Authors: Bryan Lightbody
He looked at the fine wives and mistresses of the gentlemen who were also taking the air that afternoon. He worked hard to keep his dark carnal thoughts at bay and suppress his murderous urges until he entered Whitechapel. As his thoughts lay elsewhere, he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around instantly to see who it was, raising his walking cane slightly and tightening his grip on it as he did so. Tumblety turned to be confronted by a handsome English gentleman well dressed in a three piece suit and sporting a bowler hat. He was slender with a smooth complexion and a neatly trimmed typically Victorian gent’s moustache. He was very much the image of Queen Victoria’s grandson Prince Albert Victor. Montague John Druitt faced Tumblety with an expectant look.
A smile appeared across Tumblety’s face and he began to greet Druitt. Grabbing hold of his upper arms with his own he spoke with his distinctive American twang.
“Druitt, old boy how are you, great to see you again.” Druitt relaxed his look and smiled himself and relied to this jovial greeting.
“Not bad at all thank you, Doctor, not bad.”
The dashing looking Druitt was a successful practising solicitor and noted sportsman especially during his days at Oxford University where he also excelled in the debating society. Not everything he touched turned to gold as his real driving ambition had been to be on the stage, but after poor reviews as Sir Toby Belch in Shakespeare’s ‘Twelfth Night’ as a young man he gave up the idea of a career as a thespian. This pained him still some eleven years later but depression had run in his family from his mother’s side and sometimes got the better of him. To console himself he ventured into the East End to indulge in debauchery with street women which increased his own self esteem by allowing him to achieve a sense of sexual conquest. He therefore had much in common with Tumblety, but when the Doctor was not around to keep his spirits boosted following the satisfaction of his urges in Whitechapel, he would fall into a deeper depression for lowering himself so. He would then often find himself by the River Thames in Wapping contemplating death having debauched himself so shamefully in Whitechapel. He knew one day he would have the courage to do it. It was in Spitalfields whilst drinking with some unfortunates in The Ten Bells public house that he had first met Tumblety. A relatively small pub, Druitt had spotted Tumblety across its smoky and always lively bar in his military finery at a table with three women around him, all in various states of age, dress, size and un-attraction. For both he and Tumblety the one common and redeeming feature they both had was a taste for cheap sexual gratification. None of the women or Druitt knew Tumblety’s true intentions when he went to the East End. He would now use them to track down Mary Kelly and to fulfil his bloodlust along the way.
“You know, Monty, your resemblance to that damn Grandson to the Queen is uncanny,” said Tumblety in his American East coast accent.
“Doctor, would you please address me as Montague. Monty is the preserve of my mother and brother as a name, thank you. And furthermore, the only advantage this look gives me is the occasional free knee trembler from the ugliest bitches thinking they’re about to be plucked from obscurity. Because of all these Cleveland Street rumours about the Prince they keep thinking I’m him.” It was rumoured that Prince Albert Victor had secretly married a catholic prostitute having fathered a child with her and their liaisons took place in Cleveland Street.
“Sure, cut the doctor crap when we’re about town and call me Frank, its better around the ladies,” retorted Tumblety. “Now let’s grab a cab and get going to Whitechapel, we’ll talk along the way.”
They strolled from Green Park into Constitution Hill and past the walls of Buckingham Palace down to its front gates. Passing these gates two constables on duty outside tipped their hats to Druitt making the common mistakes that Tumblety had highlighted. Strolling into The Mall Druitt waved down a horse-drawn hansom cab. They both climbed aboard.
“Where to, your Grace?” asked the driver. Smiling broadly and knowingly Druitt replied.
“Whitechapel, my good man. The Ten Bells, Commercial Street.”
***
Getting on for late afternoon the same day Robert and Del had finished another early shift and had walked from ‘The Street’ down to The Britannia public house. Some of the other lads off duty had joined them in there with the whole establishment now being a mix of traders, prostitutes, soldiers and policemen. Working in such a tight knit area most of the prostitutes, or ‘toms’ as they were known by the police, all knew each other. A group of three were sitting together at a table getting progressively drunk, which helped dull the senses when plying their trade later, and beginning to howl with raucous laughter.
Robert was transfixed by Mary Kelly who was sat with forty-six year old Catherine Eddowes, a common prostitute who appeared haggard, drawn and typically looked beyond her years. With her current lifestyle she had done well to live to forty-six. The other woman with them was forty-three year old Mary ‘Polly’ Nicholls. A native of the area all her life, she had a bloated, ruddy appearance no doubt the result of alcohol abuse and was very plain.
“Oh for God’s sake, Rob, she maybe pretty but she’s a bloody tom, mate,” said Del to Robert trying to break the stare he had fixed on Mary.
“I know, but if could catch her now, before it takes its toll on her maybe we might have a future together, she’s quite sophisticated,” replied Robert defensively.
“Leave it out, mate, sophisticated? Oh, she must be tomming it around here. Just go and bloody well drag her away from the other two.”
“I’m building up to it, Del, I will do it in minute when things are….right.”
“Well in the meantime until things are right, do you want another beer?”
“Too bloody right, that might help bring on the right moment.” Shaking his glass at Robert Del said “Well it’s your round, the usual please.”
Robert turned to Wilf the portly mutton chopped ageing barman to place their order. As he did so The Britannia’s doors flung open violently and Long Liz Stride marched in followed by her would be partner Michael Kidney who the two off duty constables had recently arrested . Kidney was some seven years younger than her and quite over protective of her resulting in frequent arguments between them. They were both drunk and shouting violently at each other entering the pub.
“Why don’t you go to hell and die, you good for nothing fucking slag!” she screamed to him nearing the bar.
“You fucking slut, plying yourself on the streets for pocket money and titillation, you don’t have to yer know.”
“What allow you to try to keep me, you’re always drunk and never able to get it up as a result, you pathetic weasel, at least someone who can do it gives me something in return my way.” Kidney screamed at the top of his voice at her. “Whore, how dare you speak to me like that in public, I’ll knock your fucking block off!” He stormed the last few feet up to her where she now rested with her back against the bar and drew his right fist back. She screamed out in terror “NO, NO,” as he reigned a heavy blow down onto her left cheek, and then again onto the top of her head as she fell wailing to the floor.
Typically the Victorian clientele in the bar area looked on as if being entertained, some of the burly working men raising a smile. Robert said to Del “I can’t let this happen,” and rushed from next to his friend over to the aid of Liz still on the floor with Kidney now kicking her. Robert pulled him around by his left shoulder and stared at him standing straight on and said “Okay, big man lets see how tough you are.” He got into his pugilist’s defensive stance with Kidney immediately throwing a punch at his face. He easily blocked it and then with immense speed and aggression attacked Kidney with a volley of punches to his face, then stomach and then finally an upper cut to his jaw, knocking him to floor. Kidney crumpled like a dead weight with blood beginning to stream from his nose and from one side of his mouth. Del approached them.
“There was never going to be much of a competition really was there? Not with your past hobbies.”
“I can’t let it go on, not to a woman, mate,” replied Robert. In the meantime there was a stunned silence over The Britannia as everyone looked on at him for some seconds and his handiwork. The doors were flung open and a couple of the late duty constables came in having been beckoned by a client who had rushed into the street for help as the fight between Kidney and Stride had started. They were constables Bill Smith and Ernie Thompson. They saw Robert and Del stood over Kidney and Liz sitting against the bar crying intently still and nursing a swollen left cheek.
“Your handiwork then, Rob?” inquired Smith.
“Yes, but totally justified, he’” pointing to the unconscious Kidney “was knocking ten bells of shit out her, excuse the local pun of course,” exclaimed Del.
“Oh, it’s no problem,” said Thompson, “we were just curious.” He continued addressing Liz.
“Do you want anything done with this gent, Liz?” asked Ernie Thompson knowing her from the police station.
“No,” she replied sobbing, “Please just take him and let him sleep it off.”
“No worries, luv,” said Smith as they took an arm from Kidney each and dragged him out to await the arrival of a ‘black Mariah’ to take the unconscious prisoner to the cells at the Street.
Robert helped Liz to her feet by the bar. “You all right Liz?”
“I have felt better, darling, you know, sorry to get you involved.”
“It’s no problem, wouldn’t let that happen to anyone, let alone my best seamstress.” This brought a smile to Liz’s face and she felt comforted by his words. The only trouble being in reality was that he wasn’t always going to be there to help. She had to leave Kidney.
Polly Nicholls came up to the bar and put her arm around Liz to lead her to her table. She spoke to Robert as she did so, “Thanks for looking after her, mate, none of us could have done it.” She then continued in a raised voice. “And none of these other so called men would have helped.” As she led Liz away her words simply fell on deaf ears.
Del spoke to Robert, “Well after all that excitement I don’t rightly know as want another drink in here, I’m off. I shall see you tomorrow, my lad.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right I think I’ll be going too.” As they turned away from the bar having bid Wilf a good evening Mary Kelly confronted Robert pressing a finger into his chest.
“Not so fast, constable, we ladies there have clubbed together to buy you a drink…” Despite her trade, Del saw this as Robert’s perfect opportunity and decided to leave. “See ya, mate,” nodding and winking to Robert knowingly.
“Yeah, see ya, Del, and thanks mate,’” Robert said appreciatively.
Robert now stood at the bar with the stunning auburn haired Mary Kelly, with her emerald eyes, fair skin, pleasant demeanour and slender face she was everything Robert could ever want in a woman. Wilf approached them and spoke. “Now Ginger, what can I get for you and your gentleman?”
“Well, constable, what will it be?” she smiled at him seductively.
“Mary, to start with, you can cut all that Constable rubbish and call me Robert. Secondly, I’ll have a large Scotch, please Wilf”
“And a half of stout for me please, Wilf,” asked Mary in her subtle Irish tone.
“That was very brave of you, Robert; he’s a nasty man that Kidney, he won’t forget you now.”
“Mary, I couldn’t stand by and watch anyone take a beating, let alone someone I consider a friend.”
“Do you consider me a friend then?”
Robert began to feel warm inside talking to the object of his affection so closely now. He tried not to blush as he spoke. “Yes, of course I do, in fact I’d like to ask you if you would come boating with me in Victoria Park this Saturday afternoon?”
“You do know I live with someone now, don’t ya, Robert?” Robert immediately felt deflated by her response. “Well no sorry I didn’t.”
“But I would love to. Where shall we meet and what time?”
“How about outside the London Hospital around one o’clock, I’m off that day.”
“That’s settled then. I’ll see you there, come hell or high water. I love boating, it reminds me of being a child.”
They carried on chatting and finished their drinks at the bar over the next half an hour. Secretly they both detected chemistry between them each eagerly looking forward to leisure time away from the crowds in the park at the weekend.
“I must be going now, Robert. I’ve got to go home.”
“Can I walk you there,” he asked intuitively.
“Proper gent, aren’t you eh? Why of course, but not to the door Joe Barnett will go mad otherwise.”
“Where is he now then?”
“Pissed over the road in The Ten Bells I expect.”
They left The Britannia arm in arm turning right out of the door towards Millers Court and Mary’s dreary home. Robert felt elated as he walked her to the entry of the small tenement block and she kissed him gently on his cheek. She walked away and before turning a corner and disappearing out of sight gave him a seductive smile and a wave. It had been a simple but fantastic last hour or so and he felt excited about the weekend.
Fate is a fickle mistress, sometimes working for you, but many times against. Tumblety and Druitt had been in Whitechapel for some hours and were now making their way to The Britannia. They were approaching only yards from the north of the pub as Robert and Mary had left to the south. As usual Tumblety was in his military finery but somewhat unusually he now carried a Gladstone bag as an additional accoutrement whilst Druitt was in a smart suit. He had used to go out in a guards uniform he had won in a bet with a guardsman literally off of his back, but had given it up after his last outing with Tumblety as he frequently got dragged into drunken singing and then brawls with other off duty soldiers. This was made especially worse when standing on a street corner waiting for your associate with a stream of drunken servicemen walking past abusing your given regiment.
They entered The Britannia and walked up to the bar and were served a pint of ale each by the ever obliging and ruddy face Wilf. They chatted and surveyed the bar room and saw the group of three women, Liz Stride, Polly Nicholls and Cathy Eddowes sat together laughing and drinking. They knew that these three were of exactly the class they enjoyed and would supply them with what they wanted. They carried on drinking at the bar together watching the East End dwellers come and go. One of the women, Liz, got up and bade her companions a good night; Tumblety immediately noticed that this tall slender hag, although the best of the bunch, had a large swelling on her left cheek obviously from some kind of assault. She had a distinctly different look to her companions with high cheek bones and fair to blonde hair, almost Nordic. This was indeed an accurate observation on Tumblety’s part as her parents were both Swedish and Gothenburg was her region of birth. Now the occupants of the table were down to two with, conveniently, two additional chairs. The two apparent ‘toffs’ decided to make a move and join the remaining women, Eddowes and Nicholls. They approached the table with Druitt introducing them.