The Whitechapel Virgin Read online

  ‘Eddie?’ Her mouth felt paper dry.

  He rushed towards her and knelt down placing his own cheek next to hers which was wet with tears.

  ‘Oh don’t weep now dear Catherine,’ he said, tenderly wiping her tears away with his fingers.’

  ‘Tell me, Eddie. Tell me what it is that I could do to make you happy? I shall do anything you wish, but please don’t kill me like the others.’

  He looked down at the floor pensively for a moment.

  ‘I don’t know, Catherine. Can I trust you? If I let you live you will run away and inform the police, and I would hate to have to kill you, for I love you so very deeply.’

  The tears continued to pour down her face.

  ‘It does not have to be like this,’ she whispered.

  He looked so sad and lonely in that strange moment she felt an urge to embrace him.

  ‘How else can it be?’ he replied solemnly. ‘What’s done is done. I cannot take it back.’

  ‘But we can go back to the tavern and talk. We can talk it over and we can fix everything.’

  In reality even that seemed impossible but if she could just convince him to let her go.

  Eddie stood to his feet and looked down at her. ‘No I’m sorry Catherine, but it’s too late for that. Too late to change anything.’

  * * *

  ‘He was down there in Mitre Square, the Ripper was there,’ Annie shrieked, trembling with fear and cold.

  The officer offered Annie his coat but she declined. She had been terrified to return, even with the police officer close to her side.

  ‘I didn’t want to scarper and leave her behind but the fear got to me officer, I didn’t know what I was doing at the time.’

  ‘But you said that you saw him, do you think he was the Ripper?’ Officer Watkins asked.

  ‘I couldn’t be sure who it was if I’m honest. I was too terrified to hang about in case he butchered me to bits like he did to the others.’

  But she was almost certain it was him just by the way his frightening shadow had appeared, as if ready to pounce. And if Catherine had had any sense she’d have started running away too, but when Annie looked back she saw that the foolish girl had started walking towards him. She hoped it wasn’t too late.

  ‘Can you remember the approximate, time you left the scene, Madam?’

  Not more than thirty minutes ago officer, and I’d have thought they’d still be here cause I ran ever so fast to fetch ya, but me knee has been giving me gyp all evening, and...’

  ‘Stay here, and I’ll go and check the area,’ he told her.

  Annie stood trembling in the dark as the Officer rounded a corner holding his lantern above his head. He returned moments later and threw his hat to the ground.

  ‘Bugger it, he’s gone and murdered another one.’

  Annie cried out and fell backwards, where the officer quickly caught her in his arms preventing her from collapsing to the ground.

  ‘Madam, I will have to quickly escort you back to your lodging house. It appears we now have another crime scene on our hands.’

  The grief-stricken woman put her hands up to her face and cried out.

  ‘Tell me he hasn’t got her as well, has he? Is that our Miss Bell that he’s killed officer? Lord in heaven help us, the stinking rotter is murdering us all!’

  THIRTY-THREE

  She stood at the desk trembling weakly. The officer behind sprang from his chair.

  ‘What’s happened miss, did somebody attack you?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. My name is Catherine Bell, please help me. I need some assistance to return to my lodging house.’

  ‘You’re Catherine Bell? We’ve had officer’s searching for you half the evening Miss Bell. There’s been two more murders committed tonight and your friend Annie is beside herself with worry. I’ll escort you safely back to your lodgings.’

  Catherine took the kind officer’s arm as he led her to the door.

  ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions about this evening miss, not now p’rhaps, but maybe when you’ve had a bit of rest tomorrow you could come down and tell us what happened at Mitre Square.’ Catherine tried to rid the taste of bile which had settled in her mouth.

  ‘Of course officer, but honestly, there isn’t much I can tell you.’

  ‘You mean you didn’t see him? The Ripper himself?’

  ‘No, Officer. I have no idea who my assailant was. As soon as I approached him I must have fainted or been struck upon the head. When I came to my senses the man was gone and I awoke in a different location.’

  * * *

  Catherine slowly pushed the door open to view the old woman’s pitiful form. It was a scene so very different to when she had first entered the Madame’s office.

  The woman’s frail body shook with gentle sobs as she held her head in her hands. Catherine watched her for a moment, wondering if she had even noticed her entering the room.

  After a brief moment she looked up and Catherine saw that her face was etched with sadness.

  ‘Oh, Catherine! My dear God, I thought you had been murdered,’ Madame exclaimed.

  Catherine shook her head which reeled with both exhaustion and disbelief at the turn of events.

  ‘Where is Annie?’ Catherine asked, genuinely concerned.

  Madame wiped her eyes. ‘Annie has only just returned to her room having been in hysterical form for some hours. Please. Sit. Tell me what happened. Did they find him? The killer?’

  Catherine lowered her gaze. ‘I am afraid not Madame, but we have a very serious matter.’

  The old woman’s mouth fell open.

  ‘So where is he? Is he still out there?’

  ‘Perhaps, Madame, but two murders have occurred this evening.’

  ‘Two?’ her jaw fell open.

  Catherine nodded.

  ‘Oh Catherine, thank goodness you never went to visit him again. Thank Goodness indeed. They’ll catch up with him. None of us expected him to turn into this... this... monster!’

  ‘Edward Cross is not the Ripper Madame.’

  ‘He is not? Then who is?’

  ‘Eddie,’ she muttered in a low voice. ‘It has been Eddie all along.’

  Madame’s eyes became as round as saucers as she stared in bewilderment.

  ‘Our Eddie? Did you see him for yourself?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes. I spoke with him, Madame. He was not..’ she faltered, ‘he was not himself when I discovered him. He confessed to me his anguish of feeling uncared for, of being unwanted. His remorse over his mother’s death and abandonment. I encountered him in Mitre Square, and for reasons I do not know he has spared me this evening, and I will now need your help to spare him.’

  Madame’s shoulders dropped and she let out an unexpected howl.

  Catherine looked away, allowing the woman to vent her inner pain.

  They sat for many moments, both buried in deep thought before Madame stood and beckoned Catherine to the large cupboard beside the fireplace.

  ‘Come, I want to share something with you. I have kept it hidden for many years, for I could not ever bear to part with it.’

  With a key she unlocked the cupboard. Inside there were many compartments filled with ledgers layered with years of dust. At the very back Madame picked up a large item covered in an old blanket. It looked heavy. She placed it on the floor before Catherine.

  ‘I want you to see this,’ she said pointing at it with one hand, her other placed forlornly at her heart.

  Catherine shook off the blanket. Beneath was a pretty wooden rocking horse with a mane painted in a golden yellow.

  She gasped and looke
d up at Madame who appeared unsteady on her feet.

  ‘Madame, let me fetch a chair,’ she said and helped the woman to a seat. The object had aroused much curiosity in Catherine but she did not wish to prompt the woman with questions seeing as she was in such a fragile state, and pulled in a chair and sat opposite her with the curious item placed between then.

  Finally when Madame’s last tear was spent, and the sobs had declined, she lifted her chin to begin her story.

  ‘I was a young girl once, like you Catherine. I lived in an even more destitute area not so very far from here. My parents worked at odd jobs bringing in what they could to keep us going, but when I reached the age of fifteen my father died of typhoid fever and left my poor mother to cope alone. My elder sibling died too not long after, of the same disease, and my younger sister was given to a grieving mother in another area of town, as my mother and I were left alone to seek work.

  For months we fretted on our declining state, then good fortune arrived when she became employed as a servant in a good-sized house in a better part of town. The spacious home belonged to a kindly man who owned an apothecary in the city. His wife, I recall, was sickly and unassuming, and rarely seen outside her private quarters.

  Some days my mother would take me along with her so that I could run a few errands, make a few extra pence. I would sit in the kitchen and wait for her, or if the occupants were away I would sneak about and explore the dark rooms and great library. Or sometimes I would help her to finish her duties so we could leave earlier.

  One evening she was busy at her duties when I decided to set off exploring the house. I absentmindedly stumbled into one room and to my horror found the proprietor of the house sitting in a chair at his desk. He looked to be quite aged, at least in his fifties, balding, but with a warm smile. I curtseyed, begged his forgiveness, fully intent on fleeing as I ought, but he held up a hand and beckoned me forward.’

  Madame Davenport paused here to sigh loudly.

  ‘It became the beginning of a very complicated matter.’

  ‘What happened?’ Catherine asked gently.

  ‘As it so happened, he was kind to me, and as a young girl who had lost a father, he became a father figure of sorts. He would offer me sweets and small items, talk a little mundanely, and then send me on my way. I predicted nothing untoward was happening and merely accepted his kindness with gratitude. I admit, I became fond of him and felt comfortable in his presence.

  I was in my sixteenth year when something changed in the house and for three weeks mother continued on there, whilst I was made to stay away.

  Soon enough I learned that his wife had died.

  When I returned he appeared different. His gait was slower, his face gaunt. He appeared broken by sadness. When I entered his library on that same evening I felt it was appropriate to comfort him somehow and so I laid a hand on his shoulder as he wept pitifully in his chair.

  He put a hand over mine gratefully, and said, ‘You are a special little girl, Isabelle, don’t forget that.’ On his table lay various potions and powders, which he seemed to sniff and digest at various intervals.’

  Madame paused here, pain etched across her face as her own memories flooded into her mind. Catherine leaned forward and gently brushed her hand compassionately, feeling awkward in a sense, but knowing that she would not remonstrate her for doing so.

  ‘I suppose I did not question it when my mother began to take me to the house more frequently. It seemed natural that in his grief, he would require extra household assistance. I did not even question it when my mother worked late into the evening and asked me to carry him a tea to his sleeping quarters. Instantly I was a little shocked at her request for I had only ever visited him in his library by daylight.

  Had I been less ignorant I might have sensed what was to follow, but alas, I was not endowed with any kind of common sense in my early years. And so, innocently, I brought him his tea and he appeared much better than he had in weeks. Sitting upright in his bed, smiling as if he had been expecting me.’

  A flurry of fresh tears spilled from her eyes as she looked up at the ceiling remorsefully.

  ‘Madame,’ I interrupted. ‘If it pains you so to spea...’

  ‘No!’ she said emphatically, raising a hand. ‘I must go on.’

  Catherine nodded, ever curious to hear the sorrowful tale, but now struggling to stay alert.

  ‘I shall not go into detail here Catherine, but that very night he tainted me. I suppose I relented and allowed him to do so, not willingly I might add, but as though I knew inwardly that if I resisted, it would cause grave problems for my mother and I.

  I obeyed his commands, lay on his bed and allowed him to heave his great bulk of weight over me and I waited in the dark, my mind numbed with fear until he had finished. It seemed wrong, so, so wrong, he was like a father to me by then, you see.’

  She shook her head at the memory.

  ‘When it was over, he said nothing. I dressed and returned to the kitchen with a cup of tea untouched, my mother was sitting at the table waiting for me. I looked into her eyes and I knew then that she knew. My own mother had known this was to happen and had sent me up to him. How could she?’

  Catherine gasped, putting her hand to her mouth.

  ‘I became cold towards her, Catherine, barely communicating with her at all until the silence was broken one evening by a hard slap to my cheek. She cried to the heavens when I begged her to tell me why she had done this to me, to us? How could she have sat idly by in the same house and let him abuse me night after night. She replied coldly, betraying no sign of remorse, only saying...

  “Isabelle, I have no other choice. I am his servant forced to abide by his rules. There is no work for me elsewhere. He would see to that if I took you away. So you must grit your teeth and say nothing, ever, to any living soul, lest we find ourselves homeless and destitute.”

  ‘I think then dear Catherine, that I was suddenly forced into womanhood. I realised that my life and destiny was never to be of my making. Used as a pawn in an immoral game, I remained silent to prevent us from perishing in the slums, and so every evening I went up to him, carrying with me the tea my mother had poured downstairs.’

  Looking sadly at her lap Catherine wondered how she could ever have felt so overwhelmed with sadness at her own circumstances at the lodging house, now that she had come to learn of such an awful tale.

  ‘I suppose you can guess that it was no surprise for my mother to find me with child after a few months. What is even more astonishing is that they had even prepared themselves for that very occurrence.

  He summoned me up to his library, warned me to reveal nothing to another living soul, even though I knew that the house-hold staff suspected it, none would be believed by the authorities and would soon lose their positions if they uttered a word. I remained quiet, afraid to speak out, to ask any questions about the future of myself or that of the child I was carrying.

  Relations became further strained between my mother and I. Each day I became feverish with anxiety and begged her to let me know if I would keep the child. A new fear gripped me that they would take it away, then one day, cheerfully she confirmed that he had made arrangements for us to be moved away, to live outside the city. This was the brightest news we could have received at the time. A most fortunate outcome for a most pitiful circumstance.

  But I had my doubts, of course. I no longer trusted him as I once had. A week before the birth this very rocking horse sitting here between us secretly arrived at our door. It had been sent by him. A gift? Re-assurance? Guilt? To this day, Catherine, I do not know.’

  Madame leaned forward here to touch its golden mane gently.

  ‘I took it as a sign that he would honour his word, and I was elated. They had pre-arranged transport to a
residence a few miles away and once I arrived I was bustled inside a room to be left alone.

  My mother did not come.

  When the time drew near and my cries could be heard through the walls, a hard-faced woman entered and delivered me of a baby boy. Oh such a bonny boy Catherine, he was born and delivered from my womb as perfect and innocent as any other child. I fell in love instantly, as I had nothing else in the world to nurture and care for.’

  ‘Madame, I believe I know what is to come,’ Catherine said solemnly.

  ‘Yes, child, that is exactly what happened. The same emotionless woman tiptoed into the room at some point during the night where my baby had not left my arms even for a moment. She wrestled him free from me and told me they must weigh him and change his clothing. I never saw him again.’

  Madame paused to wipe her eyes. She exhaled deeply and Catherine felt her own tears sting her eyes then slide very slowly down her cheeks.

  What an awful thing to do. No wonder this woman had become so very cold and embittered by grief.

  ‘Things changed from that day forward. We returned home and my mother returned to her position, this time without me. I was never taken to his residence again. It was as if nothing had ever happened at all. Mother forbade me to speak of it. She said it would be the downfall of us. Never again did I mention my baby to her or any other person, though my heart ached for him. I became withdrawn and refused to cry in her presence. I would not let her witness my pain.

  This gift, she allowed me to keep it. It was my only source of comfort, my only link left to my child. I held it each night for many months to follow, destroyed by grief.’

  Catherine nodded. Understanding now why she had been so harsh on Eddie. A living reminder of her own tragic loss.

  ‘There was a spark of kindness bestowed upon me, finally. From that day forward I hated my mother’s employer from the very core of my soul, but we received a great surprise almost exactly a year later.

  I reached the age of seventeen and was employed within a Cotton Mill, when my mother came running inside to greet me. She appeared excited. A member of his legal office had visited her and informed her that he had perished, and in his Last Will, bestowed us with a lifetime settlement of thirty pounds. This settlement was never to be revealed publicly and in its acceptance we were to swear under oath that we would never reveal our benefactor’s generosity. I suppose you could say that it was his own way of easing his conscience upon his deathbed.’