The Ripper's Wife(34)

“You’re all against me!” I cried, and not a soul in that house denied it.

I was still trying to compose myself an hour later when the doorbell rang. Then Bessie was showing in Mr. Alfred Brierley, a handsome young copper-haired gentleman who often did business with Jim on the Cotton Exchange. They had offices around the corner from each other and frequently met for lunch or at the Liverpool Cricket Club and Turkish baths. Apparently Jim was not in his office, he’d gone up to London on some sudden and important business, without even bothering to send a note home to tell me, and Mr. Brierley had some papers he’d rather Jim looked over this evening instead of waiting until he was in his office again on Monday morning. Therefore, Mr. Brierley had taken the liberty of bringing them around. He smelled of spices and Turkish cigarettes.

My cheeks began to burn. I turned away in shame; I didn’t want him to see me this way—with my soiled dress and black eye. Before I knew it, I had begun to cry again, burying my face in my hands.

He sat down on the sofa beside me, put his hand on my shoulder, and in the kindest, gentlest voice said, “Please don’t cry.”

Ever so gently, he turned me around, and suddenly my head was on his shoulder. My b-reasts, quaking with sobs, were crushed against his chest as he held me, stroking my back in the most comforting manner.

“Oh! What am I doing?” Common sense pulled the reins on me and I sat up straight and tended to my own tears as best I could, noting with dismay that the last of the powder came away on my handkerchief. My eye was now naked as a blueberry. I must look a perfect horror. Crying certainly didn’t improve my appearance any; no woman wants to receive visitors with a red, runny nose and eyes bloodshot and swollen from tears as well as a husband’s angry fist.

Through my stained skirt, my thigh trembled against Mr. Brierley’s green-and-tan-checkered trousers. I pulled away, startled by the welcoming warmth of him. Something about him just made me shiver and set me on fire all at the same time. I was startled to realize that I wanted to pull him closer even though I knew I should push him away. I was appalled at myself—I wanted to kiss him! I wanted him to kiss me! I would have stood up, moved to a chair, where I could sit solitary without the hot press of his thigh tempting me to unladylike thoughts, but I didn’t trust my knees; I knew even without trying them that they had already turned to jelly.

I just couldn’t understand it! I had met Mr. Brierley many times before. Besides being a friend and business associate of Jim’s, Mr. Brierley was the bachelor all the belles in the Currant Jelly Set were casting their lines for. Bets were always being laid on who would be the lucky one to land him. He was a fixture at all the best balls, dinner parties, race meets, and first nights at the theater and opera, and I couldn’t even begin to count the number of times he’d been to dine at Battlecrease House. So why was he having this strange effect upon me now? I’d even played croquet and cards with him without feeling anything out of the ordinary, not even the tiniest twinge of excitement, much less weakness and wobbly knees.

“Mr. Brierley, I do apologize! What must you think of me?” I said, lowering my head and giving a discreet tug to the wide lace ruffles on my cap, pulling them down as far as I could, and avoiding looking him in the face.

“That such a beautiful lady should never be anything but happy,” he said, taking my hand in his, gliding his thumb over my skin in a way that made me shudder and think of more intimate caresses. Though it was just the back of my hand he was touching, the fact that it was bare skin filled my head with wanton thoughts of nakedness. Suddenly I wanted to be naked as Eve in the Garden of Eden, right there in our best parlor with Alfred Brierley.

“I’ve always said that Mrs. Maybrick has the most beautiful smile,” he continued, his voice like pink silk on bare skin. “And no lady with a smile like that should ever be given cause to even think of frowning.”

I looked at him then, full in the face, then, remembering my eye, wished I hadn’t and tried to turn away again, but he wouldn’t let me. He caught my chin in his hand and bent and kissed first my brow, then each of my eyes. “Your eyes are like wet violets,” he said, before his lips traveled down to the tip of my nose then found my mouth, “sweeter than sugar candy.” His red-gold mustache tickled my face, making me smile. “That’s it!” He smiled. “Just what I wanted to see—the beautiful Mrs. Maybrick smiling at me!”

“ ‘Florie,’ ” I whispered tremulously as my arms went round his neck.

“Florie,” he said, his voice a warm caress, as his lips found mine again.

I looked into his crystal-blue eyes, so cool and inviting I wanted to dive right in. It had been months since I’d let my husband make love to me. I missed his touch terribly, but every time I was tempted to give in the memory of Sarah came between us, her presence so palpable it was like she was right there in the bed with us, and I just had to turn away, presenting my back like a brick wall to Jim. I couldn’t bear for him to touch me. But I was not made of ice or stone. I was a woman, flesh and blood, and I missed being loved. Desire overcame Reason; Temptation kicked Common Sense right out of the parlor. I lay back on the sofa and drew Alfred Brierley down on top of me.

All I can say in my defense is that he was kind to me.





9

For my daughter’s sixth birthday I was determined to make a fresh start. I sat Jim down on the sofa beside me and though he didn’t—he couldn’t!—know everything I meant by it, I took both his hands in mine and said I wanted to wipe the slate clean and start all over again and make everything right between us. Jim smiled, drew me into his arms, onto his lap, and kissed me.