The Esther & Jack Enright Box Set

by David Field

  ‘So far you seem to have disappointed her very deeply,’ Esther chuckled.

  ‘She hasn’t met you yet,’ Jack commented enigmatically and it fell silent. Without anything being said they retraced their steps and invested in two more lemonades. As they sat side by side on the bench, Jack looked down uncomfortably at his boots before breaking the silence. ‘Promise me you’ll find the nearest constable if you do catch sight of Polly Nichols?’ he implored her. ‘Please don’t do anything silly, like go up and talk to her. The guardsman might be following her.’

  ‘Am I that important to you?’ Esther enquired hopefully.

  ‘Of course.’ Jack looked back up at the sun disappearing behind a bank of cloud to the west. ‘It looks as if it’ll come on to rain in a short while. I should be getting you back to your lodgings before it does.’

  ‘Only if you’ll come into the kitchen with me and let me make you a cup of tea,’ Esther replied. ‘Our time together is too precious to me to want to give up a minute of it.’

  The sun was well down towards the western horizon before Jack finally took his leave, after they had almost worn out the pack of cards that was part of Esther’s few remaining possessions from her childhood. Each of them was reluctant to be the one to say goodbye, but eventually Jack stood uncertainly in the doorway of the side entrance in the alleyway, shuffling from one foot to the other, before he finally summoned up the courage to ask, ‘May I kiss your cheek again?’

  ‘No, you may not,’ Esther replied, then grinned as his face fell. ‘You may kiss me on the lips instead.’

  The following Friday Esther was finishing a delicate stitching operation on a torn ballgown bodice when there was an insistent knock on her door and the sound of Sadie Thompson calling her name. Esther opened her door and Sadie began tutting, before getting to the point.

  ‘Yer young man’s in the kitchen, but ’e’s wearin’ ’is uniform this time. It’s one thing ter be walkin out wi’ ’im when ’e’s proper dressed fer that sorta thing, but what will folks think if they see yer wi’ ’im in the street, an’ ’im in ’is bloomin’ uniform? They’ll think yerv’e bin up ter somethin’ yer shouldn’t. Best go down an’ see what ’e wants.’

  Esther ran down the stairs, enthusiastic but puzzled, and remembered to slow down before she was tempted to race into the kitchen and appear too eager. Jack stood there twisting his helmet nervously in his hands. He seemed relieved to see Esther, who sensed that this was not the appropriate occasion to kiss him on the cheek.

  ‘It’s not Sunday,’ she observed nervously, ‘or was the prospect of walking out with me again so overwhelming that it couldn’t wait?’

  ‘Thank God you’re still in one piece!’ Jack stuttered.

  ‘And why wouldn’t I be?’ Esher enquired.

  ‘It’s Polly Nichols,’ Jack replied. ‘She’s been done in just like your friend Martha!’

  Chapter Seven

  Esther turned pale, grabbed the side of the kitchen table and lowered herself into the vacant chair. Jack moved swiftly from where he had been standing at the side of the sink and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Are you sure it’s Polly Nichols?’ Esther enquired in a shocked whisper.

  ‘Inspector Reid’s convinced, although it’s not his case.’

  ‘But surely …?’ Esher began.

  Jack interrupted her. ‘She was found in Bucks Row — that’s “J” Division, Bethnal Green.’

  ‘Then how do you know anything about it?’

  ‘Uncle Percy was called out early this morning. He’d been lodging in the section house attached to Leman Street, and with him being Scotland Yard and all ...’

  ‘And he notified Inspector Reid?’

  ‘Yes, when we got back from viewing the body in the local mortuary. It happened sometime during the night, apparently, and I’d just come on shift when Uncle Percy appeared and told me what had happened. I didn’t know it was Polly Nichols then, obviously, but when Uncle Percy gave me a general description of the woman who’d been murdered — particularly the mark on her forehead — I told him that it might be her. Then I went down to the mortuary with him and confirmed it. There’s a mark on one of her clothes that we can be traced to the Workhouse, so we might be able to get confirmation from that. But keep that to yourself, because it’s not public knowledge yet.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t come up here to collect me to identify the body as well,’ Esther shuddered.

  ‘No, I just came up to make sure that you’re safe. I’m supposed to be making enquiries at the doss house round the corner which was her last known address.’

  Esther reached up to where Jack’s hand was resting on her shoulder, took his hand and squeezed it. ‘That was very sweet of you, Jack.’

  ‘You’re very important to me,’ he assured her as he squeezed back, ‘and it looks as if Polly may have been done in to keep her quiet.’

  ‘By the guardsman, you mean?’

  ‘Who else? And Pearly Poll may have been threatened with the same thing if she didn’t lead the guardsman to her. That’s what Inspector Reid’s saying anyway, but he and Uncle Percy seem to be in disagreement on that point.’

  ‘What does your Uncle Percy think?’

  ‘He doesn’t know what to think at the moment, but — look, this is not very nice, but Polly had been stabbed a few times, just like your friend Martha, and Scotland Yard are clearly of the belief that some maniac was responsible for both deaths, since the nature of the deaths is so similar.’

  ‘If Inspector Reid’s right, then it was still the work of a maniac, except that the maniac in question is a guardsman associated with Pearly Poll,’ Esther pointed out.

  ‘Uncle Percy won’t accept that a woman could have been involved in something like that,’ Jack explained. ‘He’s a bit old-fashioned in that way — thinks that all women are soft, gentle and lacking in physical strength. “Men stab, women poison” is an expression of his that I’ve heard him use lots of times.’

  ‘So, if Polly was done away with because of something she knows about Pearly Poll and the guardsman, what made you think that I might be in danger?’ Esther enquired.

  Jack hesitated for a moment, then grinned one of his grins. ‘I didn’t, really. It was just an excuse to come and see you while I was on duty.’ Instinctively he reached forward and pulled her towards him in a firm hug, which she made no effort to resist.

  ‘None o’ that in my kitchen, if yer don’t mind,’ came Sadie Thompson’s stern voice from the doorway and they sprang apart guiltily.

  Esther, red in the face, felt that some explanation was required. ‘Jack — Constable Enright — was just here to advise me that a woman was murdered in Bethnal Green during the night and they believe that it may be connected to the murder of poor old Martha.’

  ‘Then yer constable friend would no doubt be better employed in searchin’ fer ’er killer an’ not moonin’ around in my kitchen,’ Sadie replied.

  Jack replaced his helmet and made for the door.

  ‘Don’t forget next Sunday,’ Esther reminded his retreating back.

  ‘As if I could,’ he replied as he turned and grinned yet again, before touching his helmet peak in a gesture of respect to the two women as he made his way out into the passageway.

  The two men were arguing furiously, but Detective Sergeant Enright was determined to pull rank.

  ‘It’s not your case, Edmund — it’s not even your Division. It’s precisely for cases such as this, which cross police divisions, that Scotland Yard was created.’

  ‘But I have the local knowledge,’ Reid objected, ‘and if I’m right, then this case and the Martha Tabram case are connected.’

  ‘I saw the body, remember?’ Enright reminded him. ‘The throat was quite severely slashed and when we got her clothes off it was obvious that whoever was responsible had been slashing away at the chest and stomach. From what I’ve been told, your victim was simply stabbed through the heart. This was more frenzied, bel
ieve me — a good job I’d had breakfast before I went down there.’

  ‘But the coincidence is too great to overlook. A vital witness to the murder of Martha Tabram goes missing, then finishes up dead. What are the random chances of some lunatic waylaying the very woman we’ve been searching for during the past two weeks?’

  ‘It’s a different sort of attack. Perhaps you’d like to go and inspect the body for yourself? The post-mortem must be completed by now.’

  ‘Who’s the doctor?’

  ‘The Divisional man — Dr Llewellyn.’

  Reid snorted. ‘I wouldn’t get that man to treat my horse. Get him in here as soon as he’s finished.’

  ‘Once again, let me remind you that it’s not your case.’

  ‘And let me remind you that Constable Enright may be your nephew, but he’s under my command. Don’t take him on any more errands with you.’

  Three hours later, Dr Llewellyn was demanding to know why, as Divisional Surgeon for “J” Division, he was being asked to describe his findings to an Inspector in “H” Division.

  The man from Scotland Yard had told him that it might be important, but Llewellyn normally reported to Inspector Spratling, as he had done already that morning and he had patients to see.

  ‘As I already reported to Inspector Spratling,’ Llewellyn said plaintively as he shook his head at the proffered tea cup, ‘the wounds were very extensive and seemingly the work of a deranged lunatic. I first viewed the corpse on the pavement at Bucks Row and in my professional opinion the poor wretch hadn’t long since expired at that point, to judge by the warmth of the lower extremities — the legs, in amateur language. Curiously, although her throat had been slashed twice — once in each direction — there was little blood loss and no marks of any struggle. From this I deduce that the victim may well have been rendered unconscious first, thus resulting in less of a blood flow from the severed carotid. This hypothesis is supported by the discovery of what appears to be the residual mark of a bruise along the lower jaw. Be that as it may, the real mystery began when we got her clothes off.

  ‘It was if she’d been attacked by a medical student while he was intoxicated. There was a jagged wound, very deep, cutting through the tissue wherever it travelled from left to right across the abdomen. It was as if someone had been seeking to cut open the lower intestines and womb. There were also several downstrokes to the side, as if the target had been the kidneys. Plus one in the general area of the vagina.’

  He paused for breath and Enright smirked at Reid triumphantly. ‘See? Nothing like your first job, where there was a simple stab to the heart.’

  ‘Plus another thirty-eight stab wounds around the chest and torso,’ Reid reminded him. ‘Probably inflicted with a penknife.’

  ‘Whoever did this was not relying on a penknife,’ Llewellyn asserted. ‘He would have needed an entire set of surgical knives to achieve what I observed in the mortuary. And at least thirty minutes, which raises the interesting question of how the offender was able to do that in full public view on a city pavement at a time of day when people were beginning to pass to and fro on their way to work. Dockers, meat handlers, draymen and so on. But there was no blood in the general location of the corpse to indicate that she had been carried there from elsewhere. I looked once they’d taken the body by handcart to the mortuary, on my instructions.’

  ‘Could it have been done with an army bayonet?’ Enright enquired.

  Llewellyn shook his head. ‘From what I’ve seen of those things, they’re far too broad and blunt. One specially sharpened, possibly, but I doubt it. Those incisions are never, in my experience, seen outside medical school or hospital.’

  ‘So perhaps a demented medical student?’ Enright enquired.

  ‘Dear God, I sincerely hope not,’ Llewellyn shuddered. ‘But someone with medical experience anyway. They were working in the half light and made no obvious cuts in her clothing. She was wearing several petticoats, a pair of drawers and some loosely fastened stays. Somehow or other, the person responsible managed to work under all of those, in the half light. Working by feel, that is, which requires a knowledge of human anatomy not normally possessed by your average slaughterman or Thames bargee. The absence of blood on her clothing also supports my theory that she was dead before this crude surgery commenced. Or at least, one would have to hope so.’

  ‘Satisfied?’ Enright gloated as Dr Llewellyn grumbled out of Reid’s office, after demanding to know who to submit his account to.

  Reid shook his head. ‘Far from it. Remember that some army men are trained in battlefield first aid.’

  ‘I have to make my report to Abberline,’ Enright announced abruptly, ‘so if you’ll excuse me …’

  ‘Not Fred Abberline?’ Reid demanded.

  Enright nodded. ‘It’s an unusual name — how many other “Abberlines” do you think the Yard possesses?’

  ‘He was the Inspector here when I first got out of uniform,’ Reid advised Enright with a smile. ‘At least he has local knowledge.’

  ‘And so will I, by the time this is finished,’ Enright reminded him.

  ‘Well don’t use any of my constables in order to get it. And when you next see your nephew, tell him to report directly to me. I have a job for him.’

  Chapter Eight

  It was raining heavily the following Sunday, so Jack was persuaded to remain in the kitchen, playing cards with Esther. For a short while, when the downpour briefly subsided, they went out for some air, during which time they were able to hold hands for the length of George Street and exchange a few furtive kisses in the doorway of the chandler’s shop in Thrawl Street, until ordered to move on by the irate proprietor. Back in the kitchen, Jack looked thoughtfully across at Esther when it was her turn to shuffle the deck and enquired, ‘Next Sunday, if it fines up, would you like to go walking down by the river?’

  Esther grimaced. ‘It’s a bit sooty and grubby down there. Not to mention the smell and the noise.’

  Jack grinned. ‘I was thinking of further downriver, not down by the docks. There’s a ferry from Tower Steps to Creekmouth, in Barking and we can walk up the bank. I know the area like the back of my hand and I used to go fishing in the creek. It’s a healthy country walk.’

  Esther looked doubtful. ‘Sounds lovely, but you’re forgetting that my parents were drowned on one of those things.’

  ‘That was a pleasure boat, from what you tell me,’ Jack countered. ‘The ferries are much sturdier and better handled. They have to be, by regulation.’

  ‘All the same …’ Esther wavered.

  But Jack wasn’t about to be put off. ‘Give it some thought, anyway. You’ve got a whole week, although maybe you’ll have decided by tomorrow. I haven’t mentioned tomorrow yet.’

  ‘I have some urgent orders to complete,’ Esther advised him, ‘and I think Mrs Thompson might get a bit huffy if you come round every day.’

  ‘I’ll be in uniform tomorrow,’ Jack reminded her.

  ‘That’s even worse,’ Esther objected and was met by another of Jack’s entrancing grins.

  ‘I’ll also be on official business. Inspector Reid wants to see you again.’

  ‘Is this you “fraternising” again?’ Esther teased him.

  ‘I’m serious. He wants you to look at some photographs.’

  ‘Not the ones of that poor Polly’s body, I hope?’ Esther enquired with a shudder.

  ‘No — prostitutes, from what I could make out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He didn’t say,’ Jack advised her, then looked out of the window and smiled. ‘It’s stopped raining again. Fancy another stroll to the chandler’s shop?’

  ‘Thank you for taking the time, Miss Jacobs,’ Inspector Reid said to Esther as he beckoned in the sergeant carrying the tea things. ‘Tea?’

  ‘Thank you, that would be very nice.’

  ‘And perhaps a ginger biscuit?’

  ‘That would be even nicer, thank you.’

  ‘Constable E
nright should be here in just a moment, along with his uncle, who’s from Scotland Yard. He’s been sent to teach me my job, it would seem, but we won’t worry about that. It’s just that I want you to look at some photographs and see if you recognise anyone.’

  ‘Jack — sorry, Constable Enright — said that they were photographs of prostitutes.’

  ‘That’s correct. I just need to know if you can identify any of them as having been with Pearly Poll on the night that your friend Martha was murdered. Ah, here they come now.’

  Jack came in accompanied by a tall, slim man who simply had to be his uncle, Esther concluded. The man had Jack’s blue eyes and fresh complexion, although his once fair hair was now largely grey at the sides. He smiled knowingly down at Esther as Jack introduced them and Esther was wondering whether Jack had made any mention of their ‘fraternising’ when Inspector Reid interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘The large book under Detective Sergeant Enright’s arm is our library of mug-shots of local prostitutes. Whenever we run one in, we take the precaution of photographing them for future reference and a larger collection of raddled old hags you won’t find anywhere else in the Metropolitan Police files. Take a look at this lot if you would, Miss Jacobs, and see if any of them are familiar to you from that evening before Martha Tabram was murdered.’

  ‘That was several weeks ago now,’ Esther reminded him in her own defence, ‘but I’d be happy to try.’

  There were some fifty pages or so of photographs of rough-looking women glaring angrily at the photographer, with accompanying images of their side profiles. Esther was unpleasantly astonished to learn how many there were plying the streets of Whitechapel — and these were only the ones who’d got caught, she reminded herself as she gloomily turned one page after another. Finally she turned the last page and sighed. ‘I’m sorry — it was so long ago now. Was it really important?’