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The Ripper’s Brides

Written by Julia Vern

The Ripper’s Brides

Copyright © by Julia Vern, 2010

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition 1.0, June 2010

ISBN 978-1-4466-4744-8

www.allmyfiction.com

Although real names, places and events have been used in the construction of this narrative, this book is an entirely fictional work. Any likeness to events or individuals is entirely coincidental.

This book is not suitable for readers under the age of eighteen; it contains explicit material of an adult nature.

6^th August 1888

'Hurry up!' Jack growled in annoyance as he buttoned up the worn uniform, 'just put it on and stop whining.'

With a look of distaste, Hector pulled the uniform from its brown paper wrapping and held the jacket and trousers at arms length, 'it looks like someone died in it sir. I bet it has flees!'

'With the amount of liquor in your veins they won't survive for long!'

Continuing to grumble Hector forced his stomach into the tight trousers and left the jacket hanging undone.

'I don't know why you're complaining?' replied Jack with a mischievous grin, 'I'm paying for your drink, and I might even buy you a bit of skirt on the way home.'

'I said I'd come didn't I? And then you make me dress up like a tramp just to protect your precious family reputation.'

Jack groaned, 'give it a rest why don't you. We're out of sight of the manor; we can cut loose and have a bit of fun.'

'You're the boss,' replied Hector with a snigger, 'You're paying my wages; if you say I'm required to drink and have a good time then I suppose I'll have to oblige sir.'

'I'll be the corporal and you the private. Now get a move on soldier, there's a pint of rum with your name on it and its turning to vapour while you stand bitching like a washerwoman.'

'Why do I have to be cannon fodder?'

'Alright,' exploded Jack in exasperation, 'You can be the Corporal but stop calling me sir!'

Jack picked up his pocket knife from the nightstand and dropped it in his pocket.

'You're expecting trouble?' asked Hector as he watched Jack take a long sheathed dagger from his bag and slide it up his sleeve.

'This is Whitechapel,' replied Jack with a mischievous grin, 'you can never be too careful.'

The Two Brewers lay close by on Brick Lane, its grime encrusted windows hiding its poorly lit interior from the curiosity of passers by. Earlier that day their coachman had suggested a number of free houses; he had cautioned against visiting this den of iniquity, but of course the coachman's warning was the recommendation that Jack had been looking for.

He licked his lips almost able to taste the smell of rancid beer and unwashed patrons, and he pushed the door open stepping into the crowded room beyond. Hector visibly wrinkled his nose, but to Jack the aroma was as sweet as the honeysuckle that grew on the wall below his bedroom window.

'Having seen you passed out in a pile of pig shit I'm surprised to see you complaining about the smell,' shouted Jack with a grin, trying to make himself heard over the racket of the band that played to itself in the corner. 'Come on,' he shouted, pushing his way through the throng towards the bar, 'a good swig of gin and you'll not notice anymore!'

From behind the chipped and work scared bar the barman eyed their tattered uniforms suspiciously, 'I hope you boys aren't expecting a drink on the house?'

'Not at all,' replied Jack dropping a few coins on the bar. 'We'll have gin, and an introduction to some sympathetic ladies. We've been away too long, and a bit of white meat would go down a treat.'

The barman grinned and placed two glasses on the bar. 'I don't know what kind of a place you think this is,' he said as he sloshed the liquor into the glasses from a pint pot, but those two ladies in the corner might be able to help you out if you buy them a drink.'

'Those two there?'

The barman scooped up the remaining coins from the bar, 'that'll cover the rest of the pot,' he said with a grin as he placed another pair of glasses on the wood top. 'Emma and Poll are their names, tell them I sent you over, they'll know what you're for.'

Emma and Poll made an unusual couple; sitting huddled around a collection of empty glasses. Emma, a plump middle aged woman, with brown hair and dark skin, was an interesting contrast to Poll, with her ginger hair and anemic complexion.

'It's just my luck,' grumbled Hector sourly, 'Why do I have to end up with the fat ugly one?'

Jack laughed, 'By all means you can take your pick if that's what you want?'

'You're sure sir?'

'Consider it an early birthday present.'

As they neared the corner table Emma looked up with her bloodshot eyes, and spying the gin pot she nudged her friend roughly in the ribs. 'Looky here Poll, looks like we might have pulled ourselves a couple of soldiers.'

Poll giggled, 'I love a man in uniform; you know I do.'

'Hush, we'll never make the price of a night's bed if you make em think we'll give it out for free.'

'Good evening ladies,' said Jack pretending that he hadn't heard,' I don't suppose the two of you would care for a little company, and perhaps a drink?'

'Oo he called me a lady.'

'A lady?' snorted Poll in laughter, 'you've not been a lady in twenty years.'

'What are you trying to say you cow. I'm a respectable seamstress I am!'

'I'm sure you're both pillars of the community,' said Jack with a straight face as he pulled up a chair. 'In fact me and my colleague were just commenting on how respectable you look. He was just about to complement your friend on how attractive her hair is.'

Hector inhaled some gin in surprise. 'Oh yes,' he stammered through a paralyzing fit of coughing, 'and such a lovely colour.'

Jack burst into laughter and thumped the table with his fist, 'what would you two ladies say to an offer of accompanying us on a scenic tour of the local taverns.'

'What did he say Poll?'

'I dunno, but it sounded right posh. Perhaps you've got yourself a gentleman.'

Hector grinned broadly, 'The private here wanted to know if you girls want to spend the evening getting pissed and showing us round the local pubs.'

'I wouldn't be seen dead with you dressed like that,' replied Emma with a cackle, as she filled up her glass to the brim. 'You couldn't even give those uniforms to the rag man.'

Jack smiled and picked up the gin pot as he got up from his chair, 'shame, we've just been paid our back wages. Our uniforms might be worn but our pockets are fat. Come on sir, the White Swans just down the road. We'll find some other whores to spend our wages on.'

'Now lets not be to hasty,' replied Poll giving Emma a withering look as she grabbed hold of Jacks arm. 'Emma was just fooling,' she didn't mean anything by it.'

Emma tilted back her head and emptied her glass to the back of her throat, 'I was just having a joke soldier boy. You buy the gin and we'll supply the sin, and may we all go merrily to hell together. Now lets go to the White Swan, Richard Woods is a friend of mine, he'll give us cheap drinks if he sees my face at the bar.'

The night was dark, heavy rain clouds had been threatening all day. Jack shivered as the damp night air penetrated his short uniform jacket.

'We going back to your digs?' Poll asked Hector expectantly.

'There's no women allowed in the barracks,' replied Jack with a sigh, 'are you short of a place to stay?'

'We're staying in dross houses.'

'If you girls fancy entertaining us somewhere private I could see fit to part with more than the price of a warm bed for a couple of night for both of you?'

Emma giggled, there's George Square up ahead. It's so dark in there you wouldn't see your own mother even if you were asleep on top of her.'

'I'll take Poll up Angel Alley,' replied Hector with a grin, 'and that's no boast.'

The four of them burst into drunken laughter which reflected and bounced around the walls of the alleys like the mockery of Legion, as the couples went their separate ways into the darkness.

Martha took Jacks hand and led him unerringly through the darkness of the alleyway. 'Keep your voice down,' she whispered. 'That young PC is always creeping around here.'

A door creaked open and she led Jack into the narrow confines of a stair well, 'he never comes in here though, we'll be safe up on the stairs.'

Stumbling on the unseen steps Jack followed her, but at the next landing she turned and sat down on the top step and lifted up her skirt to expose her thighs. 'Go on love,' she said with a giggle, 'Do what you came here to do.'

His member stiffened inside his tight trousers in response, and then in the darkness he felt her hands deftly pop open the buttons of his trousers. Her fingers took a firm grasp of his penis and tugged it free of his pants, and then he shuddered with pleasure as the warmth of her mouth enveloped his engorged glands.

'Not yet,' she said, as she pulled him down into a kneeling position, 'it's not everyday I get to feel a hard young cock between my legs. In the darkness Jack smiled broadly as he ran his hand up her thigh and between her legs until he felt his thumb touch soft hair, then he tantalizingly drew his fingers along her cleft till they met the soft hot button of her clitoris.

'That's not all you'll feel' he replied, and her groan of pleasure was accompanied by a throb of warmth under his hand as she opened for him.

'Come on, don't make me beg for it,' whispered Emma with a giggle. 'It's not respectable for a woman of my age to beg.'

Bracing himself against the steps in a slow and deliberate movement he eased himself inside her. The passage of his large member causing her to groan with pleasure and roll her hands into tight fists. He felt her juices gush over the base of his penis as he slowly withdrew, then thrust again in response to her pleas. Again and again he tantalized her, feeling the tension of his orgasm building in his stomach. Then, as he worked her harder and deeper, he felt her orgasm bear tightly down on him. He moaned in pleasure under the irrepressible force of his own climax, and the silky smooth horn handle of his pocket knife felt cold as it rested lightly in his greasy, sweaty palm.

The blade flicked out with a click, and it shone with a cold glimmer in the darkness of the stairwell. Emma heard it too, and her eyes grew wide with terror as Jack reared over her, striking and stabbing franticly at her body as his penis convulsed in climax, spraying seed across her thighs and stomach. He dropped the pocket knife from his hand and triumphantly withdrew the razor sharp stiletto dagger from his sleeve. Raising the blade above his head he drove its point into her sternum. It sliced deep into her heart with a crunch of cartilage and bone, and her screams were choked off into silence as a final breath rattled from her punctured lungs.

Shivering in the darkness, Hector reached into his pocket and pulled out his tobacco tin and papers. Snapping open the tin he rolled a cigarette, and putting it between his lips he snapped a match into life with his thumbnail.

'Good evening sir,' said a voice from the darkness, 'would you be so kind as to tell me why you're loitering here on this ere corner.'

'Oh, good morning constable,' replied Hector stifling a curse as the matched burned his thumb, 'just trying to have a quiet smoke while I wait for a chum that went off with a girl.'

'Well perhaps you should be elsewhere when I return this way later.'

Hector let out a sigh of relief as footsteps sounded away into the darkness, 'who was that,' whispered Jacks disembodied voice from the shadows.

'Just some nosey copper, what took you so long? You were supposed to fuck her not settle down and start a family.'

Jack chuckled, 'some of us like to take our time and get it right.'

'Enough time for me to get through a whole room full of girls. Can we get back to our digs and get out of this damp before I catch consumption.'

'Ah, you bray more than a donkey in a gorse patch. There's a quart of brandy in my case, it's yours if you can make it back to the manor without another word of complaint.'

'That's a deal sir,' replied Hector after a moments thought, 'not another word.'

The open folder of statements lay on Detective-Inspector Reid's desk. In exasperation he reread the affidavits on the faint off chance he might have missed some useful snippet of information that other officers might have overlooked as unimportant.

Me and Emma (Martha) picked up two guardsmen, a Corporal and a Private in the Two Brewers public house and drank with them in several pubs including the White Swan on Whitechapel High Street. When the pubs closed we split into couples, I went into Angel Alley with the corporal, and Emma (Martha) went into George Yard with the private. That was the last time I saw Emma (Martha) alive, as after I left the corporal I went home to bed. Signed Mary Ann Connelly

'So how was she found?'

At 1:50 AM I returned to my home in George Yard Buildings. When I ascended the stairs to my flat I saw no one or anything unusual in the building. Signed Elizabeth Mahoney

'A man by the name of John Reeves found her just before five in the morning,' replied Reid stifling a yawn. 'The poor man found her in a pool of blood and called for the officer who was patrolling the area. The officer found her on her back with her legs open, all cut up like a pin cushion.

I returned to my lodging in George Yard Buildings 3:30 AM and noticed what I thought was a homeless person sleeping on the first floor landing. As this was not an uncommon occurrence I continued on to bed. Signed Alfred Crow

'So she got it, while getting it, so to speak sir?'

On Tuesday morning I left home at a quarter to five to look for work. When I reached the first-floor landing I found the dead woman lying on her back in a pool of blood. I was frightened, and did not look at her closely, but at once went for the police. I did not recognize the dead woman; her clothes were disarranged, as though she had had a struggle with someone. I didn't see any footmarks on the staircase, nor did I find a knife or other weapon in the stairwell. Signed John S. Reeves

'That's not even vaguely funny Kenworth, don't you have any paperwork that needs filing?'

I was on duty when a man came to me in distress (John Reeves). He called my attention to the body of the deceased that lay in the stairwell of the George building tenements. I sent for a doctor who pronounced life extinct. Signed P.C. Thomas Barrett, 226 H

'Only the witness statements you're reading sir.'

I was called to the deceased early in the morning, and found her dead. She had 39 stabs wounds on her body. She had been dead some three hours. Her age was about 36, and the body was very well nourished. I examined her and found her left lung was penetrated in five places, and the right lung was penetrated in two places. The heart, which was rather fatty, was penetrated in one place, and that would be sufficient to cause death. The liver was healthy, but was penetrated in five places, the spleen was penetrated in two places, and the stomach, which was perfectly healthy, was penetrated in six places. I do not think all the wounds were inflicted with the same instrument. The wounds generally might have been inflicted by a knife, but such an instrument could not have inflicted one of the wounds, which went through the chest-bone. In my opinion one of the wounds was inflicted by some kind of dagger, and that all of the victims' wounds were caused during life. Signed Dr. T. R. Killeen

Reid shook his head, 'take them, I'm finished. I don't understand what would bring a man to risk his neck for such a cheap thrill? The coins were still in her purse.'

'For the hell of it I guess,' replied P.C. Kenworth looking up from the mountain of papers stacked precariously on his desk. 'It's a sickness sir, and a sign of the times we live in. With all the witnesses you would have thought it a simple matter to identify two guardsmen; I'm surprised we didn't have them in custody hours ago.'

Reid grunted morosely, 'they took the Connelly woman down to both the Wellington and Tower barracks, and lined up every soldier they could lay their hands on. The daft lush picked out two men, but when they were checked, both men had cast iron alibis.'

'She had been drinking all evening,' replied Kenworth shrugging his shoulders, 'I doubt she would have been able to recognize her own mother in the state she was in.'

'True enough, but it doesn't help that she's run off now,' replied Inspector Reid with a sigh, 'a drunk prostitute hardly makes a credible witness at the best of times. Even if we catch the miscreant we won't be able to make the charge stick.'

7^th August 1888

Big Ben had just tolled four in the afternoon when the knock came at number thirteen Millers Court. At first Mary was unsure whether to open it or not, as she was not expecting any visitors. The knocking grew more persistent and she became unable to concentrate on darning the growing hole in her socks, and got up to answer the door.

'What can I do for you gentlemen,' she said opening the door a crack and peering out.

One of the pair kicked the door and it flew out of her hands, striking her hard on the side of the head. And as she staggered backward, the two men pushed past her into the room.

'You're late.'

'Late?' she said bewildered, 'late for what?'

'Late on your payment you stupid bitch,' said the smaller of the two men, as his roving eye made a quick appraisal of the sparsely furnished room.

'But I don't owe anyone any money; you must have made a mistake.'

'Maybe not but your man does.'

'Robert? But he left weeks ago, and I haven't seen him since.'

'Well that's your bad luck isn't it, coz you're going to be paying until you find him.'

Like an old hunting dog, the large man made a bee line for one of the mugs on the dresser, and grunted with satisfaction as he emptied its contents into his hand.

Mary flew across the room and tried to grab the coins, 'no,' she screamed, 'you bastards aren't going to take my rent money.'

The man saw her coming, and with a flick of his wrist he slapped her across the face, deflecting her attack against the table. The solid wood caught her in the stomach and she collapsed to the floor gasping for breath.

'Think yourself lucky it's just your money were taking. Now you make sure you've money to pay us next week, coz if you haven't you'll be the sorest piece of ass in all of Whitechapel.'

Laughing the men walked out slamming the door behind them, and as Mary sat on the dusty floor listening to their footsteps retreating up the alley way, she wrapped her arms around her legs and hugged her knees to lessen the aching of her stomach.

After a while her face still stung to the touch, but her stomach pain had eased so she got up and dusted herself down. She was just making herself a cup of tea when she heard a knock at the window.

She didn't recognise the two strangers, although with his blond hair and fair complexion, one of the two bore a resemblance that she couldn't quite place. Eyeing them suspiciously, to her relief she saw they were too well dressed for the rent collectors, one wearing a dark suit, the other outfitted as a country squire.

'Mary Jane Kelly, Granddaughter of Eric Kelly?'

'It depends love, what do you want? Has something happened to my grandfather?'

The squire smiled genially, 'no not at all, I've come to speak with you about your mother actually. May I come in?'

'It's a small room, not really big enough for the both of you.'

'No matter,' replied the man with a pleasant smile, 'my manservant will wait outside, won't you Hector.'

'Of course,' replied the man, 'nothing would please me more sir.'

'Well done, keep it up,' commended the squire, enjoying a private joke, 'that quart's within your grasp.'

Closing the door behind him self the man sat down on the worn and rickety wooden chair. 'My name is Jack Featherstone, son of Lord and Lady Featherstone. Perhaps you might recognise the name, as your grandfather works for us.'

'It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance Sir,' replied Mary suspiciously. 'But if you don't mind me saying, you're a long way from the manor. What do you want with me?'

'I'm not sure how to explain, but I will just tell you straight. You can make of the information what you will.'

Mary sat down on her bed and picking up her needlework she motioned for him to continue.

'Recently I found my late mothers diary while going through an old case of her possessions. When I read it I was shocked to find out that I was not her son, but the result of an elicit union between a scullery maid called Elizabeth Kelly, and my father Lord Featherstone.'

'Lady Featherstone was barren, so when the baby was born she took it for her own, and Elizabeth was sent from the house with a hand full of money, and a ticket to London. Years later Lady Featherstone discovered that your mother had given birth to a second child shortly after, which your grandfather had smuggled out of the house.'

'It can't be true,' replied Mary bewildered, 'that would make us brother and sister.'

'Twins no less,' said Jack with a grin, 'and you, daughter of a lord no less.'

'I don't know what to say!'

'Then don't say a thing,' replied Jack as he got up from his chair, 'I'd like to help you financially, and all I ask is you keep quiet about our meeting for now so my father doesn't come to hear about it. I'm returning home this afternoon, but I'll be back in London within the month. I will call for you then.'

'Alright I'll agree to keep silent. Goodbye Sir.

'Goodbye Mary,' he replied as he lent over, and to her shock and disgust he gave her a wink of his eye, and a farewell kiss on the lips.

9^th August 1888

As usual, the dining room was coated with a thick layer of silence that seemed to hang in the air in a suffocating blanket. Unconcerned, Lord Featherstone picked the morning newspaper from its silver tray on the dresser, and as if to form an enclave free from interruption he unfurled the tabloid and disappeared into its folds.

'It must be either a slow news day,' commented David as he wiped the last drip of egg yoke from his plate, 'or Eric brought the wrong paper.'

Jack scowled, 'what are you going on about now?'

'A London murder taking precedence over the Sutton Marsh autumn show,' replied David with a smug grin. 'The editor will get a whipping when Mayor Albright catches up with him.'

A worried expression brushed across Jacks features, 'there's murder's in the city all the time; I can't imagine why they chose to publish this one.'

'Perhaps if you learn to read brother, you'll find out?'

'Perhaps you can read it for me little brother,' replied Jack abruptly getting up from the table, 'I'm to busy with estate matters to have time to read newspapers.'

Instead of making his way to the study Jack took a quick look around to ensure he was not observed, and then made his way rapidly up the servant's stairs. On the top landing he knocked loudly on one of the doors and entered without waiting for a reply.

'You look like shit! I heard you had a skin full last night and thought you might be up here feeling sorry for your self, you drunken bastard. If dad catches you shirking your duties you'll be out on your ear.'

'I'm sorry sir,' said Hector, his slurred words difficult to make out, 'but have you seen it?'

'Seen what,' replied Jack with an inward groan.

'Those women we met in London, the one called Emma; some sick bastard cut her up. It's in all the papers, a picture of her and all.

'You mean Martha Tabram? Yes I saw it this morning. It's unfortunate but these things happen to women who walk round the city in the dead of night, flaunting themselves and selling their bodies to passing strangers.'

'She wasn't killed walking round the streets though was she?' questioned Hector, his blood shot eyes focusing briefly in an accusing stare. 'She was cut up in George Square where I saw you go in there with her, but I didn't see her come out. They will find you then we'll both hang.'

'Nonsense, she was alive and well when I left her.'

'Who's to believe that then?'

Jack gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, 'no ones going to believe that the son of a respected peer of the realm would have anything to do with that woman's unfortunate death.'

'Why are you so sure?'

'There's nothing to connect us to Whitechapel for one thing,' replied Jack with a grin, 'and police aren't searching for us, just a pair of soldier boys on leave.'

Hectors face turned pale, 'you made me wear the disguise because all the time you meant to kill her?'

'Don't be such an ass,' replied Jack impatiently. 'I never hurt so much as a hair on her head, but I was hardly going to lord my fathers name around the slums. Can you imagine what he would do if he found out?'

'Then Sir,' replied Hector, a sudden green light of understanding illuminating his eyes, 'you would be appreciating my silence?'

'Quite so,' replied Jack, smiling thinly as his hand dipped into his pocket for a shilling, 'I trust the matter will stay between us?'

'On my honour Sir,' replied the manservant as he quickly pocketed the coin, 'you can rely on me.'

'Alright I trust you, but go to bed and sleep off that Gin. I'll tell Eric you're sick. He won't believe me but he won't say anything since it's me telling him.'

Jack smiled as he left Hector's room; as he traversed the steep flight of stairs that led from the servant's quarters, he wondered how many steps a man would have to fall to break his neck at the bottom.

15^th August 1888

With a thud that shook the rusted steelwork of the old freighter, the tug boat manhandled her up against the piles of the dock. Thick ropes snaked out onto the wharf where willing hands strained and sweated the hawser loops over the corroded steel bollards.

Stood at the rail, Simon watched with little interest as the dockworkers tethered the ship tightly, treating the old girl like she might suddenly take flight and make a brake for the ebbing tide. He'd watched this flurry of activity a hundred times in as many ports across the world.

Fifteen long years had passed since he had last set eyes on the east end docks. Five of those years he had worked his passage on board this floating lump of rust, as it ferried cargo around the coast of Africa. Finally it had made its way around Europe and back into the channel on its last voyage before the bone yard stripped its plates and melted it down.

'Are you sure you'll not be tempted to change your mind? You're a useful man to have around in a tight spot and I'd be only too glad to sail with you again.'

Startled, Simon turned to find the Captain stood next to him at the rail. 'I don't think so Sir,' he replied shaking his head, 'I've been away for too long as it is. I'm hoping Mary won't have upped and married someone else. If she'll have me I plan to marry and start a family.'

'In that case,' replied the Captain with a sigh, 'I've had the purser cash you out. Here's your final wage packet. It's not much but it will get you by till you can find yourself work.'

'That's much appreciated Sir. You watch out for your self, that crews nothing but a bunch of cutthroat pirates; they'd steel the pennies off your eyes.'

'You picked them so you should know,' replied the Captain with a laugh. 'But have no fear; not even death comes between a Jew and his purse. We sail for the Americas on the first of December, so if you change your mind look me up at the Grovesnor Hotel.'

'What are you going to do with yourself in London till December?'

The Captains dark eyes crinkled into a wicked grin, 'I'm going to go to Oxford Street to buy a nice suit, and the thickest gold chain money can buy to hang my stamp from. After that I'm going to pretend I'm some rich banker, and find some pretty young ladies to woo; ladies who are low on sense and high in looks.'

Millers court had changed very little in the last fifteen years. The cracked woodwork was slightly more rotten, and the peeling paint more faded. The cobbles that covered the yards floor were as thickly clagged with soot and grime as they had been when he and Mary had played hopscotch there as small children.

He looked nostalgically at the door of number 10, but knew it would no longer open in welcome for him as it once did. That was before his father was killed in a pub brawl, and his mother had been sent to the poor house for unpaid debts. Lying about his age he had joined the army to escape the slums, and had shipped out to Africa to fight in the infantry.

'Number thirteen,' he thought as he stood at the door wondering why people considered the number a bad omen, it had always been Mary's door, and that fact alone had brought him nothing but good memories.'

The rotting door shuddered under his knuckles as he knocked, then after a moment a voice that was as familiar to him as his own, answered, 'Who is it?'

'Is that you Mary? It's me Simon!'

Simon heard the sound of running footsteps and the door flew open. 'No it can't be you, not after all these years'

'It's me alright girl,' replied Simon laughing, 'you would think you'd recognise this mug anywhere.'

Mary flew into his arms and hugged him fiercely, 'Fifteen years, and it seems like only yesterday you left me here. You left me here you good for nothing gypsy! You know not a days gone by that I've not thought of you, wondering if you were dead or in prison. You've got some explaining to do you heartless shit.'

Simon held her close, feeling her warm tears trickling into the collar of his shirt. 'I'll tell all if you let me in and put on a brew,' He said, softly kissing the top of her head, 'It's quite a long story and talking is thirsty work after all.' She nodded, but refusing to let go of him she shuffled him in through the doorway and kicked the door closed behind them.

'Come on love,' he said gently trying to pry himself loose, 'you're crushing the life out of me.'

'Only if you promise not to vanish!' she admonished, 'Last time you and I hugged, you disappeared faster than a rabbit down a burrow.'

'Alright, I promise, I promise,' he replied laughing, 'but it was the debt collectors I was running from, not you.'

Simon sat down in the only chair, the chair that Jack had sat in only days before. The room was like a shift in time. Mary's mothers few precious ornaments still occupied the same positions on the dresser, and the same threadbare rug still lay covering the stone floor. It disheartened him to see the state of her poverty, but he was compensated by a feeling of gratitude that she was not married with children.

'Now tell me,' said Mary sitting down on the bed. 'Tell me where you've been hiding yourself for the last fifteen years.

'That day I ran from the debt collector's, I found myself running to the one place I knew I would be safe. I went to Tower barracks, and having lied about my age, I signed up to the infantry. Being a soldier wasn't so bad, regular food, plenty of exercise. I quite enjoyed it for a while, that is until we shipped out to Africa.

'The months at sea made the men angry and prone to fighting, a few were killed. So I kept to myself and stayed out of everyone's way. I use to go on deck at night when everyone was sleeping and sit in the cool night breeze watching the stars go by.'

'We reached Africa and for the good part of the next few years nothing much happened. We spent the time looking at the coloured men and women, and patrolling the bush along the Natal border in the blistering heat. We were supposed to be looking for raiders, but nothing exciting happened, other than one or two rowdy Zulu's, or the occasional attack by hungry wildlife.

Then in January of eighteen seventy nine it all went sour, everything changed. The Zulu's had been restless for years, and the Dutch settlers wanted more land than they had a right to.

One day we were called onto the parade ground, and told to get our packs together, "going on a short walk" the Colonel said. The next day we marched across the border into Zulu land, two thousand of us, most of us on foot, marching mile after mile under the baking sun.

We had been walking for fourteen days with only the occasional glimpse of the Zulu scouts. We were in high spirits, and the talk amongst the men was that we had scared them off. Little did we know that king Cetshwayo had opened the door and just let us walk in, and he was soon going to close it behind us.

We crossed the Tugela river, but when we reached the Inyezane river we discovered a Zulu Impi which had been setting an ambush for us. I'd not seen battle before, and it was a terrifying place to be. The Zulu's were mostly naked. Some carried rifles, but most just a spear and shield. It was a massacre; time and time again they charged the line. After what seemed like hours they withdrew from the lethal rain of lead pouring out from our lines on the battlefield, leaving hundreds of their dead scattered like discarded puppets, the soil soaked red with their blood.

You should have heard us; we thought we had won the war, but Colonel Pearson said we were to march on, so on we marched all of us apart from ten men; we buried them in that god forsaken place where they fell.

On the twenty third we reach an abandoned missionary station at Eshowe and we stopped for the night. The abandoned mission was nothing more than a church, a school and the old missionary's house. Not much but it gave some sense of normality over the openness of the endless plain. That's was the first night I slept since the attack at Inyezane. The following day brought sore news; the other attack parties had been routed, and there weren't enough of us to take on Cetshwayo on our own, so we stayed on at the mission while the Colonel made plans for us to withdraw.

While waiting for orders the Colonel sent out wagons for fresh supplies, but it soon became obvious that we were cut off from our retreat to Napal by the entire Zulu army, and with the other two columns of men routed we knew it would only be a matter of time before we were overrun. We made the best of what we had and dug in ready for battle.

Come February we saw them massing on the hills nearby, so we opened up on them with the cannons, and they soon changed their minds and ran back to their camps. A few days after that the runners stopped bringing messages, and we knew we were completely on our own. February they kept us on our toes with drills, enemy snipers, and the occasional sorties to attack the enemies camps. March came and the rations were running low. There was sickness in the camp due to bad water, we lost twenty good men. To our jubilation a runner arrived, bringing word that a relief column led by Lord Chelmsford was on its way, and would be with us by the start of April. You should have heard the men cheer!

Come the evening of the first of April we could see the column of men setting up camp for the night, but we could see a Zulu impi with as many as twelve thousand men massing to attack.

At the dawn of the next day I awoke to the sound of distant guns, the Zulu's were attacking. We thought Lord Chelmsford's men were done for, but the sly fox had been ready for them. Safe in the trenches on the hill they opened fire with cannon, rockets, and Gatling gun, which mowed down men like a scythe.

After twenty minutes of hell the Zulu's ran, Lord Chelmsford's men in hot pursuit. Seven hundred Zulu's lay dead and three hundred more were rounded up and slaughtered like cattle. It was a terrible thing to listen to the screams of those poor wretches, and instead of feeling pity, we were just glad it was not us screaming in torment on the end of their spears.

On the third, the relief column arrived at the mission, led by the pipers of the ninety first. We danced to the sound of those pipes, drunk with the joyful knowledge that we might make it home to see our loved ones again. On the sixth spirits were lifted further as we left that cursed place for the last time. The first night as we bivouacked on the open plain, we saw the flames licking the night sky as the Zulu's burned Eshowe to the ground; none was as happy to see it burn as I.

Later that year I was transferred to the ninety fourth foot to make up the numbers, though I never was one for bagpipes I fitted in there just fine. Then on the fourteenth of November we were languishing in the barracks, when the order came through that the settlers were getting restless, and a few hundred men were to march out to Pretoria to re-enforce the garrison there. Expecting an easy assignment spent inspecting the local beer I volunteered, and with my equipment and rifle I started the long walk across the open veldt.

I was looking forwards to Pretoria, like a small slice of home, and we didn't take the Boers seriously; they were just a bunch of undisciplined farmers. With all their threats how could they stand up to battle hardened troops? We were on the road near Bronkhorstspruit when we found out. It was mid day when we found the road blocked by a group of Boer wishing to parley. I don't know what was said, but from the look on their faces the reply from Colonel Anstruther was as impolite as always and almost instantly the firing began.

They had crept up without us knowing, within two hundred yards of us. The first shots took down the officers, and the men did the best they could but the Boers were almost invisible in their drab clothing. In our scarlet jackets and white hats we were on show no matter how hard we tried to hide; it was like shooting fish in a barrel. Within fifteen minutes we surrendered and it was all over, but after the first five I took a shot to the chest and was down.

I woke up a few days later in a makeshift camp that had been constructed for the wounded, my ribs broken and my left lung shot to pieces. It was a bad time for everyone, but I was one of the lucky ones. The Boers returned and removed any one who was fit enough to walk, but I was too close to death so they left me well alone. Early in January I got my wish to see Pretoria; the doctors moved me to the hospital there so they could remove the bullet from my chest. I spent the next three months recovering from the injury, but when I was ready to leave I'd had my fill of the infantry, so a sympathetic doctor signed me off unfit for service.

I was a free man once more so I decided it was time to head on home to England, so I went down to the docks and purchased a ticket on the first available ship bound for home. The freighter wasn't due to sail until the next day so foolishly I thought I'd enjoy my first night of freedom with a few drinks in one of the local bars near the docks.

The next day I woke up in a dirty alleyway, my face black and blue. My money, my luggage, and my ticket home were gone, but I dragged myself back to the shipping company in the hope they would remember selling me my ticket. Unfortunately I was too late, and the ship had sailed. Just when I thought my luck had totally deserted me the clerk told me he one of their smaller freighters was short handed, and suggested I make my way along and speak to the captain.

Captain Moran wasn't what I expected at all, for he was a young man, not much older than my self. For some reason we got on well together, and instantly became close friends. The pay for a deck hand wasn't much, but given a year I could save enough for a passage home, so I took the job, what choice did I have?

Over the following months I found I took to a life on the sea far quicker than the toil and hardship of soldiering. The Captain saw it too and before long he'd promoted me to steward on account of my popularity with the men, and my quick wits. It took little persuading from the men to convince me that if I bide my time, eventually we would pick up a cargo destined for England. I would then be home without the considerable expense of a passenger ticket and plenty of money in my pocket. I had half convinced myself that you would be married with hundreds of children by now.'

'Well there was talk of it,' replied Mary with a giggle, 'but fortunately it came to naught. Now tell me sailor boy, now that you're here what do you plan to do?'

Simon blushed to the roots of his hair, 'the Captain's picking up a new ship from the yard. He's due to sail for the Americas at the start of December and has promised to keep my position open for me.'

'You're going to leave me again so soon?'

'Not if you have a better suggestion? You could always come with me?'

Mary sat in silence for a few minutes, indecision etched across her face. Then as if finally making her mind up she smiled, but Simon could discern a trouble look in her beautiful blue eyes.

'I'd be willing to go away with you, but I have something that I must do first. It might get me locked up or worse, so if you want no part of it then I'll not think badly of you.'

'I'll not let you go on with this alone,' he replied taking her hands in his. 'I'll gladly help you. I've done terrible things in the name of king and country, I see no reason why helping the one you love should be any less a worthy endeavour.'

'You should know what I'm asking before you rush in and make your decision.'

'Alright lass, but refill my mug with tea before you start. This sounds like its going to be a two brew tale.'

28^th August 1888

Taking a rubber band from the pot on the table Jack carefully placed it on the tip of his forefinger. He took the folded paper clip from between his lips and placing it over the elastic band he pulled it back, stretching the rubber to its breaking point.

Raising his hand to his eye he sighted along the band, and with a deft flick he released the projectile across the room. David clapped his hand to his neck and leapt up out of his chair, spilling his half full glass of brandy and sending the novel he was reading crashing to the floor.

'You bastard,' he screeched, his face purple with rage, 'I'm going to smash that smug grin right off your face.'

'For gods sake stop being such a woman,' replied Jack with a laugh, 'it was just an elastic band.'

The Lord's book crashed to the table, 'that's enough bickering, Go and find something to do before I change my mind about military school.'

Taking his glass of brandy David stalked across the room and with a crash, he closed the door behind him.

'Are you ever going to stop tormenting him?' asked the Lord with a look of resignation on his face, 'he's your brother, and one day soon it's just going to be you and him.'

'He'll be fine when he's calmed down,' replied Jack, grinning broadly, 'he did the same to me last week.'

'The devil makes work for idle hands; what you need my boy is something to occupy yourself with. You can start by dropping the twelve gauge Purdey off at the gun smiths in town. The hammer spring seems week, and it failed to fire three times at the last shoot.'

Jack shrugged, 'I'll drop it off in the morning. I'm taking the noon coach to London so I can stop at the gunsmiths before I leave.'

'London again?' snorted the Lord, 'You've got a woman there haven't you?'

'No father,' replied Jack laughing, 'I'm working on a business venture which should keep me busy and out of trouble for a week.'

'Well you see that Hector doesn't persuade you into investing in a free house or brewery. He'd drink all the profits!'

'That's true enough; he's a damn nuisance when he's anywhere near drink, so I'm leaving him here where he can't get into trouble. I'll manage perfectly well without him.'

'Unlike your brother,' replied the Lord with a shake of his head, 'takes after his mother, bless her soul; too idle to do anything but breathe!'

31^st August 1888

Simon awoke and yawned. His stomach rumbled but the radiant warmth from the sleeping form next to him was too much of a luxury to abandon for the cold of the room.

He rolled on his side to cuddle up against her and gently stroked his fingers along the soft warm skin of her back, tracing the bumps of her spine down to the hollow between her buttocks.

Mary stirred and gave a small sigh of pleasure, 'did you sleep well love?'

'I would have slept like a dead man,' replied Simon with a chuckle, 'if it wasn't for your snoring.'

With a giggle Mary pressed her bottom against his crotch and wiggled her hips provocatively, 'Perhaps you'd prefer to sleep on the couch?'

'Hey stop that!' he exclaimed, feeling his penis thicken under the persistent coaxing of her soft buttocks. 'I'm hungry, I need to get up and find us some breakfast.'

He felt Mary's small hand take hold of his member, and guide it between her thighs. 'Well I suppose if I must, I should do so with honour.'

'Hark at you;' said Mary with a laugh, 'many men would consider it a pleasure to service their future wives, not a duty.'

'Men with less persistent wives no doubt.'

'Perhaps,' she murmured, and holding his shaft along the palm of her hand she pressed it deep between her labia and with a soft rocking motion began to masturbate herself along his length. He felt her folds swell with pleasure, and her moistness began to bathe his shaft as she entered a state of arousal. He groaned in pleasure as she gently rolled back his foreskin before pushing his pulsing glands to the entrance of her womanhood.

'Do you want to get breakfast now?' She asked coyly.

'You're an evil minx,' Simon replied with a laugh as he nuzzled and kissed the nape of her neck. With a slow smooth thrust of his hips he penetrated her, accompanied by the moans of mutual pleasure as his length pressed to the furthest reaches of her body.

He held her tightly in his left arm, his hand cupping her ripe breasts, gently teasing her nipples between his fingers. His right hand moved between her thighs and his fingers started to rhythmically caress the yielding skin between her engorged labia. She groaned and squirmed under his expert touch as he massaged the firm button of her clitoris, gently lubricating it with her juices which flowed around the base of his penis, trickling through his pubic hair and pooling on his upper thigh.

Her groans of pleasure and ecstasy steadily increased in volume as her orgasm began to build. 'Stop teasing me', she moaned. 'Fuck me and show me you're now a man; not that fumbling boy who took me that first time.'

Simon's thrusts were leisurely and exquisite, each one building on the pleasure of the last, and each movement accentuated by the pressure of his fingertips on her body. His breath quickened as in response to her protracted orgasm, his own orgasm rapidly built under the force of her contracting muscles.

'Oh God', she screamed in ecstasy, and with a violent shudder she came, the liquid streaming between her legs to coat his thighs and stomach. Feeling the sudden pressure of his imminent ejaculation he pulled him self free of her body. In response to the sudden movement his pent up breath released explosively as a powerful spasm sprayed his seed across her back and buttocks, clinging tightly to any surface it touched.

They lay in silence for minutes recovering their breath, and then with a small sigh of contentment Mary spoke. 'You know you've got the better of any man I've known before.'

'I'm glad I'm man enough to satisfy your needs.'

Mary giggled, 'They taught you that in the army as well?'

'No,' replied Simon wiping himself dry on a corner of the bed sheet, 'but the occupants of a small brothel in a dark alley of Capetown were more than willing to provide an appropriate education.'

'Aren't you the man? Perhaps you can give me the address so I can send them a box of biscuits and a thank you card.'

With a grin Simon rolled out of bed and grimacing he slipped into his frigid clothes, still damp from yesterdays rain. 'Now that you've worked up an appetite I'm going to nip round to the butchers to pick up some bacon for breakfast. Don't forget to lock the door behind me in case that brother of yours comes a calling.'

'Urgh, you men and your stomachs.'

With a resentful grumble Mary rolled out of bed and slipped into her dress and bodice. Facing him she cocked her leg up on the chair and lifted her skirts to the waist. 'Look,' she said running her fore fingers through her damp pubic hair, and as he watched she slowly pressed them into her still aroused flesh, 'look what you're abandoning in favour of some slices of burned pig.'

'Don't fret girl,' replied Simon smiling broadly, 'I'll be back soon. A man needs to eat to keep his strength up.'

Dropping her skirts she crossed the room to him and kissed his lips passionately, her wet fingers leaving her scent on his neck and cheek. 'You see that you do!' she said huskily as tears formed in her eyes, 'You've fifteen years of neglect to make up for!'

'I'll not repeat the mistake of leaving you again love,' and with a bang of the door he was gone.

Mary had just started to shovel the first embers into the ash bucket when she heard the knock. 'Back already?' she shouted as she went to unlock the door, 'did you loose your way or your money?'

'Expecting someone else?' said Jack stepping past her into the room.

For a moment Mary stood still, struck dumb by surprise. 'Only my friend Catherine,' she replied pulling herself together. 'She went to the shop for food, and she will be back soon.'

'You don't look so pleased to see me'

'It's not that; you've caught me at a bad time. Catherine's a good friend but she's a terrible gossip and has the ear of too many people. Perhaps for your reputation you shouldn't be around when she comes back.'

Taking her hand Jack smiled thinly and placed a slip of paper in her hand, 'no doubt your right. I just came past to give you this money, but I'm in a hurry and couldn't stop even if you had the time to talk.'

Mary looked down at the folded pound note and felt a pang of guilt at her reaction. It was more money than she'd ever had in her hands at one time, and would make a big difference to the impending winter.'

'You don't know how grateful I am for this Jack!'

'It's nothing more than you're entitled to sister,' he replied affectionately ruffling her hair.

'Jack, there's been more trouble since you were last here, you be careful won't you?'

'Don't worry your self,' he said laughing as he went out through the open door, 'I'm more than capable of taking care of myself.'

The butchers shop was only a few minutes walk along the street from Millers court, and Simon hurried home his food package tucked tightly under his arm. He was just turning into Millers Court when he saw a man standing waiting at Mary's door. To his surprise the door opened and without invitation the stranger stepped in.

Under normal circumstances Simon would have rushed forwards demanding an explanation, but something about the man's appearance stirred a recent memory, and he knew without question the strangers identity.

He stepped quickly out of the alley and crossed the street to the concealing shelter of a nearby doorway. It wouldn't do to let Jack get a close look at him, as Mary's plan depended on his anonymity.

Within a minute Jack reappeared at the entrance to Millers Court, and walked rapidly away heading towards Commercial Street. The streets were busy, providing plenty of cover for Simon's clandestine tail. He expected his quarry to catch a cab on the main street and head into the upbeat surroundings of the city centre, but to his surprise his trail ended in a shabby dross house on Flower and Dean Street. He took up station in a nearby doorway to wait for Jacks reappearance, but after twenty minutes his grumbling stomach got the better of him and he headed back to Millers Court and a well earned breakfast.

'You're telling me he's staying in a dross house? And he gives me a pound and all! I can't believe that's the best he can afford, slumming it in a dross house of all places.'

'He went in.' replied Simon chewing valiantly on a mouthful of crispy bacon rind, 'Perhaps he was just visiting someone, but I don't think so. There was something about him that makes me suspicious, like he was trying to blend in. He's devious and I don't like it; I think there's more to him than meets the eye.'

'Like what? He's rich already, he doesn't need the money.'

With a shrug, Simon took a swig of tea and swilled it round his gums before gulping it down. 'You tell me; as a soldier you get a feeling for these things, and my guts telling me not to turn my back to him unless I want the coat stolen from my back.'

'Don't fret so,' replied Mary with a laugh. 'We're planning to stick a knife in him anyway, what better place to do it than on the streets of Whitechapel.'

'Well don't rush into anything yet. We don't want to rock the boat, not until I'm in it.'

Smiling, Mary leaned over and kissed his face. 'If you want to get into the boat you better get a move on. The coach is going to leave without you if you sit chewing that bacon rind for much longer.

1^st September 1888

Heavy rains throughout the day had left the streets clear of the usual city smog, and the air smelled uncharacteristically sweet for the Whitechapel slum district.

Darkness had fallen many hours ago, and the heavy storm clouds blanketed the night sky in impenetrable darkness.

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