PRAISE FOR THE BLACK MIDNIGHT
“A thrilling, beguiling read rich in historical research and featuring many of my favourite ingredients: an atmospheric gas lit Victorian London, an assured voice and intelligent heroine, gripping suspense, and things that go bump in the night. An imaginative plot laced with romance, royalty, and a Ripper-esque twist. Fans of Jaime Jo Wright and Michelle Griep won’t be able to keep their hands off it. I certainly couldn’t!”
–Rachel McMillan, author of The London Restoration
“The Black Midnight blends history, romance, and just the right dose of suspense to create the perfect story that will keep readers turning pages long into the night. History buffs will be riveted by this intriguing glimpse into the Midnight Assassin murders, and romance fans will cheer for Ike and Annie as they work to solve the case…and lose their hearts along the way.”
–Amanda Barratt, author of My Dearest Dietrich: A Novel of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Lost Love
“The Black Midnight is chock-full of historical tidbits that make the account of Jack the Ripper come eerily, vibrantly to life. Another intriguing tale from talented storyteller, Kathleen Y’Barbo.”
–Elizabeth Ludwig, USA Today bestselling author
“Impeccably researched and thoroughly captivating, Kathleen Y’Barbo’s The Black Midnight puts a pair of star-crossed Pinkerton detectives on the trail of a Texas killer who may also be the notorious Jack the Ripper. Very highly recommended!”
–Colleen Thompson, RITA-nominated author of Deadly Texas Summer
“With a killer plot and an unpredictable romance, unlikely heroes team up for a fast-paced historical suspense. Warning! Don’t read this at night!”
–DiAnn Mills, Christy Award–winning author
“The Black Midnight is Y’Barbo at her finest. True crime mixed with romance, and just the perfect blend of modern-day suspense make this book one not to be missed! Highly recommend.”
–Robin Caroll, bestselling author of the Darkwater Inn series
“What a clever idea, using two distant and distinct settings and two unsolved, real life murder cases to create a fun possibility. Isn’t the challenge of a mystery deciding who did it and why? You’ll get your money’s worth with The Black Midnight.”
–Gayle Roper, author of Hide and Seek, Lost and Found
“In The Black Midnight, Kathleen Y’Barbo weaves between fact and fiction to make 19th century history come alive on the page. Annie and Ike’s story is a page-turning combination of whip-smart dialogue, push-and-pull romance, and intriguing murder mystery. Whether fans of true crime stories enjoy Jack the Ripper’s tale, rich historical detail, or stunning storytelling, readers will add Kathleen Y’Barbo to their must-read author list after The Black Midnight.”
–Laurie Tomlinson, author of With No Reservations
“You’re in for a wild ride as Kathleen Y’Barbo takes you on a story through some of America’s and Britain’s grisliest murders while somehow managing to weave in a delicious romance. From Texas to London, the ties that bind may be more linked than you previously believed. And who better to unravel them than a brash American Pinkerton agent and the granddaughter of a queen? Settle in for a novel of suspense and romance—just be sure to look over your shoulder every now and then!”
–Jaime Jo Wright, 2018 Christy Award–Winning author of The House on Foster Hill and 2020 Inspy Award-Nominated The Curse of Misty Wayfair
“In The Black Midnight, Kathleen Y’Barbo has crafted a page-turning novel. I love that it is based on a historical event. I love even more that it’s an event I was unaware of. The characters and setting absolutely sing. This book will delight readers of historical fiction who love romance, mystery, and a touch of suspense.”
–Cara Putman, bestselling and award-winning author of Flight Risk
©2020 by Kathleen Y’Barbo
Print ISBN 978-1-64352-595-2
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-64352-597-6
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-64352-596-9
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Cover image © Ildiko Neer / Trevillion Images
Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.
Printed in the United States of America.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
In a moment shall they die, and the people shall be troubled at midnight,
and pass away: and the mighty shall be taken away without hand.
JOB 34:20
I have faith that the authors of these crimes will as yet be uncovered.
No human heart is strong enough to hold such secrets.
JOHN ROBERTSON, MAYOR OF AUSTIN, TEXAS
STATE OF THE CITY ADDRESS
NOVEMBER 10, 1885
This new most ghastly murder shows the absolute necessity for some very decided action. All these courts must be lit, and our detectives improved.
QUEEN VICTORIA
LETTER TO THE PRIME MINISTER, THE MARQUESS OF SALISBURY,
REGARDING THE JACK THE RIPPER KILLINGS
NOVEMBER 1888
London
1889
Chapter 1
London
February 1889
The lush carpets kept her footsteps from being heard, but the thudding of Alice Anne von Wettin’s heart surely echoed throughout the hallowed halls of Buckingham Palace. Though Queen Victoria was her great-grandmother, she had spent very little time in Her Majesty’s presence of late. Somewhere between being the little girl unaware of protocol and the young woman who was keenly aware of the importance of who Granny was, the relationship had suffered.
Their last contact had been some three years ago through palace messengers who delivered the news that Her Majesty was most distressed upon learning of her great-granddaughter’s flirtation with the American who had garnered such attention in the newspapers. Distressed? Granny hadn’t so much as raised an eyebrow over her mother’s death, but a meaningful romance with a fellow who just happened to be from another country distressed her?
With each step, Alice Anne gathered her complaints, watering them with a list of slights and other arguments until they grew into full bloom. Armed with this list and all the responses she would make to her great-grandmother’s protests, she paused just long enough for the footmen to open the doors.
Double doors gilded in what was certainly pure gold swung open on perfectly oi
led hinges. Twin footmen in regal attire stepped forward to bid her entrance to the innermost sanctum of the most powerful person in all of Europe. Instantly Alice Anne was transported to her childhood and the grand Christmases spent here and at Windsor Castle. Though she could not recall meeting her great-grandfather—she was an infant when he died—his hand had been in every part of the decorations, as it seemed it was here.
Floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides were draped in yards of golden silk woven through with threads of burgundy and puddled atop carpets of a similar hue. Settees that surely belonged to the first owner of the castle huddled around fireplaces set at either end of the room, while a tea set, also made of gold, had been laid out on a table nearest the westernmost set of windows. Overhead three massive chandeliers, wrought from sparkling gold, blazed.
Alice Anne smiled. The effect was very much like standing inside one of the cherished golden orbs that decorated Mama’s bedchamber mantelpiece, and it served as a contrast to the dreary afternoon rains pelting the glass.
The doors closed behind her, leaving Alice Anne in a hushed silence that only the crackle of the fire and the pinging of rain against the window dared break. She moved toward the windows and the massive painting that hung between them.
Measuring more than seven feet in width and nearly that in height, the painting of ships in a harbor was Jules Achille Noël’s depiction of her great-grandparents meeting with Napoleon III and the Empress Eugénie at Cherbourg some thirty years ago.
“We were all so very young then.”
She turned at the sound and found Granny watching her intently, a half dozen minders of all sorts standing behind her. As her great-grandmother moved forward to join her, Alice Anne lowered her eyes from the tiny woman in black to the carpet and executed the curtsy she had learned almost before she could walk.
“Well done, kitten.” Granny continued to study her while her courtiers remained gathered near the door. Finally, a smile lifted her mouth at the corners. “Indeed, we do approve of the young woman you have become.”
The compliment was both unexpected and very much appreciated.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said. “Your praise is gratefully received.”
The queen turned her back to move slowly toward the tea table. Though she had few memories of her great-grandmother as an active woman, she did seem to have aged greatly since their last encounter.
Granny looked back over her shoulder. “Alice Anne, do come and sit with us.”
“Yes, Gran…er, ma’am,” she managed as she moved at a dignified but hurried pace to do as she was told.
As soon as her grandmother was seated, Alice Anne took the chair opposite. Instantly, the servants jumped into action. In what seemed only a moment’s time, food and drinks had been dispensed, and Granny had dismissed all her minders.
Silence fell between them, but the queen made no move to touch any of the delectable treats stacked before her. Instead, she took a sip of her tea and seemed lost in thought. Since custom dictated that no one could eat before the queen chose to do so, Alice Anne sat very still and waited.
The woman across from her might be Victoria Regina, Queen of all Britain and a good portion of the rest of the world, but at the moment she looked very small and worried. Annie could guess why.
Rumors and headlines involving the royal family had been disseminated practically since the dawn of time. Nothing new, to be sure. But this time the scandal was murder.
Or rather, murders.
Once again, Granny studied her. Finally, she placed the teacup back into the saucer and dropped her hand into her lap. “I have been told you have some talent in solving puzzles.”
How could she possibly know? Using techniques Alice Anne had committed to memory over the past few years, she kept her expression neutral and her smile in place while she watched for clues.
“Whatever gives you that idea?” she managed to ask, taking on the persona of her sister, Beatrice—one she used frequently when the situation warranted and who indeed would have responded in exactly that manner.
“Not what, kitten. Who.” The queen shifted positions and gathered her dark shawl closer as she kept her attention focused on her. “Much like your fellow Pinkertons, those in my employ never sleep.”
“I see.” She schooled her expression to give no indication of her discomfort.
“There is no need for us to make mention of this to your father,” Granny said. “We are merely curious as to your willingness to pursue the solution to a conundrum that has recently vexed us.”
What else could she say to the reigning Queen of England? “Of course, ma’am. How may I be of service?”
“We have heard of a series of unfortunate occurrences in Whitechapel. Are you aware of them?”
“I am, ma’am,” she said. It would be impossible to live in London and not have heard about the man who had been called Jack the Ripper since his letters to the Metropolitan Police using that signature had been made public.
“I have entreated my ministers to do something about finding this man who has committed these atrocities, but they have done nothing but make excuses. It is time for another plan.”
Annie sat very still and waited for Granny to say more. “We are also aware that you had a considerable reputation as a detective in America. That ridiculous news story from several years ago notwithstanding, Mr. Pinkerton speaks highly of you.”
She tried not to wince at the reminder of the news article written by a disgruntled reporter. At least Granny did not dwell on the embarrassment.
“Thus the responsibility for the new plan to capture him shall be yours.”
“Thank you, Granny. I will not disappoint you. Might I ask for clarification? I will need to assemble a few key members of a team. Do I have your permission?”
“You do, but with one caveat.”
“Anything,” she said.
“Stay out of the newspapers and keep a low profile. When the time comes to unveil the culprit, we shall allow one of our members of the Metropolitan Police to deliver the good news. My great-granddaughter is not to be mentioned.”
“Yes, Granny. Absolutely.”
“How long do you expect it will take to assemble your team?” she asked.
“A month, I think.” At her grandmother’s raised eyebrows, she hurried to add, “Less perhaps. Will there be a specific budget?”
“Can we put a price on such an endeavor?” Granny shook her head. “We cannot. You may have whatever you need.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“We do prefer Granny,” she said with a smile. “Now tell me the latest news. Has your sister finally determined which of her beaus she wishes to ask permission to wed?”
A half hour later, as Annie left the palace, she couldn’t stop smiling. First she would pay a visit to her former mentor, Simon Kent, at the Metropolitan Police Headquarters. He would be the initial member of her team, if he agreed.
The second member of her team would take a little longer to reach. But she would not attempt to do this without him.
Whether Isaiah Joplin would be willing to help was a question that could not be answered with a telegram or letter. For that conversation, Annie would have to speak to him in person.
Not easily done, though she expected the trip to Austin, Texas, would be less taxing than trying to convince the most frustrating man she had ever met to listen to what she had to say.
Austin
1889
Chapter 2
Austin, Texas
One month later
The last person Ike Joplin expected to walk into his law office on the first decently sunny day in almost a month was former Pinkerton detective Alice Anne Walters. Or as he had discovered through his own means, Special Constable Alice Anne von Wettin of the Criminal Investigation Department of the London Metropolitan Police, great-granddaughter of Queen Victoria and a royal of some sort herself.
It was as if the March clouds had parted as she step
ped inside. But he’d welcome the rain and all the mud and trouble it brought over this infuriating female any day.
Never a man to miss out on a lesson learned the hard way, he faced her head-on. “I’d ask what you’re doing here, Annie, but I figure you’re going to tell me anyway. Get on with it.”
“It is wonderful to see you again as well, Isaiah.”
With her sharp blue eyes and that way she had of inspecting everything around her without allowing anyone to know whether she was paying any attention or not, the Englishwoman had been a formidable opponent and a valuable asset in an investigation that had, unfortunately, not ended well. But that was nearly three years ago.
Time and good sense had intervened since then. Ike had exchanged the man he used to be—a Pinkerton detective with a talent for finding trouble—for a much improved version, or so he hoped. He’d left the Pinkertons to open a law office in Austin, and just recently he’d begun courting a senator’s daughter.
The reason he’d left that world behind was standing in front of him. And heaven help him, as he sat behind a desk filled with legal work that needed his attention, Ike was actually curious as to what she might want.
Annie seated her pretty self in the chair across from him and situated her skirts just so. She’d chosen hunter green for her stylish attire today and completed the ensemble with a matching cloak and hat. His guest removed her kid gloves and placed them in her lap, then rested her hands atop them.
There were times when they’d worked together that he’d managed to forget Annie had descended from royalty. Today was not one of those days.
“I see your conversation skills have not improved since the last time I saw you.” She paused to fix him with a look. “Granny sent me.”
“Granny,” he echoed with a chuckle, “being Queen Victoria, sent you to see me?”
He’d known Annie several years and had fallen head over heels for her before she’d admitted her illustrious great-grandmother was the Queen of England. Even then, it had been a grudging admission to facts he’d gleaned himself. She’d made him swear he would never mention it again.
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