Stalking Jack: The Hunt Begins... (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 1) Page 16

  But in her heart, she knew it would be. Why would the murderous fiend stop, when he had so easily eluded Scotland Yard, who employed the greatest detectives known around the world. If newspaper men, street constables, and the Yard could not find him, wouldn’t that make him all the bolder for having gotten away with it right under the noses of all of them. He (or she) would be not anguish over their deeds. The only female that might be capable of such an act was Rocks, although unlikely, she still thought of her as a suspect.

  “Oh, Russell, he has struck again. Something must be done.”

  She dressed quickly, hoping to be on the streets within the half hour so that she could procure the Daily News. She would try to get the Daily Telegraph also, for they tended to offer more description. Jonathan’s paper was always last to get the news out. Being an American paper, they sometimes were not privy to the latest facts that had transpired.

  It was only seven, and the hotel had few patrons lingering. Many of the staff stood at the concierge desk reading the news and talking in hushed tones. They didn’t hurry to disperse, as even the head of the staff was there reading and listening to the details about this latest murder.

  Clinton saw her approaching and extended the paper he had in his hand, “Mrs. Donovan, another day of disconcerting news. I believe all of Whitechapel will not sleep well again until this…this person is caught. There is not much news, just a few sensational headlines. The murder had just occurred a few hours ago. I don’t think we will learn much more until the evening paper arrives.”

  Across the two papers were similar headlines-Another Murder in Whitechapel/Third Victim Found. According to the Telegraph, at around four in the morning, a body of a woman was found by John Davis in the backyard of his home on Hanbury Street. She had dark wavy hair, blue eyes and was of medium height. Once again, the perpetrator had sliced open the neck of his victim, but, this time, the brutality was fierce. She had been cut open and disemboweled, her organs thrown over her shoulder.

  She sat down in the parlor area of The George and could read no more. She left the paper on a table and returned to her room. She opened her drawer and felt for the familiar feel of the glove, taking the bottle of powder from it. This is a world without peace, she thought, I will find a little for myself.

  She paced around her room, and then sent a note to Jonathan to see if he had further information. She believed that Hanbury Street was not far from Buck’s Row, where they found Polly.

  Within a short time, she was feeling better, and although she was dismayed by the events, she began to think of it as a challenge that she had to do more to find Jack. The noise in the street continued from the newsboys. It would go on for the rest of the day she was certain.

  “And what are you to do now?” Russell asked.

  “You have come back. I was so hoping you would. You know he has struck again.”

  “Yes. What is it you intend to do now?”

  “I am going into the streets. I will have to go alone. It will not do to have someone follow me; it would be too obvious. I think I had already made up my mind to this plan, but now I am certain.”

  “You look better today. I see more of the darling girl I loved so well.”

  “Why is it that Fate is so unkind to so many people, Russell?”

  “We all ask that during our lifetime. I doubt if there are many who have not felt that way at some point during their time on this earth. We can only fight back as well as we can. I see your drawer is open. You have taken the opium again?”

  “Yes, I have. Does it matter really? I have no one left that should care if I do. It helps me.”

  “I know you believe it does, and so shall I then believe it, because that is what your mind is wishing me to say.”

  “Don’t speak in riddles, please.”

  “It is not a riddle. It is the window you peer into every day. Go and get yourself something to eat. I will be here for you, whenever you want. I will come to you.”

  By afternoon, she had received word from Jonathan that he would meet her for dinner at her hotel that evening.

  “I have brought my notes with me. I have not finished the article that I will be submitting. I’ve been on the streets throughout the day. It is mayhem. It has now escalated into a noticeable fervor of anxiety,” said Jonathan.

  “Do you know any more than was reported this morning?” asked Madeline.

  “I have just read the first-morning report, which said knife wounds had all but dissected a woman, and that they found her in the backyard of a home on Hanbury Street. I think they said a man named John Davis had found her. After that, I spent time writing to father and reading again my Study in Scarlet. I thought it would calm my mind.”

  “Waiter, could you bring us some wine, please?” Jonathan said.

  She thought of refusing the wine but did not.

  “Don’t you know? When you sent me the note, I suppose I just assumed…,” said Jonathan.

  “Assumed what, Jonathan, what is it you are trying to say?”

  “The victim…it is Annie, Annie Chapman.”

  Her eyes widened, and she moved her hand over the table to reach for his hand. She closed her eyes tightly, then opened them and said, “It is some treacherous hand at work that we are now speaking of Annie when it was just days ago we were speaking of Polly. She was a poor soul, lost to society, and there was no one in her corner, least of all herself. She put herself in the thick of danger at every turn. The poor, dear woman, I will pray for her.”

  “Did you know that I heard Scotland Yard will be calling on Arthur Conan Doyle for consultation on this case?”

  “His mastery of detecting the obvious that everyone misses may be fiction, but in practice who knows what mysteries could unravel.”

  “Now for some interesting news, that is of a less depressing nature—the paper’s dignitaries have some kind of connection somewhere, and they have scheduled a meeting with me and Mr. Doyle at The Plaza Hotel. Apparently, they have paid him handsomely to give us his time. He is unknown in America, but with the success of Sherlock Holmes, he will be. They are trying to beat the competitors in this vain. Now…I have asked permission to bring a guest, and that guest will be you, Madeline, if you so desire.”

  She smiled at him, the first honest smile she had felt in a while, “Jonathan, to meet this master of imagination and speak with him, that would be a memory for a lifetime.”

  “Then it is settled. We have the dinner scheduled for eight on Saturday. It is something, isn’t it, something to think about besides the goings on in Whitechapel.”

  “Yes, it is, but it is difficult to tell the mind to stop thinking and have it listen. Annie was unwell and had the most difficult of lives, but still she fought for that life, in the only way she knew how, and then to have it taken in this terrible way is too heartbreaking. Conan Doyle’s epitaph will herald him for creating this wonderful Sherlock, and hers written as the victim of the Ripper. One cannot help but weep for her.”

  “You were to come to London to alleviate some of your own personal grief, and you have added to it instead. Try, Madeline, try to think on this evening with Mr. Doyle. It will relieve your mind for a while.”

  “You are right. I have not thought of anything pleasant in, well, I don’t remember.”

  He kissed her hand in parting and looked at her in what she thought was a loving way. She smiled back, but she was transfixed on her mission to find Jack and had no kind emotion to give to Jonathan, other than gratitude for his friendship.

  September 10, 1888

  The Ripper has claimed his fourth victim, Annie Chapman. At least, that is the assumption that it is his fourth. The first may not be attributed to him because the body was not desecrated as the others were. For now, I will contend from what I have heard and read thus far, that the victims are Martha Tabram, Polly Nichols, and Annie Chapman. All these women were of the street and survived by means of solicitation. They all had a problem with drink and were frequently seen alo
ne. Either he knew them all, and had been a customer, or picked them because of their ease of accessibility, or had perhaps had a neurosis about their being women of ill repute. It would only make sense that I should present myself as one of them if I am to getting any closer to an answer.

  Now that she had returned to taking the powder, she was feeling better. If she were to continue with this quest, she believed she could not do it without the aid of this pain relieving drug. It had some negative side effects, but many more benefits.

  Tomorrow she would meet the author she so admired. She would not wear black, but the dark crimson dress she had recently purchased. It had almost been a year since her family passed, and though she could never imagine a time that she would not grieve, she thought it was time to leave the daily ritual of wearing black in the past.

  She had received a message from Helen inquiring into her health, and requesting that she come to see them sometime soon. On the same day, Hugh had written asking to come to see her for lunch. She missed seeing the aunts and would respond that she would come soon. She hadn’t thought of Hugh because her mind had been on Jack, but when she did, her heart softened. He was handsome and kind; when she was with him, she felt the closest thing to happiness. She would send a note telling him of her plans with Jonathan, and that she would be at the hotel all day today should he wish to visit with her.

  By the time she began dressing for her dinner engagement, Hugh had not returned her message. She thought it just as well as she wouldn’t have wanted a rushed meeting with him, and then have to tell him she would have to leave for her meeting with Jonathan. If these events had not happened in Whitechapel, and she had met them both in different circumstances, she wondered if perhaps her heart may have allowed her to develop real feelings for one of them. But it was useless to think of that now, her mind was in turmoil, and she had given her body over to opium. She didn’t feel she had a prayer of ever having a relationship again.

  As the time grew nearer, she felt excited. She had not felt the normal emotion of joy for such a long time; she had barely recognized that she was in good spirits. Their reading of A Study in Scarlet on the SS City of New York now seemed an eternity ago. Tonight, somehow life’s events had turned in such an unusual way, that they would be meeting with the author they had all agreed was superlative in his story telling.

  She took just a pinch of powder to be certain her mood stayed elevated. Wearing her new dress gave her a sudden burst of confidence. Despite all the disparity, there was good still left to find and enjoyment that existed for some.

  When Jonathan arrived, he looked at her with an approving eye.

  “Madeline, how wonderful you look tonight. This will be a night to remember. It was not so long ago we had begun our first meeting conversing about Doyle’s book, and now we shall be meeting him together over dinner. Life holds so many surprises,” said Jonathan.

  “While I was preparing for this evening, my thoughts mirrored those of yours. It is amazing that through all this sadness, still there are good things also. The friendships that have developed between the aunts and with you, I treasure as an unexpected and wonderful gift. Now, this dinner, I will also speak about for as long as anyone will listen. I have already filled three pages of a letter telling father about it. My personal journal also reflects this news.”

  “I’ve heard this hotel is in the baroque style, lavish and ornate, designed for the visits of world dignitaries. That, in and of itself, will be something to see. We are here.”

  Two men opened the large mahogany doors into The Plaza. There was beautiful artwork, large candle lit chandeliers, and all manner of plush surfaces you could touch with your eyes, they were so lovely.

  They were seated at their table, awaiting the arrival of their guest. “If he is anywhere near as entertaining in person as he is in print, what a treat this will be,” said Madeline.

  “I have to say that there is not much that makes me nervous, but I confess to feeling a definite humbleness to have this opportunity.”

  “Look, Jonathan, it must be him.”

  A tall man, with glasses and handlebar mustache, appeared, dressed out in a fine tweed suit, standing erect as a pillar. The maître d' brought him to their table, and Jonathan stood and shook his hand with such bravado that for a moment, there was an awkward silence.

  “What an honor, sir—what an honor, indeed, please sit,” said Jonathan. “This is my friend Madeline Donovan, whom I have invited to the interview. She is a great admirer of your book.”

  “I am delighted to be here. Please, be at ease. It pleases me to discuss Mr. Holmes, and I was surprised to have the Yard request my assistance, in this case, but I will gladly give it.”

  “Have you drawn any opinions about the Ripper?” asked Jonathan.

  “A great many. However, the scenes of these crimes have been compromised by a multitude of constables and local people walking over them and touching everything. I feel certain that the murderer will prove to be a frequent visitor to Whitechapel. That he or she is right-handed and will be nurturing a grievance upon the low women, as they are named.”

  “We have also discussed similar theories,” said Madeline.

  “Yes, with keen observation, the things I speak of can be perceived by anyone seeking them. It is as Mr. Holmes says '“elementary”.’

  “Why is it that you believe they are right handed?” asked Madeline.

  “From what I have seen, all the wounds inflicted on the neck have been cut across from left to right. The victim would have most likely were accosted from behind, with the murderer reaching around the neck with his right hand, and cutting across from left to right. It would be impossible for a left handed person to inflict such a wound.”

  “But what if they were ambidextrous and could use either hand?”

  “It is a possibility, but there are few people with that ability.”

  “Your Mr. Holmes—is he based on anyone?” asked Jonathan.

  “Yes, indeed, a mentor of sorts, a professor who taught me many things, Dr. Bell. His powers of observation are astonishing, and yet, when taken apart are nothing short of sensible. Confronted with so much information at any given moment; our mind sometimes doesn’t stop to take in the small details that create the larger picture. Even if it may seem obvious afterward, it is not perceived beforehand. It is like a light being turned on in a room that was present, but was not observed until the moment of someone pointing to it.”

  “I would imagine it would be something you would have to train yourself to see,” said Jonathan.

  “Exactly, if you begin to observe things in this fashion, the mind will comply, just as playing an instrument; a muscle memory will begin to form. It is a talent we can all have for the asking, but it must be used to excel at it,” replied Doyle.

  “Some good friends of mine lost their niece Polly Nichols to this person Jack, and I am of a mind to see what I can find out. Even though it may sound frivolous, I am determined to make a difference if I can,” said Madeline.

  “I think we can all do more than we think we can. We use our powers of deduction every time we safely cross a street or do anything that might present a risk. It is within you if you wish it. The biggest hurdle is the safety, or lack thereof, of the place you must find the information from,” said Doyle.

  “Madeline has been to Ten Bells and some of the other pubs. Besides being unsavory; people there tend not to speak about others, and those that do, exaggerate. It is difficult to know what is story to believe,” said Jonathan.

  “Remember to eliminate anything that you are certain is false, and then begin putting the pieces of the truth together,” Doyle said.

  Jonathan took out his notebook after the dinner and continued with his interview with Mr. Doyle. Madeline sat fascinated by all he said and believed that she had never met anyone quite like him. His mind seemed to embark on a puzzle as if it were seeking buried treasure; he unearthed for them new ideas about how to discover obvious truths, hid
den in plain sight.

  When they took their leave of Doyle, Madeline was quick to thank Jonathan, “You have given me an extraordinary evening. I shall not forget it or you for making it possible.”

  “I am happy you shared this with me. I have pages of notes that need turning into an article, so I will say good-night. Until I see you again, I wish you well.”

  “You will send over a copy of your article?”

  “I am flattered that you asked and yes; I will.”

  For a moment, it looked as if he were going to bend to kiss her, but then abruptly stood back and nodded his good-bye. She had been caught up in the night and thought perhaps if he had, she just might have kissed him back, but the moment passed. Life is like that; she thought, the moments pass and an opportunity or a hope is lost forever.

  September 12, 1888

  I have decided to go ahead with my plan. Perhaps I shall begin a third journal where I shall devote the content to detailing my undercover operations. The dinner with Conan Doyle was as wonderful as I had anticipated it would be. He believes we should live using all our faculties and putting them to purposeful use. Listening to him reminds me of the slivers of light there are in the world and that not all is dark. The pleasure he has given to so many through his character Sherlock is one of those joys. He has stated he will continue writing these murder mysteries, and I will be first in line at the bookstore to immerse myself in his adventures.

  Several days passed without her leaving the hotel. She had heard from Hugh, and he stated that he was ill with fever. He would contact her when he had recovered. She was mulling over and making lists of her reasons for why it might be effective to risk going into Whitechapel as a prostitute. There was still a part of her that felt terrified of trying this deception. But on the day of the 20th, she went to purchase some clothing that would give her the appearance of a low woman. She knew she couldn’t leave the George dressed as a low woman, so she bought herself a long coat that would cover her garments. She would carry the garish hat she bought for Jenny and apply lip paint in the carriage. She would carry her coat with her after she arrived in Whitechapel so that all saw her outfit.