No Absolution

by N. M. Bell

  “Leave off, ye gobshite,” Jake snarled. The grip tightened preventing him from retrieving the knife from the grimy pavement.

  “Ye’ll just be comin’ along with me, then.” The policeman twisted Jake’s arm behind him and marched him toward the precinct. His partner picked up the offending blade and wrapped it in his handkerchief before slipping it into an inside pocket of his jacket.

  “What’re ye wantin’ wi’ me?” Jack protested.

  “What der ye think? A cove all plastered with blood and gore droppin’ a knife at me feet? We’ll be needin’ to ask ye a few questions, is all,” the Peeler replied without slowing down a step.

  “I’m a slaughter man, fer God’s sake, man! A course I’m covered with blood, steers bleeds when ye sticks ‘em,” Jake retorted.

  “Be that as it may, the detectives will still be havin’ a few questions fer ye, I’m sure,” the bobby who picked up the knife chimed in. “Been talkin’ to a mort of slaughter men these past few days, hasn’t he just.”

  “Bloody hell,” Jake cursed under his breath. He calmed himself with the thought that the good Lord would watch over him and smooth the way. His work wasn’t done by a long shot and surely the Lord would see to it that Jake was free as bird before too long. If he was away, there was nothing he could do to carry out the job the Lord had set for him.

  A long and agonising four hours later Jake shoved his way out the precinct door. The small muscle by his right eye twitched in response to his suppressed rage. Blethering eejits, all of them. The fine drizzle that misted through the dank air did nothing to improve his mood. He was bone tired and craved nothing more than his bed at the moment. The bells of Saint Katharine’s church were muffled by the weather as Jake turned toward Dorset Street. Shite, it was bleedin’ three in the morning. He had to be back at work in short order.

  The thought of work brought the whey-faced urchin the fool woman had taken in to his mind. Bloody fecking hell! Did she actually think he would work in the same place as that filthy trash? Never you mind that she was actually living under the same roof as Aggie. It wouldn’t do, it just wouldn’t do. I’ll just bide me time and see is there sommat I can do about it. Shoulders slumped with weariness, Jake let himself into the small room on Miller’s Court and flopped on the bed with a grunt.

  Much too soon for his aching body, his internal clock roused Jake from an exhausted slumber. Grumbling, he staggered to his feet and pulled off the stiff canvas apron he’d forgotten to remove earlier. After sousing his face with frigid water, he pulled it back over his head, checked his knife safe was in place, including the feckin’ blade he dropped earlier, and let himself out into the pre-dawn stygian darkness. A sulphurous fog clung to the buildings and hovered inches above the cobbles underfoot. Other early risers faded in and out of the heavy mist as he made his way down Dorset Street.

  A frown creased his face as he trudged along with his head down, even the prospect of spilling the life blood of the stupid cattle couldn’t raise his spirits this morning. He sidestepped a woman sprawled half in a doorway, her legs askew across his path. His shoulders hunched with revulsion at the reminder of the soiled goods who was even at this moment in the company of the blonde-haired Aggie. Why could she not see the error of her ways, not see the damage that consorting with a woman of that ilk could do to her own reputation? He ground his teeth and pulled at the whiskers on his upper lip. Something would have to be done, and done before any more damage occurred. He’d have to be canny and crafty—wait for his chance—with the Lord on his side it would only be a matter of time. “Patience, Jake, patience,” he muttered.

  The oil lamp in the front of the shop was lit when Jake passed by on his way to the back alley. A halo of golden light shone around Aggie’s head as she bent over the counter to show the shorter dark-haired girl beside her something. He hawked and spat on the cobbles at the sight.

  “Let Thy will be done, Lord. Show me the way.” Jake paused to glower for a moment before carrying on to the alley. “Hoor,” he muttered, “Filthy fecking hoor.”

  Jake avoided looking toward the front of the shop and there was no reason for him to leave the dank narrow room he worked in. Lost in the mesmerising flow of blood and the faint tearing sound of the skinning knife he narrowly missed slicing off a finger when auld man Fleischer’s voice brought him back to reality.

  “Jacob, this is Horst, the son of an old friend. It is time he learns the business before he marries meine tochter.” Heinz grinned broadly and slapped the younger man on the back. “Jacob is our slaughter man, when he isn’t off on the cattle ships.”

  Jake straightened and regarded the blonde giant standing splay legged in the doorway. His bulk took up every bit of free space and towered over his future father in law. Horst smiled and offered his hand, letting it drop when he glanced at the fistful of entrails trailing from Jake’s.

  “Perhaps another time, ya?” he said in broken English.

  Jake grunted and nodded. He bent back to his task and ignored the two men as they moved back toward the front of the shop. Occasionally, their voices intruded on his thoughts and he was forced to replay Heinz’s astounding announcement in his head. Married? Aggie is promised to that lout? It’s wrong, just plain wrong. She should never be compelled to endure the indecency of the marriage bed. Like the Blessed Virgin, so she is. No man should be laying hands on her as if she were a common ladybird. Another problem laid at his doorstep, it was. First though, he needed to deal with the little Jezebel living above.

  He met Dick after work over at the Star. The bloke was full of gossip, gained from his wife, about the disgraced girl who had apparently disappeared.

  “Her da’ is looking to whale the tar out of ‘er, iffen he can find the bird,” Dick finished relating the tale. “It were Tom’s mate that rogered her, but he says she crawled into his lap and seduced him. I mean, what’s a bloke to do when the fruit falls into his lap?”

  “Happens that I know where that fruit has landed,” Jake said. He wiped the froth of dark ale off his upper lip. “Heinz’s daughter has taken her in, sainted woman that she is. Won’t hear no hard word against the girl.”

  “If I run into Tom I’ll pass that on, then,” Dick said. “Ain’t no never mind tellin’ Elsie, them women stick together, so they do. Old Tom’ll be right glad to track down his wayward bint and scald her arse for her.”

  Jake smiled into his pint. A beating was too good for the girl. Imagine her having the gall to point the blame at her da’s mate when it was clear she was the one in the wrong. He’d just have to see what he could do about it himself. He couldn’t allow filth like that around Aggie, not to mention dirtying his own workplace.

  “I hear as there’s a new cove over at Fleischer’s. Sober Sam was saying the word is the bleeder is makin’ to set up house with the daughter. Wha’ d’ye know about it?” Dick glanced sideways at Jake, not meeting his eye.

  Rage clouded his vision for a moment and he fought to keep the emotion from showing on his face. The bastard was already making Aggie the object of gossip. “Don’t be shootin’ yer mug off about things ye got no right to be talkin’ about,” Jake snarled.

  “I heare’d he was in the shop all day with the mister, did ye not run into him?” Dick persisted.

  “I said shut yer trap!” Jake shoved away from the bar and slammed a fist into Dick’s shoulder.

  “What the bleedin’ ‘ell was that for?” Dick roared at him and doubled up his fists.

  “There’ll be no jolly in ‘ere, boys. Take yer barney out inter the street,” Eldon warned as he stepped out from where he was pulling pints. The publican’s oldest son was as broad as he was tall and it was all hard muscle. No man in his right mind looked for trouble with him.

  “Are ye barkin’ mad, Jake? A bloke’d think ye were sweet on the woman yer own self,” Dick accused him.

  Jake banged his pint down on the bar and stalked out of the establishment. It was still fairly early and the streets were thronged with t
hose making their way home and those looking to start the night’s revelries. His rage at the invasion of his work place had nothing at all to do with any feelings for the daughter of the house. He liked things to stay constant, so he did. No big changes, especially with the people he had to come in contact with. He hated people in general and could only abide the company of a very few. The girl he could deal with, given the time. But the young blond giant was another story. Still a young man like that must like his fun and at some point an opportunity would present itself. If the German immigrant was bladdered, and Jake was walking the edge, the field would be levelled. A blade to the throat would steal a bloke’s life as sure as it stole a woman’s.

  Chapter Eight

  Jake strode through the darkening streets. If he turned his head and looked past the doxies who infested every doorway and alley, he could almost find some peace. The insidious voice in his head tempted him to take matters into his control. The blade hadn’t tasted the blood of the fallen angels since the double event and it screeched on his nerves like chalk on a slate. The thrill of that night’s deeds had woken a fire in his blood. The work of the Almighty could not be ignored. By their blood, he would cleanse the unclean and appease Father and the Lord at the same time. Perhaps then they would allow him some peace and he could rest without Mam’s face intruding on his dreams.

  Jake passed The Ten Bells public house as he trudged toward Dorset after leaving Dick. He turned in at the door and entered the smoky interior. Shoving his way to the bar he ordered a pint and meat pie for his supper. The mirror over the bar allowed him to watch the patrons dispose of their meagre wages without being observed himself. He knew almost everyone in the poorly lit room by sight.

  The Ten Bells was a regular haunt although he rarely engaged in conversation with anyone. The place was full of grubby foreigners whose garbled conversations grated on his nerves. The snatches of German he caught flayed his outrage into an inferno. Was that bastard fawning over Aggie right at this minute, plying her with lies and empty promises to gain her favours? Was the woman tempted by the bleeder’s smarmy whiles? The arrival of his meat pie and accompanying pint interrupted his disgusted thoughts and banked the flames of his anger for the moment.

  The door swung open, allowing a draft of damp air to disturb the close atmosphere. Jake glanced in the mirror in a desultory fashion, more a reflex than an action motivated by curiosity. The girl, Amelia, hesitated just inside the entryway. The thin shawl over her shoulders didn’t keep Jake from recognising the fact she was wearing one of her rescuer’s old dresses cut down to size. She shook the damp from the shawl, the gaping neckline revealed a hint of skinny breasts. His fury roared back to life. By God, the creature was wearing one of Aggie’s garments. Where did she get the gall to do such a thing?

  Surely, the Lord God Himself sent her into The Ten Bells in order for him to release the evil from her immortal soul and save her from the fires of Hades. He continued to chew his dinner while observing her in the mirror. Amelia stepped further into the room. She paused by an empty chair, but continued to the bar when the women at the small table glared at her. She glanced at him and offered Jake timid smile of recognition. A faint whiff of Aggie’s scent assailed him as she came up beside him.

  “Hullo, Jake, wasn’t it?” She spoke so low he had no trouble ignoring her.

  “What’s yer pleasure, missus?” The barman wiped the area in front of her with a grimy rag.

  “A bottle of gin for Mizter Fleischer and his dodder’s man,” she responded. “Ye work at Fleischer’s do ye not?” She tugged at Jake’s sleeve.

  Unable to ignore her any longer he pulled his shirt free and glared at her. “Might be as I do.” Her mention of Aggie set his skin to crawling. She had no business blackening the name by letting it pass her lips, especially in public.

  “Do ye mind if I stand wi’ ye fer a bit, like? I’m afeared to be here by my ownself, but I promised Mizter Fleischer I’d fetch the bottle fer him and the dodder’s new man.”

  Yes, he could sense the hand of God in motion this dismal evening. It was Jake’s duty to perform His work without complaint or heed of his own comfort.

  The dodder’s new man. The words burned into Jake’s soul as surely as if someone wielded a branding iron. Her new man, was it? Well, he’d right that soon enough. But standing beside him was a God given opportunity to take care of one of his problems.

  A thrill of expectation spiralled through him settling in the juncture of his groin where his penis twitched in anticipation. Jake shifted on his feet. It wasn’t that he wanted to slake his lust between her thighs, he would never again despoil the temple of his body with such an act. No, it was just that as the knife in his skilled hand released the polluted blood of the soiled creature his penis would stiffen and rise with the ecstasy of the deliverance of her soul. Father preached that allowing your flesh to be encompassed by the whore flesh of a woman gave them dominion over you. A power that only the death of the witch in question could release a man from.

  “Ye say it’s auld man Fleischer’s what wants the gin?” The barman eyed her.

  She nodded and pulled the shawl closer around her shoulders.

  “Tolt me ta fetch it, he did. Gave me the brass to pays for it.” Amelia dug in the little purse at her waistband and shoved the coppers across the sticky bar.

  The bar man leaned closer and she regarded him with wide frightened eyes. “Yer da’ was in ‘ere earlier lookin’ fer ye, ‘Melia. He was in a mort of a temper, so he was. Said I was ta telt ‘im iffen I soused out where ye was dossing.”

  “Please, please, don’t tell ‘im ye saw me,” she pleaded. “J-j-jes’ gi’ me the bottle and I’ll go.”

  “His mate was wi’ ‘im. Seemed right interested in findin’ ye, too. Wantin’ to set you right about something.” He leered at her and winked.

  “Gi’ me the bleedin’ bottle, fer God’s sake,” Amelia almost shouted. Tears stood in her eyes and the knuckles of her hands turned white where she gripped the shawl.

  The woman’s demand jerked him back to the present. Father’s fire and brimstone voice faded into the babble of sound behind him.

  “Don’t ye be orderin’ me about. I heare’d what ye bin up to,” the barkeep barked at her.

  “I jes’ want the gargle for Mizter Fleischer. Ain’t orderin’ anybody to do nothin,” she lowered her voice.

  He snagged a bottle of rot gut gin from under the bar and shoved it at her. “Take it and get out before I get it inta me head to send Alvin to find yer da’ and his mate.” The man spat tobacco juice over the bar and she cringed away from it, banging up against Jake in the process.

  “This is it, Jacob. The perfect chance to get the Jezebel on her own and take care of one of your duties. The good Lord himself has put this opportunity in your hands.”

  He suppressed his initial impulse to give her an almighty shove and instead schooled his features into a semblance of a smile.

  “Oi, beggin’ yer pardon,” she muttered clutching the bottle to her chest.

  “Amelia, is it?” Jake forced some warmth into his voice.

  “Aye.” She looked up at him through the greasy fringe of hair hanging over her face. “Oh, it’s yer, from the shop, like.” She took another step away from him.

  Jake put a hand on her arm to stop the girl from legging it out into the street.

  “I’se gots to go. The boss and Aggies’s man is waitin’ on me.” Her voice had a thin breathless note to it.

  He clamped the lid on the surge of fury that exploded in his head as the idiot’s reference to Aggie’s man. The damned gregor had no business being anywhere near the likes of her. He forced his attention back to the matter at hand.

  “Yer not afeared o’ walkin the streets in the dark, like? What with that Ripper bloke skulking about slicin’ up them ladybirds and all,” Jake said. He hid a smile as her whey face blanched whiter still. She refused to meet his gaze and shook her head.

  “A course I’se s
keered, like. I should ‘a been back afore dark, but….” She peered up at him again. “Had to nip inta an alley, so I did, to avoid that mate of my da’s.”

  “I could see ye back to Fleischer’s, if ye’d like. As a favour to the boss and the new man, like,” Jake almost choked on the last words.

  “Oh, would ye!” Amelia’s head flew up, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. “I’d be ever so grateful, so I would. I’m dead afraid of that Ripper cove and after what happened wi’….” her voice trailed off and a furious wave of red suffused her pale face.

  Not trusting himself to speak, Jake took her arm, shoved through the crowd and led her out the door.

  The knife shifted in its case, moving against his ribs. He had taken to carrying the knife safe everywhere, even when he wasn’t working. He could no longer leave it under the floorboards; it seemed the greater the distance between himself and the blade the more insistent the insidious voice became. It plagued him so greatly he had almost walked in front of a growler one night, narrowly missing being trampled by the team of horses and heavy carriage. Carrying it with him seemed to quiet its persistent voice.

  “I’m right grateful, I am. Nothin’ good comes o’ being on the streets after dark these days,” Amelia confided and leaned into his side.

  “Aye, ye niver know what bloke might be the knife man,” he commiserated. Jake dipped his head to hide the smile that tugged at his mouth.

  “It’s bitter cold and damp out. It’s glad I’ll be ta get back to Aggie’s. She’s an angel, so she is, for takin’ me in and givin’ me chance to earn me way,” the girl remarked as they made their way south on Commercial Street.

  “She is that,” Jake agreed and fell silent.

  Taking her cue from him the girl ceased her chatter and seemed content to let him lead her across Dorset and then south again on Goulston. Jake hid a grin as they passed the shadowy alcove where he had tossed the bit of Kate’s apron. Bloody bit of jolly that was, by Jove. The coppers were haring off on all sorts of false leads. A perfect red herring, and he hadn’t even intended it to be so.