Ethan had not thought of sex in an eternity. He romanticized all the time, even to the point of arousal, imagining a rendezvous with a beautiful 17th Century French maiden, perhaps a World War II British nurse. His thoughts being drawn to the act, the physical satisfaction, Ethan pondered his circumstances. Having been inside of three women from the perspective of pain in the last month, he thought it might be nice to be inside one for pure pleasure. His brief dance date with the corpse of a girl in the morgue was the closest he had been to a woman without cutting her head off since his junior year at Oxford. It was similar though not exactly as he remembered, feeling the weight of a woman in his arms. Perhaps it was precisely what he’d been needing, a little affection. Hell’s Belles, there were over a thousand women working the streets of Whitechapel. He was bound to find at least one with some modicum of conversational skills and basic intellect, someone quite like Maggie the barmaid. Maybe Anson had sent him on with so much money precisely for this reason, almost as a dare, to go make a little mischief during his down time. As this titillating, rather salacious idea occurred to him, Ethan suddenly felt a distinct life force entering his body again, causing him to tingle in unmentionable ways, in some places more than others, liberating him to fantasize about keeping company with a lovely lady.
The grudge match ensued between his fear and his libido. Hormones prevailed. To the victor (or rather, to the Ethan) go the spoils. Excited, filled with anticipation, Ethan began to prepare just after eight in the evening as if he was going to his prom. Shaving for the first time in more than a week, including the moustache he’d grown for the “Double Event”, his effort presented a smooth, clean appearance. He washed down twice then chose the second fancy outfit from his trip into the city of London to wear for his night out on the town. In desperate need of a haircut, he would have to attend to that in the days to come, though he’d assessed the growth as manageable once wet down and slicked back a bit. Ethan then took the time to organize and put away or hide all of his identifying items such as the medical bag and his documents, should he have the opportunity to entertain a guest in his private quarters.
It took three hours to prepare for this excursion, two devoted to his appearance then another sixty minutes to muster up the courage. Stepping out “out of character” was terrifying. Ethan had flown on autopilot since Annie Chapman’s ring epiphany, relinquishing all decision-making to destiny, but this was not a recorded event. This was about making choices on his own behalf, frightening and exhilarating in equal measure. He needed a little risk and some female companionship and it may just be what the doctor ordered to feel some semblance of normalcy again, if possible. He wondered if he would ever feel normal again. With one final personal inspection in the mirror he looked like a proper English gentleman of means; all dressed up with someplace to go. Ethan thought he looked pretty damn good by candlelight.
Money tucked inside the breast pocket of his jacket, his timepiece attached to its fob and his trousers, he pulled it out to check. Nearly 11:30 p.m., it was, indeed, a good time for a chance encounter with a lady of the evening. As Ethan exited the room he locked the door behind him then went downstairs, out the front door onto Bakers Row. For the first time since his arrival he did not have a direction to follow, no research to do or obligation to meet according to the dictates of his master Time. Ethan was free to wander the streets of Whitechapel in search of a nameless woman with whom to share some shameless time. It was only a matter of time before he’d find what he was searching for on the streets of London.
Heading south, after several steps Ethan turned north, pivoting in place, with an abrupt change of mind and direction. It occurred to him he’d best avoid the bustling Whitechapel Road. At the intersection of Hanbury, Old Montague and Bakers Row, he stopped. As these streets had relevance to “the job” past and present he chose to bypass them and continue north along Bakers Row. A few streets up, the pedestrian traffic had slowed, only workmen coming and going from shifts. He would have to ignore the pertinence of the other avenues and stroll back toward the intersection. Ethan decided to loiter a bit on Hanbury Street, as there were less vendors and more public housing, so anybody out at that time of night was obviously looking for only one thing. Women of the streets could readily distinguish between those who were walking with purpose to a destination and the others waiting for an invitation. Ethan was utterly shocked by the immediate barrage of women approaching, considering the brutal murders of Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes were less than a week past. Some of the ladies must’ve known the dead women and yet, were still out and about. Ethan guessed correctly. The necessity to make money took precedence over safety and it appeared, by the sheer number of them, most had the same idea. They were literally risking death to earn a living.
They all appeared to respect the time required for each to take her turn in asking any of the potential customers, “Do you want the business?” If the man agreed then the deal was set and off they went to some secluded corner. If he showed no interest then he was open game for the next girl. Ethan had no idea of what he was looking for, he only knew what was approaching him wasn’t it, forties and up with missing teeth, unkempt and unbathed, actually, not unlike his unfortunate victims. One after another, he responded in the negative as kindly as he could.
“Thank you, no.” A mild shake of the head shook them off his trail.
He must have repeated those words twelve times or more as he crossed the road on Hanbury and returned toward Bakers Row. Ethan wanted to get off of this street as soon as possible, not only because of the caliber of the women he was seeing but also his manner of dress was now drawing the attention of some of the street vermin. Pickpockets or gang members, he didn’t want to overstay his welcome there to learn their intentions toward him. Once back on Bakers Row, Ethan felt safer and decided to continue south, only up to Whitechapel Road where, if he saw no one of interest, he would give up and try his luck again another night.
Just past Whites Row, near the rear end of the Pavilion Theatre off Whitechapel, one lady caught his eye from some distance. There was something so familiar about her, though she was facing away from him at the time, speaking with another young woman, one of her own kind, no doubt. Ethan played coy, passing the two women, stopping a few lampposts down, as if reading the notice posted on the theatre wall. He then scanned back where they stood, only to notice them both looking his way. In their profession, that line of work required knowing when the shy ones had no idea how to approach. Ethan was far too easy to read. Moving directly into his line of sight so to ascertain his interest, the one woman he fancied smiled at him as she lifted her hand, a modest wave, so sweetly, innocently acknowledging her admirer. Ethan was suddenly stunned. He could not stop himself from staring at her as he held his breath. The resemblance was remarkable! Either Time had toyed with him or this was one excellent argument for the concept of reincarnation but she was the spitting image of a young understudy from the Flicker trials down in The Valley, Ms. Maggie Daley, apparently alive and well in Victorian England.
Ethan felt a flicker of light in his dark heart as he reminisced for a few moments, thinking back or forward to the last time he’d seen her, covered from head to toe in mud, falling to her knees as she hurriedly brought him his field reports. This woman had a soiled face, as well, but not from mud. Street grime, he suspected, as she spent many a night walking the route he was on in the Whitechapel district. She possessed the same gigantic green eyes filled with wonder, blonde hair and a cute button nose, Disney-like features, characteristics creating the fairy tale air of her presence. If he dared to stare, it was nothing he could control nor did he wish to break his gaze. As he peered in her direction, the two young ladies began giggling, as they’d whispered a few words to each other. Obviously Ethan was the focus of the humor but he had no idea what he’d done until he realized his slack-jawed mouth was hanging wide open. Perhaps, he thought, he should close it as he became aware of his expression, a singular moment of r
ecognition showing on his face. Swaying to the left then back right, as if pondering her next move rather than his own, he strained to see her more clearly in the dim light without appearing rude. The woman gestured once with her index finger, indicating that he should come to where they were standing. Actually looking behind him to be reassured her invitation was meant for him, not someone else, she laughed when he did a double take. Yes! Indeed, it was Ethan, her potential client all alone, feeling like twenty-plus years had just been stolen from his maturity and experience and he was but a mere schoolboy lost on the street. He took a deep swallow to remove the lump in his throat but it didn’t do the trick. He was a nervous wreck as he walked toward her, drawn moth-to-flame to the lovely lass. The nearer he approached the more Ethan recognized a resemblance so striking it was uncanny, right down to her height and petite frame.
“’Ello, gov’ner.” She opened their discourse with her melodic voice, the sound a songbird would envy.
Ethan did not speak at first. Rather, he tipped his hat to both women, who once more looked at each other and tittered in reaction, responding with a curtsey.
“My name’s Eth...Arthur Br...Arthur.” Though a nervous man hadn’t stumbled over his feet going closer to her, he was certainly stumbling over his words.
“Well, ’ello Mr. Eth-Arthur. Was ya lookin’ for the business tonight?”
Ethan cringed inside. He hated that phrase. It reminded him of all the desperate women he’d already been accosted by along his journey, the same words uttered by Polly Nichols in his room on that fateful evening which changed everything.
“I’d like some company, if that’s alright?” He offered a more subtle approach.
“Sure. Do ya want to go up the alley over there?” She seemed more than willing.
“No. No. I have a place, just down the street.” He pointed north on Bakers Row.
Smiling, yet, with a rather peculiar, cockeyed expression, the girl stepped closer to inspect Ethan, scrutinizing him more thoroughly beneath the lamplight overhead, all the while well aware that looks can be deceiving.
“Ya ain’t the Ripper now, is ya?”
“How could you even ask such a thing?” Slightly indignant, Ethan was a really bad actor. He was amazed that she seemed to accept his disclaimer with such ease.
“A girl’s gotta be careful nowadays.” She said, turning to her friend. “Used to be we’d ask if ya had any money. Now we gots to ask if yer a murd’rer. Sorry, sir.”
Ethan needed to lighten up to meet the more cheerful mood of this young lady.
“Well, to answer your question, miss, no. I am not. I’m off this week, in fact.”
“Well, d’ ya mind if me friend ‘ere watches where ya bring me, then? After all, we got hard times here and a girl’s gotta be careful.” A bit redundant, with reason, no truer words were ever spoken on the streets of Whitechapel.
Ethan agreed and off the three went, which he actually preferred. Walking with one woman looks like an arrangement but two looks like three friends or associates. Threesomes were something quite uncommon in a city so impoverished, regardless of the competitively low rates these women were charging, just not done at the time. Arriving at his lodging house, the women waved at one another as Ethan escorted the Maggie doppelganger inside. He wasn’t concerned about the other girl knowing where he resided, as there was no Whitechapel girl murdered on this day in history.
They walked through the kitchen area and up to his room. Some lodgings would object, charging more for an additional person or rejecting the visitation out of hand but Ethan had been such a good, quiet client, the best kind of guest, always paying in advance, the innkeeper did not dare utter a word as they passed his window. Once entering his private space, upon further inspection, she circled around it as if she’d consider buying the place! Checking out the small desk then crossing to the dresser, her movements were graceful, her air, light and breezy. It was so obvious she didn’t often frequent such nice digs and Ethan’s was one of the nicer she’d ever seen, quite comfortable. He watched as she surveyed the landscape, running her slender fingers along the surface of the wood. There was something whimsical, magical about her. If he did not know what she did for a living he would think of this fresh-faced lass as the personification of purity, the essence of youthful elegance as she sashayed to the center of the rug, spinning in place to take it all in once again. So clean and tidy, the bed made up with nice linens, she’d fallen into the lap of luxury. His preparation prior to departure had paid off based on her impression of the place.
Ethan closed the door behind them. He stood there observing her every nuance, still peering in amazement at the lovely creature before his eyes, a vision. Though he had left one candle ablaze inside its cast iron cauldron, he lit the other atop the dresser, merely to shed more light on the subject, wanting to witness every facet of this diamond in the rough as she sparkled by candlelight. Setting the dreamy mood, one more conducive to romance, he was the one burning inside. Neither had spoken since entering the room.
“You’re...beautiful.” Ethan’s anxiety was belied by his honest babble.
The young woman was awed by his candor, smiling again, approaching her host. He was much taller, gazing down into her eyes from a bit of a distance. She’d looked away only for a moment to the top of the dresser where she spotted a few of the rags Ethan had purchased. Taking one, dipping it fully into the water basin, she wrung it out then repositioned the candle on the dresser closer to where Ethan stood, allowing her face to be in better light for him to see.
“Didn’t get a chance to clean up for ya. Would ya mind?” Offering up the moist rag for him to assist her.
Ethan surrendered to her eyes as he took the rag from her. He began to wipe her face clean of the day’s remains, never breaking from the locked gaze they shared, wiping away the grime of time, hoping to find his apprentice beneath the soot.
“Uh, what is your name?” In his bewilderment he had forgotten to ask.
“Who d’ya want me t’ be?” She offered as a courtesy...or a fantasy.
“Maggie.” He couldn’t believe he’d blurted it out. “May I call you Maggie?”
“O’ course, love.” She then grabbed Ethan’s hand, shaking it too hard. “Name’s Maggie, then. Nice to meet you, um, Arthur was it?”
Amicably shaking his hand to no end, he grasped hers firmly in his own to slow the momentum, then leaned over, dropping his lips below her wrist.
“M’lady.” This time he glanced up into her eyes.
Looking toward the pending rendezvous, she found her way to the bed without him. Sitting, she’d bounced around a bit, testing the firmness of the mattress before testing his, enticing him to join her. Sensing no threat from his presence, she’d felt free to be playful with Ethan. Growing more comfortable by the moment, Maggie decided to dive right into the center of the bed as if it were the deep end of the pool, laughing all the way. Clean her up and put her in a linen business suit from the 21st Century, the woman was absolutely Maggie. Ethan still could not believe his eyes. Spreading out, she laid on her side in his bed. He brought one of the candles closer for examination. Noticing her one and only flaw, by comparison to Ms. Daley, and undoubtedly due to her poor diet and equally poor dental practices of the time, her smile was not as bright as her twin from the future but it was still as infectious.
“Are ya comin’?” A leading question, she motioned for him to take the plunge.
“Yes.” Amenable to the suggestion, Ethan laughed in embarrassment, realizing his intense nervousness was obvious to both of them.
Maggie was trying to loosen him up, ready to help him out of his clothing.
“So, what’s yer pleasure, love? What can I do to warm yer toes, aye?”
Ethan had no answer. He hadn’t thought this through.
Yes. The ultimate goal was to have sex, but he did not even know how to begin. This was going to be more awkward than he remembered. Ethan cleared his throat.
“To be
honest, I was hoping you could decide.”
She looked at him first with pity but then adoration. Most men she encountered locally were filthy, disgusting pigs with no manners, uncouth in the extreme. Ethan was a breath of fresh air, a revelation. She felt empowered in his presence, in a way she rarely had before. The seductress-in-chief, by necessity, as he would never take the lead role in this scenario, it was up to her to make it happen. She wanted to have some fun with it, to enjoy her work for a change.
“C’mere, lover.” Maggie beckoned.
Kneeling on the bed, she leaned over, snagging Ethan’s trousers at the waistline, pulling him in closer. She started taking off his fancy clothes, beginning with layers covering his chest and back. Peeling the jacket, it fell to the floor revealing his shirt. He watched as pretty fingers fumbled with the buttons, deliberately taking her time, she viewed his bare chest. He wasn’t a hairy man. She was fascinated by its absence, running her hands up inside the fabric along his soft, smooth upper body then over his shoulders, around to his back. Her hands were all over his torso, a tender touch. He craved more, desired more. Removing his shirt, she kissed what she could reach from her position on the bed, leaning into his midsection, sliding her moistened lips across his chest so gently it tickled. Ethan couldn’t even remember the last time he had been touched this way, if ever. Maggie was, indeed, a seductress, tempting him to lay his hands on her but he suppressed the urge, his palms as sweaty as his brow, and on such a cool night. The temperature outside his open window had nothing to do with it. This heat was emanating from within, a fire so intense he feared he might burst into flames. As her lips caressed his chest he studied her glistening hair, how it draped over her shoulders. Oh, how he ached to reach down and stroke her locks. Ethan was barely breathing yet his heart was pounding. Maggie placed an ear to it, hugging him around the waist, listening to what she had done and she had only just begun to arouse the man compared with what she intended to do to get his attention.
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