In A Flicker

by George R. Lopez

  “Come on. I’ll show ya your room now.” Maggie took charge by taking the key from Nigel, conducting the tour on the way to his private quarters.

  Walking into the building, Ethan was astounded by the obvious cleanliness and comfortable furniture in the public sitting area. The kitchen was fully supplied with hanging pots, cutlery and a wood stove along with cups and saucers for coffee and tea. Long wooden benches stretched along a table of the same length in the middle of the room with enough space for all the occupants. By the stairs to the upper floors was the back alley doorway to the privy or outhouse. The stairs to the second floor had lit candles fixed in holders on the walls. Directly ahead was Ethan’s room, just as they said, accessible to everything. The last thing he noticed before entering his room was the absence of an odor he thought he’d never escape in his former digs.

  One of Ethan’s favorite classic films was “The Wizard of Oz” and his favorite scene was when Dorothy stepped out of the house after the tornado transported her to a magical world. Opening the door, she stepped from a black and white existence into Technicolor. Crossing the threshold into this room he felt like Dorothy entering Oz. He was met with finely polished wood flooring, a wool rug running the length of the room, an actual dresser to place his clothes in and the wash basin, a beautiful pitcher and bowl resting on top of a fine, fancy lace doily. The bed was an oversized twin with a wooden frame, an ornate oak spiraling corner design rising high at the headboard and slightly above the footboard at the end of the thick mattress, like a four-poster that hadn’t yet matured. It rested against the inner wall to the left of the entrance, rather than the outer foundation wall, protected from the elements should a leak occur. The bed cover and pillow were both down feather and the writing desk was beneath the window that faced Bakers Row for best lighting. A generous mirror hung on the wall. He had two candles available, unused, placed in cast iron holders, one located on the dresser, the other on the desk. It was paradise.

  “Do ya like it here, love?” Maggie asked expectantly, knowing the answer.

  “I am forever in your debt, Maggie.” He said. “How did you manage this?”

  “I told ya. I ‘ave a lot o’ customers.” She smiled coyly, handing him the key.

  “How may I repay your kindness?” Ethan offered without hesitation.

  “Will ya be comin’ ‘round to the pub tonight then?” A leading question.

  “The only place I trust to eat, yes.” An honest answer.

  “Then ya can buy a round or two o’ beers at the end o’ me shift.”

  “Done.” Ethan reached out to shake her hand. Maggie giggled and winked.

  Walking her downstairs to the front door, thanking her profusely until she told him to stop, no need, they bid farewell, parting ways for the time being. Returning to his room to put things away and arrange his schedule for the day, Ethan was sure he was living in the lap of luxury. First things first: off came all the itchy clothing! Having locked the door, no need to worry Colin would come knocking (or anyone else for that matter) Ethan had a sudden urge to be naked. A normally modest man, he found the sensation liberating, to say the least, finally out of that clothing which had been tormenting its victim all day. Rubbing his hands over every itchy spot, he scratched until the itching subsided, a relief he had longed for and would not forsake for the sake of propriety. No one was watching. Looking in the mirror, he laughed. Ah, to be comfortable again. He decided to do his work then nap in the buff.

  Laying out all his possessions on the desk including documents, money, journal and pencil, Ethan sat there for a minute, conducting an inventory of his belongings, another way to organize a cluttered mind. Having replenished his funds, he felt the security that having money at one’s disposal brings. He would happily buy Maggie a round or two, or dinner if she liked, with plenty to spare. Good to go to the pub.

  This room was blissfully tranquil, a far cry from his former boarding house. Its walls were thick, insulating him from his surroundings. Opening the window, Ethan heard Maggie’s voice from a distance. Wondering if she remained on the premises, he gazed down upon the street below, spotting her instantly. She was still speaking with Nigel, the innkeeper, except their formerly cheerful banter was replaced with a tense exchange, the low murmurings of an argument in hushed tones. Maggie was flailing her arms, making a few rude gestures then she stormed off in a huff. Though unfamiliar to Ethan, he guessed it had nothing to do with wishing Nigel a good day. He wondered why she was so angry with the man but let it go, none of his business.

  Ethan went back to his inventory once Maggie was out of sight. Within minutes he heard a small voice calling his name over and over again. It was the featherbed, an amazing down comforter and pillow. Last night was far from restful, spent curled up in a ball so to avoid the wet spots on either end of a mattress. He sought a sound and safe slumber wherein he could stretch his frame out fully and recharge before a second night of canvassing Bucks Row. Checking his pocket watch, now 1:42 p.m. it was time to take a nap. The quilt felt heavenly, caressing his exposed skin. In less than two minutes he was out cold.

  Ethan had slept so soundly, when he woke up he absolutely forgot where in the hell he was and jumped up in somewhat of a panic, the kind of sleep when he didn’t even remember dreaming. It was dark already. He hadn’t lit the candles in his room prior to laying down, assuming he would awaken within a couple of hours. Leaving him to find his way in the dark, in search of the stick matches, once located, he lit his lodging and immediately looked at his timepiece. It was 6:40 p.m. Disoriented, Ethan hoped it was still Wednesday and he hadn’t missed his date at Ten Bells Pub. Deciding to run downstairs to the first floor and find someone to verify the date, he had to be discreet about it so no one would think he was insane. Redressing into an acutely uncomfortable outfit, it felt like being imprisoned, again.

  Approaching the manager’s window he found a night watchman instead. Done for the day, Maggie’s friend Nigel had gone.

  “Good evening, sir.” The man was alert, acknowledging his tenant at once.

  “Hello, sir.” Ethan said with a nod. “I am a bit curious. For a Wednesday night, the common area downstairs seems very quiet. Is that typical?”

  “Well, sir, most stayin’ ‘ere work ten or twelve hours a day and ain’t home yet. Those who are mostly go right to their rooms and right to bed. Usually picks up on the weekends but normally its quiet ‘ere.”

  “I see.” Ethan felt relieved knowing he hadn’t slept through to Thursday night. Now he needed to get to the pub for dinner, as he’d promised Maggie he would.

  Returning to his room, Ethan could now gather an ensemble from an assortment of shirts, pants, socks and shoes plus a few accessories for his evening out. He used the wash basin to clean up, already having been filled with fresh water for the new tenant, a nice touch and much appreciated. Dressed and ready, Ethan found this inn secure enough to leave his medical bag behind as he headed out to Ten Bells Pub.

  Travel to the pub was now a longer walk, about ten minutes to eat safe food. He fit right in, tipping his hat to the ladies as he passed, picking up the pace when he passed one he’d presumed to be a lady of the evening, lest she pay him some mind. Arriving at his destination, it was even more crowded than the previous night. There really wasn’t much to do for entertainment in the era but to drink, socialize and play cards. Filtering through the crowd, he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Maggie.

  “Beginnin’ to wonder if ya was comin’. Missed ya tea. D’ya oversleep?” She’d had to shout to be heard above the rowdy crowd of patrons getting drunk.

  “My apologies.” Ethan said.”That may be the most comfortable sleep I’ve had in a long time!” His enthusiasm was infectious. She considered it a compliment.

  Maggie laughed, taking Ethan by the arm. She held a table for him in the corner away from the drunkards. Seating him, she told him she had a surprise for his dinner then went to the kitchen straightaway, returning only minutes later with a fresh c
up of coffee and a glistening game hen surrounded with roasted potatoes, a sumptuous platter prepared just for him.

  “You didn’t pay for this, I hope.” Ethan asked.

  “Bloody hell, no!” Maggie laughed as heartily as he was about to eat. I’d o’ had to if ya hadn’t showed up! Oh no, you’re a payin’ for this and then some! I figured ya was hungrier for somethin’ besides rabbit stew. It’s been keepin’ in the oven.”

  She was right. He hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast and had worked up quite an appetite, incredibly hungry after his long walk. Diving right into the meal, Ethan began consuming the delicious food with a primal fervor. Maggie stood there at the table for a bit, enjoying him, satisfied that she’d made a good choice on his behalf. Another one. He was so focused on the food, he didn’t even notice that she was still there until she spoke again.

  “Me shift’s almost over. I’ll be back with the beer yer buyin’ me.”

  Waving a drumstick her way, he smiled, his mouth too full to speak. He would later feel a pang of regret, realizing he had not thanked her yet, feeling obliged. Her kindness toward him had warmed his belly, a direct route to his heart.

  Watching him from a distance, this server took her charge seriously, returning to the table to clear what miniscule scraps remained the moment he was finished.

  “Thank you, Maggie, it was wonderful and so are you. Absolutely wonderful.” Ethan glowed with gratitude. Wiping his mouth with his hands, his only option, not a napkin in sight, he rubbed them together then laid them on his stomach, a gesture indicating his complete satisfaction with the meal. Sublimely sated, he punctuated his pleasure. “My compliments to the chef...and the server.”

  Maggie glowed with perspiration and a hint of embarrassment. “Tell me, what bloke talks like that, I ask ya? An odd bird, Arthur Bridgeman, that’s what y’are.” The feisty middle-aged woman talked back, blushing like a schoolgirl.

  Paying his bill along with a generous tip for her, Maggie went into the back of the pub to clear the debt then sign off her shift, returning with a pint in hand and a few more colorful stories to tell. Her memory served him well. Receiving quite the education, Ethan soaked it in the same way he’d sopped up the juice from his plate with his last piece of bread. Absorbing every word, committing it to mind, making memories of his own, Ethan was entranced and enchanted by living in the history.

  Once again the two of them sat for hours and chatted. This time Maggie had fun pointing out different patrons in the pub and telling Ethan some of the dirty laundry about them she had picked up over time. No names, just the faces and their stories. He found it all quite entertaining to hear about these people, making mental notes, intrigued by how similar the tales were to the people he knew from the 21st Century. Infidelity, corruption, embezzlement, frauds and con artists would stand the test of time. “The more things change....” Ethan thought then shook his head, a believer.

  Ethan was amazed by the transformation in Maggie from a midday sober, sunny lady to a woman who could adeptly put away four to five real ales without showing any sign of inebriation, although she was a trifle more flirty and sociable than usual. He wondered how much she would have to drink to actually get drunk. They spoke metaphorically of life and death, love and pain. Ethan continued savoring his coffee while Maggie ordered yet another beer. Offering to buy her own after the third pint, he refused to hear of it, knowing she wasn’t trying to take advantage of his generous nature. It was simply the way she lived, assimilating alcohol into her system as if it was water, as if immune to the effects.

  Monitoring his time on the pocket watch, he needed to be on his way by 10:00 p.m. and it was already ten minutes past the hour. It was time to do one more check of the Bucks Row region of Whitechapel...time to go. Disappointed, Maggie took notice of his need to leave.

  “I know.” Slurring her words, “You’ve someplace to be. I wish ya could stay.”

  Maggie seemed a bit tipsy, sentimental in the way drunks sometimes get before they fall asleep, though he didn’t think of her at all that way. In fact, he thought she held her beer remarkably well, better than he ever could. Impressive! However, by sheer volume, the beverage she’d ingested was beginning to take a toll on her senses and her speech. Rising from his chair, Ethan left another tip on the table, thanking his gracious hostess again for all she did for him then bowed out with a reasonable explanation and was soon through the door and down the road.

  Looking up into the night sky, he saw nothing but stars above, giving him hope that this night’s weather would be more favorable than the last. No need for another drenching. Returning to the street where his lovely newfound quarters were located, at Bakers Row, Ethan was only a street or so away from Bucks Row, where destiny would unfold. He actually liked this arrangement better. A nice walk to and from a meal at the pub, a quick route to and from his first research vicinity, it seemed quite convenient, giving new meaning to the phrase “falling into place”.

  Taking Whites Row then crossing Thomas Street, passing Court Street and then reaching the old boarding school, he would again find himself at the future murder scene of the distant past. His pocket watch read 10:36 p.m. Ethan knew he had to take his time on this expedition, planning to stay later. He had to see who came and went in the area. Perhaps the killer was surveying it, as well. He would not be able to identify who it was but could certainly tell if somebody else was conducting the same type of surveillance, quickly moving in and out of dark shadows, scoping out the best vantage point from which to observe...or to strike.

  As a few commoners passed by or a constable came strolling along on his beat, Ethan would determine if he could remain unseen in the shadows as they passed. If he were to be spotted and questioned he had his credentials at the ready, prepared, a story to tell. His only worry, an incessant itching and scratching, a dead giveaway. No proper doctor would be caught dead looking or acting the way Ethan did. It was an awful distraction at a time when he needed to maintain complete focus on a job unlike any other, stuffed inside an outfit he could not tolerate and a reaction to it he could not control. Though he was becoming more accustomed to the annoyance, it was on his mind; distraction could spell disaster. Deciding to heed Maggie’s advice, he’d purchase some protective stockings as soon as possible. With this addition to his wardrobe, he might just survive his trip to the 19th Century, after all. Maggie’s presence was a comfort to him in many ways, his only friend. She’d proved a good ally in his battle to adapt to this century’s discomforts. Certainly the new room and a steady source of coffee should sustain him for the duration of his stay.

  Ethan remained out in the area until 3:40 in the morning, the time around when Mary Ann Nichols’ body was found. He was now less than twenty-four hours away from witnessing the actual event as it occurred, the thought of which sending a chill through the man. Needing to head back to his lodging for some rest, his prolonged nap might interfere with that process but he had the utmost confidence in a magical new bed ready and waiting to wrap its arms of comfort and security around him and sing him a lullaby of silence and solitude. Arriving at his new digs, the manager on duty never even peaked out to see who was coming in, probably not as necessary to be quite as diligent at his post as on the busy Commercial Street, or he was just too lazy to look out from the office.

  Back in his room, Ethan lit only one candle then disrobed for bed. He peered out the window onto Bakers Row. There were only a few people walking by then, most likely on their way to an early work shift, others staggering home inebriated. Then there were those who had no money for lodging, which was all too common a theme during these times. Far too many homeless souls had no choice but to locate a quiet doorway or a dirty gutter to sleep in, no way to live. The night had its many secrets and just as many tragedies. In the summer or early autumn living in the streets really had no elemental dangers but as days passed and winter approached, the conditions quickly became a far more prolific serial killer than Jack the Ripper, claiming more lives tha
n any murderer in history. Blowing out the candle, Ethan crawled into bed. Though he’d meant to write in his journal, fatigue won in the end.

  That night he dreamed of music. He was a conductor of a symphony orchestra, playing Tchaikovsky’s “Waltz of the Flowers”. Some of the faces were familiar to him as they followed his direction with clockwork precision. There was Anson on the Tuba, Drakes and Clemens on tympani, Colin on the harp and Sparks on piano. As for the young, 21st Century Maggie, she held the violin as 19th Century Maggie played the flute. Other faces obscured by shadows, their music was sublime, yet he knew and felt the eyes of all the orchestral members directly on him, watching every motion of his hands. When he awoke at one point in the night, Ethan saw his hands outstretched across the quilt, still conducting as he was coming out of this dream. He laughed, turning onto his side then fell right back into an even deeper slumber, surrendering his subconscious mind to sleep.

  Waking to a far less pressing day of activity, Ethan knew it from the start; there could be nothing hectic about it. This was the day to relax and focus: breathe. Today was more of an exercise in psychological preparedness for tonight, or so he thought. He knew it was necessary to walk Bucks Row at least one time in the daylight. He’d truly be meticulous in his search for loose stones or any hazards posed by moving in the dark of night, as footing could cost him an injury or worse, detection. Tonight, he thought, with any luck the risks would be minimal and the observation would go without a hitch. First he was going to check on something that may be a time saver. Once dressed, he went downstairs to the public area on the first floor. There were three people either having a late breakfast or early lunch, the time being 10:33 a.m. There was a pot of coffee one of the men was pouring into a cup.

  “Good morning.” Ethan approached the stove. “Is the coffee complimentary?”

  All three tenants snickered beneath their breath at Ethan’s peculiar question.