by N. M. Bell
Jake turned with a snarl to the man who jostled his elbow and quickly rearranged his features when he realised it was Dick.
“Oi, auld man, what’s shakin’?” he greeted his mate.
“I’ve just time for a quick one, then it’s home to Elsie.” Dick grinned.
“Yer in an uncommon good mood.” Jake squinted at him through the haze of smoke that clouded the room.
Dick leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Elsie thinks she’s up the spout. Looks like we’ll be havin’ another mouth to feed come spring.” A huge smile split his face.
Jake was momentarily without words. Dick was obviously thrilled with the news and Jake felt only a violent revulsion. He set his half-filled pint on the table and shook the man’s hand. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if his mate was sure the brat was his. Instead, he clapped Dick on the shoulder with his other hand.
“Next round’s on me, then,” he said.
Dick didn’t seem to notice his less than enthusiastic response and leaned across the bar to share his news with Will. True to his word, the expectant father only stayed for an hour and then trundled off home to his tame whore. They were all whores, the married ones what were honest were just tamed ones.
Much later Jake stuffed his slightly soggy Evening News under his arm and left the public house. Upon reaching Miller’s Court he shoved the extra copy through the gap under the door of Number Thirteen. Joe would be sure to read every word to the bitch and hopefully scare the bejeezus out of the eejit woman. She had a good man in Joe, why couldn’t the silly slut keep her legs together? Just went to show women were all whores at heart. In any case, it gave him great pleasure to know he could strike terror into their dark hearts.
Chapter Thirteen
Two weeks after the delivery of Lusk’s package the furore of outrage and horror over its contents seemed to have died down. Jake shook his head at the thought. Even Aggie had given up gossiping about it with the women who frequented the shop. Did they think he was codding them when he promised he would keep ripping until the whores ceased their sinful ways? The November wind was cold as a witch’s tit and twice as unforgiving. It whistled through the narrow streets chasing those without the cost of a bed into the stairwells and entryways of the shabby buildings. Even the urchins were forced to curtail their deviltry and seek the meagre comfort of whatever shelter could be found. Jake pulled the brim of his cap down further and hunched his shoulders inside the thin jacket that did next to nothing to cut the cold. At least it wasn’t pissing cats and dogs at the moment. God, he hated the autumn months. Wet, cold, and dank. He stopped to nick some lumps of coarse coal from a half empty pail outside an open doorway. Angry voices and the high thin wail of another fecking babbie echoed down the steep stairs from the rooms above.
He shoved the coal in a pocket, crossed his arms and stuck his bare hands into his armpits. The fingers were stiff with cold and blood. He hadn’t stopped to wash before leaving work. The skin was already raw and chapped from being immersed in hot blood and then chilled by the bitter wind blowing through the open door of the slaughter room. The big toe of his left foot was throbbing like a bitch, he cursed the stupid steer that had trodden on it, and then for good measure, included the inclement weather which added to his misery. Jake detoured from his route to the Ten Bells and nipped by Dick’s to see if there was a pair of socks to be had that were less holey than the ones he wore.
Elsie peered down the gloomy staircase in answer to his shout. Her head and shoulders visible in the faint glow from the lamp behind her, the rest of her melting into the shadows. She frowned when she recognised him and shifted the toddler on her hip into a more comfortable position.
“Dick ain’t ‘ome. Ye might try the Star and iffen ye see the useless git send ‘im on ‘ome.” She called down the stair before retreating back into the room and slamming the thin door.
Jake cursed and stomped down the rickety single step of the threshold. The Still and Star was back the way he’d already come. Turning up his collar and pulling the hat lower over his ears, the slaughter man continued on toward the Ten Bells. The rain that had fallen on and off all day began again, slanting down the sharp November wind. The thin jacket did little to protect him and he shivered as his balls pulled up tighter into his groin. Jake entered the smoky warmth of the public house with some relief. The crowded room stank of wet clothing and unwashed bodies, but at least it was warm.
A shriek of laughter from the far corner caught his attention. He glanced toward the sound and paused in mid-step. Mary Kelly sat at a small table with three other women, all of them well into their cups and as corned as one might expect on a night like this. It was far too miserable to prowl the streets looking for customers, far better to park their arses in a public house and trawl from there. Jake spared a momentary stab of pity for Joe. The man hated the fact Mary sold herself to keep a roof over their heads. He pushed the emotion away. Apparently, Joe wasn’t upset enough to actually go out and earn some brass himself though. The man drank anything he did earn and then staggered home to berate his woman for being a whore. Their quarrels were heard all up and down the tiny close, and Miller’s Court often rang with the sounds of hey rubes. Joe wasn’t alone in his methods of keeping a woman in line.
Jake grinned. The man also read, at the top of his voice, every single word written in the daily papers about Jack the Ripper. No need to buy a rag when Joe was in full cry trying to scare the daylights out of Mary and keep her home with her legs only open for his pecker.
He pushed his way through the crowd to the bar and ordered his regular. Sam, the barkeep, slapped the pint down and scooped up the coppers in the same movement.
“Bloody miserable out there, innit?” Sam observed. “Good for the custom, though it is.”
Jake grunted in reply and downed a third of his pint in one go. Try as he might to avoid it, his gaze kept straying to Mary Kelly’s table. He paused with the pint half way to his mouth when she stood and slipped out the back way with a young feller. The nipper didn’t look old enough to be out on his own. Jake narrowed his eyes and kept a look out for their return.
Not ten minutes later Mary was back with her friends and the youngster stepped from the shadows adjusting his flies. The woman happened to look up and catch Jake’s eye. She gave him a saucy wink and arched one eyebrow in invitation. Jake scowled at her and turned away. The cove she’d just tossed stood at his elbow. The lad looked up and met Jake’s gaze. A deep red flush darkened his neck and face and he dropped his eyes. Sam slapped a pint down in front of the boy and turned to serve another customer.
Beer sloshed over the rim as the youth lifted the pint in his shaking hand. He took a long pull, set the pint down and let out a heavy sigh. He shook his head and glanced sideways at Jake.
“Cor, I ain’t niver done nothin’ like ‘at afore. Me Ma’ll skin my arse if she catches wind of it,” the boy confessed.
“Did she give ye a charity bang seeing as it’s yer cherry?” Jake was surprised into replying.
“Blimey, no sor. I paid ‘er right and proper, I did.” He buried his nose in the pint. “D’ye think she’ll tell me ma?” His right hand scratched at his crotch.
Jake took a step away. “Give ye crabs, did she?” His upper lip curled in disgust.
The boy shook his head. “Filled her jam hole good I did, but she’s bleedin’ and it’s powerful itchy, so it is,” he mumbled.
Jake threw his head back and laughed. “Lucky lad,” he clapped him on the back, “losin’ yer cherry to a Judy on the rag. Makes it twice as slickery an’ quicker to shove yer roger in ‘er.”
The tips of the young man’s ears turned a deeper shade of red. The bloke on his other side poked the boy in the ribs and slapped his shoulder.
“Another pint here, Sam. Young Alfred has just taken his Nebuchadnezzar out for grass the first time,” he called at the top of his voice.
“Shut yer pie hole, Bob,” Alfred protested. “Me ma’ll hear afore I
even get me foot in the door.”
“Yer a man now, Alfie. Tell ‘er it ain’t none of her business where ye put yer stick of rock. Wimmen’s job is ta keep us happy.” Bob nudged him and winked suggestively. “Ye’ll have to shove it up the cack pipe next time.” He laughed uproariously as Alfie turned white and swallowed convulsively. Jake joined in the merriment as the boy looked across the room to the table of women. “Up fer it again already, Alfie me lad,” Bob ribbed him.
A snatch of the Kelly wench’s conversation rose above the babble of voices. The Irish lilt drove a knife into Jake’s heart and he found his amusement flaring into rage. He glowered at Alfie so fiercely the boy took a step away from him. The pub faded from his vision and images of Alfie’s pale scrawny shanks hammering away at the flame-haired woman’s body overwhelmed him. In his imagination, the boy’s arms snaked around her body which was bent forward and supported against the wall by her hands. Her back was to him as the lad filled his palms with her tits and pinched the nipples which popped free of the low cut bodice drawing a squeal from the woman.
The vision darkened at the edges, and now it was Mam bent over the table while Jake hid under a chair. The white flesh of her arse was striped by angry red wheals as Father punished her for her latest sins. He didn’t know just what it was she’d done this time, but Father was incensed and Jake trembled as piss leaked down his leg. He wanted to hide his face when the man threw down the horse whip and ripped at his flies. Jake knew what was to come, but couldn’t tear his fascinated gaze from the scene even while his stomach rebelled and he shook with renewed terror.
The man grabbed the weeping woman by the hips and pulled her toward him. Jake caught a glimpse of the engorged purple head of the penis before Father rammed it up Mam’s arse. It must have hurt because she screamed. Mam never made a sound during her punishments as it only made Father more brutal. This time, though, she whimpered with each thrust of his hips, her legs jerking in time. Unable to help himself, Jake crept out from under the chair and moved closer. The musky smell drew him like a moth to a flame. Father pulled out of her, his penis still standing upright and twitching. Blood and shit clung to it and dripped down Mam’s legs. Father’s eyes were unfocused, his face a mask of anger and righteous rage. He impaled her front hole, pulling her upright and back against his chest, his fingers leaving purple marks where they pinched her paps.
“Jake. What the bloody hell is wrong wi’ ye?”
The bar keep’s voice jarred him back to reality.
“What d’ye want?” he growled.
“Ye spilled yer pint and started mewling like nipper. Are ye that corned, man?” Sam squinted at him through the haze of smoke.
“I’m fine. Another pint will set me right,” he replied. His eyes sought the corner where the Kelly woman sat. To his relief she was gone. But so was Alfie. Jake clamped a lid on the direction his thoughts took. No concern of his what the bitch did. If only she didn’t remind me so much of Mam.
Rain pissed down on him when he stepped onto the street at closing time. Shite, but he hated November in the God forsaken place. It was late, the church clock struck half one as he walked away from the Queens Head where he had wandered after Sam threw him out of the Ten Bells. He made his way toward Dorset Street, occasionally missing his footing and stepping in the overflowing gutter. He almost ran into three young women who were sheltering under an awning on Brushfield Street.
“Watch where yer going, ye eejit,” one chaffed him.
“Go one wi’ ye, ye fool,” her companion chimed in.
“What’ch ye carrying, there mate?” the one he recognised as Sarah Roney asked.
“Will ye come with me?” Jake asked avoiding her question. Here were three women obviously up to no good. It was his duty to see them on the straight and narrow. It might be a challenge to cleanse three at once, but if the Lord willed it, it would be done.
“Not bloody likely.” Sarah leaned closer trying to see his features under the hat brim in the dim light of the gas lamp. “What’s in the bag?”
He grinned but didn’t expose his face to the light. “Something the ladies don’t like.” He shifted the knife safe which had come free of his jacket when he slipped in the gutter. The woman gave him a queer look before she and her companions ran off into the driving rain. Jake shrugged; it appeared the Almighty had decreed the women would live to see another dawn, cold and sodden as it promised to be.
As he came along Commercial, Jake recognised Mary Kelly coming toward him. His initial reaction was to duck into one of the narrow alleys and avoid the woman. He’d had enough grief for one night.
Father’s voice in the darkness stayed him. “It is a sign, Jacob. A sign from the Almighty. Your work is not done and you have entertained ungodly thoughts tonight. Remember the verse in Leviticus—Chapters five to seven. That is your duty to perform in God’s name. Cleanse the Jezebel and offer her flesh up as a sacrifice in order that you too shall be cleansed and forgiven for your sinful thoughts and actions.”
Jake wavered, but kept walking toward the woman. As he neared, Jake put out a hand to stay her course. She seemed to have sobered up some since the Ten Bells, but was still unsteady on her feet. He forced a smile to his lips and greeted her. “Mornin’, Mary Jane, off to find your fortune this fine day?”
She stopped and laughed at his sally. He joined in her mirth and leaned on the wall. “Come back to the court with me and we’ll have a drink, shall we?” Jake extended the invitation he was sure she wouldn’t refuse.
“All right,” she replied. “It’s right spooky with that knife man running around and all this bleedin’ rain.”
“You’ll be alright with what I have told you,” Jake sought to calm her fears. He put one arm around her shoulder to make sure she came with him. Mary leaned on him for support as they continued up the street towards Dorset. He steered her across Commercial and into Dorset. She halted as they came to the entrance to Miller’s Court and leaned on the wall to steady herself.
“I feel right poorly, Jake,” Mary’s words were slightly slurred.
“Is Joe to home?” Jake inquired. It would put a spanner into his plans if the man was about.
“He’s off somewhere drinkin’ what I’ve earned. I threw the bastard out, but he were back early tonight asking for some brass.” She inhaled deeply through her nose. Jake hoped she wasn’t going to hurl all over him.
“Are you afeared of the man, Mary? Yer welcome to kip in my room if you are.”
“Ah, Joe won’t be back.”
“Do ye want me to stay wi’ ye, seein’ as yer feeling poorly and all, just in case he shows up,” Jake offered. He needed to get her indoors and alone if he was to carry out his night’s work.
“All right, my dear. Come along then. You’ll be comfortable, I’ll make sure of it,” Mary Jane replied.
She leaned on Jake and he put his arm around her as support. She reached up and placed a drunken kiss on his cheek. He resisted the urge to wipe it away and started into the court. Mary stopped and fumbled in her pocket.
“I’ve lost my handkerchief,” she lamented.
Jake pulled a red one out of his jacket and handed it to her.
She took it and staggered toward Number Thirteen where she reached through the broken window to unsnib the lock.
“Joe lost the damn key, the eejit. Pain the arse it is, had to break the window so’s I could lock it.”
The door swung open and Jake followed her into the cramped room. He took off his jacket and hung it on a hook behind the door to drip, careful to hide the knife safe under it and out of Mary Jane’s sight. The woman lurched toward the hearth and attempted to strike a match to the bit of kindling strewn about the cold ashes. She fell forward with a curse, landing in the grate. Jake regarded her upturned arse for long moment before stepping across to haul her out onto the floor. Mary got to her feet and began peeling off her garments until she stood shivering in her shift.
Jake glanced toward the knife saf
e, but Father shook his head from the shadows. The time was not right to commence with his duties. He ignored the dusky shadow of her nipples that showed through the thin cloth, the cold of the unheated room making them stand out against the dingy white linen. Kneeling by the hearth, he coaxed the kindling into a hesitant flame and added some pieces of coarse coal she must have scavenged from the road after they fell off a passing cart. He started when her cold hand slipped between his legs and fondled his balls. Against his will, Jake’s penis reared to life pressing painfully against the confines of his rough trousers. He leaned back into the cup of her palm as she rolled his testicles between her fingers.
Father’s voice thundered in his ears and he rose so swiftly the woman toppled over backward. “You are no son of mine, you unclean spawn of Satan! Do you think I don’t know you enjoyed the touch of that vile creature? That you lust after her unclean flesh, imagine spilling your seed into her?”
Jake took a step back from the apparition that materialised in the shadows by the door. “But, you used Mam when you wanted,” he protested. Shrinking inside at his daring to oppose Father. “You made me watch while you rogered her,” he continued. “You hurt her,” his voice broke.
“Silence! I only sought to teach her a lesson, make her realise once and for all, that I was the man of the house and she was obliged to do whatever I asked of her. Including not using her witch’s wiles to seduce me. I had to make sure she realised the error of her wanton ways and that I could never be ruled by her opening her legs to me.”