Jack the Ripper – A Love Story ( Excerpt 118 )

Jack the Ripper – A Love Story ( Excerpt 118 )

  But I had to shake myself out of these morbid thoughts, we had guests arriving shortly, they weren’t coming to see a man wracked by doubts. They were coming to say their goodbyes to a good friend.

The Abberline’s arrived, and my mood soon changed, Lizzie would allow no sorrow on this night, this night was a celebration of friendship and good fellowship, there was no time for morbid thoughts of past or future.

Fred, trying hard to stifle a smile, said, ‘Mmm, so you are an officer now you will get an idea how my life is, you are either totally wrong or just too late?’

‘Ignore him, Jack, he’s only jealous ‘cos the Met won’t let him go, not that I’d trust him to be loose in Whitechapel, never mind bloomin’ Africa!’ intoned Lizzie voicing her opinion. My brother, Giles sat with a bemused smile on his face, obviously fascinated by the double-act that was my good friends the Abberline’s.

Giles interceded with, ‘I feel sure that a man of your husband’s undoubted knowledge and other qualities could not be spared, you should feel very proud of him!’

‘I am very proud of him, I know that one day soon, hopefully in the not too distant future my Fred will apprehend Jack the Ripper, he has this list of suspects that he is gradually whittling down, old Jack thinks he’s in the clear but not with Fred Abberline on his trail.’ Lizzie stated proudly.

‘Is that true? asked Giles, ‘That you have an idea who this dastardly miscreant is?’

(C) Damian Grange 2018

4 thoughts on “Jack the Ripper – A Love Story ( Excerpt 118 )

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s