The Whitechapel Virgin

by Carla Acheson

  ‘And you accepted it?’ Catherine asked, astonished by such revelations.

  ‘At first I resented it. I wanted nothing from the cruel man, but mother was fully bent on persuading me otherwise. It was a new chance of a better future for us, she argued. And a very fortuitous one at that. It was a sum my mother had never dreamed we could ever possess.

  We knew that it was enough to set up a small business even if it were to be in a less affluent area in the city. We settled here in Goulston street and worked ourselves to the bone to create this very tavern lodging house which over the years has grown to become a popular establishment for many passing individuals.

  Of course, initially, my mother and I were envied across the length and breadth of the city, and there was much cause for speculation as to how we could ever have afforded such a thing. We were bound to silence. But his Will omitted to tell us where my beloved boy had gone, so I will never know how he fared, but events transpired to sow us with some kind of future as we faced the constant threat of poverty.

  Even though this establishment could never replace my baby Charles, whom I had loved briefly, and lost, it had given us a chance to step away from the gutter. Mother was even able to afford a tutor, so that I could receive an education. She made the best of it and when she passed on, I took over.

  This was some fifty years ago, Catherine. It is very much behind me now.’ Leaning back Madame Davenport relaxed her shoulders, finally coming to terms with her difficult journey.

  ‘I never imagined that my actions would lead Eddie towards this dreadful course of action today. In hindsight, had I not been so bitter towards him perhaps...’ she began to weep again, an endless stream of tears which left her visibly ruffled in appearance.

  ‘Tell me Madame, what happened at his birth?’ The woman’s face darkened again. Another confession would be forthcoming Catherine surmised.

  ‘It was I who made such a terrible error of judgement. Nellie had fetched a doctor, she had been urged to do so, and the doctor did indeed arrive to knock at my office door.

  I am aggrieved to say that I sent him away. It was I who informed him that the call had been unnecessary, since Lily had seemed to be faring much better and the women were all in attendance on her. He left, concluding that he had many other patients to tend to.’ Catherine felt anger rise in her now. ‘Why? Why would you do that?’

  Madame raised a hand to her forehead. ‘Oh, the night was chaotic. Just before the doctor had arrived I enquired upon matters and one of the women brought me the news that the child would very likely be born without breath in its lungs, but that Lily would likely survive. I assumed the doctor would no longer be required. Nellie had sent for him and of course by the time he arrived here, I then sent him away. A few hours later the baby was born alive and poor Lily perished.’

  She looked down remorsefully.

  ‘I will be honest in saying that I became enraged with the loss of my best employee. He had killed her. I could not bear to see him, or have him dredge up memories of my own loss.’

  ‘And yet he stayed here,’ Catherine concluded.

  ‘Yes, it was difficult for me, but the girls insisted they could manage. So of course he will bear a grudge towards me, I have always been too cowardly to tell him the truth. I let Nellie take the blame for his mother’s death because of course, nobody saw the doctor here or my sending him away. I am paying for these actions now, thatI can see. He will kill all the women who worked for me, maybe he will even come for me next.’

  ‘He will not,’ Catherine interrupted, ‘he does not blame you, his unhappiness seems to reach far deeper than even he can understand, I think. He is a lonely, tortured soul.’

  ‘We will all blame each other Catherine, when we need to save our own skin. Now he has taken his vengeance upon me, I tell you! Last night I concluded that it had to be Edward Cross, or the murders at least instigated by him. I believed it because his Uncle, or even his own mother might have informed him about me. I wondered had he discovered something. He may have possessed some knowledge of the past and sought to reap some revenge on our girls and myself.’

  ‘Edward’s Uncle?’ I asked, not sure where the connection lay.

  ‘Yes, Catherine. Mr Albert Cross was the very man who impregnated me all those years ago. Edward Cross’s uncle.’

  Catherine frowned. ‘But I was informed that he was a patron of this tavern. How is that so?’

  Madame laughed loudly. ‘Ah, there has been so much gossip and speculation for so many years, eventually the word spread that the Boars Tavern had received financial assistance from Albert Cross, but he had in fact been a generous benefactor to many establishments in the east end, so the matter as to why it was so with this brewery, was never in fact revealed. I suppose after a few years the details were swept under the carpet. To my knowledge no-one has ever discovered the truth about Charles, and as I stand here today, I pray that I can trust you with my deepest and most painful secret.’

  Catherine took the woman’s hands inside her own, they were cold.

  Beneath Madame Davenport’s stern exterior hid a damaged but innocent girl who had never known the true meaning of love and kindness. Only once, when she held pure love in her hands for a brief moment, it had been cruelly snatched away from her.

  ‘And now...’ Madame went on. ‘The matter of Eddie must be resolved. He is a danger to all of us. I am at a quandary Catherine, as to which way to turn. I would not wish to bring about his ruination, but he leaves me no choice, tell me, why did he let you go this evening?’

  ‘I was very afraid Madame. He had been seeking my affection for so long and I... well I returned nothing to him. When I discovered him this evening, he was a changeling. Barbaric in his demeanour, but still the gentle man hidden inside.

  In the end I bartered my life for my virginity. It was all I could offer him. I did so because he loved me, and I have nothing else to offer. Nothing at all. He knows he is finished. The police were soon to come and he would have to flee. Finally he released me, telling me that he would run, begging me not to spill a word of his identity.’

  Catherine heard the clock chime. It was six am, the occupants would be stirring.

  ‘I was not intending to inform you at all Madame, but I felt it only right to bring these events to your recognition. Eddie begged me not to tell a soul, and he released me under those terms. He says it has ended now, his fury of death is over. I cannot betray him despite the repulsion I feel over his actions. I traded my life for silence, and so, as I stand here before you, please understand that he spared my life.’

  Madame narrowed her tired eyes with uncertainty, saying nothing.

  Catherine slipped to her knees before the woman. ‘He says it has ended. I know where he has fled and I promised I would not tell. I promised so that he would free me, and so I cannot reveal it. Please, Madame, do not do so on my account.’

  Deflated, she stood up and slumped back in her chair. She desperately needed to retire, to rid her head of the night’s terrors.

  Finally Madame tucked her sodden handkerchief into her pocket and feebly stood to her feet. She gently touched the rocking horse letting it gently sway to and fro.

  ‘He has promised that it is over?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Madame nodded.

  ‘These women have paid a grave price for my sins, but this shall not be the ruination of us all. Go to your quarters and I shall think upon this whole matter very carefully.’

  THIRTY-FOUR

  ‘Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes will now rest in eternal peace. The police officers had almost caught the culprit, but sadly he escaped once again. Miss Bell did not witness the Ripper’s features close up and we can only be thankful that no harm came to her, or to Annie, that evening.’

&
nbsp; The stunned women sat on a row of chairs facing the Madame as she addressed them.

  ‘Poor old cows. I’ll wager that he’s found somewhere new to hide, this spring heeled Jack. Whenever they get close he hops it and finds somewhere else,’ put in Tilly.

  ‘That might very well be the case Tilly, we cannot know,’ Madame replied.

  ‘But they still haven’t caught him have they Madame? The streets are still unsafe.’ Annie insisted.

  ‘No, sadly they haven’t, but they will Annie. I have every faith in our officers of the law. Meanwhile, we must all resume our lives as bravely as we can. And Mr Edward Cross has been released from the station along with several other men due to a lack of evidence. According to the latest report from there he is no longer a suspect. They have many persons under arrest, so let us pray they find him.’

  ‘And how is Eddie faring Madame, shouldn’t he be here to hear this news before he leaves?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Ah Eddie. He apologies for his abrupt departure and mentioned how he wished he could have said farewell to all of us in person, but the ferry left early this morning and the officer-in-charge commanded that he board it.’

  ‘Oh just imagine that! Our Eddie a seaman! Who would’ve thought he’d be brave enough to enrol in the Navy? I knew he would do us proud in the end.’ Tilly winked at Annie.

  ‘We’ll miss him,’ Annie sniffed. ‘It still hurts me that he and Nellie parted on such bad terms. I hope he makes something good of his life now.’

  The women stood up and Annie turned to Catherine who was sitting beside her and touched her arm briefly.

  ‘I shall miss you too Catherine Bell, can’t say how sorry I am that I’ve acted so horribly towards you in the past. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me it’ll be nice if you can come back and visit us.’

  ‘Of course I shall Annie. I shall miss you all too.’

  Catherine picked up her case and the women followed her to the tavern door.

  Lizzie stood waiting at the opposite side of the street with Laurel. She smiled and gave Catherine a little wave.

  Catherine looked forward to beginning a fresh chapter. It wouldn’t be as much of a wage at the bakery, but it was a roof over her head and decent company. More than she could wish for. Madame Davenport had been kindly encouraging and receptive to the idea that Catherine move on, applying much more warmth in her demeanour than before.

  Since that horrific night, Catherine saw the old woman in a new light. She had seen the child emerge in Madame’s old eyes. The girl who had never been given a chance to be free from society’s restraints. It seemed that the confession made to Catherine and the secret they now held between them had brought about a silent and humble understanding, a kinship that Catherine was ever grateful for. It had restored her dwindling faith in the world, and she knew she would return to visit the woman.

  It was doubtful that Eddie would ever return to Whitechapel and he had got what he wanted from her in the end. It hadn’t hurt because she had already been in too much shock, and she had felt numb all over. Too afraid to move or speak she had tried to be receptive towards him as he lay on top of her, fearful that he might suddenly decide to cut her throat in one swift movement.

  But as he had kissed her gently and stroked her hair she had not seen any vicious killer lying above her, only the quiet young man with the sweet grin and mischievous twinkle in his eye.

  It was hard to believe that it was he who murdered those women one by one, bitterness and anger over-riding his better sense of judgement. She did not fear him despite all he had done. It was not the Eddie that she knew deep inside.

  They had cried together that night, both locked within the sad memories of their tragic past, inner torments and fears for the future. Finally when they had said their goodbyes he had swiftly disappeared from sight.

  Walking along the road now with her new employers, Catherine passed a tattered board with an old papered advertisement of Jekyll and Hyde.

  She shook her head, knowingly.

  Up above her a scattering of dark clouds parted to reveal a few glorious rays of sunshine which cast a golden glow over the Whitechapel buildings and far beyond the city.

  She smiled to herself.

  Jack the Ripper was gone. He had promised.

  * * *

  Edward sat slouched in his study chair as Thomson topped up his glass and moved the backgammon piece on the board between them.

  ‘I told you they’d see sense and realise that they had nothing against you. It was all poppycock and guesswork, and of course tensions were so high they would have implicated anyone for the crimes in the end, probably just to satisfy the blasted inhabitants of this city.’

  Cross was in no mood to talk about the harrowing events which had occurred over a month before. He was just awfully glad that the beastly fellow had disappeared from the streets and taken his god-fearing legacy of death with him.

  Though things hadn’t fared much better for him after the police had discovered he was innocent, at least he had been discarded from the long line up of suspects due to a lack of evidence. The authorities had promptly destroyed his original diary putting an end to any hopes of his publishing success.

  “Utter garbage, don’t we already have enough garbage on our streets?” Inspector Abberline had shouted at him under severe questioning.

  He remembered how he had gone to the tavern that same evening and found no sign of Catherine Bell there until he learned that she had gone off to service another client.

  The bitch had replaced him so soon.

  But it had come as a grave shock to read the newspaper reports the following day. She had gone missing that very same evening when the killer had struck again, murdering two women within an hour of each other.

  In the early hours she had stumbled into Bishopsgate station where it seemed she could not remember her whereabouts for half of the night. And if the Ripper had discovered her at all, why he hadn’t killed her was also unclear. The authorities were stumped. It seemed only Catherine Bell knew the whole story, or maybe it was that she knew nothing at all.

  Damn her!

  And he had come so close to having her too. Until he had lost control and let her slip through his fingers. The grand finale for his own publication concluded as being nothing very grand at all. And so he’d lost her, thanks to his fondness for drink and other more potent pleasures.

  Thomson noted Edward’s sour expression. ‘Oh cheer up man, it could have been a lot worse. You can always write some other type of publication. I’m afraid the one you gave me just didn’t seem to make much impact with that particular publisher, but there are plenty of others.’

  ‘A new publication?’

  ‘Yes. Well there are those Paris ladies I’ve always been telling you about,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Cross leaned closer to the board to make his move. ‘Hmm, tell me about Paris then. Oh did you manage to pick up a paper from the newsboy on your way over?’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Thomson fished the morning newspaper from within his jacket and unfolded it.

  ‘I’ll bet there’s some cheap fare to Paris in this morning’s edition too, we could always purchase tickets and sail to, GOOD GOD!’ he exclaimed suddenly.

  Cross looked up, startled. ‘What is it?’

  Thomson turned the page showing the depiction of a ghastly corpse, horrifically hacked from head to toe.

  The headline read, "Mary Jane Kelly Found Butchered."

  ‘The Ripper’s done it again. This time in the poor harlot’s own bed!’

  THE END

  A Note from the Author.

  The Prostitutes

  When I decided to include London’s Whitechapel prostitutes withi
n my story the idea was met with different reactions. Some people enquired why I wished to write about such unappealing people in history, especially those who possessed such low moral values. Other’s found the idea intriguing.

  My intention was to create a story to show readers that Victorian prostitutes were every bit as human as the rest of us, and in many ways begged to be pitied.

  Women who work as prostitutes in less affluent countries today are in many ways comparable to those of the 18th century. It is a sad fact that female oppression by the male sex still dominates many societies.

  In stark comparison, women in more affluent locations are provided with an education as a natural ‘right.’ They are able to follow their own path and choose any occupational career they desire. In these cases prostitution is more of a lifestyle choice or the result of tragic personal circumstances.

  The lower class Victorian prostitutes, on which I focus heavily within this book, quite clearly express very little hope for a better life, because for the most part there was no better life to be had.

  Once these women had fallen victim to this particular lifestyle it was almost impossible to escape it. Once a woman had taken a strange man into her bed out of wedlock she was branded a whore. That was not so much a label, but an identity to carry with her for the rest of her life.

  I am certain, however, that even though Victorian prostitutes could not hope for a better life they would still have desired one, as any human being would.