I never wanted to marry Lord Pembroke. I know that sounds extremely awful, but it's true. I never loved him - I didn't know him - and yet Father expected me to marry him and just be happy?
I remembered the first time Father told me I was to marry Lord Pembroke, back in June. He told me that he was a wonderful, charming man from a wealthy family in Yorkshire. I tried my best to object but Father insisted, and when Father insists, it's final.
He wasn't lying though - Lord Pembroke was charming. I remember the first time I met him on September 7th 1888, two days before our wedding. Mother nearly fainted when she spoke to him (she had to go in the other room with the smelling salts!) and he even managed to get a smile out of Father, which is never an easy task. He seemed like a very nice man - he spoke politely to Mother, Father and Grandfather, smiling and laughing in all the right places during the conversations; he held my seat for me at the dinner table; and he said 'Please' and 'Thank you' to the servants who served our meal - but he barely spoke to me except to say 'Hello' and 'Goodbye'. I would just glance his way to find him staring at me as if he was pitying me, like I was some poor lamb on her way to the slaughterhouse.
Everyone loved Lord Pembroke. Mother and Father spent the whole evening, after he had retired to his chambers, talking about what a wonderful man he was. Grandfather was the only member of our household who was not completely taken by him.
"I don't like him," he slurred that evening, once everyone except him and I had gone to their chambers, a fresh glass of whisky in his hands. "He has a shifty look about him, like he's hiding something. And so quiet... Never trust quiet man, Clara."
"You've drunk too much, Grandfather," I laughed.
"Drink?" He hiccuped loudly. "Yes, I could do with a refill couldn't I?"
I sighed and stood up to leave. "Goodnight, Colonel Covington, Sir."
"Clara?" His voice suddenly turned serious.
"Yes?"
"Do not trust Lord Pembroke," he warned. "I don't know what it is about him, but he's hiding something. Do not go anywhere with him alone. Do you understand me, Clara? You must not trust him." And with that, he fell into a deep, soundless sleep.
When I awoke early the next morning, the room was thick with darkness. It was the morning of the practice wedding ceremony and my nerves were in disarray.
I tossed and turned for at least an hour before I finally gave up on sleep and got out of bed. I decided I would go for a walk to clear my head - I needed time to think about Lord Pembroke, alone.
I lit the candle on my dressing table and began brushing through my long, knotted hair. Grandfather says I got my blonde hair and my green eyes from Grandmother. He says I look just like her now, but I never got the chance to meet her - she died giving birth to Father.
Sneaking out of the house was not as difficult as I imagined it would be. I managed to creep silently past father's room, down the stairs and out the front door without anyone knowing I had gone.
Outside, morning had not yet broken. It was 5 o'clock, so the sun had not risen fully and it was difficult to see through the dark. Hanbury Street was as silent as the dead.
The morning wind was cold but refreshing. It whipped at my hair and ruffled my dress. I pulled my cloak further around my shoulders and began my walk down Hanbury Street.
I was almost at the end of the street when I heard a soft humming coming from somewhere down the street. Just a quiet humming... Then, all of a sudden, a loud grunt came from the alleyway beside number 29. My head snapped to the side to see where the noise had come from – and I couldn't help the gasp that escaped from my throat.
There, in amidst the darkness, was a tall, slim figure dressed in a black cloak and black top hat. It took my eyes a moment to adjust in the dark and see what had been the reason for the man's grunt: he was kneeling over a body (female, judging by the mass of brown curls surrounding her head) and in his hand, he held some sort of organ, which was dripping with what I guessed was blood.
The man's head lifted when he heard my gasp and he slowly rose to a stance. I could see he was tall and slim but I saw nothing of his face, which was hidden in the shadows of his hat.
I should have run right then, but I couldn't. I was frozen, like a rabbit before a rifle – frozen with fear. I couldn't run, I couldn't scream, I couldn't even breathe. All I could think about was what he had done to that poor woman. And the blood... So much blood...
He placed the organ in a sack that was slung across his shoulder and took a step towards me.
They don't know I'm gone, I thought. Nobody knows where I am. They can't save me.
He kept coming towards me. Closer and closer, one more menacing step after the other, until he was right in front of me. So unbearably close that I could feel his breath on my face. He smiled then, revealing a full set of dazzling white teeth, but he did not kill me like I thought he would. Instead, he just stared at me with his piercing blue eyes, like he almost felt sorry for me. As if he pitied me...
My breathing suddenly came out in short, labored pants as I recognized though eyes. But it couldn't be...
Tall and slim, with dazzling white teeth and piercing blue eyes...
He saw the recognition in my eyes and snarled. But then, without any warning, he flew down the alleyway and out onto the street.
I stood staring after him for a few moments, until I remembered what was lying behind me.
She was young, my age most likely, and so beautiful, with her long, brown curls and porcelain skin, but what he had done to her – it was horrific. He had completely severed her throat with two deep wounds and her abdomen... So much blood. Blood everywhere - blood on the cobbles, blood on her throat, and blood on her dress, on my dress, on my hands.
It was too much. I could feel the darkness trying to consume me and I did not fight it. There was no point. It washed over me with one quick, painless wave.
The policemen came whilst I was asleep. I awoke to hear Father, Grandfather and another voice that I faintly recognized arguing with them in the drawing room directly below me. I couldn't quite work out what they were saying though, so I once again crept down the stairs and along the hallway, where I found Bridget, the scullery maid, crouched in front of the drawing room, holding a glass between her ear and the door.
She jumped when she saw me and hung her head. I raised an eyebrow, but pressed a finger to my lips and held my hand out for the glass.
"What do you mean you haven't caught him yet?" Father was yelling. "My daughter is upstairs completely traumatized by this evenings events, and now you say this has happened before? What kind of policemen are you?"
"Well, Doctor Covington, Sir," the policeman was stuttering, "It's not that it's happened before, Sir, there are just some... similarities... Sir."
"Similarities?" I heard Grandfather ask. "How so?"
"Well, this is the second murder of its kind in the Whitechapel district in the past year, Colonel Covington, Sir," the policeman said. "Both were prostitutes, both had their throats cut and both received severe abdominal injuries."
"What kind of abdominal injuries?" the familiar voice asked.
"The victim that Miss Covington found, a Miss Annie Chapman, had her uterus removed, Lord Pembroke, Sir."
The glass slipped from my hand before I could stop it. The door could not hold me upright anymore and I fell to my knees hysterical.
"So much blood!" I screamed. "Blood on the cobbles, blood on her throat, blood on her dress, on my dress, on my hands!"
"Clara?" All the men had come from the drawing room and were now stood in the doorway.
"Blood on my hands!" I sobbed. "Blood on my hands! It won't wash off!"
I felt firm hands on my shoulders, shaking my limp body. I was unconscious before they could finish the first shake.
I woke up hot and sweating. Bridget was dabbing gently at me forehead with a cold flannel – it was not helping. She smiled when I awoke and stroked my cheek with her hand.
"It's so good to see you awake, Miss," she whispered.
I smiled back delicately. "It's good to be awake."
She stood from my bed and went to close the window.
"It's so cold." She shivered. "The sky was a miserable grey before, Miss. Lord Pembroke says a storm's coming. He says it should be here by morning."
"What time is it, Bridget?" I asked.
"11 o'clock. You've been sleeping for 13 hours, Miss." She suddenly came close to me and whispered in my ear. "I know I said I'd tell your Father as soon as you woke up, Miss, but Lord Pembroke wants to see you. Says it's very urgent. Wants to go for a walk with you as soon as possible. He says he has something to tell you, Miss. Isn't that romantic? A moonlit walk… Should I get your cloak then?"
I nodded slowly. Grandfather's warning was ringing in my ears: 'Do not go anywhere with him alone,' he had said. But I had to go. I had to know the truth about Lord Pembroke.
Lord Pembroke was as handsome as ever as he stood on the cobbles in front of our house. He smiled when he saw me, revealing a full set of dazzling white teeth.
"Clara, my dear, how are you?" he asked cheerily. "I was ever so worried about you."
Tall and slim, with dazzling white teeth and piercing blue eyes...
"I've been better, thank you," I replied sourly.
"Well it is a shame about that, isn't it?"
"'A shame?' That's all you can say? What you did..."
"What do you want me to say, Clara?" His blue eyes boar into mine. "You don't understand. Those women died for the greater good! They were prostitutes - vile, disgusting creatures!"
I shook my head. "You're a monster."
Tall and slim, with dazzling white teeth and piercing blue eyes...
"Do not say that." His head was shaking now, back and forth, again and again. "Do not say that!"
He began to quiver - his whole body shaking uncontrollably. I took a step back from him and he began to growl, going into to some king of mad frenzy. I did not need his warning to turn on my heels and flee.
"Run, little rabbit. Run!" I heard him sing behind me. "Run, run, RUN!"
And so I was running, faster than I thought was possible, like a rabbit from a fox. But it was not fast enough. I could hear him behind me - faster and faster, closer and closer. I could feel his fingers on the back of my dress as he tried, but failed, to grab a hold of me. I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck as I reached a dead-end down the alleyway besides number 29. I could see the unwashed blood as he grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulled back my head and forced me to kneel.
"I can't expect you to understand, Clara," he whispered in my ear as I fought hopelessly against his grasp. "I thought you would but now I see that I was wrong. Those women deserved to die. I was merely doing God's work, Clara. Why can't you see that?"
"God's work?" I spat. "Nobody has the right to choose between life or death! God would not want you to do this, Lord Pembroke. Please, I beg you to see sense."
"But it is God's work, Clara. Those women... they were vile and disgusting and so tempting... Does it not say in James, chapter 1, lines 14-15, 'But each one is tempted when, by his own evil desire, he is dragged away and enticed. Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death?' Is that not what it says?"
"Please, Lord Pembroke..." I begged. Tears spilled from my eyes and dribbled down my face.
"The time for pleading is over, my dear. Grandmamma is waiting for you."
He stroked a slender finger down my cheekbone and then covered my mouth with his hand. His other hand slipped into his jacket pocket and pulled out a long, sharp razor. He began to hum softly as he began his work.
Blood on the cobbles, blood on my throat, blood on my dress, on his shirt, on his hands...