Page 86 of When We Touch

Jamie shook his head and scowled. “She’d best not be!” he replied. Then he paused, reflecting on his vague but impassioned orders. “Home, first, Randolph. Perhaps it’s time for a change.”

Chapter 12

“Have ye heard, have ye heard?”

Maggie was amazed by the number of women in the churchyard. She couldn’t be overly flattered that they had come to hear her speak—or even that they had come for a handout. She hadn’t announced that she was coming, and had decided on finding Mireau and bringing him here simply because she’d so desperately felt the need to do something. Making some kind of arrangements with Father Vickers for future work had seemed her only straw.

But even as they left the cab they had taken down—she had sent Darby on home after she’d reached her own house in Mayfair—the women had begun running out to her.

“Oh, m’lady!” moaned a tall, slender woman. “Have ye heard what he did ta the poor souls?”

“The murders?” Maggie said. “I’m so sorry, yes. I’ve read about them.”

“Blimey!” Another of the women elbowed the tall one a bit roughly. “Lizzie, ain’t you ’eard? The poor lady’s married, and lost another ’usband already!”

A sound of sympathy arose from the crowd. “Thank you,” Maggie said.

“Are you all right, ducky?” said the tall thin one.

“Ye can’t be callin’ the likes of ’er ‘ducky,’ Lizzie!” came a voice from the crowd. “She’s more of a lady now, she is! Married ’erself a Viscount, she did!”

An “Ooooh!” went up then. Maggie waved a hand in the air. “My dear friends, it doesn’t matter what you call me, what does matter is that you’ve got to start taking care of yourselves. You must watch out.”

“ ’Cause ’e’ll stike again, ’e will.” It was the one who had called out from the middle of the crowd. She inched her way forward. Short and round, she might have been forty, looked eighty, and like most of them, was missing several teeth. “’E’ll strike again, ’cause the coppers can’t catch ’im!”

“I still say it was that Pizer fellow, Leather Apron!” Lizzie volunteered.

“ ’E ’ad himself an alibi, that one, ’e did!” said the rounder woman.

“Did you know the victims?” Maggie asked.

“Aye, and sad they were!” said a younger woman, coming forward and drawing her shawl more tightly around her shoulders as she shivered. “I was at one of the workhouses with Polly,” she said. She shook her head. “She could have a mean way with her when she drank, but no one deserved such a fate!” The woman standing before Maggie then was almost still pretty. She had huge brown eyes, and her hair was a sable color.

“Did you ’ear what the coroner said after the inquest?” Lizzie demanded. “Said that Annie Chapman ’ad ’er uterus taken! What a bloody mess it all was. The coroner, ’e gave the police a piece o’ his mind, I daresay!”

The younger woman told her, “It’s all brought back whispers of Burke and Hare, and what they were up to with their body snatchin’! Seems an American was offering upwards of twenty pounds sterling for certain body parts.”

Someone giggled. “Ah, with both Polly and Annie, eh, the body parts ’ould be preserved in plenty o’ gin, eh?”

The others giggled, then fell uncomfortably silent. They stared at Maggie as if she had an answer for them. She shook her head. “There’s really no answer for such a fiend,” she said. “But until the police do catch him, you need—well, frankly, you need to find other work!”

“What other work?” Lizzie said. “There really ain’t no other work for the likes o’ us, and that’s the sad truth of it.”

Maggie shook her head firmly. “Some of you have been laundresses. There’s casual work out there, you have to look for it.” They all stared at her blankly. What they knew was prostitution, and that was that. Most of the time, they were looking for enough money for a bit of gin, and then a doss for the night. If they could only keep down their gin consumption, that meant perhaps one man, and a few quick minutes standing in an alley somewhere and tolerating the few moments it might take. There wasn’t much that went with the actual sex act.

“It’s your lives at stake!” Mireau called out impatiently.

Again, the women appeared uncomfortable. “Did ye bring us anything, m’lady?” someone called out hopefully.

“No,” Maggie said, truly sorrowful. “But we’ve a bit of money, don’t we, Mireau?”

He stared at her as if she had gone completely mad. Then she understood why. The women began to press forward.

“Me doss, just me doss!” the pretty younger woman said.

“Now, back off a bit!” Mireau insisted. Maggie had her reticule out, and Mireau took it from her, fierce as a bulldog. “One at a time, one at a time!”

In seconds flat, her purse was emptied, and despite the camaraderie the women could have at times, there was jostling, shoving, and swearing as it happened. Once the money was meted out, they began to move off, calling back their thank-yous.