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  Ripper, My Love

  Glynis Smy

  Ripper, My Love

  Glynis Smy

  Copyright © 2010 Glynis J Smy

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved in all media. No part of this ebook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical (including but not limited to the Internet, photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system), without prior written permission from the author and/or publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Smashwords License Statement

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchase for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ISBN-13: 978 – 1476402222

  This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Actual place/street names have been used, but not necessarily in the correct map area or town.

  Credits: Cover image: Alvaro German Vilela via Bigstock.com

  Cover Creation: Heather Woods (http://www.love-writing.co.uk/)

  Dedication

  To my husband, Peter. Thank you for believing in me, and supporting me in every way.

  ***

  For Jan Harper

  *RIP*

  Without you this book would never have been written. You read a snippet of a short story and told me to write my first novel. Sadly you died the day I wrote The End and will never read the finished product. I miss our friendship, and thank you for urging me forward.

  ***

  Marsha Moore/Talli Roland. You stepped into the breach when I floundered and have mentored me every step of the way. You are a friend, a supporter, and just the ‘bully’ I adore having in my corner. You never let me give up and read every draft with patience. Thank you.

  Acknowledgements and Heartfelt Thanks

  To author Heather Woods: You took my dream image and created the perfect cover. Your patience with my ignorance of formatting is deserving of a medal; however, please accept my thanks in its place.

  For those authors and friends who gave me advice from every angle or read the first draft, I thank you:

  Jessica Bell

  Nadine Laman

  ***

  Len Lambert

  Nettie Thompson

  Patricia Rockwell

  Gillian Holmes

  To family, friends, and readers of my blog: Thank you for encouraging me, and listening to or reading my ramblings of how this book progressed.

  To readers of books: Thank you for giving me a reason to keep writing.

  Love Knows No Boundaries

  Shadows linger and slink into history,

  hiding their faces until the morrow,

  with tainted mind and sharpened knife,

  they strike and bring only sorrow.

  Love reaches out with tender desire,

  but the shadows cull a lover’s dream,

  with tainted mind and heartless knife,

  they move on- deaf -to a woman’s scream.

  Copyright © 2012 Glynis J Smy

  Chapter 1

  The Walk Home

  Despite the damp air and the arrival of twilight, Kitty, as always, was reluctant to leave her mother's graveside. The caw-caw screech from black hooded crows echoed from the surrounding trees. Their eerie call made her shiver. Dark shapes lined branches; their presence unnerved her. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders and chided herself for not wearing a thicker cape. August appeared to be cooler than in previous years. Kitty brushed her hand lovingly across the top of the gravestone. An hour passed while she stood in St Mary's Cemetery, talking about everyday things. She spoke to the brown mottled slab, wishing it could be the peach-cheeked woman she remembered.

  ‘It is time to go home now, Mama. I cannot believe five years have passed us by, it seems only yesterday in my heart.’ She traced her fingers over the engraved stone:

  Lilly Harper. Wife and Mother. Born 1848. Died 1883.

  She hurried through the cemetery and chose the quickest route home via Angel Alley. Arthur, her tutor, would be waiting to start her reading lesson, already an hour late the shortcut became the better option. Her usual route added an extra half hour.

  An oval roof of dark brick made the alleyway claustrophobic. The damp cobblestones were slippery underfoot. Four large shadows lined the walls. Even the gas lamps added nothing to the uninviting ambiance. The black domes gave the impression they were looking down at her, like the crows at the cemetery. She knew them to be harmless, but her brain failed to communicate the fact to her legs, and they began to shake.

  A bat swooped around her head; Kitty squealed and ducked. In doing so, she stumbled. She reached out to steady herself, and her slim fingers recoiled as they touched the cold slime of algae coating the wall. She twisted her ankle slightly and it throbbed, her dainty button boots were not made for long walks. Her gown would almost certainly be ruined when she balanced against the wall.

  What on earth possessed me to wear my best velvet to sit by a graveside?

  She had come too far to turn back. On hindsight, she should have visited the grave the following morning, and not altered her routine, although she shared many thoughts that day with her mother and did not consider it a waste of time. Such precious moments. Death snatched her mother from her life, but not the love from within her heart.

  Foggy light made her squint. The mustard haze reduced her vision to a few yards ahead. The area underneath the gas lamps attracted several moths. They cast more shadows, this time moving ones. Kitty’s skin tingled; flying insects unnerved her.

  She walked past a wooden stairwell and a muffled cry caught her attention. Before she could investigate further, someone grabbed her arm and nipped the flesh under her clothing. Whoever held her made her arm sting. She spotted the glimpse of a black felt hat, overloaded with wilting, torn silk flowers. Her attacker pulled her around until they stood nose to nose, the flowers flopped across the high brow of a toothless woman. She wore a dark stain around her lopsided mouth; smudged red grease paint.

  ‘Oi, wadcha doin’ on my patch madam, there’s no room for you ‘ere.’ The foul stench from the voice blew onto Kitty’s face. A mix of gin and rotten teeth. Bile threatened to rise. Kitty swallowed hard. If she did not fight it, she would most certainly vomit. Kitty realised she had stepped into the workplace of a prostitute. A Bow Bells whore, with a true Cockney twang, and a claim on a dank corner of an inner city alleyway.

  ‘I am not working your patch. Please let me go, Miss. You are hurting my arm. Let me go and I can get out of here - out of your way. I am not a threat, believe me.’ She heard the plea in her voice. Kitty could not muster indignation, and thought even if she did it might antagonize her attacker. She opted for the weak, trembling voice. The woman continued to grip Kitty’s arm. Her fingers held on vice-like with the strength of a man, not an easy opponent for Kitty, half her size.

  The whore belched. A revolting, drunken, unkempt specimen. How any man could spend money satisfying himself with her puzzled Kitty. Her clothes were made from cheap calico, and smelled stale, unwashed.

  ‘With a voice like that, I believe ya. Git your posh rear end outta ‘ere before I kick it to Kingdom come.’

  Her broad London accent sounded much stronger than Kitty’s. Under normal circumstances to be called posh would have made Kitty smile. Never one for b
eing told twice, when the woman released her grip, Kitty ran as best her boots and sore ankle would allow. Their clip-clop sound and the whore's husky laugh rang around the alley. She fought back the tears and concentrated on a small speck of light yards ahead; the much anticipated exit. Kitty focused and put to the back of her mind there was still a long walk to face. At this precise moment, even the company of Arthur in one of his moods would be most welcome.

  Come on, Kitty Harper. Stay focused on the light.

  Kitty’s heart pounded the more frightened she became, her chest hurt, passing out most definitely threatened. Lying on the ground here was not an option. She bent to allow her lungs the luxury of oxygen. While they filled and the ache subsided, she watched a rat chew on the dead carcass of another. For some strange reason her thoughts turned to the local gossip and the talk of a recent murder, a local woman. Zach, the ragman, told her the woman had been hacked to death. Gang members were responsible. Her friend Brady said he thought the job appeared to have been carried out by a professional. Kitty wondered to what sort of professional he referred. Quite possibly he meant a surgeon. The type of doctor who had removed her mother’s ulcerated leg. Yet surely a medical man would never murder? They were committed to saving lives. Brady was a policeman. Kitty had known him all her life. She was more inclined to believe his version of events. In his personal opinion it was possible a disgruntled Landlord found a way of clearing out their property. Brady’s version, one to be believed, made Kitty thank the Lord her parents earned the money to buy their cottage. They saved hard, and took up the opportunity to purchase the year before she was born.

  For goodness sake, get your mind onto something cheerful.

  Kitty straightened her body and carried on walking. Her lungs levelled to a normal breathing rate.

  ‘All right my beauty? ’ Kitty, startled by a male voice turned to find a short, squat man stood in her path. His crumpled, threadbare jacket was tight across his protruding belly. Kitty noticed his trousers did not match the jacket, and were short in the leg. There was nothing either fashionable or attractive about his appearance. In other circumstances she would have found him comical.

  He smoothed long unkempt sideburns, and ran a finger across unruly eyebrows. She turned around and continued walking. He rushed in front of her, and again stood in her way. The alley lamplight flashed against something in his hand; a knife.

  Shock prevented her from moving. Although she was taller than he was, the thought of trying to fend him off with a knife frightened her. She tried to speak, but her throat constricted.

  ‘Pretty Ladybird, time for you’ n’ me to get acquainted. I got summit for ya.’ Spittle ran down his chin while he fumbled with his clothing.

  Kitty saw her opportunity to escape. She pushed against him with as much force as she could muster.

  ‘Get out of my way, you great oaf. Move.’

  She rushed past him but he regained his balance and snatched at her shawl. She swung her arm outwards to fend him off and he grabbed it. The man pulled her wrist, and twisted her body until her back pressed against his chest. He yanked her upper body back and she screamed. A voice echoed from the depths of the alley.

  ‘Oi, you had better not be bleedin’ working girl. I warned you, this is my patch’. It was with relief Kitty recognised the voice as that belonging the woman who had threatened her.

  Kitty screamed out again, but the man tightened his grip.

  ‘Help me. Please hel...’

  ‘Shut it.’ The man placed the blade the width of her throat. ‘You will do as I tell you. Understand?’

  Kitty felt the point rake across her windpipe, and grunted out what she hoped sounded like a yes. She dared not swallow or move. All around became silent, aside from his heavy breathing below her ear. There were no footsteps, nothing. Much to Kitty’s disappointment the woman decided against investigating their activities. Nervous of her situation, Kitty knew she needed to pacify the man while she worked out what to do. Her body trembled, and tears threatened but she could not let him get the upper hand.

  Still the cold blade rested against her windpipe; she barely dared to breathe. He fumbled behind her back with his free hand; she could feel her gown moving. His intentions were clear. Fighting nausea Kitty refused to give into his fumbling. The more she tried to wriggle free, the harder he pressed into her.

  Think, Kitty, think.

  Her heart and head pounded. Frantic thoughts of succumbing to a murderer at last gave her renewed energy.

  Kitty took her chance and with one swift movement, grabbed the arm with the knife. At the same time pushed her body back into his. She heard the tinny echo when knife hit the cobblestones.

  ‘Bitch.’ The man cursed loudly as Kitty knocked him to the floor.

  She kicked the knife away amongst a pile of rubbish, lifted her skirts, and ran. She continued running until her lungs could take no more.

  At last the end of the tunnel became evident. Grey smog swirling around a lamp, and distant voices told her she was close to the exit onto the main road. A vast dark space opened before her. Kitty glanced over her shoulder. She was relieved to see the outline of the man kneeling on the floor. Tears ran down her face and she used the sleeve of her gown to wipe them away. It was time to compose herself and get out of the alley.

  The large courtyard she stepped into looked different at night. The buildings were the back entrances of shops and their storage yards formed a large square. Wooden barrels stacked against the grocery store wall created sinister shapes with misshapen shadows. In the daylight when she walked around the shops and through the alley, the barrels were a burned honey shade with black metal bands, far more pleasant to the eye. It was also evident the greengrocer threw old vegetables behind the barrels. The smell around her was disgusting and rats crawled everywhere.

  Father would skin me alive if he knew I had taken this route home.

  The recent installation of street lighting did not made it any safer to walk through the yard at night. Kitty reprimanded herself again for being so impetuous. At last the voices grew louder; Whitechapel Road was not too far away. The theatre was close by with crowds of people going to see a show. Kitty loved to see the penny shows on a Saturday afternoon. At that moment she wished to be amongst those attending the evening performance.

  With one last glance backwards to reassure herself no one followed, she entered the hustle and bustle of the street. Nerves settled and she took a deep breath of relief; now she could relax.

  What a lucky escape. Never again.

  Chatter and laughter were now her companions, far better than the previous two she had just encountered. As she walked on she made note a vagrant loitered a few yards ahead. Kitty saw no choice but to walk past him, and prayed he was not drunk or seeking a companion. His clothes were so shabby. Kitty hated seeing people dressed in rags. Her love of sewing made her notice the clothing people wore, and in her mind’s eye, she would repair and redesign them. Often she noticed clothes before faces. As she got closer, she glanced up at his face. She was surprised to see it was a familiar one.

  ‘Brady. I nearly did not recognise you. Have you swapped shifts? I thought you were on the daytime beat. Whose clothes are they? They are dreadful. Sarah would never send you out in those. What are you doing?’ She was so pleased to see her friend. Her words spilled out in a rush.

  Brady McKinley stood patiently waiting for her to finish speaking. His big Irish smile as wide as the river Thames.

  ‘Ha, questions, questions, my little friend. My, my, you are observant. The force should employ you. If you must know, Miss Nosey Parker, I am in disguise. It is a new idea. We are to blend in with the public, with the intention we might learn more about the criminal world. The powers that be have set it up because of the murders hereabouts.’

  Brady’s last words hit home. Kitty frowned at him puzzled by the words.

  ‘Murders? As in more than one? What do you mean by murders, Brady?’

  He shook his h
ead, the cap he wore bobbed up and down. He slapped his hand to it and settled it back in place.

  ‘Me and my big mouth. Between you and me, Kitty, there has been more than one. Another woman, found dead. I am not allowed to say more. And will appreciate it if you kept the information to yourself.’

  His reassuring hand upon her shoulder comforted her. With Brady she had a strong protector.

  ‘Get yourself home. I am not allowed to leave my post and cannot accompany you. Please do not breathe a word of this to anyone. Promise me?’

  ‘Of course, Brady. You know me, trustworthy to the end.’

  ‘Good girl, now skedaddle and let me get on with my job, go straight home. Sarah said you were up at the cemetery today,’ Kitty nodded and Brady continued with a firmer tone. ‘Next time you go, make sure it is during the daytime. I know this is a busy road, but while we are still looking for a killer, you keep your wits about you.’

  Thank goodness you never saw me come out of Angel Alley. What a telling off I should have suffered. Shall I tell you about the man with the knife? No. Best left alone.

  ‘I for one am grateful for the police and their new ideas. The culprit will be caught and off the streets soon. With men like you in the force, how could they fail?’ Kitty waved goodbye. ‘Night Brady. Stay safe.’

  Kitty turned the corner into Fordham Street and her shoulders unknotted themselves; home lay a few yards ahead. The ache at the base of her neck eased. She still needed to face Arthur. He would be furious by now, but a few kind words might help soothe him.