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alovesongshewrote · 4 years ago

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Almost A Thousand Years - 1700/1800 | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot: You’ve known Hisirdoux Casperan for almost a thousand years. You’ve hated him for almost a thousand years. And for almost a thousand years, you’ve been cursed to feel each others pain. But somewhere in that time, things changed. [Hisirdoux Casperan x Mostly Gender Neutral but Probably Female Presenting Based on How Historical Men Treat Them!Reader]

Word Count: 3,898

Warnings: jack the ripper, reader is called a whore and a wench

A/N: tis my longest chapter yet!

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You hid away for most of the eighteenth century.

You healed when you could, but what happened to Douxie scared you a little more than you’d like to admit.

So you hid.

You found ways to entertain yourself. You read more, painted a little, continued your medical practice, and learned more about medicine whenever the knowledge became available. You continued to keep tabs on other immortals. It was pretty boring except for that time the Americans revolted. You had to admit it was fun to keep tabs on the scrappy rebellion. You couldn’t say it out loud as you still lived in England, but you gave a little cheer every time they fought off the British. You didn’t like authority. Neither did they.

On the other side of the continent, Douxie did the same things he always did. Music, magic, work for Merlin. He also read the book you’d given him. He liked it.

It was a century of hiding, waiting, and having nothing much to do. The next century would be the exact opposite.

Jack the Ripper was a dick.

You really didn’t like him.

Douxie didn’t like him either.

And Archie didn’t like him.

So, like in every good piece of media that has a chapter in the nineteenth century, you protagonists teamed up to take down Jack the Ripper. It was super effective!

You met up with your partners in the fog-filled streets of the White Chapel district soon after the second murder. In your hands, you held a newspaper covering the recent events. You approached the wizard and his familiar, but they didn’t see you. They were caught in a conversation with someone you’d never seen before, a stocky man dressed in a dark overcoat and hat. The stranger hadn’t noticed you either.

Silently, you hid in an alley between two nearby buildings. You couldn’t hear them, but from the stranger’s body language, he seemed a bit defensive, maybe even a little angry. You sincerely hoped Douxie wasn’t doing anything stupid.

About a minute later, the man stormed off, leaving Douxie and Archie behind. They still hadn’t noticed you, so you took the opportunity to sneak up on them.

“Hey!”

“Aaaaahhhh, jeez (Y/N)! Don’t do that! There’s a killer on the loose!”

“And he’s only killed prostitutes so far, so you should be fine. Unless there’s something you aren’t telling me?” you joked, raising an eyebrow.

He gave you a small shove, too small to be malicious, “Very funny. Have you learned anything new?”

“Mhmm, but first,” you turned to Archie, giving him a pat on the head, “Hey Arch, how are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,”

“That’s good! That’s good, anyway, you know they think it’s a doctor, but they received a letter signed ‘Jack the Ripper,’”

“Very fun nickname,”

“Indeed, but it still isn’t much to go off of, the police already doubt it”

“(Y/N), remind me again what your sources are?” the familiar was right to be suspicious, but you knew your sources were solid.

“I’ve told you Arch, a forensic doctor, he’s a friend of mine and he works with the police,”

“And how do you know you can trust him?”

“I don’t, but they’re publishing the letter soon, so you’ll see it then. You guys got anything?”

“Not much,”

“Huh. That isn’t great,” you took a moment before speaking again, “By the way, who was that man you were talking to? He seemed angry,”

“Oh, him? He’s just a resident of this area. I’ve been talking to him for a while, I thought he might know something, but every time I even mention it he gets, well…”

“Like that?”

“Yes, like that,”

You looked out the way the man had gone, “You think he’s a suspect?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely,”

Archie nodded in agreement.

“Well then,” you said, returning the eyes to the face of your accomplices, “Keep an eye on him. See you next Thursday?”

“Sounds good,”

By next Thursday, another girl was dead.

You met with your team in a (very) shady pub to discuss this development. Thanks to some connections, you’d snagged a private room where no one else could hear your detective work.

“God DAMMIT, guys, how did we miss this?” you said, pacing. Your hands were on your hips, eyes fixed on the floor. You seriously could not figure out how you missed this.

On the wall behind you, you’d attached some photos and newspaper clippings to the wall, red yarn connecting them. You were very ahead of your time.

“I really don’t know,” Douxie was sitting, upside-down, in a chair across from you. He threw the ball of yarn up in the air, letting it fall, and catching it over and over again. Archie didn’t answer, he was focused too hard on the yarn.

You stopped pacing and glared at your conspiracy wall. You followed the red string with your finger. It lead nowhere. You groaned and ran your fingers through your hair, something that Douxie found alarmingly attractive.

Ever since you saved his life in the sixteen hundreds, he’d developed a bit of a soft spot for you. It wasn’t something he was proud of. But it was fine, you’d developed a soft spot for him too.

“Hey, it’ll be alright, love,” he said, sitting up properly, “We’ll find this monster, so don’t worry yourself too much,”

You took a deep breath, leaning against your crime wall, “Thanks Doux. I appreciate it,”

Your voice was slightly sarcastic, but you both smiled still. Archie frowned, the yarn wasn’t moving anymore.

“So,” you said, turning again to examine the mess of photos and yarn, ”He isn’t an official suspect, but I think this guy, this James Maybrick, seems a little suspicious,” you pointed at his photo, “He’s going to be at this ball thing on Friday. If we go, we can ask him if he plans on traveling, he lives in Liverpool, and-”

“I’m sorry, he lives where?”

“Liverpool, Arch, pay attention-”

“(Y/N), why do you think he’s coming all the way out to White Chapel to murder these women?”

“Well it isn’t his area, that makes him less of a suspect, and all of the murders have been on Saturdays and Sundays, which gives him time to travel,”

“You might be onto something,” Douxie said, standing and letting the yarn fall to the ground where Archie chased it around, thoroughly distracted, “We can go check it out, but how do we get in?”

You bit your lip, deep in thought, “My doctor friend, he knows the hostess. He might be able to get us in,”

“Fantastic!”

“There’s just one thing,”

“Yes?”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll have to pretend to be my fiance,”

There was a moment of silence while Douxie considered this.

You tried to explain yourself, “I-It’s not my first choice either, but high society doesn’t approve of-”

“I’ll do it,”

“And I know it’s inconvenient, but-”

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

“I said I’ll do it,”

It was your time to consider, and you considered yourself super lucky to have an accomplice like Douxie.

“Oh my god, thank you!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around his neck, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,”

You couldn’t see Douxie’s face, so he had no idea that he blushed before wrapping his arms around you softly.

“No problem (Y/N), no problem,”

Two days later, you were wearing fancy clothes, and freaking out a little.

This was nothing compared to Douxie who was freaking out a lot. Mostly because you looked absolutely stunning, but also because there was a possible murderer inside the building. You know, typical stuff.

The two of you stood outside the manor, looking up at the vast estate. It was beautiful but intimidating. You turned to your partner in crime-solving, “You ready for this?”

He nodded.

You closed your eyes, swallowed back your anxiety, and linked your arm with his.

“Let’s do it,”

The manor was, simply put, dazzling. The size of it reminded you of the smaller cathedrals during the sixteenth century. The floors were marble, the ceiling decorated with a mural, just like the cathedrals you now reminisced. The room was lit with a large chandelier, the warm light covered the whole room in a glow the colour of honey. Columns, the same marble as the floor, stood strong around the perimeter. On one side of the space, an orchestra played. The center was full of people dancing. Some people stood at the side of the room speaking, others just observing everything else. It was a crazy party, but only by Victorian standards.

The sheer amount of activity made you panic a little. As if Douxie could sense your anxiety, he found one of your hands and squeezed it reassuringly. You smiled a little, once again thankful for such an amazing partner in crime.

The two of you made your way around the dance floor, checking faces, looking for your suspect. You didn’t see him. You and Douxie made a full circle around the room, not seeing your guy. You were about to suggest finding a higher viewpoint when the hostess of the party stopped you.

She was a plump, elegant woman, draped in the finest of silks. Her hair shone, and her eyes sparkled. She was perfectly gorgeous, and perfectly in your way.

“Ah, fuzzbuckets,”

“Oh, my dear (Y/N)! It is so good to see you, darling!”

“It’s good to see you as well, my Lady,” you returned, bowing slightly. Douxie followed your lead.

“‘Tis a pity the good doctor couldn’t be with us! He works so hard, you would think he would come out and dance for an evening! Just to relax!” The woman laughed as if wishing the doctor was here was the funniest thing on the planet. Maybe it was to her Victorian sensibilities.

You laughed an appropriate amount, plastering on a fake smile, and biting your tongue at the irony. This was the least relaxed you’d been all century.

When the Lady stopped laughing, she noticed Doxie, “Oh, (Y/N), dear, you must tell me who this dashing young gentleman is! How in heaven did you find such a match?”

“My Lady, this is my fiance, Mr. Casperan,”

“It’s lovely to meet you fair Lady, and might I say that the moon and stars dull in comparison to your eyes; even a goddess of beauty could not hold a candle to your visage,”

You tried to keep cool, but you felt your eyes widen a bit. You had never heard Douxie speak like that before. You weren’t sure how it made you feel yet, but clearly, the Lady enjoyed it. A blush covered her face as she gushed over the wizard for another two minutes. You spent that time subtly searching the crowd for Maybrick.

Clearly, you were not as subtle as you thought.

“Oh, dear, I see your partner is eyeing the dance floor,” the lady said, her face still painted with a blush. Her words called you to attention.

“Ah, yes, my apologies my Lady,”

“No worries at all dear child, now go! Dance the night away!”

“Thank you,” you said, once again bowing.

“It was wonderful speaking with you, my Lady,” Douxie said, following your actions before leading you to the mass of dancing guests.

“She’s watching us,” Douxie whispered to you through clenched teeth, “Can you dance?”

“Not super well, but enough to survive,”

“Just follow my lead,”

Douxie could dance pretty damn well, something you weren’t too surprised by. He’d spent a lot of time learning music throughout the centuries, you’ would've been a bit surprised if he hadn’t known how. He was so good, in fact, that you were almost certain he was making you a better dancer just by being near you. You’d be lying if you said this wasn’t the most fun you’d had in a while.

“So, where’d you learn to flirt like that?” you asked, your voice low so that no one else could hear you.

“I’ve picked some things up over the years,” he said, spinning you out and then back in again.

“I have to say, I was quite impressed. I didn’t see that coming,”

He faked a gasp, “Why I’m offended! You don’t think I can flirt?”

“Well, I didn’t until tonight. But I stand corrected,” he dipped you, “You can flirt extremely well Hisirdoux Casperan,”

“Thank you, (Y/N) (L/N),”

You both smiled continuing the dance, scanning the crowd for the face of the killer. And in between that, just staring at each other.

You almost regretted finding the suspect.

You hated to admit that a small part of you had hoped to just dance with Douxie for the next few hours, pretending that you were a couple and that you weren’t magic, and you weren’t immortal, and you hadn’t seen pain and suffering the world over, and he hadn’t been tortured two centuries before. You just wanted to dance.

But you saw him.

And the good of the humans came before the things you wanted.

“Doux, I see him,”

“Where?”

“To your left and back behind you. Don’t look at him. We’ll get off the dance floor, and I’ll question him,”

“Are you sure?” Douxie thought about elaborating. About telling you that he didn’t want you to get hurt and that he too, wanted to keep dancing.

But he didn’t. And you were sure.

So, you left the dance floor and made your way to the suspect. You made sure Douxie stayed far enough behind you for his presence to be non-threatening, and made your approach.

“Wonderful party isn’t it Sir…?” you waited for him to give you his name.

“Maybrick, Mr. Maybrick,”

“Mr. Maybrick. A lovely name,” internally, you cursed God for giving Douxie all of the charm and leaving you none.

“May I ask where you’re from Mr. Maybrick?”

“I’m from around here, Liverpool. May I ask who's asking?”

“I-”

“(Y/N), dear! Where have you put that lovely boy of yours! I have some friends he simply must meet!”

You could not believe that the hostess was interrupting you yet again. This time, Maybrick actually ran from you. You cursed under your breath. The Lady was far enough away that you could pretend not to hear her. You could still catch the suspect, you just had to run a little. In the outfit you were wearing, it would be next to impossible, but you really didn’t want to talk to the hostess again, so you gestured for Douxie to follow, and you chased after Maybrick.

You ran through the ballroom, dodging patrons and maneuvering around dancers. It felt almost like a fairytale; Cinderella if the princess had to chase down a dangerous serial killer instead of just flee the ball.

The suspect ran out the front doors, and you followed him, Douxie close behind. The night air was cool on your skin, a nice contrast to the warmth of the ballroom. You lost a shoe, and your hair was slowly turning into more and more of a mess, but you didn’t care, you wanted to catch this guy.

You did not catch that guy.

A horse-drawn carriage was waiting for him at the end of the lane. There was no way you could compete with that. Not unless Archie would shapeshift into a horse for the sake of catching a possible criminal.

A black stallion pulled up beside you.

It was Archie, shapeshifted into a horse for the sake of catching a possible criminal. You manifested your hot girl mystery-solving arc.

“Get on!” both Douxie and Archie exclaimed, Douxie offering you a hand up. You took it, jumping onto Archie’s back, wrapping your arms around the wizard's waist, and riding after the carriage.

The night was dark, and the carriage moved fast. Archie kept up pretty well for a familiar with two people on his back. He went so fast that all you could do was cling to Douxie for dear life as the dark world blurred around you. It was not for a lack of trying, but eventually, you lost them.

“You did good Arch, you did good,”

“Thank you, Archie,” you said, forehead buried in Douxie’s back.

“I appreciate the thanks, but it isn’t over yet. We left all of our stuff back at the manor, so we should return,”

“That’s probably a good idea,”

The journey back showed you how far you’d gone. Needless to say, you were super proud of Archie. You’d have to remind yourself to get him some fish later.

When you arrived back at the manor, the party was still going. You could hear the music from the outside. You dismounted Archie and leaned against his side.

“All of this,” you groaned out, “for nothing,”

“Well it wasn’t exactly for nothing,” Douxie said, stretching his arms above his head, “Maybrick ran from us, that’s suspicious. I think we can officially call him a suspect. Here,” he threw your missing shoe your way, “You dropped this,”

You smiled, leaning on Archie for support as you slipped it back on, “Thanks,”

“My pleasure,”

You laughed. The stars above you caught your eye. They were so beautiful tonight. The music was nice too. Everything was so peaceful.

It reminded you of another night, centuries ago, when you’d been allowed to rant and rave, and the wizard just listened to you.

“Hey, Douxie?”

“Yes, love?”

You hesitated, trying to think of something to say. Eventually, you came up with, “We’re still enemies after this, right?”

He laughed a little. It sounded kind of sad, “If you want us to be,”

At that moment, you didn’t know what you wanted.

That’s a lie, you wanted to kiss Douxie.

But you hadn’t figured it out just yet, so, for now, you just stared at his lips, wondering what that feeling was, and listening to the song end.

“We should head back,”

“I guess we should,”

Neither of you were satisfied with this outcome.

You wouldn’t be satisfied until you caught the killer, or as it turned out, killers.

You’d been back at the pub, obsessing over the crime wall, tracing the red yarn over and over again. Doux and Archie were starting to worry about your health. Then you cracked the code.

“What if,” you said, turning from the wall, “There’s more than one,”

“More than one?”

“Yeah, more than one killer. There’s more than one person involved here,”

The wizard and his familiar exchanged a look. Maybe you were sleep-deprived and in need of a nap, but maybe you were onto something, “Go on,”

“Think about it, we’ve got multiple leads, some doctors, some live in the area, some have the motive, some are just suspicious, but none of them have everything they need to commit murder. What if they’re working together?”

“Keep talking,”

“Look, here,” you said, pointing at a photo of a suspect, “Johnson Druitt, he lives in the white chapel area and has the anatomical knowledge,” you moved to another photo, this one a sketch, “Barnett, his roommate works the streets, he’s in love with her and we know he hates her job. If he killed those other women to scare her, he has a motive,” you moved on again, “And Maybrick,” you stopped, trying to piece together his role in this grand conspiracy.

“He’d have the funds to cover it up, plus the interest in the case,”

You spun around to face the wizard, “Douxie, you’re brilliant!”

You took a step back from the wall, taking in your work, “So, what do we do now?”

“Simple,” Douxie said, resting an elbow on your shoulder, “We go after him,”

You didn’t mind being bait. Really, you didn’t. But you did find it boring.

You’d been walking around this general area for two hours now, this disguise was uncomfortable, and you just wanted something else to do. Then your wish came true!

Two men approached you from the front, both short in stature with well-kept moustaches. You hid a smile, the three killer theory proving itself correct. You walked forward, your peripheral vision focused on the men.

The three of you kept walking.

You passed between them.

“Lovely night, isn’t it?”

They stopped, you continued on.

“Excuse me, dearie?”

“Yes?” you purred, turning to them.

Then you were grabbed from behind. Fortunately, you expected that little trick, grabbing the stranger and flipping him over your body. The man landed on the pavement with a thud. You grinned as the three men looked at you, faces full of shock. Unfortunately, it wore off, and the three advanced.

The first one threw a decent punch, but you dodged, forcing him to punch one of his partners. You swept the legs out from under the third.

The first two had recovered and were coming at you again, this time with blades. It was this moment when you noticed the blood on their coats. It wasn’t theirs, or yours for that matter. Yep, these were definitely your guys.

The first blade missed you, the second one just grazed your side. You bit down a cry of pain, sincerely hoping that blade was clean. You could see Douxie emerge from his hiding place; clearly, he’d felt the sting of the metal too.

But you didn’t have time to focus on Douxie, you had to fight.

You threw a few punches of your own, knocking the duo back into the street and closer to the wizard.

“Gah, you wENCH!!” one of them exclaimed.

“Kill the whore!!”

You could see the rage in their faces, but that wasn’t as important as the fact that you could see their faces. Maybrick and Druitt. Your theory was right! Your excitement fell away as they advanced.

Then they both fell into limbo.

The portal down glowed blue around them. Douxie stood behind the gateway, looking very proud of himself.

You would have laughed at their misfortune and Doux’s pride if you hadn’t been grabbed from behind again.

You cried out in surprise, catching the attention of the wizard.

“(Y/N)!”

“Don’t come any closer!” you felt the cold of a blade on your throat. This wouldn’t end well.

“Come on now, don’t make any rash decisions,” Douxie’s hands were raised in surrender, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’ll kill the wench! I’ll do it!”

“Hey, don’t-”

“My Mary is dead! There’s nothing left! I’ll kill her!”

“Wait, who's dead?”

“My girl,” the man sobbed, his grasp on you weakening, “My Mary Kelly, I’ve lost her! She’s gone!”

You may have felt bad for this guy if he hadn’t been absolutely insane. You took his distracted state as a chance and broke from his hold, pushing yourself away from him.

“Douxie! Now!”

The portal to limbo opened under the man. He had no time to react as he fell into the other dimension.

You looked down into the gateway, a blue pool in the middle of a dull cobblestone street. You sighed with relief as the blue magic sealed itself shut, leaving the night dark again.

“Nice work,”

“Thanks,”

Lights came on in the windows around you. In the distance, you heard shouting.

“We should get out of here,”

“Good idea. See you next century?”

“Oh, absolutely. Say goodbye to Arch for me,”

“Will do,”

And you slipped away into the night, excited by this latest adventure, but still wanting more.

#hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie x reader #douxie imagine #hisirdoux imagine #almost a thousand years #jack the ripper #fluff #victorian era #fake dating #aaty #hisirdoux casperan #hisirdoux #douxie #toa hisirdoux #toa douxie

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krakengoddess · 3 years ago

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Ripper suspect: James Maybrick

Remember back when we were discussing Montague John Druitt and we learned it’s bad luck to have died shortly after the Ripper murders were “finished”? James Maybrick, a Liverpool cotton merchant, had some of that same luck, except “died” doesn’t quite fit here. His wife was convicted of his murder and sentenced to death. Florence Chandler was 18 when she met 42-year-old Maybrick on a sea voyage��

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#crime history #Jack the Ripper #ripper suspect #serial killer #true crime

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thegreatestofheck · 4 years ago

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Bare Bones {Theory 1} ⋇ Pope Heyward ⋇

description: Pippa Cantu has always been a little…strange. With a knack for knowing everything there is to know about every conspiracy, every mystery, and every weird happening, she doesn’t have much time (or desire) for friends. But when her chemistry lab partner asks her to join him and his friends on a hunt for the Royal Merchant, she just can’t say no.

Theory 1 summary: Pippa meets Pope and gets a little closer than she would have liked.

word count - 3.9k

warnings: swearing

a/n: thank you for being here! I am already in love with Pippa and I would die for her, so I hope that you all enjoy this story!! Much love.

***

Pippa flinched when the school bell rang. Keeping her head down, she ducked into her first class and found the seat farthest in the back. She had always hated the public school system in Maine, and even from her first period on her first day of school, she knew she was going to hate Kildare High just as much.

Who in their right mind makes someone take Chemistry Lab at 8 o��clock in the fucking morning?

Students started to fill in the seats around her, some glancing at her out of the corner of their eyes and others greeting each other with giggles and hugs and smiles. Pippa scoffed and lowered her head to her arms. All she wanted to do was get through this day and then the next day and then the next. That’s how time passed for her as of late. Nothing else mattered except getting through to the night.

Someone slid into the chair across from her, but Pippa didn’t take notice of them. She didn’t care. She wasn’t here to make friends. In fact, she was here to do the exact opposite.

“Hi,” the person said. Pippa still refused to look up. “I’m Pope.”

Pippa forced a split-second smile, glancing at him.

The final bell rang and the boy in front of her, who kept his smile despite her coldness, turned toward the teacher. Pippa scoffed again and leaned forward to rest her chin against her arms. The boy, Pope, was glued to the teacher as she spoke in a cheery, overly excited voice. Pippa couldn’t care less what she had to say. Until the dreaded words came out of her mouth. She said those two words that Pippa feared the most when she found out she was taking Chem Lab on Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 8 AM.

Lab partners.

“Shit,” Pippa groaned, sitting up but letting her head hang. Pope seemed eager to hear who his partner would be.

The teacher started rattling off names, none of which Pippa recognized. Of course she wouldn’t. She had spent this entire summer hiding away in her grandma’s second-hand store, avoiding repeated human interaction at all costs. Some people were vocally happy about their assigned lab partners, others were less so. Pippa waited for her name anxiously, dreading the idea of spending an entire year with one single person as her partner.

“Phillipa Cantu and Pope Heyward at table- Ah, the two of you are already back there.” The teacher, Mrs. Stedfield smiled sweetly but Pippa just closed her eyes and sent a quiet prayer for her nerves.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” she whispered under her breath as Pope turned to face her with a wide grin.

“Phillipa, huh?” He said, leaning against his elbow and raising an eyebrow. Pippa could see this as an attempt to flirt, a poor one. Whoever told him that this was a good idea was a dumbass.

“Pippa,” she said shortly. “No one calls me Phillipa.”

“Well, Pippa,” he said her name with a partial grin. “I’m very excited to be your lab partner.”

She hid a groan behind an attempted smile and clenched teeth.

This was going to be a long year.

***

Pippa didn’t have much to say about Pope, but there was one thing for certain, he was determined.

It didn’t take him long to figure out that Pippa wasn’t to keen on small talk, so he always talked about what they were studying in class. She liked him a lot more when he was talking about science because it was something he actually seemed passionate about. But every time she caught herself smiling or even almost laughing at one of his stupid jokes, Pippa would remind herself why she was here.

Don’t get attached. It’s not worth it. It’s never worth it.

But he was getting too close. He kept asking questions, kept pushing her harder to break through the walls she had made for herself. And Pippa couldn’t have that.

“So, what do you do when you’re not working or at school?” Pope asked from behind a titration tube. Pippa glanced up at him, but he was focused on what he was doing. He wasn’t really listening.

“I heard that the government replaced all of the birds with drones,” Pippa said, testing the waters. She glanced up at Pope but he didn’t say anything, didn’t even look away from what he was currently doing. “One of the origin stories of werewolves was just a really hairy man who stole and ate children in Europe.”

“Hmm. Really?”

Pippa could tell Pope wasn’t listening to what she was saying, just responding absently. With a smile, she continued.

“Up until the 1800s, people in Germany thought drinking fresh blood from executed criminals could cure epilepsy.”

Still no response. Pippa’s smile grew wider.

From that moment on, every time Pope asked her a question, she would respond with one of her many random facts or theories. He never listened. Pippa started using it on others too. As soon as she got into a conversation, she somehow turned it into one of her crazy stories. It usually made everyone keep their distance. No one really wanted to talk to the crazy conspiracy theory girl who seemed way too interested in HH Holmes and the death of Princess Diana.

“I like your outfit,” Pope said one day. Pippa glanced down at what she was wearing; an oversized hoody and a loose pair of pants. Nothing extraordinary, but he hadn’t even looked hard enough to really see what she was wearing.

“Thanks,” she said, setting her bag down on the ground. “Back to Jack the Ripper, I’m pretty sure Mary Kelly’s boyfriend manipulated James Maybrick, you know, the rich guy with the drug problem?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah, so Joseph manipulated Maybrick into thinking he was the Ripper so if the cops came knocking on Joseph’s door, he could pin it on Maybrick. Maybrick got it all muddled up in his druggie head and started to believe he was Ripper, so he wrote the diary. It all fits.”

“Sure. Did you do the homework last night?”

“Oh, yeah.” Pippa pulled out her notebook and handed it to Pope.

“Thanks. My friend tore out a page and used it for a blunt.”

“Some friend,” Pippa grumbled.

“He’s great.” Pope’s voice was tight. “I’m sure you’d like him.”

Pippa rolled her eyes. She had two guesses which friend he was talking about; John Routledge, who everyone insisted calling John B but that was the most annoying shit Pippa had ever heard, or JJ Maybank, who was most likely the homework stealing thief. Both had hit on her once before in a time of desperation, but one mention of Area 51 or the Bermuda Triangle and they were gone.

It was too easy. A girl opens her mouth and starts talking about the things she’s passionate about and most guys scatter. If Pope had the opportunity, she imagined he would leave to.

For the briefest of a moment, the idea pained her.

“Something tells me I really wouldn’t like your friend.”

It was March and the air was starting to get hot. Pippa hated the heat, not because it was uncomfortable, but because it meant taking off her protective layer. It was rare to see Pippa without her sweatshirt, and for good reason. She didn’t feel safe without it.

The Bunsen burners didn’t help. Of course they were using them today, the hottest day of the year so far. Pippa could feel the sweat beading down the back of her neck as she stammered her way through a theory about aliens and the Giant Heads of Easter Island and their bodies.

“Hey, you good?” Pope asked, stopping half-way through writing something down. Pippa struggled to nod. “Why don’t you just take off your sweater?”

Pippa tightened her jaw. How could she tell a boy that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath? But just from the shift her eyes, Pope seemed to understand. He turned off the Bunsen burner and pulled off his goggles.

“I have an extra shirt,” Pope said, reaching for his backpack.

“It’s fine,” Pippa said through her teeth.

“Pippa, come on.” He pulled the t-shirt out of his backpack and shoved it into her hands before she could protest. “Can’t have my partner fainting on me, now can I?”

The half-smile on his face was sincere. Pippa narrowed her eyes but left to go to the bathroom anyway. There was an ounce of relief as she pulled her sweatshirt off of her body. It felt like she could finally breathe. She pulled Pope’s t-shirt on over her head and her stomach twisted into knots. She hated seeing her arms. Something about it felt so unsafe.

But Pope’s shirt was big on her and it was at least baggy in the way she liked, so she thought she was just going to have to put with it.

There was a blush on her cheeks when she walked into the Chemistry lab. Pope had his goggles on when she returned, having gone right back to the lab they were doing. He didn’t look up at her as she came back and she was grateful for it.

“Here, can you write this down for me?” He asked, hovering a stick over the fire. The fire burned green.

“Sweet,” Pippa said with a smile. She scribbled down what she could, not noticing as Pope looked away from the fire to admire how she looked in his shirt. As soon as she looked back up, he turned his face away. “You wanna hear about how Amelia Airheart sent an SOS message after she went missing but it was ignored because they didn’t think she could survive?”

“Sure.”

***

Pippa was sitting in the library, bobbing her head to the music that blasted through her earbuds. Her computer sat in front of her, a thousand and one tabs open at once. Two notebooks and a few more research books lay out around her. A color-coded selection of pens and highlighters was scattered about. The table where she worked was an absolute mess, but it made sense to her.

She was so consumed by an article and her music that she didn’t see Pope sit down in front of her. Her foot tapped against the leg of her chair while she chewed on a pen cap, eyes scanning the page. It wasn’t until she tore her gaze from the screen to scribble something in one of her notebooks that she saw Pope sitting there.

The pen cap fell out of her mouth with a gasp and a jolt of her body. Pippa flicked an earbud out of her ear.

“Shit, Pope!” she hissed before taking a calming breath. He seemed unphased by her shock, a book of his own resting in his lap.

“What are you listening to?” He asked, turning the page in his book. Pippa felt a lump form in her throat.

“Nothing.”

“I can hear it from here. What is it?”

“What do you care?”

Pope smiled at her and gave a quiet laugh.

“It’s just music, Pippa. Not like I’m asking for your life story or anything.” Pippa rolled her eyes before sliding her phone across the table for him to see. “Hmm.”

Pippa snatched her phone back, her cheeks brushed red and her eyebrows pinched together.

“Hmm, what?”

“Never pegged you for the One Direction type.”

“It’s called versatility, Heyward. Look it up.” Pippa huffed and leaned back in her chair. “Is there a reason you’re gracing me with your presence today?”

“We gotta work on that final project at some point. Came over to talk to you about it, but I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Pippa shook off her hostility and gave a shrug of her shoulders. She capped her pen and lowered the screen of her computer.

“Nothing important.”

“Aliens?”

“1500s shipwreck full of gold.”

“Ah.” Pope let the moment wear on for a few silent seconds before he leaned his arms against the table. Pippa crossed her arms. “This is a pretty big project, so I think we should start soon.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe we should swap numbers so we can link up.”

“Link up?” Pippa raised an eyebrow. All the coolness fell from around Pope instantly and his eyes widened.

“I just mean...well, for the sake of the project...shit, no, I just mean….we have to get together at some point-”

“Relax, Pope.” Pippa let out a quiet laugh and scribbled her number onto the corner of a notebook and tore it out, sliding it across the table to Pope. “For emergencies only. Everything else we do face to face, capiche?”

“What, are you on witness protection or something?” Pope joked as his eyes scanned the string of numbers on the paper. Her handwriting was shit. God, he hoped he could read it well enough to text the right person.

The look on Pippa’s face didn’t affirm or deny his question. At this rate, Pope wouldn’t be surprised if she was.

“Can we meet after school today?” he asked. “I’ve got to help my dad with some stuff tomorrow and Friday.”

“Sure,” Pippa said, before leaning back and stretching her arms above her head. Diving headfirst into her theories left her back aching, even if it was only for a free period like today.

She stretched her arms high up enough to reveal a small sliver of her stomach, but something caught Pope’s eyes.

“Woah, is that a tattoo?” He asked, a grin growing on his face. Pippa dropped her arms and her eyes widened.

Shit.

There was no lying her way out of this one. She was just going to have to run with it. Forcing a smile, Pippa lifted the edge of her sweatshirt and showed him the whole thing. The roman numeral ten was etched in black ink into her skin just under her belly button and a little bit to the left. It seemed like odd placement to Pope.

“What’s it mean?” he asked.

“X marks the spot,” she said with a half-grin. “Had to get something to represent my obsession, ya know.”

Pope nodded his head slowly, but a voice in his head told him there was something deeper than that.

“My best friend Kie, she’s got like three of them,” he said. Pippa lowered her shirt. “A dolphin, a wave, and something else, I don’t remember.”

Pippa felt her smile turn into something real. She watched the way Pope’s face lit up when he talked about her, Kie. It wasn’t the first time. On the rare occasion that he actually tried to hold a conversation with Pippa, he would often talk about this girl. Pippa didn’t know a whole bunch about her, but whoever she was, she made Pope very happy.

But that smile on Pippa’s face was starting to feel too comfortable. Talking to Pope as a whole was starting to feel too comfortable.

Pippa let her smile fall and she started to shut her books.

“I have History,” she said, slamming her laptop all the way shut. “Can’t be late.”

She had the books and notebooks packed up in a blink of an eye and before Pope could even say goodbye, she was gone.

***

“A crystal pyramid in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle, can you believe it?” Pippa shook her head slowly. She let herself laugh, looking down at her bowl of cereal. “Anyway, what do you want-”

“Are you going to the school dance?” Pope asked suddenly, turning away from their project and toward Pippa. She sat cross-legged on his counter, a bowl of cereal in her hand. The spoon was halfway to her mouth when she froze, her lips parting ever so slightly.

“Oh, um, no.” She set the spoon back in the bowl. She struggled to meet Pope’s eyes. She could feel the question burning inside of him but she refused to let him ask it. “I’ve got...shit to do that day.”

“What kind of shit?” he asked, looking back at the project. “Conspiracy shit? Alien shit? Cult shit? Or wait, let me guess, murder shit?”

Pippa let out a strained laugh.

“Unfortunately, no. Just...personal shit.”

Pope hummed quietly to himself. Pippa cringed. He was disappointed, upset, hurt. Something somewhere in between.

“So, the project.”

“Right.” Pippa slid off the counter, setting her bowl down and stepping closer to Pope, but not too close.

The front door swung open suddenly. Pope spun around and Pippa dropped to the ground, feeling her heart tighten in her chest painfully, her lungs dropping into her stomach.

“Mom!” Pope smiled as Mrs. Heyward walked in through the door.

“Hey, Sweetie. Where’s that friend of yours?”

Pippa was still on the ground, her eyes squeezed shut. Her heart pounded in her ears and her fingers curled against the tile beneath her. She just had to stand up and smile, that was all. It was just Pope’s mom. She was safe.

Letting out a struggling breath, Pippa pushed herself up onto her feet.

“Slipped,” she said simply, attempting to smile at Mrs. Heyward.

“Happens to everyone.” Mrs. Heyward handed a bag of groceries off to her son and approached Pippa, her arms open for a hug.

“Mom,” Pope said. “She’s not into hugs.”

Mrs. Heyward stopped in her tracks, but her smile never once faltered.

“That’s okay. It’s not for everyone. I’m Pope’s mom. We’re glad to have you here.” Pippa could feel her breath growing short, the squeezing her chest never once letting up as she tightened her hands into fists. Adrenaline ran through her. She tried to cover it up with a smile. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Pippa gave a quick shake of her head.

“No, I should be getting home.” She tried not to run for the door. “Text me, Pope.”

Plucking her purse off the ground and shoving her feet into her shoes, Pippa barely heard Pope or Mrs. Heyward give their goodbyes as she raced outside.

“That was strange,” Mrs. Heyward said, setting her things on the counter.

“Yeah.” Pope let out a deep sigh. “She’s strange person.”

“Pope Heyward.” Mrs. Heyward gave Pope’s shoulder a light pinch. “Don’t ever say that about a girl.”

“I don’t think she would take it as an insult.” Pope’s gaze shifted toward the door, his eyes lingering.

Had she known that he wanted to ask her to the dance? Was that why she ran away so fast? Or was it something else? Something about her that he didn’t yet know that made her scurry away?

Pope wondered if she would ever let him find out.

***

“Well, look at that, Heyward.” Pippa grinned as she slapped their final report onto their lab table. “That’s an A for us.”

Pope took the paper and admired the big, red letter. A smile broke out across his face.

“God, you’re such a nerd,” Pippa laughed, sitting on her stool and giving herself a small push so the chair swiveled around in a circle.

“I’m the nerd?” Pope asked, mock offended as he put the paper back onto the table.

“You’re on the Mathletics team,” Pippa said. “I’m pretty sure you qualify as a nerd.”

Pope felt a small laugh shake through him. He watched Pippa look up at the clock and sigh.

“Last class together,” Pope said. His lips twitched as he rested his arms against the table. Whatever feeling was in Pippa’s eyes faded and she let out a scoff.

“You sound like we’re dying once that clock strikes 9:30. It’s just summer,” she said.

“But we don’t know if we’ll have classes together next year or not,” he said. Pippa sighed again, but it was smaller. She tried to hide it as she brushed her hand against her nose.

“That’s the way the dice fall sometimes.”

“We could hang during the summer though, right?” He didn’t care if he sounded desperate.

“Maybe.” But her answer was clear by the way her gaze fell to the floor. She wasn’t interested in hanging out over the summertime. Pope just wished she would tell him why.

The bell overhead rang. Pippa took her time pulling her backpack onto her shoulders. Pope stayed where he was. She offered something to him.

“Forgot to give this back,” she said, refusing to look at him. In her hands was his t-shirt, the one he had given her all the way back in March. “That’s my bad.”

Pope looked at the shirt and pulled it from her hands.

“Don’t take it personal,” she said and let out a heavy breath. “It’s better this way. Yeah, it’s better.”

With that, Pippa fell into the stream of kids leaving the classroom, disappearing almost instantly.

***

Pope fiddled with the phone in his hand. His thumb hovered over the call button on her contact. He hadn’t seen her since that last day of school, actively avoiding the secondhand shop where she worked with her grandmother.

“What are you waiting for?” JJ groaned. “Just call her, dude!”

Pope glowered at his friend and pressed the button while his irritation was still strong enough to overcome his fear.

The line rang once, twice, three times. The fear returned. She wasn’t going to pick up. She would see his contact on her phone and ignore him. He was sure of it.

“Hey, Pope, waddup?” Pope smiled at the sound of her voice. She sounded so normal, as if they had just spoken yesterday and not an entire month ago.

“Hi, Pippa, how are you?”

“Pretty good. How are you?”

“I’m doing good.”

“Cut the shit,” JJ hissed, throwing a pebble at Pope’s head. Pope swatted his arm in JJ’s direction, sneering.

“I have a question for you.”

“Clearly.” He could hear her hesitant laugh from the other side.

“You’re not asking her on a date, man!” John B was impatiently waiting from the side, his hands on his hips. Kie took a step toward him and Pope met her gaze. There was encouragement beneath her eyes, and she gave him a small nod.

“Pippa, what do you know about the Royal Merchant?”

He could hear her breath hitch in her throat as she fell silent.

“I know a shit ton about the Royal Merchant. Why?”

There was excitement in her voice, her thirst for adventure radiating through the phone.

“My friends and I need your help. Can you meet us at the Wreck?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He could hear her shuffling around her room.

“See you there. Bye-”

The line went dead. Pope breathed out through his nose, pulling the phone away from his ear.

“So?” Kie asked, taking another step closer.

“She’s meeting us at the Wreck in ten,” Pope said, turning to his friends. John B clapped his hands together and started toward the van.

“To the Wreck then,” Kie said. She put a hand on Pope’s shoulder and smiled. His stomach flipped. “Good job.”

“I don’t see why we need this chick anyway,” JJ huffed as they headed toward the van.

“I doubt she’ll even want a cut of the gold at all,” Pope told his friend.

“Bullshit. No way she’d do this for free.”

“I’m serious.”

“You have the weirdest friends, Pope,” JJ said with a roll of his eyes.

“You’re my friend, dumbass.”

“His point stands,” John B interrupted, a never faltering smile on his face. “Let’s go get that gold.”

~~~

tagging - @simonsbluee, @parkerpetertingle, @diverrdown, @ponyboys-sunsets, @outerbanksbro, @kikifromtheblock, @sunflowerbecca

if you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know! ❤

#pope heyward #pope obx #pope outer banks #pope fic #pope imagine #outer banks #obx #jj maybank #jj obx #kie carrera #kie obx #john b routledge #john b obx

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dalekofchaos · 9 months ago

Text

Evidence

Aaron Kosminski

Jacob Levy

James Maybrick

Thomas Cutbush

Montague John Druitt

Francis Tumblety

Walter Sickert

Hyam Hyams

Joseph Barnett

George Chapman

David Cohen

Royal Conspiracy

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zarojel-hu-online-hirmagazi-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Megoldódhat a rejtély, fellebben a fátyol Hasfelmetsző Jack kilétéről

New Post has been published on https://zarojel.hu/megoldodhat-rejtely-hasfelmetszo-jack-kileterol/

Megoldódhat a rejtély, fellebben a fátyol Hasfelmetsző Jack kilétéről

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Egy viktoriánus kori napló valódi bizonyítékot tartalmaz, és fellebbenti a fátylat Hasfelmetsző Jack kilétéről…[/vc_column_text][vc_raw_html]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[/vc_raw_html][vc_single_image image=”140494″ img_size=”800×600″ add_caption=”yes” alignment=”center” onclick=”link_image” css=”.vc_custom_1502727834126background-image: url(https://www.zarojel.hu/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/small_header_bg-1.png?id=4336) !important;background-position: 0 0 !important;background-repeat: repeat !important;”][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]

A tanúságtevő egy napló

A brit bűnözői történelem egyik legmegfejhetetlenebb titka, Hasfelmetsző Jack (Jack the Ripper) titokzatos alakja. A potenciális gyanúsítottak listája hosszú volt. Ám úgy tűnik Hasfelmetsző Jack valódi személyazonossága végül megerősítést nyert, miután a kutatók azt állítják, hogy sikerült bebizonyítaniuk egy eddig hitelességében vitatott viktoriánus napló eredetiségét.

A naplót valójában már húsz évvel ezelőtt felfedezték. Világszerte megdöbbenést keltett egy korábban ismeretlen emlékirat felfedezése, melyet egy liverpool-i pamutkereskedő, James Maybrick írt. A kéziratban Maybrick bevallotta öt nő brutális meggyilkolását a londoni East End-en, valamint egy manchesteri prostituált életének kioltását is. A naplót a következőképpen írta alá:

“Azt a nevem írom, amit mindenki ismer, így a történelem mondja majd el, hogy mit tehet a szerelem egy született úriemberrel. Üdvözlettel, Jack The Ripper”.

Néhány hónappal azután, hogy rábukkantak a naplóra a Hasfelmetsző Jack szakértők alapos elemzésnek vetették alá a naplót, és megkérdőjelezték a hitelességét.

Hosszasan vizsgálták a kézirat hitelességét

A napló több kézen is keresztülment. Először egy liverpool-i fémhulladék-kereskedőhöz, Mike Barrett-hez került, aki azt állította, hogy a család barátja, egy Tony Devereux nevű férfi adta neki. Sajnos Devereux nem sokkal később meghalt, így a napló valódi eredetét soha nem magyarázta meg teljes mértékben. Így több szempontból is az a gyanú erősödött meg, hogy egyszerűen egy jól kidolgozott hamisítványról van csak szó.

A kutatók – akiket elsősorban Bruce Robinson, a Thenail & I filmkritikus írója és rendezője vezetett – éveket töltöttek azzal, hogy végre olyan bizonyítékokat találjanak, amelyek igazolják, hogy a napló valódi. A kutatásról szóló könyvben azt állítják, hogy a vitatott emlékiratot Maybrick korábbi liverpooli házában fedezték fel. Ezzel ismét a figyelem középpontjába állították a történelem leghírhedtebb sorozatgyilkosaként ismert Hasfelmetsző Jack titokzatos alakját. Robert Smith 1993-ban megjelentette az eredeti naplót. A kutatásról szóló új könyvében pedig leírta, hogy úgy véli, Barrett és azok, akik átadták neki a dokumentumot, szándékosan titokban tartották ezt a döntő bizonyítékot, mert féltek a büntetőeljárástól.

Smith azt mondta: “Amikor a napló először megjelent, Mike Barrett nem volt hajlandó kielégítő magyarázatot adni arról, honnan származik. Miután alapos kutatásokat folytattunk, főleg Bruce Robinson vezetésével, olyan nyomvonalat követünk, amely közvetlenül Maybrick otthonába vezet. ”

[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_raw_html]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[/vc_raw_html][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image=”140499″ img_size=”800×600″ add_caption=”yes” alignment=”center” onclick=”link_image” css=”.vc_custom_1502728780666background-image: url(https://www.zarojel.hu/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/small_header_bg-1.png?id=4336) !important;background-position: 0 0 !important;background-repeat: repeat !important;”][vc_column_text]

Ki volt James Maybrick?

A gazdag kereskedő 1889-ben hunyt el, egy évvel a Whitechapel-gyilkosságok után. Egy nagy épületben élt, amelyet Battlecrease háznak hívtak. A ház Aigburth-ben, annak Merseyside elnevezésű külvárosában állt.

1992-ben egy helyi villanyszerelő vállalkozás, a Portus & Rhodes Ltd. dolgozott az ingatlanon, különböző felújításokat végrehajtva. A cég munkásai közé tartozott három helyi férfi volt, Arthur Rigby, James Coufopoulos és Eddie Lyons. Lyons rendszeresen járt az anfield-i The Saddle Inn kocsmába, ahol Barrett is gyakori vendég volt. A Portus & Rhodes-tól szerzett időpontok szerint Rigby és Coufopoulos 1992. március 9-én reggelén dolgoztak. Még aznap Barrett felkereste Doreen Montgomery londoni irodalmi ügynököt, a következő kérdéssel: “Nálam van hasfelmetsző jack naplója. Érdekli?”

Robert Smith „Hasfelmetsző Jack”-kutató szerint Barrett jellegzetes, helyi figura volt, aki mindig azzal vágott fel, hogy egyszer író lesz. Ezért, amikor a házban a villanyszerelők megtaláltak ezt a könyvet, úgy vélték, Ő az az ember, aki képes lenne eladni egy kiadónak. “Az igazság az volt, hogy Barrett egyetlen jelentős irodalmi eredménye az volt, hogy időnként rejtvényeket írt egy TV-s gyermekműsornak, Look-In-nak”- mondta Smith. Majd így folytatta: “Barrett rendkívül féktelen természetű volt. Már az, hogy csak látta, vagy hallott a napló végén lévő aláírásról, elég lett volna ahhoz, hogy felvegye a telefont. Nem volt jó írói vénával megáldva, és az a gondolat, hogy ilyen kifinomult és hiteles hamisítást képes előállítani, nem elképzelhető.”

Sokan még most sem hiszik, hogy fény derült Hasfelmetsző Jack személyazonosságára

Amikor a naplót közzétették, a vélemények megoszlottak a hitelességéről. Néhányan azt mondták, hogy a benne szereplő részleteket csak a gyilkos tudhatta. Mások pedig azt sugallták, hogy ez egyszerűen egy kifinomult hamisítás volt.A dolgokat még bonyolultabbá tették 1995-ben, amikor Barrett aláírt egy eskü alatt tett nyilatkozatot, amelyben azt állította, hogy Ő találta ki az egészet. Később visszavonta a vallomását.

Állítólagos munkatársai, Rigby , Coufopoulos és Lyon fura módon mind tagadták, hogy jelen voltak a könyv felfedezésekor. Mindezek folyamán Smith sohasem ingott meg abban a hitében, hogy a dokumentum valódi.”Soha nem voltam kétséges, hogy a napló egy valódi, 1888-1889-ben írt dokumentum”- magyarázta. “Az új és vitathatatlan bizonyíték, hogy 1992. március 9-én a naplót megtalálták annak a szobának a padlólapjai alatt, amely 1889-ben James Maybrick hálószobája volt. Ugyanezen a napon pedig egy londoni irodalmi ügynöknek kínálták fel. Ezek a tények felülírnak mindent, ami megkérdőjelezné a hitelességet. „ Végezetül ezt mondta a kutató: “mindebből következik, hogy James Maybrick volt a napló legelképzelhetőbb írója. Hogy Ő volt-e Hasfelmetsző Jack? Most Ő az elsőszámú gyanúsított. Ám Hasfelmetsző Jack személyazonosságával kapcsolatos viták legalább egy évszázadon át tartani fognak majd.”[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_raw_html]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[/vc_raw_html][/vc_column][/vc_row]

#Hasfelmetsző Jack #James Maybrick #napló #rejtény megoldása

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jacktheripper-studentblog-blog · 6 years ago

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Suspects

1. Montague Johnson Druitt, He lived with his cousin, a doctor, near the scenes of the murders and he had an interest in surgery. He was found dead with in 4 weeks of the last murder.

2. Michael Ostrog, a Russian doctor and a criminal. He stayed in an asylum before the murders.

3. Aaron Kosminski, a resident of WhiteChapel, lived in an asylum after the last of the murders. He hated women, and loathed prostitutes. His description was given at the scene of the double murders.

4. Jill the Ripper. It would have been easy for a women to be the murderer because everyone else was looking for a man. She could have been a midwife, which would explain the knowledge of the human body and blood on her clothes.

5. Prince Albert Victor Christian Edward, he was known to have walked the areas where the women were murdered. He contracted Syphilis which drove him to insanity.

6. Walter Sickert, because an author thought he was the Ripper. He referenced the Ripper in some of his paintings, and the victims.

7. Joseph Barnett, A man who lived with Mary Kelly. It is said that he may have lived in around 10 different places in East London. He worked as a fish porter, and was obsessed with his roommate, going as far to call her his “wife”. He heavily disliked the fact that she was a prostitute and may have murdered the first victims to scare Mary from the streets. When Barnett lost his job, Mary went back out onto the streets to make ends meet, causing many fights between the roommates. Their last fight started with Mary bringing home two prostitutes for unknown reasons, and the fight got violent. Barnett moved out and 10 days later Mary was found dead in her apartment. The apartment was locked and undisturbed other than Mary’s gruesome body. Barnett would have know how to pick the lock and get in. He was also well known throughout the world of prostitutes, making it easy to get close to them to kill them. He also matched the alleged appearance of Jack. The final clue is that some of Barnett's friends would call him “Jack”. The murders stopped after Mary, as Barnett wouldn't have any other reason to kill.

8. James Maybrick is the final suspect. He was an upper class cotton merchant and lived in an estate called “The Battlecrease House” in Liverpool. All the murders happened on the weekends, when Maybrick would have time and the ability to travel. His most damning piece of evidence is a passage written in his personal journal, found in the floorboards of his house.

“I give my name that all know of me, so history do tell, what love can do to a gentleman born.

Yours truly, JACK THE RIPPER.”

The journal also contained intimate details of the killings. The man who found the journal once claimed that he had written the journal, though he later recanted this. The journal has been tested and is from the Ripper era. Also found was a pocket watch containing the initials of the 5 victims and the phrase, ‘”I am Jack”, and “J Maybrick”. Testing suggests that the scratching of the pocket watch was not done in modern times.

These last two are the strongest cases for the murders of the 5 prostitutes in WhiteChapel, London.

Who do you think did it?

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semper-legens · 4 years ago

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87. Dan Leno and the Limehouse Golem, by Peter Ackroyd

Owned?: Yes Page count: 282 My summary: In Victorian London, a killer stalks the night. Known as the Limehouse Golem, he preys on the outcasts of society, striking from the dark and mutilating his victims. Meanwhile, a young woman named Elizabeth Cree is about to be executed for murdering her husband. What is the history behind these two stories, and what secrets do their key players hide? My rating: 5/5 My commentary:

Oh hey, one of my favourites. I first came across this book via its movie adaption, The Limehouse Golem, in 2016 when it first came out. I love the movie, so when I found out it was based on a book, I tracked it down. And it did not disappoint. It’s a dark, gothic character study of a killer based very obviously on Jack the Ripper, and it’s incredibly gripping and really effective in what it sets out to do and the story it wants to tell. I’d absolutely recommend it to fans of the genre.

Also, warning! Please go find out the book or movie before clicking the readmore, I’m gonna spoil everything very candidly below. Also also warning for discussion of violence, gore, anti-sex worker sentiment, and anti-semitism.

So the first thing that intrigues me about this novel is the interplay between fiction and history. The titular Dan Leno was a real person, a music hall performer in the late Victorian period, and the novel is peppered with allusions to his life and career. Joining him from reality are major characters George Gissing, novelist and owner of an impressive moustache, and Karl Marx, who I assume needs no introduction. It’s to the point where I wonder why Ackroyd didn’t just go the whole hog and use the actual Ripper - though, granted, we don’t know who the Ripper actually was, and while the Golem killings aren’t solved in-universe, the reader knows the culprit. And, indeed, the other half of this drama is only one step removed from reality. The novel opens with the execution of Elizabeth Cree, for the murder of her husband; she is clearly based on Florence Maybrick, who was sentenced to life imprisonment for murdering her husband, James, despite the evidence showing her as potentially innocent. And James Maybrick was allegedly the author of a diary proving that he was, in fact, Jack the Ripper, while throughout this novel, we see extracts from John Cree’s diary of him performing the Golem killings.

This strong basis that the novel has in history means that it in a lot of places reads more as non-fiction than fiction - and indeed, some chapters are written in the kind of dry, third person informational perspective of a history book, peppered with extracts from firsthand sources like the transcript of Elizabeth’s trial, or John Cree’s diary. It’s an unusual style used to great effect, although sometimes I do have to wonder about its usage in scenes like Dan Leno helping a pregnant woman who just turns out to be Charlie Chaplin’s mother. That felt a bit heavy-handed. But, as far as my limited knowledge of the era and participants goes, it’s well-researched, drawing on a lot of real history to give it this pseudo-educational air.

One might assume that the novel is about the mystery of who is the Limehouse Golem, and indeed that’s the way the movie chooses to portray the story, but with John Cree’s diary entries explicit about his activities, the tension quickly moves from the who to the why, and this is in fact more what the novel is about. A running theme through the novel is a particular work of Thomas de Quincey’s, an essay titled On Murder Considered as one of the Fine Arts. I’ll get back to that in a bit, just know for now that this idea of the theatre of murder is prevalent. So too is the how of these murders - who was killed, and how did the Golem do it? We see this in Cree’s diary, and here is a notable departure from history. The Ripper’s victims were all women and sex workers, while the Golem kills a couple of sex workers, but also a Jewish scholar and a poor family. (The scholar’s murder is what gives the Golem a name, as he was reading a book about the Jewish idea of the Golem at the time of his murder, and the Golem showed interest in the idea...by putting his severed penis on the book. Yeah, it gets gory.) The idea is brought up that the Golem’s victims in some way represent London’s underclass, in a way - the poor, the outcast, the ‘other’ in various ways.

All this said, when Elizabeth Cree reveals that, no, she is in fact the Limehouse Golem, it feels like a slam from left field, but it’s foreshadowed excellently throughout. I knew it was Elizabeth from the outset from the movie (and I guessed it was her partway through my first viewing) so I was able on my first read to see the subtle (and less subtle) threads leading up to her revelation. The novel does a very good job of building up Elizabeth as a character - not least because we get her first-person narrative about her life interspersed throughout. She’s had a hard life, suffering under a domineering religious mother as a child, facing sexual assault and poverty, but finding a new life on the stage and in the music hall. She’s a fascinating character to learn about, incredibly sympathetic but also, you know, an unrepentant murderer. We really get to feel why she does the things she does - outside of the Golem murders, she also kills her mother, men who assault her, people who got in her way. And yet she murders innocents, because...well, to put on a show.

Murder and theatre are contrasted and compared constantly throughout the novel. Remember that de Quincey essay? It’s a satirical essay on the aesthetic appreciation of murder, and one Elizabeth seems to take literally. Notably, the killing of the poor family is directly inspired by it, as the family live on the site of the real-life Ratcliffe Highway murders, and Elizabeth wishes to restage them. Constantly in the diary she wrote as her husband, she compares the act of murder to stagecraft - she ‘waits in the wings’ as she lurks the streets, she finds ‘actors’ to ‘play parts’ in her gory spectacles, she dresses in male ‘costume’ to enact the murders. You see this in her regular life, too; when playing the murderer in a play based on the real-life Red Barn murders, she almost kills Dan by accident, getting too into the role. Her relationship to Dan is also interesting - she clearly idolises him, not seeing how frustrated he is at the limits of his comic roles, and yet by the end she shares the same frustrations when her husband doesn’t finish the play he is to be writing to her satisfaction and she cannot break into ‘serious’ acting as she wishes. She’s an intriguing character, and a delight to read about...if you delight in gruesome bloody murder, that is.

I’ll stop now - there’s so much I could say about this book, but this is the stuff that immediately jumped out at me. Suffice it to say, I definitely recommend it!

#Dan Leno and the Limehouse Golem #Peter Ackroyd #bookblr #book blogging #book blog #5

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thekillerblogofkillers · 7 years ago

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Mary Ann Cotton (1832-1873)

Mary Ann Cotton, also known as the Black Widow, was an English serial killer who was convicted of and hanged for the murder of her stepson, Charles Edward Cotton. It is believed that she murdered 3 of her 4 husbands in order to collect their insurance policies, as well as many others. She could have killed as many as 21 people, including 11 of her 13 children. Her methods included arsenic poisoning, which would cause gastric pain and rapid decline in health, leading to death. Mary Ann Robinson was born on October 31, 1832 at Low Moorsley (now part of Sunderland) to Michael Robinson, a colliery sinker (coal miner) and Margaret. Her sister, Margaret, was born in 1834 but lived only a few short months and her brother Robert was born in 1835. When Mary Ann was 8 years old her parents moved the family to Murton, County Durham. During her trial, The Northern Echo published an article featuring an interview with Mary Ann’s Sunday school teacher, who described her as “a most exemplary and regular attender”, “a girl of innocent disposition and average intelligence” and “distinguished for her particularly clean and tidy appearance.” Soon after the family moved Mary Ann’s father fell down 150ft down a mineshaft and died in February 1842 – his body was delivered to her mother in a sack marked with ‘Property of the South Hetton Coal Company’. Because the miner’s cottage the family lived in was tied to Michael’s job the widow and her children would have been evicted, but Margaret married George Stott, also a miner. At age 16 Mary Ann left home to work as a nurse in the nearby village of South Hetton, in the home of Edward Potter, a manager at the Murton coal mine. After all 3 children had been sent to boarding school, Mary Ann returned to her stepfather’s home and trained as a dressmaker.

At the age of 20 Mary Ann married William Mowbray, a colliery labourer. The couple moved to South West England where it is reported they had 4 or 5 children that died young. This is hard to prove or disprove as the births weren’t registered (this wasn’t legally required until 1874). The only recorded birth was a daughter named Margaret Jane, born at St Germans in 1856. William and Mary Ann moved back to North East England where William worked as a fireman on a steam vessel sailing from Sunderland, then as a colliery foreman. A second daughter, Isabella, was born in 1858 but Margaret Jane died in 1860. Another daughter, whom the couple also named Margaret Jane, was born in 1861 followed by a son, John Robert William in 1863 – but he died a year later from gastric fever. William Mowbray died of an intestinal disorder in January 1865. William and the couple’s children had their lives insured by the British and Prudential Insurance office and Mary Ann received £35 upon William’s death (£3,071 now) and £2 5s for John Robert William’s death. Soon after Mowbray’s death Mary Ann moved to Seaham Harbour, County Durham, where she began a relationship with Joseph Nattrass. During this period, Mary Ann’s 3-year-old daughter Margaret Jane died of typhus fever, leaving just one living out of the 9 she had given birth to. Mary Ann returned to Sunderland and began working at the Sunderland Infirmary, House of Recovery for the Cure of Contagious Fever, Dispensary and Humane Society, sending her surviving child Isabella to live with her mother. One of her patients at this time was engineer George Ward. The couple married at St Peter’s Church, Monkwearmouth on August 28 1865 but Ward continued suffering ill health and died on October 20 1866 after a long battle with paralysis and intestinal problems. The cause of death on his death certificate was listed as English cholera and typhoid. The attending physician gave evidence that Ward had been very ill but was surprised that his death was so sudden. Again, Mary Ann managed to collect insurance money for her husband’s death.

James Robinson, a shipwright at Pallion in Sunderland, had recently lost his wife Hannah and hired Mary Ann as a housekeeper in November 1866. 1 month later when James’ baby, John, died of gastric fever, he turned to his housekeeper for comfort and Mary Ann fell pregnant. Shortly afterwards, Mary Ann’s mother became ill with hepatitis so she went to see her in Seaham Harbour, County Durham. Her mother began to recover from the hepatitis but began to complain of stomach pains. Margaret died at the age of 54 in the spring of 1867, 9 days after Mary Ann arrived. In 1867 Mary Ann’s stepfather George Stott married his widowed neighbour, Hannah Paley. Mary Ann’s daughter Isabella (William Mowbray’s daughter) was brought back to the Robinson household and soon developed intense stomach pains and died, as did 2 of Robinson’s children, Elizabeth and James. All 3 children were buried in the same week. Mary Ann was given life insurance of £5 10s 6d for Isabella. Robinson and Mary Ann married at St Michael’s, Bishopwearmouth on 11 August 1867. Their first child, Margaret Isabella, was born in November of that year but became ill and died in February 1868. Their 2nd child, George, was born on 18 June 1869. Robinson was becoming suspicious of his wife’s insistence that he get his life insured and discovered that she had debts amounting to £60 and had stolen £50 that she was supposed to have put in the bank. He also discovered that Mary Ann had been forcing his older children to pawn their household valuables and threw her out, keeping custody of their son George.

At this point Mary Ann was desperate and living on the streets – until her friend Margaret Cotton introduced her to her brother, Frederick, a pitman and recent widower who lived in Walbottle, Northumberland, who had lost 2 of his 4 kids. Margaret had been acting as mother to the remaining children, Frederick Jr. and Charles, but in late March of 1870 she died from an undetermined stomach condition, leaving Mary Ann to console the grieving Frederick Sr. She was soon pregnant for the 12th time. Cotton and Mary Ann married, bigamously, on September 17, 1870 at St Andrew’s, Newcastle Upon Tyne. Their son Robert was born in early 1871. Not long after, Mary Ann learned that Joseph Nattrass, her former lover, was living 48km away in the village of West Auckland and was no longer married. She rekindled the old romance and persuaded her new family to move near him to carry on an affair. Frederick Cotton Sr. died in December 1870 from “gastric fever”. Insurance was paid out for his life. After Frederick died, Nattrass became Mary Ann’s lodger. She began working as a nurse to an excise officer who was recovering from smallpox, John Quick-Manning. It wasn’t long until Mary Ann became pregnant with her thirteenth child. Frederick Jr. died in March 1872 and the infant Robert died soon after. Then Nattrass fell ill with gastric fever and died just after he had rewritten his will in Mary Ann’s favour. The insurance policy on Charles (who was still alive) still awaited collection. Her downfall came when Thomas Riley, a parish official, asked Mary Ann to help nurse a woman with smallpox. She complained that Charles Edward, the last surviving Cotton boy, was in the way and asked Riley to commit him to the workhouse. Riley, who was also West Auckland’s assistant coroner, said she would need to go with him. She told Riley that Charles was sickly, adding: “I won’t be troubled long. He’ll go like all the rest of the Cottons.” 5 days later, Mary Ann told Riley that the boy was dead. Riley went to the village police and managed to convince the doctor to delay writing the death certificate until an investigation could be done. The first place Mary Ann went after Charles’ death wasn’t the doctor, but the insurance office. There, she found that she would not be paid anything until a death certificate was issued. An inquest was held and the jury returned a verdict of natural causes. Mary Ann claimed that she used arrowroot to relieve his illness and said Riley had made accusations against her because she had rejected his advances. The local newspapers heard the story and discovered that Mary Ann had moved around the country and had lost 3 husbands, a lover, a friend, her mother, and 11 children, all of whom had died of “stomach complaints.” Rumours gave way to suspicion and investigation – Doctor William Byers Kilburn, who had attended Charles, had kept samples and tests showed they contained arsenic. He told the police who arrested Mary Ann and secured an exhumation order for Charles’ body. Mary Ann was charged with his murder, but the trial was delayed until after the delivery of her 13th and final child in Durham Gaol on January 10 1873, whom she named Margaret Edith Quick-Manning Cotton.

Mary Ann Cotton’s trial started on March 5, 1873 – the delay was caused by a problem in the prosecution counsel selection. At first a Mr Aspinwall was considered but the Attorney General, Sir John Duke Coleridge, whose decision it was, chose his friend Charles Russell instead. Russell being chosen over Aspinwall led to a question in the House of Commons, but it was accepted and Russell conducted the prosecution. The Cotton case was the first of several famous poison cases he would be involved in during his career, including those of Adelaide Bartlett and Florence Maybrick. The defence was in the hands of Mr Thomas Campbell Foster, who argued that Charles had died from inhaling arsenic that was used as a dye in the wallpaper at the Cotton home. The doctor testified that there was no other power, only liquid, in the chemist’s shop, on the same shelf as the arsenic – the chemist himself claimed that there were in fact other powders. Campbell Foster argued that it was possible the chemist had mistaken the arsenic powder for bismuth powder (a diarrhoea treatment), when making a bottle for Cotton, because he had been distracted by talking to others. The jury retired for 90 minutes before returning a guilty verdict. On March 20 The Times correspondent reported: “After conviction the wretched woman exhibited strong emotion but this gave place in a few hours to her habitual cold, reserved demeanour and while she harbours a strong conviction that the royal clemency will be extended towards her, she staunchly asserts her innocence of the crime that she has been convicted of.” Numerous petitions were presented to the Home Secretary but it was no use. Mary Ann Cotton was hanged at Durham County Gaol on March 24 1873 by William Calcraft – she died, not from her neck breaking, but by strangulation caused by the rope being too short.

#mary ann cotton #black widow #county durham #sunderland #arsenic #stomach #executed #serial killer #murder #coal miner

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