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    Song of the Nightingale
    Song of the Nightingale
    Song of the Nightingale
    Ebook95 pages1 hour

    Song of the Nightingale

    By Ashley Fetterman

    ()

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    About this ebook

    "It’s Jacqueline, not Jack, and I am the Ripper."
    It was 1888 and London was bustling with the rich, the poor, and the depraved. Within the depths of London, lay the East End’s Whitechapel. It was the section of the city where the lowest of the classes lived. Women frequented the streets to make the pence needed to survive.
    I live with my husband, John, who is the perfect man and could have been the best father. Our lives changed the day that I miscarried, the doctor pronouncing me unable to bear the children that we so desperately desired. I fell into the pit of grief and despair at the idea we could no longer have a family together. An ideal was born from that depression and anger. It was my task in life to serve the penance to those women who brought shame upon their fertility through prostitution. These women did not deserve their wombs, their gift, and their ability to bear children without miscarriage. Jack was born to serve this purpose.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNine Realms Publishing
    Release dateJul 31, 2017
    ISBN9781370173884
    Song of the Nightingale
    Author

    Ashley Fetterman

    Ashley is a writer and lover of the Fantasy and Paranormal, writing in both the YA and New Adult age range. Currently, Ashley resides in Winchester, Virginia with her muse and three cats. She debuted in 2014 on Black Friday with her novel Firstborn (Elemental Reign #1), the first in a proposed 9 book series.When she is not writing, Ashley attends George Mason University as an Anthropology Major and Religion Minor and tries to promote her new graphic design company for cover design: Judge a Cover Designs. Both her author and company pages can be found on Facebook, so check those out to see updates!Commissions Open: commissions@authorashleyfetterman.com

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      Book preview

      Song of the Nightingale - Ashley Fetterman

      Song of the Nightingale

      Copyright © 2017 Ashley Fetterman

      All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the express consent of the author, except where permitted by law.

      This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

      For more information:

      www.authoashleyfetterman.com

      www.facebook.com/authorashleyfetterman

      Twitter: @AshFetterman

      IG: @AuthorAsh

      Cover design by: Judge A Cover Designs

      www.facebook.com/judgeacoverdesigns

      Dedication

      This book would not have come around if it weren’t for my little sister, Angela. You are the reason that it was written in under a week and for the sheer amount of round-the-clock writing. Everyone should thank her for the lovely twists and turns this brings. You’re the best sister anyone could ask for and I’m hoping we can work more on book ideas for the future.

      The other is a bit more somber in that I want to recognize these victims of Jack the Ripper as actual women that died tragically. I dedicate this book in hopes that you have found peace all these years later.

      Acknowledgements

      I wanted to thank Jess, first and foremost, for spending her time at work and her days off to read through and edit this as quickly as she could. For my mother who watched the whole process as it went down, you keep me writing and having fun with your endless support. Last, but not least, to those in my Discord that went through my tears of rage when I had to stop and fact check every two hundred words. You all motivated me and kept me going when I wanted to toss in the towel. Thank you Carmen, Josh, Jenn, Zoya, and Dog. You all rock!

      August 30, 1888

      Noon

      A well-kept woman stood on the side of the curb, the peppered brown curls that escaped her bonnet shining in the brief snippet of sunlight. The light umber of her skin accented the high cheekbones and brown linsey frock she donned. Jacqueline narrowed her eyes at the sight of the upper-class dress. It was too new, too nice for someone of her kind. The woman pulled something small from the side of her skirts that faced away from Jacqueline. There was a flash of light and Jacqueline did her best to quell the sneer that threatened to bloom on her face. The prostitute, for that’s what she was, had the shard of a mirror. It was such a prized possession for a lowly scum.

      Jacqueline stared at the end of the street at the woman who was preening. Watching. Waiting.

      Not yet, she told herself. It was not the time.

      Soon, my dear whore. Soon.

      Jacqueline gathered her powder blue skirts and pushed away from the brick wall she had leaned against. Others around her were cheerily greeting each other and continuing on their merry way. Jacqueline looked around with a fake smile and a fake laugh, returning their greetings. It would not do to draw attention to her as word had already spread to their friends. It would not do at all.

      August 31, 1888

      3:25am

      I know you are here, Jacqueline whispered into the darkness. I promise I will not harm you.

      There was a scuffle of shoes on the stone walkways, signaling the movement of the woman. The rain had long since passed, but the ground was still damp from the storm. Flashes of light would brighten the sky for mere moments before the pitch black consumed the street once more. It was further away, but the light still reached the darkness that permeated the area.

      Do you have need of me? How come you have followed me?

      Jacqueline smiled even though she knew the woman could not see it. It was not the comforting smile to ease the woman’s wariness, but the grin of a predator.

      I have come to see if I could lend you a hand for the evening. I know it must be difficult and burdening to live the life you have. I wished to help if you would permit me to.

      The woman made a slight noise as if she were contemplating the truthfulness of Jacqueline’s statement. Jacqueline held her arms out so that the woman could at least see her supposedly unarmed state. The next few moments were spent in silence as the wary woman made her way closer to Jacqueline.

      How might you help me? None can help me but myself. Either you pay for the time that you have wasted or I shall leave.

      Jacqueline shook her head, making sure that her bonnet stayed in place.

      I have many ways in which I can aid you. You must let me try or we shall never know.

      The prostitute from earlier that afternoon stepped in front of Jacqueline and crossed her arms over her chest. She shuffled from foot to foot, glancing up the alleyway. There was a single lamp at the end of the street, bathing the corner in its yellowing light. Jacqueline could see the whites of the woman’s eyes as they took in her surroundings. They were alone. Utterly alone. The thought scared the woman that she was cornered and could not call for aid. Jacqueline felt the blood rush through her body at the sight of the whore’s fright.

      Jacqueline held up her hands to placate the frightened woman. It would not do for her to take off now. Not when Jacqueline spent all that time searching her out.

      Calm. I am not here to hurt you. All I desire is to aid you in relieving you of the burden you feel.

      A woman of your status to aid me? How might you rid me of my burden? You speak of nonsense, woman.

      The prostitute turned to head for the street, hiking her dress up to give her more room to walk. Jacqueline gathered her own skirts and dashed forward to cut the woman off.

      Listen. I have the need of hands around the house. I have a use for someone looking to earn more than a few pence.

      The woman stopped and narrowed her eyes at Jacqueline, You do not know me. You do not know the burdens and tribulations I have born. How might you offer such a task to someone in which you have never met but only seen on the streets?

      Jacqueline folded her hands in front of her frock and smiled.

      I am aware of when someone is in need of a kind hand. It is up to you whether you wish to take upon my offer.

      The woman came up to Jacqueline and got close to her face.

      You are the one who presumes too much, Ma’am. You presume that I am living destitute and in need of assistance. I am not a charity case for you to give your aid to as that is the last thing that I wish to have from someone. Might it just be that I prefer to have those who are likely to pay for my drink?

      Jacqueline felt the blood boil within her body. This woman dares to presume she wants her as a charity

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