by Aiden James
“Is ‘e a mute as well? He says nowt!”
“I’m not a mute, I speak very well to those I have interest in speaking to. I thank you to be careful not to insult me.”
“Oh, no, a bloody Irishman. God ’elp us if ’e can’t find ’is Guinness.”
Roderick did not react; he knew how important it was to gather information. With strength of character, he retained his composure against the rudeness and slander, allowing me to continue. Reginald Beavers did not realize how fortunate he had been not to receive a black eye or two. Very fortunate.
“What can you tell me of Elizabeth?” I enquired.
“She were cut up good she was, throat slashed from ear to ear, nearly severed ‘er ‘ead, the bastard. ’Left ‘er there to die slowly with all the blood drained out of ‘er body. I’d seen Liz earlier in the night. She’d ‘ad trouble with ’er man, ’e knocked ’er about good, you know.”
“Did she ever speak with you about her gentlemen friends?”
“The punters you mean. Yeah there was one, or two I told the coppers about. The butcher who wanted to turn ‘er into a decent woman, ‘e was well smitten. Then there was the foreign bloke, always giving her extra, a few coppers more ‘ere and there. I saw ‘im with ‘er once, a short man dressed poncy.”
The northern dialect was somewhat difficult to comprehend. Roderick seemed to have a better understanding, but said nothing, preferring to stay detached from what he rightly saw as an arrogant excuse for a mortal.
“When you say poncy, you mean he didn’t look like he belonged round here?” I asked.
“Oh, aye, there were nothing east-end about the man, ‘e were a better class of person, a gent like you. Liz told me ‘e’d given ‘er a gift, a necklace but she’d sold it for rent.”
“Do you recall what he wore?” I replied, careful not to put words into his mouth.
“A dark overcoat and an ‘at that covered his face, a trilby ‘at it were. The day I saw ‘im was warm but there ‘e were all covered up like ’e was frozen an’ I’ve seen ‘im since I ’ave. All over the place. She were a good lassie, was Elizabeth, aye… a good lassie.”
“Can you please tell me where you have seen him?” My curiosity heightened.
“That’ll cost yer.”
I could not believe I was being asked for payment in return for information that may help to catch the killer of a woman he was acquainted with, supposedly a friend. I disliked the man intensely, he was obnoxious. But, the ball was in his court-if I refused I would gain no further knowledge. “How much?” I asked.
“Five bob and I’ll take yer to ‘is stomping grounds.”
“There you are.” Reluctantly, I handed him the exorbitant sum of five shillings. “Please do not assume to take me only to one street and walk away. I wish to become well acquainted with his route.”
We followed Reginald to Berner Street, where he proceeded to guide us through a maze of smaller streets leading to alleyways, tracing the route of our possible suspect.
“The last time I saw the fella were two nights ago, down past the workhouse. There’s a lassie in there called Mary Anne Monk, right stuck up ‘er nose she is with airs graces she don’t ‘ave. But she knows the fella with the overcoat. I’ve seen ‘em together walking down the street arm in arm.”
“How do we speak with Mary Anne? We can’t just walk into a workhouse without reason.” Roderick remarked, but he forgot one vital thing. That I, being an employer of domestic staff, could enter the workhouse on the premise of seeking out a simple housemaid. It was not uncommon within these places for some employers to search for an inmate who wished to gain domestic employment. They would not find me at all strange, instead, seeing me as a member of the new breed of more liberal, less snobbish employers. The workhouse was a large, drab, depressingly grey building, its windows small and grimy. One door, the only door, manned by a porter, for inmates and visitors alike, was foreboding.
“I am looking for a housemaid for my residence in Belgravia,” I said with confidence. “I had been given a recommendation for a Mary Anne Monk that I believe to be residing here.”
The porter was a thin, wiry looking man, his demeanor that of someone who disliked his position intensely. He proceeded to look us over cautiously, checking to see if we were genuine callers. Eyeing all of us with great suspicion.
“Does it take three of yer to speak to some woman?” he replied in a voice of clear displeasure.
“This gentleman, Reginald Belvers, is our guide in Whitechapel and Roderick Cooley is my business partner.”
“I’ll let yer all in, but it seems a bit suspicious to me. I ‘ope you’re not up to no good!”
“Of course not, my dear man. I am genuinely in need of a good housemaid. That is the sole purpose of my visit,” I replied with good intentions as I slipped three shillings in his hand. There was no resistance to the bribe, we passed freely into the courtyard, with instructions of which direction to take inside the building. The odious smell overpowered my nostrils at once, a mixture of foul cooking and borax, a strong cleaning fluid. The impact on Roderick was worrisome. His eyes underneath his glasses began to water, and his skin paled and blotched.
“Roderick, are you feeling alright?” I asked, concerned with the toxic fumes.
“It’s best if I wait for you outside,” he replied in a hushed voice. “I am having a reaction to the chemicals and I don’t want to alert Reginald, or anyone else here, that something’s not quite right with me.”
I explained Roderick had taken his leave due to stomach pains from lunch. He accepted my lie without question and it appeared, somewhat relieved. I was aware he didn’t feel comfortable in Roderick’s presence, like so many others. Within moments of asking a woman where we could find Mary, she pointed to a tall, thin woman in a dirty white apron, her hair tangled and full with grease. Reginald beckoned her over, but she approached with caution and a look of mistrust.
“I’m Mary. What do yer want with me?”
“My name is Emmanuel Ortiz and I understand you are acquainted with a short gentleman who frequents the area. He is commonly seen in a long dark overcoat, perhaps foreign?”
“Who’s asking and I don’t see what business is it of yours. It’s private, that is.”
“Please, Mary, it is of the utmost importance. I fear this gentlemen is not who he seems and could be dangerous,” I pleaded with great urgency.
“I ain’t ’ad no problem with ‘im, ’e pays well. The last time ’e gave me a shilling. Most of ‘em only gives me a copper or two. Right generous ’e is, a lovely chap ‘an I’m saving, you see, so I can get out of ‘ere and find me own lodgings.”
“How much do I have to give you for more information?” I asked tentatively.
“Now we’re talking mate, two bob, that’ll do.”’
I passed her money that she took with much delight, hiding it away on her person. In some ways it was a beneficial payment. I would be contributing to a fund that hopefully would bring change and guide her away from the streets into morally suitable employment. In spite of my past, I did still retain a conscience.
“’Ee calls ’imself the Duke. Of course, ’e ain’t any royalty, ‘an he speaks with a foreign accent. ’Ee’s got money and wears a fancy ring, real big stone in it. It makes me laugh that ‘e’s always covered up with that long coat. Strange as well, we always ‘ave to do it in an alley, no going to a room or nuthin’. Even if it’s chucking down with bloody rain.”
“When are you meeting him again?”
“I dunno, ‘e don’t plan nuthin’, if I’m out there and ‘e’s there, then we do it.”
“I fear you are in grave danger, Mary.”
She laughed loudly, as if my suggestion was nothing more than a mere trifle of words. I estimated Mary felt herself to be invincible and the recent murders had somehow disconnected in her mind. She informed me how, for a sexual favor here and there with the porters, she avoided work house rules and curfews. Unconcerned with confi
dentiality, she bragged openly about leaving late at night and returning at dawn, without recrimination, on a regular basis.
“I’m meeting with Bert later, ‘e’s from the docks, one of me regulars. After that I’ll be in and around Bucks Row from ten o’clock.”
Could that have been a signal for me to make my way to the area in the hope of catching site of the so called Duke? I thanked Reginald, leaving him to converse with Mary in private and made my way out passing by the porter. I could not help but look at him in a wiry way; he was, after all, being favored and no better than the ‘procurers and controllers’ of prostitutes. What a great relief to be away from such a place and although I had seen very little, it left nothing to the imagination. A workhouse would be a last desperate stop, the choice between life and death. I felt blessed. There but for the grace of God…
Roderick had waited with patience outside the door, but the cold air was not improving his condition. His skin was blotched and his mood irritable.
“We shall make our way to the warmth of the Tavern, where I hope Albert is waiting,” I reassured him. He followed, both of us chilled to the bone as I searched for a carriage. Fortunately, it was not too long a wait for a cab. Once inside it’s cover, I attempted to lighten the situation.
“Hold on, dear man. We are nearly at Fleet Street. An ale or brandy will warm you.”
“I am in no mood for ale, but a brandy would do nicely!” he replied with a shiver.
I took off my overcoat and wrapped it around his shaking shoulders. Guilt raged that I had put my proud Celtic warrior friend in such a disposition, a cold dirty place where neither he nor I belonged. In spite of my unyielding quest, the welfare of a good friend was also paramount.
“Sometimes, Manny, you’re not so bad,” he jested. “I’ll even go so far as to say, even having have a heart.”
For my own part, I was trying to put everything right, even when I appeared to be making mistakes. So many countless years were spent living and suffering. I was, at times, simply exhausted and endured moments when I wished to lie down and quietly leave the earth. But my immortality prevented me from doing so, it persisted no matter how many injuries I sustained and close calls I endured. Even when I was fortunate enough three centuries ago not to perish in a fire where an unseen force must have intervened, there was to be no other explanation for my miraculous escape from a burning building. For eons of time others fell and died before me, I remained the same, neither aged nor weary, and fortunate I never suffered the afflictions that had befallen Roderick. I am exactly as I was, whilst Jesus and others I loved turned to dust.
“Manny… can you hear me? We’ve arrived at the Inn,” said he.
“How many times must I ask you not to call me by that shortened travesty? Either it is Judas or Emmanuelle.” My thoughts had been interrupted, causing me to be rather terse.
“Do you really expect me to call you Judas in public? People will think us both eccentric, it may lead to fights and God knows what.”
“Then refer to me as Emmanuel.”
It had become an endless discussion that always went around in circles with no new outcome. Roderick continued to call me Manny and I continued to chastise him for it.
The Inn was packed full as I searched for Albert, hoping he had received the telegram urging him to meet us this day.
“There’s a sight for sore eyes.” It was he who patted me strongly on the back, “Ripper hunting are we, or given up in the face of adversity and languishing back in Belgravia?”
“No, my friend, I have only just started.”
He gave a mildly polite smile in Roderick’s direction, his distaste clearly visible.
“Where’s the file?” asked Albert.
“Safe and sound, locked away in the office. Roderick and I are the only ones with a key.”
“I dearly hope so; my nerves are frayed. What if something happens and it leads back to me? This is not something that you or I can buy our way out of.”
I consoled him with more ale, not fearing any consequence. Meanwhile, Roderick was grateful to be warming himself on a brandy, avoiding eye contact with Albert as much as possible. “I see you are very strange in the face today and I always wonder what’s behind those distasteful glasses you never take off,” said Albert bluntly.
“Perhaps your comments are not necessary,” I remarked in the vain hope he would listen. Unfortunately he did not-the ale getting the better of him.
“By the sight of his ghoulish color, the mick looks in need of some lamb’s wool.”
“Albert, you seem to delight in chastising me. I am not in need of lamb’s wool and you are taking God’s name in vain. Be damned with you!”
It was a deep insult to Roderick. Lamb’s wool, an Irish drink concocted from apples, spices and milk, must only be served on holy days.
“I don’t bother much with God myself. If I abided with the Ten Commandments I’d be a sinner every day. Cheers, chaps!” said Albert, tipping his glass in a toast.
I was taken by surprise when Roderick aimed a swift punch to the side of Albert’s mouth and had him down to the floor in a split second. He had gone from unobtrusive to aflame with anger in seconds. I had to take control of the situation quickly, before he attacked again.
“Why on earth did you do such a thing? I am shocked at your response,” said I, incensed with the sudden fit of violence. He had also evoked anger in the landlord.
“I won’t have that kind of shenanigans going on in here, take your fight outside or I will summon a bobby forthwith,” he commanded.
“I sincerely apologize, landlord,” I replied in earnest. “My good friend is feeling unwell and not himself today.”
“No bloody excuse, matey, this is a respectable drinking establishment. You’re welcome to go and make trouble in the slum riddled ale houses of the east-end, not in my Inn!”
“There is no need to call for a constable. I will buy everyone a drink on the house, if that will suffice?”
His demeanor changed with the opportunity to fill his coffers. He rang the bell more than once to announce drinks for everyone from a generous customer. Albert had already been picked up off the floor and dusted off by a man standing close and perched unceremoniously onto a chair. He looked decidedly peaky and most upset.
“A strong brandy for my friend, Albert,” I requested, but, it seemed the fight was far over.
“Your unkindness must make it very difficult for you to find friendships elsewhere… you stupid cripple,” said Albert.
“So you think I’m stupid and a cripple to boot. What are you? An arrogant man and a sorry excuse for a human being who, I might add, spends most of the day drunk. How you manage to write one word is beyond a miracle!” replied Roderick, pulling no punches.
“Enough, gentleman,” said I, “if you persist with this confrontation, we will all be put out and never allowed to return.”
I had often been witness to the almighty clash of the Irishman and the Englishman, a phenomenon, sadly, history had failed to negate. Tensions between them remained. Albert’s use of the word ‘mick’, a malicious terminology, only served to deepen the divide. An uneasy silence prevailed as Albert drank his brandy and Roderick remained mute. I was left in the middle, the mediator, the one watching them carefully- determined to keep the peace.
“How are things, Albert?” I asked in all sincerity, my displeasure at Roderick apparent.
“Apart from being attacked by a mad Irishman, I am okay. Do you have any leads?”
I explained everything that had happened so far and I was proposing to go later in the night in search of the man in the overcoat. Albert excused himself and made his way to a colleague who sat the other end of the Inn. His departure gave me the opportunity to question.
“Why did you commit such an irresponsible act of violence?” I asked Roderick.
“Because the man irritates me beyond belief, his arrogance is intolerable and I won’t change my view nor feel any sympathy for my actions
. I am settling this dispute with the greatest of composure. That’s all I have to say on the matter.”
I had known Roderick long enough to accept his stubbornness and anger. The tensions had indeed been building up between them and it was only a matter of time before it reached boiling point. But, for now, the atmosphere appeared to be back to normal. It cost me dear to buy a round of drinks for all but I had managed to redeem the conflict. There was to be no barring from the Inn, an acute embarrassment indeed. My displeasure with Roderick remained as I was forced to watch his amusement and satisfaction as he observed Albert’s rapidly swelling face. Fortunately, Albert ignored the taunting; there were other things on his mind when he returned to speak with me.
“I wish you good luck with your hunt tonight. If anyone can catch him it’s you, the immortal. I am feeling quite hungry, the smell of sausages frying is enticing. Have you eaten?”
I had been waiting for Albert’s usual ploy to gain a free meal. He did not disappoint.
“Order what you want, it’s my pleasure,” was my reply.
What began as a quick meeting to discuss current events evolved into a costly expense far greater than anticipated, for which I blamed Roderick wholeheartedly. It was not that I was unable to pay, there were funds enough. But, from the moment I stepped into playing the role of detective, I had not stopped paying out monies in all directions. I was hopeful the bill for everyone’s drinks, even those who did not take the trouble to say thank you, was not too exorbitant, resulting in a trip to the bank.
“I will pay for all the drinks, Manny. Don’t get yourself in a mire over it. But, I’m telling you now, I refuse to pay for that idiot’s sausages!” Roderick’s offer was noble, I knew deep down he’d regretted his actions, more for himself and I than for Albert.
I was respectful enough to go and sit with the man, relieved he had not heard Roderick, who, as expected, declined to join us. He remained at the bar, drinking brandy, head held high with cane in hand.