From Hell Page #4

Tell me.

Surely you, of all people, can guess.

I don't want to guess with you.

Dr. Marbury says...

Dr. Marbury says?

Dr. Marbury says

I'm going to have your child.

"Ay, to die

"and go we know not where

"To lie in cold obstruction and to rot"

A simple "rest in peace" would suffice.

Yes, sir.

"In the midst of life we are in death...

"... of whom may we seek for succor,

but of Thee, O Lord...

"... who for our sins art justly displeased?

"Yet, O Lord God most holy...

"... O Lord most mighty... "

Good afternoon, ladies.

I'm Inspector Abberline.

This is Sgt. Godley.

We're investigating the murders

of Polly Nichols and Martha Tabram.

We understand they were both friends

of you ladies.

Close friends.

We're hoping you'd be able to help us.

Don't know nothing.

Me neither.

Why are you bothering us?

You ought to bother McQueen.

-Is he the boss of Nichol Street?

-The heart and soul of the gang.

Isn't it your job to be knowing

that small detail?

What makes you think McQueen did this?

Can't prove nothing by me.

-You're Mary Kelly, right?

-That's right.

Unless one of you is willing to testify

against McQueen...

...I can't do nothing.

Surely, Inspector...

...a strong, handsome man like you...

...could do anything

you put your brilliant mind to.

I'm a coward and a weakling.

I can't help meself.

What's your excuse?

Why are you so bloody useless?

Come on, Mary. They won't help us.

Is that you?

Before my mother died, back in Ireland.

-Is that when you came here?

-Yeah.

-When I was 8.

-When things was good.

We were starving,

but we were starving in fresh air.

I was thinking...

...we ain't never gonna earn enough

to satisfy the Nichols boys...

...and feed our own mouths.

You said those men...

...who took the rich artist man

and her as well...

You said they was clean-shaven,

and their clothes was neat.

-Right.

-They weren't criminals, then.

They weren't the Nichols boys.

They was unusual.

Perhaps even official.

What are you getting at?

Maybe we could go with the papers,

get paid for the story.

"Where's Ann Crook?"

The papers are always desperate

for things bad about the government.

It's a mystery, to boot.

Not a bad plan. What do you think, Mary?

We should talk to that inspector,

the one at Polly's funeral.

F*** me! No.

If we go to the papers, they might hurt Ann

even worse. Or hurt the baby.

Worse than what'll happen to her

in Whitechapel when she sprouts teats?

I don't know for sure.

But I think we're better off

talking to that inspector.

Lord, you are young after all.

Four b*tches.

That's what I thought.

You only paid for one person.

-They're my guests.

-Guests?

Let me welcome your guests.

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