At around seven o'clock the following morning, the sun finally broke free of the smothering blanket of clouds that had covered it for much of the month. Golden sunlight flooded down onto a startled London, casting a net of warm rays over every building, caressing everything from the gilded gates of Buckingham Palace to the tattered clothing of the rag pickers in Spitalfields. People breathed a sigh of relief at the sudden change of weather, casting off scarves and shawls and venturing outside to bask in the glow. Everything in the world seemed right at the moment.
The sunlight streamed in through the cracks in the curtains of a cramped house on East Poplar Street, splashing against the walls and pictures and cutting a swath of light through the impenetrable gloom. George looked up from his basket and growled at the unexpected intruder, but then rested his head back on his paws as he saw that it held no malice towards his home. The sunlight kissed the little guardian's head before stalking silently up the stairs, floating above the rug that wasn't placed properly, and creeping around the corner to eye the firmly shut doors in careful consideration. It finally chose what it thought the proper one, and slid underneath the door to invade the room behind it.
Mary Kelly squeezed her eyes tighter as the sunlight wrapped around her face, setting the crimson flames on her head alight. She held up a hand to block the intruder and opened her eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the strange sight. When they finally focused, they were drawn to the empty pair of ladies shoes standing at attention near the dresser, waiting diligently for their mistress to return. If she squinted, she could almost see the outline of the absent woman's feet in them, hear the rustle of petticoats that dropped over them...but, of course, there was nothing there. Somehow, she knew that there never would be. The only souls in the house were her, the dog...and Fred.
Fred. She looked quickly to the bed, to see his still form underneath the blanket she'd covered him with. For a moment her heart slowed to a crawl as he didn't move, but resumed normally when she heard him take a breath. It would have been a bad sight if she were to come out of a strange house, in a neighbourhood where she didn't belong, leaving a peeler dead in his bedroom.
A peeler...oh, Christ. She'd managed to forget that fact until it hit her like the fist of an unhappy customer. Here she was, an Unfortunate, a sworn hater of the police, sitting next to one. Not only that, but she'd helped him get here. Helped him! Her scalp crawled as she imagined herself sitting in the Ten Bells and hearing the accusing questions, feeling the sharp glances. So, tell me, Mary, she heard Dark Annie say. Where were you last night? Didn't see you at all.
I saw her, Liz answered, her sharp mouth turning up into a smile. She was with that man Abberline...you remember im, Annie, used to be a Constable round here, used to bust us up all the time. I saw er helping im into a cab, I did.
Did you now? Annie asked, her face clouding up. And what would you be doin' with the likes of dear Mister Abberline, may I ask?
Oh, shut up! Mary roared, and the apparitions vanished into the sunlight. She heard a groan from the bed and shook her head, touching his shoulder. Aa, no, I didn't mean you, Fred. Go on back t'sleep, I ain't botherin' ye.
he mumbled, still mostly asleep. Is that you?
Mary Kelly opened her mouth to speak and closed it again before the word could come out. Well, he was asleep, anyway. What harm could it do? she said, trying her best to mask her brogue with a reasonably middle-class accent. Yes, Fred. Go back to sleep.
He squeezed his eyes tighter, a smile spreading across his face. I thought it was you, he whispered. I thought so.
Go on back to sleep, she said again, resting her hand on his shoulder. You don't need to be up now.
Mary Kelly waited for a moment, until she saw his chest rise and fall gently, her charge reclaimed by slumber. She turned and walked quickly out of the bedroom, closing the door gently behind her and hurrying down the stairs, minding the rug as she took the steps two at a time. She didn't know why she was rushing downstairs to the parlour, past the photographs and the furniture, the relics of a happier time. Her heart felt as if a hand was tightening around it, a snake wrapping around her entire body, imprisoning her, constricting her. She was overcome by a desire to leave the place, to leave the man lying asleep in his bed above her. She couldn't say why, but her feet seemed to move of their own accord.
She paused for a moment, her hand on the doorknob, and closed her eyes, breathing in the smells of the home. When she opened her eyes again, they fell on a picture hanging on the wall that she hadn't noticed the night before, a picture of a young couple, no more than twenty years of age, standing stiffly before the camera. Their faces were placid, unaffected by their surroundings, and the only hint of what the photograph meant to either of them was the small bouquet that the young woman held in her hand. Mary peered closer at the photograph, and was startled to see something unexpected-- their eyes. For despite the stiff formality of the portrait, their hard faces and rigid poses, no rules of society had been able to force them to feel anything but happiness on their wedding day, even if the only way they could express it was through their eyes, which shone with joy, even through the glass of the frame.
Mary opened the door slightly, smiling at the young woman who stood there, so proudly by her new husband's side. You're a lucky woman, Victoria, she told her. Ain't often ye find a man as good as yours.
Mary gazed one last time at the portrait, and stepped into the sunlight.