The Whitechapel Girl Read online

  ‘I told yer,’ Ettie said calmly, as she nonchalantly brushed at the ingrained grime which covered her skirts. ‘Yer can come in with us if yer like.’

  They began to move forward. At first, the queue retained a semblance of order as the customers filed towards the entrance, but they were so keen to get their first glimpse of the attractions which lay behind the tantalisingly decorated canvas draped over the doorway, that they were soon pushing and shoving at those in front.

  ‘Oi, watch it!’ shouted one of the boys in reply to a sharp elbow.

  ‘Give over, yer’ll squash us bleed’n flat!’ complained his pal.

  Lou, the spangled lady, seemed oblivious to all the argy-bargy. She held the canvas sheet aloft with a delicacy which suggested that it might have been made from spun gold and, all the while, despite the ruckus, she acted like a true theatrical, not missing a single beat of the rhythm which she played faster and faster on the battered drum hanging from her fleshy neck. The increasingly disorderly line rapidly dissolved into a surging mass, as nearly two hundred impatient young cockneys vied for the premium places in front of the showcases along the corridor leading to the inside of the gaff.

  With a final toot on the little tin trumpet which had been bouncing around her besparkled bosom, Lou held her grubby hand aloft in a dramatic, dancer-like gesture. ‘That’s all I can let in for this show,’ she hollered in a voice that could have done useful service as a fog warning on the Thames. ‘You lot still out here’ll have to wait for the next performance.’

  The collective moans of protest from those not fortunate enough to have been admitted into the wondrous delights of the gaff were quickly quelled by the well-practised show woman.

  ‘But don’t worry lads,’ she said treating them to a saucy wink and a flick of her ample hips. ‘I’ll be back out in a minute to entertain yer’s for a bit while yer waits.’ She flapped her hand casually at the objectors. ‘Don’t fret yerselves, there’s non-stop shows all night. Yes, darling, all night! Now, if yer’ll excuse me.’ She tossed her grubby net train to one side, spun round and talked coquettishly over her shoulder. ‘I have to collect the tickets from that mob in there. But then I’ll be right back to yers!’ She made a little clicking noise with her tongue, rolled her eyes suggestively in response to the whistling and hooting crowd, and sashayed out of sight behind the canvas.

  Inside, the gaff might well have been just like the hundreds of others which regularly sprang up overnight throughout the East End: a dirty, dusty corridor leading to a space that had been converted from a disused shop and its adjoining warehouse into a temporary, illicit theatre – but it was still a place of magic for the young audience. And this particular one had the added attraction of the Famous Professor Protsky’s Genuine Freak Show lining the corridor: sights to be gawped upon and gasped at, “As Seen by the Crowned Heads of All Europe”. And all for the all-inclusive entrance price of one penny.

  The spangled lady pointed melodramatically to the exhibits as she led the pressing herd past the crude paintings of desert islands and mountain tops which decorated the passageway.

  ‘And here,’ she declaimed in her rasping, foghorn voice, gesturing at a dim figure behind a gauzy curtain, ‘is the one and only Electric Lady.’

  At that moment, sparks shot out from the hazy form, accompanied by gasps from the front of the crowd.

  ‘All right, all right. There’s no need to shove,’ she bellowed, ‘there’s plenty of time for yer all to have a good butcher’s.’ She returned to the electrical wonder. ‘An angel with the power of the devil,’ she said portentously, then wiggled her way voluptuously along the corridor to the next wonder. ‘Now, behold,’ she croaked in a loud stage whisper. ‘The skeleton of a mermaid, as was caught in the China Seas by fishermen, who hadn’t expected to find her in their nets, I can tell yer.’

  ‘Looks more like a bleeding pile of old haddock bones to me,’ chimed up a lad from the crowd.

  ‘Aw, we’ve got a cocky one here, have we?’ said Lou, eyeing the unfortunate young man. She grabbed unceremoniously at the lapels of his shabby jacket and jerked him to the front of the crowd. ‘Let’s see how brave yer really are, sonny.’ She pointed with a flourish of her chubby, bejewelled hand to the next booth, where a barely visible figure was sitting on an upturned crate. ‘The Hooded Man,’ she intoned. ‘Too terrible for humans to look upon!’

  A sneering whisper of disbelief quickly passed through the crowd, led by the lad who had been plucked from their midst in so cavalier a manner.

  The spangled lady quickly regained their attention. ‘There was a man who once was foolish enough to look upon him…’ she began.

  The murmuring started to build again. Billy sniggered loudly, hoping to impress Ettie with his bravado.

  ‘Unfortunately, nobody knows what he saw,’ she continued, unperturbed. ‘Cos he’s spending the rest of his natural days in the lock-up ward of the loony bin. Struck dumb and mad from the shock of it, he was.’

  She shoved the now disgruntled-looking heckler back to his mates. ‘Don’t look so sad, darling,’ she said, grinning at him. ‘Worse things happen at sea. And I should know, I’ve been with enough sailors in me time!’

  To the accompaniment of hoots of appreciative laughter and vulgar comments, she led them forward before dissent could swell again. Next they stopped by the Fantastic Fairy Family, who, from Ettie’s place in the mob, looked like nothing more than the sort of stunted children to be seen in any one of the dingy streets of the slums outside. The only difference was that the Fairy Family were dressed in ill-fitting costumes, complete with paper wings, and one of them was curiously familiar.

  ‘Here, don’t that look like your Tommy? The one in the pink frock,’ Ettie said, dragging Maisie in front of her so she could get a better look.

  ‘Bloody hell. Get out of there yer little bugger,’ hissed Maisie, much to the amusement of all those around her. ‘Just you wait till you get home.’

  Tommy answered his sister, but his words were lost on Maisie as she was swept along by the ever-vigilant Lou to the next exhibit. Clearly Lou knew the importance of keeping control: trouble could quickly get out of hand and spread through the whole audience.

  ‘At least yer’ve got something on him now, May,’ said Ettie, grinning at the thought of Tommy in his fairy’s frock. ‘He won’t be able to tell tales to yer mum about you being at the gaff now, will he?’

  ‘I’ll give him tell tales,’ said May, tight-lipped with anger. ‘You don’t know anything about all this, I suppose, do yer?’ she said, turning on Billy.

  The look of complete innocence which appeared on her older brother’s face would have done credit to any professional performer of the dramatic arts; Lou herself couldn’t have done any better. ‘Me, sis?’ he asked.

  Before Maisie could press him for a confession, Billy was saved by the next item of entertainment. ‘Yer get yer money’s worth here all right, don’t yer, Ett?’ he said, relieved.

  Ettie didn’t answer, she was too busy peering round the boy in front to get a closer look at what was crouching in the corner of the showcase behind a filmy curtain of dusty muslin. What she saw was something that looked for all the world like a poorly made model of an elderly, extremely hairy man.

  ‘And here, ladies and gentlemen,’ announced the show woman boldly, pointing to the apparition without even the merest hint of a smile on her lips, ‘we have the Mysterious Maid of the Mountain, as was found wandering about in the wild and rugged mountains of the county of Cornwall. Found by Professor Protsky himself, no less.’

  ‘But there ain’t no mountains in Cornwall,’ yelled an obviously much-travelled spectator from the back.

  ‘And that, my good sir, is the Mystery!’ proclaimed Lou, with an extravagant, two-fingered gesture at the heckler.

  There was nothing a crowd liked so much as someone else being embarrassed by a quick-witted performer, and the mountain expert blushed a most gratifying shade of crimson. The uproarious mood
was contagious, and Maisie, like the rest of the crowd, was now thoroughly enjoying herself. Everything would be all right, she was sure: Billy was shrewd enough to get their Tommy out of the show and back home without him getting into too much trouble; and the little sod would even have earned himself a few pennies, like as not. Tommy had the knack of coming out of most things smelling of roses.

  Well, there was almost nothing a crowd liked as much as someone else’s embarrassment. What they actually liked best of all was anything that smacked of the horrible or macabre, and the final display was that all right.

  Flinging back a thick, dirty cloth to reveal a fly-blown glass case, Lou, the seasoned entertainer, spoke in a conspiratorial undertone to her rapt audience. ‘The piece dee resistants!’ she declared.

  They stared intently, not sure what they were meant to be looking at, but keen to be appalled. All they could see was an array of vicious-looking, but extremely rusty weaponry.

  ‘The most spine-tingling part of the exhibition,’ she announced ominously. ‘This here case contains the actual, the very actual blood-stained knives as was used in a series of horrible murders throughout the snow-driven wastes of Imperial Russia.’

  Lou had worked the audience well, and the young men and women were now in fine form to be appalled. Some were reduced to a gawping, half-terrified silence, while others, raucous with a phoney boldness, were anxious to let everyone know that they’d seen it all, if not worse, many times before.

  ‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, if I might have yer tickets,’ said Lou, dropping the cover back over the gory collection of weaponry. ‘Then yer can shift yerselves through into the show proper.’

  The spangled lady snatched the tokens from the excited customers with calm, practised efficiency, and directed them into the main arena for the show. The seats were filling up quickly and Billy used his long legs to clamber across to lay claim to places in the front row, whilst Ettie edged carefully along between the benches, the grimy linsey of her frock catching on the seats’ splintered surfaces.

  ‘Hurry up, Ett,’ shouted Maisie, pushing her friend, ‘it’ll be starting soon. I don’t wanna miss nothing.’

  Billy, with a quick sideways movement, pulled Ettie down beside him. ‘Come on, girl, do as yer mate says.’

  Ettie plonked down ungracefully, glad that her blushes couldn’t be seen in the dim yellow light of the oil-lamps which lined the front of the makeshift stage.

  Maisie parked her broad bottom next to her, squashing Ettie even closer to Billy’s sinewy body.

  ‘Gawd blimey, who’s let one rip?’ The pimply, pasty-faced youth who was complaining pointed accusingly at Maisie as the sulphurous stench of rotten eggs permeated the crowded auditorium. ‘I have to live in the next court to her,’ he said grimacing. ‘She’s always bleed’n farting. The stink wafts right over the wall. Worse than the sewer it is.’

  All faces turned towards the accused.

  ‘Don’t yer blame me, Jimmy Tanner,’ said Maisie, tight-lipped and indignant. ‘I’m a lady, I am.’

  The audience responded with a series of ribald, incredulous jeers, but they were quickly halted by the appearance of the first turn. It featured Lou, in a different hat and without her drum or trumpet, giving a high speed, obscene recitation on the subject of virginity. Her strangulated words were accompanied by the musical talents of a five-piece ensemble, who somehow couldn’t manage to find a common note between them, but whose efforts were repaid with magnificent approval from the cheering crowd. Lou hastily took a bow and strode off in the direction of the restless youths still queuing outside. The last thing a penny gaff needed was a fight attracting the attention of the local constable.

  Next on stage came a short but satisfyingly gory playlet entitled Savages of the Colonies. The story was enacted with considerable spirit by the cast who, even in the weak lighting, looked suspiciously like some of the exhibits in the Famous Professor Protsky’s Genuine Freak Show. When the final family members were horribly murdered, most of the girls in the audience took the opportunity to scream loudly and move closer to their boyfriends. And Billy wasn’t slow to slip his arm protectively round Ettie’s shoulders. She only half protested, but hissed a whispered, ‘Shut up, May,’ as her friend treated her to a knowing wink.

  ‘Yer well in there, girl,’ Maisie whispered loudly. ‘Yer might wind up as me sister-in-law yet.’

  At that, Ettie pulled away from Billy’s side and, deliberately not caring who she disturbed, clambered across Maisie’s lap and sat herself at the end of the bench by the aisle.

  Billy mouthed an angry reprimand at his sister, but it was wasted on her, she was too interested in the next part of the show.

  ‘And now, the amazing Professor Jacob Protsky!’

  As his introduction was shouted from the stage by a man of barely three feet in height – without doubt a close relation of the father of the Fairy Family – the oil-lights were dimmed even lower by the other members of the cast.

  At the sound of someone entering from the back of the gaff, all heads in the audience turned as one.

  ‘Look, Ett, look, Bill. Look, there he is,’ said Maisie, pointing excitedly at the tall, slim man in his thirties, dressed entirely in black, who seemed to be gliding towards them along the aisle between the benches.

  ‘Ssssh!’ warned the little man from the stage. ‘The Professor requires absolute quiet for his demonstration.’

  As Professor Protsky moved past her, Ettie felt the soft wool of his long, flowing cape brush the side of her face. The cloth felt so soft and he smelt so sweet and fresh, better than anybody she had ever smelt before.

  With one final, extended stride, the Professor leapt effortlessly on to the little stage, sending up a cloud of dust from the boards – puff! – into the front three rows.

  He raised a pale, elegant hand, and the oil-lamps were immediately adjusted to lend once more their full illumination to the proceedings. He took off his high, silk hat with a sweep and gave a long, deep bow. As he stood upright, Ettie gasped at the sheer handsomeness of him. His black hair shone with pomade and his close-cropped beard and moustaches highlighted his almost sculpted bones, emphasising the olive gleam of his skin. His eyes burned black.

  ‘Wouldn’t mind taking you home for tea, darling,’ called one of the more daring young women from the benches. ‘Eat yer right up, I would.’

  This brazenness was rapidly followed by a volley of increasingly bawdy remarks referring variously to his good looks, his elegant attire and his general all-round desirability. The female voices were quickly countered by a series of sneering doubts as to the Professor’s masculinity coming from the rather peeved young men in the audience.

  Just as the situation was looking to get out of hand, the Professor spoke.

  ‘I call on you, oh spirits,’ he intoned in his resonant, faintly foreign-sounding voice. ‘Bring me some token, some thing from the beautiful girl…’ He paused, a brief, heart-stopping moment. ‘The beautiful girl there!’ he commanded.

  ‘Ett!’ squealed Maisie. ‘Look, he’s only pointing at you, ain’t he!’

  ‘Bloody load of old toffee,’ mumbled Billy sulkily.

  ‘Bring me some token, something that she knows to be hers and hers alone. Oh spirits, come to me. Come to me now.’

  ‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ promised a girl behind May.

  ‘Shut yer gob, yer mouthy cow, he’s talking lovely,’ cooed Maisie, basking in the reflected glory of sitting next to Ettie, the object of all the attention.

  Ettie herself never spoke, she was transfixed, her eyes held by his extraordinary stare.

  With the slightest movement of his fingers, a sudden flash of bright light sparked, making everyone blink in its blue-yellow flare. Then, from nowhere, he produced a length of dull green velvet ribbon.

  Ettie put her hand to her throat and let out a small gasp of wonder.

  ‘Yours, I believe,’ the Professor said, his head held slightly to one side as he surveyed Etti
e. He then held out his hand to her. The movement was a silent order.

  Without saying a word, Ettie stood up and moved towards the stage.

  ‘Blimey, what’s up with her, Billy boy? She’s in a bloody trance.’ The words, which came from two benches behind Billy and Ettie, echoed round the otherwise hushed room.

  ‘Yer’ve been told once, Jimmy Tanner. I’d shut me noise if I was you,’ Billy warned in a low monotone without turning to look at the owner of the teasing voice. ‘If yer know what’s good for yer, that is.’

  Professor Protsky took Ettie’s hand and helped her step up on to the stage.

  ‘Your ribbon, I believe,’ he said, looking at her fixedly.

  Ettie nodded and allowed him to turn her round to face the audience, while he retied the velvet band around her throat.

  The crowd loved it. They clapped and whooped and cheered. They had seen magic worked by the spirits, in front of their very own eyes. And it looked like Billy Bury was building up for a ruck with Jimmy Tanner. It was turning out to be a promising evening all right.

  Thank you, ladies and gentleman,’ the Professor continued with a slight inclination of his handsome head. ‘And now, if I might impose on the young lady a little longer.’

  ‘That what they call it where you come from is it, mush?’ called Jimmy Tanner, pushing his already strained luck. ‘Imposing? Well, that ain’t what we call it round here in Whitechapel.’

  ‘I told you,’ snapped Billy.

  The Professor ignored the altercation between the two young men. ‘I would like, with the young lady’s assistance,’ he said, addressing the audience, ‘to perform an act of true wonder.’