Heading south, after several steps Ethan turned north, pivoting in place, with an abrupt change of mind and direction. It occurred to him he’d best avoid the bustling Whitechapel Road. At the intersection of Hanbury, Old Montague and Bakers Row, he stopped. As these streets had relevance to “the job” past and present he chose to bypass them and continue north along Bakers Row. A few streets up, the pedestrian traffic had slowed, only workmen coming and going from shifts. He would have to ignore the pertinence of the other avenues and stroll back toward the intersection. Ethan decided to loiter a bit on Hanbury Street, as there were less vendors and more public housing, so anybody out at that time of night was obviously looking for only one thing. Women of the streets could readily distinguish between those who were walking with purpose to a destination and the others waiting for an invitation. Ethan was utterly shocked by the immediate barrage of women approaching, considering the brutal murders of Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes were less than a week past. Some of the ladies must’ve known the dead women and yet, were still out and about. Ethan guessed correctly. The necessity to make money took precedence over safety and it appeared, by the sheer number of them, most had the same idea. They were literally risking death to earn a living.

They all appeared to respect the time required for each to take her turn in asking any of the potential customers, “Do you want the business?” If the man agreed then the deal was set and off they went to some secluded corner. If he showed no interest then he was open game for the next girl. Ethan had no idea of what he was looking for, he only knew what was approaching him wasn’t it, forties and up with missing teeth, unkempt and unbathed, actually, not unlike his unfortunate victims. One after another, he responded in the negative as kindly as he could.

“Thank you, no.” A mild shake of the head shook them off his trail.

He must have repeated those words twelve times or more as he crossed the road on Hanbury and returned toward Bakers Row. Ethan wanted to get off of this street as soon as possible, not only because of the caliber of the women he was seeing but also his manner of dress was now drawing the attention of some of the street vermin. Pickpockets or gang members, he didn’t want to overstay his welcome there to learn their intentions toward him. Once back on Bakers Row, Ethan felt safer and decided to continue south, only up to Whitechapel Road where, if he saw no one of interest, he would give up and try his luck again another night.

Just past Whites Row, near the rear end of the Pavilion Theatre off Whitechapel, one lady caught his eye from some distance. There was something so familiar about her, though she was facing away from him at the time, speaking with another young woman, one of her own kind, no doubt. Ethan played coy, passing the two women, stopping a few lampposts down, as if reading the notice posted on the theatre wall. He then scanned back where they stood, only to notice them both looking his way. In their profession, that line of work required knowing when the shy ones had no idea how to approach. Ethan was far too easy to read. Moving directly into his line of sight so to ascertain his interest, the one woman he fancied smiled at him as she lifted her hand, a modest wave, so sweetly, innocently acknowledging her admirer. Ethan was suddenly stunned. He could not stop himself from staring at her as he held his breath. The resemblance was remarkable! Either Time had toyed with him or this was one excellent argument for the concept of reincarnation but she was the spitting image of a young understudy from the Flicker trials down in The Valley, Ms. Maggie Daley, apparently alive and well in Victorian England.

Ethan felt a flicker of light in his dark heart as he reminisced for a few moments, thinking back or forward to the last time he’d seen her, covered from head to toe in mud, falling to her knees as she hurriedly brought him his field reports. This woman had a soiled face, as well, but not from mud. Street grime, he suspected, as she spent many a night walking the route he was on in the Whitechapel district. She possessed the same gigantic green eyes filled with wonder, blonde hair and a cute button nose, Disney-like features, characteristics creating the fairy tale air of her presence. If he dared to stare, it was nothing he could control nor did he wish to break his gaze. As he peered in her direction, the two young ladies began giggling, as they’d whispered a few words to each other. Obviously Ethan was the focus of the humor but he had no idea what he’d done until he realized his slack-jawed mouth was hanging wide open. Perhaps, he thought, he should close it as he became aware of his expression, a singular moment of recognition showing on his face. Swaying to the left then back right, as if pondering her next move rather than his own, he strained to see her more clearly in the dim light without appearing rude. The woman gestured once with her index finger, indicating that he should come to where they were standing. Actually looking behind him to be reassured her invitation was meant for him, not someone else, she laughed when he did a double take. Yes! Indeed, it was Ethan, her potential client all alone, feeling like twenty-plus years had just been stolen from his maturity and experience and he was but a mere schoolboy lost on the street. He took a deep swallow to remove the lump in his throat but it didn’t do the trick. He was a nervous wreck as he walked toward her, drawn moth-to-flame to the lovely lass. The nearer he approached the more Ethan recognized a resemblance so striking it was uncanny, right down to her height and petite frame.

“’Ello, gov’ner.” She opened their discourse with her melodic voice, the sound a songbird would envy.

Ethan did not speak at first. Rather, he tipped his hat to both women, who once more looked at each other and tittered in reaction, responding with a curtsey.

“My name’s Eth...Arthur Br...Arthur.” Though a nervous man hadn’t stumbled over his feet going closer to her, he was certainly stumbling over his words.

“Well, ’ello Mr. Eth-Arthur. Was ya lookin’ for the business tonight?”

Ethan cringed inside. He hated that phrase. It reminded him of all the desperate women he’d already been accosted by along his journey, the same words uttered by Polly Nichols in his room on that fateful evening which changed everything.

“I’d like some company, if that’s alright?” He offered a more subtle approach.

“Sure. Do ya want to go up the alley over there?” She seemed more than willing.

“No. No. I have a place, just down the street.” He pointed north on Bakers Row.

Smiling, yet, with a rather peculiar, cockeyed expression, the girl stepped closer to inspect Ethan, scrutinizing him more thoroughly beneath the lamplight overhead, all the while well aware that looks can be deceiving.

“Ya ain’t the Ripper now, is ya?”

“How could you even ask such a thing?” Slightly indignant, Ethan was a really bad actor. He was amazed that she seemed to accept his disclaimer with such ease.

“A girl’s gotta be careful nowadays.” She said, turning to her friend. “Used to be we’d ask if ya had any money. Now we gots to ask if yer a murd’rer. Sorry, sir.”

Ethan needed to lighten up to meet the more cheerful mood of this young lady.

“Well, to answer your question, miss, no. I am not. I’m off this week, in fact.”

“Well, d’ ya mind if me friend ‘ere watches where ya bring me, then? After all, we got hard times here and a girl’s gotta be careful.” A bit redundant, with reason, no truer words were ever spoken on the streets of Whitechapel.

Ethan agreed and off the three went, which he actually preferred. Walking with one woman looks like an arrangement but two looks like three friends or associates. Threesomes were something quite uncommon in a city so impoverished, regardless of the competitively low rates these women were charging, just not done at the time. Arriving at his lodging house, the women waved at one another as Ethan escorted the Maggie doppelganger inside. He wasn’t concerned about the other girl knowing where he resided, as there was no Whitechapel girl murdered on this day in history.

They walked through the kitchen area and up to his room. Some lodgings would object, charging more for an additional person or rejecting the visitation out of hand but Ethan had been such a good, quiet client, the best kind of guest, always paying in advance, the innkeeper did not dare utter a word as they passed his window. Once entering his private space, upon further inspection, she circled around it as if she’d consider buying the place! Checking out the small desk then crossing to the dresser, her movements were graceful, her air, light and breezy. It was so obvious she didn’t often frequent such nice digs and Ethan’s was one of the nicer she’d ever seen, quite comfortable. He watched as she surveyed the landscape, running her slender fingers along the surface of the wood. There was something whimsical, magical about her. If he did not know what she did for a living he would think of this fresh-faced lass as the personification of purity, the essence of youthful elegance as she sashayed to the center of the rug, spinning in place to take it all in once again. So clean and tidy, the bed made up with nice linens, she’d fallen into the lap of luxury. His preparation prior to departure had paid off based on her impression of the place.

Ethan closed the door behind them. He stood there observing her every nuance, still peering in amazement at the lovely creature before his eyes, a vision. Though he had left one candle ablaze inside its cast iron cauldron, he lit the other atop the dresser, merely to shed more light on the subject, wanting to witness every facet of this diamond in the rough as she sparkled by candlelight. Setting the dreamy mood, one more conducive to romance, he was the one burning inside. Neither had spoken since entering the room.

“You’re...beautiful.” Ethan’s anxiety was belied by his honest babble.

The young woman was awed by his candor, smiling again, approaching her host. He was much taller, gazing down into her eyes from a bit of a distance. She’d looked away only for a moment to the top of the dresser where she spotted a few of the rags Ethan had purchased. Taking one, dipping it fully into the water basin, she wrung it out then repositioned the candle on the dresser closer to where Ethan stood, allowing her face to be in better light for him to see.

“Didn’t get a chance to clean up for ya. Would ya mind?” Offering up the moist rag for him to assist her.

Ethan surrendered to her eyes as he took the rag from her. He began to wipe her face clean of the day’s remains, never breaking from the locked gaze they shared, wiping away the grime of time, hoping to find his apprentice beneath the soot.

“Uh, what is your name?” In his bewilderment he had forgotten to ask.

“Who d’ya want me t’ be?” She offered as a courtesy...or a fantasy.

“Maggie.” He couldn’t believe he’d blurted it out. “May I call you Maggie?”

“O’ course, love.” She then grabbed Ethan’s hand, shaking it too hard. “Name’s Maggie, then. Nice to meet you, um, Arthur was it?”

Amicably shaking his hand to no end, he grasped hers firmly in his own to slow the momentum, then leaned over, dropping his lips below her wrist.

“M’lady.” This time he glanced up into her eyes.

Looking toward the pending rendezvous, she found her way to the bed without him. Sitting, she’d bounced around a bit, testing the firmness of the mattress before testing his, enticing him to join her. Sensing no threat from his presence, she’d felt free to be playful with Ethan. Growing more comfortable by the moment, Maggie decided to dive right into the center of the bed as if it were the deep end of the pool, laughing all the way. Clean her up and put her in a linen business suit from the 21st Century, the woman was absolutely Maggie. Ethan still could not believe his eyes. Spreading out, she laid on her side in his bed. He brought one of the candles closer for examination. Noticing her one and only flaw, by comparison to Ms. Daley, and undoubtedly due to her poor diet and equally poor dental practices of the time, her smile was not as bright as her twin from the future but it was still as infectious.

“Are ya comin’?” A leading question, she motioned for him to take the plunge.

“Yes.” Amenable to the suggestion, Ethan laughed in embarrassment, realizing his intense nervousness was obvious to both of them.

Maggie was trying to loosen him up, ready to help him out of his clothing.

“So, what’s yer pleasure, love? What can I do to warm yer toes, aye?”

Ethan had no answer. He hadn’t thought this through.

Yes. The ultimate goal was to have sex, but he did not even know how to begin. This was going to be more awkward than he remembered. Ethan cleared his throat.

“To be honest, I was hoping you could decide.”

She looked at him first with pity but then adoration. Most men she encountered locally were filthy, disgusting pigs with no manners, uncouth in the extreme. Ethan was a breath of fresh air, a revelation. She felt empowered in his presence, in a way she rarely had before. The seductress-in-chief, by necessity, as he would never take the lead role in this scenario, it was up to her to make it happen. She wanted to have some fun with it, to enjoy her work for a change.

“C’mere, lover.” Maggie beckoned.

Kneeling on the bed, she leaned over, snagging Ethan’s trousers at the waistline, pulling him in closer. She started taking off his fancy clothes, beginning with layers covering his chest and back. Peeling the jacket, it fell to the floor revealing his shirt. He watched as pretty fingers fumbled with the buttons, deliberately taking her time, she viewed his bare chest. He wasn’t a hairy man. She was fascinated by its absence, running her hands up inside the fabric along his soft, smooth upper body then over his shoulders, around to his back. Her hands were all over his torso, a tender touch. He craved more, desired more. Removing his shirt, she kissed what she could reach from her position on the bed, leaning into his midsection, sliding her moistened lips across his chest so gently it tickled. Ethan couldn’t even remember the last time he had been touched this way, if ever. Maggie was, indeed, a seductress, tempting him to lay his hands on her but he suppressed the urge, his palms as sweaty as his brow, and on such a cool night. The temperature outside his open window had nothing to do with it. This heat was emanating from within, a fire so intense he feared he might burst into flames. As her lips caressed his chest he studied her glistening hair, how it draped over her shoulders. Oh, how he ached to reach down and stroke her locks. Ethan was barely breathing yet his heart was pounding. Maggie placed an ear to it, hugging him around the waist, listening to what she had done and she had only just begun to arouse the man compared with what she intended to do to get his attention.

As she continued her oral exploration of his quivering torso, Maggie reached in then down, unbuttoning the top of his fine trousers. He quickly pulled away to stop her before she could go any further. He was a modest man. When it came to matters of intimacy, the shy nature he had as a boy was still very much intact. Interpreting his action correctly, not as rejection, her reaction to Ethan’s anxiety was sweet.

“I don’t bite, love.” She spoke lightheartedly to ease his tension. “That’s extra.”

Ethan didn’t mean to withhold his affections. He was lost, in uncharted territory, wandering into No Man’s Land. He blew out the candle nearest to the bed, allowing the other to remain as ambient light in the room, except for the soft glow of gaslight lamps shining through his window from below. Regaining his courage, Ethan stood directly in front of her, ready to take it like a man. Placing his palms upon her rather diminutive shoulders, there was room to spare. Feeling free to do so, he traced her hairline with his fingertips then sunk them into thick strands where they too got lost as did Ethan, his thoughts wandering with his hands. She pulled him down onto the bed with one solid tug, flipping him over in such a way that his legs dangled loosely off the side of the mattress. If it’d seemed a surreal trip to Wonderland prior to that instant, it was about to get real. This woman knew precisely what she was doing, a practiced methodology, multitasking even before it was a concept, let alone a word in the Oxford English Dictionary. She had it down to a science, a form of fine art.

Removing his shoes so to streamline her confiscation of his trousers, Ethan laid very still, allowing her to work her magic. With each button undone came a kiss as he languished in her care. Leaving behind wet marks wherever she went, her supple tongue teasing him along, his skin tingled where damp as the cold night air intruded on a private interlude, though neither of them felt chilly as it swept through an open window. Maggie found the air as refreshing as her newfound client, Arthur. Slowly, but surely, his trouser buttons undone, one by one, she pulled them off, leaving him with just his not very sexy wool socks and stockings. Pausing to stare at what fabric remained, Maggie muffled the urge to burst into a girlish giggle once again. Trying to contain herself, Ethan quickly explained his predicament.

“The fabric of the pants is itchy. These help keep the scratching under control.”

His Maggie clone continued staring at the leggings as Ethan hurried, awkwardly removing them himself. She raised her eyebrows, nodding in approval overall.

“Ya know? That’s good common sense.” She complimented his sense of utility if not his sense of style.

She had him lay back once again as she straddled him. It took a few minutes for her to unbutton and remove her top layers, albeit slowly for his enjoyment, but once she did, Maggie waited patiently, allowing his eyes to linger, letting him absorb the exposed top half of her body. Ethan’s shyness returned with his embarrassment, as if he was staring at the beautiful bare shoulders, neck and breasts of the real Maggie, though he could not bring himself to look away, gazing submissively.

She lifted his hands, pulling them toward her bosom, embracing the back of his head as he tenderly kissed her breasts. As he suckled, her breathing kept increasing in depth and pace. She latched onto a handful of his hair then pulled his head back, looking into his eyes as she continued to breathe through her mouth then she smiled at him. He leaned back once more while she reached up beneath layers of skirts and moved aside any obstruction to their joining with one another. She began moving back and forth, attempting to work him up a bit before entering her. He continued watching her eyes as she threw her head backward, moaning and breathing heavily. Leaning forward, Maggie rested her hand on his bare chest, letting her silken locks drape across her face, swaying over his as she thrust her hips forward and backward, harder and faster but then she suddenly stopped. Ethan was not becoming aroused. His subconscious mind wouldn’t allow him pleasure as it kept repeating in his head: “This isn’t real. She’s acting. None of this is truly her. No. She’s not my Maggie.”

“Ya alright, love?” Awkwardly inquiring, she felt nothing down there from him. In spite of her effort, no sign of life.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong.” Indeed, he did know what was wrong.

“Not to worry, love. Happens to the best of ‘em now and then.” She countered, hearing of these stories from other working girls. It never happened to her before.

“Wanna give it another go? Try again?” Kind and sympathetic to his plight, the young lady wanted to complete the task for her client. It was her job, after all.

“Perhaps another night?” Ethan responded as he rose and sat on the edge of the bed, hurriedly putting his pants back on. He was lost in thought, thinking too much.

“Yeah, anytime love.” Taking her cue from him, she began to get dressed again. “Th’ girls know me as Abby. If ya ask ’round they’ll know where t’ find me.”

Ethan asked what he owed her without looking in her eyes, his head down. She told him the meager amount, a pittance for her, which he immediately remitted, five times what Abby expected. She briefly objected, politely so, noting his refusal of a refund promptly issued. In gentlemanly custom, with very little said between them, Ethan walked her back downstairs. A hug goodbye, he closed the door behind her. Off she went, disappearing into a foggy night. The itching had returned everywhere. He’d put on his trousers without the protective stockings. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.