The Sawdust Man and the Unfortunate Soul

"May I be so bold as to offer you a libation, my good lady, to ward off the evening’s chill?"

“I must confess, I have already partaken of a few measures this evening, my lovely gentleman, but I am quite certain that one more shall do me no great harm. A drop of comfort never went amiss in such a dreary season as this.”

“The pleasure is entirely mine. Pray, tell me, what manner of spirit may I procure for you from the establishment?”

“A gin would be most agreeable, sir. It is the only thing that truly warms the blood when the fog rolls in from the river.”

“Barman! A measure of your finest mother’s ruin for the lady, if you please, and a tankard of bitter for myself.”

“And make that a double measure of the gin, sweetheart, for a lady cannot fly on but one wing, can she?”

“I suppose she cannot. I am known as William, by the way. It is a stout, honest name for an honest man.”

“And I am Mary. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. William. You have the air of a man of means about you; tell me, what is your trade in this busy corner of the world?”

“I am a man of commerce, Mary. I possess my own enterprise, humble though it may seem to some. I collect the sawdust from the local timber mills and furniture factories, which I then sell to these very public houses to dress their floors. I am even the master of my own horse and cart, though the poor beast is at his rest this day, and so I have ventured out upon my own two feet.”

“A man of property and a horse to boot! You are a catch, indeed. And tell me, is there perchance a Mrs. William who waits at home for such a handsome provider?”

“There is indeed an Ellen. Does the existence of a wife trouble your conscience, Mary?”

“Not if it troubles yours but little, sir. In this parish, we take our pleasures where we find them, and a wife in the distance is no shadow upon a drink in the present.”

“Well spoken. And what of yourself, Mary? What occupies your hours, aside from the enjoyment of a glass in pleasant company?”

“Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that, you understand. I do whatever is necessary to ensure there is bread upon my table and a drop of something potent in my belly. Life is a struggle, and I am a survivor, like many a woman in Whitechapel.”

“Do you reside in one of the common lodging houses, then? The tuppenny hang or the fourpenny bed?”

“Nay, I have managed better than that. I have a modest room of my own. There was a fellow, an old flame, you might say, who continues to see to the rent. He visits on occasion, though his appearances have grown rare of late. I manage to scrape by with little tasks, and sometimes the other ladies of the district stay over; they bring a bit of grub, some cast-off clothes, and, naturally, a bottle to share.”

“And does it not fill your heart with dread, being out upon the cobbles alone at such a dark hour? The broadsheets are full of nothing but terror these days.”

“Me? Afraid? Lord love you, no. I am far too young and vibrant to be of interest to our ‘friendly neighbourhood killer.’ He seems to prefer the older, more weathered sort. Besides, there is always a peeler on every corner lately, blowing their whistles and tramping about in their heavy boots.”

“I have heard it said in the shops that those women were naught but fallen creatures anyway. There are many who whisper that they perhaps deserved their fate for spreading their foul pestilences and filth among the populace.”

“And what, pray, is so grievous about a fallen woman? I knew some of those ‘unfortunates,’ as the papers call them. They were fond of the bottle, it is true, but they were souls just like any other. To my knowledge, they weren’t all ‘turning tricks’ as the gossips say; they were just trying to live.”

“You speak as though you were intimate with them. How many of these creatures did you truly know?”

“I have heard the tales of them all, and I shared a glass or two with a couple before they met their end. None of them deserved the butcher’s work that was visited upon them. But enough of such gloom! Are you going to be a gentleman and purchase another round for a thirsty girl?”

“Barman! Another gin for the lady, if you please.”

“A double, if you would be so kind. You never did answer me, William, what is your great grievance against women of a certain station?”

“Naught, I suppose. My own Ellen followed that path before we were wed. I’ve put a stop to it now, of course; I’ll not have my wife walking the streets. But tell me truly, Mary, are you one of those women yourself?”

“I seek coin where I may find it. There is no sin in selling what the Good Lord provided, is there? There is never a shortage of men eager to buy what is offered.”

“I suppose that is the way of the world. But do you not fear the Great Pox? Does the thought of the syphilis not give you pause?”

“Fairy tales and myths, sir! Not every soul carries the rot, and besides, who wishes to linger in this stinking hole of a city until they are grey and toothless anyway? I’d rather a short life and a merry one.”

“A philosophy I can appreciate. It is becoming quite crowded in here, and the air is thick with smoke. Shall we seek a more private venue?”

“We could try another public house further down the lane.”

“Nay, they will all be teeming with folk tonight. Most people are terrified to be out on the stones and are huddling together for warmth and safety.”

“Well, then... how would you like to see my room? If you are so inclined?”

“I must warn you, Mary, I have no intention of paying for the privilege.”

“I did not ask for your coin, William. But if you wish to be welcome, you might purchase a full bottle of that gin to bring along with us.”

“Barman! I require a bottle of your gin to take away. Thank you. Are you ready to depart, Mary?”

“This way, follow me into the dark. Lord, either this road is more uneven than usual, or I am most thoroughly pissed!”

“Here, take my arm, steady yourself.”

“A proper gentleman you are, William. Just down here, my lovely... Oh, blast it! I have lost my key in the depths of my pockets.”

“Do not distress yourself. I can remedy this. I shall simply shatter this pane of glass and reach through. Would that be acceptable?”

“It cannot be helped, I suppose. You have a practiced hand at that. Have you done such a thing before?”

“Once or twice, perhaps. In my line of work, one learns to be resourceful.”

“Come in, then. Make yourself at home in my little sanctuary.”

“Do you possess any glassware for this gin, or shall we drink like heathens?”

“Just keep pouring, my lovely man, and never mind the formalities.”

“Are you intent on keeping those sodden clothes on? They look quite heavy with the damp.”

“You are a direct one, aren’t you? I... wait... what is that you have drawn from your coat? What have you got that blade for, William?”

“You are a wretched, painted whore, and you are about to receive everything you deserve. You and your kind, spreading your filth and your rot through the veins of this city. I am the cure for the plague you carry.”

“Oh, God... it’s you. You’re him.”

“Yes. You foolish, drunken cow. I grew weary of the damp alleys and the constant whistling of the peelers. I have been disturbed too many times of late. But with you, behind a locked door, I can take my time. I shall create a true masterpiece this night, something for that idiot Abberline to ponder in his nightmares.”

“No! Please! I beg of you!”