by N. M. Bell
He picked up the tiny knife with the honed sharp point and sank into a chair by the hearth. Spreading his legs he pulled his penis out away from his body and inscribed the words ‘forgive me’ into the thin skin of the shaft. For some inexplicable reason the stinging sensation excited him and he grew hard as the knife did its work. He finished and looked up at Father. The man nodded and Jake let out a small sigh of relief. His immortal soul was safe. What was a little pain to endure to ensure his place in Heaven?
“Now clean up this mess and get your arse to work, Jacob. I have business with your whore of a mother.” The figure faded into the shadows and was gone.
Jake wanted to beg him to leave Mam alone, but that would only make the old man’s retribution even worse. She was a woman, and maybe she was deserving of the hell she had endured. He dismissed the thoughts from his head. There were more pressing matters at hand. It took twenty minutes for him to clean himself up and set the room to rights. Father hated clutter. Jake cleaned and oiled the whip with the long tails and the tiny knife before reverently returning them to the hidey-hole. His back was stiff and sore and his penis burned where it rubbed against the rough cloth of his trousers. Penance to serve to keep his mind pure and on his duty.
Chapter Seventeen
Jake let himself into the back of the butcher shop. No one was stirring at the front yet but he could hear footsteps overhead: heavy ones, and Aggie’s lighter ones. They would be down by half past the hour to open the store front. It looked like there were only a couple of hogs to do today, thank God. He wasn’t sure how long he could work with his body protesting every move. A few pints once the work was over would help cure that. Hair of the dog and all that. He supposed he should go looking for a whore to release from her sins. It had been two days since the last cleansing and the work was never ending. Later, in the public house he’d find someone.
“Jakie, a stor.” Mam’s lilting endearment froze him in his tracks.
“Mam?” The words were barely a whisper, all he could force past the lump in his throat.
“Jakie, don’t be goin’ an’ murtherin’ any more lasses. They’ve done nothin’ more than try to survive. It’s a cruel hard place, this London Town. An’ it’s harder on a woman than a man.” Mam’s figure shimmered in the shadowy corner of the room, a silver glow surrounding her.
He reached out a hand to her but it only disturbed the image like putting his hand into a still pool of water. There was no substance to her, just her presence and love emanating from the glow haloed about her. “That pur woman, Jakie … what ye did to her … ye must ask the Lord for his forgiveness. Ye must go the Church and confess yer mortal sins…”
“But ‘tis the Lord’s work I’m doing, Mam,” he protested.
“Ah, Jakie, is it sure ye are about that?” A tender smile touched her lips. “Think on it, and be sure, a chuisle. Would a loving God ever exact such a harsh payment?”
He opened his mouth to reply but the arrival of the Wilcox lad distracted him. When he turned back Mam was gone. Jake picked at the hole in his front tooth with a fingernail and turned over her words in his mind. He hadn’t warned her that Father was looking for her, either, he remembered suddenly with regret.
Heinz stuck his head into the slaughter room. “Young Joe, how’s the stone bruise, then?”
“Comin’ along rightly, sor,” Joe replied.
“Let’s get on wi’ it. I got customers waitin’ on trotters.” Heinz glowered at Jake.
Jake left off his mulling over of Mam’s words and nodded at Young Joe. “Send the first bugger in, like, I ain’t got all day.”
At noon hour Jake wiped his gory hands on the stiff canvas apron before using a scrap of cloth to swab the remaining blood and offal from his forearms. Throwing the rag into a heap in the corner he made his way through to the front of the shop. Aggie was leaning on the counter gossiping with Dick’s wife.
“He asked me to walk out wi’ him again this evenin’” Aggie whispered and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Where’re ye goin’? Is he after buyin’ ye supper agin, in that fancy place, like?” Elsie leaned closer and said something Jake didn’t catch. The two women went off in gales of laughter.
“I don’t think it’ll go that far.” Aggie giggled. “He is a fine cut of a man tho’, inint he? The way his arse fills those uniform trousers…”
Jake cleared his throat and dropped one of his small knives to the floor. Aggie started and turned toward him. He grinned inwardly as a tide of red swept up her neck and suffused her face.
“Jacob, I didn’t see you come up from the back.” She attempted to look innocent but failed miserably.
“Aye, well, ye best not let yer father hear ye talkin’ like that,” Jake warned.
“What d’ye mean by that?” Aggie inflated with indignation like a ruffled hen.
“Well ye know what I’m on about, Miss Fleischer. Makin’ indecent remarks about a certain bloke’s arse. Ye know how people talk, and yer father wouldn’t want his custom to think the daughter of the house weren’t any better than she should be.” Jake raised an eyebrow and frowned at her.
“You mind yer own bloody business and stop spying on private conversations,” Aggie shouted at him.
“Aye, mind yer own beeswax. Can’t fer the life o’me unnerstan’ what Dick sees in ye,” Elsie joined in.
“Someone givin’ ye trouble, Aggie?” Fleischer stamped down the stairs from the rooms above where he had been enjoying his lunch if the mustard stain on his shirt was any indication.
“Nein, Vater. I was just remindin’ Jacob not to sneak up on a person. He scared the liver out ‘o me just now coming up outta the shadows like,” Aggie lied smoothly.
So the wench lies without compunction and with a straight face. Perhaps she wasn’t the woman he thought she was. All women lie, even female childer. It’s in their blood, a reflection of Eve’s original sin. They are all guilty by their link to her. Father’s words replayed themselves in his mind. Overriding Mam’s quieter remonstrations to the opposite.
“See that ye don’t scare the wimmen again, Jacob.” Heinz turned and went back to his food.
“Aye, I’ll be sure t’announce meself from here on in.” Jake tipped his head to the man. “Ye shouldn’t lie to yer father like that,” he scolded Aggie after her father stumped back up the stairs.
“Wasn’t a lie, ye did scare me. Comin’ up so quiet like. Anyways, what I does is me own business and none of your’n. What did ye come out here for?” Aggie tossed her head.
“Ye fair put the heart across me, Jake,” Elsie chimed in. “Ye could be a sneak thief, movin’ so quiet like.”
Jake looked down his nose in distain and refused to acknowledge her words. He gazed sternly at Aggie. “The last hog is ready. I come up to see iffen the boss were ready fer it.”
“Ja, bring the carcass. Danke, Jacob.” The big man clomped down the stairs wearing a fresh shirt.
Jake turned on his heel and went to fetch the hog. “Aye, Young Wilcox, yer done fer the day.” He pitched a coin to the lad.
Joe snatched it out of the air and it disappeared into his pocket in a flash. Without a word, the boy limped away, the ragged bandage on his injured foot trailing behind him through the filth.
The slaughter man hefted the heavy carcass to his shoulder, staggering a bit under the weight. He wove his way to the butcher block and deposited the load before Heinz. He swiped the fresh blood from his hands on his trousers. Aggie took one look at him and burst into laughter.
“Jacob, ye look like an axe murderer. Here let me…”
She bustled toward him before he could escape. Firm fingers gripped his chin and the next thing he knew the woman was washing his cheek with the wet cloth she kept to wipe the counter. The sweet smell of some flowery thing tickled his nose. Releasing him, she stepped back and giggled.
“There ye are, now yer fit ta be seen in public. Ye looked like ye’d been wallowing in raw meat.” Aggie patte
d his arm and turned back to the counter as a customer came in.
Shock rooted him to the spot, his jaw tingled where her fingers had pressed. Jake wiped a hand across his mouth to erase the effect of her touch.
“That sounds right nice.”
Aggie’s voice made him look up. The bloody detective was at the counter and the silly wench was looking at him like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Fucking hoor! Why didn’t the father take her in hand instead of ignoring her behaviour? He bent to retie the lace of his boot while cocking an ear toward the conversation.
“It’s a new production with that Mary Lloyd. I hear she’s changed her song after those moralists picketed the Eagle. I thought you would enjoy the show,” Keegan said.
“I’ll be ready by eight,” Aggie promised.
“Capital, then we can go for a nice supper after the performance.” The detective moved closer and touched her hand.
“I’m looking forward to it, detective,” she cooed.
“It’s Bob, remember Aggie? I asked you to call me Bob.” The overly friendly detective smiled.
Old man Fleischer finally took notice of the tomfoolery. He cleared his throat and glowered at the couple.
Keegan stepped back and tipped his hat to Aggie. “Until this evening, then.”
Jake straightened up as the man departed. He glanced at Aggie who smiled at him as if she hadn’t just been playing the Jezebel. The perfidy tore at his heart. He shook his head in dismay when Heinz went back to carving up the hog and said not a word to his daughter. Clearly the wench was on her way to ruin. Imagine Heinz allowing his daughter to attend that scandalous woman’s presentation.
As if feeling the weight of Jake’s gaze on him the older man looked up. “That’s all I got fer ye today, Jacob.”
“Aye, I’ll just collect me packet then and be off.” Jake touched the brim of his cap with a forefinger.
Aggie rummaged in her apron pocket and pulled out a few grimy notes and thrust them at him. Her fingers lingered on his longer than was necessary and he snatched his hand away. Avoiding her gaze, he nodded and turned on his heel. The brass neck of the girl, flirting with that bloody detective and then not two minutes later flipping her skirts at him. And actually saying she was looking forward to attending fecking Mary Lloyd’s performance. Bloody hoor. Jake kicked viciously at a stray moggy that raced across the doorway as he stepped out onto the street.
The place was overrun with rats, stray dogs, and cats, not to mention the hundreds of scruffy barefoot urchins who seemed to ooze from the pavement and crumbling buildings. His skin crawled and he resisted the urge to find a bath house and scrub himself until he bled. How could he not be unclean, living in this filth? His steps took him to the Frying Pan on Thrawl. He propped himself by the bar and ordered an arf an’ arf. Thoughts of his Aggie laughing at the bawdy carrying on of someone like that Lloyd creature ate at him and his stomach roiled in response to his distress. That detective was no better, what sort of man took a woman he respected to a performance like that? Why did she agree to go? Surely, the woman knew what type of show it was?
“Hoi, Jake,” Dick elbowed his way into a spot at Jake’s elbow. “What’s doin?”
Jake shrugged. With a sudden decision, he turned to his friend. “Have ye been t’see that new show with that Lloyd woman?”
“I’m surprised yer askin’. Ye meanin’ to go for a peek?” Dick looked puzzled.
“Might,” Jake replied. “Ye seen it, then?”
“I took Elsie last week when it opened. She had ta change that one song ye know the one. I sits among cabbage and peas,” he sang the last words. “Changed it ta cabbages and leeks.” Jake dissolved in laughter. “Like it makes any difference…”
“Ye took yer wife to sommat like that?” Jake was astounded.
“It’s not like we’re not man and wife, aye?” Dick raised an eyebrow. “Made for an interestin’ time when I got ‘er ‘home. Iffen ye know what I mean?”
Heat rose up Jake’s neck at the image the words conjured in his mind. It wasn’t right or fitting for a man to take his wife to something like that. How could Fleischer allow his daughter to go to that den of iniquity with a man not related to her and without a chaperone. Her reputation would be ruined.
“She is the daughter of a butcher in the rat’s nest of the East End, what reputation does she have to lose?” Father’s voice rose in his mind. “Your obsession with her must end, Jacob. It interferes with your duty to the Lord. See the woman for what she is … no better than those friends of hers you have already cleansed of their sins. You know who must be next.”
The words drove like a stake straight to his heart. Jake jerked upright, spilling the drink in his hand. He glanced about the public house wildly, his heart hammering. Father wants me to cleanse Aggie. I can’t … I can’t….
“Jake, are ye alright, then lad?” Dick put out a hand to steady him. “Ye might consider takin’ a lady friend ta see the show, it made for a slickery time later.” Dick grinned and winked.
Jake pushed away from the bar and glared at his friend. Without a word, he shoved through the throng and stamped out the door. It was raining, again. The wind was sharp and carried the tang of snow, barely discernable through the pong of London stink. If he kept walking he wouldn’t have to think about Father’s ultimatum. The knife safe shifted in his jacket and he shrank away from it in horror. I can’t … I won’t … how can he ask this of me?
The clang of church bells jolted him from his thoughts. Jake looked up at the bell tower of Christ Church where it rose above the squalid roof tops of Fashion Street. Almost against his bidding he made his way to the corner of Fashion and Commercial, where he paused. The building seemed to call him in some weird fashion. Under the compulsion of his emotions, Jake walked the half block and climbed the steps of the church. Finding the door unlatched he pushed it open and entered the vestibule. He stumbled into the nave and collapsed on a pew at the back. Candle light glittered on the massive organ at the front of the church. It reposed magnificently as a back drop for the altar. Jake felt oddly sacrilegious. This was Church of England, not the Holy Roman Catholic Church. The very fact offered some small measure of safety though. The Lord God Almighty wouldn’t think to seek him here in a building that wasn’t dedicated to the Holy Roman Catholic Church and overseen by the Pope. Father couldn’t find him here either, Jake was sure of it. In this sanctuary he could hide and decide what he should do—what he needed to do. Folding his arms on the back of the bench in front of him Jake dropped his forehead onto his forearms and prayed for guidance.
In spite of his best efforts there was no answer to be found to his dilemma. A soft rustle of fabric announced the arrival of another supplicant. Frustration curled his fingers around the pew where his head rested. He raised his head to glower at the intruder and promptly forgot to breathe.
“Jacob, what is it yer doin’ in this heathen place?” Mam’s green eyes were narrow below the slight frown on her forehead. “Ye need to go to confession and be shriven of yer sins. There is no help fer it, Jacob, mo chuisle. Ye know it’s right I am.”
He let his breath out in a long sigh. “I don’t know what t’do, Mam. Father says I must do this thing, and I’m not sure I can do what he demands of me.” Jake looked into her serene face and tears started in his eyes. “I’m that scairt, I am, Mam. I don’ wanna do it.” He scrubbed at the moisture on his cheeks.
“Then don’t do whatever it is yer ascairt of. Ye can make yer own decisions, can ye not?” Mam laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Ye are my son and certainly yer own man.”
“Aye, I am.” Jake straightened his back and gazed up into the luminous height of the arched ceiling. With a sudden surge of confidence Jake got to his feet. Subduing the urge to genuflect he moved toward the centre aisle. When he turned to thank Mam, she was gone.
“I am always with ye, Jakie. I can always find ye when ye need me.” Her voice hung in the cedar-scented air of the vestibule and followed
him out into the night.
English Martyrs was the closest Catholic Church he could think of. Putting his head down into the biting wind that blew up from the Thames, Jake headed straight down Commercial and turned right onto Prescott. Homeless children huddled on the steps, bare feet tucked as far into their ragged clothes as possible. He ignored their plight, dismissing them as always. They had nothing to do with him. At least not until the females were old enough to ply their wicked wiles. Jake shook his head to rid him of the thought. He was here to confess and be forgiven and then to go on with his own life. Free of Father’s incessant demands. Wasn’t that what Mam promised if he went to confession?
He paused on the porch under the twin arches. High above him, the rose compass window stared bleak and dark out at the November night. Above that, three thin spires pierced the heavens. Jake hesitated, his hand on the polished brass handle of the huge door. Would God forgive him? Was there anything to forgive him for? Wasn’t he doing the Lord’s work here in Whitechapel and Spitalfields? He dropped his hand from the door and shifted from foot to foot, indecision and fear spiraling through him.
“Go on, mo chuisle,” Mam’s voice whispered under the whine of the wind. “It’s with ye, I am.”
Taking a deep breath, Jake reached out and opened the massive door. The voice of the wind was silenced as the door swung shut. Candle light flickered at the end of the long nave by the altar. He genuflected before moving into the sanctuary proper. The huge chandeliers were unlit and his feet made no noise on the thick carpet as he made his way down the centre aisle past the white columns with their gold leaf accents. He came to the crossing and glanced into the north and south transept. A few figures knelt on the prayer rails. Jake made his way to the cubbyhole of the confessionals. Both small booths were occupied. With a sigh of impatience he sank unto a hard bench to wait his turn. He let his gaze roam over the ornate carvings on the altar and the baptismal font. Beautifully executed murals graced the walls and screens. He shifted to ease his buttocks on the hard wood and glanced toward the confessionals. What in the name of God could someone have done that required such a long time in the confessional?