The Whitechapel Virgin Page 12

  Catherine shuddered, she had found that to be the oddest thing of all. ‘What do you think he was doing?’

  ‘I’m quite sure he wasn’t drawing you Catherine. He was writing something about you in his diary. The second time I visited him his writing book was lying open on his bed.

  I couldn’t read it of course, but I knew that’s what it was because I recognised some of the blotted ink letters as being the shapes of me own name written there well enough. Have to say it didn’t strike me as any important matter to query him on, or one to complain about, so I just put it down to the fact that he was one of them strange persons who liked to make a record of his actions.’

  ‘But why would he write about you, a person whom he might never see again?’ Catherine said, scarcely believing the notion.

  ‘I couldn’t fathom that. Maybe it’s just so he can read it all later. Or to re-live his experience. But what do I know? Just remember what I tell you though, a lot of folks around these parts are a bit loony but mostly harmless at the end of the day. But if there was one person I could warn you to watch out for, it’s that Annie Barton. Just don’t trust her whatever you do!’

  EIGHTEEN

  Edward Cross sprinted across the path licking his lips with excitement, his spritely gait sending a spray of scavenging pigeons fluttering up towards the mauve and pink tint of the sky.

  Clutching the box tightly he made his way past the river and stone chapel to reach the entrance of Montague street, almost tripping over an early evening accordion player sitting bow-legged and drunk on the pavement. He continued along the uneven cobbled lane, past the costermonger’s and headed directly towards Goulston street. Here he stopped abruptly and took a large breath before entering the Boars Tavern.

  Once inside he noticed how unusually quiet it seemed and then recalled that it was only a Monday. He bore no intention of stopping for a beverage but had he caught sight of Catherine Bell, he might have been sorely tempted.

  As it was, only the usual chubby old ginger wench was serving at the counter that evening. She leaned forward, the swell of her bosom rested on the surface as she raised a curious eyebrow. ‘Well good evenin’ sir, what can I do you for?’ she asked pleasantly.

  Cross tipped his hat and smiled graciously. ‘I wish to leave this package for Madame Davenport if I may. I am afraid that I can not linger, but please be sure that she receives it.’

  The older woman eyed the box with a sceptical eye, then took it from the counter and placed it to one side.

  ‘I’ll make sure that she gets it for ya,’ she assured him.

  ‘Thank you madam,’ he replied, and hurried out of the establishment as hastily as he had arrived, for if the young girl saw him it would ruin the surprise he had planned so very carefully.

  His timely visit to the tavern had been executed just before she was likely to begin work. Now he wished to return home immediately so that he might continue work on his publication. There was much editing to be done, and the latest new blasted housekeeper, with a foreign name his tongue could not quite pronounce, had broken his new quill pen so that he had been forced to acquire a fitting replacement. He would dock her wages for certainty.

  He frowned as he walked through narrow lanes, wondering how the common taxpayer felt about these improper new immigrant laws which allowed more and more foreign job seekers to gate-crash into their city and sabotage their positions and livelihoods.

  It was all a matter of corruption within the political arena, he told himself. The fat-fingered greedy governing councils were now wishing to invest in those overseas war-fanatics in America and other unGodly countries. In return, their men were given the freedom to file into the docks in droves, taking all the very best jobs.

  Well he would bloody well not settle down and take a wife or produce a family if that was the way they were going to treat London’s citizens. And if anyone dared call him xenophobic, well, he would have harsh words with them, and rightly so! He would selfishly remain as he was, carefree and unhindered, spending his money where and how he wished. Bachelor or no bachelor, he rather didn’t fancy ending up like poor old Thomson, beaten over the head with an iron potato masher for dropping his pants above a common skivvy.

  Life was to be enjoyed in the manner one saw fit, and to be free as a bird was really the only way a man could truly live.

  Feeling content with his views he opened his front door and walked to his sleeping quarters. There he kicked off his boots and lay on the bed.

  Closing his eyes he pictured her, the young beauty that had lain in that very spot. Her flawless translucent skin moulding its shape into the silk and brocade fabric. Since then he had barely wanted to remove his nose from its scent. He was half amused to find himself still in a semi-perpetual state of arousal ever since she had left. Well, he could hardly be blamed, she was ripe for the taking, and he had courageously resisted her.

  Oh God, yes, but had he taken her that night; de-flowered her there and then, he might well have frightened her off. So instead he decided to drink her in slowly like a good vintage wine and siphon his lust into words, which now merited more than one entry into his diary. And of course once she had departed, he had spent a good two hours working on his own relief; with her in mind of course.

  Now he lay back quietly visualising her face as she might look when she opens the box, the very delicate button end of her nose crinkling in surprise as she lifts the wafer- thin paper wrapping to reveal the contents inside; her blue eyes twinkling merrily at the sight of it as she holds it up to her face.

  The note was packaged nicely too with a little dab of a citrus scent, and a small velvet pouch tucked below it containing his fee, which no doubt the old trollop, Davenport, will salivate upon discovering. She will be impressed enough with his payment to encourage the girl to return to him.

  Yes, he would have her back, and very soon indeed if all went rightly to plan, even if he had to spend a good portion of his uncle’s monthly stipend on her. For she was a virgin, he knew by the smell of her, and he was certain that the prized vixen would gain him a multiple return on his literary investment.

  He unbuttoned his pants and reached inside his groin, smiling at the thought of her naked body, ever-ready to re-live the evening all over again. And in that state of bliss he forgot all about the editing of his diary.

  * * *

  ‘Well I never!’ Tilly remarked as she found Catherine in the kitchen supping on a tepid luncheon of mutton broth.

  Catherine looked up in alarm. ‘What is it Tilly?’

  ‘The Madame wishes to see you straight away. Now don’t go fretting about it young lady, but your fancy gentleman has just been in not more than an hour ago and left her a package.’

  Catherine dropped her spoon into the bowl and grew pale. Tilly rushed over and helped her to her feet. ‘Now look here lass, don’t go panicking until you find out what it is. And don’t keep Madame waiting either. I’ll put your broth back under the stove to keep warm.’

  Catherine stumbled away weak at the knees.

  A package? What could it be?

  She had no time to build up any worrisome thoughts and walked straight to Madame Davenport’s door, knocking lightly.

  ‘Catherine? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes Madame, it is,’ she replied weakly.

  Madame opened the door and rushed the girl inside, wasting no time seating her on a chair. She seemed in good form, her usual tight expression loose and welcoming.

  ‘Catherine, your gentleman admirer has paid a visit to us today,’ she began in an excited fluster, ‘and he has left you a gift.’

  She lifted a large white box from her desk and placed it on Catherine’s lap, where she sat gaping at it for a moment.

  ‘Come on child, it does not bite!’ Madame
snapped impatiently.

  Catherine peeled off the lid, where inside she discovered delicate wrappings which held some kind of fabric underneath. She lifted the material from the box and held it up to the faded light from the window. Gasping aloud she saw it was a most attractive dress, like none other she had ever touched or witnessed in such close proximity.

  A navy blue with a garland of red rose details embroidered across the sleeves and hem. The lace trim across the corsage looked exquisite.

  A dress for a princess not a whore, she thought to herself.

  ‘Is this for me?’

  ‘Yes child, from your new gallant admirer, and never before has any of our girls received such a fine looking garment, I can tell you.’

  Madame teetered back to her desk which was piled high with ledgers and scattered papers.

  ‘But why would he give this to me?’ she asked disbelievingly.

  Madame Davenport sat back thoughtfully for a moment before leaning forward on her desk and clasping her hands together, as if she were about to perform a very important lecture.

  ‘My dear child. There are some things I must explain to you. Firstly, Mr Cross has left a handsome payment to secure you as his mistress.’

  ‘What does that mean exactly?’ she interrupted.

  Davenport raised a hand to the brazen girl. ‘If you will let me explain, it means that he wishes to have you grace him with your presence and companionship whenever he desires it. It also means that he will pay a steady fee for your services, so that no other man at the tavern can secure them. You will not be free to entertain socially, so your immediate future is safe in the hands of one gentleman, and he alone shall command your womanly affections.’

  She stared ahead blankly. To her ears it sounded as though Mr Cross was buying her.

  ‘Catherine, it is many a girls dream to secure the attraction of one well-to-do fellow who can offer her enough to pay for her needs. Some lucky girls have gone further to receive many more blessings, such as the settlement of a regular income, or a home of their own. And it hasn’t been unheard of that some have found marital bliss.’

  Catherine thought of Lizzie and her eyes widened. ‘Could he one day wish to marry me?’

  Davenport shook her head disagreeably. ‘No. I am not saying that Mr Cross has suggested any of these things. Refrain from entertaining such frivolous and fanciful thoughts, but he has, since you are under the current term of my employment, made clear his immediate intentions.’

  Her mind reeled with confusion. Madame Davenport still didn’t know that he hadn’t touched her when she visited him before, so why would he pay such a handsome fee to see her again? Just to write about her in his diary like Lizzie had said? None of it made sense to her, though a strong part of her urged to keep those details still hidden.

  ‘What am I to do?’ was all she could think of to say. The beautiful dress lay on her lap, she held it closer to her, it was the loveliest thing she had ever owned.

  ‘It has happened a few times in the past, this playful initiation, you must not be concerned. Mr Cross reimburses me directly, and I will send you to him when he commands it. In this way he has my watchful eye so that no other man shall intercept.’

  Am I just a plaything then? A pawn to be sent back and forth between them.

  ‘And if I do not agree, what then?’ she enquired boldly, expecting the woman to strike like a dragon with fire in its breath. But she did not. Calmly she continued in the same relaxed tone.

  ‘You are free to leave anytime you choose. I bend no part of you to my will, but I must remind you that you are still a minor. And a minor that is jobless and homeless will be promptly collected and sent to the workhouse where most futures for young girls are bleak, and often they are not blessed with any kind of a future at all.

  I would go so far as to call you a very fortunate girl, considering the hard times in which we live. So very young and already ensnared into the affections of a trustworthy gentleman who is willing to part with an impressive percentage for your company.

  Your options are now laid out before you dear. It is your choice if you would rather seek work in the surrounding factories, for you have no other skill to offer, save that of a common serving girl. But I warn you, you’re pretty smile will turn black and rotten. Your fair locks will fade and fall, your skin will age and your mind will rot with both despair and dissatisfaction. I do not wish to frighten you, but that is truth of it. I hold no legal claim over you. The choice in the matter is yours.’

  She rose and walked over to Catherine to feel the embroidered hem of the dress which was folded within the girl’s hands.

  ‘My, it is an exquisite design, and within this season’s fashions. The gentleman has taste. He wishes you to wear it this evening, where he will send a carriage to collect you at seven. Take the dress to your room and think upon your sudden good fortune, then come back to me at the appointed hour with your decision.’

  Once inside her quarters Catherine closed the door firmly. She felt like an imposter. It felt too much of a luxury to be handed something so extravagant. To feel the beauty of it in her hands. To be chosen as the sole owner of it.

  And the price?

  To give herself wantonly to a man who persisted in confusing her. A man who appeared very handsome and dashing, yet now made her feel unattractive, awkward and lost in his presence. Perhaps, once she wore the garment he would take her and love her.

  Perhaps.

  And yet she knew that the Madame was right. She could walk away any time she pleased. Away from the lodging house, Annie’s contempt of her, the position with Tilly, and the relative safety she felt there.

  Despite the difficulties with Eddie maybe Lizzie was right, it was Annie she needed to be careful with, it was she who had taken a particular dislike to her and seemed to have been watching her very closely, for she knew that she had been to visit Mr Cross.

  She drew back the curtain and touched the pane of glass. Small clear drops of condensation trickled down her fingers. Rubbing a large circle clear she pressed her face to it in order to view the street below. There she saw a mother bending down to rescue a child with a mop of tangled hair, barefoot he had tripped into a mucky puddle of water. A whistling chimney sweep blackened from head to toe stopped to assist her.

  She turned her gaze to the right where female voices approached. Two women strode together along the cobbled path, arm in arm as they sang a merry tune. One carried a flower in her hand.

  A small compensation to life as a fallen woman, being able to afford a flower or two to brighten up their lodgings.

  She often witnessed these same females passing the street or dawdling about outside in the early evening. She supposed that one man or another must have made some arrangement with them, or if not, they would stumble upon them under a quiet bridge or some shadowed passageway. A man who was a little drunk and didn’t mind a bit of pleasurable company before heading back to his dreary life at home.

  Viewing the chimneys belting out acrid smoke from the factories beyond, she saw that the future there lay as bleak as ever. Each new day poured forth young girls with missing limbs and all manner of ugly ailments and disfigurements.

  Would my dear parents wish that for me? Especially after they had both perished inside one of those buildings?

  She knew that no person would ever take her into decent employment without any skills, serving maids and skivvy’s were two a’penny, and so she would be thrust into the work-house environment where her aunt had frightened her with tales of bloody whippings and slow starvation.

  But now that this significant decision had been laid before her, what should she do?

  Gently running her fingertips over the delicately embroidered roses on the dress she decided that she would let h
er heart decide her fate.

  Lying down on the bed she rested her head on the pillow, still clutching the dress tightly to her chest. In her imagination she saw his face, the way he had stared so intently into her eyes, the twitch of his lower lip as she had undressed before him. His panting breath and the curious bulge in his pants.

  She waited, still nothing, no answer came to her, only the ticking of the clock seemed to match the rapid fluttering of her heart, a heart lost, understanding nothing, yet fearing everything. But still she listened, hoped, and prayed for an answer.

  What should I do? She urged the Lord above to tell her.

  Before she received any kind of reply she fell into a troublesome sleep.

  NINETEEN

  He decided to wear his best hat. Not because he particularly wished to cavort himself as a typically disguised lecherous fellow in search of a member of the female sex, but rather-more because he wished to impress the young virgin with his reasonable affluence.

  To passing strollers that evening the hat merely exemplified his social status, right down to his fashionable boots. Unfortunately, he realised he was much too early to leave his residence; but no matter, he was too riddled with anxiety to wander about the rooms in such throes of anticipation, and nothing was more important to him at this dull hour than satisfying the glowing embers of lust inside him.

  Locking his front door and stepping up to the carriage outside, he instructed the driver to take a longer route across St Botolphs and through the labyrinthine square; past the worst of the brothels with their barely serviceable wenches within, to proceed on directly across the Whitechapel road of winding narrow streets.

  The driver cracked his whip and the horse brayed as it set off through the pleasant dusk evening, its hooves clopping loudly over the damp moonlit cobble stones.