by James Reese
Thornley supposed aright: Abberline has been round to the Lyceum enquiring. (Q.: Ought I to initiate contact to-morrow to forestall his return?) Of course, he cannot possibly suspect me now, as this last outrage occurred whilst I was out of London. And so he only comes to me seeking Tumblety. (Q.: Must be of no use to Abberline in his search, but cannot he aid us in ours? How? Think on it. Ask Caine. Ask Speranza. We three must convene. Mem.: Write Caine: Come!)
Henry Irving is a bloody fool! He has been “inspired” by all this “hubbub,” such that now we are to speed the season’s opening & go up again with Jekyll & Hyde on 1 October. (Mem.: Wire word to Stevenson & have Harker retrieve scenery from storage.)40 Leastways it shall be cheaper to re-mount J&K than Faust—Faust @ £200 per perf.—and doubtless far more profitable; which point I made to Henry, who, like a hound on the money-scent, is presently too distracted to pout & punish me over my Dublin absence.
Meanwhile the Macb. planning goes on apace as well. H.I. insistent now upon the E’burgh trip. (Mem.: Must draught a research agenda, w/ dates. When? Who will go?)
1 a.m. No sleep: out of laudanum: mind awhirl. Shall walk walk walk the riverside, briskly so: rather late for it, but mens sana in corpore sano.41
Oh, but how sana shall my mind be if he calls to me, if he comes to me?
FROM THE METROPOLITAN POLICE FILES42
METROPOLITAN POLICE
H Division
8th September 1888
I beg to report that at 6.10 am 8th inst. while on duty in Commercial Street, Spitalfields, I received information that a woman had been murdered. I at once proceeded to No. 29 Hanbury Street, and in the back yard found a woman lying on her back, dead. I at once sent for Dr. Phillips Div. Surgeon and to the Station for the ambulance and assistance. The Doctor pronounced life extinct and stated the woman had been dead at least two hours. Examination of the body showed that the throat was severed deeply, incision jagged. Removed from but attached to body, & placed above right shoulder were a flap of the wall of belly, the whole of the small intestines & attachments. Two other portions of wall of belly & “Pubes” were placed above left shoulder in a large quantity of blood. The following parts were missing: part of belly wall including navel; the womb, the upper part of vagina & greater part of bladder.43 The Dr. gives it as his opinion that the murderer is possessed of anatomical knowledge from the manner of removal of viscera, & that the knife used was not an ordinary knife, but such as a small amputating knife, or a well ground slaughterman’s knife, narrow & thin, sharp & blade of six to eight inches in length.44 The body was then removed on the Police Ambulance to the Whitechapel Mortuary.
The woman has lately been identified by Timothy Donovan, “Deputy,” Crossinghams Lodging House, 35 Dorset Street, Spitalfields, who states he has known her about 16 months, as a prostitute, and for past 4 months she had lodged at above house and at 1.45 am 8th inst. she was in the kitchen, the worse for liquor, and eating potatoes, when he Donovan sent to her for the money for her bed, which she said she had not got and asked him to trust her, which he declined to do, she then left stating that she would not be long gone and would return with the 4d. for her bed. The Deputy said he would save the bed for her. He saw no man as her company.
Description, Annie Chapman, age 45, length 5ft, complexion fair, hair (wavy) dark brown, eyes blue, two teeth deficient in lower jaw, large thick nose; dress, black figured jacket, brown bodice, black skirt, lace boots, all old and dirty.
The Deceased was the widow of a coachman named Chapman who died at Windsor some 18 months since, from whom she had been separated several years previously through her drunken habits, and who up to the time of his death made her an allowance of 10/-per week. For some years past she has been a frequenter of common doss houses in the neighbourhood of Spitalfields, and for sometime previous had resided at Crossinghams, where she was last seen alive at 2 am the morning of the murder. From then until her body was found in Hanbury Street no reliable information has been obtained as to her movements.
A description of the woman has been circulated by wire to All Stations and a special enquiry called for at Lodging Houses &c. to ascertain if any men of a suspicious character or having blood on their clothing entered after 2 am 8th inst.
Every possible enquiry will be made with a view of tracing the murderer and no effort will be spared to elucidate the mysteries. Several persons have been detained already at various stations on suspicion, and their movements are being enquired into, numerous statements have also been made in the hours since discovery of the Deceased, and letters bearing on the subject have begun to be received, yet no useful result has been obtained. I would respectfully suggest that Inspr. Abberline, who is well acquainted with H Division, Whitechapel, be deputed to take up this enquiry as I believe he is already engaged in the case of the George Yard and Buck’s Row murders which would appear to have been committed by the same person as this last in Hanbury Street.
[signed] JL. Chandler Inspr.
TELEGRAM, BRAM STOKER TO LADY JANE WILDE
10 Sept. 1888.—Heart present. Still it must be he. Thornley in. Caine coming.
Sto.
LETTER, BRAM STOKER TO HALL CAINE45
10 September [1888]
Friend Caine,
You had best consider coming to town. Apologies; but red events—viz., this third occurrence re: Mrs. Chapman—render your presence imperative.
Heart was not taken this last time—sought, it seems, but not taken. The womb was absent, however. Is he collecting again, as in days of old? More likely he failed at harvesting the heart and took what he could. Perhaps he cannot control himself, literally not: How else to explain the hash of it all, the horror? But his facility grows: They write now of his having “anatomical knowledge,” of his bearing the blade with purpose; and so it seems he grows ever more accustomed to his double-self. This bodes most ill, Caine. And at present our only hope—separate from our own ACTION—is that he be interrupted at his infernal work. Perhaps he cannot wholly & successfully dissemble, perhaps he can & will be seen, & so caught. That said, it seems Abberline pursues Tumblety mostly through me; but I give him nothing. Ought I to? Many such questions for our next convention—see that it happens soon, Caine. Come!
Thornley in, consulting from Dublin. Will come if called. Had to tell him all, of course, but fear not: He is Trust itself. Florence & Noel are in his care at present. Suggest you secure Mary & Ralph in the castle. Again I say fear not: It is me he wants. This I do not doubt. I have not disclosed all to you, Caine, not wanting to worry you. I shall do so henceforth, and I begin by saying that he came to No. 17 the morning of the Nichols murder and left a message: He, they, want the weighing ritual. It is why he hunts their hearts. Speranza certain more lives will be lost unless we indulge him,…but how?
9.45 a.m. L’pool train to town to-morrow. Wire if you cannot board. Otherwise seek me on the platform, whence we shall hie to Park Street at speed.
Stoker.
BRAM STOKER’S JOURNAL
Wednesday, 12 September.—We three convened yesterday afternoon at Park Street; so:-
“Omnia Romae venalia sunt,” said Speranza.
“Juvenal,” said Caine. “Satires. ‘Everything in Rome was for sale.’…But pray, Lady Wilde, explain yourself.”
We had been sitting some while in Speranza’s salon, and we all three had fallen to arguing the virtues of our Watching & Waiting, Caine arguing for the latter plan’s continuance, Speranza and I against.
“What I mean to say, Mr. Caine, is simply this: There are prices attached to everything, including both action and inaction; and it seems to me the price of the latter course has become rather too clear, rather too dear.”
“But, Speranza, surely—”
“Surely, Mr. Caine,” said Speranza, “…surely the price to be paid by waiting will be the life of a fourth woman. Do you wish to hazard that?”
“You impugn me with the very question, Lady Wilde.”
“I do no suc
h thing, Mr. Caine. I simply state—for it is plain as a pikestaff—that—”
My turn had come to interrupt:-
“Please,” said I, emphatically, “…please;” and with the silence that ensued, I counseled calm. Only when it was achieved did I speak on:
“I fear, Caine, that Lady Wilde is right: To watch and wait any longer is to risk more blood being shed.” And I had yet, indeed have yet, to tell Caine what measure of message was left for me after Mrs. Nichols’s murder. I had, however, told him of my missing kukri (Q.: the murder weapon?!) and how it could incriminate me, us. “We must act, Tommy…. Are you agreed?”
Too scared to speak his response, Caine could only nod. And if he wondered how we would act, and what we would do, and when precisely, &c., so, too, did I. The answer, when it came, was Lady Wilde’s:
“We must appeal to his demon.”
Caine sprang from his chair. “Indeed! And in so doing, we shall surrender the last of our good sense!…Might I suggest a spiritist conversazione Saturday next, Speranza? One to which we might invite all our friends, terrestrial and celestial, infernal and astral?”
“Caine,” said I, “now, now.” Again I counseled calm, but as I failed to show it myself, Speranza may have felt free to reply to Caine, with feigned surprise:-
“Why, Mr. Caine, I do believe it is humour you essay…. I must admit: Having read your latest, I would not have thought you capable.”
Fighting words, these. “‘Capable,’ do you say? Capable!…I remind you, my lady, that my latest book has moved some three hundred thousand copies these last six months, and that even as we speak, it passes into Finnish translation.”
“Indeed? Well, may that be the finish of all translations, sir…. I should think the world has a surfeit of Caine at present.”
“What then does the world need more of? More tame words from a Wilde?”
“No words of mine were ever tame, Mr. Caine. And if you mean to reference the work of my As-car, well…”
“I do not reference your As-car, Lady Wilde, neither here in private nor ever in public.”
Whereupon Speranza slowly stood and timbered towards Caine. He rose as well, and there they stood, center-all in her salon, nose to…navel.
“Stand down, both of you!…Absurd, this. I beg you both to remove yourselves from the present moment and reflect upon what has just passed. See yourselves!” In time they each re-took their chairs, Caine doing so quickly whilst Speranza moved as if through water.
Returned to his corner, as it were, Caine clasped his hand to his mouth. I could see, verily see him wondering whence his words had come. “Lady Wilde,” said he, seeming to breathe rather than speak his apology, “will you…can you forgive me?”
“I can indeed, Mr. Caine,” said Speranza; “but I believe I shan’t…not for some minutes more. Meanwhile, I proffer civility, civility only.” And, as evidence of same, she rang a bell to summon the Betty; who eventually brought in the dreaded Park Street tea, the service of which was hampered by her holding in her left hand a long-stemmed lily. Too, she reeked of eau de quelque chose. So it was I knew we’d once again arrived at Park Street in the wake of Mr. Oscar Wilde.
Caine turned to me during this strange, spilling service and whispered, “I am ruined, ruined, Bram! My nerves…My fears…I cannot master myself!” No: Best not to tell him about the bags of blood. Finally, the cold tea and stale cakes served, and the perfumed maid departed, Caine turned to our hostess to say, “Speranza, I am sorry, most heartily sorry. And of course you both are right: We must act…. Speak, please.”
With those eagle eyes of hers, Speranza stared over the chipped rim of her teacup, sipping still. Slowly, showily, she returned cup to saucer and said, “I meant only to suggest, sirs, that if we cannot communicate with Tumblety—and indeed we cannot even find him—then perhaps we should consider calling to his possessor. Perhaps he will come. It is he, after all, who wants this weighing. The American is but the means…as are you, Mr. Stoker.”
“Set,” I said. “…Set?” The idea was some while sinking in.
“The same,” said Speranza. “For I think we may assume that, even were we to succeed in finding Tumblety, well…I very much doubt we would succeed in reasoning with him, in dissuading him. He is murdering, after all, not playing at cards or horses. He is beholden to a demon. And the possessing relationship would appear to be perfect, yes?” Caine and I agreed; for we have had no proof of imperfection. “Then my proposal is this: Let us summon the demon himself, let us appeal to Set, and in so doing sow a seed of discord.”
Suddenly I understood. “And by sowing discord we will render the possession imperfect.”
“Precisely,” said a satisfied Speranza.
“And then hand them both off to a priest?” This from a hopeful Caine.
“I’m afraid we are rather past that point,” said Speranza. “Not even my Roman would exorcise such a man as Tumblety, and another priest might alert the authorities.”
“No authorities,” said Caine, unnecessarily so.
Speranza continued, saying that in compromising the possession, we might make for ourselves an opening, some Avenue of Action. “But if they—human and demon—remain allied as they are at present, I fear that no plan shall avail. If, however, we imperfect the pairing, perhaps….”
“Surely it is worth the effort,” said I, enthused; but then the How? of it hit me.
“I shall tell you how,” said Speranza, taking up a book from the table beside her; but just as she readied to read aloud, Caine questioned her source.
“My source, Mr. Caine, is myself.” And so it was: Speranza had her own recent Legends, Charms & Superstitions in hand. “Though I have yet ‘to move’ as many copies as you, sir, I have dedicated and careful readers of my own.”
“I do not doubt that in the least, Speranza. And I say again: I apologise for—”
“And such readers”—here she opened the book and readied to read; however, in fumbling about her bosom and high-piled hair, she failed to find her spectacles, and so shut the book and spoke from memory—“…such readers, I say, will discover that I have married Sir William’s research into the East to my own regarding Eire; and in the course of doing so, I have come to conclude that the Irish lamentation of Ul-lu-lu! surely, surely derives from the Egyptian Hi-loo-loo!” Whereupon she proceeded to compare the two calls at such a pitch and at such length that even the deaf Betty returned, poking her head into the salon to say:
“Mum?…Dropped the bell, did ye?”
“Pardon me, dear,” said Speranza. “I was calling the gods, not you.” Which explanation was sufficient to send the Betty wordlessly away; but as my interest was rather more piqued than the maid’s, I asked:-
“That Irish call is a funerary one, is it not?”
“Indeed. So, too, the Egyptian.”
“But it is not a god we mean to summon,” said Caine; “it is a demon.”
“Understood,” said Speranza; who further explained, “We need only practise the lament as prohibited. Understand:
“It has been known from time immemorial that funerary chants—keening, as we Irish call them—are not to be raised in the hours following hard upon a funeral, lest they confuse the gods and render them deaf to the cries of the deceased’s soul.”
“Yes?…Continue, please.” I was eager to keep with Speranza’s reasoning.
“To do so,” said she, “is to risk summoning a demon rather than a god.”
“Do you mean to suggest,” asked Caine, “that this Hi-loo-loo! will summon Set?”
“I mean to suggest, Mr. Caine, that we try something before your American succeeds in removing the heart of another woman of Whitechapel—as surely he will—and carries it to our Mr. Stoker here for weighing.” Best to forestall that eventuality, yes.
“Let us try it,” said I. Caine, too, acceded. And soon we heard the précis of Speranza’s plan:
Picking up the topmost newspaper of a pile at her heels, Speranza
squinted at its masthead and said, “We are the eleventh at present. Mrs. Chapman’s committal to a plot at Manor Park Cemetery is planned for this Friday, the fourteenth. I propose we three attend. And when the last of the mourners have left, I shall call to Set.”
“And,” queried Caine, “say what, precisely, if he appears?”
“That, gentlemen, is a question we have four days to consider.” And so we do.
BRAM STOKER’S JOURNAL
Friday, 14 Sept.—I steal these few minutes for the Record whilst yet at the theatre; and soon I shall go down to the stage to gather Caine and take a fast cab home from here, the hour being advanced—midnight nears—and the day having been a long one.
Much to consider of late; amongst which: How to respond to Henry Irving when he asked—as indeed he did—why I felt more beholden to a dead harlot than to him? My place this afternoon was at the Lyceum for the load-in of J&H, not amongst the masses mourning the murdered Mrs. Chapman. I answered him in advance, as it were, by soliciting Stevenson to come to the theatre to-day; for H.I. is like a tempestuous puppy, and to him I would simply throw a brighter, bouncier ball than myself. Occupied in fetching for the esteemed Author (Mem.: Send Stevenson round a bottle of whisky, well aged), Henry gave over berating me. Thusly was I able to slip away to meet up with Caine and Speranza at Mrs. Chapman’s obsequy, as previously planned.
Rather, our rendezvous occurred later than planned; for last night Caine got word from a former peer of his in the press that the interment was being put off some hours: from the scheduled 10 a.m. to nearer noon, so as to allow for the photographing of her eyeballs.46 I had sent word of the change round to Speranza, knowing that news of a later rendezvous would be welcome to her. But still she met us on the Strand this forenoon wondering why she’d bothered to sleep at all and raising her hand to shield the sun—of which there was but little—from her face, which already was occluded by the black lace veil of her mourning dress. “This noonday light is a trial. I suffer it not well, not well at all. Let us be about this business, gentlemen.” And so we three set off, Speranza moving like a somnambulist whilst Caine self-fortified from a silver flask.