The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 21 -- The Ten Bells Pub

Chapter 21 – The Ten Bells Pub

"Welcome to the heart of Whitechapel. This is an extremely busy street," said Mrs. Steers. They were amazed by the heavy traffic of wagons, carts, and people moving in all directions.  There was an echoing of clip clop of horses' hooves. A roar of voices filled the air.

Sam tried to take in the whole scene, scribbled notes to the point his hand ached, and stopped to shake his hand, trying to ease a cramp.

"Whoa! Watch where you're going!" yelled a burly wagon driver to a lanky drunkard who walked right out in front of his loaded wagon.  Sam watched amazed as the cart rolled by.

Two stocky women wearing ragged worn dresses chattered about their day and the work to be done.  "Lovely day, isn't it," said one.  Her scraggly grey hair hung uncombed under her plain bonnet.

"Ey, it is. Good day for the market," replied the other.  Her upper gum devoid of teeth.

 "Oh yes.  'Ope there's a bit of sun later."  

Sam looked up at the overcast sky.  Just as he was about to say something, he was interrupted.

"Ginger cakes!" A bearded hawker shouted, carrying a wooden tray stacked with round cakes looking like overdone pancakes.  The aroma of ginger tickled Sam's nose. "Ginger cakes."

Horses pulled carts piled full of vegetables heading to local markets. A wrinkled-faced merchant toted a long wooden pole on his left shoulder.  Sam grimaced at what he had tied to it -- a row of dead rabbits hanging by their hind legs.  Overloaded wagons with stacked bales of hay rolled their way down the middle of the bustling street.  A cloud of dust and chaff flew off the load of hay as the wagon rattled by.

"The Ten Bells Pub is at the corner of Commercial and Fournier Streets.  According to the map we should go north." Mrs. Steers had pinpointed their location on her map and in her guidebook and they headed left.

"I read about the Ten Bells as a possible hangout for Jack and his victims." Sam flipped through his notebook.  “Do you think we’ll see him there?”

"Maybe. Remember, this is seedy-looking part of town," said Mrs. Steers as she eyed some young thugs passing by.    A shabby, dirty drunkard passed by, swaggering towards two women carrying their laundry bundles.

"Heeelllloooo," hiccuped the drunk. "… Beautiful Ladies… Lovely day ain't it…"

"Pop off, you old sot," said one pushing him away with her laundry bundle.  The drunkard staggered off in the opposite direction, nearly walking out in front of a slow-moving cart full of barrels.

"Well, let's weave our way across the street and check out the pub," said Mrs. Steers.   "Remember, avoid walking though anyone. It's such a strange feeling if you've not experienced it.  Think of it as playing dodge ball. Only it's dodging people."

Stepping out into the street, Mrs. Steers and Sam scuttled between wagons and people.

"I've had lots of practice dodging people," yelled Mrs. Steers.  "Though I must admit I've never been any place this busy.  Try to stay close to me, Sam."  Fascinated by the game of dodging through the crowd, Sam fell behind.  Mrs. Steers got too far ahead of him.  He wasn't used to her speedy pace and lost her in the crowd.  He wove alone as best he could.

Stopping to allow an empty cart to pass, Sam found himself in the path of a grey-bearded gentleman dressed in a black rugged overcoat and black bowler hat.  He was carrying two large wooden pails on a wooden yoke across his shoulders.   It was too late for Sam to move.  His path went right through Sam.

Sam was eye-level with the man's blue-striped neckerchief and dirty shirt collar.  As the pail carrier passed through him, Sam saw darkness as if the whole world went dark for a brief moment.  The temperature dropped rapidly almost like jumping into cold water and being unprepared for the initial shock.  Then, like a stage curtain being pulled open, the street returned and he warmed instantly.  Sam turned to see the man's back.  The foul stench of the man's nasty body odor made Sam sick to his stomach.  Coughing and gagging, he gave a dry heave.

Before Sam had the chance to move again, a portly grey-haired peddler with her basket of mixed flowers passed through him.  He could smell the flowers and her.  The two mixed -- the sweet fragrance of the flowers only made it worse. It was the foulest smell Sam had ever encountered.

"Gees, don't they ever take baths," muttered Sam pinching his nose shut and wiping his mouth in his sleeve and dry heaved again.

While Sam scrambled, Mrs. Steers had crossed the street and found a doorway to stand in, avoiding the sidewalk traffic. Only then did she realize Sam wasn’t behind her.

"Sam! Where are you?" shouted Mrs. Steers in all directions.   A wagon piled with hay passed and she spotted him dashing aimlessly about the middle of the street.  She ran over to him, not bothering to dodge the pedestrians.   She grabbed Sam by the arm and guided him through the traffic to a nearby doorway.

"Sam!  Why did you stop? Are you alright?  What happened?  You look like you've seen a ghost…"  Mrs. Steers' voice trailed off as she realized what had happened.  She grinned while Sam stooped over with his hands on his knees, ready to dry heave once again.

"I know what happened," said Mrs. Steers. "Someone walked through you, didn't they?"

"Yeeesss….," stuttered Sam still shocked from the moment.  "Not one… but two people and then I just missed another one when you grabbed me.  I've never felt anything like that before.  It was like a… like a brain freeze when you eat a Popsicle when it's too cold… only somehow worse.  And the smell. Don't they take baths here?"

"Sam, have you ever read about haunted houses? People tell of feeling a cold spot or describe a room as the coldest in the house?  And that's the room they say is haunted.  That's what I'm reminded of when a ghost of the past walks through me.   I've had it happen many times.  It takes time to overcome that feeling. Even though it doesn't last long."

Slowly, Sam returned to normal and grew impatient.  "Can we get going?"

Mrs. Steers agreed.  "Yes, let me see.  The pub is that way."

From the doorway, Sam watched the people go about their business.  Mrs. Steers studied her unfolded her map and consulted the travel guide. Nearby, a bell began to toll.  Out loud, Sam counted eleven peals.

They dodged another round of pedestrians, moving quickly from one doorway to another until they were in one across from the Ten Bells Pub.  Traffic got thicker.  Scruffy men greeted each other. Shoppers bickered about prices of vegetables.  Drivers yelled out about the weather.  And of course, there were murmurs about the murderer in their midst.

“Ay, slit her right open.  Now callin’ ‘im Jack the Ripper, they is.”

"Did you hear that, Mrs. Steers?"

"Yes, I did.  Looks like our Jack is a hot topic.  And why wouldn't he be?"  Mrs. Steers raised her eyebrows.

A moment later, a short gaunt woman stopped right in front of them.   Her dark hair was parted with some showing under the front of her black straw bonnet. She stood there for a moment, when an unshaven man wearing a ragged dark suit of clothes approached her.

"What did they give you?" asked the woman.   

With his back to Sam and Mrs. Steers, he muttered something about enough to get a place for the night.

"I'll go see my daughter.  Maybe she'll give me some lolly."  She started to leave when he stopped her.

"Kate," he said.  "What time will you be back?"

"About four.   Now don't you worry yourself…  I'll get us some coppers."  She scuttled up the street.

"Where do you want to meet?"

"’Ow about 'ere at the Ten Bells?   Tell 'em Kate Eddowes is back."   The man nodded then headed in the opposite direction.  

Sam recognized her name. Sam shouted out.  "Mrs. Steers, that's her!   That's Catherine Eddowes!"

Mrs. Steers looked for her but Eddowes was weaving her way through the crowd.

"Quick! Let's follow her." 

Before Mrs. Steers could speak, Sam was dodging his way through traffic trying to keep up with Eddowes.

He could see her hat bobbing through the crowd. He yelled over his shoulder to Mrs. Steers. "Hurry, we're catching up with her."  

Eddowes wasn't too far ahead. Soon Sam was following right behind her and felt more confident in dodging the ghosts coming towards him.

"Sam, please slow down,” yelled Mrs. Steers.  “I am not a spring chicken anymore." 

Sam paid no attention.  He was busy studying Eddowes, making mental notes of what she looked like, her clothes, and anything else interesting about her.

Mrs. Steers worried Sam would get lost in the crowd again. When she was about to yell at him, Catherine Eddowes stopped abruptly and poked around in her handbag looking for something.  Sam almost walked right through her.  Mrs. Steers caught up with them.

"Sam," said Mrs. Steers panting.  "Please don't run off."   

Sam wrote down as much as he could about Eddowes, but soon realized that this wasn’t working.  The crowd was too thick and he kept sidestepping to miss getting walked through again.

 "'Ello love."   A young uniformed sailor smiled and winked at Eddowes.  "I know it's early, but 'ow's about showin' a sailor a little lovin'?"   Eddowes said something Sam couldn't hear, then she walloped him in the chest with her handbag.  Mrs. Steers did hear clearly and gasped.

"Shove off!" shouted Eddowes.  "Who do you think I am?  Some cheap tart?"  The sailor grabbed her arm.  She walloped him again even harder this time in the face.  The stunned sailor let go of her. Grumbling, he stomped away.

"What did she say?" said Sam turning to Mrs. Steers, ignoring his question.  Eddowes began walking again.  Sam began to follow but Mrs. Steers grabbed his shoulder, pulling him to a nearby doorway. 

"But I want to learn as much as I can about her," said Sam.

"Never mind what she said. I think we should leave this area."  Mrs. Steers felt uneasy, not just about the conversation between Eddowes and the sailor, but this whole section of London.   Not only did questionable people who live in this area, but questionable activity took place as well. Mrs. Steers didn't believe Sam should witness any of it.  She had second thoughts about being in this part of London.  She wanted Sam to experience the London of Jack the Ripper, but this was too much.

"Sam, let's catch up with her later, hopefully not while she's being murdered."

"That would be awesome," said Sam.  "I could really get some good notes."  Mrs. Steers stared wide-eyed at Sam.

"No!  That would not be awesome."  Mrs. Steers was a little shaken by Sam's insensitivity.  "She's a real person with a soul or was a real person.   Murder is not awesome."

Sam realized what he had said and felt bad for offending Mrs. Steers. "Sorry, I didn't think before I spoke.   I was just thinking since she is dead... I mean we are in the past seeing things that have already happened..."

Mrs. Steers shook her head in agreement.  "I see your point, but seeing someone die isn't something me or you want to witness."   Her last words hit Sam hard.   He had seen someone die.  Once again, a memory flashed in his mind.  He was standing next to his dad who was dying in a hospital bed.  Now, he wished he could take back his words.  Sam felt tears well in his eyes, but concentrated on the present moment, making the memory disappear.

"Let's do some sight-seeing," said Mrs. Steers in that firm parental tone.