Murder in Whitechapel (The Judas Reflections) Read online

  “Do yer believe in God mister?” he growled.

  “Yes I do. And you, what do you believe?” said I.

  “That yer gonna meet yer bloody maker!”

  Breaking free from my grip with great force, he pulled from his pocket what appeared to be a short, rudimentary knife. “Ewan, don’t be a fool, they’ll lock yer up again if yer stick him. Put it away, yer bloody idiot!” said the woman.

  His aim was to slash me hard across the face. But he underestimated my quick reaction as I once again stopped him in his tracks, by knocking the knife clean from his hand. It landed at the foot of a table of men in the middle of a game of cards, who glanced briefly at it and said nothing. It remained where it was as if nothing had occurred. One or two men looked on us with idle curiosity, and others turned their backs not wishing to become involved. They had seen it all before. But the landlord was not amused and warned us both to stop or, “We’d be both thrown out by our bloody ears.’

  Ignoring the landlord’s demand Ewan lunged at me again, unsuccessfully. He struggled in vain to release his fist from my grip, but could not; I had him in a lock taught to me by a sixth century warrior. “I warn you that if you continue to attack me with such violence, I will have to ask you to come with me outside where we can settle the argument on equal terms.” I was firm.

  He was, by the look of him, unsure how to deal with me. I showed no signs of discomfort with my nose broken; already mending. I dismissed the blood which stopped in a flash in front of his eyes yet, staining my coat. I held not an ounce of fear for his knife. Confident, I encouraged him to retrieve it and attempt to stab me once more. He stared straight into my eyes with hatred and disbelief. I was unsure of what he planned to do next, before I released his fist held effortlessly, I warned him.

  “I will let this pass on the condition that you do not lash out at me again. That will be your downfall and we will settle the matter outside.”

  “I’ll let it go if yer piss off an’ go back to where yer came from. We don’t need toffs like you in ‘ere wantin’ our women.”

  I released him back into the arms of his drunken woman and quickly removed myself from the establishment, realizing I made a grave mistake. In attempting to make acquaintances in such a low places, an oversight on my part, no matter how I was dressed, my standing in life was far too revealing. No sooner was I out on the street than I was accosted again.

  “That’s a nice ring, mister,” said a lad, who could not have been older than fourteen.

  “It’s not for sale or for giving away,” I proclaimed loudly. He spotted my signet ring, a gift I received from a wonderful priest back in the fifteenth century. I had neither mislaid nor broken my precious token. Miraculously, it survived.

  “I can take it off yer, just like that!” he replied and to my horror, pulled out a knife.

  There was not a soul to be seen, nor a policeman walking the beat I could shout to, nor a good citizen who would stop and ask if I needed assistance. I was alone.

  “Try to do your deed, young man. I will not give up my ring to you. Better that you let me pass.”

  He was indeed tall for his age and his skin was already withered, which gave him an appearance of being older. Even though he pulled his cap down to obscure his face, I saw his mouth was covered in sores, a sure sign of malnourishment.

  “On your way, laddie. It would be a very bad idea to attempt to attack me with your knife, that I can assure you,” I continued.

  My appeasing was to no avail and, once again, I had no choice but to fend off another attack in less than ten minutes. He did, unfortunately, manage to stab me lightly in the shoulder area as he desperately tried to pry the ring from my finger. As we scuffled, I managed to knock the knife from his hand with such force it flew to the other side of the street.

  “Be on your way!” I commanded.

  “How come you ain’t feeling nuthin’? I just stabbed yer.”

  “I am not like you, I’m immortal and you may stab me a hundred times. I will bleed a little and recover. I dare you to retrieve your knife and stab me as many times as you care to,” I said, opening my coat wide as I move closer to him. “Go on you stupid, misguided child, pick up the knife, stab me right here.” Angry and irrational, I pointed to the area of my heart.

  “What are yer? Some kind of nutcase?”

  “I am of sound mind and body, my name is Judas Iscariot. Go ahead stab me, I am waiting… you will not have my ring!”

  The name meant nothing to the lad. I suspected could not read or write, let alone pick up a bible. But it did have the desired effect; he turned fast on his heels, dropping the knife in panic. Using my wits, I kicked it into the gutter where I prayed it would lay unseen amongst the filthy sewage.

  I concluded it was time to make my way home, enough was enough for one evening, but walking home would be out of the question and searching for a carriage at dawn would prove to be challenging. Still, I walked through narrow empty streets until I could hardly believe it to be true. Standing on a corner, shivering with cold and hoping for opportunity was Mary.

  “We meet again. What are you doing here, alone in such dangerous times?”

  “Oh, I need extra for the rent on me lodgings, Rosie ain’t got room for me till next week, so I ‘ave to make do best I can. You know ‘owe it is.”

  I felt pity for the girl and concerned, with empty streets, her life could be in danger. Perhaps Jack was in the vicinity, lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting to strike.

  “If I were to pay you, Mary, in exchange, I want you to direct me to a cab. You are welcome to join me. I will take you in the direction of your lodgings.”

  “They don’t take low class whores like me in cabs! But I’ll walk yer to where they stop an’ I don’t need yer to pay me.”

  I wanted to take the poor, sweet girl back to Belgravia, where she would have a bath, a warm bed and a hot meal. But I dared not; everyone in the house would be horrified and hastily lock up their belongings. Edward would search for a new position forthwith and, Cook would berate me constantly. My social circle would shrivel to nothing. If word reached my customers, business would suffer and there would be no telling of Roderick’s reaction.

  It was a self-centered, snobbish decision to leave her to her own devices and hope she would be safe. Having escorted me to the edge of Spitalfields, where I procured a carriage, Mary turned in the direction of the meat market. It had come to life in the early morning hours and I suspected she was out to find a butcher or two willing to pay for her services. With my harrowing night in Whitechapel over, what a welcome relief it was to be home! Although Edward was surprised to see me arrive at such an ungodly hour, he made no comment. Even the sight of my broken nose and unusual attire was dismissed. Discretion was at the root of every upper class household; it could mean the loss of a secure position and a good reference if the comings and goings of employers were gossiped and rumored around town. I depended greatly on their confidentiality.

  “Would you care for some breakfast, sir?” he enquired softly.

  “A light one would be in order, Edward. Some scrambled eggs will do nicely.”

  I needed to retire to bed for a short while; lack of sleep had left me somewhat disorientated. I could feel the swelling of my nose, it was slight and I had no interest in looking at it in the mirror. The stabbing was no concern, I had learned long ago the art of concealment. My biggest worry? How to explain the dried blood and cuts in the overcoat, plainly visible to all and sundry; I needed to dispose of it, posthaste, without anyone in the house knowing.

  I decided on a plan. Later, when I awoke, I would pack it well and take it to the office, there I would engage Roderick’s assistance in finding a suitable location for concealment. In the meantime, I took it upstairs to my room out of Edward’s sight and waited in bed for breakfast. My heart raced with the adrenalin of the night, enlightening to say the least and I could not wait to return, in spite of the pitfalls.

  After a small, m
uch needed breakfast, with firmly given instructions not to be disturbed, slumber came quickly in spite of my nose feeling uncomfortably blocked. I slept without interruption, awaking just before noon to a deathly quiet. I was worried. Cook needed to speak to me to plan out the evening meal before the afternoon. Life had to appear as normal. I could ill afford the arousal of any suspicions concerning my late night foray that was certain to be repeated. It was to be a hurried wash, a quick dress and a visit downstairs, to the kitchen.

  “There you are, Master Ortiz. I was getting mighty concerned about you, and you know me, a creature of habits. I like to get the dinner menu arranged by one the latest.”

  “I had a late night with friends; a card game which extended far beyond my expectations.”

  “You spend too much time at home. It’s good to get yourself out once in a while.” Cook was at times an annoying, mothering hen. Yet secretly I enjoyed her fussing, which she did with gusto. Originally from Lancashire, her strong dialect was often confusing.

  “I will not be wanting any lunch as I am away to the office. I would like fish for dinner. Please, keep it simple Cook, I will be dining alone this evening.”

  “I will arrange for a nice bit of haddock to be brought by the fishmonger and I’ll bake it the way you like it, with lots of onions and milk. If you happen to find your way back by afternoon tea there’s delicious angel cake. I made it special.”

  The English afternoon tea, an institution since 1650, when it was first imported. For Cook, it would be a platform. A chance to show off her delightful cakes, crestless sandwiches and hot buttered scones to guests. Edward always served tea, meticulously pouring from the warmed pot through the strainer; he was an expert and a perfectionist. “I will be here Cook, you have my word.” I loved the indulgence.

  pon my arrival, Roderick was to leave for Marble Arch with urgent paperwork for one of our distributors. My appearance caught him off guard and he showed his displeasure.

  “What on earth is wrong with your nose? It looks like an overgrown tulip bulb.”

  “There was a slight conflict with a door,” said I. The pain vanished within seconds of it happening, but it seemed the swelling was taking a little longer, although slight.

  “I don’t believe you. I know you were in Whitechapel last evening. So tell me, what happened?”

  “A drunken brute in an ale house took me by surprise. It is of no consequence.”

  “I think it is, a broken nose can’t be sniffed at!”

  Roderick was at times, very humorous, a natural gift of the Irish. Blessed with a wit that was somewhat dry, but entertaining nevertheless.

  “I had very little luck. Although I did come across a delightful young lady called Mary.”

  “Please don’t tell me you did the dastardly deed with her.”

  “The consequence of such an act would not sit well. To take advantage of a young woman’s desperation would provoke sadness within me and using her body for payment would give me no pleasure. Unfortunately, there are men in this world who desire such a service. I was merely attempting to gain information, nothing more,” I replied in defense.

  “Well, did you gain the information you were seeking? Was it worth the broken nose?”

  “Yes, Mary saw a man talking to Elizabeth Stride on the night of her murder. He was short in stature and wearing a dark overcoat.”

  “An overcoat is popular attire for this time of year, Manny. How can you assume it to be Ratibor by such a small, inconsequential detail as a coat?”

  “She described his black eyes and that she noted even in the summer, when it was a very warm night, he was still wearing it.”

  There was no reason on earth I was correct in my assumption. Roderick was right, Ratibor would not be the only short man in London with darkened eyes, cold blood and an overcoat. The only way to find out was to make work of my time spent in Whitechapel.

  “Maybe I should be with you. The idea of you wandering the streets of Whitechapel alone does not sit well with me, especially now.”

  I was not a child needing the guiding hand of a well intentioned father. Sometimes I am convinced Roderick behaves as a parental figure. He chastises me for my indiscretion with Marianne, my occasional irresponsibility when I turn my attention away from business, and now, my reckless venture into the east-end at the dead of night. I challenged him.

  “Do you see me as an adolescent boy in need of a severe restriction?” said I.

  “No, indeed, I only look to your welfare as a good friend and equal; stupid of you to see it the wrong way. Now I must go to Marble Arch for business. Go home and seek medical attention for your nose. It’s advisable to have it straightened or it will turn into the twisted nose of a boxing man.”

  I did not care for doctors or hospitals. My body parts healed themselves with lightening speed, unlike Roderick, who had serious health issues with his immortality. I was convinced I could fix my nose myself without medical aid.

  “I will summon the doctor,” I replied in good faith to appease his concern. In the meantime, I requested he help me to dispose of the coat in the surest way possible.

  Later that night, I would once again return to Whitechapel with thoughts of Ratibor, a bad seed that had turned to murder and the dark side. How easy it can be for a human to veer from the light onto the road of evil, turning back and finding salvation not always possible. I harbored a secret grudge against Ratibor for centuries, wondering what I would do if I were to come face to face with him again. I hoped and prayed Jack the Ripper was someone else-a mere mortal.

  By early evening there was a wonderful surprise to lift my spirits. Marianne, who vowed her discretion now she was entwined with another, appeared, and she was alone.

  “I’ve come to call because I dare not turn my back on a friend. Goodness, what is that little bump on your nose?”

  I carefully explained while she listened intently, her expression being one of great concern.

  “Really, Emmanuel, you must take care. I understand your desire to help, but great harm could come to you if you don’t pay attention. The east-end is a hideous place, simply frightful.”

  With tenderness she touched my lips.

  “I worry about you,” she surmised. “And pray you will come to no harm?”

  “Please, Marianne, do not worry your pretty little head over me. Now what of you?”

  “Oh, I’m not so happy my darling. Robert adores and worships me, but my passionate advances have been rejected. He believes me to be virginal and wishes to wait until our wedding night. I fear telling him the truth in case he thinks me a fallen woman and rejects me. What is a girl to do? Honestly!”

  “Do you seriously think you can fool him on your wedding night? A man can tell if a woman is no longer innocent. Well, I assume most men would know, but if he dares to challenge you, what will you do then?”

  “I will simply tell him that as a young girl I rode horses. I believe that will do the trick!”

  There were moments with Marianne when I forced myself not to see her as a fallen or lost woman, nor sexually immoral as others would believe. I preferred to think of her as broad minded, a little risqué and in my eyes, truly fascinating.

  “Then I am confident all will be well with your marriage. It is, after all, a woman’s prerogative to have secrets, is it not?”

  “Ha! I must ask you, Emmanuel… when you look at me, do you see a Jezebel or a good girl?”

  “You are the perfect combination; a bit of both,” said I.

  Jezebel… there was a woman whose reputation until this day remains tainted and tarred. I was never to know her other than from reading scriptures. By all accounts, the wickedest woman in the bible, a fallen queen and an enemy of all, including God. I found it hard to believe one could treat a woman so harshly, a woman whose only crime was to refuse to bow to the conversion of the ways of the Israelites. From my personal experiences with the fairer sex, there had been one, or two, females who I had the misfortune to entwine wit
h that made Jezebel appear angelic.

  “I do not see you as a Jezebel, Marianne, you are beautiful and funny. I adore you as a friend who is requesting the pleasure of your company for dinner,” I continued.

  She had a night off from the theatre and, after a glass or two of champagne, I unashamedly urged her to stay for the evening meal. It was sometimes difficult eating in the expanse of the dining room alone. I needed the company.

  “Scandalous, Emmanuel. Can you imagine Robert walking through the door and spying us together? My dear, I cannot dine with you alone. Surely you know that to be true?”

  I had forgotten my social graces in the grand scheme of things, but how I yearned and ached for her body. The temptation was more than I could bear.

  “Dear Marianne, it is best you leave now,” I pleaded. “I cannot be responsible for my actions if you linger and are indeed right. It will be an impropriety for us to dine alone.”

  There was never to be another stolen night with my sweet, passionate Marianne, now promised to another. I watched from the window as she climbed into her carriage. Neither the first nor the last, yet Marianne had most strongly left her mark, a mark I would carry for the longest time. “I have evening business to attend to in Marylebone. Tell Cook I wish to dine as early as possible,” I instructed Edward.

  My mind wavered back to Ratibor and what I would do if I confronted the man. Was it feasible he had found his way to England? I was certain, if he was indeed here, he would leave many victims in his wake. Wicked and depraved, he was a vile excuse for an immortal, capable of inflicting a slow, lingering death through torture, all the while savoring every moment. Pure evil.

  After a hurried dinner, I could not wait for the late hour to come. Douglas was beginning to know the drill; take me straight to Whitechapel. He asked no questions and I offered no explanation. Once more, at the hour of midnight, I climbed into the carriage, tension rising within me the closer we came upon my destination.

  I was to be dropped outside the London Hospital, this time Douglas offered up a snippet of information.