“That’s why she sold herself,” said the third with pity. “Such a sad state of affairs, that.”
“Ladies,” I said as I lightly clapped my hands, mindful of Mrs. Barnett’s wishes. “Let us leave the unpleasant conversation outside and gather around for our discussion of Queen Elizabeth and the plague of 1563.”
“And that’s not unpleasant?” Mrs. Shaw asked with a cackle.
The other ladies joined in the laughter, and for a moment, the mood lightened.
It wasn’t easy to focus on our history lesson that day. All I could do was wait for tomorrow to learn the names of the victims at the Metropolitan Police Crime Museum and pray that Mary was not one of them.
4
August 31, 1938
London, England
Rain fell from a heavy gray sky as Sir Rothschild and I took a cab from Lancaster House to New Scotland Yard the next morning, not far from Big Ben on the River Thames. I was most familiar with the London of 1888 and marveled at all the improvements and technology I saw fifty years later, though some things, like the Palace of Westminster and the clock tower, were timeless.
“How do you like London?” Sir Rothschild asked as he sat back on the seat and watched me take it all in. “This is your first visit here, is it not?”
I couldn’t tell him I lived here in 1888, so I nodded. “It is my first visit—and I love it. American history feels juvenile compared to English history.”
He grinned, his blond mustache tilting to the side. “Most Yanks think the Liberty Bell is old.”
I lifted a shoulder, smiling. “It’s ninety years older than your Big Ben.”
He chuckled. “Touché.”
Sir Rothschild was an amiable companion as he pointed out landmarks on our short ten-minute ride from the London Museumto the Crime Museum. I was familiar with many of the buildings, but I didn’t let on, enjoying his passion for London history, which rivaled my own.
When we arrived at the New Scotland Yard, I was duly impressed. In 1888, it was still under construction, but here in 1938, I could see the full glory of the building on the Victoria Embankment. Red brick and white stone created a series of stripes, which were built upon a gray granite base. The building was several stories tall with a steep black roof, rows of dormer windows, and turrets at each corner. The whole structure overlooked the Thames and, according to Sir Rothschild, housed over ten thousand police officers.
The cab dropped us off near the front entrance, and Sir Rothschild held his black umbrella over my head as we made our way into the building.
Within minutes, we were sent to the lowest level of the police headquarters where the Crime Museum was housed in several connecting rooms.
“You must be Sir Rothschild,” a man in uniform said as he rose from a desk in the first room we entered. “I’m Police Constable Harrington, at your service.”
“Good morning,” Sir Rothschild said as the two men shook hands. “This is Miss Kathryn Voland from the Smithsonian.”
“How do you do,” PC Harrington said as he shook my hand. “Straightaway from America?”
I smiled at the young, energetic man. “Yes. I arrived just yesterday.”
He grinned, though he looked a little nervous as he put his hands on his hips and nodded. “I’m excited to show you around today. The Black Museum is—”
“Black Museum?” I asked.
He dipped his head. “That’s what it’s been called for the past sixty years since a reporter wasn’t allowed access and he dubbed it the Black Museum inThe Observer.”
“We’re anxious to see the Ripper archives,” Sir Rothschild said, not wasting any time.
PC Harrington nodded. “Of course. Follow me.”
He led us out of the first room and down the hall to another door. “The Black Museum was created in 1874, fourteen years before Jack the Ripper was on the loose,” PC Harrington said. “And it was moved to this building in 1890 when it was completed.”
I loved PC Harrington’s enthusiasm, and since most museum curators lived to share their knowledge, I encouraged him. “Why was the museum started?”
He grinned as he turned on a light in the room. “By 1874, Inspector Percy Neame had collected several items to train police officers on how to detect and prevent crimes, so a museum was created. The first exhibit had clothing and items that had belonged to a woman who was murdered when she was only seventeen. Since then, items belonging to criminals and collected from crime scenes have been added—including those from the famous Jack the Ripper crimes.”
