted him to believe she saw his questions as an insult to her womanhood, even though her anger was, in truth, at herself. She feared that as a consequence of her own actions as a young adult, she had thrown away the precious gift of motherhood. Looking again at the possibility, she had difficulty maintaining her self righteousness, and Jon seemed to see that.

  “Do you believe you cannot have children?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He turned away, and went downstairs. When she heard sawing, she presumed that he continued his work on the damaged rear door frame.

  Elizabeth blamed their irritability on the stresses of long hard hours, and low income. Since the damage to Jon’s reputation as a carpenter, he’d had to take work of lesser pay, doing smaller projects that required less skill. His pride suffered. Elizabeth felt sorry for him. She promised herself that she’d find a way to approach him with the truth about her past. Elizabeth also decided that the present wasn't the time to do so.

  ~ ~ ~

  Lettie wasn’t faring well either. She had her child in early November, a baby boy she named Martin. Then word came that Joseph Snelling had perished on St. Paul’s Island, and the half pay she’d been receiving from the Royal Navy ceased.

  Having left her child with a neighbor on a Sunday evening in February of 1872, Lettie showed up at the coffee shop to help Elizabeth make her weekly roast and grind. “I’ve gone to my sister, Mary Malcolms, every month for help since Martin was born,” Lettie said. “She’ll give me assistance, but she must first question me and tell me how to live my life before she hands it over. I hate her for helping William’s family take my children. She can see how I feel about her and so she draws out the weekly interview to gain satisfaction. It’s all I can do to keep from harming her. If I had a knife with me, I might slit her throat.” She barked out an uneasy laugh.

  Elizabeth found her friend’s words and manner troubling. Lettie had always been a steady rock, an island surrounded by calm in the sea of struggle and change that was Elizabeth’s life in London. With her twin and Jon so unhappy lately, she experienced the feeling that no safe harbor existed for her, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jon extracted two more teeth from Elizabeth’s lower left jaw in the autumn of 1872.

  ~ ~ ~

  Elizabeth was cleaning up the coffee shop after hours on September 7, 1873 when a boy appeared, knocking at the locked front door. She unlocked the door and gave the boy a farthing in exchange for a message on a piece of blue paper. The boy looked at the tiny coin, spat on the ground at Elizabeth’s feet, and ran off into the night.

  The message told of the death of Jon’s Father. She gave it to her husband when he returned late in the evening. After he’d read it, he settled into a chair at the table where they ate their meals, and she sat across from him. “Most of my dreams have been dashed,” he said. “Much in life has not gone my way, though I had hoped that my father would see my children one day.”

  His words and the look of hurt in his eyes crushed Elizabeth. They had not spoken of children in over a year, and her promise to herself to tell him about her past had been conveniently forgotten. She broke down weeping, and lowered her head to the tabletop.

  “It’s not your fault,” Jon said.

  Elizabeth tried to compose herself to speak. “But it is,” she said, finally.

  “No, no,” he held her hand, and reached to lift her face.

  When she co
uld look him in the eye, she said, “I was gravely ill when young. The ability to bear children must have been taken from me then.”

  “You knew?” He looked confused.

  “Well, no.”

  “Yet you suspected?” He released her and his face strained toward a grimace.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said quickly, then too loudly, “I’m sorry!”

  He swallowed hard and sat back, a stiffness in his frame. “You’ve not told me how you became so ill.”

  She hesitated, covered her mouth with her hand, and said, “I am too afraid to tell you.”

  “We’ve never made a big show of it,” he said at last, “but I thought you loved me.”

  “Of course, I do.” Elizabeth became aware that she held on tight to the edge of the table as her hand began to ache from the effort.

  “Then why didn’t you trust me with your suspicion?”

  Elizabeth let go of the table and sat back. She couldn’t look at him. “Because I do love you, Jon. I know you’ll want to know why I have the suspicion, and I’m afraid I’ll lose you when you have your answer.”

  He looked down at his hands in his lap, and sat quietly for a long time. The longer his silence stretched on the more unsettling Elizabeth found it. Still, she could not will herself to get up and move away. Indeed, she hardly took a breath as she waited, because she knew that what he said at the end of that silence would determine her future.

  Thankfully, the voices of her two selves also remained silent.

  Sounds of movement came from the street out front. She heard a door slamming in a nearby building and a whistle from a train or a boat. The air had become colder, and the light dimmer. The floor under Jon’s chair creaked. He seemed to become interested in why, as a carpenter might. He rocked a bit in his chair and listened.

  Finally, he looked up and said quietly, “I should have told you about the mistakes I made when young, terrible things I did long before we met, how I frightened myself and my family. Then you would have felt more at ease telling about yourself”

  He cleared his throat, and looked her in the eye. “Keep your secret if you need to.”

  Starved for air, Elizabeth took a deep breath. She clutched for him as he reached across the table and took her trembling hands.

  “I do love you, Elizabeth,” he said. “Your sweet face has brightened my days.”

  Tears of relief spilled down Elizabeth’s cheeks. She moved quickly into the warmth and safety of his arms.

  ~ ~ ~

  With the death of his father, some of the glint had gone from Jon’s eyes. He suffered increasingly from sore joints, aching muscles, shortness of breath, and pains in the chest. Elizabeth blamed herself for his declining health. She worked harder and asked for his help less. The couple struggled with the coffee shop for another year and finally sold it.

  Chapter 22: Histories

  Elizabeth and Jon removed to a single room in a tenement in Giraud Street in January 1875. One night, shortly after they were situated in the room, Jon sat her down and told her a story from his youth.

  “In my twenties, me and some pals were taken with the tales of the highwaymen and dragsmen at Blackheath. We formed a gang of footpads, and found a spot on the road to Margate to prey upon the coaches coming and going from London.”

  Jon looked at Elizabeth and shook his head vigorously. He lowered his head and shouted into his cupped hands, “Fools, we were!”

  His lips pressed together hard as he looked up again. Afraid he’d stop the tale, Elizabeth leaned forward and took his hands for encouragement.

  He turned away, and continued. “No one was to be harmed. We just wanted their valuables. We wore sacks on our faces, yet somehow my family found out about our adventures. My father threatened to turn me out in the street. I lied to him and kept at it.”

  Jon gazed out their room’s single window as if he could see in the street outside the events of his recollection. “One night we stopped a coach and out stepped a cocksure swell. My pal, Robert, our leader, held a pistol on the man, but he wouldn’t hand over his wallet and watch. Instead, he pushed Robert.” Jon grimaced and lowered his head again. “Robert looked worried. He kept waving his iron at the man and demanding his valuables, and the toff kept pushing him. Finally he pushed so hard, Robert fell on his arse.” Jon was silent for a time, then he looked squarely at Elizabeth, a deep regret in his eyes. “The pistol went off and the gentleman died,” he said in a rush. “We ran away and none of us was ever charged. I quit those fellows and took up carpentry with Father. No one ever knew what I’d done except for my pals and now you. I never suffered punishment for my crime. I’ve tried to do right since.”

  Jon covered his face with his hands. Elizabeth leaned her head against his shoulder. He took her in his arms briefly, then released her and left the room, heading out into the night. He didn’t return until late, long after Elizabeth had gone to bed.

  The next evening, she found a moment that seemed right to tell Jon about meeting Klaudio, her prostitution, her syphilis, and the stillbirth of her girl, Beata. She began six times, only to break off after the first few words to take deep breaths and think of a better way to start. Finally, she had the words and they poured out of her.

  Jon didn’t turn away, and as she paused before trying to speak of her darkest secret, the death of Fru Andersdotter, he said. “Thank you for trusting me.”

  Bess had been right to suggest that Elizabeth should risk everything being honest with Jon, and Liza had been wrong.

  The cynical voice knew nothing of love. She would never have good advice about friendship or romance.

  Elizabeth knew that Jon thought she was done. She wished she were, as the wave of shame that always accompanied the recollections of the old woman’s death took hold of her. Drowning in the shameful memories—lighting fires in the stove and fireplace of Hortense’s house to cover up her own absence, lying to Herr Rikhardsson about awakening to find the woman dead, being rewarded with a position of employment on that day for merely being associated with the woman—Elizabeth collapsed upon the bed and closed her eyes.

  Jon caressed her cheek, her shoulder. Elizabeth let go of the memories and relaxed. He seemed to accept what truth she had offered without anger or scorn.

  Jon thought she’d finished her tale, and Elizabeth would take advantage of that, despite her revelation that Bess’s advice about complete honesty had been sound.

  Although she felt at least partly unburdened, she remained in despair over her inability to face the old woman’s death.

  ~ ~ ~

  Elizabeth felt differently toward Jon once she’d heard his tale. Despite his bent posture, a loss of muscle tone, and his frequent downcast looks, he became her hero as never before. He’d had his adventure while young and learned from it. Jon had a big heart, and had made every effort to have a full life. She took great pride in her marriage to the man, and regretted only that she’d been unable to give him children.

  They didn’t have much over the next few years, yet drew closer than they’d ever been. Jon took on what carpentry jobs he could find, but as his health declined, his abilities diminished. Deciding that she would take on whatever work she could to lighten his load, working several jobs if necessary, gave Elizabeth a strong sense of purpose.

  She worked for a time for John Hale, the man who bought Olovsson’s Coffee Shop. He’d kept the name. She roasted and ground beans for him. When the establishment was busy, she helped serve customers. Hale allowed her to advertise to his customers that she offered sewing services. Elizabeth mended clothing in the evenings and did simple alterations. When Olovsson’s Coffee Shop finally failed, she took short term work of all sorts, sewing, charring, and scouring, while trying to find employment serving within a household. Because she was a married woman, she could not interview for most positions.

  ~ ~ ~

  Lettie suffered far worse. She lost her position when Mrs. Huntermoon passed away. Lettie fell to working as a scourer at a
laundry while she looked for employment within another household. Her child, Martin, died of a fever before his third birthday.

  Neither of the two Elizabeths had any luck finding a position. What short term work they found, they often shared.

  Lettie sat in Elizabeth’s room one evening in the summer of 1876 helping to mend clothes. Jon had not yet returned from a job erecting a sign over a new sweet shop.

  “After I lost my position with Mrs. Huntermoon, we had so little that I became afraid for Martin. I thought I might not be able to provide for him. One day I did a foolish thing; I left him on my sister, Mary’s, doorstep in a basket. She’s married to a man, Andrew Malcolms, and they do quite well for themselves. I thought she’d take care of him better than I could.”

  Elizabeth allowed her shock to show on her face. She opened her mouth to say that she and Jon would have helped. Lettie spoke first.

  “I didn’t abandon him,” she said. “I knocked on her door and hid around the corner of the building, watching. Mary came to the door. She saw my boy in the basket, then turned around, left him, and went back inside. I thought she’d come back, but she didn’t, so I gathered him up and took him home.”

  “Perhaps you should have spoken to her about taking care of Martin first.”

  “No.” Lettie shook her head. “I can’t talk to my sister. She helped William’s family take my children because she thought I wouldn’t be a good mother. Mary has always thought of me as foolish. Nothing I do is done well enough, except for one thing that I did right. For that one thing, she cannot forgive me.”

  “What’s that?” Elizabeth asked.

  Lettie waved the question away. “She should have at least taken Martin in from the cold. I’d brought him to see her twice before, so she couldn’t pretend she didn’t know who he was.”

  “You should have come to us for help.”

  “Like me, you and Jon have precious little. My sister’s a scurf.”