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THE SKY WAS BEGINNING to lighten and the first rays of the new day were pushing away the night by the time he started to stagger home. He needed to urinate and knew it would not wait until he made it home. He looked at the homes around him and knew these were shared, sometimes with up to ten different lodgings housed inside each of the three-floor buildings. Ahead of him, the door to Twenty Nine Hanbury Street opened and a man exited, walking past him, eyes down as he hurried up the street. Edward grabbed the door before it had time to close and slipped inside. He moved down the short corridor and opened the back door, intending to use the outhouse. As he stepped out he froze, his heart racing as he almost knocked the woman down who was on the other side of the door.
‘Watch it,’ she said to him, stepping back in anger. Her expression then changed as she flashed him a smile. ‘You almost knocked me down then my love,’ she whispered.
She was a whore. Edward could tell and was of no doubt the man he saw exit the house just moments before had been a customer.
‘Do you want the business then?’ she asked.
‘Here?’ Edward replied as his inner monologue questioned the decision
Too risky. It’s almost daylight and look at all these windows. Somebody is bound to see you.
‘I come here all the time. As long as we keep quiet, it will be fine.’ She encouraged, taking a step closer to him as he stood in the doorway.
Don’t do it, you’ll get us caught. The whore’s blood will spill another day
With a nod of the head, he stepped into the yard, allowing the door to close behind him.
‘That’s it. Come on love. Come to Annie. Up against the fence will do it.’ she said.
Windows overlooked the yard from the house itself and the houses next door and across the street. The chances of being disturbed were high, and yet he was unable to stop himself. The whore was leaning against the fence, waiting for him.
‘Let me just pull this up. You get the old fella ready,’ she said as she grabbed her skirts.
‘Wait,’ he whispered to her in the dark.
‘What is it, love?’ she asked.
‘Are you sure you want to do this Mary?’
‘Who the bleedin’ ell is Mary?’ she asked, a confused look etched onto her round face.
‘For an extra tuppence, it’s yours,’ he snarled.
‘Whatever suits you love. Come on then. Come to Mary.’
He approached as she hitched up her skirts. He could smell her, unwashed and filthy and imagined he could feel his skin recoil in disgust.
‘Come on then, get it out. Give him to Mary to look after,’ she panted, reaching for his crotch.
‘What’s wrong with it? It’s not getting hard.’ She looked at him and froze, realising too late the danger she was in.
‘No, murder,’ she said as his fingers latched onto her windpipe and shoved her back, her head slamming against the fence. He squeezed, watching her eyes, first filled with fear, then with glassy and expressionless disinterest. He lowered her to the floor, astounded that they had not yet been disturbed. The sky was now a light grey in colour, the cover of darkness almost gone. He went through her pockets taking out her belongings and arranging them at her feet in the same way he would prepare instruments for the doctors in the hospital. This time, though, it was his work and his patient. He was the surgeon. He took her hand and with some effort removed the two brass rings on her fingers, before slipping them into his pocket.
What are you doing? There is not the time for this.
He ignored the voice in his head, and took his knife from his pocket, believing God would protect him until he completed his work.