Whitechapel (31 page)

“The ‘Double Event’, or ‘Jack’s Double Event’. What a headline for Monday morning, gents.” Godley and Bagster Phillips looked around to see Will Bates stood there notebook in hand keenly scribbling as much as he could of the conversation he had crept up upon.

“Bates, how the hell did you get in here?”

“Freedom of the press, Sergeant. The public have a right to know.”

“Be careful of what you publish. There’s enough scaremongering as it is.”

“Well do the police want to comment then?”

“Inspector Abberline will publish a statement for you later, Bates.”

Looking beyond Bates to the yard entrance and Berner Street he could see George Lusk and some working men gathered. There was a heated conversation taking place between Lusk and the duty inspector, who Godley did not know, with Lusk feeling obviously brave with his mob in tow. Godley began to walk over to intervene. At that moment a hansom cab pulled up in Berner Street and Abberline jumped out with the look of a man on a mission and strolled briskly straight up to Lusk. Grabbing him by the lapels of his overcoat he squared up to him nose to nose launching into a bellowed verbal tirade with a fearsome grimace on his face.

“I’ve told you once, Lusk, and now this is the last fucking time. This is a police investigation not mob rule, I will run you in for riot and sedition if you challenge the authority of the Queens office of constable. My men will crack heads and your reputation will be so besmirched that you won’t get a reference to sweep the streets. Now, there are enough experts in and out of the police telling me what to do, so just fuck off and if you see me so much as in the same postal district I suggest you turn tail. I will take you down from your over inflated local and Masonic position. Read the headlines in the next few days carefully as some of your brethren may not be so fucking righteous after all.” Abberline threw him to the ground and turned on his heels into Dutfield’s Yard with Godley walking towards him. “Turn round, George and walk back in we’ll talk later.”

“Inspector Abberline, what did you mean by all that?” Asked the scandal hungry Bates.

“Not now, later, Bates, much later,” replied Godley fending him off with a push to his chest.

Outside amongst the crowd Robert Ford watched those around him intently for reactions to Abberline’s confrontation with Lusk, he hadn’t seen the last one but observed nothing within the crowd. With no knowledge of such things as Freemasonry the ‘brethren’ comment had gone completely over his head. He watched Lusk stand up, put his bowler hat straight and dust himself down. He could see there was nothing Lusk could say to the gathered Vigilance Committee to regain any face. They all drifted off into the dawn light as Constable Collins, now that the body had gone, washed down the crime scene. It was around 5.30.a.m.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
 

Tuesday 1
st
October early morning; Dr Tumblety was back in the West End and bought a copy of The Star from the newspaper boy just outside the Ritz. Cash was a major problem and he knew that they would discover his cheque could not be drawn on in another few days time. Unless he considered taking a loan he’d be forced to live in Whitechapel until recovering his wealth from Mary Kelly. He stared at the headlines and read the text;

JACK’S DOUBLE

EVENT HORROR

William Bates Exclusive

Sunday into Monday morning saw the most horrific events yet with the murder of two innocent Whitechapel women butchered for no apparent reason other than to fuel the mad Ripper’s killing spree. Elizabeth Stride was found with her throat cut in Dutfield’s Yard and within the hour the mutilated body of Cathy Eddowes was found in Mitre Square with, by all accounts, horrific injuries yet to be disclosed. Jack the Ripper’s blood lust obviously not yet satisfied, the Police lead by the confrontational Inspector Abberline still refuse the help of local Philanthropist George Lusk and the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee. When will it all end? Four women murdered, law and order in turmoil, the police apparently stumped and the local community snubbed by the authorities…….’

The article went on both to the fury of Frederick Abberline and Francis Tumblety who were simultaneously reading it but in very different circumstances. Tumblety’s massively troubled mind raced.

‘Vigilance Committee, want to help do they, I’ll get them involved, and the kindly Mr Lusk can receive some post then. Then he’ll decide to leave it to the dumb cops. Those bastards just don’t know where to turn next I’ll bet, masons, mad men, who is it, ha! Guess I’ll take credit for both just to exaggerate that fear they all have for dear old Jack. I’ll put Mr Lusk on my mailing list with a gentle introduction but first I must write to the Dear Old Boss.’

Buying a plain post card later that morning Tumblety sat down in the Café Royal and began scribing a message to the Central News Agency:

‘I was’nt codding dear old Boss when I gave you the tip. You’ll hear about saucy Jacky’s work tomorrow double event this time number one squealed a bit and couldn’t finish straight off. Had not time to get ears for police thanks for keeping last letter back till I got to work again.

Jack the Ripper.’

Putting the post card into a post box after leaving the Café Royal Dr Tumblety felt very pleased with himself, knowing that the true extent of the horrors on Sunday night would make the newspapers over the next couple of days following the inquests into the two murders. He returned to the Ritz and packed a travelling carpet bag to lie low at Batty Street until his money situation was resolved. As he passed the hotel reception later that day he tipped them an acknowledgement but did not check out as he left the building.

The Central News Agency received the postcard later that very day and immediately contacted Scotland Yard and passed it to them. But, not before they had their headlines ready the next day to sell to the newspapers. They would report the sensational story of how Jack the Ripper had already contacted them to acknowledge his work and continue to create great fear within the eastern part of the capital.

That evening Robert had decided to cut free for an evening from the Vigilance Committee and visit the American Circus he had seen advertised and had persuaded Mary to go with him. It was based in Victoria Park and had only recently opened in its East London venue having played prior to this in Hounslow on the very western edge of the capital. As they approached they saw the massive traditional red and white big top marquee and the multitude of travelling vehicles around it caging all sorts of wild beasts. Also to one side of the big top was a ‘Red’ or Native Indian encampment with several tepee tents all belching smoke from their funnel shaped tops. They queued up at the booking trailer, a Wild West stage coach, and watched many of the performers passing by; very quickly Robert realised that this could be a fruitless expedition by him on his own. Everyone in an American military uniform seemed to have buttons like the one he had seen in Abberline’s office and certainly more than the odd individual had buttons missing. He resigned himself to the fact that would have to purely enjoy the spectacle of the show and without a mass enquiry of the entire circus staff the police would achieve nothing in tracing leads here. At least he could pass that idea on to Littlechild as an aside to his normal role.

They bought their tickets and walked towards the main entrance to the big top which was staffed by some fearsome looking bare-chested Mohawk Indians. They were taking the tickets from the hands of the audience and ushering them inside with scowling contempt, hissing at the smaller children on occasions just to heighten their sense of trepidation. As Mary and Robert got to the head of the queue one of the Mohawks gave her a good look up and down and nodded his head in appreciation of her form to Robert, the action making Mary feel quite uncomfortable. She grabbed for his hand and stormed inside the tent where they were met by the noise of the crowd, the roar and smells of some of the animals and the bellowing voice of Barnum himself.

“Roll up, roll up for the greatest show on Earth!” They disappeared into the seated masses.

***

Wednesday 2
nd
October; Robert James Lees ate breakfast in the conservatory of his fashionable Peckham Rye home at around 8.a.m having been troubled for some weeks by visions of the Whitechapel killer. Lees was born in Birmingham in 1849 and subsequently brought up in Hinckley in Leicestershire. At thirteen it had become apparent that he was gifted with clairvoyance; at aged twenty-two he was married and then as a result of his talents he worked in a well paid position with the Manchester Guardian. By 1888 he was living in Peckham overlooking the fashionable Rye, or village green, and had become a noted philanthropist and radical friend of the workers politician Keir Hardie. He was well known as a Christian spiritualist and had written several books on the subject. But it was his work as a medium that had brought him into Royal circles having conducted a séance for Queen Victoria in which her late and beloved husband Albert the Prince Consort had spoken with her.

Finishing his breakfast he summoned his valet to flag down a carriage for him to make the journey to the innermost part of the East End of London. Dressed in Victorian finery he kissed his wife goodbye and with his cane and top hat left the smart town house he owned outright and mounted the carriage. The driver set off with the crack of the whip and made his way north to cross the Thames via London Bridge over which he turned right to follow Lower Thames Street into St Dunstans Hill, Mincing Lane, Fenchurch Street and then into Aldgate High Street and finally Commercial Street pulling up outside the doors of the police station.

He had chosen a bad day to decide to attend The Street and speak with Inspector Abberline. With the events of the previous weekend the detective inspector was currently operating with little patience for anything other than hard facts or evidence. He was under pressure despite his contempt for his senior officers to apprehend a suspect; they would not care whether he was either actual or just credible. With each murder that took place there seemed to be less clues to follow and to top it all he now had the prospect of a funeral imminently for Del Lake. This brave officer was not even permitted a service funeral for fear of courting further negative press. That morning, whilst Abberline was in the incident room on his own first thing, he had begun drinking again. It gave him an escape from the rigours of this high profile and tenuous investigation. He savoured the burning and bitter taste of half a tumbler of a particularly coarse single malt whiskey. Having not touched a drop for sometime, it sent his head spinning for a short while before downing a cup of tea and some buttered bread for breakfast.

Lees instructed the carriage to wait. Money was of little concern to him and paying for the driver’s ‘dead’ time without a fare was archetypal of the financial advantaged that he held. He passed through the double doors of The Street’s main entrance and was confronted by Kerby, the days station sergeant who looked up with casual disdain at the apparent ‘dandy’ who had just walked in. In his polished well clipped accent Lees addressed him.

“Sergeant, good morning to you. I wish to speak with Inspector Abberline please.” Kerby looked him up and down before responding.

“What is the nature of your business, sir?”

“That is none of your’s, Sergeant, but purely his.” Kerby was certainly taken aback by this reply and became a little belligerent.

“I see, sir, you are Mr….”

“Lees, Robert James Lees.”

“The Queen’s spiritual adviser, sir?” Lees was taken by surprise this common officer should know such a thing.

“That is right. Would you kindly tell him I am here, I don’t think you now need to glean any further information from me, Sergeant.” This comment further wounded Kerby somewhat but he was astute enough to realise he was dealing with a man of influence. He decided leaving this to Abberline was quite the correct thing to do.

“I’ll just get him for you, sir.”

Kerby made his way through to the incident room to find Abberline sat with his head in his hands staring at statements strewn across his desk while Godley was chalking up information onto a wall mounted board. Parish and Murphy, the two detective constables assigned to the case early on, were studying a map indicating the murder sites which was spread across the wall opposite the office door. They all appeared in deep concentration and following the weekend’s events Kerby decided to politely knock to gain attention as opposed to his usual brash bowling into the room unannounced. The detectives all looked round in his direction.

“Sorry to disturb, gents, got a Mr Robert Lees at the front counter for Mr Abberline.” There was a pause as they all looked to each other.

“Show him in, Kerby, me and George will have a chat with him,” said Abberline.

“Very good, sir,” Kerby left while Abberline addressed the others.

“Right then, George stay here with me; you lads get yourselves out on whatever enquiries you have. I don’t want a crowd in here to discuss what this bloke has to say. He’s got a reputation but it means little to me as he does nothing on hard facts.”

Parish and Murphy left making their way off for opening at The Ten Bells as Abberline and Godley put their jackets on and straightened their ties. There was another knock; Kerby walked away and Lees stood in the office doorway. Abberline spoke first approaching Lees with an outstretched hand.

“Good day, Mr Lees, I am Inspector Abberline,” they shook hands, Abberline firmly but Lees somewhat limply. “And this is Detective Sergeant Godley. Won’t you take a seat, sir?” Lees shook hands with Godley who directed him to a seat at one of the desks while Abberline retreated to his own. Godley placed fresh tea in front of everyone and then sat down as the conversation began.