8th November 1888

Having a companion at time like these was usually what I wanted, tonight I felt like I needed to do this alone, to get the most out of it, I suppose.
Thinking about it -even though it was so very long ago- I always used to carry out these little trips solitarily, before he came along. It is not like I am in any way complaining… he makes the deed far simpler and benign to execute. I –or should I say we- will not get caught when he accompanies me, he is so very swift, you see.
But I think I am getting rather a bit off topic. I think I shall begin with why I am recording this so promptly, if at all. It is simply because I am not a selfish woman; I shall not forsake the opportunity to advance my medical knowledge in the favor of simply indulging myself. By committing the nights activities to paper as soon as I return means that there is no chance of the finer details slipping from my memory, and so I am taking the time to write this before I have even had the chance to sanitize my equipment and clothing… foolish perhaps?
To be perfectly honest, I find it rather difficult to give that any concern in my current temperament.

This evening went almost perfectly to plan and schedule. I am a well educated woman, my Mother and Father raised me well and I know this society. Therefore, I know it would have not done me well to have not planned this evening out to the finest detail. Normally I would not have given it so much thought, but Grell is a slight safety net for me. If we ever make a mistake he is able to cover our tracks flawlessly, I never quite understand how he does so… but I do not care to question.
I left promptly at nine pm, which at this time of year is the best suited time… The sun has set but sufficient time for the street lamp lighters to illuminate the dark London streets has not yet passed, leaving the vast majority of my dear City in inky black for an hour at least. I do not need the majority of London, regardless. I just need just one particular area.
I arrived on the outskirts of East End after about a thirty minute drive, tipping the driver into secrecy with nothing but a smile. It never ceases to amaze me what a low cut bodice and a well aimed smile can get you these days, but I guess that is just another example of how much of a slave to their neglected loins many of this city's men have pitifully become. It seems that to be charming is no longer a requirement, but we know why that is, now don't we?
You do not need to be charming, my fine fellow. You just need a handful of petty change to satisfy your revolting desires with a cheap street woman. Oscar Wilde is correct, if a woman wants to hold a man, she has merely to appeal to the worst in him these days.

They line the streets nowadays, there are a lot more than you think. I suppose I have become rather adapt at singling them out, you could say. There are the more apparent girls with their thin hair and [heavy makeup like the scrawny painted maypoles that they are, who drape themselves over any gentleman that is unfortunate enough to have to walk past. Many times I have seen these gentlemen give them a rough hand, perhaps a slap or a slight caning, I personally think that
-although perhaps not in public- this is the only way they deserve to be treated. Some individuals
–including some of education and class status who should know better- say that these women deserve our sympathy, our good grace even. Do you know what I say? I say they deserve what I bless them with, which is simply their own demise.
I had decided in advance that it would be in my best interest to walk a little of the journey myself tonight, as the carriage driver would undoubtedly be questioned regarding my whereabouts at a given time should any suspicions arise against me. Usually I would not have to concern myself with this as Grell takes on the role of carriage driver for our… evenings out. But this evening I was going alone and thus needed to cover my tracks thoroughly, as there was not a soul to provide me with an alibi should I have the need to call for one.

So I was forced to walk rather hastily through the darkened, chilled East End Streets, clutching at my shawl as my carriage warm skin was shocked into submission by the night air. A few years back I would had to take clear note of the street signs and any monuments I passed, but so many times have I walked these streets at such an hour that I seem to know them better than my own manor.
It is such a part of the city where you feel eyes on you no matter where you turn, as if the shadows themselves are watching. Grell always states that I am simply suffering from slight paranoia, but I must disagree. As a doctor, I have dealt with the paranoid, they do not just feel exposed to unseen eyes but find it near impossible to trust others, and that does not apply to me. There is one person
-can I say person, I wonder - who I trust unconditionally, with my life, my work and my deepest secret. But I dealt without him at my side this evening. Why did I keep bringing that to my own attention? Was it that I was scared to be alone after so many otherwise similar nights with him, perhaps?

Pulling my shawl tighter around my shoulders, the movement seemed innocent enough to any onlookers, but I was taking the chance to check down my sleeve to the blade I concealed there. This brief loss of concentration cost me, however. As I turned the corner, I almost collided with a young man being hampered by one of the streets many pieces of laced mutton. He turned to me, looking almost desperate to be freed from her oily grasp as she muttered lewd offerings into his ear but far too polite to take a hand to her. Feeling sympathy for this innocent –he looked foreign, perhaps French or Belgian- I cleared my throat and the wrinkled nymphet released him, giving me an iced glare before slinking back into the shadows, undoubtedly not wanting to waste another moment on her failed client. I myself turned to leave, not wanting to put my schedule off any further, but as I did so the gentleman called to me. He spoke of how it was dangerous for a woman such as me to be alone on the streets at this time and how he would gladly help me call for a carriage. I favored the idea of simply ignoring him and making my way, but then he turned his stuttered monologue to a much more interesting subject.

"Excuse me for troubling you with such gruesome thoughts, my lady, but I cannot put the tales of the one the media is calling 'Jack the Ripper; to the back of my mind. The streets are certainly not safe; I could not forgive myself should you come to any harm."

For the slightest second I allowed a rather unladylike smirk to cross my features, before extinguishing it at once with my reply.

"I shall come to no harm at the hands of Jack, I assure you."