Mike woke up feeling refreshed for the first time since he’d been arrested. It’s true what they say, there really is no place like home. He showered, shaved and got dressed; picking out the new shirt that Annie had bought him for Christmas, but which he hadn’t worn, and his best jeans. He opened one of the many bottles of aftershave she had also bought him and sprayed himself. It was nice and he hoped that she would like it.
The first place he rang was the hospital who told him she’d been discharged six days ago. Now he just had to find out where she was staying. He looked through the address book she kept by the phone. Her brother’s number was written in red pen on the inside front cover. Of course, she had mentioned that he’d asked her to look after his animals. He picked up the house phone and dialled Ben’s number and let it ring. On the tenth one she answered and he heard her voice, she sounded groggy. He put the phone down then swore at himself. What if she dialled 1471? She would know it was him; no one else would be ringing from their house. He could have kicked himself. He waited to see if the phone would ring but it didn’t. Hopefully she was too tired to care about the caller and if she did it didn’t really matter because he was going to be paying her a visit very soon. He wanted to surprise her and show her how much of an effort he’d made.
Now she was awake Annie filled the kettle: she needed coffee. Will followed her into the kitchen.
‘Did I tell you how sexy you look in those shorts.’
Her face flushed red and she turned away from him. He walked over and kissed her on the back of the head, below the line of staples. ‘In fact, you are the sexiest woman that I’ve ever woken up next to and not had sex with.’
She pulled away from him opening the fridge to take out the milk. ‘Thanks Will. You mean I’m the only woman you’ve never had sex with. You know you don’t have to lie all the time, it’s fine. I know I’m not your usual cup of tea and you don’t have to keep treating me like a damsel in distress. I’m not going to crack or shrivel up and die. You don’t owe me anything and I don’t want a babysitter, I can look after myself.’
Will took hold of her elbow and turned her to face him. Annie felt stupid after that little tantrum but it needed to be said. She didn’t get what the attraction was for him. He moved closer and bent his head towards hers, his lips brushed against her soft, pink mouth. Annie tried to pull away but couldn’t – she didn’t want to. Her insides felt as if they were on fire. Frantic hands began to pull at each other and she sighed as Will scooped her up into his arms and carried her back to the sofa and lay her down. He paused, unsure whether to continue but she reached up her arms, wrapped them around his neck and drew him down towards her.
Annie looked to the window and screamed. There was a man’s face pressed up against the glass. Will jumped up and ran to the kitchen door to see who was outside: there was no one around. He hadn’t actually seen the face but Annie appeared behind him, all the colour drained from her face. She couldn’t swear on it but she thought it looked an awful lot like Mike. But that couldn’t be because he wasn’t allowed to set foot in Barrow.
I was so busy this morning sorting out my things that I did not sit down until mid-afternoon to take some tea and read the newspaper. I picked up The Times and the headline made me distraught. There had been not one but two more murders in the East End of London. Both Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes had been found with their throats sliced open and other unspeakable atrocities committed against them. It read that the first victim’s body was still warm when it was discovered and that the murderer must have been disturbed doing the dreadful deed. I felt my heart miss a beat when I read the next line; it described how a red handkerchief had been found across the victim’s throat this time. Edward always insists on new handkerchiefs and I had packed into his trunk some brand new red ones I had bought from the haberdashery shop that had opened in town. I was horrified but continued to read. Because the killer had been disturbed this had resulted in the death of another unfortunate woman. She had been mutilated in a way that was not so dissimilar to an earlier victim.
I reminded myself that Edward would not be the only man in England to own some red handkerchiefs and he told me himself that London was a very big place. I should thank my lucky stars that I only have Edward to contend with and not some murderous madman. Although, selfishly, I have to admit that he is hideous enough. I still have the bruises and marks from his last visit home. I am counting the days until Alfie comes to rescue me – my very own knight in shining armour – and then we can begin a life filled with love and laughter instead of one filled with fear and loathing.
I cannot think of anything that these women may have done which would deserve such a dreadful fate. How sad and lonely to have lived such a desolate life and then die in such a way. I do not understand why but I feel as if I have a connection to these women. Maybe it is because I know all too well the hardships of a working class life. I feel as if there is something just out of my reach. I am going to church tomorrow and will light candles for each and every one of these four women and while I am there I will pray for their souls as well as my own.
The Times once again is full of stories of yet another horrific murder of an unfortunate woman: poor Mary Jane Kelly.
Edward never came home this weekend as he promised when he finally telephoned me last week and I was grateful that he did not. I kept my voice polite because I do not want to arouse his suspicions that I am planning to leave. He telephoned again at lunchtime and I asked him what he thought about the murders and he began to rant most vehemently about a man called George Lusk who had formed a vigilante committee and was in every newspaper. He told me that the man had nothing better to do and was probably trying to mask the fact that he was indeed the man responsible for these murders. It was all so very strange but I listened to him and just agreed when I thought he would expect me to.
When he finished ranting about Mr Lusk he then informed me that I was ruining his life and that I was nothing more than a spoilt servant and he wished he had let me rot in the cellar when he had the chance. My hands were trembling when I replaced the receiver back onto the cradle. Why does he behave like a madman? He is getting worse and I am so very grateful he was not coming home. I have decided that if I never see that man again it would not bother me in the slightest.
All day my mind was plagued by thoughts of Edward as well as the terrified faces of all the murdered women who had been so savagely attacked: I could not get them out of my head, they were etched into my memory. I went into the drawing room where I had left a pile of newspapers with all their dreadful stories on the sideboard. What was it that kept drawing me back to them again and again? I lay all the newspapers out onto the huge dining table and then took a pair of scissors from the drawer and began to cut out each article and lay them next to each other. There were so many it took me a long time but I cut and snipped until I was satisfied. There were pictures of the women both when they were alive and dead. I cut out the picture of a letter that had been sent into The Central News Agency. It had been named the Dear Boss Letter. In it the writer taunts the police. I put it next to the pictures of the victims. I did not know why I held such a morbid fascination with these murders or what my reasoning was for doing this. The man responsible must be so very angry to be able to use such savagery on another human being, it would have to be someone who took great pleasure in inflicting pain upon another person.
An awful thought began to form in the back of my mind. I knew a man just like that all too well. He has the foulest of tempers and a terrible cruel streak, a man who has a penchant for brand new handkerchiefs. I knew I was being ridiculous but the thought would not leave my mind and I had to go to my writing desk to retrieve the diary I used to keep track of birthdays and important dates and also Edwards visits home. I went through it and wrote down a list of the dates Edward had been home on a sheet of paper and then checked the dates of each murder. Edward had returned to London the day before each murder occurred and, to make it worse, the last few times he had been angry and upset with me when he had left.
A sickness began to fill my stomach which I could not blame on the baby growing inside of me. For I think I know who this murderer is. I am too frightened to speak his name out loud. Not just for my own safety but that of everyone around me. I reread each article with a cold feeling of horror numbing my insides. It is quite clear the police have no idea what is happening nor who is responsible. There is so much written in all the newspapers about the murders it looks to me as if they are going around in circles. They have been inundated with so much information that it is preventing them from looking at it in a clear way.
I remembered the last time I went into his study and he pushed a piece of paper under the blotter on his desk and left the room he was so angry with me. I looked at the letter again and studied the writing: it looked like Edward’s. I had been so shocked by the contents I had not even considered the handwriting the first time I read it. I ran to the study and approached the desk, scared of what I might find. I lifted up the blotter and a sigh of relief escaped my lips when there was no letter under there. I then opened the drawers to look for his diary that I know he keeps for when he is at home. I could not find it in either of the two unlocked drawers even though he normally keeps it in the first one, at hand should he need it. I pulled out the second one, which was full of blank sheets of writing paper. Then I took out each drawer from the desk in case it had fallen behind them and was trapped. I knelt down and bent my head and saw the familiar black book was fastened to the underside of the desk. With great care I removed it. I was so scared that Edward would walk in and catch me even though I know he is in London. After the last telephone conversation I would not be surprised if he turned up unannounced but surely he would at least let Harold know who I hope would have the sense to forewarn me.
As I opened the book a single sheet of folded paper fluttered to the floor. I unfolded it to read the first line of the letter: ‘Dear Boss’. I squirmed in horror and dropped it to the floor. I knew the only explanation for my husband to have a handwritten copy of a letter that had been sent to the newspaper was if he had written it himself: he wanted to taunt the police and the newspapers. Afraid now, I tucked it into the book and fastened it back where I had found it.
I still do not want to believe it to be true and I dare not tell anyone of my findings until I have firm proof of my beliefs. It could be a huge coincidence but in my heart I do not believe it. I made my decision that I would need to go down into the cellar and see exactly what it is he does down there for hours on end. If Edward is the monster all the newspapers are referring to as ‘Jack the Ripper’ then he must be stopped. I will need to make sure none of the staff are in when I go down there for I do not want them to be involved in this matter in any way. Oh how I am terrified of that cellar and how I wish that Alfie was here to help me to be courageous and face whatever it is that I fear down there. I now realise that it is Edward who I have feared all along.
I went back to look at the grainy photographs of each woman. Polly Nichols drew my eye the most. When I look closely I can see the slightest resemblance between the two of us. Would I be so different if I did not have the luxury of beautiful clothes and a maid to dress my hair each day? If I were dressed in my old maid’s uniform I think there would be a striking comparison. Does Edward truly hate me with so much passion that he would go out and take another woman’s life because she reminded him of his wife? I fear the answer is yes and if that is found to be true then those women have suffered the most awful fate imaginable because of me.
I could no longer look at the pictures my hands were shaking so much. I went into the hall to telephone the police and lifted the receiver but then I put it back down. What if it is all my overactive imagination? Edward would be arrested and publicly humiliated and then hanged and I could not live with myself if it was not true no matter how much I dislike him. I felt so ill that I had to go and lie down for a while so I could gather my thoughts: my head was in a spin with it all. I went up the servant’s stairs to my attic room. I did not want to look at the bedroom I shared with him. I took the cuttings with me in case any of the staff found them and, once inside, I pushed a chair against the handle just like I used to and cried myself to sleep.
In my dreams I was chased through the dark cobbled streets of London by a man dressed in a black cloak and a deerstalker hat. He carried a long thin knife, which was dripping with blood. In the distance I could hear a telephone ring and knew I should answer it in case it was Edward but I could not awaken from my nightmare. Instead I was running with bare feet as fast as I could. My pursuer was much faster and the gap between us was closing. I could feel the heat from his eyes burning through to the depths of my soul. I tripped and fell to the ground where I found myself entangled with the rotting corpse of Mary Kelly. My hands were warm and when I lifted them to my face they were stained bright red from her blood.
I must have screamed so loudly that I woke myself up. I blinked hard, feeling disorientated: it was daytime. The winter sun was shining through my tiny window and I was bathed in sweat. I felt exhausted, as if I had truly been running for my life through the streets of London. I got out of bed and stared at my dishevelled reflection in the cracked mirror above the washstand. My long dark hair was tangled and stuck to my face, my cheeks were flushed and the circles under my eyes were darker. I washed, dressed and went downstairs to a silent and empty house. Cook nor Harold or any of the others were anywhere to be seen. I remembered that Edward had given them all the day off. In a moment of rare kindness he had offered to pay for them all to go off on the steam train to Blackpool for the day. I remembered how excited Cook was and how I had laughed when she said how kind the master was – if only they knew the truth.
Today was the perfect day to go down into the cellar and find anything to prove that Edward is this fearful ‘Jack’. My stomach ached just thinking about the cellar but I have little choice. I need to see what it is he does down there for hours. I hunted around in the pantry to find a candle and some matches. Then I went to the cellar door and stood in front of it. With trembling hands I reached out to touch the door, which was rough against my fingers. I had not been down there for a long time but I thought about those poor women and realised that I had no choice. I slid the bolt across and pulled it but it wouldn’t open, it had been locked. Frustrated, I knew that he would have the key with him: it was pointless searching for it and I did not know if there was a spare one. The only way I could gain entry was through one of the small windows at the back of the house. I would have to break one and get it repaired before Edward comes home.
I opened the scullery door and went outside into the biting cold. I looked at the row of small windows: all of them were latched shut. I am small enough to climb through them, I just did not want to. Looking around for something to break the glass I spied the rockery which his Lordship had built before he died. I prised one of the sandstone rocks away from the rest of them grazing my fingers but I was determined that I had to do this. It was heavy enough so I launched it at the window and shut my eyes. The noise of the glass shattering was so loud it echoed around the woods. Thankful was I there was only the birds to hear it. I wrapped my shawl around my hand and cleared the remaining pieces of jagged glass from the frame. I climbed through and found myself balancing on a rickety bookcase. It was so dark inside that I wanted to climb straight back out and go to the police but the image of Mary Kelly in my dream last night would not let me. I owed it to her and the others to find out the truth about Edward and, if it was as bad as I expected, to put an end to it before he caused any more pain and suffering. I bent my legs and jumped down onto the floor. What little light came through the broken window gave me a small square of space to see. I took the candle and a match from my pocket and lit it. Standing there I looked around. The vast cellar was full of boxes and unused furniture. With the candle to light my way I cautiously made my way one step at a time through the cluttered dark space.
What was it that appealed so much to him down here? There must be something more than junk. As I got near the far wall the flame illuminated a small wooden door. A number of boxes were stacked against it along with two broken chairs. Intrigued, I set the candle down on one of the chairs and set about dragging the boxes away from the door. The only sound I could hear was the blood pounding in my brain. It masked the sound of the horse’s heavy hooves trotting along the long drive through the woods to the front of the house. Breathing heavily I felt tired for I had not eaten since yesterday. When I had moved the boxes far enough away that I could open the door I was so focused on what this room contained that I never heard the front door open nor Edward call my name. I was scared of what may greet me on the other side. I tried the handle; not daring to believe it would turn and open so freely. Picking up the candle I stepped through the doorway into hell.
The walls were covered in the very same pictures and newspaper cuttings as the ones I had become obsessed with upstairs. In the far corner was a rocking chair. Next to that was a small table with Edward’s deerstalker hat, which he wore to go hunting. I shivered at the thought. I turned away from the wall of horror and let out a small scream. There was a shelf on which a row of glass jars was placed. The jars were filled with a clear liquid but it was what was floating inside them that made me feel faint. I do not know much about human anatomy but I know enough to see that the things floating inside them belonged inside a person’s body. My head began to feel muzzy and I had to tell myself that this was not the time or place to faint.
A loud noise as the cellar door opened cleared my head and my body became rigid. I could hear someone coming down the stairs into the darkness and there was only one person I knew who had the key. I looked around for something to use to protect myself and saw one of Thomas’s old garden spades leaning against the wall. I stepped towards it and then I heard his voice.
‘Come out, come out wherever you are. I win because you are all alone.’
I knew this to be the absolute truth. This time there was no one around to hear me scream for help. The footsteps came closer until he was outside the door. My whole body trembled. I knew he was going to kill me and I did not want to die in this horrid room in the savage way that those other women had. I stepped closer to the spade, I had no idea what to do with it but it was something.
‘Alice, I told you, no, I actually forbade you from coming down here and look what I have found: you in my room.’
I was so scared I could not find my voice to answer him back. Then he stepped into the doorway and blocked the only exit with his body. I knew that he would never let me leave and at that moment I realised that to protect the child inside of me I would fight to the death. I would not be left down here where no person would ever find me. I was not about to become a memento of a sick and twisted man. I forced myself to take another step closer to the spade. As I made my decision the fear that I had felt moments ago left and was replaced by a feeling of peace and calm. I thought about dear sweet Alfie and my baby: Edward was not taking me away from them. If the monster killed me then he would be free to continue killing innocent women and who would stop him? No other person in the whole of England knew of his dark secret, that Edward Heaton was the vilest man to ever walk the streets.
The voice that came from within me was strong and I did not recognise it. ‘Edward, or would you prefer that I call you Jack? How could you? How could you murder those women? They never did anything to you.’
His laughter filled the room. ‘Alice, that was the easy part. All I had to do was imagine they were you. My own mother preferred you, a servant, to her own flesh and blood. I loved the attention my mother would lavish on me until the day you turned up and stole her heart. All I ever wanted was her all to myself. Do you think I felt guilty when I pushed her down the stairs? A little but then the feeling passed and I liked the fact that I was in control of who could live and die and that, Alice, is what started the fire within my soul. The first prostitute I killed cooled that fire for a little while but then it came back. Burning brighter and hotter than before. It is like a physical pain and it has taken me a while to finally realise that as long as you are alive I will never be able to extinguish it. I will tell you a little secret though: I like the killing far more than I ever anticipated. In fact, one could say that murder is becoming a bit of a bad habit.’
I watched his lips part and he smiled at me like a man gone mad. My hand was within reach of the spade but I had to be sure that I could move quick enough to hit him over the head with it. My palms were sticky with perspiration so I wiped them along my skirts. I had to stop him, he was insane.
‘I thought you loved me, Edward. Am I so awful that you want me dead? Have you wanted nothing but to kill me for all the years I have known you? I never did anything to upset you and I loved your mother with all my heart. It is unfair for you to blame me for your own mistakes. You were the one who was so awful to me. She would never have noticed what a horrid person her son was if you had left me alone.’
He glared at me and I let out a loud sob and pretended to cry. I wanted him to think that I was weak and unable to fend for myself. Like a predator he stepped closer and brought the hand out he had been hiding behind his back. The knife from my dream this morning glinted in the candlelight. I turned as if to try and run to the corner but my hands wrapped around the handle of the spade. I was terrified for I knew that my life depended upon this moment. If I died down here my soul would be doomed to wander this dark cellar for all eternity.
I screamed with fury and injustice and tightened my grip on the handle. Lifting it as high as I could I smashed it against the side of his head. Edward looked at me with surprise, he staggered to one side, dazed, so I drew back my arms and hit him again and again before he could lift that knife anywhere near to cut me. He fell to his knees and I hit him once more. I was not taking the chance he would get up. Finally he closed his eyes and collapsed onto the dirt floor, a steady flow of blood pouring from the wounds I had inflicted. I watched his chest rise and fall, praying that it would stop. I wanted his evil heart to stop pumping the blood around his body for ever. It slowed down and I did not dare to take my eyes away from him, the spade was poised in my hands ready to strike him should the need be. The knife had fallen from his grasp and was lying on the floor next to him. He didn’t appear to be moving so I bent to pick it up.
His hand shot out and I screamed as he gripped my arm tight. I tried to pull away from him but he had such a tight hold on me it was impossible. His leg kicked my feet from underneath me and I fell onto the cold damp earth. He sat astride me, his bodyweight making it difficult to breathe. Straddling me he took a handful of my hair and he pulled my hair back so harshly that I could not see for the tears, which began to stream from my eyes. The pain was immense and I tensed as I waited for him to draw the knife along my throat. The very same knife which had killed so many women before me.
He bent close to my ear and whispered, ‘Nice try.’ His breath was hot against my cheek as he continued whispering what he was about to do to me into my ear.
It was then that I realised he did not have hold of the knife for he was pulling my head back with one hand and the other was pressed hard into my ribcage. He continued to talk and I began to feel for the blade. He shifted his weight and my fingers stretched out a little more and found the cold hard handle of the knife. I gripped it hard. Edward bent down to kiss my forehead and say his goodbye and that was when I made my move. I lifted the knife and thrust it into his thigh, pushing with all my might until it was buried deep into his flesh. The grip on my hair released and he fell backwards, trying to free the blade, which was now embedded into his leg. As his weight lifted from my chest I crawled from underneath him.
Edward’s hands were slick with the blood, which was flowing from the wound, and he was unable to grasp the handle. I stood and watched as the colour drained from his face. He finally pulled the blade free and blood began to spurt from the wound in his leg. I stepped away so he could not reach out and grab me again.
He gasped. ‘Alice.’
I stood my ground. He looked away from me and over to his wall of horror. A small smile played on his lips, his eyes began to glaze over and that was how he died: lying on a cold earthen floor in a room he had made to house the memories of the murders he had committed. I stayed in the same place for what felt like hours unable to move. I had to make sure he was dead. He had got what he deserved and yet I still cried and my heart filled with sorrow as I sank to the floor. When he had been still for a very long time and the pool of blood around him was huge I crawled over and shook his shoulder. He did not move but his body was still warm. I watched his chest to see if moved but it was still: he was dead. I had killed my husband and put an end to his reign of terror.
I stood on legs that did not want to hold my weight. I needed to go upstairs and call the police but something stopped me. My life would be finished. What would become of my baby? I would most likely hang for his murder and I would never know what it would be like to be with Alfie. Both of our lives would be ruined forever because of Edward.
It was then that the anger set in. I had never done anything to deserve this. I looked at the spade and decided I would bury him down here in his room full of trophies. He would be contained in this room for ever and I would be free to live the rest of my life, free to take care of those who I love and try to make amends for the evil deeds Edward has committed.
So I began to dig. I moved the rocking chair and table and started to do the hardest work I’ve ever done in my life. I was scared to turn my back on Edward, convinced that he may still wake up. By the time I had dug a hole big enough to drag his body into I was filthy, hot and smelt dreadful. It took what felt like forever. I looked at him and I did not want to touch his body so I had to summon up every ounce of strength that I possessed for I had no other choice. I put my hands underneath his armpits and dragged him slowly to the edge of the hole. My arms were aching from the digging and Edward was so heavy I felt as if I wanted to lie down and never wake up. But I would not let him win. With one final attempt I reached the edge of the shallow grave I had dug and with a loud grunt I pushed with all my might and watched him tumble down into it. I kicked the wretched knife into the grave and it landed on his corpse. His black eyes were open, accusing me. I had to work quickly to cover his face so I would not have to look at it. He looked so handsome. Too young to be dead and I was overtaken by the pain of grief so immense I could not explain it.
When his body was covered in soil I pulled the chair and table back onto the uneven mound. I took one last look at the gallery of horror; no one would ever see this place or what it contained as long as I shall live. I did not want to touch the jars nor had I anywhere I could put them so I left them there. My body weary, I had suffered enough for one day, I walked from the room and shut the door. Dragging a bookcase over it I covered the doorway to the room that would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. I then dragged the chairs and boxes over to make sure it was hidden from view if anyone should come down here snooping. I walked through the cellar and was no longer afraid. I knew it truly had been Edward all along who had scared me so. I made my way to the stairs. The door was open and the light which filtered through illuminated my way. With one final push I slammed the cellar door shut and smiled with relief to see he had left the key in the lock for there was no way I could get it now if he had had it on him. I turned the key and pocketed it. I will hide it in a place that only I will ever know about.
I walked through the house to the drawing room and stared at my reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. It was hard to believe that it was me staring back for I looked so much older and very much like a street urchin. How I had aged in such a short space of time? My dress was filthy; covered in blood, soil and sweat. My hands were pitted with black soil underneath my fingernails and my hair was hanging loose around my face where Edward had pulled it almost from my scalp. I stopped at the sideboard where the decanters of whisky and brandy are kept on display and I uncorked the brandy, for the whisky was Edwards’s favourite, and then poured a large glass. I lifted my unsteady hands to my lips and then gulped. The first mouthful felt like a ball of flames rolling down my throat but it warmed my frozen body. I coughed and spluttered for a minute.
Once I had regained control of myself I picked up the crystal decanter and made my way to the stairs. The house was silent until the grandfather clock chimed the hour. I made the long ascent up to the safety of my attic room and shut the door behind me. I have no idea who or what I was hiding from; maybe I am hiding from myself. I just needed to be alone to grieve and to beg God for his forgiveness. I sat in front of the window, watching the rabbits play on the front lawn and I drank until I could not remember anything and the darkness took me to a peaceful slumber where I dreamt that Alfie came to collect me and take me away from this house of horror.