Murder in Whitechapel (The Judas Reflections) (12 page)

“I had a late night with friends; a card game which extended far beyond my expectations.”

“You spend too much time at home. It’s good to get yourself out once in a while.” Cook was at times an annoying, mothering hen. Yet secretly I enjoyed her fussing, which she did with gusto. Originally from Lancashire, her strong dialect was often confusing.

“I will not be wanting any lunch as I am away to the office. I would like fish for dinner. Please, keep it simple Cook, I will be dining alone this evening.”

“I will arrange for a nice bit of haddock to be brought by the fishmonger and I’ll bake it the way you like it, with lots of onions and milk. If you happen to find your way back by afternoon tea there’s delicious angel cake. I made it special.”

The English afternoon tea, an institution since 1650, when it was first imported. For Cook, it would be a platform. A chance to show off her delightful cakes, crestless sandwiches and hot buttered scones to guests. Edward always served tea, meticulously pouring from the warmed pot through the strainer; he was an expert and a perfectionist. “I will be here Cook, you have my word.” I loved the indulgence.

pon my arrival, Roderick was to leave for Marble Arch with urgent paperwork for one of our distributors. My appearance caught him off guard and he showed his displeasure.

“What on earth is wrong with your nose? It looks like an overgrown tulip bulb.”

“There was a slight conflict with a door,” said I. The pain vanished within seconds of it happening, but it seemed the swelling was taking a little longer, although slight.

“I don’t believe you. I know you were in Whitechapel last evening. So tell me, what happened?”

“A drunken brute in an ale house took me by surprise. It is of no consequence.”

“I think it is, a broken nose can’t be sniffed at!”

Roderick was at times, very humorous, a natural gift of the Irish. Blessed with a wit that was somewhat dry, but entertaining nevertheless.

“I had very little luck. Although I did come across a delightful young lady called Mary.”

“Please don’t tell me you did the dastardly deed with her.”

“The consequence of such an act would not sit well. To take advantage of a young woman’s desperation would provoke sadness within me and using her body for payment would give me no pleasure. Unfortunately, there are men in this world who desire such a service. I was merely attempting to gain information, nothing more,” I replied in defense.

“Well, did you gain the information you were seeking? Was it worth the broken nose?”

“Yes, Mary saw a man talking to Elizabeth Stride on the night of her murder. He was short in stature and wearing a dark overcoat.”

“An overcoat is popular attire for this time of year, Manny. How can you assume it to be Ratibor by such a small, inconsequential detail as a coat?”

“She described his black eyes and that she noted even in the summer, when it was a very warm night, he was still wearing it.”

There was no reason on earth I was correct in my assumption. Roderick was right, Ratibor would not be the only short man in London with darkened eyes, cold blood and an overcoat. The only way to find out was to make work of my time spent in Whitechapel.

“Maybe I should be with you. The idea of you wandering the streets of Whitechapel alone does not sit well with me, especially now.”

I was
not
a child needing the guiding hand of a well intentioned father. Sometimes I am convinced Roderick behaves as a parental figure. He chastises me for my indiscretion with Marianne, my occasional irresponsibility when I turn my attention away from business, and now, my reckless venture into the east-end at the dead of night. I challenged him.

“Do you see me as an adolescent boy in need of a severe restriction?” said I.

“No, indeed, I only look to your welfare as a good friend and equal; stupid of you to see it the wrong way. Now I must go to Marble Arch for business. Go home and seek medical attention for your nose. It’s advisable to have it straightened or it will turn into the twisted nose of a boxing man.”

I did not care for doctors or hospitals. My body parts healed themselves with lightening speed, unlike Roderick, who had serious health issues with his immortality. I was convinced I could fix my nose myself without medical aid.

“I will summon the doctor,” I replied in good faith to appease his concern. In the meantime, I requested he help me to dispose of the coat in the surest way possible.

Later that night, I would once again return to Whitechapel with thoughts of Ratibor, a bad seed that had turned to murder and the dark side. How easy it can be for a human to veer from the light onto the road of evil, turning back and finding salvation not always possible. I harbored a secret grudge against Ratibor for centuries, wondering what I would do if I were to come face to face with him again. I hoped and prayed Jack the Ripper was someone else-a mere mortal.

By early evening there was a wonderful surprise to lift my spirits. Marianne, who vowed her discretion now she was entwined with another, appeared, and she was alone.

“I’ve come to call because I dare not turn my back on a friend. Goodness, what
is
that little bump on your nose?”

I carefully explained while she listened intently, her expression being one of great concern.

“Really, Emmanuel, you must take care. I understand your desire to help, but great harm could come to you if you don’t pay attention. The east-end is a hideous place, simply frightful.”

With tenderness she touched my lips.

“I worry about you,” she surmised. “And pray you will come to no harm?”

“Please, Marianne, do not worry your pretty little head over me. Now what of you?”

“Oh, I’m not so happy my darling. Robert adores and worships me, but my passionate advances have been rejected. He believes me to be virginal and wishes to wait until our wedding night. I fear telling him the truth in case he thinks me a fallen woman and rejects me. What is a girl to do? Honestly!”

“Do you seriously think you can fool him on your wedding night? A man can tell if a woman is no longer innocent. Well, I assume most men would know, but if he dares to challenge you, what will you do then?”

“I will simply tell him that as a young girl I rode horses. I believe that will do the trick!”

There were moments with Marianne when I forced myself not to see her as a fallen or lost woman, nor sexually immoral as others would believe. I preferred to think of her as broad minded, a little risqué and in my eyes, truly fascinating.

“Then I am confident all will be well with your marriage. It is, after all, a woman’s prerogative to have secrets, is it not?”

“Ha! I must ask you, Emmanuel… when you look at me, do you see a Jezebel or a good girl?”

“You are the perfect combination; a bit of both,” said I.

Jezebel…
there was a woman whose reputation until this day remains tainted and tarred. I was never to know her other than from reading scriptures. By all accounts, the wickedest woman in the bible, a fallen queen and an enemy of all, including God. I found it hard to believe one could treat a woman so harshly, a woman whose only crime was to refuse to bow to the conversion of the ways of the Israelites. From my personal experiences with the fairer sex, there had been one, or two, females who I had the misfortune to entwine with that made Jezebel appear angelic.

“I do not see you as a Jezebel, Marianne, you are beautiful and funny. I adore you as a friend who is requesting the pleasure of your company for dinner,” I continued.

She had a night off from the theatre and, after a glass or two of champagne, I unashamedly urged her to stay for the evening meal. It was sometimes difficult eating in the expanse of the dining room alone. I needed the company.

“Scandalous, Emmanuel. Can you imagine Robert walking through the door and spying us together? My dear, I cannot dine with you alone. Surely you know that to be true?”

I had forgotten my social graces in the grand scheme of things, but how I yearned and ached for her body. The temptation was more than I could bear.

“Dear Marianne, it is best you leave now,” I pleaded. “I cannot be responsible for my actions if you linger and are indeed right. It will be an impropriety for us to dine alone.”

There was never to be another stolen night with my sweet, passionate Marianne, now promised to another. I watched from the window as she climbed into her carriage. Neither the first nor the last, yet Marianne had most strongly left her mark, a mark I would carry for the longest time. “I have evening business to attend to in Marylebone. Tell Cook I wish to dine as early as possible,” I instructed Edward.

My mind wavered back to Ratibor and what I would do if I confronted the man. Was it feasible he had found his way to England? I was certain, if he was indeed here, he would leave many victims in his wake. Wicked and depraved, he was a vile excuse for an immortal, capable of inflicting a slow, lingering death through torture, all the while savoring every moment.
Pure evil.

After a hurried dinner, I could not wait for the late hour to come. Douglas was beginning to know the drill; take me straight to Whitechapel. He asked no questions and I offered no explanation. Once more, at the hour of midnight, I climbed into the carriage, tension rising within me the closer we came upon my destination.

I was to be dropped outside the London Hospital, this time Douglas offered up a snippet of information.

“Sir, did you know they have the Elephant Man up there?” he said, pointing to an annex window high on the top floor. I confessed to knowing nothing of the man.’

“Haven’t you read it in the newspapers?” he enquired.

“I have been occupied with other things, so tell me, who is this Elephant Man?”

“His name is Joseph Merrick and he’s been up there a couple of years now. His deformed face is a sight of horror. When he’s out on the streets he puts a sack over his head so not to scare people. I’d read that when his mother was with child she was stamped on by an elephant. The newborn came out all disfigured, that’s why they call him ‘Elephant Man.”

“Do they say why he is kept so confined in the hospital?” I asked, finding the elephant stampede a far-fetched and unlikely story.

“He’s under the wing of a surgeon called Edward Treeves, who examines him closely like he’s some sort of experiment. There are rumors Princess Alexandria has paid the elephant man a visit as well as other prominent members of society, apparently they take tea with him.”

I appreciated the insightful story of Joseph Merrick, but my interests lay elsewhere. I exited the carriage and made my way into now familiar streets and alleyways wanting to see Mary, hoping she was safe. Unsure of what might lay ahead, I ventured my way through foul smelling alleyways, arriving in Berner Street.

Notorious as a location for thieves and vagabonds to gather and await their unsuspecting prey, I found myself in the thick of it. Half obscured men stood in dark corners, glancing as I walked past, cigarettes glowing red in the dark, the smell of pipe smoke… occasional murmurings. Roderick warned me to beware of this street. That policeman never walked alone fearful of attacks. I could see and feel the lawlessness in a street run by gangs of unscrupulous vigilantes offering protection to those they convinced needed it.