Abberline: The Man Who Hunted Jack the Ripper (20 page)

Within days they had moved into lodgings in George Street, off Commercial Street, and from there to a larger flat in Little Paternoster Row off Dorset Street; but six weeks later, they were evicted for not paying the rent and for being drunk and making too much noise. Drink was their downfall as a couple; friends, who remembered them from this time, said they were a friendly and pleasant couple who gave little trouble, unless they were drunk. In fact, records for Thames Magistrate Court show that on 19 September 1888, a Mary Jane Kelly was fined 2
s
6
d
for being drunk and disorderly.

Since she had moved in with Barnett, Kelly had given up prostitution and they had relied solely on his wages.Unfortunately the money he earned as a fish porter only just about fed and clothed them, and paid the rent, which left hardly anything for their ever-increasing drink habit. Their only option at this time was to move into cheaper accommodation, which they did; firstly in one room in Brick Lane, which was infested with rats, and from there, in March 1888, to Miller’s Court off Dorset Street. Again this was only a single room but at least it was reasonably clean and without rats. This new address was listed as 13 Miller’s Court.

In September 1888, Barnett was fired from his job for consistent lateness and time off, which was, once again, probably due to his drinking habits. Now faced with no money coming into the household at all, Kelly decided to do the only thing she knew, which was to return to the streets again; and if this wasn’t enough, she also decided to rent out a spare bed to other prostitutes. Barnett couldn’t stand this, as he now looked upon Kelly as his wife and absolutely hated the thought of any other man touching her. They had a blazing row, in which he told her that either she gave up the street life altogether or he would leave her. In defiance, Kelly grabbed a quarter-full bottle of gin from the sideboard and swigged it back in one go, before walking out smiling and waving goodbye to Barnett as she went. When she did return, some four hours later, Barnett was gone and Kelly broke down in tears, thinking she would never see him again. This wasn’t true, as Barnett still apparently loved her, and although he couldn’t bear to see her selling herself to other men, he continued to visit her and give her money whenever he could.

Throughout October, and into early November, at least two other prostitutes shared Kelly’s room with her, one being a woman known only as Julia and the other a woman named Maria Harvey.

At the later inquest into Kelly’s death, her ex-partner Joseph Barnett testified that it was because Kelly had allowed these other prostitutes to stay in their room that they had broken up. He stood up for her right to the end, saying that she would never have gone wrong again if it hadn’t been for the prostitutes staying at the house. She only let them stay there, he said, because she was so good hearted and did not like to refuse them shelter on cold bitter nights. He added that they had lived comfortably until Kelly had allowed a prostitute named Julia and then Maria Harvey to sleep in the same room.

The last known dates that Kelly was seen were on Monday 5 November, when Maria Harvey left her room and found lodgings elsewhere, and then again on Wednesday 7 November, when Kelly went to McCarthy’s, a local shop, to buy a candle for her room. Later that same evening she was seen in Miller’s Court by Thomas Bowyer, a pensioned soldier who also happened to work in McCarthy’s shop.

Bowyer later stated at the inquest that on Wednesday night he saw a man speaking to Kelly in Miller’s Court. Bowyer’s description of the man, matched almost exactly, to a witness’ description of the man who was seen talking to Elizabeth Stride on the night of her death. He described the man’s appearance as very smart, and drew special attention to his very white cuffs and large white shirt collar, which came down over the front of his long black coat. The man was not carrying a bag or a package of any description.

A number of witnesses saw Kelly on Friday 9 November, including her ex-partner, Joseph Barnett, who called in to see her at about 7.45 p.m., but he couldn’t speak to her at any length as she was talking to another woman. Maria Harvey later said that she was the woman Kelly was speaking to, and that she had left her about ten minutes later. There is some discrepancy about this, however, as firstly, Barnett knew Harvey and would have instantly recognised her, and secondly, another woman, Lizzie Albrook, who lived at 2 Miller’s Court, said it was her who Kelly was talking to when Barnett had arrived. She said that Kelly had said to her,
’
What ever you do Lizzie, don’t you go doing wrong and turn out as I did’. Albrook said that Kelly was a very caring person and had often spoken to her in this way. She went on to say that Kelly had warned her against going onto the streets, as she had done. She had apparently said that she was heartily sick of the life she was leading and wished she had enough money to go back to Ireland where her family lived.

November that year was a very cold and damp month, and housing conditions in London’s East End were far from adequate, especially amongst the poor. One needs to remember that what we today class as our normal everyday rights were practically non-existent during this time. There was no television or radio or central heating; in fact, people were lucky to be able to afford coal or wood to burn on their open fires, if they indeed even had a fireplace. Entertainment was restricted to a visit to the local pub, when one could afford it; other than that there was nothing, which meant that many people tucked themselves up into their beds, sometimes as early as 8 p.m. during the cold weather, in order to escape their humdrum existence, and to try to keep warm.

The streets of Whitechapel that Friday night, 9 November, were particularly quiet, with just the odd straggler here and there. The scene inside the Ten Bells public house, which was on the corner of Commercial Street and Fournier Street, and just a stone’s throw from Kelly’s lodgings, was a completely different story. Bearing in mind that, being a Friday night, when most workers got paid, the pub was absolutely thriving and heaving with customers.

The Ten Bells was a very popular pub, which the women who worked the streets used quite often. Being directly opposite Spitalfields Market, it naturally attracted a great deal of market workers, who not only supplied the ladies with a few free drinks, but also some extra custom to their trade. Kelly was seen in this pub drinking with a well-known prostitute from the area, Elizabeth Foster; the exact time isn’t known, but there didn’t seem to be any men with them. It was just the two women, chatting and having a drink.

By 11 p.m., Kelly had moved on to another nearby pub, the Britannia, where she was seen drinking with a youngish man, with a dark moustache, and described as quite well dressed. The witness said that by this time Kelly appeared to be very drunk.

Another prostitute, 31-year-old Mary Ann Cox, who lived close to Kelly at 5 Miller’s Court, was just returning home at about 11.45 p.m. after a very unsuccessful night. It had now started to rain and all Cox could think about was getting indoors and hopefully warming herself up a little. As she turned into Dorset Street from Commercial Street, she noticed Kelly and a man walking ahead of her. The man was carrying a pail of beer, and Kelly was carrying a package, which looked like it could be fish and chips. Cox described the man as rather stout, with a blotchy face, small sideburns and a ginger coloured moustache.

Mary Ann Cox wasn’t exactly enamoured by the man’s looks, but then who was she to pick and choose on such an awful night, and at least Kelly looked happy with her fish and chips and pail of beer. Cox smiled and called goodnight to Kelly as she passed her. Kelly smiled back and started to sing as she opened her door for the man and herself to go in.

About half an hour later, and probably still thinking about the beer and fish and chips, Cox decided to go out and try her luck on the streets again. As she went, she could still hear Kelly singing from inside her room. She was singing an old-time music-hall song called
A Violet from Mother’s Grave
. The song had very poignant lyrics, which brought tears to Cox’s eyes as she heard it, and probably also had a special meaning to Kelly as well. The first verse went as follows:

Scenes of my childhood arise before my gaze,

Bringing recollections of bygone happy days.

When down in the meadow in childhood I would roam,

No one’s left to cheer me now within that good old home,

Father and Mother, they have pass’d away;

Sister and brother, now lay beneath the clay,

But while life does remain to cheer me, I’ll retain

This small violet I pluck’d from mother’s grave.

When Cox returned yet again, around 1 a.m., still without money, drink or food, she could still hear Kelly singing, and there was a light showing from beneath her door, so presumably all was still well within Kelly’s lodgings at this time.

About an hour after this, at approximately 2 a.m., George Hutchinson had just returned from Romford, where he had been working as a labourer. As he got to Commercial Street, where his lodgings were, he noticed a man standing on the corner of Thrawl Street, which he thought was strange, as it was still very cold and raining quite heavily by this time, and the man wasn’t even trying to shelter from it. Hutchinson shook his head, thinking to himself how silly some people are, standing in the pouring rain like that.

As Hutchinson reached Flower and Dean Street, he suddenly bumped into Kelly, who he vaguely knew. She looked very drunk and clung onto his clothes, saying she was so pleased to see him, and could he possible lend her sixpence. Hutchinson was only a labourer, and made it a rule never to lend anyone money; he made an excuse to Kelly, who thanked him and went on her way, in the direction of Thrawl Street.

Hutchinson felt sorry for Kelly and somewhat guilty that he hadn’t helped her by lending her the sixpence she required. He watched her go towards Thrawl Street, where she started talking to the man Hutchinson has passed a little earlier. He saw them talking and laughing together, with the man putting his hand on Kelly’s shoulder and whispering something in her ear. Kelly apparently laughed at whatever it was the man had said to her, nodded her head and told him it was all right. Kelly and the man then walked off towards Dorset Street, the man with his right hand on Kelly’s shoulder. In his left hand, he carried a small parcel.

By this time, Hutchinson had got a good look at the man, and described him later as such:

He had a pale complexion, a slight moustache turned up at the corners, dark hair, dark eyes, and bushy eyebrows. He was of ‘Jewish appearance.’ The man was wearing a soft felt hat pulled down over his eyes, a long dark coat trimmed in astrakhan, a white collar with a black necktie fixed with a horseshoe pin. He wore dark spats over light button over boots. A massive gold chain was in his waistcoat with a large seal with a red stone hanging from it. He carried kid gloves in his right hand and a small package in his left. He was 5 feet 6 inches, or 5 feet 7 inches tall and about 35 or 36 years old.

Hutchinson continued to watch and follow them, as Kelly and the man crossed Commercial Street and turned into Dorset Street, where they stopped outside Miller’s Court and spoke for a few minutes. Kelly was heard to say, ‘All right, my dear’, to the man, ‘come on then, you’ll be comfortable with me’. They then kissed and went into Miller’s Court together. At this point, which was then 3 a.m., there was nothing left for Hutchinson to see, and so he left.

Elizabeth Prater, who also lived in Miller’s Court, hadn’t had a particularly good night’s sleep that night, owing to the heavy rain which had been dripping through her ceiling all night. At around 4 a.m., she had just managed to get to sleep when she was suddenly awoken by her kitten, which had climbed onto her bed, and at the same time she heard a distant cry of ‘Murder, oh murder’ from outside somewhere. Another young woman, Sarah Lewis, who was staying with friends in Miller’s Court, also heard the cry, but unfortunately, neither woman took any notice of it, as it was a common cry in the district.

The rest of the night was reasonably quiet, apart from the consistent rain battering against the windows, and in some cases pouring through the holes in them. It wasn’t until 10.35 a.m. that John McCarthy, the owner of McCarthy’s Rents, as Miller’s Court was known, decided to send his rent collector, Thomas Bowyer, to Kelly’s room, to collect the arrears in her rent.

Bowyer knocked on the door quite loudly, trying his best to imitate a police-knock, as that usually scared the tenants enough into opening the door for him. After receiving no reply, he rapped on the door again, and then tried the handle, but the door seemed to be locked. He was starting to get angry at this point, believing Kelly to be in and just trying to avoid him. The window next to the door had a large broken hole in it, which he then went to peer through, but the curtain inside was blocking his view. He pushed the curtain aside and called Kelly’s name, but as he looked through into the gloomy interior of the room, the sight that greeted him caused him to retch; it was most certainly a human body, but not like anything he had ever seen or heard of before in his life.

Bowyer ran as fast as he could to McCarthy, and informed him of what he had seen. After quickly seeing the body for himself, McCarthy then ran to Commercial Street police station, where he spoke with Inspector Walter Beck, who returned immediately with him to the court.

Within minutes Inspector Abberline was on the scene, along with his team and many ordinary police officers, who absolutely swamped the area. When asked by one of his team what he should do next, Abberline lost his temper and shouted at the man, telling him to question his fellow police officers if he thought it would do any good. Abberline felt so frustrated; he had been given strict instructions by Scotland Yard not to allow anyone to enter the scene of the crime until the police bloodhounds, Barnaby and Burgho, had arrived.