As Billy set the tray on the table next to Ettie, she reached up to him, threw her arms round his neck, and kissed him full on the lips.
‘Blimey,’ said Billy, his face scarlet. ‘What was that all about?’ Ettie got up and stood in front of him. She nibbled at her lip, and fiddled anxiously with the chain of her locket, then, taking a deep breath, she said solemnly: ‘I’ve come to a decision, Bill.’
Billy gulped, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘Yeah?’
Everyone at the table listened intently, hanging on to their every word.
‘I know I’ve not been fair to you, keeping you waiting around like this while I sorted out what I should do.’ Her face relaxed into a smile. ‘And I know how hard it is for you Burys to be patient.’
Billy didn’t return her smile. ‘Look, Ett,’ he said, rubbing his hand nervously over his jaw. ‘I ain’t rushing yer. Take all the time yer need. I don’t want yer saying anything sudden-like. Anything yer’d regret.’ He swallowed hard then added, ‘Or that I’d regret.’
‘No, Bill, I don’t think I’ll regret what I’ve got to say to you. I’ve decided it’s time to start a new life.’
He nodded, just once, and said, ‘All right then, Ett, if yer’ve really made up yer mind and yer sure that’s what yer want. I’m happy for yer.’
Then he turned away from her, pulled his cap out of his pocket, jammed it hard on his head and started to push his way through the crowd to the door.
Myrtle let out a gasp of despair, closed her eyes, and clutched on to Maisie’s hand.
‘Billy!’ Ettie called after him. ‘Please, listen to me.’
He turned back to face her. ‘What more is there to say?’
‘A lot.’ She walked towards him.
‘Yeah?’ he said flatly.
‘Like about renting those rooms over the workshop. What I’d decided, if you’d let me finish, was to ask you if you thought we should get ourselves a few bits and pieces to put in them. I’ve got some money put by that we can use for a bed and that. And now I’ve got regular wages from the office…’
‘Yer mean?’
‘Yes, Bill.’
Billy threw his cap into the air, picked Ettie up, and swung her round.
Myrtle grinned with pleasure and jabbed Maisie hard in the ribs. ‘Aw bless ’em,’ she sighed, and started to cry.
Florrie stood up, dragging Ada and the sullen-faced Ivy with her.
‘Get yerself on that piano, Ada,’ she shouted. ‘We’re gonna have ourselves a right old party, and not just to see in the New Year neither!’
Postscript
In London, on the 6th July 1889, after receiving another award for outstanding services to the advancement of surgical techniques to add to the one he had received in December in New York, Bartholomew Tressing celebrated in the way he liked best – he went slumming with the brides of Whitechapel.
At one o’clock on the morning of the 7th of July, the body of Alice Mackenzie – ‘Clay-Pipe Alice’ – a known prostitute, was found by Police-Constable Andrews in Castle Alley, Whitechapel. She had been savagely stabbed to death.
According to some, she was the last-known victim of the Whitechapel murderer who had come to be known as Jack the Ripper.
First published in the United Kingdom in 1993 by Headline Book Publishing
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
57 Shepherds Lane
Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Gilda O'Neill, 1993
The moral right of Gilda O'Neill to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788634588
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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