Well, cor blimey – ain’t that a turn up! When I were a lad back in Bermondsey, I used to go up Limehouse n’ take a gander at Kitty Peck, the so-called ‘Limehouse Linnet’. She was hung high in a cage night after night in the old music halls, pirouetting on a swing all while wearing a little slip of an outfit. Right fancy piece she was, with a figure on display that would make yer ole ma blush. And she used to sing this song – well, that would make yer ole ma blush and send yer gran straight to apoplexy. She really were the talk of the town, with the proper newspapers and the fancy nobs all giving their time to her. But it turns out that when she was up there on that swing, showing her stuff, she was actually investigating the disappearance of a load of girls who’d vanished from around the halls. Blackmail it was for poor Kitty. The old cow who ran the halls blackmailed with threats of what happened to Kitty’s brother. Poor thing, I do ‘ate to see a girl taken advantage of, ‘specially when they’re as fancy as Kitty were!

This here then is Kitty’s story, written by her, telling us just what it were like when she was the star of the stage and at the same time on a murderer’s trail – and right entertaining it is too! She and her scar-faced itie friend, Lucca, hunting down some dirty old fiend who were carving his way through these pretty young things – much like old Jack did a few years later, though with a bit more finesse than our Jack had, even down to the kind of notes he sent. It’s your proper tale of peril, with loadsa right dangerous situations that’d make even the most doddery old codger’s heart beat faster. If I’m honest, I guessed who bleedin’ did it way before Kitty did – which made me feel; like a smart ‘un actually. But then since I learned how to read, I’ve read a lot of this kinda penny dreadful type tale n’ I can tell you that though this ain’t the best one you’ll ever pick up, it’s distinctive – to use a three guinea word – and properly gripping.

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