One of Mary’s neighbors, a prostitute named Mary Ann Cox who lived in room 5 of Miller’s Court, testified at the inquest that she saw Mary Kelly intoxicated at midnight. She wore a dark, shabby skirt, a red jacket, and no hat, and was accompanied by a short, stout man who had a blotchy complexion and a thick carroty mustache and who was dressed in dark clothing and a hard, black billycock hat. He carried a pot of beer as he walked Mary Kelly toward her door. Mary Ann was walking several steps behind them and bid Mary Kelly good night. “I’m going to have a song,” Mary Kelly replied as the man shut the door to Room 13.
For more than an hour, Mary was heard singing the poignant Irish song “Sweet Violets.”
“A violet I plucked from my mother’s grave when a boy,” she sang, and the light of a candle could be seen through her curtains.
Mary Ann Cox worked the streets, periodically stopping by her room to warm her hands before going out again in search of clients. At 3:00 A.M., she came in for the night and Mary Kelly’s room was dark and silent. Mary Ann went to bed with her clothes on. A hard, cold rain was slapping the courtyard and streets. She did not sleep. She heard men in and out of the building as late as a quarter of six. Another neighbor, Elizabeth Prater in room 20 directly above Mary Kelly, said at the inquest that at close to 1:30 A.M., she could see a “glimmer” of light through the “partition” that separated Mary Kelly’s room from hers.
I assume by “partition” Elizabeth was referring to cracks in the floor. Elizabeth Prater secured her door for the night by wedging two tables against it and went to bed. She’d had something to drink, she testified, and slept soundly until a kitten began restlessly walking over her at approximately 4:00 A.M., waking her up. By now, the room below her was dark, Elizabeth testified. Suddenly, she said, “I heard a cry of ‘oh! Murder!’ as the cat came on me and I pushed her down.” She said the voice was faint and from close by and that she did not hear it a second time. Elizabeth fell back asleep and woke up again at 5:00 A.M. Men were harnessing horses in Dorset Street as she walked to the Ten Bells public house for an eye-opener of rum.
John McCarthy was working hard in his chandler’s shop mid-morning. He was also trying to figure out what to do about room 13 in the building he leased at 26 Dorset Street. As he worked on that foggy, cold Friday morning, he was forced to ponder the inevitable. Joseph Barnett had moved out more than two weeks ago and Mary Kelly was £1 9s behind in the rent. McCarthy had been patient with Mary Kelly, but this simply could not continue.
“Go to number 13 and try and get some rent,” he told his assistant, Thomas Bowyer. It was close to eleven when Bowyer walked over to Mary Kelly’s room and knocked on the door. He got no response. He tugged on the handle, but the door was locked. He pushed the curtains aside and looked through the broken window and saw Mary Kelly naked on the bed, covered with blood. He ran back to his employer, and both he and McCarthy hurried to Mary’s room and looked in. Bowyer ran to find the police.
An H Division inspector made haste to get to the scene, and he sent immediately for Police Surgeon Dr. George Phillips and wired Scotland Yard about the latest Ripper murder. Within half an hour, the crime scene was crowded with inspectors, including Frederick Abberline, who ordered that no one in the courtyard was allowed to leave, and no one could enter without police authorization.
Charles Warren was also telegraphed. Abberline inquired if the commissioner would like the bloodhounds to respond. The seasoned investigator probably knew full well what a waste of time that would be. But he was following orders. The order was countermanded and the dogs never came. By the end of the day, the press would learn that Warren had resigned.