Whitechapel - Sex Stories

Whitechapel

... work, they figure, and Hanbury Street isn't far from the meathouses." "A slaughtering man couldn't do it this way, though," another woman said. "Got to be someone used to cutting up people surgical-like, not just goring pigs. One of them fellas who works in the morgue, I bet." Everyone had a theory: A butcher, a tanner, a policeman, a cannibal. “Maybe it‘s some man‘s wife, keen to stop him man from sneaking out visit all of us, one way or another,” a woman said, and they all laughed except for Rose. They were split on the subject of what to do come nightfall. None of them had doss money for their night's bed yet (except Mary, who did not sleep here anyway, who in fact rented an entire room all to herself on Miller's Court), but the idea of going out to earn it past sundown gave everyone the chills. Not tonight. "Maybe," one of the women ventured (in tones suggesting she knew already that it was a doomed enterprise), "Mother Morris will let us sleep on credit tonight, if we promise to pay double next time." But everyone shook their heads. Mother Morris would turn the Virgin Mary trembling with child out onto the streets if one o'clock came without doss money in hand. They even joked that she'd evict herself is she was ever without four pence. She'd throw them straight onto the killer's knife without a flinch. Some suggested they should find a bed at one of the other rooming houses, where the landlord might be feeling charitable on account of the murders. Others said they ...

... should go out and work but take their chances doing it elsewhere, some neighborhood west of here where dead women weren't regularly part of the morning cleaning detail. They agreed it was a good idea, but Rose knew almost none of them would actually do it. They would all be exactly where they usually were come nightfall and taking their chances. After all, at worst only one of them could be murdered. The rest would come home to a warm (enough) bed and another day's living. No one else seemed to feel the fear as sharply as Rose come sundown. Perhaps, she thought, this was another omen. Come 10 o'clock she was on her usual point on Brick Lane. It was a cold night and still looked of rain. She had two pense in pocket already and with just two more she could go in and pay for her bed, which would bring relief not just from the weather but the bloodied ghosts that seemed to walk the street So many women had died here, even before these new killings. She wondered if there was any spot on the Whitechapel Road that hadn't seen a murder. A man was trying to get her eye. He was drunk; probably a sailor. If he was game, she needn't stay out here any longer. Normally she'd hold out for one more after this and have a few coins for breakfast, but not tonight. She smiled at him and it seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. Leaning in, he said, "Will you?" And she nodded and said, "Yes," then took him by the hand. The streets were still wet and muddy, but a wall and some privacy was good ...