Whitechapel (12 page)

After several minutes of this passionate activity Mary pulled away her mouth from his remaining in his arms and whispered “Robert, take me to your lodgings. Now.”

***

That day during the morning the inquest into Mary Nichols murder was opened presided over by the colourful forty-four year old coroner Wynne Baxter. Abberline and Godley were in attendance at the Whitechapel Working Lads Club and at their request the matter was reconvened for Monday, but ultimately it would not be until later in the month that the police had any real evidence to present.

“Certainly, Inspector Abberline, I shall adjourn matters for it does seem only prudent that we set the ball rolling today and hopefully wrap things up by the end of the month,” was Baxter’s gambit.

“Thank you, sir, and I hope that we won’t end up with several running concurrent.”

“What do you mean, Inspector?”

“Well, sir, this is the second prostitute in four weeks, I’m hoping that there’s not a pattern as they’ve been victims of bloody knife attacks.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s just coincidence, Inspector.”

“So do I, sir,” said Abberline closing the conversation but feeling that with his drafting into the case maybe things were set to escalate. He hoped it was an unfounded concern.

***

About 5.p.m Ralph was walking along Whitechapel High Street with Bruiser on a homemade makeshift rope lead enjoying the rest of the day off from selling papers. He was dressed in his usual scruffy clothes but had no need of his heavy coat on the bright and pleasant day so it lay on the floor of his lodgings at Millers Court along with his prized blankets and his probably comatose mother. They trotted along quite happily watching the world go by as they passed the many stalls making up the Saturday market. They were all winding down and clearing up due to the time but some still had produce and certainly all were flush with their day’s takings. Ralph saw coming towards him a furtive figure dressed in what he thought was a vicar’s suit, the shape and movement of this person closely resembled that of the man he’d seen dart away on sight of the police a few days previously in Red Lion Court.

Michael Ostrog saw the boy and took little notice of him as he would have little or no ready cash on him. He cast his eyes around the stall holders to try to spy which one might have the most profit for him. He saw a quite short stocky ruddy faced fifty year old man clearing up his poultry stall. These stall holders usually made good money from brisk business throughout the day and if Ostrog caught him unaware he could use a weapon from the stall if necessary, although the keeper didn’t look as if he could give him much resistance. Ostrog’s only short coming in his plan was that he had not counted on the fact that the boy had casually walked on but had then stopped and was watching him from the shelter of a doorway, curious as to what this shady looking character was up to. Ralph knew he would at least get some information for Constable Ford on this new face to the area.

As were most of the stall holders the poultry man was going about his own business of clearing up with only a little stock left on his display when Ostrog approached the stall. Ostrog had certainly been careful to observe that there were no police around as he passed through a gap and got behind the stall raising his fist in anticipation of his victim turning round. He saw that the stall holder wore a waist pouch which would be holding the day’s takings and fastened around his back with only a tied bow to secure it. He grabbed one of the free ends of the bow and pulled it firmly making it untie instantly and it fell to the ground with a clatter from the coins within it. The stall holder spun around clutching the void where once his pouch had hung. Ostrog let fly instantly with a devastating punch with his raised right fist connecting with familiar accuracy onto the nose of the stunned stall holder shattering bone and spraying blood across his face and down the front of his off white cotton apron. He reeled backwards against his butchers block as Ostrog made a darting move to grab the pouch of money lying between them on the cobbled market floor.

Dropping his sight from his victim to look at the pouch, a momentary lapse in Ostrog’s usually predatory efficiency, he was oblivious to his victim’s reaction of grabbing a ten inch steak boning knife from the block. As Ostrog looked back towards his quarry he saw the knife heading towards the top of his head accompanied by the cry of “You fucking foreign bastard, I’ll teach you!” Ostrog threw himself as much from harms way as he could, but his evasive action was not enough. The knife buried itself deep into the muscle of his left shoulder, so much so that as he continued his avoidance move the stall holder was forced to let go of its handle. Ostrog screamed out in agony “Niet! Damned whore’s son, may the devil curse you!” Still having hold of his prize but now laying on the floor he swung his legs around violently in a sweeping action catching the stall holder’s shins and pitching him forward onto the floor. He landed heavily on his face doing further damage to his jaw and leaving him clutching his face and screaming in pain.

Unable to retaliate any further, Ostrog scrambled to his feet and with head down and moving fast he surged his way through the gathering crowd with the money in his right hand and his left arm hanging limp with the knife embedded in his scrawny shoulder muscle. He ran off along the High Street towards the junction with New Road with Ralph and Bruiser following in pursuit to keep tabs on his escape. Behind him Ralph could hear the varying cries from the gathered and now mobilising crowd in the market ranging from ‘Find the Old Bill!’ to ‘Lets lynch the bastard ourselves, fucking foreigner!’

Ralph watched Ostrog make his way south in New Road and then heard the sound of police whistles coming from the opposite direction of the High Street, he stopped to wave the constables the right way. They approached Ralph and Bruiser now barking with excitement. One of them breathlessly spoke to him.

“What’s going on, boy?”

“That bloke going off down there, he’s just robbed the poultry man. There’s a bloody knife sticking out of his arm too.” Ostrog looked round just at the point when Ralph was relaying the information to the police and pointing in his direction.

Like a wounded animal he couldn’t stop and risk succumbing to his pursuers and was forced to carrying on running towards Commercial Road knowing in his mind that he would silence that newspaper boy and his geriatric dog. The whistles carried on blowing from behind him as he neared the junction ahead and he was then stunned by the sight of two more police rounding it and now closing him down from the opposite direction. He stopped dead in his tracks with only a second or two to spare to consider his options. He had only one good arm to fight with and he was now being almost surrounded by four policemen but with one line of escape along Nelson Street. He was forced to drop the money so he could defend himself. Then he braced himself with his legs locked firmly out as he stood upright and clutched the handle of the steak knife with his right hand.

The four approaching policemen stopped watching stunned all about fifteen feet from him as they observed the unfolding terrifying display of pain control. Ostrog with a look of defiance had veins standing out prominently in his neck and in the sides of his forehead as he absorbed the pain. He pulled the knife inch by inch out of his shoulder until the whole six inches by which it had been buried were free and now being held up in front of him dripping with blood. He surveyed the aghast faces of his potential captors with the endorphins generated within him from the chase dulling all sensations of pain. He knew that as with the poultry man he would have to make a pre-emptive strike to gain the upper hand and give himself a chance of taking revenge on that boy.

He lunged at the nearest constable with a hard stabbing movement managing to land the knife deep into his right thigh, the officer then dropping instantly to the floor screaming in pain. He made a slashing movement at the next nearest one who stood back to avoid a contact with the third and the fourth now with their truncheons drawn. Having distracted them with his attack he then ran as fast as he could into Nelson Street with two of them still chasing whilst the third tended to his fallen comrade.

The adrenaline carried him swiftly and gave him a good start on the constables. He ducked into the nearest doorway which led him into the maze of one of the tenement blocks. They followed only seconds later but he had already disappeared, melting into the East End slum with the rest of the lost souls scattered around the corridors and stairwells of what was ironically ‘Russia House’. Ostrog found himself a bolt-hole beneath some stairs behind piles of festering rubbish which he was prepared to tolerate for long enough to guarantee that his searchers had given up. As he heard footsteps passing above him on the stairwells with the house now swarming with the accursed police, Ostrog’s adrenaline levels began to drop and the throbbing pain of his shoulder began to thump louder and more intensely. He would have to go and seek medical attention when the area was safe again. For now he had to suffer in silence.

Back in the High Street Ralph observed intently the constables taking details from the poultry man as Bruiser sat patiently against his leg; the rest of the gathered crowd began to disperse and go about their usual business. As was common place, few had come forward to the officers to give witness accounts so the young boy waited patiently to give his account of events. Whilst he waited he listened to two of the constables who had been the first on scene chatting about the afternoon’s excitement.

“Well, that bloody madman has got to be Michael Ostrog from what I’ve seen of him and what the punters have described him like,” said a thin, drawn looking Commercial Street constable.

“Look what he did to Wilf’s leg, cut to bloody ribbons it was, take him weeks to walk again,” replied his chubbier colleague.

“Mind you, it being a poultry knife it’s used to cutting through more meat that what’s in his leg!” They both laughed darkly together, a way of surviving the stress of it all for them.

Eventually the furiously scribbling constable who had been taking details from the poultry man turned to Ralph and bent down to speak to him eye to eye, but immediately turned his initial attention to Bruiser.

“Well, my fine furry friend, what did you see then, eh? With them sharp sheep dog eyes of yours?”

“’E saw lots, but ‘e can’t tell you nothing, ‘e’s smart but he can’t talk, mister.” Bruiser gave the constable his paw and looked around him in a rather bored fashion.

“No, of course not, son, but what did you see, you work around here don’tcha.”

“Yeah, and you’re PC Jonas Mizen, I know you, you’ve nicked my mum when she’s pissed.”

“Sorry, lad, its only work you know. Anyway, how do you know my name?”

“’Cos I’ve seen you in court to give your evidence, ain’t I.”

“All right enough of that, what did you see then?”

Ralph gave a full account of the violent events in the market with an intricate description of Ostrog. Jonas Mizen was forced to get a second note book from one of the other constables as a result of the sheer volume of the details he had taken from the boy regarding the violent robbery. Once finished they each went their separate ways with Ralph apprehensively considering a return to Millers Court and his drunken, whoring mother.

***

Robert’s lodgings were empty but for the ever present Bosun. Now awake he greeted the familiar inhabitant and the lovely Mary warmly and after a few minutes of fussing from the pair of them he retreated to his basket and grubby blankets.

“Which way is your parlour then, Robert?” Mary said mischievously.

“The only way is up,” he said pointing to the stairs “And keep going to the last room at the top, I have the attic lodgings, with a view,” he said mocking society gentlemen. Mary giggled in a devilish fashion sending a wave of excitement through young Ford.

“Then lead the way then, darling.”

He took her hand and then led her up the narrow and creaking staircase passing several landing windows which allowed the warm Saturday sunshine to stream welcomingly into the dark Victorian end of terrace house. The door to his room was not locked, that facility long since defunct, and Robert pushed it open to reveal a tidy but Spartan bed sit. Opposite the door was a wall with a small window which looked out north towards Bethnal Green Road. It was bordered either side by a set of heavy black cotton curtains hanging from a somewhat rusted metal pole, devoid of any finials so as a consequence a curtain ring and part of the curtain hung uselessly from the left side limply against the bare grey plastered wall. To the right of the room was an old iron bed with pleasantly clean looking sheets and an Ida down over the top of it, to the left was a pitted wooden chest of draws next to which was a table with a single chair. On the table was neatly laid out a kettle, enamel mug, plate and cutlery. Beyond that in the corner was a butler sink in very worn and chipped enamel while above it hung a mirror Robert used for shaving and hair brushing. Below it was a shelf with very tidily arranged toiletries including an old mug holding and razor, shaving brush and, unusually for working class Victorians, a tooth brush.

Mary shut the door which revealed behind her to the left hand side of the door at the foot of the bed a linen press wardrobe on top of which was a battered leather suitcase. To the right of the door was a small wood burning stove for heat and basic cooking which was vented out through the wall and a shelf above it attached to the wall with some various culinary jars and packets.

“Quite the little home maker aren’t you, Robert.”

“I do my best, Miss Kelly,” he replied removing his suit jacket and laying it over the back of the lone chair.

They stood silent looking into each others eyes for a few seconds that to Robert seemed like an eternity. He then approached her and they embraced kissing wildly and passionately now totally away from any public gaze, they could be totally uninhibited. For the second time today Mary felt like a real woman, not a common whore, kissed, loved and wanted for all the right reasons that any civilised man should want a woman. They frantically began undressing each other, Mary undoing his tie whilst he unbuttoned her cream jacket, then moving closer and reaching around to her back he unfastened the her dress as she undid his waist coat and then his shirt. She pulled it off his shoulders and rubbed her hands firmly over his lean and only lightly haired chest. As she felt her dress become loose she pushed Robert backwards and stepped out of it with the crushed velvet garment falling to the floor, forming a second pile of discarded clothes next to Robert’s.