A Brutal Chill in August: A Novel of Polly Nichols, The First Victim of Jack the Ripper Read Online Free PDF

should be orderly. Although he looked the part, he seemed somewhat awkward in the ornate rectory office. Since he made no effort to move around to sit at the desk, she knew that the grand bureau, indeed, the chamber itself, didn’t belong to him. He’d brought her to the office because he believed the room would lend him more authority.
    At least he wasn’t a vicar. She’d heard stories from friends of what they did to punish girls. Some of them liked doing it to boys as well. Polly walked the other way whenever she saw a priest.
    She feared only that Mr. Shaw would tell her father about her activities. If Papa found out, he’d watch her more carefully.
    “Why do you do it, a pretty girl like you? How old are you now?”
    “Sixteen,” Polly said with a bit of defiance. “Today is my birthday and I wanted to celebrate.” Of course her true birthday was not the 31st, but the 26th. He didn’t have to know that.
    “Too young to be drinking. And don’t think your young gentlemen friends won’t suffer. I know their names.”
    At least he’d found them before she’d opened her chemise to reveal her breasts—the price she’d bargained with George Prescott for the gin.
    Polly considered the first words Mr. Shaw had said to her: “I’ll have to tell your father about this, unless you’re willing to tell me why you do these things.” Would he be true to his word? She had little to lose by telling him something of her life.
    “Please, sir, you needn’t blame my friends. I offered the gin. Young men, being what they are, could not resist.”
    He nodded his head. “Why do you tempt them so?” he asked.
    “They should drink whether I offered it or not,” she said. “If I offer it, they drink with me .”
    More lies. Becoming impatient, Mr. Shaw narrowed his eyes.
    Polly believed that he asked her to explain her actions in the hope that, as she did so, she’d see the error of her ways. No doubt, he believed that girls drinking with boys led to one thing alone. Those of Mr. Shaw’s class concerned themselves with impropriety among the lower class only when the misconduct seemed to threaten their world. She should settle his fears on that score easily.
    “You mustn’t worry about that .” She emphasized the last word to express what he couldn’t speak to her about openly: Sex. “I would not have allowed them to take advantage of me.”
    “If the gin didn’t leave your judgment wanting.” He shook his head slowly.
    So, Polly thought, he chooses to see me as a good girl headed down a dark path because of the drink.
    “I work too hard, sir,” she said. “My papa and brother are street locksmiths. They work a barrow in Fleet Street most of each day. I’ve toiled at home since my mother died nine years ago. My papa brings me work so I don’t have to labor in a mill. Still, my work is endless, dull, and lonely, and I want to have fun when I can. I used to make brushes of different sorts. Now, I’m a fur puller.”
    “What’s that?”
    Polly looked at him curiously. Who didn’t know about fur pulling? Then she realized that a man of his station had no reason to know of such a thing.
    “Piece work,” she said bitterly. “My papa gets paid per piece for each pelt I finish. I pull the downy undercoat from rabbit pelts used to line garments. He’s paid a small sum per pound for the down I collect as well. In the Crimean war, many pelts were needed for coats to keep our soldiers warm.”
    “That ended five years ago.”
    “There’s still a demand.”
    “Yes, I have a fur-lined hat.” He seemed to think for a moment. “That doesn’t sound like hard work.”
    “The down gets everywhere,” she said. “No matter how often I clean, it finds me.”
    Polly held up her arms and shook them. A cloud of tiny white fluff billowed out from the sleeves of her shift, and Mr. Shaw’s eyes went wide.
    “It chokes me in my sleep. I become breathless even when walking a short way. It’s not as harmful and pays