City of Darkness (City of Mystery) (25 page)

“And the meat cold,” said Severin. 

“Indeed.  We’ll get the mutton colder
and the wax hotter and if the imprint hardens faster that might indeed sharpen
the impression.  Good thinking, Severin.”

Severin wordlessly returned to the back
room to finish his own tasks and Trevor waited for the curtain to close behind
him before turning back to Davy.  “Although if the meat needs to be chilled
first, I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t have put that sort of detail in the
report.  Bloody French.”   

“Perhaps the coppers in Paris don’t
have things as right as they think they do,” Davy said, letting the report drop
to the table with a sigh of his own.  “Are they really so far ahead, Sir?”

“Yes,” Trevor said, although such
disloyalty to his motherland did not come easily.  “They’re even claiming they
can tell who has touched something, like a door latch or a weapon, based on the
ridges people have on their fingertips.  They call it a finger print.
Apparently everyone on earth has one and they’re all in a slightly different
pattern.”

Davy stared so intently down at his
hands that Trevor burst out laughing.  “I know,” he said, “it sounds a bit
fantastical to me too.  Oh, and another thing we might try this after – Come in,
it isn’t locked.“

The door swung open revealing a bobby
and a man in street clothes who was holding a parcel and seemed in a high state
of agitation.  “Are you a doctor?” he asked.  “Am I even in the right place? 
They told me to turn right at the stairs but there are so many stairs in this infernal
–“

“I’m Detective Welles,” Trevor said,
motioning both men in.  “Doctor Phillips has stepped out –“

“Then send someone to get him
immediately,” the man said.  He seemed used to barking out orders.  “I am George
Lusk of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee and we were formed to protect and
prevent –“

“I know your organization, Mr. Lusk,”
Trevor said, indicating a seat, but Lusk tossed his head about violently, as if
the idea of sitting down was ludicrous.  Davy was already moving toward the
door to fetch Phillips so there was nothing for Trevor to do but observe Lusk,
who looked like precisely what he was – a prosperous businessman prepared to
take matters into his own hands before he would let an unchecked crime wave
destroy his investments. 

“Before you begin your policeman’s
lecture, you need to know that I’m not a Johnny-come-lately to this Ripper
business,” Lusk said, his tone as vigorous as if he were speaking from the
pulpit.  “Our committee formed on the tenth of September, long before the
nastiness of the double murders.  We grasped, Sir, quite at once, that this was
not a singular threat that would soon fade away.  And I was elected chairman
during that first meeting.  Since then we’ve taken up watch on our own – “

“As I said, I know precisely who you
are, Mr. Lusk,” Trevor repeated,” and I know the task your committee has
undertaken.”  The bobbies on the streets were constantly complaining about this
amateur group of sleuths who patrolled Whitechapel nightly.  The coppers in the
street largely considered the vigilance committee more of an obstacle than an
advantage, more likely to be needing help than capable of providing it, and
Trevor was inclined to agree. “What I don’t know is what brings you here to Scotland
Yard today.”

“I received a letter from the Ripper
himself,” Lusk said, fumbling in his coat pocket.

“Would you like to put down your parcel?”
Trevor inquired mildly.  Letters from the Ripper were a near-daily event at the
Yard.  It may be unusual for someone to send such a letter to a private
citizen, but, then again, Lusk had done everything possible to attach himself
to the case and had undoubtedly made his share of enemies along the way.

“No, I most certainly do not wish to
put down my parcel,” Lusk said testily, “and the reason will be quite clear
when the doctor arrives.  Here,” he added, clumsily pulling a folded piece of
paper from his pocket.  “Here’s the letter. He says he’s sending it from hell,
he does.”

Trevor took the paper and read:

From hell

Mr Lusk

Sor

I send you half the Kidne I took from
one women prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nise I
may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a while longer

Signed Catch me when you Can

Mishter Lusk

“And what do you think of that?” Lusk
demanded.

“I think it’s quite different from
the other letters we’ve received.  The misspellings and mistakes are so
outrageous that I have to wonder if they’re calculated – “

“Calculated!”  Lusk seemed in danger
of exploding.

“As if the writer were deliberately
attempting to present himself as uneducated,” Trevor said, attempting to counteract
the man’s anger with his own calm, as if they were on a sort of emotional see-saw. 
“The other letters we’ve received have been quite literate.  Proper spelling.  One
even spoke in a rather well-constructed rhyme.  It’s hard to believe all these
letters were written by the same person unless he’s trying to mislead us into
thinking he is a very different sort of man than he is.” Trevor looked up at
the fuming Lusk.  It would be unnerving to receive such a message, no doubt
about it. But to be fair, hadn’t the man brought much of this on himself?  He
had written to the papers almost daily, demanding the police do more, offering
rewards for information, holding meetings in every church and community house
in the East End.  He has created his own celebrity, Trevor thought.  It was
exciting at the start but he is beginning to see the dark side of his creation.

“There are some similarities to one
of the previous letters,” Trevor conceded, since Lusk seemed determined to
elicit some sort of reaction.  “And of course the writer has threatened to send
a body part before – “

“Threatened?  Why the dash do you
think I’m here?  He didn’t threaten.  I have the woman’s kidney!”  Lusk thrust
the package forward and Trevor leapt to attention.  He held his hand out and
Lusk gingerly placed the small package in it, wincing at the smell.

“I am not one of your eccentrics,
Detective,” Lusk said, clearly pleased to at last have Trevor’s full
attention.  “This isn’t my first letter from someone claiming to be the Ripper.
 Most I have ignored.  But this one….Perhaps I should start at the beginning. 
On October 4 a man showed up at the doorstep of my home, my very home, Sir,
where I sleep at night with my wife and children, and said he wanted to join
the committee.  A common enough request, but something about this fellow gave
me pause.  He asked rather too many questions about the routes we took on our
patrols for my taste. We chatted for a minute but he must have sensed my lack
of enthusiasm for his assistance.  He asked to be directed to a tobacco shop,
which I did, and I never saw the man again.”

“And you didn’t report this?”

“We have over a hundred volunteers,
Detective, all assembled in much that way.  Some men offer to help and then
think the better of it when darkness falls and the time for the patrol draws
near.  Nerves, you know?  There was nothing particularly noteworthy about this
man except for a feeling, and I am not a man who customarily indulges in
intuition.”

“Strange that he would ask the routes
you walked, though.  You must have realized what he was really asking is where
you wouldn’t be.”

Lusk rubbed his chin.  “Detective,
this Ripper business has brought me into contact with any number of people, not
all of them the sort I would care to invite for tea.  I imagine you could say
the same.  There was nothing terribly noteworthy about this man and the fact he
asked about the routes to me indicated he was a coward, not a killer.  More
interested in parading down safe streets with the armband of the vigilance
committee than he was patrolling the parts of the city which might lead to less
glory and real danger.”

“What did he look like?”

“Medium height, perhaps 30 years of
age, dark hair.”

“Mustache?”

“Yes, and full beard. There have been
other events, Detective.  People asking about me in various taverns, letters to
the paper marked to my attention.  I assure you, I am not a hysteric.  I do not
bother the police with every small incident.  But this…. The parcel today was
simply laid on my doorstep and my first thought is that it was a prank.  An
animal kidney.  They say sheep have certain anatomical similarities to humans,
do they not?”

“So I’ve been told,” Trevor said
wearily.

“I took it to my personal physician,
expecting that he would agree this was a prank,” Lusk blustered on.  “Receiving
it was no more than I deserve, you doubtless are thinking, for getting myself
into this whole business.  But no, my doctor claimed it to be human and – not
very fresh, should we say?  As if it could be more than two weeks old.  But he
said a Scotland Yard physician would need to confirm that it may have indeed come
from that Eddowes woman…”

Trevor looked down at the letter
again.  “So now he’s not merely a killer, but a cannibal as well.   Or so he
claims.  I’m sorry if I treated you with disrespect, Mr. Lusk and I don’t
consider you a hysteric.  In fact, I think you may be underestimating the
danger you and your family are in.  We’ll have bobbies posted around your home
night and day.  If Doctor Phillips confirms the beliefs of your physician – and
I suspect he will – then once again the situation has risen to a new level.”

Leeds

3:30 PM

William was not entirely displeased. 
Having to sell the horse and carriage was distressing, but he consoled himself
with the thought he’d gotten a fair price and besides, Winter Garden was no
more than a twenty-minute walk from the heart of Leeds.  They could manage. 
Pounds tucked into his pocket, he headed toward home.

But what was indeed distressing is
how poorly the family had managed their money during their first month under
the auspices of the will.  When William had first heard the sum of their
allowances, he had assumed they would be able to continue living as they had,
with a staff of three, the carriage, and the genteel, if not extravagant,
comforts of Winter Garden.  The will had clearly been calculated to allow
that.  But what William hadn’t realized was the extent of Cecil’s debts or,
even worse, the compulsion of his gambling habits.  They had been running short
of funds a mere two weeks after the monies had been paid and there was no doubt
Cecil had been pilfering from the leather box where Gwynette kept the cash.  William
had already determined that the proceeds from the sale of the horses and
carriage would be hidden away somewhere else. 

William was so absorbed in his
thoughts that he did not notice a carriage slowing behind him and was startled
when a woman called his name from the window.  He turned to see Hannah
Wentworth waving. 

Well, this was certainly awkward.  He
had not seen her since that dreadful day when they had stumbled upon Cecil
making busy with a serving girl behind the rosebushes.  But Hannah was
gesturing toward him in a friendly manner, as if that afternoon, and indeed
Cecil, were the farthest things from her mind.

“Come ride,” she called. “We’re going
the same direction, are we not?”

Only if you’re going downhill,
William thought, but he smiled and said “No need, Miss Hannah, but thank you.” 
He patted his chest.  “I could use the exercise.”  With any luck she would not
ask about the carriage.

“Where’s your carriage?”  Hannah
asked.

“Sold,” William said shortly. 
Painful to admit, but he supposed there was no real need to keep up a
pretense.  Everyone in the country would soon know, if they didn’t already, the
severity of the family’s reversed fortunes.

“Then come inside,” Hannah said, so
firmly that William had little choice but to obey.   He climbed in and sat
opposite her while she tapped her cane for the coachman to continue. 

“Is that what brings you to town?”
she asked, settling back into the black velvet cushions. 

“That, and mailing a letter,” William
said. “I’ve sent off an application to agricultural college.  Does that amuse
you?”

“Why should it?”

“Then perhaps this will.  I am hoping
to take the training course so that I might secure a position as the estate
manager of Rosemoral.  To do that, I will have to convince my younger sister to
employ me.  My grandfather named Leanna, not me, as his heir.”

Hannah exhaled slowly through her
pale lips, and looked out the carriage window.  “Then the gossip is correct.”

Poor mother, William thought.  When
she hears I’ve spilled the beans, she will never show her face in Leeds again. 
But he also knew that attempting to bamboozle Hannah Wentworth, of all people,
was pointless.  Besides, there was something soothing about being here with her
in the carriage. “The gossip is correct,” he found himself saying, “but
probably incomplete.  As you might imagine, Cecil is struggling to accept the reality
of our new circumstances and my mother has gone almost entirely into hiding.   But
I don’t feel the same.  I would be delighted to find I had been accepted at an
agricultural college.  All I ever wanted, Miss Wentworth, although you may find
this hard to believe, was to make Rosemoral the finest estate in the county.”

“I believe you,” she said calmly,
still gazing out the window.  “Leonard was a academic genius but that I’ve
always considered his land underused.”

“Quite so,” said William.

“Sheep?”

“Indeed.”

“Alfalfa?”

“It’s all that makes sense.”  He
looked at her profile.  “But it’s not just about income and production, at
least not for me.  The gardens of Rosemoral are lovely as they stand, but with
a few simple changes, they could be grand.  I plan to bring in peacocks. A
whole group of them.  Everyone says they’re loud, but I consider them glorious.”

She turned from the window and looked
him squarely in the eye.  “I believe they call a group of peacocks an
ostentation,” she said.

William smiled.  “Yes, Miss
Wentworth.  I believe they do.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

October 17

10:20 PM

The most idiotic idiom of history,
Trevor thought, must be “All’s fair in love in war,” for these two activities
above all others seemed to be the constricted by custom.  It had been over
three hours since they had left Geraldine’s home and he was still not certain
how Leanna viewed their relationship or the evening.  Emma was along too – as a
chaperone?  Companion?  A more suitable partner for Trevor?  Impossible to
tell.  Emma had made steady and intelligent conversation since they’d left the
theater but Leanna sat in silence, her profile as cool and composed as that of
a cameo, offering Trevor no clue to her thoughts.

He had come home early that evening,
around six, to find the post waiting for him.  Geraldine had three tickets to
Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
and wondered if he might like to escort Leanna and
Emma.  Trevor had rushed into the streets like a schoolboy, dashing about until
he was able to locate an urchin willing to deliver his acceptance for a
shilling.  Then he had run upstairs, shaved so quickly that he gave his chin
two nasty nicks in the process, and squeezed himself into his one tuxedo, a
simple suit he had purchased several years and at least a stone ago.  The
cummerbund trussed him so tightly that he feared any sudden exhalation would
cause it to fly off with the force of a lethal weapon.

When he’d arrived at Mayfair,
Geraldine had met him at the door and confided that the tickets, nearly
impossible to come by, had been furnished by John Harrowman who had been forced
to cancel yet another theatre engagement with Leanna.  “She was dashed, poor
dear,” Geraldine confided in her usual tactless way, “and when John sent the
tickets anyway, in a manner of apology, I thought she and Emma would have more
fun with you along.  I get to the theatre often enough…”

Trevor did not particularly relish
the thought of being a last minute replacement for Saint John, and it also
bothered him that since they were taking the doctor’s tickets and Geraldine’s
coach, he was contributing nothing to the evening.  But his hesitancy
evaporated at the sight of Leanna on the stairs in a brilliant blue silk gown
which fell off her shoulders like water.  If she were indeed dashed, she hid
her disappointment well, for her smile was bright and her step almost sprightly
as she reached out to take his arm.

Emma looked lovely as well in a pale
green gown which, in another manifestation, obviously had belonged to
Geraldine.  Trevor was both touched and amused at the way her slender neck bore
the unaccustomed weight of an enormous plumed hat – undoubtedly also courtesy
of Geraldine’s bureau - and the nervous way she fiddled with her gloves.  So
now he was seated between two attractive women, riding through the
well-manicured West End in an opulent carriage, Gerry’s one concession to
society, and if he d had any doubts about being John’s understudy, they were
fading fast.  Trevor had enjoyed little social intercourse at all since taking
the Ripper case, and this stroke of fortune was almost too much to fathom.

“You’re certainly silent, Leanna,”
Emma said. “What did you think of the play?”

“It was everything John said it would
be,” Leanna said.  “Utterly riveting.”

“I know what you mean,” Trevor said. 
He was a little deflated that she felt the need to quote John in every sentence
but determined to draw her into the conversation nonetheless.  “I’ll confess an
appalling truth to you ladies.  This is only the second time I’ve been to the
theater and the first was a frothy little comedy of manners, the kind of thing
one laughs at and promptly forgets.  I spent much of that evening trying to
calculate the cost of the chandeliers that hung overhead.  But the drama tonight
was certainly more…. dramatic.  I’m a bit drained.”

“Stevenson is a genius,” Leanna said. 

“He can tell a story,” Emma
conceded.  “But do you accept his premise, that under certain circumstances a
supposedly normal man could become a monster?”

“The psychology is certainly correct,”
Leanna said.  “My grandfather used to say that we all have a dark side, a more
violent nature which is always bursting to get out.” 

“One can only hope that the typical
transition is not quite so abrupt as Jekyll to Hyde,” Emma said, with a light
laugh.  “Richard Mansfield has certainly earned his notoriety, has he not?” 

Trevor laughed too.  The actor’s
astounding on-stage transformation from the morally upright Dr. Jekyll to the sinister
Mr. Hyde had been the talk of London for months, a performance so persuasive
that some audience members had literally fainted in their seats, a man had
suffered a coronary, and a woman had gone into premature labor.  The Yard had
received more than one letter claiming that Mansfield must indeed be the
Ripper, since no man could portray evil that convincingly, night after night,
without it gradually infecting his soul.