Crimes Across Time ...Part 2 ...A Letter from the Grave

Civilization is hideously fragile... there's not much between us
and the Horrors underneath, just about a coat of varnish.
C.P. Snow

Ella Franklin

The Victorian house I inherited from my Uncle George was dark and gloomy and had a sinister air about it.

Tess and I decided to rent a bin and clean up the place before putting it on the market. We both felt an evil aura about the place that caused us to shiver.

I had no intention of raising a family in a dark manse that reminded me of a house of horrors.

We set to work tidying the downstairs. Tess decided to work in the kitchen while I tackled the front room and dining room.

The love seat and sofa chair were threadbare and the springs were broken—they’d have to be tossed out into the dumpster—that little task occupied about fifteen minutes of my time.

I made a mental note to call the movers to get rid of the player piano in the dining room.

Then, my eye fell upon the cedar chest with its ornate carvings of winged birds—typical of Gothic influence.

I opened it and discovered a treasure trove of Daguerreotypes and sepia photographs of relations long forgotten.

I began piling these into boxes to be assessed later. The Victorian Christmas cards and Boer War memorabilia would be worth something.

When the chest was completely empty, I happened to notice a small, blue ribbon tab sticking up. The chest had a false bottom.

I pulled on the tag and the pressed wood panel lifted, revealing a neat bundle of letters and photographs.

I began sorting through the photographs and found one with the name Ella written in brown ink on the back. It was a photo of the missing common law wife of Robert Franklin.

She was dressed in a long black dress typical of the turn of the century. She had a plain face and wore her hair swept up into a bun. She was not a particularly attractive woman.

I sorted through the letters and found one addressed to Harold and postmarked 1892. It was from a Mrs. Deissin, a former neighbour of Robert’s, in London.

I read what the woman wrote and the contents made my blood freeze

Ella told me what she saw in Whitechapel that night. True, she later recanted her story—but that was after she took up with you and said you were a good bloke. Just now I learned details of that crime from a newspaper report that only the murderer, or a witness could have known.I know for a fact Ella knew Mary Jane Kelly, and often visited her at 13 Miller's Court, the very place where she was murdered.I’m reporting your name to the East End Vigilance Committee and am letting you know in the hope that you’ll do the right thing and come forward.

The letter was sent to a London address where Robert lived at the time.

I shouted for Tess and she came running.

“What’s wrong? —You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Read this letter I found in the chest.”

I watched as she read, and saw the terror sweep across her features.

“Oh my God, Tom! —This is horrible. What should we do?”

I sat down on a dining room chair, trying to reason the thing through.

“It’s an accusation only—there’s no reason to suspect it’s true.”

“But what if it is?” she parried.

“The crime took place a century ago. Does it matter?”

The question ominously echoed in the empty house, demanding an answer and buzzing in my brain like a menacing insect threatening our peace.

© 2019, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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