by N. M. Bell
A man lurched out of a dark doorway as they neared and the girl shrank against Jake. She pulled her shawl up over her head, hiding her face. He steered her out onto Whitechapel High Street and turned right toward Aldgate. Jake’s steps slowed as they neared the Minories. The last thing he wanted was to deliver the dolly safe and sound back to the shop. “Patience,” Father whispered. “Patience, the Lord will show thee the way.” His gut tightened as they neared Butcher’s Row. The Lord better bloody well let me know what He wants, quick like. In spite of the chill of the evening a rivulet of sweat traced its way down his spine. At the corner of the Row a pair of men appeared. He thought he recognised the taller of the two, but the light was uncertain.
“Bloody hell, the bleedin’ bastard’s found me,” Amelia gasped. Her language further condemned her in Jake’s eyes and made his plans for her all the more justified.
She pulled free of his arm and fled down Aldgate High Street in a flurry of skirts. Jake hesitated only a second before giving pursuit. Perhaps this was the Lord’s way of showing him how to carry out his appointed task.
“That’s her, the fecking tart,” one of the men shouted behind him. The clatter of hob-nailed boots on the pavement echoed in the street. Jake pushed an old man out of his way and struggled to keep the girl in sight. The woman was fleet of foot, he’d give her that and she must have a fine pair of lungs on her to keep up the pace she was setting. By the time they passed the looming bulk of the Tower the two men had given up the hunt. Thankfully, the fleeing figure in front of him slowed down and cast a furtive glance over her shoulder.
“Hold up, woman, fer God’s sake,” Jake called.
She hesitated and then paused, bent over with her hands on her knees. Her breathing was still laboured when he drew even with her. Amelia straightened up and grasped his arm before setting off at a brisk pace heading west. Ahead of them the bells of St. Magnus the Martyr proclaimed the hour. After twenty minutes Jake broke the silence.
“Who were those blokes?”
“My da’ and his friend.” She shuddered at the mention of the friend.
“A daughter shouldn’t run from her father,” Jake chastised her.
“A father should protect his daughter,” she shot back at him.
“Where’re we headed?” Jake changed the subject. He was just as happy to be headed away from the streets of Whitechapel. The police would never connect her death to the others, not this far afield from his usual haunts.
“Don’t know … anywhere’s away from them,” she replied.
Presently, they passed Blackfriars Bridge, but her steps never slowed. His silence seemed to encourage her to confide in him, much to his dismay.
“That bloke, me dad’s mate, he’s an auld bastard, so he is,” she began. “Started out innocent enough, I guess. No more than a girl of my sort should expect. The odd pinch, hand up my skirt at the table, grabbing me breasts from behind….” Her voice trailed off for a moment and a sheen appeared on her cheeks. “Then he took to crawling into me bed when Da’ came home too ran tan to realise what was happening right in front of him. That was bad enough, what with him pawing and slavering all over me, but then the bleeder put Nebuchadnezzar out to grass so he did, shoved his dick up me fanny. Hurt like the blazes and he wouldn’t stop. Jes’ kept ramming away and Dad a’snorin’ to beat the band right there in the same room.”
Jake grunted and turned his face away. He shoved the stirrings of pity to the back of his mind. She’d tempted the poor cove, probably swaying her hips at him and shoving her ample wares in his face when she dished out his supper.
“Kept at it night after night. Finally, he told me da’ that I was up the spout and I’d welcomed him to me bed. Da’ said I was to marry him, a right disgrace to his name I was. Never mind that his mate beat me black and blue. Said I deserved it for bein’ a hoor. So I run out on them both. Aggie, bless her soul, offered to help me and her da’ promised to pr’tect me from me own da’.” She finally ran out of breath and Jake heaved a sigh of relief.
He wasn’t the least bit interested in her troubles. He had a job to do. A construction site reared up out of the darkness, a grubby sign proclaiming it was the site of the new Scotland Yard. Well wasn’t that just a fine thing? What better place to send the little dollymop to her reward? He pulled her into a narrow opening between the hoddings.
“Hush, do ye hear them?” he whispered in her ear.
She shook her head and he could feel the trembling of her body as she pressed nearer.
“I heard voices, might be it’s yer men still follering us,” he said drawing her deeper into the shadows. She turned her frightened face up and went with him trustingly.
* * *
Jake wiped the dark blade of the knife with a bit of cloth torn from Amelia’s cloak, and dropped the bit of material off the nearby Vauxhall Bridge. It spiralled toward the dark water and sank quickly upon reaching its destination. The bloodthirst slaked, the knife rested quietly in its safe tucked into the inner pocket of his coat. The little hoor wouldn’t be bothering Aggie any time soon. He moved further down the bridge, stopping in the heavy gloom between the gas lamps. No one was about at this hour but he checked just the same. Satisfied he was unobserved, Jake drew a package out of his cloak, holding it by the string which bound it tightly to stem the leakage of blood.
In the concealment of the shifting shadows thrown by the totally inadequate gas lamp he opened the parcel with trembling fingers. Jake examined his handiwork with pride, reluctant to part from the evidence of his artistry. One last time he gazed at the clean disarticulation of the joints, the smooth edge of the incision he used to free the arm and shoulder from the torso. Beautiful work, if he did have to say so himself. He chuckled and dropped the arm and shoulder into the turgid water of the Thames, watching till it disappeared from his sight. He grinned, now there was a prize for some lucky mudlark to discover.
Turning his attention to the matter at hand he pondered on what to do with the rest of his prize. It should be used to taunt the Peelers, but how? It was hard to concentrate, his mind kept wandering to the fun he had with the woman. How the blade sang in his skilful hands as it separated the head from the body, the arms and legs from the torso. So sweetly it cut, the hot blood rising to its call, so vivid against the pale white skin. The little hoor should be thankful he extinguished her before he set about the dismemberment; even with his skill it would have been deliciously painful. The knife was too anxious to free Aggie from her obsession with the soiled bit of goods and had refused to allow him to play a bit with Amelia. It was Jake who enjoyed the fear; the knife only craved the release of the red life force from the imprisonment of the body. He didn’t think the Almighty gave a tinker’s damn how he did it as long as the soul was cleansed of its earthly sins.
In spite of the chill night air a fine sheen of sweat gathered on his face, he wiped it away with his handkerchief and continued his journey back to the remains of his spoils. She deserved what she got, the stupid bitch. Taking her own father’s mate to her bed and then accusing the cove of mistreating her. Typical of a woman to lie to hide her own wickedness. It was good night’s work he had done, the Lord God and Father would be pleased with him.
He drew near the Victoria Embankment when a flash of genius sent a thrill through his body, and his balls tightened in excitement. What place could be more perfect to place the evidence of his latest work than the new headquarters of Scotland Yard? The partially finished building beckoned to him. He scrambled over the earthworks and wall and found the doorway to the cellar unlocked. Very sloppy help they hire. He smothered the urge to laugh. Down in the partly constructed vault, that would be a capital place to leave this little present for the authorities. He’s cleansed the bitch behind the hoddings so it would be no work at all to move the remains to a spot inside the building Tonight is Friday, well technically it is now Saturday, so the earliest any workman will be down here is sometime next week. It will be delicious to see what the dai
lies do with this. Rubbing his hands in anticipation Jake returned to the hidey-hole where he stashed the naked remains in the narrow space behind the hoddings. He cut her black petticoat into a piece large enough for his needs and wrapped the headless torso, securing it with twine. No one would see him, concealed as he was by the boards of the worksite. He kept to the shadows anyway just in case a chance passerby might notice him and be able to give a credible description to an inept police investigator.
In no time the burden was tucked into the half-finished vault in plain view of the next workman who happened to come into the cellar. Congratulating himself on a good night’s work Jake slunk out into the light and turned toward the East End slums again. It was a long walk back to his place on Miller’s Court. When he turned off Dorset into the close a woman lurched into him stinking of gin.
“Watch where the bloody hell yer going,” he snarled and thrust her away from him. Her shawl came loose and coppery hair spilled over her shoulders. Jake’s breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening. Bleary blue eyes peered up at him.
“Joe, zat you, Joe?” she slurred the question.
Jake stared at her lost for words and time slowed to a crawl. The woman’s features blurred and suddenly it was Mam looking back at him. Reproach and deep sadness twisted her beloved features. Jake’s heart twisted in his chest. What had he done to make her look at him like that?
“Jake, a moirin, it’s stopping the murthering, ye must be.” Mam’s Irish burr came through strong when she was particularly upset he remembered. “I’ve no wish to see yer wee soul writhin’ in the divil’s fires. Ye must listen to me….” He closed his eyes, unable to bear the anguish in her face. The woman clutched his arm as if Mam had taken control of her body. The illusion lasted only a moment, when he looked again it was the gin-soaked features of the Kelly bitch who lived further down the court. He shoved her and she slid down the wall where she sat in a puddle singing to herself. The words of the song drove a cold spike into his heart. A Violet from Mother’s Grave, Mam’s favourite song. He turned on his heel and left the slut there wallowing in her own urine. Let her man Joe take care of her. Weariness dogged his steps as he climbed the dank stairwell and opened the door to his rooms. Lighting the lamp he set about retiring. He wondered what Aggie would think when the wayward girl failed to show up with the bottle for her da’. Maybe she’d believe the slut ran off with the brass. More like the soft-hearted thing would worry that she’d come to some harm. Well, he had a bit of a present to leave for her to set her mind at rest, didn’t he?
The knife was silent and complacent as he placed it back into concealment.
* * *
Anger bloomed in his chest and heated his cheeks when Jake arrived at work the next morning, Aggie was not alone. He glared at the blond man leaning on the counter. She smiled and gave the man a push toward the butcher block where her father waited indulgently. She turned to the next customer, carefully weighing and wrapping some bits of offal while listening to an old woman natter on. The old dollymop was carrying on about the filth of the streets and the terror of having a madman on the loose. A jolt of amusement made him miss his step. Why the bitch is complaining about me and me work! It took all his concentration not to laugh outright, what a simpleton the interfering old Judy was. His mood darkened at the woman’s words.
“I suppose the likes of you ain’t troubled by blood and gore, what with your line of work and all.” She opened her mouth to embark on another tirade of abuse.
How dare the cow speak to Aggie in that tone of voice?
“You be meaning the cove what’s butchering all them wimmen?” Jake interrupted her to draw the shrew’s ire away from Aggie.
“Weren’t speaking to you, was I?” The woman dismissed him with an arrogant flick of her hand which made his fingers twitch and wish for the smooth handle of his knife. The roaring in his ears drowned out her final comment as he struggled for control. From Aggie’s expression the woman hadn’t changed her tone of voice much. The auld bitch sashayed out into the street, narrowly avoiding being knocked into the gutter by a gang of ragged urchins racing by.
“Guten morgen, missus,” old man Fleischer called from where he stood at the butcher block. He wiped a bloody hand on the once white apron tied about his waist before returning to work on the quarter of beef before him. The blond giant of a man standing behind him, hands thrust into his pockets.
Aggie caught Jake’s eye and gave him an apologetic smile which affected him in ways he would rather avoid.
He cleared his throat before he could speak. “A real piece of work that one. Makes ye wonder if she poisoned ‘er auld one what’s dead.” Jake couldn’t pull his gaze away from Aggie’s face. She coloured slightly under his scrutiny, which pleased and amused him.
“Why’re ya here? It be your day off, innit?” Her voice broke the spell she held him under.
“Need the extra brass, don’t ya know. Came in to see if there was sommat I could do.” He glanced at her father who appeared not to be paying attention to his daughter and his slaughter man.
“Did you see Amelia on your way to work? She wasn’t in her bed this morning.” A frown marred her pretty face and she twisted her hands in her apron. “I heard her useless excuse for a da’ hollering earlier. Please God he hasn’t got his paws on her.”
He shook his head and tried to look sympathetic. The black and white puppy sleeping behind the counter caught his attention. It both pleased and annoyed him.
“Not much of a protector that one, eh?” He nodded at the somnolent bundle of fur.
She looked up and smiled at him as she placed a piece of wrapping paper on the counter. “Nein, he is not, but he be company just the same. The nipper does seem to have a fascination with chewing my slippers though.”
“Ah, you should give the little beggar a bone to cut his teeth on.” Where did that bit of nonsense come from? What the devil is wrong with me?
He missed the first part of whatever it was the woman said but the last bit caught his ear. Horst, the blond divil. What was she on about? “What was ya saying about Horst?”
“Horst,” she indicated the man with a tip of head, “’tis his birthday today.” She set a parcel on the counter.
He nodded in response to her answer carefully concealing his bemusement. Why would he care if it was the bloke’s birthing day?
“Is it, now?” He moved toward the back of the shop, hiding his smile.
He had a present for her, so he did, not for the hulking eejit. He’d just have to suss out how best to deliver it.
“Steers a’waitin’.” Old man Fleischer looked up from the slab of meat he was cutting. There be some hogs comin’ later. There be work for ya tomorrow.”
“Jake, wait,” Aggie called as he turned. “We’re havin’ a bit of a celebration later this evenin’. Dick’s Elsie let slip ye have no family about and I was wonderin’ if ye might like to join us? Nothin’ fancy, just supper and then cake for the sweet.” She smiled brightly. When he made no response the smile faded a bit. “Come round about seven-thirty, iffen it pleases ye.”
He nodded and made his way to where the stupid cattle awaited their fate.
There were only a few animals and he made quick work of dispatching them. The job of skinning them took longer than the gutting, but he did enjoy it. Finished long before the church bells struck five, Jake wiped his nose with the back of his hand and slouched out the door into the dismal wet street. He found his way down to Tower Bridge where he stood for a time watching the mudlarks digging in the cold mud of the Thames for what treasure they could find. He smiled. He pushed away from the stone wall and headed for home, busy planning his surprise.
A faint smile touched his lips at the thought of the butcher’s daughter. The trashy dollymop was taken care of and the pestilence removed from the shop. The smile disappeared and Jake’s fingers rapped a staccato tattoo on his thigh. The streets were crowded and he was forced to shove his way through the mass of bodies
. The question of what to do about the German bloke gnawed at him. The filthy scum could not be allowed to put his paws on the daughter of the house. How could Heinz let it happen and under his own roof, heaven deliver him? His hand twitched with the unbidden desire to loose her corn silk hair from its pins and bury himself in it. The image of Horst engaging in the same activity slammed his mind and rage kindled like wildfire in his gut. ‘No,’ the voice in his head thundered, ‘the woman is mine. I’ll make her see the error of her ways and she will gladly leave her father and look to me for the care of her. She best be learnin’ some obedience.’ The vehemence of the words startled him. Why can’t I get the bint out’a me mind? Iffen I’m not careful the witch will ensnare me like Mam did to Father. Nothing good can come of it and in the end I would have to deal with her. Just as Father was forced to deal with Mam. How he sobbed as he cut the evil from her body. He shook for hours afterward while he held me on his lap as the blood dried on the hearth stones. Her blood on me face when he put his hands on me cheeks and stared into m’ face with those mesmerising eyes of his. ‘Never let a woman enter your heart, Jacob. Do you hear me? They are all whores of Babylon, they deceive, they lie, they betray us as that harlot Eve betrayed Adam. Promise me, Jacob.’ He shook his head to dispel the image of Mam’s battered face. Father could not have been wrong. He was never wrong. Jake had just been too young to recognise the evil.
Lost in his thoughts, Jake was startled to recognise the familiar arch leading into Miller’s Court. Raised voices echoed in the narrow enclosure and the door to the flame-haired witch’s doss flew open. She stormed up the court, shouldering Jake into the wall as she passed. Joe Barnet appeared in the doorway, cap askew and his face flushed with alcohol and anger.