Stalking Jack: The Hunt Begins... (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 1) (8 page)

“That is too hard a truth to think of right now; I can only hope that it won’t be so with Polly. But, tell me what of your findings about the Ripper?”

“There is a rumor now that it might even be a member of the royal family that frequents these parts. It seems a prince has a penchant for the ladies. I don’t hold much to that way of thinking.”

“I agree with you. He would have a carriage and driver. The idea that he would commit murder and then return to his carriage with a bloody knife and clothes seems preposterous.”

“The mind of one like that is hard to contemplate, but it does seem unlikely.”

When they entered the street where they found Martha, she had expected there would be a blockade in the area of her attack. It wasn’t, and everyone bustled about as normal. The steps were still stained with her blood, although it did look like someone tried to wash it, but the faint pink color remained.

“Did he kill her there or was her body placed there? Either way, to do an act in such an open area, he apparently feels there is no danger to him that he will be apprehended,” said Madeline.

“Whoever it is must know this area well, and how easy one it is to lose oneself in the crowd.”

“Life goes on in a way in Whitechapel that seems to discount its importance.”

“They say there is a lady, a midwife named Annie Maddox, who has the build and knowledge to do such an act. I’ve had several people tell me they thought she could be a suspect. But I find there is no motive. There is also a tall, rather robust lady in the market who has been seen to cut up a pig in no time, and it is said she disdains the ladies in Whitechapel, as she lost her husband to one.”

“I think I have seen the lady you speak of, she is hard not to miss, but still, don’t you feel it unlikely that it could be a woman?”

“I do, but as a reporter, I still have to check every avenue. Besides, there’s nothing better people like to read about more than an unlikely suspect. Even if no validity, they like the notion of it. I was going to try to get an interview with her. Would you like to come along?”

“Definitely, do you mind if I take my notes?”

“Not at all, at some point, we can sit over dinner and compare them.”

“Yes, that would be lovely.”

The market area had a feast of flies crawling around, touching the meat and landing on the lady with splatters of blood across her apron and her cheek. Her name they learned was Roxanne Thompson. She had agreed to speak with Jonathan if he didn’t mind that she continued with her butchering as they talked. It was difficult not to be fascinated by her; she was tough, sharp and devoid of any pretense. Her bloodied and scruffy appearance added to the effect.

“They call me
Rocks,
on account of it sounds like me name, and fits me personality. I can carry me weight as any man, yet I love like a woman,” she said with a strange, infectious laugh.

Madeline was not used to such frank talk, at least from a woman, but she secretly admired her for speaking her mind.

“What is it you’re wantin’ to know, Mr. Franks, like everybody else, if I could be the monster they call the Ripper? Well, maybe I just might. I hate the likes of these women, everyone knows that, but could I murder? If I saw the woman thats took my man, maybe I just could,”
Rocks
said.

“Are you an actual suspect? I mean, have the police questioned you?” asked Jonathan.

“They asked me where I was, and I done told ‘em, when I gets off work, I go to one of the pubs like everybody else, and I don’t be remembering which one I was in. I guess they didn’t like it that I didn’t show no shock about Martha.  One less of her kind luring men to their end, so be it.”

Her harsh tone when she referred to Martha was evident and now appeared to sober up.

“Did you dislike Martha?” Jonathan asked.

“I got no feelings for her one way or another.”

“Then you did know her.”

“I knew her; she come ‘round begging for food sometime when she was too drunk to know what she was doing, just like the others.”

“You don’t seem to have any sympathy for what happened to her?”

“Ya’ reaps what yas sows. Ain’t that what the Bible says?”

“Do you have an opinion of who might be responsible?”

“I told the coppers; it’s probably Bob Fielding. A fire disfigured him, and the woman laughs at him, and he tells everyone who listens how he’d like to cut ‘em all.”

“Does he have any background that might have shown him how to use a blade the way you do?”

“After he got himself burned up in a bomb attack in the war, he went into hospital as an aide. I don’t know for sure if he knows how, but he sure was around the cutting ‘cause he talks about it when he gots too much of the drink in ‘em.”

“Anything else before we go Rocks?” said Jonathan.

“If you want to speak to him, Mr. Fielding, he likes the Ten Bells.”

“You’ve been very helpful; perhaps I can come back and speak with you again.”

“Anytime, governor, anytime—I gots nothing to hide.”

They walked together and spoke of the day’s events, “What do you think, are you game to see if we can find Mr. Fielding?” said Jonathan.

“As if you had to ask,” she replied smiling.

“Have you been to the Ten Bells?”

“Yes, twice. We came here at midnight, of course, we had escorts. You remember Phillip; he was gracious enough to accompany us with his cousin, Hugh. We hoped we might find Polly here at that hour.”

“You are, how can I say it politely, adventurous, but I am relieved that gentlemen were with you.”

“The Ten Bells is still better than the Princess Alice; I think of all the places that one fits the description of utter human despair.”

After arriving at the pub, it was not difficult to find Mr. Fielding. He was at the far reaching end of the bar, hidden in the shadows and speaking with a one-armed man with a patch over his eye. The sorry pair, Mr. Fielding’s left side of his face scarred and twisted cheek still with maroon skin, were speaking with slurred words in loud, angry bursts.

When they approached the presumed Mr. Fielding stared at them with such cold, squinting eyes, Madeline abruptly stood back and stopped her steps. Jonathan took her arm and urged her forward.

“There’s nobody else in this mangy corner, so I suppose you be looking at me, and I’d like to know what for?”

“I am Jonathan Franks, sir, from the New York Times. I’m a reporter assigned to look into the Ripper case. I would like to ask you a few questions if I might.”

“Why’s that, why do you want to talk to the likes of me?” he replied with gritted teeth.

“I’ve been speaking to many people, and I heard some say that a man named Bob Fielding was known to have a special hatred for the women in Whitechapel, I've even heard it said he liked to hiss at them and harass them as they passed. You are Mr. Bob Fielding, aren’t you?”

“Now that’s saying something, something I like. It’s as true as you say and why not, they feel the same about me. But why is me feelings about some bedraggled nothings newsworthy?”

“It’s not your point of view, Mr. Fielding; it’s your actions I’m curious about. I hear you might have worked in a field hospital during the war?”

“It is so, why?”

“That would give you particular knowledge about the human body.”

“I see…me and half the city of London. If you don’t know hows to cut up a hog or a chicken, you’re not be eating too much. And hate, you might just look at the woman you’re with, she looks like she’s keeping a hate in her eyes.”

Madeline had kept herself a distance from the two, not because of their appearance, but from the obvious feeling that emanated from them of disdain toward others. She was surprised to hear him speak of her in such a manner but stopped Jonathan from defending her.

“It is not hate, Mr. Fielding; it is more of sadness, and I see that in you, also.”

“And what’s your sad story, Miss. I don’t see any scars on ya’, nothing that can stop you from being with the living, not just being part of the dead as me.”

“Life brings tragedy to all of us sooner or later. It chases us until caught. It is difficult not to be bitter, isn’t it Mr. Fielding.”

“Yes, it is, Miss, yes it is,” he said as he looked down into his drink and wrapped his boney, dirty fingers around it.

“Ah, it’s none of my business, I’m sorry for ya’, whatever it is. I don’t know that I hates ‘em exactly; I hate their cursed meanness. I didn’t always look like this. There was a time them women would have been standing round me looking for my favor, but the war took that from me, too.”

They stayed an hour longer, Jonathan buying both the men a bottle of whiskey. After his initial surliness, Mr. Fielding showed he still had a human side left to him, and she felt  compassion for his troubles.

They spoke little as they returned to Anna’s house. Madeline felt more and more that judging another person’s life was a futile task. How could anyone be certain how they would live, and what they would do, if confronted with these accidental burdens?

“It is good to see you both back here safely. Come in; let me make you some hot tea or a glass of absinthe for you Madeline. Helen went to the market to pick some up for you.”

Perhaps in another life, before everything, she might have been embarrassed about that comment, but then again, in another life, she didn’t need to drink absinthe.

“I am pleased and grateful for such hospitality. I would like both please, the absinthe and the tea.

We didn’t find out any more about Polly, but Jonathan interviewed some people for his news article,” said Madeline.

“It has been a stressful few days, perhaps it is time to take a minute and relax,” said Anna.

They spent the next hour in light chit chat speaking of their time aboard the SS New York and the fond memories they had. Madeline said she wanted to spend the morning doing some letter writing to her father and attend to some other business, but asked if they could meet for dinner perhaps back at the Horn of Plenty. Jonathan was committed to work so he would not see them, but he promised to keep in touch. He rode back in her carriage and saw her safely back to the George.

“Madeline, I hope we will meet someday under different circumstances when we may have a pleasant supper together.”

“Someday in the future, I am sure we will do that. It was wonderful to see you again.”

Chapter Six

Hope

The George was a
comfort
to her now. Even though a hotel, it was a place of solace, the closest thing she had to a home. Clinton and some of the staff that she had come to know casually had become a welcome sight to her. It wasn’t a lavish hotel, but compared to the surroundings she was just in, it might have been Buckingham Palace.

She covered herself in the soft, white down blanket and once again looked at her children’s faces smiling at her. Is that all I have of them, she thought, how can that be? She took the flask of bourbon from her bedside table and held it like a friend’s hand.

August 20, 1888

Jack

There are names I can now include in this elusive search for Jack. Roxanne Thompson, known as “Rocks” and Bob Fielding are the first that have come to light as possible suspects. Although I had concluded earlier that it was most definitely a male, after meeting Rocks, I now see she would have the physical strength to do the deed. Rocks has motive, her husband took every penny they had and ran away with a prostitute named Sally. Bob Fielding is an injured soldier who has been discarded by the human race due to his appearance and because of the nature of the residents of Whitechapel; the women have been cruel to him. That and his circumstances have created a bitter rage within him. Both have backgrounds that include an intimate knowledge of the use of a knife and how to use it skillfully. Bob, from his time at hospital and Rocks, because she is a butcher.

She had thought she would write to her father and also in her personal journal, but her eyes began to close, and she decided tomorrow she would attend to those things. She would devote the day to catching up on her personal chores. She wanted to purchase some colored scarves or perhaps a cameo brooch or two to offset the black of her appearance. Nothing would ever stop the mourning for her family, but she was tired of looking in the mirror and seeing the grim sight of herself.

She felt she would allow herself the luxury of sleeping in a little later this morning it was almost nine, and she still lay under the covers, weary of the night dreams she had of Jack chasing her. She supposed it was inevitable that she would dream of this shadow as he was on her mind for much of the day.

Opening her draperies, she smiled to see there were slivers of sunshine permeating the waiting city of fog. It had been many days since there was any relief from the mist and gloominess that sought them in their movements.

Room service had brought her sausages, eggs, biscuits and her liquid emeralds. She savored this sustenance this morning with new relish, thinking once again how many were suffering from hunger in Whitechapel. She wondered how the human spirit could endure all it had to conquer to exist at all. Her father had sent her additional funds, though she had protested his assistance, in the end, she was grateful for it as it allowed her the means to stay at The George. Russell had made good investments as a banker and had left her better off than most.  It gave her the luxury of time to decide what she might do in the future to financially sustain herself.

August 21, 1888

Dearest Father,

I have missed you more each day and look at your photograph with a mixture of joy and sadness. I find London interesting though it is an abysmal climate for one used to more light and sun during the days. The people, however, I find quite hospitable, and I have made many new friends. I visit with a group of older women that I find charming and have traveled a little about the city. I met a man from America, New York to be exact. He is an interesting new acquaintance, and you will be happy to know, I have even ventured out to dine with him. I am sure by now you have heard of the situation in Whitechapel. Please do not worry about me; the Hotel George is in the West End of the city, a good distance from Whitechapel.

She went on for several more pages speaking about Clinton, the other kindly staff and about the Hotel George. She tried to fill up the pages with uplifting words so that her father might not guess anything about how she felt or what her days were about.

When she went to the concierge to inquire about the whereabouts of a women’s apparel shop, Clinton approached her, “Mrs. Donovan, I wanted to let you know you have three messages left in your mail box. I attempted to bring them to you, but you haven’t been in your room when I was here last evening.”

“Thank you, Clinton. I know so few people here that I believed it a futile task to bother to look, and it caused me to be neglectful in checking for messages.”

She went immediately to the front desk, taking the three envelopes with her into the main lobby.  Before she had time to begin reading, Clinton arrived again by her side to inform her that the Hansom was waiting outside for her.

“Driver, please take me to The Huntington,” said Madeline.

The Huntington was the latest buzz, according to Patricia at the concierge desk. It was a new department store in the heart of London.

She began reading the first envelope:

Madeline,

Where are you? I am concerned. Please contact me as soon as possible at the Hotel Baltron.

Your friend,

Jonathan

She could disregard this one as it had been written before their chance encounter yesterday.

The second:

Madeline,

I have many thoughts of the time we spent together. Although in an unpleasant surrounding, I still value the chance to have had your company. If I may be so bold to ask, I would be grateful if you would dine with me this evening
at seven. Please reply through
messenger.

Sincerely,

Hugh Scott

She was planning to be in Whitechapel this evening, but maybe she could reply that she could dine with him tomorrow. She liked him. There was something about him that was so comfortably charming that made her feel relaxed in his presence. His calm reserve, his impeccable demeanor and that without knowing them, he had volunteered to assist them in going to an unpleasant area of the city, had made an impact on her.

The third delivered within the past hour said simply,

Madeline,

Please come as soon as you are able—Anna and Helen.

“Driver, driver please, I have changed my destination. Could you please take me to Mumford St. in Whitechapel?”

“Very good, Mum.”

Her hands trembled slightly as she read their note. They knew she was to be there this evening, what could be so important that they would send that note. She knew Helen had a spell of poor health and hoped that the stress had not caused some problem.

Once again she viewed this chaotic city, life was difficult for most of the residents, the rich and poor lived in two very different worlds and the rich liked to keep it that way. She felt a sense of relief that Anna and Helen would be moving out of that unhealthy environment.

The driver took her hand and helped her from the carriage. She knocked and waited with apprehension, shuffling her feet from side to side.

“Madeline, come in, come in. I’m so happy to see you,” said Helen. “Anna will be down in a minute. May I get you something, some English tea or your absinthe?”

“Every time I think I will take the tea, I seem to find myself in a situation that my nerves would prefer to have them both.”

“Please sit down and I will get it.”

“I cannot stand the suspense. Are you both well? I turned my carriage around after I received your note. I had been on my way to The Huntington, and it was a tense trip to your door.”

“I cannot wait to tell you, I wanted Anna to be here, but I will just say it. It is the best news; our Polly is home.”

Madeline straightened her back, and her eyes became wide. She scurried to Anna and embraced her with joy.

“It is the best news, the best news. Oh my dear, what a wonderful turn of events. Although I always had hope, I had my doubts that we could be so fortunate to find her.”

“It was that Patrick Rooney, the one you gave the note to at the Ten Bells. After he had described us to Polly, she knew it was a true request. She came knocking on our door at one in the morning, such a feeble knock that if the cat had not continued to whine, we might not have heard her. She did not look well. We made her some soup and sent her directly to bed. Anna is with her now, drawing her bath and cleaning her clothing. We are…overjoyed to say the least. How can we ever thank you for helping us?”

Anna wiped a few dangling tears from her eyes with a handkerchief, and Madeline also felt the need to do the same.

“I am overcome with emotion. I will continue to help you in any way that I can. Perhaps if she is in need of apparel, I can endeavor to bring her a dress or two from The Huntington.”

“That would be too much; you have done enough.”

“I insist if she will allow me to do it. She has suffered enough; she needs help now.”

  She looked up as she saw Helen coming down the stairs. She met her as she descended to the bottom step and grabbed both of her hands, “Helen, I am happy at your news. I know we had all hoped, but now she has come.”

“She will be down within a short time; she is dressing. She was reluctant to meet you, but I knew you would not judge her or in any way be unkind. I assured her of that.”

“She has been without help or anyone who has cared about her for too long. It is natural that she should be cautious. I may not be that strong right now, but still you can all lean against me for I am here to help.”

“I have contacted the doctor, and he will be here sometime this evening. I can see she has afflictions. She is a troubled girl; it will take patience and time to try and bring her back to the Polly we once knew,” said Anna.

They conversed about Polly and the recent events for some time longer before Polly appeared. She looked tired, and her troubles showed on her face, but her hair was pinned back neatly, and she had one of Anna’s dresses on. It was too big and matronly for such a young woman, but she was here, that was all that was pertinent.

Anna brought her a shawl, and she lay on the divan with her feet up, sipping a hot cup of Earl Grey, as if it were something she had never had before. She closed her eyes and caressed the warm cup.

“Thank you, Auntie. I have not been in a real home for many months, perhaps over a year,” said Polly.  “Mrs. Donovan, my aunts have told me of how you helped them. It’s a fine thing you done.”

“Nonsense, I have done nothing. You have had difficulties, but now you have people who will try to help you.  Anna, do you have a measuring strap? I will go this day to Huntington and have a dress or two tailored for you. You have pale skin and hair; perhaps deep blue or light lavender will put some color to you.”

“I couldn’t accept, Miss, I couldn’t,” said Polly.

“Please allow us to bring some warmth and caring into your life. I am not wealthy, but I can afford to help at least in this small way,” said Madeline.

“Forgive me, I do not feel well. Perhaps we can speak again later. I will accept your gift of kindness for you are right. I have put myself in a desperate position, and I feel I have no answers.” 

Madeline could see her hand shaking and a slight tremor in her lips. Her face appeared almost bloated, but yet she was thin. She surmised it might be the drinking or perhaps something harsher. She had bruises on several areas of her body, and she wondered if someone if they occurred from abuse.

“I see you’re looking at my bruises. Another day, I will explain it,” said Polly.

She said her goodbyes and started on her mission to obtain new clothing for Polly. As she would not be venturing into Whitechapel this evening, she also sent a message to Hugh and accepted his offer of dinner. She indicated she would be ready by eight if he wished to pick her up at her hotel.

She went to the department store with a feeling of well-being that she hadn’t remembered having for a long time. She had a new sense of purpose and feeling that sometimes, against all odds, things do come to a good conclusion. The remarkable fact that Polly had received the news, and acted on it and returned to Mumford Street was good fortune indeed. She had wished it, but after spending time in Whitechapel, she felt despair and sadness and felt their chances for success were unlikely. 

She thought she would not only buy Polly some new clothes, but she would get something for herself, something that wasn’t black. It wouldn’t be drastic, maybe a dark Kelly green or a navy blue color.

She asked the driver to wait for her as he stopped in front of the store.  If it were anything like Chicago’s Marshall Field’s store, it would be a pleasant experience. She doubted, however, if any store in London could rival such a wonderful place.

The doorman greeted her and as she walked inside. She was surprised to see such splendor after observing a place like Whitechapel. They were two worlds that never collided. People were dressed in their finery as if going to a social engagement. A young wisp of a girl, dainty and soft spoken named Caroline, brought her directly to ladies apparel. It did not take her long at all to pick out the design and color of the dresses she would like. She had not shopped for many months, and everything she saw struck her as beautiful.