by E M Jones
“Well, I am Lizzie and this is Mary. And I’m sure that this fair city will be entertainment enough for you this evening. Would you like us to show you the attractions we have to offer?”
Jack clapped his hands and guffawed, “Yes, please!”
Lizzie could only join him in genuine laughter.
22
Lizzie made her way to the kitchen later than usual. The journey from her room and down the stairs also took longer than necessary due to the anvil swinging around in her head and the soreness in her legs. The walk felt like a performance at the circus as London’s strongest woman.
She steadied herself at the top of the stairs and remembered one of many runs from tavern to concert hall they had made last night, cups in hand. Jack and Matthew had wanted to imbibe in as much of the city as they could in one night, as if it would all disappear at dawn. Lizzie and Mary had entered into the impetuous joy and sprinted and leaped their way around the city.
As Lizzie descended the stairs, her legs felt as if they were attached to her torso by a small, fraying rope. She was too old to be running around town—part of the job or not.
She had lowered herself onto a kitchen chair when a creature half human, half metal whizzed past her and out into the yard. Just as the spinning in her head was slowing, an almighty crash rippled from the yard and Lizzie’s attempt to be upright that day almost came to an immediate end.
“Sorry. Are you ready?” Charlie’s face, warm with a smile, emerged through the back door. Her hair remained in its pointed style from the night before but with a few bits pointing in unintended ways. It made her look her usual boyish self, and Lizzie could only smile through the swaying of her head.
“Of course. Ready for anything. What are we doing?”
“Charlie! Charlie!”
Waterlogged legs shuffled towards the kitchen, and Lizzie and Charlie gave each other a knowing smile.
“Where is that girl? Charlie!” Mrs Henry appeared at the door, scowling. “Charlie! What are you doing? I assume you are responsible for that noise, for waking our neighbours, for putting our reputation as a respectable house at risk?”
Mrs Henry was in her nightclothes and seemed to have been recently awoken. Charlie absorbed all this in an instant and positioned herself as a scolded schoolgirl.
“Yes, Mrs H. Well, no. You see, I’m getting the bucket ready.”
Mrs Henry looked at Charlie as if she belonged to another world. “Bucket, Charlie?”
“Yes, Mrs H. What with it being August and Mary being new to all this, I thought it was important for us to show her how things are done. For us to keep our position as a respectable house, a house of repute.”
Mrs Henry surveyed Charlie like a juror. “Well, of course, Charlie. We must maintain our position as a respectable house.”
She paused and closed her eyes. Charlie grinned towards Lizzie, who remained at a loss.
Mrs Henry opened her eyes; enlightenment had descended. “Right, Charlie. Carry on then. Can I help?”
“Of course, Mrs H. We’d be nowhere without you. I’ll get the water in the yard. Could you fetch Mary and we’ll show her how it’s done? Lizzie, you’re going first.”
Charlie busied into the yard.
“Charlie?”
“Yes, Mrs Henry?”
“Could you please fetch the water quietly?”
“Of course, Mrs H.” Charlie gave a dramatic bow that sent the bucket colliding against the yard once more and Charlie hopping after it.
Mrs Henry tutted and smiled as she made her way to Mary’s room.
***
Lizzie studied Charlie’s careful, slight hands working the soap into a lather. Mary sat obediently while Charlie fussed like an older sister.
Mrs Henry appeared at the door. “All going well, Charlie?”
“Yes, Mrs H. Lizzie was very obliging, as usual.”
Lizzie, her hair drying in the emerging closeness, thought her head might just be assuming its normal balance, and chose not to challenge her mind further by engaging in Charlie’s exchange of insinuations.
“It’s drying beautifully, Lizzie. And Mary, you’ll look even prettier than usual this evening. Won’t she, Charlie?”
“Yes, Mrs Henry. The three of us will do you proud.”
“You always do.”
“We do our best. After all, we’ve learnt from the best.”
Mrs Henry smiled a self-satisfied smile and pulled up a chair next to Lizzie. “You seem to be recovering from a night of indulgence, Lizzie.” Her eyes shone with the hope of an interesting story.
“We did, Mrs Henry. Two very fine young men—Jack and Matthew—are here with the theatre and wanted to see all the excitement of London.”
“Ah, the theatre boys. Always so spontaneous, I found. I remember once I met a young man called Will who was here with the theatre. He grew quite infatuated with me and once almost missed a show because he was rushing through the city to bring me some flowers.”
Mrs Henry settled into her memory, and the four women pursued their own thoughts as the gentle sound of soap lathering continued.
“Right, a cold rinse and you’ll be finished.”
Mary looked up, her head a crown of bubbles, and seemed to doubt Charlie’s wisdom.
“Trust me. It’s worth it.”
Mary lowered her head once more in acceptance. “Why do you wash it in cold water?” Her timid voice made its way from beneath the mountain of bubbles.
“Well…” Charlie began as she walked back with her bucket, but another voice answered.
“It makes it briller. It makes it shine.”
Mrs Henry spoke with closed eyes.
The communal silence in the yard was broken suddenly, and Mrs Henry almost leapt over the yard wall when the front door was knocked loudly and persistently.
“Oh girls, what is this?” She seemed old and nervous.
“I’ll go, Mrs Henry.” Charlie leapt towards the front door.
A moment later, Ted stormed into the yard, his face frantic and flushed. “You’re all here.”
Charlie followed. “Yes, I told you—we’re all here.”
Three young women, their hair steaming dry in the August heat, and an old woman, who had regained her confidence as the head of the household, looked at Ted.
“Yes, Ted, we are all here,” said Mrs Henry. “It is early in the morning and my girls are beautifying. We are a respectable household, and I would ask you not to disturb our peace and risk our good name by storming over here uninvited and disturbing our neighbours.”
Ted’s flush began to fade.
Mrs Henry sat an inch taller as her reprimand gained momentum. “I know that you have a special affection for Lizzie—” Mrs Henry nodded towards Lizzie, who looked at the floor “—but that does not give you the right to damage our reputation and interrupt our peace.”
Ted’s head had fallen through the course of Mrs Henry’s scolding, and his demeanour was now penitential. “I’m very sorry, Mrs Henry. I intended no disrespect.” He tried to catch Lizzie’s eye, but she was focused on a weed emerging between a crack in the dirt.
“Why are you here at this hour?” Mrs Henry demanded.
All four women looked at him.
“They’ve found another body. Another girl’s been killed.”
***
The show at The Alhambra continued, the death of a young woman flicked away like a pebble by the city’s incessant indulgence. Music rose from the stage, wine sloshed, smoke grew and started to emit a mystical haze from the front door. More young girls danced through this fog on the stage, their dresses creating whirling patterns of colour and limbs, pleasing the patrons, who determinedly lost all their senses. In the doorway, in the mystic haze, huddled a contrasting group. Pained and solemn, Ted, Johnny, Charlie, Lizzie and Mary looked at each other.
“You’ve no idea, Johnny?” Charlie looked up to her friend.
“No, Charl. Never met her or heard of her. Apparently used to
work the West—Chelsea, that way.”
Charlie searched Johnny’s face for further information and was met with pained concern.
Ted continued her questioning. “Do any of you know anybody else we could speak to? Who else works around Chelsea?”
Ted looked around the circle. Smoke puffed between each member of the group.
Lizzie wanted to support him. “We don’t really work out that way—there’s no need. We might take a turn in the summer, but it’s not really our patch. Do you know anyone, Charlie?”
“No. I would say hello to one or two of the girls, but I don’t know their names or where to find them.”
Defeated silence fell again, accompanied by flamboyant vaudeville.
“What about…” Ted coughed and looked away from Lizzie. “What about customers? Do any of you know the men who spend their time there?”
Defeat was replaced by awkwardness, as Johnny looked from Lizzie to Ted, then to the ground. The group followed his thought process.
“I do know someone.”
Everybody turned to Lizzie, whose face, though flushed, was determined and dared her company to question her. “Arthur. Arthur said that he visited the Pleasure Gardens often. He said that the ladies searched for him in every bower. He said that he was famous as one of West London’s most eligible prospects.”
Vaudeville whirred as the group considered this.
“But wasn’t he just showing off?” Ted looked doubtfully towards Lizzie.
She stared daringly towards him. “He was showing off. But when men show off, they exaggerate the truth. They don’t create fantasies based on no truth at all.”
“Lizzie’s right.” The group turned towards Charlie. “If Arthur said he was one of West London’s most eligible men he must spend his time there. His status will be imagined, but he would have known that he could share this story with Lizzie because she isn’t a regular round there.”
Ted continued to look doubtful, but the group were behind Lizzie and Charlie, caught in the slim possibility of progress towards finding Dina’s killer.
“Right, Charl. What should we do?” Johnny’s bulk contrasted with his obedience to the elfin woman next to him. “I can grab him the next time he comes in?”
“No, let him in, Johnny. Let him settle. Then one of us will go and speak to him.”
“Alright. Who should I fetch?”
Charlie glanced around the circle, settling on Lizzie, who nodded. “Our Lizzie. She’s his fantasy woman. He’s been after her before. And like his blown-up nonsense, she will be more tantalising than ever because he has had a little taste of her in reality.”
23
As Charlie, Lizzie and Mary walked through the smoke at the doors of The Alhambra, Johnny gave them a knowing wink. Lizzie walked slightly ahead of the other two, and the smoke cleared a path for her.
Inside The Alhambra, the three young women were encircled by the fumes and noise of indulgence. Lizzie peered across the carnival inside. Waves of colourful skirts could be seen on the stage; the audience appeared as a mass of dark puppets, each hand set to raise glasses and cigarettes. Lizzie looked towards the bar, where individual puppets could be made out; the movement of arms towards wine and cigarettes was the same, as if The Alhambra controlled each limb once inside its doors.
A sharp elbow to her ribs drew Lizzie’s attention towards an inflated purple waistcoat near the bar. Charlie caught Lizzie’s eye and nodded. Arthur stood with his back to the bar, a glass in his hand, peering across the hall in a motion very similar to Lizzie. His chest was swollen, stretching a royal purple waistcoat across his torso. Lizzie met his eyes over his moustache. Arthur smiled and raised his glass, hiding none of his appreciation of Lizzie’s appearance.
“Right, that’s me.” Lizzie turned to Charlie and smiled nervously.
A young man was speaking intently to Mary whilst swaying with wine; she was also off to work.
Charlie held Lizzie’s hand. “Take care, and get Johnny if you need any help. He’ll be looking out for you.” Charlie gave Lizzie’s hand a squeeze and turned towards the audience. A drunk hand swiped to hold her leg and she caught it, gave it a shake and turned on a charming smile, “Well, good evening, sir.”
Lizzie pushed slowly through the crowd towards the bar, aware of Arthur’s appreciation of her as she approached. She smiled from beneath her eyelashes and met his consuming gaze.
“Hello again. How are you, Arthur?” Lizzie attempted to maintain an air of innocence as Arthur stared at her boldly.
“I’m very well, my dear. And pleased to see you.”
“I’m pleased to see you too. I like your waistcoat.” Lizzie put a hand to Arthur’s chest and he bloated further. “I’m very sorry about the misunderstanding the last time we met.” She fluttered her eyelashes and felt Arthur’s breathing meet their rhythm.
“Not to worry, dear. You, like me, have many suitors. We have grown used to being in demand.”
“Indeed.” Lizzie rubbed her hand on his chest and looked at him squarely. “I was disappointed, Arthur. I was hoping to get to know you a little better.”
Arthur’s breathing transformed into a hopping motion as she altered the motion of her hand. “Are you engaged this evening?”
“No, Arthur. I am not. Would you like to take some wine together?”
Arthur spun towards the bar like a rabbit from a trap and, as if by sorcery, had two glasses of wine in his hand.
“Come and sit with me, Lizzie.”
He led her towards an alcove like a peacock flashing its tail.
***
Lizzie was growing tired. She had noticed that Arthur’s moustache would stay oddly still while he spoke, contracting slightly when he felt conspiratorial. When he came to the final sentence of one of his stories—with himself as the inevitable hero—it would stretch outward as he laughed self-indulgently, then contract back into a small caterpillar.
“So, my dear, shall we continue our conversation somewhere a little more private?” Arthur placed his hand on Lizzie’s leg as he spoke.
Lizzie roused herself. “Of course. Shall we have one more cup of wine before we leave? It’s so unusual to meet a gentleman I can really talk to, really get to know like this.” She rubbed his hand gently as she spoke.
“Isn’t it?” Arthur looked like a prize-winning pupil. “I shall fetch more wine.”
He rose and made his way to the bar. Lizzie gathered herself—she had made no progress in discussing the murdered girl and had instead been bored with the tales of Arthur’s heroic love.
She jumped as Johnny sat next to her.
“Alright, Lizzie?”
“Yes, thanks, Johnny.”
“No trouble?”
“No, no trouble. Just not getting anywhere.”
“Oh. Well, do your best, and don’t get hurt. I have to go.”
“Thanks, Johnny. I will.”
With that, Johnny disappeared back towards the doorway. Lizzie gathered herself for another effort as Arthur re-appeared in her view carrying two cups of wine.
“Thank you. So…” Lizzie placed a hand comfortable on Arthur’s thigh. “After we met at the Pleasure Gardens and missed the chance to get to know each other, I was speaking to a friend of mine about you.” Arthur’s eyebrows and moustache rose in unison. “When I mentioned that you seemed to know the gardens well, she knew exactly who you were. The handsome gentleman who is sought by the ladies of West London.” Arthur smiled and blushed as Lizzie continued. “I told her that I was disappointed that we had not been able to continue our evening together, and that I was a little envious of the woman who had succeeded in capturing your attention.” Arthur’s face almost matched his waistcoat, and his body almost exploded with pleasure. “I’m so pleased we met again tonight.”
“As am I, dear.” His speech was stilted as he struggled through self-indulgence and anticipated pleasure.
“And it’s so good to feel that I’m with someone so handsome and kind, who’l
l keep me safe.” Lizzie gave his thigh an additional squeeze, and he let out a small squeal. “These young women who have been killed recently… It makes me want to be with a man who’ll look after me.”
Arthur rose to the occasion. “I will, Lizzie.” He moved his arm around her shoulders and held on to her ribs.
“This poor girl who’s just been found. Did you know her, Arthur?” Lizzie looked towards him with all the innocence she could muster as he fondled her chest.
“Yes, poor thing. We did meet once. I forget her name. Harriet? Hannah? She was beautiful—not as beautiful as you, but she had her own attractions. Unfortunately, our love could not grow since I had engagements elsewhere. I broke it to her gently, and she, bless her, comforted herself with a false promise of a new love. She claimed that she had an aristocrat who pursued her. I could not blame her for seeking comfort in a fantasy after I had so disappointed her. Some romances do not grow; and yet here we are, you and I.” Arthur had been stroking Lizzie as he spoke, and his waistcoat stretched further.
“And now to more pleasant matters. Shall we go?” He turned to her with concentrated determination.
“Yes.”
***
Mrs Henry walked back and forth over the same foot of kitchen floor.
“Oh, girls!”
Like a wound-up mechanical mouse, she would exclaim, rub her hands through her thinning hair, turn, and pace the same yard before exclaiming again.
Charlie and Lizzie sat opposite each other at the kitchen table. Their elbows rested on the unevenly worn wood, and both girls failed to cheer Mrs Henry. Charlie held a cloth to an ever-expanding bruise around the right-hand side of her face. Her elfin features were bloated on one side, and dry blood rusted around the corner of her mouth. Mrs Henry eventually extended her travel to rinse Charlie’s cloth and hand it back to her, changing her exclamation to “Oh, Charlie!” before returning to her well-worn yard of kitchen floor.
Lizzie winced as she sat back in her chair. She held onto her ribs and tried to soothe the pain. She tried to shift her mind, but it only shifted as far as her chest, which was also sore. She could feel the bruises growing on her skin, and her body seemed to throb in protest at its treatment.
