Jack the Ripper Victims Series: The Double Event

by Alan M. Clark

  The decision was firm, if unsatisfactory, until suddenly it was not.

  Foolish thoughts! My singing is nothing but a pleasure. No one need suffer for it.

  The criminal not only took her sexually, he violated her singing as well.

  I could not have known. His kindly face was part of a deception. He was hunting and I fell into his trap, nothing more.

  If I allow his violation to take this from me, I make his cruel act whole and complete. I can’t do that.

  The decision was made mid-afternoon, leaving enough time for her to get ready to go to work. Katie prepared quickly, dressing and eating a small meal. She drank little liquid with it to prevent the intense need to relieve herself on the walk to The Black Anchor.

  Emma came home as Katie was leaving. “I saw your Conway at market today. He said he was looking for you, wants you to come home. If he’ll have you back, perhaps it’s time.”

  Katie shook her head. She had almost succeeded in bargaining with herself a return to her old life, but she still had her singing. No good reason existed for Conway to be strolling through the markets where her sister bought her goods. Had Mr. Matthews sent Emma looking for him? None of it mattered.

  “I have to get to work or I’ll be late,” she said and hurried on.

  Katie immediately used one of the outhouse privies in the back before entering The Black Anchor. Inside, Mr. Poulton saw her and approached. “If you’d stayed out longer, I’d’ve had to sack you,” he said sternly.

  Katie frowned and looked away.

  “But I’m glad you’re back,” he said, squinting at her comically. “You were missed.”

  Katie smiled.

  “I called on Victoria to take your place tonight, but she won’t mind giving it up. She didn’t want to come in anyway.”

  Katie thanked him and entered The Four Winds. As Mr. Poulton suggested, Victoria was happy to go home. Katie got a glass of water to place on the small table in the corner, took up her position and, when the time came for her to start, she was ready to sing.

  The pressure her diaphragm placed on her bladder as she sang caused her voice to emerge with more force, slightly higher in pitch and with greater volume. Katie struggled to control her breathing to relieve the pressure and discovered new, more effective ways to modulate her voice. She carefully sipped water between songs, taking enough to moisten her throat against the bitter, smoke-charged air, but not so much that she added to the problem of having to frequently relieve herself. Even so, after every few songs Katie endured the disappointment of her audience as she took a break to visit the privy. Each time she was gone for so long, Katie feared she’d lost the tavern its patrons, but when she returned the same faces were at the tables, along with new ones. They applauded her return like never before. Her head was held high and her heart beat with renewed hope as she stepped away from her corner during a scheduled break.

  Rebecca approached. “There’s a man named Carver wanting to meet you and buy you a drink. He’s in the tavern proper. He’s a booking agent who has the ear of the promoters at Wilton’s in Whitechapel. He got them to hire Ellen Byrn, Marie Courtenay and Alice Hurley.”

  Katie froze as she listened to Rebecca, her flesh tingling with excitement. The names meant little, but she would meet with anyone who could help her.

  Rebecca looked at her expectantly.

  Katie had stopped breathing. She shook herself and gulped a breath. “Yes, take me to him,” she said urgently.

  She took deep, even, calming breaths as she followed Rebecca through the crowded tavern, weaving between the tables filled with jovial and raucous patrons, toward the front of the establishment. She split her lip chewing on it and had to decide to leave it alone. Rebecca was not moving swiftly enough. Katie looked to the left and right, craned her neck to see beyond her guide’s taller head and shoulders, trying to get her first look at the man. Finally Rebecca stopped, gestured toward a gentleman seated alone at a table by the front window, then she walked away.

  He faced the window, watching her reflection as she approached, his features reflected in the glass slowly coming into focus; sandy blonde hair, round cheeks and crooked nose. She froze not five feet away from him.

  Did he watch me again tonight? Should I tell Mr. Poulton the criminal is here? Would I be believed since no one saw him?

  “If you want to move from here to the music hall,” he said, his deep voice calm and reasonable. “You’ll have to talk to me.”

  Katie had been ready to bolt, but he’d caught her attention, and better, he cast a bright spark into her imagination with only the one sentence. The world outside her experience, beyond her imagination, shifted suddenly, and she found herself moving with it and considering something unthinkable as she asked herself how much she wanted to sing in a music hall.

  “Come and sit,” he said. “I’ve bought you a whiskey.” He stood and pulled out a chair for her. “My name is Frank Carver. I’m very much interested in your singing.” He offered her a calling card, with his name and address printed on it.

  He has no fear of being revealed.

  Nothing but appearance suggested he was the man who had raped and beaten her. It must be his twin brother. No, the violent man was here. He could be that man in an instant.

  Still, the spark he’d cast had lit a fire in her mind. Katie imagined the response she’d got from tonight’s audience multiplied by twenty or more in a high-ceilinged hall with proper lights and musicians to support her voice.

  She sat down.

  “Wilton’s in Whitechapel could use a voice like yours,” Mr. Carver said.

  Katie tried to look at him and smile, but could manage only a glance. Questions about the possibilities and the process of being hired by Wilton’s occurred to her, but she couldn’t find her voice.

  Out of sight beneath the table top, Katie’s hands felt around in her pockets—nothing but fidgeting perhaps, caused by her agitated state.

  How can he make pleasant conversation with me after what he did, as if none of it happened? Does he think what he’s done is acceptable because of his influence?

  “You are interested in such a situation, aren’t you?” Mr. Carver sounded impatient. He lit a cigar, and then a candle-lamp on the table which he slid over next to Katie. “Please look at me,” he said.

  Her right hand found the thimble in her pocket. Catherine would not approve of what she was doing, but she had given her the thimble for protection of a sort, and it had always brought Katie comfort. By reaching inside with a finger to touch the silver, she touched her mother.

  She coughed several times, then took a deep, steadying breath and looked him in the eye. Despite the composed and handsome figure he cut, his features were anger and violence. In exchange for his help, she would endure his brutality again and again.

  Even so, she managed to smile brightly for him. He smiled back around the glowing ember of his cigar, an expression meant to engender confidence, and it worked, for Katie finally found her voice. “I would be pleased to be considered by the promoters at Wilton’s.”

  “We’ll have to get you over there straight away.” Mr. Carver placed his hand on her thigh and she flinched, but he had no reaction and left his hand there. “You have a great voice, and it must be getting better by the moment, for the first performance I attended was good, but nothing compared to what I heard tonight.”

  “Do you mean my performance in the store room?” Katie asked, an edge of accusation in her tone. She didn’t know why she’d said it and immediately regretted it. Somehow her mouth had betrayed her. The question reminded her of the sort of sarcastic scorn Catherine used to give her when Katie was dissembling.

  Mr. Carver removed his hand from her thigh, took the cigar out of his mouth and leaned back, staring hard at her for a moment.

  Katie stared back with equal intensity, her features set in a subtle expression of defiance. Her anger got the better of her again, but it felt good and she couldn’t help it. Still, she wa
nted to sing in a music hall, and this was her chance. Surely she could control herself long enough to win the prize.

  “If you don’t get work through me,” Mr. Carver said coldly, “you’ll never make it to the music halls. I’ll see to that.”

  Katie swallowed hard, then looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry,” she said, struggling against disgust and outrage. “I do want this.”

  Mr. Carver shifted the candle lamp from side to side, examining Katie’s face. Awaiting his response, she froze, caught between conflicting desires.

  “You gave me a cold look and it revealed your age,” he said. “Too bad I didn’t meet you ten years ago.”

  Nonplussed, Katie’s mouth opened to speak the words that would turn the conversation back in a more favorable direction. But what might they be? None came to mind.

  “The music halls need much younger talent. Now that I see you more clearly, I know mere makeup will not be enough.”

  No, it’s only my voice that matters, her mind screamed, but they were not the right words and so could not find their way out.

  “Oh,” Mr. Carver said, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. “I dropped my cigarette case, perhaps in the store room. Did you happen to find it?”

  Stunned by his callousness, Katie could only shake her head slowly, stupidly, and then she was still. Mr. Carver looked at her frozen features for a moment and chuckled.

  “Too bad. It was a gift.” He got up abruptly and walked out of The Black Anchor, leaving Katie sitting before the glass of whiskey he’d bought her. The haze of his cigar smoke remained, hanging over her like a pall.

  I’m too old. I waited too long. All those wasted years waiting for Conway to change. He knew all along my hope would rape me.

  And all the time spent defending Annie’s childhood so her life would be better. And for what—two shillings when I need so much more? Her life is better, but mine…. The bitterness toward Annie could not be helped, but it burned a hole in her heart.

  Katie pulled at the threads of her regret and resentment, but it only made her head ache. The stitches were too tight, too deep, and tied off so neatly they would never come undone.

  Katie couldn’t face it, and the whiskey offered a way out, an escape craved for years. She would drink it and order another and then another until she was insensible, oblivious to the pain that gripped head and heart. Rebecca would see that she got home all right. Tomorrow she would take the long walk back to Conway. If he did want her, so much the better. If not, she’d beg him to take her back.

  Katie wiped the tears from her eyes. Then she raised the glass of whiskey to her lips at the moment Conway entered the front door of the tavern, not ten feet away.

  He saw her and stopped dead in his tracks, a smile beginning to frame his lips. But it didn’t spread.

  Paralyzed with astonishment, Katie still held the drink to her mouth. The fumes stung her nose.

  Conway’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene.

  I haven’t yet taken the drink! I’ll tell him what happened.

  But she didn’t move. She wanted the whiskey.

  Conway’s expression made it clear that he knew what she was drinking, and that it was too late.

  No! I’ll explain everything...and…

  His mouth tightened in disgust.

  …and…he’ll never believe me!

  Without a word, Conway turned on his heels and walked out of The Black Anchor.

  The door to her old life closed forever.

  Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and tumbled from her upper lip into the drink. Still, she didn’t move, breathing in the fumes. The liquor’s smell of death and decay suggested the swift passage of time and the healing of wounds.

  Finally, she tipped her head back and swallowed her tears with the whiskey.

  Chapter 22:A Tooth Comb and a Large White Handkerchief

  Since the night Conway turned his back on her at The Black Anchor, she’d been unable to live without alcohol to dull the sharp edges of life. After that first drink, the desire for more had not left her, and there was never enough. While there had been much hunger and privation in her life, never had she experienced such nagging urgency to earn the price of more.

  She had not gone back to The Black Anchor. Her drinking was the excuse Mr. Matthews needed to justify her expulsion from his home. Emma unhappily accepted his decision.

  Her first drunken binge lasted nearly a month, during which she stayed in the casual ward of the Bermondsey workhouse. The task-mistress was a hard woman who had Katie scrubbing cells day and night. The labour and conditions were so harsh, Katie was compelled to make a change. She cleaned herself up and took the long walk to her daughter’s home, carrying everything she owned with her, rolled into a blanket.

  on the door, and as she waited, she thought of how best to present herself. She straightened her clothing and knocked the soil off her boots. Despite the back pain she suffered from the hard labor, she struggled to stand straight and tall. She tried out several types of smiles and finally abandoned them all. When the door open abruptly, she let out a startled cry.

  “Mum, you look terrible,” Annie said.

  Katie knew it was the truth and she couldn’t pretend otherwise. She broke down in tears and hugged Annie. “Please take me in.” she said.

  “Yes, of course, do come in.” Annie led Katie into the house to a small parlor.

  They were seated and Katie gathered herself together. “No,” she said, “I mean please take me in. I have nowhere to go. I’ve come from the workhouse.”

  Annie’s face expressed horror and she said nothing for a time.

  She’s reacting to me the way I did to my sisters when they came from the workhouse. She won’t want to have anything to do with me.

  Annie’s look of disbelief changed to one of understanding and sympathy. “Yes,” she said finally.

  Excitement sent Katie into a coughing fit, but she suppressed it to hear what her daughter was saying.

  “Mr. Phillips will accept it if you’re here to take care of me. I never fully recovered from the illness I had when you were last here. There’s much I still can’t do around the house. Don’t you worry. Let’s get you settled.”

  Katie had dreamed long ago that in her declining years, Annie would embrace her and keep her, making her old age tolerable. She would be eased gently from life to join Catherine in peace. A wave of relief washed over Katie and engulfed her. Then she was rising back up out of darkness.

  Annie stood over her, fanning her with a newspaper. “Mum, are you all right?”

  “Yes, I…I haven’t eaten well for some time.”

  Annie fed her mother and prepared a bath for her. When Katie was finished, Annie settled her in an upstairs room with a bed, wash basin, a flannel, hand towel and a tooth comb.

  Mr. Phillips was clearly not pleased that evening when he got home and heard Annie’s plan. Katie remained in her room, listening to their argument downstairs. With time, their raised voices became quieter as if an agreement had been reached. Katie didn’t suffer the suspense long before Annie came up to see her.

  “It’s settled,” she said. “You’ll stay and attend to my needs.”

  Katie smiled and clutched Annie’s hands. “Thank you.” She shook and Annie held her.

  When Katie was calmer, Annie leaned back and produced a tight smile. “Mr. Phillips is most concerned about drinking. We heard about what happened in Bermondsey.”

  “I will not—” Katie started, but Annie cut her off.

  “I told him I’d never known you to take a drink, that the circumstances had been extraordinary, and that if you did it in the future, just as he does, it would be in moderation and for good health.”

  Katie nodded her head, but remained silent. She craved a drink, but had decided that she must give it up. With the new opportunity, the comfort of a fine home, a warm bed and the love of family, it shouldn’t be difficult.

  ~~~

  Before the week w
as out, Katie had found a bottle of Mr. Phillip’s sherry while she was getting the dishes out of a cabinet to serve dinner. She returned to the cabinet the next day while cleaning house.

  Any reasonable person could take just one swallow to relax, she told herself firmly. I’ll have that and no more.

  In the afternoon of the next day, after sweeping out the downstairs, she came back to the bottle and had another, larger swallow. The warm feeling spreading out from her belly provided a deep feeling of wellbeing.

  An hour later, Annie decided to lie down for a nap until Mr. Phillips arrived home at supper time. Katie went back for more sherry, and then still more. With each drink, it became easier to justify the next.

  Then she was being awakened by Mr. Phillips. “Where’s Annie?”

  Katie almost fell out of her chair. The bottle of sherry, nearly empty, slipped from her grasp, hit the floor and rolled until it struck Mr. Phillip’s shoe and stopped.

  “I’m here,” came Annie’s sleepy voice from the stairs.

  “There’s no supper,” he said, stooping to pick up the bottle.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Annie paused, taking in the scene. “Oh, Mum,” she said.

  “Tomorrow,” Mr. Phillips said, “your mother will go home to Mr. Conway.”

  The dream has come and gone so quickly. Katie was numb, and then she was afraid of the street, the workhouse, herself.

  ~~~

  She didn’t understand how it could have happened. She stood outside the front door of her daughter’s house the next morning, saying goodbye.

  Mr. Phillips had little to say and had gone back in. Annie kept talking about Conway, but Katie wasn’t listening.

  Why can’t I drink only a little, like the countless people in the world who take just enough and no more? How had she failed to control herself when the dream of her declining years was at stake? She could hardly blame Mr. Phillips and Annie for their reaction. Still, it hurt, for Annie didn’t stand up for her.

  Shouldering her blanket full of possessions, Katie wept.

  “I’m sorry, Mum,” Annie said. “Please go home to Papa.” She pressed a white handkerchief into her mother’s hand as she sent her away. Walking toward the East, Katie began to cough. As she wiped her mouth and nose with the handkerchief, she discovered the coins that were hidden in its folds, a crown, and a florin.