Murder in Whitechapel (The Judas Reflections) by Aiden James & Michelle Wright

Author:Aiden James & Michelle Wright [James, Aiden & Wright, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
ISBN: 9781620071984
Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press
Published: 2012-03-07T08:00:00+00:00

lone and with confidence, I returned to my lodgings. The landlady was none too pleased to have such short notice of cancellation for Roderick’s room. As if by prophecy, I found myself once more in a position whereby money became an issue. I did not expect a refund for the night in question. In spite of the fact that she re-let the room with haste, there was strong determination that I was not a penny owed. I had no choice but to relent to her tirade.

“I don’t take kindly to being messed about. If yer don’t like it then find yerself another lodging, there’s plenty chaps wantin’ decent beds fer the night. I ain’t short of punters by any means.” She had the harshness of a typical east-end woman, not one I would wish to take on under any circumstances. I would rather have preferred to face Attila the Hun than evoke the wrath of this fishwife.

“What’s a gent like you doing ‘ere anyways, what’s ‘yer real reason for being in Whitechapel?”

In order to alleviate her suspicions, I concocted a story about setting up a clothing factory in the near vicinity and thought it better to stay a short while in order to immerse myself in business plans. But there appeared to be one small obstacle to my fable.

“I don’t see ‘yer as a factory man, and you ain’t Jewish? All them who make clothes, tailors and the sort are Jews round ‘ere, and you ain’t one of ‘em.”

“I am off the Jewish faith, madam, of that I can assure you.”

“You’re kidding me, matey!”

“I can assure you I am not… I am Jewish by birth.”

“Well, the dark ‘air, could be I suppose, but those blue eyes, I dunno. Me name’s Florence but everyone calls me Flo.”

She proceeded to look me up and down. I had hoped to convince her of what she needed to hear, in spite of her discriminatory remark. I also found myself to be at the receiving end of her unwanted attentions, not pleasurable by any means. I was unable to stop her as she followed me upstairs to my room.

“I ‘ave to say you’re a good looking fella, if I were only twenty years younger!” Her raucous laughter bellowed out, exposing her nearly toothless mouth and bad breath. I was at loss of what to do. Enter my room and close the door in her face, which could risk offending her, or stand my ground and hope it was only to be wishful thinking on her part. She smoothed her apron and informed me she was to return to baking. I was saved! Hastily locking the door to my room, I hoped she was not having second thoughts that may result in a knock on the door with the desire for something else.

There had been many uncompromising situations concerning unsuitable older women. The most taxing was Vibia Sabina, the grand niece of Emperor Trajan. That was a particularly bad year, 136 AD. I had the misfortune to come across one scoundrel after another, each with their own wicked agenda.

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