Ettie crossed the busy junction at the end of Leman Street and made her way along Commercial Street and on towards Brick Lane. She yawned loudly. Her head ached from tiredness, from the after-effects of the sleeping draught and, worst of all, from the madness of the last few days. The last thing she needed or expected was a child’s shrill voice yelling her name.
‘Ett! Over here! It’s me, Tommy!’
She looked across the street and there, in the queue outside the fried-fish shop on the corner of Flower and Dean Street, stood young Tommy Bury, waving his arms at her like a sailor signalling his distress on a sinking ship.
‘Hello, Tom,’ she said, going over to him, pleased, despite her exhaustion, to see his familiar, freckled face. ‘I bet Myrtle don’t know you’re out this late.’
‘Yer wanna worry about yerself,’ said Tommy, imitating the bravura of his older brothers. ‘Yer must have heard about all the murders what’s been happening round here.’ He hooked his thumbs under his braces and pulled himself up to his full four feet ten. ‘Us blokes are all right, it’s you girls what wanna worry.’
Ettie pinched his cheek affectionately. ‘Don’t worry about me, love,’ she said.
Tommy’s face coloured blood-red – a family trait of the redheaded Burys – and he looked round hurriedly to check that Ettie’s petting him hadn’t been noticed by any of his mates who might be passing by.
‘I’m just waiting for ’em to do another pan of chips,’ he said, keen to change the subject. ‘I’m fetching some fish and taters for two reporter geezers in the Frying Pan.’
‘Reporters? What, from the newspapers?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, from the Globe they are. They’ve been hanging round for a couple of weeks, getting stories from all the old whores about the Old Boy and the horrible murders.’
‘Don’t you be so saucy,’ she said, swiping him round the back of the head.
Tommy grinned up at her and shuffled forward expertly, making sure he left no gap in the queue of which interlopers might take advantage.
‘Do you know if my mum’s lodger’s around, Tom?’ she asked as she rummaged through her bag. As she spoke, she held up what she had been looking for: a shiny silver threepenny bit.
‘I ain’t sure,’ said Tom, eyeing the prize that would be his if he said the right thing. ‘Gives me the real willies that one. Yer see him creeping about down by the meat market. Great big bugger. There was talk that he might have something to do with the murders, yer know?’
‘There’s been too much talk about who the murderer might be if you ask me,’ Ettie replied sternly.
Tommy smiled up at her, the blameless smile of a cherub and asked sweetly, as though it had just occurred to him: ‘Anyway, what d’yer wanna know about him for?’
‘I want to go to Tyvern Court to see me mum, if you must know, nose ointment. If it’s all right with you, of course. And I don’t fancy running into him. Specially this time of night.’
‘I don’t blame yer,’ said Tommy, puffing out his cheeks. ‘I tell yer what, Ettie,’ he added, craftily getting to what he’d intended to say all along. ‘If I fetch our Billy, he could go with yer to make sure yer all right. How would that be?’
Ettie deliberately made a show of considering the proposition for a moment or two. ‘That’d be fine, Tom,’ she said eventually. ‘But you know how early he has to get up for work. He’ll have been in his bed ages.’
‘No he won’t,’ said Tommy confidently. ‘I know where he’ll be. Trouble is though,’ he said with an exaggerated sigh, ‘I’ll have to go and fetch him. It’ll take me a couple of minutes.’ He gazed sadly at the queue. ‘The reporter fellahs usually give me a shilling for running errands for ’em. And they are me regular customers. I’d hate to lose me place and let ’em down. It wouldn’t look good. I might miss out another time.’
Ettie narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You’re just like your Alfie,’ she said. ‘Go on, I’ll give you sixpence and I’ll keep your place in the queue, how’d that be?’
Within five minutes Billy was sprinting along towards Ettie with his little brother trailing behind him calling out for him to wait.
‘Ettie,’ Billy panted. ‘Am I pleased to see you.’ He bent forward, grasping his thighs as he tried to steady his breathing. ‘Yer don’t know how worried we’ve all been.’ He lifted his head to look at her. ‘We’ve been trying to find yer for days. We thought, with all this going on, that, well, that yer might have…’
Ettie reached out and touched him tenderly on his muscled, working-man’s arm. ‘I’m glad you care, Bill. Thanks.’
‘And our Maisie’s been going spare,’ he said, straightening up. ‘Turned out she even went over to Bow looking for yer. And yer know what a lazy mare she is.’
‘I really am sorry. I never realised I was worrying everyone.’ She lifted her chin and kissed him briefly on the lips. ‘Sorry, Bill.’
‘Oi oi,’ mocked the old man standing behind Ettie in the queue. ‘What’s all this then, the entertainment?’
Billy turned round and glared at him, but Tommy interrupted the potential row by racing up to Ettie, coughing loudly, and holding out his hand. ‘I said I’d bring him,’ he reminded her, his hand still outstretched.
‘Here you are, sweetheart,’ she said, and gave him his reward.
Billy flashed his little brother a warning look.
‘It’s all right, Bill. I never asked her for nothing, honest.’
‘Yer better hadn’t have,’ said Billy. ‘Now I’m just gonna have a little stroll and a bit of a chat with Ettie.’
‘That what they call it now?’ mumbled the elderly man sourly, just to show he wasn’t scared of any jumped-up youngsters.
Billy chose to ignore him. ‘You make sure yer don’t wake Mum up when yer get in, Tom,’ he warned his little brother. ‘Or they’ll be hell to pay for all of us.’
Billy took Ettie by the arm and lead her away from the busy pavement outside the fried-fish shop and into Brick Lane. He guided her along until they neared the high, gloomy walls of the brewery. It was darker there and free from prying eyes and ears; there weren’t many people in those parts who chose to walk in the shadows.
‘Ettie,’ he said, taking her gently by the shoulders. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘Come on then,’ she urged him. ‘Spit it out.’ She wasn’t scared of the shadows, but she hated the stink of the brewery; all those years of living so close to it, and yet she’d never got used to the smell.
‘Ettie,’ he said again, and paused. ‘It’s yer mum.’
‘Mum?’
‘Ettie, I’m sorry.’ He wrapped his arms tightly round her.
She pulled away and looked up into his face. ‘You mean she’s dead, don’t you?’
Billy nodded. Then he bowed his head and said, ‘We tried to find you.’
Ettie’s words came out in an expressionless whisper. ‘What happened?’
‘Mum and Ruby went over to see her the day before yesterday. She’d got herself in a state over the rumours that yer’d been, you know, done in, and they found her. She had this clutched in her hand.’ He dug into his trouser pocket and handed Ettie a sheet of paper folded into a small square. “Mum guessed it was for you. She didn’t show it to no one. Not even Ruby. She thought it might be private like. So I’ve been holding on to it for yer. Maisie said she should look after it, but I wanted to.’
Where is she?’ said Ettie, looking at the little square of paper.
‘I’m sorry, Ett,’ he said again. ‘They took her away.’ He hesitated. ‘They put her in a pauper’s grave, Ett. I’m so sorry. It was too late for us to do anything.’
Ettie held up her hand to stop him. ‘It’s not your fault, Bill. I know that.’
She unfolded the paper with trembling hands. It was a note from her mother – rough, ill-formed letters scratched on the tatty piece of paper. It read:
My little Ettie I don’t know if you are dead or alive but I know I am not long
for this world. Before I go I want you to know that I let him stay here because he said he would kill you if I threw him out. Please believe that I did it for you.
You are all I’ve got.
Ettie carefully refolded the note and held it tight in her hand. What happened to him, Bill?’ Her voice was shaking.
‘Who?’
‘The lodger. That bastard slaughterman who was living with her.’
‘Him?’ Billy kicked a stone across the street. ‘He’s still there,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘Moved a young girl and her couple of kids in yesterday.’
‘What? In my mum’s room?’ Her voice rose in anger and she clenched her hands into tight fists. ‘But why? Why is he still there? What does he want?’
‘Because he’s a bully, that’s why. Because he can do what he likes to someone weaker than him. But he won’t be there for much longer. Aw no. You mark my words, Ett. Now he can’t hurt Sarah no more, and now everyone’s seen the callous bastard for what he is, that he wasn’t just another one of the no-goods what Sarah took up with…’ His words stopped. ‘Aw, Ett, I didn’t mean to say that.’
‘That’s all right, Bill,’ she said, shaking her head sorrowfully. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’
‘I asked her loads of times, yer know, if she’d let me get rid of him for her.’
‘Did yer, Bill? I’m pleased. I bet she liked that, knowing she had you caring about her. She always was fond of you.’
‘But she wouldn’t let me do nothing though, would she? I never understood why.’
Ettie stared at the note as she turned it over in her hands. ‘She had her reasons,’ she whispered, and handed it to him.
‘I can’t read, can I?’ he said, shrugging. ‘None of us can, ’cept Tommy.’
Ettie took the note back, closed her eyes for a moment, and then read it to him.
Billy turned round and slammed his hand against the soot-covered bricks of the brewery wall. ‘The bastard!’ Then he grabbed Ettie to him and clung on to her.
‘I know I should be crying, Bill,’ she whispered into his shoulder. ‘But I can’t. I feel like I’ve got a great big heavy stone wedged in my chest and it’s weighing me down.’
‘You ain’t gotta worry about nothing,’ he said, his voice set with fury. ‘Do you hear me?’
Ettie nodded.
‘He’d better watch his back. I’m gonna get Alfie and a mob of the boys from down the market, and I’m gonna make it more than clear that the time’s come for him to sling his hook. I just wish I’d have done it before, that’s all.’
‘No, don’t blame yourself, Bill. You did what she wanted. And it was something she could do for me, as me mum, because she loved me.’ Her shoulders shook as she began to weep, softly at first, then in great gulping sobs. ‘She really did love me, yer know. No matter what she did to me at times, I always knew she loved me.’
‘I love yer and all, Ett,’ he said, pulling her closer to him.
‘I don’t half miss it round here, Bill,’ she said, shuddering with her sobs.
‘I know,’ he soothed her.
‘Sometimes I don’t know why I ever left.’
‘Don’t make it sound too cosy, girl,’ he said, stroking her hair. He bent his head to look down at her as she rested against his chest. ‘You take my word for it, Ett, most of ’em would get out if they could.’
‘And sod all their old mates, like I did, eh Bill?’ she sniffled.
‘Not you, Ett. That’s not what you did. And don’t let no soppy ideas make yer feel guilty about getting on in life. I know it’s what I intend doing.’
Billy took her hand in his great rough paw and led her to the nearest street-light. He wrapped his handkerchief round his fingers, held it out for her to lick, then held her face gently in his other hand while he wiped away the stains of her tears.
‘I was three years old when I first saw someone dead from hunger,’ he said. ‘Down Goulston Street, it was. He was in the gutter like a pile of old rubbish that’d fell off a cart. Me and the other kids all crowded round to have a look. One of the boys – Lukey Wright, you remember him – started kicking at the body. Body? More like a bag of bones it was so thin. But we all laughed. We laughed all right. Laughed till we nearly pissed ourselves. It took me a couple of years to know you only laugh like that when yer scared out of yer wits.’ He breathed deeply. ‘No, Ett, yer don’t wanna be ashamed of getting away from being poor.’
‘You’re a good man, Billy Bury,’ she said. ‘A really good man. If only things had turned out different.’ Ettie felt her eyes brimming with tears again. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I’ll have to be getting off.’
‘I’ll go with yer. Yer can’t walk the streets, it ain’t safe.’
‘I’ll be all right.’
‘No, Ett, yer not. Yer don’t know who or where he might strike next. I ain’t letting yer go wandering off in the dark, and that’s final.’
‘Yer can walk me till I find a cab. How about that?’
‘A cab, eh?’ he said wistfully. ‘Yer really are doing all right for yerself then, helping that Professor geezer.’
The last thing Ettie wanted was to start discussing Jacob, she had enough on her mind, thinking about her poor mum and about Celia. Worrying about Jacob would have to wait its turn.
‘Bill,’ she said through her tears. ‘I’d appreciate yer walking with me. I really would. But I’ll have to go now. I’ve got some things I’ve got to sort out.’
‘And I’ve some few things I wanna sort out before I get to me bed and all.’ He studied his hands. ‘I’d like to tell yer about ’em. Will yer be coming back some time?’
‘Try and stop me,’ she said, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. Then she pulled out the locket he’d given her from inside her blouse.
He grinned with pleasure as she gave him a gentle shove, ‘Come on then, let’s go and find a cab for me. Now, which way are you going?’
‘I’ve gotta go Shoreditch way,’ he said. ‘But I can go whatever way yer like.’
‘That’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll be able to get a cab coming down from Bethnal Green.’
* * *
Billy put two fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing shriek of a whistle. The hansom driver twisted round on his perch to get a look at his would-be customer, then, satisfied that it was a couple and not some black-caped killer, he shook the reins to signal for his horse to turn round. He shrugged down into his greatcoat. What were things coming to, eh, he said to himself, when an honest man had to check who he took in his cab for fear of being murdered.
Billy helped Ettie into her seat and then called up to the driver. ‘Bow, please, cabby, and make sure yer see the lady safely into her front door before yer drive off.’
‘Very sensible, guv,’ he said, touching his hand to his cap. ‘Glad to be of service.’
Billy hesitantly reached into the cab and touched Ettie’s cheek. ‘Look after yerself, Ett,’ he said, and without another word he sprinted off in the direction of Shoreditch.
‘Wait until he’s out of sight,’ Ettie called up to the driver.
The driver waited.
As Billy reached the corner of Montclare Street, he stopped, turned, and waved to her.
‘See yer soon?’ he called hopefully.
‘Get on with you,’ Ettie called back, shooing him on his way with a smile.
‘He wants to get a move on,’ said the driver. ‘That’s no place to hang about. Not by the Old Nichol. Even for a great big bloke like him.’
Ettie squinted in the dark, watching for him to be on his way, then, content that he had indeed done as she’d hoped, she said, ‘You can go now, but not to Bow. I’d like you to take me to Leman Street police station, please driver.’
Ettie stepped through the now familiar double doors of the police station. There was a different young constable at the desk. ‘Can I help you, miss?’ he said, eyeing her appreciatively. ‘Don’t often get ladies like you in here. Special
ly not this time of night.’
‘Ladies like me, eh darling?’
His mouth fell open in astonishment as the elegantly costumed Ettie slipped into her old cockney twang.
‘Well there yer wrong, ain’t yer, darling? I’m from the courts of Whitechapel me – proud of it and all. And I can tell you, compared to what I’ve seen and heard these last few days, I reckon them courts and the people in ’em was bleed’n paradise.’ She sat herself down on the hard, wooden bench. ‘Now, if yer don’t mind, I’m gonna close me eyes and wait till the morning, when I plan to see one of yer guests yer’ve got in the cells.’
Ettie wriggled into the corner and made herself as comfortable as the bench would allow. ‘Good night,’ she said, and shut her eyes, although she knew she wouldn’t sleep – she had a lot of thinking to do, so much on her mind and, until she had the energy to make her peace with Jacob, she had nowhere else to go.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ he protested, lifting the flap and coming round from the other side of the counter. This isn’t some common lodging-house. You want to get yourself down Brick Lane.’ He stood over her. ‘I’ll call the sergeant if you won’t move yourself.’ She opened her eyes. ‘Please yourself, constable,’ she said in the clipped, ladylike tones she’d learned so well from Jacob. ‘But I’m sure that neither Sergeant Miller nor Inspector Grainger would mind me waiting. You can ask them if you like.’ She closed her eyes again. ‘Now shut yer gob up, constable, or yer’ll swallow a bleed’n fly.’
Ettie dozed fitfully on the bench under the watchful eye of Police-Constable Walker. He’d been warned not to disturb Inspector Grainger except in the event of a serious emergency and, summoning all his rather limited experience, he decided that a crazy woman sleeping on a bench did not constitute an emergency. So Walker left Ettie where she was and got on with reading the latest chapter of his serial about the savage natives of the Wild West of America.
The Whitechapel Girl Page 41