Jack the Ripper Victims Series: The Double Event (14 page)

Elizabeth blamed their irritability on the stresses of long hard hours, and low income. Since the damage to Jon’s reputation as a carpenter, he’d had to take work of lesser pay, doing smaller projects that required less skill. His pride suffered. Elizabeth felt sorry for him. She promised herself that she’d find a way to approach him with the truth about her past. Elizabeth also decided that the present wasn't the time to do so.

~ ~ ~

Lettie wasn’t faring well either. She had her child in early November, a baby boy she named Martin. Then word came that Joseph Snelling had perished on St. Paul’s Island, and the half pay she’d been receiving from the Royal Navy ceased.

Having left her child with a neighbor on a Sunday evening in February of 1872, Lettie showed up at the coffee shop to help Elizabeth make her weekly roast and grind. “I’ve gone to my sister, Mary Malcolms, every month for help since Martin was born,” Lettie said. “She’ll give me assistance, but she must first question me and tell me how to live my life before she hands it over. I hate her for helping William’s family take my children. She can see how I feel about her and so she draws out the weekly interview to gain satisfaction. It’s all I can do to keep from harming her. If I had a knife with me, I might slit her throat.” She barked out an uneasy laugh.

Elizabeth found her friend’s words and manner troubling. Lettie had always been a steady rock, an island surrounded by calm in the sea of struggle and change that was Elizabeth’s life in London. With her twin and Jon so unhappy lately, she experienced the feeling that no safe harbor existed for her, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

~ ~ ~

Jon extracted two more teeth from Elizabeth’s lower left jaw in the autumn of 1872.

~ ~ ~

Elizabeth was cleaning up the coffee shop after hours on September 7, 1873 when a boy appeared, knocking at the locked front door. She unlocked the door and gave the boy a farthing in exchange for a message on a piece of blue paper. The boy looked at the tiny coin, spat on the ground at Elizabeth’s feet, and ran off into the night.

The message told of the death of Jon’s Father. She gave it to her husband when he returned late in the evening. After he’d read it, he settled into a chair at the table where they ate their meals, and she sat across from him. “Most of my dreams have been dashed,” he said. “Much in life has not gone my way, though I had hoped that my father would see my children one day.”

His words and the look of hurt in his eyes crushed Elizabeth. They had not spoken of children in over a year, and her promise to herself to tell him about her past had been conveniently forgotten. She broke down weeping, and lowered her head to the tabletop.

“It’s not your fault,” Jon said.

Elizabeth tried to compose herself to speak. “But it is,” she said, finally.

“No, no,” he held her hand, and reached to lift her face.

When she could look him in the eye, she said, “I was gravely ill when young. The ability to bear children must have been taken from me then.”

“You knew?” He looked confused.

“Well, no.”

“Yet you suspected?” He released her and his face strained toward a grimace.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said quickly, then too loudly, “I’m sorry!”

He swallowed hard and sat back, a stiffness in his frame. “You’ve not told me how you became so ill.”

She hesitated, covered her mouth with her hand, and said, “I am too afraid to tell you.”

“We’ve never made a big show of it,” he said at last, “but I thought you
loved
me.”

“Of course, I do.” Elizabeth became aware that she held on tight to the edge of the table as her hand began to ache from the effort.

“Then why didn’t you trust me with your suspicion?”

Elizabeth let go of the table and sat back. She couldn’t look at him. “Because I
do
love you, Jon. I know you’ll want to know why I have the suspicion, and I’m afraid I’ll lose you when you have your answer.”

He looked down at his hands in his lap, and sat quietly for a long time. The longer his silence stretched on the more unsettling Elizabeth found it. Still, she could not will herself to get up and move away. Indeed, she hardly took a breath as she waited, because she knew that what he said at the end of that silence would determine her future.

Thankfully, the voices of her two selves also remained silent.

Sounds of movement came from the street out front. She heard a door slamming in a nearby building and a whistle from a train or a boat. The air had become colder, and the light dimmer. The floor under Jon’s chair creaked. He seemed to become interested in why, as a carpenter might. He rocked a bit in his chair and listened.

Finally, he looked up and said quietly, “I should have told you about the mistakes I made when young, terrible things I did long before we met, how I frightened myself and my family. Then you would have felt more at ease telling about yourself”

He cleared his throat, and looked her in the eye. “Keep your secret if you need to
.
”

Starved for air, Elizabeth took a deep breath. She clutched for him as he reached across the table and took her trembling hands.

“I do love you, Elizabeth,” he said. “Your sweet face
has
brightened my days.”

Tears of relief spilled down Elizabeth’s cheeks. She moved quickly into the warmth and safety of his arms.

~ ~ ~

With the death of his father, some of the glint had gone from Jon’s eyes. He suffered increasingly from sore joints, aching muscles, shortness of breath, and pains in the chest. Elizabeth blamed herself for his declining health. She worked harder and asked for his help less. The couple struggled with the coffee shop for another year and finally sold it.

Elizabeth and Jon removed to a single room in a tenement in Giraud Street in January 1875. One night, shortly after they were situated in the room, Jon sat her down and told her a story from his youth.

“In my twenties, me and some pals were taken with the tales of the highwaymen and dragsmen at Blackheath. We formed a gang of footpads, and found a spot on the road to Margate to prey upon the coaches coming and going from London.”

Jon looked at Elizabeth and shook his head vigorously. He lowered his head and shouted into his cupped hands, “Fools, we were!”

His lips pressed together hard as he looked up again. Afraid he’d stop the tale, Elizabeth leaned forward and took his hands for encouragement.

He turned away, and continued. “No one was to be harmed. We just wanted their valuables. We wore sacks on our faces, yet somehow my family found out about our adventures. My father threatened to turn me out in the street. I lied to him and kept at it.”

Jon gazed out their room’s single window as if he could see in the street outside the events of his recollection. “One night we stopped a coach and out stepped a cocksure swell. My pal, Robert, our leader, held a pistol on the man, but he wouldn’t hand over his wallet and watch. Instead, he pushed Robert.” Jon grimaced and lowered his head again. “Robert looked worried. He kept waving his iron at the man and demanding his valuables, and the toff kept pushing him. Finally he pushed so hard, Robert fell on his arse.” Jon was silent for a time, then he looked squarely at Elizabeth, a deep regret in his eyes. “The pistol went off and the gentleman died,” he said in a rush. “We ran away and none of us was ever charged. I quit those fellows and took up carpentry with Father. No one ever knew what I’d done except for my pals and now you. I never suffered punishment for my crime. I’ve tried to do right since.”

Jon covered his face with his hands. Elizabeth leaned her head against his shoulder. He took her in his arms briefly, then released her and left the room, heading out into the night. He didn’t return until late, long after Elizabeth had gone to bed.

The next evening, she found a moment that seemed right to tell Jon about meeting Klaudio, her prostitution, her syphilis, and the stillbirth of her girl, Beata. She began six times, only to break off after the first few words to take deep breaths and think of a better way to start. Finally, she had the words and they poured out of her.

Jon didn’t turn away, and as she paused before trying to speak of her darkest secret, the death of Fru Andersdotter, he said. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Bess had been right to suggest that Elizabeth should risk everything being honest with Jon, and Liza had been wrong.

The cynical voice knew nothing of love. She would never have good advice about friendship or romance.

Elizabeth knew that Jon thought she was done. She wished she were, as the wave of shame that always accompanied the recollections of the old woman’s death took hold of her. Drowning in the shameful memories—lighting fires in the stove and fireplace of Hortense’s house to cover up her own absence, lying to Herr Rikhardsson about awakening to find the woman dead, being rewarded with a position of employment on that day for merely being associated with the woman—Elizabeth collapsed upon the bed and closed her eyes.

Jon caressed her cheek, her shoulder. Elizabeth let go of the memories and relaxed. He seemed to accept what truth she had offered without anger or scorn.

Jon thought she’d finished her tale, and Elizabeth would take advantage of that, despite her revelation that Bess’s advice about complete honesty had been sound.

Although she felt at least partly unburdened, she remained in despair over her inability to face the old woman’s death.

~ ~ ~

Elizabeth felt differently toward Jon once she’d heard his tale. Despite his bent posture, a loss of muscle tone, and his frequent downcast looks, he became her hero as never before. He’d had his adventure while young and learned from it. Jon had a big heart, and had made every effort to have a full life. She took great pride in her marriage to the man, and regretted only that she’d been unable to give him children.

They didn’t have much over the next few years, yet drew closer than they’d ever been. Jon took on what carpentry jobs he could find, but as his health declined, his abilities diminished. Deciding that she would take on whatever work she could to lighten his load, working several jobs if necessary, gave Elizabeth a strong sense of purpose.

She worked for a time for John Hale, the man who bought Olovsson’s Coffee Shop. He’d kept the name. She roasted and ground beans for him. When the establishment was busy, she helped serve customers. Hale allowed her to advertise to his customers that she offered sewing services. Elizabeth mended clothing in the evenings and did simple alterations. When Olovsson’s Coffee Shop finally failed, she took short term work of all sorts, sewing, charring, and scouring, while trying to find employment serving within a household. Because she was a married woman, she could not interview for most positions.

~ ~ ~

Lettie suffered far worse. She lost her position when Mrs. Huntermoon passed away. Lettie fell to working as a scourer at a laundry while she looked for employment within another household. Her child, Martin, died of a fever before his third birthday.

Neither of the two Elizabeths had any luck finding a position. What short term work they found, they often shared.

Lettie sat in Elizabeth’s room one evening in the summer of 1876 helping to mend clothes. Jon had not yet returned from a job erecting a sign over a new sweet shop.

“After I lost my position with Mrs. Huntermoon, we had so little that I became afraid for Martin. I thought I might not be able to provide for him. One day I did a foolish thing; I left him on my sister, Mary’s, doorstep in a basket. She’s married to a man, Andrew Malcolms, and they do quite well for themselves. I thought she’d take care of him better than I could.”

Elizabeth allowed her shock to show on her face. She opened her mouth to say that she and Jon would have helped. Lettie spoke first.

“I didn’t abandon him,” she said. “I knocked on her door and hid around the corner of the building, watching. Mary came to the door. She saw my boy in the basket, then turned around, left him, and went back inside. I thought she’d come back, but she didn’t, so I gathered him up and took him home.”

“Perhaps you should have spoken to her about taking care of Martin first.”

“No.” Lettie shook her head. “I can’t talk to my sister. She helped William’s family take my children because she thought I wouldn’t be a good mother. Mary has always thought of me as foolish. Nothing I do is done well enough, except for one thing that I did right. For that one thing, she cannot forgive me.”

“What’s that?” Elizabeth asked.

Lettie waved the question away. “She should have at least taken Martin in from the cold. I’d brought him to see her twice before, so she couldn’t pretend she didn’t know who he was.”

“You should have come to us for help.”

“Like me, you and Jon have precious little. My sister’s a scurf.”

Elizabeth gave Lettie a questioning look.

“She’s cruel to those she employs.” She shook her head as if frustrated. “Mary does help me—two shillings a week—but if I have to keep seeing her to get it, I will surely kill her.”

“You don’t mean that,” Elizabeth said.

“Don’t I?” Lettie took a deep breath. She glanced at Elizabeth curiously.

Elizabeth became uncomfortable as her friend’s gaze lingered. “Stop it,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Lettie said, “I’m getting a good look at you for a reason. I have an idea you’re not going to like. Still, It’s bene bone.”

“So mysterious!”

“Wait and see. I’ve thought about it for a long time.”

Elizabeth scoffed.

“I visit my sister, Mary Malcolms, once a week now. She’s lonely and bitter, she’s vindictive, yet she’s honor-bound to help me. I know she couldn’t live with herself if she thought I suffered anything other than what I endure at her own hands. This is because she believes I saved her life at risk of my own when we were little. That is the one thing I did right, and she’ll never forgive me for it or perhaps it’s that she can’t forgive herself for needing my help.”

“What happened?” Elizabeth asked impatiently.

Lettie paused and took a deep breath. “When young, we were playing on a steep hill and she fell. Mary rolled down toward a small spring and I ran after her. A black adder came from the rocks around the spring and bit her on the hand. I stepped on the snake and tried to kick it away, but it bit me on the leg. Mary became insensible from the poison. I crushed the snake’s head and carried Mary home. When she mistreats me, I sometimes prey upon her sympathies with that story.” Lettie displayed an evil grin.

“What does all that have to do with me?”

Lettie hesitated for a moment. “I want you to go in my stead and I’ll give you half of what she gives me.”

Elizabeth shook her head “Why should she give the money to me?”

“Well, I know you won’t like this,” Lettie took another deep breath. She had a peculiar smile. “I want you to pretend you’re me when you go see her.”

Elizabeth laughed uneasily. “That’s absurd. She’ll know I’m not you.”

“She’s nearsighted. Don’t get too close.”

“My voice isn’t the same.”

“She’s hard of hearing.”

“You’re pretending all these things!” Elizabeth said, dismayed with Lettie’s seriousness.

“No, I mean it. If I have to keep seeing Mary, I know I’ll hurt her and end up in prison. She gives me two shillings a week. I can’t turn that down. I need it.
We
need it. You share
your
mending work with me. I helped you when you ran the coffee shop. Please, do it once to see if it’ll work. You’ll get a shilling to show up and hold your hand out.”

“You said she questions you and tells you things.”

“So,
you
can listen. You know what I do. Answer Mary’s questions, take the coins, and leave. Just don’t let her get a good look at your fingers, Long Liz.” Lettie chuckled. She had a playful self-satisfied expression.

Elizabeth wasn’t amused, but she would give Lettie’s plan a try for the shilling.

~ ~ ~

A sweater, Mary Malcolms rented a room in a tenement and use it as a workshop, employing children to finish partially completed products provided by a wholesaler. Currently she worked for a manufacturer of ready-made clothing. When Elizabeth arrived at Mary’s shop in Red Lion Street, she saw the woman disciplining a little girl perhaps eight years of age.

“The seam is too tight,” Mary said. The sweater took the child’s threaded needle, and stuck her in the arm with it.

Elizabeth took a step forward to defend the girl. Mary glanced up. Seeing a coldness in the woman’s eyes, Elizabeth thought better of challenging Mrs. Malcolms on her first visit, and stepped back.

Mary turned a scowl on the child. “You’ll work the rest of the day for nothing or you can find other work.”

The girl, a cute child with curly brown locks pulled back and tied with a dirty grey ribbon, wiped a spot of blood from her arm, nodded her head, and turned back to her task without complaint.

Perhaps a dozen young girls occupied the room, each sitting at a small table, working on a pair of trousers with needle and thread. Dust and bits of thread littered the floor and formed drifts in the corners.

“My guardian angel graces me with her presence,” Mary said bitterly, turning back to Elizabeth.

Clearly Mrs. Malcolms thought she faced her sister.

“Come again for what's due, have you?” Mary walked to a small desk, opened a drawer and set two coins on the desktop. “And what will you do when I’m gone? Do you ever think about that, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth stepped back at the sound of her name, thinking that somehow the woman had seen through her ruse. But, no, that was Lettie’s name as well.

“Did you work this week,” Mary asked her, “or have you been on the blob?”

The woman is horrible.
No wonder Lettie hated her. Elizabeth said evenly, “I’m not a beggar. I charred for Reverend Harris Monday and Wednesday, Thursday and Friday I worked at Scab’s laundry, and I mended clothes for clients each night. I’ve been looking for a position within a household. There are precious few to be had.”

She thought she’d done a good job mimicking Lettie’s voice. When Mrs. Malcolms didn’t respond right away, Elizabeth became concerned again. She remained silent and finally, the woman spoke.

“That’s a fine lot of work, if it’s true.”

Elizabeth held out her hands and risked getting close enough that Mary could see the calloused skin. Elizabeth backed away quickly when Mary looked up.

“Something has changed in you,” the woman said.

Again, Elizabeth worried that she’d exposed herself, but she pressed on. “No, I’m no shirkster. I’ve worked hard for a long time.”

“Not that I could tell,” Mrs. Malcolms said dismissively. “When was the last time you shared anything with me that I didn’t pull it out of you?”

Elizabeth had no such difficulties with the woman, and decided she could be as generous as she liked. “I’m sorry I’ve given you trouble.”