Jack the Ripper Victims Series: The Double Event

by Alan M. Clark

  Katie would take all she’d given to their marriage. She found Conway’s old waistcoat, the one she’d repaired on the day they met, and added it to her possessions in the blanket. The garment fit Katie better than it did Conway. Having repaired it with so many stitches over the years, it belonged to her now. With that as a new standard, she turned to a pair of Conway’s boots she’d repaired with red thread. They were a little big for her, but those were added to her possessions out of spite.

  She would go to Annie and Mr. Phillips, but didn’t want to embarrass her daughter by taking her troubles with Conway to her doorstep. No, she would go to Emma.

  Katie put on her fine silk and velvet bodice, skirt and bonnet. She looked around the room. Would she miss it? She remembered thinking how fortunate she was when Charlotte praised her home, but that was when she’d believed Conway cared about her happiness.

  I’ll miss it only if Emma won’t take me in and I have to live on the street.

  Katie left the room and walked southwest, coughing in the thick hazy air. She’d hardly made it to the nearest street crossing when Conway, coming from the right, saw her.

  “Where are you going, dressed to the nines?” he asked.

  Katie kept walking.

  Approaching swiftly, he followed her across the street, got ahead and stopped, facing her. Katie pushed past, to continuing without a word. Conway reached for her, but she shrugged him off. He grabbed her upper arm and spun her around, ripping the shoulder of her bodice and popping loose the top two abalone buttons. They fell to the pavement. Conway’s right foot trod on one. The other was kicked away into the street by her own clumsy efforts to maintain her footing. As she faced him, he stepped back a little, revealing the button under his foot. The bright piece of shell was broken in two.

  “I asked where you’re going.”

  Katie looked him in the eye. “I’m going for a visit with Emma.”

  “And why are you carrying a stuffed blanket?”

  “My things,” she said without emotion. “You gave me a choice. If I stay with her and decide to sing, I won’t be back.”

  “You have obligations to me.”

  “You gave me a choice.”

  Conway stared at her for a moment. Her gaze remained level and calm. A troubled look gripped his features and he aged in that moment, before her eyes. He was ten years her senior. She could well imagine he hadn’t expected to be alone and didn’t want it. For a moment his expression said he regretted the way he’d treated her, but clearly his pride would never allow him to admit it. Nor would it allow him to keep her from leaving after giving her the choice.

  “Don’t stay long,” he said.

  Katie stepped around him and walked away.

  “We have work to do,” he called after her. “You have responsibilities.”

  She didn’t look back.

  Chapter 19: Three Abalone Buttons

  Katie had easily impressed the landlord of The Black Anchor, Fredrick Poulton, with her singing. He hired her to sing in his back room for a wage based on how much drink was sold during the hours of her performance. His math was intentionally convoluted. Katie would be cheated, but she had her chance and that was what mattered.

  Mr. Poulton gave her songs to learn that celebrated drinking as a salvation for the working man, that ridiculed marriage and condemned labor as slavery. The songs were poorly written and the music lacked character.

  The Black Anchor’s back room was named The Four Winds, and it did look like a good spot for farts to convene. The area was twenty by forty feet, its walls painted with a thin coat of bright red paint. Twenty rough, round tables and too many rickety chairs were supported by a sagging floor. When singing, she occupied a clearing in one corner.

  In the two months she’d been at it, she’d received much praise for her performances. She’d also been ogled, laughed at, pawed, and even spat upon. Katie put all she had into her voice and endured the abuse. One night someone from one of the great music halls would come in and hear her and be inspired to hire her for the stage.

  Her fine silk and velvet clothes looked older by the day and were a fair reflection of the way Katie felt. She had repaired the ripped shoulder of the bodice. Emma had given her five brass buttons to replace the five abalone ones. Katie saved the three abalone buttons that remained until such time she might replace the two that were lost and put them all back on the bodice. The garment didn’t look as good with brass, but it would do for now.

  The Black Anchor was within a mile of Emma’s home and easy to get to in the early evening, but somewhat frightening to walk home from when she was finished late at night. She was in the habit of walking most of the way with one of the barmaids, Rebecca Fitwerks, who lived near Emma. The two women had in common the fact that they had both left their husbands. They enjoyed having a smoke together and sharing their experiences on their walks home.

  “It’s good to be away from Richard,” Rebecca said one night about her husband, “but I don’t truly have a home now. Barbara has a new beau. She’s asked me to find other lodgings.”

  “Barbara Olesen,” Katie asked, “the barmaid?”

  “Yes.”

  “I too have no real place to call my own,” Katie said. “I fear at any time I might be asked to leave my sister’s home. Emma received me with open arms, but Mr. Matthews told me if Conway came for me, he’d have to turn me out, said he wouldn’t go against another man’s will when it came to his wife. I give Mr. Matthews most of my earnings and do what I can to help. We get along well, but he complains about the crowding, and I know he’s looking for a reason to put me out. Perhaps he thinks if he does I’ll return to Conway. I would go to my daughter before I would return to him.”

  Katie had sent Annie a letter, telling her she was staying with Emma, and was troubled she didn’t hear back from her.

  “It is the way with men,” Rebecca said. “A good man will stand with a cruel one when it comes to his wife. The neighbors could see my bruises, but none would help me. Men want us in the worst way, but they don’t trust us. I will not return to Richard. I won’t live that way again.”

  Rebecca stopped walking and turned to Katie with bright eyes. “We could get a room together,” she said.

  Katie smiled hesitantly. Others at The Black Anchor had said Rebecca periodically turned to prostitution to get by. The idea of Rebecca bringing strange men into her home was unsettling. Katie shrugged as they continued walking. “I know Mr. Matthews isn’t happy with me being there,” she said, “but I pay so very little. A bit more and he’d be happy enough.”

  “You said it’s crowded.”

  “Yes, there’s also my other sister, Margaret and Mr. Matthews’s youngest brother and his wife and two young boys. Margaret is quiet, too quiet. Something inside her was broken in the workhouse long ago. The little boys are a terror. Emma is glad to have me, but perhaps only because she gets so cold in the night. Mr. Matthews sleeps in another room because of his loud snoring and I sleep with Emma. She cuddles up close. I don’t mind. It’s nice and warm.”

  Rebecca didn’t seem disappointed. “Let me know if things change,” she said.

  ~~~

  Mr. Matthew’s grumbling increased. When Monday came, a day when Katie didn’t sing at The Black Anchor, she took the time to go see Annie and ask for money.

  Surely Mr. Phillips would not begrudge her a little help if she did it only once. Conway was the one he considered a beggar, not Katie.

  She spent much of the morning walking the three and a half miles to her daughter’s home, a modest little house in Holborn. The dwelling belonged to Mr. Phillip’s family and was of the old type of architecture almost gone from London, with its heavy wooden beams and projecting upper story. She stepped up and knocked on the door and waited, but no one came to answer. and waited again. Eventually she heard movement inside and the door opened.

  “Mum!” Annie said. “Come in.” She was hastily dressed and slightly bent.

  “I’
m sorry for the surprise. Did I wake you?”

  “No, I’ve been ill, but I’m getting better.”

  “What is it? Why didn’t you call on me to help?”

  “Some say it’s the water again,” she said, embracing her abdomen. “Many people hereabouts have it. I didn’t want to bother you. It’s almost over now.”

  Katie cupped Annie’s cheeks in her hands. “My sweet girl,” she said.

  Annie’s lips tightened into a forced smile. “Why have you come?” she asked.

  Annie was obviously uncomfortable being treated like a child. Katie released her and stepped back. She is my better now. She swallowed hard and lowered her gaze. “You received my letter?”

  “Yes.”

  Why then hasn’t she written to me?

  Because she’s been ill.

  “Then you know I have left your father and am staying with your Aunt Emma and her family. I am singing at a tavern, The Black Anchor, in their back room, The Four Winds.”

  “That’s wonderful. You have such a beautiful voice.”

  “Yes, but Mr. Matthews will not continue to have me if I cannot add more to the family budget.”

  “And so you will return to Papa?”

  Will she make me beg?

  “No. I’d hoped you might help.”

  Annie became silent for a moment. Then, as if it had suddenly dawned on her what her mother was asking for, she had a look of concern. “I would if I could, but you know Mr. Phillips will not wish to help. At present, I have two shillings I can give you, but he will know about it and won’t be pleased.”

  I came all this way for something that will make no difference.

  Clearly Annie saw the disappointment on her face.

  How embarrassing.

  Annie turned to a small cabinet by the door and opened a drawer and took out two coins. “If it will help, please take it.” She offered them to Katie.

  “I earn that much in a day,” The pride in her voice was too much.

  “It’s all I have.” Annie’s eyes held a look of hurt.

  What has left her feeling wounded? I’m the one who has need!

  “I’m sorry I troubled you while you’re ill.” Chagrin that she couldn’t keep the indignation out of her voice turned to more anger. “I’ll come back for a visit when I am richer, when I have work in a music hall.” She turned away to start the long walk home.

  “Mum, I’m sorry,” Annie said. “I would give more if I had it.”

  She continued to plead for her mother to be reasonable, to come back and start their visit anew. Annie’s voice receded into the distance as Katie walked swiftly toward the river and the Waterloo Bridge that would take her home. She was fortunate that the bridge had in recent years been nationalized and there was no longer a toll charged for foot traffic.

  How can it be that Parliament is looking out for me more than my own flesh and blood? That was ridiculous—her anger had got the better of her again.

  The last thing she heard from Annie was, “You can always go home to Papa.”

  To rest up a bit before beginning the return trip would have been good. She was not used to so much exercise. Coughing fits dogged her all the way home.

  Since Katie had endured Conway’s close scrutiny when it came to finances, she well understood her daughter’s situation with Mr. Phillips. That evening she sent a letter of apology to Annie.

  Chapter 20: A Red Leather Cigarette Case

  Tuesday night after work Katie and Rebecca walked home together.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do if Mr. Matthews puts me out.”

  “You know there are men willing to pay for companionship,” Rebecca said.

  Katie shook her head and turned away, but Rebecca was undeterred. “Men of all sorts, gentle ones among them. If you need to know who they are to safely earn a bit extra, ask any of us girls working The Black Anchor.”

  Katie’s reaction wasn’t one of moral superiority and she didn’t want it to be received as such. She looked Rebecca in eye and said. “Thank you. I’m just afraid. I’ve never done that.”

  But haven’t I, with Uncle William.

  “Most of the men are so drunk,” Rebecca said, “they don’t know or care if they’re getting it right. A little firkytoodle is all it takes for some.”

  Katie turned away again, blushing.

  “For others,” Rebecca continued, “one hole is as good as another.”

  Katie had tricked Uncle William. If she could do it that way, it wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Think about it,” Rebecca said. “There are some decent ones. I couldn’t get along without the help.”

  Yes, I could try. It’s worth it to remain here and sing. I’m not too proud for that.

  ~~~

  Katie’s experience was much like what Rebecca had suggested and her own plan worked. With a little saliva spread on the insides of her legs, her technique of squeezing her upper thighs tightly around a man’s penis worked flawlessly. The plan worked until the night she made the mistake of choosing the man herself.

  He had been making eye contact with her much of the night while she sang. Perhaps forty years old, he had sandy blonde hair and a round, handsome face despite a crooked nose. His fine clothing made him stand out among the laborers who were The Black Anchor’s main clientele. The way he looked at her, the gentle longing in his eyes, suggested he was like the other ones.

  A storage room for barrels of wine and spirits was used by some of the women for their transactions. Once Katie had taken the man into the room and shut the door, he changed. His face became cold and angry. She wanted out, but he stood between her and the door. Katie took in a deep breath to cry out for help, but he struck her in the face so hard she blacked out momentarily. When she came to, she was draped, face down, over a barrel and he was brutally penetrating her anus.

  “No!” she screamed, jerking herself up and back. She had to fight. The table knife was in its pocket under her skirt, if she could get to it.

  He struck her in the back of the head and she fell forward, dazed.

  “Sing for me!” he shouted, plunging deeper inside her, but Katie cried out in pain. “Don’t scream! Sing for me.” His voice was deep and guttural. He struck her again, and as she swam back up to full consciousness again, something told her to try to become calm.

  “Sing, damn it, sing!”

  Katie tried to reach her right hand under her skirt to grab her knife, but he pulled that arm behind her back and up. Pain tore through the muscles of her arm and shoulder. She pushed all thoughts from her head and concentrated on what he wanted. Katie sang, haltingly at first, the piece she’d last sung, an inane song titled “Drinking Your Troubles Away.”

  He pulled out of her anus and penetrated her vagina, matching his thrust to the rhythm of the song. “Better—you must do better, louder!” he shouted.

  Crushed against the barrel, her arm pulled up behind her, it was difficult to fill her lungs and belt out the song, but she did her best, lifting her voice higher and fuller.

  Then it was over. A draft was cooling her bare behind as his seed spilled out of her and ran down her legs. The door was open and he was gone. But the world beyond the door was too frightening, for he was out there, somewhere.

  Katie remained against the barrel, retreating from consciousness, until Barbara Olesen discovered her some time later and helped her to fix her skirts and regain her composure. As they were leaving the storeroom, Katie kicked an object with a shuffling step. Something red with white metal fittings slid into view on the floor.

  The barmaid stooped to pick it up. “You dropped your cigarette case,” she said.

  Katie accepted it and put it in a pocket.

  Chapter 21:A Printed Calling Card

  Katie didn’t return to The Black Anchor for two weeks. Emma and family were sympathetic, but Katie was left to take care of herself during the day as everyone in the household had daytime responsibilities.

  Rebecca came to see her,
but didn’t stay long. She said that no one at the tavern remembered seeing the man.

  Perhaps it didn’t really happen.

  The aches and pains would not allow the denial for long. Lumps and bruises on her head were the least of her troubles. Two days after the rape, Katie began to feel an incessant need to urinate, but had difficulty doing so. When she succeeded, there was an intense burning sensation and the flow contained blood. As the week progressed, she spent much of her time in bed, but increasingly more time on the privy out back. As she sat, waiting for relief, she pressed the second finger of her right hand into her thimble until it hurt to distract herself from the pain.

  Angrily, she plucked at her regret, shame, resentment and self pity, trying to tease out the loose ends and unravel the tangle of her thoughts. But the more she plucked, the more the tangle rolled around, presenting the same thoughts and feelings over and over and exposing her rage.

  She revised her memory of the rape to allow her to pull her sharp table knife from its pocket and slam it into the rapist’s face over and over. But it was merely a fantasy. He had got away with it. Nothing could change that.

  Then the anger turned.

  I chose him! Foolish. Poor judge of character. Too daft to leave it in the hands of the barmaids. Shouldn’t be on my own.

  Her voice had somehow provoked him to rape her. Perhaps because she drew attention publicly, she had brought it all upon herself.

  Everyone at The Black Anchor knew what happened even if no one saw the man. Along with the shame of that, a dread gripped her that she would never sing again without thinking of what happened, thinking about him.

  I cannot go back. If I return to sing at The Four Winds, it will happen again.

  Wasn’t Conway warning me about this? Life with him was good most of the time. He was cold-hearted, but still a decent man. He would take me back. I could go home. I must try.