City of Darkness (City of Mystery) (41 page)

All the yards were connected so Tom
picked his way through them until he came to the end of the building.  He was panting,
nearly breathless, as much with fear and pain as with the exertion of climbing
down from the roof.  He stopped for a moment, leaning against the side of the
last brownstone.  A glance around the side of the building confirmed just what
he feared.  Trevor had indeed placed surveillance on John, for a man, evidently
a plain clothes policeman, was standing on the corner with a newspaper,
glancing periodically at the house.

What a brilliant mess, thought Tom.  
The whole city is on alert for the Ripper so how am I supposed to stroll past a
policeman carrying a bloody shirt and a six-inch knife?   He could think of
only one thing to do.  He dropped the bundle, pulled off his jacket and finally,
shuddering with cold, his shirt. 

It was, to put it mildly, an uncomfortable
experience to pull a piece of clothing still moist with God-knows-whose blood
onto his body and John’s shirt was entirely too large for him, the cuffs
dangling past his fingertips and the shirttail hanging almost to his knees. 
But rolling up cuffs and stuffing in shirttails was simple enough and his coat,
just as he’d prayed it would, covered the entire mess.   He slipped the knife
into his inner pocket and left his own shirt to billow across some stranger’s
tiny yard.  Then, taking a deep breath, Tom stepped into the street.  Almost
immediately, he winced.  Now that the frenzied energy of his escape had begun
to dissipate, it was increasingly evident he had landed much too hard on his
ankle when he’d dropped from the drainpipe.  Wonderful.  Just fine.  Now he had
not only a knife and bloody clothes, but also a limp.   If only I’d thought to
bring an eyepatch, Tom thought, the effect would be complete.

He tried to console himself that he had
gotten the things he’d come for, but he was no longer certain as to what end
those items would be used.  Not to mention that in the upper rooms of the house
he was passing just now, John was undoubtedly realizing his possessions had
been ransacked and, just as undoubtedly, was finding enormous piles of proof
that Tom Bainbridge was the man who had done so.  Worst of all, any evidence
associated with the shirt or the knife was being contaminated by their exposure
to his own body, more so with each step he took, and thus in all probability
would be deemed useless by Scotland Yard. 

It is quite official, Tom thought,
nodding to the bored policeman on the corner as he hobbled past.  I am the worst
detective in the history of the world.  

11:55 AM

Leanna had enjoyed considerably more
success with her own foray into espionage and was walking up the steps of
Geraldine’s house with tea in hand and a smug smile on her face.   No one had
seemed to notice the fact that Emma’s dress revealed the ankles of the taller
Leanna. She had walked into the next neighborhood to find a grocer who would
not know her and the man had treated her with a brusque directness that had
thrilled Leanna because it had proven her theory.  Men did not really look at
women, they merely took note of the costume and setting and adjusted their
behavior accordingly.

The outing would have been a total
triumph had her gaze not fallen on one of the newspapers in the shop.   The three
days since the Kelly killing had done nothing to dampen the public’s obsession
with the case and Leanna’s eyes had darted over the cover of the paper, coming
to rest on words like “dismemberment” and “evisceration.”    Emma must never
see these papers, even if it meant keeping her confined to Gerry’s house for a
fortnight.  To accept your sister’s death was one thing.   To read a five-page account
gleefully documenting every horrid detail was something else.

As she turned the key and stepped
into the house, Leanna was startled to find Emma herself was waiting in the
vestry, ready to pounce upon her before she was fully through the door.  “Listen,”
Emma said, her voice rapturous.  “Listen to this!”  Leanna seated herself on
the divan in the parlor, the package of tea still in her lap, while Emma began
to read:

Dear Mistress Emma,

I am sorry about the loss of your sister,
Mary.  She was a dear friend and greatly missed by many.  The reason I am
contacting you is that your sister has a child, who we have been keeping since
her death.  We are a poor family and the extra mouth has been a burden.  The
baby is a girl and is as sweet as Mary.  We call her Sarah, after you and
Mary’s beloved mother, and you being the child’s only relative, we think it
right you should have her.  We only ask to be repaid for what it has cost to
keep her up.  I feel one hundred pounds would be fair.  Please meet me tonight
at the Three Sisters tea house on Hanover Street.   Six o’clock.   Take a table
and when I am sure no one has followed, I will sit down and we will talk. NO
POLICE.  If you do not come, we will sell the baby to someone going to America
and you’ll never see her.

A Friend of Mary’s

“Can you believe it?  Mary had a
child!”

 “Emma, are you sure such a thing is
even possible?  Wouldn’t John have known about a baby?  He was her doctor, and
he hasn’t mentioned a thing to us about a little girl.  This sounds very odd.   I
mean, to sell a baby for a hundred pounds.  What kind of people could do such a
thing?”

“Poor people, that’s who.  I don’t
care about the money.  I’ve saved much more than that.  It’s my sister’s baby,
Leanna, the only blood I have left in the world.  I have no other choice.”

“They didn’t even sign their name, Emma. 
Can we trust anyone who’s willing to sell a baby?  And the tone of the letter
changes so fast.  It starts out sweetly, then becomes a bald threat in the end.
  I think we should show this to John.  Or Trevor.  Let’s send a note to Trevor
and have him accompany us.”

“No!  You heard what they said.  No
police.  They’ll sell her away and I’ll never see her.  I’ll go by myself if I
must.  Hanover Street is safe enough and I’ll be home by eight.  Geraldine will
– “   Emma looked around wildly.  “What will Geraldine do?”

“Dote on little Sarah as if she were
her own granddaughter.  Do you even need to ask?  But she will also lock us in
our rooms and throw away the key if she hears anything of this plan.”  Leanna sat
back on the couch and studied Emma’s face, which was more animated than it had
been since the day she met her.  Was this baby really the child of Mary Kelly? 
In the final analysis, did it really matter?  “But someone has to go with us,
and I refuse to yield the point.  Perhaps you’re right, Trevor’s profession
wouldn’t allow him to stand by and watch us purchase a human being like a tin
of tea.  But John could come along.  Or even Tom.”

“We can’t take that chance, Leanna. 
If the person who wrote this letter looks in the window and sees a man at our
table, he might bolt and take Sarah with him.   Even allowing you to come is
risky enough, although I don’t think a woman would scare him off quite so–“ For
the first time, Emma paused long enough to really look at Leanna.  “Why are you
wearing my dress?”

“An experiment,” Leanna said.  “And
one rather apt to our mission tonight.  All right, Aunt Emma, you’ll have you
way.  At least to a point.  As you say, Hanover Street is safe enough and there
will be plenty of people about at the hour.  We will dress simply, very much
so.  I doubt that any displays of privilege will work in our favor.  And I’m
sending notes to both John and Tom telling them where we’ll be.  Not why we’re
going there, since we can only hope that baby Sarah proves winsome enough that
anyone who sees her will cease to worry about exactly how she came to live in
Mayfair.”

“If she’s like her mother, she will
be able to charm the birds from the sky,” Emma said softly.  “Mary was
beautiful.”

“I know,” Leanna said, just as
softly.  “And none of us can help what happened to her.  But we can see that
her daughter has everything the world can offer.  Come.  Gerry keeps bags of
clothing to be donated to the poor in the attic.  Let’s choose some proper
outfits, let me write my notes, and we shall plot our path to Hanover Street. 
Anything the baby needs for now we can get from the unwed mother home. Lord
knows they should loan us a few nappies and a nurse in exchange for all that
Aunt Gerry has done for them.”   Her mind rolling, Leanna cocked her head. 
“And at least let me provide the a hundred pounds.  You were lying when you
said you’ve saved that much, weren’t you?”

Emma ducked her head.  “I’ll pay you
back in time, I promise.”

“Don’t be silly,” Leanna told her. 
“You get the clothes and baby supplies, I’ll go to my bank and find a messenger
boy.”  Emma nodded and sprinted up the stairs.

So I spent the morning dragging my
naked brother about and now I’m off to buy a baby, Leanna thought.   Life in
Leeds was never like this.  She picked up the letter from the table and read it
again, slowly.  The author had a lovely turn of hand and the paper was heavy,
hardly the sort of stationery a poor family would have at the ready.  There was
very little to support the writer’s claim he had known Mary Kelly, save from
the use of her mother’s name, but there was no stopping Emma from this mission
and the more Leanna thought about it the more merit Leanna could see in the
plan.

For, after all, how many times has
salvation come in the form of a baby?  Whether or not the child in question was
truly Mary Kelly’s, the very thought of becoming an aunt was already returning Emma
to life and who knows, it might shake the rest of the household from their
dreadful doldrums as well.   Leanna imagined Gerry proudly pushing the pram
through Hyde Park alongside of Tess and her twins, announcing to everyone that
she had taken on a young ward.  Folly, yes.  But sometimes folly saves.  Leanna
had already decided to hire three message boys – one for Tom, one for John, and
one for Trevor.  Hanover Street was a respectable area and the hour was early,
and Emma was probably right about their safety.  But in times like this, a girl
couldn’t be too careful.  

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

5: 38 PM

Trevor was finishing up his paperwork
and debating taking a break for a pint or perhaps even a decent supper.  His
cheerfulness that morning on the dock had all been for show, calculated to ease
Abrams’s guilt at leaving.  Trevor had spent the day going through the crew
rosters Davy had obtained from the dockmasters, checking to see if any of the
men aboard had a history of medical training.  A long shot, but perhaps worth
taking.

“The work is never finished,” a voice
said gently.  “You just have to find those points where you can put it down and
walk away for a bit of rest.”

“I know,” Trevor said, looking up at
the creased and kindly face of Phillips.  “I’m just about ready to step out for
dinner.  Shall you join me?”

“Wife waiting at home,” Phillips
said, surprising Trevor, who hadn’t known the doctor was married.  The nature
of the Yard meant that men might bond into a quick brotherhood behind these
walls, but not necessarily that they were friends on the outside.  In fact,
quite the opposite.  Most of the people in criminology were nearly fanatical
about keeping their private lives separate from their professions.  Still, it
was hard to picture Phillips with a wife.

“Do you need assistance, Sir?”
Severin asked, emerging from the backroom, with his shirt sleeves rolled up,
wiping his hands on a towel.  

Phillips snorted softly.  “I believe
I can make my way up the stairs and into a carriage without a nursemaid, thank
you.”  He walked out a bit more briskly than his usual pace, as if to
illustrate his capabilities, and as they listened to the fading sounds of the
doctor’s cane tapping up the stone staircase, Severin’s shoulders sagged.

“You were quite right to ask,” Trevor
told him.  “His decline over these last weeks has been noteworthy.  It’s just
hard for a man like Phillips to admit he needs help.”

Severin nodded and turned back toward
the sink. 

“And you should be finishing up as
well, shouldn’t you?” Trevor added.  “The good doctor is quite right.  The chores
will all wait for the morrow and there’s a point where we all simply must walk
away from them.”

The young man gave him a small
smile.  “Hard for me to leave work undone, Sir.”

 “Indeed.  Then consider it an
order.  I shall order you to do what I cannot manage myself.”  Trevor leaned
back in his chair and watched Severin take a final swipe at the counter with a
rag.  He reminded Trevor of Davy, whose own methodical work ethic had produced
these very ship rosters spread out before him, and Trevor reflected that,
difficult as it might be, the older men on the force were going to have to
start entrusting the younger men with more significant responsibilities. Trevor
shook his head ruefully.   Davy and Tom and now Severin.  They were the true
modern men, were they not?  The ones who would carry England into its bold new
future. 

“Are you going home to a wife as
well?” Trevor asked, as Severin pulled on his cape.  He meant the question
almost as a joke, but Severin flushed.