by Forbes, Kit
“I don’t want to impose.”
“No imposition at all.”
Thankfully she didn’t bring up the subject of Mark Stewart while we finished out dessert. Afterward I cleared the table and took them to the kitchen to begin cleaning the dishes. Mrs. O’Connell came in and started to put away the leftovers.
She opened the window to throw a few crumbs out for the chickens she kept out back and I heard the most interesting musical sound. A stringed instrument was my guess but not a violin or mandolin. I dried my hands and went to stand behind Mrs. O’Connell. “Where is it coming from?”
“Not sure. One of the buildings on the back street.” She cocked her head to the side. “Might be near Mr. Gurov’s shop.” She turned to look and me, a knowing grin upon her face when a soft male voice began to sing. “That might be our young Mr. Stewart.”
With a frown, I stepped away and plunged my hands into the sink once more. “One would think he have a bit more courtesy not to disrupt hardworking people’s dinners. A person can hardly think and relax with that caterwauling. You should close the window and spare your ears.”
“I rather fancy it.” She lifted the sash higher and leaned out. “The boy’s got a nice strong voice even singing all quiet.”
“He is a public nuisance.”
“Mr. Gurov said the lad’s looking a bit thin, said he doubts he’s getting much sleep at all. What’s he up to I wonder, prowling about at night. Not safe for a body these days.”
I set the last plate down with a chink and swiped the water form my hands. “He’s undoubtedly up to no good, like most men roaming the East End.”
Mrs. O’Connell looked to me and nodded. “The Inspector said the boy’s had a bit of a wild streak in him, but then don’t they all at that age?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know.” I dried the dishes and placed then on their shelf. When I was through I set the thin towel over its rod then tossed the basin of dirty out rather wishing I could heave it far enough to fall upon Mark Stewart’s head. “Thank you so much for the delicious meal, Mrs. O’Connell. I should like to invite you up for dinner the day after tomorrow. I’ll be paid at the end of my shift and shall stop at the market on the way home.”
“I’d enjoy that, dear.” She smiled. “I’ve put some soup in a carrypot for you to take to work with you along with two more biscuits and a slice of pie in the cloth sack.”
I smiled though I felt rather embarrassed. My clothing was fitting a bit looser and I wondered if I looked as ragged as I felt. “Thank you very much, Mrs. O’Connell. You are far too kind.” I stepped forward to take my things but stopped when she gave a small shake of her head.
“I’d be most obliged if you’d take these other things over to young Mark since he’s sitting outside. You can go down back and cross over to the back of Mr. Gurov’s shop through the gate in my fence.”
“Well, I…”
“If you’d rather not dear, that’s all right. I imagine my aching old bones can manage the stairs twice more today.”
“I shall do it, Mrs. O’Connell. Forgive me.”
Her smile was quite conspiratorial but I kept my silence and took hold of the cloth sack and handle of the covered pot.
Once outside I let the soft strains of the music and Mark Stewart’s gentle voice guide me. This latest tune was slower, sadder than the others and I paused to listen to the words. It told a story that might have been sad, about traveling alone, running from something or someone, but longing for one person—a woman named Melissa.
That certainly explained a lot. Taking a deep breath, I continued on until I came round to Mr. Gurov’s building. Mark sat outside the rear door of the print shop, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair damp and pushed back from his face. He had two nicks on his jaw, no doubt from shaving himself as he sang through the song a second time.
Though I was still quite angry with him I couldn’t bear to interrupt. He was so absorbed gazing down as he strummed the strings of his instrument, his voice full of more raw emotion as he sang. I waited until he was done before walking closer. “That was lovely.”
His head shot up, his cheeks coloring a touch. “No dogs howled and I didn’t get hit with any shoes so I guess it wasn’t too bad.” He stood and set instrument on the crate. “Do you need help carrying that home or something?”
Determined to remain aloof, I tilted my chin up. “If I was I wouldn’t have come a full street over to ask for assistance.”
He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “I guess so.”
“Mrs. O’Connell sent me. She prepared a large dinner and apparently decided we are both starving urchins in need of a decent meal.” I held out the cloth sack and carrypot.
He took the sack first and peeked in. A broad smile spread across his face at the sight of the pie. He took the pot and lifted the lid enough to inhale deeply. “Wow. This is great. I’ll stop around tomorrow and thank her myself, but maybe you can thank her for me when you go back.”
So I was being dismissed as casually as one would dismiss the parlor maid. “I shall.” And yet my traitorous legs would not move me. “Who is Melissa?”
He gave me a quizzical look then chuckled. “It’s my—it’s a song my dad used to sing to my mother. He’s the one who taught me how to play the guitar.”
“It was a lovely song. You have a talent perhaps you should go on the stage.”
He laughed. “I don’t think London is ready for most of what I can play, although Anarchy in the UK might be interesting.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”
“It’s nothing. Just a lame joke. Well, I’d better get this inside. Thank you for bringing it over. Do you need me to walk you back? I should walk you back. Just let me put this stuff inside real quick—”
“No. I am quite capable of taking myself back across the next street. Good evening, Mr. Stewart and do try to keep it down. I’d like to rest a bit before I leave for my job at the infirmary.”
Wanting to rest before leaving and actually being able to do so were two vastly different things. Oh, I tried to sit with feet propped up and do a bit of mending. I even attempted to read one of the used books I’d found at a market stall the previous morning but I could scarcely concentrate on either. Instead, I paced the scuffed floorboards of my little flat cursing Mark Stewart for what had to be the thousandth time since his arrival the previous month. A month? I snorted my contempt to the still air. It seemed as though that brash American had been a thorn in my side for an eternity.
I stopped pacing and folded my arms roughly across my middle, the anger slowly smoldering deep inside. “Why don’t you go back where you came from, Mark Stewart?” I ground out between clenched teeth. “Go back to America. Go back to your Melissa.”
***
Mark
No doubt about it, Mrs. O’Connell was an angel. Her care package was on a par with a multi-course Thanksgiving Dinner and I decided I was going to see if I could scrounge up a nice bunch of flowers to give her in the morning. It was weird she’d sent Genie over with it, though. I ran my fingers across the guitar strings then closed the coffin case lid. Genie had looked even more beat than she had the last time I saw her. I’d thought about her a lot the past week going off to the infirmary by herself.
I’d stopped by to see Ian and find out if I could get wind of any leads they might have on the Ripper (I couldn’t). But he mentioned that the constables in the area had taken to trying to time their rounds in order keep a decent eye on Genie but still she shouldn’t be working the night shift in some second-rate hospital at all. I looked at my watch. It was after seven-thirty. She’d probably be heading out. I was going to walk her there whether she liked it or not.
I noticed the guy with the long coat and low top hat as soon as I rounded the corner. Something about him set my spidey senses tingling. When he made the quick turn off around the side of the tea shop, I jogged the rest of the way, catching up to him before he ma
de it to the door leading up to my old place.
With a smooth move, I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, shifting my weight to shove him back hard against the damp brick wall.
“Unhand me!” He tried to raise his arm to hit me with his walking stick but I leaned in pressed my knee hard enough against his junk to make him forget that idea.
“Bite me.” I stared at him; that bad vibe grew stronger by the minute as I took in his hard features. My mind stuck on the classic rock channel thanks to the guitar, he reminded me of a young Freddie Mercury. “What are you doing here?”
“That is none of your business. Unhand me. At once, you scum.”
The door creaked open. “Go back upstairs, Genie.”
“Eugenia!” Freddie called. “Fetch Mrs. O’Connell, and a constable!”
The door banged open. “Dr. Palmer? Mark? What are going on here?” Genie grabbed the back of my jacket with both hands and tried to pull me away. “Let go of Dr. Palmer this moment!”
I glanced back at her my weight still holding Palmer against the wall. “You know this guy?”
She yanked me again. “Of course I do. He works at the hospital and he’s a recent graduate of the medical school.”
I glared back at Palmer, who smirked. I let him go then took hold of Genie’s arm. “What’s he doing hanging around here so late?”
She jerked away. “I’m sure I haven’t the slightest.” She turned to Palmer who dusted himself off. “Why are you here, Dr. Palmer?”
“I asked you to call me Jack, remember? At any rate I’ve come to escort you to the infirmary. I’ve been given the overnight shift for the remainder of the month.”
Genie didn’t look too pleased but she wasn’t blowing the guy off. And Jack? Seriously? She turned on me. “Why are you here?”
“I thought I’d walk you to work. I saw this guy lurking around like he was up to no good so I followed him.”
Genie looked at me then him then back to me. “Oh for goodness sake.” She peeked at her pin watch and sighed. “Oh, now I’m going to be late.”
Palmer pushed past me and grabbed hold of her upper arm. It took a lot of effort not to punch him dead in the face. “I’ve secured a carriage. It’s waiting near the bookstall.”
Genie smiled at Palmer and he ate it up like the big fat alley cat I’d seen smacking his lips after taking out a plump robin. Without a word, they exited the walkway. I waited a minute then followed, catching the end of their conversation.
“Is he that horrid American you’ve mentioned?”
This American might’ve been horrid but he was smart enough not to let clueless Genie be sucked in by a sleazy douche that perfectly fit my mental image of Jack the Ripper.
Chapter Twenty-five
Genie
“I am so sorry Mr. Stewart accosted you. I daresay he was undoubtedly looking out for the welfare of Mrs. O’Connell and myself.” I mustered a small smile for Jack Palmer. He reached across the cramped seat of the hackney and gave my hand a solicitous pat. Keeping my gaze fixed upon the darkened streets ahead of us, I wished for a brief moment that Mark would have mistakenly throttled him. Not to the point of injury, mind, but just enough to knock that high and mighty air out of him for the duration of what was to be another long night.
When we arrived at the infirmary, Mother was signing out at the night attendant’s desk. After skewering me with a harsh look and a muttered, “You’re late,” she cut me dead but gave Jack one of the rare smiles she saved for her “gallant lads” and charity benefactors.
I’m not sure what galled me more, the peevish look he gave me as though I were a little girl who’d unexpectedly soiled her nappy to cause delay, or his fawning explanation to my mother.
“You mustn’t blame Eugenia, Mrs. Trambley. It was the fault of the boor who caused such a scene at the fundraising reception. Absolute lout that one, but I suppose it’s to be expected considering the stock from which he’s bred.”
“If you’ll both pardon me,” I interrupted before Mother could go off one on one of her tangents. “I simply must get to the ward.”
Nudging myself behind Jack, I signed the admittance book then wedged past Mother and hurried down the long empty corridor, my heels clicking upon the recently washed floors. The lingering tarry scent of the carbolic took my mind off the fading voices of Mother and Jack.
Putting away my things in the nurses’ cloakroom, I rinsed my hands then bustled myself into the overnight matron’s office. I glanced at my watch then gave a sharp rap on the door. I was only five minutes behind, but still. “Forgive my tardiness, Mrs. Craft. I was held up by a bit of a commotion near my residence and again at the admittance desk.”
She scarcely raised her head from the sheaf of papers upon the desk, her eyes shadowed and shining like cold black stones in the glow of the kerosene lamp to her left. “You don’t warrant special consideration, Miss Trambley.”
“I don’t ask for any, Ma’am and I shan’t let this happen again.”
While I suppose it was remarkably unchristian of me, I loathed the day duty staff of the convalescent ward. While I fully understood things were expected to be busier during the daylight hours when the patients were awake, I wondered how on earth they’d ever managed before I arrived.
Once again the coal scuttles needed filling, the patient’s side tables and bedrails had to be wiped down, as did the high windowsills along the left wall. Both of Mr. Wilkins’s spittoons needed emptying and cleaning. I hoped his current state of sleep was deep enough to curtail any violent coughing before I returned with at least one spittoon.
I was wholly surprised anyone had managed to take care of the bedpans before they left. The more I thought on it, I imagined Mother had made a cursory round upon her arrival. She’d never allow standing waste to accumulate.
The worst of the cleaning done, I assisted the training nurse on the ward.
I didn’t have to take more than two steps to seek her out as she strode up and gave me a harsh look. “Mrs. Robin is being difficult again. She won’t let anyone but you change her bandage.”
“Fine.”
Mrs. Robin was an old friend of Mrs. Yost whom I often treated near the park. I hadn’t quite figured out how the women were friends considering all Mrs. Robin did was criticize Mrs. Yost over everything she’d said and done for the past two decades.
“I don’t see why she just don’t’ get off ‘er high horse and get ‘er treated. Wot? She thinks them on the outside’ll feel sorry and drop her a spare quid or three?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, Mrs. Robin. If you’d turn a bit more right so I can apply this poultice to the entire area. The wound will be healed and you’ll be right as rain in no time.”
I disposed of the old poultice when one of the men’s ward’s attendants sought me out. “Dr. Palmer is needing your help, Miss.”
“I’ll be right there.” I stopped below one of the windows to take in a bit of cool air and did my best not to acknowledge the jealous look of the training nurse. Honestly, if it wasn’t Mark Stewart making people gossip about me, it was Jack Palmer.
After taking a deep breath, I resolved to have him ask her assistance the next time it was necessary.
I reached the ward to see a stuporous man in an examination room off to the left being stripped of his jacket by the attendant who’d come for me. It might have been comical the way the man kept flopping this way and that as the attendant sought to disrobe him. I rushed to his aid, tugging the jacket sleeves then working at the shirt while Jack bellowed for someone to hurry with ice.
Noting the man’s glassy stare, I looked at Jack. “Narcotics?”
“Morphine.” He sneered. “Should let the blighter die but his two daughters dragged him here for help because we were closer than the hospital.” Jack slapped the man’s cheeks, his palms leaving imprints on the man’s flushed skin. “Wake up!”
He addressed the male attendant. “You get tho
se towels on the stand, knot the ends, and find out where that blasted ice is.”
No sooner had the words left his lips than the other male attendant entered a bucket of ice and water in his hands. He rushed forward causing the water to slosh about the floor. I hurried to clean the spill only to be stopped by Jack’s voice.
“Eugenia, wet the towels while we get him up.”
I did as ordered and watched Jack direct the attendants in lifting the man and holding him upright. They had to keep him awake and alert. If he lapsed into a coma, the effects of the morphine would surely kill him.
The man barely moved. Jack followed along as the attendants dragged him, smacked the patient’s bare back with the icy towel. “Eugenia, help me. Get his face with the unknotted end.”
It was like a macabre ritual. Back and forth we went across the narrow room, the patient falling asleep on his feet, rousing slightly when battered with the icy damp towels. Jack shouted at the man to wake while the ward patients protested the disruption of their sleep, shouting at me for not striking the patient hard enough for his liking.
I realized it was for the man’s own good, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that Jack was punishing him for his transgressions as much as trying to keep him alive for the sake of his children.
***
Mark
Genie looked like hell when she came home the following morning. It took every ounce of self-control not to rush out of the tea shop to go to her. Instead I pulled apart my sweet roll and muttered about her parents being assholes.
“They did what they felt was best for all concerned,” Mrs. O’Connell said from the other end of the counter.
“Yeah, right.” I popped the last of my roll into my mouth. I set a few coins down then took Gurov’s pastries over to the newspaper then went off to do some heavy lifting down by the docks until it was time to take a break and clean up at the print shop.
The days were long as ever but the work was pretty much a no-brainer that put me on autopilot. The talk in the streets was still worried about the Ripper but more than few jumped on the old “no news is good news” train of thought.