Lost In Time

by W M Wiltshire

  Dani reached over and gently took Mary’s hand in hers. She looked deeply into Mary’s sorrowful hazel eyes. “Please, don’t despair, Mary. I have a feeling that you will have the family you’re dreaming of. And you and Rich will be wonderful parents.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Dani knew she was right. After seeing Rich and the picture hanging in the dining room, she knew Rich had to be a direct ancestor of Uncle Richard.

  After a short rest, Dani and Mary continued on their walk. Before long, they came upon a beautiful structure, a drinking fountain. It was fifty-eight feet high with steps leading up to slender pointed arches on columns of red granite. Four cherubs seated on dolphins poured water from jugs. Between them were taps for water and bronze cups engraved with the words: Temperance is a bridle of gold.

  “That’s beautiful,” Dani remarked, admiring the structure.

  “This drinking fountain was erected in 1862 by Baroness Burdett-Coutts, the wealthiest woman in England and a dear friend of my parents,” Mary said admiringly. “There were over 10,000 people in attendance for the opening ceremonies. I’d love for you to meet her. But her philanthropic work keeps her busy.”

  “What kind of work?” Dani asked, intrigued.

  “Well, let’s see, there’s so much. She sponsors scholarships and endowments and has funded the building of several schools. But two of her more influential efforts were the establishment of the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and her close involvement with the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals,” Mary recounted.

  “But my personal favorite is one of her earliest philanthropic acts. Along with Charles Dickens, she co-founded the Urania Cottage in Lime Grove. It’s a home that helps young women who have turned to prostitution get off the streets and return them to a better life.”

  “Why would they turn to prostitution in the first place?” Dani asked, finding it difficult to believe women could get to such a state of desperation. She thought there had to be better alternatives.

  “These women don’t choose prostitution as a profession. It’s usually because of circumstances beyond their control they resort to it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “From an early age, girls are sheltered by their fathers. They’re not allowed to go to school. They’re taught everything they need to know at home. They’re taught what their role and responsibilities will be when they’re grown up,” Mary stated coldly.

  “A woman’s primary role is to be the comfort-giver, to ensure the smooth running of the home, for the benefit of the man who finances it. Ignorance is considered a desirable state and knowledge is considered burdensome. The only thing a woman needs to know is how to listen attentively. Once a woman is of age, she’s married off to a provider, her husband. It’s only when something happens to her husband that she finds she’s with no means to support herself or her children.”

  “That’s terrible. Everyone should be entitled to a decent education, to learn to make decisions for themselves, and to be able to support themselves!” Dani fumed.

  “I’m so glad you agree.” Mary smiled at Dani’s genuine outrage for the current situation. A kindred spirit, Mary thought.

  “I’m sorry, Mary. Please forgive my outburst. It just makes me angry.”

  “You should have heard me spout off this morning on this very subject. I think I surprised your brother,” Mary said.

  “No, he’s used to it. My mother and I are very outspoken,” Dani said and quickly realized her slip. “I mean, she was.” And then Dani quietly hung her head.

  Mary reached over and placed her arm around Dani’s shoulders, trying to offer some comfort and knowing only time would lessen the pain.

  Dani felt a tad guilty for her deception. She really liked Mary and hated the fact she had to lie to her, but there was no other way.

  117

  Daric’s shift at the Frying Pan pub was turning out to be longer than expected. Police Constable Barrett had arrived a few hours ago and had told Daric that the inspector would be late picking him up. Something had come up that needed his attention before he could head home for the evening. The inspector had thoughtfully sent Barrett with some cash; he had also given the constable an hour off his shift so he could have dinner with Daric.

  Mr. Farrow was taking full advantage of Daric’s extra hours, assigning him chores that had not been performed in years, perhaps decades. His duties, however, were not preventing Daric from observing a few of the more interesting patrons during his late evening shift.

  One of those patrons was a lady who appeared to be in her early forties. She was about five-foot-two and fairly plump. She had a rather plain face, brown eyes and greying dark brown hair that peeked out from under a black straw bonnet trimmed in black velvet. She was wearing a brown ulster or heavy woollen overcoat fastened with big brass buttons. Underneath were a brown linsey frock or medium length jacket and two grey woollen petticoats. On her feet was a pair of men’s sidespring boots that had been cut for a better fit.

  Daric had served her several times during the day, afternoon and, now, evening. She would disappear, usually in the company of a man, and reappear alone a little while later. And each time she sat at the same table and ordered a large glass of gin, throwing down the three pence she had just earned.

  “Here you go, Polly,” Daric said, while placing the tall glass on the table and picking up the coin. Polly smiled in return. That’s when Daric first noticed she was missing some front teeth. Polly snatched up her glass and took a drink, quickly concealing her unsightly smile from the handsome young man.

  Daric went to another table where two women were quietly carrying on a conversation. The first woman appeared to be in her late thirties. She wore a forest-green skirt, a dark brown petticoat, a long black jacket, a black bonnet and side-spring boots—all old.

  The other woman, who appeared to be a bit younger, sat on the opposite side of the small wooden table. She looked out of place here. She didn’t look like she was from this neighbourhood, not like the other patrons Daric had seen. Her complexion was fresh. Her brown hair was clean and pulled up into a neat bun. Her clothes were well pressed and looked as if they had been tailored-made. Daric had to admit, she was a very attractive woman.

  “Can I get you ladies another drink?” Daric asked.

  The finely dressed woman replied, “I’ll have another glass of wine. Ruth?”

  “I’m afraid I ain’t got no money, Clara,” Ruth, said in a hushed tone.

  “That’s all right. It’s my treat,” Clara said. Turning her attention back to Daric, she said, “Ruth with have the same, thank you.”

  “Coming right up.” Daric left the table to fill the order and just glimpsed Polly walking out the door, with her arm around another man.

  “The work is only seasonal. I don’t get paid when there’s no work. So I have to go looking elsewhere,” Ruth was explaining to Clara when Daric returned with their drinks.

  “And because we’re only women, the boss says he don’t have to pay us the same as a man. When I asked why, he threatened to fire me,” Ruth said.

  “That’s not right,” Daric muttered under his breath, while he was walking away.

  “What did you say?” Clara asked indignantly.

  “Sorry. I just said that it’s not right: a woman not being paid properly for the work she’s doing,” Daric replied, turning back around to face the younger woman’s wrath. If looks could kill, Daric thought, gazing into the enraged, but still beautiful, young face.

  “And you’re right, it isn’t. But that’s what’s happening!” Clara said curtly.

  Daric was about to reply when the crash of a door being thrown open door captured his attention.

  118

  “Daric, quick, I need your help!” Rich yelled, as he stuck his head in the pub
’s doorway and quickly disappeared again.

  Daric dropped his apron, grabbed his coat and raced out the door, hopping into the waiting cab. “What is it?”

  “There’s a fire down at the docks. It looks big. I spotted it on my way here. We need to go help out,” Rich replied. The eerie glow from the leaping flames could be seen dancing against the black sky for miles around.

  * * *

  It had taken hours, but the fire was finally under control. A large crowd had gathered to watch the warehouse of Messrs Dible and Co., Engineers, light up the night sky. Not only had the fire gutted the building, it had damaged the rigging of a sailing vessel, the Connovia, which was under repair there.

  A good fire was a real draw for the poor people of the East End, because there wasn’t much by way of entertainment or not much that they could afford. Emily Holland was one of those people, watching as flames pierced through the blackened sky. But she was not alone.

  Not far away, hidden in the shadows, was a silent observer. But he wasn’t there to watch the fire like the others, who had gathered during the early hours of the morning. He was there to watch Emily.

  Once the flames had died down, Emily realized the best of the night’s entertainment was over. She walked up Osborn Street, headed for her lodging house at 18 Thrawl Street. She didn’t notice she had a stalker, quietly slipping among the shadows of the dimly lit streets.

  At the corner of Whitechapel and Osborn, Emily saw a familiar figure staggering past a grocer’s shop.

  “Polly, where are you going?” Emily asked, worried about her friend’s obvious inebriated condition.

  “Nothing like a good fire for some free entertainment,” Polly slurred.

  “It’s over. You missed it.”

  Polly slumped against the wall. She wasn’t sure whether she was supporting it, or whether it was supporting her.

  “Polly, why don’t you come back to the lodging house with me?” Emily said.

  “Nonsense. It’s too early to call it a night,” Polly slurred, just as the bells of St. Mary’s Church tolled 2:30 A.M. “Besides, I don’t have my doss money. I had it twice already, but I went to the Frying Pan instead. But with my jolly bonnet, it won’t take me long to get my money. And I’d rather stay at the White House, where I can share my bed with a man.”

  Emily was familiar with the common lodging house on the corner of Flower and Dean Street, which in her opinion, operated more like a brothel. And it was quite evident by Polly’s current condition that her rent money for her bed tonight was spent on booze.

  With that, Polly set out for the Frying Pan pub in search of another client. Or so she thought, but she was going in the wrong direction. Instead of turning around and going back the way she had come, she turned left onto Whitechapel Road. Little did she know, in her drunken state, that she wasn’t taking that trek alone. The stranger, who had been following Emily, believed Polly would be more interesting.

  119: Friday, August 31, 1888

  Charles Cross, a carter, was making his way to work along Buck’s Row, which ran east-west from Brady Street to Baker’s Row. The north side was lined by dark daunting warehouses, with blackened windows, and on the south side by a row of terraced houses. He noticed only one light on in a second-storey window.

  The darkness of the early morning and the diffused street lighting played tricks in the shadows and with Cross’s imagination. As he approached the walled-off Board School at the west end of Buck’s Row, he noticed what he thought was a discarded tarpaulin. Thinking he could use the tarp at work, he crossed the street to retrieve the bundle.

  As Cross got closer to the bundle on the ground, he realized it wasn’t a tarpaulin. Even with only the speck of light cast from a distant lamppost, he could see it was a woman. But before he could get closer, he heard footsteps approaching from behind, causing him to halt. He turned to find another man coming down the street from the direction he himself had just come.

  “Come and look over here; there’s a woman lying on the pavement,” Cross cried out.

  Robert Paul was also a carter and, like Cross, he was on his way to work. Making deliveries for a living meant extremely early hours. They never knew whom or what they’d come across with the breaking of a new dawn. It wasn’t uncommon to find drunks lying on the streets, those who couldn’t make it home last night or those who had no homes to go to. Paul preferred to mind his own business, but this time decided to check it out.

  The woman was lying on her back, with her hands down at her sides. Her bonnet was on the ground by her right side. Her legs were slightly apart and her skirts were raised above her hips. It was too dark to see anything clearly.

  Cross reached down and touched the woman’s hand. It was cold. “I believe she’s dead.”

  Paul checked to see if she was breathing, but as he brushed against her breast, he thought he saw a slight movement. “I think she’s breathing, but very little, if she is.”

  Paul reached down and straightened her skirts, preserve her modesty. He was certain the poor dear was a victim of an assault or had been raped. “Help me prop her up,” he said.

  “I’m not touching her,” Cross squawked. “Besides, I’m going to be late for work.”

  “So am I,” Paul agreed. “We’ll tell the first bobby we come across. Come on, let’s go.”

  The two men left, leaving the woman where they had found her. Lurking in the shadows was another man who had witnessed the entire exchange. After the two carters had turned the corner, he emerged from the shadows, turned behind the school and disappeared down the alleyway known as Wood’s Buildings.

  120

  “Inspector, Inspector!” a voice bellowed over the banging on the front door.

  “Will you stop all that caterwauling! It’s enough to wake the dead, even at this ungodly hour,” Elsie scolded loudly, as she unlocked and pulled open the front door to confront the offender. Being the cook, she, rather than the housekeeper, was expected to open the door in the morning, since it was the time of day when carters delivered the goods the cook had ordered the previous day.

  “Forgive my outburst, Sergeant; I didn’t know it was you,” Elsie apologized, while she stepped aside to let the sergeant enter.

  “Think nothing of it, Elsie. But, I need to speak to the Inspector, at once.”

  Detective Sergeant Frank Borto had been with the Metropolitan Police, H Division, for his entire thirty-five-year career. He wasn’t a very ambitious man. Many of his coworkers thought it had to do with his size. After all, he did not project the ideal image of law enforcement. He was five-foot-eight and tipped the scales at two-hundred-seventy-five pounds. He had a receding hairline and what was left of his hair was a salt-and-pepper color, as was his Van Dyke style beard.

  “The inspector just got in, not more than a half hour ago,” Elsie said coldly. She admired and respected her employer, a sentiment that was rare for domestic service staff. But the Cases had always treated her fairly. In return, she felt almost motherly toward them and, like a mother, she could be very stubborn and overly protective when it came to looking after her employers.

  “Please, Elsie, it’s an emergency,” the sergeant insisted.

  “What is it, Frank?” Rich grumbled, descending the stairs. He had just finished cleaning up after the fire and was looking forward to climbing into a nice warm bed beside his wife.

  “There’s been a murder at Buck’s Row, Inspector,” Frank reported excitedly.

  “So, why bother me? That’s in Bethnal Green; that’s J Division; that’s Spratling’s jurisdiction.”

  “Aye, but the body was reported by two carters to Constable Mizen and he’s one of yours,” Frank stated bluntly.

  “Damn; all right. Give me a minute to change.” Rich started up the stairs where he was intercepted by Daric.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear. Could you use
another hand?” Daric offered.

  “Thanks, but why don’t you get some sleep. It’s been a long night. I’ve got this.”

  “Rich, I’d really like to help. Look, I’ve had some experience with police work.” Daric didn’t want to say his involvement was on the opposite side of the law when he was wrongly accused of reckless driving. It was his car, but he wasn’t behind the wheel. “It’s the least I can do and I promise I won’t get in the way.”

  “All right. Guess it can’t hurt. But I think you should put on my old uniform. That way you can provide some assistance without getting booted out of the area for being a gawker. Spratling can be a real pain, sometimes.” Rich paused only for a moment. “Hell, most of the time, actually.”

  121

  After Rich had completed the brief introductions, he, Daric and Frank climbed into the police wagon. While they travelled en route to the crime scene, Frank filled them in on the murder details. “This is what we know so far. Constable Neil was first on the scene. He used his lantern to get a better look at the body. That’s when he noticed blood oozing from the woman’s throat. He then signaled Constable Thain, who was walking north along Brady Street. When Thain arrived, Neil sent him to fetch Dr. Llewellyn at his surgery at 152 Whitechapel Road.”

  Whitechapel. Daric thought. Why does that sound so familiar?

  “While Constable Neil waited for the doctor to arrive, Constable Mizen appeared on scene. He was making his rounds when two carters stopped him at the corner of Hanbury and Old Montague Streets. They said they had found a woman’s body on Buck’s Row at . . .” Frank paused and looked at his notes again. “At 3:40 A.M. They told him she was either drunk or dead. Mizen headed there immediately.”

  “When Constable Mizen arrived at the murder scene, Neil told him to go to J Division for an ambulance and to get reinforcements, while Neil searched the area. Mizen left the scene,” Frank reported.