by Sam Gafford
“I’m sorry,” I replied. “I was under the impression that you two saw a great deal of each other.”
Amy smiled and drank lightly from her cup. “No, not at all. I’ve taken her about with me on a few occasions when I’ve visited some museums and galleries and she, in turn, has press-ganged me into service at that church in the Minories, but little more than that. I don’t understand. Why do you ask?”
I’d discovered that I had no avenue of questioning to pursue. Amy’s claim of being nothing more than a mere acquaintance with Ann shut off so many possible threads! Anything from this point could, and probably would, be easily refuted by her.
“I’m sure,” I began slowly, “that you are aware of my interest in Ann?”
Ann smiled but said nothing.
“As such, her well-being concerns me a great deal. Of late, she . . . she has been acting in an odd fashion for her. I’d wondered if you might have seen it yourself.”
“Odd? In what way?”
I could not be blunt in what I knew but had to give some type of information. “At times she is sweet and gentle—every bit the girl I fell in love with. But at other times her tongue is sharp and her actions questionable. She—”
Whatever reaction I had been expecting from Amy was completely different from what she expressed. She broke into nearly incontrollable laughter.
“I’m sorry, Albert, it’s just that you look so terribly serious. I couldn’t help it. And then, to describe Ann as some sort of ‘Jekyll & Hyde’ as if she were out of Richard’s play! Surely you see that this is all rather silly?”
I smiled, but I knew then and there that I would not find a receptive ear in Amy. It was clear that any claim I made would be rebuffed by her as my own foolish misconceptions.
“Albert, you are young and, if I may say so, not well versed in dealing with women. Sometimes, to men, I fear that we appear as mad creatures and perhaps we are. But I can say that Ann has spoken to me often of her fondness for you, and what you and she are experiencing is nothing more than two people learning about each other. In time, none of this will seem to matter.”
As comforting as Amy meant those words to be, I felt no solace. She had not been there when Ann’s entire face and body changed and she spoke with Mary Kelly’s voice. Nor had she been outside Ann’s door when she had a tearful conversation with something else.
“I suppose you are right,” I acquiesced. “This is just nerves coupled with too much excitement chasing otherworldly creatures with Arthur. I’m pleased to hear that she speaks of me fondly.”
For the first time, Amy’s face lit up with excitement. “Oh, very fondly, Albert. She has quite a few plans in store for you.”
Before I could ask what she meant, Arthur came bounding into the room. He must have just come in from his errand, as he had not even taken off his coat or hat. I had the strange feeling that he had been searching for Amy in the house in an odd sort of panic before coming across us in the back room.
“What on earth are you doing in here?” he said, rather befuddled.
“Albert and I were merely talking a bit, dear. Nothing more.”
He seemed mystified by her response. “Yes, but why here? Why not in the big room or even in the main parlour? This room is so dark and out of the way.”
“Rose is cleaning the other rooms, Arthur. This seemed the best solution to stay out of her way as she works.”
“Cleaning? There’s no one in those rooms at all. They’re completely empty.”
Amy took this as a convenient cue and rose from her chair. “Then she must be finished. Excuse me, Albert, I need to go inspect her work.”
To the befuddlement of us both, Amy left the room.
Arthur looked after her like a man trying to figure out how a magician had managed a particularly impressive card trick. “What were you two talking about?” he said to me, still looking at the open door as if he thought Amy might re-materialise there at any second.
“We were talking about Ann, actually. But perhaps I should have talked to you instead.”
“Really? Oh, bother, I cannot think in this room. Come back to my study with me and we’ll talk there.”
I followed him out of the room to his study where, I noticed, he stopped to unlock the door. This was a new development from his usual open character.
Seeing that I had noticed this, he mumbled about having ‘special materials’ that he needed to safeguard as he opened the door.
For my part, I did not see any ‘special materials’ in the room, unless they were hidden under the piles of newspapers that had engulfed almost every inch of floor space. I saw the Star, the Times, the Daily News, the Evening News, the St. James Gazette, and many more that I had never heard of before. Some of the looked as if they were from other countries, as I could see a New York Times and even an Irish Times along with some papers written in foreign languages I couldn’t begin to identify.
They were all well-thumbed and worn.
In one swift motion, Arthur threw off his coat and hat, stepped carefully to a chair, and then placed a fresh bundle of papers beside them. He then proceeded to enact some sort of indexing protocol that I had never seen before. “It’s very fortunate that you’re here, Albert,” he began. “I was planning on calling on you later. I’ve spent all day at the Golden Dawn, consulting many of the highest members, and I have managed to procure an audience for us with their most powerful seer. With luck, he can tell us more about what we’re facing here.”
I had to reorient my thinking back to his dhole theory—which, given what Amy what told me earlier, was not easy. She had raised my scepticism to new heights.
“Who is this person?” I asked.
“They wouldn’t tell me his name, but he is someone who is very highly regarded even by the leaders of the group. They call him ‘The Beast.’”
I wasn’t sure how to take that.
“You mean the Devil? From out of the Bible?”
Arthur chuckled. “Oh, nothing as sinister as that, I’m sure. You know how these sects can be. There is more thought given to their pomp and circumstance than to their actual philosophies. We’ll learn more when we speak to him tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? So soon?”
Now it was Arthur’s turn to look confused.
“Why, yes, time is of the essence here. ‘To everything there is a season.’ There are forces at play here beyond our measure.”
“Such as?”
“Celestial, for one. There are reasons why rituals are held during particular times of the year, and they don’t always revolve around harvesting. Many involve the phases of the moon or the movement of stars at a particular time over a particular hemisphere. It came get very complicated sometimes.”
“You mean something like astrology?”
“Well, somewhat, but astrology is only the most superficial of its forms. Astrology is to this force as a dust jacket is to a book. Both may be appealing to the eye but are only a covering for what lies beneath.”
I was clearly out of my depth, and my expression must have said so.
“Our appointment at the Golden Dawn is for two o’clock, which should give us plenty of time to attend the reconvening of the Chapman inquest.”
“Is there any point?” I asked. “I mean, so far all these inquests have been the same: people standing around not saying much of anything. Nobody knows any more now than when these murders happened.”
“I suppose I can understand how you’d see it that way. The wheels of the government turn painfully slowly. But Dr. Philips is supposed to make another appearance, and I’m keen to hear why. Is there a problem?”
I slumped down into a nearby chair, exhausted. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
Even though I hadn’t planned on it, I ended up telling Arthur everything that had happened with Ann right up through the events of that morning. He listened with a very concerned look on his face and spoke softly when I was done.
“You have, I think, every right
to be concerned. Albert, can you possibly get her out of the city? Perhaps send her to visit a relative?”
“She has none,” I replied. “Even if I were to try, I would have to find her first.”
Arthur sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. “I need to think on this. The best thing you can do right now is go home and wait for her. When she finally comes back, do everything in your power to keep her in that house. Lock her up in the basement if you have to, but don’t let her leave.”
“You think that she’s in danger then?”
He opened his eyes and stared straight at me. “Absolutely. But I only have a theory at this moment. Your previous attempts to follow her were unsuccessful and, now that she knows you are suspicious, it will be impossible. Your best recourse is to keep her isolated . . . at least for the moment. Mrs. Hutchins may not agree, but if you can convince her doctor friend to support you, she should relent.”
Instead of comfort, I now felt the most suffocating fear I’d ever experienced.
Suddenly, Arthur stood straight up and proceeded to hustle me out the door. “Quickly, now! Already, you may be too late.”
When we reached the front door, he grabbed hold of my arm and held it tightly.
“Albert, if you are successful in keeping her locked up in her room or the basement, I must implore you to do one thing: do not listen to her. She will protest, she will beg, she will threaten, but you must be strong. I will call for you in the morning. God speed.”
The door quickly shut in my face. I was standing alone in front of a most normal-looking house in a most normal neighbourhood of London and feeling that I was, in truth, lost in some nightmarish hell.
*
By the time I had arrived at home, it was well past the supper hour. Mrs. Hutchins gave me a slight chiding for not being home on time but fixed me a cold plate. I was surprised that she did not ask me about Ann, given the events of the previous night. If I had not known better, I would have thought that she had forgotten all about it.
“I thought,” I asked carefully, “that you would have been worried about Miss Ann given what happened last night.”
She looked at me and clearly had no clue what I was talking about. “Why? What happened?”
“She . . . she had a fit, locked herself in her room but wasn’t there when we opened it. Remember?”
I could not have horrified Mrs. Hutchins more if I had been the devil standing naked before her.
“Mr. Albert,” she said slowly, “are you unwell? It’s all those knocks to the head you’ve been taking, isn’t it? Got you feeling all scattered and scrambled?”
“No,” I replied rather strongly, “it’s not me at all. Ann had a fit! She—she—”
“I did what, dear?”
I turned and saw Ann standing in the doorway, looking perfectly normal and healthy and not at all dangerous.
Mrs. Hutchins went over to her, more for her own protection than Ann’s, I felt.
“Mr. Albert’s just been saying that you had a fit last night, Miss Ann, and disappeared from your room. Should I call the doctor?”
Ann smiled warmly. I loved that smile so much that I wanted to forget everything I had seen, heard, or experienced. I just wanted to live in that smile forever.
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Mrs. Hutchins. Mr. Albert is, I think, a little sunsick from being out without his hat all day. Come, dear, let’s get you to bed. You need your rest.”
Dazed, I allowed them to lead me upstairs to my room where Ann took off my coat and shirt and pants and put me lovingly into bed. Despite any impropriety, Mrs. Hutchins looked on and smiled.
As she tucked me into bed, Ann leaned forward and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. Softly, so that only she and I could hear, she whispered into my ear, “This bitch is mine now.”
Then she left the room.
Chapter 53
This melancholy London—I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually. One feels them passing like a whiff of air.
—William Butler Yeats
September 19, 1888
I got very little sleep that night.
Every time I heard even the slightest noise, I jumped. No sounds came from Ann’s room, but when the sun finally rose I found that she was nowhere in the house. Mrs. Hutchins claimed not to have seen her, but at that point how much could I trust her?
When Arthur arrived, he greeted Mrs. Hutchins warmly. I could tell that he was about to ask about Ann, so I quickly gave him back his hat and rushed him out the door.
We were inside his cab within instants.
“What the devil was that all about?” he asked. “I was just about to ask—”
“I know what you were going to ask, which was why I herded you out so quickly. Ann is not in the building.”
“Ah,” he said with an air of understanding that was entirely misplaced. “She did not return home then?”
“Oh, no, she was home last night when I got here. Or, rather, something pretending to be Ann was here.” I then gave him the whole story of how Mrs. Hutchins had apparently forgotten the trauma of the other night and acted as if nothing untoward had ever happened. Then I told him what Ann what whispered to me as she put me to bed, and the words still had the power to chill my blood. What made it worse was that she had spoken completely in her own voice. There was no echo of Mary Kelly or anyone else. It was Ann who had spoken those terrifying words.
Arthur, for once, was completely at a loss.
“You are absolutely sure that Mrs. Hutchins was sincere? She was not covering for Ann?”
“No, I don’t believe she was. I think she truly believed that nothing had happened and that Ann was perfectly normal. It’s as if she were bewitched.”
“Nothing so common, I’m sure, but I catch your meaning. No, of course, you couldn’t have kept her there. Undoubtedly, Ann would have played the victim, involved Mrs. Hutchins, and you’d be sitting in the gaol right now. Perhaps that’s what she had hoped for.”
I shook my head painfully.
“Arthur, what is going on here? I am beside myself with worry. What has happened to Ann? Will she be all right?”
He leaned forward and put a strong hand on my shoulder.
“Steady on, old fellow. There’s more here than meets the eye, but I think that we can sort it all out. I believe that it is Ann who is ‘bewitched.’ This can happen in several ways—through the use of certain chemicals, for example, or even the process called mesmerism. I have my suspicions, and I dare say that your own mind is working along similar lines. For now I think that she is safe, but you should continue to act as if nothing is wrong and follow her every chance you get. She might possibly lead us right to the culprit’s lair, and we will be able to break her free of this spell. The Ann you love is still in there somewhere. We just have to throw her a lifeline and pull her back out.”
“A few days ago I would have said that you were correct. I’ve felt that there has been a war raging within her that she was prevented from telling me about, but last night I feared that she is already lost.”
Arthur looked at me sternly. “No, Albert, wherever there is life, there is hope. We will find her.”
By the time we rolled up at the Working Lad’s Institute, I was no more comforted than I had been before. Arthur seemed uncharacteristically optimistic given the circumstances, and I wondered if it was because he knew something I didn’t or if his full attention were occupied elsewhere.
There was another large crowd inside when we entered, and we ended up having to stand near the back of the room. Fortunately, the first witness had just been called and was speaking too loudly in the habit of the partially deaf.
“I am a hawker,” the woman said, and I thought she looked strangely familiar. “I lodge in Dorset Street, Spitalfields. Have done so for the last five months. I knew the deceased, and had a quarrel with her on the Tuesday before she was murdered.
“The quarrel
arose when, on the previous Saturday, she brought Mr. Stanley into the house where I lodged in Dorset Street, and coming into the kitchen asked the people to give her some soap. They told her to ask ‘Liza’—meaning me. She came to me, and I opened the locker and gave her some. She gave it to Stanley, who went outside and washed himself in the lavatory. When she came back I asked for the soap, but she did not return it. She said, ‘I will see you by and bye.’ Mr. Stanley gave her two shillings and paid for her bed for two nights. I saw no more of her that night.
“On the following Tuesday, I saw her in the kitchen of the lodging-house. I said, ‘Perhaps you will return my soap.’ She threw a halfpenny on the table and said, ‘Go and get a halfpennyworth of soap.’ We got quarrelling over this piece of soap, and we went out to the Ringers public-house and continued the quarrel. She slapped my face and said, ‘Think yourself lucky I don’t do more.’ I struck her in the left eye, I believe, and then in the chest. I afterwards saw that the blow I gave her had marked her face.”
At that last bit, Cooper smiled a bit, temporarily forgetting where she was and the reason for the inquest. She caught herself and gave herself a more serious look. Now that I heard the tale, I remembered that I had seen her and Chapman engage in that very fight at the Ringers! It made my pulse quicken a bit to know that at last there was something at an inquest that I could relate to my own experiences.
That feeling left quickly, however, as they asked only a few more questions of Cooper before she was excused. None of them were particularly important or illuminating.
Then Dr. Phillips entered the room, and it was clear that he did not appreciate being recalled to the inquest.
The coroner, Wynne E. Baxter again, was quick off the mark and ready to compel the doctor to answer his questions.
“Whatever may be your opinion and objections,” Baxter began, “it appears to me necessary that all the evidence that you ascertained from the post-mortem examination should be on the records of the Court for various reasons, which I need not enumerate. However painful it may be, it is necessary in the interests of justice.”
Dr. Phillips was still not going to give up so easily.