I Did Not Kill My Wife

1

London, England, 1889:

Raindrops were pelting down. I made up my mind to hurry up.

"Dockers call out against low pay! Dockers unrest!! Read all! Jack The Ripper strikes again! Extra, extra, read all about it!! Jack The Ripper!" the newspaper vendor was having a busy day. Rather than the story of the now-infamous Jack, most people would buy the newspapers for covering their heads under the unforgiving clouds.

I decided to buy one too. London gets even gloomier if you forget to bring your umbrella with you.

"Oi, alma chizzit?" I asked.
[Author's Note: This form of English is called British cockney. It was quite in vogue during Victorian London, and still is. Generally used by the working class of ethnic Englishmen, cockney is the primary mode of communication amongst ethnic Londoners. Because of the timeline, throughout you'll come across such terms, rather accents, and I'll explain the dialects wherever necessary. Here, "alma chizzit" is a distortion of "how much is it". The pronunciation makes it sound like that.]

"A pence and two, guv." The man replied.

"Bloody hell. This weather is annoying." An enchantingly beautiful blonde lady said out of nowhere.

"Yes. But so is my wife. So I wouldn't really mind about it."

"Hahaha! You are married? Why sir, you look so young!" she seemed pleasantly surprised.

"And every woman says the same." I replied, rather meekly. "A proud father of a rather naughty young lad too." I added.

"You must be joking." She replied.

"Why, because I don't have a single strand of grey hair?" I asked jovially.

"Yes. That. And also the fact that you seem too young to be a father. In fact, you look quite fetching in a tailcoat, Sir." She said.

"With all due respect, you don't cut a bad picture yourself."

"Haha! Is that so? Anyway... Mr. erm.." she raised an eyebrow.

"Bloom. Gerard Bloom." I replied.

"So, Mr.Bloom, why do you find your wife annoying?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly discuss that with a stranger. Never mind, Miss.." It was her turn for introductions.

"Well, call me Chantelle."

"Very well, Miss Chantelle. I wouldn't really discuss my marital issues with you really. All you shall ever need to know is that I love my wife with all my soul. And I'm a sincere husband and a doting father."

"That's so nice of you. You are very charming too, if I may add. I have the strongest feeling of deja-vu. Have we seen each other before?"

"Not that I can recollect anyway. Although I must acknowledge that you do seem familiar. So... What's a fine woman such as yourself doing on such a gloomy evening?"

Honestly, she was quite a vision in a bonnet and a blue satin dress.

"Well, let's just say.. I'm not going through the best of times."

"Is it so? Well I know something that can cheer you up. A carriage finally! Oi, halt there! One for me and the lady! Gobsmack for a fortune!"

"A'right, get in. But tis blowing weather! Need more!"

"Where are you headed?" Chantelle asked.

"Trafalgar Square."

"Very well then, Mr.Bloom. Drop me off south of Trafalgar Square."

"Hmm.." And the journey meandered along... The meandering wet roads, the chattering of wayfarers, the thudding of the horses' hooves, the swaying of the carriage... and Miss Chantelle's murmurs were like music to ears, till within moments, I was fast asleep..

Ppprrrrr!!!! Ppppprrrr!!!

Sound of whistles... Multiple footsteps approaching...

"Where am I?" I thought to myself.

Cops in uniform. Scotland Yard.

"Who's Chantelle?" My fellow prisoner asked.

"What? What do you mean, 'who's Chantelle'?!"

"You were chanting the name. Repeatedly. Chantelle. A bit annoying really."

"I know nobody of that name, chav."

"What was the name of your wife whom you murdered?"

"FOR THE LAST TIME, I DID NOT. Her name was Alice."

I lied. I knew who Chantelle was.

I am behind the bars of prison now. I have been having dreams about Chantelle for the past week now. Of course, I didn't kill my wife, my beloved Alice. I'd always like to think that our son Henry will not be an orphan while growing up. Alice and Henry meant the world for me. But for Henry, I needed to prove my innocence.

Henry resembled his beautiful mother. Inspite of not having eaten anything for days, I can still vividly remember her face... My appealing wife with her alluring hazel eyes, her beautiful hair and her strikingly gorgeous face. I missed her so much.

My train of thoughts were interrupted when I realised my more pressing need for escape.

I've been hatching a plan for weeks now. But escaping right under the nose of the most respected police force in the world is no mean task.

"Food for you, filthy scumbags!" The police officer on patrol handed, more like dished out, something that smelt like food to us.

It was so embarrassing. I was not accustomed to such language and such treatment, having spent all my life amongst the riches of my mansion and associating with the upper crust of society like me. Gee I must look really dishevelled at the moment for the patrolman to use such language, because of not having had food or a bath for days. Pity.

"Oi, eat some'ing! You look like a bloody chav geeza! Jesus Christ, you're Mr. Bloom, the lord of all that's business! So act like him 'n tuck in! You look ordinary like us!" My prison mate called out.

However, like usual, I was in no mood to eat.. When I noticed something rather odd.

I removed the food from the metallic plate and noticed some words scribbled with fingernails perhaps.

"LEFT IS RIGHT. LEFT IS VALUABLE. LOVE, AL."

I nearly screamed in joy. And shock. I used to call my wife Al.