Whitechapel

by Sam Gafford

  I looked where he directed and there was a man leaning against the wall. He was dressed in labourer’s clothes and had dark hair with a full beard and moustache. He looked lean, but I thought there were hard muscles under his coat. He was not a happy person. He glowered at Arthur and Mary as he sipped his drink. If looks could kill, they would both be lying in a bloody mess on the floor right then.

  “Who is that?” I asked.

  “That,” Sickert said, pausing for a sip of his ale, “is Joe Barnett. He lives with Mary, but I hear their relationship is a stormy one, full of shouts, fights, and drink.”

  “Why is he looking that way?”

  “He’s keeping his distance because he doesn’t want to queer the deal.”

  I was puzzled. “What deal?”

  Sickert stared at me as if he were trying to see if I was kidding or not. His head tilted to the side and he moved closer. “You really don’t know, do you? She’s a bang-tail, A.B., a prostitute.”

  I could feel my mouth hang open. I was sure that Arthur didn’t know. And how could I tell him that his childhood friend sold her body to strange men? Sickert saw my concern.

  “Looks as if another rescue mission is called for,” Sickert said. “Come on, A.B., they’ve chatted enough.”

  As we walked back to the table, I saw Arthur pass Mary something that she quickly grabbed and put in her pocket. I could hear them talking, but it wasn’t any language I had ever heard.

  “Hallo, Mary,” Sickert said. “And Arthur Machen, fancy meeting you here.”

  “Oh,” Arthur said, turning to face Sickert, “Walter. Shouldn’t you be painting or something?”

  Sickert laughed. “And how could I paint without my best model? Mary, you’ve not been around much lately.”

  Mary gave a half-smile. “I’ve been busy, you know. Annie tells me that your brother is going away for a ‘business’ trip.”

  “Did she now? Well, she would know, wouldn’t she?”

  Arthur looked puzzled. “You have a brother, Sickert? Why haven’t you brought him to any of Amy’s parties?”

  “Well, you know. He’s not one for parties. He prefers to be ‘one-on-one,’ isn’t that right, Mary?”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know. Arthur, I’ve got to go. Promise you’ll come see me?”

  “I will. You know I will. You’ll be all right?”

  “Right as rain! Mary Kelly always lands on her feet, you know that!”

  She stood up and quickly left the table and the bar. I saw Barnett follow behind her. I wanted to say something to Arthur but not in front of Sickert, whom I could tell Arthur did not care for.

  “Arthur,” I said, “it must be getting rather late. Perhaps we should be heading home.”

  “Hmm?” Arthur said. He was watching the door through which Mary had just exited. “Ah, yes, yes, you’re right. Time to be going.” Arthur was talking, but it was obvious that his mind was miles away. Probably twenty years away in Wales.

  “Leaving so soon, Arthur? Now who will I have to discuss art with?”

  Arthur stood up. “Discuss it with anyone you like, Walter. It’s not as if you’ll listen to anything they have to say anyway. Come along, Albert.”

  Sickert stood up and raised his glass. “To your health, Arthur, and to yours as well, A.B.! May your glass never be empty and your heart always be full.”

  “Um, yes,” I said. “Well, goodnight, Walter.”

  As we were walking through the door, two women came rushing in, anxious to get out of the rain. The first woman walked by, but the second one walked directly into Arthur. She was a little over five feet tall with a dark complexion. Her hair was turning grey and she had a scar on her forehead. What I noticed most was that she was very clean, which was unusual in that place.

  Arthur was about to mumble an apology when he looked the woman straight in the face. Suddenly, his eyes widened in terror and I thought he was having a fit. The woman looked at him but didn’t say a word.

  “Polly!” the first woman said. “Stop lagging and get your arse in here! Can’t you see he ain’t interested?”

  Polly moved aside, but Arthur never took his eyes off her.

  “Arthur,” I said, “are you all right? What’s the matter?”

  For a moment he didn’t respond. Then, still not looking at me, he softly said, “Get me out of here, Albert. Right now.”

  I didn’t argue. I grabbed Arthur by the coat sleeve and pulled him out into the rain and night. He didn’t say anything until I had gotten us back into a hansom and on the way home.

  Arthur was looking out the window at the pouring rain. “I’m sorry, Albert. I shouldn’t have acted that way.”

  “Why did you? What happened?”

  He laid his head on the glass window. “When I looked at that woman in the doorway, I saw something. I’m not sure I should tell you.”

  Confusion was becoming a way of life for me. “What did you see? Please tell me.”

  Arthur turned his head and looked at me. “I saw her dead, Albert. Her face had the pall of death upon it . . . a violent, painful death.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m sure you’re mistaken, Arthur. Probably a trick of the light.”

  Arthur sighed. “Yes, trick of the light.”

  He didn’t say anything else on the ride home. I spent most of the time looking out the window, as the sky had a strange red glow to it. When we finally arrived at Arthur’s home, he slowly got out of the cab. “It’s been a long night, Albert. You’d best get home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right, Arthur?”

  He looked at me with the most forlorn face I had ever seen on a human being. “I’m fine, Albert, I’m fine. Just a trick of the light. Goodnight.”

  He walked inside and closed the door.

  It was a short walk back to Mrs. Hutchins’, which gave me plenty of time to think and stare at that strange red sky. By the time I was back in my own bed, I still had no idea what had happened that night and why Arthur had had that strange reaction. I did know that I would have to talk to Arthur about Mary Kelly before he got too connected with her. That night, I had dreams of women who walked by me as their faces melted off their skulls. Death was a sight to which I would soon become all too accustomed.

  Chapter 6

  It was a Sunday afternoon, wet and cheerless; and a duller spectacle this earth of ours has not to show than a rainy Sunday in London.

  —Thomas De Quincey

  Friday, August 31, 1888

  The following morning dawned uneventfully. I had half expected to be consumed by undead ‘unfortunates,’ but I awoke to a perfectly normal sunrise. Ann was waiting for me at the breakfast table and managed to dispel completely the sense of doom that was weighing on my mind. I had only known her for a few days, but I already felt a connexion to her that went beyond anything I had ever experienced. Without being able to put words to it, I was in love and desperately hoping that she might be feeling the same.

  “And where did you and Arthur disappear to last night in all that rain?” she asked over coffee.

  “Ah,” I hesitated, not sure how much I should tell her. “Arthur felt that I had too naïve a view of life in London and the condition of the poor. So he took me to the East End.”

  “The East End? Whatever for?”

  “He wanted me to see how, in the midst of one of the richest cities in the world, there lived people who endured such extreme poverty that they could scarcely be called human. I had never seen such things before. Truly, I would never have believed that they could exist in London.”

  Ann nodded. “Arthur was right. You are naïve.”

  I looked crushed, so she quickly laughed.

  “Oh, Albert, I didn’t mean to insult you. It is easy to see how one who has never been in a city can’t imagine such things as the East End. It is a terrible place. The suffering I have seen there! Many times I have come home and spent hours crying over them.”

&nb
sp; I was astonished. Ann knew the East End? How?

  “You’ve been to the East End? When?”

  “Don’t look so surprised, Albert. I am not some foolish girl with my head full of French fashions and gossip. I volunteer at one of the churches in the East End several days a week. I consider it my Christian duty to help others who have not been as fortunate as I. Perhaps I could convince you to join me some day?”

  “I would be happy to. You are an amazing woman, Miss Simmons. I never know what I will learn about you next!”

  Ann laughed. “Then you’ll just have to keep on your toes, Mr. Besame, I am a very complex woman!”

  We laughed and talked some more before I had to rush off to The Brothers. I had already decided that, once I got my first full pay envelope, I would ask her to accompany me to the theatre. Something grand and beautiful enough to be worthy of her. I’d have to ask Arthur for recommendations, as I’m sure he would know the best places to go.

  When I arrived at The Brothers’ store, I was amazed to find that it was not open. It had never occurred to me that the store would be closed, and I checked a street clock on the corner to make sure that I was not early. I was, actually, a few minutes late, so it should have been open for business already.

  I stood on the sidewalk and waited, looking anxiously up and down the street. I could hear the newsies yelling out the headlines about some murder and something about someone being named to a government job. A few minutes later, Wendell came bounding down the street. He was out of breath by the time he reached the store and pulled a key out of his pocket.

  “Oh, Albert,” he huffed, “my apologies. Something got away from us this morning and kept us late. A rather large and substantial collection is coming up for auction, and we got a close look at some of it this morning.”

  “No problem, sir, I don’t mind waiting.”

  “I am sorry, though. I pride myself on punctuality, and to be late really does upset me so.”

  I put my coat on the rack and was heading down to the ‘Black Hole’ when Wendell called out to me. “Albert! Come here quickly, please!”

  I ran over to him and found that one of the locked cabinets in the back had been opened. Several of the books were lying about the floor, and it looked as if some pages had been ripped out.

  “Before I arrived, did you see anyone about the shop? Anyone at all?”

  “No, sir, I didn’t. I was out in front for about five minutes, and no one even stopped by the door.”

  “Did you see anyone inside?”

  “No, no one. The shop was completely empty.”

  “Come with me, Albert, back outside this instant!”

  I followed Wendell back to the street, and he locked the door again. He turned to me and said, “I am going for a constable. Do not let anyone near this place, do you understand me?”

  I nodded, and he was off faster than he had been running before. I was dumbfounded. Why would anyone break into a cabinet in a bookstore? I looked at the door, but it didn’t seem to have been tampered with. The front windows were all intact and unbroken. I peered inside but couldn’t really see much of anything. As I looked, a dark mass stood up near the back of the store and quickly ran to the rear.

  There was someone still in the shop!

  I looked around me but couldn’t see anyone. Wendell had kept the key, so I could not unlock the door. I tried the handle, but it was firmly locked. No one was coming out that way. That meant that the thief had to be trying to escape out the back. I had to get there quickly, but I did not know how to get in back of that building! It was close to its neighbours, and either alley further down might not have turned the right way. Just as I was about to choose one of the alleys, Wendell came racing down the street with a policeman.

  “Mr. Robson!” I shouted. “Mr. Robson! Come quickly! There is someone inside the shop!”

  Wendell practically flew the remaining steps to the front door.

  “What did you see?”

  “Someone’s inside. I saw him stand up and run towards the back.”

  “Which alley leads in back, sir?” the constable asked.

  “Both,” Wendell answered; “they form a half-circle.”

  “Right.” said the officer. “You, there,” he pointed at me, “take the left and I’ll take the right. Sing out if you see anything.”

  He ran down the right alley with Wendell behind him, and I took the left. There was a lot of junk and boxes in the alley which made the going slow. I was running as fast as I could towards the turn in the alley when something exploded out of it and hit me with the force of a locomotive. I slammed against the far wall, but I reached out and grabbed a handhold of something that was trying to run over me.

  “Leggo!” I heard someone say. I tried to get my feet under me, but he kicked them out again. He was carrying something in his hand. It looked like a small book and some pages. I felt him kick me in the side, and I swung wildly. I connected with something, and he fell on top of me and scrambled to get back up.

  Coming down the alley from the other direction, I heard the sound of a police whistle.

  “You! Stop right there!” the constable cried.

  “Damn you!” he said to me and punched me straight in the face. I went down hard. As the world spun around me, I heard running and voices shouting and far, far away, I swear I could hear Ann singing.

  *

  “He’s waking up now,” Wendell said.

  “Good. Maybe we can get some details out of him then.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Robert, give the lad a moment to catch his senses.”

  As I opened my eyes, I saw that I was now lying inside the bookstore and was the object of much attention from a small crowd. There were Wendell and Robert, the policeman I had seen earlier, and two others. Also, kneeling beside me, was Arthur!

  “Arthur? What are you doing here? What happened?”

  “Slowly, Albert. Don’t try to get up too quickly. You’ve had a nasty knock on the head. How do you feel?”

  I thought for a moment. “My head feels as if I’ve gone a few rounds with John L. Sullivan, but I suppose I’m all right.”

  “Look straight at me, Albert. Any blurriness? Double vision?”

  “No, none at all.”

  “Good. Here, drink this. It’ll help.”

  Arthur took a glass from Wendell and gave it to me. I downed it quickly and immediately coughed violently. They all laughed.

  “What was that?” I asked, giving the glass back.

  “Brandy,” Robert replied, “and too expensive a brand to be used so lightly.”

  “Oh, hush up, Robert!” Wendell snapped.

  I sat up slowly. “What happened?”

  The constable came forward. “Our little thief gave you quite a thumping, lad. You’ve left a piece of your scalp on the wall out there. Did you see anything?”

  “Ah, no, not much. He ran right into me as he came around the corner. It all happened so fast.”

  “Was he carrying anything?” Wendell asked impatiently.

  “Hang on, sir, I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind. Now, son, did you get a good look at the man?”

  “No, not really. He was about my height and clean-shaven. Um, light brown hair, and he seemed fairly neat.”

  “Did you recognise him?”

  “No, I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Would you be able to pick him out of a group if you saw him again?”

  I shook my head. “It was all so fast. I don’t think I could remember him well enough.”

  “I see.” He snapped together his notebook. “Sir,” he said to Robert, “may I speak with you for a moment?”

  “Of course, of course, constable.” They walked over to the corner of the shop and talked together quietly.

  “Albert, listen to me, this is very important. Was he carrying something?” Wendell seemed very worried about this question.

  I thought for a moment. “Yes!” I cried. “He was! I remember he h
ad something in one of his hands. It looked like a small book with some larger pages sticking out of it.”

  The blood drained from Wendell’s face. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear. I must go talk to Robert.”

  He hurried off to the others and left Arthur and me alone.

  “Albert,” he began, “are you sure you’re quite all right?”

  “I think so. I have to admit that I am not in the habit of being conked on the head like this, so I can’t speak from experience. Arthur, just what the hell happened here?”

  “There’s been a break-in. Someone broke through the back window and crawled inside the shop. It looks as if you startled him, though, because he only rifled through one of the bookcases.”

  “Why? What was he looking for?”

  “I have no idea, but judging from the look of The Brothers, I’d say that they have a very good idea.”

  Wendell came back to us and was very upset. “Well, there’s little we can do. Apparently no one saw this fellow break into the shop, and young Albert here can’t give a good enough description for an identification.”

  “I’m very sorry, sir. I tried to stop him.”

  “Oh, I know you did, Albert, I know you did. This whole business is very upsetting.”

  “Wendell, did he get the cashbox?” Arthur asked.

  “What? Oh, no, no, he didn’t.”

  “Well, that’s very odd, isn’t it? He could have easily made off with that. Why smash open a bookcase instead?”

  Wendell looked at Arthur but didn’t say a word.

  Robert, hearing the conversation, walked over to us. “You know very well we have some very valuable editions, Arthur; you helped catalogue most of them.”

  “Yes, I know, but most thieves I’ve met wouldn’t know the difference between a Gutenberg and a King James Bible. There must be a higher class of criminal around here.”

  Robert looked sternly at Arthur. “This is not amusing, Arthur, this is our livelihood we are talking about. Already the news of this is spreading through the community. It will be a black stain upon our name, and soon no one will trust us with any consignment.”