The Whitechapel Virgin Read online

  The sharpness of his words stung her.

  ‘I saw you go to him. Wearing a new costume. So now what will you tell me, that I am imagining things? That you have no wish to see him, that you were forced into wearing the garment and going to him?’

  His eyes turned misty.

  ‘I think it would be better, Catherine, if you did not bother me again!’

  He pushed the door shut allowing her no chance to respond or defend herself.

  Turning, she ran to her quarters and threw herself on the bed to weep long and hard. Not only for the unimaginable disappointment and shame she felt over Mr Cross’s actions, but the hurt that she seemed to be inflicting on Eddie by her own actions.

  Little did he know that it had come as a grave shock to her when Mr Cross had tied her wrists to the bed post. And more confusing to her still was the fact that he had still not lain with her.

  Instead he had exhibited some uncanny and extreme frustration by tearing at her clothes, drinking, smoking, and striking her face as she whimpered and begged him to free her. It seemed almost as though he enjoyed her struggle, happy to see her shamed and anguished. Later she had wondered if he had logged the evenings events as he was prone to do.

  After some time he had untied her and apologised, saying he had been overcome with insatiable desire. Then, he had kissed her cheeks softly, wiped her tears, and shown a very different course of affection. The very affection she had desired to receive from him all along. Despite her inner shame she had been gripped with fear by the strange ordeal and yet, to her chagrin, the flame of desire he had created within her did not dissipate and the desire for him to adore her remained dormant in her soul.

  Turning her face to the peeling paper on the wall she cried to the heavens, wetting her pillow with an endless stream of tears before falling into a frightening dark void, where this time her father did not save her.

  TWENTY

  If azure eyes and pouting lips

  If tempting cheeks and velvet tips

  Can move the lover to the game

  Here may he quench his amorous flame

  He was light-headed from sleep. A downpour outside had awoken him from a wretched dream where headless, wailing ghosts pursued him halfway across the city.

  With agitated nerves he had risen and forsaken his normal light breakfast for a large whisky, laced with something potent to empty his mind of the devilish spectres which had manifested and grown there.

  Cross flicked to a new page in his diary, picked up his quill and poised his shaky hand on the page, acutely aware that things had not exactly gone according to plan with the Whitechapel virgin. The sudden abominable descent into impotence had not been anticipated or desired, and so the inability to perform had, by all means and purposes, left him frustrated and distressed.

  What’s more he could barely remember what had occurred once the peak of his sexual desire had been extinguished by the unwanted revelation of a flaccid penis.

  Then there were the several hours which followed where he could only recall were best rendered unaccountable, for when he came to his senses he found himself lying in the hallway near his own front door near an emptied bottle.

  Any feeble attempt to awaken the beast below has since proved futile and even though he could not, by sheer force or persistence, allow his failed attempt at seduction to ruin what was to be the most important entry into his diary, nor could he escape what could now only be best described as the sludge of his own brain.

  He pressed pen to paper.

  How am I to finish this damnable script if I cannot penetrate her! If one cannot even think clearly enough what use can one be? I loathe myself entirely, this inability to perform what ought to be as natural an act as any other physical duty.

  She has as good as finished me, so oft having turned me into a laughing stock! And for this I pay her such healthy reward? She cannot win by reducing my manhood. I will perform, by God she will be taken by no other man.

  In a sudden fit of anger he dropped his pen and threw the diary across the room, rising to walk over to his cabinet to pour another drink and digesting it in one large swallow.

  * * *

  ‘Wake up, wake up!’ the caller shouted through the door.

  Catherine started with a jolt. She recognised Tilly’s frantic voice and opened the door to see the woman standing there in a fluster. She waved a cloth in the air as though she had been interrupted in the midst of her duties.

  ‘What is it Tilly?’

  Madame Davenport wants to see everyone inside her office, and I’m tellin’ ya, the news ain’t nothing good.’

  Her chest pounded as she hurriedly dressed and followed Tilly downstairs. All manner of thoughts cluttered her mind as she entered Madame Davenport’s office to find many of the women already seated on chairs which had been placed in the middle of the room.

  When Tilly and Catherine walked in Madame was standing behind her desk facing the girls with a morose expression. Annie sat with a comforting arm around Nellie’s sagging shoulders.

  She was surprised to see Lydia had returned and was sitting with her head bowed low. The girl was weeping and blowing her nose into a handkerchief noisily, her hair still as messy and unkempt as the last time Catherine had seen her.

  Madame raised her eyes to address them all.

  ‘I am afraid that I must confirm the awful news which has penetrated our lodging house this morning. It is the mournful news of a woman horribly slain by some lunatic in the early hours at George Yard buildings.’

  She paused and shook her head slowly before continuing.

  ‘At present the victim remains unidentified and Constable Jones arrived this morning to remind us that the streets are unsafe after dark, and that we can never be sure what we might encounter. I would like you all to know that the culprit has not yet been caught and remains at large.’

  ‘Poor, poor woman,’ muttered Tilly.

  Catherine bit her lip nervously. Mr Cross lived a short distance from these buildings. Was it possible that he might have seen or heard something?

  Madame Davenport raised a pointed finger.

  ‘I would ask all of you to watch your backs as you go about your business and no-one is allowed to enter George Yard buildings until further notice.’

  Annie was the first to speak up. ‘But I’ve got business down at George’s tonight, what will I do without me earnings?’

  Madame threw her a stern glare.

  ‘The buildings are only accessible to residents and investigating officers. I am afraid you will have to take your business elsewhere Annie, at least until they are done and have caught the culprit. We don’t want to initiate anger, gossip, or give rise to any trouble here at the tavern.’

  Nellie waved a tentative hand in the air to speak. ‘I just wanted to say that it reminds me of that other attack which happened a while ago at George’s too, where the poor woman lived to say that it was a gang which did it. Was this the same kind of attack then?’

  Madame looked up pensively. ‘Yes, I recall that incident, and the news reports said as much, but Constable Jones informs me that this recent attack is different because..’

  ‘Why is it different, Madame?’ Tilly broke in.

  ‘Well, the constable informed me that the wounds were focused on the breast and lady’s area and it appears that it could have been purposely inflicted there. Who knows. I am also told that not a single resident in the building heard any commotion or the slightest stirring until the poor woman’s body was discovered in the early hours. Therefore, from now on Constable Jones would like all of Whitechapel’s residents to report any suspicious activity that is witnessed or encountered.’

  There was a heavy silence in the room as each woman fearf
ully contemplated the brutality of the murder. Lydia blew loudly again into her handkerchief, her eyes now swollen and sore from the constant weeping.

  Catherine remained still, but her insides were churning with fear. She glanced across the room at Annie who seemed to be avoiding eye contact with her, but she saw that Eddie had joined them and was now standing in the door frame, glaring in her direction.

  Madame Davenport ended the meeting. ‘You may all leave and continue on with your duties, and may our Lord keep us from harm.’

  They stood and one by one shuffled out of the room with stooping shoulders and sullen faces. Catherine remained standing beside her chair.

  ‘Is there something that you want, Catherine?’ Madame asked as she closed the door on Lydia, the last to leave.

  Catherine wasted no time in voicing her request.

  ‘Yes, Madam. If I may I wish to ask you if I could resume my post with Tilly.’

  ‘And why do you ask this?’

  She fidgeted nervously, knotting her hands together. ‘I am afraid… afraid to see Mr Cross again.’

  Madame beckoned her to sit. ‘Come, tell me what happened.’

  ‘He was agreeable at first, and then he tied me to his bed post, and..’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘He began to write.’

  ‘Write?’ Madame exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, into some kind of a diary.’

  ‘Did he have relations with you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he touch you in any way?’

  ‘No.’

  Madame stared at her blankly as colour filled her cheeks.

  ‘He did not lie with me as I had expected, Madame. For some reason, I know not, he tied me to his bed and I am afraid because I do not understand his actions.’

  Madame Davenport let out a scornful laugh. ‘What is there to understand my girl? He is a man. They are vile creatures to which we, the lesser gender, are indisposed. But this gentleman is content to pay a substantial amount for your company, and thus far has not defiled your honour in favour of some odd whim to pen a verse. How can you have the audacity to complain?’

  Catherine looked away from her in shame, her belly tightening into a knot of pain.

  How could this old hag understand my feelings, immune and indifferent to emotion as she is?

  As Davenport continued to remonstrate each word fell like a sharp stab upon Catherine’s ears.

  ‘Do you realise that there is not a single girl in Whitechapel that has not been put to perform some odd request or other from a client? It is part of the male gender’s disposition and we are, by now, well used to it. I am therefore stupefied by your complaint Catherine, more especially in light of the horrific fate which has befallen a woman not yet cold in her grave, who once resided within these walls and now lies dead with her throat slit open in a most hideous attack, and yet you seek to make complaint over such a trivial occurrence.’

  She let out an exasperated breath.

  ‘Furthermore, I cannot allow you to return to your previous post with Tilly as that would only cause enmity amongst the girls, some of whom already believe that you have been given favourable treatment since your arrival. You will continue to entertain Mr Cross and assist in your cleaning tasks during the day, or, you may leave and try your luck elsewhere.’

  She pointed to the window where the ashen grime of the factories beyond had painted the skyline a murky grey, then with scrawny fingernails extracted a large rectangular money box from a drawer.

  ‘Here are your earnings for this week; a shilling and sixpence more than last week, thanks to your beneficent new client.’

  Madame sank back into her chair, turning her head to stare out of the window.

  ‘Young lady you will return to your duties now and think hard upon your current fortunes, for I would dearly regret to see you perish in that workhouse beyond at such a young age.’

  Catherine stood, curtseyed and left, returning to the kitchen where Tilly was sitting by the stove stony-faced, dipping a small hunk of bread into her broth. She appeared so downcast over the news of the Whitechapel murder that Catherine was afraid to bring up the topic of Mr Cross.

  Several dirty blackened pots sat piled on one side. Catherine approached them, took out a scourer, and began scrubbing. She sighed quietly to herself, feeling the heavy sadness engulf her. A few hours later her hands were raw and blistered so she asked Tilly if she could take a brief walk.

  Tilly nodded. ‘Watch yourself out there, lass,’ was all she said when Catherine took her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  Tying her bonnet beneath her chin she stepped outside where the sulphurous smells of the river hung thickly in the dense air. She walked to the end of the street and along the familiar route until she found herself outside the bakery.

  Inside the shop, Lizzie was talking to two women who were gossiping and shaking their hands animatedly. It seemed as if the news of the sudden death had affected many in Whitechapel.

  She noticed how many folks kept their eyes lowered as they walked along with fear. If the attacker was still at large they were probably too frightened to loiter about for fear of looking suspicious, or of being attacked themselves. She had not failed to notice that there were no more than usual constables than normal on the beat.

  Lizzie spotted Catherine hovering outside the shop window and gave a friendly wave. When the two old women left she stepped outside. ‘I’m guessing you’ve heard what happened then?’ she said in a grave tone, her forehead and nose smeared with flour.

  ‘Madame Davenport spread the news to all of us this morning. I came to see if you could spare a minute.’

  Lizzie smiled. ‘Give me a moment and I’ll just pop in and see if Laurel’s free to mind the shop for a bit.’

  When she returned the two women walked to the nearest public house and stepped inside. They made their way towards a corner table away from the curious eyes and stares.

  ‘Blimey, is everyone a criminal now?’ Lizzie scowled, and the critical faces turned away.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Lizzie asked, concerned by Catherine’s doleful appearance.

  ‘No, I am so confused.’

  ‘About the murder?’

  ‘The murder has frightened the wits out of me Lizzie, but I am also very afraid about how things have developed with Mr Cross.’

  ‘Oh yes, him. Did you see him again? What happened?’

  Catherine sighed and slumped back in her seat vowing to leave no details spared.

  ‘He delivered an expensive dress to the tavern which I wore the very same evening. We shared a few drinks and he was, as I expected, as charming as ever. Then he tied me to his bed where his actions changed considerably.

  Oh Lizzie, he displayed my body in the rudest fashion, then he began to smoke, laugh, drink, and write again, like some crazed person. I am so disappointed. I cannot understand how a man can be so changeable or so strange.’

  Lizzie reached across and took Catherine’s hand gently inside hers.

  ‘Men can be weird alright, luvvie. I’ve had me fair share of odd dickie birds in the past. But it’s not your doing is it? And I can’t tell you what to do about him because it’s really a decision you have to make for yourself.’

  ‘I know. But I agreed to this contract with him, this whole arrangement, stupidly thinking that Mr Cross desired me as a love interest. Foolishly daydreaming about him with girlish infatuation, thinking that he was my most favourable option. And now? Now even Eddie despises me.’

  ‘That’s just it, ain’t it. You think it’s all got to be better than what ever else could happen to you out here in these streets, and in many ways it probably is. But why do you th
ink Eddie despises you?’

  ‘He has been showing such petty jealousy over my visits to Mr Cross. Last night I attempted to reconcile our friendship and he cut me off with barely a decent word. We did enjoy each other’s company Lizzie, but I didn’t want to encourage him romantically. Eddie saved me in many ways when I arrived at the tavern, but friendship is all I feel for him and I can see in his eyes that affection for me has grown there.’

  ‘Well, he is a moody one. He didn’t ever know his mother, but he turned out to be the spit of her, unfortunately. If I remember, she used to fall hard for some of the blokes and many broke her heart too.

  Eddie will tell you he’s had a difficult upbringing but he’s just a molly-coddled boy really, never been out in the world on his own, or learned the ways of how to treat women proper. Nellie and Annie were always too protective of him, and I’m sure Madame Davenport wouldn’t approve of him interfering with you either. She tolerates Eddie, but she’s never approved of him living there, nor showed the slightest bit of concern or affection towards him.’

  Catherine sighed. ‘I do not think Madame is aware of his feelings for me but the others have rightly guessed. Annie is not best pleased. And I fear I must do my best to avoid him now if he will persist in acting so callously towards me, or if he continues to show such envy whenever I meet Mr Cross. Oh, why I ever agreed to Madame’s offer, I shall never know! I was much better off with Tilly.’

  Lizzie patted her arm. ‘Oh come now young lady, you were not to know how things would turn out. Of course Mr Cross is going to snatch you up over those washed up old hags, so it’s only natural that they’re all livid about it. Madame Davenport isn’t going to pass up a good offer from Mr Cross on account of your feelings or anyone else’s, especially as his uncle had been a wealthy patron of the tavern for gawd knows what reason.’