-- lost my way, jack

[kate parker]

You've finally gone too far, Kate thought as she raised the chilled tin tankard to her temple; the cool surface eased the throbbing to a dull ache. The relief was short-lived, and Kate placed the glass back on the uneven tabletop with a sigh. Beneath the smoke-haze and flickering candles the frothy amber-coloured beer glinted appealingly. As a girl, her mother had given her small doses of rum to ease ailments, and she found herself wondering if beer would have the same effect. Instead of testing her theories, Kate reached for her leather case and retrieved a delicately embroidered lace handkerchief. She folded the small square in half to form a triangle and dipped the tip into her drink before raising it to her lip and gingerly dabbing at the cut, wincing as the alcohol seared her soft flesh. Her crisp white blouse was stained with dirt and blood; curls of chestnut hair haphazardly framed her bruised face. There was no way she could mask what had happened from Mama.

- - - - -

Her heels clicked sharply against the cobblestoned street as she made her way toward the small flat Molly Mathers called home. The streets of Whitechapel no longer felt like a vast labyrinth taunting her for her unfamiliarity. She now knew the basic geography and when to avoid certain sections – or at least how to navigate her way to the Mathers’ household and the small church Molly’s father was reverend of. It was there that Kate ran her small, pitifully attended school every day. She had yet to determine a way to convince parents that their children were better off with an education than sweeping the floors in a factory.

She slowed her stride to check the time on the small watch she wore on her lapel, and that was when she had seen it: Lucy Westwood, one of her students, leaned against the rough brick, using her hands to angle her upper body in a way that emphasized her breasts. Kate recognized the faded gray dress Lucy was wearing, but not its neckline. Lucy’s typical braid had been undone, and her auburn hair fell in a thin, straight line down her back. The man wore a cap low on his head, leaning toward Lucy as he spoke.

Anger coloured Kate’s gaze as she marched toward them. Lucy was just a girl; no more than fifteen. There was no way Kate could stand idly by and just watch. “Lucy!” she called out a little too brightly. Surprise was etched across Lucy’s face as she looked up, the man turning toward her. “Miss Parker! What’re ye doin’ here?”

“Why looking for you, of course. Your family is most concerned-” The man snorted to mask a laugh and pulled his cap lower. Kate grabbed Lucy’s hand, pulling her protectively toward her. ”I suppose you find it amusing to accost children at night! You’re repugnant, robbing this girl of any chance at having a bright future. I’d ask how you sleep at night but it’s plain that you do anything but!”

“Miss, you don’ know –”

“No, you don’t know! You have no further business here. Goodnight, sir.”


Lucy remained silent on the walk back to her place, staring at the ground the entire way. “’E was jus’ trying to help, miss…” Kate stopped and turned to face her charge. Placing her hands on her shoulders, she looked into the girls deep brown eyes. “What were you thinking, Lucy? Why were you there with that man? I know what you were doing but I need to know why. I want to help –”

“You stupid, meddlin’ whore!” A shrill voice interrupted, and before Kate could look up she had been shoved to the ground. “I listened to me pa when ‘e said you were good, but I knew de truth. Ye think yer so good an’ better’n us. Yer not. Yer no better. Ye jus’ dress better, but yer no different at all.”

The other girl’s fists had landed with frightening accuracy, and Kate was convinced that the only reason she had walked away was because Lucy had forcibly pulled the other woman – her sister - from Kate with the promise that Miss Parker would not return. Kate had stared at the fading star that was Lucy for a moment before reaching into her purse and handing the girl a few bills. She then unpinned her watch and pressed the small piece into Lucy’s hand. “There is always another way, Lucy,” she whispered before turning and walking quickly away.

- - - - -

A shadow darkened Kate’s table and she looked up, expecting to see Molly. But it wasn’t her, and Kate’s pulse began to race as she recognized the man from the alley.

She was right: she’d finally gone too far.

[jack sullivan]

Jack snorted and spat at the ground. His spit landed on the tip of a dirty brown boot. ”And that’s what I think of yer rotten deal. Piece of shite.” The man with his stout stomach and thick forearms took one hulking swing at him. Jack grabbed his arm and punched him deep in his gut. The man fell backwards onto the wooden slat walls of the room. He came back up hurling himself towards Jack, all eighteen stones of him. Jack tucked down and away and pulled his knife from his pocket. Two of his lads got a hold of his former business deal and pinned his arms around his back. Jack took hold of the knife’s handle and stepped behind the man. With one swift jerk, he cut the sausage-like pinky finger from the man’s right hand. ”So I won’t be forgettin’ ye,” He wiped the knife on his pants and pocketed it again. “Throw ‘im outside.” he instructed as the rotund fellow began to howl.

Jack sighed and fell into a faded green chair. He stared at the bloody pinky still on the floor. ”It ain’t even dark yet,” he groaned. He was quiet for a little, his other lads beginning a card game. He drummed his fingers on the chair arm as he went over other dealings in his head, their exact time and pickup, and the gentry downstairs spending their well-earned inheritance. ”Sheahan –“ A lanky boy with hard edges to his face stood up from the game and doffed his cap. ”Guv?”

”Go and tend ta the workings downstairs.” Sheahan nodded and left the room. He knew what it meant – make sure the opium was full, to kick out the willful drunkards, that the whores were doing their job, and there weren’t no rozzers around.

”I’m ‘ungry lads, I’m goin’ out.” He pulled down his cap and went for the stairs. ”And for shite’s sake – get that finger out of ‘ere.” he said before taking the back stairs and out onto the gray streets.

- - - - - - - - -

He had been walking for only a couple blocks when he spied a pretty auburn girl leaning indecisively against the corner of Whitechapel Tailors: Gallagher & Son, whose sign had been written nearly two decades ago – the white paint flaking to a dirty charcoal color. The Gallagher tailors had left five years ago, the limp building only a marker on the locals’ map of the Chapel.

”You won’t be makin’ much there, luv,” he called as he walked towards her. ”Jack!” she exclaimed, curling a piece of her wavy hair back. ”What’re ye doin’ ‘ere in these parts?” she said, putting on her prettiest smile and throwing back her shoulders. ”I’ve got a better question for ye -- what’re ye doin’ ‘ere?”

[/b] he asked, stepping closer to her.

The young thing was just a dollymop – a naïve worker to these streets. He imagined her family was going through a bit of trouble and decided to put her to the best work her pretty face would be suited to. He didn’t judge others on how they chose to live their life – only if it started to impede his own. But Lucy, her chest boasting of an age her eyes betrayed, needed to at least be led in the right direction if her family wasn’t going to. He would have done the same for his sister. Wherever she was.

”Ye don’t want ta be workin’ on the streets Luce – it’s too cold for yer pretty face. Ye will end up with a face like mine, and I don’t think it’ll look good on ye. ” he said with a wink, making Lucy giggle. ”Why don’t ye go on ta Madame’s? Ye tell ‘er Mr. Sullivan sent ye and she’ll add ye on. It’ll keep ye –“

”Lucy!” shrieked a voice, interrupting them. Jack looked up to see one huffy, irritated woman walking in a way that could have pounded bricks with her soles. Lucy apparently knew the woman, addressing her by a “Miss Parker.” ”Why looking for you, of course. Your family is most concerned – “

The manner of her speaking, like each word was something to be neatly ironed – much like the clean, new dress she wore. He could already tell she thought herself better than the lot of them. Jack started to snicker, but by the she-devil look on the woman’s face, he pulled his cap down and began to clear his throat.

The woman grabbed at Lucy and turned her vehemence on him. ”I suppose you find it amusing to accost children at night! You’re repugnant, robbing this girl of any chance at having a bright future. I’d ask how you sleep at night but it’s plain that you do anything but!” He began to object but she clearly already had made her decision. “Goodnight, sir.” she issued, finishing her rampage. She turned and hauled Lucy to follow.

”What in shite’s sake was that?” he muttered to himself as he watched Lucy be dragged away. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and made sure to head to the pub the opposite way the harpy with hairpins had gone.


He entered the warm pub, taking in the smells of the molding wood, sweet ales, and melting candle wax. He took off his cap, ran his fingers through his hair and pulled it back on again. He called to the bartender and ordered a drink first. He was about to cozy up to his tankard at the counter when he saw a pale smudge of color on the edge of his vision. In the back he saw the harridan of earlier looking a lot rougher than when he last saw her.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” he cursed in a gritted whisper. He hung his head and looked again. She was using the alcohol to primly clean herself. What a waste of good ale, he thought solemnly. He picked up his tankard and groaned. There was no way he was going to enjoy his meal trying to avoid her.

When he approached her table, she looked up slowly and slightly afraid, he thought, mildly pleased. ”Now Miss,” he began. He sighed through his nose and rubbed the scruff of his cheek with his free hand. ”I don’t mean no ‘arm, but ye need ta explain ta me what in the blazin ‘ell ye were doin’!”
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[kate parker]

She may have gone too far, but Kate didn’t care. Her whole life had been comprised of people telling her what she could or could not do; with whom it was acceptable to associate; what clothing she should wear. She was a Parker and that meant to follow the script, slipping seamlessly into the role her family name afforded. The problem was that Kate had other plans.

- - - - -

“Does anyone know what this is?” Kate said. She held up a large wicker picnic basket for her students to see. Murmured responses filled the small, damp room that was acting as a classroom varying from the wishful “sweets!” to the factual “basket.” Kate smiled as she placed the basket on a wobbly side table that was covered in thick patches of melted wax from long-forgotten prayers. Every Saturday the small parish leant her use of a small room behind the sanctuary. The small wood stove barely provided heat in the winter, and rain leaked through the roof and windows, but it was a start. One day she would have a permanent address – a classroom where she could hang brightly coloured posters and teach children how to write when they weren’t wearing mittens. There would be a soup kitchen so she could serve her students hot meals before class instead of the sandwiches she provided now. It was her dream, and she still couldn’t believe that it had finally begun. “This,” she continued, “is a very special basket. If you look inside you may not see what it contains right away, but look closer. Inside it is whatever you can dream. The only limitation is you. Now, who would like to go first?”

“I will,” a woman called from the back of the room, and Kate looked toward her, startled. “I fancy meself the Queen. Iffin I reach me hand into yer basket do ye think I’ll wake up in a palace?” The woman started toward Kate, the dirty hem of her skirt barely brushing against the floor. “I told me husband he be daft to send our Henry ‘ere ‘stead o’ the market where he could earn his keep. I don’t know what you be teachin’ but empty baskets won’t be puttin’ bread on nobody’s table.” Before Kate could respond the woman had grabbed Henry’s arm and had pulled him from the seat. Kate watched in mute horror as the boy was pulled from the classroom, disappearing into the streets of Whitechapel without a trace.

Kate licked her lips before clearing her throat, pulling the focus of her students back to her. “Henry’s mother is right. Reaching into this basket will not change who you are, but dreaming, dreaming will open all the doors in the world for you. Each of you are my dream. Now. Who shall go first?”

- - - - -

Whitechapel had not welcomed Kate the way she had envisioned. The inhabitants were suspicious of outsiders, and Kate resembled a local as much as they did nobility. Still she refused to be deterred. One day they would understand that she wasn’t fighting against but for them.

“Now Miss,” the man began with an exasperated breath as he rubbed his jaw and assessed her. Whatever trepidation she felt quickly gave way to irritation once more. He had some nerve, but before she could speak, he had continued. “I don’t mean no ‘arm, but ye need ta explain ta me what in the blazin ‘ell ye were doin’!”

Anger, hot and acrid, burned through her; her hands shook with it, her eyes snapped. “I don’t need to explain anything to you, sir,” she said,“though if this is how you approach all women it is little wonder that you must solicit companionship. What I was doing was protecting an innocent from miscreants like you. And for that I owe no explanation, nor do I care to hear anything further from you. I have already bid you goodnight once this evening; I am waiting for a friend if you would be so kind as to take your business elsewhere. I am not interested.”

[jack sullivan]

Jack groaned. ”I don’t need to explain anything to you, sir,” she had started, Jack grimaced as the onslaught continued. ”And for that I owe no explanation, nor do I care to hear anything further from you. I have already bid you goodnight once this evening; I am waiting for a friend if you would be so kind as to take your business elsewhere. I am not interested. His jaw was clenched so tight he thought he would crush his teeth in a matter of moments. ”Miss,” he hissed. He had yet to hit a woman, but he would be willing to amend that, rather quickly, with this witch of a woman. ”I wouldn’t be sayin’ such nasty things if I were you. I ‘ope you know where ye are.” He sat down in the seat opposite her. She opened her mouth as to oppose, but Jack continued over her. ”Ye are surrounded by ‘ard-workin’ men – it’s quiet now, but it’s just about time when I won’t be lookin’ so bad in comparison.”

He waved the barman over who set down his plate of a meat pie and chips. ”Thanks Joe,” he said before cutting into the slightly burnt crust of pie. ”And don’t ye ever tell me, or any one of us, what to do or ‘ow to act. We ain’t yer servant luv,” he advised her after swallowing a big spoonful of pie. ”I won’t deny I ain’t some kind of miscreant,” he said with a laugh. ”But I ‘ardly think ye can call anyone on these streets an ‘innocent.’ But ye wouldn’t know that, would ye?” He paused from eating and caught her gaze from across the table. He was captivated by how clear her skin looked, as if dipped in cream. But her cut lip and the soft undertones of purple bruising were beginning to blemish her smooth skin. Already lower London was making its mark on her.

”Someone laid a nice piece of work on yer face that’s for sure,” he said with a deep chuckle until she gave him a nasty glare. ”Alrigh’, don’t be gettin’ yer petticoats in a knot, I only jest. But that daffy of ale might be burnin’ more than it’ll be helpin’. Just hold yer handkerchief tight against yer lip.” He almost made to help her, but her scowl made him grit his teeth again and reminded him just how much he’d like to choke her.

“Fine, but as ye could believe it, I’ve been in a few pinches on these streets and I’ve learned how to take care of meself. “

[/b] He gulped down the last few heaping spoonfuls of pie.

He had to wonder who she was. His business was to study men -- learn their ways, what they did and how to use that in advantage to him. She clearly didn’t belong here. As he tried to come up with any reasonable explanation for her, she just irritated him all the more and all he wanted was for her to get going and stop harassing him for doing his own damn business in his own damn neighborhood.

“Ye should be leavin’ luv, as it’s getting’ darker and yer made-up friend is never comin’ and I wouldn’t need ye on my mind.” He took a long drink from his tankard before staying quite comfortably in his chair.
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[kate parker]

Kate didn’t speak – she feared her words would tumble out from her mouth in incoherent fragments of her jumbled thoughts. So she folded her hands on the table and studied the man before her. He was not like the men that attended the balls her soirees her mother forced her to attend. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled to his elbows, accentuating the thick muscles of his arms. A dark scruff of facial hair contoured the sharp planes of his jaw, erasing the innocence the dusting of freckles might cast. But it was his dark eyes that drew her in, as though the colour of them had been created through the stories of his life rather than mere genetics. Like most of the men in East London, the scars upon their skin and the ghosts in their eyes echoed the tales of their past.

As she sat there she found herself wondering what his story was. What had happened to cause him to try to find companionship in the arms of a young, naïve girl? Moreover, what compelled him to take the seat across from her and lecture her as though she was somehow in the wrong? In short time she had been in Whitechapel, Kate had learned much. Many had looked at her crisp shirts and the unfrayed hems of her skirts and had been quick to dismiss her. Her own family had wagered she would not last a week, but Kate was not one to quit once her mind was made up. In the moments she felt discouraged, she merely had to conjure up the image of Jenny – the maid whom her family had dismissed for reading. Anyone should have the right to dream beyond their birthright.

“And don’t ye ever tell me, or any one of us, what to do or ‘ow to act. We ain’t yer servant luv.” Kate clenched her jaw and glared at him. It wasn’t worth responding until he had finished his tirade. The pressure on her jaw caused her eye to ache. She was certain it was beginning to swell; her vision seemed blurred around the edges. “Someone laid a nice piece of work on yer face that’s for sure,” he said with a chuckle. Kate glared at him. She had never wished to slap a man more in all of her life. The only thing that kept her in her seat were the curious gazes from the other patrons; the way they seemed to hold this man in some sort of silent reverence. She had the sinking feeling that should a brawl take place it would not be her side they rushed to defend, but him. “But that daffy of ale might be burnin’ more than it’ll be helpin’. Just hold yer handkerchief tight against yer lip.” For a moment it appeared as though he was going to assist her, a look of what could be mistaken as concern flitting across his features. Just as quickly as it had come, the look had vanished, and Kate was certain the dull throb of her eye and lip and caused her to imagine the entire moment. So she arched her eyebrow in response and took a deep sip of her ale, wincing as it burned against the cut on her lip.

She watched as he smirked at her before taking another spoonful of pie, and then reluctantly followed his advice and pressed her handkerchief to her lip. Tears stung her eyes as the fabric pressed against the bruised flesh and she dropped her gaze. There was no way she was going to allow this man to see her cry, or any weakness. He was the type to use it for his own gains, and she wanted nothing more than for him to leave her alone. Where was Molly? she wondered once more. Kate hoped that nothing had happened to her. It wasn’t like Molly to be late.

“Ye should be leavin’ luv, as it’s gettin' darker and yer made-up friend is never comin’ and I wouldn’t need ye on my mind.”

“I can assure you that it is my sincerest hope to never cross your mind.” She took another sip of her ale, hoping that it would ease the tension that had settled into her shoulders. Perhaps he was right and she should leave: a hot bath seemed heavenly. With a sigh she gently pressed her fingers against the swelling skin of her eye. It hurt more than her lip. How had Lucy’s sister known exactly where to hit in order to inflict the most damage? Of course the man in front of her had advice on everything aside from how to ease her suffering. “Are you finished?” she asked. “While I appreciate your counsel, it is not wanted. I can take care of myself, and unlike your concern for my well-being, I assure you that my friend is most certainly real.”