Under cover of the gloom of the late hour, Ettie edged along the railings of the adjoining houses, then slipped silently down the area stairs and huddled in the space under the cold iron steps by the entrance door to the big basement kitchen.
Celia had assured Ettie that she was in the house alone, but she was not prepared to take any risks; she would wait until daylight and then she would go upstairs and call at the front door. But, for now, the shadowy depths of the area would have to serve as her bed. She pulled her shawl closer about her and curled herself up against the chilly darkness while she waited for the dawn to break. She’d slept in worse places.
It took a moment for Celia to remember that she was in the blissful position of being totally alone in the big, empty house. She yawned slowly, lifting her chin and stretching her neck until she felt the muscles pull tight. She threw back the covers and went over to the window. As she dragged back the curtains she squinted in the bright morning light – such a contrast to the night before. The sun was forcing its way through the last of the autumn dampness, and was drying the dew from the leaves of the potted shrubs and flowers which stood at the foot of the steps of all the houses in the square.
She slipped into her wrap and padded softly downstairs into the big kitchen to boil water for tea.
It was all so wonderful: there was no one – not her father, not Smithson, not even a scullery maid – to bother her. She held her wrap round her and leaned forward to pull the big iron handle beside the range that opened the flue, then she shot some coals from the scuttle into the hopper and set the kettle on the hottest plate to heat up. Celia smiled to herself, remembering fondly how, as a young girl, she had objected so strongly when her mother had insisted that she should know how to look after herself. ‘You’ll never know when you might need such knowledge,’ her wise and caring mother had said to her. She had protested – very loudly – that she wasn’t a scullery maid. But, as with so many other things, and at other times, her mother had proved to be right. Celia sighed. If only she were here with her now…
She made sure that the fire was blazing in the big cast-iron belly of the range, then went over to the basement window to look up at what promised to grow into a brilliant blue sky. But, before she had even glimpsed the narrow patch of heavens above her Celia’s mouth dropped open in alarm. There, outside in the area, folded up in a tight bundle, squeezed between the basement window-ledge and the iron stairs which led down from the square above, was what looked like a young woman sleeping.
Celia picked up the poker from the plain, workmanlike companion set which stood next to the range, and silently crept back to the window. When she was sure that the girl was still asleep, she turned the key softly in the lock and threw open the door.
The sound of the squeaking hinge made both young women scream as though they had been set upon, but the sight of one another – Ettie looking up from her makeshift bed on the cold, damp stone and Celia standing over her brandishing the long, blackened poker – was enough to silence them both immediately.
Chapter 33
Jacob rubbed his neck with warily searching fingertips – it ached badly. He felt as though he had slept in a cellar with coal for his pillow rather than in the big, wide bed he shared with Ettie.
Ettie.
The whole, awful ordeal of the night before came flooding back to him. With a slowness that came from cramped, unrested limbs, Jacob heaved himself out of bed and eased himself into his brocade robe and slippers.
‘Ettie?’ he called softly before entering the sitting room – as much to test her reaction to spending the night propped up in an armchair as to see whether she was awake yet.
There was no reply.
‘Ettie?’ he tried her name again. And again.
Within minutes of waking, Jacob was dressed, out of the house, and on his way to Whitechapel.
Jacob had no sooner ducked into the dank tunnel of an archway that led into Tyvern Court than Maisie Bury’s wide frame was blocking his way forward.
‘And what do you want?’ she demanded, solidly planting her boots wide apart; there would be no slipping past her, if she had anything to do with it.
‘Maisie,’ he said – a bit too smoothly for her liking, but she was still taken aback that he’d remembered her name. ‘I’m so pleased to see you. I need your help.’
‘Aw yeah?’ she said suspiciously. ‘And why’s that then? You in trouble or something?’
‘No,’ he didn’t bother to express anger at her assumption. ‘I’m looking for Ettie. I thought that perhaps you…’
‘Looking for Ettie? What d’yer mean? She’s staying with you, ain’t she, at your place over by Vicky Park?’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said, failing to hide his irritation. ‘But, you see, we had a little, what would you say? A tiff. And now I can’t find her.’ ‘And you thought she might be here, eh?’ Maisie put her fists firmly on her broad hips.
Jacob stepped towards her.
‘All right, moosh,’ she said cautiously. ‘Keep your distance.’ Jacob backed away a couple of paces. ‘I was hoping to get out into the fresh air. It’s a little musty in here.’
‘D’yer think so?’
‘Yes. And I am very anxious to get on and find Ettie.’
‘Anxious, eh?’ said May, infuriatingly slowly.
‘Yes. Very,’ he replied evenly. ‘Now, please, do you have any idea where she might be?’
‘Do you?’ she asked him in return.
‘I thought that she might have come back here.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘To visit her mother.’
‘She wouldn’t do that, would she? Not now Sarah’s lodger turned up again.’
Jacob scratched the side of his nose and said casually, ‘I wondered if she might be looking for your brother.’
‘Our Billy, yer mean?’
‘Yes. Billy. Where do you think I might find him?’
‘You sure, mate?’ snorted Maisie scornfully. ‘I don’t think he’s all that keen on you.’
Maisie’s eyes flicked away from Jacob and she seemed to be focusing on something in the distance.
The sound of approaching footsteps suddenly broke the silence and echoed though the tunnelled, dripping archway.
Maisie broke into a beaming, brown-toothed grin. ‘Looks like yer in luck,’ she said, indicating with a lift of her chin that Jacob should look behind him. ‘Here’s our Billy boy now.’
As Jacob turned around to look, Maisie spoke to her brother. ‘Billy,’ she said. ‘Yer just in time. The Professor here’s upset Ettie and she’s gone and run off. Now he’s out looking for her.’
Jacob didn’t even see Billy raise his fist before it hit him directly under the chin and lifted him clean off his feet.
‘You’ll never guess who’s been round the court asking about Ettie,’ Maisie screeched as she burst into the Frying Pan. ‘And what our Billy done to him? Yer should have seen it. What a carry-on.’
‘Sod your Billy,’ protested one of the market porters drinking at the bar. ‘Shut that bleed’n door. It’s cold enough to freeze yer arse off out there.’
Maisie glowered at the man and then slammed the door, dramatically causing a sharp draught which sent sparks and splutters from the fire dancing into the already smoke-filled room.
‘Come and sit yerself down, May,’ said Florrie. ‘And for gawd’s sake, girl, sort yerself out. Calm down and talk a bit sodding slower. I can’t make head nor tail of what yer going on about.’
It might have been cold outside in the brisk autumn air, but Maisie was sweating from the exertion of making the short run from Tyvern Court to the pub. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve, took a deep breath, and settled herself down at the table.
‘Well?’ Ivy asked, mugging at Florrie. ‘Spit it out then, if yer gonna tell us.’
Florrie giggled at Ivy with a surprising girlishness, then said to May: ‘Yeah, go on, Maise. Cough it up, girl.’
Maisie first glared at Ivy, making it cl
ear that she considered her a mouthy little upstart, then she spoke directly to Flo.
‘It was only that Professor bloke creeping about. That’s all,’ she said, with a quick look over her shoulder and with a self-satisfied smugness that suggested only she and her confidantes would have access to the whole fascinating business. ‘Protsky.’ She lowered her voice, and was now almost silently mouthing the words. ‘You know, the posh one she went to live with in Bow. That’s who. See what I mean?’
‘No,’ said Ivy bluntly, shaking her head. ‘I don’t see. I don’t get it at all, in fact. What was he doing round here asking about her, if she lives with him in Bow?’
‘Blimey,’ said May sadly to Florrie. ‘Is she thick, or what?’
‘You ain’t making yerself all that plain,’ Florrie replied, patting Ivy’s hand and winking at her affectionately.
Maisie tutted. ‘They had what you might call a right old ding-dong, by all accounts. And he, Jacob – the Professor, that is – must’ve chucked her out. Or she’s done a moonlight on him. Cos he was round here, right early, before Billy’d even left for work this morning. See, he’d gone to fetch a screw of tea for a brew-up before he left for Reed’s…’
‘Blimey, you don’t half go on, May. You gonna get on with it or what?’ This time Ivy’s tone was too cocky even for the indulgent Florrie’s liking.
‘Go on May,’ said Flo gently. ‘Tell us.’
May narrowed her eyes scornfully at Ivy and sighed loudly. ‘I dunno if I want to tell yer now,’ she said sulkily.
‘Course yer do,’ said Flo placatingly, glaring warningly at Ivy, who didn’t seem in the least bit moved by the reprimand.
Maisie took a long, leisurely moment to arrange her skirts, as though she was considering whether to share her story; but she was never one to keep a secret, and was soon back in full, gabbling flow. ‘The thing is, he reckons he’s looking for her.’
‘Looking for her?’ Ivy shouted the words so loudly that the whole bar fell into silence. ‘I bet that’s just a cover-up. I bet the bastard’s done her in. Moollered her.’ She sniggered. ‘That’ll put paid to all your Billy’s big ideas.’
Before Ivy had a chance to duck, the Bury temper let fly and Maisie whacked her full across the chops with the flat of her hand.
Ivy burst into offended and pained tears. ‘She really hurt me, Flo,’ she grizzled. ‘Them great big hands of yours. Yer should work in the bloody slaughterhouse.’
‘Aw, shut yer gob, yer wicked little mare,’ said May, closer to tears than she wanted anyone to know, and stormed out of the pub, leaving Florrie to comfort the snivelling girl.
‘Sometimes I wish I’d never left the farm,’ Ivy wailed.
Unusually for her, Florrie spoke quietly with her head bowed. ‘Yer think yer’d be better off back down in Essex than here in Whitechapel with me?’
‘I might be,’ she sobbed, dabbing gingerly at the red, handshaped weal on her cheek.
‘What with all them swede-bashers?’ Florrie wrapped her arm tenderly round Ivy’s heaving shoulders.
‘Dunno.’
Florrie lifted the edge of her torn and ragged shawl and wiped away the tears from Ivy’s cheeks and the long trail of snot which hung from her runny nose. ‘Where would you go–not back to that spiteful cow you worked for before?’
‘I was thinking about it,’ said Ivy, looking up at Flo through her tears. ‘If she’d take me back. Specially since all these murders.’ She sniffed loudly and ran her nose along her sleeve leaving a shiny trail on the dull cloth. ‘It’s all getting a bit much. And now that rotten bitch’s hit me.’
‘Don’t make too much of it, Ivy love,’ said Florrie, her face full of concern. ‘It was a little slap, that’s all. Yer’d have known it if she’d really meant it. She’d have knocked yer head right off yer bleed’n shoulders if she had.’
Ivy pouted sulkily.
‘Yer’ve gotta see it from May’s point of view, darling. She’s worried about Ettie. We look out for our own round here. I thought yer’d have learnt that much about us by now.’
‘I have, Flo,’ said Ivy, and put her hand gently up to Florrie’s wrinkled and grimy face. ‘And that’s why I’ve stayed here rather than go back to the farm, I suppose.’
‘Good girl,’ said Florrie, cuddling her close. ‘That’s what I like to hear.’
‘Murders or not,’ Ivy added, with a brave attempt at a smile. ‘I’d rather take me chance here in Whitechapel with people who care.’
Chapter 34
Celia handed Ettie a steaming cup of hot milk. “There, drink that,’ she said. ‘You must be chilled to the marrow.’
Ettie took the drink gratefully, cradling it in both hands to warm her frozen fingers. ‘It’s getting better out there now the sun’s broken through, but it was a bit parky in the night. Really damp and horrible.’
‘Wait, before you drink it.’ Celia disappeared into the big, double-doored pantry in the far corner of the kitchen and reappeared with a bottle of brandy. She topped up Ettie’s drink with a generous measure of the spirit. ‘Now try it.’
Ettie sipped at the warming liquid, then looked up at Celia and smiled. ‘This’ll put the life back into me.’
‘You sit and finish your milk and I’ll make us some breakfast,’ Celia said, her face glowing with delight. She looked for all the world like a child who had just opened her stocking on Christmas morning.
‘I didn’t expect you to be able to do all this sort of thing,’ said Ettie from her place at the long kitchen table. She watched, fascinated, as Celia managed with ease the various pots, pans and dishes on the big, cast-iron range. ‘I’m impressed. I thought you’d have a staff like an army in a house this size.’
Celia looked pleased with the compliment as she glanced over her shoulder at Ettie. ‘Well, it’s nothing very impressive that I’m preparing, I’m afraid.’ She put down the wooden spatula she was using, resting it against the edge of a wide iron skillet in which four mutton chops sputtered and sizzled, then she brushed her still undressed mass of fair curls from her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘Just a few chops, some kidneys, and a couple of eggs,’ she said, returning her attention to the sizzling pans on the range. ‘I’m sure I told you, the servants are away with my father. That’s why I’m looking after myself for a few days.’
‘I remember, but I suppose I was just a bit surprised that they’ve all gone and left you,’ said Ettie pleasantly, looking round at her surroundings. ‘All alone to rattle around in this huge place.’
‘But I’m not alone now, Ettie,’ Celia said without turning to look at her. ‘I have you with me.’
Ettie wiped the plate clean with yet another slice of bread and then pushed it away from her with a contented sigh. ‘Well, if you ever have to go out to work you could get a job as a cook anywhere. I’d give you a reference.’
‘I’m so pleased you enjoyed it,’ said Celia, beaming with pleasure. ‘Now, let’s go upstairs to the drawing room. I’ll light the fire and we can drink our tea in comfort.’
Celia put all the tea things on a silver tray and Ettie followed her up the back staff stairs until they came to a green baize-covered door. Celia pushed it open with her shoulder and led Ettie out into a high-ceilinged, circular hall.
‘This is beautiful,’ murmured Ettie, trying to take it all in. ‘That chandelier, I’ve never seen anything so…’
‘Sparkling?’ asked Celia with a happy grin.
Ettie nodded and grinned back at her.
‘Come on,’ said Celia, ‘before I drop this lot. I haven’t quite got a butler’s skills with a tea-tray yet.’
They walked up the curving, thickly carpeted main stairway to the first floor, where Celia nodded towards one of the doors which opened off the landing. ‘That’s the one. Can you open it for me?’ Ettie stepped forward and turned the huge brass doorknob. Her mouth opened as she took her first glimpse of the room. The whole of the wall opposite seemed to be made from tall, elegantly curtained w
indows which gave such a clear view of the square below that it was almost as though the wall itself did not exist.
‘I’ve never been in anywhere so bright and so…’ Ettie paused, searching for the right word. ‘So wonderful,’ she added feebly, shrugging her shoulders. ‘I don’t know how else to describe it.’
‘I’m glad you like it,’ said Celia, brushing past her and setting the tea-tray down on a rosewood side-table. ‘This was my mother’s favourite room. All the decoration, the pictures, vases, everything, were planned by her. She used to sit here, surrounded by flowers, and read. She always preferred this room to the library. She loved light and fresh air. Sometimes she’d play the piano for me.’ Celia sighed softly, went over to the fire and bent down to light the kindling wood which was quickly blazing. Then she flicked her thick fair hair back over her shoulders, lit a taper from the flames, and put it to the spirit warmer under the silver kettle by the hearth.
‘You miss your mother, don’t you, Celia?’ said Ettie gently.
‘Did she tell you that?’ she asked in a subdued whisper, her eyes fixed on the hissing blue flame.
Ettie frowned, confused for a moment, before she realised that Celia was referring to her supposed psychic powers. ‘No, no,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I could tell from your face, and from the way you spoke of her. It would be obvious to anyone how you feel.’
Celia nodded. ‘I see,’ she said, straightening up. ‘You pour yourself some tea. I won’t be a moment.’ She left Ettie alone to marvel at the sumptuous room.
‘You ought to see this little lot, Jacob Protsky,’ Ettie said out loud to herself as she added milk to her cup.
When Celia returned, she was no longer in her night things, but was wearing an elegant lilac day dress. Her hair was pinned up into a smoothly neat roll.
The Whitechapel Girl Page 36