Stalking Jack: The Hunt Begins... (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 1) (18 page)

“Calm yourself, I am here. You must be at peace in your heart, or you will not do well, Madeline,” said Russell.

“I have needed you; I have needed you so, and you did not come to me.”

“But I am here now, and you must rest. You know I cannot appear at any random time. Our visits will be rare and short, but still they will continue as long as you consume the opium and tonight I see you have taken more than usual.”

“No…that is not so. I have taken only what I need. You cannot understand what it is like to be alive without you and the children. You cannot fault me for it. You cannot…please.”

“Oh, my dear, do not weep. I could never fault you for anything. I am just worried about you; that is all. I see by your discarded apparel that you went to Whitechapel as a low woman.”

“I did. It was an experience. The way people pushed me and treated me as if I was either invisible or like unwanted garbage, it was terrible. These women go through this, night after night, and then some end with their throats slit. I saw Mr. Motts and Mr. Fielding. I followed Motts, but he passed out from drink. I abandoned walking behind Fielding so that I could follow Motts, but Russell, the person I didn’t expect to see, was Harry Nelson. He is the man who…”

“Yes, I remember you speaking of him. What do you suppose he was doing there? He is a farmer, right?”

“Yes, I don’t know much more than that other than he appears to be sickly, but a fine, gentle sort of man. He was looking for someone. He didn’t appear to be soliciting, but it was strange.”

“There is your answer. He was looking for someone and someone who probably walks the street at night, and that is why he is there. You went looking for Polly; perhaps it is a similar situation.”

“Yes, that could be why.”

“How are you feeling? You look better than last time, but you do not look at all like the Madeline I remember.”

“No, that carefree young girl is gone forever. Russell…I wish I could hold you…”

She began to drift into sleep, and Russell once again exited by the window, the moonlight streaming in and his wispy vision intermingling as she closed her eyes.

Chapter Fifteen

Rocks and Jenny

September 18, 1888

These past days have proven to be difficult; sometimes I feel fine, and other times that a sickness in me consumes me and that does not seem to dissipate. I have taken some medicine, but its effect is not the same unless I consume more of it than before. This is troubling to me, as I cannot concentrate as well. It is definitely a different point of view going into Whitechapel as a woman of the evening. It makes me uncomfortable that people view me as a low woman, but still there is a peculiar freedom in the blending in and being part of this disturbing world. I will be going back again soon.

She had not seen Jonathan for over a week now, and Hugh for even longer as he continued to remain in poor health. She wrote him that she wanted to come to see him, but he declined, stating he didn’t wish for her to be contaminated by his illness. She wondered if she should visit the aunts and tell them what she was about but then thought better of it. They were distressed enough over Polly and everything that had already occurred in their neighborhood.

Clinton had called for her carriage, and she found her way back to Whitechapel. She went to the market, this time, to see if she might still see Rocks. She saw her in her usual blood-soaked apron, although she was about to leave, she reconsidered, deciding to stay and observe her. Madeline purchased some tea and chocolates, following a short distance behind Rocks. She was walking with her arm around a shorter, stocky woman and was speaking to her in a strange way. Madeline wondered if Rock’s experience with her husband had somehow changed her to the degree that she now sought out female company. She continued to walk behind them as they entered the Ten Bells, the closest pub in distance to the market.

She sat a few chairs down from them.

“Martha, have yourself an ale, it’s me treat. Ya’ done a good days work—you’re a good woman. You didn’t go down the path of these women, like her,” said Rocks to the shy lady beside her as she pointed towards Madeline.

Madeline had to cover her mouth to hide her smile.

She had ordered some bourbon from Patrick Rooney. She tried to keep from directly looking at him, but she had been turned towards him to look at Rocks. This time, he lingered in front of her but said nothing. She had hoped to see Fielding or Motts, but neither were there, at least, not yet.

She moved closer towards Rocks and said, “So you don’t like me. You probably didn’t like Annie Chapman or Polly Nichols, but did you not like ‘em enough to hurt ‘em.”

Surprisingly she laughed and said, “Sure I could of killed ‘em with my bare hands, that’s me all right, the ax murderer, Rocks the Red.”

“You’re the butcher at the market, I seen ya’ there. You’d know how to slice someone up,” said Madeline.

“I might even enjoy it. One less woman like that in the streets makes this a better place. I’d say the Ripper done us a service.”

“Maybe you’re the one who’s done the service.”

“That’s a big accusation coming out of a mouth so small. You ought to be careful what you say ‘round here—course not that I care about the likes of someone like you.” Rocks ignored her after that, but Patrick didn’t. “Compliments of the house,” he said as he brought her bourbon, the leaned in and said in whispered voice, “Mrs. Donovan.”

“Oh...don’t give me away, please.”

“What are you playing at, Mum?”

“The same as before, Patrick—trying to find out anything I can.”

He shook his head and said, “Be careful, Mum, it’s a dangerous thing to be alone and looking like that in Whitechapel. I’m afraid for you.”

“I know there is some risk, but I will take it. I will always remember Polly when I think I am afraid, and that will stiffen my reserve.”

“Rocks, she’s a hot-tempered, foul-mouthed woman, but
murd
er?”

“I don’t know either, but that’s what I’m hoping to find out.”

“If Scotland Yard can’t find him, what makes you think you can?”

“I have the advantage that no one knows I’m looking.”

Rocks began to stagger with her friend out of the bar; they were singing and leaning on each other.

She followed closely, feeling that she was too drunk to notice her. They rounded the corner, when suddenly Rocks swirled around and confronted her, a small knife in her hand, “What in hell do you think you’re doing, are you following us?”

“I’m just going in this direction. I have family I’m going to.”

“You’re a queer one. I saw you looking at me at the bar. Ain’t you supposed to be looking for men, not women?”

“I’m not looking for anything. I told you, I’m going to my family’s home.”

She pushed her slightly back and said, “Then keeps your distance from me. I don’t like ya’. Better be careful the same thing don’t happen to you as whats happen to Chapman.”

She said nothing, but let them walk ahead. She realized she was not very good at being a detective, but she hoped to get better.

She was leaning up against the building wall where Rocks had pushed her when she saw the carriage arrive and stop. A tall, burly man stepped out and motioned to her to come forward. The carriage had the royal markings Annie described. As she began walking towards it, every nerve was jangling in her. She wanted to run the other way but felt compelled to go forward.

“Miss, the gentleman would like to know if you’re in need of company.”

She wanted to get a look at him, but he did not leave the carriage.

“What exactly do you mean, sir? I mean, I might need a bite to eat.”

“Come sit in the carriage a moment, and we’ll see if we can come to an agreement.”

Her leg was shaking as she placed it inside. She looked at him dead-eyed. He wasn’t the monster she thought he would be. He had dark eyes, but his face was clean shaven except for a handlebar mustache. He had silver streaks through his dark hair for what she could see of it under his hat. He wore gold spectacles and had a small scar on his left cheek. He was thin, to the point of being gaunt, but still had color on his face.

“Would you like company this evening?” he said with the softest of voices, almost inaudible.

“I’m very hungry, sir, and would like something to eat, but I don’t have enough money.”

“If I pay for your food, what would you give me?”

“I’m not a low woman, sir. I’m sorry if you think that of me. I earn me money by selling flowers.”

“You’re not a wise woman then. Why would you come into my carriage?”

“I was cold, sir, and wanted to warm my hands and hoped you’d buy me flowers?”

“Where are your flowers?”

“There on the step outside, sir.”

She said this because she knew he would never bother to see if she were telling the truth.

He took her by the wrist and held it tightly, a scowl coming over his face, “What do you think you are doing? I could take you away from here right now and pay you nothing.”

“Oh, no, sir, I knows you be a gentleman that’s why I come into your carriage. I see you are of noble birth.”

“Get out…get out and never bother me again.”

She jumped from the carriage, making mental notes of what she observed. She ran until she found a cab. The driver, after appraising her attire had first declined her entrance, thinking she wouldn’t have the money to pay the fare. She took her money out to show him she would have the fare and then jumped into the coach. She pulled off her garish hat and placed her coat over her. Taking a handkerchief, she wiped off her makeup. She was shaking, not understanding why she had taken the risk of getting into the carriage. There had been other people about, but she doubted if they would have come to her aid if she needed it.

The sight of the Hotel
George and the doorman standing properly outside gave her such a feeling of joy; she almost cried. She was home, a kind of a home—certainly a safe place where no fear resided within its walls.

“Mum, you look a fright. May I help you to your room? The hour is very late,” said Clinton.

“Thank you…yes, please walk with me. Clinton, may I confess something to you?”

“Of course, Mum.”

“These nightly jaunts I have been on, I have been in Whitechapel trying to find out information on Polly’s death and the other poor girls. I had to tell someone, but I must have your word it will stay with you.”

“I will, but I give it with reluctance. Please call on me, if I can be of assistance to you.”

“You work here at The George the same hours that I go there, so you would never be available, besides I don’t intend to put you in any danger. This is something I am bringing to myself.”

“Do you need a late bath; I can do that at least? I will send the night maid up.”

“Oh, yes, Clinton that would be wonderful. Thank you.”

Her clothes smelled of the noxious gas and smells of Whitechapel. She hadn’t been aware while she was there, but now, in the clean, fresh aired suite, she wanted to discard them out the window. She took them and hung them near the open window, trying to air them out. The clothing blowing in the wind, with the room dimly lit, appeared as a person’s shadow moving about in the moonlight.

She draped her plush night robe around her and rubbed her arms. “Russell, I wish it were your arms around me, how I need you.”

“You are surviving without me, better than I could have hoped. If it were me left behind, I am certain I could never have done as well as you,” said Russell.

“You’ve come. I looked for you in Whitechapel. I was so frightened when I went into the cab. I don’t know what made me do that foolish thing.”

“What happened to you?”

“I always think you can see me and that you are there.”

“No, I can only come under certain circumstances, and I cannot see you all the time. In this room, I can contact you with the most ease.”

“The royal carriage, the one that Annie told me about, he saw me and asked me to go in and I did.”

“I never meant for you to be that brave. Madeline, that is too dangerous. I know you have a big heart and want to help, but that is too much. You may have died.”

“There were several people walking about. I don’t know if I was in danger. It felt like I was, but I’m not sure. He grabbed my wrist with his left hand. I don’t know if that means he is left handed, or if it was the way we were situated in the cab. He did have some scratches on his arms, but that didn’t look like they were from a human hand.”

“Go back and make your list of suspects and then do like Sherlock. Eliminate the impossibilities and see what you have left.”

“You must come to me more often. I can make it if you do. I need to see you, and I need to see the children. Why do you not bring them with you?”

“I am afraid the stress will be too much for you both. Your mother has comforted them. They are well. There’s someone at the door.”

“Mrs. Donovan, Clinton told me you wanted me to draw a bath for you,” said the ladies maid.

“Yes, thank you.”

“It’s a lovely night for London. I hope you are enjoying your visit.”

“It has been most interesting thus far, but the Ripper murders have been on my mind.”

“Yes, they have been on most. There’s no one I know that doesn’t have some fear in them when they’re walking alone now. I never use to, but I get a chill down me sometimes, and I keep looking round and round.”

“Something must be done to stop him.”

“Enjoy your bath Mum, good-night.”

The warm water felt comforting against her skin. She was alone again, Russell had left. She couldn’t think anymore tonight.