Suddenly he shouted aloud “No I will not!” Tumblety grabbed the paper from his pad, and ran from the room and away down the hotel corridor.
Grabbing her gown Mary pulled it on and ran after him but found him gone and nowhere in sight. Alarmed she returned to the room and stared blankly around. She had observed bizarre behaviour from him before but no outburst such as this. Just as she thought her life was beginning to find it’s way again, now this. She noted that the pad was still present but minus the top sheet. However, it had left an imprint on the sheet of paper below it of what Tumblety had been sketching which she began to examine. What she saw bothered her. Aware of the sensuality of her own body she was disturbed by the emphasis that this sketching put on the sexual areas of her body. What was going on in his mind? Where was he going to on those early mornings?
She walked over to the window and stared out across the Paris skyline. On the window ledge was a carafe of red wine, pouring herself a glass she took a refreshing mouthful of the sweet alcohol which she had started to avoid so well, but now felt drawn to. He then reappeared in the room.
“Francis, what the hell is going on?”
“I can’t talk now, I need to sleep.”
“What? You behave like that, sketching some filth version of me and you need to sleep, what about me?”
“Leave me alone, we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Francis, I may not be here tomorrow.” The voice in his head interrupted Tumblety’s reply, ‘You maybe more right than you know.’
“NO!” Tumblety screamed.
“Francis, you’re scaring me.”
“I promise we’ll talk in the morning.” Tumblety stormed off shutting himself in the so far unused second of the two bedrooms the suite possessed. Mary pounded on the bedroom door pleading for him to let her in so they could talk. He ignored her calls and laid out on the bed holding his hands over his ears, the only voice that he could hear was the evil sound of himself screaming within to ‘Kill all whores!’
The next morning Mary woke to find Tumblety out. She decided to look in his arts materials bag.
***
Before returning to Mary from his early morning trip to the mortuary, Tumblety out in the fresh air of the Paris Streets, felt in control of himself again this morning and decided to take action to appease and apologise to Mary. Stopping off along the Champs Elysee he entered a jewellers to purchase a necklace as a gift and an engagement ring, he felt the time maybe right whilst in Paris to ask Mary for her hand in marriage, and the necklace may help smooth over his bizarre behaviour from the night before. Moreover, he felt that such strong emotional actions may help overcome what he now identified as his own dark side.
The sales assistant was a brisk and business like young Parisian smartly turned out with a good command of English and a confident manner. He reminded Tumblety of himself when he first returned to Rochester having found his fortune. His success in generating his wealth had brought with it problems. Following the unfortunate incident when a patient had died under his care, he had had to go on the run to avoid almost certain prosecution. He discovered that keeping money banked was quite restrictive to this end so after that incident he withdrew all his money barring a checking account and invested it in diamonds. Easy to conceal and carry, for a man of his obvious social status a commodity that he could easily exchange for cash. He had invested his fortune wisely and had a collection of two flawless emeralds, the cheaper end of his investment, fifteen high carat value diamonds and one huge flawless diamond about an inch and a half round of an almost immeasurable carat value due to its perfection. It was his main fortune. Casting his mind over the thought of his investments he bought a pretty emerald encrusted necklace which he felt would compliment Mary’s eyes and a ring with no stone to carry one of the diamonds from his collection. He would marry the two items together and have them mounted in a few days.
He returned to his carriage which had been perambulating him around the city for the morning’s duration and left for the Monmartre Hotel knowing nothing of Mary having fled. Walking up the stairs having claimed his key from reception he felt very positive and upbeat about the new life ahead he would be forging for himself. He seemed to have the love of a good woman, although he realised that the previous night had been tense, and as a result was gaining control of his dark side, which had plagued him ever since that fateful marriage. Although the one bizarre link between these two women who had so invaded his life was that they both had the most striking green eyes he had ever witnessed. How coincidental that he should be drawn to two women with the same physical feature, although Mary’s were somewhat bluer. That must have been what had subliminally drawn him into investing in the emeralds and he felt sure that with mind to previous experiences ‘lightning could not strike twice.’
He turned the key in the door and called happily “Mary, I’m home,” but heard no reply of her gentle Irish brogue. “Mary?” He began pacing around the suite looking for her, but to no avail. Then he spied his artist’s bag open on the bed with items strewn from it including the jewellery box. ‘My God!’ he thought, ‘where has she gone, what has she done?’ The specimen jars were everywhere, she had discovered his dark obsession, but to top it all, opening the jewellery box he discovered that the main diamond and a handful of the smaller diamonds were gone.
He now stood to be ruined socially by her discovery and also now certainly financially unless he recovered that stone. Rage began to develop and as it did so he heard a familiar voice.
‘I told you, you soft centred sentimental fool, she’ll destroy you.’ But now all he could hear was himself echoing the sentiments of the distant voice which had belittled and driven him to the brink of insanity so far.
‘I should have listened, you were right all along. Now that thieving harpee must die, I will not be wronged twice. I shall be down on all Whores….’
When in London he always took a room in the finest hotels such as the Ritz and only indulged his sordid vices in the squalid East End of London, now with more purpose than ever. In so doing he was safe in not besmirching his reputation amongst the well-to-do of London’s West End society who knew him. He knew London well having frequented the ‘old enemies capital’ as he called it on three previous occasions. These trips had given him an intimate knowledge of the Whitechapel area and its surrounding districts and it was here that he suspected that Mary Kelly may well have settled.
Months had passed since the ill fated trip to Paris with Mary and he had developed a new rationale in his thinking. He had succumbed to the voices and would soon start on his work in ‘the blood letting of whores’. In creating an agreement with his dark side it allowed him to think without intrusion. This was a logical place for Mary to come. As a simple country girl might think it easiest to get lost there amongst the crowds. He had discovered from enquires in Wales using a private detective that she had spent a time whoring herself there before they had met, which drove the knife into him more deeply. With this in mind, if she was in London she would be perhaps living in the West End if she had decided to trade in the gems, or if she was too stupid to have done anything but keep them, which he hoped she had, she would be working in Whitechapel or Spitalfields. With her looks wherever she was working, if working she was, she would never be short of clients.
He looked at the fine wives and mistresses of the gentlemen who were also taking the air that afternoon. He worked hard to keep his dark carnal thoughts at bay and suppress his murderous urges until he entered Whitechapel. As his thoughts lay elsewhere, he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around instantly to see who it was, raising his walking cane slightly and tightening his grip on it as he did so. Tumblety turned to be confronted by a handsome English gentleman well dressed in a three piece suit and sporting a bowler hat. He was slender with a smooth complexion and a neatly trimmed typically Victorian gent’s moustache. He was very much the image of Queen Victoria’s grandson Prince Albert Victor. Montague John Druitt faced Tumblety w
ith an expectant look.
A smile appeared across Tumblety’s face and he began to greet Druitt. Grabbing hold of his upper arms with his own he spoke with his distinctive American twang.
“Druitt, old boy how are you, great to see you again.” Druitt relaxed his look and smiled himself and relied to this jovial greeting.
“Not bad at all thank you, Doctor, not bad.”
The dashing looking Druitt was a successful practising solicitor and noted sportsman especially during his days at Oxford University where he also excelled in the debating society. Not everything he touched turned to gold as his real driving ambition had been to be on the stage, but after poor reviews as Sir Toby Belch in Shakespeare’s ‘Twelfth Night’ as a young man he gave up the idea of a career as a thespian. This pained him still some eleven years later but depression had run in his family from his mother’s side and sometimes got the better of him. To console himself he ventured into the East End to indulge in debauchery with street women which increased his own self esteem by allowing him to achieve a sense of sexual conquest. He therefore had much in common with Tumblety, but when the Doctor was not around to keep his spirits boosted following the satisfaction of his urges in Whitechapel, he would fall into a deeper depression for lowering himself so. He would then often find himself by the River Thames in Wapping contemplating death having debauched himself so shamefully in Whitechapel. He knew one day he would have the courage to do it. It was in Spitalfields whilst drinking with some unfortunates in The Ten Bells public house that he had first met Tumblety. A relatively small pub, Druitt had spotted Tumblety across its smoky and always lively bar in his military finery at a table with three women around him, all in various states of age, dress, size and un-attraction. For both he and Tumblety the one common and redeeming feature they both had was a taste for cheap sexual gratification. None of the women or Druitt knew Tumblety’s true intentions when he went to the East End. He would now use them to track down Mary Kelly and to fulfil his bloodlust along the way.
“You know, Monty, your resemblance to that damn Grandson to the Queen is uncanny,” said Tumblety in his American East coast accent.
“Doctor, would you please address me as Montague. Monty is the preserve of my mother and brother as a name, thank you. And furthermore, the only advantage this look gives me is the occasional free knee trembler from the ugliest bitches thinking they’re about to be plucked from obscurity. Because of all these Cleveland Street rumours about the Prince they keep thinking I’m him.” It was rumoured that Prince Albert Victor had secretly married a catholic prostitute having fathered a child with her and their liaisons took place in Cleveland Street.
“Sure, cut the doctor crap when we’re about town and call me Frank, its better around the ladies,” retorted Tumblety. “Now let’s grab a cab and get going to Whitechapel, we’ll talk along the way.”
They strolled from Green Park into Constitution Hill and past the walls of Buckingham Palace down to its front gates. Passing these gates two constables on duty outside tipped their hats to Druitt making the common mistakes that Tumblety had highlighted. Strolling into The Mall Druitt waved down a horse-drawn hansom cab. They both climbed aboard.
“Where to, your Grace?” asked the driver. Smiling broadly and knowingly Druitt replied.
“Whitechapel, my good man. The Ten Bells, Commercial Street.”
***
Getting on for late afternoon the same day Robert and Del had finished another early shift and had walked from ‘The Street’ down to The Britannia public house. Some of the other lads off duty had joined them in there with the whole establishment now being a mix of traders, prostitutes, soldiers and policemen. Working in such a tight knit area most of the prostitutes, or ‘toms’ as they were known by the police, all knew each other. A group of three were sitting together at a table getting progressively drunk, which helped dull the senses when plying their trade later, and beginning to howl with raucous laughter.
Robert was transfixed by Mary Kelly who was sat with forty-six year old Catherine Eddowes, a common prostitute who appeared haggard, drawn and typically looked beyond her years. With her current lifestyle she had done well to live to forty-six. The other woman with them was forty-three year old Mary ‘Polly’ Nicholls. A native of the area all her life, she had a bloated, ruddy appearance no doubt the result of alcohol abuse and was very plain.
“Oh for God’s sake, Rob, she maybe pretty but she’s a bloody tom, mate,” said Del to Robert trying to break the stare he had fixed on Mary.
“I know, but if could catch her now, before it takes its toll on her maybe we might have a future together, she’s quite sophisticated,” replied Robert defensively.
“Leave it out, mate, sophisticated? Oh, she must be tomming it around here. Just go and bloody well drag her away from the other two.”
“I’m building up to it, Del, I will do it in minute when things are….right.”
“Well in the meantime until things are right, do you want another beer?”
“Too bloody right, that might help bring on the right moment.” Shaking his glass at Robert Del said “Well it’s your round, the usual please.”
Robert turned to Wilf the portly mutton chopped ageing barman to place their order. As he did so The Britannia’s doors flung open violently and Long Liz Stride marched in followed by her would be partner Michael Kidney who the two off duty constables had recently arrested . Kidney was some seven years younger than her and quite over protective of her resulting in frequent arguments between them. They were both drunk and shouting violently at each other entering the pub.
“Why don’t you go to hell and die, you good for nothing fucking slag!” she screamed to him nearing the bar.
“You fucking slut, plying yourself on the streets for pocket money and titillation, you don’t have to yer know.”
“What allow you to try to keep me, you’re always drunk and never able to get it up as a result, you pathetic weasel, at least someone who can do it gives me something in return my way.” Kidney screamed at the top of his voice at her. “Whore, how dare you speak to me like that in public, I’ll knock your fucking block off!” He stormed the last few feet up to her where she now rested with her back against the bar and drew his right fist back. She screamed out in terror “NO, NO,” as he reigned a heavy blow down onto her left cheek, and then again onto the top of her head as she fell wailing to the floor.
Typically the Victorian clientele in the bar area looked on as if being entertained, some of the burly working men raising a smile. Robert said to Del “I can’t let this happen,” and rushed from next to his friend over to the aid of Liz still on the floor with Kidney now kicking her. Robert pulled him around by his left shoulder and stared at him standing straight on and said “Okay, big man lets see how tough you are.” He got into his pugilist’s defensive stance with Kidney immediately throwing a punch at his face. He easily blocked it and then with immense speed and aggression attacked Kidney with a volley of punches to his face, then stomach and then finally an upper cut to his jaw, knocking him to floor. Kidney crumpled like a dead weight with blood beginning to stream from his nose and from one side of his mouth. Del approached them.
“There was never going to be much of a competition really was there? Not with your past hobbies.”
“I can’t let it go on, not to a woman, mate,” replied Robert. In the meantime there was a stunned silence over The Britannia as everyone looked on at him for some seconds and his handiwork. The doors were flung open and a couple of the late duty constables came in having been beckoned by a client who had rushed into the street for help as the fight between Kidney and Stride had started. They were constables Bill Smith and Ernie Thompson. They saw Robert and Del stood over Kidney and Liz sitting against the bar crying intently still and nursing a swollen left cheek.
“Your handiwork then, Rob?” inquired Smith.
“Yes, but totally justified, he’” pointing to the unconscious Kidney “was knocking ten
bells of shit out her, excuse the local pun of course,” exclaimed Del.
“Oh, it’s no problem,” said Thompson, “we were just curious.” He continued addressing Liz.
“Do you want anything done with this gent, Liz?” asked Ernie Thompson knowing her from the police station.
“No,” she replied sobbing, “Please just take him and let him sleep it off.”
“No worries, luv,” said Smith as they took an arm from Kidney each and dragged him out to await the arrival of a ‘black Mariah’ to take the unconscious prisoner to the cells at the Street.
Robert helped Liz to her feet by the bar. “You all right Liz?”
“I have felt better, darling, you know, sorry to get you involved.”
“It’s no problem, wouldn’t let that happen to anyone, let alone my best seamstress.” This brought a smile to Liz’s face and she felt comforted by his words. The only trouble being in reality was that he wasn’t always going to be there to help. She had to leave Kidney.
Polly Nicholls came up to the bar and put her arm around Liz to lead her to her table. She spoke to Robert as she did so, “Thanks for looking after her, mate, none of us could have done it.” She then continued in a raised voice. “And none of these other so called men would have helped.” As she led Liz away her words simply fell on deaf ears.
Del spoke to Robert, “Well after all that excitement I don’t rightly know as want another drink in here, I’m off. I shall see you tomorrow, my lad.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right I think I’ll be going too.” As they turned away from the bar having bid Wilf a good evening Mary Kelly confronted Robert pressing a finger into his chest.
“Not so fast, constable, we ladies there have clubbed together to buy you a drink…” Despite her trade, Del saw this as Robert’s perfect opportunity and decided to leave. “See ya, mate,” nodding and winking to Robert knowingly.
“Yeah, see ya, Del, and thanks mate,’” Robert said appreciatively.
Whitechapel Page 5