Good As Dead (Jack The Ripper Story)

Chapter I - The Servant Girl

My fingers began to prune from the dirty soap water I soaked my hands in, my nails short from working so hard on these polished floors. I watched my own reflection through the tiles, the polished floors that I've worked so hard on.

"But Mistress-"

I looked up at the sound of a slap, watching one of the slaves fall to the floor, hand on cheek while gazing up at the ugly woman.

"I will see to you punished for stealing from my kitchen!" she spat, storming off with her greed following behind the trails of her long dress.

Once the ugly woman was out of sight I got up and helped the slave girl.

I stared at her with concern, holding her body carefully as if she was a fragile glass figure. "Are you alright?"

Her cheek was stained red while her hand tried to cover it. "I-I'm alright," she barely responded like a whisper.

I could feel my throat tighten and my chest swelling, I hated that woman. Anger boiled inside me but I did not show it. Instead I tried to help the girl to her room, only to get waved off and gently pushed away.

"I'm fine," she faked a smile, "it doesn't hurt."

I watched as the lie went through my body, sadly nodding and watching her go back to what she was doing.

I hated my job. I was a maid for the ugly woman - who was married to the fat man - she would abuse us, starve us.

I stared down at my blistered hands and short, broken nails. I was lucky enough to have a place like this, the slaves' quarters in the basement where all the other women were, a bed for each girl with spare clothes to wear. I was grateful, I really am. I just hate that woman.

"Bessie."

I turned towards the soft voice that called out my name - it was given to me as a servant - seeing the same girl. Her name was Clara. I sat on my bed ready to rest up for another difficult day tomorrow, my blanket laying across my lap.

"Are you alright?" I asked with concern, seeing a massive bruise on her right eye.

She smiled like always, "I'm okay. It doesn't hurt that much anymore."

I frowned; she always pretended it was alright when it really wasn't. Maybe she was just being optimistic; I wouldn't know a thing about it.

"I can't believe she did that to you," I snapped, anger in my blood, boiling.

"It's okay," she started as she sat next to me, "really! It doesn't hurt anymore a-and it was my fault to begin with."

I gently shushed her, checking her face to make sure she was okay. "It looks painful," I commented.

It was blue, purple and yellow in patches; I'm surprised there wasn't any blood. They might have let her off easy since she was still a young girl and so was I, the difference was that I never crossed over the line; I always stood in my place, in the horse shit of a barn house.

I gave up when she kept persisting that she was okay, knowing she was too stubborn to let her guard down.

"Have you eaten?" Clara asked in a kind tone, her voice was lovely.

I shook my head, I only just finished work and I desperately wanted a bath with hot water.

"Where do you think you came from?" Clara asked, taking a sip from her bitter drink. My bed was at the far side of the basement, the moonlight lighting up the quarters we were assigned, the other girls were already in bed, asleep.