The Whitechapel Virgin Read online

  ‘What is it Eddie, it must be very early?’

  He grinned. ‘Actually it is a quarter after nine. I just wanted to enquire if you would like to accompany me into town.’

  She rubbed her tired eyes. Returning to bed for a few more hours on her morning off such harsh duties seemed much more enticing, but the pleading look on his face was difficult to ignore.

  ‘Let me get myself ready then I’ll come downstairs.’

  The previous evening’s events flooded back into her memory, crippling her with embarrassment and shame. The evening was stranger than she could ever have imagined it might be. It had felt as though it was she who had tried to seduce Mr Cross as she had lain there wantonly across his bed, unclothed and intoxicated with desire. He could only have been drawing her because he did not move from his chair or touch her the entire evening.

  On her way home she had decided that from then on she would be brave and enquire upon his actions the next time she saw him, because his behaviour was very odd indeed, although she could not exactly raise a complaint. After all, he had never strictly implied that he wanted to have bed relations with her. Perhaps she had only imagined that he did.

  She found Eddie downstairs and decided to reveal nothing to him of the previous evening. His expression betrayed no sign of anger, so he had obviously cooled from his fiery outburst in the kitchen. She was glad, for she did not wish to raise the matter of Mr Cross with him again.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘there is something I must tell you.’

  They were halfway into the market square when he first spoke. He offered to pay for a breakfast tea and they sat together in the enclosed area of a small food court waiting to be served.

  ‘Has something bad happened?’ she enquired.

  ‘I am afraid so,’ Eddie said, lowering his gaze. ‘It is Nellie. She could be dying. They took her to the infirmary but they think she won’t live out the day.’

  Catherine raised her hands to her face. ‘Oh that is awful what has happened to her?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know exactly, I’ve only been informed that she has been bleeding a lot.’

  The sordid image of Nellie lying in her bed giving birth sprang to mind. The scene had been so gruesome she barely wished to recall it, or the urgency in Annie’s actions as she assisted at the foot of the bed. There had been so much blood. The poor woman had completely soiled her bed sheet. Catherine wondered whether that amount of blood loss was normal or not in a delivery.

  She decided not to persist with questions on the physical symptoms of Nellie’s condition as it wasn’t polite to do so with a man of the opposite sex.

  ‘How is Annie coping with Nellie being taken ill? They are close companions I know.’

  Eddie rolled his eyes. ‘Annie won’t speak to anyone about it at the moment. Nellie is her lifelong friend. She’s very distraught.’

  Catherine shifted in her chair feeling uncomfortable with the prospect of discussing the two women so openly. She had never really indulged in conversation with either of them. In fact, they had always thrown her sour glances, as if her presence was unwanted. She always felt as though it would be discourteous to interrupt or try to speak to them, and what now? If Nellie died, would she be expected to cry or mourn along with the others?

  ‘I won’t cry for her if she dies,’ Eddie piped up as if reading her thoughts. ‘I truly hate her now.’

  Catherine stared at him blankly. ‘What would make you say that?’

  He leaned back. Well it’s a miserable story Catherine, and I’m not sure you want to hear it.’

  ‘Yes I do want to hear it Eddie, please tell me.’

  He fiddled with the buttons on his coat before taking a deep breath. ‘My mother lived at the lodging-house too. She took up residence about the same time as Nellie, and from what the others tell me they always got along well, but now I know they had all been keeping a grave secret from me. My mother died shortly after I was born.’ He paused to look down at his lap.

  ‘Go, on’ Catherine urged gently.

  ‘I had no business poking around but I got to find out the truth about my mother’s death a few months ago, and according to some of the women it wasn’t my fault that she died.

  Nellie had been in the room when I was born. I found out from one of the women that Nellie was sent off to fetch a doctor because my mother was fevering up and bleeding, but the doctor never arrived.’

  ‘The doctor never came to assist her?’

  ‘No doctor arrived or was ever informed that my mother was ill. The women there said that Nellie had never summoned one, and because of that my mother died.’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ Catherine raised a hand to her mouth. ‘But why would Nellie do something like that?’

  Eddie shrugged. ‘Jealousy? What else could it be? Apparently my mother was the much fairer of the two, and the most popular in the tavern at the time. She would earn double Nellie’s income and achieve even more custom at the tavern, but it seems our Nellie wished to put an end to that.’

  ‘But Nellie seems quite timid, where was Annie when this happened?’

  ‘Annie was away visiting a friend at the time, she wasn’t there at the birth, but sometimes I wonder if Nellie hadn’t been put up to it and done it for Annie’s sake, or for any of the other women there at the time. No-body ever spoke of it to me before, it had been hidden from me all my life.’

  ‘That’s awfully sad Eddie, have you never confronted her about it?’

  ‘Of course I have, but she persists in denying it. And what is worse, she helped to raise me with the others then accused me of damaging her nerves and hurting her gravely with this jealous spread of rumours and lies set loose by vicious tongues, and that she loved me and my mother equally. She always speaks of a great fondness for my mother. But that is contrary to what some of the other women have to say. I just wish...’ he paused and sipped at his cider.

  ‘What do you wish for?’

  ‘I wish that I had not been born at all.’

  Catherine took his hand.

  ‘Who told you these things, Eddie?’

  ‘You don’t know the women, they have long since left the lodging house.’

  ‘But you have known affection, what you must realise is that perhaps even the doctor could not have saved your mother’s life. And did the women at the lodging house not care for you?’

  ‘Yes they did, even though Madame Davenport tried to have me removed at every opportunity. She despises children and never wants them near the lodging house. In her view, a working woman’s establishment is no place for a child to be raised, and she is probably right.

  Apparently she caught sight of me, only a day old, lying inside a broken down cot, and turned her face away whispering the word ‘bastard.’ From then on the others kept me out of her sight and took it in turns to raise me. For years she could not look at me or forgive me for destroying her best worker. I have always been a handyman with no particularly great skill in anything, and that is how I am treated.’

  Catherine pressed his hand which trembled slightly beneath her fingertips.

  ‘It is very fortunate that they looked after you, Eddie.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘All right. I suppose for that much I am grateful. I know they did it to keep me from being taken into the orphanage, but still, it’s not the same as a mother’s affection is it?’

  ‘No.’ Catherine said gently. ‘It is not.’

  Her heart suddenly felt heavy with memories of her own gentle mother, frail and sorrowful in her bed over the many terrible nightmares suffered over constant fears of sickness, death and poverty, only to experience the worst kind of death imaginable; being crushed to death alongside her husband by loose fall
ing bricks.

  ‘Eddie, I think many of us have wished for a swift exit from this existence at times. But you are a very kind person and have helped me greatly since I entered the lodging house. I would not wish you to feel so sad and I have not so much as taken the time yet to thank you for helping me.’

  Silence followed and Catherine became aware of the close proximity between them and the few glances aimed in their direction from curious customers.

  ‘And so what’s your story then?’ he suddenly piped up.

  ‘My story?’ she repeated with surprised. ‘Oh it is just as wretched. I remember that my parents were both gentle and kind to me, they met and worked together in the same factory for many years.

  One day, badly erected scaffolding dislodged some loose bricks and a wall came down upon the workers. At least forty of them were killed in the tragedy, my parents included. I was six years of age. I only hold fragments of memories now. My surviving relative, a maternal aunt, took me in.’

  Catherine cupped her hands to her cheeks upon recalling some of the bitter memories of life with her aunt.

  ‘I became imprisoned by her, but I spent years waiting for my parents to return. Never really believing that they were truly gone. I have only one image of my mother in mind. She had soft auburn hair and eyes the colour of a summer sky, which always twinkled with warmth. I wonder if perhaps that is why my aunt hated her so. Because she was fair to the eye, and my father too. Oh, have I said too much already?’

  ‘No, I want to hear it all. And so you fled, from your aunt, is that what happened?’

  ‘No. My aunt was the one who fled. Or rather she took off with a man according to the gossiping neighbours. No-body really knows for certain, though I have no need to look for her, nor do I wish to. When the rental payment was due I realised that I had to leave, and so here I am now, trying to make my own way Eddie, just like you.’

  They stared at each other for a few moments, connecting somewhere deeply by their own unpleasant experiences of life. After a few moments Catherine pushed her chair back and stood up, conscious of people still glancing oddly at them.

  ‘You realise there will be talk about us if we stay here for much longer,’ she said.

  ‘Ah let them all say what they have to say, but we’ll get back anyhow, Mr Dunn is expecting me back to finish mucking out his yard.’

  They left the public house and Catherine realised that she had learned something new about the young man and it made her warm to him greatly, though she felt a great shame creep over her again recalling the previous evening’s incident. Coincidentally she was not prepared for the next question which Eddie threw at her as they strolled together side by side towards the direction of the tavern.

  ‘Who did you meet last night, Catherine?’

  She frowned.‘Who did I meet?’

  ‘Yes, who was he?’

  His expression changed, the warmth in his features rapidly dissipating.

  ‘I would be shocked to hear that you let him touch you. You told me you were afraid to work for Madame in the service of men, and it is every reason why I helped you gain a position with Tilly.’

  Her face grew red with inner shame.

  ‘I... well I met a gentleman, but it was merely an innocent meeting. He is an older man looking for some companionship, it really isn’t what you think.’

  She wondered why she was formulating excuses. It wasn’t really Eddie’s business anyway, he wasn’t in charge of her and she had already decided she would visit Mr Cross with Madame Davenport’s approval.

  ‘Ah yeah, companionship right? And pigs can fly.’

  He kicked at a rusty tin can in front of him and it shot off down the street with a loud clang.

  Catherine stopped and stared at him incredulously. She could hardly believe that he was acting so enviously, surely he was used to the women at the tavern meeting men day in and day out. Why should it be so different with her?

  ‘And you fancy his type do you?’ he went on, ‘I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Well you know what? I’d be careful if I was you.’

  ‘Why?’ she shot back defiantly.

  ‘Because he looks like the shifty sort, that’s why.’

  Her anger rose. At his arrogance. At his meddling into her affairs. She began to hurry on ahead leaving him behind, her heart ramming against her chest at his indignant words.

  She looked back over her shoulder and he stopped walking and held his hands in the air in resignation.

  ‘Don’t worry, Catherine. I’m not stalking you or anything. I was just watching out for you.’

  FOURTEEN

  ‘I think I bloody well will order that double pie, the old wife does persist in feeding me little more than scraps and shreds of grizzle on a dry bone these days.’ Thomson complained.

  ‘A cherry pie? Not a decision made by your digestive tract I would imagine,’ Cross replied.

  ‘Oh, if only you knew. A little night-time remedy from across the Atlantic recently took good care of that.’

  ‘Ah I see, and was this attractive remedy pricey to obtain?’

  They guffawed loudly together.

  Cross had been looking forward to meeting up with his old chum for weeks. Together they sat facing each other in a discreetly located area of the Blackfriars Inn, a place they often sat if the puffed up seats were left comfortably vacant.

  The inn afforded them a good view of the city across the bridge, where earlier that afternoon young families had gathered around to feed families of graceful swans.

  They joked for a little while over banal matters, the frightfully humid London weather and rising taxes, until Cross found himself broaching the very subject he most wished to update his companion about. The subject of women, and the very unsullied young girl he had had the good fortune to spend time with just two evenings prior.

  ‘Well the publication is still a little way off target, I’m afraid to say. I have been a little disappointed. I felt that it simply lacked a few qualities that are damnably hard to find.’

  ‘And these are?’ Thomson queried.

  Cross leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. ‘Virgins.’

  Thomson smiled broadly and raised an index finger.

  ‘Ah, yes, indeed.’

  Together they glanced around the inn to check for roving ears, but not a single person in the quiet establishment was paying them the slightest bit of attention. They leaned forward, face to face like schoolboys comparing recent devious classroom antics.

  ‘I’m telling you, think of Paris my dear friend. I persist in reminding you that the city is swarming with them, but will you listen?’ Thomson threw up his hands in resignation.

  ‘Indeed, but now I have no need for travel. Not since I have been entertained by a most delicious little newcomer recently, who I think possesses all that my inventory might have previously lacked.’

  Thomson raised an eyebrow inquisitively. ‘Really? In Goulston Street? Ha! Impossible. Tell me more.’

  ‘I found her outside the Boars close to midnight a couple of months ago. The little runaway practically took me down when she stumbled to the ground with her carrying case. I thought it obvious she was fleeing from some deviant fellow, but it appears she is an orphan. An untouched run-away. And rather desirable in form, too.’

  A serving girl approached them with a couple of berry pies and accompanying pints of cider. Quietly they thanked her and waited patiently until she padded away to another table.

  Thomson tucked into his pie with haste.

  ‘So you believed that the girl was wholesome? What do you plan for her then you crafty devil? Or have you already ripened a young woman of... what age is she?’

  Cross grinned. ‘S
ixteen, well, according to her that is, though I would estimate a little younger. She is now employed as a serving girl at the tavern, and trust me, that place has long required a more attractive serving wench.’

  ‘Not been to the Boars for at least two years. Not since those impish twins left me with some horrid scabby infestation that I feared would leave me for dead.’

  ‘Oh those two,’ Cross grinned at the memory of the girls. ‘The Tiller Twins which I conveniently dubbed The Killer Twins. Well both perished, thank goodness. Never did like them myself, has to be said.’

  Thomson winked. ‘So come on then, where is it?’

  ‘Where is what?’

  ‘The diary. Where is it? You must have brought it along for me to read did you not? What did you do to this girl? It has been too long since I read it.’

  Thomson’s eyes glazed over with unconcealed excitement and Cross leaned back smugly.

  ‘I do happen to have it upon my person,’ he taunted.

  ‘Well come on now, have we ever kept secrets from each other?’

  Cross laughed loudly. ‘No, not since you hid Master Brandon’s underwear in the kitchen pantry at Hollingbrook. Not one of us ever found out that it was you for years.’

  Thomson chuckled loudly washing down the last bite of his pastry with a large gulp of liquid. ‘Oh well, we were young back then, and horrid little whippersnappers too.’

  Cross revealed his diary from the inner folds of his thick coat and slid it across the table.

  Throwing down his spoon, Thomson eagerly picked it up. He leafed a few pages ahead to the date where the most recent entry had been made, devouring the words with greedy eyes.

  July 12, 1888 – The Whitechapel Virgin

  “Her name is Catherine Bell, a foundling and new resident at the Boars Tavern at Goulston Street, an establishment where more than one tasteful lady has in the past serviced my needs. (See index).