He gave her a rough caress and said, “You ought to see a doctor about that cough, luv. I’d give you sixpence if I ‘ad it, but I spent all me ready cash on your supper.”
“Oh, that’s all right, and thank you for the food and the rum.”
“Well, I’ve got to be off or they’ll lock the factory yard gates and dock me wages.”
They separated, the man hurrying away down Hanbury Street while Annie Chapman lingered at his doorstep, visibly exhausted.
“Well,” she muttered to herself, “you’ve had a good supper and the rum’s been a great help with the pain, but you’ve still got no money for your bed, Annie Chapman.”
She sighed and set out very slowly, moving in the general direction of Dorset Street once more. John Lachley glanced quickly along the street and saw no sign of anyone, so he stepped out of the doorway he’d been leaning against and crossed the street toward her. Since he didn’t want to startle her into crying out and waking anyone, he began whistling very softly. She turned at the sound and sent a hopeful smile his way.
“Good morning,” John said quietly.
“Good morning, sir.”
“You seem to be in something of a bind, madam.”
She glanced quizzically into his eyes.
“I couldn’t help but overhear you, just now. You need money for your lodging house, then?”
She nodded slowly. “I do, indeed, sir. You realize, I wouldn’t ask, if I weren’t desperate, but . . . well, sir, I can be very agreeable to a gentleman in need of companionship.”
John Lachley smiled, darting a quick glance at Maybrick’s place of concealment.