Eddowes’s body had been discovered on 30, September, 1888, at approximately 1:45 pm in Mitre Square by City of London Police Constable Edward Watkins. The forty-six-year-old woman was a mere five feet tall, and wore a black straw hat, a black broadcloth jacket trimmed in imitation fur, a green chintz skirt, and men’s lace-up boots. Amongst her meagre belongings, Leman Street’s CID investigators found bits of soap, matches, tins of tea and sugar, a cigarette case, and two pawn tickets.
Though discovered on the eastern edge of the square mile, and therefore technically a City Police case, H-Division had been called in to aid, since the case appeared to be yet another in the Whitechapel Murder series, but also because a scrap of the victim’s apron, stained in blood, had been discovered in H-Division’s jurisdiction near the stairwell of a tenement house on Goulston Street. Not far from the bloody apron, Constable Alfred Long had found a mysterious graffito message written in white chalk that read ‘The Juwes are the men that will not be blamed for nothing’.
Superintendent Thomas Arnold stood in the witness box now, relating his involvement with the mysterious message and why it had later been ordered expunged by Commissioner Sir Charles Warren without ever being photographed.
As he listened to Arnold give his account, Reid chewed at his moustache, wondering what kind of man could completely destroy a total stranger—a woman with little to keep her warm, save a bottle of gin. In fact, Eddowes had been in H-Division’s lockup on charges of public drunkenness until one o’clock the morning of the murder. Not for the first time, Reid pondered if Eddowes might not still be alive and walking about Whitechapel if they had retained her in custody just one day longer—or had the poor woman always been fated to end in such a pitiable manner?
As the clock ticked toward quarter past, a young police constable stepped up behind Reid and Abberline and tapped both on the shoulders, whispering that they were needed right away at the station house. A disgruntled Abberline turned and asked why, but the lad refrained from answering, which irritated the seasoned detective to the extent that he actually stood and ordered the boy to ‘spill it!’ Remaining calm, PC Desmond wrote a short note, showing it to both men: It might be another one. Ripper.
Fred Abberline’s eyes grew wide, and he grasped the constable by the coat collar, and all three men left the proceedings.
Outside, the policemen hastened to step clear of the considerable crowd that had gathered to watch the inquest, including George Lusk and his Vigilance Committee, Fred Best, Michael O’Brien, and Harry Dam of The Star and many dozens of reporters from all over London—and as far out as Manchester and York—along with half a dozen well-dressed bankers and businessmen, there for a cheap thrill.
“What makes Detective Constable Harvey think this murder is Ripper?” Abberline asked in a low but strained voice.
The lad kept walking, flanked by his superiors, heading toward a hansom. Dam tapped O’Brien on the shoulder and nodded toward the two inspectors. The American photographer—using the camera he’d recovered from Leman Street—began snapping photographs whilst O’Brien crept close enough to overhear. The reporter took notes quickly, in shorthand.
“We don’t know the murder location, but…” the constable said.
Abberline’s boots bit into the packed dust, and a passing cart and pony nearly ran him down. “What? How can you not know where the body was found, Mr. Desmond?”
The young man, only twenty years old and just two weeks into his new duties, thought for a moment before answering. “Well, Inspector Abberline, sir, it’s just that the body came to us.”
“Came to us? What, it flew, did it?”
“No, sir. Of course not, sir, but it—well it was delivered.”
Edmund Reid interrupted. “Out with it, son.”
“A local publican found it in front of our doors, sir. And he rushed in to inform the desk sergeant.”
“Did you then arrest this publican?”
“We are holding him for questioning, sir, but he says the body was left by another.”
Abberline gaped. “Left by another?”
“Yes, sir. He said a gentleman left it. A tall man, dark hair with a moustache, a fur hat, fancy coat, and a cane.”
“That description would fit half the men in London today, did you get nothing more specific?” Abberline asked, noticing the reporters. “Edmund, let’s move this into the hansom.” The two inspectors joined the constable inside the rented carriage, the thin youngster jammed in between his superiors within the cramped interior.
“All right,” Abberline said as the hansom set into motion. “This man with the cane. Do we have anything more?”
“Yes, sir. The publican said the man spoke to him, and then he just disappeared.”
“He spoke, this man? What did he say?” Reid prompted.
“The landlord quotes this gentleman as saying, ‘Tell Elizabeth I am coming.’”
Abberline threw his hat to the floor of the cab. “Is this your idea of a joke? Because, boy, I am not laughing!”
Reid’s face grew pale. “Is that all he said? Think, lad. Every word matters.”
“Yes, sir, Inspector Reid. That is all. And, as I have told you, the man then disappeared.”
“Disappeared ‘round the corner, you mean?” Reid probed.
The boy gulped, knowing they would not believe it. “No, sir. He vanished. Into thin air.”
Adele Marie Stuart was a lithe and beautiful female version of her father—or rather the man she knew as her brother, Paul Stuart—and she entered Drummond Castle as if blown upon a summer breeze.
“Paul!” she shouted with peals of laughter as she saw him on the staircase. “Whatever did you do to yourself, brother mine? Oh, your poor, poor shoulder!”
Aubrey jumped down the last two steps and knelt to receive her hugs and kisses. He adored his daughter, but he had always been careful to maintain a brotherly manner, though sometimes it proved nearly impossible. “How this one can giggle, and that smile would break your heart,” he said to his uncle, who had already received many hugs and kisses. “Della, my love, you are a treasure!”
Adele kissed Paul once again and then paused for a moment, her face working out a puzzle. “Are you my new cousin?” she asked, seeing Charles descend the staircase behind the earl. “You could be another brother, you know. You look very much like my dear, wounded Paul. I am Adele, and you must be Charles. I was told all about you by Mr. Parks on the drive from the train station in Glasgow.”
Sinclair bowed and kissed her hand. “Charmed, dear Cousin. I am indeed that lucky fellow. Your brother has done nothing but talk of you all morning. Though I had expected you to have two heads. Cousin Paul, did you not tell me that Adele has two heads? A lovely feathered hat perched prettily upon each?”
She giggled again, her blue eyes sparkling. “That is silly!” she laughed, pulling him down so she could kiss his cheek. “You are a lovely cousin, and I shall insist you buy me two hats now, one for each head!”
Charles lost his heart, and he picked her up, since Paul’s shoulder made it impossible for him to lift his own daughter, though Charles knew nothing yet of that family secret. “You are very light for someone with two heads,” he told her with a serious face.
“That’s because I keep one on my neck and the other in my pocket,” she teased.
“Really?” he asked, patting all around her coat for a pocket head. “I don’t think so. I cannot find it, Cousin. Did you perhaps leave it on the train?”
Paul laughed, giving her another kiss as she perched in Sinclair’s arms. “Shall I send Parks back to the station to fetch your second head, Della?”
“No, I shall simply manage with one,” she said most seriously. “Uncle James, have you got two heads?”
The duke laughed merrily. “Not right now, but I thought I saw a man with three heads just yesterday!”
&n
bsp; She burst into a shower of wonderful laughter, and Charles handed her to James, tapping Paul on the arm. “When you’ve a moment, I’d love a word.”
Paul nodded, but seeing Elizabeth’s face grow suddenly ashen, he thought again. “Would this evening do?”
Sinclair’s back was to the duchess, so he did not see her silent communication. “That will do, thank you. After supper in the duke’s library?”
“I’ll be there,” Paul promised. “Now, little one, or should I say, young lady, for you have grown two feet since last we saw each other, shall we get you settled?”
“Oh, Paul, I’ve not grown two feet, but two heads!” she corrected, once again breaking into joyous giggles. “And I shall wear both my heads and both my hats for your wedding to Cousin Elizabeth!”
Paul kept smiling, but it was work to do so. Adele’s arrival would add strain to all their conversations now.
“And who is this?” asked a woman’s voice as she descended the stairs dressed in a bright blue dress borrowed from Elizabeth. The hem rose much higher on Lorena’s leg than it did the gown’s owner, and it allowed for the borrower’s length of ankle to reveal a comely shape.
James set Adele onto the flagstone floor, and she gazed up at the newcomer. “I am Adele Stuart. Are you another cousin?” she asked innocently.
“No,” Lorena said, “I am a doctor.”
Adele looked puzzled. “But doctors are men with grey beards who smell of soap and quinine,” she insisted.
Elizabeth stepped forward, taking Adele’s hand. “This is one of a new type of doctor, my darling. Dr. MacKey came to help take care of your brother’s poor shoulder. A nasty fall riding. Don’t you think he needs another hug for that?”
Adele agreed and threw her arms around her ‘brother’, not knowing the true depth of affection he held for her.
“Darling, Brother,” she said honestly. “You are the best horseman in all the land, but I have never fallen from my pony, and yet you have fallen from your horse. No more horses until you learn to watch better.”
Paul agreed, glad for Elizabeth’s quick thinking. “I shall always remember to ask your advice first. Now, it is time for luncheon. Shall we go see what Mrs. Calhoun has made for us?”
“Will there be pudding?” she asked, her blue eyes round, dark lashes circling them like two lush fans. “A cake, perhaps?”
“We shall have to wait and see. Why don’t you go with Mrs. MacAnder and wash your face and hands, and we shall meet up with you in the dining hall.”
She ran to the housekeeper to give the buxom woman a fond hug, and Paul went to Elizabeth and kissed her, his lips lingering for a moment on hers, and he whispered, “I love you more today than ever before, Princess.”
She held his embrace, focusing her eyes away from Charles. “I must talk with you before you meet Charles. Please, tell me when, but it must be private.”
He released her, his face filled with concern. Had James told her about Adele? Did she know the truth? “My rooms, right after luncheon?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said with more seriousness than he recalled her using in many years. She turned toward the staircase just in time to greet Mr. Kepelheim, who had descended with a coat, waistcoat, and two pairs of trousers on his arm, a marking chalk in his top pocket, and his ever-present measuring tape slung ‘round his ample neck.
“Lord Haimsbury, I must make a few minor adjustments to your new attire. May we use the blue drawing room, Your Grace?” he asked the duke, whose attentions had returned from thoughts of his young niece.
“Use whatever room you like, Kepelheim. In fact, here’s the key to my library; you’ll have total privacy there. Not even Laurence enters that room unless I ring the bell, but be quick about it. We cannot keep our young lady waiting, now can we?”
“I should never dream of such a thing!” the tailor called, signaling for the marquess to follow him to the library. Lorena, had been standing in the foyer, just near the turn toward the gallery, and she peered around to see which direction they had gone, and then once the foyer emptied, quietly followed.
Inside the private library, Kepelheim wasted no time in locking the door behind them. “We must find a way to get that witch out of this house!” he cried out, his face becoming florid and pale all at once like a patchwork. “My word, how she lies!”
Charles felt no need to ask who the tailor meant. “The doctor is indeed more than she seems, my friend. I have not spoken to the earl about her, but I hope to heaven he has been putting on a show to lure that woman into setting an obvious trap. And she does it wearing Elizabeth’s own clothes,” he added, suddenly remembering that was precisely what he had done: taken Elizabeth whilst wearing his cousin’s clothing. However, MacKey’s intent was purposeful, but his behaviour had been designed by someone else. “There are times, Martin, when I feel as if the past few days are all a strange dream—like a chapter from an old fairy tale.”
“And Lorena MacKey is the sorceress in that tale, my friend,” the tailor agreed. “Lord Aubrey plays right into her charming and devious hands.”
Charles put on the first pair of trousers along with the matching waistcoat and turned as the tailor marked the alterations with the chalk. “Paul has always struck me as discerning, but he may be up against something more powerful than flesh and blood.”
“As are we all, my dear friend,” the tailor replied with a finger to his nose. “But this woman—she is something to be feared. I would swear that she leaves sulfur in her wake as she prowls about the halls! And, may I tell you what I overheard, purely by chance of course? Last night, after our talk, I found myself restless and happened to be standing in the hallway twixt our apartments sometime after three o’clock this morning, when first one, and then another lady appeared in the dim light. The first was our dear one, but the second of course, was that pretender, sniffing at the earl’s door like the predator that she is. You called her that to me only yesterday afternoon, and my friend you are so right in that. Never let your detective’s instincts go unheeded, Lord Haimsbury.”
“What did she want from Paul at that time of night? Wait, of course, I can guess,” Charles said as he slipped his arms into the fashionable suitcoat.
“Oh, my, I suppose anyone with eyes could,” Kepelheim said, running the chalk across the garment’s shoulders. “She knocked ever so sweetly upon his door to make certain he was sleeping. She claimed she had heard him tossing about, and that she feared he suffered pain, and should she then come in to administer therapeutic aid, or some such duplicitous words. I was half asleep, of course, but the earl said he required no new remedy or visitation, and despite his refusal, this devil woman looked ready to enter, with malicious intent I’ve no doubt, but her attempted assignation was stopped in its tracks by the appearance of our beloved lady—our remarkable duchess—she had espied the witch!” he exclaimed, and then wiping his brow, pointed to a sturdy table. “Stand there, will you, friend Charles, and let me accomplish my work, so we have our cover complete.”
Charles stood upon a heavy iron and ash table whilst Kepelheim marked the trousers, his fingers flying as he spoke. “And then, my ears could not believe it, but the woman she says she is only being a good doctor, or some such excuse, but our Princess, our sweet Elizabeth, she is clearly suspicious, yet I know not whether this doctor can tell it. The duchess says she is restless and would find a book to read in the library, and the doctor says she, too, would find a book much help, so both ladies go to the guest library in the west wing.”
“Go on,” Charles said, watching the time on the mantel clock. “We must not be too long.”
“Yes, and I must not make your hems too long. All right, so. I tiptoe as best and as quickly as my old feet and knees can manage, and I get to the library first—taking the short cut through the dining hall. I slip inside and hide behind the silk screen that sits in the corner by one of those larg
e plants the ladies so love. The palm, I think, or is it a fern? I can never remember my botany.”
“The doctor would probably know,” Charles said with a faint smile. “But then, she’d also know how to use it in a potion, I imagine. Martin, are we being too harsh on Dr. MacKey? I agree that there is something about her that does not ring true, and her brazen flirtations with Paul concern me, but…”
“But, my generous friend, she will claw out your heart even as she flirts with it! No, this kind the circle has seen many times, but this one—she is more powerful, I think. Have you watched her eyes when she speaks to Lord Aubrey? It’s like one of those snakes in India, you know the ones being hypnotised by the street magicians, or whatever they call themselves. Only she is the snake who hypnotises her human prey, and her tongue is as poisonous as her kisses are sharp!”
He finished the marking, and then helped the marquess down to the carpet. “Let us speak no more of any of this outside these walls. The duke is a clever man, and he had this room sealed to make it sound proof to anyone who may linger outside in the anteroom. And there is another secret to this room. Do you see that wonderful portrait of our dear one as a little girl? There in the corner by the dictionaries?”
Charles nodded, admiring the large painting. The pose showed Elizabeth standing inside that very room, beside the great fireplace, wearing a black velvet skirt with a white silk blouse, a Stuart tartan shawl about her small shoulders. Two Jack Russell terriers played at her feet, and her dark eyes seemed fixed on the dogs as she laughed. “What was she then, Martin? Five? Six?”
“Seven, I think,” the tailor said. “She’s always been petite, of course, but see how she smiles? I was here when this was being painted, you see, so I can tell you that Elizabeth spent that entire Christmas laughing. Well, nearly all of it. She’d come here with her father, for Duchess Patricia had decided to spend the holiday with a cousin in France.”
Blood Lies Page 43