by N. M. Bell
Jake halted as Aggie’s blue gaze swung to him. The red-haired woman turned and leaned back on the counter thrusting her well filled dress in his direction. A quizzical expression crossed her face as she studied him.
“Sure an’ who’s this one, Aggie?” she inquired. “Ye don’t live in Miller’s Court d’ye, fellah. Ye look awful familiar like.
Aggie released Jake from the thrall of her gaze and tossed her head. “That be Jake, our slaughter man. Vater seems t’think I need an escort to go out at night. Jake, this be Mary Jane Kelly.”
Mary … Mary was Mam’s given name. Glory be, the wench was beautiful, and young. Aggie cleared her throat loudly and the woman gave him a knowing look as laughter bubbled from her lips.
“Pleased t’meet ye, Jake.” She let her gaze drift below the belt cinched around his thin hips to keep the trousers in place.
“Same t’ye, Miz Kelly,” he replied.
“Do ye kip at Miller’s Court?” she persisted.
“Aye, I do,” he said curtly, hoping she’d drop the subject.
“Me and me oul’ one are at number thirteen. D’ye know him, Joe Barnett?”
“I knows of ‘im, sure,” Jake said and moved toward the door.
“It’s right kind of ye to take Aggie t’ the meetin’s. Joe, he’s on about that knife fellah, so he is. Buys all the rags and reads ‘em out loud to me by the fire. Fair scares the bejeezus out o’ me, so it does.” Mary Jane shook her head and the long ringlets danced about her face.
Another customer shoved into the shop and Jake took the opportunity to escape out into the street. It was thronged with rag and bone men dragging carts heaped with old clothes and rubbish that could be turned into profit. He shoved through a gang of barefoot urchins and growled at a small girl in a tattered shift who didn’t move quick enough. She clung to an older child’s skirts and regarded him with eyes that seemed huge in her thin face.
A game of pitch and toss was underway on the corner and Jake stopped on the outskirts of the group of men to watch. Even though the October sun was weak and the cobbles cold many of the men were barefoot below ragged trousers that barely reached their ankles. Refusing an offer to join he wandered down towards the docks. The lure of the sea still pulled at him, but the promise of seeing Aggie alone twice a week was greater. He forced his thoughts away from her and instead found himself thinking of the titian-haired Irish girl. He had thought her much older when he saw her lifting her skirts in the alley. I wonder what Joe Barnett thinks of that, or if he knows where the rent money comes from? Maybe he doesn’t care? Mary Jane, her name was. He supposed it was no coincidence her name was the same as Mam’s. Lord only knew how many little Irish Catholic girls were called after the Blessed Virgin and St. John’s own ma. She was certainly not doubly blessed no matter who her namesake was or the girl wouldn’t be parking her arse in Miller’s Court with some bleeder what wasn’t even her husband. Still, the thought nagged at him. She reminded him so strongly of Mam, mostly her voice and that lilting Irish speech. But she moved like Mam had too, graceful like, and her face seemed untouched by the squalor and filth she lived in. How could she do what all the women of the area did with little exception and still look so fresh-faced and innocent? A scowl crossed his face and blackened his mood. He knew firsthand the woman was no innocent. His penis stirred at the memory of her flanks and buttocks, pale in the dim light as the man pulled free of her with a sloppy pop and she settled her skirts about her before moving off. Jamming the lid firmly down on those thoughts he sat on a piling and lit a fag. The cold wind snatched the smoke in a ragged trail as it left his mouth.
What was he doing? He should be getting on one of the ships bound for America. What possessed him to promise to take Aggie to her infernal female meetings? He must be out of his bleeding mind.
* * *
At twenty before seven Jack pushed away from the bar and left the Still and Star. Reaching Fleischer’s, he leaned on the wall and waited for the woman to appear. The coins in his pocket jingled through his fingers. He returned the nods of some passersby and shifted his position. Where was the bloody woman? The October night was chilly, bordering on cold, and the streets were bare of the hoards of scruffy children. Only a ragged few were visible huddling in the doorways, those that had no better place to be, he supposed. The high wail of an infant came from a few paces down the street.
“Aye, that’ll be Sarah’s young’un. Teething it is, the poor mite.” Aggie stepped out of the shop and joined him on the street. “Ye should have rung the bell like Vater said. No use ye waitin’ when I was ready up the stairs.”
Jake grunted and straightened away from the wall. Without a word he set off in the general direction of the Ten Bells. Aggie inhaled sharply through her nose and hurried to catch up with him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, amused by the scowl on her face. After a few blocks she grabbed his arm and swung him about to face her.
“Will ye slow down, for Gott’s sake,” she exclaimed. The plump cheeks were pink with exertion and her bosom heaved, drawing his gaze. Aggie pulled the shawl closer about her shoulders hiding the object of his unwilling attentions. “Is there no tongue in yer head to offer a body a greeting?”
“Aye, well, I wasn’t knowin’ ye was after a convo, yer da’ only asked me to walk wi’ ye, not bleedin’ entertain ye.”
“Language,” she admonished him. “There’s no need to cuss at me.”
Jake nodded, forbearing to speak.
Aggie began walking again, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. He glanced down and steeled himself not to shrug the contact off. Another few blocks passed in silence and he caught the turn of her head as she turned to study him.
“Still no words, Jake?”
He heaved a long suffering sigh. Bloody women. “It’s a pleasant night, isn’t it?” he said.
Aggie snorted through her nose. “It’s cold as a witch’s tit, ye git. Pleasant evening my arse.” She punched him lightly on the sleeve. “Have ye nothin’ intelligent to say?”
He was saved having to answer by a drunk who stumbled out of an alley into their path. The cove lurched against Aggie, one grimy paw clutching at her bodice. She squealed and brought a well-placed knee up between his legs. Jake let go of her, grasped the ignorant sod by the throat and pinned him to the wall. The drunk’s eyes bulged and the breath whistled in his throat as he tried to draw breath past the vice-like constriction of Jake’s fingers.
He tightened his fingers and landed a blow on the bridge of the man’s nose. The bastard gave one strangled gurgle as his eyes rolled up in his head. Jake released his hold and the body crumpled into a heap. He became aware of hands beating on his back and Aggie’s cries ringing in his ears.
“Leave him be, for Gott’s sake. He didn’t know what he was doin’. Leave off….” Her voice dissolved in tears.
“Aye, woman, whist now. It’s a long ways from ‘is heart, so it is,” Jake growled. “Quit yer blubbing and let’s git ye to yer damned meetin.” He took her arm and propelled her down the street away from the rumpled bundle huddled in the dim light of the gas lamp. Damn it, the extra shillings for the gargle weren’t worth the bloody trouble. He’d tell the auld man this was a one off. He’d have to find another keeper for his daughter. He sucked in a breath and almost stumbled as Aggie leaned her head against his upper arm and tucked herself close against his side. An unfamiliar sensation warmed his belly and his heart galloped in his chest. It seemed no time before Aggie pulled him to a halt.
“This is it, Jake. Thank ye for walkin’ with me. We’ll be done round about nine. I’ll wait at the door till ye show yer mug.”
He disengaged his arm from her fingers and stepped back. Misty rain shone like sparkling diamonds in the yellow light spilling from the windows. “I’m just goin to have a jar with some lads down at the Bells. I’ll be waitin’ when ye come out.” Jake nodded, waited until she was admitted, and then slogged off through the light rain toward the public house on
the corner.
* * *
The weeks following continued in a fashion that Jake found rapidly becoming familiar. The custom at Fleischer’s was sporadic and so was the resultant work for the slaughter man. Jake supplemented his earnings by helping Dick haul a rag and bone cart about Whitechapel and Spitalfields. The physical work kept his mind from wandering and he enjoyed the unaccustomed camaraderie. He found himself looking forward to Tuesday and Thursday nights when he could spend a few precious moments with Aggie. The knife and Father’s voice were uncharacteristically quiet. The respite was a great relief and for the first time in many months Jake found himself enjoying life.
Rain pelted from the heavens pinging off the piece of canvas he held over Aggie to protect her from the deluge.
“It’s raining cats and dogs.” Aggie laughed up at him, the moisture sparkling on her eyelashes.
“Aye, so it is,” Jake replied. A sudden urge to kiss the water from her cheeks almost overwhelmed him. He missed his footing on the slippery cobbles and stumbled. Aggie caught his arm to steady him and the breath hissed through his teeth at the unexpected contact.
“Alright, Jacob?”
“Fine. Blasted weather.”
He waited at the front of the shop while Aggie unlocked the door and unsnibbed the latch. She hesitated before going in and turned those luminous blue eyes on him. The breath stopped in Jake’s chest and he gazed mesmerised at her face. The silence stretched between them, the only sound the splat of raindrops splashing onto the pavement. She opened her mouth and the tip of her tongue licked her lower lip. Jake leaned toward the unspoken invitation without pausing to consider the consequences.
The sharp cry of a hungry infant and the yowl of duelling tomcats shattered the spell and he drew back abruptly. Aggie took a step closer, but he retreated an equal distance.
“Ye should be getting’ in out o’ the wet.”
She opened the door and stepped into the dark interior of the shop. Jake ducked under the stoop, folded the bit of wet canvas and handed it to her.
“Won’t you be needin’ it to get home without catchin’ yer death?”
He shook his head, the water cascading off the brim of his cap. A light appeared and the stairs creaked in the depths of the shop.
“Aggie, is that you, girl?” Heinz’s voice floated down out of the shadows.
“Ya, Vater. It’s me,” she called back. She put a hand on Jake’s arm to keep him from moving off into the night. “Thank ye fer walking me to the meetin’ and back. The streets aren’t safe for a woman at night, what with that knife man lurkin’ about. What horrible names the rags call him.” She shuddered and pulled the shawl closer. “Leather Apron, Jack the Ripper…”
“Daughter, get up these apples and pears. What’s keeping you?”
She gave Jake a brilliant smile and closed the door. The latch snibbed shut and the lock fell into place. He ducked deeper into his jacket and slogged off through the dark. Waterlogged sewage rolled down the swollen gutters, the noisome smell hanging in the dank air. It seemed to be part of the thick mist roiling upward and parting before him. Was there anything more sodding awful than this hell hole on earth in the rain?
* * *
Jake woke late the next day. The cattle transports should be in, which meant it would take the better part of the day to unload them. He yawned and scratched his balls. Grimacing with disgust he crushed a louse between his nails with a tiny snap. Bleeding things were everywhere. Carbolic soap worked to get rid of them but Jake hated the stuff. It burned like the dickens and left his nether regions red and irritable.
“Tis God’s punishment to ye, whelp,” Father’s voice echoed from the ashes in the hearth.
Jake pulled the blanket over his head and stuffed fingers in his ears. It was no good, the voice was in his head and wouldn’t leave him be. A large rat ran across him and he scrambled from the bed cursing. Stamping into his boots Jake turned his back on the now silent fireplace. The rent was paid for the week and there was a bit of coin to spare. No doubt there would be work tomorrow at the butchers so why not spend the day at the Still and Star. The prospect of dragging the effing rag and bone cart through the narrow alleys in the pissing rain held no appeal. Father muttered something in the depths of the chimney as Jake shrugged into his coat. “Sod off, auld man,” he growled and slammed the door.
Christ he was tired. Tired of being driven to carry out the Lord’s work in this God forsaken place. Tired, he was tired. Jake barged along with his head down unmindful of the people he shouldered out of the way. A kiddie wailed when he knocked her into the gutter and he hesitated for a split second before moving on. The brat was someone else’s problem, not his. At least not till she got older and took to selling her body.
Dick was already at the bar with a pint to hand when Jake entered the Still and Star. He shook the rain from his coat and leaned an elbow on the sticky counter beside his mate. Dick raised his glass and grinned over the lip of it while downing half the contents.
“The ball and chain let ye out, did she? I’d a thought ye’d be draggin’ th’ cart all over hell’s half acre to make the rent money,” Jake slagged him. “Pint, Will.” He pointed at the spot in front of him and dropped a coin on the wood.
“I would be out in this slop exceptin’ me oul’ one got a promotion at the factory and a bit of a bonus fer some extra stuff she done.” Dick finished his pint and ordered another.
“What’d she do to get the bonus?” Jake’s eyebrows drew together in suspicion.
Dick regarded him oddly for a moment and then laughed fit to bust a gut. “Fer God’s sake man, it’s a filthy dirty mind ye have,” he finally managed to say. “Elsie’s bin workin’ double shifts cause one of the women cut off two pointers on the one hand.” He shook his head, still chuckling as he picked up the fresh pint.
* * *
Jake squinted at the clock over the bar. He was bladdered and his eyes refused to focus. The small public house was crowded fit to burst with men fresh off the transport ships and harbouring a terrible thirst. The stink of cow clap mingled with the stench of wet wool and unwashed bodies creating a powerful fugue. His eyes watered something terrible, but Jake wasn’t sure if it was the smoke, the stink, or the drink. He giggled at the thought. Blearily, he raised his head and was surprised to see a stranger beside him. Where did Dick get to? He glared at the clock face trying to get the wavering hands to stay still long enough for him to figure out what time it was. The uproar of a barney erupting in the corner distracted him. Men surged toward the combatants and a chair flew through the air over their heads. Jake ducked as it landed a few feet from the bar smashing into smithereens at his feet.
“That’s it, gennulmen.” Will came around the end of the bar with a bat in hand followed by his strapping sons. “Time, gennulmen. Time,” he roared and began swinging indiscriminately at his erstwhile patrons.
Jake beat a hasty retreat and slipped out the back way. Far off a clock tolled the hour. Two a.m.? Where had the time gone? Last he could remember it was early afternoon and he and Dick were downing a few. He shook his head like a dog shedding water and stumbled toward his doss. Somehow he found his way back to Miller’s Court, though he had no recollection of how he got there. He crawled up the stairs and Fumbled with the latch until he finally got the door to give and fell into the room. He lay on the floor for a while waiting for the walls to quit spinning and moving in on him. Bile and raw liquor forced its way up his throat and he spewed it across the floor boards. He retched uncontrollably for a bit, the puke burning his nostrils as it exploded out of him. Jake choked and shook his head trying to clear the foulness from his mouth and nose. The panic brought him to his senses a bit and he struggled upright.
As the nausea faded his head began to pound so even his hair hurt. A baby screamed and the sound drove a nail into his head. Clutching his ears with both hands, he curled up on the floor and prayed to die. An uncomfortable wetness and the pungent odour of ammonia stirred him.
Jake forced his eyes open and realised he was lying on the floor half under the cot. The front of his trousers was damp and his hand came away smelling of piss. He groaned and cursed as the occupant of the upstairs room stomped across the creaking floor with all the grace of an elephant. A moment later a door slammed and sent a fresh streak of pain through his abused senses.
Jake lay still for a while and gradually his gaze focussed on the jar of spirits containing Kate’s kidney and the other prizes from his last job. Preoccupied with Aggie and taking her to the meetings, Jake had forgotten about the jar. He snaked out a hand and snagged the bottle, pulling it out from under the cot. With great care he managed to sit upright, leaning on the wall, the container clutched in his lap. Sometime later, Jake had no idea how long he sat on the floor staring at the ruby liquid cradling his treasures, he staggered to his feet. Placing the kidney in their container on the table, he scrubbed his hands through his hair.
His eye fell on the latest newspaper, the pages scattered across the floor. The furore about the killings was dying down. It had been over two weeks since the last event. He’d let his obsession with Aggie distract him from his holy work. Without the fear of retribution at the end of a knife the whores would be back out into the streets peddling their wares with impunity. He regarded his treasures with a new interest.
It was true he hadn’t the time to clip Kate’s ears for the Peelers. But he did have some parts of her. “I wonder how they’d like a bit of kidney for their dinner?” he mused. Yes, that would create some interest. Remind them there was a price to be paid for the sins of the flesh. But were the police the best ones to send it to? What if they decided to let sleeping dogs lie and keep the present a secret? No, better to send it to one of them newspaper men, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to trumpet it to the skies. Those bleeders would steal the silver offen their own mither’s eyes if they thought it would sell more rags. But who would be best…?