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exerpt from my novel Dusty Bluebells
Below please find an exerpt from my (hopefully) soon to be published novel Dusty Bluebells about Jack the Ripper. Let me know what you think. Neil
Martha Tabram
6 – 7 August 1888
Martha Tabram groaned inwardly as she walked down Commercial Road. She had a couple of pennies left and she needed a drink. Martha suffered from little, but annoying aches in her joints that probably signaled the onset of arthritis. She was only 37, but looked older. Martha was a short, heavyset woman with brown hair and a dusky complexion. Her blue eyes were ringed with crow’s feet and red from excessive drink.
She had been married once and in truth, she still was. Martha had not seen Henry Tabram in years. Henry gave up on Martha ever giving up her close acquaintance with gin. Martha told people she left because her husband liked to use his fists a bit more frequently than she thought was necessary. There was truth in both statements. Her face had been pretty once. If you looked carefully and Martha had been sober for a couple of days there were vestiges still of her youthful good looks. But Martha was rarely sober by choice and her 37 years on this earth had been unkind to her.
She tried to play coy when looking for a customer, but that was a ploy best left to younger women. Pleasant when sober, she could be sarcastic of tongue when in her cups. Her manner of speech was rough and coarse.
She turned onto Plumber Street walking toward Whitechapel Road. Martha saw a Polish immigrant pushing a rag cart. She mused that he might have money.
MacMillan – 35 Dusty Bluebells
She fell into step with him as she came along side his cart.
“Fancy a quick go, Love?”
“What is quick go?” the stocky Pole asked in a thick Krakow accent.
Martha used her hands to depict the sex act.
“Two pence, Love. Best in Whitechapel, I am.”
She dragged him into a nearby alley and they quickly copulated. The Pole left and Martha pocketed the two pennies. She rearranged her skirt and continued on her way. Her joints weren’t as stiff and painful as they had been when she arose. The weather was cool, but the day promised to be hotter than normal.
She had heard about the barmaid that had been murdered, but assumed that it had been just another random act of violence in a city that had always been violent. She passed a Jewish pushcart vendor and stole an apple from his cart. She was still a fairly proficient thief and learned to rely on thievery with more frequency as her looks faded.
Martha Tabram was a woman with no control over her circumstances and she knew it. It didn’t bother her. Martha slid quietly into the abyss. She would finish her days, she mused, and the same way she spent them now. She would die as an aging whore without a penny to her name.
Martha had seen the former Prime Minister, Gladstone flitting about Whitechapel on his mission to reform the prostitutes. There would always be whores because there would always be men who would pay for their services. Morality had very little influence in Whitechapel, she surmised. What part did morality play in this place? She wondered when she wasn’t in her cups.
MacMillan – 36 Dusty Bluebells
She wended her way through the streets of Spitalfields. She kept her head down in hopes of finding a lost coin or a tossed bit of cloth, anything she might be able to use. There were few people who genuinely liked Martha Tabram, but she saw that as the way of life. She knew she wasn’t an easy person to get along with. Martha knew if she stopped at the Ten Bells, the auburn tressed barmaid there would show her kindness and her young man was always good for a copper or two. There was little enough generosity in the world so she valued the little they showed her. Of course, that wouldn’t stop her from begging for just a bit more.
Nancy saw Martha Tabram before she entered The Bells. Pete was in a foul mood and would brook none of Martha’s begging at the pub tonight. She brought Derek a cup of tea and asked him to give Martha a shilling so she could get a glass of gin and a place to sleep without begging or selling herself.
“You know she’ll drink it all away.”
“We both know that, Derek. Would you do it for me?”
Nancy caressed his cheek and whispered a promise of delights to come.
“And how could I refuse such a fervent request?” Derek replied with a loving chuckle.
Martha entered the pub looking around to see if Pete was going to blind side her with the cosh he kept with him. Derek, the barmaid’s fancy man waved to her. She crossed warily to him. Derek pressed the shilling coin into her palm. The aging brunette tried to hand it back.
“It’s too much, Guv and your Nancy would be right livid, and she would be quite upset.” Martha protested.
MacMillan – 37 Dusty Bluebells
“Think of it as a late Boxing Day gift, Missus.”
“Davey Llewellyn says you’re barmy, but you’ll gain your reward in Heaven.”
“Davey’s right. I’m round the bend,” Derek retorted with a cheerful laugh.
“You tell Nancy, old Martha said she has a wonderful man and if I were ten years younger, I’d be after you myself,” Martha chuckled.
For a moment, Martha Tabram felt happy. For a moment, she wasn’t an aging whore, but a woman and a lady. That was why she befriended Derek and Nancy. The couple were two of the very few people that Martha genuinely liked.
The night was hot and humid. The Ten Bells was crowded. Sarah felt sweat trickle down her back. She had been there almost three weeks and had struck up a fast friendship with Nancy Bell. She had never seen a woman quite as happy as Nancy was. She hoisted up a tray of pints and braved the groping hands of the patrons. Sarah saw Martha Tabram and smiled at her.
“It’s a rare hot one.”
“It is that. Have you seen ‘Pearly Poll?”
“It’s early yet. I expect she’ll make her way here soon enough,” Sarah answered.
Sarah gave the older woman her glass of gin and took the penny from her. She didn’t expect a tip from Martha and she wasn’t disappointed. A strand of hair hung in her face wet and limp. She pushed it back with a sweaty hand. The night was still young and she was getting tired. She figured Martha would run out of money soon and would be back on the streets in short order. Sarah had known that life all too well. She wondered how Nancy kept enough energy to take a tumble with her young man.
MacMillan – 38 Dusty Bluebells
Sarah guessed it was different when you were in love. She couldn’t wait to wrap herself in Martha Greene’s arms.
Peter Thorpe kept a wary eye on Martha Tabram. He had dealt with her ilk since his first day as landlord of the Bells and knew these Whitechapel tarts could be the devil’s own given the least little leeway.
Mary Anne Connelly crept into the Bells. The emaciated slattern known as “Pearly Poll” was down to her last couple of pennies and she had argued with Peter Thorpe earlier. Spotting Martha Tabram, she crossed to her table and took a vacant chair. She ordered a glass of gin from Nancy and paid the young waitress. She brushed a wisp of mousy gray hair out of her watery gray eyes and smoothed her dark blue skirt.
“How are you, old girl?”
“Ah Polly, near to skint, Dearie.”
“I saw some soldiers over by the Britannia and they’re just paid.”
“I don’t know.”
“Martha, it’s gone ten o clock! If we’re going to find any with money, we have to go now!” Polly stated with urgency.
Martha drained her gin. She smiled at Derek and left arm in arm with “Pearly Poll”. The two women walked the streets of Whitechapel finally chancing on a corporal and a private from one of the Guards regiments not far from Commercial Road. The two couples wandered Whitechapel until 11:45. Martha and her companion left Polly and her corporal. It was the last time Mary Anne Connelly saw her friend. The skinny woman finished with her soldier and left to find a bed for the night.
MacMillan – 39 Dusty Bluebells
Martha and her soldier found an alley and quickly copulated. The soldier paid her and hastily left muttering something about morning parade.
Martha wished she had a cloak as she rambled the streets and alleyways of Whitechapel looking for another customer. The shilling had gone for drink just as Derek had predicted. It would be a cold night if she had to spend it in a doorway as she had done several times before.
The sailor spotted her at 3:15 in the morning. She sidled up to him and whispered in his ear.
“Fancy a go, Sailor?”
“Will Tuppence suffice?”
“Indeed.”
Martha led the sailor to the first floor landing of the George-Yard Buildings. As she raised her skirts she saw an opportunity. Spying the sailor’s wallet almost falling out of his frock coat pocket she reached for it.
Martha was quick, but the sailor was much faster. He plunged a dagger into the woman’s chest. Martha fell to the floor as he struggled to remove the dagger. Twisting the knife back and forth he managed to extract the blade. The difficulty he encountered fueled his rage. In all, the sailor stabbed Martha Tabram 39 times. He left the yard at 3:20.
“Stupid cow,” He muttered as he left.
He walked to the waterfront and flung the dagger in the murky water of the Thames. He would be at sea before the authorities found Martha Tabram.
MacMillan – 40 Dusty Bluebells
Alfred Crow returned home at 3:30. The cab driver saw Tabram’s body, but was used to seeing people sleeping in doorways and drunks passed out almost anywhere in the neighborhood. He gave it no further thought.
John Reeves discovered the body at fifteen minutes to five as he left for his job on the waterfront. He summoned the police and gave them what little information he could. Frightened and worried he would be sacked for being late to work. He only wished to be done with all of this business.
Martha Tabram died penniless on a dank George Yard landing.
Martha Tabram
6 – 7 August 1888
Martha Tabram groaned inwardly as she walked down Commercial Road. She had a couple of pennies left and she needed a drink. Martha suffered from little, but annoying aches in her joints that probably signaled the onset of arthritis. She was only 37, but looked older. Martha was a short, heavyset woman with brown hair and a dusky complexion. Her blue eyes were ringed with crow’s feet and red from excessive drink.
She had been married once and in truth, she still was. Martha had not seen Henry Tabram in years. Henry gave up on Martha ever giving up her close acquaintance with gin. Martha told people she left because her husband liked to use his fists a bit more frequently than she thought was necessary. There was truth in both statements. Her face had been pretty once. If you looked carefully and Martha had been sober for a couple of days there were vestiges still of her youthful good looks. But Martha was rarely sober by choice and her 37 years on this earth had been unkind to her.
She tried to play coy when looking for a customer, but that was a ploy best left to younger women. Pleasant when sober, she could be sarcastic of tongue when in her cups. Her manner of speech was rough and coarse.
She turned onto Plumber Street walking toward Whitechapel Road. Martha saw a Polish immigrant pushing a rag cart. She mused that he might have money.
MacMillan – 35 Dusty Bluebells
She fell into step with him as she came along side his cart.
“Fancy a quick go, Love?”
“What is quick go?” the stocky Pole asked in a thick Krakow accent.
Martha used her hands to depict the sex act.
“Two pence, Love. Best in Whitechapel, I am.”
She dragged him into a nearby alley and they quickly copulated. The Pole left and Martha pocketed the two pennies. She rearranged her skirt and continued on her way. Her joints weren’t as stiff and painful as they had been when she arose. The weather was cool, but the day promised to be hotter than normal.
She had heard about the barmaid that had been murdered, but assumed that it had been just another random act of violence in a city that had always been violent. She passed a Jewish pushcart vendor and stole an apple from his cart. She was still a fairly proficient thief and learned to rely on thievery with more frequency as her looks faded.
Martha Tabram was a woman with no control over her circumstances and she knew it. It didn’t bother her. Martha slid quietly into the abyss. She would finish her days, she mused, and the same way she spent them now. She would die as an aging whore without a penny to her name.
Martha had seen the former Prime Minister, Gladstone flitting about Whitechapel on his mission to reform the prostitutes. There would always be whores because there would always be men who would pay for their services. Morality had very little influence in Whitechapel, she surmised. What part did morality play in this place? She wondered when she wasn’t in her cups.
MacMillan – 36 Dusty Bluebells
She wended her way through the streets of Spitalfields. She kept her head down in hopes of finding a lost coin or a tossed bit of cloth, anything she might be able to use. There were few people who genuinely liked Martha Tabram, but she saw that as the way of life. She knew she wasn’t an easy person to get along with. Martha knew if she stopped at the Ten Bells, the auburn tressed barmaid there would show her kindness and her young man was always good for a copper or two. There was little enough generosity in the world so she valued the little they showed her. Of course, that wouldn’t stop her from begging for just a bit more.
Nancy saw Martha Tabram before she entered The Bells. Pete was in a foul mood and would brook none of Martha’s begging at the pub tonight. She brought Derek a cup of tea and asked him to give Martha a shilling so she could get a glass of gin and a place to sleep without begging or selling herself.
“You know she’ll drink it all away.”
“We both know that, Derek. Would you do it for me?”
Nancy caressed his cheek and whispered a promise of delights to come.
“And how could I refuse such a fervent request?” Derek replied with a loving chuckle.
Martha entered the pub looking around to see if Pete was going to blind side her with the cosh he kept with him. Derek, the barmaid’s fancy man waved to her. She crossed warily to him. Derek pressed the shilling coin into her palm. The aging brunette tried to hand it back.
“It’s too much, Guv and your Nancy would be right livid, and she would be quite upset.” Martha protested.
MacMillan – 37 Dusty Bluebells
“Think of it as a late Boxing Day gift, Missus.”
“Davey Llewellyn says you’re barmy, but you’ll gain your reward in Heaven.”
“Davey’s right. I’m round the bend,” Derek retorted with a cheerful laugh.
“You tell Nancy, old Martha said she has a wonderful man and if I were ten years younger, I’d be after you myself,” Martha chuckled.
For a moment, Martha Tabram felt happy. For a moment, she wasn’t an aging whore, but a woman and a lady. That was why she befriended Derek and Nancy. The couple were two of the very few people that Martha genuinely liked.
The night was hot and humid. The Ten Bells was crowded. Sarah felt sweat trickle down her back. She had been there almost three weeks and had struck up a fast friendship with Nancy Bell. She had never seen a woman quite as happy as Nancy was. She hoisted up a tray of pints and braved the groping hands of the patrons. Sarah saw Martha Tabram and smiled at her.
“It’s a rare hot one.”
“It is that. Have you seen ‘Pearly Poll?”
“It’s early yet. I expect she’ll make her way here soon enough,” Sarah answered.
Sarah gave the older woman her glass of gin and took the penny from her. She didn’t expect a tip from Martha and she wasn’t disappointed. A strand of hair hung in her face wet and limp. She pushed it back with a sweaty hand. The night was still young and she was getting tired. She figured Martha would run out of money soon and would be back on the streets in short order. Sarah had known that life all too well. She wondered how Nancy kept enough energy to take a tumble with her young man.
MacMillan – 38 Dusty Bluebells
Sarah guessed it was different when you were in love. She couldn’t wait to wrap herself in Martha Greene’s arms.
Peter Thorpe kept a wary eye on Martha Tabram. He had dealt with her ilk since his first day as landlord of the Bells and knew these Whitechapel tarts could be the devil’s own given the least little leeway.
Mary Anne Connelly crept into the Bells. The emaciated slattern known as “Pearly Poll” was down to her last couple of pennies and she had argued with Peter Thorpe earlier. Spotting Martha Tabram, she crossed to her table and took a vacant chair. She ordered a glass of gin from Nancy and paid the young waitress. She brushed a wisp of mousy gray hair out of her watery gray eyes and smoothed her dark blue skirt.
“How are you, old girl?”
“Ah Polly, near to skint, Dearie.”
“I saw some soldiers over by the Britannia and they’re just paid.”
“I don’t know.”
“Martha, it’s gone ten o clock! If we’re going to find any with money, we have to go now!” Polly stated with urgency.
Martha drained her gin. She smiled at Derek and left arm in arm with “Pearly Poll”. The two women walked the streets of Whitechapel finally chancing on a corporal and a private from one of the Guards regiments not far from Commercial Road. The two couples wandered Whitechapel until 11:45. Martha and her companion left Polly and her corporal. It was the last time Mary Anne Connelly saw her friend. The skinny woman finished with her soldier and left to find a bed for the night.
MacMillan – 39 Dusty Bluebells
Martha and her soldier found an alley and quickly copulated. The soldier paid her and hastily left muttering something about morning parade.
Martha wished she had a cloak as she rambled the streets and alleyways of Whitechapel looking for another customer. The shilling had gone for drink just as Derek had predicted. It would be a cold night if she had to spend it in a doorway as she had done several times before.
The sailor spotted her at 3:15 in the morning. She sidled up to him and whispered in his ear.
“Fancy a go, Sailor?”
“Will Tuppence suffice?”
“Indeed.”
Martha led the sailor to the first floor landing of the George-Yard Buildings. As she raised her skirts she saw an opportunity. Spying the sailor’s wallet almost falling out of his frock coat pocket she reached for it.
Martha was quick, but the sailor was much faster. He plunged a dagger into the woman’s chest. Martha fell to the floor as he struggled to remove the dagger. Twisting the knife back and forth he managed to extract the blade. The difficulty he encountered fueled his rage. In all, the sailor stabbed Martha Tabram 39 times. He left the yard at 3:20.
“Stupid cow,” He muttered as he left.
He walked to the waterfront and flung the dagger in the murky water of the Thames. He would be at sea before the authorities found Martha Tabram.
MacMillan – 40 Dusty Bluebells
Alfred Crow returned home at 3:30. The cab driver saw Tabram’s body, but was used to seeing people sleeping in doorways and drunks passed out almost anywhere in the neighborhood. He gave it no further thought.
John Reeves discovered the body at fifteen minutes to five as he left for his job on the waterfront. He summoned the police and gave them what little information he could. Frightened and worried he would be sacked for being late to work. He only wished to be done with all of this business.
Martha Tabram died penniless on a dank George Yard landing.
Martha Tabram
6 – 7 August 1888
Martha Tabram groaned inwardly as she walked down Commercial Road. She had a couple of pennies left and she needed a drink. Martha suffered from little, but annoying aches in her joints that probably signaled the onset of arthritis. She was only 37, but looked older. Martha was a short, heavyset woman with brown hair and a dusky complexion. Her blue eyes were ringed with crow’s feet and red from excessive drink.
She had been married once and in truth, she still was. Martha had not seen Henry Tabram in years. Henry gave up on Martha ever giving up her close acquaintance with gin. Martha told people she left because her husband liked to use his fists a bit more frequently than she thought was necessary. There was truth in both statements. Her face had been pretty once. If you looked carefully and Martha had been sober for a couple of days there were vestiges still of her youthful good looks. But Martha was rarely sober by choice and her 37 years on this earth had been unkind to her.
She tried to play coy when looking for a customer, but that was a ploy best left to younger women. Pleasant when sober, she could be sarcastic of tongue when in her cups. Her manner of speech was rough and coarse.
She turned onto Plumber Street walking toward Whitechapel Road. Martha saw a Polish immigrant pushing a rag cart. She mused that he might have money.
MacMillan – 35 Dusty Bluebells
She fell into step with him as she came along side his cart.
“Fancy a quick go, Love?”
“What is quick go?” the stocky Pole asked in a thick Krakow accent.
Martha used her hands to depict the sex act.
“Two pence, Love. Best in Whitechapel, I am.”
She dragged him into a nearby alley and they quickly copulated. The Pole left and Martha pocketed the two pennies. She rearranged her skirt and continued on her way. Her joints weren’t as stiff and painful as they had been when she arose. The weather was cool, but the day promised to be hotter than normal.
She had heard about the barmaid that had been murdered, but assumed that it had been just another random act of violence in a city that had always been violent. She passed a Jewish pushcart vendor and stole an apple from his cart. She was still a fairly proficient thief and learned to rely on thievery with more frequency as her looks faded.
Martha Tabram was a woman with no control over her circumstances and she knew it. It didn’t bother her. Martha slid quietly into the abyss. She would finish her days, she mused, and the same way she spent them now. She would die as an aging whore without a penny to her name.
Martha had seen the former Prime Minister, Gladstone flitting about Whitechapel on his mission to reform the prostitutes. There would always be whores because there would always be men who would pay for their services. Morality had very little influence in Whitechapel, she surmised. What part did morality play in this place? She wondered when she wasn’t in her cups.
MacMillan – 36 Dusty Bluebells
She wended her way through the streets of Spitalfields. She kept her head down in hopes of finding a lost coin or a tossed bit of cloth, anything she might be able to use. There were few people who genuinely liked Martha Tabram, but she saw that as the way of life. She knew she wasn’t an easy person to get along with. Martha knew if she stopped at the Ten Bells, the auburn tressed barmaid there would show her kindness and her young man was always good for a copper or two. There was little enough generosity in the world so she valued the little they showed her. Of course, that wouldn’t stop her from begging for just a bit more.
Nancy saw Martha Tabram before she entered The Bells. Pete was in a foul mood and would brook none of Martha’s begging at the pub tonight. She brought Derek a cup of tea and asked him to give Martha a shilling so she could get a glass of gin and a place to sleep without begging or selling herself.
“You know she’ll drink it all away.”
“We both know that, Derek. Would you do it for me?”
Nancy caressed his cheek and whispered a promise of delights to come.
“And how could I refuse such a fervent request?” Derek replied with a loving chuckle.
Martha entered the pub looking around to see if Pete was going to blind side her with the cosh he kept with him. Derek, the barmaid’s fancy man waved to her. She crossed warily to him. Derek pressed the shilling coin into her palm. The aging brunette tried to hand it back.
“It’s too much, Guv and your Nancy would be right livid, and she would be quite upset.” Martha protested.
MacMillan – 37 Dusty Bluebells
“Think of it as a late Boxing Day gift, Missus.”
“Davey Llewellyn says you’re barmy, but you’ll gain your reward in Heaven.”
“Davey’s right. I’m round the bend,” Derek retorted with a cheerful laugh.
“You tell Nancy, old Martha said she has a wonderful man and if I were ten years younger, I’d be after you myself,” Martha chuckled.
For a moment, Martha Tabram felt happy. For a moment, she wasn’t an aging whore, but a woman and a lady. That was why she befriended Derek and Nancy. The couple were two of the very few people that Martha genuinely liked.
The night was hot and humid. The Ten Bells was crowded. Sarah felt sweat trickle down her back. She had been there almost three weeks and had struck up a fast friendship with Nancy Bell. She had never seen a woman quite as happy as Nancy was. She hoisted up a tray of pints and braved the groping hands of the patrons. Sarah saw Martha Tabram and smiled at her.
“It’s a rare hot one.”
“It is that. Have you seen ‘Pearly Poll?”
“It’s early yet. I expect she’ll make her way here soon enough,” Sarah answered.
Sarah gave the older woman her glass of gin and took the penny from her. She didn’t expect a tip from Martha and she wasn’t disappointed. A strand of hair hung in her face wet and limp. She pushed it back with a sweaty hand. The night was still young and she was getting tired. She figured Martha would run out of money soon and would be back on the streets in short order. Sarah had known that life all too well. She wondered how Nancy kept enough energy to take a tumble with her young man.
MacMillan – 38 Dusty Bluebells
Sarah guessed it was different when you were in love. She couldn’t wait to wrap herself in Martha Greene’s arms.
Peter Thorpe kept a wary eye on Martha Tabram. He had dealt with her ilk since his first day as landlord of the Bells and knew these Whitechapel tarts could be the devil’s own given the least little leeway.
Mary Anne Connelly crept into the Bells. The emaciated slattern known as “Pearly Poll” was down to her last couple of pennies and she had argued with Peter Thorpe earlier. Spotting Martha Tabram, she crossed to her table and took a vacant chair. She ordered a glass of gin from Nancy and paid the young waitress. She brushed a wisp of mousy gray hair out of her watery gray eyes and smoothed her dark blue skirt.
“How are you, old girl?”
“Ah Polly, near to skint, Dearie.”
“I saw some soldiers over by the Britannia and they’re just paid.”
“I don’t know.”
“Martha, it’s gone ten o clock! If we’re going to find any with money, we have to go now!” Polly stated with urgency.
Martha drained her gin. She smiled at Derek and left arm in arm with “Pearly Poll”. The two women walked the streets of Whitechapel finally chancing on a corporal and a private from one of the Guards regiments not far from Commercial Road. The two couples wandered Whitechapel until 11:45. Martha and her companion left Polly and her corporal. It was the last time Mary Anne Connelly saw her friend. The skinny woman finished with her soldier and left to find a bed for the night.
MacMillan – 39 Dusty Bluebells
Martha and her soldier found an alley and quickly copulated. The soldier paid her and hastily left muttering something about morning parade.
Martha wished she had a cloak as she rambled the streets and alleyways of Whitechapel looking for another customer. The shilling had gone for drink just as Derek had predicted. It would be a cold night if she had to spend it in a doorway as she had done several times before.
The sailor spotted her at 3:15 in the morning. She sidled up to him and whispered in his ear.
“Fancy a go, Sailor?”
“Will Tuppence suffice?”
“Indeed.”
Martha led the sailor to the first floor landing of the George-Yard Buildings. As she raised her skirts she saw an opportunity. Spying the sailor’s wallet almost falling out of his frock coat pocket she reached for it.
Martha was quick, but the sailor was much faster. He plunged a dagger into the woman’s chest. Martha fell to the floor as he struggled to remove the dagger. Twisting the knife back and forth he managed to extract the blade. The difficulty he encountered fueled his rage. In all, the sailor stabbed Martha Tabram 39 times. He left the yard at 3:20.
“Stupid cow,” He muttered as he left.
He walked to the waterfront and flung the dagger in the murky water of the Thames. He would be at sea before the authorities found Martha Tabram.
MacMillan – 40 Dusty Bluebells
Alfred Crow returned home at 3:30. The cab driver saw Tabram’s body, but was used to seeing people sleeping in doorways and drunks passed out almost anywhere in the neighborhood. He gave it no further thought.
John Reeves discovered the body at fifteen minutes to five as he left for his job on the waterfront. He summoned the police and gave them what little information he could. Frightened and worried he would be sacked for being late to work. He only wished to be done with all of this business.
Martha Tabram died penniless on a dank George Yard landing.
Martha Tabram
6 – 7 August 1888
Martha Tabram groaned inwardly as she walked down Commercial Road. She had a couple of pennies left and she needed a drink. Martha suffered from little, but annoying aches in her joints that probably signaled the onset of arthritis. She was only 37, but looked older. Martha was a short, heavyset woman with brown hair and a dusky complexion. Her blue eyes were ringed with crow’s feet and red from excessive drink.
She had been married once and in truth, she still was. Martha had not seen Henry Tabram in years. Henry gave up on Martha ever giving up her close acquaintance with gin. Martha told people she left because her husband liked to use his fists a bit more frequently than she thought was necessary. There was truth in both statements. Her face had been pretty once. If you looked carefully and Martha had been sober for a couple of days there were vestiges still of her youthful good looks. But Martha was rarely sober by choice and her 37 years on this earth had been unkind to her.
She tried to play coy when looking for a customer, but that was a ploy best left to younger women. Pleasant when sober, she could be sarcastic of tongue when in her cups. Her manner of speech was rough and coarse.
She turned onto Plumber Street walking toward Whitechapel Road. Martha saw a Polish immigrant pushing a rag cart. She mused that he might have money.
MacMillan – 35 Dusty Bluebells
She fell into step with him as she came along side his cart.
“Fancy a quick go, Love?”
“What is quick go?” the stocky Pole asked in a thick Krakow accent.
Martha used her hands to depict the sex act.
“Two pence, Love. Best in Whitechapel, I am.”
She dragged him into a nearby alley and they quickly copulated. The Pole left and Martha pocketed the two pennies. She rearranged her skirt and continued on her way. Her joints weren’t as stiff and painful as they had been when she arose. The weather was cool, but the day promised to be hotter than normal.
She had heard about the barmaid that had been murdered, but assumed that it had been just another random act of violence in a city that had always been violent. She passed a Jewish pushcart vendor and stole an apple from his cart. She was still a fairly proficient thief and learned to rely on thievery with more frequency as her looks faded.
Martha Tabram was a woman with no control over her circumstances and she knew it. It didn’t bother her. Martha slid quietly into the abyss. She would finish her days, she mused, and the same way she spent them now. She would die as an aging whore without a penny to her name.
Martha had seen the former Prime Minister, Gladstone flitting about Whitechapel on his mission to reform the prostitutes. There would always be whores because there would always be men who would pay for their services. Morality had very little influence in Whitechapel, she surmised. What part did morality play in this place? She wondered when she wasn’t in her cups.
MacMillan – 36 Dusty Bluebells
She wended her way through the streets of Spitalfields. She kept her head down in hopes of finding a lost coin or a tossed bit of cloth, anything she might be able to use. There were few people who genuinely liked Martha Tabram, but she saw that as the way of life. She knew she wasn’t an easy person to get along with. Martha knew if she stopped at the Ten Bells, the auburn tressed barmaid there would show her kindness and her young man was always good for a copper or two. There was little enough generosity in the world so she valued the little they showed her. Of course, that wouldn’t stop her from begging for just a bit more.
Nancy saw Martha Tabram before she entered The Bells. Pete was in a foul mood and would brook none of Martha’s begging at the pub tonight. She brought Derek a cup of tea and asked him to give Martha a shilling so she could get a glass of gin and a place to sleep without begging or selling herself.
“You know she’ll drink it all away.”
“We both know that, Derek. Would you do it for me?”
Nancy caressed his cheek and whispered a promise of delights to come.
“And how could I refuse such a fervent request?” Derek replied with a loving chuckle.
Martha entered the pub looking around to see if Pete was going to blind side her with the cosh he kept with him. Derek, the barmaid’s fancy man waved to her. She crossed warily to him. Derek pressed the shilling coin into her palm. The aging brunette tried to hand it back.
“It’s too much, Guv and your Nancy would be right livid, and she would be quite upset.” Martha protested.
MacMillan – 37 Dusty Bluebells
“Think of it as a late Boxing Day gift, Missus.”
“Davey Llewellyn says you’re barmy, but you’ll gain your reward in Heaven.”
“Davey’s right. I’m round the bend,” Derek retorted with a cheerful laugh.
“You tell Nancy, old Martha said she has a wonderful man and if I were ten years younger, I’d be after you myself,” Martha chuckled.
For a moment, Martha Tabram felt happy. For a moment, she wasn’t an aging whore, but a woman and a lady. That was why she befriended Derek and Nancy. The couple were two of the very few people that Martha genuinely liked.
The night was hot and humid. The Ten Bells was crowded. Sarah felt sweat trickle down her back. She had been there almost three weeks and had struck up a fast friendship with Nancy Bell. She had never seen a woman quite as happy as Nancy was. She hoisted up a tray of pints and braved the groping hands of the patrons. Sarah saw Martha Tabram and smiled at her.
“It’s a rare hot one.”
“It is that. Have you seen ‘Pearly Poll?”
“It’s early yet. I expect she’ll make her way here soon enough,” Sarah answered.
Sarah gave the older woman her glass of gin and took the penny from her. She didn’t expect a tip from Martha and she wasn’t disappointed. A strand of hair hung in her face wet and limp. She pushed it back with a sweaty hand. The night was still young and she was getting tired. She figured Martha would run out of money soon and would be back on the streets in short order. Sarah had known that life all too well. She wondered how Nancy kept enough energy to take a tumble with her young man.
MacMillan – 38 Dusty Bluebells
Sarah guessed it was different when you were in love. She couldn’t wait to wrap herself in Martha Greene’s arms.
Peter Thorpe kept a wary eye on Martha Tabram. He had dealt with her ilk since his first day as landlord of the Bells and knew these Whitechapel tarts could be the devil’s own given the least little leeway.
Mary Anne Connelly crept into the Bells. The emaciated slattern known as “Pearly Poll” was down to her last couple of pennies and she had argued with Peter Thorpe earlier. Spotting Martha Tabram, she crossed to her table and took a vacant chair. She ordered a glass of gin from Nancy and paid the young waitress. She brushed a wisp of mousy gray hair out of her watery gray eyes and smoothed her dark blue skirt.
“How are you, old girl?”
“Ah Polly, near to skint, Dearie.”
“I saw some soldiers over by the Britannia and they’re just paid.”
“I don’t know.”
“Martha, it’s gone ten o clock! If we’re going to find any with money, we have to go now!” Polly stated with urgency.
Martha drained her gin. She smiled at Derek and left arm in arm with “Pearly Poll”. The two women walked the streets of Whitechapel finally chancing on a corporal and a private from one of the Guards regiments not far from Commercial Road. The two couples wandered Whitechapel until 11:45. Martha and her companion left Polly and her corporal. It was the last time Mary Anne Connelly saw her friend. The skinny woman finished with her soldier and left to find a bed for the night.
MacMillan – 39 Dusty Bluebells
Martha and her soldier found an alley and quickly copulated. The soldier paid her and hastily left muttering something about morning parade.
Martha wished she had a cloak as she rambled the streets and alleyways of Whitechapel looking for another customer. The shilling had gone for drink just as Derek had predicted. It would be a cold night if she had to spend it in a doorway as she had done several times before.
The sailor spotted her at 3:15 in the morning. She sidled up to him and whispered in his ear.
“Fancy a go, Sailor?”
“Will Tuppence suffice?”
“Indeed.”
Martha led the sailor to the first floor landing of the George-Yard Buildings. As she raised her skirts she saw an opportunity. Spying the sailor’s wallet almost falling out of his frock coat pocket she reached for it.
Martha was quick, but the sailor was much faster. He plunged a dagger into the woman’s chest. Martha fell to the floor as he struggled to remove the dagger. Twisting the knife back and forth he managed to extract the blade. The difficulty he encountered fueled his rage. In all, the sailor stabbed Martha Tabram 39 times. He left the yard at 3:20.
“Stupid cow,” He muttered as he left.
He walked to the waterfront and flung the dagger in the murky water of the Thames. He would be at sea before the authorities found Martha Tabram.
MacMillan – 40 Dusty Bluebells
Alfred Crow returned home at 3:30. The cab driver saw Tabram’s body, but was used to seeing people sleeping in doorways and drunks passed out almost anywhere in the neighborhood. He gave it no further thought.
John Reeves discovered the body at fifteen minutes to five as he left for his job on the waterfront. He summoned the police and gave them what little information he could. Frightened and worried he would be sacked for being late to work. He only wished to be done with all of this business.
Martha Tabram died penniless on a dank George Yard landing.
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