‘Bowery of The Crimson Frock and Flesh’
Gregory V. Boulware
Part Two: “The Wedding Party”
“We knew we were all doomed…all of us who knew.”
Abberline recalled the statement from one of several interviews with the six whores of ‘Cleveland Street’ in the ‘White Chapel District.’ The funeral of Martha Taibron brought them all to collusion. They needed to join forces for their very survival. They were constantly pursued by McQueen, the pimp of Nickel Street. He extorted money and sexual favors from the street walkers – ladies of the night.
“They were lured with grapes, champagne, and laudanum. And then they were all euthanized.” The inspector spoke in trance-like sentences. “They were transported and dumped.”
The inspector began interviewing professional men. He spoke with doctors, dentists, taxidermists, veterinarians, surgeons, barbers, and butchers to the disapproval, chagrin, and dismay of Scotland Yard High Officials.
“Foreigners are the culprits. They are the ones who are upsetting our economy – The Jews.”
The boasting neuro-surgeon showed pride amongst the gathering of Britain’s finest professional colleagues. This one…this Dr. Farrow, guardian to Sir William Gull; master surgeon and newly ordained member to ‘The Society and Brotherhood of Free Masons – an entity founded by Jews; glared at the inspector as he passed through the dining room of the Masonic Hall.
“It isn’t an Englishman,” said the Scotland Yard Commissioner. “Thank God.”
Dr. Farrow is the attending doctor to the Queen and the Royal Court.
When all had been exposed, the organ collecting masonic avenger lobotomized, the killings subsided. I felt that I was no longer watched by the brotherhood. Albeit, the feeling, the tense feeling of Dred overshadowed what was supposed to be peace. Inspector Abberline was once again summoned to duty. This new danger has shown its face with a sign written in blood.
To the dismay and embarrassment of Scotland Yard, Inspector Abberline did deliver the truth of the matter. He delivered a truth that Scotland Yard decided to disallow. It refused the inspector’s theory from the time he discovered the text. The text in the book was written by the founder of the ‘Free Masons.’
The blood printed sign was directed to the murder investigations by Scotland Yard personnel. The inspector dreaded answering the call. He sure as hell did not intend to go back through the ‘Gates of Hell.’ He fought against evil and won – even though it wasn’t sanctioned by the brotherhood or the royal house or his immediate supervisors.
But, answer the call he did…it was his duty to God and Country. Inspector Abberline arrived on the scene to see the sign first hand.
London Town’s Chief Commissioner was there as well. There was a large contingent of reporters and photographers breezing all about as well.
On the wall, atop the freshly butchered corpse of Mary Kelly’s White Chapel mate…Martha Taibron. The blood-stained message was posted for all to see:
“The Juwes are the men that will not be blamed for nothing”
Abberline argued that the message was written by an educated man. The point was not unlike his investigation findings and determinations.
The higher echelon was well aware of what was done to hide and cover-up the guilt and shame as well as their association with the perpetrator. The guilt of the brotherhood and all its members, including the top commanders of Scotland Yard, and the royal house; they all knew about the secret wedding sanctioned by the Catholic Church and witnessed by the ‘Whores of the White Chapel District.’
The kidnapping of Annie Crook was intent to capture her and Baby Alice. The marriage and the baby posed a direct threat to the bloodline of Queen Victoria. She exploded with anger and ordered the elimination of the two.
“How dare my son marry this thing – this creature – this harlot – this streetwalker whore who is less than the lowest commoner!” The Queen delegated the task to the Lord Chamberlin. The order was then given to Sir William Gull, ex-master neuro-surgeon, member of the Brotherhood, and in service to the Queen. This opportunity served well for the doctor’s alter ego and major organ removal, primarily the offending sexual organs of the streetwalking females of the night. Also entwined within the assignment awaited the open door sanction for revenge. The execution of traitors provided Sir William Gull with great pleasure. He hatched a sinister deed in executing the traitors to mankind and the sanctity of marriage – the abomination of fornication – the elimination of whores and prostitutes.
The assignment specifically called for the deaths of six whores from England’s White Chapel District on Cleveland Street.
The wedding party was of a private nature. Mary, Liz, Kate, Marie, Mitzi, Martha, and Anne Crook, the bride, were all present. They wore their best dresses while Anne was adorned in a brand new white wedding gown of the finest chiffon, silk, and satin. No expense was sparred. She was truly a lovely bride beneath veils of fine woven material and true love.
Prince Eddie donned his majestic white uniform of royalty. The pure silver and golden sashes with breast-pinned medals gleamed and flashed of blinding brilliance. He was accompanied by his most trusted and close assistants. These particular individuals were sworn to the greatest of secrecies. They were all loyal except for one of the most important members of royal service. Sir William Gull was succeeded by Dr. Allan Farrow who personally treated, attended, and reported directly to the Queen.
The head Priest of the Catholic Church presided over the ritual. Baby Alice was born soon after. The Prince and Anne were infatuated with one another. The sexual romance and interludes began at the White Chapel Brothel, run by a sinister, conniving, and snakely individual identified by police and colleagues as ‘McQueen.’
His position was one of ownership over the six whores in attendance. The seventh, Mary Kelly, would soon fall into the fold, one way or another. Mary was independent. She was beginning to succeed in convincing the other girls to stop paying McQueen for their non-existent protection and keep their hard earned earnings for themselves.
Eddie had become an exclusive client to Anne. She wanted for nothing and made sure to look after her sisters of the streets. McQueen had other plans for the women. The protection fees had just been increased. He also knew of the secret marriage.
“It’s in their best interest to pay me. If not, they will never work with their physical abilities again – and could possibly be found dead.”
The body was fresh. The gore of crimson was found just about everywhere in the alley. It pooled and puddled all about the body of the victim. The wounds were nearly invisible to the naked eye. Albeit, sliced with the utmost precision…the precision of a master surgeon. The organs were skillfully removed with no sign of brutal ravaging. Even the killing cut was a work of art.
…New York City was not very much unlike Paris. The hustle and bustle of the people mirrored many images of many busy cities across the globe. The rain poured and then misted accompanying a thick cloudy atmosphere. The smell of breakfast delicacies and strong rich coffee permeated the ‘Garment District’ this morning. Duprae and I strolled along 7th avenue just as the Sun poked rays above and over the horizon line and the top edges of buildings and the sparse spreading of greenery.
Chaunea insisted on a ‘walk-about’ just as soon as we could get settled. Our rooms were very cozy indeed. Cozy enough to meet our immediate needs. I meticulously hung my garments with care. We really didn’t know how long we would be visiting the island city. He wanted to familiarize himself with the everyday lifestyles of the city-folk in New York. He did the same thing in Philadelphia once. I recalled our chance meeting in Baltimore while planning the trip to Paris. Was our chance meeting in that obscure library really a chance meeting? I wondered while studying his current movements. The Inspector and I first met in Baltimore City. He’d taken the position of interest in my written works during my employ with one of several news and article agencies. The interest was aroused while perusing an article; one of many publications, concerning a black bird. His reason for the office visit was to place and advertisement in the newspaper of which I was employed.
The beneficial coincidence allowed he and I to become acquaintances…a kindred spirit of sorts. We did become very close friends and eventually, like brothers.
It was highly fascinating to learn, as time progressed, that Chaunea and I thought and felt very much alike. He of course is more advanced, sharper, and keener than I.
I’ve learned and continue to learn very much from him, especially in the art of deduction, rationalization, analyzation, reasoning, and patience.
The ballast and cobble stoned streets appeared and served as they did in the aforementioned metros. The rancid wetness of early morning garbage filled the cool breeze. It caused the sinuses to tingle and the nose to itch as the multi-collaboration of aromas urging face twitching annoyance.
We were not long departed from our sea-going vessel when our American journey got underway. We breakfasted at an eatery near the corner of 34th Street and 7th Avenue. Abberline was already finishing the morning news when we entered during his nearly completed nourishment.
After completing an enjoyable greeting and eating; allowing Abberline to finish his meal, the three of us headed towards the chief inspector’s Manhattan office at the nearby police headquarters.
We walked a few blocks on 34th Street to Amsterdam Avenue. The building was a rather handsome yet large ‘Brownstone’ with gated or bared windows on the ground floor level. We climbed the stairs to the second floor landing. Turning to the left at the end of the corridor was the inspector’s office. The center of the door was of hazy non-see-through glass. Printed on the outside was ‘Chief Inspector Abberline, Scotland Yard Investigations.’
Abberline was a tall yet thinly muscular man with long wavy black hair which surpassed his shirt collar. He combed it straight back. It hung in length to just above his shoulder. Many would consider him a handsome man. His apparel was not shabby, new, or top shelf; although neat and sharp in appearance, did not offend a normal eye.
The office atmosphere was brilliant and highly professional. It was fully equipped with all the latest gadgetry and literature. It also held the latest in communication, the telephone, and telegraph as well as a wireless.
The chief inspector stepped out from behind his desk with an extended his right palm, gesturing a handshake. We, as gentlemen and professionals, exchanged greetings and other pleasantries. Refreshments were offered and accepted as we made ourselves comfortable.
“Gentlemen, it brings me much pleasure to know the invitation to assist in this investigation has not been wasted.”
Queen Victoria ranted and raved. She threw her golden goblet across the room. It skidded off the gold-silver-and chrome laden table and hit the wall. The wall was painted ivory-white. The windows trimmed in shimmering brass, draped with silk and satin dressings on soft and dark pastels. The cup was filled with claret as it splashed all over. The chalice ended its flying and ricocheting journey after the wall by bouncing off the shoulder of a servant who simply passed by.
“We want them disposed of… We do not wish to know or care in which manner this thing is done. We want this matter dissolved and forgotten forthwith…or closer heads to thee, will surely serve instead.”
The first to disappear was the baby’s mother, ‘Anne Crooke.’ She was taken by ‘The Royal Secret Service Police’ while making love to the ‘Crown Prince.’ She had no idea it was ‘Prince Edward Albert Victor, the Duke of Clarence,’ and not simply ‘Albert’ whom she was atop; riding and writhing in quintessential rapture. Their combined effort of vigorous pumping up and down, lost in a sea of passion, had no clue of the impending assault. He caressed her naked flesh with pleasingly aggressive lust and the determination of fulfillment.
They hadn’t noticed the booming and thundering noises made by the invading usurpers of the White Chapel Brothel, of which their flat was located. Violently, pleasantly, engaged in the throes of sweet pleasure and passion, combined with that of pure love, the ex-harlot and the Duke did not hear the noise. The engagement was brutally and explosively interrupted when the bedroom door blew open and inward against the fast hold of the hinged frame. The door slammed against the papered wall as the fasteners within the wood splintered away from the wall that made every effort to hold. The abrupt action allowed the ingress of the horde to descend upon them, subduing them and separating them…forever.
The sexual fluids dripped all over the satin sheets as the ruffians ripped and pulled them apart. The burley men lifted the terrified Anne right up in a partially wrapped bed sheet, throwing her unclothed, down the stairs into the waiting arms of more darkly clad ruffians. They, in turn, carried her to the waiting carriage of black with six Black Stallions who kicked and whinnied to a full gallop. The mysterious escaping Black Carriage bore the royal markings of the majesty on its outer doors.
Prince Eddie, whom the local populace knew as ‘Albert’ or ‘Eddie’ was shocked and horrified. He was under the impression that he was the target of an assassination. Little did he know, the palace had known of his secreted rendezvous with the ex-whore for some time. She had become his exclusive concubine well before they were married; a wedding unknown to the Queen. Recent determinations, secretly discovered, were divulged to ‘Her-Majesty’ – Eddie was being treated for syphilis.
He was secretly taken to an undisclosed location. Anne was shuffled off to a nearby asylum, viciously interrogated, tortured, and finally lobotomized, ensuring the vile secret would remain a secret.
Fortunately, ‘Baby Alice’ was in the safe-keeping of Mary Kelly. She’d been left with Mary the night before. The following day presented the newly-weds with their six month wedding anniversary. Their daughter, Alice, was one year and eight days of age.
Arguments have been founded upon the fiction of truth. An investigation into said truth was quite possibly the objective to the point. Some have said that paralleling the inessential facts surrounding the murder of a young girl in New York as it relates to the double-murder in Paris, Madame L’Espanaye and the young mademoiselle, her daughter.
Abberline explained his departure from us in a brief manner to which he expelled our suspicions. He felt that our investigation was at a close in Paris while the threat carried itself across the waters into America; the facts addressing the murder of Miss Mary Cecelia Rogers.
Although the young woman’s death occasioned an intense and long enduring excitement, my journalistic intuition kept nudging me to not put trust in this inspector from Scotland Yard. He did not mention to the ‘Chevalier – Duprae,’ and me, his involvement of the coincidences surrounding the murder in Paris and the one in New York.
In my mind, I endeavored to depict some very remarkable features in the mental characters of my friend, ‘The Chevalier – Lord Charles ‘Chaunea’ Alexander Duprae.’
The affair surrounding the deaths of Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter were placed on suspension. We could not dismiss the case due to its familiarity with this one in New York. Duprae’s concentration is now focused on the inspector and this case of ‘Mary Rogers,’ aka ‘Marie Roget.’
Before jumping head-first into the case, we decided to break from our mental meeting with ‘Chief Inspector Frederick Quincy Abberline’ of Sussex County in the Southeast of England. We felt that we deserved a much needed rest…a little ‘R and R;’ and maybe a little bit of debauchery and drink. The idea of smoking the plant was also entertained upon the undesired relapsing into old habits of moody revelry, I was found to be in a prone position nearly at all times during the dream-like binges; I do love the drink, love-making, and smoke; to abstraction. I really fell in with the humor; and continuing to occupy our chambers, we gave the future to the winds. We decided to slumber tranquilly in the present, weaving in and out dully around the world in dreams and allusion. We would take up the New York investigation soon after our mini-vacation; after all…Abberline in on the case.
Chaunea and I took a near drunken walk down Broadway. We sampled the area delicacies and needless to say, the beers and liquors as well. The neighboring taverns were cordial and amicable enough. I do believe that some of them, patrons and staff, did recognize us. Several recognized the famous detective via the newspapers and newsreel footage portrayed in the moving picture houses. The others who knew of me through my written works in magazines, newspapers, and periodicals. I dare say my printed image did me a great service as well.
“Welcome Monsieur Duprae, would you and Monsieur Poe like a quiet table in the rear or one close to the stage and show? The bar is also available for your convenience!”
The tavern was soft lit and full of people. The ‘Black Maître de’ seated us nicely into a cozy dark corner which allowed an excellent view of the stage and the entire establish as well.
The audience, primarily people of color from every continent imaginable, added an extra bit of flavor to our enchanted evening. The both of us do like an integrated crowd, made up of many different types of folk, cultures, and lifestyles. We both found that simply invigorating and fascinatingly wonderful. France and England had its fair share of the world’s populace, but not like here in the United States. The jazz music was unbelievable. It was magnifique and ever so delightful.
We must have spent the entire night here at the ‘Che De Lounge’ after our visit to the ‘Bamville.’ The same type of people gathered there as well. Chaunea enjoyed himself immensely. The bronze colored deva kept him upstairs for nearly two hours before rejoining me at our table.
We’d sampled many types of enjoyment this night. Our jumpstart of marijuana and bitters was topped off this morning with French Champagne, while the wine and cocaine flourished throughout the night. Chaunea did entertain the thought of visiting the ‘Chinese House of Pleasure.’ The address was supplied by the Chief Inspector. He swore us to secrecy when we parted for the evening.
“This is where I’ll be for a few hours – care to join me?” We both declined and shook our heads in unison while accepting the note for a possible visit later during our stay in the Americas. Chaunea talked himself out of the visit because he knew one hour could quite possibly turn into three days or more.
Just prior to sunrise, we did have our fill of pleasurable indulgences…it was time for sleep and rest before returning to work.
The singer on stage, as we prepared for our departure, was a petite ginger-brown woman with a masterfully overpowering groin for a singing voice. It was simply magnifying. The song she sang brought about memories of a story I once heard. Chaunea appeared to be in a recollective state of mind as well. The story brought memories of a not so long ago occurrence back in England – the ‘Family Talbot!’
The song she sung was mystifying yet entertainingly and eerily suggestive. It was more bluesy than that of jazz music. Its lyrics mesmerized us. The Chief Inspector also came to mind:
“I got early this morning, so I could walk the floor. I’ve got to hit the streets cause there’s a wolf outside my door.
The bill collectors are calling, and my kids need better shoes…gonna go to church on Sunday, cause I’ve got nothin left ta loose…
And it’s a good day…it’s a real good day for the blues.
It’s raining cats and dogs outside, and I’m lookin for a job. The man I worked for laid me off; Lord, I worked for him real hard! But I won’t let my kids go hungry, no matter what I have ta do…
And it’s a good day; it’s a real good day for da blues.
Things are gettin better, the check is in the mail. I just threw my last dime down the wihin well…
and it’s a good day, it’s a real good day for da blues.
I got up early this morning, so I could walk the floor. I’ve got to hit the streets, cause there’s a wolf outside my door. The bill collectors are calling, and my kids need better shoes, gonna go ta church on Sunday, cause I’ve got nothin left ta loose.
And it’s a good day…it’s a real good day for da blues.”
The song’s lyrics seemed to stay with us on our short walking journey back to our hotel. For me, I kept seeing the sinister figure of the Chief Inspector, glaring from the darkened corner of the flat owned by ‘Madame L’Espanaye. The vision continually haunted me to no end…
We expected to be awakened by the charms of harmonious chatter and laughter. We looked forward to the sensual arousal of breakfast aromas dazzling our every senses to complement the happiness of the nostrils. It did not occur.
We were abruptly awakened by two burly New York City Cops. They were not smiling while we twitched and bitched about; tossing and turning in our beds.
Abberline was standing in a pool of blood. His gloved hands dripped twelve-hour-old gore. The right hand held a freshly lit cigarette… His face was ghostly white; bloodless.
End of Part Two…Next, Part Three: ‘Isle Manhattan’
“The Changeling – Loup Garou”
Til Next Time….
Mr. ‘Eddie’ Poe (Edgar Allan Poe) and I, the 3rd Party Voice of the Editor/Publisher, Gregory V. Boulware
This story is based on and greatly inspired in whole or in part by Edgar Allen Poe, Master of the Macabre, ‘Murders In The Rue Morgue (Street)’and The Mystery of Marie Roget
The Complete Stories and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe
ISBN 9780385074070 and notes from Bookrags.com, “He has ruined the old sound with the first letter” http://www.bookrags.com/notes/poe/part17.html
“From Hell,” ~Jack the Ripper~
“It’s A Real Good Day,” Ruth Brown
Protestantism and Lutheran
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“Article Posting Sites”
“The Spirit of the Soul and the Death of Morals: From Whence Comest Thou?” http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18377562-the-spirit-of-the-soul-and-the-death-of-morals
“ONE PEOPLE, ONE PLANET, and THE CHILDREN OF ONE GOD!”
‘The Triplets and One’
“The Spirit of The Soul and The Death of Morals”: Whence comest thou? Paperback – Large Print, January 12, 2012
Mr. Gregory Vernon Boulware
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