Murder in Whitechapel (The Judas Reflections) (11 page)

“I don’t recall anyone killed of that name?”

“It was her nickname. ’Er real name was Lizzie Stride, short as a midget she was, so I never got why they all called ‘er long Lizzie. She was always on the streets or in the ale ‘ouses. Brothels wouldn’t ‘ave ’er on account of ’er not looking so good, if yer know what I mean.”

“But you knew of her, or knew her well?”

“I’d see ‘er a lot at Spitalfields or around ‘ere walking the streets. She was always asking me for money or a meeting with Rosie. I told ‘er ‘Lizzie you ain’t pretty enough. Rose’s got standards, she don’t take on the ugly ones.’”

“What of her clients? Did you ever see any of them or one in particular, a regular perhaps?”

“Oh my gaud, she’d ‘ad so many. There was this one, a Russian sailor, not a nice bloke. Beat ‘er up good every time they ‘ad sex. He’d need to, she’d tell me and then there was the pleaser, I saw ‘im once. ’E were proper rich, a classy gent an’ all, but with the strangest eyes, almost black they were and bloodshot all the time. He was short like ‘er, Lizzie told me ’e was no trouble.”

“A short man with black eyes. Do you recall if he wore a dark overcoat?” My heart was pumping.

“All the time, she said, even when it was warm. Proper strange ‘e was, overdressed an’ all. She depended on ‘im showing up regular on account she was mostly living on the streets. The money ’e gave ‘er was enough for the boarding ‘ouse for a couple a nights.”

“When was the last time you saw him, Mary?”

“I ain’t seen ‘im since she were found dead. A lot of punters ‘ave disappeared, scared of the police they are. ‘Ere Mister… Time’s up, and tell Rosie I was good, I don’t wanna lose me work ‘ere.”

I could not wait to leave the discomfort I found myself in; it was not a reflection on Mary, whom I pitied. It was more the dread of her description. The man in a dark overcoat who appeared to be short, foreign and dark eyed. It also appeared no matter what the weather he was unable to shed his winter attire.

Ratibor was never seen without a cloak wrapped around his person. Even when the temperature in Constantinople was soaring above thirty degrees, he would be cloaked. Upon knowing he had spent time with Lizzie Stride, I urged Mary to be cautious and, stay within the confines of the brothel. Sadly, she informed me if it was not her turn for the rental of the room, then she would have to return to the streets searching for men to take her to lodgings.

Outside I became chilled and pulled my coat lapels tight to my neck to keep warm as I wandered the dark, lonely streets. Rats ran across my path and the rancid smell of stale ale permeated the air from numerous drinking establishments. As repulsive as it was, the importance of getting to know the area was uppermost. I decided to enter the first alehouse I came across in the hope to find others who would tell me about the man with black eyes and a foreign accent.

Fatigued as I was becoming, having been awake for most of the night, I mustered the strength to enter an arena packed full of the poor creatures of London’s neglected east-end.

“What can I get yer?” the bearded landlord asked. He had a look of menace, a man who would tolerate no violence in his establishment.

“Rum if you please, landlord.” The coldness had seeped into my bones, I needed something to warm myself and rum was a good choice. But this popular import from tropical lands was rough to the taste. The finest and the worst quality brought by ship to England. I was given a glass of the worst rum, barely drinkable. Concerned I might be perceived as arrogant if I complained, I forced myself to drink the hideous liquid.

“What’s a gent like you doing ‘ere, slumming?” A woman, heavily intoxicated, approached. It appeared my attire failed in hiding my true self.

“I am passing through, madam, on my way to the North of England. I am a salesman.”

“You’re proper ‘andsome you are, dark hair and those blue eyes. Buy me a gin and I’ll keep yer company.”

She was typical of the fallen women of Whitechapel, worn out clothes and dirty fingernails. Her hair was unwashed and the darkened shadows that circled her eyes told tales of a poor diet, too much alcohol, and lack of sleep. It was a surety the lifespan of these people, given their surroundings, were of a short length, old age a miracle to behold. In order not to arouse suspicion of being so out of place, I complied with an order of gin. “What a charmer,” said she, “I could go for yer, honest I could.” Before I could politely decline her suggestion, a giant brute of a man with violent emotions approached me, his intentions obvious.

“What do yer want with me woman?” he asked loudly.

“I want nothing with your woman, kind sir,” I replied. “I have only, in good faith, given her a drink.”

I did not have the time to react to the punch that came my way, being a full fist into the direction of my nose. There was a crack and a small tinge of pain that did not force me to put my hands over my face, nor fall to the ground. I remained where I was.

“What the?” he remarked, his clenched fist once more flying in my direction. But I was in readiness and felled his hand, causing him to stop in mid-flight. The woman screamed, her intoxication created an emotional outburst that resulted in hysterical tears and the foulest obscenities.

“I ask you, dear sir, to refrain from hitting me again or I will be forced to retaliate.” We were locked in a frame, his fist held firmly in my one hand, my other holding his arm.

“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, much 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.”