The Lights of London (40 page)

‘The rest of the show will go on,’ said Jack from the stage, ‘but due to unforeseen circumstances, Sweet and Dandy will be unable to perform as billed.’ He raised his hands to quell the hisses and boos. ‘But despite having injured her side in an accident, Miss Tibs Tyler has agreed to join Miss Kitty Wallis in singing you a song to see in the New Year. And,’ he added, ‘there will be a free drink for everyone on the chimes of midnight.’

With the cheers ringing out around him Jack checked the clock with Mr Tompkins, then signalled to Archie in the wings that it was time for him and Kitty to help Tibs on to the stage.

‘So, although the river police are on the case,’ said the sergeant, holding up his empty glass in an inviting sort of way for Jack to see, ‘I don’t hold out much hope for them finding him. What with the river being so busy with people out celebrating and getting drunk.’ He looked meaningfully at the bottle of rum that Jack had fetched to his table at the back of the theatre. ‘It’s bad enough in the fog, but when it’s a night like this with everybody making merry …’

Jack took the unsubtle hint and gave him another drink.

‘I’ve seen some horrible things in my time, you know, son. I remember, back in 1888 …’

‘Listen!’ Kitty shouted from the stage. ‘The bells are chiming midnight!’

Tibs, leaning on her friend for support, grinned out into the audience. ‘It’s the New Year and we ain’t been struck down. The bible bashers was wrong. We’ve all made it, thank Gawd!’

‘And thank Gawd I ain’t over in Trafalgar Square,’ said Sergeant Miller, ignoring the fact that Jack, like
everyone else in the room except him, was now on his feet; that no one was listening to him any more and that the whole place had erupted into a sea of cheering and kissing, and demands for free drinks.

‘It’ll be madness over there tonight,’ he went on, pouring himself another rum. ‘I’ve seen it. They’ll all be singing and dancing to the bands, climbing up lampposts and jumping in the fountains, sky-larking about like little kids. It’s the lights of London, see, draws ’em in from all over the place, it does. And goes straight to their heads. Specially if they ain’t seen the likes before. Still, can’t blame ’em, it’s a beautiful place all right, this home town of mine. And even better when Mrs Miller ain’t here to stop me having another little drink.’

‘Look out there!’ someone shouted, and pointed out of the window to the fireworks flashing and cracking in the sky, and reflecting back off the dark, secret waters of the Thames.

Jack, who had finally managed to fight his way to the front of the theatre with Archie and Polly, climbed on to the stage and gently cupped Kitty’s chin in his hands. He looked deep into her eyes and kissed her softly on the lips.

‘About bleed’n’ time,’ said Tibs and, with a wince of pain, planted kisses of her own, first on Polly’s head and then on Archie’s startled face.

It was seven o’clock in the morning on the first day of the first year of the new century and Teezer was snoring loudly, curled up in the corner of the gently bobbing skiff. He’d passed out hours ago, a result of all the booze he’d swallowed in the past twenty-four hours. Even Teezer had his limits.

But Buggy was still awake, thoroughly enjoying helping himself to the remainder of the purl. It wasn’t a bad
life when it was like this. Nice and quiet. It suited him.

He reached into the cauldron to scoop out another cup of the now almost cold alcohol, but was shot forward as the boat hit something with a dull thud.

‘What’s up?’ mumbled Teezer sleepily.

‘Nothing,’ Buggy assured him hurriedly. That’s all he needed, Teezer waking up. He’d have him relighting the fire, mixing up more purl … Hang on, what was that?

Buggy stared over the side. Aw, no, it was a sodding body. Teezer would have him dragging it into the boat. It’d be really heavy and soaking wet.

He grabbed one of the oars and poked viciously at the sodden lump, trying to shove it away.

‘Buggy. What are you doing?’ Teezer grumbled, his eyes still closed. ‘Can’t you see I’m trying to rest?’

‘Sorry, Teeze, I was just pushing something out of the way before we bashed into it again.’

‘What is it?’ he asked, sounding slightly more awake.

Recognising the interest in his boss’s voice, Buggy shoved harder, even though he had thought for a moment that he’d seen the gleam of a silver-topped cane and maybe the hint of a satin-lined opera cloak. That was all he wanted, hauling a river-soaked corpse over to St Thomas’s. Especially after the amount of purl he’d swallowed and, worse, it would start Teezer off again about how he’d dragged a real beauty out of the river that time, but the ungrateful cow had never even thanked him. And he’d go on and on and on …

‘I said …’

‘It’s all right, Teeze.’ Buggy gave his final effort every bit of strength he possessed. ‘You go back to sleep, it’s just a bundle of rubbish.’

With that, the final remains of Dr Bartholomew
Tressing snagged against the splintered side of a passing night soil barge and were dragged downriver, where they provided a tasty New Year treat for the eels and crabs of the Essex salt marshes.

Friday, 8 June 1900.

‘I’ll be two minutes,’ Tibs called down the stairs. ‘I’ve just gotta do something.’

Standing there in her smart new silk coat and matching hat, Tibs picked up the scissors and carefully cut two items from the
Daily Messenger.
They read as follows:

Today, the parish church of St John in the district of St George’s in the East is the surprise venue for a celebration of marriage. In this poor and overcrowded part of London’s East End, the two famous music-hall stars, Miss Tibs Tyler and Miss Kitty Wallis, more widely known as Sweet and Dandy, will be marrying Mr Archibald Hutchinson and Mr Jack Fisher in an unusual double wedding, to which celebrities and local people alike are said to have been invited. There is excited speculation about Miss Polly Tyler, who will be in attendance as brides-maid. Miss Tibs Tyler has not been married before.

A pawnbroker who, over five months ago, bought a leather case from a mudlark who found it on the banks of the River Thames at low tide, is trying to find a buyer who will be interested in a curiosity that is expected to fetch a considerable sum. The novelty is not the bag itself, but a diary that he has only just found hidden in the lining. It purports to be the confessions of none other than Jack the Ripper, the perpetrator of the notorious Whitechapel murders of 1888.

Coincidentally, the diary links to another more recent scandal, as it is supposedly written in the hand of one Dr Bartholomew Tressing, a colleague of Dr Lucian Mayerton who was only last week publicly disgraced in the abortion outrage, which was brought to light after an anonymous tip-off to the police. According to hospital associates, Dr Tressing
disappeared about six months ago after becoming unwell. The hospital has declined to give a public statement about either of its two ex-employees.

Tibs tucked the two cuttings into an envelope, slipped them into her bag and went over to the window.

Kitty, Jack, Archie and Polly, all dressed up in their finest, were standing by two ribbon-bedecked motor cars – the first ever seen in Rosemary Lane.

‘I’m ready,’ she called to them with a smile and a wave, and hurried downstairs to begin her new life.

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Published in the United Kingdom in 1999 by
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Copyright © Gilda O’Neill 1998

The right of Gilda O’Neill to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

First published in the United Kingdom in 1998 by William Heinemann

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ISBN 9780749321772