Gideon Smith and the Mask of the Ripper by Barnett David

Author:Barnett, David [Barnett, David]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
ISBN: 9781466809109
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2015-10-12T22:00:00+00:00

17

MARIA REVEALED

Rachel and the rest of Lizzie Strutter’s girls departed for the theater not long after the residents of the bawdy house on Walden Street had gathered around the long table in the gloomy, candlelit kitchen for a communal meal of stale bread, cheese with a tough, shiny rind, and some thin, heavily salted slices of mottled ham. Although Lizzie had gladly handed over the coins for the show the girls wanted to attend in Hoxton, it didn’t do them any harm to be reminded that their enforced holiday from earning their keep on their backs also meant that there wasn’t any money coming in. Lizzie wasn’t stupid, of course, and had salted away a few guineas here and there for when times were tougher than usual. And, she knew full well, the strike was all her doing, and while the girls might be enjoying some time off, if it dragged on for too long Lizzie would find the tide turning against her.

Still, it was early days, and she was confident it wouldn’t come to that. Things were going her way for now, and she’d heard not too long before that Salty Sylvia had indeed finally capitulated. Henry had done his job, which meant that he’d shortly be turning up to collect his payment.

The girl, Lottie, was staring wistfully at her diffuse reflection in the dark, grimy window over the cracked sink. “Couldn’t I have gone with them, Mrs. Strutter?”

“It’s Mum, love. My girls call me Mum.” Lizzie cocked her head, looking at Lottie for a long moment. She was a mystery, this girl, no mistake. Talked the talk and walked the walk of a common whore, but she was clean as a whistle and had all her own teeth. And, strangest of all, her maidenhead was intact. Either the girl was some medical miracle whose hymen grew back every night, or for reasons best known to herself she was some posh girl playing a part. Whatever the truth, she was Lizzie Strutter’s now, body and soul, fallen like manna from heaven.

“Couldn’t I have gone with them, then, Mum?”

“Bring me a glass and come and sit down,” said Lizzie. A fat cockroach was tentatively scurrying over the remains of the cheese; Lizzie flicked her handkerchief at it, and it sped into a cave of hollowed-out loaf. Lottie perched on the edge of a rickety chair and handed the cracked, oily shot glass to Lizzie, who filled it with gin and refilled her own glass.

“Do you drink, Lottie?” asked Lizzie, pushing the glass across the table.

The girl regarded the drink with a frown. “Gin, is it, Mum? I’m not rightly sure.…”

“Get it down your neck, girl, and then have a couple more. You’re going to need ’em.”

Lottie looked at her quizzically, and Lizzie felt suddenly almost sorry for her. “Look, Lottie, remember Henry?”

Her face darkened. “The man in the square? Who you saved me from?”

“That’s the one. Thing is, Henry and me go way back. We’re friends. We have an understanding.

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