Night Falls Darkly

by LENOX, KIM

  Elena wasn’t afraid of the killer—not here on the actual premises of the hospital—and she’d do anything to stay.

  She helped Lizzy into a seated position and arranged the girl’s woolen skirts discreetly at her knees. “All that remains is for this good gentleman to bandage and splint your leg. I’ll go to the dispensary and see about getting you a pair of crutches. Have you anyone to see you home?”

  “Oh, I won’t be goin’ ’ome again. . . .” Her voice faded into melancholy silence.

  “No?” Elena hadn’t pressured the girl to explain the circumstances of her injury. The ladies who came here for charity services rarely admitted to being the victim of a brutish “old man” or customer. She kept her voice light. “Where will you go, then?”

  “Me good mate Catherine’ll be waitin’ for me in the ward—Catherine Eddowes. She’s like me ma, you see.” Lizzy nodded, and smiled bravely. “She stays at a nice place, real regular, on Shoe Lane. Maybe I can stay wi’ her. . . .”

  “I’ll fetch her, then.”

  “She’s wearin’ a black straw ’at and a coat with some fur on the collar.”

  Two slats of wood in hand, the student scooted his stool closer to Lizzy’s injured leg. He and Lizzy eyed each other warily.

  “You’re certain this one knows wot he’s doin’?”

  “He’s had the very best teacher,” Elena assured her as she left the room.

  Nurse James, the head nurse, swept past, balancing a tray of rolled bandages. “Dr. Harcourt asks that you see him in the chemist’s laboratory.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Elena did not miss the sharpness of Nurse James’s tone. For the most part, the nurses on staff were much older than she, and of modest backgrounds and means. They resided in the on-premises dormitory and lived little of their lives outside the hospital walls. Though she’d made her share of friends, a good number of the women had not taken kindly to her intrusion into their ranks—she with her fine Mayfair address, private carriage and driver, but she’d held her own. Not wishing to appear to hold herself above the rest, Elena had recently taken to spending two to three nights a week in the dormitory as well.

  She smoothed her apron and hurried a few doors down. There she found the doctor scribbling out an order at the chemist’s desk, his spectacles low on his nose. Ointment pots, glass carboys and stoneware jars dotted the shelves behind him. The air held the distinct tincture of camphor.

  “You require my assistance, Dr. Harcourt?”

  “Miss Whitney. Thank you for coming. I wish to speak with you about an application that arrived on my desk this afternoon.”

  Suddenly, the room seemed much smaller, its walls and ceiling, closer.

  Elena straightened her shoulders. “Yes, sir.”

  He wore a professional, but pleasant, expression. She could read nothing in him that would lead her to believe he would grant or deny her request.

  “You have managed to surprise me yet again, Miss Whitney.”

  “How, so, sir?”

  “Most young women of your privileged means wouldn’t deign to drive down the street in front of this hospital, let alone work in its charity ward. And now I hear you have engendered the admiration of our resident human oddity.”

  “I wasn’t seeking anyone’s admiration, Dr. Harcourt. Truth be told, my first visit with Mr. Merrick was completely accidental. It seemed only polite that I should stay and chat for a moment.”

  Just days before, one of the other nurses had thought to chase Elena off the job by having her carry a tray of beef tea into the room of a “private patient,” only for Elena to discover the man was Joseph Merrick, a former sideshow attraction vilified in the papers as the Elephant Man. It would be a lie to say his appearance hadn’t startled her, but after introductions were made, they had spent the better part of a half hour conversing on all manner of subjects.

  “He wishes you to know he enjoyed the books very much.”

  To be certain Mr. Merrick knew she had not been repelled by his deformation, and that she had truly enjoyed their visit, Elena had made a point to return the next day, bringing him several of her favorite selections from the library at Black House.

  “I am glad.”

  The doctor considered her for a long, silent moment. Elena resisted the urge to clasp her hands, or adjust her apron.

  “With regard to your application—”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The path you seek is one fraught with difficulty, and unfortunately, much prejudice against your sex.”

  She attempted an easy smile. “I have put much thought into my decision, even before my time here at the hospital began.”

  “I know you have.” He nodded, removed his spectacles and slipped them into the pocket of his smock. “But what about marriage? Children? As you know, Lord Black left instructions that if you should wish to marry, he would bestow a generous settlement.”

  Her lip twitched. “Yes, Lord Black has been quite generous.”

  Indeed, her mysterious guardian—a man she could not recall ever having met—had left her mistress of his Mayfair residence, an opulent, expansive manse worthy of the queen herself. She also had at her disposal a ridiculously large allowance, and accounts at all the finer establishments.

  Why was it so hard to understand that she needed more? She needed identity. Purpose. Somehow, this felt right and true to the person she must have been before. Elena glanced at her apron, at a smudge in the shape of a child’s handprint. Her fingertips brushed over the precious bit of filth.

  “Nonetheless, Dr. Harcourt, my interests lie outside the home.”

  “And you wish for me to write a letter of reference?”

  “Only if you believe I would make a competent physician.”

  Slowly, the corner of his lips took on the curve of a smile. “Of that, I have absolutely no doubt.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Elena exhaled, stunned and flattered by the uncharacteristic warmth of his words.

  “I will write the letter—”

  “I shall be forever grateful.”

  “—on one condition.”

  “Yes, sir. Anything. I shall scour bedpans or—”

  “Not bedpans, Elena.”

  Elena flushed at hearing him speak her given name. He had never employed such a familiarity before.

  “Mother’s birthday fete is tonight.”

  Anxiety speared through her stomach. “I received the invitation. Regretfully—”

  “I know it is difficult for you to move amongst society, and to suffer the inevitable questions about your past.”

  An understatement, to be sure.

  “It’s not only that, Dr. Harcourt. I now work under your supervision.”

  “And so your attendance would be inappropriate? Nonsense. We are neighbors, and Lady Kerrigan adores you. She was quite disappointed to receive your note declining.”

  Dr. Harcourt’s mother had made several visits to Black House during Elena’s recovery. Likely, the countess had simply been curious to get a good look at the reclusive Lord Black’s amnesiac ward, but all in all, the lady’s blatant nosiness aside, they had gotten along exceedingly well.

  Harcourt pushed back his stool and stood.

  “With the adjournment of Parliament, most everyone has left for the country, so the event should be a rather small affair.”

  How could she refuse him? He had already done so much for her, and now that the esteemed physician had agreed to write her letter of recommendation, she was assured of acceptance into the London School of Medicine for Women.

  “You have convinced me,” Elena capitulated, and smiled despite her dread of the impending evening. “Please tell Lady Kerrigan I would be pleased to attend.”

  “Excellent.” His voice warmed with pleasure. “Then you must return to Black House at once, as I doubt you’ve a suitable gown amongst your things in the dormitory. And a few hours of rest, doctor’s orders. You’ve been on your feet since dawn. Lady Kerrigan
would be highly offended if you came to her party only to nod off in a corner chair.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll just finish up with Lizzy. Do you think one of the cart drivers could see her and her companion to their place of lodging? One of the casual wards on Shoe Lane, I believe.”

  “Yes, certainly. We shall look forward to seeing you tonight, then.” He smiled as she pulled the door to, behind her.

  With a quick glance at the timepiece pinned at her waist, she scurried down the corridor and into the crowded reception rooms. She didn’t bother a glance toward the left, for that space would be filled only with men—sailors, factory workers and other male laborers. Instead, she steered right.

  “Mrs. Eddowes?” she called. “I’m looking for a Mrs. Eddowes.”

  Coughs and moans punctuated the lively murmur of the large, ill-lit room. A few faces turned in her direction, but quickly looked away. Women and children milled about or sat on wooden benches. Some slept on the floor or in corners. The air smelled like sickness and human filth. The unfortunate ladies who surrounded her were bundled up tight, most wearing every piece of clothing and miscellany they owned. Each face told a different story through its scars or wrinkles, its expressions or missing teeth. She could not explain, even to herself, why she felt more at ease in this gloomy ward than at afternoon tea in the sumptuous drawing rooms of Mayfair. Likely the answer lay hidden in her past.

  Elena circled round toward the back of the room. “Mrs. Eddowes?”

  Two young boys, fists swinging, tumbled into her path.

  “I’m the Knife, boy! I’m going to cut your guts out an’ leave you for the dogs ta’ eat.”

  “Help! Police!” bellowed the other, falling to the floor at Elena’s feet.

  “You two stop that,” Elena ordered in her best imitation of the hospital matron’s authoritative voice. She helped the boy up by his arm. “No horseplay or out you’ll go. Whom are you here with? All right, then. Take your seats by your mum, there against the wall.”

  She gave one last call, “Mrs. Eddowes?”

  No one raised a hand or stood. Elena prayed Lizzy had not been abandoned, not when she so desperately needed the constancy of a friend. She retraced her steps to the center of the two reception rooms where the day porter sat behind his desk.

  “Mr. Morgan, I know chances are slim, but I’m desperate to find a woman wearing a black hat and a coat with a fur-trimmed collar. Might you have seen her?”

  The porter nodded wearily. “Oh aye, I remember ‘at one. Got ’erself into a bit of a row with the big-mouthed tart on the front bench.” He hooked his thumb in the direction of the doors. “She took off about a quarter hour ago.”

  “Damn,” muttered Elena, curling her hands into fists.

  He gave a phlegmy laugh. “Lor’, but aren’t you startin’ to sound like a Whitechapel gel!”

  Elena shot him a rueful smile as she pushed through the large paneled doors, to stand upon the covered portico that ran the length of the hospital. Vaulted archways provided a dim view of Whitechapel Road. Though the afternoon hadn’t fully surrendered to night, the shadows were long, and a wispy, gray fog hovered all around. An old man in a dented hat and patched coat sat on the top step, smoking a cheroot. Beyond him, a hansom clattered past, its side lamps illuminated by orange flame.

  “Sir,” she called. “Was there a woman here, waiting?”

  He nodded, and pointed rightward, in the direction of Raven Row.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The air carried an uncomfortable chill and a faint chorus of voices from one of the nearby dramshops.

  “Ta-ra-da-boom-di-ay, ta-ra-da-boom-di-ay . . .”

  Elena crossed her arms for warmth and traversed the length of the walkway. A low wind caught at her skirts and twisted them about her legs. Reaching the end of the portico, she circled the final column but saw nothing besides fog and shadows. She frowned. It seemed there was nothing to do but tell Lizzy Mrs. Eddowes had left without her. Besides, she didn’t want to remain out here any longer. She wasn’t one to claim odd feelings or premonitions, but there was something discomfiting about the moment, something that teased the vulnerable, exposed skin on the back of her neck and made her want to hurry back inside.

  Just then she heard a woman’s laughter, low and flirtatious. The sound was close, yet difficult to place as far as direction. Though she could easily see a stone’s throw all around, fog muddied anything beyond.

  “Hello?” She descended the steps and continued along the sidewalk until she came to stand beneath a towering lamppost. She peered up toward the source of its comforting glow, only for the gaslight to waver as bright as a guttering candle and be extinguished.

  A chill scratched up her spine.

  Though the hospital’s façade loomed above, stalwart and filled to its chimneys with all manner of science and humanity, she suddenly had the feeling of being utterly cut off.

  A sound echoed about her, a breath or a gasp. She twisted, searching the gossamer wall around her. The hair on her arms and neck rose up.

  Someone watched her. No one she could see, but she felt the presence—its intensity and malice—as certainly as if the person’s rancid breath dampened her skin.

  Footsteps met her ears, heavy and purposeful. A man’s boots.

  “Who is there?”

  Fragments of newspaper accounts surfaced in her mind.

  . . . throat cut from ear to ear . . .

  . . . the abdomen had been ripped up . . .

  . . . murder in its most horrible form . . .

  Elena dashed toward the stairs. The toe of her shoe snagged in her hem, and with a hard strike to her knees, she fell. The steps came closer.

  Just a person, walking along Whitechapel.

  No, a killer.

  The boots picked up pace, and from the corner of her eye she saw a dark shape lunging toward her. She parted her lips to scream—

  Only to realize the person who wore the man’s boots also wore skirts. Blue with red flouncing, to be precise.

  A woman said, “Oh, luhhv. Did you fall? The fog’s a terrible sort tonight, isn’t it?”

  A firm hand helped her up by the elbow. “Soooo good to see you breathing. At first . . . well, you know what I thought. Thought the Knife had gotten you.” The lady chuckled a bit nervously. She wore a straw hat upon her russet curls, and a fur-trimmed collar framed her narrow face.

  “Mrs. Eddowes?” Elena gasped.

  “Aye. Oh, dear. Did you come out here looking for me? Sooooo sorry. Had to step out for a bit.” Though her words were tellingly slurred, Mrs. Eddowes’s careful speech revealed the faded polish of an educated woman. She considered Elena with shrewd, glassy eyes. A small green bottle peeked from her hip pocket. “Lizzy all right?”

  Together they climbed the steps, and Elena led her toward the infirmary doors. She glanced, just once, over her shoulder, to be certain no one followed.

  “The doctor was able to repair her knee. Thankfully she suffered a simple misalignment, nothing broken.” Elena spoke carefully, still working to calm the panic in her veins. How foolish of her to have frightened herself to such a degree.

  “I can take her home, then?”

  “Lizzy told me she can’t return home. Can I trust you to find her suitable lodging for the next few nights?”

  Mrs. Eddowes’s laugh held a defensive edge. “What do you mean, can you trust me?”

  Elena glanced pointedly toward the bottle.

  The woman sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “I’ve only had a touch, to take the edge off my aching head. I didn’t expect to sit in this charity ward all damn day.”

  They crossed through the wooden doors into the noisiness of the waiting room. The warmth and bustle eased Elena’s tension immeasurably.

  “I’m certain Lizzy appreciates your concern.”

  Mrs. Eddowes’s expression softened. “She reminds me of my own dear daughter. I was planning to go to Bermondsley to see my Annie this afternoon, you
see. I stopped by to see if Lizzy wanted to go as well, but I found the poor girl like that. Her bugger of an old man had thrown her down the stairs, he had.”

  Elena bit down on her lower lip and frowned. No one deserved such violence, especially a gentle soul like Lizzy.

  “No.” Mrs. Eddowes shook her head resolutely. “I won’t be taking her home. She can stay with me, only I’ve got to come up with eight pence for our bed, else we’ll both be eating skilly at the poorhouse tomorrow morning.”

  “Mrs. Eddowes—”

  The woman waved her off. “I’ll come up with the money. I always do.”

  Elena knew what that meant. It meant venturing into a dark alley with a stranger, at the risk of disease or death, all for a paltry coin or two. Such an endeavor was dangerous enough without the added peril of the Knife stalking women like Lizzy and Catherine on these very streets. They left the reception rooms and entered the quiet of the central corridor.

  “Wait.” Elena placed a hand on Mrs. Eddowes’s arm and brought her to a stop. She looked about to be certain no one would see. The seamstress had sewn a small pocket inside the band of her apron. She withdrew a few coins and pressed them into Mrs. Eddowes’s thin hand. “Take these, for you and Lizzy.”

  Elena prayed she wasn’t making a mistake. She’d been warned by the other nurses against offering personal charity. They told her she’d only be disappointed with the outcome. But for some reason Lizzy had touched a deep chord within her, and Mrs. Eddowes truly seemed to care.

  “Such an unexpected kindness.” She stared, disbelieving, at the coins in her hand. “Lizzy will be so grateful.”

  “Don’t tell her they came from me. Let the kindness be your own.”

  For the first time, their gazes truly met. Suddenly, the woman’s expression changed into one of realization. “Heavens, dear, I know you from somewhere, don’t I?”

  “I’ve been working at the hospital for three weeks now. Perhaps you’ve seen me here?”

  Mrs. Eddowes frowned. “I’ve come here a time or two for my Bright’s, but no. It was that common house on Berner. I’m certain of it. Remember? Filthy place, and overrun by rats. I’m glad to see you’ve gotten out of there, and found respectable work for yourself.”