Felicity Carrol and the Murderous Menace

by Patricia Marcantonio

  “How high?”

  She looked through one of her orderly piles of papers, found the clipping, and gave it to him. “His Royal Highness Prince Albert Victor, the Duke of Clarence, otherwise known as Queen Victoria’s grandson.”

  Pike whistled. “Why didn’t they arrest the son of a bitch?”

  “Dr. Drury committed suicide a few weeks after the murder of Mary Jane Kelly. He drowned himself in the Thames. A passerby spotted a suicide note under a rock on the shore, but authorities never recovered his body.”

  “What’d the note say?”

  She saw the words in her memory. “‘I die, but I am not at fault. Signed J. Drury.’”

  “That’s one way to cheat the hangman.”

  Felicity sat by the open window. A breeze fluttered the curtains. She had a sense of protection in the room, as if evil lay in wait outside. “Inspector Davies had gathered a detailed report about Dr. Drury. The surgeon had a peculiar upbringing. At age five his father died. But his domineering mother loved the company of men. Within one month, she married again, and his stepfather was less than kind. All of those circumstances might result in a man with a murderous resentment against women.”

  “Married?”

  “Yes, which conflicts with a grudge against females.”

  “On the other hand, some women can bend a man to crazy.” Pike stubbed out the cigar.

  “After Dr. Drury died, the murders stopped. Jackson believed the surgeon was the killer and justice had been served when the man drowned himself. Then Jackson read about the killing in Placer. And here we are, trying to find a ghost in the night while blindfolded.”

  They both stared at the wall of frightful photographs for a while. At last, Felicity readied paper and fountain pen. “Let’s take the offensive. We make a list of possible suspects.”

  “Well, you can rule out barbers, butchers, cooks, and shoemakers.”

  “And we can omit the Reverend Phoenix.” She related the story of the sacrificed calf.

  “I always knew that man was off,” Pike said after she had completed the narrative. “I still can’t believe you shimmied up the side of a barn to spy on him.” He gave her a smile. “Yes, I can.”

  From the wall, Felicity took down the photograph of the bloody footprint marking the sidewalk at the King mercantile near victim number three. “From this and the coal stoker’s description, the suspect dresses like a gentleman. He’s also smart enough to write Chinese symbols to try to throw us off his trail.”

  “Very good.”

  “I have my moments, Tom.”

  “Still gives us lots of possible suspects.”

  To her list, she added A gentleman and Educated. “The last murder in London took place in early November 1888. Lily Rawlins died in late March. So the killer had to arrive even earlier to establish himself with a new identity in Placer. Taking travel time into account, he could have arrived here between late November and January of the following year.”

  “Good God, Felicity. People move in and out of Placer all the time to work in the mines and smelters. Last census, we had more than ten thousand people, and they come from all over the country and the world.”

  “But we’re dealing with a man who knows human anatomy and can wield a knife like a surgeon, which reduces the numbers considerably.” She stood. “Oh my heavens. Dr. Lennox.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Lennox fits the description. Mrs. Albert told me he seeks the company of prostitutes.”

  “Why were you visiting brothels?”

  “Mrs. Albert knew Mattie Morgan, and I wanted to question her. I’m so thick. I didn’t see this connection before.”

  “You’re not stupid, but you’re leaping on a wild horse and letting it take you for a ride.”

  “I never leap.”

  “The last thing we need is your flights of scientific fancy. We want evidence.”

  “Lennox has red hair, the same kind as on the bodies of the women.”

  “He examined those bodies at my request.”

  “Not the last victim. He was gone that day and had to inspect the body later at the funeral home. Here’s one more revealing clue. When I had tea at his house, he had cups with Chinese markings but refused to say whether he had ever visited China. He didn’t want to discuss his personal life at all.”

  Pike pursed his lips. “I don’t blame him. You were snooping.”

  “He is Dr. Drury.”

  “That London doctor killed himself.”

  “With Scotland Yard closing in, Dr. Drury could have faked his suicide. He simply wrote a note and left England. The doctor had performed in several plays while he attended Oxford and had a reputation as an excellent actor.” She paced this time, propelled by her hypothesis.

  “If the killer worked as a doctor back in England, that’s not much of a disguise.”

  “A physician would be above suspicion. Besides, how many people in Placer even know about Jack the Ripper? They’d simply not associate the two.”

  “With this imagination, you should take up writing.” Pike sat by the window and breathed in the breeze.

  “Not imagination. Pure logic. You certainly could use some.” She stopped pacing and planted her feet in vexation at this man. “I have facts. Why can’t you see the obvious?”

  “Because it’s not.” From his stiff features, he was just as irritated at her.

  Helen knocked and came in. “Sorry to bother you, but supper’s ready.”

  Felicity took a breath to steady herself. “No bother, Hellie. We’ll be right down.”

  Helen closed the door.

  “Let’s continue the discussion later. This talk upsets Helen so. She’s happy tonight, and I don’t want to spoil her mood. She’s prepared a proper English dinner, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding for Robert Lowery and me. Please join us.”

  He took in a long breath. “Smells good, and I haven’t had my supper.”

  “We can argue later.”

  “Look forward to it.”

  At their London house they usually dressed for dinner, but Felicity had skipped the tradition in Placer. That evening, Pike was dressed up in black pants and a jacket and white shirt instead of the denim, vest, and woolen shirt he usually wore. Felicity hadn’t noticed until they sat down to eat. She had had another man on her mind, namely Jack the Ripper.

  In the dining room Helen lit candles on the table. Under her large white apron, she wore a new black silk dress. Lowery wore a tweed suit, replacing his usual attire of wool shirts and denim. The part in his hair could have been made by an ax.

  “Robert, you’re very handsome tonight,” Felicity said.

  “And Miss Helen, you are a vision,” Pike said.

  “If you aren’t a man of words.”

  “Only to women who warrant it.” His smile dazzled.

  Helen giggled. “Dinner is served.”

  As they ate, Pike told them about how he had grown up in Placer. His father had been a miner. Disliking the work under the earth, he had taken a job as a deputy and worked his way up to sheriff. “A job he was born for. He wanted to make sure there was law in this wild town, that no one was treated unfairly, and that justice was served. So you see, being a sheriff is in my marrow.”

  Lowery added that he had tried mining himself but detested working in the dark. “Rather be in the sunshine and air. Forget the gold.”

  The Americans enjoyed the English dishes.

  “If this good grub and women like you two are any indication, then I’m going to have to cross the water to England,” Pike said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  “Then you must visit Carrol Manor,” Helen said. “We live in a fine old house. We’ll treat you like a king.”

  “Or at the very least, an earl,” Felicity said.

  When they finished, Helen started to gather the plates. “Hellie, please leave the cleaning until tomorrow. You two have a dance to attend,” Felicity said.

  After Helen and Lowery lef
t, Felicity blew out the candles on the table and switched on the electric light. The dinner had left her in a better mood after their disagreement, and Pike looked as if the same was true for him.

  “Getting back to the investigation … there’s a favor I must ask,” she said.

  “I can only imagine.”

  “Can we remove Rose Jackson’s eyeballs?”

  He stood up, knocking over the chair. “That I didn’t imagine. Are you plain loco?”

  “Loco?”

  “Crazy.”

  “I can assure you, I am not. I don’t understand your objection. Men can be so emotional.”

  He picked up the chair. “Why in heaven’s name do you want eyeballs?”

  “The retina of the eye preserves the last image it sees. Using photographic processing, we can capture that image. We might see the murderer’s face.”

  “The killer already tore up poor Rose Johnson. Leave her in peace. Besides, it may not work.”

  “You’re the most unreasonable man on earth.”

  “You ever shot a photograph through an eyeball?”

  “No, but the theory is sound.”

  “Enough.” The firmness in his voice could have held up the foundation of the house.

  “I don’t care for your tone.” She rooted her feet. The disagreement flared again.

  “How’s this? You’re coming with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To a dance. I had planned to attend and wanted to invite you until you began fighting with me.”

  She smiled. “The foe down?”

  He laughed. “That’s hoedown.”

  “I came to America to chase a killer. I didn’t bring an evening gown.”

  “You could wear a flour sack and still be the prettiest gal there.”

  “Save your compliments.” Felicity disliked dances, but she needed a night away from the case to clear her thinking. “Give me ten minutes.”

  * * *

  Every window in the brick building of the Methodist Church shone with lamps and life. Felicity and Pike entered as women’s skirts eddied and banked and men danced them around to nimble music provided by a group of men on a guitar, banjo, and fiddle. Children dashed in and out of the church. A line of older women put their heads together in talk. Felicity laughed at the joy in the room. The dances she had attended back home came off stiff as a bodice forged from iron.

  Pike removed her dolman wrap of red brocade. She noticed he flashed a bit of pride at having her on his arm. She had worn the nicest outfit she could find among her clothing. White lace rimmed the low, squared collar of her top as well as the hem of the three-quarter-length sleeves. The blouse helped adorn her somewhat plain dusky-blue velvet skirt. She wore simple pearl earrings. Around her neck she had tied a black ribbon with a cameo that had belonged to her mother. A comb decorated with purple ceramic lilacs held her hair in place.

  “The music reminds me of the Irish tunes the servants play back home,” she said.

  “This should have been your real welcome to our country. Music, dancing, nice people. Not what you’ve seen so far in the alleys and the streets of the Red District.”

  Felicity waved to Helen and Robert Lowery, who danced past them. She had never seen her friend so lively. Helen budded in America, all to the music of a fiddle and banjo and a nice man at her side.

  “I’m not familiar with this type of dance.” Felicity watched the couples glide over the floor.

  Pike took her hands. “It’s a quadrille. Follow me.”

  Relax, she told herself. Let yourself be led. It’s just a dance. As he swung her about the floor, an involuntary laugh erupted from her. At the end of the song, they met Helen and Lowery.

  “Hellie, you’re a wonderful dancer,” Felicity said.

  “So light on her feet,” Lowery added. His eyes took on the polish of a new moon.

  “You both are full of blarney,” Helen answered.

  The band played a waltz. Felicity liked the pressure of Pike’s hand on her back and how his other hand cradled hers. “I do feel guilty having a good time,” she said.

  “We do what we can. You can’t track a trail at night.”

  Over punch and a table full of cakes and pies, a gathering of mostly older women told Felicity they loved her accent. Another well-dressed woman decked out with gold jewelry introduced herself as the mayor’s wife, Mrs. Reiger. When Mayor Jonathan Reiger arrived to say hello, Felicity curtsied.

  “No need to do that, Miss Carrol. This is America.” However, the mayor broke open a smile.

  “In England, it’s a proper greeting for elected officials.”

  “See that,” he said to those around him. “You should be thankful I don’t order you all to bow to me.”

  “Jonathan, you finish getting the electric lights installed, and we’ll think about it,” replied a slim man with a drooping mustache.

  “You must shop regularly in Paris. Is it as divine as I’ve read?” asked Mrs. Reiger.

  “To be honest, I find Parisians colder than the Atlantic.”

  The women laughed behind gloved hands.

  “You’re a hoot, Miss Felicity.” A man patted her back.

  “Is that good or bad?” She looked to Pike.

  “Good.”

  Everyone laughed again.

  A well-fed older woman sitting in a corner summoned Pike with a gloved hand. Her white hair and face could have been carved in porcelain. She wore expensive silks and a pearl choker.

  “Who’s that?” Felicity asked.

  “Mrs. Winston. She wants to be introduced to you.”

  “Who is she?”

  “The richest widow in Placer. Her husband owned half the copper mines around town. When they were starting out in business, she worked alongside him hauling out ore and swinging a pick just like a man.”

  “Remarkable.”

  “But she got so rich and forgot about where she came from. Now she’s the queen bee and all the society ladies are fearful of her sting. One word from her and you’re an outcast in town.”

  Felicity didn’t fear being an outcast. She already was one. “Then please introduce me.”

  With an exaggerated gesture, he bent his elbow. She hooked her arm in his, and they approached the local royalty.

  “I heard you’re a writer. Isn’t that a man’s profession?” Mrs. Winston emphasized each word as if it had been worth a bar of gold.

  “The Brontës, Jane Austen, and your own Louisa May Alcott might disagree, Mrs. Winston.”

  “Where’s your chaperone?”

  “Dancing.”

  Mrs. Winston coughed behind a chubby hand and cast a net of disapproval to two other matrons sitting on both sides of her. She turned back to Felicity with cheery eyes and an attack. “How reckless for a young woman to gallivant around town as I have heard you do and endanger her reputation.” The woman’s voice remained pleasant. “Young women must guard their standing like the precious commodity it is. They do so with proper behavior and impeccable manners. You, however, appear to be tossing your reputation away like dirty bathwater.”

  Pike glanced up at the ceiling, apparently waiting for a storm.

  Felicity licked her lips. She had hoped the women of America could understand the liberty she was enjoying. Then again, she had fought off worse treatment back home.

  “I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Winston. But women are the stuff of more than reputation. For example, you.”

  “Me?”

  “You labored with your late husband in the mines. I can only imagine what the other ladies in town must have said about you back then. How they probably gossiped when you worked with a pick and shovel. Yet you persevered, discarded such criticism, and helped your husband build the life you now enjoy. I admire your bravery and strength.”

  The older woman pulled back her lips not so much in a smile but as a flag of truce. “Have a good evening, Miss Carrol.”

  “And you, Mrs. Winston.”

  Felici
ty held out her arm, which Pike took. Smiling, he walked her to the dance floor. As he twirled her around the room, Felicity spotted Dr. William Lennox chatting with several men in the corner of the church hall. “Tom, he’s here.”

  “Don’t.” The sheriff’s voice held a warning.

  “I believe I shall ask him to dance.” She headed off before he could stop her.

  She heard the word “Damnation” behind her.

  “Dr. Lennox, good evening,” she said.

  He bowed like a board cut in two.

  “I’d love a dance.” Felicity held out her hand.

  The other men didn’t conceal their envy and looked at the physician. “Delighted, Miss Carrol,” Lennox said, though he sounded anything but as he held out his hand for her to take.

  “Do you miss Scotland, Doctor?” she asked. He was actually a fine dancer.

  “As much as you must miss England, Miss Carrol.” Even while dancing, his hands were powerful against her hand and at her back, as if he could crush her with ease. Close to him, his hair appeared a deeper red in the light. She wished she could pluck one off his head to compare with the samples at her laboratory.

  “How did you happen to find your way to Placer, Doctor?”

  “Remote mining towns have few physicians. I wanted to be of service.” A twitch quirked his right cheek.

  “How noble.” Another tactic. “I suppose you have many colleagues in England and Scotland.”

  The twitch passed to his left cheek. “A few.”

  “Were you acquainted with Dr. James Drury? He was a rather well-known London physician.” She expected his forehead to perspire, his muscles to tense, an escape through the door. Nothing happened.

  “His name is unfamiliar.”

  The music ended. He bowed again. “Good evening, Miss Carrol.”

  “Dr. Lennox.”

  He left her alone in the middle of the floor.

  Pike took her elbow. “You have the guts of an Apache who just declared war on the United States.” The band played another waltz.

  “Dr. Lennox is concealing something,” she said as they danced around the hall.

  “People who come to Placer are mostly running away from the rest of the world.”