Felicity Carrol and the Murderous Menace

by Patricia Marcantonio

  I. W. Beck.

  “Bloody hell.” The curse words she often overheard from the kitchen help slipped out and were appropriate.

  The killer wanted to play games. She would play.

  Throwing down the papers, Felicity bolted up. Making use of scissors to snip away her bodice and bustle, she tore away the gown for a quick escape from the clothing. Fortunately, Helen had gone out with Lowery; otherwise Felicity might have been slowed by questions. Although her hands trembled and were clumsy, she accelerated her movements. She donned a brown sealskin skirt with leaf patterns at the waist. Undoing the two buttons on a white blouse, she replaced her flat-heeled silk slippers with sturdy riding boots. A simple paisley shawl added to the costume.

  Using her small finger, she outlined her eyes using ash from the fireplace. With a hat pin, she pricked her fingers. The blood reddened her cheeks and lips. She shook her hair loose, tied a white ribbon around her neck, and donned a pair of black gloves. In her mirror, she approved of the effect. Into a purse went the tools required to free locked doors. From the trunk she dug out a vial and wrapped it in a handkerchief, which she slipped into the top of her corset. Also in the purse she placed the derringer she had purchased but never used, along with an extra bullet.

  Felicity held out her hands. They were steady and warm.

  Time to play the killer’s game of disguise.

  No more deductions and science. She had traveled far for this night and had never been so close to meeting Jack the Ripper.

  CHAPTER 30

  From a vantage point in a dark alley, Felicity watched the front and back doors of the White Rose brothel and waited for an opportunity to enter unnoticed. She had left her horse tied up in front of another brothel down the street.

  A group of one dozen men approached the building. They were loud, drunk, and provided her the chance she needed. When one of the men slammed his fists on the front door of the brothel, Felicity darted to the back door, which was unlocked. She glanced into the empty kitchen. Off to one side, a door opened to a small bedroom apparently belonging to the Chinese maid, given the many Chinese artifacts inside. And probably where Mrs. Albert had obtained the box with the dragons embossed on it. With caution, Felicity crept across the kitchen. She heard the Chinese maid mutter in her native language as she let the men in the front door.

  The men were a noisy lot. Shuffling feet, belching, swearing, and laughing. The best of diversions. From the sitting room at the front of the house boomed the sound of a Stephen Foster song hammered out on the piano. The men yelled for service.

  “You wait here. Girls come to you. Then choose. We got best in town.” The maid spoke loud above their uproar.

  “Send those gals now,” bellowed one man, receiving laughing approval from his companions. “We’ve been saving up money to come here instead of going to the girls of the line.”

  “I want the pick of the good ones. Don’t send those ugly trollops like last time,” another man said.

  “No ugly girls here. Mrs. Albert make sure.” Annoyance clipped the maid’s voice.

  “Where is Mrs. Albert? We want to deal with her,” a third man said.

  “She no here. If Missy Albert here, she no let you talk dirty in her house.” The maid went up the front stairs.

  More male laughter and bad singing of “Camptown Races” emanated from the sitting room. Felicity sped up a back staircase leading from the kitchen. When she reached the second floor, she peeped around the corner. The Chinese maid rang a bell at the end of the hall. Eight women dressed in corsets, bloomers, and silk nightgowns in various colors walked out from a line of doors on each side of the hallway. They strolled to the set of stairs facing the front of the brothel. The men hooted at the women’s appearance. Sounds of talking and a popular tune on the piano gained volume. The women’s laughter sounded false as pyrite.

  The third floor proved accessible only from another set of stairs at the back of the house. The location made sense. Mrs. Albert wanted a room as far as possible from the women she detested, a place of privacy. Her own way to leave the house undetected. Felicity started up the stairs and then continued along the vacant hallway. In the middle, two doors faced each other. She tried one, which opened. In the light from the full moon through a window, she saw bed frames stacked against one wall. Across the hall, the other door did not open. Using the tools, she worked on the lock, stopping often to listen for footsteps coming up the stairs.

  The lock gave way with a click.

  It was a storage room with shelves of sheets and towels, furniture, and nothing more. Closing the door, Felicity edged along the wall. At the end of the hallway stood a short set of stairs. At the top of the stairs was another locked door. Felicity worked on the lock and opened the heavy door. Her stomach wrenched. She gagged at a powerful scent of jasmine. The room seemed to tighten around her as if she lay in a coffin. Undoubtedly, the feeling arose not only from the smell but because she was very much in the lair of a killer. She suppressed her fear and began her examination. Because the window faced the front of the building, she dared not light the oil lamp. The moonlight through the sheer curtains provided enough illumination.

  This was no ornate boudoir of a madam.

  It was an English-style bedroom, with sturdy wooden furniture dominating the room. A reserved coverlet of burgundy was folded on the bed. A Bible lay on a table. Felicity picked it up and thumbed through. Ink had been splashed on some pages. Others had been ripped out.

  Inside a dark wood armoire hung expensive dresses. Felicity felt around the bottom. Nothing. Her foot caught on the post of bed. She fell forward, placing her hands out to stifle any sound of her stumble.

  Felicity remained on the floor. She listened for footsteps in the hallway. For discovery. For worse. She heard only the noise of the men who trod up the front stairs to the girls’ rooms on the second floor. Doors slammed shut. Men whooped.

  In the sitting room, the remaining men maintained their singing and loud talk, probably in anticipation of having their turn with one of the women. She breathed out relief. No one had heard her. Turning her head, she glanced under the bed. A trunk lay underneath. She slid it out. Locked.

  Felicity worked on it with her tools. She pushed up the lid. Lying on its side was a black doctor’s bag with the initials JD in gold lettering on one side.

  James Drury.

  From the bag she lifted out a long mahogany box holding several surgical knives, including three catlins. From the imprints in the velvet, two catlin knives were missing. The trunk also held two folded black frock coats, trousers, and white shirts, along with two pairs of black leather boots, spats, and gray gloves, one pair of which was smeared with blood. A neat pile of proof.

  But the knives and clothing were not enough for Felicity that night. Closing the bag, she locked the trunk and slid it back under the bed.

  Perspiration wet her blouse. She wiped at her forehead with her sleeves. After locking the bedroom door, she whirled around, down the short set of stairs, and right into the solid arms of the man standing in the third-floor hall. His breath stank of cheap cigars and beer. He wore a dingy plaid shirt and pants stiff with sweat and dirt.

  “You must be new,” he slurred.

  “I’ve been around for a long time.” The American accent moved easily off her tongue. “I have to go. Another man expects me.” She tried to slip around him. He seemed to take up the entire hall. They were alone.

  His arm went to her waist. “Forget him, sister. I got to say, you’re the prettiest whore I’ve laid eyes on. Mrs. Albert charges ten dollars for her girls, but I’d pay a bag of gold nuggets for you.”

  “You couldn’t afford me. Now let go before I call Mrs. Albert or the maid.”

  “Mrs. Albert ain’t here, and my friends’re waitin’ for their turn with a gal. I don’t want to wait.” His tongue circled his lips. He glanced to one of the doors and grabbed Felicity’s wrist. “Let’s head to your room. I’ll pay ya twenty dollars. You can
keep all the money for yourself and not share it with the madam.”

  Though he was unsteady with intoxication, she couldn’t use force against this man. She grinned with an idea. “You do interest me, and I’ll take your offer. Let’s keep our voices low so no one will hear us.” She put her finger up to his lips.

  He whispered. “What do they call you?” He still held on to her arm.

  “Elizabeth.” Felicity batted her eyes. The only name she could think of at the moment. “Free my wrist, and I’ll give you a sample of what you can get for your money.” He relaxed his hand. Her hand slid between her breasts, as if to move apart the clothing. She removed the handkerchief-wrapped vial and hid it in her fist.

  “You’re going to be special.” He tugged at his pants.

  “How right you are.” She led him to the empty room and closed the door behind them.

  “Don’t you want to go to your bedroom?”

  “This is more exciting. Something you won’t soon forget.”

  “All right then.” He panted.

  She pushed at his shoulders. “Now sit on the floor, and we’ll have a good time.” Pure instinct motivated her.

  “Git on with it.” He gurgled a laugh and sat. His big legs went straight out. His upper body swayed a bit. “Hope I can get up from the floor. Been drinking since five today.”

  Sucking in her breath, her hand slid over this thigh. “Relax now.” She dipped behind him, leaned in, and whispered into his ear. “You can taste how sweet I am. Now close your eyes.” She should have been an actress.

  Yelping with pleasure, he closed them. She uncapped the vial with her teeth and doused the handkerchief with chloroform. One of her arms shot around his neck. With her other hand, she shoved the handkerchief against his mouth and nose and held it there with all the force she could muster. To help, she braced her knees against his back and kept her head away from the sweet but effective smell. The man struggled and then fell back unconscious in a few breaths.

  Winded, she shot up. No more time to waste. If the Chinese maid found the hulk of a man, she might believe he had passed out in a stupor in the empty room. The smell of the chloroform would dissipate by then.

  Felicity rushed out the door.

  * * *

  Felicity’s boots pounded the dirt as she ran. Each step smacked with her imagined insight into the killer’s mind.

  After five murders, the town of Placer was done, the killer probably thought. Staying longer might result in an arrest and the noose. But victory had to be relished. Over London’s Scotland Yard and, now, the western lawmen. None comprehended a task both artistic and justified. Ahead were more towns, more fallen women. More punishment. Time to enjoy the freedom to stroll the streets and mock them all.

  And there in an alley off Viceroy Street, Felicity Carrol caught up with Jack the Ripper. The murderer leaned against a wall staring at a young prostitute across the way.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Drury. Mrs. Emily Drury.” Felicity stood about twenty feet behind the woman.

  Emily Drury turned without rushing. She wore a black double-breasted man’s frock coat with a velvet collar and silk lapels, black trousers, a white shirt and black tie. Her large hands were encased in gray gloves. A thin dark mustache lined her upper lip. She took off the bowler hat and bowed to Felicity. On the woman’s head sat a short wig of red hair.

  Replacing the hat, she offered up a gracious, “Miss Felicity Carrol.” Her voice imitated a man’s. “You’re a clever girl.”

  Perspiration streamed between Felicity’s shoulder blades now, although her limbs iced over like ocean waters. She aimed the derringer at the woman’s heart. “An inspired disguise. You deceived us all, Mrs. Drury.”

  “How thoughtful of you to notice. Yet wearing a disguise is not against the law, my dear girl. For example, your own costume is very effective. Unless you have taken up whoring. Perhaps you have. The girls do gossip about you and the sheriff.”

  Felicity shuddered at the insanity in the voice. Simultaneously bestial and articulate as Satan’s orator. She edged forward, hoping to force the woman into the muted light of the street. Mrs. Drury didn’t accommodate her. “How you must have congratulated yourself for outsmarting the law both here and in England. Who would believe a woman could commit such atrocities?”

  “You’re babbling, dear. I can’t understand you.”

  “All those medical books in your husband’s library. You learned anatomy from them, as well as how to use a surgical blade.”

  “Tish, tish, tish.” The mad smile deepened on Emily Drury.

  “After you killed Mary Jane Kelly, your clothes were soaked with blood. So you put on her dress and bonnet so as not to draw attention as you escaped, which is why a neighbor claimed she saw Mary Jane the next morning. You did the same when you killed Beth Ray.”

  “Such a vibrant imagination.”

  “How ironic your husband was suspected of the Whitechapel murders. But he couldn’t accept the shame of his exposed activity in the brothels and killed himself.”

  “Tish, tish, tish.”

  “You shouldn’t have used the jasmine scent when you killed Beth Ray.” Felicity raised the gun. How easy it would be to put a bullet into that diseased brain.

  Emily Drury moved toward Felicity. “The whore stunk with fornication. In such a small space, I had to mask the odor or else I’d swoon.” She had dropped the man’s voice. Her speech turned polished as the knife she took from the jacket pocket. She now talked like a refined British woman who could have been discussing the weather and not the murder of women.

  “The coins you left under the bodies?” Felicity said.

  “My, you are a curious little creature. The last payment for the harlots, until they roasted in hell.”

  “And the ring at the feet of Mattie Morgan?”

  The killer moved closer. “Just an amusement, and I do love my little jokes. And ‘Jack the Ripper’ was most inspired, if I do say so. How surprising people made such a fuss over the death of those wretched whores. I created a such furor by dispatching loathsome women. Incredible.”

  “The letters to the sheriff and news agency. Ah, and eating the organs. Another jest?”

  “Amusing to no end.”

  “How inspiring to deflect the blame onto Dr. Lennox.”

  “You were more than willing to believe in his guilt. Although I hoped the letter I had delivered to your solicitor might frighten you away.”

  “But here I am. You’re coming with me to the sheriff’s office.” Felicity pushed the gun farther in front of her. “Drop the knife.”

  Emily Drury’s head flew back with a guttural laugh. At once, she stopped. “You really think I’ll confess to a judge? You’re quite out of your element. Just a foolish English schoolgirl with too much money and time.”

  “I want justice for the women you killed.”

  “They weren’t human. They were nothing but offal. I heard you were friendly with Beth Ray, and I admit I couldn’t miss the opportunity to make her and you suffer.” She smiled.

  Beth had been targeted because of her. Felicity’s jaw locked with anger. “You’re the animal. Not them,” she managed to say.

  Felicity and her adversary stared at each other. At once, Emily Drury screamed and ran at Felicity with the long catlin knife in her left hand. Felicity fired and hit the woman’s shoulder. She still charged. The insane had the power of ten, Felicity had read and gulped now at the veracity of the statement.

  Emily Drury swiped the knife at Felicity, who bent backward to avoid injury. A stinging raced over the top of her right cheek, a little more than a thumb’s length from her eye. The small gun went flying. Felicity’s arms shot out at the woman and shoved hard. The swing with the knife had thrown Emily Drury off balance and she crashed on her back, but still held on to the knife. Felicity stepped on the woman’s wrist to force her to release it. When she did, Felicity kicked the knife away into the dark alley. Spinning around to retrieve the derringer, Felicit
y reloaded with the extra bullet in her pocket.

  She aimed the gun at Emily Drury’s heart. “Get up slowly.”

  The woman’s legs swept at Felicity’s. The air left Felicity’s lungs as she banged onto the dirt on her back.

  Emily Drury picked herself up and ran.

  Gun in hand, Felicity rallied. The woman darted west up Viceroy Street, where the number of houses and buildings turned sparse. Felicity cursed at having to wear the skirt, which created the flapping sounds of a distressed bird as she ran. Blood from her cheek wet the front of her blouse. With her sleeve, she swiped at her face. Ahead of her, Emily Drury maneuvered through the inky alleys and streets, still going west.

  On the hill ahead, a scattering of lights lit the smelters and mines. Soon the houses disappeared altogether and the killer headed right to where Felicity did not want to be. The barren land around the mines and smelters appeared unforgiving in the day. At night, it resembled an even harsher landscape resplendent with hiding places.

  Emily Drury darted through a yard of timbers and climbed over a huge stack of wood. Ignoring the splinters wedging into her hands, Felicity pursued and dared not blink. She didn’t want to lose sight of the killer sprinting ahead. Too many shadows loomed in which the murderer could disappear. The woman spun left toward the smelters. Felicity picked up her skirts and reached to within five feet of the woman, who laughed. Emily Drury had lost her bowler and wig. Her brown hair whipped over her back.

  The killer reached piles of dirt and rock taken out of the earth. Scrambling up a mass more than thirty feet high, she sent rocks onto Felicity climbing below her. One rock banged Felicity’s right hand. She lost the derringer and didn’t have the time or enough light to hunt for the weapon among the rocks.

  Felicity had to keep moving.

  As they clambered over another pile of dirt and rocks, Felicity realized they could be running forever. She had to slow the woman, who scampered toward a line of metal structures above the mine shafts. She would try with words.