Whitechapel by Bryan Lightbody

finished being serviced by Cathy Eddowes and knowing what the Doctor was like for somewhat dragging out the nights’ debauched events from last time decided to simply return home. He had paid Eddowes her money and despite her typical filthy East End condition had actually received a quite good sexual experience from her and thought about recommending her services to the doctor the next time they forayed into the East End together. He flagged down a hansom cab whilst passing through Whitechapel High Street to take him home to his quarters at Mr Valentine’s School, Blackheath where he worked part as a schoolmaster whilst also practising law. He would be cautious about arriving back late as Mr Valentine did not approve of late nights, so he would stop short in the cab and walk into the grounds so as not disturb anyone.
    He looked out upon the streets of London wondering what his friend’s debauched evening had consisted of. As he did so he began to feel great shame and disgust on himself for his own sexual foray. As they approached the Victorian construction project of the new river crossing to be called ‘Tower Bridge’ he called to the driver. “Stop the cab!” He did so with Druitt briskly alighting and throwing the fare at the driver whose horse trotted off at his command as Druitt strolled off in the direction of Wapping. He reached the shore side after a brisk walk and stared aimlessly out to the river on the gas lit Thames embankment wondering if he as yet had the courage to end his life so full of failure and immorality. He leant against the embankment wall and looked vertically down to the dark swirling water; he would need to make it quick when he did it, weight his own coat down to sink more deeply and guarantee no escape. He looked around him but there was nothing to use. Tonight wasn’t the night after all. If he reduced his time in Whitechapel perhaps that might boost his self esteem. He stood up straight and looked west along the river. London by night was a beautiful city and he felt it was not yet his time to give it up.
    As he did so a passing constable on the Wapping beat saw him; having seen the police intelligence regarding such activity he spoke to the well dressed gent on the shore side.
    “You all right, sir?”
    There was a pause from Druitt before he broke his glazed stare out across the river and spoke “Yes, fine officer, just gathering my thoughts.”
    “Nothing for me to worry about then, sir, you have been seen here before.”
    “We all have our little places we like to retreat to, constable, and this is mine.”
    “No problem, sir, see you again.” Druitt was unaware of the officer passing on as he was again staring glassy eyed across the river.
    ***
    Three a.m. Michael Ostrog came shuffling along Bucks Row and spotted what he perceived was a flat out drunken tom laying by the gates to what was Franklin’s wood yard and thought his luck maybe up. Thinking he could perhaps indulge in a quiet freebie if she was unconsciously drunk and satisfy one of his typically sickening sexual urges he approached her and lifted her skirt in the dark, poorly lit Bucks Row. He bent down about to kneel between her legs when he, aghast, noticed her terrible wounds. The extent of the mutilations shocked even him and fearing he would be held guilty of this attack he disappeared into the shadows and out of the area. His survival instincts kicked in heavily fearing discovery and possible blame he ran as fast as his legs could take him away from the scene and deeper into the East End’s warren of slums. This left Nicholls lying with her skirt hitched up as she was discovered just over half an hour later by a couple of local men; Charles Cross and Robert Paul passing through on their way home.
    Utterly shocked by their discovery they shouted “Murder, murder!” at the top of their voices disturbing the local residents who looked out of their windows. They were joined in minutes by Constable Thain and then