“What have you done, girl?” She grabbed Katie by the arm and pulled her roughly away from her work and turned her around. “Do you know what this dye and cloth cost me?” Aunt Elizabeth backhanded her across the mouth, splitting her lip, and Katie cringed silently.
“Answer me, child!”
“I spilled the bath,” Uncle William said.
Aunt Elizabeth spun on him.
“You asked me to wax the sash.” He pointed to the window behind the table, his head tilted to one side and his mouth pinched with false remorse. “I should have waited. I’m sorry, love.”
“Where is the wax?” she demanded to know.
He shrugged. “I was trying the window first.”
She looked at him hard, the suspicion on her face unwavering. Then she turned back to Katie. “Clean this up at once.”
“Yes, Aunt Elizabeth,” Katie said, as her aunt swept from the room. Relief was overshadowed by a deeper dread of the future with Uncle William.
“Good girl,” he said, and left her to her work.
I’ll always be beholden to someone and do what I must to get by. Some day there will be one who will not charge a cruel price.
~~~
Uncle William came to her often after that, but drunk most of the time, he wasn’t interested in surveying his conquest and his aim was poor. If she squeezed her legs tightly together, he responded as if he had achieved penetration. These hot, sweaty transactions were disgusting, but his release, attended by much huffing and puffing of his sour swill breath, always came quickly.
Chapter 5:A Man’s White Waistcoat
At the age of nineteen, Katie felt a bit foolish to still be sleeping with her mother’s skirts. Even so, she cuddled with them at night, pressing the fabric against her nose, trying to retrieve the scent and maintain the connection with her dear Catherine. But the scent was gone and the only time she felt close to her mother was when she held the thimble.
Most of the silver had worn off the outside, and Katie thought the pretty had all but worn off her as well. Still, each time she put her finger in the thimble, she remembered what her mother had said about the silver inside, and she liked to think there remained something good and pure in her as well. Whenever she bled she hoped to see a bit of quicksilver mingled with her blood. Although a childish fantasy, looking for it became something of a game that was harmless and yet helped distract from the fright of bleeding.
She was touching the silver inside the thimble when she met Conway. The year was 1861. He was close to thirty years old, tall and fair. A round-topped felt hat and side whiskers framed his friendly face. His brown, striped trousers were worn shiny at the thighs, thin at the knees. He came to her needing the green revers of his white, square-cut linsey waistcoat mended.
Aunt Elizabeth was known to accept work through her kitchen window in the early evening. Katie was working alone in the kitchen at the time, her aunt having been called away to attend to an ailing neighbor. She was singing a favorite ballad of her mother’s when he approached.
"My name is Tom," he said. "People call me Conway."
His waistcoat was ratty, but he offered it through the open window as if it were precious.
“It is the uniform of a poet, Miss,” he said, his accent making it obvious he was Irish. “It has seen many a glorious campaign, but is become old and gloomy. Please revive its spirits, for I must look my best. I’ll wait, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” she said.
His whiskers had worn away the green cloth at the sides of the garment’s neck—a common problem. “I don’t have cloth to fill what’s missing, but I can darn it with a matching thread.”
“I trust you will do your best.”
Conway remained throughout the mending, leaning on the sill, gazing off down the lane, trying to look relaxed and care free. He was obviously posing for her. Under the guise of keeping himself amused, he whistled a tune and recited a couple of sonnets Katie knew to be by William Shakespeare.
“I heard you singing ‘The Berkshire Tragedy,’” he said. “If you like sad songs, you might like this one.” He sang a popular gallows ballad.
“Of a dreadful Murder you shall soon hear,
Was done in Banbury, in Oxfordshire;
One William Willson, how sad to tell;
Murdered Susan Owen, who was known full well.
The murderer Willson, so cruel he,
Slew Sarah Owen, aged thirty-three.”
Conway was quite handsome and clever. He was indeed trying to impress her, but there was something different in the way he went about it. The majority of men who chased after her were either drunk or acted as if they were. If she’d thought any had prospects for the future she might well have chased after them to escape her situation with Uncle William and her cold-hearted aunt.
Conway, while whimsical, had a sense of purpose about him. He was sober and respectful. When he stole glances at her during his performance, her heart skipped a beat or two, for he did it in a discreet manner refreshingly different from the ogling she usually got.
“In a dreary dungeon he now bewails,
Awaiting his trial in Oxford Jail,
And if he should there convicted be,
His days must end on the fatal tree…”
He paused when he was done, no doubt for dramatic effect, looking pensively thoughtful. Then he turned to Katie and said, “I penned that sad tale.”
Although he was probably lying about writing the ballad, his attention and efforts to impress were flattering. The silver has not worn off the outside of me entirely. Perhaps he’ll take me away from here and give me a new life, a new home.
Foolishness! But what harm in fantasy if you know it’s just that.
“Did you enjoy it?” Conway asked.
Katie merely looked up from her work, smiled and nodded.
Conway fixed his gaze on her, and, after a moment, said, “You’re a pretty girl. I have use for a pretty girl. How are you at hawking?”
Katie was speechless, but relaxed and smiled to buy time to regain her voice and allow her blushing face to loose it’s telltale color. Perhaps he would think she was merely choosing words carefully.
“I’m quite good at it,” she said, finally. “As a child I sold watercress at Farringdon Market.”
“Good,” he said. “Would you care to accompany me to a hanging?”
Chapter 6: A Red Gauze Neckerchief
As Katie considered his curious invitation, the musical sound of jars and bottles bumping into one another came from behind her. Since Uncle William was unconscious in his bedroom, it must be that Aunt Elizabeth had returned and was moving around in the spence off the adjoining hall.
Katie’s answer was quick and whispered, “Yes.”
Conway glanced deeper into the house, then his eyes returned to Katie. “I’ll collect you at dawn,” he said quietly.
~~~
Katie awakened in the night. Excited about the coming day, she struggled in and out of sleep for the next few hours. When a thin slice of sunlight cut across her small storeroom window, she got up and prepared for the day, then moved to the front of the house to watch for Conway through a window.
He appeared in the lane and she opened the door.
“You’ll not be going with that Irishman,” came her aunt’s voice from behind.
Heart in throat, Katie turned around.
Aunt Elizabeth, cinching her gown, moved to close the front door as Conway reached the doorstep. Before it swung shut in his face, he stumbled back.
Aunt Elizabeth struck at Katie, trying to box her ear. Katie retreated, holding her hands out to fend off the attack.
“You would bring shame on us,” Aunt Elizabeth spat, “after all we’ve done for you?”
“I’ve done nothing to cause shame,” Katie said, “and I work for my keep. Every day!”
She reversed course and moved toward Aunt Elizabeth, and was rewarded when the woman backed away, eyes wide. Her aunt clearl
y struggled to say something or keep from saying something. Katie had always thought of her as formidable, but in conflict, they were well-matched. She grabbed a chair from beside the door and placed it between them.
Aunt Elizabeth bared her stained teeth. “Without us you’d be with your sisters in the Lump Hotel. That’s where I ought to send you.”
“Don’t threaten me.” Anger burned in Katie’s belly and her eyes flashed with the fire in her heart.
“You work for me and you owe us everything.”
“This man has offered me work, and I would bring my earnings to you.”
“I won’t accept such ill-gotten gains,” Aunt Elizabeth cried, stamping her foot as if Katie’s neck were beneath it. “It’s bad enough you’ve seduced your uncle.”
Katie froze.
Her aunt had a grim smile. “Oh yes, I know what you two have been up to.”
Katie’s shame at being exposed was eclipsed by her anger. “Yes, Aunt Elizabeth, Uncle William also thinks I owe everything.” Her teeth bore down on one another until they hurt, but it kept her from lashing out physically. “Soon I will have nothing left.”
She turned and retreated into her storeroom. She listened at her door for a time and, after a moment, Aunt Elizabeth could be heard returning to her bedroom. Katie quietly opened the window and climbed through. Out of breath, she caught up with Conway at the end of the lane.
“You must go back,” he said, a look of concern darkening his face. “You don’t want to sacrifice everything for a little adventure.”
Katie shrugged. “Aunt Elizabeth has debt and takes on too much work.” She spoke with a dismissive tone and a defiant, lopsided hitch to her lower lip. “Uncle William is worse than useless, as he drinks up her earnings. She cannot get along without me.”
“Well, then,” Conway said, smiling, “I’m glad you’ll come along.”
~~~
They traveled in an omnibus to Newgate Prison for the hanging. The vehicle was so crowded Conway placed Katie in his lap. A woman sitting across from them glared disapprovingly.
She’s dressed to the nines, while the man next to her is square rigged. He’s with her, but they should be more at home in a carriage.
As they were beginning to get stares from others, Conway stated loudly that she was his new bride. He held up his hand to display as proof a brass ring on his left ring finger that she had not noticed before. Katie blushed. Laughter and good cheer filled the coach.
While the gentleman next to her smiled, the elegantly-dressed woman turned her face away and buried her nose in a sachet. Her suddenly pale skin, pinched lips and rolling eyes suggested she might faint from the foul order of unwashed bodies surrounding her.
She must not be a Londoner. Everything has smelled so fresh and new since the end of The Great Stink.
Conversations among the passengers became louder and less private, inviting all within to respond and contribute. Through all the talk, it became clear that many of the passengers were on their way to the hanging. As news and witticism were shared, it was as if all within the coach were together as one on a great adventure. A jolly fat man named Ellis bragged that he and his wife and eight children, all of whom he introduced one at a time, had managed to get on the same omnibus. He told a humorous tale of a previous hanging they had attended and of the dreadful fate of the condemned at the hands of body-snatchers and medical gentlemen.
His stories made it more difficult to imagine where they were going and what it would be like.
Conway had asked Katie to help him sell chapbooks to the crowd attending the hanging of Michael Buseman. The chapbook consisted of several broadsheets folded together, containing information about the man’s life, crime and trial and a gallows ballad Conway had written meant to be sung to the popular tune, “The Siren’s Harp,” by Arnold Scott. The chapbooks were to be sold for a penny apiece.
“If we work hard,” he said, “we might sell a thousand copies. You’ll earn a twentieth of the proceeds.”
That’s four shillings and more!
An erection grew in Conway’s trousers as the coach bumped along. If he’ll share that with me, what more will he share? He paid for us to ride the omnibus! He’s a generous soul with income more than sufficient for his needs. Perhaps I will have a new life.
When the vehicle bounced over uneven road, she allowed it to cover a little extra movement of her own against Conway’s lap. Clearly aware of what she was doing, he planted a moist kiss on her lips. Katie smiled. Her heart raced and she struggled to catch her breath as the coach erupted in cheers.
An image of Aunt Elizabeth’s angry face came unbidden. She will be so angry with me, but I don’t care. I’ve taken so little time for myself.
~~~
Throngs of people filled the street where they departed the omnibus near Newgate Prison. Never had there been so much confused noise.
Conway paused to tie a beautiful red gauze silk kerchief around Katie’s neck. “There you are,” he said. “A fine billy to enhance your beauty and make you easier to find in the crowd should you become lost.”
“A gift?” she asked. “It’s too much.”
No, he might take it back!
“I intend you shall work it off.” He said with a warm smile.
“Is it a romantic gesture,” Katie asked, with beguiling eyes, “part of a business deal or merely useful?”
“Couldn’t it be all three?” Conway asked.
He is clever indeed. “Yes, I suppose it could.”
Conway touched her cheek tenderly before turning back to business. “We’ll make our way along Newgate Street to Old Bailey.” He pointed toward the corner of the ugly stone prison building. “That’s where my printer will meet us with my chap books.”
The people were a river of conflicting currents filling the street. Some time would pass before Katie and Conway arrived at their destination.
“Is everyone in the world here today?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“No, lass,” he said with a straight face. “So many didn’t know you were coming.”
Katie grinned and then he did as well, with a slight bow to his head and a twinkle in his eye.
Few gentlemen and ladies occupied the street. Most of the crowd were laborers, with a few vendors mixed in, and children were everywhere, shouting at the top of their lungs and moving swiftly between the adults. Eyes were everywhere. While some expressed a festive mood, other eyes held anger, mistrust, lust or even hatred. The whole was a pandemonium of sound, color and movement. Dizzy, Katie closed her eyes momentarily, but Conway caught her by the arm as he began to move.
“Keep your wits about you,” he said. “The crowd is full of pickpockets, ruffians and thieves who cause no end of mischief. Don’t worry about what you’re stepping on. Keep your eyes up and looking around. Don’t let the children get too close. They’ll rob you blind and you won’t know it until it’s too late.”
Katie followed, doing as she was told.
I have nothing of value but the silk neckerchief. If they can take it without me knowing, they can have it.
“When we arrive at Old Bailey, you’ll see the portable gallows. They erect it in front of the Debtors’ Door. We’ll not get too close to it because that’s where the crowd does its worst violence. We’re not here to see the man dangle. We’re here to sell poetry!”
The printer, a thin, ink-stained man, who smelled of bad fish and had no teeth, stood at the corner of Newgate and Old Bailey as promised. He passed Conway several bundles of chapbooks tied with yellow string. Once paid, the man disappeared into the crowd. Conway cut the string on one bundle and handed it to Katie.
“You’re to shout ‘A Sorrowful Lamentation of Michael Buseman, just one penny,’” Conway explained. “If we remain at this corner, the crowd will move around us. We’ll stand back to back. You’ll face south. I’ll face east. Keep the extra bundles beneath you, under your skirts. If someone gives you trouble, I’ll be right here. When you make a sale, tur
n and discreetly place the penny in this slit.” He indicated an intentionally split but finished seam in the side of his long brown top coat. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said. Again, her heart raced. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and a thrill ran along her spine. Was it fear or pleasure? She couldn’t decide. It’s always like this with Conway.
Katie had hardly spoken her sales pitch when a young man offered a shiny, new penny. As sales of the chapbook became routine during the next few hours, she became calm again. Too calm, perhaps, as her lack of vigilance may have shown in her eyes.
A man in a long, blue coat and black bowler hat stepped up, made as if to draw a coin from his pocket and instead came up with a knife. Brandishing his weapon, he gave her a hard look, then grabbed for the bundle of chapbooks in her left hand.
Are they that valuable? At a penny apiece, they were, if he could sell them. Katie was not going to let him take them. She held on and cried out, but perhaps she could not be heard in the surrounding maelstrom of noise.
The man swung with the knife, but Katie dropped down onto the bundles beneath her skirt and leaned away to the right and raised her left arm inside the arc of the weapon. Her wrist took a slice against the bone as the thief pulled back for another strike. Katie drew her arm away, rolled off the bundle onto the pavement, her hip grinding painfully against the table knife in its pocket under her skirt. She could use it for defense, but she wouldn’t be able get to it in time. She rolled again, then looked up to see Conway take a swing at the man. The expression of surprise on the thief’s face exploded into one of pain as Conway’s fist struck him in the eye. He staggered back, rebounding off a young couple holding hands and nearly knocking them down. The bowler hat fell from his head and he dashed off into the crowd.
Conway helped her to her feet. Katie held up her bundle of chapbooks.
“Good Girl. You defend my merchandise—” He stooped to pick up the bowler, which was old and worn, but much finer than his own hat. “—and win me a bowler too. Aren’t you a find?” His laugh was large and powerful and his eyes were those of a kind father.
Jack the Ripper Victims Series: The Double Event Page 21
