“What a neat room!” he exclaimed. I had to agree.
It took me less than sixty seconds to unpack my backpack, which usually was turned inside out upon my arrival to resemble a large carpet bag valise, but I’d not had the opportunity to do so due to the unexpected clumsiness of our landing. I guess I was initiating the early inhabitants of the area as to a new type of luggage that would show up in the next century. By the time we joined Miss Logan in the tiny kitchen area, she had a pot of tea steeping and had set her tiny round table with a sugar bowl and a small, chipped china plate that displayed a few tea cakes.
“Sugar?” the seamstress asked as she sat across from me. “Does Kipp like biscuits?”
Of course, Kipp’s tail began to brush the floor where he sat since he had a sweet tooth and tended to like anything edible. As Miss Logan held out the broken half of a teacake, he approached slowly, extending his head to nab the treat carefully between his large teeth.
“Very well mannered,” Miss Logan chuckled.
Kipp circled and plopped to the floor and began his reflexive deep dive into Miss Logan’s vaulted memories that were inaccessible to me. While he sifted through her brain, I learned about her and the neighborhood the old fashioned way, through conversation.
“Yes, my clientele are not particularly well off, but I manage to keep quite busy,” she was saying.
I studied her face. She’d once been pretty, with a perfect oval face and skin that hinted at having been milky and unblemished, even though it was now lined and had lost its tautness. Her blue eyes were faded, and I could detect what seemed to be a looming opacity, which would hamper her trade.
“What will happen to her when she can no longer work?” Kipp asked. He had a kind, compassionate heart.
“I don’t know, Kipp,” I replied truthfully. “But we will have few needs while we are here, and I plan on leaving all the money we brought behind.”
We both knew that the Twelve asked for a full accounting of funds spent on a time-shift, but, hey, I was a symbiont –quite skilled—and I could lie like a rug. And since the members of the Twelve adhered to modern-day rules of non-intrusiveness into my thoughts, I could get away with pretty much anything. Between the coins hidden in the money collar Kipp wore, as well as mine, we could leave our hostess a modest endowment. Since she was too old to have offspring, I couldn’t imagine my doing so would alter the natural timeline. I once worried more about such technicalities, but partnering with Kipp had caused me to view many things with a different eye.
Kipp sighed, satisfied at my response. His amber eyes drifted shut as he continued to search Miss Logan’s past. “She was in love, once, when very young, and her heart was broken when he was killed. He was a warrior, a soldier I suppose, and died in another county. She never allowed herself to love another man after him.” Kipp opened one eye to glance at Miss Logan, who had launched into a discussion about fabrics and current fashions with me. “She has a sweet nature, humble and thoughtful.” His glance darted to me. “She’s a keeper.”
I knew I’d have to keep him focused on our purpose, lest he become mired in his worry and concern over the elderly seamstress. I, too, cared about her but had more experience than did Kipp in terms of leaving people behind. It was what we did…and there was no changing our nature.
I figured that Miss Logan could use a little help during the day, and Kipp and I would be prowling around the district after sunset, so I asked her if I could trade some assistance with cleaning, helping with customers and the like, for perhaps a blouse or two and some fresh undergarments. She immediately agreed. In any case, I cared not for idleness, and the activity would be good for my mental health.
“You can sew?” Kipp’s eyes rounded.
“You know I was born a long time ago when there was no store-bought clothing, Kipp.” I glanced at him.
“Yes, I know that. But can you sew?”
I knew he was picking at me, like an annoying sibling or child, and ignored him, turning my attention to helping Miss Logan rinse out our cups and stack everything neatly for the next morning.
“I will go shopping and procure some food items since Kipp and I will be your boarders,” I remarked, not allowing her time to refuse. I could easily purchase food for Kipp from street vendors and then get fresh vegetables and fruits brought in from the country at a local market. The water access was at a pump behind her store that was shared with a few other tenants. Knowing the toting of water was difficult for her, I almost skipped out back carrying the large bucket she used for water, Kipp following. He giggled as I managed to clumsily slop water on my skirt, the liquid cold on my legs. After retrieving the water which would be ready for the following morning’s needs and bidding her goodnight, Kipp and I climbed the narrow staircase that squeaked more than I would have liked, considering our proposed nocturnal comings and goings. Outside, I heard the rumble of thunder, and after stripping down to my chemise, I managed to find a firm enough spot in the soft bed so that I wouldn’t sink down to the floor; the pillows and sheets smelled faintly of lavender with a sweet hint of jasmine, I thought. As a bolt of lightning flashed from between the narrow space where the curtains gaped, Kipp hopped up and managed a clumsy circle, as he tried to not get tangled in the soft mattress and coverings.
“I like her,” Kipp mumbled, as he yawned in my face, trying to ward off the sleepiness that had infected us both. “We need to find her a dog,” he added.
“Why don’t we let her do as she wishes?” I asked.
“She wants a dog…it is screaming out in her thoughts every time she touches my fur.” Kipp grunted softly. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay, boss,” I replied, not interested in trying to oppose him. When he was in a determined mood, he was pretty much unstoppable.
Four
“So, where is the Clapham Churchyard?” Kipp asked, craning his large head to peer right and then left. It was a damp, dank moonless night, and the directions we’d been given would not have gained any applause from the makers of GPS systems. We’d been venturing out each night for the past week, but each trip required we familiarize ourselves with the topography when curtained by darkness. The moisture in the air felt clammy as I pushed back a curling tendril of hair that insisted upon drifting across my forehead.
“I think we will be close in a few more blocks.” Pausing, I turned once to look behind me. I’d not bothered to detail our evening strolls with our landlady, since there was no reason for her to worry. She wouldn’t understand that telepaths could pick up the thoughts of any potential attacker and avoid an encounter. And, well, Kipp’s bulk was sufficient to keep most evil-doers away. A sinuous black cat curved around a building corner before being lost in the shadows.
“Good thing we’re not superstitious,” I said, letting go of my breath, which I’d unconsciously held. Even though I didn’t fear for our safety per se, the suspense of waiting for Spring-heeled Jack was sort of like waiting for a balloon to pop…one is never truly ready.
The sidewalks, what little there were, were uneven; we were lucky to occasionally step on flat stones set side by side. For the most part, the traveling surfaces were constructed of packed dirt decorated with the refuse that had blown to the base of the buildings and storefronts ahead of an unpredictable wind. The fog traveling from the Thames was as thick as a blanket, holding in the coal smoke from the numerous chimneys. The ripe smell of sewage caught in the back of my throat as I coughed and shook my head.
“I miss the fresh air of home,” Kipp remarked, ducking his head under my hand. He was not usually wistful, and I tugged gently on his ear. A second later, I felt him tense as he gazed ahead, his eyes following the figure of a solitary woman who was walking rapidly along the road ahead. “Follow her,” he ordered. “She’s the one going to the churchyard.” I realized his conclusion was formed from telepathy as well as intuition.
Yes, we arrived in London armed with the knowledge of what was supposed to happen and when, so our curren
t activities were designed to place ourselves as close to the action as possible and observe. The exact date might be off a day or two, or even more, but we knew of an attack that occurred at the Clapham Commons churchyard in October, 1837. We’d come to this general area each night for the past week, and this was our best scent yet, proving we were on the right trail. I’d only taken a couple of steps when a man, poorly clad, stepped out from an alleyway to lightly grasp my arm. I’d been so occupied with Kipp and the woman ahead, I’d not bothered to scan the immediate area.
“Hey, missy. I need whatever money you might be carrying,” he said, his voice deep and raspy. “Don’t make me have to take it from you.” The man’s voice deepened with the second threat, and I tried not to giggle at his puffed-out chest. It was clear from his thoughts that he was a novice at such behavior.
“You really need to let me go,” I replied calmly, staring boldly into his eyes.
Before he could speak again, Kipp stepped into the faint light and without making a sound, pulled back his lips to display his white teeth, which gleamed menacingly at the man. The would-be robber wisely pulled back his hand and stood, uncertain of his next move, while desperately wishing to disappear into the gloom. But he was terrified Kipp, like most dogs, would chase him down with the reflexive temptation to pursue any fleeting object.
“Don’t go,” I said, reaching out to touch the man’s arm lightly. “Tell me why you need my money,” I added, knowing the answer since I’d unraveled his desperate thoughts.
“It’s my baby girl,” he replied, his eyes meeting mine. “She’s come down with fever, and I can’t pay the doctor.” As he spoke the words, he straightened his posture and pulled his dignity together along with his tattered coat, which was ill-fitted and too large for his thin frame.
“I will give you the money, but I won’t let you take it,” I replied. “Somehow, I don’t think taking it by force is typical for you.”
Kipp gazed up at me, and while I dug in my reticule for coins, we had our private dialog with one another.
“Are you changing his timeline or that of his daughter?” Kipp asked.
“I don’t know…I guess there is a risk,” I replied. “But also, in his true timeline, we wouldn’t have been walking along this street, and maybe he would have rethought his plans in any case.” Glancing at Kipp, I smiled at him. It had been my role to tutor him in terms of symbiont ethics, and here he was, giving me something important to think about. “You will be changing Miss Logan’s timeline, too, if you insist on getting her a dog as a companion, as will I, if I leave her money.” I sighed. “We always do cause a change, no matter how carefully we tread.” It was true with symbionts as well as humans, that often the ones in authority could issue dictates without having fully considered all the implications. Had I inadvertently changed Harrow’s timeline by his having fallen in love with me? There was no way to know for certain.
“I don’t know what to say, Miss,” the man stuttered, his face darkening with shame. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”
“And why are you doing it?” Kipp asked me, persistent in his thoughts.
“I guess I wanted him to have the opportunity of a do-over. All of us need a do-over at some point in our lives.” Reaching down, I petted Kipp’s head, thinking the man would relax if he thought Kipp was no longer going to eat him.
“Bless you.” The man’s voice was as soft as a whisper. Then he turned and disappeared up a narrow alley, fading into the darkness in a few seconds.
Our journey resumed, and fortunately, Kipp managed to pick up the scent left by the woman we believed was headed toward the Clapham cemetery. “She cooked with garlic today,” Kipp grumbled, sneezing once. “I mean, really, could she have shown a little consideration for the rest of us?”
I shushed him, and after a couple of turns, we found ourselves at a church; the whitewashed wooden walls were sagging slightly, and the thin coat of paint was peeling off like dead skin. It was obvious the church family who supported the building were limited in funds. A massive oak, which had lost its leaves due to a slow death, loomed threateningly over the roof. When it fell, it would take out a large part of the church.
“She’s over there,” Kipp jerked his head while pulling his lips back from his teeth as he tried to suppress another sneeze.
We crossed the dirt road in front of the church and wound around the side to where an iron gate, rusted and hanging unevenly from its hinges, was open. Pausing, we saw a woman, dressed as a domestic, leaning over a grave with a handful of tied mums to place upon a favored grave. At first, she didn’t see the figure which approached, weaving its way around the upright tombstones that stood like sentinels against the living world. But Kipp and I clearly saw him and began our work of trying to pick up the thoughts of the being who skulked with noiseless steps toward the woman. Just as I settled in, the woman looked up and screamed, her fear projecting out significantly enough that I lost my focus against her terror, which washed over us like a wave. The figure, dressed in black and wearing a large hat with a brim that shadowed his face, quickly turned away from her and ran towards the metal fence surrounding the cemetery. With one bound, he cleared an eight-foot fence! And if I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it. The woman, meantime, passed us, still screaming as she ran down the street, taking her scent of garlic with her.
“Well, it is a man and not some demon,” Kipp began, making note of the obvious. “But he took off too fast for me to really latch on. All I got was his intent to terrorize her, and his amusement at her screams.”
“How could a human jump over an eight-foot fence?” I asked, amazed at that nimble and athletic feat.
“Well, the later speculation was that he had springs in his boots,” Kipp replied, knowing I’d read the same information as had he.
“I realize that, but it still seems unbelievable to me,” I said. “I think we’re left with more questions than when we arrived.”
We returned to Miss Logan’s, and I used my key to quietly enter; navigating the squeaky staircase was a challenge, but we must have done reasonably well because I heard no quavering voice asking after my well being. I fell into a dreamless sleep in record time, leaving Kipp to continue to process the few threads he’d picked up from the man in the graveyard. We’d have another chance…and soon.
October 1837 was a busy time for our prankster, and it was just a few days hence when we waited for the passage of Mary Stevens, who was a domestic servant at Lavender Hill. Per the records from interviews made at the time of the incident, she was returning from a visit to her parents and was to pass down a narrow row with the lovely and descriptive name of Cut-Throat Lane. After our previous encounter with the wannabe thief who was nothing more than a desperate father, Kipp and I had pretty much been left alone by the people prowling in the darkness who were up to no good. Kipp was his usual modest self, but his presence worked as an admirable guard against predators.
It was cooler that night, and the air felt fresher than it had during the duration of our stay to that point. Taking a chance, I inhaled deeply, enjoying the lack of sewer rot stink and the metallic taste one would get from being in close proximity to the slaughter pens; the latter was particularly noxious and tended to stick in the back of my throat for a long time. The evening was quiet, with a few dogs barking restlessly and the occasional laughter from small groups of people who gathered along the storefronts, their faces pale, nondescript images along the feebly lit walkways.
“It’s odd to be here, realizing that Jack the Ripper won’t start his dirty business for another fifty years,” Kipp remarked, opening his mouth wide in a yawn. He’d been restless the night before, and I quickly had backed out of his dreams, which had surprisingly included Elani. With no wish to embarrass him, I made an effort to divert my thoughts, but he was too quick.
“Oh, yuk,” he grimaced, lips pulled back in chagrin.
“Dreams are just that, and often make no sense,” I replied, trying to reas
sure him. “I’ll never tell,” I added, suppressing my amusement at his reaction.
He looked away from me, and as I waited for him to speak, I became aware that his gaze was fixed on a woman walking towards us, her head down in thought. Her face wasn’t visible due to the tilt of her head and the shadow cast from her hat.
“Mary Stevens,” Kipp said, his words a whisper to me. As she walked past, we tried to look bored or busy and waited to follow at a discreet distance.
Her footsteps were but soft brushings along the packed dirt roadway, and I thought I recognized a vague tune she began to sing. She’d made this trip before and wasn’t particularly fearful, although she knew the area to be dangerous. After all, she had nothing to steal, no money, no jewelry, and would be a disappointing target.
A moment later, we heard a scream and leaped into action, Kipp ahead of me, as usual, due to his natural four-wheel drive propulsion. As Kipp wheeled into the alley, I saw him take up an aggressive posture, and his frenzied barking echoed against the darkness. Arriving just a moment later, I was horrified to see a tall figure holding the young woman, Mary, kissing her exposed throat as his fingers stroked her shoulders. Despite the poor lighting, I could clearly see the flash of metal claws as the man ripped her bodice from her chest, exposing a flimsy chemise to cover her nakedness. He turned as Kipp continued to bark, and as he did so, his appearance was clearly visible to me. His face was covered by a mask that obviously was meant to make one think of the Devil; the eyes were large, oversized, and glowing. I could only think he used some type of phosphorescent paint to get that startling effect. As she screamed again, he pushed her away so that she fell towards us and began to run, gathering speed in a short distance before he made a flat-footed jump some ten feet in the air to land upon the roof of a low shed. From there, he raced along the rooftops, his long, black coat flapping about his legs as he ran. Kipp, without hesitation, chased after the man; I followed as a couple of people arrived to assist the stricken young lady. Our goal was not confrontation but to get close enough for Kipp to really focus on the man’s thoughts. But we lost him amongst the heavily populated area, where large numbers of people were jammed into a few square miles.
A Conspiracy to Murder, 1865 Page 4