“I think it had something to do with the Freemasons. You see, in Freemason legend, Hiram Abiff, the first stone mason who built King Solomon’s temple, was assassinated by three jealous craftsmen. Their names were Jubela, Jubelo, and Jubelum. The first assassin, Jubela, was not able to learn Hiram’s masonry secrets, so he struck Hiram across the throat. Hiram got away, but he was accosted by Jubelo next, who struck him across the breast when Hiram refused to answer his questions. Again, Hiram got away, but was confronted by the third assassin, Jubelum, who struck him on the head, giving Hiram the fatal blow. Not long after, King Solomon realized that Hiram was dead and had his assassins brought to justice. Jubela’s throat was cut from ear to ear, like all the Ripper’s victims. Jubelo’s breast was torn open, like the Ripper’s victims, and his heart and vitals taken out and thrown over his left shoulder. Jubelum’s body was severed in two and his bowels burnt to ashes, which is what the Ripper did to Mary Jane Kelly’s organs in her room at Miller’s Court.”
A shiver ran up my spine at that last comment.
“All I know is that until then,” Calan continued, “the police commissioner, Sir Charles Warren, had not gone to Whitechapel to investigate any of the murder sites. But that night, he made his way to Whitechapel to inspect the chalk graffito on the wall—and he promptly had it washed clean before it could be photographed and used for evidence.”
“Wasn’t there an uproar when he erased the message?” I asked.
“Yes. But Warren claimed he was trying to prevent retaliation against the Jews living in Whitechapel. Though, why the police couldn’t keep the alley clear while they waited for a photograph is the biggest mystery. When his claim to prevent a riot wasn’t accepted, the police tried to say that the chalk graffito had nothing to do with the killings and that the apron, which proved to belong to Catherine Eddowes, was thrown there casually by the killer. Though the copper who found it said neither piece of evidence had been there half an hour before it was discovered.”
“The first murder in the Double Event was undertaken in a more public location,” I said, almost to myself, “but it was interrupted. So the killer went to a different location and found his second victim.”
“Exactly.”
“And do we know what Elizabeth Stride was doing before she was murdered in Dutfield’s Yard?”
“According to witnesses, a man and woman were seen standing together for almost half an hour in the rain across the road from Dutfield’s Yard around twelve-thirty. Some say they had been at a grocer’s just a few doors down from Dutfield’s purchasing grapes. Original reports, given to the newspapers from those who were there, said that pits from the grapes were found in Dutfield’s Yard and there were grapes clutched in Elizabeth’s hands, but the official witnesses that were chosen to give testimony said nothing about the grapes. The man who owned the grocery story said that he had seen the couple, even talked to the man, but he was never brought in to give testimony.”
“Why not?” I asked.
Calan gave me a look. “Because then Jack might have been identified—and that wouldn’t look good for the Freemasons if the killer was linked to them.”
“Do you believe the Freemason theory, then?”
“Given the information I’ve gathered over the years, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
I nibbled my bottom lip as I thought through the things Calan had said. If it was true that Jack and Elizabeth stood in the rain across from Dutfield’s Yard for half an hour—and that it was a public space—I could easily position myself to get a good look at Jack on the 30th of September without being noticed.
But it wouldn’t be safe to go alone, especially so late at night. And it might be almost impossible to get away from my parents without raising suspicion.
There had to be a way, though, and I was going to find it.
11
London, England
September 22, 1888
The carriage was dark and cold as I rode to the West End with Father and Mother a week after my conversation with Papa and Mama at Café Royal, and two weeks since I’d seen Austen in the garden. We drove through Green Park, near Buckingham Palace, and onto the Strand toward our destination.
“Do you think this is wise?” Mother asked Father as she looked out the window at the dark street.
“You’ve had these tickets for an age,” Father said in a dry tone.
“But I purchased them before—before—” She floundered. “Before all this madness. You know what they’re saying, don’t you?”
My parents sat stiff on their seats across from one another, both dressed in their fine evening clothes. Mother wore glittering diamonds at her ears and throat. She swallowed several times as she looked out the window, while Father sat stoic and undeterred.
“I’ve heard all the rumors,” Father said. “And it’s nonsense.”
“But they’ve said that Mr. Mansfield’s transformation from a doctor to a monster is uncanny.”
“Mansfield is an actor, hired to portray both Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,” Father said with little emotion. “If he wasn’t goodat transforming from one character to another, he wouldn’t have been hired.”
I sat quietly beside Mother in a Worth gown, watching the street pass, my own trepidation about seeing the play and being out at night making me silent. The story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde had taken the world by storm and the play had been a smash hit on Broadway and the West End. But many people were starting to worry that perhaps the story had inspired Jack the Ripper—or worse, that Mr. Mansfield, the actor in the show, was Jack himself.
The Strand was brighter as we passed Trafalgar Square and made our way to the Lyceum Theatre. Everywhere we went all anyone could talk about were the murders that had taken place in Whitechapel. Several suspects had been questioned and let go, including a man referred to as Leather Apron because of the garment he wore. Many of the prostitutes had claimed that he’d been extorting money out of them. And because he was a Jewish man, who some thought was a butcher, he would have access to knives. It turned out that his name was John Pizer and he was a bootmaker. After giving his alibis for the two murders, he was released in mid-September. But that only fueled more fear in the general population. Why couldn’t the police find the murderer?
“What if the killer is one of us?” Mother asked in a choked voice. “What if heisa physician, like Dr. Jekyll? Might we know him, Bernard? Might we be seated next to him at the theatre tonight?”
