Willing (7 page)

Chapter Seven

Constance lay there awake, listening to the sounds of the household coming to life around her. There were Johns taking their leave, roused by the commotion of the early morning. Some were surely waking with a sour head from a night of drinking, shamed to find themselves in the bed of a whore. Others woke with a spring in their step, regulars who were happy to be the lucky chosen one to spend the night with their favorite girl. Constance very rarely let a man sleep in her bed for the night – no one for three years now.

Her body was sore in unspoken places, bruised from the previous evening and the overzealous fellow she knew as Roman. It was nothing to be troubled by; she’d been roughed up far worse in her years, but still she felt the dull ache. Constance turned her pillow over, resting her cheek against the newly cool surface, and closed her eyes, pushing the thoughts of Alice McKenzie from her mind.

There was a soft knock at her door.

“Who is it?” She asked, letting her voice ring clear with disdain for the interruption.

“Octavia?”

The voice was timid, strangely. Octavia wasn’t a timid girl by any means, but still her answer came as though she herself questioned it. Constance regretted her vitriol.

“Sorry, Tavi. Come in.”

Constance sat up in the grand expanse of her bed, and watched the woman shuffle in, glancing at the door.

“What is it?”

Octavia shut the door behind her, then hustled over to the corner of Constance’s bed and sat down. She leaned toward Constance, her voice hushed.

“What did the copper want?”

Constance took a deep breath. “Was asking about a girl they found. Wanted to know if I knew her.”

“Another one? Oh god.”

“Yes. Found her down near the wash house, he says.”

“Did you – know her?”

“No. Her name was Alice something. I’d never heard of her.”

Octavia nodded, her eyes still darting toward the door. “Damn it, I knew he wasn’t done.”

Constance reached for her hand to console her, but she didn’t have any words to offer. Instead she just held her hand a moment in silence.

“You been alright? Going with that fancy lad, there?”

Constance shot her a side eye. “I imagine so. Why do you ask?”

“He weren’t odd?”

“I can’t rightly say.” Her brow furrowed and despite the drama of the morning, she snorted. If only you knew, Constance thought.

“Cause I seen that lad before. When I’s working down on Dorset.”

“Which lad?”

Octavia leaned in further. “The fancy one, in the suit?”

“The driver?”

Octavia shrugged. “Dunno. Whoever it were that you and Roger left with. I saw ya go last time and wanted to tell ye, but didn’t get to you in time. I knew him for certain.”

Constance sat up, waiting for Octavia to explain her strangeness. Octavia called him a lad, but the driver, whose name was Gregory as she’d discovered the night before, was no lad, by any means. He was weathered in the face, with tufts of gray hair puffing out at his ears beneath his hat. He was always somber faced, always with his hands locked at his back, and shoulders squared. “I don’t really speak with him, myself. He just takes me where I’m meant to go -”

“He’s a driver? I thought he were fancier than that.”

Constance tried to shake her head.

“Don’t go with him again, Constance.”

She paused, thinking of the detectives warning. “Why?”

Octavia shook her head, urgently, her voice dropping to no more than a whisper. “I’m tellin ye, when I’s workin down on Dorset, that lad there – he used to come to Ten Bells. He’s the lad that come for Saoirse. Took her off for a night like he does for you, but she never came back.”

Constance thought about the fat wad of pound notes she’d delivered into Berty’s hand the night before – the month before as well. It was well over a month’s worth of pulls and shags, for all the girls in the brothel combined. Had a girl the notion, she could easily take the cash and be gone, make the trip to Boston or New York – anywhere. Could start a whole new life with that kind of cash – fresh and unknown. Constance understood the temptation, especially if Saoirse had been working on Dorset Street. Dorset was by far the worst part of Whitechapel. Constance had felt the temptation herself.

“I’m sure she just ran off.”

Octavia shook her head again, urgently. “She would’na done that. She had a wee girl. She weren’t the best mum in the world, but she would’na left.”

Constance’s heart ached at this news. “What happened to the girl?”

“She were taken in. Better off for her, prolly.”

“Probably.”

Octavia went on, barely pausing to breathe. “And then Gilly. You remember Gilly, ae?”

Constance nodded. Gillian was a young Irish girl with wild red hair that had been in the brothel six months earlier, lasting less than a month before she hightailed it to greener pastures.

“She went with that fancy lad of yours, there, too.”

Constance furrowed her brow. “Gilly went with the same driver?”

“She went with the really fancy one. The one with the fancy hair.”

Alisdair.

“You’ve seen Alisdair here before?”

“Is that ‘is name? Dark haired? Gilly went with him one night, and she never come back, either. Just like Saiorse.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I don’t want you to up and disappear, Connie. I don’t trust that lad. Just think, they never caught the Ripper. Now you say he’s killin again - t’isn’t safe for girls like us, especially out there.”

“Oh, come on, Tavi. You can’t think a man like Alisdair is the Ripper -”

“- And the way Berty went on after you left that first time, I swear I didn’t think you were coming back either.”

Constance frowned. “What? How did she act?”

“Like she were at a bloody funeral. She were sulking upstairs in your room, packin all your things up. When you came back, she were shocked.”

Constance remembered Berty’s strange demeanor that night. She swallowed, her stomach churning in something far from hunger.

“I just don’t think you should go again, alright?”

Constance paused. She had to think. Octavia was a younger girl, an excitable girl. Arguing wasn’t the best course of action when she had her hackles up like this, surely. “Alright. I’ll remember that.”

“You promise?”

Constance pictured Alisdair’s stern, but warm eyes over hers, watching her face, coaxing her to enjoy the touch of half a dozen high born men as he caressed her cheek. Despite the fear of that circle, of the strange words they chanted over the sounds of her being pleasured, Alisdair did not inspire fear. He inspired curiosity, caution, and perhaps even affection, but not fear. Could such a man be responsible for these murdered girls?

“I don’t know, Octavia. I’ll think about it.”

“Damn it, I’m telling you -”

“Ladies care to join me downstairs?”

Constance and Octavia both jumped at the sound of Berty’s voice, speaking sternly from the bedroom door. She hadn’t knocked.

Octavia hopped up like a child caught in the larder and Constance slid out of bed, pulling her robe about her.

“No, Constance. You’ll want to get dressed.”

Constance raised an eyebrow. “It’s still early, what am I to be doing?”

“You’ve been summoned, again.”

She tied the robe and surged past Berty down the hallway, coming to stand on the landing overlooking the bar. She met the eyes of Gregory, the carriage driver, standing in the middle of the room, hands locked behind his back. His hair was wiry and wild, but combed into a middle part, flattened by the absent hat’s long wear. This was the first time she’d laid eyes on him without it.

“Your company has been requested by his Lordship.”

“But I was just there last night!”

Constance stepped aside to let Berty by, hustling down the stairs to properly greet the man. He gave her a curt nod.

“Yes, and he would have Miss return this evening.”

Octavia was at her shoulder, but Constance did not meet her gaze. It was as though Constance could feel Octavia’s concern surging behind her, like blood from an open vein. She shot Berty a questioning look.

“I – my bodyguard isn’t available this morning.”

“That really isn’t necessary, Mum.”

Both Berty and Constance turned to look at Gregory. Berty spoke first. “I’ll return in a moment –
with
Roger.”

Constance watched Berty, confused. “But I thought -”

Berty shot her a glare and disappeared into the back rooms.

Octavia yanked Constance away from the landing and hissed into her face, her shoulders hunched as though frightened. “You can’t go, Connie. Tell me you won’t go!”

“If Roger is coming along - I haven’t had any trouble thus far, why would that -”

“I weren’t lyin! I swear to you, he’s trouble.”

The driver cleared his throat and the two women glanced over the railing to find the wiry haired man idly waiting by the door, oblivious to them. Still, she felt caught, as though he might hear them besmirching his Master’s name.

“Roger!”

Constance heard Berty hollering, then hustling into the bar below. She watched the robust woman slump against a barstool, flustered. “Sorry, love. Still can’t find the fool.”

Constance felt Octavia squeezing her arm, as though she might anchor her to the spot and replayed the warning of Detective Jenkins in her mind.

Constance took a deep breath. “Sir, I don’t want to keep you longer than necessary. I’m so sorry, but I will have to decline the invitation.”

Both the driver and Berty’s faces went slack, but Berty was the one to speak first. “Connie, you don’t want to disappoint the man.”

She glared at Berty, appalled that she would push her out the door after what the detective said. “I’m sure His Lordship will understand a woman’s preference for chaperone.” Constance turned her attention to Gregory, whose brow was furrowed. “Please accept my apologies, but if my bodyguard is not available, I will not be able to attend this evening.”

“Is there nothing I can say to change your mind, Miss?”

Octavia hissed softly at her shoulder, “No. Say no!”

Constance straightened and smiled, and suddenly, despite the warnings of that morning, felt a strange pang of remorse at refusing an opportunity to see Alisdair. Still, she nodded. “I am sorry you had to come all this way, Gregory. Please send my regards.”

And with that, Constance turned from the landing, ignoring Berty’s frustrated calls, and walked down the hallway toward her room. Despite the regal air of her actions, her stomach was churning with nerves.

“Well, you’ve cocked it up royally, you have. Had yourself a regular that paid a month’s wages in a day, and now you’ve cut that tie. I understand you weren’t comfortable, but by God – for that kind of money -”

Berty was in rare form. Normally, Berty wouldn’t speak a single word to Constance for a few days to show her disdain, even go so far as to turn one of Constance’s regulars away, but today she had much to say. She’d waited a few hours, fuming and glaring in silence, but by tea time, she’d barreled up to Constance’s room and was railing from the rafters. Several of the other girls chittered down the hall, listening to Berty’s diatribe. They didn’t know Constance’s crime, but Berty made sure everyone knew she’d committed it. It was mid-evening now and Constance was certainly the talk of the Keg and Barrel - and Roger still hadn’t turned up for his night’s work.

“I’m sorry, but -”

“You’re sorry? You’ve never seen the kind of money that man was bringing in. In one bloody night!”

Constance felt a sudden surge of righteous indignation. “Perhaps I should have. Might’ve motivated me to endanger myself further for your profit.”

Berty was pacing across the carpet at the foot of Constance’s bed, her hair wild about her head. She’d come to rail at Constance after trying to pull her hair out, it seemed.

“You little bitch.”

“There’s a bloody monster killing girls in the street and you’re mad at me for wanting to stay in tonight? Even that detective would -”

Berty lunged at her, pointing a finger into her face. “Your Lordship might’ve gotten you a nicer room, but I promise you this’ll be the last night you sleep in it.”

“Wait, you gave me this room because of -”

“Did you think it was out of the kindness of my own heart, love? You’re dafter than ye look.”

“Alisdair had you switch my room? Why?”

“Constance! Berty!”

The voice cracked slightly as it called up the stairs, betraying a nervous, almost panicked tinge. Constance was up from her chair and hustling down the hallway toward the landing, just a few steps behind Berty, who despite her girth could move like a fox.