Elizabeth’s breath caught and he could see the emotion play across her face. Her eyes searched his face for the answer.
He reached out and took hold of her arms. “We’re here only to observe,” he reminded her. “To find out his identity, and keep our own a secret, if possible. At least until there’s no other choice.”
Elizabeth chewed her lower lip for a moment before looking up at him, chin out. “I can do it,” she said, but he heard the unease in her voice.
He had to believe her. It wasn’t as if he could just leave her behind. She’d follow, and God only knew what horrors that would lead to.
“All right,” he said, ignoring his own doubts as he tucked a finger beneath her chin, tilted her head up and kissed her.
She patted his chest. “It will be all right.”
Simon hmm’d and held out his hand. She took it and he held hers tightly, quite sure he would never let go again.
Chapter Seven
ELIZABETH BREATHED THROUGH HER mouth, but it wasn’t helping. The cool night air did help a little, but she could only shudder to think what it must be like in the heat of summer here. It wasn’t so much the sewage in the open streets that made her feel sick, it was that people lived this way, had to live this way. That so many hovered on the razor’s edge between life and death every day.
She really had no idea what to expect. She knew this wasn’t going to be like seeing a road production of Oliver! But nothing could have prepared her for the squalor and hopelessness of Whitechapel.
Dilapidated tenements crammed with people lucky enough to find a bed for the night loomed darkly over the streets below where only a few gas lamps lit their way. The sky above was black, not a star to be seen. It was probably just clouds, Elizabeth told herself, but it felt like they were in some sort of netherworld where the stars never shined.
Somewhere in the distance, toward the river, she could barely make out the red glow of a fire and the faint smell of wood burning.
They passed a few prostitutes who were walking arm in arm toward them. Elizabeth strained to see their faces. Was one of them Mary Nichols, she wondered? One of the other victims? But she couldn’t see them clearly, and even if she had she wasn’t sure she’d recognize them. The autopsy photos were grainy and a little surreal. Wax works instead of people.
Elizabeth shivered and Simon tucked her arm more tightly to his side. “All right?” he whispered.
She nodded, but the feeling of dread that lodged in the pit of her stomach grew with each step they took, each second that passed and drew them closer to the murder.
Simon, his face smeared with soot, jaw set and eyes keenly scanning ahead, was as on edge as she’d ever seen him. Not that she blamed him. They were in an unfamiliar place and following an unfamiliar man.
Victor was an enigma. She wanted to trust him, but it was hard to trust someone who offered so little of himself. For now, though, they had no choice. God, she missed Jack Wells. The thought of him brought a pang of sadness and she pushed it away. She couldn’t think about that now. She had to stay focused.
She and Simon had studied maps of the area, but the reality was far from the neat grids and clearly labeled intersections the Council had provided. Whitechapel was a warren of dark streets and darker allies. Victor claimed he knew the streets well and with a Thomas Guide out of the question, they followed silently behind as he maneuvered them through the maze.
There were a surprising number of people still out and about, stumbling from one pub to another, leaning against doorways, lingering by an open brazier. She’d been to slums before; she’d lived on the outskirts of a few, but the poverty she’d seen there was nothing compared to this—where people owned nothing but the clothes on their backs, and each day’s earnings, if they could find work, disappeared with the cost of a sparse meal, and a shared bed.
Women like Mary Ann Nichols had only one thing of value—their bodies. At her age, in her mid-forties, and an alcoholic—she’d be lucky to get two or three pence for a trick. Enough for a stale loaf of bread or a glass of gin. As Elizabeth looked around, she understood why so many opted for the latter.
As they walked along, it seemed that nearly every other building was a bar. After another ten minutes, they arrived at a popular local pub—The Frying Pan—where, rumor had it, Mary Ann Nichols had been seen the night of her murder.
Situated on the corner of Brick Lane and Thrawl Street, it was in the heart of some of the worst parts of Whitechapel. Men so steeped with alcohol that it came off them in waves lingered by the front door. She wasn’t sure if they were going back in or had recently left; either way, the stoop was as far as they could make it.
Victor stepped inside and made his way to the bar. He nodded for Simon and Elizabeth to take a small table at the far end of the room. Simon grumbled to himself, but he did as Victor suggested and ushered her toward it.
With a sweep of his hand, he brushed away the crumbs that littered the rough wooden table. A woman with a stained apron and a tired, worn expression came to take their order.
“Two pints, love,” Simon said as he pushed two pennies across the table. All traces of his aristocratic accent gone, replaced by one that made him sound a bit like Michael Caine.
The waitress scooped up the coins and disappeared into the thickly packed bar.
“What time is it?” Elizabeth asked.
Surreptitiously, Simon took out the watch and checked. “2:30,” he said as he closed it and tucked it back into his pocket.
They had less than hour. She’d wanted to get to the crime scene early, but Victor had advised against it. Two constables would be passing by the entrance to Buck’s Row, where Mary Ann’s body was found, at about 3:15 a.m. They wanted to avoid them at all cost. The last thing they needed was to get hauled in by the police.
However, knowing that the police had passed by the spot on their rounds and seen nothing, and that Mary Ann’s body was found at 3:40, gave them a pretty good idea of the time of the attack. The plan was to leave the pub at three, allowing ten minutes to walk there. They would stay close, but not too close, and move into position just after the police and before the murder. That was, if everything went off without a hitch.
The waitress came back and put down two large beers on the table, some slopping over the rim as she did. Without thinking, Elizabeth picked hers up and took a sip. Warm and mostly disgusting. She made a face and Simon pushed his aside, choosing instead to focus his attention on the crowd.
She knew what he was thinking. Was one of these men Jack the Ripper? It sent a chill down her spine. Somewhere, maybe not here, but not far away, was one of the most notorious serial killers in history. And they were going to follow him.
Despite herself, she took another sip of beer. It wasn’t so bad that time. At least it helped her wash down her fear.
Before she knew it, she saw Victor leave his spot at the bar and head for the door. They waited a minute and then followed.
When they got outside the pub, Victor was gone. Even though it was part of the plan, it made Elizabeth uncomfortable to lose the one other person she could trust. The few men looming outside the pub, leering at her despite Simon’s presence, reinforced just how out of their element they were. But it was the plan.
Victor would leave first and find a spot on the east side of Buck’s Row. She and Simon would follow a few minutes later and come up the opposite end of Buck’s Row. Between them, they’d see something.
It was a good plan, but that didn’t comfort Elizabeth and a chill ran through her.
Simon looked down at her. “All right?”
She shrugged and Simon nodded in understanding before winding her arm through his and setting them off back down Brick Lane.
In the half hour they’d spent in the pub, the streets had all but emptied. A few men slept in doorways. The only other signs of life were muted voices that could be heard behind the painted glass of the pubs they passed.
The path to Buck’s Row was
a simple one with few turns. As they made the first, Elizabeth heard footsteps behind them. It was probably just another pair of men searching for the next pub, but the echoing footfalls in the quiet darkness were unnerving. She felt Simon tense and he hurried their steps.
They’d just passed through the halo of one gas lamp and into the next stretch of darkness when two men stepped out of the shadows of a doorway and into the empty street.
“Just keep walking,” Simon said softly.
She kept her head down, but her eyes up as they drew closer to the pair. They’d almost passed them when the men stepped in their way. Elizabeth’s heart stuttered.
“What’s your hurry?” one said.
Simon tried to guide her off the curb, but the other stepped that way to block them.
“You ain’t even sayin’ hello?” the skinnier of the two said with a broad smile that revealed two missing teeth.
“We don’t want any trouble,” Simon said, managing to keep his upper class accent under wraps.
The skinny one laughed and elbowed his friend. “He don’t want no trouble?”
The other one laughed and then abruptly added, “I’m afraid you’ve found it, mate.”
The sneer on his face made Elizabeth’s blood run cold. These were men who enjoyed the sport of terrorizing people and didn’t have anything to lose.
Simon led Elizabeth across the street and up another, but she could hear the two following behind. They’d barely gone half a block when two more men appeared in silhouette ahead of them. She could see the dark outlines of clubs in their hands.
She and Simon stopped abruptly. Her heart raced. They were trapped between the two pairs now.
Simon pulled her close to him, and she could feel his heart beating against his chest. She gripped his right arm more tightly. She saw his left hand dip into his pocket. He had a gun, but with four of them….
“You know where you are?” one of the first two men said from close behind them.
She and Simon spun around. The first two were nearly on top of them and she could hear the others drawing nearer.
Elizabeth looked around quickly. The buildings on either side of them were dark. She thought about calling for help, but it would surely set the men off, and she had a sinking feeling no one would come to their aid anyway.
One of the men waved his arms expansively. “All this belongs to me, see?” he said. “And you ain’t got my permission to be here.”
“Doubles the price, ya see,” one of the new men said, as he took out a large knife from his waistband. The long blade glinted in the gaslight.
Simon held up one hand. “This is all I’ve got,” he said as he dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a small handful of coins.
One of the men, he seemed to be the leader, took a step forward. He looked at the coins and then toward Elizabeth and back to Simon. His smile was thin.
“That’s not all you have.”
A jolt of fear rushed through her, knowing where this was probably headed, but she kept still.
“Take the money,” Simon said with surprising calm.
The leader’s eyebrows shot up in amusement. “Oh, I will. And your lady.”
He nodded toward Elizabeth and one of the men grabbed her from behind.
He spun her around, but out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Simon start to pull out his gun. The moment he turned, one of the men brought down his club against Simon’s arm. He cried out as it crashed into his hand, knocking the gun to the ground.
The other man scrambled to pick it up.
Simon clutched at his hand and one of the men twisted him around and punched him square on the jaw. Elizabeth winced as the she heard his knuckles connect with bone.
“Simon!”
The blow left him wobbly and the man wasted no time. He delivered two swift, powerful blows to Simon’s midsection making him crumple to his knees.
Elizabeth struggled against the man that held her and called out to him.
Simon hunched forward, gasping for breath. One of the men rifled through his pockets and pulled out the watch. He whistled, impressed, and held it up to show the boss.
He stood and gave it to the leader, who practically purred. “Now what do we have here?”
“And this,” the one with the gun said, as he gave it to the leader.
The leader admired them both and walked casually over to Simon who was still bent forward, his head hanging down.
“Hmm?” the man said.
Simon didn’t respond and the man lifted his foot to shove him to the ground with it. It was an unfortunate miscalculation on his part as Simon quickly reached out and grabbed the man’s leg and twisted. The man flipped up in the air and to the ground with a thud. Simon was on top of him before he or the others knew what had happened.
One quick punch to man’s jaw and then Simon struggled to find the gun. By some miracle, he did. He cocked it and pushed it against the leader’s throat just before his men could react.
The leader lifted up one hand to stop his men.
“Let my wife go,” Simon said, as he knelt on the man’s chest, holding the gun, pushing even further into his skin.
The leader, his lip split and blood trickling out from the cut, smiled. “Maybe I’ll just have Len gut her first.”
Elizabeth felt the tip of a knife press against her ribs. Worse yet, she felt the momentary panic of knowing their one chance had just gone up in smoke.
Simon turned and his face, wild with anger, fell. His eyes caught hers and the pain and apology in them was almost too much.
He looked down, defeated, and moved the gun away from the man’s throat. One of the thugs grabbed it from him and another lifted him off the leader, who stood and brushed off his pant’s legs and straightened his jacket. He looked at Simon once then back to Elizabeth.
“Do it.”
Elizabeth struggled in the man’s grip, desperate to twist out of it.
“No!” Simon lunged forward, but one of the men hit him hard in the stomach again with one of the clubs. He doubled over and the man lifted his club to bring it down against Simon’s skull when Elizabeth heard a dull thud.
The man stopped in mid-swing, seemingly frozen, until his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground unconscious. Behind him stood Victor, a scarf covering his face and a lead pipe in his hand.
Another of the men charged him, but it was a man against boys. Victor dodged the man’s awkward attack and swung his pipe against the man’s back. He grunted in pain. Victor spun around and swept the pipe at knee level. The sound of bones cracking rang out in the small street. The man cried out in agony and fell to the ground.
The leader took out his knife and started toward Victor.
Elizabeth called out to warn him.
Victor spun around and in the same movement, reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife. It flew across the alley and embedded itself in the leader’s chest.
The man looked down at it, stunned. Victor strode over to him. He pulled the knife out and the man gasped. He finished him off with one, sharp punch.
The man who held Elizabeth didn’t dare let go to help his friends, and pressed the knife harder against her ribs. “Hey!” he called out. “I’ll gut her.”
Victor turned slowly and wiped his knife off on his leg. Slowly, he shook his head.
Elizabeth could hear the man’s breath coming hard and fast. “I will.”
“No,” Simon said, from behind them both. “You won’t.”
She heard the man holding her swallow hard and then his grip loosened. Elizabeth slipped out of it and turned back to see Simon holding a knife to her captor’s throat.
Carefully, Simon eased around so he was in front of the man and shifted the knife to his off-hand.
“Are you all right?” he asked her, but kept his eyes on the man.
Elizabeth let out a shaky breath. “I’m fine.”
“Then it’s your lucky day,” Simon said to the thug.
The man narrowed his eyes in confusion. Simon lunged forward and punched him hard in the gut and then delivered a jaw-breaking uppercut as the man doubled over. Simon grabbed him by the collar to keep him from falling and hit him once more. The man was unconscious before he hit the ground.
Panting, Simon turned back to Elizabeth and Victor. He closed the gap between him and Elizabeth, and looked her over for injuries before turning to Victor.
“How did you know?” he asked.
Elizabeth knelt down and grabbed Simon’s watch from the leader’s pocket.
Victor picked up the gun and handed it back to him and then nodded toward the far street. They started toward it leaving the pile of injured men behind in the muck.
“I passed those two up on Montague, looking for trouble,” Victor said quietly as he tugged down his scarf so that it now rested around his neck. “I was nearly there when I doubled back. I had a feeling you two would be trouble tonight.”
And thank goodness for that, Elizabeth thought, ignoring the slight. “Thank you.”
“Yes,” Simon said. Elizabeth heard the pain in his voice. He probably had broken ribs, but she could see from the look on his face he wasn’t going to relent now.
Victor grunted in reply and took out his watch. “3:25.”
He snapped it shut and the three of them hurried down the street toward Buck’s Row, hoping they weren’t too late.
Chapter Eight
THEY TURNED UP A little street called Whites Row and Elizabeth could see the street widening ahead into a V-shape with a wedge of tenement buildings dividing it in two. On the right was the narrow little Winthrop Street and on the left was Buck’s Row.
They hurried along until Victor held up a hand to stop them and motioned for them to move into a side street to the left. With her heart in her throat, Elizabeth pressed her body up against one of the buildings and hid in the shadows. In the darkness next to her, Simon groaned softly, his breath shallow and labored.
A Rip in Time (Out of Time #7) Page 6
