Whitechapel

by Bryan Lightbody

  The distance across the street was such that they didn’t need to use an implement like a telescope. The occupier had very happily and hospitably served them coffee and American cookies but then left them to it. Little did they know that the day’s events would be relayed to the local press by their apparent host. The weather outside was grey and overcast, and being the time of the year it was only just a little beyond dawn as they began their vigil. The odd carriage passed by outside with condensed breath visible from the mouths of the hard working horses pulling them. Many of the passing pedestrians too had sharply visible breath as they came by wrapped up for the cold with many rubbing their hands or wrapping their arms around themselves to keep warm.

  They had been watching for nearly two hours when the front door opened and they waited almost holding their breath for an occupant to emerge. They weren’t disappointed. A well dressed man emerged sporting a dark brown bowler hat and a cane. He had a large moustache and looked to be the height and build of the man they were after. Certainly at the distance they were, both seemed sure that this was their man. He looked up and down the street almost as if he was aware he might be being watched before he set off down the stoop to reach the street. Weston certainly was somewhat surveillance conscious as a result of the deal he had struck with the curious Dr Townsend and was indeed looking for local cops on the watch for him. It had been a secondary reason why he hadn’t ventured out for several days in the naïve hope that they might have got bored and left. He could see no one so felt unsure either way. The air was crisp and cool and he was pleased with the gloves he had also brought out with him along with a heavy astrakhan overcoat. He quite fancied a walk to work off some the excesses he had indulged in and turned left at the bottom of the stoop.

  “Right. Bentham, stay here and see who else comes and goes. I’m off after him to see where he is going.” Andrews was totally unaware that the subject they were observing was not their man who was now long gone to Rochester. He emerged cautiously from the front door of number 80 and had Townsend in his sights now some fifty yards or so along the road, a distance with which he was happy, and began his surveillance following on foot. He had one concern right at that point. The traffic was sparse and if Townsend hailed a cab he could lose him as they didn’t seem common place along the street. Inspector Andrews observed that Townsend walked briskly as he made his way along East Tenth Street almost as if he sensed that there was danger to him and he inconspicuously wished to distance himself from it. With a mind to the crimes that Scotland Yard believed he was guilty of, that notion was no surprise to Andrews as he walked quickly himself to maintain his distance and keep his quarry in sight. Weston, aware that he was still in the guise of Townsend gave a couple of furtive glances behind him as they made their way to the junction with Lexington Avenue. He didn’t pick up on Andrews following him with a group of three Irish migrants walking in-between laughing and chatting loudly and catching Weston’s attention instead. A very fortunate circumstance for the English detective, in an otherwise fairly quiet residential street.

  On reaching Lexington he turned towards Central New York and again began looking over his shoulder. At the corner Andrews had slowed and peered cautiously round shielded by a stoop to observe Townsend’s actions. The Irishmen had crossed straight over the junction but fortunately for the detective Lexington was a much busier street. It appeared that Townsend was looking for a cab as he kept walking and glancing much more frequently over his shoulder at the approaching traffic. Andrews was forced to let the distance between them increase to avoid being spotted and allowed Townsend about 100 yards on him. Townsend eventually stopped and stood at the kerb side to watch the traffic in more detail approaching him. From his ad-hoc manner when he had first entered Lexington he had already missed two empty cabs that had been travelling in the same direction. Andrews stopped and was looking in the window of a corner store as he saw a cab stop for Townsend.

  He looked along the avenue beyond the now boarding Townsend in the hope that there was another empty cab not far behind. He couldn’t see anything other than a few loaded delivery wagons. He looked back to the cab to see Townsend now sitting back comfortably within it and he began to feel anxious. There was still no following cab in sight and he could certainly not hear the destination that Townsend was shouting to the driver who was leaning back to hear his passenger’s directions. The cab driver snapped his crop by the horse’s ear and the cab lurched off. A desperate situation required a desperate measure. The last of the delivery wagons in the line was just passing him; he began to run to match its speed and grabbed hold of the hand rail on its side to gain purchase to climb aboard next to the driver. He pulled himself up explosively to match the vehicles movement and then landed awkwardly next to the driver bumping into him, knocking him slightly left of his perch.

  “Goddamn, mister! What the hell is going on?” screamed the astonished wagon driver.

  “Sorry, old man,” said Andrews at the same time pulling out his leather wallet holding his police warrant identity. He showed it to his new found associate as he straightened his position. “Inspector Walter Andrews, on the trail of Jack the Ripper. In the name of Queen Victoria her Britannic Majesty I ask you to follow that cab up the in the distance.” The driver looked at him open mouthed, completely aghast of this Englishman’s arrival and his dramatic assertion. As it slowly sank in and he looked ahead to see the cab in question and then looked back at Andrews.

  “You a real Scotland Yard detective, fella?” asked the stunned American.

  “Yes, and on the most infamous case in Europe. Please help out, old man. I need to follow this man’s movements,” he replied, almost pleading now as he could see the cab with Townsend starting to make some ground on them.

  “All right, buddy, you bet ya. Let’s go!” He snapped the crop again with the horse picking up a little more speed and beginning to pass the other goods wagons. Within in few seconds Andrews was happy that they were keeping pace with Townsend and he was able to relax a little. They continued towards Central New York.

  ***

  Klosowski and Lucy were now a significant way across the Atlantic bound for America themselves following the immediate and cunning escape orchestrated by him. He had got them out of London and up to the port city of Liverpool to gain the earliest passage that he could to America which was a ship bound for New Jersey. It sailed on the evening tide of the 29th November which had proved the last opportunity by sheer chance for them to have fled as the news hit the ports first thing on the 30th following Abberline’s directions. The speed of their escape was enhanced by payments to carriage drivers and bribes to railway and port officials that meant they were well able to flee the country long before word had reached the ports of their descriptions and immediate detention. The vessel they had boarded was purely commercial and he had obtained a cabin that was comfortable but Spartan. To him it mattered not as he was pleased to have evaded capture and to Lucy she was grateful of an opportunity to ‘start a new’ as he had put it and the promise of starting a family. She did live in fear of him as a result of his overpowering and intimidating personality and because of the violent secrets she suspected that he withheld from her.

  They would both end up back in London in years to come. She would leave him and returning on her own some months before him and giving birth to what would be by that time their second child. The new life she had wished for would prove short lived in New Jersey, but she would at least prove to be one of the only unfortunate women to come into Klosowski’s life and survive. She sat alone in the cabin staring out of the salt stained porthole at the grey and swelling, ominous North Atlantic while Severin ingratiated himself amongst the crew to curry favour. He especially kept himself in with the wireless operators to get to hear of any of the mainland communiqués that were received. His ability to persistently bribe those who crossed his path on this journey continued with the suppression of the wire regarding the Tottenham and Whitechapel murders. It allowed h
im their safe passage and disembarkation in the New World. For the conscious free Klosowski, however, justice would eventually catch up with him after a new murderous spree of a different kind back in London.

  ***

  Andrews and his ride found themselves following Townsend all the way to Grand Central Station where he saw the Ripper suspect pay off his cab driver and alight into the station.

  “What now then, buddy?” asked the wagon driver tipping his hat back as he spoke. Andrews watched him enter the station and pulled out his wallet as he did so. He pulled out a couple of dollars and gave them to his temporary companion.

  “Courtesy of Queen Victoria, my friend. Your service is appreciated.” Andrews then jumped down from the wagon.

  “Anytime, Fella. You take care now. Maybe see you around,” replied the smiling American as he fingered the notes. Andrews nodded to him in a very polite English way and followed Townsend into the station by the same door.

  The station in 1888 had been built some seventeen years previously by shipping and railroad magnate Cornelius Vanderbilt. Designed by John B Snook it cost $6.4 million to construct; it served four separate railroads each one containing their own waiting rooms, baggage and ticket facilities in the grand building. It sat between 42nd and 48th Streets, Lexington and Madison Avenues with a distinct gothic appearance over its three main floors, with additional levels below and above, within its European style towers that finished its magnificent façade.

  Inside the station concourse was bustling with people from all classes, colours and religious backgrounds and within the few seconds that Andrews had temporarily lost sight of Townsend through the door into this crowd he had disappeared. He stopped in his tracks only yards into the building and frantically began to scan the environment desperately trying to spot his man and in so doing found himself frequently jostled by the passing throng. The crowds of people were so different to those that he had observed in London stations; there men dressed like cowboys, a phenomenon to which he had become accustomed from the American circus’s visiting England, women dressed not unlike those at home, a few black men and women, a sight he had as yet not seen commonly in London, native Indians, again familiar to him for the same reasons as the cowboys. There were soldiers, the odd policemen patrolling, well dressed men in bowler hats, cowboy hats, wide brimmed trilby hats and bare heads. He hoped that the overcoat and head gear that Townsend or Tumblety was wearing would stick out; at that point it didn’t. He began to walk in no specific direction wandering the wide crowded area around him whirling around to desperately try and pick up sight of his quarry somewhere; the action quickly began to disorientate him along with high volume of noise and the constant passing of humanity close to. Andrews very quickly reached the conclusion that he had lost him.

  Depressed by losing sight of Townsend so soon he walked along the concourse to the natural centre of the station and decided to sit down and have a coffee, he knew tea would not be the norm and he wished to try to blend in just in case his man came back into sight. He noticed that on the next level up running around the edge of the main concourse and looking over it were small cafes where he could gain refreshment. This elevated view he felt would afford him a greater opportunity to possibly re-acquire sight of Townsend. He found the main set of stairs leading up there and made his way up against what seemed to be a heavy flow of people coming down towards him. The whole area suffered with a perpetual faint smell of coal burning smoke and steam from the ever transient trains.

  Walking around the first level he found the perfect spot that over looked the entire concourse below and was opposite the main stairs he had just climbed. He hoped that this would offer the ideal view especially if Townsend decided to make use of the first level also. The coffee cost him a few cents and was served in a heavy ceramic cup which he carried to a table overlooking the area he was desperate to survey. He placed the steaming cup on the rough wooden table and sat down in the accompanying chair pulling himself forward, all the time keeping watch as he did so. The coffee was very hot and steamed in a discouraging fashion as a result; he was quite happy with his job in hand for it to take it’s time to cool. He busily scanned the area below looking for the astrakhan coat and the brown bowler hat that was being worn with it by Townsend, or Tumblety as he now kept saying in his mind. Sat down, he started to feel the cold that had sunk into him during the goods wagon ride and he instinctively wrapped his hands around the steaming cup. People came and went from the coffee kiosk he had used and all paid little or no heed to those passing around them; apart from him through force of habit as well as current duty.

  He had been there nearly an hour and was onto a second cup of coffee and also a dry sandwich when he spotted a brown bowler hat on the first level. Amazingly the wearer had come from behind him and was now walking around the course of the first level to where he had himself come; heading it seemed for the stairs. Looking him up and down as he dropped the unpalatable sandwich onto the plate, he also wore an astrakhan coat and carried a cane. The height, build and gait all seemed to indicate it was the man he had lost earlier. Andrews stood and began following him from a safe distance within the crowds and as he observed the man turn and head down the stairs, although his head was down he could see that the individual was sporting a moustache; it was him.

  He closed the distance between them as they reached the main concourse comfortable with the proximity finding the crowds were shielding him. He noticed that Tumblety, as he again reminded himself this man was, seemed totally unconscious of any surveillance. This he hoped this would be to his advantage. Tumblety headed for the same door by which he had entered, passed through it and approached the cab rank climbing aboard the first free one in the line. It pulled off quickly as Andrews jumped on board the next one and instructed the driver to ‘follow that cab, please.’

  “So you’re a limey then, eh?” said the cab driver as they moved off. Andrews was keeping a keen eye on the cab ahead and seemed initially distant. He then spoke as he became happy they were keeping pace.

  “Yes I am. And I don’t like that turn of phrase thank you. Please keep up with that cab in front and there’ll be an extra $3 for you in it.”

  The financial encouragement was enough for the driver to accept his passenger’s curtness and get on with the task in hand. They were already heading along Lexington again and Andrews suspected back to East Tenth Street.

  In the bay window of number 80 East Tenth Street Arthur Bentham sat in a comfortable dining chair behind the net curtains looking out upon the quiet residential street as he had done for the past few hours. He was struggling to stay awake with frequent ‘neck breaker’ nodding bringing him back to the world of the lucid. The kindly home owner plied him with good strong coffee almost every three quarters of an hour which he hoped was reducing the effect of the boredom and fatigue of his duties. It was as he began his next cup of coffee, steaming hot with its bitter chicory taste, when Tumblety’s cab arrived outside in front of number 79. He remained seated but leant forward to reduce the effect of the nets obscuring his vision. It was definitely their man alighting and paying the driver and then hurrying up the stoop and into the house. The cab pulled off and as it did so he noted a second one go past with Inspector Andrews on board. He too climbed down and then walked briskly into number 80 to reduce his time out in the street.

  “Well, Guv? What did he do?” asked Bentham having now turned to split his attention between looking from the window and looking to Andrews coming into the room.

  “Nothing. He went to Grand Station or whatever they call it; I lost sight of him temporarily in there. Did something and then left again.”

  “Was that it?” Bentham seemed disappointed.

  “Yes. That is bloody well it.” He sat down next to Bentham and they both stared silently out of the window.

  Inside number 79 Weston, aware that he could still be under surveillance, took off his hat and top coat and then he too looked out of the window into the street. He
could see nothing out of place but already began to feel constrained by the limitations of living some else’s life. He craved female company and tonight he knew that he could go out and buy some at a better quality than usual. ‘Hang it’ he thought. He would go out, maintain the outer façade, but enjoy the way he liked to live.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Chief Inspector Thomas Byrne head of the New York Police Department looked at the telegram he was receiving from Inspector Abberline from London with disbelief. Tumblety, who had been so adversely reported on in the press on both sides of the Atlantic, was suddenly having the case against him dropped. What the hell had happened? Before informing his men and the English detectives he would have to reply to Abberline’s communiqué, which read:

  C/Inspector Byrne,

  Apologies. The case against Dr T has to be dropped by orders of powers that be within the Metropolitan Police Force. And beyond. Please inform officers currently deployed and arriving to gain passage back to U.K at earliest chance.

  Professional regards. F Abberline D/I

  In it’s simplicity it was disturbing. ‘Powers within and beyond?’ What the hell did that mean? Before he would pull anyone off of the case he had to contact Abberline. He replied:

  D/I Abberline,

  Confused? Thought this was your man. Please expand on issue before I pull off surveillance.

  T.B