‘Go away!’ she protested, seeking to distance herself from this new intrusion.
‘Are you all right, miss?’
The voice was that of the beggar.
‘What’s it to you?’ growled the man turning his attention towards the speaker.
‘Are you all right, miss? Has he hurt you?’ called out the beggar again.
Trembling, and coughing, she retreated into a nearby doorway, as she heard the sound of a creaking cart approaching somewhere in the distance.
‘Shut up, you old piece of horse meat!’ shouted the drunken man, lashing out with his foot at the blind beggar.
‘Please don’t hurt me!’ cried out the other, covering his face with his hands.
She turned in the direction of the cart, as it made its noisy way towards the buildings, an old bearded man pushing the vehicle before him.
‘I told you to shut your mouth!’ The drunken man landed his boot in the chest of the old beggar, making him cry out in pain. Instinctively she began to move forward, seeking to help the unfortunate victim.
‘Follow me!’ instructed the man with the cart, in a voice barely audible as he passed by.
‘Now shut your mouth, you old tramp!’ shouted the drunken man, lashing out once more at the beggar, but missing his aim and collapsing on the cobbles.
She stood still and watched the old man and the cart turn the corner.
So he had kept his word.
He had come for her.
Quickly she walked away from the inn, leaving the drunkard and the blind beggar still in dispute. Turning the corner, she was relieved to see the cart and its owner making their slow way down one of the narrow alleyways.
She knew now, that he would take her to where their final victim would be waiting — to where she would be able to confront the woman who had been the main cause of the downfall of her family, and to where she would at last be avenged.
The cart and the old man continued on their way. She wondered why he did not turn round to see whether she had followed his instructions, but then she realized that such a man as Monk would have been aware of her every movement.
Suddenly Monk stopped. He abandoned the cart at the side of the alleyway, glanced briefly in her direction, before quickening his pace and turning the corner, disappearing from view.
She hurried after him, fearful that the night fog would encompass the figure before she regained sight of him.
As she turned the corner, she felt herself being grabbed and thrust violently up against the brickwork.
‘You made sure that no one followed you?’ he whispered.
‘Yes. Yes, I am alone,’ she replied, trying to recover her breathing as she attempted to free herself from his grasp.
‘We must be quiet. She is asleep in her room,’ he whispered again as he relaxed his grip upon her, his face hidden by the darkness.
She nodded, her face wet with perspiration as she attempted to stifle her coughing with her trembling hands.
‘You are sure?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she replied, the words being uttered in no more than a faint whisper, and in a voice that seemed not like her own.
‘Then come!’
Taking her hand, he pulled her into a small courtyard and on towards the window of a room, where she saw the faint flicker of a candle from within.
At last, the final page could be written.
She would be fulfilled.
He pushed open the door and almost dragged her into the small room.
‘There is no one here!’ she protested, but before she could continue, she felt herself being thrown on to the bed that lay in the centre of the room.
‘You waited for me to come out of the church!’ he sneered, his breath coming in short gasps as he looked down at her.
She tried to climb off the bed, but before she could do so, she felt his strong hands forcing her back on to the sheet, as his body came down on top of her.
‘I told you, I work alone. You should have left me alone, but your curiosity got the better of you. You had to see who I was!’ he snarled again, tearing at her clothes.
She tried to cry out, but instead felt his hand clasping her throat, forcing her head back on to the bed.
She knew then, that he had betrayed her and that she was to be his final victim.
‘It is no use! All you can do is die!’ he hissed.
As she struggled to break free, she could feel his grip tightening around her throat. She looked up at his face and saw the hatred and frenzy there.
She had failed her husband and son!
As the blackness came over her, the last thing she saw was the blade, as it prepared to make its downward thrust.
EPILOGUE
DINARD, NORTHERN FRANCE, NOVEMBER 1888
On 12 November, a well-dressed, middle-aged gentleman could be found sipping coffee on the terrace of the Gandolphi Hotel in the fashionable French resort of Dinard. The late autumn sunshine felt warm against the side of his face, as he looked out across the bay to where he could just see the outline of the ancient walls of the imposing fortress of St Malo in the distance. Closer to the shore, the ferry boat was making its slow progress across the waters. On the beach, below the terrace, a small group of children played happily on the sands under the watchful eye of their guardian. A number of sea birds circled overhead in the blue sky. On either side of him, fine stately villas adorned the edges of the cliffs.
Somewhere in the distance a church clock struck the hour of eleven. To this man, the peaceful, tranquil setting seemed a million miles away from the narrow, congested streets of Whitechapel and the ancient stones of Worcester that he had known. As he lay back in his chair, he closed his eyes, knowing that he had at last achieved the inner peace which he had so long desired.
‘Monsieur would like the newspaper?’ inquired a French voice breaking the tranquillity of the scene.
‘Merci, Philippe,’ replied the man taking the paper.
The waiter smiled, collected his empty coffee cup and walked back into the interior of the hotel.
The man, after cleaning the lens in his spectacles, opened the newspaper and turned over the pages, casually glancing at the various news stories, not welcoming the intrusion of the real world into his thoughts. After a brief examination of the cricket scores, he opened the newspaper at the centre page, where a particular item caught his attention.
TERRIBLE MURDER IN WHITECHAPEL
Further Horrific Outrage
Reports are being circulated in the London newspapers regarding the discovery of a woman’s body in the Whitechapel district of the city, early on the morning of 9 November last. We have reason to believe that the unfortunate woman was another victim of the infamous killer who has stalked this area of London over the previous three months. What is particularly disturbing upon this occasion, however, is that the victim was savagely killed in her own rooms. We understand that the victim’s name was one Marie Jeanette Kelly who lodged at 13 Miller’s Court off Dorset Street, although it may not be possible to effect a positive identification of the deceased, as the body was brutally mutilated by her attacker in his frenzied assault. The death of this latest woman has caused widespread outrage within the capital, and we have also learnt that Sir Charles Warren, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner has resigned over the failure of the police force to apprehend the murderer of these poor-
‘Anything interesting in the newspaper today?’ asked a voice at the reader’s elbow.
‘It seems that another poor woman has met with an untimely death in London,’ said the man rising from his seat.
‘I am sure that had you been there, you would have apprehended the villain by now,’ smiled the lady.
‘You overestimate my abilities, my dear,’ replied Ravenscroft, discarding the paper on the table. ‘Anyway, I would much prefer to be here in your company, than tracking down some depraved maniac in the grimy streets of Whitechapel. I only wish we did not have to return to England today.’