Page 17 of When We Touch

Mireau, bless him, Nathan’s friend from college, always accompanied her. He complained, but he came. After Nathan’s death, he had become her champion, and constant companion. He was always writing, and managed to have a few pieces picked up by various newspapers. He dreamed, however, of being a novelist.

They set out by cab that day, as they always did, and when they arrived at the church, Maggie, as usual, haggled with the driver. Cabs always tried to double charge for excursions into the East End. Mireau sighed and waited patiently, and Maggie secured the proper price. They entered the church itself and found the young curate, Father Vickers, who worked with Maggie. He was delighted, smiling ear to ear, when he saw her.

“We’ve just received the most generous donation from Lord Charles, Viscount Langdon! Enough to clothe so many of the abandoned children.” The brightness of his smile faded slightly, then he forced it again. “You’re to marry him!”

“Yes, isn’t it lovely,” Maggie said.

Father Vickers looked at Mireau, who shrugged.

“Ah, yes, lovely. Well, the women are waiting out in the courtyard. It’s a pleasant enough day. The air is not so foul . . .” He shook his head. “Lord, if there were but a way to really get these women off the streets! In certain areas, the police have managed to close down some of the brothels, but I don’t think that it’s really helped at all. Now more of the fallen are out in the alleys, and . . .” He lowered his voice to a worried whisper, “Maggie, God knows I need the gentle charity of ladies such as yourself, but I fear for you here, as well. There was another ghastly murder just a few days ago, night of the bank holiday.”

She touched his shoulder. “Father Vickers, we both know that murder happens here frequently enough.”

“But not like this. Ah, true, and sad! Jealousies, drunken bar fights, a wife gone mad, a husband in despair, and always, the urging of too much gin! Yes, fights are frequent, and murder, something that happens far too often. But this . . . didn’t you see it in the papers?”

Maggie looked at Mireau. “It might have been in the back pages.”

He sighed. “If such a thing had happened to a highborn woman, I can tell you, it would have screamed across every headline in the land!”

“What happened?” Mireau demanded.

“It’s all rather indelicate,” Father Vickers said uneasily, looking at Maggie.

“Please, Father, I am about to talk about birth control to women who need such a conversation since their children are seldom legitimate!” Maggie said.

“She was butchered. Not just killed, butchered. Throat slit to where her head was barely attached, and entrails removed. She was barely left as human. This was not a husband killing a woman in a rage.”

“Why, I remember a report of something similar not long ago, a woman was killed by a suspected soldier. I think the reporter said police were also thinking there might be a street gang about that was harassing prostitutes.”

Father Vickers shook his head. “This was not a street gang. And no one murdered this woman for what they might steal from her. It’s my opinion that there’s a madman on the loose, and you will begin to hear about it. So, Maggie, please, though I need your help desperately, make sure it is always by daylight, and always in good company.”

“Father Vickers, I only come by daylight, and with my dear Mireau. Also, remember, the police have a special place in their hearts for me.”

“That I know, and still, the police patrol—and frequently—the very places where these murders are occurring. Please, you must bear all this in mind when you are out and about.”

“Father Vickers, I promise.”

“The women are gathering, I see. The courtyard will be fine for you?”

“The courtyard will be fine, certainly,” Maggie told him.

That day, Maggie was speaking to a group on contraception—not an idea usually condoned by the church. But Father Vickers had spent enough time in the East End to be a very practical man. He had been the one to find out about the large shipment of condoms from France.

In the past, Maggie had spoken about many details regarding the improvement of life, and at first, her audience had been small. But before she had known she was penniless, she had arranged for bread, cheese, and milk to be served to those who attended her talks, and soon after, Father Vickers had been forced to eject the men who dressed up in women’s clothing and attended just for the food. She understood; the pathetic prostitutes of the East End sold themselves to more pathetic men for as little as a loaf of bread. But she couldn’t feed the thousands of starving, and wanted her contributions to go to the women and children. Wives, so often abandoned, had little recourse but to resort to prostitution.

The more children they had, the more desperate, naturally, the women became.

And the more orphans who appeared, abandoned on the steps of the church.

She had learned that she had a gift for speaking, a way of making her audience laugh, and in laughing, comprehend. That day, she spoke about abstinence and timing, and condoms.

“Dearie, we can’t be payin’ for the condoms!” a toothless woman called to her. “Goat’s bladders, did ye say? ’At’s wot they make ’em from?”

“The important issue is that we prevent pregnancy.”

“Why, ’alf the guvners I know are used to sheep as well, Katy!” another woman called to the first.

Maggie looked down, shaking her head. “Spend a few pennies less on gin, and you’ll have what you need. Not to mention the fact that Father Vickers and I have acquired some free . . . contraceptives for you.”