Edgar Allan Poe and the London Monster by Karen Lee Street Read Free Book Online

and cocked hat began to follow her—a man of middle size, with a villainous, narrow face and very ugly legs and feet. His voice was peculiar—rather high and tremulous—and he made shocking comments to her. Mrs. Smyth attempted to ignore him and quickened her pace, but the ruffian stalked her all the way to the house in Johnson’s Court, which was her destination. As she banged desperately upon the door, the man leapt onto the step beside her, struck her a blow beneath her left breast andslashed at her left thigh. This violence was committed with perfect composure and the rascal gloated as Mrs. Smyth began to swoon. He took to his heels only when the door to the house finally opened and her friends helped her inside.
    The wound on her thigh was slight and the blood was stopped with balsam. Mrs. Smyth’s stays protected her breast, but her clothing was quite ruined by the weapon, which she believed was a lancet or penknife. The damage to her dress especially aggrieved Mrs. Smyth as it was, she claimed, a very expensive Polonaise gown made of imported, hand-painted cotton. She demanded that her attacker be pursued and arrested for destroying her dress and her derrière (in that order, I believe), but Mrs. Smyth’s friends begged her to keep the incident quiet for the sake of her reputation. Oddly, they have little hesitation in discussing the matter quite openly themselves. The good Dr. Smyth is concerned about his wife’s fragile nerves and, being a cautious man, wishes to gather more information before accusing any specific person of the attack. I will follow his enquiries with interest.
    You wonder what my opinion is on the subject of marriage and whether it must always be extremely happy or extremely miserable. It seems that I am not a man of the crowd for I do not see the misery in extremes, but rather the excitement. We creatures of the theatre must thrive on the variances of emotion, or how would we perform the roles required of us? It seems to me, my dear, that you understand this very well.
    Yours,
    Henry
    27 Bury Street, London
26 May 1788
    Dearest Henry,
    Have you heard? Not one, but two females were assaulted yesterday. This is terribly disconcerting as both ladies were attacked at approximately the same time, which would indicate two ruffians at work. It would seem that one scoundrel is imitating the other. I wonder if his motives spring from admiration for the original performance or some peculiar titillation of his own?
    The victim I am most familiar with is Mrs. Chippingdale, who is the lady’s maid of Viscountess Malden. She is also the sister of vocalist Mrs. Davenett, who introduced me to her at the theatre. Mrs. Chippingdale has a haughty nature as she believes that her employer’s status somehow reflects brightly onto her own reputation, and while one of her position should have a mastery of the finer points of etiquette, Mrs. Chippingdale requires some further lessons in good manners.
    Mrs. Davenett and Mrs. Chippingdale make a habit of visiting their aged mother on Sunday afternoons, but dispense with their show of sisterly affection after the meeting and go their separate ways. Mrs. Chippingdale was soon confronted by a rascal who declared that her over-festive dress gave her the appearance of a lady of ill-repute. The garish costume was of rose-coloured silk with pink stripes and a rosebud pattern. Pink roses were embroidered around the decolletage and a cascade of frills adorned the ends of her sleeves. It was the perfect Spring ensemble for a young girl meeting her beau for an afternoonstroll, but far less appropriate for a woman of her years alone after dusk. The predatory rogue attacked her on St. James’s Place, first making filthy proposals. (I have some doubts as to the veracity of this.) He then produced a knife and quickly attacked her garments. The pink silk tore open under the sharp blade, exposing her cotton petticoats. Her attacker slashed the costly