Epilogue
LONDON
1.30AM NOVEMBER 9th, 1888
THE NOVEMBER MISTS AND FOGS swirled about the boots and skirts of Mary Jane Kelly as she led her customer down the narrow arched alley leading from 26 Dorset Street to her poorly furnished uncarpeted room at No 13 Millers Court. She shivered and wrapped her shawl closer about her, the night air was chill and she was anxious to get inside, earn her two shillings and then go again to buy some gin.
Her client was well dressed, tall and with a big bushy moustache, he smelled of cologne and spoke with a strange accent, called her Ma’am, and was so polite, a real gent, she thought, wondering only in passing as to why a ‘a proper gent’ should be looking for trade amongst the lowest of the low. Not that she was a common w***e, of course, she had her ow
