Stalking Jack: The Hunt Begins... (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 1) (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

A Cold November

She spent the next few days with Hugh, visiting with the aunts and reuniting with the twin sisters, Sophie and Felicia, and Mary. They avoided talking about the murders and made an effort to speak about their plans for the upcoming holidays. It was almost Halloween. She would have been sewing costumes for her children, had they lived, and some nights she dreamt she was doing just that. They had invited her to spend Christmas at their home, and she had agreed. Jonathan said if he were still here by then, he would also attend. She didn’t know how much longer she would stay in London now that the holiday season was ending. Father’s letters always ended with how he was anticipating her return with joy. He didn’t ask her for an exact date, but she missed him and knew even as independent as he was that he needed her. All either of them had left in the way of family was each other.

She had not received any further threatening notes. She wondered if perhaps this might be because of her absence in Whitechapel. She had not returned to any of the pubs for over a week. Whoever had written the notes might have assumed that they had achieved their purpose as she was not seen these last days.

October 31
st
, 1888

The fall leaves have turned to breathtaking hues, the colors seeping like painted beauties from the hand of any great artist. The wind blows cold, and the chill sends little bits of shock waves into me, like the forthcoming of a tragedy. The Halloween moon is shining with fierceness tonight upon its street visitors, and the happy faces of the children partaking of their candy makes me smile. It is nearing the anniversary date of the unspeakable. I want to spend it asleep or drugged so that I may not be allowed to remember. Some grief is not to be settled or even tolerated; some grief just gnaws away at your bones until you are finally, peacefully dead. I will write to father to tell him that I will survive with Russell’s help. He has been faithful in his appearances to me.

Hugh is healthy once more, and only once in a while grimaces when he moves certain ways. That is a blessing. Jonathan looks worn and tired from this assignment that is so grim. Thinking and writing about murder, especially murder so gruesome, is not how the mind should be occupied. It is unnatural, but it is what my new friends, and I have shared together these many weeks.

As the chill of November came to London, now the promise of a sunlit day had all but disappeared. Still, the Hotel George bustled with talk of the upcoming holidays and the visits from family and friends for Christmas. She was relying more and more on her powder to get her through the day; she no longer saw herself existing without it. The benefits of feeling human again, and her ability to see Russell were powerful motivations to continue the habit. The ease with which she purchased the precious medicine was also a factor.

The whistling of the eerie wind struck her, and she shook. Retrieving her grandmother’s shawl, she positioned herself at her place of comfort by the fireplace.

Dearest Father,

I am anxiously awaiting your next correspondence and wish to hear everything of the news from home. London is showing her wintry side, but still autumn’s trees are a cornucopia of color and are a delight to see.

I am well and have been invited to spend the Christmas holiday with the aunts whom I wrote to you about. They, of course, are still reeling from the death of Polly but have put a brave front on and want to try to squeeze some joy out of the season. I hadn't written to you before, as I did not know how you would receive the news but felt I must finally tell you that I have been better now that Russell has been coming to see me. I know what you might be thinking, Father, but the conversations between Russell and me have helped immensely. He has been by my side these many weeks now. We never spoke about our belief in the supernatural or ghosts, but now I do believe that God does let us have access to our dear departed, for I can see Russell as clearly as I can now see you in my mind’s eye.

She went on to tell her father of the latest news about Jack but did not relay any information about her visits to Whitechapel or incidents that related to Hugh’s attack. That news, she thought, might worry him about her well-being. She believed her father would be happy for her now that he knew Russell was appearing to her. She did not think she could tell anyone else, but her father, he would understand.

When she arrived at Hugh’s home, he was chopping vegetables and humming, preparing a stew of some sort.

“You must be feeling better to be in such a grand mood,” said Madeline.

“I am; my uncle has given me leave of my bandages, and said I may return to work. It will be good to have a routine back again.”

“Does that mean you are glad to be rid of us ladies?”

“Madeline, you know that is not so. I am happy to be of use again.”

“I know. I just hope you will miss us. I will miss coming round to your house.”

“You may come anytime and as often as you wish.”

“I am missing home and have enjoyed the feel of being in one again. My hotel suite is fine because of all the people there that make it as close to a home as it can be. It is a temporary respite, but despite all that has occurred, I will always be grateful I met you and the aunts.”

“That sounds like a good-bye. Are you thinking of going back to America?” he asked with alarm in his voice.

“Not just yet…but after the holidays, I thought that I would return. I would like to go with the knowledge that Jack is behind bars, but if he is not, I suppose I must return anyway.”

“I don’t like to think about that you will not be here, not when I am just healing and in a better state of mind. We will say you won’t be leaving for a long time and enjoy our time together.”

“Yes…you are right. There is so little reason for celebration, but the fact that you did not sustain a serious injury and are now healthy again, that is cause for joy.”

“Did I tell you Phillip will be returning soon and will be here for two weeks?”

“My dear Phillip—when I think all that has happened since he first spoke to me on the ship, it seems like a tale from a penny dreadful. I have him to thank for his friendship, but also through his alliance, I have met you, and you have become my trusted friend. I will be looking forward to seeing him again.”

“And whether you reside in London or Chicago, you will always remain my friend. May I hold you for a moment?”

He looked at her, still somewhat pale from his injury, warmth in his eyes, and she walked without hesitation into his embrace. They stood together for several moments, holding each other, her head lying gently upon his shoulder. The memory and feeling of someone loving her came crashing back to her, and she saw the vision of her family all around her, but she did not move away, clinging to him through the wash of pain.

“I could not imagine not being your friend. I feel now you will always be a part of my life,” said Madeline.

“I will hold you to that remark. Will you venture into Whitechapel before returning to the George today?”

“I think I will.”

“Then I will go with you, this time, and I will count on your gracious disposition to not resist this injured man you are with.”

She was about to protest, but she did want his company and although she wanted him to rest, he was an adult and like her would make his own decisions.

She took his arm, more to steady him and he leaned against her. She liked that he needed her; it was a pleasant feeling to have someone need you.

When they took their seats at the bar of Ten Bells, Patrick came almost immediately to them.

“Hugh, it is good to see you here. Madeline told me what happened. I think I may be able to help you. I think I may have seen him…the old man. He was talking with the old codger, Motts. It looked like he was trying to get him to leave, but they definitely knew each other.”

“That’s excellent. Did you see him just the one time?” asked Madeline.

“Yes, and like I said, I’m not positive, but I’m relatively certain.”

There was no sign of Motts or the others they usually saw, and after an hour or so, Hugh was feeling the pain from sitting up, and from having been so active for several hours.

“Do you mind terribly if we leave? I think I might need to lie down again,” said Hugh.

“We have spent too much time down here, but it has been for a good cause. If we never find him, I will still feel better that we tried,” said Madeline.

He leaned once more against her, and they walked back towards his home. They turned down High Street and there he was. They both noticed him at once. “That’s him,” said Hugh. “I’m certain that’s the old man.”

“He is familiar to me, also. I think that’s the man who delivered the note.”

“I cannot walk or run with any speed, go ahead, Madeline. I will wait for you here.”

She squeezed his hand and although she did not run, she walked with great speed towards him. When she was almost upon him, he exited into the market and there mingled with a multitude of people, but then she saw him again and gave chase, this time with a full running gait.

He finally noticed her and began to dart through the crowd. When he became momentarily blocked by a heavy-set couple, he stopped, and Madeline confronted him.

“You, sir, you are the man who delivered a note containing threats to me, and you assaulted my very dear friend. You will stay here. I will have these men detain you while I call the constable.”

“You must be daft. You cannot prove that, and no one’s calling the coppers on me. You leave me son alone, or you’ll be sorrier for it, do you hear? You’ll be sorry.”

With that, he hobbled off out of sight.

She returned to find Hugh seated on a bench near the market.

“It was him. We did have the right man. I tried to detain him, but he got away. He said we didn’t have any right to hold him. I suppose we could never prove it was him.”

“He is probably right. Now that he has been found out, it is unlikely he will try anything again.”

“He said something curious. He said to leave his son alone. I can only surmise from his words that he is the father of Mr. Motts. Patrick said he saw the old man talking to him. So, for some reason, the old man believes that we have been troubling his son and wants us to stop. What does the son have to hide, I wonder?”

“Do you think he might be involved with the Ripper case?”

“I have always thought Motts could be involved, but recently had put that to rest and had dismissed him as a suspect.”

“Do you mind if we go back to Ten Bells? I think I will give Patrick my address. I live close enough and could make it back here quick enough if Patrick should send word he has returned,” said Hugh.

They were back at Ten Bells within minutes.

“Madeline, is that him?”

The old man had his back turned towards them and hunched over while speaking to the younger Motts, who was once more dressed out in his police uniform.

“They are deep in conversation, we may be able to come up behind them without anyone noticing,” said Hugh.

Before either man was aware, the two of them were behind them. There was no exit for either of them, and Hugh tapped the older man on the shoulder.

He had the look of any guilty man at being caught―fear. The younger Motts, unaware of why they were there stood and began to push Hugh back.

“Is this your father,” asked Madeline.

“What’s it to you?” asked Motts.

“It means quite a lot to us. Your father attacked me recently and sent threatening notes of doing harm to Mrs. Donovan.”

“What? Is this true father?” said Mr. Motts, the son.

“I did it for you son, only for you,” said the father.

“What do you mean you did it for me? What’s this all about? Will someone tell me? Patrick another whiskey…for me and me father.”

“If you look at this gentleman, you can still see the marks from the attack on this man. I can only say that perhaps when we were asking questions about you with regards to the Ripper, your father didn’t like that. Or perhaps, your own father thinks you are the Ripper because of the way you manhandle the women around here, treating them like dirt, pushing them around,” said Madeline.

“My son’s no murderer, don’t even speak it, or there will be blows, I tell you,” said the old man.

“What have you done? Did you do it…hit this man?” asked Mr. Motts.

“I’m not saying anything; I did what any father would do for his boy.”

“You can go to jail for what you did and how do you think you would survive as old and frail as you are. Do you expect me not to press charges?” said Hugh.

“Look…what can I do to make up for what my father did. He’s an old man; he didn’t know what he was doing. Please, I’m begging you not to take him to jail.”

“Why did your father think you needed protecting? Is it because of your mistreatment of the women of Whitechapel?” Hugh continued.