The Night of the Ripper

~ THIRTY-FIVE ~

Outside the Yard a light rain fell as Abberline requisitioned the services of a cab.

Lees seemed concerned. “Aren’t you going to take an official vehicle?”

The inspector shook his head. “This isn’t an official call,” he said.

The psychic voiced his reservations. “But if our man is on the premises now, it could be dangerous. If we came with an armed constable—”

“Don’t worry. There’s three of us. I doubt that he’d risk going up against such odds. Besides, if we arrive in an ordinary hack, he won’t suspect the purpose of our visit.”

Mark had his doubts, but Lees seemed satisfied. And as they entered the carriage it was he who gave the driver an address.

“Seventy-four Brook Street,” he said.

Abberline’s forehead creased with concern. “Off Grosvenor Square, isn’t it? That’s hardly where I’d expect to find the Ripper in residence.”

“If I’m not mistaken, some of our staff physicians live in that area,” Mark said. “I gather it runs a close second to Harley Street.”

“That’s not surprising.” Lees nodded. “After all, the man we’re looking for is a doctor.”

“How do you know?”

“I can’t tell you how I arrive at such conclusions,” Lees answered. “It would be more accurate to say that the conclusions come to me. That’s how the force operates — just as it did when it revealed the name of Mary Jane Kelly’s landlord and the number of the room where she met her fate.”

During the drive he repeated the story of his visit with Abberline on the night of the murder. “I assure you this is no fabrication,” Lees concluded. “Everything I’ve told you is true.”

Mark glanced at Abberline and the inspector shrugged. “That’s why we’re making this trip. Mind you, it’s off the record. I’d hate to think what Matthews would say if he knew about this wild goose-chase.”

Robert James Lees frowned. “I suggest you reserve judgment until we arrive,” he murmured. “Remember, this is not my doing. I am only an instrument of the powers that guide me.”

There was silence then, save for the rumbling of cab wheels over wet pavement. And in the stillness Mark found himself reflecting on their mission with growing eagerness.

Powers that guide. Powers of the mind — unrecognized, unexplored, unexplained. And largely ignored by medical scientists, except for the few who ventured beyond physical manifestations into the uncharted areas of psychological phenomena.

Wasn’t that exactly what he himself wanted to do? Behind what we call thought was a vast unseen world, a realm of instinct, intuition, inexplicable insight; the domain of dreams. It was easy to dismiss such matters, label them as superstition and old wives’ tales. But as a matter of record — a record which orthodox science chose to overlook — some of the old wives’ tales proved to be correct. History attested that predictions and prophecies, so-called second sight, often had a basis in truth. Mark didn’t have reason to believe in spiritualism or communication with the dead, but there were genuine instances of messages from beyond. Not necessarily from beyond the grave, but beyond the reaches of the conscious mind. If so, this force might very well manifest itself in the form of visions. How else to explain the power Lees had demonstrated? It was guiding them now. And if it was real—

The carriage pulled up, depositing them before the house off Grosvenor Square. As it drove away the three men moved up to the shelter of the doorway, and for a moment Mark felt a twinge of doubt.

All of the dwellings here were imposing; ornate examples of Georgian architecture nestling amid well-kept surroundings in a quiet, well-lighted setting. As Abberline had said, this house held no hint of being the residence of the Ripper.

“Seventy-four,” the inspector was murmuring. “I know that address from somewhere—”

Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “By God, now I remember! It just came to me.” He faced Lees, his eyes narrowing. “Do you know who lives here? This is the home of Sir William Gull!”

“The Queen’s physician?”

Abberline nodded, then started to turn away.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the Yard, of course. Do you think I’d chivvy a man like Gull and accuse him of—”

“Not accuse.” Lees put his hand on the inspector’s arm. “Merely inquire. Obviously he’s not the one I saw. But Gull may be giving him shelter.”

Abberline halted. “You still believe the Ripper lives in this house?”

Lees hesitated before replying. “I could be wrong about his residence. But I know he’s been here — the aura is unmistakable.”

“So now you’re changing your story, is that it?” Abberline scowled. “Yet you’re still asking me to go through with this?”

The medium’s eyes were lambent in the dim light of the doorway. “You know I was right in the past. The forces that guided me then will not lead us astray now. I beg of you, don’t turn your back on this opportunity. It may be your only chance of learning the truth.”

Abberline glanced at Mark.

“I agree,” the younger man said. “We’ve come this far. Unless we go on now, we’ll never know.”

Abberline sighed. “Very well, I’ll chance it. But heaven help us all if you’re wrong.”

Moving to the door, he raised the brass knocker and let it fall.

For a moment they stood expectantly, and then the door swung open.

“Gentlemen?” The uniformed parlor maid’s look of inquiry was transformed into one of concern when Abberline identified himself.

“We should like to see Sir William if we may,” Abberline said. “Is he at home?”

The girl hesitated uncertainly, then turned as another figure moved up behind her.

“Who is it, Maud?” The elderly matron in the campanular-skirted gown peered out at the visitors.

Patiently, Abberline introduced himself once more, then gave the names of his companions.

The older woman smiled. “I am Lady Gull,” she said. “Please come in.” As they entered the hall she addressed the maid. “That will do, Maud.”

Dipping her head in acknowledgment, the maid retreated along the corridor to disappear through a doorway beneath the circular staircase which rose at the far end of the lofty hall.

Lady Gull led her guests into the drawing room at the right of the entryway. As they entered, Mark’s first impression was one of elegance — the crystal chandelier, the ornate carving on the arms of the high wingbacked chairs, Landseer landscapes in great gilded frames dominating the side walls, the brasswork gleaming before a huge fireplace beneath a massive mantel. He had no opportunity for further appraisal because Abberline was already speaking.

“Thank you, Milady, but there’s no need to impose on your hospitality. If we could have a word with Sir William—”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” said Lady Gull. “As you may have heard, my husband suffered a slight stroke just over a year ago.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware—”

“Fortunately he has recovered, but his condition demands rest. I make it a practice never to disturb him after dinner.”

“Susan!”

She broke off, turning at the sound of the deep voice echoing from the doorway as Sir William Gull entered the room.

Mark recognized him at once from his portrait hanging in the hospital library. He’d aged since it had been painted: his hair was entirely gray and the effects of the stroke were evident in his slight limp. But the heavy, square face surmounting the short, pudgy body was almost unchanged.

Lady Gull faced him now, her concern obvious as she spoke. “I thought you were already abed. You shouldn’t be down here—”

“I heard your visitors.” Gull squinted at Abberline from beneath his bushy brows. “In fact I’ve been standing in the hall, trying to make head or tail out of this insolent invasion of privacy.”

Short-bodied and short-tempered. Mark reflected. But to his surprise, Abberline was smiling.

“Allow me to explain,” he said. “I am Detective Inspector Abberline. This is Dr. Mark Robinson, from the staff of London Hospital.” He nodded at Lees. “And the other gentleman is—”

“I know him.” Sir William Gull turned to the psychic. “Robert Lees, isn’t it? You’re the spiritualist fellow who used to give spook messages to Her Majesty.”

Lees’ smile concealed his resentment of the description. “That was many years ago, Sir William. I’m flattered you remembered.”

“No flattery intended.” Gull’s voice was gruff. “What brings you here now — more hocus-pocus?”

Before the medium could answer. Abberline intervened. “It’s a matter of some delicacy—”

“Meaning it’s indelicate.” Gull glanced toward his wife. “I’ll deal with these gentlemen myself.”

Lady Gull hesitated. “Are you quite sure you’re up to it?”

“It’s what they’re up to that interests me.” Gull’s gesture was a peremptory dismissal. “Please be good enough to close the door as you leave.”

Lady Gull did not reply, but her look of reproach was eloquent as she turned and swept out of the room, her bell-shaped skirt trailing across the heavy velvet carpet.

Once the door swung shut. Sir William wasted no time. “Now, sir.” His glowering glance was directed at Abberline. “Will you kindly explain why you were badgering my wife?”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Abberline said. He nodded at Lees. “This gentleman can tell you why we’re here.”

Caught by surprise, Lees cleared his throat nervously and began to speak.

Mark too had been surprised by the inspector’s request, and found himself puzzling over it. Sir William Gull obviously disliked the spiritualist and rejected his claims to psychic powers. Surely he wouldn’t believe the account he was hearing now, so why did Abberline want him to recite it?

There had to be a reason; Abberline was nobody’s fool. Perhaps playing the fool was deliberate on his part. Mark recalled how he’d displayed knives to evoke responses from the surgeons at the hospital. Did he have a similar purpose now in letting Lees tell his story?

If so, his efforts were rewarded. When the medium spoke of recognizing Jack the Ripper on the omnibus, Gull started visibly at mention of the name. Listening to Lees’ description of the man, his face flushed angry red. Then, as the psychic told of his intimations of the Ripper’s destination and the power that guided him here, Gull exploded.

“You’re insane! How dare you insinuate that I would harbor such a creature under my own roof?”

Lees quailed beneath Gull’s fury. “You mistake my meaning, sir. I was not implying anything of the sort. I only know that he came here — not his purpose.”

“Have you any proof? Did you see him enter this house?”

“No.” The medium’s voice trembled. “But I sensed he was going to some house in this area when he fled. And today, in Miller’s Court, the address revealed itself to me.”

“Revealed itself!” Gull’s lip curled. “In what manner? Did you hold a séance? Did you summon the spirits to tip tables and rattle their tambourines? Did the ghost of Mary Jane Kelly come a-tiptoe to whisper in your ear?”

“Please!” Lees faltered, darting a sidelong glance at Abberline as he stood impassively across the room. “I beg you to hear me out. All I’m saying is that there must be some connection—”

“None whatsoever!” Gull’s voice rose. “No connection at all!”

“I’m afraid there is.” Abberline spoke with quiet conviction.

Gull faced him now, his eyes challenging. “The man’s a lunatic!” He shook his head. “Surely as a police officer you place no stock in this rubbish about spirit messages?”

“What I believe isn’t important,” Abberline said. “I put my faith in facts.”

“And just what facts are you talking about?”

The inspector met Gull’s stare. “You are the Queen’s physician?”

“Physician in Ordinary, yes.”

“And as such, you have attended members of the royal family.”

“Certainly.”

“Including the Duke of Clarence?”

“On occasion.” Gull frowned impatiently. “But why do you ask? These are matters of public record.”

“Then let us get on to matters that are not. What was the nature of the Duke of Clarence’s illness some years ago?”

Gull shook his head. “I am a physician, sir. As such, I respect the privacy of my patients and will not—”

“I withdraw the question,” Abberline said. “But I’m afraid the matter isn’t as private as you think. It’s well-known that the Duke contracted syphilis.”

Gull swallowed quickly. “Who told you this nonsense?”

“I have it from an unimpeachable source. The same source that informs me of his deteriorating mental condition, and of his involvement in the Cleveland Street affair.”

“That’s a lie!” Gull shouted. “Eddy was never charged—”

“Thanks to you.” Abberline silenced him with a nod. “You’ve protected him all along, you and your friends in high places. Protected him from the press, the public, his only family. They don’t know about his midnight excursions to the East End or what he does there. But you do.”

As Mark watched, Gull’s face went white. And Abberline, noting the effect of his words, continued. “You know how he avoids detection, and where he goes afterward for his pleasures—”

“No!” Gull’s mouth worked convulsively. “I don’t — there are times I’ve tried to follow him, fearing for his safety, but he’s too clever for that. He always managed to elude me—”

“So he could go anywhere?” Abberline spoke softly. “And do — anything he chose?”

“For God’s sake, man!” Gull’s voice sank to a whisper. “What are you suggesting?”

“Only what you must have suggested to yourself. Need I spell it out for you?”

Sir William shook his head quickly. “It’s true,” he murmured. “I did suspect what you’re hinting at. If you only knew what torments I’ve suffered at the thought, until I put my mind at rest!”

“How did you do that?”

“By checking the Court calendar.” The Queen’s physician gained a measure of control as he continued. “Eddy was staying in Yorkshire when Polly Nicholls was killed, and at the Cavalry Barracks in York when Annie Chapman met her death. He was in Scotland at the time of the double murder, and at Sandringham from the third to the tenth of November. He was there to celebrate his father’s birthday on the ninth, the date of Kelly’s death.” Gull paused. “That leaves only the first crime — the Tabram woman, on Bank Holiday.”

“No need to concern ourselves with that,” Abberline told him. “We’ve already eliminated her from our list, since the nature of her wounds differs from those of the other victims.”

Eliminated? Mark suppressed surprise. He didn’t tell me that. But it was becoming increasingly evident the inspector knew more than he chose to reveal. When he did so it was for a definite purpose — as was the case tonight, when he’d broken Gull.

And Sir William was broken, no doubt about that. He faced Abberline now without defiance, his voice subdued.

“Thank you for giving me this comfort,” he said. “Perhaps I can find some measure of peace, now that I know Eddy is completely innocent. The poor lad has endured enough at the hands of muckraking journalists without suffering any added burden. My loyalty to the Crown impels me to ask your silence—”

“You’ll have it,” Abberline broke in. “On one condition.”

“And what is that?”

The inspector glanced at Robert James Lees as he replied. “There are others besides the Duke of Clarence whose reputations are involved in this affair. Mr. Lees, for example. It was his account which brought us here tonight — an account you disparaged, together with his integrity. I must ask you now to tell the truth. Who was the man that visited you the other day?”

For a moment Gull stood with lowered head. Then he sighed heavily. “Very well, if you insist. His name is John Netley.”

“The coachman who drives Eddy when he switches carriages midway on his trips to Whitechapel?” Abberline nodded.

Gull looked up, startled. “Then you already know—?”

“Only that this is the method Eddy used to elude your pursuit. But I want you to tell me Netley’s purpose in coming here.”

“Because I summoned him,” Gull said. “It was only recently that I learned of his part in these escapades. Needless to say, I made it quite clear to him that the game was up, and that he faced dire consequences unless he put an end to assisting Eddy. He gave me his word.”

Abberline nodded again. “And you have ours, as to keeping silence.”

“Thank you, Inspector.” Gull turned, moving toward the door, and Mark noticed that his limp was more pronounced. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

Opening the door, he escorted them down the hall. They left silently, and nothing was said until after they started down Brook Street in the direction of the hack stand on Grosvenor Square. The rain had ceased but there were no passersby on the glistening pavement.

It was Lees who spoke first. “Thank you for coming to the defense of my reputation, Inspector. I’m sorry I was wrong about the Ripper living on the premises, but one thing I’m still positive of — he’s been in that house! Sir William was lying.”

Abberline halted under the street-lamp and Mark followed his startled stare.

“How do you know?”

Lees’ eyes gleamed somberly in the gaslight. “Because John Netley’s a coachman. And the man who visited Gull the other day — Jack the Ripper — is a doctor.”