In broad daylight
Posted: 16 Jan 2025, 02:27
In retrospect, Jacob should have listened to his gut. Going down Whitechapel Road was a disastrous idea. What person with any substantial coin to their name would choose to live in Whitechapel?
Mrs Coulter wasn’t on the list of his favourite customers. She was unrefined, called his methods ‘beastly’ and held a certain disregard for ‘his kind’, but was a regular nonetheless. Once, she offered a half-crown for her ‘beastly’ entertainment, and Jacob begrudgingly obliged. He wasn’t about to turn down a paying customer, even a disagreeable one. Mrs Coulter desperately wanted to hear her life had some worth and believed that her husband’s coin could buy her whatever she lacked — and quickly. As soon as Jacob glimpsed into her soul, he discovered how much unhappiness she hid under her abrasiveness. He even pitied the woman; at least Jacob was his own man and wasn’t chained to some murky character of a husband — thank goodness for that! But he wouldn’t allow his pity or disdain to guide his seance, and in the end, Mrs Coulter left his shop satisfied. “You’re a gud ‘un’,” she said. Jacob would be happy to conclude their brief acquaintance on such a note, but Mrs Coulter returned a few weeks later. Then she came back once more. And more still. And now, Jacob was trodding through the mud on Whitechapel Road because he had a bright idea to inhabit Mrs Coulter’s head and house with ‘wealth-sipping spirits’ that needed banishment by his hand.
House calls were a rarity in his occult practice. The last time he walked door-to-door was when he was fresh out of school, barely seventeen, and still hoped to make a living tutoring kids of the wealthy. He has come a long way since then, and probably not in the right direction. However, Mr Felix Forsythe, a warlock, a spirit-whisperer and an entertainer extraordinaire earned significantly more than Jacob Smith, a tutor, ever would. Mr Felix Forsythe descended from his shop only when the pay promised to be as extraordinary as his own self. Sometimes, that promise fulfilled itself; sometimes, it ended in a fiasco, like with Mr Blackwood. Never before has it ended in knifing and being robbed on the street, and Jacob hoped to continue faring this way.
Of course, he took the precautions against knifing. His old, filth-splattered overcoat covered his plain black suit completely to avert hungry eyes; alas, Jacob couldn’t dress himself in rags — he was meeting with the customer after all, and it obliged him to be presentable. Despite his efforts to look inconspicuous, he still stuck out as a sore thumb. Hopefully, he would be taken for a regular john, trying to find his way in Whitechapel’s maze to one of its many brothels. Still, Jacob felt stares on his back and had a creeping suspicion that he was being followed.
After passing the worst of the slums where the cab wouldn’t take him, Jacob breathed a sigh of relief. He would look around before stepping inside the house, he decided. Look around, remember the exits, and if he notices something suspicious — he will bolt to the nearest cab, and that would be it.
With this determination in mind, Jacob finally reached his destination: the address that Mrs Coulter gave him.
Mrs Coulter wasn’t on the list of his favourite customers. She was unrefined, called his methods ‘beastly’ and held a certain disregard for ‘his kind’, but was a regular nonetheless. Once, she offered a half-crown for her ‘beastly’ entertainment, and Jacob begrudgingly obliged. He wasn’t about to turn down a paying customer, even a disagreeable one. Mrs Coulter desperately wanted to hear her life had some worth and believed that her husband’s coin could buy her whatever she lacked — and quickly. As soon as Jacob glimpsed into her soul, he discovered how much unhappiness she hid under her abrasiveness. He even pitied the woman; at least Jacob was his own man and wasn’t chained to some murky character of a husband — thank goodness for that! But he wouldn’t allow his pity or disdain to guide his seance, and in the end, Mrs Coulter left his shop satisfied. “You’re a gud ‘un’,” she said. Jacob would be happy to conclude their brief acquaintance on such a note, but Mrs Coulter returned a few weeks later. Then she came back once more. And more still. And now, Jacob was trodding through the mud on Whitechapel Road because he had a bright idea to inhabit Mrs Coulter’s head and house with ‘wealth-sipping spirits’ that needed banishment by his hand.
House calls were a rarity in his occult practice. The last time he walked door-to-door was when he was fresh out of school, barely seventeen, and still hoped to make a living tutoring kids of the wealthy. He has come a long way since then, and probably not in the right direction. However, Mr Felix Forsythe, a warlock, a spirit-whisperer and an entertainer extraordinaire earned significantly more than Jacob Smith, a tutor, ever would. Mr Felix Forsythe descended from his shop only when the pay promised to be as extraordinary as his own self. Sometimes, that promise fulfilled itself; sometimes, it ended in a fiasco, like with Mr Blackwood. Never before has it ended in knifing and being robbed on the street, and Jacob hoped to continue faring this way.
Of course, he took the precautions against knifing. His old, filth-splattered overcoat covered his plain black suit completely to avert hungry eyes; alas, Jacob couldn’t dress himself in rags — he was meeting with the customer after all, and it obliged him to be presentable. Despite his efforts to look inconspicuous, he still stuck out as a sore thumb. Hopefully, he would be taken for a regular john, trying to find his way in Whitechapel’s maze to one of its many brothels. Still, Jacob felt stares on his back and had a creeping suspicion that he was being followed.
After passing the worst of the slums where the cab wouldn’t take him, Jacob breathed a sigh of relief. He would look around before stepping inside the house, he decided. Look around, remember the exits, and if he notices something suspicious — he will bolt to the nearest cab, and that would be it.
With this determination in mind, Jacob finally reached his destination: the address that Mrs Coulter gave him.