Murder in Whitechapel (The Judas Reflections) by Aiden James, Michelle Wright Page A

Roderick, but I would like you to come for dinner this evening. I have the pleasure of the company of Captain and Mrs. Braithwaite and I also expect Marianne’s attendance.” I had the misfortune to catch him wince, a sure sign he was reluctant to attend.
    “It will be a benefit for the Captain to see our solidarity. He has put a lot of business our way and I would like it to remain that way,” I continued firmly.
    Reluctantly, he agreed and, without word, went back to his meticulous, self taught accountancy.
    There was little for me to do in such a state of limbo, no more than wait in anticipation for the files whilst I twiddled my thumbs. I would hasten to explain I had infinite patience if I set my mind to it, with the exception of a situation that occurred in the year 1555. I had made the long journey to Salon de Provence in southern France, to search for the author of a much talked about book, Les Prophecies. Word reached me he supposedly could see into the future. Like many I was desperate to have an audience with the infamous Michel de Nostredame. I traveled to him with determination, unsure he would give me an audience, but nonetheless resilient. It was simple, I wanted him to foresee my future. I languished long enough in lodgings in Salon de Provence, my patience torn to the limit, when I was informed by one of his associates he had been summoned with urgency to Catherine de Medici, Queen consort to King Henry II. She wanted him to make birth charts predictions for her children. My patience stretched beyond reason, as he was to be gone far too long for me to wait and I never again found the opportunity as the months passed. I did think to visit him again, but word came he died after predicting his own death the previous evening. I had, since that time, read all of his written prophecies, coming to greatly admire the man Nostredame, often wondering if he could have seen into my future what he would have made of it. It was not to be the first, nor last time, did I seek guidance, on occasions, seeing those who supposedly had the gift of foretelling the future. Many were to tell me only that I would have considerable wealth, marry and have one son. He will be a blessing and a chip off the old block! I am still waiting and, with each new century, I doubted what was told would ever come to pass.

looked forward to my evening meal of roast quails with apricots, a tasty throwback from olden times. Cook mastered the ancient recipe to perfection. Even though Roderick was not amused at having to daintily cut into the small bird, he always refrained from comment so as not to offend Cook, whom, in spite of her terseness, he held in high regard. This evening was to be no exception. Upon hearing the menu he only smiled.
    “I am hopefully expecting Miss Marianne this evening,” I explained to Edward. “Please make sure there are two bottles of Krug on ice.”
    Marianne adored champagne, Krug being her favorite and it surprised me how many glasses she could consume, yet keep her faculties in order. My other guests were frequently shocked at the amount, anticipating her drunkenness, but there was none. I once asked if she thought herself sinful at times. She replied, if enjoying one’s life to the fullest was a sin, then hell must be very full and heaven empty. Of course, she arrived after the hour. Late as usual, looking radiant and her cheeks flushed, she greeted my guests with enthusiasm.
    “I am to be married!” she exclaimed loudly.
    “So who is the lucky man then? Do we know the gentleman in question?” The Captain was a man of some standing and had dined with Royals. In spite of Marianne’s way of life, he expected her not to marry someone beneath her station. That would be too unthinkable.
    “Why it’s Mr. Robert Pratt, of course. Surely, Captain, you know of him? He is the toast of the town on account of his large investments in many fine theatre productions.”
    “A man of considerable wealth, you can do