Tug and the Ripper

Brother??!! That was a masterstroke. I could accompany her anywhere, and yet not be viewed as a rival.

Sir Harry got the same expression that a wolf might get, if he had just been presented with a tasty lamb. He said debonairly, "B'Gad then! it's Flash Harry's duty to show you around." He bowed gallantly and said, "At your service Madam."

Maria treated him to her all-out seductive smile and said, "How can I EVER thank you Sir?"

At those words, Flashman appeared to swallow his upper plate. There was a moment of choking, and his face turned beet red. Then he stood to his full height and gallantly offered his hand. Maria took it and clutched it to her incredible bosom, while saying, "My brother is waiting for me. Can we meet again, kind Sir?"

Flashman looked like he had just cum in his pants. But he recovered quickly. He gave another courtly bow and said, "By all means young lady. Here is my card. Please feel free to visit. I'm at home most of the time, now that I'm not off campaigning."

Exactly one hour later a servant appeared at our door inviting us to tea.

*****

Maria and I arrived at Flashman's home by carriage. It was on Chapel Street, just off of Belgravia Square. It's arguably the best part of the West End. The buildings haven't changed in the 130 years since. But it's mostly embassies now.

We were in classic Victorian "visiting" regalia, me in morning costume and she in a dress that hugged her incredible body without revealing an inch of inappropriate skin. The Victorians had a knack for making sanctimonious look almost pornographic.

We were greeted at the door by a servant who took our hats and our visiting card. He disappeared into the inner reaches of the house, which was light and airy throughout. People have an image of Victorian residences as dark and cramped. That is indeed correct, in a lot of their housing. But the rich could afford the large windows and heating.

The servant ushered us into what appeared to be a combination sitting room and solarium. Flashman rose from his chair, bonhommerie and lust written in equal parts on his face. Sitting with him was an incredible sixty-year old woman.

She remained seated. Flashman approached me first, shook my hand and said, "Pleasure meeting you, old boy!" He only had eyes for Maria. But, Victorian etiquette dictated that he should greet me first, since I was the man.

He turned toward the remarkable creature to his left, who was reclining in a large balloon chair, looking like Cleopatra on her barge. He said dismissively, "This is my wife Elspeth."

Elspeth was perhaps sixty years old. But she was still a perfect English Rose. Painters like Gainsborough and Reynolds have immortalized that archetypal face and body for centuries. She had a pink on ivory complexion, golden hair, without a single white streak, a perfect round face, innocent, cornflower blue eyes, button nose and the most lascivious pair of lips outside of a Pall Mall Bordello.

But her real glory were her enormous bouncers, which were displayed in a décolletage that would have gotten her stoned; if she had shown it in public. In modern terms, I was thinking a letter like "M" or something higher in the alphabet to describe her bra size. Needless to say; if you liked big-breasted women, then Elspeth Rennie Morrison was your cup of tea.

She turned her gloriously imperious blue eyes on me and all I could think of was "sheep," or some other equally stupid creature. Then something passed behind them. For an instant, I could see the insatiable hunger lurking down there. She extended her hand regally and said, "Charmed."

When I bent to air kiss her hand, she very lightly shrugged her shoulders. That motion set her two enormous boobs quivering like blancmanges in a gale. If I wasn't married to the most erotic woman on two planets, I would have fallen face first into that cleavage and gone, "Brrrrrrrrrrr."

I was stunned, "Did she do that on purpose?" Clearly, Flashman was well matched.

Then, we had one of those utterly excruciating exercises that the Victorians called, "high tea." Normally at one of those sessions, the host would ask something about the guests. But instead, Flashman regaled us with his exploits. And they were amazing adventures indeed.

He was the sole survivor of the British massacre at Gandamak and the American massacre at the Little Big Horn. He had charged with the Light Brigade, and ridden with Kit Carson. He had recovered the Kohinoor diamond from the Sikhs at Ferozeshah. He had been besieged at Lucknow and was one of the captives in Peking. He had fought with James Brooke in Borneo and with Napier in Abyssinia. He had been at BOTH Isandlwana and Rourke's Drift. In short, he had led a remarkable life.

He had met the incredible Elspeth, while putting down a worker's revolt in Paisley. According to both it was love at first sight. I rather doubted that. I'd more likely believe lust at first-sight. They were far too self-centered to love anybody but themselves. Perhaps the matrimony was at the point of a gun?

The fact that Elspeth's father was the first Lord Paisley explained the extravagant lifestyle. It also meant that; even though she was an utterly Victorian wife, with all that implied in terms of subservience, Elspeth had the money in the family.

It was an odd illusion. On the surface, Elspeth was a classic Victorian society doyen; rich, proper and very conservative. While at the same time, a bare, foreign foot was making its way up my leg. Elspeth appeared to be primly pouring tea and her husband was standing as he reenacted the Battle of Alma. Maria's voice said in my head, "It's NOT me." She sounded amused.

After tea, Flashman offered to show Maria the garden. While, I was left to defend my virtue from the formidable Elspeth. I was sitting in a Morris chair sipping tea.

Elspeth rose from the table and walked toward me saying, "I must adjust that for you Mr. Twain. It looks frightfully uncomfortable." I thought that calling myself Mark Twain was a clever ploy. It also let me call my "sister" Shania.

Then, Elspeth appeared to trip. Her skirt flew up, revealing her pantaloons, and she sprawled face first on top of me. The pegs holding the back of the chair upright broke and we collapsed together in an extremely compromising heap. The teacup flew off in the general direction of the parlor and there was some wild thrashing. I found myself lying on my back, with Elspeth on top of me, legs splayed and gripping my hips.

Her pussy was slowly humping my rapidly rising interest and her huge tits were crushing my chest. Her lips were so uncomfortably close to mine, I could feel her panting.

Horrified, I rolled out from underneath her expressing my profuse apologies for any unseemliness, real or implied. She said completely innocently, "No, it was my fault entirely Mr. Twain."

I continued to act flustered and embarrassed. Elspeth sat there legs askew and one giant boob hanging out of the front of her scooped neck dress, I could see a huge pink aureole.

She pouted prettily as she tucked her tit back in and said, "It is nothing to be concerned about Mr. Twain. I'm SURE that my husband would understand."

There were several meanings to that statement. But, I was absolutely positive that I had just been offered a swap. THAT got me thinking about Maria.

I said, trying to appear clueless, "I must find Mr. Flashman and apologize."

Elspeth got a horror-stricken look on her face and said, "No!! No!! Don't do that Mr. Twain!! I'm sure he doesn't mind!!"

Of course, he didn't mind. I knew that Maria was having the same experience out in the garden with Sir Harry. I said determinedly, "Nonetheless, I must apologize for my indecorous action."

As I fled through the French-doors I heard Elspeth's musical voice calling frantically, "Please stay and have tea with me Mr. Twain." I was thinking to myself, "The Victorians call an afternoon delight TEA???"

I made my way through the garden maze I heard a moan and a rough voice saying, "Aha!! That's what I call a Flashy half-nelson, a tit in one hand and a buttock in the other."

I heard Maria say, "Oh, Mr. Flashman, what would my husband say?" It sounded flirtatious but I could sense that she was getting annoyed with his very direct attentions.

I heard another little moan. I had to intervene before Maria decked him. So, I began thrashing through the bushes just to warn them of my presence. They were standing apart when I arrived. Maria looked cool and controlled, although her bodice was slightly askew.

Flashman looked very much the worse for wear. Even a momentary experience with Maria does that to a man. She said, "Husband, it is sooooo good to see you." Both Flashman and I knew what she was saying.

I had to hand it to him. He recovered quickly. But he must have had plenty of other experiences in the same situation. He became all blustery, smiling good-cheer. He said, sounding sincere, "Yes old boy, good to see you. We must do this again." And we did.

*****

On the way back, Maria told me what she had learned. That was, after she stopped laughing at my futile efforts to defend my virtue.

She said, "Flashman's blameless, or at least as innocent as a lecherous old scallywag can be. He thinks that the Athenian is some old school chum named Speedicut. He believes that the two of them are up to mischief down in Whitechapel, like they were in their school days."

I looked at her puzzled. She smiled tolerantly and said, "The Athenians don't have anything like our psychic powers. But, they are excellent shape-shifters. They can subliminally mold people's perceptions of who they are, by manipulating how their brains interpret what they see."

She added, "To Flashman, the Athenian is his old friend. And because the Athenian is telepathic, he has all Flashman's perceptions of who this Speedicut person is. Atlanteans never developed that capability."

She said by way of explanation, "Atlantean cloaking powers are somewhat similar. But we use that to protect ourselves. You and I see the Athenian because we are cloaked. So, they can't get at us."

I got what Maria was saying. Flashman must be important to the Athenian's scheme. However. if the Athenian d approached Flashman looking like the eerie and intimidating mother-fucker he actually was, it would be impossible to get close to him. So instead, the Athenian put on the guise of a former partner in crime from Flashman's Rugby days.

I said, "What were they doing last night?"

Maria said, "Precisely what you think. Flashman was relieving a little stress. He ended up with the tubby old whore you saw him with. Speedicut was along to watch his back."

I said, "The tubby little whore is going to be dead in four days. There was another prostitute killed three days ago and I'll bet that Flashman visited her too. But the Ripper is getting more vicious. The next one was the first one whose sexual organs were removed. There has to be some connection there."

Maria gave me a sideways look. It was like she couldn't believe a human could be so beastly. I said mildly, "I bet it wasn't a human who did it."

When we got back, we discussed what we knew. There was no question that the Ripper killings were related to the presence of the Athenian. I also believed that Flashman was somehow part of that equation.

So, the obvious question was, "What does the Athenian have to gain by killing the prostitutes Flashman has done business with?" That was puzzling. But, the only way I could get back to Key West and my tug was to solve that riddle.

But, we didn't want to seem too eager. That would tip our hand. Flashman would have to approach us. So, we hunkered-down and waited for a message to arrive.

We knew it was going to come. Maria told me that Flashy was obsessed with her. But he wanted the seduction to be just right. I knew that Maria could handle him. And I was planning to bring a whip and chair if Elspeth was there too.

Unfortunately, it was almost two months before an invitation came. Victorian society moved to certain rules and it wasn't the "season" yet. Once it arrived, it was to attend a soiree at Marlborough House.

We were to be the personal guests of Sir Harry at a "opening of society" party that was hosted by Albert Edward; better known as "Bertie", or the Prince of Wales, and later known as King Edward VII.

Excluding a few oriental potentates, Bertie might have been the most lecherous monarch in the 20th Century. He had a parade of mistresses including luminaries like Lilly Langtry and Sarah Barnhardt and his favorite, Alice Keppel.

His residence, the Marlborough House, was a well-known den of iniquity in 1888. And the elites who partied there were the 19th Century equivalent of a swinger's key club. It was obvious why the Flashmans were part of their inner circle. It was also obvious why we had been invited

We spent the time prior to that undoubtedly sordid event tracking the Ripper. We had identified the Athenian and it was clear that he was the one who had created the alternate history. But, he seemed to be more attached to the Flashman timeline, than the Ripper's. So, the murder investigation seemed a little pointless.

Nonetheless, the fact remained that we had been sent to monitor Jack, not Flashman. More importantly, we didn't have anything to while-away the time while we were in 1888 London. We toured around a bit. But the place was super-uncomfortable for people used to 21st Century conveniences. It rained a lot and you had to walk. That is, if you wanted to get anywhere. More important, the place was noisy, stinky and full of every type of human wreckage from seven-year-old pick-pockets, to ancient beggars of every variety.

There were Hansoms and we were rich enough to use them. But piling into one wearing all the voluminous clothing of the time was a hassle.

I was surprised to discover that the Underground existed. But, that pulled you through pitch dark tunnels in open carriages, behind a smoke and ember belching steam train. So, the only thing we did to break up the monotony were frequent wild fucking sessions. Those made the wait well-worth-the-while.

Maria was super horney. It was like she was turned-on by being back in 1888. She's 318 years old. So, she was alive at the time. Nonetheless, I knew she'd never been in London. Because that would violate the grandfather paradox and there would be a big boom!!

So, we continued our Whitechapel observations and struck gold. Our chief advantage was the fact that I knew exactly WHAT would take place and roughly WHEN it would happen. Thus, on Saturday September 8th, we were waiting in the deep shadows on Hanbury street.

It was 5:30 in the morning. We both saw the tubby little whore, who we'd last seen at the Ten Bells. She was walking down the other side of the street. She was with a man dressed in a dark overcoat and a deer-stalker hat. I thought, "Seriously, the Ripper is Sherlock Holmes??" They stopped at the fence next to 29 Hanbury. I heard the man say, "Will you?" and the little whore replied "Yes."

They disappeared into the passageway between 29 and 27. Then we heard a woman's voice say "No!" and something fell against the fence. We could only observe. The murder was a significant happening in the timeline. So, we couldn't intervene.

The man emerged less than 20 minutes later. He was still dressed in the hat and overcoat. There was no sign of the knife, or the gory souvenirs that I knew he had taken. He passed very close to the place where we were standing. We were shielded by Maria's cloaking powers.

As the Ripper passed there was a shimmering and the dark-haired, scruffy, foreign looking man who history described as Annie Chapman's killer, morphed into the Athenian!! It was suddenly head-smackingly obvious. I whispered out loud, "No wonder they never caught him."

But how in the world would the deaths of five Whitechapel whores and Sir Harry be linked? And how did the Athenian fit in? Several weeks passed and we were no closer to an answer.

We had decided to wait out Sir Harry. Maria assured me that he had plans for her. So, we were patient. I was certain we would get our chance.

Meanwhile we were hanging in the shadows of Mitre Square at 1:15 in the morning of Sunday September 30th, 1888. I wanted to confirm what we had seen three weeks earlier. There had already been a murder that night. It was attributed to the Ripper. But, there was some debate about that. Nevertheless, there was no question about the murder of Catherine Eddowes.

A little woman, perhaps five feet tall came out of St. James Passage. She was singing cheerfully. A man who was perhaps 30 was with her. I saw in the gaslight of the square that he was taller than the other version of Jack. He was perhaps five feet seven, medium build, with a fair complexion and mustache. This version was dressed like a sailor with a peaked, cloth cap. They walked right past us. Her hand was on his chest in an intimate manner.

Maria gave a little gasp and pulled me back down the passage toward Duke Street. She said, "The Athenian is starting to scan for the presence of other people." I felt the psychic cloak that she had wrapped around us.

Perhaps twenty minutes later, Maria said with fear in her voice, "He's coming this way. Be still." We merged further into the shadows. The Athenian came out of the passage walking quickly. He never sensed our presence. He turned right into Dukes place. He was utterly calm, almost business-like. He was wiping an eight-inch knife on a scrap of torn cloth. That cloth would be discovered a few blocks over on Goulston street, and it would become part of the Ripper legend.

Athenians are impossible to tell apart. But I assumed that this was the guy who had killed Dark Annie. I also assumed that at some point in time, Catherine Eddowes had indulged Flashman's lowlife prostitute fetish.

We continued to wait. I knew that the final murder would take place on November 9th. There was no need to be there. We already knew who was committing them. And THAT one was by far the ghastliest. It was also the most tragic. I had gotten a sense of the victim from the single glance we had exchanged outside the Ten Bells. I felt her humanity. I didn't want to face being there when she died.

*****

The invitation was to spend an evening with the Prince of Wales and his set at Marlborough House. Flashman, being the distinguished old warrior that he appeared to be, was a favorite of Bertie's. He had wangled the invite for us. Of course, I knew the real reason why we were summoned to the Prince's palace. Flashman had described Maria to the randy old fucker.

Marlborough House was built for the Duke of Marlborough's wife. Back in the early 1700s, she had been the bestie of Queen Anne. Anne had already created Blenheim Palace for the Duke out in Oxfordshire. So, she built a house for her friend and put it adjacent to her own Court of St James. It must be nice to be Queen.

By 1888, Buckingham Palace had replaced St. James as the Royal residence. But the Royals still used Marlborough house to stash people they viewed as "inconvenient," like the Heir Apparent and Presumptive. Queen Victoria, Bertie's own mom, called Bertie "frivolous, indiscreet and irresponsible." That was why she tucked him out of sight over there.

That must have been a blessing to Bertie. Since, it got him out of the direct glower of his puritanical Mom. When Bertie was growing up, his parents had made strict German discipline seem like a frat party. So, in the time-honored tradition of all children; once he got out from under his mom's thumb, Bertie went nuts!!

Legend has it that he was so horny that even the sheep ran for cover when he was around. Historically, his score was 55 mistresses, including the great grand-mother of the wife of the current Prince of Wales. Worse, that's only the official score. If you factored in one-time hookups and visits to every whorehouse in Paris, the score was probably in the hundreds, perhaps thousands.