The Ripper's Wife(17)
This was too much! I slammed it down in disgust, so hard I dented it, but I didn’t care. Inside my head I was screaming. I couldn’t stand looking at this smorgasbord of snake oil! I slammed the cabinet door shut and sagged weakly against it, sliding to the floor. I felt like Bluebeard’s innocent young bride, the happy girl in the fairy tale whose dream come true turned to one of horror almost overnight. He gave her everything—the keys to his castle, all the rooms filled with riches and pretty things. He asked only one thing of her—that she not enter one dismal little room in the cellar. But stay away from it was the one thing she could not do. She couldn’t enjoy the treasures and pleasures; she couldn’t stop wondering what secret was hidden inside that forbidden room. When she finally unlocked the door she found the floor awash with blood and the murdered, mutilated bodies of her husband’s previous brides, women just like her who also could not resist the lure of that forbidden chamber. Though Jim had forbidden me nothing, I had presumptuously rattled drawers and opened doors and I had discovered something I wished I had not, something far worse than a cache of naughty nude French postcards hidden in a drawer beneath my husband’s underclothes.
I slumped down upon that cold, hard floor and cried my heart out. I cannot tell you how much time passed before I finally forced myself up and slunk back to my room. All of a sudden I was unbearably weary. I hardly had the strength to move my feet. I walked straight past the maid gathering up my clothes from the floor where I had left them the night before, and crawled onto my bed. I just wanted to sleep. It was the only way I could think of to escape. I wanted to believe it was all a nightmare that I could, and would, wake up from. Downstairs, no doubt, the servants would be gossiping about “what a slugabed the mistress is” and ruminating on the slack and lazy ways of American girls. But I didn’t care. I just wanted to be left alone.
I prayed for sleep, but it wouldn’t come. I couldn’t stop thinking about the contents of that cabinet wreaking their horrible destruction upon my husband’s vulnerable innards. Whenever I closed my eyes I saw dead rats, the still tiny black bodies of houseflies done to death by arsenic flypapers, and Jim taking out his little silver box, sprinkling the white powder onto his porridge. My mind whirled with melodramas I had seen in which arsenic played a prominent part and accounts of murder trials I had shuddered over before quickly turning to the next page in the penny papers. But those people were bent upon working malice upon another, killing annoying pests, relatives, husbands, and rivals, not destroying their own stomachs!
When Jim came home I was still lying there in my rumpled nightgown and lace peignoir, one satin slipper on, the other fallen to the floor beside the bed, my eyes bloodshot and swollen red with tears. He ran to me and caught me up in his arms and began stroking the golden mess of my hair, his voice frantic with concern.
“Bunny, what’s wrong? Are you ill? Shall I call a doctor? Can I get you something . . . ?”
“From your medicine cabinet?” I blurted out, violet accusation blazing from my eyes. “I’m sure there’s nothing a doctor can give me that you don’t already have to cure me of everything from singing ears to snakebite!”
Jim abruptly let go of me, recoiling as though I had slapped him. He stood beside the bed, staring down at me as though he had never seen me before. For a moment, I didn’t recognize my own husband; he had suddenly become a stranger, a chilly, dangerous stranger who made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“That is none of your business,” he said. “It is something you are too young and inexperienced to understand.”
“It is my business!” I shouted.
Kneeling on the bed, I reached out for him, trying to draw him close, to relax that sudden steeliness of manner and spine. All I wanted to do was banish that cold stranger and bring my beloved back to me. “And I’m not too young. I’m your wife, Jim, I love you, and you’re doing yourself no good taking all that poison. I’m afraid you’ll end by killing yourself! You must wean yourself off it at once! I’ll help you! I’ll write to my brother; I’m sure he’ll kn—”
I didn’t get to finish. Jim hit me. The honeymoon was over. I didn’t even see the blow coming. It was one more thing I had never expected from him. First, a cabinet full of poison, then, an even crueler blow. Oh God, don’t let there be any more horrors lurking undisclosed! One moment I was sitting up on my knees hugging my husband, pleading with him to save himself, the person I loved best; the next I was lying sprawled across the bed, with my head dangling over the side, bleeding from my nose and lips. My ears were ringing, and I was seeing what I thought for a moment was fireworks erupting against the ceiling. I heard a woman crying. It took me several moments to realize that it was me.
“Bunny! God help me, what have I done?” Jim rushed to gather me in his arms. He cradled me against his chest. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to. I swear, I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never raised my hand against a woman before! My brothers will tell you I am the gentlest man God ever made! Edwin jokes that I won’t even suffer the servants to use flypapers! It will never happen again, I swear, as God is my witness! Please, Bunny, forgive me!”
I heard his voice as though I were underwater even though his lips were right against my face. I cringed and winced away from the thousand kisses he seemed intent on giving me to atone for that one blow.