Whitechapel (13 page)

She stood in a fine white Victorian corset that seemed to make her gorgeous hair even more auburn with its lightness, with the undergarment exaggerating her fine figure and with her breasts partially spilling out of the top of it. The dark stockings contoured her legs which had been given an exquisite shape by the lift from her heeled shoes. She pulled Robert’s waist belt free from its loops and tore down the button fly of his suit trousers. She could feel his stiffening and pulled it free from his white cotton underwear, kneeling down she eased him gently into her mouth. Robert’s head went back in ecstasy and his whole body tensed with exhilaration as she massaged him against her tongue in and out of her mouth. He had never felt such a sensation before with his limited number of sexual experiences, but nonetheless significant in their exploration of carnal pleasures.

He looked down at Mary just as she was looking up and they caught each others eyes, each knowing what the other wanted. She let him fall from her mouth and stood up, turning around and saying to Robert “Undo my corset lace, darling.” He did so with somewhat shaking hands whilst Mary undid her stockings and as the corset loosened she pulled it down stepping out of the last of her clothes. She turned around to face him. She was the most stunningly beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had flawless pale skin covering her hourglass figure, her generous breasts were crowned by large erect pink nipples and she completely shaved her body. She went and sat on the corner of the bed as Robert stepped out of his trousers, underwear, socks and shoes. He approached her and dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed in front of her in-between her legs.

They kissed again for several minutes as he ran his hands gently in an almost tickling fashion up and down her thighs and the contours of her torso, then breaking away from the kiss and beginning to gently kiss and caress her breasts and nipples. She began to faintly moan with pleasure as she had never had a man treat her so gently before, loving her instead of grappling and fondling her in a primitive fashion. He moved down to between her legs and as he did so she lay back on the bed and opened her legs wider as he began to pleasure her with his tongue. It darted inside her a couple of times before settling on massaging her causing her to become more and more stimulated.

Within minutes she was experiencing a climax like never before and then she lent up and whispered to him “Robert, please make love to me.” He stood as she sat up and lifted her in his arms, laid her out gently along the bed and then climbed onto the bed laying himself tenderly on top of her supporting himself with his arms either side of her chest. She took hold of him and guided him inside her. It penetrated her easily prompting a moan of pleasure and satisfaction and then they rhythmically moved with one another. Both panting and moaning in-between breaths and boughts of hard passionate kissing. He kissed her neck, her breasts and gently ran his hand around her astonishingly pretty face

She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him into her as physically close as she could now, moaning loudly and constantly. His brow was sweating and the perspiration running down his back from sustained love making over quite some time and he thrust into her faster and faster. He felt the sensation beginning to change and pushed his last couple of times as deep as he could, throwing his head back and groaning with pleasure as he came deep inside her, she reciprocally yelling loudly as a result of a second deep orgasm. They stayed locked with one another kissing on the bed for several minutes before Robert rolled to one side but still arm in arm.

“Robert, no one has ever treated me like that before.” A concerned look came across his face as he lay there, next to a woman he was falling deeply in love with.

“Like what? Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” she said nestling up closer to him, “you did everything wonderfully; no one has ever been that tender before. You made me feel like a woman who is loved.”

Robert’s eyes had welled with tears and the lump in his throat stopped him from replying. He held her tightly and hoped this moment would last forever.

CHAPTER SEVEN
 

Wednesday 5th September 8.a.m and Francis Tumblety now considered it time for himself to find lodgings within the squalid East End to give himself a bolt hole to go to wait for the heat to dissipate if the police found a victim early and began to cordon the area off. He would not then have to worry about getting back immediately to his grand quarters in the west of town. Enjoying the last of his breakfast at the Ritz Hotel he waved to the head waiter to get his attention, smartly dressed in his black dinner suit he came promptly to the Doctor’s table to tend to his request.

“Victor, a cab please at reception for the East of the City.”

“Certainly, Doctor,” replied Victor humbly and hurried off a few steps and then beckoned one of his own minions to run to reception and arrange the request.

Tumblety was beginning to run up a considerable hotel bill and needed to recover his valuable gems to cash one in for money to deal with such matters. If he didn’t get them soon the issue of money could become embarrassing. Of the stones that had remained in the box, which wasn’t many of the smaller diamonds and the two emeralds, he had already been forced to trade in the diamonds for ready cash. A sum of money now depleted. He felt he could not part with the emeralds until his quest was over. They were a salient reminder of all the things his twisted mind considered to be wrong. So not only would some hovel in fetid Whitechapel or Spitalfields give him a local escape but it would perhaps help keep his living costs down a little. Finishing his breakfast he lifted the fine damask cotton serviette off of his lap and placed it neatly on the finely laid luxury hotel dining table. He already had his cane and hat with him negating any need to go to his room so dressed in his traditional garish civil war based uniform he strode arrogantly out of the breakfast lounge, through the hollowed corridors or the Ritz to the reception area. Spotted immediately by one of the bellboys the main door was swung open for him and a cab was waiting exactly opposite the door, the driver nodded to Tumblety in acknowledgement and the Doctor climbed aboard.

With the crack of a whip the cab lurched off as Tumblety made himself comfortable in the leather quilt-studded seat and looked out surveying the bustling West End streets. The area possessed a very different populace to the filth ridden East all going about their individual days of either toil or leisure. The carriage took as direct a route as possible from the Ritz passing along Piccadilly to the famous Piccadilly Circus, along to Leicester Square, Charing Cross Road, through Holborn into the City of London proper through Poultry having already clipped the top of Old Bailey, passing the Bank of England and on to Cornhill, Leadenhall Street and finally arriving of the conjugation of Commercial Road, Braham Street and The Minories. He still did have a reserve of money for day to day expenses, which to him was a God send to be able to continue his adventures but most importantly his revenge and psychosis fuelled crusade. He proffered the driver the exact money for his fair; frugality would help ensure the maintenance of the crusade.

He had had his ‘ear to the ground’ as it were to discover the availability of cheap but comfortable lodgings in the various pubs he frequented in the East End and discovered there was a room free at a Mrs Long’s house at number 22 Batty Street, Portsoken Ward, Whitechapel. It’s proximity to the general area of his quest and other debauched antics was ideal and the five to ten minute walk from were he alighted the cab would help familiarise himself with the South side of the locality.

He watched carefully those passing by him and the unfortunates he in turn passed keenly looking out for Mary and putting an end to his frustrations. In comparison to the flourishing West the air smelt rotten in many places as a result of piles of rubbish and blocked or defective and in some places non existent sewers. Long before the search for Mary he enjoyed abusing the unfortunates of the area sexually in a frustrated attempt to wreak revenge and put closure on his one and only treacherous wife. He derived pleasure from degrading himself associating with these women as did Druitt from the sense of power it developed within them. He could feel these emotions and needs welling up inside him as he roamed the streets that were the home to his sexual prey.

As he rounded the corner of Fairclough Street into Batty Street he cast all thoughts of sexual dysfunction from his mind to get on with checking out the room at 22 Batty Street and then negotiating a price with Mrs Long. From outside the property was a typical squalid looking Victorian two up and two down terraced house. The door was a faded wooden four panelled style with a fan of small glass windows, four in total, above the panels at head height. There was no door knocker and so Tumblety wrapped on the door with handle end of his cane. Paint flaked from the door as the sound of his knocking echoed in the street causing Tumblety to look around in an embarrassed fashion, fearful that he may draw unwanted attention to himself.

After ten to fifteen seconds the door opened; it had seemed like an eternity to Tumblety as a crowd of filthy East End children had gathered following his wrap on the door. They were watching him curiously, delving deep into their noses at the same time with muck covered fingers to relieve their nasal passages of soot having gathered just from breathing the local air. Stood in front of him was a surprisingly clean looking fifty-five year old woman in traditional dress and neatly tied back long grey hair. Her skin was weathered with a creased leathery appearance and her smile, as he introduced himself to her, revealed what was a typically local dental feature; decaying and missing teeth.

“Good morning, Mrs Long, I’ve come about the room vacancy,” said Tumblety in his distinctive American drool.

“Come in, Mister, I’ll show you it. Not from round here are you.”

“No, just paying a visit to the old country, ma’am.”

“Proper polite you are. What you want a room round here for then, eh?”

“Well, ma’am, I’m a doctor involved in social research in deprived areas. I believe you’ve got to spend some time amongst the people to make a serious study.”

“Oh, very privileged ‘ere we are then, an intellectual in our midst. Thought you was some kind of Yankee general with all that get up.”

“No, not now ma’am, it’s the last remnant of my military service during our civil war. And please, if I take up your room, treat me no different to anyone else. That way I can get a true reflection of life here.”

During the conversation she had taken them through the house to a set of stairs built centrally, up the stairs and along a short narrow corridor and opened a door into the room which overlooked Batty Street itself. A feature that he considered could prove useful in the future. The room was clean but in a state of decay needing the window replacing as the wood was rotting and the plaster on the walls was crumbling in a few places. The room was only equipped with a bed, a wardrobe and an old dining chair on three good legs and one slightly shorter one. As a place to stop to avoid capture, or to simply retire to until more cabs were running in the foul East End streets it was perfect.

“I’ll take it please, Mrs Long. I feel I can be at one with the people here, and really get to know them inside and out. You know what I mean?” he said to her in a quizzical fashion.

“I do, sir. Just one month’s rent in advance then please. Four shillings.”

Tumblety reached into his pocket and pulled out the change and handed it to a grateful Mrs Long. He bid her good day and left with his keys. She returned to her washing and scrubbing chores in her downstairs scullery with the thought crossing her mind, ‘what was his name?’

***

2.p.m at Commercial Street Police Station; Abberline and Godley were now comfortably settled in to their incident room with signs of the investigation really taking shape. Information about the two prostitute victims was chalked onto the black boards and plan drawings of the two murder sites pinned to the walls. The board with details of suspects was ominously blank. There were several desks for the investigating officers involved which at the present were only Abberline and Godley and two newly appointed detective constables both around thirty years old, Murphy and Parish. Significantly, where the occupants of the office were concerned, was a table set aside with the facility to make tea for anyone present.

“Bill, old son, get some tea on can you. Might stimulate the old grey matter,” Abberline said addressing Murphy. The young DC got the kettle going on the old iron gas stove next to the table and spread out four tarnished and stained enamel mugs. He lifted the lid on an equally weathered looking enamel tea pot and spooned some tea leaves generously into it.

“Fred,” began Godley, “You know that Ostrog was spotted the other day and involved in a violent robbery. He also has been suggested for a nasty attack and subsequent sexual assault at a baker’s in Brick Lane. Do you think he’s a possible?”

“Well, he’s certainly worth finding and pulling in. But to do so we’re going to have to trawl the doctors, legal and struck off as the poultry man buried a knife good and proper in his shoulder. Now despite the fact he’s got some medical background he’ll have to get it patched.”

“We’ll make a start on that if you want, Guv,” said Murphy on behalf of himself and Parish.

“Okay, lad, I’ll leave that with you two, it’ll probably draw a blank but might as well make a start at the London Hospital. Get in with the doctors there and they may know of some loose cannons practising locally and back street as it were. Me and George are going to start looking over the scant alleged witness statements from the murders on the last sightings of the victims, see if we can throw up anything new.”

Murphy made them all a steaming cup of tea and they chatted socially for sometime before the two young DCs got their jackets and left, Abberline sat at one of the desks with Godley sat opposite him.