The Ripper's Wife

Chapter One

          “Young man, I’d like to speak with the publisher, please.” Diana requested, trying not to look out of place in the hurried bustle of the printhouse.

          The boy she spoke to squinted at her apprehensively. He was a scrawny snip of a thing, with faded patches over his knees and elbows and a smudge of dark black ink smeared over his cheek. Diana guessed he couldn’t be more than thirteen years old.

          “What you want to talk to the printman for?” the boy asked, shifting the heavy stacks of newspapers in his skinny arms.

          “I have business with him.” Diana lied fluidly, stepping out of the way of another man that passed by her, startlingly close, his own arms laden with the copper panels used for embossing.

          “Women don’t do business,” the boy argued suspiciously. “And ‘specially not women like you.”

           Diana ran her hands over her outfit self-consciously. She’d worn the plainest burgundy velvet riding habit she owned in preparation for her visit to the London Hammer’s printhouse. But here in London’s inner city, even the modest, undecorated lace at her neck and wrists stood out startlingly against the soot-stained cotton and threadbare rags that hung off the waif-like printhouse workers.

          “What’s your name, boy?” Diana asked kindly, untying the ribbon under her chin to remove her flowered hat.

          “Arthur, ma’am.”

          “Well Arthur,” Diana said, smiling sweetly. “Can you please, pretty please, take me back to the publisher’s office?”

          The boy bit his lip. “But Mr. Saltburn don’t do business on Sundays.”

          Diana thought for a minute. “Here,” she said finally, pulling a wrapped candy from the bag in her purse. “A butterscotch if you take me to see Mr. Saltburn?”

          Arthur eyes lit up as he saw the golden - wrapped sweet in Diana’s ringed fingers. He hesitated for only a moment, before giving her a broad smile. “Alright, ma’am.” he agreed, hoisting the stack in his arms onto a nearby table.

          He plucked the candy from her hand, unwrapping it quickly and placing it in his mouth, a satisfied expression on his face. “Follow me,” he said finally, shoving the wrapper into his jacket pocket and turning to walk deeper into the printhouse.

          Diana rushed after him eagerly, taking in all the sights and sounds around her. It was a busy place, and she had to often duck out of the way of someone crossing the printing room with armfuls of supplies or carts stacked with fresh papers ready to be sold by the paperboys for a penny apiece. To her left and right, ten men each operated a ten-feeder iron printing press, feeding rolls of paper down a long belt to be stamped with this week’s news. The press clanged loudly each time the ink rollers were jerked back to their starting position. The sharp, acrid odor of ink traced with arsenic stung her eyes as she followed Arthur past the presses. It was hot and stuffy in the room from the body heat of sweaty men and the spring heat let in by the open windows.

          Diana loved it.

          “I ain’t ever seen a woman in the printhouse before.” Arthur said, as they turned a brightly lit hallway.

          “Well, I’m glad I get to be the first.”

          “You ain’t worried you’ll get ink on that fancy dress of yours?”