Stalking Jack: The Hunt Begins... (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 1) (11 page)

“May we get you a carriage?” Madeline asked.

“No, I think I will go back to the market to pick up some scraps for my dog and perhaps some beef to make myself some stew.”

They bid him good day, and Madeline also left, hoping better days were ahead for all of them.

Chapter Nine

Back to the Streets

August 25, 1888

Dear Father,

Thank you for your gift of money. I was certain you would not mind that I spent a little of it for a gift for a young lady who has fallen on hard times. She is niece to the ladies I wrote to you about previously. I suppose that I must confess, at last, that I have been to Whitechapel despite your warnings, but I have always gone accompanied by gentlemen friends.

If you could see how these people are forced to live Father, I know you would understand the compassion I have for them and my interest in this devil they call, Jack. My friend, Jonathan, is a newspaper man sent here by the very respectable New York Times, and he and I discuss the case. He is one of the men that has accompanied me to Whitechapel.

I miss you, and I am hoping you might also plan a trip to London in the near future. You know you are too industrious of a worker and should think about a short vacation. Because of the advent of these developments, I am considering staying on longer than planned.

Please write soon, and tell me if you might consider joining me in London.

Your loving daughter,

Maddy

She hadn’t signed anything
Maddy
since she was a child, but it made her think of happier times and when she was Daddy’s little girl.

There was a part of her that wanted to return to Whitechapel again that evening to see if she could spot a coach with royal markings or observe any of her other suspects. However, she did not have an escort, and she was not brave or foolish enough to travel the streets of Whitechapel in the dark.

It was Wednesday, and she didn’t have any plans until her dinner engagement with Hugh on Saturday. She decided she would remain at the hotel, do some reading, take stock of herself and decide what her plans might be going forward.

By Friday, she had made additional notes about the Ripper to see if her mind had any natural inclination towards one suspect over another. She also realized that Scotland Yard was watching none of the people she concerned herself with. The London Times and the others named many people of interest that the Yard was speaking with but did not indicate that any one person was of primary concern. They had the most advanced techniques of the time, but still something in her, perhaps her reading again of Mr. Holmes powers of deduction made her feel that through her methods of lingering in Whitechapel, and indenturing herself with the barkeeps and other service personnel, that she still might come up with something substantial. It still made her wonder how it was that just anyone could walk the bloody steps where Martha perished. Even in a mystery novel, they secured the area. For now, she felt Bob Fielding was openly a misogynist who savored the idea of hatred, and he was her main focus. She would speak to Jonathan about possibly following him, in the hopes that they might glean further information about how he spent his time in Whitechapel.

She was having brunch in the Hotel George café when Clinton approached her with a note,

“May I say, you are looking well, Mum. This message came for you just now.”

She began to dress with more flair and attention to her appearance and limited her alcoholic intake to two glasses per day, instead of the five or six she had been having. She also had put away her flask of bourbon to a location further from her bedside.

She opened the note and hoped it was from Jonathan; she was not happy with how their last meeting had gone.

Madeline,

We have asked so much of you already, but we are at a loss as to who can help us except for you. Polly has gone. Please come.

Your dearest friends,

Anna and Helen

She reread the note with her eyes transfixed on the words,
Polly is gone
. Even though her heart ached, there was something in her that always knew it was a possibility that Polly would return to the streets. The doctor was unable to give her anything strong enough that would stop her fits and sweating. He had said only time, and the body healing would do that. She wasn’t sure, of course, but she believed she left to try and purchase drugs to stop the physical pain of the withdrawal symptoms. The aunts had given her a small amount of money from their inheritance and promised her there would be more when she recovered. The luxury of having ready cash may have been too tempting in her condition, but Madeline had kept silent when they had spoken of it, believing it was not her position to comment, but thinking it was an unwise decision on their part.

Before she left to see the sisters, she sent both Hugh and Jonathan notes asking for their assistance in locating Polly. She felt it was imperative now that they find her immediately. This time, she thought, she might even attempt to go there alone at night, if they could not escort her. There was no time left for apprehension.

She ruffled through her dresser, found the flask and took a couple of swift gulps. Another time, she thought, another time, I will put you out of sight, but not today.

She threw her shoulders back and took a deep breath; it would be difficult to see them under these circumstances. When she arrived at their home, it made her heartsick to know what she would face inside.

“Madeline, what are we to do?” asked Helen, her eye red and swollen.

Anna was sitting at the dining table holding onto a piece of paper, and what she presumed was the note from Polly. She was crying softly and didn’t look up when she arrived.

“Don’t give up hope. She was suffering, and perhaps didn’t feel she could endure the withdrawal pain.”

“It is something like that,” said Helen as she walked over and gently took the note from her sister’s hand.

Scrawled in almost illegible penmanship, Polly wrote:

Dear Aunt Annie and Aunt Helen,

Please try and forgive me, but I must go. This wretched pain has savaged me, and I feel as an animal trapped in my own cage. I promise you, I will come back someday, but I feel I will go mad if I do not get some relief from this pain, and that I can only find in Whitechapel. Please tell Madeline I am grateful and humbled by her considerations, but I believe I am lost and cannot be saved any longer. Pray for me. I will try to come back to you. Please don’t look for me. I love you all.

Polly

Helen took Madeline by the hand and brought her upstairs to Polly’s room. There, folded with great care, lay the dresses she had bought Polly and the gloves and hat. Madeline felt the tears begin to reach her eyes, but she knew she must be strong for the aunts’ sake.

They heard a loud knocking at the door and when Helen answered, there stood Jonathan. She impulsively ran into his arms, and he held her against him, his strong arms comforting her.

“Jonathan, it cannot be, just when we hoped for a good ending. Polly has left and not even taken with her some semblance of hope. She left her new clothing behind and went away with her tattered old dress, which looked as if no one should wear it and only be discarded into the trash.”

She asked if Jonathan might be permitted to read the note, and the aunts nodded their agreement.

“This is sad news. After spending time in Whitechapel, I was relieved to think your niece was well out of it. It is the devil’s place. There is nothing to do but look for her. We will stay into the night if we must.”

They left without the aunts, both of them looking as if they needed rest and solace that they would not be able to find tonight.

“It is a juggernaut, a perilous prize―this opium. It is easy to see why people take it, to escape this madness whose name is Whitechapel,” said Jonathan.

“That sounds like dark poetry.”

“I must confess that it is something I wrote in an article the other day and now seems more relevant than ever. What are the chances of finding her, Madeline? I know what we told the aunts, but I feel less hopeful now than I did the first time we looked for her.”

“I am afraid I feel the same way. She had hoped she could defeat this addiction she had, not just to the opiate, but to her way of life. Now that she has tried it and failed, she will most likely go out of her way to be sure we will not find her.”

“It will be difficult to face the aunts if we have no good news.”

“This is a treacherous task.”

They entered the Ten Bells and with just a glance; they spotted Mr. Fielding.

“Back again, what is it you hope to achieve? You are daft, woman,” said Bob Fielding.

“Mr. Fielding, this is a lady you are speaking to—please be so kind as to apologize,” said Jonathan.

“It is all right, Jonathan, Mr. Fielding and I have an understanding. We both speak frankly to each other.”

This made him give her a wry smile as he stroked his scarred face and said, “How’s about a kiss, Miss?”

“Mr. Fielding, if you are trying to shock me, I believe Whitechapel has already fulfilled that. We are looking for someone—a Polly Nichols, sometimes called Pearly Poll or Penny. Do you happen to know of her?”

“Penny, Pearly, Polly—sounds like a schoolyard rhyme. Pretty Penny Pearly Poll, watch her, watch her fall—that Ripper’s got the doll.”

The man beside him roared with laughter and hit his drink upon the table.

“That’s a good one, Bobby, a good one.”

“So you do know her?”

“Maybe.”

“Would a drink refresh your memory?” asked Jonathan.

“Maybe.”

Jonathan purchased him a tall Scotch and Bob said, “I seen her, I watched her go down the alley by High Street an hour ago.”

“Everyone’s out tonight, there’s Mr. Motts over there,” said Madeline.

“Do you want to try to speak to him?”

Before she could respond, they watched Mr. Motts knock a beer from a gent’s hand and heard the crashing of the glass. No one particularly paid attention; it was not an unusual sight.

“He looks to be in a mood, and, this time, we’re not looking for Jack, but Polly so, no, I’ll think I’ll pass.”

They went from pub to pub, going into a few new ones, but there was no sign of her. By  three, the crowds had diminished, but there were stragglers in the alleys and some passed out on the curbs and stairs. They turned down the alley at Buck’s Row, and she grabbed Jonathan’s hand.

“Look, it’s the carriage with royal markings. I thought it was a Whitechapel myth, and it couldn’t have any truth in it that a royal would be in these streets. Let’s follow if we can.”

The carriage stopped in an alley, and they stepped up their gait in the hopes to walk by it before it left. There was only the driver, and he was slumped over with his coat covering his face, and his hat pulled down. She assumed he did this to cover any of his appearance, for it was imperceptible to see even the color of his hair.

They looked for some sign that the carriage belonged to Prince William, but there was black cloth covering the symbol.

“If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it,” said Madeline. “So there is no doubt, one of the royals must be considered a suspect. If he were only purchasing some illegal substance, he might have just sent his driver.”

“Since we have only seen his driver, we cannot be certain Prince William is here. It could be as you say; he may have sent someone for drugs. It would be difficult to prove unless we saw him.”

“That is true. I can certainly see how Scotland Yard, even with all their men investigating into this, thinks that there are too many plausible suspects to contend with, and it would be difficult, without hard evidence, to point the finger at one. This place breeds an unhealthy sort of person.”

“I agree. That is why each paper has its own ideas about who did it. They vary so greatly; I assume the real killer must be laughing at all of us and our feeble attempts to catch him.”

“I feel helpless. I no longer have the hope I had the first time when we sought Polly. I have seen too much these last days, and I am beginning to feel the same desolation I see in the faces here.”

“All we can do is keep trying, even if the odds are against us. I will fight this with you. I promise.”

His sincere words and determined face calmed her. She looked up at him and squeezed his hand in thanks. She had always admired him, but now there was something else. His genuine caring and concern for people had touched something in her.

“Jonathan, thank you. I could have never attempted any of this without you. I am your grateful friend.”

“You know you can count on me. You all can, for as long as I remain in London. However, if there are no further developments or murders, the Times has sent word that I may be going back to America.”

“If you were to leave, that would be a sad day indeed.”

“We won’t speak of that now. It is so very late, but still I am sure the aunts are awake. We must tell them that we have no news.”

The lights were on, and as Jonathan had thought, there was no thought of sleep. They were awake and sat on the divan, side by side, holding each other.