Shadows Fall Away (22 page)

It was not until I reached the High Street that I decided to go to Mrs. O’Connell’s tea shop, despite the questions it would raise. It was the only truly safe place I could think of.

“Miss Trambley, are you all right?” Mrs. O’Connell took one look at me then took me by her arm and led me to a chair in the back of the shop. She didn’t utter another word but her pinched mouth would have spoken volumes if I’d had the courage to meet her gaze for more than a moment.

Mrs. O’Connell delivered a steaming cup of tea, noticed the packet in Genie’s hand, and poured its contents into the cup. “You drink that down, girl. Then you can tell me all about it.” She paused. “When you’re ready.”

But I didn’t know what to say. That I’d been an utter fool? That I’d been taken in by an American boy who seemed to want nothing more than to watch me fall to the level of a common whore? What other motive could he have had for enjoying me as he did then leaving me? I thought he was being a gentleman but that wasn’t it. He played some sort of game, seeing just how far I’d go without having to pay the consequences. Once he knew he could have had me, he left to find a woman with more experience, a real whore, not just a pretend one.

I pushed my hair back from my face and made a half-hearted attempt to tuck it into a bun before giving up.

It was all just too much. Too much.

I sat there sobbing as her tea cooled.

***

Mark

I leaned back against the front of the police station in a daze. I’d been through some tough interrogations from my dad but I’d never come out feeling like this. Not even after my last joyride in a stolen car, which had made the six o’clock news.

This time I was a potential murder suspect and I’d stupidly used the term “the Ripper” without thinking. I didn’t think the famous “Dear Boss” letter, the first use of “Jack the Ripper” had even been sent yet. When it was, I knew Ian would bust my balls again. But I couldn’t worry about it now.

Even meeting one of the Ripper’s victims wasn’t helping. Of course, if it wasn’t for Genie Trambley and her predicament, it would be a lot easier. But if it weren’t for Genie Trambley, I’d never have met Ian. It seemed like some kind of a mixed blessing. Or curse.

I needed to be a lot more careful about what I said and did. And that was going to make catching the Ripper even tougher.

At least I’d managed to sidestep the issue of Genie.

I looked up and down the street. The early morning traffic was building as people went to their jobs and the merchants set up shop. My growling stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten in hours. I glanced up the street at the tea shop then decided against it. Genie might be there. Or she might still be in my room. And I was not in any condition to deal with Genie whether she was amorous, angry, or hungover. Or all of the above.

Even if Mrs. O’Connell discovered Genie in my room, her reputation would be safe because I hadn’t been there. At least I had an ironclad alibi for my whereabouts last night.

I pushed myself away from the wall and headed towards the docks. It seemed to be the safest direction to go.

The stink of the Thames near the docks helped clear my head. The smells of the brackish water, sewage, rotten fish, tar, and paint were as strong as any smelling salt.

I finally decided things weren’t as hopeless as they seemed. The next murder was three weeks away. I had more than enough time to get it right. I’d missed the earlier opportunities because I was still learning the peculiarities of the Victoria era East End. Next time, I’d be ready. I’d catch the Ripper. The only thing I couldn’t figure out was what to do about Genie.

The best thing was probably to not see her. Not worry about her. Not care about her.

Too late for that, dude.

“Ahoy Mr. Stewart!” The Boston accent snapped me out of my pity party. I waved back to Tim Ferguson from the
Agathos
.

“Sure you haven’t changed your mind? We’re heading out this morning. Just getting the last provisions on board now.”

I pushed my way through the throng of sailors, ship-fitters, and draymen. “No thanks.” I probably should consider signing on for a one way to America at some point. If I couldn’t catch the Ripper I needed a Plan B. Going back to the States, back to Pittsburgh where I’d feel more at home might be the wisest course.

But I wasn’t ready for Plan B just yet. “Look me up next time. I might be more than ready by then.”

***

Genie

“That father of yours is no gentleman if you ask me, which you haven’t. But I’ll say it anyway” Mrs. O’Connell said.

I stared at my empty cup. “He’s a good man.”

“If he’d stand up to them twin banshees of your mother and sister.” Mrs. O’Connell’s tone sharpened. “It’s no wonder he spends so many nights at the Hospital when he’s not needed.”

“He
is
needed,” I insisted. “He takes care of the poor, you know.”

“Oh, sure and he does that.” Mrs. O’Connell placed her hands on her hips, a knowing look playing across her face. “But he’s a man, so I can’t fault him for seeking pleasanter company. Not with a wife like your mother.”

I looked up, not willing to believe what Mrs. O’Connell implied. That the horrid things the women insinuated were
true
. “Surely not!” I sputtered, “Not my father. He’s a doctor.”

Mrs. O’Connell cocked her head. “And what of Mary Kelly and your brother-in-law? He was a doctor, too. And how was it she moved down to the East End when she had her pickings in the West End?”

“There was no baby. I would have known.”

“None that lived maybe,” Mrs. O’Connell said softly.

I buried my face in my hands, trying to blot out the image of Father consorting with any of the women down here.

But it would explain why he seemed so helpless in the face of Mother’s diatribes. If she knew, it would be a terrible weapon for her to use against him. To make such a thing public even though others might share the same guilt would ruin his career in London.

But if, as Mrs. O’Connell suggested, “a man had needs” and could not satisfy them in marriage, what was he to do? Why did
that
have to so complicate everyone’s lives? Was it, as the church suggested, the Devil’s tool to distract good Christians from the righteous path? But if it was, why had God made the feel of kissing so delicious?

Or had that all been a trick of the drink?

It was all so confusing.

I regretted my visit to Inspector Fraser and trying to cast doubt even though I had more than a few about young Mr. Stewart’s past.

Although no longer so angry with him, I knew I could never see him again. He confused me too much, made me feel weak and secure at the same time. I couldn’t allow that. I had to be my own woman, no matter the consequences.

“No matter the consequences,” I muttered as the realization struck me. Mrs. O’Connell had given me the weapon I needed. And I resolved to find the strength to use it.

Genie

Usually, the hospital’s clean corridors and the tang of carbolic acid comforted me and made me think of all that was good and decent and hopeful. Today, it made me realize the utter sham and hypocrisy of society.

I didn’t even bother to try to make myself presentable before confronting Father in his office. His shocked expression was more than enough reward for having endured the stares of the staff.

“What is the meaning of this?” he thundered. “No daughter of mine—”

“I am no longer your daughter, or have you forgotten you’ve tossed me into the street?”

His outrage prevented him from speaking as his face and head flushed an angry red. “I made ample provisions for you, young lady! It is not my fault that you became so besotted by drink that you had to be carried back to your hostel by that American long after curfew! He’s a bad influence, I’ve said it from the start!”

“Bad influence?” I closed the distance between us. “I should say the behavior of my family has been the bad influence! How dare you, how bloody
dare
you lecture me on propriety when you yourself have…have…done what you’ve done!”

“What
I’ve
done?” he demanded. “What have I done?”

I looked him squarely in the face and gathered all my nerve. I could scarcely bring myself to utter the words but there was no backing down now. “You have consorted in private with the very prostitutes you revile in public.”

Father stood, shaking with rage. “You will
not
use that tone of voice with me, young lady. Nor will you impugn my character in such a manner.”

I tilted up my head. “I have no need to impugn your character since it speaks for itself. Or should I have the whores you’ve used speak for themselves?” It was a bluff, but I knew I held a winning hand.

Father’s expression alternated between shock and outrage. “What do you want?”

“I want a steady allowance. A decent one.” I calmed. “One I can spend at my discretion.”

“That is entirely out of the question. Your mother would never allow that!”

I took a slow deep breath. “Since mother has undoubtedly used this knowledge so effectively, I don’t see why I shouldn’t enjoy the same advantage.”

He turned his back and stared out the window at the busy street. Then he turned to face me, his face a mask of fury. “You’re no better than that Kelly woman,” he snarled. “Oh, yes, she was here. She had the bloody cheek to come here, demanding money again. You women are all alike. All you can think of is extorting men for their weaknesses.”

“Mary Kelly is a common whore. How dare you speak of us in the same breath?”

Father was almost unrecognizable behind his fury. “And what makes you so much better than any of them? Given your behavior last night, I suspect there’s no difference now. Except they were paid!”

He didn’t mean. He couldn’t.

He would never think such a thing.

Not of me.

“You want an independent allowance? Then go make your living on the streets you were so eager to sneak away to so many nights! And maybe you’ll get what’s coming to you, just like those others!” He pushed past me, flung open the door, and stormed out of his office.

***

Mark

I pretended to doze on the bench in the shadow of St. Boltoph’s church.

I’d traded my good hat and coat for an old man’s battered cap and fraying jacket. My pants and shoes were too good for a homeless person’s, but I’d got enough dirt on them that I hoped no one noticed.

I kept an eye out for the constables who patrolled the area but they showed no interest in any of the wretches huddled by the church on Hound’s Ditch Road. At night, the cops would have rousted them but during the day they turned a blind eye to those who slept in parks and by churches throughout the East End.

Later in the evening, there would be an endless parade of women shuffling round in a circle, trying to keep awake and moving through the night. Any man in search of cheap entertainment knew of St. Boltoph’s and knew that the women could be had for half the price of one outside the pubs. But I intended to be long gone by then.

I’d spent the better part of the day working on Plan A and had come to the conclusion that it might be useful to disappear for a while. Genie was certainly too much of a distraction and after the “Ripper” slip I made Ian would be on high alert. He might even have told the local cops to keep an eye on me just in case. Besides, trying to maintain a “normal” life was getting in the way of my true purpose: catching Jack the Ripper.

I had to get out of Whitechapel for a while, make it seem that I’d disappeared as quickly as I’d arrived. Then maybe I could blend back in before the next murder and not have any distractions screw things up.

So before I’d ditched my clothes for the old ones I hung out at a couple pubs and let on that I’d had enough of London.

***

Genie

“…They decry the filth and squalor of the East End yet refuse to repair their dilapidated buildings. They build clean, new flats for the working classes but keep wages so low the working man cannot afford the rents. They decry the moral corruption of the poor yet enjoy every low form of sport offered by those desperate for a few pence. They have enslaved a hundred thousand of their own kind for profit.

“Were this Egypt or Ethiopia, there would be a great outcry about such barbarity and degradation of the human spirit. But this is not some dark, backward
country of which I speak. This is our England. This is our East End. This is our Grand Enlightened Civilization!

“They are our upper class and even our middle class. Should we brand them hypocrites? No, they are not merely hypocrites. They are far worse than that. They are criminals!”

Gurov took a deep breath and pushed his glasses up onto his forehead. Late afternoon sun slanted in through the dirty windows, turning the office walls a dingy yellow. “Are you using perhaps too broad a brush?” he asked. “Surely not all of the middle and upper classes are ‘criminals’ as you call them.

“They turn a blind eye to the conditions, even the so-called reformers and charitable organizations. They ignore the obvious problems and corruption because it’s too profitable. Or because they feel it’s not their problem.”

Gurov nodded at me slowly as he finished reading the page of tight, neat handwriting. “These are very strong accusations…”

“I could name individuals.”

“No, no. The libel laws are much too strictly enforced for that. Even for me, names would be too much.”

He read over the page again then reached into his pocket and carefully placed seven shillings on the desk.

He looked up and smiled broadly. “And I thought only Mr. Stewart could write such inflammatory material. I see, however, he has met his match, Miss Trambley.”

I took the coins in my trembling hand. “Thank you, Mr. Gurov. Oh, thank you!”

“And where shall I reach you for future articles?”

I thought for a moment. “I have heard Mr. Stewart is sailing home to America. Perhaps Mrs. O’Connell will let me his room.”