Cherie Mitchell [Mitchell - Lay Down Your Hand

There was someone following him, he was certain of it.Elliot Cinder did not break his stride as he cranked his already alert sensesup yet another apprehensive notch. Any man, whether he be a rogue or agentleman, needed to keep his wits about him when he walked the narrow streets andlaneways of Whitechapel after dark.

A shadowy figure stepped out in front of him and a dirty, hookedhand made a grab for his coat sleeves. A shilling, sir. Only a shilling for amoment of pleasure. He hurriedly shook the hags hand off and she melted backinto the shadows as if she had never been. He kept walking, cursing the womanfor the interruption as he strained his ears to listen. Was the echo of hobnailboots on the cobblestones the sound of his own feet or was it the footfall of whoeverhad determinedly trailed him since he left the house of his good friend RobertHepworth?

He reached the next small intersection and paused to listenagain. His well-primed ears caught the faint sound of a whistle, a simplemelody that undulated through the up-and-down notes of a popular tune. He steppedinto the puddle of light beneath a gas-fired street lamp and waited as one ofthe Whitechapel bobbies turned the corner, whistling jauntily and swinging his lanternas if he hadnt a care in the world.

Evening. Elliot tipped his hat politely as the man stoppedin front of him and eyed him with fierce suspicion.

Where are you off to at this hour of the night?

Ive been visiting a friend, sir. Im on my way home. Elliotstrained his ears again, listening for the pound of hurrying feet, but there wasno longer any sound from behind him.

Wheres home? the man growled, finding no need to offerpleasantries or unnecessary courtesy. The bald light of the street lamprevealed the deep, tell-tale craters of smallpox in the mans face, althoughhed tried to hide the worst of them behind the expansive spread of his coarse whiskers.

Spitalfields, sir. The stench of urine and faeces, bothhorse and human, was excruciatingly strong here. Elliot automatically pinchedhis nostrils together through force of habit and breathed through his mouth.

The bobby lifted his lantern, master of the small, goldenbeam of light that chased the shadows away, and pointed it at the street aheadto show Elliot the way. Get on with you then. Theres no need for anyone todally in this area after midnight. Not in these treacherous times.

Elliot gave the policeman a terse smile and hurried away. Hedidnt need reminding that the East End was a dangerous place and hed be ashappy as the next man once he was safely tucked up in his bed in his crampedtenement room. If he picked up his stride, hed be home in less than tenminutes and soon after that, he could be happily dreaming of his lovely Annie.Annie Jones was the reason he was out so late tonight, seeking a favour fromhis friend in the hopes of borrowing enough money to buy his sweetheart a smallengagement gift.

Annie was a slender, elfin-faced girl with wide, aqua blueeyes of the sort that made him want to scoop her up into his arms and never lether go whenever she turned that solemn and beguiling gaze upon him. She was twenty-years-oldand she worked a ten-hour day as a match girl at the Bryant & May matchfactory in Bow. Shed taken part in the big factory strike back in July andsomeone from the London Daily Post had snapped a photo of Annie and herfriends. Elliot had never seen the photo but every day he stopped and asked theboy selling newspapers to show him the front page. He wanted to make sure henever missed seeing it if it was ever printed and he still held fond hopes thatone day he would find it somewhere. He could understand why a photographerwould want to take a picture of his beautiful Annie and it was one of hisdearest wishes to find the image so he could tuck it into the lining of hisovercoat and keep it close to his heart forever.

As Elliot strode across the next street, he heard a suddenshout and the sound of running feet, causing him to break into a run himself. Asimple chimney sweep had no business getting himself involved in circumstancesthat didnt concern him. He ducked into a side alley, jumping across the legsof a drunkard laying sprawled across the cobblestones, and kept running. Thesestreets were a labyrinth, impossible to navigate unless a person knew his wayaround, but Elliot had no doubts when it came to his own sense of direction.This route would take him via the docks, an area he generally avoided once thesun went down, but if he kept his speed up it was unlikely that anyone couldcatch him. Sweeping chimneys kept him lithe and fit, although he doubted thatall that soot and grime was good for his lungs.

Elliot didnt intend to remain in the role of a humblechimney sweep forever. As hed often said to Annie, as soon as they weremarried he was going to find a way to move them to the country where they wouldlive amidst green fields and frolicking lambs while they raised their clutch ofpink-cheeked children. Annie would always giggle and push at his arm when hesaid that, but her reaction only encouraged him to make up wilder and moreextravagant stories. He loved her even more when she laughed, when her slimshoulders shook with mirth and her eyes sparkled as if stars from the heavensabove had found their home within her gaze.

He slowed to a jog and skirted around the edge of the docks,alert for any strange sounds. The clouds that lay across the moon parted for afew seconds, lighting his way, and he made the most of it. He jumped over a lowfence, rolled under the broken section of an old wooden bridge, most of whichhad rotted away long ago, and doubled back on himself to turn towardsSpitalfields. Ten minutes later, he hurried down Goulston Street where the slumhousing pressed up close and formidable against the kerbing. It wasnt the bestof areas but his tiny room was dry and relatively draught-free, which wasbetter than could be said for most of the rooms here.

A cat ran across the cobbles in front of him, startling himinto a clumsy stumble and seconds later, he heard the high-pitched squeal ofits terrified prey. This area was rife with mice and rats, many of them largerthan the cats and dogs that hunted them. Other vermin slithered through thesedark streets too, vermin that walked on two legs and preyed on the weak and theinnocent. He righted himself and continued on his way, acutely aware of the menacesthat lurked and crawled in the shadows.

The talk on the streets of late centred on the man that peoplecalled the Whitechapel Murderer. Two ill-fated and miserable ladies of thenight had recently died grisly deaths at the violent hands of a man who waseither a butcher or a monster, if not both. Elliot had warned Annie not toleave her parents tenement after the sun disappeared behind the grimy rooftopsof London town. A modest woman would never venture out on her own at nightanyway, and Annies modesty and virtue were sound. He smiled now as he imaginedher face when he presented her with her gift, a plain betrothal band that hewould buy on the morrow with the money Robert had loaned him. Of course sheknew he wanted to marry her, but knowing it and hearing the words were two verydifferent things. It was a mans responsibility to lay down his intentions in aclear and true manner.