Stalking Jack: The Hunt Begins... (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 1) Page 5

  With that; he kissed her gloved hand and walked away. She did not mind that he had done that; it seemed appropriate. They were now friends, and she did trust him, in a way. Mr. Bonneville had secured a Hansom cab for her. It was mid-morning, and London appeared as she had it imagined it in many ways. The mist from the morning fog lingered in the streets and gray clouds muddled the sky. There was a noxious odor that when inhaled immediately set her to coughing.

  “Where to, Mum?” said the portly driver with the handlebar mustache.

  “The Hotel George, sir.”

  “Mum, you might be keeping a handkerchief over your mouth. That’s the gas you’re smelling—it’s a menace.”

  The cab bumped along the cobbled road while her eyes gazed upon the city. It was dirtier than she had expected, and foul smells lingered in the air. Crowds of people shoved each other, and the loud noise of vendors were calling into the wind. Children running in the street, squealing and laughing added to the cacophony. But the visual and audio distraction was welcome and in many ways reminded her of Chicago. Her hotel was in the West End of the city. It was well known, even to foreign travelers, that the East End of the city was the unsavory part of London. Like most cities, in Chicago, it was the Northside that was the elite and the Southside's reputation was perpetuated by stories of crime. But though she had never given it a thought that she would traverse into the East End, now it was prominent in her thoughts and plans. She found herself already missing the English ladies she had met and would be glad to see them again.

  “Welcome to the Hotel George, Mum”, said a handsome young man, impeccably dressed out in black dress uniform with white bow tie.

  “I am Clinton, and I will be happy to be of service to you during your stay.”

  “Thank you, Clinton; I am Madeline Donovan from the States. It is good to be on land. I have just come from the SS City of New York.”

  “I heard it was her maiden voyage. How did you enjoy your crossing?”

  “We were fortunate to have had calm seas throughout our days. She was a lady, Clinton, a beauty that I will never forget. Of course, the news of your predator, the Ripper, was talked of nonstop by just about everyone. Do you have any news of an apprehension?”

  “There are several different newspapers that are available in the foyer that will have the latest, but to answer your question; there is only speculation and no arrests. I can tell you no one feels safe right now.”

  “Clinton, is it very far from here to Whitechapel?”

  “It’s about a thirty-minute cab ride, Mum, but I wouldn’t recommend you go there. It’s a bunch of savages what lives down there.”

  “I have heard some very unpleasant things, but I have friends who live there, and I mean to see them.”

  “The concierge will see that you have a Hansom called for you when you’re ready. They might even be able to arrange an escort.”

  “I’ll be all right. I will go directly to my friend’s front door. Thank you.”

  The hotel was adequate; the main lobby was decorative and spacious. However, the rooms were small but clean. The type of accommodations she would have on a trip had once been important to her, but now they were just a place to create a writing area where she could compile her thoughts in her general notebook and her journal. Her room number was 313, and for some reason, it gave her a start. She wasn’t superstitious, at least, she didn’t think so until she saw the room number, but she shrugged it off to Ripper mania.

  She would spend the rest of the day unpacking and reading the newspapers available so that she might know of any current information about Jack. She thought that it would be too soon to show up on Anna and Helen’s door this very afternoon, but she would go tomorrow, for she felt it was important to start the search for Mary Ann.

  Placing her family picture on the table near her bed, the room became softer and more a part of her. She began to add some of her possessions so that it did not feel so impersonal. She had gone down to a street vendor and ordered some simple fare to bring to her room for supper. She decided to have a long, hot bath and then delve into the newspaper reports. She managed to procure several newspapers and began taking notes about Martha Tabram. She had a separate notebook that she had started for Jack.

  August 18, 1888

  I’ve read the articles in the Star, The London Daily and others detailing the accounts of the stabbing of Martha and the reports are conflicting. The ranges run from 39 to 8 knife wounds. The brutality with which the stabbing occurred and the deliberate horror of the attacks leaves me cold in my thinking. I am not a doctor that deals with the mind, but what manner of demon could do this? Would it be enough just to be a misogynist to conflict such pain? There must be some other purpose. It is also evident that the East End problems of crime, poverty, and general conditions are unacceptable to decent human existence. Although I am still determined to spend time there, I am much more level headed about the possibility of danger.

  On the morning of the 19th, Madeline hurriedly dressed and took breakfast in the hotel café. The concierge had accommodated her, and her Hansom was ready. She had Anna’s address and gave it to the driver. He gave her a stern look, and questioned if she was sure she wished to go to Whitechapel in the midst of all the mayhem, but she said it was her aunts that lived there to assure him of her safety. They lived on Mumford Street, which according to the map she had, appeared to be in the heart of Whitechapel.

  After a scenic jerky ride, the smell overtook her before the area even came into view. She did bring her handkerchief as suggested. She wasn’t prepared for the sight of the swarms of haggard people, shuffling about, mostly looking gaunt and hapless. The haunting look in their eyes, of being lost, was in many faces. She recognized that look, for it was in the eyes in her own mirror for many months now.

  She did not have a weapon but thought she would acquire one. She had learned to shoot as a child, as most parents prepared their children to be self-reliant in a city that could be, at times, prove to be dangerous. She decided she would also get a small knife to put inside her walking boots.

  She had arrived unannounced at Mumford St., believing that if she were unable to be received, she would take to the streets for her assessment and return later to her hotel.

  She had asked the coachman to stay, in the event that the ladies were not home. She knocked several times, and when the door opened, Anna met her with outstretched arms.

  “Madeline, we had hoped you would come, but often, words spoken at the moment are sometimes a person being gracious and not always to be taken in earnest,” said Anna.

  “We are grateful you are here. It is not much to look at, our humble living quarters, but it has been our home these many years and a place filled with happy memories,” said Helen.

  “I could think of nothing but your niece and your safety. Have you thought of doing anything that might ensure you are not in danger?” asked Madeline.

  “Probably to move, that is all I can think of. With our inheritance, we can finally afford to leave here, but not until we know Polly is safe,” said Anna.

  “Polly?” said Madeline.

  “Mary Ann’s nickname is Polly. Her father always called her that. Although Helen and I were born here, we also are part Polish. Our father was English with the name of Nichols, but our mother was a Polish immigrant from Warsaw. Whitechapel is made up primarily of immigrants that fled Poland and other areas such as Russia. We are Polish Catholic, but there are many Polish Jews that live in Whitechapel. Our father was Protestant but allowed our mother to bring us up in the Catholic religion. It is difficult to break the poverty bonds that hold us here. The immigrants overflow into England, most looking for opportunity, but finding poverty.

  Our uncle Walter, they called him Slim, moved to America. Being single, he was able to travel freely, hoping one day to see us all again. We heard little from him and assumed he was dead until we received the news from the solicitor that he had left us money in his will. Although they did
not mention Polly, as we are the only surviving children of the brothers, we would like to share what we can with her, and hope she might be able to make a new start of it,” said Anna.

  “I understand completely. It was very difficult for my father to support us before he became a physician. I remember my mother saying they both worked at many things to bring income. That included sewing, baking, shoeing horses, and anything to provide while he was instructed in medicine. Even now, he is solvent, but nothing in the way of a lavish living by any means.

  It would be wonderful to find your Polly, and perhaps we could all look together for your new residence,” said Madeline.

  “I think it wise not to include Sophie and the other girls. I don’t want them to know about our Polly and see the places she frequents. I mean, I guess they know, but it is all hearsay at this point. If we find her in dire circumstances, for her sake, I am certain she will want as few people to know of it as possible,” said Helen.

  “It is good that you have a veiled hat, you don’t want the likes of those people looking directly in your eye,” said Helen.

  “It is truly that bad?” said Madeline.

  “You’re about to find out. It’s only a short distance from here before we get into the gritty of it. We’ll cross over Mumford onto Feldgate St., and from there, it will take us directly onto Whitechapel High Street. We may as well start there as any place. People will notice us, and perhaps heads will turn when we enter into the pubs, but it is not propriety I care about right now, but you Madeline. Are you sure you wish to do this?” asked Helen.

  “I am certain. We must find Polly. Do you have a photograph of her?”

  “I do, but I don’t know if it will be of much use. It was taken a few years back when she was clear-eyed and not yet spoiled. The last time I saw her, she did not resemble that fresh-faced girl anymore, but I will bring it,” said Anna.

  “Take heart, my friends. We must find her, especially now that you have the good news of your inheritance and your plan to share it with her. Shall we go?” asked Madeline.

  They began their walk; Madeline thinking she had mentally prepared herself for what she was about to see, but the rawness of the sight and the human despair on display was so profound, she thought it would be impossible for anyone not to be thoroughly shocked by it. It appeared as if this confined area had developed a permanent affliction that had permeated into the very walls, cracking and crumbling like the patrons.

  She felt comforted now that she had brought her weapons, feeling she was going into a jungle of sorts with wild animals. Anna grabbed her hand and squeezed it and said, “My poor Polly, why didn’t I try sooner. This can’t have been her life.”

  They pushed through the crowd, invisible they all were to one another. A group of younger girls, grouped together on a step of a boarded up building, sat chatting and smoking.

  “Ladies, if I could trouble you for a moment. We are looking for our niece and she is; we believe, at one of the pubs. Could you set us in the direction of one of the pubs that you might frequent?”

  “We like the Ten Bells and the Horn of Plenty. They’re both down on Commercial Street. Be careful of the pickpockets down there. They’re a desperate bunch that gather round—do anything for a drink. What’s her name, your niece?” said a slender girl with pouty red painted lips, paper white skin, and eyes too old and sullen for her young body.

  “Polly, Polly Nichols,” said Anna.

  “No, don’t know her, but sometimes the ladies don’t go by their given names, and they makes up a name that suits ‘em.”

  “Thank you for your help,” said Madeline and they moved along down the crowded street.

  It wasn’t difficult after that to find the Horn of Plenty, even in this snarled mess you could see a flow of patrons moving in the direction of the pubs. The lady they had questioned had said there were several pubs within a short distance from each other. As a marketing strategy, this made sense. A customer could go from pub to pub within a few minutes’ walk, easily staggering into other establishments just yards away.

  “Ladies—are you ready?” asked Madeline.

  They half smiled at each other at the discomfort of their mission but were strident in their dedication to fulfilling it. As they walked in, it was obvious to all present they did not look like the usual patrons, but no one paid any mind to them, and they moved freely to a space at the long wooden bar.

  “What can I get you ladies?” asked the unshaven bartender with reddish eyes and long jowls.

  “I’d like a lovely glass of absinthe please, and the same for my friends.”

  “That’d be fine, Miss, iffen we had such things, but we only have hard liquor here, none of that fancy-pants Parisian stuff.”

  “Oh…well then…a bourbon and soda please.”

  Anna and Helen agreed also to sip on bourbon so they might not be so conspicuous.

  “If I may ask, Miss, what brings you to this establishment? If you don’t mind me saying, yous not the type of girl I usually see here.”

  “Sir, we are here in a quest of our own. We have some news for our niece of some importance, and we heard she might frequent the Ten Bells. Her name is Polly Nichols.”

  “Polly you say her name is. She’s a jolly sort, if I know the lass you’re speaking of. She does come in here, but not during the day. Sometimes ‘round the midnight hour, if I’m on duty, I see her. I heared her say sometimes she goes to the Ten Bells in the day cuz she tells me, '“Joe, don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I likes it better than here.”’

  “I hope you’re right, and it is her. We have a place to start now. Thank you for your help,” said Helen.

  They left, beginning the short walk to the Ten Bells.

  “I feel my heart racing. I have not been down these roads in many years, not since James passed away. We would go to the pub sometimes on a Saturday. It may not have been glamorous, but it was not like this, not fit for anyone,” said Anna.

  “These are hard times, in Chicago, too, but I have not seen streets such as these that exist there. It will not be an easy task to find her,” said Madeline.

  As they wandered down Commercial Street, they asked as many people as would listen to them about Polly. The weathered picture of her probably did not resemble her anymore, but they still produced it in the hope that someone might recognize her. Most people did not seem interested in their plight and answered quickly “no”.

  When they entered Ten Bells, it was a little cleaner and had some semblance of order, even a few interesting pictures hung on the walls.

  “A bourbon and soda please and…I have a picture of a young lady. She is my friend’s niece, and I am trying to locate her,” said Madeline.

  “She in some trouble, is she?” said a younger, handsome man, dressed well with a rugged, muscular physique.

  “No—not at all—we have some good news for her and, we are hoping to find her soon.”

  “As you might expect, there are a hundred girls that come in here that could fit that description. I don’t remember all their names, but I’ll keep a look out for her if you want to leave your contact information.”

  Madeline hesitated, then thought that he looked like a fine young man, and she would have to trust him. She might have to trust many people if they were going to have a chance at finding Polly.

  “My name is Madeline,” she said as she scrawled her contact at the Hotel George.

  “I’m Patrick, Patrick Rooney,” he said.

  “Thank you for agreeing to look for her. I know it’s an imposition, but we feel an urgent need to find her, especially with this murderer in the area. I thought I would see that the people would be frightened by the news of Jack, but they seem to exhibit no fear of him.”

  “Mum, the people that come here, they have no hope. Their life scares them more than their death.”

  “What an awful thought, but I see the look on their faces as if they are all wandering in a desert with no purpose.”

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nbsp; “I wouldn’t like to be a woman in these parts right now. I promise you, I will try to help you.”

  “Madeline, I think we are ready to return. We made a good start. If you decide to join us, we will go again tomorrow,” said Anna.

  “I agree, but I don’t think there is any time to waste. We should go back at midnight to the Ten Bells. Phillip lives on Stoney Lane. Is that anywhere near here?”

  “Yes, it is near Petticoat Market, but what are your thoughts?”

  “Perhaps if I can locate Phillip, he or his cousin Hugh can escort us here tonight?”

  “Phillip is a dear one. He probably would do it, but do you think we should burden him with such a personal matter?”

  “Anna, he is to be trusted. I can tell you that with all conscience. I think it is worth a try to ask him. I will take a Hansom and return with my answer. If he agrees, then we will meet at your residence around eleven or thereabouts.”

  It proved only to be a ten-minute carriage ride until she was at Phillip’s building. He lived on the first floor of a brick flat that was home to twenty or so residents and their individual rooms. Their place was large with two bedrooms and a sitting room, a small kitchen and bath.

  “Mrs. Donovan, come in. I had hoped you would visit, but weren’t certain you would want to come to this part of our city,” said Phillip.

  He looked even younger in his dark blue sweater and casual pants, but his warm smile was inviting as always.

  “Phillip, I’ve come with a request, and it is an urgent one. Anna and Helen’s niece, Polly, has the unfortunate circumstance to be about in Whitechapel making her way in the world by not the most gracious of means. They are worried to the bone about her now that the Ripper has chosen the same location to do these unspeakable deeds,” said Madeline.

  “What is it, Mrs. Donovan, I will certainly give my help if I am able.”

  “We have been told that she frequents the Ten Bells later in the evening, somewhere around the midnight hour. At least, we think it’s her. The barkeep there gave us the only positive information we received, and we searched all day for her in and around Commercial Street. We’d like to go there, but would not consider it without a male escort, and we hoped your or perhaps your cousin, Hugh, could accompany us there.”