The Whitechapel Girl

by The Whitechapel Girl (retail) (epub)

  Ettie folded her arms round the woman and wept. Clinging on to her, she sobbed like a little child.

  ‘That’s all right, sweetheart,’ the woman said, patting Ettie’s back. ‘You cry. You let it all out.’

  Ettie wiped her nose on the back of her hand and smiled down at the woman through her tears. ‘It makes a lot of sense what you said. There’s a lot of things I should do before it’s too late. I’m going to sort my life out.’

  ‘Good for you, girl,’ said the old woman, and smiled back at her.

  Ettie bowed her head and said to the woman, ‘I blamed someone for something she didn’t do. I was stupid and vain. I thought I knew everything. What I should have been doing was listening to what she was really telling me. I don’t intend making the same mistake again. There’s someone I mean to make my peace with.’

  ‘Well,’ said the woman, ‘I’m glad to hear it. Regrets are a terrible thing. They eat you away. But they don’t have to. You’ve got a chance. If you make up your mind you can do something about it, you can try to put things right. Make amends. Still, nice as it is to have a chat,’ she said, ‘this won’t buy the baby a new bonnet, will it? I’ll have to be off now. I’ve got me cleaning jobs to do. Can’t afford to upset your boss nowadays, can yer, sweetheart? Not with work the way it is.’

  Ettie said her goodbyes and stood and watched as the elderly woman made her way painfully towards the gate.

  ‘Wait,’ she called out, and ran to stop the woman before she left the churchyard. Ettie pressed five of the golden sovereigns into her hand. ‘Get yourself a nice warm coat,’ she said. ‘This weather’s bitter.’

  The woman looked at the money. ‘Yer very kind, love, but I don’t need no charity.’

  ‘It’s not charity,’ Ettie said firmly. ‘It’s payment. For good advice.’

  As she made her way along Old Ford Road, Ettie saw Mrs Hawkins walking along ahead of her, just about to cross the bridge. Ettie caught up with her and tapped her on the back.

  Mrs Hawkins turned round. She looked satisfied at seeing her, but not very pleased.

  ‘Mrs H.,’ she said. ‘I was hoping you’d be calling in this morning.’

  ‘Aw yeah,’ said Mrs Hawkins coldly.

  ‘Yes.’ Ettie tried to sound light-hearted. ‘The Professor and I had a bit of a disagreement a couple of days ago. Well, last week, really. And I’ve been staying with a friend. I wanted a bit of moral support when I went back in.’

  Mrs Hawkins stood there, tight-lipped.

  ‘I’m sure you noticed I’ve not been around.’

  ‘Can’t say as I have, actually,’ said Mrs Hawkins, eyeing her knowingly. ‘I’ve not been around for a few days myself, yer see.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘No,’ she said primly. ‘I’ve been speaking to Mr H. and we’ve decided, the two of us, like. That what with all the–’ she looked over her shoulder and then mouthed – ‘trouble going on… Well.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘We decided I should terminate my employment with the Professor. That’s why I’m on my way there now, to tell him. Mr H. wanted to come with me, but I said, don’t you worry yourself about me, I said. Let him lay one finger on me and I’ll have that bread knife to his throat.’ She fiddled with her hat pin and said, without much conviction: ‘Nothing against you, dearie, of course. It’s just, what with the gentleman being so foreign and everything, Mr H. don’t like it. There’s talk about the Ripper being of a foreign persuasion, yer.’

  Ettie said quietly, ‘So I’ve heard.’

  They made the last part of their journey in silence.

  Ettie unlocked the front door and called along the passageway, ‘Jacob. Jacob, it’s me. Ettie. I’ve got Mrs Hawkins here with me.’

  Loathe as she was to admit it – even to herself – Ettie was more than glad to have Mrs Hawkins with her, and not only because she would help break what would otherwise be a difficult atmosphere between Jacob and her.

  As they walked into the sitting room, Mrs Hawkins peered round Ettie’s shoulder.

  ‘No sign of him,’ she said, stating what was obvious to both of them. ‘Must be out.’

  Ettie went into the bedroom, then the kitchen, and then the bathroom.

  ‘Not like him to be out this time of the morning,’ said Mrs Hawkins wisely. ‘Don’t look like he’s been home all night, if you ask me. In fact I wonder if he’s…’ The words stopped as she spotted the letter on the mantelpiece. ‘Here look,’ she said, taking down the envelope. ‘It’s a letter. What does it say?’

  Ettie took the letter from her with trembling hands. ‘It’s addressed to me,’ she said. She, who had never had so much as a note before now, had had three in such a short time: the one from her mother, then the one from Celia, and now this. She dreaded what bad news this one would contain.

  ‘Here, I bet he’s gone and done a moonlight.’ Mrs Hawkins’ face lit up at the possibility of a scandal which she could spread around the neighbourhood.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Ettie briskly.

  ‘Here, if he has buggered off, how about my back wages then?’ Mrs Hawkins’ face was now sour with hostility.

  ‘I’ll settle that,’ said Ettie. ‘Don’t worry. If you could wait in the kitchen a moment, please.’

  With a loud sniff, Mrs Hawkins went into the other room as she was told.

  As Ettie took down the imitation book in which Jacob kept the money, she could hear Mrs Hawkins mumbling away in the kitchen about the state of the dirty plates and cups that had been left in the sink.

  In the moment it took Ettie to see that all the money was gone and the book was empty, she knew that Mrs Hawkins was right: Jacob had run away.

  Ettie took three sovereigns from the packet Celia had given her, and then called Mrs Hawkins back into the sitting room.

  At the sight of the gold coins, Mrs H. smiled winningly. ‘That’s ever so good of yer, dear,’ she said in a very friendly way. Then added sullenly, ‘It’ll make up for all the worry I’ve had these last few weeks.’

  ‘Good,’ said Ettie, guiding her towards the passage.

  As she went to close the front door, Ettie heard her mutter. ‘I wonder how she got hold of this sort of money to throw around? As if everyone don’t know.’

  Ettie didn’t bother to answer her, she just slammed the door hard and went back to the sitting room to find out what bad news this latest letter held for her.

  She sat on the edge of one of the armchairs by the lifeless, empty hearth and read what Jacob had to say:

  Ettie, my dear, sweet, Ettie,

  I want to explain to you why I left Paris, as it has become an increasing barrier between us, making you suspicious of many things that I say.

  I had been the darling of the salons in that elegant city, the object of many fashionable women’s desire. I am not being conceited, what I am telling you is simply a matter of fact. Bored rich women rarely have enough to fill their days, and I had many offers from those ladies who wanted to tempt me into helping them pass their time. And, be assured, they had no interest in my communicating with the spirits on their behalf, they were concerned with far more worldly pleasures. But I resisted them all.

  I was not being saintly, Ettie, I did so mainly for the reason that I did not want to upset any of them. They were a wonderful source of wealth for me and, also, I admit it, I had a mistress already. She was an artist’s model who had as much pleasure from the relationship as I. There was no restraint on either of us. We enjoyed each other’s company in my big feather bed. We were both independent. It was fun. You would have liked her. Do not be shocked, it ended quite amicably, months before I left. And remember I never pretended I was anything I was not – not to you, Ettie.

  My life was going too well, I should have been suspicious: fate usually has something to throw at us when we are being at our most complacent. And so it happened. One of the high ladies who attended my circles found herself embarrassingly with child. No matter how she conjured with the dates,
her husband could not have been the father. The brave Monsieur X, let us call him, was busy in Africa claiming vast tracts of that continent for France.

  Madame X chose to point the finger of blame at me. It saved her lover from her brother’s pistol, but made life in Paris impossible for me. I was marked out as the Jew seducer. I thought – foolishly – that by my not speaking of it, it would be wiped away but now I know I should have told you that I was forced to flee Paris because of the sins of others – not because of anything I had done but because of the hatred of Jews which had touched me so often before, including the terrifying time when I was a child and that hatred resulted in the death of my beloved mother at our home in Russia.

  Now that hatred threatened to kill me also. And so I had to get away. I did not wait for the bank to open the next morning, I took what little money was in my rooms and disappeared into the night. At least that was one lesson I learned. This time, when I was forced to flee from yet another false accusation, I had all the money I needed at hand. I left you without any money – that was wrong of me. But that is all I have done. I am not the savage slayer of those wretched women, Ettie, whatever people might say. I need you to believe me that those accusations are false.

  By the time you read this, I will have sailed for New York. I intend to make a new life in America. And, Ettie, I want you to be with me. We could create a new show and take it into the wild Western states. The pioneer men there will love you and you will know exactly how to deal with them.

  You will be a sensation. Or, if you prefer, we could stay on the East coast and delight the polite parlours of Boston.

  Who knows what we will do – the world is ours for the taking.

  I want you to sell everything from the rooms, get whatever price you can for it. I need none of it now that I have you. You must join me, Ettie, please. If I ever meant anything to you, join me. And believe me when I say that in my own way, Ettie, I love you. Come to me. We can have such a wonderful life together.

  I’ll write again when I arrive. I will send the letter care of Patrick at the Frying Pan because I know you well enough to understand that that is a place to where you will always return, my beautiful Whitechapel girl.

  I pray that you will come to me, but I have a feeling, a fear, that your beloved East End is where you will choose to stay.

  Ettie stood up and watched blankly as the letter fluttered from her hand and down into the empty grate.

  A terrible heaviness filled her heart. She had misjudged Celia and she had misjudged Jacob, not once but many times, and all because she had allowed the suspicions of others to cloud her judgement.

  She threw back her head and closed her eyes, thinking about what the old woman had said to her: what else, Ettie wondered, had she done that she would always regret?

  Suddenly, a look of determination came over Ettie’s face and, very firmly, she said out loud to herself, ‘Well, moping around won’t help no one, Ettie girl. You wanna pull yourself together.’ Then she turned on her heel, walked from the sitting room, along the passageway and out of the front door.

  Ettie hurried along the streets towards Whitechapel. It was midmorning so, if she was lucky, all the girls would be in the Frying Pan having their breakfast before they started looking for business – although some of them might already be touting round at the market hoping to separate the costers from some of their hard-won earnings.

  All she wanted was to see some familiar faces, to talk to all her old friends – Maisie especially. And maybe even, with a bit more luck, to see Billy.

  As she turned from the Bethnal Green Road into Brick Lane, Ettie took a long, deep breath and sniffed the air like a young pony that had been let into a field after being kept in a dark stable. After the gloom of the terrible night before, the fog had cleared completely, and it was a bright, brisk winter’s day. Cold as it was, the sky was blue and everything had a fresh, hopeful look to it. Even the fruit and vegetables on the stalls shone as though they’d been polished.

  A stall holder picked out a big, rosy apple which he rubbed to a shine on his tatty sleeve and held it out to Ettie as she passed by.

  ‘Here y’are, darling,’ he chirped, ‘how about getting your lips round this, then?’

  But Ettie was too preoccupied with her thoughts as she rushed along the busy street even to realise that his cheeky suggestion had been aimed at her.

  ‘Your loss, sweetheart,’ he called after her, and looked round for another likely catch.

  Within moments, Ettie had reached her goal, and was standing in the doorway of the Frying Pan, pulling back the thick plush curtain that kept out the winter cold from the fug of the smoke-filled bar.

  ‘Hello, Ett!’ hollered Ada from her usual place at the table in the corner. ‘Good to see yer, girl. Come over here and sit with us.’

  Ettie waved. ‘Hang on, Ada,’ she said, and dipped into her bag. Discreetly she produced one of the gold sovereigns which she gave to Patrick.

  ‘Good to see yer, Ettie love,’ he said in his soft Irish brogue. ‘We were all glad to hear you’d been found safe and sound.’

  ‘Ta, Pat,’ she smiled back at him. ‘Set up another round of whatever they’re having, and a glass of milk stout for me, please.’

  ‘Right you are, darling,’ said the landlord, pocketing the shiny coin. ‘You go and sit yourself down and I’ll bring them over to you.’

  ‘Hello, May,’ she said, sliding along the bench until she was sitting up close to her. ‘I’m glad you’re here, I wanted to ask you a favour.’

  ‘Aw yeah,’ said May, frostily. ‘We don’t see yer from one week to the next and now yer asking favours?’

  ‘I was wondering where I could get some decent lodgings round here, that’s all. I’m a bit out of touch with who’s living where these days.’

  ‘So how about your place over at Bow with the Professor?’ Maisie asked, her eyes narrowed.

  ‘It’s time for me to get out of Bow, May,’ said Ettie quietly. ‘There’s nothing there for me any more. Jacob’s left the country. He’s gone to America.’

  ‘America, eh?’ said Ada, thoughtfully. ‘Fancy that. That’s a long way that is. In fact, didn’t that sailor who was in here the other day say that…’

  Maisie wasn’t listening to Ada’s geography lesson, she was too busy beaming at Ettie with a face that had lit up as though the sun had just come out. ‘I tell yer what,’ she gabbled excitedly, ‘I’m sure me mum’d be only too pleased to have yer stay with us.’ She paused. ‘Till yer get settled like,’ she added more calmly.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ said Ada, nodding wisely. ‘Yer’ll be better off staying with them what yer know, till they catch the Ripper.’

  ‘Ada’s right,’ said May. ‘Yer’ll be safe with us. And it’ll be a right lark and all.’ She shoved Ettie in the ribs. ‘Here, yer can share with me.’

  ‘Thanks, May,’ Ettie said gratefully. ‘I’d like that. I really would.’

  ‘And yer know what this means,’ said Ada. ‘You’ll be home with us lot for Christmas. We’ll be able to have a right old knees up.’

  ‘I wish I wasn’t so bleed’n hefty,’ said May, eyeing Ettie’s dress and cape wistfully. ‘Then I could borrow some of them posh clothes of yours.’

  Patrick came over and put a tray of drinks down on the table in front of Ettie and handed her her change. ‘From Miss Wilkins,’ he said with an extravagant, joking bow. ‘A little treat.’

  ‘Ta, Pat,’ Ettie said with a grin, and handed him back a sixpence. ‘Have one for yourself.’

  Patrick winked his thanks and returned to his place behind the bar.

  ‘I might have one or two bits that might suit you just right, you know, May,’ mused Ettie, and took a deep swallow of her stout.

  ‘What, a bonnet and a handbag, yer mean?’ chipped in Bella. ‘Me and you Maise: built to last, we are girl.’

  Maisie tutted self-pityingly. ‘Don’t I know it.’

  ‘You be proud of yer body,’ sai
d Bella, heaving her huge bosoms upwards with the back of her great plate-sized hands. ‘These are me fortune, these are.’

  ‘We was all sorry to hear about yer mum,’ said Ada, suddenly serious. She raised her glass and said, ‘God rest her soul.’

  ‘Yer right,’ said Bella. ‘It don’t seem possible she ain’t going to stick her head round that door and give us a little dance just like she used to. We all miss her.’ She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and raised her glass. ‘Here’s to Sarah.’

  ‘Sarah,’ they chorused.

  ‘Ta,’ said Ettie. ‘Here’s to you, Mum.’

  For a moment nobody spoke, each alone with their own memory of Sarah Wilkins. Then Ettie set down her glass and asked: ‘Tell me, what do you think of this? I’ve thought about having a wooden seat, a nice bench, put in the churchyard at St Jude’s. And having Mum’s name put on it on a little brass plate, as a memorial to her.’

  ‘What a lovely idea,’ said Ada, trying to work out how much that little lot was going to cost.

  ‘Aw, yeah, smashing. Yer mum would have liked that,’ said May. ‘There in the churchyard with all the flowers and trees and everything. Like being out in the country. Really thoughtful, that is, Ett. Here, and I know what, yer can ask our Billy to make it for you. How about that?’ She stood up excitedly and barged past Ettie before anyone could stop her. ‘I’ll send our Tommy to go and fetch him right now; he’ll be having his break soon.’

  * * *

  ‘Hello, Ett,’ said Billy, taking off his cap and wringing it round in his hands. ‘Tommy said you wanted to see me, urgent like. Everything all right, is it?’

  Maisie grinned and jabbed Ettie in the ribs. ‘Say something,’ she urged her.

  ‘It wasn’t urgent, Bill. I didn’t mean to drag you away from work or nothing.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’m pleased to see yer. And I’m on me dinner now, anyway.’