The Whitechapel Virgin Read online

  Nellie had never bothered moving out of the establishment because working for Madame meant cheaper lodgings and one small meal provided for a day. It also meant she had the security of being with the other women too, the support and advice they could give, and a bed at night to rest her weary legs on.

  Annie was her lookout mostly. Annie who scared off the new girls with her competitive streak, but Nellie knew she was soft as butter inside. The new pretty young girl, Catherine, seemed to have rubbed her up the wrong way, but Nellie felt she barely had the strength to quarrel with the new girls anymore, because how could she win? How could an old hag like her compete with a girl still charmed by the innocence of youth and in possession of such unblemished, fair skin?

  She’d been telling Annie that she would have to stop the bullying eventually because the tavern had never had so few girls working in it.

  And so Madame was not best pleased with either of them lately.

  The sun finally slipped behind a cloud and the room darkened. She tried to roll her upper body to reach over for the lamp but another huge ripple of pain stretched across her abdomen. She let out a low deep howl which ended with rapid breaths.

  Once the pain ceased she lay quietly again. She couldn’t tell Madame or she’d be out on her ears if she wasn’t able to get up and work soon. She’d already had too many days lying poorly this year as it was. She’d just have to wait until the bleeding stopped. It hadn’t really stopped properly for well over a month now, ever since she’d lost the fourth baby, and the pains and blood loss always used to ebb and flow.

  But now things looked really bad.

  A wave of nausea and desperation struck her. The injustice of it all. The way she had had to dump all of her babies in the gutter like rotten twigs because she couldn’t feed them, or ever be allowed to keep them. The Madame always kept strict rules about babies. The only baby that had ever been allowed to stay in the lodging house was Eddie. Her bonny little boy, and that was because the women had all felt so sorry for him.

  When Lily died in the throes of childbirth, she, Annie and a few others had all gathered around the bed together and cuddled him tightly. Miranda, who had been nursing her own babe just two blocks away had heard the sad news and offered to be his wet nurse.

  They’d all decided to raise him at the lodging house rather than pack him off to the over-crowded orphanage, and so baby Eddie was the one child who escaped being dumped in the hole in the alley down below.

  Even though he was allowed to live there Madame never really approved of the decision, viewing him as little more than a nuisance. Lily had brought in good money, she was a looker all right, and Davenport likely felt she had lost a good worker because of him, but quite why she resents him so much to this day, and can barely look him in the eye is anyone’s guess. For once though, she had been forced to allow a baby to stay, albeit grudgingly, because they’d all put their foot down on the matter.

  But despite all the nasty gossip from some women in the area that Nellie had not summoned a doctor to try and help save Lily’s life, Nellie knew the absolute truth of it.

  She had.

  And those who were on her side knew it too. Lily perished in the same mattress where Eddie was conceived, and there was nothing that could have been done to help her.

  What followed was an outpouring of maternal love from them all. The women took it in turns to watch over him as they organised working shifts, and despite being brought up in a common lodging house by women of the lowest class, Eddie did all right.

  He never went to school but the retired school master down the road showed him a few reading skills, and he picked up tradesman skills in the street. He also took a liking for boxing, and since his thirteenth year he’d been enjoying local tournaments. But ever since the rumours abounded earlier that year regarding his mother’s death, he’d stopped talking to Nellie outright. Just cut her off dead, and she dabbed at her eyes again as she realised that his silence hurt her a million times more than any bleeding pains could ever do.

  Annie suddenly charged like a bull into the room breaking Nellie’s flow of thoughts. She slammed the door shut and sat stiffly upright on a chair.

  ‘Ooh I’m so mad I am, the cheek of that girl, I’ll scratch ‘er eyes out. I heard it all outside Madame’s door, telling her to go and see him and then she’d be paid double. Ooh Mr Cross this and Mr Cross that... and she was all up for it too! Who does she think she is the little tart.’

  Annie stopped, catching sight of Nellie’s ghastly pale face dampened with tears.

  ‘What’s the matter Nellie and why are you in bed again?’

  Nellie spoke under her breath. ‘Sick.’

  ‘What again? Oh, not the bleed. Oh my Gawd Madame will throw a fit if she finds out that you’ve skipped off work again.’

  Nellie said nothing but slowly drew back the sheet. Annie saw the drenched mattress and rose to her feet with fright, clutching her head in her hands.

  ‘Oh that’s too much blood Nellie, too much.’

  She began to panic and pace the room nervously. ‘What will we do, who will we summon?’

  ‘No-one.’ Nellie said emphatically. ‘She won’t bring a doctor here, you know she won’t. They cost a bomb and an ‘alf and even then they hate seeing us.’

  ‘She has to,’ Annie almost screamed. ‘Or you might di...’

  Her words were abruptly cut off when Nellie looked at her with a pain-filled expression.

  ‘I think I am dying this time, Annie. I really think I am.’

  Annie’s hands shook as she leaned forward and spoke calmly. ‘Then you must let me go and get you some help.’

  Before Nellie could protest Annie bolted out of the room just as fast as she had come in.

  TWELVE

  ‘This is the street you’re wanting then, is he collectin’ ya from here?’ Lydia asked.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Catherine, uncertain that Mr Cross really would turn up as he had promised.

  Lydia walked ahead a few paces to peer around the corner, dodging a pile of stinking vegetables and other rotting matter on the ground.

  ‘Well I’d be shocked if he lived down this street, it really don’t look posh enough for the likes of him.’

  ‘Mr Cross is only meeting me here, he resides in a much nicer area than this.’

  ‘Ah right. I see. Will you remember the way back to the lodging house?’

  ‘I think I will,’ Catherine replied uncertainly.

  Walking a few paces away from Lydia, she felt eager for the girl to leave her alone so that she could get on with the whole affair. Much of her earlier courage had dissipated along the journey there, as nerves weaved through her body like a steady electric pulse.

  ‘Right I’ll be off then, got me-self a meeting with a nice looking yank down at the docks tonight.’

  Catherine nodded disinterestedly, hardly wishing to hear the other girl’s private details.

  Lydia took the hint and sauntered off back in the direction they came. She glanced back curiously, perhaps hoping to see the gallant Mr Cross arrive, then she promptly turned the corner at the opposite end of the street and was gone.

  Catherine immediately felt vulnerable and alone. An irritating sting persisted in-between her legs. A short while earlier she had douched hurriedly over her chamber pot with some of the putrid smelling mixture Madame kept inside the pantry cupboard. As soon as the liquid had come into contact with her skin it had felt like a swarm of bees pinching her most sensitive parts. She hated the feeling and now worried she might have overdone it, now maybe the mixture wouldn’t work at all.

  “If they manage to get their stick up ya bloomers you’ll have one in your gut before you know it,” her aunt had once brazenly told her with a disguste
d expression. It was the same expression she wore when she spotted the local delivery cart horse drop a fresh pile of manure outside her front gate. She would open the shutters wide and have a good scream at the driver whilst watching him scoop it into a bucket, all the while threatening to clip him round the ear.

  In the glow of the street lighting she shivered, feeling awkward as she watched a small robin chase and peck at a leaf on the ground.

  A hungry bird, abandoned and unloved like me.

  A hand lightly brushed her shoulder from behind. Sweeping her head around she saw that it was him.

  He tipped his hat. ‘Miss Bell, I am pleased you came.’

  Relaxing her shoulders she drank in his familiar face noticing that his eyes seemed deeper, greener than before. The hair which peeked below his hat was a darker shade of chestnut rather than a jet black, as it had appeared to her in the dim light of the tavern.

  He offered her the crook of his elbow and she slid her arm within it and together they strolled between the narrow brick buildings on either side of the street.

  A warm feeling slithered into her belly as if she had known him forever, as if walking beside him was something she always did in the evenings.

  ‘I truly am very glad you came Miss Bell,’ he repeated again.

  She nodded shyly, beginning to enjoy this new and strange interlocution, the movement of his body stepping rhythmically in tune to hers, the thrilling discovery of admiration and desire by one of the opposite sex. He seemed to be in very good spirits judging by the lightness of his step and the pleasant lull of this voice.

  ‘I would rather fancy we could imagine ourselves on some new and fun adventure,’ he continued, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye where she kept her gaze lowered to the pavement, her cheeks radiating a warm glow.

  He looked up at the brooding clouds above.

  ‘There is the chance of a storm but we are not far from my abode now.’

  Nervously she looked about the street at the way ordinary people were going about their own business, casually sauntering past them, oblivious to their devious intentions. An older couple passed and nodded at them politely, possibly thinking they were young newlyweds, or a courting couple out on a leisurely stroll. A stab of desire tugged at her heart.

  If only it were so.

  In total they crossed at least five streets and a nest of narrow lanes, where each road and building appeared less squalid than the last. Cross finally turned the corner to a street which Catherine knew instinctively that only the more prosperous citizens in the city resided.

  The buildings were all newly painted, free of rot, and the roads swept clean from dust and stinking piles of manure. An expanse of thick plush curtains behind windows hid opulent rooms, and a woman clothed in expensive-looking attire and bearing a haughty expression stepped out of her front door towards a gleaming carriage.

  Cross pointed through an iron railing towards a boldly painted red door. ‘Here we are.’

  Disappointment welled up inside her. She had expected a castle. Well if not a castle exactly, a small manor or town-house at least. It was a dreary looking residence if compared to the others along the same street, and situated at basement level, not even facing the light of day. Though the paintwork was pristine and the windows she noticed, looked recently polished.

  She tried to ignore a sudden impulse to run and instead took several deep breaths, reminding herself that she ought to act as Madame had instructed her, obligingly, and to do as she was bid.

  Still she could not help worrying over the fact that she had absolutely no clue in the art of adult entertainment and of course she would tell Mr Cross as soon as she had the opportunity to do so, though she suspected he already knew.

  Hopefully he would not sense her inner fear, but would guide her as an older man should and not be displeased by her lack of experience. Perhaps, after all, it was only expected that she lie flat on her back to let him carry on his business above her.

  Was it really that simple?

  Inside, her eyes grew wide with curiosity. A rather dark hallway led to the door of a much larger room beyond, a study, not much brighter but much more visually appealing. Edward Cross stepped inside to reveal a tasteful gallery of books stretching across one wall entirely, and many dusty publications and tomes were piled high on the rug beside a large comfortable chair near the fireplace.

  To the left appeared a thinly curtained-off area for use as a kitchen and other servants quarters beyond, she presumed. To the right, another room she imagined must be the one in which he slept.

  She followed him inside it, her nerves kicking up a fuss. It was large and modestly decorated. On a rectangular window hung thick burgundy curtains which were only partially drawn and seemed to look out into a tiny courtyard filled with colourful summer blooms. It seemed that from there came the only light which filled the room.

  To her eyes it was a palace indeed for one occupant alone.

  He gestured towards a chair and she sat facing a four poster bed covered with a sumptuous amount of pillows. A silk canopy hung loosely over it. It was evident to Catherine that the very large bed was the centre-point feature of the room. Goosebumps rose along her arms as she imagined the feeling of the cool fabric against her skin.

  In her dreams she had wished for him to charm her, seduce her with some romantic gestures that only a man of intelligence and good breeding would do. The inner yearnings had seemed to propagate ever since she had first set eyes on him.

  He paused for a moment then shook his head from whichever thoughts occupied it. ‘I shall fetch us a drink. Do make yourself comfortable.’

  She nodded. A fleeting sense of panic engulfed her as he dashed into the next room whilst she remained glued to her position.

  Does he wish me to undress or should I lie upon his bed?

  Soon enough he returned with two glasses bearing a wide grin across his face.

  ‘Sherry?’ he smiled. ‘Just a small one for you my young lady.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she took it from him and drank it fully, coughing loudly at its potent flavour. He laughed deeply from his chest and re-filled her glass. ‘A little more slowly this time, please,’ he teased.

  It wasn’t long before she began to relax her posture, and once she had emptied the glass she moved to the bed to enjoy the true comfort of a decent mattress.

  ‘You ought to lie back and relax,’ he said, heading towards a chest of drawers. He took out some items before returning to his chair, watching her stretch out horizontally from her sitting position.

  Catherine began to feel numb. A subtle but pleasant trickle of warmth spread throughout her body, snipping the edges away from her prickling nerves. The uncomfortable sensation in her lady parts had subsided. She tried to stifle a giggle at the absurdity of her position, at finding herself alone upon a strange gentleman’s bed.

  An odd scratching sound caused her to lift her head and she saw that he was leaning back on his chair scribbling onto some paper.

  Is he drawing me?

  She might have asked him that very question but her mind was too groggy. There was an incredible urge to run over to him and beg him to embrace her, but her inner modesty forbade her to act on such crude and unforgiving compulsion.

  ‘You may undress now, do not be afraid,’ he encouraged.

  Inhaling deeply she leaned forward to untie the laces on her boots, sliding them off with her heel. Next she untied her bodice allowing it to fall to the carpet revealing the delicate pink buds on her small and tender breasts. Lastly, she carefully removed her under garments, as teasingly as she might dare, all the while impressed with her newfound skill in the art of feminine seduction.

  She caught him studying her form, with eyes glinting in the sh
immering light as he watched her undress. A self-satisfied ripple of excitement coursed through her. His eyes locked with hers and she looked away demurely. Unsure of his intention she allowed herself to fall back and sink into the doughy coolness of the quilt.

  This is how heaven must feel.

  The scratching sound of pen working on paper continued. With closed eyes, strange blotches of darkness swam beneath her lids, they felt heavy to open. Lifting her head from the pillow to peer at him across the room she saw that he was panting rapidly, a line of dotted perspiration having formed across his brow. Between his legs an odd shaped lump appeared to push at the crease of his pants, but still he made no move towards her. None at all.

  She became aware of a sheet of rain whipping at the glass window, a sound which strained to compete with the scratching of his pen. She desired him so hopelessly, she wished the moment could last forever.

  Perhaps I will enjoy it. Would that be so wrong?

  Was it so deplorable for a woman to enjoy partaking in an act only governed and controlled by the more dominant sex?

  But why does he not come to me?

  She had been caught in this strange but titillating position. A young girl on the very cusp of womanhood, sexually alight, and now fused with a burning desire. But there was no sign of fulfilment forthcoming by the opposite sex.

  ‘Do I not please you sir?’ came her meek voice at last.

  He did not answer, until a few more moments had passed where a candle lamp flickered and burned beside him as he remained oblivious and absorbed within his own activity.

  Finally he looked up and expelled a long shuddering breath.

  ‘You please me greatly Miss Bell, but there is a storm on its way. I shall escort you half the way home, but I would much desire to have you visit me again.’

  THIRTEEN

  Her eyes had barely adjusted to the light of day when the voice spoke urgently through the door.

  ‘Catherine? Are you awake?’

  She stood up and dizziness overwhelmed her. She reached for the bed post to steady herself and regain her senses before opening the door sluggishly.