A Study in Red - The Secret Journal of Jack the Ripper

by kindels

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jack's Sudden Illness

  17th September 1888

  A pleasant journey by all accounts. Left London early, a compartment to myself, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, the sound of the train as it clattered the track. Such sights to see along the way, fields, trees, and factories. Houses in fields, and towns galore, I saw the world through the window, and still there was more. There were animals, cows, sheep, geese, and the smell of the smoke from the engine as it carried me away from the dismal city, ever onwards, further north. I saw the spires of the Minster, the great church of York, the splendid cathedral of Durham as it overlooked the city, and the great city of Newcastle, where it lies on the Tyne. I saw castles, great edifices of history, and white wave caps upon the sea as the locomotive pulled me ever nearer to my destination. At last, the city, with its grand castle towering above, what a sight, and the station, itself a wonder of the modern architecture, so grand and spacious. To walk in such a place! Such air. I breathe so easily. The people, though of a strange voice, are remarkably friendly to a stranger. The room is satisfactory, the bed clean, the staff attentive. I shall explore further tomorrow, I shall visit the great bridge over the firth, that iron wonder of the modern age, though it is not ready for the trains to cross I understand, I shall feast my eyes upon its massive girders, its grandeur as it stretches out across the murky waters below, but, for now, it is good to relax, to eat a hearty meal perhaps, and thence to sleep, refresh my bones. Tomorrow, yes, I'll visit the streets, tour the city, take in the sights, find a good pharmacist and walk the great mile. But for now, I'll rest, my work is waiting, but will not go away though I be absent from the city. It can wait. I am tired after all, I am so very tired. The headache is returning.

  I found this to be a revelation of monumental proportions. He had indeed left London, and there was no doubt from the description of his journey that The Ripper had headed north to Edinburgh. This discourse could have been written by a different person. There was evidence here of lucid thought, of what could only be described as normality. He had ceased to rant, save for the one small reference to his 'work' at the end. He had described his journey as full of wonders, York Minster, Durham Cathedral, which, as he rightly described, sits upon a hilly outcrop overlooking the city, and the great city of Newcastle-on-Tyne, which, during the late nineteenth century must have been a throbbing scene of vast industry. He would indeed have seen Waverley Station in Edinburgh as a marvel, even in Victoria's day it was one of the finest examples of station building in Britain. With its graceful arches and sweeping staircases leading from platform to platform, its open-plan vista as it opened up onto the street outside, it was a station of which the people of Edinburgh were rightly proud. And what of his promise to himself to visit the great Forth Bridge? He was acting more like a tourist than a seriously deranged killer attempting to lie low from the vast manhunt taking place back home in London. But then, he'd done no wrong had he? At least not in his own mind. He'd simply left town to recharge his batteries, so to speak, to escape the throngs of people crowding the streets, to rest and prepare himself for the next round of his task.

  I don't know why, but something in his words seemed to reinforce my belief that he was a man of some substance; certainly no ordinary working-class East-Ender would have had the money to travel to Scotland by train, or to pay for a room in what sounded to me like a reasonably good quality hotel. He hadn't said much about it, I just felt it was a good establishment, as would be the case in a hotel where 'the staff are attentive'. Whoever the Ripper was, he was not a poor man, or one without a sense of culture. There was education in his background; this was a man with knowledge of the world.

  He obviously enjoyed the change of air, for Edinburgh would have been so different to London. Smaller, with less industry and pollution, it was, by all accounts, a far cleaner and healthier environment than the great metropolis towards the end of the nineteenth century. He quite logically found the people 'of strange voice', as, to one who'd probably never visited the city before, the Scottish accent might have seemed like a foreign tongue.

  At least, for the time being, his demons appeared to have left him in peace for a while. There was a definite sanity in his words, a sanity which had been conspicuously absent from every other entry in his journal. My immediate thoughts were that, for a short time at least, he was at peace, and, as long as his 'voices' remained silent, he was probably no danger to those around him. Time would tell, and whatever transpired from his sojourn to Scotland's capital city I knew that in just under two week's time he would once again stalk the dark streets of London, where he would strike fear again into the hearts of the people of that great city with not just one, but two brutal slayings.

  18th September 1888

  What a place of beauty. I found myself so at home today. The fine parks and gardens of this fair city are wondrous to behold. I took a ride upon an omnibus to view the bridge; it is indeed a splendid testament to the engineer's skill, though I should perhaps be a little unnerved to actually allow myself to venture across such a mass expanse of water even over such a sturdy structure. They say it will soon be open to rail traffic. I looked through a telescope I borrowed from a fellow viewer and saw many small ships upon the firth and could see people so far away that even through the glass they were as ants, scurrying little ants, away on the far banks. The city has a fine museum; I was enthralled by it, so many wondrous sights to see. I must go further though, there are things I must do, even whilst here, in this place, for I was unnerved to hear some fellows on the omnibus speak of the darker side of this fair city, and I must see this for myself. I shall wait until the morrow, and when the evening comes, then I shall go there.

  A sudden thought struck me. There were of course many suspects, so many men who at one time or another over the years had fallen under suspicion of being the Ripper. Had any of them I wondered, been documented as having visited Scotland during the time of the killings? I turned once again to my notes, such as they were. Though certainly not exhaustive, they were of course the results of many years of investigations by many scholars and lay persons into the case. I could find nothing to support any hint of a visit to Edinburgh by any of the popular suspects. Then again, there was very little documentary evidence about the movements of any of the main suspects. Apart from the fact that the Royal Prince had been shown to be out of town at the times of the murders by virtue of a study of the Court Circulars of the time, there was no information on the movements or whereabouts of any of the others who had come under suspicion.

  I was also disturbed by the latest entry in the journal. After his short description of his visit to the Forth Bridge, which, as he so rightly pointed out wasn't yet opened for rail traffic, (I quickly looked it up on the internet, it didn't open for business until 1890, though it would have appeared almost complete when he visited it), and general 'sightseeing', there was his sudden reference to an overheard conversation relating to the 'darker side' of the city. I had little doubt as to what this referred. Edinburgh would have been little different to any large city of its time. With its large population, and its associations with the sea due to the nearby port facilities, the great city would have its seedier side, red-light district, call it what you will, in other words, it would have a relatively large number of prostitutes working the streets at night. I had little doubt but that Jack the Ripper was about to take a tour of the less attractive side of Edinburgh by night, and once again, I felt a prickle of fear beginning to travel up my spine.

  I knew what I needed to do. Without doubt, the journal was engendering a sense of fear and tension in my mind, the like of which I'd never experienced before. It was also teaching me to be a pretty good amateur 'ripperologist', as those who follow the case are known. Before turning the next page of the journal, I would take a break, phone Sarah as I'd promised myself I would, and then delve into the research notes I'd assembled. I needed to know if there were any unsolved murders of prostitutes in
Edinburgh in September 1888.

  Take a break! That was a first. Since I'd begun my strange journey through the journal, this was the first genuine, conscious break I'd allowed myself. I placed the journal back on the desk, rose from my chair, and strode purposefully out of the study, into the kitchen, where I made myself a quick cup of instant coffee, then moved to the back door, opened it, and stepped outside.

  The fresh air hit me like a slap in the face! It was the first blast of natural air I'd received since arriving home the day before with the journal tucked underneath my arm. There was a slight breeze, just enough to ruffle the leaves on the trees, and I sat down on one of the patio chairs and allowed the fresh air to wash over me. It tasted good, that heady mix of coffee and cool autumn breeze, and after sitting on the patio for about ten minutes I felt sufficiently refreshed to venture back indoors to make my call to Sarah.

  Fifteen minutes later I put the phone down on my lovely wife, feeling just a little sad, and slightly depressed. It appeared that my new nephew, little Jack had been taken ill in the night, and Jennifer had telephoned for the doctor, who was expected to call to see Jack any time in the next couple of hours. Sarah, asking how I was after my trying day yesterday, (I of course I said I was fine), had asked me if I'd mind her staying on for a few more days to help Jennifer with the baby, as he would be doubly hard to care for if he were ill, poor little mite. Without letting on quite how much I was missing her, I told Sarah I wouldn't mind, I'd be fine, and there was always Mrs. Armitage to call and make sure I was still in the land of the living. (I'd have to do something about Mrs. Armitage I thought, to keep her from interrupting me without arousing her suspicions).

  "I love you, Robert," Sarah said as she ended the call.

  "You, too, my darling," I'd replied, replacing the phone on the table and suddenly feeling very alone in the quiet stillness of my home, and despite the warmth of the room, I shivered involuntarily, and felt a sort of panic beginning in my mind, as though I were in some sort of danger from being here on my own. It took me a couple of minutes to fight that feeling of panic until it subsided and I chided myself for being irrational and stupid. What on earth could happen to me here in my own home, after all, I was just reading some old papers, wasn't I? As horrific as their content might be they were just bits of paper, nothing more. I had to work quite hard to convince myself of that fact, but, having achieved it, I made my way back to the study, to continue my research, this time into unsolved murders in Edinburgh.

  There weren't any! You can imagine my sense of puzzlement and frustration at making this unexpected discovery. Negative though it was, and obviously good news for the people of Edinburgh, I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. Yet, there it was, in black and white, from a reliable source of information on the net. Not one of the newspapers of the day had reported a single unexplained murder of a prostitute or any women at all during September of 1888. I found it hard to accept that having read The Ripper's threat to visit the darker side of Edinburgh, he wouldn't have done something to release his own tensions and savagely sadistic bloodlust whilst he was there. I visited three more websites, all providing historical information and news from the relevant dates, and they all confirmed it, there was nothing! Could it be that he really was just taking a break himself, as I'd just done, maybe for a bit longer of course, or was there something more sinister waiting for me on the next few pages?

  I leaned back in my chair, took a deep breath, picked up the journal, and as the words of the Ripper reached out to me from the page once again, so my strange journey into history continued.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Where Men Go Down to the Sea in Ships

  20th September 1888

  Oh, what a night. Such fun! I took the road to the docks, a long and tortuous path I confess, not a cab in sight. Still the air was fine, and filled me with vigour for the task ahead. The docks were large, though not so as to rival London. How unimaginative of these Scots, to call the road to Leith, Leith Street. Oh well. What a fuddle of a place. So many ships tied up, creaking hulls and smells of the sea. And outside the gates, they were waiting, whores aplenty for the seamen to pollute themselves with. Brazen doxies all of them, with no sign of propriety, so obvious in their intent to lure the unsuspecting to a disease ravaged doom. I watched from afar, in the lee of a warehouse, until the dock was silent. The greatest insult to our sovereign, this was called Victoria dock, and here did the whores ply their evil trade. The last slut to leave the dock was not so old I think, though the trade was poor last night, and she'd found no sailor boy to tempt. Dark hair, quite slim, with swinging hips. She tottered on her way to find solace in drink I shouldn't wonder, but never made it to her drinking den. She walked right up to me as I stood waiting, and had the nerve to ask me if I should like her company. I made no reply, save to drag the slattern into the shadows. I smelled her cheap perfume, so sweet. I moved so swift, her throat was cut in seconds, almost through and through, nearly removed the bitch's head this time, ha. She tried but couldn't scream, stupid little whore. I let her bleed into a drain; there are many drains along the dock. I gutted her as swift as I would a salmon, slit her wide and sent her entrails flowing along the stones. The legs moved awhile, none of the others did that. I sliced her well, and quick too, all warm and sticky, and her parts all exposed as befits a whore. I thought to leave her there where she lay, wide open to the world, but no, they might have thought it strange to find a ripp'd whore this far north, and clever police may have traced me here. Better to get rid, so I let the slattern bleed a while, then dragged her to a sort of pier, and threw her in. The tide will take her, and who shall miss a little stinking whore? Replaced my coat, though not much blood, good drains here, and returned to sleep, refreshed, and my voices came and bade me well. I have stayed here overlong I think, I shall leave soon. There are whores aplenty wherever I go. Will they give me no peace? Must I gut and rip the hearts and parts and spill the blood of every whore in the nation before they cease their filthy tempting of the innocent? My head is beginning to hurt fair badly, must take more laudanum and rest before I leave.

  My hands trembling, I laid the journal down upon my desk. This had been the longest, and in truth, the most horrific entry yet recorded by The Ripper. He'd left a blank date for the 19th, but that was easily explained. He must have spent all of that day preparing himself for his visit to Leith that night, and the entry for the 20th I'd just read obviously related to his murderous excursion of the night before.

  So he had killed in Edinburgh after all. His description of the killing of that poor girl, quite young by the sounds of it, was appalling, and chilled me to the bone.

  My mind was full with the savage imagery his words inspired within me. I could almost see his silent and vicious attack, the blade slicing viciously through the poor girl's throat, nearly decapitating her. What fearful terrible last thoughts must have passed through her mind as she coughed and spluttered her last breath on that cold and dark dockside all those years ago? I doubted she'd have known much about those last few seconds, at least, I hoped not, and then of course he'd described in the most intimate detail so far his demonic mutilation of the young girl's body. I thought it probably true that docks would have any number of small drains spaced along them, to help easily dispose of his victims' blood quickly.

  My pulse was racing, my heart seemed to be thumping loudly in my chest, and I could virtually hear the throbbing of blood pumping in my veins, so horrified was I by this latest, terrifying entry. It seemed to me that he'd killed, then casually strolled back to this hotel to sleep and refresh himself, unseen and unheard as usual; he couldn't have been blood stained to any extent, as, surely even in 1888 there'd have been someone on duty in the hotel whatever time he'd returned, and he'd have been noticed if there'd been blood on his clothes, wouldn't he?

  A red blur seemed to float before my eyes, as though the blood of this latest, poor hapless victim were floating into my very soul, clouding my brain, my thou
ghts. Why were there no records of this heinous crime? Was there even a police force in Edinburgh or more specifically, in Leith in 1888? My earlier research had told me that the Metropolitan Police force had only been formed in London in 1829, so I thought it

  possible that there hadn't been a police force in Edinburgh at the time of the girl's murder, maybe there was no-one to investigate the bloodstained dock, for there must have been some sign left of his vicious assault on the girl. I would have to explore that avenue.

  I quickly logged on to the internet once more and tried, unsuccessfully, to obtain some historical information relating to the Edinburgh police force. My best hope was a modern day reference to the website of the Lothian and Borders Police, the force which polices Edinburgh today. I quickly sent an e-mail requesting information on the history of the city's police force, and asking for details of any unsolved disappearances of young women around the time in question, all under the flimsy guise of researching unsolved crimes of the past for a historical record, then realised I could find out little more until they replied, if indeed they could be bothered to respond to such a request.

  Meanwhile, I thought to myself that surely the girl would have been missed by someone, parents, family, friends? Maybe she was an out-of-town girl, not known locally in Leith. I supposed that in Scotland all those years ago Edinburgh would have had the same attraction for the poor as London had in England. Perhaps the poor child was a country girl, recently arrived in Edinburgh and unknown by anyone in the city, or conceivably an orphan. Yet, why had her body not been discovered? There again the answer to my question was obvious. If he'd dropped her body into the water as he'd said, the tide would in all probability have carried her poor lifeless body quite quickly towards the sea. The Firth of Forth is itself a wide expanse of water and the open sea is only a few miles away. Yes, I could quite understand why the girl's body may have floated away, never to be discovered. The blood leaking from her eviscerated corpse would also have acted like a magnet to all manner of underwater creatures in search of food. Were there sharks in the sea off the coast of Scotland? More questions, but few answers.