Stalking Jack: The Hunt Begins... (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 1) Page 15

  She spent some time writing in her journal about her thoughts and observations, but although initially she wanted to write about her encounter with Russell, she thought it might sound like the ramblings of a neurotic who had lost her wits.

  For the first time, her mind was riveted on something besides Jack. She now realized she did not dream it, but perceived Russell to be there. Did the medicine give her such realistic visions that they came to life, and if they did, was that necessarily a bad thing? She had a sense of complete euphoria when she thought she was speaking to Russell.

  She had forgotten about the note that had been slipped under her door and read it now. It was from Jonathan.

  Madeline,

  My thoughts are consumed with worry about you and the aunts. I have been busy, but hope to see you for dinner one evening and perhaps stop in to see the aunts, if they are agreeable to having visitors.

  Jonathan

  She thought it would be good to speak with him. She had been reading his articles, and there were no new revelations, just more speculation. But she did not wish to see him just to speak about the Ripper, he was now her friend, and she enjoyed her time with him. But things had changed since Polly's murder, and she had the benefits of the powder. She wished she could speak to someone about what had occurred with Russell, but she knew she could probably never reveal that to anyone.

  In the morning, she would send word to him that she would be agreeable to dinner.

  When she awoke, her happy feeling had gone and was replaced once again with a headache and a general feeling of being ill. She had always wanted her Darjeeling and absinthe in the morning, but now she wanted her powder instead.

  She looked at her picture and then released the bottle back into the dresser, putting it away tucked inside one of her gloves. She remembered the doctor’s words and would return to her tea.

  She sent word to Jonathan that she would be available at seven or eight in the evening. When she gave the note to Clinton, he asked if she was unwell. She assured him she was plagued with a treacherous headache, and that was all. But then she returned to her room and did an assessment of herself in the mirror. She had not been paying attention to her appearance, and now saw there was darkness under her eyes and her skin was colorless. She attributed this more to her stress over Polly and all that had happened. She would try to improve her looks before she met with Jonathan.

  Dressing for her dinner engagement, she once more felt the discomfort of her body and mind. She felt sluggish and found the absinthe was no longer effective. She reached into her hidden glove and found what she was looking for, just a little longer, she told herself.

  She stepped lively down the stairs knowing Jonathan was already there. Clinton had tapped on her door to tell her of his arrival.

  “Madeline, I am happy to see you,” said Jonathan. “Do you wish to dine in the hotel, or would you like to go somewhere else?”

  “If you don’t mind, I would prefer a restaurant outside the hotel. Are there any near here that serve American food?”

  “I believe there is a place called Isbell’s Steak House.”

  “That sounds wonderful. I have not been eating well, and I think I could use a good hearty meal.”

  “It is amazing that we are within a few miles of Whitechapel, and the atmosphere changes so dramatically, it doesn’t seem to be the same city,” said Jonathan.

  “This is a lovely place. It even has our American flag in the corner. I am homesick and miss my father… but how is your story coming?”

  “There has been some talk about it being a royal, but my paper doesn’t want me to indulge in speculation on that count, so I have not written anything, but I have my suspicions. Out of all the people we have both spoken about, the only one that appears to be of interest to Scotland Yard is Mr. Motts. But how are you? You look tired.”

  “My health seems to appear and disappear like magic. One minute I feel I can do anything and see this thing through, and the next I am vanquished. If you are ever able to accompany me to Whitechapel, I will be in your debt. I will go whenever it is convenient for you.”

  “I know you prefer to go at night and even though it presents an element of danger, I do agree that if we are to find anything out of importance, it would most likely be in the evening hours.”

  He brought out a small notebook and looked at his schedule and stated, “I think the best time that I can commit to would be Friday evening, the 7th. Is that agreeable to you?”

  “Yes, that is perfect. I agree with your assessment that I look tired, and I feel it also. I will try to regain some strength and stay within the confines of the Hotel George until I see you again.”

  When she returned to the George, she sat in a rose colored armchair and moved one of the small tables near it so that she could write. She moved the table and chair closer to the one small window that she had so she could see out into the city. Although the sky was misty gray and light pellets of rain fell upon the window, it was soothing to be within this familiar place. In her mind, she envisioned the young girls of Whitechapel desperately looking to earn enough to have a roof for the night, and she saw all the men who would prey upon them.

  “Russell, if only you were here now, so I could speak to you of my concerns.”

  “I am here, Madeline. You only have to think it, and I will appear,” said Russell.

  She opened her eyes, the pen she was about to write with dropped onto the floor.

  “It’s all right, Madeline. Do not be alarmed. Are you not happy to see me?”

  “I am Russell, but you are not real. You can’t be. Am I again caught between sleep and wakefulness and imagining you?”

  “No, you are caught in your mind from the opium. It is giving you hallucinations. But then I can be here to counsel you and support you.”

  “I can see you so plainly. Your shirt, it needs pressing, as it always did. Your one black curl that always falls onto your face and can never seem to stay in place is right there for me to see. I can smell the tonic you put on your face when you shave.”

  “It is real because you wish it to be real, and I am glad of that, glad for my chance to stay with you again. You are spending time with other men I see, and I am also glad of that.”

  “Other men, no, they are just friends and no more than any woman friend.”

  “I see, even in death, you are trying to protect me. I want you to care for one of them. You need not be alone.”

  “I am never alone. You and the children are always with me.”

  “You must decide that for yourself. I will never be far from you. I promise you that. Have you gone into Whitechapel yet?”

  “Do you mean disguised as a prostitute?”

  “Yes, you know that’s what I meant.”

  “I have thought on it, but I don’t think I’m brave enough for that.”

  “Sleep now, Madeline. I will see you soon.”

  She watched him leave her like smoke drifting through a window. He moved silently through the streets of London until she could see him no more. She wondered if she was going insane, and during these moments, she could not distinguish reality from fantasy. She wished she could vaporize and follow Russell through the window.

  She decided she would endeavor to disguise herself and go to Whitechapel, but she wasn’t sure how she would manage the intrigue. She couldn’t leave The George looking like that. She guessed she could change somewhat in the carriage and carry her clothes along in a bigger satchel. The ladies of Whitechapel did this out of necessity. She possibly could get away with it. She couldn’t decide, however, whether she should tell anyone of her plan. She would wait and talk to Jonathan on the 7th and then decide.

  September 7, 1888

  I am hoping to persuade Jonathan to take me to the Bells after our dinner meeting tonight, to see if Annie has left word with Patrick Rooney.

  I am concerned that my health may not be what it should be. I am considering seeing Dr. Scott. I am also seriously cons
idering going in disguise to Whitechapel, in the hope I can obtain information that way.

  She crossed the last line out. She did not know what she was thinking anymore. She couldn’t write anything about seeing Russell, or her experimentation with opium. She wasn’t sure her thoughts were coherent.

  She hoped Jonathan would not notice that she had changed in any way. She would go back to drinking only; she could not take the powder. She knew that now as Dr. Scott had warned her, she didn’t just want it now; she needed it.

  She picked up Russell’s picture, “What should I do Russell? Does it matter if I take it? I can see you; I feel better and if I should die, what is the negative about that, if I can be with you. Tell me what should I do, darling?”

  But this time, he did not appear or speak to her. She went to the window where she had seen him slip away from her, and in the streets, she saw Jonathan stepping from his carriage. The only thing she knew is that her destiny now intertwined with Whitechapel, and all that it could do to a person, all of which was detrimental, but it was too late to turn back now.

  “Jonathan, thank you for coming—it is good to see a familiar face.”

  “I am happy to see you. Where would you like to eat?”

  “Would you mind if we dine in Whitechapel?”

  “Whitechapel? I can’t imagine the kind of food we would find there. Maybe we could find some edible soup and fish, but that is about all.”

  “That would be fine, and we could talk during our ride there.”

  “Are you sure you are well? I think this has all taken a toll on you and continuing to go to Whitechapel may not be the healthiest of things to do.”

  “I know, Jonathan, and thank you for your concern, but I must, and as long as you are with me, I feel content that we will be successful together. Annie Chapman is to leave word for me with Patrick from Ten Bells. I have been eager to see if she has anything more for me.”

  “I have spoken with men from Scotland Yard. They round up everyone, and anyone they think might be a suspect and then just as quickly, they are released. It seems impossible, but yet this person eludes everyone.”

  “May I take you into my confidence? I have been trying to decide whether to tell anyone or not, but I have been thinking of going to the streets disguised as a lady of the night.”

  “What are you saying? To what end could that be a plan?”

  The look of shock on his face was what she had suspected might happen, and now she thought better of having done it. She shouldn’t have told him.

  “I probably won’t. It was just an idea I had to lure the monster out. Imagine, Jonathan, if he should seek me out, and I could help in catching him.”

  “That’s so preposterous I don’t know even want to hear you speak of it. You cannot, Madeline, you absolutely cannot. The danger is so great, it perplexes me and shocks me that you would consider it. Now I won’t be able to sleep at all thinking you might try this nonsensical thing.”

  “I know you are right about the danger, but it would be worth the try. I would only do so with other people around and would be sure to carry a weapon with me. I have a pistol right now in my boot and a small knife under my dress.”

  “That is well, Madeline, but he would overcome you, and you would never have a chance to use them.”

  They arrived at Ten Bells and Jonathan’s brow was furrowed, and his eyes had become slits. She could see she shouldn’t have mentioned, but she thought, at least, one person should know in the event harm would come to her.

  “If you do ever think you might go through with this irrational plan, contact me, and I will shadow you and protect you. I don’t feel right about this, not at all.”

  “Do not worry yourself, it was just a thought.”

  That pulled up their chairs by Patrick, and he nodded to her, taking a piece of paper from his waistcoat, he said, “Mrs. Donovan, Annie’s been in several times looking for you. She left you this.”

  She opened the note and left it on the bar so they both could read it.

  Mrs. Donovan,

  He came to me the other day—scratched he was on his face and in terrible humor. He said he was tired of me, and he was meaner than ever. If you would like to speak to me, I’ll be at Ten Bells most nights; 'round ten—his name is John, that’s what the driver called ‘em.

  Annie Chapman

  Patrick was wiping the bar and came back upon them, “Mrs. Donovan, one of the girls that goes round with Annie said she probably won’t be back this way tonight. She said she heard she had a brawl with someone over at Britannia Public House. It was like two cats fighting; she says Annie and some other women went at each other over some man. Imagine that, as if any of the men down these parts is worth fighting over.”

  “Thank you again, Patrick. We’ll go down there and see if we can find her. She might need help,” said Madeline.

  They walked to the Britannia, Madeline holding onto Jonathan’s arm, “My fantasies sometimes collide with reality. When I think of what I said about coming down here alone, it does seem rather foolish now. I am finding it difficult to be here even by your side. It’s that feeling of hopelessness and the dire needs of everyone who passes, it creates such a haunting look of loss in their eyes, and I seem consumed with trying to help somehow.”

  “To say nothing of the fact that every time someone walks by me, I feel for my wallet to see if it is still there. I keep a weapon on me now. I didn’t when I first came here, but I’ve been down here enough times now to know better.”

  “Look, over there, you can see the remnants of a fight, there’s a lady leaning up against the wall who looks like someone took a fist to her all right.”

  When they questioned some of the people there, one said, “You won’t see the likes of her again tonight. That woman over there threatened her if she come back, she’d give 'er what for.”

  They attempted to speak to the injured woman, and Jonathan said, “Mum, we’re looking for Annie Chapman, and we heard you might have had words with her tonight?”

  “Words, more than words, sir, I done punched her in the eye, and she deserved every bit of it, but you see she scratched me all about and ripped my dress. If I see her again tonight, I’ll hit ‘er again.”

  “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?” asked Madeline.

  “We both likes the same man, but he ain’t hers to like. He’s my man and always has been, not hers, but she’s been thieving me things from my room. One would have been enough for me to cock her, but two, well, she deserves it,” said the battered lady.

  “Do you know where she went; we need to speak with her?” asked Madeline.

  “I hope she went to hell, that’s all I got to say.”

  “I’m sorry you’re hurt. We’ll be on our way,” said Madeline.

  “This is a rough way to live. The smell alone from all the decaying garbage is enough to make you sick,” said Jonathan.

  “I know. Annie was supposed to give me some information on the man in the royal carriage.”

  “Really?” he said with surprise.

  “I was going to tell you tonight to see if she might let you interview her. She’s one of this man’s favorites, and no one else that I’ve spoken with knew anything about him. I hope she’s in one of the public houses, and not in the streets if she’s injured.”

  “I think that’s all we can do for tonight. It has been a fruitless task looking for this man.”

  He dropped her back at the George and said, “I hope one day we can meet and not for the purpose of only going to Whitechapel. It would be nice to leave it behind once.”

  “You are right; I have become obsessed with it, especially after what happened to Polly.”

  “Good-night, be well.”

  When she arrived back at The George, she waved to Clinton, pondering on the words Jonathan spoke, be well, such a simple wish and yet so unattainable. She did not feel well as she tumbled into her bed.

  She opened the curtain to her window to le
t the moon show through. It was like a friend, with its round face and bright light, in the midst of this dreary night. She half expected that Russell would walk back through the window when she opened it. She did not take the powder today and had only one glass of absinthe. She was proud of herself for that, but somehow knew within her mind it was not to last.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Victim Three

  September 8, 1888

  When I reflect on my life and see how it has turned, it hardly seems possible that only a month has gone by. Life has changed for me and all those around me in a negative way. The friendships I have made have had a positive impact on me, but they remain clouded by the events that have occurred in the misery of Whitechapel. I fear I do not significantly appreciate them, because of the wretchedness all around us.

  There was no trace of Annie. I regret that I was unable to speak with her. She apparently had been in some sort of fight with another one of her fellow prostitutes over the attentions of one of their customers. It is a sordid business. I do not know how they do it, but I do understand why they drink to forget that they are doing it.”

  It was nearly two before she drifted into sleep, she had hoped Russell would appear to comfort her and discuss what she was thinking, but without her medicine, life was once again dreary.

  When she awoke on the morning of the eight; it was to whistles and loud noises. She had cracked her window a bit to let the night air in, and now she could hear all manner of racket in the street. She pressed her face to the window to see people gathered around a newsboy who was peddling his papers, and yelling in a shrill staccato voice, “Another murder in Whitechapel-The Ripper strikes again”."

  She put both her hands to her face and a slight scream escaped from her lips. “No, it cannot be—it just cannot be.”