The Ripper's Accomplice

‘’Urry up, sir, it’s freezing!’ called Ellen, tactlessly loud. She was drinking some porter in a flask, what her master’d given her that evening. Humming a tune, she felt the cold leech up her dress.


There was no reply for all of half a minute, and then he emerged from the alley, rubbing his long-fingered hands together and grimacing. As he pulled near, his face came dead close to Ellen’s.


‘I don’t pay for the weather report, Nell. I pay for the map-guide. Got that?’

‘All right. It’s just that I’ll catch my death in this wind. I’m only a gal, ain’t I?’


He was fixing his hair, which was sticking up – the sign of a struggle. ‘That’s not the point, Nell. Supposing someone had been walking up nearby and heard you talking. They’d have wondered who you talked to and perhaps might’ve come down the alley. Then we’d have been in a pickle, wouldn’t we?’


‘Aye. Sorry sir.’


----------


‘Come back here, Bill, you muck snipe! I’ll have your guts for garters otherwise!’


Still, Boozy Bill ran off, latching onto Ellen’s purse. He was a lushington, a drunkard, and a thief. Ellen knew that the poor had to make a living somehow, but robbery was her pet-hate. Them robbers were always stealing her purse.

Sitting in the doorway to a public house, she counted her luck. Could’ve attacked me, I suppose, she reckoned. But then again, everyone knew that Boozy Bill was too wasted to know head or tail of a girl. He preferred men, anyhow, were the talk of the town.


It was a Friday and Friday’s meant rampsmen and dollymops and sometimes toffers with their snooty noses and rolling eyes. Ellen stayed well clear; she knew her way about, and where to go and where not to. She skulked the public houses for a drink off a pink-nosed toff or two, and mostly they gave in because her hair was ratty and her skin that of a gypsy’s. One was coming out now, dipping his hat in a cheery hello.

He’s not dipping for the likes of me, she thought.


‘Good sir, you’re not leaving now, is you?’


He glanced down, bright-eyed, young-faced. ‘I’ve a wife at home and a babe on the way, so I’ve no time for the likes of you.’


Grievously offended, Ellen yet swallowed her pride and looked up with a defiant stare. ‘If you’re so ream, why you lagging off in the pub, then? I knows a bored ’usband when I see one.’ Smiling, she considered. ‘You’ll buy a pretty maid a drink, won’t you?’


‘Certainly not,’ he retorted, smiling in that snobbish way that toffs do. ‘Run along now to someone who needs your… accomplishments.’


‘Good sir, I hope you’re not calling me a ladybird.’ Ellen racked her brains and, quick thinker that she was, something came to her. ‘You know it’s not safe for a gal around here. I’ve no money… This man, he robbed me of me purse, didn’t he?’


‘Get the police, then. I’m no hero.’ Ellen could see that he strained his face this way and that in an attempt to figure out a way to leave. But she had him well in her clutches.


‘The rozzers! They put us all together like a bubble and squeak. They look at a gal and think she’s a dollymop or worse. What’s a gal to do, eh?’


‘I don’t care.’


‘What you doing in Whitechapel, then, toff like you? This ain’t Coventry, this ol’ rookery. I know men who’ll rob you of all your clothes, for all your square-rigidness. Na, then you’ll be wandering the streets naked as a Shivering Jimmy and the mandrakes’ll have you quick as anything. Then the rozzers’ll shove you into a mental place and-’


‘And is there any point to this?’


‘Yes, there is.’ Ellen smiled, flushed in the face. ‘The point is that you need a gal like me. A gal like me knows this place better than her own ’and. A gal like me, a London gal, is what you need.


For a minute, Ellen thought he would turn her down and go back to his big stately home in Lord knows where, but he looked down at her with a keen face and eyes sharp as a butcher’s knife. ‘A girl like you, eh? Yes, indeed, I think a man like me might find use of you.’


It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Hey, thanks for lending some time to critique, chocoholic!

I'm not really sure if this should be in Other Fiction

I rally liked this, although I'm not really sure if this should be in Other Fiction? I got thefeeling that this was set in the past. Perhaps 1800's England? Forgive me if I'm wrong, my knowledge of those types of periods isn't very good, but either way it doesn't seem very modern.

As he pulled near, his face came dead close to Ellen’s.

Nell.

lushington,

calling me a ladybird.’

Thanks for the critique, Sam.
I understand I got a tad too carried away with the dialogue and left the setting and characters a bit on the threadbare side. It's a bit embarrassing now, in retrospect.
In regard to the master, he was the ripper, which I guess you know that. And indeed he was the man whom Ellen met outside the pub. See, the text in italics was meant to be before the the non-italic text. It is not what some would call a 'linear' story. I see I have a knack of confusing people on YWS with my set-outs. (Gah. Have they never read Jodi Picoults? Hehe.)
Well, thanks again. I'll try to change it a bit.

Hey, lhighton!

Oh my goodness, the character voices were beyond adorable. Doing a narrative--or even snippets of dialogue--is maddeningly difficult in thick slang like that, so I tip my hat to you.

I'll be relatively brief, just because my complaints are mostly plot-based:

- At the beginning, i have no idea of anything besides the fact that it's cold. The "master" never shows up again in the story; at least, not as far as I can tell. Is he the guy she tracks down in the pub? If so, why did you juxtapose the scenes like that? When you jump time and place, you need to be certain your readers know exactly where the characters from the first part are in the second. If the answer is 'they don't exist', we need to know that, too. Put collars on your characters, if you like--goodness knows they'll come in handy later.

- Hold up, partner--what, exactly, went on between Ellen and the man? And why does she think he needs an accomplice? He seemed to be doing just fine without her; in fact, he was trying to push her away. Sounds pretty self-supporting to me. In order for this "beautiful friendship" to be formed, we need to know what leads her to believe that he is in need of her services, and what will convince him that she is the girl. We'll also know that he's a human being and takes more than six seconds to make a decision. You can help pace by adding in explanation, though keep it sparse. You don't want to be going into info-dump territory, either. When you're done explaining, look through each bit of background information you've put in--is this essential?. If it's not, you can probably cut it.

__

Thanks for the read! PM me if you have any questions or want me to take a look at something else. ^_^

Thanks for the review, scasha. Thing is, with the whole 'what her master'd given her' and the like, it's meant to not sound proper-English. I thought that if I'd narrated in a proper voice, it would not have gne well with the setting and the class of the characters - so please don't think it was unintentional! However, clearly this doesn't show through and leaves me looking like a dodo-brain.
Finally, she corrected my 'coloured' to 'colored'. The 'u' is in the English spelling, and it's set in England. Just thought I'd say.

Thanks again for taking time to critique it!

Hey lhighton! Here's my review key:
Red = Comments
Bold = Words I've inserted that I think could work better.
Let's do this thing!

lhighton wrote:‘’Urry up, sir, it’s freezing!’ called Ellen, [s]tactlessly loud[/s]. She was drinking some porter in a flask, what her master’d given her that evening The end of this sentence feels awkward. Try to reword it. . Humming a tune, she felt the cold leech up her dress.

There was no reply for [s]all of [/s]half a minute, and then he emerged from the alley, rubbing his long-fingered hands together and grimacing. As he pulled near, his face came[s] dead[/s] close to Ellen’s. A bit too close for comfort.

‘I don’t pay for the weather report, Nell. I pay for the map-guide. Got that?’

‘All right. It’s just that I’ll catch my death in this wind. I’m only a gal, ain’t I?’

He was fixing his hair No offense but if there was a struggle wouldn't he want to get out of there, not stand around acting vain and fixing his hair? Just an observation , which was sticking up – the sign of a struggle. ‘That’s not the point, Nell. Supposing someone had been walking up nearby and heard you talking. They’d have wondered who you were talking to [s]talked to [/s]and perhaps might’ve come down the alley. Then we’d have been in a pickle, wouldn’t we?’

‘Aye. Sorry sir.’

----------

‘Come back here, Bill, you muck snipe! I’ll have your guts for garters otherwise!’

Still, Boozy Bill ran off, latching onto Ellen’s purse. He was a lushington, a drunkard, and a thief. Ellen knew that the poor had to make a living somehow, but robbery was her pet-hate. Them robbers were always stealing her purse.

Sitting in the doorway to a public house, she counted her luck. Could’ve attacked me, I suppose, she reckoned. I want to see a bit more emotion here But then again, everyone knew that Boozy Bill was too wasted to know head or tail of a girl. He preferred men, anyhow, which was [s]were[/s] the talk of the town.

It was a Friday and Friday’s meant rampsmen and dollymops and sometimes toffers with their snooty noses and rolling eyes. Ellen stayed well clear; she knew her way about, and where to go and where not to A bit too much of a runon sentence. Cut up your ideas . She skulked the public houses for a drink off a pink-nosed toff or two, and mostly they gave in because her hair was ratty and her skin colored that of a gypsy’s. One was coming out now, dipping his hat in a cheery hello.

He’s not dipping for the likes of me, she thought.

‘Good sir, you’re not leaving now, is you?’

He glanced down, bright-eyed, his young face glinting in the lamplight [s]young-faced[/s]. ‘I’ve a wife at home and a babe on the way, so I’ve no time for the likes of you.’

Grievously offended, Ellen [s]yet[/s] swallowed her pride and looked up with a defiant stare. ‘If you’re so ream, why you lagging off in the pub, then? I knows a bored ’usband when I see one.’ Smiling, she considered. ‘You’ll buy a pretty maid a drink, won’t you?’ Love the language you use!

‘Certainly not,’ he retorted, smiling in that snobbish way that toffs do. ‘Run along now to someone who needs your… accomplishments.’

‘Good sir, I hope you’re not calling me a ladybird.’ Ellen racked her brains and, being the quick thinker that she was, something came to her. ‘You know it’s not safe for a gal around here. I’ve no money… This man, he robbed me of me purse, didn’t he?’

‘Get the police, then. I’m no hero.’ Ellen could see that he strained his face this way and that in an attempt to figure out a way to leave. But she had him well in her clutches.

‘The rozzers! They put us all together like a bubble and squeak. They look at a gal and think she’s a dollymop or worse. What’s a gal to do, eh?’

‘I don’t care.’

‘What you doing in Whitechapel, then, toff like you? This ain’t Coventry, this ol’ rookery. I know men who’ll rob you of all your clothes, for all your square-rigidness. Na, then you’ll be wandering the streets naked as a Shivering Jimmy and the mandrakes’ll have you quick as anything. Then the rozzers’ll shove you into a mental place and-’

‘And is there any point to this?’ Please show us his expression or something

‘Yes, there is.’ Ellen smiled, flushed in the face. ‘The point is that you need a gal like me. A gal like me knows this place better than her own ’and. A gal like me, a London gal, is what you need.

For a minute, Ellen thought he would turn her down and go back to his big stately home in Lord knows where, but he looked down at her with a keen face and eyes sharp as a butcher’s knife. ‘A girl like you, eh? Yes, indeed, I think a man like me might find use for [s]of[/s] you.’

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.