Stalking Jack: The Hunt Begins... (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 1) (21 page)

“We’re down here because of what happened again. Somebody must have seen something. We’re going to walk around the area and see what everyone is saying. I hope you are able to make your doctor’s appointment, Harry,” said Madeline. “Is it all right if we go now, Hugh?”

“Of course—good-night, gentlemen.”

After they had left the pub and were onto High Street, Hugh said, “I was surprised you wished to leave when both men were there.”

“It is because both were there. Neither would have anything interesting to say now, besides I wished to get out into the street for a little while—for as long as our breathing can stand the rank smell.”

“The paper said she met her untimely death on Mitre Street, I believe. Should we head in that direction?”

“Oh, I had heard it was Dorsett…but I only read the early report. Yes…please let’s go there.”

Everywhere they went there were groups of people huddled together talking about the Ripper. It was like the circus had come down the street of Whitechapel. As they approached Mitre Street Madeline said, “There’s Jonathan…I haven’t seen him for quite a while now. I have wanted to speak to him many times but have been unable to get in touch with him. You don’t mind if we go over to see him?”

“Why would I? He is as good-natured a man as ever I met and I know you are friends.”

“Jonathan…Jonathan,” she called out.

“Madeline…Hugh…How are you?”

“Fine…fine,” they chimed together.

“I have been meaning to call on you, Madeline but the paper has me working this story for long hours into the night. I had thought I might have bumped into you before this,” said Jonathan.

“We are on our way to the scene of the murder,” said Hugh.

“As am I,” said Jonathan. “We can go there together. Have you been to see the aunts recently?”

“No, I have not and feel remiss about that, but perhaps we can all walk over there,” said Madeline.

“It’s right over there, where that small crowd gathers. The dismemberment found with the other victims did not occur with this woman. It is believed a man coming down the street, a street vendor pushing his cart, possibly prompted the Ripper’s immediate exit from the scene. It's thought he might have fled after hearing the sound of the cart,” said Jonathan.

As before, the crime scene was not cordoned off in any way, and people walked over the blood stained area in the street where the body had lain. She did not know what she expected to find but wanted to observe the scene and the people to see if anything would stand out to her.

The three of them each spent the next half hour speaking to passing pedestrians, seeking to learn something. It was the same; they saw a person whose identity had been concealed by his long coat and hat. However, they didn’t wish to talk about vague sightings; they wanted to speak of their outrage and feeling of helplessness at the state of Whitechapel.

“There’s Rocks.”

Rocks was standing up against the wall a short distance from the sight, she and another woman were smoking thick, greasing looking cigars. They all walked over to where she stood.

“Rocks, how are you?” said Hugh.

“Better than that woman, Eddowes,” she said with a blank expression.

Her companion added, “She done owe me money—I seen her right before she passed. She come round to where me and Rocks was to see if we’d give her some money for a night’s lodging at the public houses. She was in a wretched state—drunken and smelling foul.”

“I told ya’ not to help the likes of someone like that. People like that always get themselves done in before their time,” said Rocks.

There was something about the way she said it that made Madeline look into her eyes to see if there was anything there but cold steel. She had her hand in her apron and was twisting something or rubbing something small. It was almost indiscernible, perhaps just a nervous habit, but when she took her hand out to move the hair from her eyes—her fingers were dirty.

“Rocks, have you seen or heard anything at the market that has been suspicious?” asked Madeline.

“You’re still looking for ‘em. He’s a ghost, whoever he is, and he won’t get caught. I know that.”

“How do you know that?”

“Just a hunch…just a feeling, but the royal coach’s been 'round night after night, and the strange man, the one who reminds me of the spook…he gets out and flies like a bat, with the coat over his face and no one can see the chap and soon after, there’s a murder.”

“But then what makes you think he won’t get caught?”

She laughed—a cruel laugh and said, “Because he’s got a royal connection, and we’s here in Whitechapel, we got the rat connection. Royals and rats don’t get the same treatment.”

“Don’t pay no mind to her, she’s got a good heart, she does, she just don’t let no one know 'cause they’d be taking advantage of her,” said her companion, a waif of a woman who held Rock’s hand out of sight behind her apron. Madeline surmised they were probably lovers.

They were just steps away from the bloody sidewalk when Madeline touched Hugh’s arm and said, “Isn’t that curious…there’s a circle in the blood…one small area where there is any blood and almost a perfect circle. I wonder if there is any significance to that.”

“I saw one similar to that at the sight after poor Polly's murder,” said Jonathan. “Odd, isn’t it?”

“It could be anything that would make a mark like that after the fact—so many people come by and are right there at the scene shortly after,” said Hugh. “Have you seen enough—should we make our way to the aunts’ house?”

They agreed it was time to leave and venture into a sweeter atmosphere and leave the contamination of Whitechapel. It was around eight, not late, but they didn’t know if the aunts retired early. The light was still on in the dining area, so they proceeded.

Helen opened the door and greeted them with a smile, “It’s good to see you…so very good to see all of you. It’s been a lonely place these days; Anna sits and says very little. Sophie and the other ladies come by, from time to time, but there is a tension, and they feel it and never stay long.”

“I have been remiss in not seeing you more often. I will try to come again this week,” said Madeline.

“Have you any news? I heard something about another victim, but I couldn’t listen. One of the neighbors began talking about it, and I stopped her and went inside. I think the only thing I want to hear is that whoever did this is dead—dead as hell and rotting in it,” said Helen.

Madeline had never heard Helen speak in such a manner, but they had all changed—the people and the town and the city. This brutality had long fingers and reached out and grabbed everyone, even those who refused to look. It was futile to think one could escape its grasp and not be tainted by it. None of them would ever be the same again.

“Yes, we all hope we catch the monster soon. Is Anna asleep?” asked Madeline.

“I gave her a draft earlier to calm her, and she is sleeping now. I would wake her, but she has slept little these past few days. Perhaps when you come again, you can visit with her.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t think of asking to wake her. This burden that you are both forced to carry will not be easy.”

Jonathan and Hugh assured her that they would be of service if they needed any help around the house, and Helen had said a door jammed, and they went to look at it.

“Madeline, while the men are away, I wanted to ask if you are ill. Please don’t think I am prying, but you do not look well, my child.”

“I seem to be just unraveling with all the news and the sadness it has brought to me. The suffering I have seen, it changes you.”

“Maybe you should consider going back to America. I would not like to think that you came here to get away from your grief, and instead, only more has been placed upon your shoulders. Have you thought about seeing a doctor, perhaps Dr. Scott?”

“I have given it some thought, but most of it is my own doing. I have developed bad habits that if I could curb, I believe I could return to health.”

“Anna and I are here for you if you wish to confide in us or need anything. Think of us as your family, my dear, remember that always.”

With those words; she hugged her, and Madeline felt at peace for a moment in the bosom of this kindly woman. She reminded her so of her own grandmother. She wiped a tear from her eye as the men returned to the room.

“There is something more, isn’t there?” asked Helen.

“I will be all right, thank you for concern. It helps. I am missing my father with all my being and have thought of returning, but there is still more to do.”

They all hugged Helen before they left and gave the promise of further visits.

“I have to get back to my hotel room if I am to get my article out in time to go to press tomorrow,” said Jonathan. “I hope we may dine together sometime soon.”

“Yes, we will. Please send me word of your availability,” said Madeline.

“Would you like to stay any longer?” asked Hugh.

“If you are agreeable, I would like to make one last stop—at the Britannia.”

“Certainly…it is not that far a walk.”

“What are your thoughts, Hugh? Do you think anyone will catch him?”

“Are you now convinced it is a man? I don’t know; sometimes I think this person has proven so successful in their ability to remain invisible that they won’t get caught. Should he or she stop now and leave the country, I think they will have gotten away with it.”

“It is a maddening prospect to think someone could inflict so much harm on so many and still walk free.”

“It is good to see there are more constables walking the streets than before.”

They walked past a constable who was detaining two women and speaking to them in a rough manner. She would not have given it much thought until she saw who it was—Mr. Motts.

She grabbed Hugh’s arm and said, “Hugh, it’s Mr. Mott’s, and he has on his uniform. Should we intervene?”

“I don’t know if he’s doing anything that’s wrong. He’s just being assertive, but we can stop and speak with him—that will put an end to it.”

“Mr. Motts…Hugh Scott…I wanted to get your expert opinion about something.”

With that, he took his arm and guided him away from the two women. Madeline took the opportunity to follow along with the ladies.

“Are you alright? Was he bothering you?” she asked.

“We’re fine…fine. Please go away,” said one of the ladies.

“What’s wrong…why won’t you speak to me? Are you afraid of him? Was he trying to harm you?” asked Madeline.

“No questions…he’s got power down here. No questions…he can get us in big trouble.”

With that, they ran from her and left her feeling perplexed about what they had said.

She went back to where Hugh and Mr. Motts were talking. “That’s invaluable insight, Mr. Motts. You’re certain the Ripper is a tourist, possibly from France or Italy,” said Hugh.

Mr. Motts was clearly inebriated and slurring his words, appeared aggressive in his stance, poking at Hugh as he spoke. He didn’t seem to mind that the ladies had escaped him, speaking in rapid fire to Hugh.

When Madeline approached, he changed his demeanor.

“You women, you are always the cause of everything. There would be much less crime except for the likes of women. Women make men do crazy things,” Motts said.

Madeline ignored his remarks, observing his condition and deeming it futile to engage in conversation with him.

“Mr. Motts, can we escort you back to one of the pubs?”

“No, I’ll be on my way now.”

He took off walking slowly, with one hand placed against the building for support.

“It has been a day I shall not long forget,” said Hugh.

“Nor I—it started with a catastrophic event and then followed with a string of stories that will have my mind active tonight.”

They rode back together to the George, and he said, “If Harry comes for his appointment, I will send word to you tomorrow and come over in the evening.”

“I am sure by tomorrow I will be eagerly seeking your company to discuss today’s events. Good-night, my friend, thank you again for your support.”

Chapter Eighteen

Visits from Russell

September 30, 1888

This day has brought another hideous revelation—that Jack still roams the streets. He is alive and has not left the city, as so many had hoped and prayed.  His latest victim is Catherine Eddowes. She was a woman of the night, making her living in the most difficult of ways. Like so many in Whitechapel, scratching out an existence any way that they can. She had only one hour before left the safety of a room in the jail, where she was housed until she was sober enough to leave. This unfortunate act led to her untimely death by violence at the hand of Jack. If she had stayed the night in the jail, she, most likely, would still be alive.

There is an uproar in the streets, the likes that I have not been witness to before, but now the people are in a state of hysteria over the murders.

Hugh came, and we saw Harry and Bob. We also ran into the lady butcher and Motts. It is peculiar that all the people that I have suspected of misconduct, in some way or other, have come to be in the streets at similar times.

We visited the aunts—it disturbed me to find Anna is not recovering at all.

I have been thinking of home more and more—missing father, his smile and that feeling that somehow everything can be tolerated through the strength he gives.

She stopped writing and tried to rest by the window, looking out into the night, looking for answers. She had taken more than usual of the opium but felt the circumstances warranted it. She was calmer now and could try to think clearly about the day’s events.

She called Russell, knowing he would come. She searched the night sky and heard the stars whispering his name. She was comforted by the hot cup of tea warming her hands. Soon, she felt that consoling voice she longed to hear.

“Madeline, you cannot sleep again. I am worried about you and this quest you are on.”

“But Russell, you had encouraged me once to partake in it—even giving me the idea of wearing a disguise while in Whitechapel.”

“I know, but now I see you are becoming far too frail and falling down the black hole of addiction.”

“No, please don’t say that word. This is just a little help while I recover from losing you and my beloved children. Is life so cruel that we can take nothing back from it after it has taken so much from us?”

“But you have taken too much consolation. You have stopped learning to deal with your troubles and look to your absinthe and your powder. What life will you have if this is the path you have chosen for yourself?”

“Please, Russell; let us speak of the Ripper and not of myself. That is my focus and my only one for the moment.”

“All right, darling, I will not trouble your heart any further.”

“Russell, Rocks is a woman, and there has never been any talk of it being a woman, but she acts so strangely and has an unnerving look in her eye when she speaks of the victims. She has the breadth of a man, and I can honestly say I could see her taking a knife to someone’s throat, as horrible as that may sound.”

“Only one person is the murderer, and there is a good possibility it’s not one of the ones you have chosen. There are a thousand people a day milling about you haven’t met that could be the one.”

“I know, but I have seen and spoken with many and I feel sure about it. There must be a reason why, Russell, why I am still here to face life after everything I love has gone. I must somehow figure this out.”

“You know when you speak like that, with vigor, it’s the way I remember you. Maybe some part of you is reviving itself through this.”

“I must tell Father about our conversations. He will be the better for it.”

“No, you mustn’t do that. We’ll both be lost then.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.”

“I’m very sleepy now. I can’t think anymore tonight, but we’ll talk again soon.”

“Yes, Madeline…sleep, my love.”

The morning brought new quivers to her body, and she awoke to a painful spasm in her leg. She did not know whether it was physical or mental. She believed at times now that she was not in possession of all her faculties and, in some ways was content with her own diagnosis, thinking what a relief it would be to not consciously be aware of anything anymore.

It was nearly eleven, she had slept the morning away, but she had made the night her friend and languished in it till almost dawn thinking of her family and the way her life had once been. She heard the relentless echo of the newsboys, no doubt selling more chronicles about Catherine Eddowes. She would go down later and get the paper to read the latest information. She remembered she had meant to write to her father; she had not done so in almost ten days. She hoped he would not be worried, but she continued to assure him all was well, and that she was leisurely spending time with her new friends.

She relaxed in her bath, thinking again of her conversation with Russell. She no longer thought it unusual that she had her nightly talks with him. She was aware that she could never tell anyone, or they would be sure to think her mad. She understands that he was some kind of ghost her mind conjured up, but while she took the drug, it seemed so real that a part of her believed it feasible that ghosts existed. She had her lunch brought up to her and tried to eat an additional portion. She noticed her face no longer had the plumpness in her cheeks it once had, and the arms of her dresses were loose. She hoped Hugh would come by before five as she wished to retire early today and spend one day not thinking of this ghastly business. She knew, even if Harry met with Dr. Scott, it was unethical for him to inform Hugh of anything. He would have to somehow detect, as much as he could, just by being there and eavesdropping, which they had both agreed would be pertinent. His dealings with Bob Fielding had intrigued them both, and now Harry was also on her list of people she wanted to know more about.

When she made her way downstairs, Clinton was just arriving at work and greeted her, “It is just too awful, isn’t it? This city has become a place I no longer recognize. I feel we are all walking around in a state of shock.”

“I feel the same way. It torments your mind thinking of it. That poor girl Catherine, one minute she was in the safety of a police station no less, and within an hour after leaving its confines—gone from this world.”

“I know it is tragic, but I was referring to the other one, Elizabeth.”

“Clinton, I don’t believe there is a victim named Elizabeth.”

“There is now.”

She felt confused and prodded him to speak further. “Then you have not heard; you are usually the first one out to get the news when you hear the boys in the streets.”

“I did hear them. I assumed they were speaking about Catherine.”

“No, Mrs. Donovan, there is another…Elizabeth―murdered late last night, I believe.”

She felt faint and for a moment could not comprehend what he had said.

“Another Clinton, in the same day, this cannot be. Is life so cruel that this horror should continue without restraint?”

“It does seem to be unbelievable. All the additional constables and the men from the Yard are all over this investigation, and yet the deed is done in plain sight. Right there in the open, it defies the imagination, and yet, somehow is the reality.”

“I cannot imagine how the ladies who make their living in Whitechapel are now fairing. There must be a fear in them that sits inside their bones. If the drinking was prolific before, now it will be insatiable.”

“I think I will take the papers and return to my room. Could you be so kind as to send up a light lunch and a glass of absinthe?”

“Of course…it is a time in London that the history books will write it as the blackest of marks on our city.”

“It is like the murderer is killing with immunity, some sphere where he kills in plain sight. Is he so emboldened to do this because he is insane or is he filled with such hatred he does not care? Something propels him that makes him not think of the consequences.”

“It will come to an end. It must.”

She went back to her suite wondering what the possible end would be. How many more mutilated women would be found? How much more fear would the people of Whitechapel have to endure?

She went to the window and watched the newsboys distribute their papers in loud voices, bellowing the names of the murdered women. She held her flask of bourbon in her hands as if she were gripping the hands of a loved one. She needed someone to hold onto. Hugh would be here soon. They had made a promise to each other that their relationship would entail more than talking of murder and suspecting everyone who walked the streets, of some hidden secret of malice, but she would now have to relinquish that promise as there was yet another hideous crime. The sticky web of potential suspects seemed to lead in all directions. She thought again of Rocks, and her nervous agitation at the crime scene and the fidgeting of her hands inside her apron pocket. Did it mean anything, or was she just concentrating on trivial nonsense.

Hugh’s note arrived stating that he would be there to see her at five. Jonathan also wrote that he would come by around six if that were agreeable to her. She sent word back that she would be happy to see him. He could join Hugh and her at dinner. They had all reached a comfort level with one another, perhaps due to the Ripper, as he dominated their conversation and left little room for awkward silences.

Hugh came ruffled from the wind and wet from the consistent rain, but he was striking despite it, and she thought she was fortunate to have such a man for a friend.

“Madeline, you’ve heard?”

“It was all Clinton could speak about. If there was anything that could possibly shock us more, it has happened—two victims in one day.”

“It unnerves me to know we spent so much time there, trying in some way to help uncover some truths about this, and right there under our noses; he struck again. It seemed that we saw a constable every few hundred feet we walked. This is also amazing to me, obviously, the fiend could also see this, and it did not deter him.”

“I have asked Jonathan to join us; I hope you do not object.”

“He is a companionable man and always proves interesting with his stories. I have word of Harry. He did come by. I made it a point to be there as I wanted to speak to him to see if there was anything I could do to help, perhaps even offer my assistance at his farm. He was quiet and looked to have a fever—his brow wet and face reddened. He thanked me for the offer, but declined, and said Bob Fielding was help enough.

My uncle could not speak to me in specifics, but said Harry was a very sick man. He did also confide in me that he cried in his office over the death of his wife. I felt great compassion for him.”

“He is a curious man. I am sorry for him, but his affiliation, with a man such as Bob Fielding, and his actions in Whitechapel seem strange to me, but then again, most activities in Whitechapel are suspect.”

“There is no denying that the Ripper’s victims are prostitutes, so there is that. His easy access to them gives him an extraordinary edge. They invite him into to their own death.”

“As much as they realize the danger, their need for housing and drink supersedes that known element and puts them right in his or her path.”

“You still believe there is a possibility it could be a woman.”

“Not any woman—only Rocks. Something about her manner and behavior still makes me believe she could be involved.”

Jonathan walked in, and Hugh went to meet him and show him to their table.

“Good afternoon. Another misery brought to bear—the sickness that possesses the person who did this is something I have never covered as a journalist. It makes you wonder about humanity, and what happens to make people go down this path. I fear for all the ladies in London. I know it has only occurred in Whitechapel, but still every woman, wherever she lives in this city, must be affected. I am sure they have all imagined themselves as a potential victim,” said Jonathan.

“Do you think of it Madeline?” asked Hugh.

“Oh yes, of course. Even while still aboard the SS City of New York and having first heard of it, I couldn’t stop from thinking what if it had been me, and the sheer horror of it just leaps into your mind and then it becomes hard to dismiss. It makes one flinch at noises or sudden disturbances.”

“One peculiar item has been revealed that I had not paid attention to before. Remember when we spoke of the circle amidst the blood?  Apparently, a similar circle was found at Polly’s murder scene and now again at Elizabeth’s. I didn’t notice it until I compared all the photos from each scene. It’s such an inconsequential finding, and yet, I can’t help but wonder if it might have some significance,” said Jonathan.

“Perhaps it is an item that was left intentionally by the killer as his trademark or something of that nature, and then was taken by someone walking by,” said Madeline, “Could we see the pictures sometime?”

“I have them with me.”

Jonathan spread multiple photos of the crime scenes that depicted the area after the constables had removed the body of the victim. The area was left intact, and anyone could peruse within the perimeters. They all looked at the photos with intent, hoping some revelation would come to their mind. After several minutes, with no new observations made by anyone, Jonathan put the photos away.