He said nothing back to me, nor fluttered an eyelid, nor twitched a muscle.
“I have no idea where to start looking to help Polly, but even if I did, I fear it would be another wild-goose chase, just as Charles said.” I shook my head at his name. “He was half-rats tonight. He took me to see the waxworks, against my will, but you’ll forgive me for not giving you any details about that. So I’m cross with him over it. But I suppose I must give him credit for accompanying me most of the day.”
The room had become a bit chilly, so I rose and fed the fire some coal, a task Miss Doyle had apparently thought beneath her.
“I don’t know what to make of Charles,” I said, returning to my chair at Mr. Merrick’s bedside. “He persists in flirting with me, but he can’t mean it. He can’t. He says he wants to take me for a walk, but how could he want such a thing?” I looked at Mr. Merrick’s motionless face. “I know what I am,” I said. “You see it. How can Charles not see it? How could he want me?”
It didn’t upset me to finally say such things aloud, for they’d filled my mind often enough, under the breath of my thoughts. In the past weeks I’d learned well the extent to which I was wanted, and in what capacities; I was wanted as a maid only if hidden from sight, and if not hidden from sight, I was wanted by showmen as a freak. The ways that men, when sufficiently drunk, had wanted me back on the street, I chose not to think about.
“I don’t trust him,” I said. “You ask me, he’s a performer who never leaves the stage. But I know he’s your friend, and I don’t mean to offend you, so that’s all I’ll say about the matter.” I covered my mouth to hide an expansive yawn. “I don’t know what else to talk about, but I want you to hear my voice, so I think I’ll read from Emma. Would you like that?”
I found my book on his table and opened it. With all the reading we’d been doing, we had only a few pages left to turn, but before I’d made it through them I felt the exhaustion of the day catch up with me. The words on the page began to dodge my eyes, or switch places, playing tricks on me, and I soon gave up trying to hunt them down and fell asleep for some hours in my chair.
A pain in my jaw woke me, and then Polly entered the room. She did as she had done before, and I whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” during her whole visit, though I knew she wouldn’t hear me. Then she was gone, and it seemed Mr. Merrick looked even grayer from her ghostly touch.
I knew Annie would be along in her time as well, so I resumed reading to pass the hours, and finished Emma before her arrival. “I’ll read it again once you’re awake,” I said to Mr. Merrick. “All the parts you don’t remember.”
When the pain in my jaw returned, I sat up straight in my chair and shuttered myself against the oncoming storm. Annie came in screaming as she always did, and I closed my eyes and palmed my ears to keep out the sound, but within a moment of her entering, the wailing ceased.
I looked up to find the ghost standing still, staring at me, her mouth closed, something she hadn’t ever done in any of her visitations. I had no idea what to think of it, whether it was a good or evil sign. Then she flew at me, and I jolted backward from her so hard I almost overturned my chair, but she stopped short of touching me. Instead, her face hovered but inches from mine, insubstantial but undeniable, her eyes roving over me. When they stopped at my neck and lingered there, I cursed myself a fool for having forgotten about the scarf. I lifted it from around my neck, and her eyes widened.
“Do you know it?” I asked.
She spoke then, her voice a breath over a bottle lip. “Here, Johnny, to keep you warm.”
“Yes,” I said, blinking at sudden tears.
“Johnny,” she whispered. “Johnny, my boy. My beautiful boy.” She held her hands out to me as if to receive a newborn infant, and into them I placed the scarf, careful not to touch her, after which she drew it unto her chest. The scarf appeared to become one with the incorporeal matter of her spirit, and she looked heavenward with a smile that spoke not so much of joy, but of relief and the end of pain. “I missed you so,” she said, crying. “My boy. You’re perfect to me. I’ll see you again, I promise, I swear it.”
She vanished, one moment standing there, the next moment not, and the scarf fell softly to the floor. The instant in which it happened passed so quickly it took several more instants for me to realize it.
Annie had gone, and not in her usual way. The ache in my jaw had ceased almost immediately with her departure, and I hoped that somehow the sight and touch of the scarf had released her from the tyranny of her grief. Perhaps she had simply needed the farewell she’d never bade her son, and with a piece of Johnny in her hands she’d finally said her good-byes and found her peace.
If nothing else, that was what I wanted to believe, but the test of it would be whether Mr. Merrick recovered any strength. In those first moments since her leaving, he looked unimproved, but I reassured myself it might take time for the effects to manifest.
It wasn’t much later in the morning that the door opened again, only this time it was the matron who strode into the room. Any sense of accomplishment I felt in aiding Annie fled before the severity of her expression, and I rose from the chair to curtsy.
“Miss Fallow,” she said. “I see no reason for pleasantries. I have been informed of a serious dereliction in your duties yesterday.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You admit it?”
“I admit I took the day off, ma’am.”
“The day off?”
“Yes, ma’am. Until yesterday, I’d not taken a single day off.”
“Why did you not inform me of your desire and ask my permission?”
“It was a matter of some urgency, Matron. I left a note on the table, there.”
“I saw no such note.”
“I regret it never reached you,” I said, aware that it would serve no purpose to blame the nurses she undoubtedly trusted more than me.
“And what, pray tell, was urgent enough that you would risk losing your position over it?”
“I … I had to …” I considered telling her something of the truth, for I felt then I had nothing to lose by it. It seemed Miss Doyle had been right, and I was about to be sacked. Even so, I found the words of my confession difficult to assemble, and in the brief time I took to contemplate my answer to her question, Dr. Treves entered the room with Dr. Tilney at his heels.
“Ah, Miss Fallow,” he said. “You’ve returned.”
“Perhaps not for long,” the matron said. “I am still waiting for her to explain her absence.”
A thorny silence followed.
“Well,” Dr. Treves said, gripping the lapels of his coat. “The maids are your responsibility, Matron Luckes, and I’ll leave the matter to your unimpeachable judgment.” He then swiveled toward Dr. Tilney. “Francis, shall we?” he said, and they both went to Mr. Merrick, though Dr. Tilney did smile at me before going.
“Miss Fallow?” the matron said. “Are you going to inform me of your urgent matter, or are you not?”
“I …” My resolve to tell her of the haunting had weakened in the presence of the doctors. “I regret that I can’t say, Matron.”
“And why can you not say?”
“It is a private matter.”
“Private?” Matron Luckes shook her head. “I’m unaccustomed to such obstreperousness. I do not want to dismiss you, but you have given me no justification or reason not to.”
“I understand, ma’am,” I said. “I’m asking that you trust me that it was absolutely necessary for me to leave the hospital. Please don’t send me from Mr. Merrick. Not now. Not until he’s well.”
“He may not ever be well,” she said, her voice lowered, but she appeared to be thinking about my plea as she rubbed with her thumb one of the many rings she wore. When she stopped rubbing, I knew she’d reached a decision. “No. I am sorry,” she said. “I wish that I could simply trust you at your word, but the staff of a hospital cannot be run in such a way.”
I not
iced Dr. Treves and Dr. Tilney looking at me, perhaps with sympathy. “Ma’am,” I said, “I beg you—”
“My decision is final,” she said. “Miss Fallow, your employment at the London Hospital is hereby at an end. You will gather your—”
“No,” came a weak whisper from the bed.
Everyone in the room turned toward it, and a wave of elation carried me to Mr. Merrick’s side. His eyes weren’t open, but he had spoken, and I felt overcome by joy.
“Mr. Merrick?” I said, with laughter in my voice. “Can you hear us?”
Dr. Treves and Dr. Tilney had their hands upon him, measuring his temperature and pulse. “This is remarkable,” Dr. Treves said.
“Evelyn,” Mr. Merrick whispered, “stay.”
Dr. Treves leaned in closer and raised his voice to nearly shouting. “What’s that you say, John? You want Miss Fallow to stay?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
Dr. Treves turned to Matron Luckes, who’d come to stand at the foot of the bed and was showing as much surprise as I suspect she ever allowed herself.
“What do you think of that, Eva?” Dr. Treves asked. “I know I said I wouldn’t interfere with your management, but I must consider my patient. I think it unwise to send Miss Fallow away. At least for now. It seems to be doing John some good.”
Matron Luckes gave a reserved nod. “I … agree. I suppose she may stay on for the time being. But make no mistake, Miss Fallow. You are here only as a comfort to Mr. Merrick, and once he is recovered you will be dismissed. I give you my word on that.”
“I understand,” I said. “I do. Thank you, Matron, and thank you, Dr. Treves.”
“Begging your pardon,” Dr. Treves said, “but I wasn’t speaking on your behalf. Nor do I believe the matron was thinking on it.”
That, too, I understood, but in that moment I did not care. I knew my time in the hospital was now bounded and I would one day be sent back out into the streets, but the only thing of importance to me then was Mr. Merrick’s recovery. “I shall do my best for Mr. Merrick,” I said.
“I trust you will,” the matron said, and after that she left the room.
Dr. Treves and Dr. Tilney stayed on, conversing with each other in their medical tongue, asking brief questions of Mr. Merrick, which he answered even more briefly. Eventually, Mr. Merrick opened his eyes, and I sat by and waited until the doctors had gone. When we were alone, I took Mr. Merrick’s hand, eager to finally talk with him about Annie Chapman.
“She is at peace, Mr. Merrick.” I gave his hand a gentle squeeze and told him about what Charles and I had learned, and what had happened with her ghost and her son’s scarf.
“May I … hold it?” he whispered.
“Of course!” I placed the scarf beneath his good hand, and he caressed it with his fingertips.
“Soft,” he said.
“It is very fine,” I said. “I learned she sometimes sold her crochets.”
He gathered a length of the scarf into his fist and held on to it, but there was a weakness in the gesture. Annie’s release had only restored a measure of his health, and to bring him the rest of the way I had to somehow do for Polly as I had done for Annie. That I didn’t know anything about Polly did not seem so great an obstacle as the fact that I hadn’t actually meant to help Annie in the way I had. The scarf had been nothing more than a gift by a kindly priest, and I had accepted it as such.
“Can you eat anything?” I asked him.
“Perhaps,” he said.
I went to the kitchens and returned with a cup of strong beef tea, made by one of the cook’s assistants. Mr. Merrick was able to drink it down, and it seemed to so fortify and vitalize him I brought him another cup. Afterward he slept, and I busied myself with cleaning his room and filling the coal hod. Then Miss Flemming and Miss Doyle came to see if he were up to a bath, and with my help we were able to walk him to the bathroom and get him into the tub. This time, I did not flinch or run at the sight of him but conducted myself with the same air of respectful decorum as the nurses. Miss Doyle actually offered me a slight nod of approval, which I appreciated, even though I knew an improvement in her opinion of me would not save my position. Partway through Mr. Merrick’s bath, I left to change his bedding and fetch him clean clothes, and once he was dressed and back in his bed, he slept again.
Later that afternoon, Charles came for a visit, his neck stooped in contrition as he entered the room. His expression brightened when he saw Mr. Merrick awake. “Joseph!” he said. “How are you feeling, my ugly bloke?”
“Better,” Mr. Merrick said. “How are you, Charles?”
“Never mind me,” Charles said. “I’m always well enough. I’m just happy to see my chum on the mend.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Merrick said.
Charles bowed his head toward me. “Miss Fallow,” he said. “You’re owed an apology, and that’s a fact. I was already half a brewer when I saw you, or else I wouldn’t have treated you as I did.”
“Your drunkenness was plain to see, Mr. Weaver. But it must be said, I appreciated your help prior to that, nonetheless.”
“Least I could do,” he said. “And our efforts seem to have helped, eh, Joseph?”
“I appreciate you both,” Mr. Merrick said, and though I did not appreciate Charles putting his assistance on the same level as mine, I did not want to appear proud and said nothing. Mr. Merrick’s health was the most important thing to me.
“Shall I play for you?” Charles asked.
“Yes, please,” Mr. Merrick said.
“Perhaps you might play the song you composed,” I said.
Charles nodded. “Very well.” Then he lifted his violin to his chin, and the tune he played sounded as beautiful the second time hearing it as it had the first. Mr. Merrick thought it very lovely, too, and was quite impressed that Charles had created it. My own displeasure with Charles dissipated somewhat at my renewed appreciation of his talent, which consternated me, for it happened quite easily and against my will, when I wasn’t looking. Charles, it seemed, was one of those infuriating characters with whom one could not stay angry for long.
When he was finished, he asked, “So what do we do next? For the other one?”
“Polly,” Mr. Merrick said.
“Yes, Polly,” Charles said. “What do we do for her?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “We need to find her husband, a man named William. I need to give him a message from her.”
“Excellent,” Charles said, and clapped his hands. “Another day on the hunt.”
“I’m afraid I can’t go with you,” I said.
“Why not?” Charles asked.
“I’m to be sacked for leaving yesterday. The matron let me stay on ’til Mr. Merrick is well, but if I leave again today, I don’t think she’ll spare me that much. She’ll toss me out for sure.”
“Right,” Charles said, nodding. “So what can I do, then?”
“Perhaps you could make inquiries and find her husband,” I said. “William Nichols?”
“Easy enough,” he said. “I’ll be like that Sherlock Holmes bloke and track him down for you. What then?”
“Wait by a moment,” I said, and found some of Mr. Merrick’s stationery and a pen. I thought some moments about what I should write, and then I wrote it.
Dear Mr. Nichols,
I am most sorry for the circumstances that require me to write this letter to you, but I hope it might be received in the spirit of kindness in which it is sent. Though we have never met, I was acquainted with your late wife, Polly. I hope my mention of her does not cause you pain. I only wish to make known to you what your marriage meant to her. She told me that day at St. Bride’s was the happiest of her life, for you were saving her from a pain she feared even to mention. She was afraid if you knew the truth about how her father had ill-used her, you would no longer wish to marry her. I trust that is not the case, but perhaps knowing it now, you might understand what turmoil it was that drove her to the life she had
on the streets. May God keep you, sir.
Yours very truly,
Evelyn Fallow
When I finished, I folded the letter into an envelope and handed it to Charles. “When you find Mr. Nichols, will you give him that?”
“Done,” Charles said, first slipping the letter into his coat pocket, and then replacing his instrument in its case. “Good day to both of you. Joseph, you stay on the mend, eh?”
“I’ll do my best,” Mr. Merrick said.
“Good day, Charles,” I said.
He tipped his cap and left, and I went back to tending to Mr. Merrick. Though it comforted me that he had recovered some of his vitality, he had not yet returned to the state of health he had previously known.
That night at dinner, the other maids gathered around me, desiring gossip.
“You’re here!” Becky said. “We heard you was almost sacked!”
“I was nearly sacked,” I said.
“How’d you stay on?” Martha asked.
“Mr. Merrick asked for me,” I said. “So the doctor asked the matron to keep me.”
“What happens when he gets better, then?” Becky asked.
“He ain’t getting better,” Beatrice said from the head of the table, her newspaper spread wide. “That’s what I heard.”
I ignored her. “As soon as he’s recovered, I’m to be dismissed.” The weight of that was still falling upon me, the dread and terror of it not yet fully settled, though I knew they were coming for me.
“So,” Martha said, “we … don’t want him getting better, then?”
“What?” I said. “No, of course we want him to get better.”
“But what about you?” Becky asked.
To answer Becky’s question I had to think about my prospects, which were as few and bleak as they had been on the day I’d come to the hospital. “I don’t know what I’ll do,” I said. “But Mr. Merrick is my concern right now.” I threw a glare in Beatrice’s direction. “And he will get better.”
“Lord willing,” Beatrice said from behind her paper, and a moment later she cursed. “Another suspect released! It says here John Fitzgerald’s confession to Annie Chapman’s murder was all bung and he’s been liberated!”
A Taste for Monsters Page 17