Gideon Smith and the Mask of the Ripper (25 page)

Gloria led Maria up two flights of stairs to a dim corridor. “Artistes’ dressing rooms. Mesmer is at the end. What do you want with him, anyway?”

“I think he can help me find Gideon.”

“Your beau?”

“After a fashion.”

Gloria scribbled an address in Soho on a scrap of paper and pushed it into Maria’s hands. “Any time you wish to talk, or need any help, come and find me.” She smiled, and the two embraced. “Us girls have to stick together.”

Gloria let herself into her dressing room, and Maria padded softly along the corridor until she came to the door at the end. She paused, not knowing what she was meant to do. If Markus Mesmer was innocent, then she could not burst in and begin flinging around accusations. On the other hand, if he had indeed caused harm to Gideon … she would be walking into the lion’s den.

Still, she had not come all this way for nothing. She rapped on the wooden door, and within seconds it was opened a crack, a suspicious pair of eyes set into a weather-lined face glaring at her.
“Sí?”

She began to speak, then the eyes opened wide.
“La puta!”

The man, a hulking beast with a striped, coarsely knitted sweater and a mop of shaggy black hair, flung open the door. Inside Maria could see three other men, attired in what she was sure was maritime dress—loose linen trousers, thick sweaters—and a fourth, slimmer and more groomed than the others, his hair greased and parted, his face angular and cruelly handsome. He wore an immaculately cut gray suit, his shirt collar high and perfectly white. Markus Mesmer, she presumed.

Mesmer glanced up then looked again with interest, placing the device of lenses and lamps he had been scrutinizing onto a desk. “Ah,” he said. “The Elmwood girl. What are you doing here?”

Maria said nothing. She should have anticipated this, after the Elmwoods’ reaction to her. Mesmer said to the man who had opened the door, “Don’t just stand there, bring her in.”

Maria stepped inside and the door was closed and soundly locked behind her. What had Bent told her? Mesmer had hypnotized Charlotte Elmwood into believing she was a common streetwalker. But how should she behave, if she was to maintain the illusion that she was Charlotte? She dredged the recesses of her brain—of Annie Crook’s brain—for memories of Cleveland Street and the folk who lived there.
Less demure,
she told herself. She put one hand on her hip.
More confident
. She looked Mesmer dead in his cold, blue eyes.
Not so obsequious
. She lifted her chin.

It felt good. All in all, perhaps the common women had it better than those who professed to be ladies. Perhaps Maria had been trying too hard to fit into polite London society. Perhaps there was a lot to be said for being herself.

Mesmer approached and returned her stare. “The hypnotism still holds, then? Have your parents sent you with the five thousand guineas I’d asked for? I confess, I’d quite forgotten all about you.”

Maria sniffed. “I’ve left ’em, ain’t I. Making my own way in the world now.”

Mesmer made a half-amused, half-impressed face. “They were terrible prigs, anyway. You will be better off without them.” He cocked his head and took a pinch of Maria’s hair between his thumb and forefinger. “You are a very pretty thing. Too pretty for the streets of this sewer. Perhaps I should take you with me. How would you like to see the Austrian lakes, Charlotte? And then … French Louisiana!”

Maria pulled her head away, and he dropped her hair. She walked over to the desk and picked up the framework of lenses and wires. “Is this what you do your magic with?”

Mesmer laughed, moving behind her so closely that she could feel his breath on her neck. “No magic, dear Charlotte. Science! Technology! The natural power of man’s mind!” He took the device gingerly from her. “That is my Hypno-Array. It aids me in my work. But the true power is within me.”

“Those people who locked me up, my parents, they said you could turn me back,” she said. “To how I was before. Would you use that to do it?”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Do you want to be ‘turned back’?”

She considered then made a face. “Nah. I like myself just as I am.”

He laughed and moved away from her. Her eyes fell on a leather wallet on the desk, one she had seen before. Gideon’s wallet. Then he had been here. She turned to face Mesmer, leaning back on the desk. He watched her with a cool detachment, but she could discern a certain … hunger in his eyes. She gave him a coquettish look. “Come here.”

He smirked. “It is Markus Mesmer who issues the orders.” But he moved forward anyway, until he was standing right in front of her. “What do you want?”

Maria smiled and her hand darted out, grasping Mesmer by the throat. His eyes bulged, and his pale face reddened. The four sailors reached as one for guns hidden on their person, bringing up pistols to bear on Maria, but she said calmly, “I want to know what you’ve done with Gideon Smith. And if you don’t tell your men to lay down their guns, I’ll break your neck.”

17

M
ARIA
R
EVEALED

Rachel and the rest of Lizzie Strutter’s girls departed for the theater not long after the residents of the bawdy house on Walden Street had gathered around the long table in the gloomy, candlelit kitchen for a communal meal of stale bread, cheese with a tough, shiny rind, and some thin, heavily salted slices of mottled ham. Although Lizzie had gladly handed over the coins for the show the girls wanted to attend in Hoxton, it didn’t do them any harm to be reminded that their enforced holiday from earning their keep on their backs also meant that there wasn’t any money coming in. Lizzie wasn’t stupid, of course, and had salted away a few guineas here and there for when times were tougher than usual. And, she knew full well, the strike was all her doing, and while the girls might be enjoying some time off, if it dragged on for too long Lizzie would find the tide turning against her.

Still, it was early days, and she was confident it wouldn’t come to that. Things were going her way for now, and she’d heard not too long before that Salty Sylvia had indeed finally capitulated. Henry had done his job, which meant that he’d shortly be turning up to collect his payment.

The girl, Lottie, was staring wistfully at her diffuse reflection in the dark, grimy window over the cracked sink. “Couldn’t I have gone with them, Mrs. Strutter?”

“It’s Mum, love. My girls call me Mum.” Lizzie cocked her head, looking at Lottie for a long moment. She was a mystery, this girl, no mistake. Talked the talk and walked the walk of a common whore, but she was clean as a whistle and had all her own teeth. And, strangest of all, her maidenhead was intact. Either the girl was some medical miracle whose hymen grew back every night, or for reasons best known to herself she was some posh girl playing a part. Whatever the truth, she was Lizzie Strutter’s now, body and soul, fallen like manna from heaven.

“Couldn’t I have gone with them, then, Mum?”

“Bring me a glass and come and sit down,” said Lizzie. A fat cockroach was tentatively scurrying over the remains of the cheese; Lizzie flicked her handkerchief at it, and it sped into a cave of hollowed-out loaf. Lottie perched on the edge of a rickety chair and handed the cracked, oily shot glass to Lizzie, who filled it with gin and refilled her own glass.

“Do you drink, Lottie?” asked Lizzie, pushing the glass across the table.

The girl regarded the drink with a frown. “Gin, is it, Mum? I’m not rightly sure.…”

“Get it down your neck, girl, and then have a couple more. You’re going to need ’em.”

Lottie looked at her quizzically, and Lizzie felt suddenly almost sorry for her. “Look, Lottie, remember Henry?”

Her face darkened. “The man in the square? Who you saved me from?”

“That’s the one. Thing is, Henry and me go way back. We’re friends. We have an understanding. He looks out for me, and my girls, and in return … well, in return I let him avail himself of certain services.”

Lottie looked blankly at her, and Lizzie sighed. “I want you to finish this gin and go up to the room. Henry will be up directly. Thing is, girl, he’s done me something of a good turn, and that sort of thing don’t come for free in Whitechapel. I’ve said Henry can have you.”

Lottie said nothing but paled considerably. “Will—will he hurt me, Mum?”

Lizzie put her gnarled hand over the girl’s soft one. “He might, love. I want to keep what you’ve got in your bloomers special, so I’ve said he can go up the Windward Passage.”

Lottie’s mouth wobbled, and tears filled her eyes. “You understand, girl? He’s going to come knocking at the back door. He’s a big man, but he never lasts long.” Lizzie looked curiously at Lottie. “Have you any idea what I’m talking about?”

Lottie shook her head. Lizzie patted her hand. “Just as well, love. Now you go up to the room, make yourself comfortable. Henry will be here soon. Oh, and Lottie?”

The girl paused at the door, her cheeks shining in the flickering candlelight. “Yes, Mum?”

“Henry likes his girls to scream a bit. Thinks if he hears that, it makes him more of a man. Just think on it, eh?”

*   *   *

“I mean it,” said Maria, tightening her grip on Mesmer’s throat until his pale face reddened to the follicles of his blond hair and his eyes bulged. “Drop your guns, or I will throttle him.”

Mesmer waved his hand frantically and gasped, “Do it, you idiots.”

Begrudgingly, the four henchmen slowly bent and laid their weapons on the rug, never taking their eyes from Maria.

“Good,” she said, relaxing her grip enough for Mesmer to take a ragged breath. “Now, where is Gideon Smith?”

Part of Maria couldn’t believe she had done this, marched into the lion’s den and taken the villain by the throat. That part of her, that voice, was appalled, but a louder and ever-growing voice was drowning it out. She had rarely felt so exhilarated, save for when she took Apep into the wild blue, rarely felt so in control. It was as though Gloria Monday had thrown invisible switches and jabbed at unseen buttons, as though she had loosened bonds that Maria hadn’t even known were suffocating her.

It was as though she had finally been given permission to be herself, whatever wondrous, fabulous collision of impossibilities that might be. Maria was Maria. She was a woman, though perhaps not the sort of woman the society she had blundered into considered acceptable. But she was a woman nevertheless. A woman who flew a dragon. No more would she climb into the backseat to be driven by over-opinionated men who thought they knew best.

“He came here, looking for you,” said Mesmer. “I sent him away.”

Maria squeezed again. Mesmer’s bulging eyes met hers. “I hypnotized him. Made him forget who he was. He went out into the night, and I never saw him again. But … Charlotte … I do not understand … from where do you get this strength…?”

Maria brought Mesmer closer to her. His breath smelled of mint. Without taking her eyes from his, she whispered, “I am not Charlotte Elmwood.”

“Yes … yes, of course.… I can remove the hypnotism, I can fix it.…”

Maria smiled. “No. I mean I am not Charlotte Elmwood and have never been Charlotte Elmwood.” For what seemed the first time, she was assured of her own identity. “I am Maria.”

For a moment Mesmer stared at her, uncomprehending, then his eyes widened. “Of course,” he whispered. “Einstein’s automaton.”

“You have been looking for me,” she said, the Elmwoods’ words suddenly making sense. “You thought Charlotte Elmwood was me. That was why you were so angry when you discovered she was not, that was why you did what you did to her, in a fit of pique.” She redoubled her grip. “Why have you been looking for me? Where is Professor Einstein? Who do you serve?”

“Einstein is safe,” gasped Mesmer. “Please … I cannot breathe.…”

Maria loosened her hand only slightly. Mesmer said, “Professor Einstein has been … persuaded to work for us. We have learned from him of the wonder that you carry in your head. For many years we have been looking for you.”

Maria raised an eyebrow. “Many years? But the Professor only went missing a year ago.”

Mesmer nodded. “We have known about the artifact for longer … three years now. Word reached us of Professor Einstein’s experimentations … stories of an automaton, running amok in London.…”

Maria reeled slightly. Mrs. Elmwood’s words came back to her.
They found you three hours later, on Cleveland Street, I believe. You had been terrorizing the locals.

“Our intelligence was that the artifact was transplanted into the head of a prostitute. We dispatched an agent to find her. He has not had much success, though he has looked inside many heads,” said Mesmer, his eyes narrowing. “He is a mewling, desperate, whining failure. I cannot wait to tell him that you have simply walked in here and presented yourself to us.”

“But where is Professor Einstein?” asked Maria.

“I can take you to him, if you like,” said Mesmer. Too late, Maria saw his hand emerge from his trouser pocket and lunge forward, piercing her side with a sharp blade. She looked down at it and blinked. It had done her no harm. But while she was distracted, she had failed to notice two of Mesmer’s thugs circling behind her, cutting off her escape to the door. Suddenly the hypnotist wriggled free of her grasp and stepped back, producing a revolver from his jacket.

“Can guns hurt you? I’ll bet they can slow you down, if nothing else.”

She had lost the advantage, and before she had gleaned enough information from Mesmer. Or perhaps not … what had he said earlier? About seeing the Austrian lakes? And French Louisiana? Maria made a grab for Mesmer, allowing him to jerk out of her reach but instead grabbing the Hypno-Array he still clutched.

“I’ll take that,” she said. “Perhaps it will help me return Gideon and Charlotte to their normal selves.”

“Unfortunately, you will be a long way from here by morning,” said Mesmer with a smirk. “They will just have to fend for themselves.” He nodded to the man behind her. “Tie her up.”

She turned to the door, where the two men trained the guns they had retrieved on her. The other two thugs stood behind Mesmer. She could not be killed in the ordinary sense, but their weapons could still do damage. Maria thought about hollering for Gloria, but that would more than likely just get her new friend killed. She considered—briefly—allowing Mesmer to take her to Professor Einstein. But there was Gideon to consider. At least she knew what had happened to him. Now she just had to find him.