A Brutal Chill in August: A Novel of Polly Nichols, The First Victim of Jack the Ripper (18 page)

Rattled, Polly struggled to find a voice and a manner that Bill would find believable. “I-I have a girl who watches Eliza so I can go farther to market. Those on this side of the river don’t have the prices to be had at Farringdon Market. The women I may leave Eliza with here haven’t the time for me to be gone so long.”

“The first time he saw you there was before Eliza was born.”

“Just before, perhaps,” Polly said. “I knew I needed someone I could trust. I were looking in on her to see how she lived before leaving my child with her.”

“Why have I not heard of this girl before? What is her name?” His fists balled and his face turned red.

Polly tried to think fast, to cover all the possibilities with the new lie. She’d seen Estell sunning Nancy and playing with her in the Peabody buildings’ courtyard garden. “She’s a girl, Estell, I met and spoke to her
here
in the courtyard garden. She brings her charge, her brother’s child. I give her ha’penny an hour.”

Bill seemed to relax, and Polly moved toward him, to take his hand as a gesture of affection.

He looked up, a rage on his face, and struck, boxing her left ear. Pain, everywhere at once, dropped Polly to the floor. Bill kicked her in the gut, knocking the breath from her. She coughed and then gulped for air. She looked up at him, and he smiled.

“You’re lying, I know it,” he spat. “You’re a bloody coward. You hid behind an unborn before, but you’re not knapped now, and you’ll have a lesson, you will.”

Eliza began to cry. The sounds seemed distant as Polly heard only with her right ear.

Bill leaned down and hauled her up.

“No,” Polly cried. She tried to strike at him with her fists, but his arms and elbows got in her way. He clutched the collar of her chemise with his left hand while striking her in the face with his right hand. Polly felt two front teeth give way under the assault. She screamed with the pain.

Her chemise tore, and Bill’s grip slipped. Polly stopped struggling, became deadweight, and slid to the floor. He followed, continuing to strike her in the face as she tried to curl into a ball. Once she’d tucked her face between her shoulders, he pummeled the side and back of her head with his fists.

Finally, the punches ceased. She heard him, breathing hard, rise and step back.

Weeping, Polly tried to crawl toward the corner of the room. Her clawing hands slipped in smears and puddles of her blood, saliva, and tears on the hardwood floor.

She glanced up to see Bill standing over her. “You shall
not
keep secrets from me,” he said, pulling back his foot. She tried to move quickly, but his leg moved faster, and his dirty shoe crashed against the side of her head.

24

Unexpected Allies

Polly awoke unable to focus her eyes. She lay in bed with her torn clothing on. Daylight came through the window, illuminating nothing but stillness within the flat. She listened for a long time before making a sound, and heard only the ever-present hubbub of the city outside. Normally a murmur, the sounds coming in from outside, those of hooves, shoe leather, and the wheels of various conveyances wearing against paving stones, as well as the occasional voices of man and beast, were quieter still. Polly turned her head this way and that, and realized she couldn’t hear with her left ear.

She decided that Bill and the children must be out. She presumed her husband had put her in the bed.

Polly felt two holes in the gums of her lower jaw and something under her tongue. She spit it out into her hand, but couldn’t see the object. Her face was tender and swollen in several places and she suffered a terrible headache. She assumed she had at least one black eye.

Polly would not be able to see Tom until she’d healed up or he might take his hammer to Bill and suffer the consequences. As she lay worrying about all the possible details of her lies to Bill and the ones she’d have to tell Tom, her vision began to improve. Eventually, she focused on the tooth in her hand. Even if she healed up before she saw her lover, Polly didn’t know how she might explain the loss of teeth.

She couldn’t face all her concerns at present. She had to get up and move or she thought she might turn over and sleep forever. Polly struggled into a fresh chemise, pushing it down over her bloodied skirt, and then walked into the front room. She heard Eliza’s voice, crying. The sound came from the Heryfords’ flat.

Reluctantly, she stepped out onto the landing and knocked on their door.

Paul Heryford answered. Seeing Polly, he gasped. His mouth remained open as he backed away. Susan Heryford came to the door. Seeing Polly, the woman hurried forward. “Come in and sit,” she said.

Both the Heryfords helped Polly to move to a table and chairs. They settled her into one, then took chairs of their own.

Mr. Heryford struggled to find his voice. “I-I…um…uh…had no idea he…”

“I’m so sorry,” Susan said. She looked sternly at her husband. “This is what
your
meddling has got.” Her accent said she was Scottish.

“Eliza,” Polly said, the name coming out mush.

“She’s fine,” Susan said. “I’ve put her in Brian’s bed since he’s gone weeding and hoeing with his brother in the north.”

Polly noted that Eliza’s crying had stopped.

Paul said something too quietly.

“Pardon me,” Polly said, “I’m not hearing with my left ear.”

“I said, let me get you something to drink, Mrs. Nichols.” Paul went into another room and returned with a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He poured a large helping and offered the drink to Polly.

The whiskey stung her mouth, especially at the gums, but she downed the amber liquid all at once.

Susan fetched a basin and flannel and spent some time cleaning Polly’s face. Paul watched, a wretchedness in his eyes. As dramatic as the Heryfords’ reactions had been to her appearance, she dreaded looking into a mirror.

“I’m so sorry,” Paul said.

“As well you should be,” Susan said. Finished with the cleaning, she turned to Polly. “You shall get in the bed with your bairn. Your husband won’t have either of you until you’re better.”

Polly gratefully allowed herself to be led into a bedroom where she saw Eliza sleeping. Susan helped her to lie down, bunching the bedclothes to help protect Eliza. Polly felt safe.

Once the Heryfords had gone, Polly found the least painful position for her head, torso and limbs. She placed a hand on the back of her infant’s warm, smooth head, and went to sleep.

* * *

She awoke to the sound of Eliza fussing. The sky lay gray outside the window. Polly sat up, drew her infant into her lap and gave her a breast. As the child suckled, Polly heard bits of a contentious conversation coming from the next room. Quickly, she realized that Bill and Paul Heryford were arguing, their voices raised.

“The children are with my sister tonight, but will need their mother when they return from school tomorrow,” Bill said.

“Tell them to come here tomorrow after school,” Paul said.

“Polly must be home to greet them,” Bill said impatiently.

“Mr. Nichols, sir,” Paul said slowly, disgust in his tone, “the face you have given her would frighten them away.”

“She isn’t
that
bad,” Bill said.

“If you do not leave my door, I shall give you a face to match! How bad would that be?”

Polly heard indistinct grumbling and cursing, and then a door shutting.

The Heryfords couldn’t protect her for long. She’d have to return to Bill soon. The thought made her want to drink.

After a time, she put Eliza back into the nest of bunched bedclothes, and got out of bed. Paul and Susan sat in the next room apparently trying to have a quiet evening. He set down his briar pipe and she closed the book she was reading.

“My dear,” Susan said. “Are you hungry?”

“No, thank you,” Polly said. “I must go to my flat for fresh clothes.” She indicated the blood on her skirt.

“Paul,” Susan said, “will you go with her to make sure she’s safe?”

“Please, don’t make a fuss.”

“I
will,
” Paul said. “Mrs. Nichols, if you’d like to wait until I come back, I should just borrow your key.”

“Yes, thank you.” Polly pulled the key from the pocket of her skirt and handed it to him.

Paul left the flat. Susan gestured toward his seat, and Polly sat.

“Thank you for taking care of my girl. You are good folks to think of her as you’ve done.”

“I haven’t had a small child of my own for many years. I never had a girl.” Susan gave a warm and loving smile. “If you have need, you may leave her with me from time to time. Truly, I don’t mind.”

“Then, if you would, please take care of her tonight while I go see my father.” As good as the Heryfords had been to her, Polly hated to lie to the woman. Hopefully Susan would never know that Polly intended to drink that night. “He told me to tell him if Bill should beat me again.”

“He’s done this before?”

“Yes.”

Susan looked at her with such sadness, Polly had to hold back tears. She didn’t have time for such emotion. Tonight she would get good and drunk.

“I won’t return until tomorrow. If Bill asks, you might tell him I took Eliza with me.”

“We won’t lie. If he demands to have her, we’ll have to allow it.”

“I understand.”

“While she’s with us, we’ll take good care of her. Paul told your husband to have Percy and Alice come here when they return from school tomorrow.”

Polly had spent little time with the Heryford family. She knew they had two sons and that Paul worked as a clerk at Waterloo Bridge Railway Station. Until that day, though, conversations with them had been limited to small talk, yet Susan remembered the names of the children. The Heryfords were pleasant, good people.

Strange that, living so close together in the same building, we have not become fast friends.
Then she realized that what had stood in the way was her need to keep secrets. Presently, she would create another one.

Paul returned. “Mr. Nichols is not in your flat,” he said, handing her the key.

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“Anything I can do to help,” he said sheepishly, glancing at his wife.

Polly smiled for the couple and slipped beyond the threshold, shutting the door behind her.

25

A Timely Amendment

Polly retrieved some of the coins she’d hidden among her printing supplies, and went out into the night, walking south to the Compass Rose public house. Although her battered face received plenty of stares, the patrons of the pub left Polly in peace. Finally, she was having her
greater adventure
. Too bad the outing didn’t occur under better circumstances. She drank enough gin that she couldn’t feel her feet when she stumbled out of the place at closing time around one o’clock in the morning. Few people and little traffic moved along the roads. She made her way down South Street, turned west, and walked past the low, brick building where the family had occupied rooms in Trafalgar Street. She became lost in her memories, some good, some bad, of the years spent there, and when she took stock of her surroundings again, she didn’t recognize them. Polly stumbled on into darkness.

* * *

Papa and John awakened her. She lay sprawled on their doorstep, her head leaning against the door jamb. Polly had only been to her father’s room in Maydwell Street once before, but somehow her body had remembered how to get there. The open door allowed warm and inviting light from within to reach her. John, a look of shocked concern on his face, tried to help her stand. With Papa’s help, they got her to her feet, led her inside to a bed, and lowered her onto a musty straw mattress. John tucked a light blanket around his mother. He and Papa moved to another bed—the one Bill had sent with their son when the boy took up the apprenticeship with his grandfather. Papa pinched out the lamp light and the room became dark. Polly returned to sleep.

* * *

“Wake up, Polly,” Papa said repeatedly.

Finally, against a pounding headache, she opened her eyes. Blinding light came through the rag curtain over the room’s single window.

“Your drunken ways have finally done you real harm, girl. I hate to see it, but you got what you deserve.”

Polly rose up in anger, despite the pain. “You’re so high and mighty!
I’ve
never been arrested. Don’t think I forgot about that strongbox you broke into, how worried we all were for your safety. I might be a drunk, but you’re a thief, a cracksman!”

Polly thought her words would get her a more satisfying reaction, but Papa merely bowed his head and shook it slowly. She still didn’t know the full story of the strongbox, and his silent response said that her assumptions were well off the mark.

“I didn’t deserve this,” she said pitifully, gesturing toward her face. “Bill beat me.”

“
Before
you drank or
after?”