Whitechapel (49 page)

“Thanks, mate. I need some sleep and a rest. Your right, we’ll crack on tomorrow.”

***

Klosowski sat his future wife down to explain why the shop was up for sale and that they would be moving on. He spoke to Lucy Baderski in a sinister and threatening fashion that left her cold, afraid and with little choice but to obey him. She too was an immigrant but without the tenacity and survival instinct for life that Severin had so she coalesced to his threats very easily. They hadn’t been together for long and by his violent nature she had always felt compelled to let him do as he pleased.

“Lucy, I have to lay low for a little while because of all this Ripper business. It’s not me has committed all these crimes but the police might come calling and when they do you must tell them that I left the city at the start of November before the Kelly murder. If you don’t or you threaten my liberty in the future then you shall go the same way, but not under the knife. I shall kill you in a fashion that is hard to discover. Now, my darling, do you understand?” Lucy was shaking with fear but she plucked the courage to confront him on terms he would understand.

“Look after me and I shall look after you, Severin. That is all I can agree to.” She had to try the mutual help ploy to guarantee staying in London. He continued looking at her with his piercing dark eyes considering what she had said. His very survival would depend on it and he needed to ensure that she would give him an alibi, rubbing his stubbly chin he was forced to agree to her terms but the price was worth it.

“All right, I shall keep you with me here or wherever, but you must state that I spent the entire night with you on the 9
th
of this month. Do you understand?” She looked back him with extreme suspicion.

“Are you Jack the Ripper?” she asked quizzically.

“No, but I have a trail of guilt around the last killing. Just so you know. But don’t worry, should the police come to our door it will probably be too late. I have arranged a home and work in North London from next week, new name and everything. I doubt you will really need to lie for me.”

“Will I need to come there with you, or do I stay here?” she asked keeping firm eye contact with him to gauge his fortitude.

“Yes, from today the shop closes, the name board will be removed and it will be empty again. We move to Tottenham and stay there until after Christmas for the fuss around here to die down. I will be back to being Klosowski again, not using the name Chapman for now. Pack, we leave later today.” Lucy eventually only broke his gaze after a long silence between them to go and gather her things with her thoughts deep in contemplation of their future together following the revelation of their conversation. Was he the Ripper or not? He claimed to have a hand in the most recent murder, but why? For now she would keep her silence and stand by him knowing that not to do so would mean she would end up like all the women so far slaughtered. Klosowski gathered his own things in preparation for the cab he had arranged to arrive late in the afternoon which would lead to one of Abberline’s lines of enquiry going very quickly cold.

***

Apart from the revelation that Lucy Baderski had discovered on the 19
th
of November, it was also the day that Mary Jane Kelly was to be laid to rest following her harrowing and violent death. This would prove to be the most emotionally difficult day in Robert Ford’s life, and one which would bring about a complete emotional shut down from him on a long term basis. For him, she had been the one, and he could not live his life until he had avenged her death. He waited at the Shoreditch Church along with a huge gathering of local people to pay their respects to a well known and popular local figure; sadly Robert Ford was the closest to a relative to attend, there was no member of her family there at all. Most likely because at that point none of them knew of her callous and brutal demise. The only other person there with a close connection to Mary was Joe Barnett. The crowd had begun to gather from around 10.30.a.m for a service that wasn’t due to take place until 12.30.p.m. Despite the presence of a large body of police the road outside the church soon became blocked and they struggled to keep it clear for traffic. Inspector Chandler was in charge of the body of officers attempting to keep order. They managed to clear a single lane for the funeral carriage to access the front of the church when it arrived at a little before 12.30pm, time for the bearers to get the coffin into the church. It was an open carriage provided at the expense of a local businessman Mr H Wilton conveying a simple but dignified pine coffin bearing a brass plate with the inscription ‘Marie-Jeanette Kelly, died November 9
th
, 1888, aged 25 years’.

Her body was being brought from the Shoreditch mortuary followed by two coaches ready to convey the closest of mourners to the cemetery for her burial following the service. The cost of the funeral was being borne by local business leaders and Robert had been able make a contribution from the meagre savings he possessed. He had shut himself off to the world since the discovery of her death and had played no part in the organisation of the service. He knew it would be a test simply for him to attend and try to avoid a complete emotional break down. While he was stood outside the church watching the coffin arrive he felt a hand on his right shoulder and looked round to see who it was. He was quite comforted to see that it was John Littlechild, come to pay his respects and from what he whispered to the grieving Robert Ford offer his support.

Ford was dressed in his best suit, the one he had worn when he had spent such a fabulous day with Mary back in September but this time with a black tie. He had a handkerchief in his right hand which he used to wipe away the frequent tears that were prickling his cheeks as he watched the coffin arrive and be carried into the church. As it entered the double doors it was led along the aisle by the local priest with the mourners following behind it. He found himself stood almost shoulder to shoulder as he entered the building with Joe Barnett, Mary’s former lover and lodging partner. It would have been easy for there to be animosity between them on any normal day but today they were united in their grief and sense for revenge against the man who had thrown them here together. They acknowledged each other as they made eye contact, both with red and swollen tearful eyes, but once they reached the front of the church and the coffin had been placed on trestles laid out for it they took separate sides of the church, in a bizarre almost wedding party like fashion; Barnett and his supporters on one side and Ford and his, fewer in number, on the other.

Amongst the gathering were George Lusk and a lot a members of the Vigilance Committee, Detective Sergeants Godley and Thick, many members of the local community of prostitutes now living in even more terror, business leaders who had made contributions and many humble local working men and their families. Ford was almost oblivious to his surroundings lost totally in his grief; in three months he had lost the people that were dear to him on an increasing scale, first Ralph, then Del Lake and now the love of his life taken from him. He was in such a numbed condition that he barely acknowledged the service beginning or ending; he didn’t sing any of the hymns, follow any of the prayers and he only stood up as an autonomous response to those around him. He sat or stood in a staring trance like state with his gaze fixed on the coffin and simply followed the procession out as the coffin was lifted by the bearers and walked behind it, again bizarrely shoulder to shoulder with Joe Barrett.

Mary was loaded onto the open carriage as the key mourners boarded the two coaches waiting behind it and within a few minutes the three vehicle procession was on route to the Catholic Cemetery in Leytonstone. Ford stared out of the coach at the streets which were lined with local people wishing to pay their last respects to the popular Spitalfields girl; the event seemed quite surreal to him as the streets resembled those of a Royal procession with the populace lining the footways. By the time the cortège had travelled beyond Cambridge Heath Road the pavements had thinned back to their normal state.

It took twenty-five minutes for them to arrive at the gates of the cemetery in Leytonstone, a leafy and very rural East London outer suburb. The gate keeper had seen them coming along the road and was expecting them moving out from his small lodge early to ensure the wrought iron gates were open for carriage use and not just the usual pedestrian access. The three carriages trundled past him over the cobbled road with the offside wheels of the first mourners coach clanking noisily over the iron ground anchor for the gates securing bolts and jolting the passengers, Robert included, heavily within. The jolt focused his mind again to where he was and what was happening and he knew the hardest part of the day had now arrived; the time when he would have to see the coffin and his love within finally placed into the ground and each person depositing earth upon on it, Robert being one of the first.

All three vehicles were allowed access on the internal road which took them right up to the plot that sat only a few yards from where all would have to alight. Being one of the first on to the coach Robert was one of the last off and he followed the throng of people in front of him to the graveside. He looked up once he got there instinctively to see Barnett stood on the opposite side of the grave, head bowed being comforted by what looked like another working type man; most probably a work colleague assumed Robert. He looked back to the internal road and the coaches and carriage to see that the pall bearers had unloaded the coffin and were being led by the priest through the myriad of scattered graves to finally lay Mary to rest. They moved slowly and gracefully, the priest setting the pace with the grim faced group following behind all in step with him. There was absolute silence across the cemetery barring the sound of some subdued sobs amongst the gathering; there was no birdsong as it was a cold winter’s day with only the odd robin flitting around silently from branch to bush of the scattered greenery on the peripheries. Everyone’s breath could be seen heavily in the air and the cool temperatures exaggerated their pale complexions and ruddy cheeks and noses from the tears that had been shed. Ford looked around the mourners surveying the gathering with the occasional familiar face standing out to him; Godley, Lusk, Thick to name but a few. He knew most at least by sight from the beats he had walked within the Commercial Street district.

His gaze falling back to the empty grave, it seemed like only seconds later that the priest and the coffin arrived at the graveside and the words of the final commitment began to be spoken by the priest. The coffin began to be lowered having been carefully placed over planks and strapping above the hole, the planks removed and then the straps used to lower with dignity Mary into the earth. Robert didn’t sob, he contained himself but the tears streamed along his cheeks falling onto his suit jacket soaking into the wool of its weave. Thoughts of the future so cruelly taken from him played continuously in his mind along with images of Mary at her most beautiful on the boating lake only weeks before. He barely heard the closing of the priests address ‘ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’ He recognised those words and followed Joe Barnett’s lead of throwing some earth on the coffin now at the bottom of the grave using a small trowel that had been left on the mound of earth dug out and piled alongside.

And then it was over. He was moving away from the graveside with the throng of mourners so dazed by the event he couldn’t even look back to Mary’s place of rest. He had it in the back of his mind that he would return privately and quietly to visit her. A pilgrimage he would make at least once a month that he was in London. There was to be no wake. There was no one to organise it and those that knew her had resigned to meet later that evening at Mary’s favourite haunt The Ten Bells and raise a glass to her there. Robert just wanted to be alone and drifted away from the main group leaving the cemetery on foot and beginning a long and lonely walk back to Whitechapel on his own. That night, although not a religious man, he would go Christchurch in Commercial Street on the opposite side of Church Street from The Ten Bells and light a candle for Mary and say a prayer for them both.

***

Tuesday 20
th
November saw Abberline return to the office sober, clean shaven and feeling refreshed from a restful night at home to find Godley there ready and waiting with the rest of the immediate team including Robert Ford. His arm had become substantially stronger and he was certainly able enough to work on door to door enquiries; an area of basic police work that Abberline had gained permission for him to do. It was time to pursue the ‘Chapman’ angle while they waited for the handwriting analysis, so Abberline sat everyone down in the office and briefed them all on his intended plan of action for the next few days.

“Right then you buggers, I’m back, clear headed, refreshed and focused on the task in hand. Today we shake down all the people in the area called ‘Chapman’, and don’t discount women neither. This is going to be a time consuming process but follow up leads around that name. Working in pairs I’ll allocate wards to be visited and I’m keeping this within this small team to ensure thoroughness, we cannot afford to miss any leads, so dig and keep digging. Right, dividing this into parishes, Bill Thick, work with young Robert and cover Christchurch Spitalfields and St Botolphs Without Bishopsgate.” Robert looked puzzled and his scowl was noted by Abberline who almost telepathically answered the young policeman’s concern. “Yes the second one is City police but I want my lads to do it. Mather and Robinson I want you to look at St Dunstan Stepney and St Mary Whitechapel north of Commercial Road and Murphy and Parish you do St Botolph Without Aldgate and St Mary’s west of Leman Street and me and George will do the rest of St Mary’s and St George in the East. No stone unturned boys, no stone unturned. If you shake up any other business don’t take it on, whistle up for help and pass it on to the uniformed patrols. Any questions?”