The constable looked around Elizabeth’s chamber. She assumed he was assessing her work. Elizabeth had done her best with the room, having cleaned it thoroughly and put up a curtain over its one window. Mr. Pimberton had offered her a moth-eaten Persian rug that had been rolled up under his bed. She’d repaired a hole in it with heavy yarn and put it down on her floor to help lessen the chill that rose from beneath the house in cold weather. Since she’d gained few possessions in the nine months she’d been in London, the room had a spare, lifeless appearance.
As Mr. Winders looked around, Elizabeth assessed him. At present, his figure and features were lit by the filtered light from the window instead of the glare of the hazy sky outside. He wasn’t exactly handsome, yet something about his appearance in the constable uniform and his bearing made her heart beat faster.
“Well, I will leave you two to discuss business,” Mr. Pimberton said. He walked out and closed the door.
Not for the first time, Elizabeth wondered if he preferred to be rid of her. He had been nothing but pleasant, and she worked hard for her money. Still, the understanding they shared was that Elizabeth’s employment was to be a temporary situation, and certainly he’d find another way to spent his money if she were gone.
“I am looking for a charwoman,” Mr. Winders said, “though I suspect there’s more to you than that.” Without seeming excessively proud, he smiled as if he knew he’d made her heart beat faster. “Would you care to take a meal at the Barley Mow with me?”
Flattered, Elizabeth smiled, then covered her mouth.
He’s taken an interest in you, Bess said.
Yes, Liza agreed, you should be careful.
Mr. Winders raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. Elizabeth delighted to see the expression which seemed so like that of an enthusiastic boy.
“Yes,” she said.
He grinned. “Well, then, I’ll be back with a cab about half past three.”
Elizabeth tried to settle down with her book after he had gone. With the excitement of looking forward to her rendezvous with the constable, she couldn’t concentrate on the reading.
~ ~ ~
Having hired a hansom cab, Mr. Winders came for Elizabeth at the appointed time. Instead of his uniform, he wore a short tweed coat and brown trousers. Elizabeth donned her coat and bonnet and left her room, locking the door behind her. He helped her up into the cab, and when he was situated, he said, “Thank you, Harry.” She presumed he spoke to the driver, as the vehicle began to move.
Elizabeth had rarely ridden in a carriage, and never in such a fine one. The front was open and she had a clear view through the windows to either side. The large wheels made for a relatively smooth passage over both the large and small granite paving stones, but the ride was most quiet on the roads paved with wooden blocks. Unfortunately the wooden lanes trapped horse urine and had a powerful reek.
Elizabeth considered the ride an extravagance meant to impress. Mr. Winders seemed to anticipate her reaction. “Harry is my cousin,” he said jerking his thumb back toward the driver. “He charges me half-fare.”
The constable had secured a drinking box for their meal at the Barley Mow Tavern. The small booth provided privacy and a quiet intimacy. Mr. Winders ordered a dish of meat and vegetables to share with Elizabeth, and tall glasses of ale for each of them.
He wants you drunk so he can take advantage of you, Liza said.
Although Elizabeth listened to her cynical voice, she felt comfortable with Mr. Winders. Still, she didn’t drink her ale.
“Larry says you come from Sweden.”
“Yes, I’m from Torslanda.”
“That’s near Gothenburg?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth was terse as she busied herself eating fat from the joint they’d been served.
Mr. Winders ate chunks of potato. “How did you happen to come to London?”
“I wanted to see the sites, and live in the grandest city in the world.” Thinking she sounded like a child, Elizabeth blushed with a demure smile.
“And your family?”
“They’re all in Sweden. I didn’t want to live my life on a farm.”
“Such a brave woman, to come all this way alone!” He seemed genuinely impressed. “We have something in common, then.”
Elizabeth smirked playfully as she thought he meant that he, too, was brave.
“No, I meant that I didn’t want a life on the farm. My father was a tenant farmer. We never had anything. I left my family behind and came to London to make a better life for myself. And I have.” He looked handsome when he showed his pride.
“Then you are at least as brave as I am.” Elizabeth gave him a coy smile.
The constable reached over and wiped a bit of grease from her chin. She didn’t pull away. Encouraged, he leaned in and kissed her on the mouth, then sat back and resumed his meal.
Elizabeth liked his casual manner and light touch. He didn’t paw at her the way men had in the past. She got the impression that he was willing to see how their rapport developed before asking for more.
As their talk resumed, she noted that the conversation had a natural flow that she enjoyed, despite her occasional misunderstandings. Although her English had become much better within the time she’d lived in London, her slight difficulty with the language prompted her to ask him to explain a few things that might have been obvious to another.
Elizabeth felt full and stopped eating. Mr. Winders devoured what remained of the meat and vegetables. Sleepy after the heavy meal, she offered less to the conversation and sat listening as he talked.
“Until recently, I took a beat along Brewer Street in Agar Town, not far from here,” he said, “but the town has been demolished as part of the site of the new rail station. For now, I patrol parts of the construction area. The duty is interesting, and there’s some danger as so many were turned out and their homes destroyed. Some come back again and again, even though there’s nothing left for them there. People will say we are well-rid of Agar town, that it was a breeding ground for the worst poverty and neglect, yet I knew many who lived there who did well, proud families of character.”
The constable paused to finish his ale, and he looked at Elizabeth’s glass. “You don’t like ale?” he asked.
“I’ve never had ale.”
“Oh, you must try it.”
“I don’t want to become drunken,” she said.
“Ale isn’t that strong. Please try it.”
Elizabeth hesitated.
See, Liza said, he wants you drunk.
Mr. Winders smiled and nodded encouragement.
He wants you to enjoy yourself, Bess said. He’s not like other men.
Finally, Elizabeth took up the glass and smelled the liquid. The odor of alcohol coming from the ale wasn’t nearly as strong as she’d expected. She took a sip, and liked the drink. Sipping slowly, she became wide awake, and their conversation continued. Her warm feeling toward the man grew as she relaxed, but she didn’t become intoxicated. While Elizabeth immediately craved more once her glass of ale was empty, she’d become so taken with the gentleman beside her, the desire for drink had little power.
When finally he took her to her home, she kissed him and invited him in. Mr. Winders considered the invitation for a moment, then paid the fare and dismissed the hansom cab. Elizabeth saw that the driver was not his cousin, Harry, and knew the ride must have cost him dearly.
She let them into her room. He moved to the fireplace, unbanked the coals that still smoldered and stoked the fire. Elizabeth sat on the floor beside him as he worked.
He set down the poker, turned, and kissed her more passionately than before. As the room warmed, so did their passion. Finally they took to her small bed.
Elizabeth had not experienced anyone desiring her in the way Edward did. He seemed hungry for her as well as attentive to her needs. She was no dirty puzzle. He was no desperate toad or vindictive cuckold. No, she recognized their intimacy as something better. For the first ti
me, Elizabeth experienced sexual intercourse as a tender, loving act.
Chapter 18: The Terms of Agreement
“I don’t want to accept Mr. Winder’s offer,” Elizabeth told Lettie while they enjoyed another ploughman’s lunch at the Windsor Castle Pub in May of 1867. “To be intimate with him while in his service as a charwoman is prostitution, even if I do live under his roof. I don’t want to be a whore anymore.”
“Well, you’re certainly good at rhymes,” Lettie said with a crooked smile.
Elizabeth looked away, exasperated. “I’m trying to make an important decision.”
“I know,” Lettie said, sounding chastened.
Elizabeth took a sip of her ale. Since being introduced to the drink, she’d had a glass of the brew at each of their luncheons.
When Mr. Winders had made the offer, he and Elizabeth had not spoken of his need for a charwoman since the night they began courting, six months earlier. She would earn half again what she earned working for Mr. Pimberton—not quite a living wage, but her inheritance would dwindle slower.
Bess, ever hopeful, had advised Elizabeth to do whatever the constable wanted. If you make him happy enough, he will ask you to become his wife.
If you live with him, Liza warned, he’ll no longer have to seek you out. He won’t be grateful for your company, and he’ll tire of you.
“You always say you want something better,” Lettie said, “Well, here it is. I think it sounds good.” She had eagerly followed Elizabeth’s affair with Mr. Winders.
Elizabeth didn’t respond.
Lettie kicked her gently under the table. “Those of us who struggle to get on, do what we must. Mr. Winders seems like a good man who will treat you well.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, “he’s good to me, and I don’t want anything to change. I made the mistake of telling Mr. Pimberton about it. He said I should take the position. Although he’s shown no displeasure with our arrangement, I now know I’ve overstayed my welcome.” She could kick herself for that.
“Tell Mr. Winders that Long Liz is no laced mutton,” Lettie said. “Tell him that if you’re to live with him, you don’t want his money.”
“Then I would have no freedom.”
“You’ve had many interviews for positions in the last year, yet no one has offered you anything good enough. You can keep looking for another position and leave when you find one. I won’t always work for Mrs. Huntermoon. As soon as I find a better situation, I’ll leave her. The woman is quite mad, her and her demon, Eriot!”
Indeed, Elizabeth had had no luck finding another position that would provide the equivalent or reasonable alternative to the room and pay situation she had with Mr. Pimberton. At odd moments, she’d blamed her accent, and struggled to remove it from her speech. At other times, she decided that incidents of her ingratitude in the past had somehow left such a mark on her that others, even strangers, knew she was undeserving. But then that seemed ridiculous, since Lettie, Mr. Pimberton, and Mr. Winders had all been quite charitable in their treatment of her.
As Elizabeth sat in a state of gloom, Lettie went to the bar and ordered another glass of ale for each of them. Elizabeth had always limited herself to one glass of ale, even though she always wanted more. At present, however, she didn’t have the strength to say no. By the time she had finished the second glass, she was in a much better mood.
“I don’t know why I’m making such a fuss about Edward’s offer.”
“So,” Lettie said with a chuckle, “he’s no longer Mr. Winders, eh. You’re thinking you’ll take him up on it, then?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “Thank you for pouring some reason into me.” She gestured toward the empty glass and giggled.
“You’re welcome.”
Elizabeth was intoxicated, yet not so much that she couldn’t make her way home and ready herself to receive Mr. Winders that evening. Her earlier melancholy had come from the realization that she’d grown so infatuated with Edward that she couldn’t resist his invitation. She also feared that once she’d taken up with him, she would not be willing to leave for another position. But the ale had removed such trepidations, and that evening, over dinner at the Barley Mow, she formally agreed to his terms.
Terminating her employment with Mr. Pimberton, she removed to the constable’s residence in Grafton Street, southeast of Marylebone Park, in early summer of 1867.
~ ~ ~
Mr. Edward Winders had two connecting ground floor rooms in a two story tenement. The place had been recently painted a light blue. The furnishings included a bed, an armoire, and a small desk and chair in a bedroom with two curtained windows. The other room had a table, three chairs, a small stove, cabinets with counters, one curtained window, and a door that let onto the street.
Mr. Winders introduced Elizabeth to his neighbors as his wife. When he did so, men frequently gave a knowing smile or smirk, while the women gave tight smiles or merely looked away.
“You mustn’t worry yourself over their disapproval,” Edward said. “If they were worth having as friends, they wouldn't judge harshly. They won’t cause you any trouble because they want no trouble from me.”
Elizabeth quickly brushed aside a notion that Mr. Winders bullied people to get his way. She wasn’t overly concerned about the neighbors—she’d seen such reactions many times in her days as a prostitute.
Clearly from the start, she understood that he meant for her to sleep with him, and worried that their sexual passions might become part of her domestic duties. Elizabeth promised herself that she would engage in sexual intercourse only when it pleased her. Not wanting to insult the man, however, she didn’t bring up the subject with him.
You should be honest with your beau, Bess said. Tell him about your past and he will know that you want to share everything with him, the good and the bad. It is the way of love.
If you tell him about your past, he will hold it over you or turn you out, Liza said.
The honeymoon lasted for several months. Elizabeth pursued sex with Edward like a hunt. They bounded after climax as if it were a prey that must be run to ground, torn apart, and consumed. He gave as good as he got and they learned to climax together. They tried both sheep’s gut and vulcanized rubber sheaths, but Elizabeth and Edward became so wild in their passion, the prophylactics frequently tore open, whatever the type.
Elizabeth could only hope she didn’t become pregnant. She was more concerned about the consequences of having to take care of a child than having one out of wedlock. On each occasion that Edward’s seed spilled inside her, Elizabeth promised herself that the next time she would go easier, yet when that time came, the passion of the moment took over as it had before.
Edward wasn’t particularly concerned. “I know what to do if you get knapped,” he said. “I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.”
If you become pregnant, Bess said, he’ll marry you.
He means, Liza said, that he knows a butcher who can end a pregnancy.
One evening as they lay in bed after an exhausting hour of sex, Elizabeth felt especially warm toward Edward. She decided to take Bess’s advice, and told him all about her time as a prostitute. Neither alarmed by the news nor pleased with her honesty, his reaction confounded her.
“I knew something like that hid in your past,” he said with little emotion. “You carry it in your eyes. I’ve seen enough bunters to recognize it. As long as you’re healthy now, I’m not concerned.”
Elizabeth found her disappointment equally confusing. Her worst fear—that he’d turn her out—wasn’t realized. She’d told the truth despite the risk, but nothing in his response indicated that he recognized that she’d given him a gift by trusting him with her past. She might as well have kept her mouth shut.
PC Winders worked a 10 pm to 10 am shift. Each evening, he dressed in his dark blue uniform, gathered up his wooden truncheon, handcuffs, rattle, and his sooty bull’s eye lantern, and left his rooms in Grafton Street to walk to his beat near the rail
way station construction site which had taken on the name of the parish in which it stood, St. Pancras.
Elizabeth slept when he was gone so she’d be awake when he got home. She prepared meals for him to be eaten in the morning and in the early evening before he left for work. In the afternoons while he slept, she cleaned and went to market. On most Saturdays, she had a luncheon at a tavern with Lettie.
One Saturday afternoon, after having three glasses of ale and feeling quite tipsy, Elizabeth stumbled back to the rooms in Grafton Street and fell asleep in a chair, her head resting on the table.
“Wake up, Elizabeth,” Edward said, rousing her from slumber.
Her cheek and forehead ached from resting on the hard oak.
He smelled her breath. “You’ve been drinking.”
Elizabeth sat up straight and rubbed her eyes. She saw through the windows that night had fallen. She reached for a lie and Liza had one available. “I ate at the Barley Mow with Lettie. The corn pottage I ate tasted old. It must have been fermented, and with the glass of ale I had, it was too much.”
Mr. Winders looked at her skeptically, and shook his head. “This Lettie is a ghost. You speak of her often, yet I’ve never met her. If she exists at all, she’s a bad influence on you.”
“I’ve had ale with you before.”
“Yes, but not at midday, when you have duties. What shall I have for supper?”
Elizabeth realized she had nothing for him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t aware the hour was so late.”
“It seems you’re often unaware.”
His disapproval, much like that of her father, suggested he had more to complain about than he would express openly. Although she thought that cowardly, she didn’t want him to list all of his grievances with her.
“Will you find something to eat on your way? There’s the funny little man with the red cap in Euston Road. He’s always there late with his cart, hawking meat puddings.”
“Yes,” Mr. Winders said with a stern look, “that would be good, though it will have to come out of your wages.”
Jack the Ripper Victims Series: The Double Event Page 11
