City of Darkness (City of Mystery) (27 page)

This morning, Emma had ultimately decided
to go with Geraldine on her mission, and Leanna had rushed to the kitchen,
where she flattered Gage so shamelessly about the stuffed chops he had made the
week before that he had vowed to serve them to her again that very night.  The
chops required any number of rare ingredients so Gage would be walking from
market to market all afternoon.  She and John would have the parlor to
themselves.

Once she finally had seen Geraldine,
Emma, and Gage off on their respective errands, Leanna had sprung into action. 
She had managed to get some of the chicken Gage had served the night before
into a warming pan with potatoes and carrots and had galloped up the stairs to
change into her silk afternoon dress.  She was not particularly adept at
putting up her own hair, no more than she was at cooking, and she could only
hope John would be so enchanted with her presence that he would overlook any
imperfections.  Leanna whirled around before the mirror, trying to make sure
she had managed to get the back buttons in the right buttonholes.  This is the
first time I’ve ever been in a house alone, she thought.  Always someone with
me – a relative or governess or schoolmate.  This is the first time I could
sing or scream or run about naked with no one to tell.

Could she get used to it?  Could this
be a full life?  Leanna went to the window again, and peered down into the
empty street.  An hour alone – such a dizzying experience, as wild an excursion
in its own way as Aunt Gerry’s trek to India – and then, even more amazingly,
she would be entertaining John Harrowman all by herself.

Leanna’s mouth twisted at the thought
of an unmarried woman and man left together in a house, even for an hour in the
middle of the day.  Such an idea would have her mother and the other country
ladies in a paroxysm of horror and Leanna suspected such a visit would not be
considered proper in London either.  But she didn’t care.  Today, surely, John
would declare himself in some manner or another and if he didn’t, she would have
to admit that he likely wasn’t going to.  An unnerving thought, that she may
emerge from the parlor in a matter of hours with her hopes utterly dashed, but
Leanna had lived with uncertainty ever since the night of the dinner party, and
she was prepared to endure even the sharpest disappointment rather than to go
on much longer in this dreadful state of Not Knowing.  Leanna strained toward
the window.  John had told her he would be by at noon and it was still five
minutes until the clock struck that hour, but perhaps he would be early.  She
closed her eyes and prayed to whichever small ineffectual god protects the
hearts of women that he would be.

12:40  PM

In the cleanest carriage Scotland
Yard had to offer, and in his best suit, Trevor jostled his way through the
gates of Buckingham Palace.  Despite the grandeur of the facade, the palace was
a somewhat forbidding looking structure, for, at the insistence of the Queen,
all of the curtains and tapestries were pulled down in mourning for the death
of her husband Albert over twenty-five years earlier.  The morbidity exhibited
by Victoria, who had dressed in black each day of the last two decades, seemed
excessive even to Trevor, who had adored the Prince Consort as a boy, and who
could still remember the day when, in the school chapel, he had heard Albert
was dead.

But if she had ended her social life
with the death of her husband, the Queen was still more than interested in
affairs of state, as his own summons proved.  Trevor was whisked in and taken
through several enormous halls in which his footsteps echoed and his quiet
cough resounded as a roar.  To his relief, he was finally seated in a much
smaller study, a rather cozy little nook in fact, with a blazing fire and
footstools scattered about, as if this were the room in which the royal family
actually lounged.  The man who had shown him there disappeared with no offer of
tea or of even taking his wrap, and Trevor unclasped his cape and stood
uncertainly in the middle of the room. 

He did not have to wait long.

The doorknob turned and in walked a
short, round woman with large blue eyes and a surprisingly youthful
expression.  Trevor, who had expected the Queen would be announced - with a
flaring of trumpets, perhaps - was so startled by this sudden appearance that
he dropped his cape to the floor.  He bowed, then bowed again, and when he
dared to look up the Queen was right before him, extending one chubby hand for
a kiss.  “Detective Welles, we believe,” she said.  It was custom that no one
spoke to the Queen until she had addressed them first. Eatwell had warned him
of this much at least, and Trevor was grateful to her for taking the
initiative.

“Your Majesty,” he croaked, bowing
again, quite stupidly.  When he met her eyes, the Queen was smiling in a bemused,
private way.

“We must sit,” she said, nodding
toward a circle of chairs.  “We hope you will pardon the informality, but this
is where we meet the Prime Minister and other government servants such as
yourself.  A private place can be had even in a cavernous home, can it not?” 
Her voice was clear, bell-like, beautiful to the ear. Trevor followed her to
the chairs, where she sat down, propped her small feet on the nearest
footstool, and, with an impatient sweep of her hand, indicated he should do the
same.

“We are sure that you are busy so we
won’t take much of your time,” the Queen said.   Trevor grinned idiotically,
but Victoria was looking straight ahead as if posing for a portrait.  “We are
outraged by the killings and even more so by the gleeful way the matter has
been handled by the press.  The mania appears to have faded a bit of late and
we’re sure you are the one to thank for that.  But we are also certain that you
are aware of the potential for riots, for hysteria, if this matter is not definitively
closed.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.  Certain facts
have been kept private.”

“As they should be.”  The Queen now leaned
back in her chair and appraised Trevor with a measured gaze. “What we find
alarming when we read the reports and we do, of course, read the reports, is
that there appears to be so little physical evidence.  It would seem the
murderer’s clothes must be saturated with blood and must be kept somewhere. 
And the East End is so close to the dock.  Have the cattleboats and passenger
boats been examined?  Has any investigation been made as to the number of
single men occupying rooms to themselves?  Is there sufficient surveillance at
night?”

Trevor exhaled sharply.  The last
thing he had expected to hear was an actual query about the details of the
case.  And she was right on the money with her questions too, as astute as a
trained detective and, heaven knows, more practical than most of them.

“I too am alarmed by the fact no
bloody clothes have been found.  It seems incomprehensible that a man covered
with blood, as this fiend must be by the time he finished his work, could
simply stroll the streets without attracting someone’s attention, so we can
only assume he has either found a way to dispose of those clothes when his work
is finished or that he is of an profession where blood on his clothing might be
expected.”

“Such as a butcher?”

“Such as, Ma’am, yes.”  Trevor gulped
for air.  “It has been a lengthy chore to examine the men living by themselves
in the East End, but we have attempted to do this and our efforts have yielded
us a long list of potential suspects.  Thanks to your own speech in Parliament,
Your Majesty, the Yard has adequate funds to place twice as many bobbies on the
East End nightshift as we would ordinarily have.”

“And the docks?  Could there be a way
he is escaping by water?”

“Always a possibility given the location
of Whitechapel, but no, I do not really think that is the case.  We have put
intensive surveillance all about the harbor and it’s come down to nothing.  I
am beginning to think our Ripper is not a resident of the East End.”  The Queen
merely looked at Trevor with an expectant expression.  “My feeling, Your
Majesty,” he continued, “is that we are dealing with a gentleman, someone who
lives in the residential districts of the West Side.”

Trevor sat back.  There.  He had said
it and he would undoubtedly be tossed from the palace at once.

“Why do you say this?” Her voice
revealed nothing.

“The skill of the work for one thing
and the fact that gentlemen sometimes do…”

“Have reason to visit Whitechapel?”

Trevor nodded, a little uncertainly. 
Victoria was known for her intolerance of improprieties and here he had waltzed
through the gates of Windsor and as much as told her that he thought the Ripper
was a gentryman with a taste for whores.  He would probably not only be thrown
from the palace, he would probably be removed from the case.  “I apologize,
Your Majesty, for the bold and tactless manner…”

“Nonsense, this is an unpleasant
matter and cannot be discussed with pleasant words.  We appreciate your
frankness, Detective, and we must confess it is not only our own curiosity
which has led to this discussion.  The true reason we called you here today was
to see how we might help in your efforts.”

Trevor looked at Victoria, astounded.
“Forensically, Your Majesty…”

“We are not familiar with that term.”

“Ah, my apologies, there is no reason
why Your Majesty should be.  I am convinced this case will only be solved
through evidential police work, which is forensics.  Through fibers left on the
body, the manner in which the incisions were made, bloodstains and other
physical evidence…”

“We understand.  Because of the
enormous number of potential suspects, you need some scientific way to eliminate
a portion of them.  To interview and monitor every man in London is an impossibility.”

By God, she really did understand. 
Trevor nodded quickly. “There are techniques widely used by the Paris police,
techniques we are not familiar with…”

The Queen’s lips twitched.  “You are
suggesting the French are more informed than the English?”

“Only in this very small area, Your
Majesty.”

The lips twitched again, this time,
Trevor was relieved to see, into the beginning of a smile.  “Perhaps a man from
Scotland Yard could go to France and study these techniques, then return and
teach them to our coroners and detectives.”

“I for one would be delighted…”

She lifted her chin.  “No, Detective,
we cannot spare you from your present duties.  Is there another you might
suggest?”

Trevor only hesitated for a moment.  “Rayley
Abrams.  He’s a very quick study.”

The Queen nodded.  “I shall remember
the name, mention it to Sir Warren and Abrams will be in Paris within the month. 
Is there anything else?”

“Scotland Yard will need a true forensic
laboratory before long, Your Majesty, a place set aside specifically to examine
physical evidence and to impress upon the men the importance of following exact
procedure.  One of the reasons we are so hampered in our efforts is that the
bodies of the first two victims were washed and moved before they could be
examined.”

“But we are sure your superiors have
reprimanded those men for their carelessness.”

Trevor hesitated. 

The Queen nodded.  “Ah.  So your
superiors are part of the problem.  We shall issue a proclamation that in the
matter of the Whitechapel murders ultimate consideration should be given to
proper forensic procedure.”  She used the newly- learned word with pleasure, as
a child might.  “We assume you will be able to write a paper explaining what
these procedures are to be.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Then we will guarantee a copy of
this paper will be in the hands of each inspector within twenty-four hours.  Go
home and begin it immediately.”

He could have fallen on the floor and
kissed her feet.  “This is far more than I had dared hope for, Your Majesty.”

“You are dismissed,” Victoria said
abruptly. 

Trevor rose, bowed, collected his
things and began backing toward the door.  The Queen was gazing into the fire.

“Detective?”

“Your Majesty?”

“I understand my grandson is one of your
suspects.”

Trevor stood stunned, both by the
boldness of the inquiry and the fact she had for once dropped the use of the
royal “we”.  Finally he found his voice.  “All of London is our suspect, Ma’am.
But your grandson’s alibi proved impeccable, did it not?”

The queen managed a sound somewhere
between a cough and a laugh.  “Quite a careful answer, Detective. Our guess is
that you will go far in life.  You are dismissed,” she said again and Trevor
fled.

1:10 PM

Leanna watched with ill-concealed
impatience while John finished the last of his chicken and folded the blue
napkin back to its original design.  “This has been a lovely lunch,” he said,
smiling at her.

“Yes, lovely.  Have you noticed
anything unusual about it?”

“The mint sauce for the chicken? 
Quite daring.  Was that your idea?”