Murder in Whitechapel (The Judas Reflections) (4 page)

“I expect Marianne will be calling round on her way from the theatre, she seems to always appear in the dead of night. Is there something you’re not telling me?” His mood lightened and his uncovered Irish eyes sparkled.

Roderick was insecure around her, finding her flighty and too humorous for a woman. Marianne was a new breed and he had little or no time for her outward personality, more used to the well brought up plantation girls of the South who knew their place. I also suspected a tinge of jealousy. “It has been perfectly respectable since the night we, well, I don’t have to divulge the details. Now we’re friends, nothing more.”

“Try to keep it that way. It’s better for you not to invite complications, if you can help it, and I suspect she would be one.”

If he only knew how I had to control my passion for the sleek contours of her perfect body and desire for me. Making love with Marianne was like walking in the garden of Gethsemane, west of Mount Olive, a paradise and place for lovers. I could not help but digress and remember I once walked there with more than one woman.

“I hear a carriage outside, I wager it’s her,” said Roderick, intruding on my memories. The doorbell rang and poor Edward could be heard scurrying up the stairs. It’s considered bad taste to answer my own door in these formal times.

“I expect that’s the lady in question, coming for her nightly sojourn, a glass of champagne and a plate of caviar. I will leave now and one last thing, try to use constraint as I fear you’ll weaken.”

“That will
not
happen my friend. Your overreaction is misguided, it is only her company I desire. She’s such a delight to have around, like a breath of fresh summer air.”

As Marianne breezed in Roderick took his leave, both meeting at the door to the drawing room and somewhat uncomfortable in each other’s company. In spite of her assistance in the cosmetic department, he had little tolerance for what he called ‘her outspoken personality.’

“My dearest!” she cried out, barely acknowledging Roderick, “I’ve had a dreadful evening, simply dreadful.”

It did not irk me she appeared on my door almost every evening. Secretly I enjoyed it. “What happened?” I asked.

“That awful Clarence van Helsing was hovering by the stage door again. I have rebuffed him so many times. It appears he will not take no for an answer and makes for such a pitiful sight, standing there with a bouquet of roses and a forlorn look. What must a girl do with a man like that?”

“Tell him in no uncertain terms that your interests lie elsewhere. That should do it.”

“His excuse is he fears for my safety, perpetually informing me I could be at risk from the Ripper fellow. Nightly, I walk directly from the stage door to my carriage. Surely I can come to no harm within a few short steps?”

“Of course not, he is overreacting.”

Clarence van Helsing was a distant family member of the Royal Dutch court. Unfortunately, his reputation in London preceded him. He was, by nature, a procurer of women unable to curb his devotion to Marianne, much to her disdain. It would be an ill suited match had she been smitten. Clarence was effectively banished from his country to save the embarrassment. Having impregnated a young housemaid, the scoundrel was now running loose in London with a generous allowance.

He lived on the fringes of the upper classes, neither fish nor fowl, shunned by most social circles and barely tolerated in others. Rumors hinted his strange, sometimes angry, behavior made him a possible suspect in the Ripper case. Marianne and I thought it laughable on account of the man being simply incapable. His ego and passion for the limelight would have him caught in no time.

“I expect you’d like some champagne.” I rang the bell for Edward to bring a bottle of Krug. He was accustomed to Marianne appearing at such a late hour and was relieved when the champagne was served. It meant his services were no longer required; he could retire for the night.

“Just what I needed my darling. Good company, fine champagne and do you have some of that divine Beluga caviar? I am ever so peckish.” Her mood brightened as we sat together, close to the fire, reveling in each other’s company. Throughout the long laborious centuries, I enjoyed my fair share of beautiful and exotic women, some more passionate than others. Women who enticed and, eventually, repulsed me. Women I loved and lost. Then there was Marianne, who possessed an intense curiosity of my past dalliances, sometimes an irritation.

“Tell me more about Aelia. The last conversation we had was cut short by time. I am intrigued by her and cannot stop myself from wanting to know more.”

Inadvertently, before our night together, I divulged to Marianne a few of my past encounters as she thought it strange I was never seen much in the company of women. I did not want her to think my passions leaned toward members of my own sex. A true scandal if gossip begun in earnest so, to defend myself, I told Marianne the story of Aelia Verina who I met in the year 484.

It was a passionate secret liaison that left me broken and consumed with regret…

“She was fair and beautiful, an Empress of the Byzantine Empire. Sultry, ambitious and dangerous are not words I would use lightly, but they applied. We had a sexual liaison for a while, mostly when her husband Leo the First was away at war. I knew I wasn’t the only one. Her bed was never cold.”

“She must have been a Roman femme fatale. How exciting.”

“In retrospect, she was an opportunist from a family of great wealth. There were three children, one
not
the son of Leo. She went below her station with someone who was not from a prominent family. To cut the story short, Leo earned the nickname ‘Butcher’ on account of his orders to assassinate anyone who got in his way. Instilling fear, he climbed to the role of Emperor very easily. Personally, I could not stand the man. He ruled with an iron fist and did not give Aelia what she needed, love and passion.”

“So what happened? Do tell!”

“We had delightfully wicked milk baths together while her handmaidens, sworn to secrecy, stayed in the background waiting for us to finish.”

“I did not mean that, Emmanuel. I
meant
what happened to her and how did it end between you?” she replied, a twinge of jealousy in her tone.

“Oh, I was rejected in favor of another, she simply tired of me. I heard that she’d died mysteriously in the siege of Papyrus. Leo had died years before of dysentery, Aelia quickly remarried, but her turbulent life continued. When the siege was over, they found her body. No one was ever sure how she had met her untimely end.”

“How sad and how fascinating. Her life would make a wonderful play, don’t you think?”

“I’d much prefer to put her out of my mind. The idea of watching her life being acted out on a stage nightly leaves me cold,” said I, shuddering at the thought.

Marianne’s visit did not end as auspiciously as it began. She began to slide closer to me and, in the flickering light of the slowly weakening fire, her eyes filled with wanton desire.

“My dearest friend, I am half inclined to consider that alone as we are, another moment of passion could be shared. But I must say no. I have to take a moral stand and not give in to my weaknesses. I have, by my own admission, enjoyed many pleasures of the flesh and the result has been nothing but emptiness,” I continued, knowing it would offend.

She sighed, her discontentment obvious, “I will go off and marry Robert Pratt, move to Cornwall and have many children!”

She was referring to a self-made businessman, who invested large sums of money in west-end plays. They met at a dinner party where Robert was smitten immediately. A short, dark haired figure of a man, a trite too serious for my liking, and madly in love with Marianne, worshipping the ground she walked on. He offered his hand in marriage on numerous occasions, yet she, up until now, adamantly refused his advances. I sensed he was beginning to wear her down.

“I do not see you settled in Cornwall, baking pies and a large brood of children scurrying around your feet. But you could do far worse than Robert.”

“I could marry you.” Her reply stunned me.

“I am, by my own admission, not in a good place as I am still uncomfortable with the responsibility of marriage. I cannot manage such an undertaking. Forgive me but I have to decline.”

“How many centuries do you need before you see yourself as suitable and prepared?”

“Sweet Marianne, I am unsure. Maybe love will find me in the next century or the one after. Who knows what the future holds and, what if my immortality was to end?”

“Oh, it’s those silly coins again, find the coins and you’ll have salvation.”

Marianne found it too trying when I wanted to discuss the coins. Often exclaiming the notion to be so far-fetched it made her want to laugh.

Occasions when she commented I was the most fascinating storyteller she had ever come across. Other times, she would tell me she believed I
was
Judas, contradictions I experienced many times with mortals who crossed my path.

“I will resume my search when the moment is right. You, Marianne, are already aware that my interests for the moment lie in business and investments.”

Our conversation became somewhat stilted, due to my rebuttal, which brought about a distinct change of mood.

“I must away. I am very tired and sleep awaits,” said she, her voice muted.

“I do consider you a wonderful friend and confidant,” I replied in earnest.

“I need more than what you offer, good sir!”

There was desperation in her voice, but nothing to be done to appease the situation. Involvement with Marianne would only lead to deep unhappiness for us. Before I embarked on a liaison that would lead to permanence, I needed to focus on my real purpose. To concentrate on my latest business venture, resume my search for coins and, with God’s assistance, catch the infamous
Jack the Ripper.

nly on one or two occasions had I ventured through Whitechapel. From the security of my carriage, I had seen it was not a place to visit for leisure unless I desired a prostitute. Ale houses were stacked full of drunken men and women, with deadly diseases rife. The population increased due to a wave of immigrants from around the world and a swell of Jewish refugees fleeing the pogroms. Regrettably, the entire east end was shrouded in abject poverty and hardship, a reminder of past times I witnessed first hand; human beings suffering in great hardship. It would have been easy to walk away and stay in the safe confines of Belgravia, but I had no choice except to see it through. As Roderick stated - to do my moral duty.

With Marianne gone, I retired to my bedchamber where I spared no expense on a wonderful mahogany four poster bed complete with silken sheets and the finest quality blankets. The fire was burning brightly; I stared into the flames thinking about my gift for unintentionally causing unhappiness, perfect moment to berate myself. Day to night was a marked contrast. I could busy myself from morning till late evening but night was another story. Often, alone in my bed, thoughts intruded and memories flooded back. I did not sleep very much, sometimes not at all, and on this particular night it eluded me. Marianne, Roderick and how I was to go about finding Jack weighed heavily on my mind as did my guilt of the past and present.