I, Ripper

But if he had a plan – and he must have – it was not evident from his journey through and about Whitechapel on that frosty night, a clear one, with the silver arc of lunar glow above and the soft coal-gas-fired lamps below, and the bright spears into the street and awash the sidewalks from the pubs and beer shops, and the forest of shadows created by the locked-down costers’ stalls and the herds of anonymous citizens, Judys, Johns, walkers, the banal, the afraid, and the drear, who gathered and meandered thickly everywhere. It seemed he was driven to set foot on the pavement of all streets. The names flew by as he rushed along, and I could tell that my physical hardness was eroding, as a rock to wind and sea, and my breath came hard, and yet still they flashed by, it just went on and on. Underneath my layers, the heavy Howdah pistol was flopping against my ribs, bringing bruise, while its strap, around the other shoulder at the neck, weighed into the flesh unpleasantly. I was a disaster in brown suit!

The streets were crowded, the costers’ stalls on the big ones impeded vision and progress, a dip across the lane put a stream of horse traffic as further impediment, I felt the bump and jostle of others on the pavement, it was all too much. I first gave up on Professor Dare, as I could not keep track of both him and the colonel, and the times when I was merely guessing at the colonel’s direction and progress became longer and longer. At least twice, as I sank into despair at my failure, I happened to catch a glimpse of him a block farther along or farther back, and so I was off again. I was huffing, sweating, my knees trembling, most of the world gone to fizz and spark in my vision, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I lost him. Another girl would die, nothing could be done. I guessed he did this on all his forays, against the remote possibility that he had been found out. It was a professional’s edge: Assume you are known and act accordingly, that’s the safe track. Never assume you are unknown and expect success without effort or caution.

The break finally came sometime after eleven. It was the fourth time I had lost contact with him, and when I made a rush across New Road just above Commercial, almost getting trampled in the process, I looked at where I expected him to be and he was not there. I guessed where he’d gone, and when I got there, he was not there. I looked up, down, east, west, south, and north, I changed vantage points, I achieved some height by climbing steps to a stoop, I dashed down a little street, but still: He was gone. I looked for the professor. I could not see him, either.

I cannot tell you what a fool, a failure, I felt. The whole slough of despond emptied its contents upon my head, soaking me in woe. I sat there, feeling the chill as my body temperature dropped in the lack of effort, I sucked for oxygen, having gone without, I yeaned for a sip of water to quench the Arabia that lay behind my lips, I heard the drumming of my heart, I felt the jostle and thud of other passengers in the night as they voyaged by me on the sidewalk, and I faced the reality that he was gone and I had nothing.

I felt the heaviness of the Howdah gun under my left shoulder and felt the strap cutting into my right shoulder. I pulled my slouch hat lower, as if to protect the sweaty nape of my neck from a breeze that evinced itself with aggression, and of all things, I could hear Mother saying, “George, I told you you’d never amount to a thing. Now, be a good fellow, put this London business behind you and return to the export-import business in Dublin, marry a nice Protestant girl, and settle down. Leave the glory to Lucy.” Perhaps I had a moment of Jack madness then, because I realized what pleasure it would be to smash the woman in the face with a balled fist.

However, I quickly put down that reverie and resolved to action. I pulled myself ahead through the crowd and against the aches, pains, agonies of doubt, and self-disparagement, and in time, came to Whitechapel where it intersected with New, turned up it, and headed toward the Aldgate East Station, where Professor Dare and I had agreed to meet at eleven-thirty P.M. if we lost contact with each other or the colonel.

Along the route, there was no sign of either man. I found a pub, seeing that I had more time to kill, and ordered a bottle of ginger beer to break up the ick that had coagulated in my throat. My plan, such as it was, was to reconstitute on the fuel of the ginger concoction, then return to the streets and circle on the hope that I might encounter one or the other. My secret dread was that poor Dare would interrupt the colonel carving, attempt to intercede, and for his trouble be carved himself. He hadn’t the gun that was so necessary to control the transaction.