No Absolution

by N. M. Bell

  Father’s image appeared between Jake and Mam. Mam held his gaze for a long moment before she vanished into the flames. Fury twisted Father’s face and Jake scrambled away from him before staggering to his feet. The grim apparition advanced on him, seeming to grow taller and more threatening the closer he came. The bed caught Jake in the back of the knees and he sprawled onto the blanket. The man in the next room hammered a fist on the thin wall and cursed him. Mesmerised by Father’s glare, Jake ignored the interruption.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” he whispered.

  “Sorry? You’re sorry? You must have no truck with that woman, who is she to speak of your immortal soul when it is she who is doomed to wander the fires of Hell forevermore.” Spittle flew from Father’s mouth and flecked his beard.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I will be stronger, it won’t happen again. I swear on the Lord’s Holy Word.” Jake’s hand traced a shaky sign of the cross on his chest.

  “See that it doesn’t. How a man such as I every sired such a weak specimen is beyond me. Keep your attention on your God given task. It is a great privilege to be allowed to carry out the Lord’s work. See that you do it well.”

  Jake’s spirit quailed at the expression of disgust and loathing on Father’s face as he spun about and disappeared into the shadows in the corner of the tiny room. He got to his feet and retrieved the quart jar and secreted it under the floorboards. He sank down at the small table and pulled a stamped postcard from his pocket. He picked up the pen and dipped the nib in the bottle of red ink and began to scribble. He expressed regret that he hadn’t managed to clip the last victim’s ears as promised and added some taunts, being sure to mention the double event so there could be no doubt that the man who carried out the killings was indeed the one who penned the letter. He addressed it to the Central News Office and read it over again to be sure he was satisfied with the wording. In utter silence he ghosted down the steps and out of the court to the closest mailbox. The News Office would get the postcard later that day as the early morning pickup was still an hour or so off. A quick glance along the deserted street assured him that no one had witnessed his visit to the post box. Jake made his way back into the narrow close and up to his room. Exhausted, he collapsed onto the rickety bed and gave himself over to the oblivion of sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  Morning came sooner than he wanted. Still tired, and with every bone in his body aching, Jake dragged himself from the bed. Dawn was still someway off, but as the days grew shorter and the nights drew in, his way to work would be dark and noisome. He thought about going down to St Katharine Docks again and inquiring about taking ship on a cattle transport. Maybe to the Continent rather than New York this time. The filth and squalor of the slums was wearing on him, too many whores with bold eyes standing bunched on street corners or outside the public houses. Too many scrawny children with hunger-sunken cheeks and eyes far older than their age could account for. A thin wail came from the room below him, quickly stifled as a male voice growled and a woman shushed the child. The whole area was a cesspool of humanity, despair sucking the life and hope of the unfortunates forced to live within its precincts. The best thing that could happen, he thought as he splashed cold water on his face, would be a fire like the big one in Chicago over in America about ten years ago. Clear out the filth with the cleansing sweep of fire.

  Jake turned the idea over in his mind for a moment, toying with the logistics of it. While the idea had some merit, it would be impossible to start a blaze big enough to clear out the den of sin and evil that was Whitechapel and Spitalfields. Most likely Satan would send a downpour to interfere with his efforts. He certainly seemed to hold sway in the desolate streets and gin houses.

  Shaking the thoughts from his mind, Jake left his room locking the door behind him and taking the steps two at a time. The rain had stopped but the wet damp still sent a shiver down his back. He paused at the first newsstand he came to and bought a paper. The coves must have been working overtime because the headlines screamed of his work of the night before. There were fewer women than usual on the street and those that were out and about went in pairs or small groups. A thrill of glee spiked through his gut at the suspicion and naked fear on their faces.

  He scanned the front page story before folding the paper and shoving it into a jacket pocket to read later. Lengthening his stride he carried on toward Butcher’s Row, Aggie was usually downstairs earlier than the old man. It would be amusing to see what she thought of the night’s activities. A God-fearing Christian like herself would most likely be relieved there was one less Jezebel on the streets. He nodded to some blokes he knew as he passed without pausing to exchange words with them. A lone woman scuttled across his path clutching a heel of bread and glancing over her shoulder every few steps.

  “Best be getting yerself indoors, Missus,” Jake advised giving her a wolfish grin.

  Her fingers fumbled on the bread and her face blanched as she met his gaze. A barking laugh escaped him as the woman fled into the nearest doorway. He continued on without a backward glance, crushing the bit of bread beneath his heel. He moved quickly through the streets, the usual rag tag gangs of urchins were noticeably in absence this morning. Another bonus resulting from his night’s work, perhaps?

  Whistling under his breath he turned into the back alley and entered Fleischer’s shop. He tossed his cap onto the peg and pulled a gore-spattered canvas apron on over his jacket. The morning air was still cold, he hoped it would warm up some once the sun managed to force its way through the smoky haze that hovered overhead. Unable to resist the urge, Jake wended his way through the cutting room to the front of the shop where the blonde daughter of the house was packaging kidneys and other bits in waxed butcher’s paper. The poorest of the poor would soon be hovering with their bits of copper in the hopes of purchasing the only meat they could afford to put in the pot. No doubt it would be the same pot they had pissed in, using the brass they got from selling the urine to the tanner to fill the pan with supper.

  Aggie looked up when he entered the shop proper; her smile was like sun breaking through the clouds. Jake’s heart lifted in response and he found himself smiling in return. Tearing his gaze away he pulled the newspaper from his pocket. He put it down where she couldn’t miss the headlines. Aggie glanced at the headlines and grimaced. Jake frowned inwardly at her reaction, but kept his face expressionless.

  “Not another murder?” she asked.

  “Aye, looks like he done for two of them last night,” Jake kept his tone casual.

  “Lord have mercy on us all,” she exclaimed and crossed herself. “How do they not catch the devil?”

  Jake shuffled his feet. The conversation was not going the way he wanted. The woman should be happy that two more ladybirds were off the streets.

  “Who was it? Someone we know?” Aggie wiped her hands on a bit of towel and reached for the copy of the Daily News.

  “Don’t know, didn’t do more than read the headline,” Jake lied.

  “Oh, my stars!” The paper rattled as Aggie sank onto the low stool by the counter. She pressed her free hand to her breast while her eyes scanned the smudged newsprint. “He got Katie, the bloody bastard got Katie…” The words trailed off as tears welled in her blue eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

  Jake glared at her. “What the bloody hell was she doing out and about at the time of night if she wasn’t up to no good?” He spat the words at the distraught woman.

  “Are ye sayin’ it were Katie’s own fault, then?” Outrage painted flags of colour on her pale cheeks. “Yer thinkin’ she deserved to be gutted like one of yon steers?” Aggie jutted her chin toward the back of the shop where the cattle stoically awaited their fate.

  “Well, yeah, not ‘zackly, no,” Jake stuttered. “She sure weren’t no better than she should be though, out that time o’ the night. That’s all I’m sayin’” The last thing he wanted was for word to get out that he sympathised with the murderer.

 
; “And what else could she be doing to get doss money? Jobs for women is few and far between in this neck o’ the woods, Jacob. Don’t tell me you niver realised that, you daft berk,” Aggie shot back at him.

  Jake regarded her for a long moment, held speechless by her anger. It was like a fluffy kitten has suddenly turned into a lion, complete with fangs and claws. Without a sound he turned on his heels and left her clutching the paper with fury burning in her eyes.

  The church bells tolled the noon hour before he realised how much time had passed.

  “Oi, Jake. Want to nip out to the Still and Star and get some tucker?” His mate, Dick, hailed him the back alley.

  He raised his hand in acknowledgement and hastily swilled the gore from his hands. Wiping the excess moisture off on his trousers he joined Dick in the alley and the pair made their way to the small pub in Harrow Alley. They found a spot at the bar to lean on and the barmaid plunked an ‘arf n’ ‘arf in front of each of them.

  “What’ll ye have, gents?” Will, the proprietor, greeted them. Owner he might be, but he was also the cook.

  After ordering his food, Jake turned his attention to the gossip around him. The main topic of interest was the double murders of the night before. He was careful to keep his face expressionless while he listened to the wild theories being bandied about. The tabloids were having a hay day with the story and he was pleased to hear that his post card had been duly delivered and was being reported word for word by the red top papers. There were noticeable fewer women in the public house than usual. Staying home where they belonged, no doubt. He smiled with satisfaction. Father should be pleased with Jake’s work.

  “What d’ye make of this latest happening?” Dick poked him in the ribs to get his attention.

  “The killin’s, ye mean?” Jake turned to look at him.

  “Me woman’s right scared to go out alone, she is.” Dick shook his head. “The first one was a mate of ‘ers, and Elsie’s right shook up ‘bout it.”

  “Looks like Els should choose her friends a bit more careful like. T’aint no decent bird what’s out that time o’ the morning, I says,” Jake remarked and took a pull on his drink.

  A puzzled frown creased Dick’s forehead for moment before he spoke. “Could be as yer right ‘bout that, but it’d take a stronger bloke ‘en me to tell ‘er that.”

  Jake snorted into his glass. “Fellah should have the last word in his own house.”

  “That’d be why ye have no bit of fluff warmin’ yer blankets, Jake,” Dick retorted. He changed the subject as a dark-haired girl entered the public house. “Did ye hear what happened to Amalie, there?” He indicated the chit with a jerk of his chin.

  Jake glanced in that direction. A purpling bruise covered half her face and above the shawl drawn high on her neck yellowing imprints of fingers marred the skin of her jaw. “Nar, ain’t heard nothin’. What ‘appened to ‘er, then?” He had no real interest, but it served to steer the conversation away from the subject of Dick’s troll of a wife.

  “I ‘eard a gang of blokes down by the docks had some fun with ‘er,” Dick said.

  “S’ppose she deserved it then,” Jake dismissed her. “What’d the ladybird expect, hanging about down there?”

  “I don’t know,” Dick said slowly. “Elsie said the girl went to meet her brother off’a one ‘a the ships. Turns out he didn’t show, but a gang of gurriers as come off the transport thought they’d have them some fun.”

  Jake shrugged and turned his attention to the kidney pie Will set in front of him. He needed to get back to Fleischer’s before someone noticed he was gone. He scarfed back the pie and drained his glass. “Time I be going,” he told Dick.

  Dick nodded and continued his conversation with the old man on his right. Jake left the Star and hurried back to the shop. Nothing seemed amiss when he arrived and it appeared that the auld man was none the wiser of his lunch break. The auld skin flint would dock his packet for the fifteen minutes if he found out. Bleeding bloodsucking bastard.

  Bits and snatches of conversation from the shop filtered back to him as he bent to his task. Jake paid the gist of it no little mind; for the most part it was talk and speculation about the double murders of the night before. He straightened up and moved a few steps closer to listen when a young constable stopped at the counter to question Aggie about the slaughter men who worked there. A sigh of relief escaped him as she assured the bobby that they only employed one slaughter man and he had worked for them for ages. She attested with absolute certainty that he couldn’t be the man they were looking for. Silly bint. After all, how well did she really know him? Once again the Lord was smiling on Jake and his appointed duty. He went back to skinning the steer at his feet, whistling through his teeth as the knife flashed in the dim light.

  Sometime later Aggie’s voice raised in anger interrupted his work. A softer female voice spoke in counterpoint but he couldn’t make out the words at all. He turned back to the job at hand as the voices moved away and the sound of their feet on the stairs echoed overhead. He cocked his head for a moment. The woman rarely left the shop counter during the working hours, it was certainly unusual. She had a few women friends but she’d never invited one up above while the shop was open. Where’s the auld man? The daughter of the house wouldn’t be taking some haybag of a dolly into the upstairs if he was about. No further sounds of a barney filtered down to his ears. Let the auld bugger worry about it when he showed his face. It was no niver mind of his, Jake decided and grunted with the effort of severing the steer’s head from the spine.

  “Oi, who’s mindin’ the shop?”

  The strident shrill brought Jake from the slaughter room to poke his nose into the butcher area behind the counter. A woman stood with her back to him, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and over her head. He made to withdraw at the sound the steps creaking overhead. The woman turned and caught sight of him before he could disappear.

  “Ye’ll do, slaughter man. I’ll be wantin’ some organ meat, a tuppence worth.” She waved him forward. The shawl dropped from her head revealing startlingly copper-red hair.

  Jake’s breath stopped in his throat, his feet glued to the floor. Mam! The illusion lasted only a second before his rational mind dismissed it. It was the Joe Barnett’s woman. He spun on his heel without acknowledging her and returned to his work. Moments later Aggie came downstairs and served the woman, sending her on her way with the organ meat wrapped in waxed paper. He paused to pull a flask from his jacket pocket and took a healthy swig of straight gin. The fiery liquor scalded his throat and gut and chased the last vestiges of shock from his veins.

  Night had fallen before Jake finished for the day. He heaved a bloody side of beef over his shoulder and humped it to the butcher block. He hooked the hind leg to a hook and left it to hang before he turned to leave, wiping his wet and slippery hands on his trousers.

  “Jake, just the man I wanted to see,” Aggie spoke from the front of the shop.

  He stopped with his back to her, careful to school his features before he turned. Blood and bits of gore dropped from his canvas apron to splat on the floor.

  “What’re ye needing?” He peered at her through the gloom of the interior of the shop. In the auld man’s absence no one had lit the lamp. A small golden halo of light glowed around her from the tiny lamp sitting on the counter by her side.

  “Vater is krankverden. I’ll be doin’ the butchering till he’s up and about. I’ve hired a fraulien to handle the counter and I wanted you to meet her. She’ll be stayin’ above stairs for the while. I didn’t want ye to be t’inking she was a sneak comin’ to see what she can lift,” Aggie informed him.

  Well, that explained the auld man’s absence at least. He looked at the woman behind Aggie. What the bleeding hell is the daft woman thinking? She pulled the girl into the pool of light and turned her toward Jake. The chit kept her head down and refused to look at him, all the while twisting her rough hands in the folds of a grimy apron.

&nb
sp; “Amelia, this is Jake, our slaughter man. He’s an okay bloke and no bother to anyone. I just wanted ye to meet each other seein’ as ye’ll both be workin’ here.”

  Jake nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His guts roiled and bile rose in his throat as he recognised her from the Still and Star. The girl peeked up at him through her fringe and quickly dropped her gaze again.

  “I’ll be goin’ then, evening to ye both.” Jake spoke to Aggie and moved with haste back to the dark stinking room. He slopped through the shit in the outside yard and drew a bucket of water from the well. With a practiced heave he dowsed the cobbled floor and swept the offal and blood out the narrow door. Furious thoughts chased themselves around his head. His skin crawled at the thought of breathing the same air as the bit of trash. Working with her! He exhaled violently through his nose. Aggie was bleeding barking mad, that’s what she was. Taking the dollymop into her house, sleeping under the same roof as that soiled and disgraced twat. What the hell was the auld man thinking to allow it to happen? The broom quivered against the wall as he hurled it into the corner. Snatching his cap from the hook he crammed it on his head and seized the bucket from the floor. His knuckles whitened on the handle as he stamped into the yard and tossed the wooden pail against the stones of the low well head.

  Jake shoved his shaking hands deep in his pocket and headed off into the gloomy night. He stamped past the Still and Star even though he reckoned Dick would be in there bending his elbow. The thought of food brought foul-tasting bile into his throat. His skin crawled from being so near the little whore. How was he supposed to work in the same shop as the likes o’ that? Restlessness drove him on past the gin houses where light and laughter spilled from the doorways. He had no idea how long he walked, head down, paying no heed to where his steps took him. Jake reared back as he barged into a man coming toward him. One of his knives was knocked loose from the canvas safe he had carelessly shoved it into earlier. Strong fingers gripped his arm and jerked him about.