by Forbes, Kit
I froze. I hadn’t told anyone about Hawkesmythe’s supposed time machine. Not even Genie. And even though the old guy rambled I didn’t think he got out much to regale the world with his tangents.
There was no way this woman could have picked that up to throw into her act unless she really was psychic. “The cost for this information you’ve given me is a name?”
The gypsy nodded energetically. “The cost is not for me, but for the one who is searching. I am not sure even of the purpose of the name, only that it is important to you.”
I was still skeptical and creeped out but I couldn’t see any real harm in it. “Sir Cedric Hawkesmythe,” I said finally.
She gave a shiver then closed her eyes and bowed her head for a moment. “Yes,” she murmured. “That is sufficient for now.” She looked up. “Return to me in three days. Then maybe I will have something you will find worth paying for.”
“What’s your name? In case you’re not here, who do I ask for?”
She smiled. “Madame Zharova is always here when she is needed.”
Impulsively, I pulled a shilling from my pocket and slid it across the table to her. “There is another question.”
“No, it is part of the same question. You have at war with yourself.” She frowned, then laughed. “And you are a formidable enemy.” She sighed. “There is no joy in any outcome for you. Both victory and defeat bring sorrow of different kinds. I am sorry.” She slid the coin back.
I took a deep breath. That convinced me she was not the typical fortune-teller unless this was part of the game to make her seem oh so sincere. The depressing truth was I believed her.
Catching the Ripper meant leaving Genie and going back to a life where my parents would be furious for me “ditching” Aunt Agatha. Hell, they might toss me in the street. Staying in the past meant trying to construct a life in a place where I’d never really feel at home.
I turned away.
“Three days,” Madame Zharova reminded me.
***
Genie
Over the clamor of the street, I could just make out the gong of the clock tower at Westminster as it tolled eight o’clock. By ten I would have to be back at the boarding house since no “respectable girl” would have any reason to be out past ten at night unless of course there was a valid reason and it was arranged far in advance.
The very notion galled me. This was an even stricter than living beneath my parents’ roof.
At least my afternoon in Spitalfields had been moderately productive. I’d cleaned and bandaged cuts for a half dozen children and seen to various ills of several women. Being useful had cheered me somewhat but the prospect of returning to the cramped room in the boarding house overwhelmed any satisfaction I felt.
I walked slowly down Whitechapel Road, trying to delay the inevitable. The room was less than half the size of the one I’d lived in forever. The walls were drab, sparse save for a cross and candle sconce. The only furnishings were a narrow, iron bed with a too thin mattress, a single bureau with mirror and a table that served as a desk, and a single a hard chair. It was like something straight out of a workhouse.
Little by little I understood the lure of the pubs. How attractive they seemed with their spaciousness and buzz of conversation, the chance to sit and chat and not think about the dreary existence that awaited at “home.”
The thought of the dreariness awaiting me was what gave me pause outside the Ten Bells pub. Impulsively I went inside, ordered a small glass of cheap wine, and scanned the dark-paneled room for a familiar face. I spotted Annie Chapman and another woman cozied on a bench in the corner and went to join them.
“Now none of yer lectures tonight. Me and Sally is just having a little social.”
I shook my head and sat down. “No lectures,” I promised. I introduced myself to the other woman, a slight blond girl who couldn’t have been more than sixteen.
“If you need doctoring, she’s the one to see,” Annie said. “But she’ll chew your ear off over the evils of drink and such if you let her.”
I attempted a smile. “I never said my services didn’t have a price.”
Sally laughed sloppily. “Just like the parish priests,” she said. “To get into Heaven you have to go through the Hell of them droning on at service every Sunday.”
Annie looked serious for a moment, her gaze lingering on my glass. “Oh, cheer up girl,” she snapped. “We all know you got the boot but you’ve got a decent roof, chink in your purse. Don’t go feeling sorry for yerself.”
I stiffened at Annie’s tone. “I am not feeling sorry for myself!”
Sally’s shoulders drooped. She let out a long defeated sigh. “Well, way I see it, you probably got good reason to, but, don’t we all?”
We three sat quietly, letting the conversations around us fill the void.
“Well, now if it isn’t Miss High-and-Mighty herself!” The comment cut through the commotion in the pub like a knife.
My head snapped up and I watched Mary Kelly approach with a swaggering step. Mary was different from the other prostitutes in the East End. She was a pretty, dark-haired girl with a pixie-like face and a fine figure. She dressed smartly and seemed out of place in parts of Whitechapel. I knew all too well she’d been a favorite in the West End until recently.
Mary Kelly had been the whore Phoebe’s husband had been seeing and was probably the one who had given him syphilis, which he so graciously passed to my sister. My lip curled involuntarily at the man’s stupidity. He was a doctor and had neither admitted the symptoms nor sought any herbal or mercury treatment before it was far too late.
And then, to add to Phoebe’s agony, Mary Kelly appeared at the front door demanding support for a child she claimed he’d fathered. A child I knew from my contacts never existed.
I turned away, unwilling to acknowledge the vile woman’s presence.
“Oh, still so proud are you, Miss Trambley?” Mary continued, adding as much scorn to her statement as possible. “Too good to talk to the likes of me?”
I glared over my shoulder at the other woman then tilted my head to acknowledge my companions. “It’s one thing to be sell yourself because you need the money,” I spat. “But you’re a filthy home-wrecking whore!”
Mary’s face contorted in anger. “We’ll just see about that, little Miss Pretty Pants! We’ll just see what happens when your precious father cuts off your allowance. Maybe you’ll have to stick your knees in the air rather than your nose! Maybe he’ll even be the one that pays you to do it since he’s not one to take notice of a girl’s face!” With that, she spun on her heel and stormed off.
Of all the horrendous…
I stole a quick glance at Annie who shifted her gaze away. The awful suspicion grew that Mary and the others knew something about Father that I did not.
I practically leapt to my feet spilling the glass of wine onto the floor. “No!”
Grabbing up my bag I ran all the way back to my room. With each step, I felt my old life fade further and further away. It didn’t matter where I ran or which way I turned. I was adrift. Alone. And little more than a heartbeat away from the life Annie and Sally lived.
Chapter Eighteen
Mark
Well after dark I hauled myself out of bed, washed and shaved, then ate the bread and cheese I’d kept wrapped in oilcloth from lunch. It wasn’t very satisfying but it was cheap.
I ate quickly, nervously. Tonight was the night the Ripper killed Annie Chapman. I was no closer to finding her than when I’d started searching.
I glanced around the dingy room illuminated as much by the gas lamps on the street as by the single lamp on the table. If I had to stay here much longer, I’d go crazy. Maybe I was already crazy. Or dead.
Maybe the lightning bolt had killed me and this was Hell or Purgatory or some twisted version of the afterlife where I was condemned to endlessly search for the Ripper while wishing I could go home for an epic do ove
r. Maybe this time I’d be a “good son.”
I really had been a bastard at times, had made Mom cry and Dad want to punch me more than any criminal ever did.
I shook my head. Who was I trying to kid? This was all too real. Sitting in this room in emo mode got me no closer to the Ripper.
No closer to home.
I stood, stretched, then plunged down the stairs into the night.
***
Genie
As upset as I was, I couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the cramped room at the boardinghouse even one minute before I had to. I’d never liked Phoebe’s husband so it hadn’t been any real shock when his sordid secret came to light, but Father? My father patronizing whores? Using Lord knew how many how often and never even looking them in the eye? How could my father do such things?
I was on the verge of tears when Annie Chapman called to me from the door of the Prince Albert. She’d said Sally had met a friend not long after I’d gone so she’d come here and why didn’t I join her and one of the other girls.
Janey Gray was a plain woman with dark hair and a prominent nose but she was one of the friendliest, most welcoming women I’d ever met. She was new to this area and acted as though she was proud to add me to the ever-growing list of acquaintances.
It wasn’t long before I found myself quite pleasantly lightheaded after one glass of gin and working on my second. The world suddenly seemed a much cheerier place.
I cozied on a red, leather-upholstered bench near the window and observed how Annie and Janey were constantly on the lookout for likely prospects. I was content to appreciate the warm glow of the brass fittings, and the glare of the gas lamps. It was one of the nicer pubs in the area.
“Oy!” Janey said suddenly, “here comes a Johnny t’would be a pleasure to make me doss with!”
I turned and peered out the window and into Mark Stewart’s astonished face. I smiled crookedly at him and saluted him with my glass.
He stormed into the pub as if he had some right to do so. Ordinarily, I would have been incensed but tonight, I thought it rather funny.
“Mr. Stewart. Do join the lower classes in a glass.”
Janey gave Mark a crooked smile. “Hello, luv. Come and have a sit down why don’t ya?”
“There’s room for you right ‘ere.” Annie patted the small space between herself and me. “You sit yerself right here next to Annie and you’ll be glad of it.”
***
Mark
I noticed the sudden competition between the two women despite the obvious fact that I knew and was focused on Genie. Like a slap, it hit me—how oddly familiar the one seemed. Annie. This was Annie Chapman. I knew I had to keep calm, so I bent down and spoke to Genie. “Miss Trambley? Are you all right?”
She glanced up and squinted, as if trying to focus through the haze of alcohol and the absence of her glasses. “No,” she giggled again. “Am I? Miss Trambley, that is. I think I’m just Genie now.” She grew suddenly morose. “A Genie in a gin bottle.” She giggled. “That’s rather good, don’t you think?”
“She’s like one of us now, she is,” Annie said quietly.
“She surely will be if ‘ol Bill has ‘is way, eh?”
I followed the other woman’s gaze to the bar where a scumbag of a guy scowled back at me like I’d invaded his territory. Crap, was this hoe thinking to pimp Genie out?
Not on my watch. I slid onto the bench next to Genie. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Annie Chapman gave a short laugh. “Why is it, Janey, the nice ones always go for the fresh meat?”
“Pffft!” Janey replied. “The more discriminatin’ likes us women wiv experience.” She reached over and touched my arm. “How bout you, deary? Are you the discriminatin’ type?”
“Very.” I gave her a cold look before pulling the gin glass away from Genie who’d taken another sip. With a gentle touch, I turned her to face me. “Talk to me, Genie. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Gettin’ pissed,” Annie replied blandly.
Janey laughed and stood. “I guess I’d better stir me bones if I’m gonna make me doss.”
“Guess I’ll be off too, leave these two to settle accounts,” Annie said, winking.
“Don’t!” I yelled, afraid I’d lose Chapman and my chance to catch the Ripper and go home.
Annie chucked me under the chin. “Fancy a party o’ three, does ya?”
“No. I hoped you’d see Miss Trambley back to her room.”
Annie shrugged. “I’m done playing nursemaid. She’s yours now, she is. Her room, your room…takes your pick. I’ll sees ya all tomorrow.”
She headed to the door and a voice screamed in the back of my head to follow her. But Genie was on the verge of nodding off. She couldn’t be left alone here, especially with “Ol’ Bill” eyeing her the way he was.
Through the window, I watched Annie Chapman stroll slowly down the High Street. I glanced at his pocket watch. It was one-thirty. There was still time. All I had to do was sneak Genie home then hightail it back and find Annie before three-thirty, when she was last seen. I had two hours. I was sure I could make it there and back. Of course it wasn’t like I had any other choice.
I propped Genie up a bit then tapped her cheeks. “Wake up, Genie. We have to get you home.”
She squinted, trying to focus. “Home?”
“That’s right.” I stood and pulled her up, supporting her weight when her knees buckled. Her small velvet purse was on the bench beside her and I grabbed it, fishing awkwardly inside. I took her little wire-rimmed glasses and perched them on her nose.
She offered me a crooked smile and planted a half kiss on my cheek. “My hero.”
Damn but she was a cute drunk. “Hero; that’s me all over.” I led her out of the loud pub and into the street. “Let’s get you home.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I have no home. I am an outcast.” She made a strangled squeak.
Oh geez, a drama queen when drunk. I’d gone out with one of those twice before it got old. A smart-assed comeback froze in my throat when I looked at Genie’s glassy eyes. This wasn’t melodramatic crap for attention.
“What happened? Tell me.”
“Threw me out into the gutter. She called me a filthy whore and he agreed…” Genie sniffled, wiped her face with the sleeve of her dress jacket. “Father so kindly let me a room in the nurses’ boarding house in Wimple Lane. But I imagine you’ve heard that. Everyone has heard of my downfall!”
I decided that telling her a roof over her head—even a boarding house roof was far from a total downfall, but I knew it wasn’t going to get through to her any better than my mom’s late night lectures had to me. “Crying won’t help anything. Point the way. I’ll take you there.”
Genie swayed as if it would help her focus. She pointed left, right then left again. Genie’s uncertain help finally guided us to the building on Wimple Lane.
The sign affixed above the bell key said stated:
“Absolutely no admittance after 10 p.m. unless authorized.”
I ignored it and rang the bell with one hand while supporting Genie with the other. No answer. I rang again and waited. I rang the bell a third time and didn’t stop until a window slid open in the sturdy door and a hard face glowered at him. “It is well after ten. This is a women’s’ residence.” The window slammed shut.
I banged on the door. “I have one of your residents here, lady. Let her in.”
The window in the door opened again. The matron looked at Genie and sniffed. “This is a respectable house. We do not cater to inebriates,” she snapped, “And most certainly not to allow women who walk the streets at this hour in the company of ruffians.” Then she slammed the portal shut. It whisked open a moment later. “And if you do not leave at once I shall summon a constable!” She showed him a constable’s whistle as proof of her threat then the window banged shut with a note of finality.
; Genie whimpered and sagged. “I’m a low woman now.”
I bolstered her and turned, flipping off the old bitch who’d cracked the little window an inch. I managed to get a peek at my pocket watch. I still had time. The best I could do for Genie was let her sleep at my place while I went out to save Annie Chapman, catch the Ripper or both.
We started the long, crooked walk to the tea shop.
If I succeeded once I got Genie settled would I be whisked back to the real world at once? I hoped so. I glanced at Genie. Yes, it would be better that way. I had to believe that.
“I don’ feel well,” Genie mumbled. “I don’ feel well at all.”
“Been there, hated that. Compared to tomorrow morning this will seem like Heaven.”
Nearing the tea shop, I propped Genie inside a darkened doorway of a cobbler’s business long enough to scan for Mrs. O’Connell. The tea shop was dark, her rooms directly above dark as were the windows back in the kitchen. The coast was clear enough to smuggle Genie upstairs.
After two refrains of the “two steps up three steps down” tango, I scooped Genie up and carried her over my shoulder, hoping she’d spare me the ordeal of puking down my back the way I’d once done to my dad.
Genie giggled when I set her down inside my room.
“You’re such a brute, Mark. I may call you Mark, mayn’t I?”
“Just this once, Miss Trambley,” I quipped.
I was totally unprepared when she draped her arms around my neck and pressed close. Too close. Much too close.
“Mark Stewart,” she said lazily. “Such a strong name for a strong man.”
Damn but she was adorable with her flushed cheeks and wide blue eyes.
“I am a social outcast, you know.”
“So I gathered.” I tried to lower her arms from my neck. She clung tighter. I didn’t protest.
“I am a woman alone in a cruel man’s world.”
“You’re not the first and won’t be the last. Trust me.” I attempted to pry her loose again. “Why don’t you lie down?