“Thank you, ma’am,” Isaiah said.
“We hope that at the end of this, thanks will have been earned by you and your team, Mr. Joplin. Do keep that in mind.”
Without waiting for a response, the queen swept out as regally as she had arrived. The door closed behind her and opened again before anyone could speak.
“Her Majesty has arranged for lunch to be brought in. You will have a carriage at your disposal.”
“Please do not send lunch for me,” Mr. Kent said. “I must get back to work. Annie, let me know what you need, and I will make the information available.”
“Anything you might have on victims, witnesses, and locations of crime scenes that would be outside the normal reports would be helpful,” she said. “Especially any leads you think are promising but haven’t been chased down yet.”
“That is a thick file,” Simon told her. “Back in October we had a situation where a fellow claimed he had spoken with a Malay cook named Alaska who was angry at being robbed by one of the local ladies in Whitechapel. He vowed to our witness that until he recovered his property, he would bring harm to every woman he met.” His chuckle held no humor. “That is just one of the many witness stories we have not yet been able to follow up on.”
“Interesting. I’d like to find this cook.” Isaiah shrugged. “Considering I’m not up on the biographies of British royalty, information on Prince Eddy would also be appreciated, now that I think of it.”
“I can fill you in on Uncle Eddy,” Annie said. “Over lunch.”
“And I’ll send over what we have,” Mr. Kent said. “Though I warn you that file is slim. We aren’t encouraged to keep tabs on the future monarch. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I will be off.”
“Thank you.” Annie paused. “Might I have a word? I’ll walk you out.” She turned to Isaiah. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Simon said goodbye to Isaiah. Then he and Annie stepped into the hall where a pair of uniformed footmen waited. One closed the door, and the other led them down the corridor toward the exit.
“You had a reaction to something that surprised me, Simon.” They turned the corner to proceed down yet another hallway in the warren of corridors that made up Buckingham Palace. “It appears you were not pleased at my choice of name for our little project. I wish to know why.”
Simon chuckled. “Annie, you are very much like your great-grandmother in your directness. I always did appreciate that about you.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I will take that as a compliment yet not ask whether you continue to appreciate that quality. Rather, I would ask that you tell me what it is about the Black Midnight that causes you concern.”
He continued to stare straight ahead, matching his footsteps to hers. For a moment, Annie wondered if he would respond. Abruptly, he stopped.
“Give us a moment,” he called to the footman, who nodded and stepped discreetly away.
After a quick look around, Simon met her gaze. “What causes me concern about the Black Midnight and what bothers me about the name you gave the queen for our investigation are two separate concerns yet the same.”
“You’re speaking in riddles,” Annie protested. “Out with it, please.”
Simon looked down at the carpet beneath his feet. He appeared to be considering his words with care.
Finally, he looked up. “This name you’ve given us, do you realize the meaning of it? There is a segment of our city who would recognize that name, and not in a favorable way.”
Annie looked away, sorting out just how much she would tell him. This was a man who had seen something in her before anyone else did. Who had championed her abilities and risked much more than just his friendship with royalty when he’d gone to such great lengths to see that she continued to work as a detective.
Still, she hesitated.
“Tell me the meaning,” she finally said. “I prefer facts to rumors.”
He muttered something under his breath and sighed. “The less you know, Annie, the better.”
“Too late for that—though I had to go to Texas to hear about this rumored secret society, which speaks volumes for the silence of the members here.”
Simon’s expression offered no indication of his thoughts. “What do you want to know?”
“Who are they, and why are you concerned?” she said.
“Using the name could call out the wrong people,” he told her. “Are you ready for that?”
“That’s not a full answer, though you’ve indirectly admitted this group exists. Is their purpose to aid law enforcement, or is something more sinister afoot, Simon?” She paused to give him a direct look. “Because if they were true friends to detectives, mightn’t I have heard of them when I was a special constable?”
“Where men are sworn to ignore the law to uphold their own rules, there is always the possibility of something sinister,” he told her. “An oath of silence would explain why you hadn’t heard of them before.”
She glanced around and saw the footman still staring straight ahead and maintaining a discreet distance. Much as she would like to assume they were safe to discuss anything of a secretive nature, Annie knew too well that was unlikely. Still, she pressed on.
“Are you a member, Simon?”
He looked into her eyes. “No.”
“If you were, would you be allowed to tell me?”
Without hesitation, he said, “No.”
“Will they help us?” she asked.
“I must go now.” Simon offered a curt nod and walked away.
“Simon,” she called. “A yes or no is all I ask.”
He paused, then turned around slowly. “I have neither to give, Annie. I wish I did.”
With another nod, Simon set off again. Annie decided to let him go without asking anything else. She hoped he might later relent and provide more information on the Black Midnight.
If not, she would certainly not be shy about asking.
Annie retraced her steps to pause at the door to the Yellow Drawing Room. Isaiah had settled on a yellow chair at a table near the window, his attention focused on what appeared to be some kind of logbook. Several other volumes were stacked beside him.
“When you’re tired of standing at the door, you could come on in,” he said without lifting his head.
Shaking her head, Annie closed the distance between them to see that he’d already filled a page with notes in his distinctly masculine handwriting. Before she could see what Isaiah had been studying, he closed his notebook and looked up at her. “Let me get this straight. We are investigating the heir to the throne—your uncle—at the request of his grandmother the queen.”
Chapter 24
Annie perched on the edge of the fancy yellow velvet sofa like a princess surveying her kingdom. Seeing her so at home in such a grand place confirmed Ike’s decision to try to forget how much he loved her. He likely had no potential wife to go home to, though it was possible he would be forgiven.
Not likely, but possible.
Ike forced his attention onto the topic at hand. “We are investigating at the request of his grandmother—your great-grandmother—to decide whether or not your uncle is the man who is killing women in Whitechapel.”
“Correct. The good news is that, if my theory is right, our murderer is the same person who attacked those women in Austin. I know my uncle Eddy was not in America during any of those crimes—and yes, I did check his calendar with the palace’s social officer—so it would be impossible for him to be a suspect in the Texas murders. Further, he would never be considered large enough in size or strong enough to wield an ax like our Austin killer did.”
“That’s quite a speech.” Ike settled on the sofa across from her, then reached behind him to toss a pillow on the nearest chair.
“My grandmother would not be happy to see you throwing pillows in her drawing room.”
“She’s already not happy I am walking on her carpets with my boots.”
Annie fixed him with a l
ook. “You were given proper footwear along with the suit.”
“About this suit. I wore it to humor you, but it’s not what I would be conducting an investigation in back home.”
Her shrug was barely noticeable. “It’s what you’ll be wearing here if you don’t want to stand out, Isaiah. I’ll leave that to you.”
The door opened and two footmen arrived with lunch trays, preventing Ike from raising much more of an argument on his change of clothes than he already had. They kept their banter to details of the case and the similarities between the two, which was exactly how Ike wanted it.
The more time he spent with Annie, the less reliable his resolve would be to keep from allowing his feelings for her to return. So when the conversation waned, he started looking for reasons to leave.
“I should go back to the hotel and check out,” he said.
“I’m sure Granny had it taken care of,” she said.
“How is that possible? I paid for that room with my own money.”
“She is the queen, Isaiah.” Annie sighed. “She can do whatever she wants. Just be thankful that she does not.”
“I suppose.”
“No, truly. Be grateful. I’m sure she respects your abilities as a detective or she would not have allowed me to bring you over to assist me with this investigation. But I do not believe she trusts you with me.”
“What does she think I will do? Haven’t you told her I have a lady friend back home who is sending me strong hints that she wishes to be Mrs. Joplin?”
“Is or was?”
“No comment,” he told her.
Annie smiled. “Speaking of Mrs. Joplin, how is Hattie? We didn’t talk about her before.”
“Hattie is fine. She’s fully recovered from the fall she took a few months ago, but I don’t think Pop will ever recover from having to be the chef and maid for the two of them.”
“Why didn’t he hire help?” She held up her hand. “Wait. Let me guess. Miss Hattie wouldn’t allow another woman in her kitchen.”
“Exactly.” Ike rose. “I can’t sit around here and talk, Annie. I want to see where these crimes happened. Show me London. Specifically I want to see Whitechapel.”
He expected she might be bothered by his dismissal of her conversation about home. Instead, she looked relieved. Maybe Annie wasn’t comfortable with him either.
Annie rang for the butler and arranged for a carriage. “We’ll be fine during the day, but nighttime is not when you want to make your first visit to Whitechapel.”
Their first stop was Buck’s Row, where Mary Ann Nichols was found on the last day of August 1888. “Over there,” Annie said as she pointed out a wretched gateway. “He started with her.”
He looked around. “He didn’t bother to hide, did he?”
“No,” she said. “Yet he was able to. Right here in plain sight.”
Ike had seen the slums of New York and the worst side of Chicago, but he was not prepared for the poverty and desperation he found in the London borough of Whitechapel. When Annie explained the concept of the workhouses, how children lived—and usually worked—alongside their parents for a meager day’s food and a dirty cot, he was dumbfounded.
And angry.
“I know,” Annie said. “It is impossible to reconcile. Which is why removing the menace who treats women like prey is imperative.”
Ike gathered Annie close as they walked the narrow streets. Each of the five murders had taken place within a small distance from the others, leaving Ike to believe that the killer either resided nearby or had a specific tie to the area.
Next they made their way to 29 Hanbury Street. “Mary Chapman was found back there,” Annie said, pointing to the rear yard of the building. “This was eight days after the first murder.”
A woman stepped into their path, causing Ike to stop short to keep from avoiding her. The whites of her eyes were as sallow as her skin, and the few teeth she had were brown.
“Hello there, pretty lady,” she said to Annie. “Might you have money for food? My children are hungry.”
Before Annie could respond, Ike slipped her a coin and she disappeared into the crowd. “Be careful about that,” she told him. “There are many more beggars here than any of us has coin, and they will only increase as the sun goes down. Which it will do soon. We should go, Isaiah. We’ll be losing daylight soon, so we’ll need to take the carriage to Berner Street. That’s where our killer ended the life of Elizabeth Stride. From there I’ll show you Mitre Square and the location of Catherine Eddowes’s murder. Then if the light holds, we’ll visit Miller’s Court on Dorset Street where he ended Mary Jane Kelley’s life.”
“Yes, fine. But as to the beggar, if I can help one…” He paused as he spied a familiar face. “Hold on. I know that man.”
He guided Annie across the crowded thoroughfare to step in front of his father’s old friend, Dr. Langston. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said. “You’re a long way from Austin.”
“As are you.” He glanced around as if checking to see whether anyone was watching, then looked back at Ike. “What are you and your fellow Pinkerton detective doing in England? Miss Walters, right?”
“Yes. We’re working on a case,” Ike said for expediency. There was no need to dive into a tale of false names and royal connections at this point. “What brings you to London? The last I heard you were teaching in Connecticut.”
“Research,” he said. “I have thoroughly enjoyed my time at Greenwich. I’ve been especially fascinated with the advances made there in the study of astronomy. Have you heard there’s a telescope being built that will rival any in the world?”
“I have not,” Ike said. “Professor, if you’re doing research in Greenwich, why are you in Whitechapel?”
“Well, it’s the funniest thing. I was out seeing the sights and wandering about, and the next thing you know, I was here. I’m not sure how to get back to where I was, but I know I’m having no luck on my own.”
“We have a carriage waiting,” Annie said. “If you’d like, we can take you back to your hotel. Where are you staying?”
Dr. Langston paused only a second, but Ike took note of it. “Thank you for your kind offer, but I’ll be fine.”
“It isn’t safe here after dark, sir,” Annie offered. “I’m not sure you’re aware of that, and I would feel terrible if something were to happen to you.”
“I’m going to insist we deliver you somewhere safe,” Ike said. “My father would have my hide if I didn’t take care of a friend of his.”
Reluctance etched his features. Then he nodded. “I don’t suppose I can turn down your offer.”
“Come this way, Dr. Langston.”
They retraced their steps to where the carriage was waiting, with Dr. Langston chatting away about the details of his research. But when he realized he would be traveling to his accommodations in a royal conveyance, he fell silent.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “This belongs to the queen.”
“It’s a long story.” Ike relayed the address the professor had given him to the driver and then opened the door for Annie and helped her inside. “After you,” he told the professor.
The older man’s expression went serious. “Might I have a moment, Isaiah?”
Ike exchanged a look with Annie, who nodded. He led the professor a few steps away. “Is something wrong?”
“It might be.” He cast a furtive glance at the carriage and then turned back to Ike. “When you two spied me, I was following someone I recognized from my time in Austin. A fellow named Maurice who cooked at the Pearl House, where I was lodging during my time at the university. He had a talent for searing a steak exactly to my preference, so of course I told him. We struck up a friendship. The last time I saw him was New Year’s Eve. I went to the Pearl House for dinner and Maurice came out of the kitchen to say goodbye. He was leaving Austin for good, he said.”
A cook named Maurice. Ike tensed as he felt Annie’s eyes on his. The claim that a cook
had moved from Austin to London to continue the killing he’d begun in Texas was a familiar one. He hadn’t reacted when Simon mentioned the tip, but only because he figured there would be time to discuss it later.
“Interesting coincidence that you found him here,” he said when he realized the professor was expecting him to say something.
“It was, and I told him so.” Dr. Langston paused. “When I last saw him, he said he was leaving to cook on the ships, as he put it. He was from Malaysia and hoped to someday end up back there. After he saw the world.”
“Dr. Langston, did you actually speak with Maurice?”
“I did,” he said. “I was thrilled to see him and hoped I might have another of his well-cooked steaks. I told him that. He seemed happy to find a familiar face here, and he told me he hadn’t yet decided to go back to cooking as he had made enough money to take care of his needs for a while.”
“From cooking on ships, I suppose?”
“Yes, I guess so.” The professor looked down at the ground and shook his head. “I was curious where he lived, so I followed him.”
“Why?” Ike asked.
“I don’t know,” he said as he shook his head slowly. “I think because I was hoping I could find him again and perhaps learn if he returned to cooking here. His talent with a steak is amazing. He even carves it before he serves it, and his knife skills are stellar.”
“Knife skills?”
“Yes,” Professor Langston said. “He had a collection of knives, and each one had a purpose. He was very proud of them.”
“Did you find out where he lived?” Ike asked him.
“Of a sort,” he said. “I followed him until he stepped into the door of one of those awful homes near the workhouse in Whitechapel. It did not look like a place where a man of his quality would live.”
“He’s a cook. Why wouldn’t it be feasible for him to live like that?”
The professor shrugged. “Because he once told me that before he was a cook, he had been a doctor. Not a professor like me, but a medical doctor. There was some mystery as to why he was no longer in that profession, but he hinted it had to do with a woman. I digress. For a man who cooked for a living, he had very refined tastes. We discussed art, music, all the things you would speak about with a gentleman.”
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