“Do you remember the address of this home?”
Dr. Langston recited it back to him. Ike retrieved his pencil and notepad and wrote it down, then returned the items to his pocket. He checked his watch. Half past four. The shadows were lengthening despite the earliness of the hour. He would have to find this location tomorrow.
“Is there anything else, Professor?” Ike asked him.
“Just one thing,” he said. “I always wondered about his temper. He had a violent streak. I once saw him throw an ax at the serving girl when he worked at the Pearl.”
“Doctor, why are you telling me this?”
He shrugged. “You haven’t mentioned what case you’re working on, Isaiah, and I haven’t asked. But I do know the last time I saw the two of you, you were trying to catch the Midnight Assassin. If that’s why you’re here in London, I think my cook may be your murderer.”
“I think we are safe to discuss this with Annie.”
Ike escorted the professor back to the carriage and waited until he was inside to follow suit. After the carriage started rolling, Ike had the professor tell Annie what he had told him.
“So you believe your cook is the link between the two killing sprees,” she said. “There is precedent for this theory. Not so long ago the New York Times and the New York Gazette both put forth the same suggestion.”
“Does your friend Blake still work at the Gazette?” Ike asked.
“I wouldn’t know.” Annie frowned. “He is not my friend, and if there is any justice in the world, he is in jail. I should have had him arrested when he stole my telegram and committed fraud.”
“Hey now,” Dr. Langston said. “Are you talking about the reporter who was nosing around Austin for months at a time?”
“There were a lot of those, sir,” Ike said. “But yes, he was there for an extended period of time. He sent in regular dispatches to his newspaper about the killings. From what I read, about half of it was true and the rest was speculation.”
The professor grinned. “What about that one he called “The Lady and the Lawman”? How much of that was true?”
“None,” Annie snapped at the same time Ike said, “About half.”
“Which half?” Annie demanded. “The entire piece was ridiculous. It was a farce. He made us sound like characters in a dime novel. Seriously.”
“I stand by my statement,” Ike said as the carriage slowed to a halt.
“We’ve arrived at your guest’s address,” the driver said. “Will you be getting out here?”
“No, just Dr. Langston. But would you send one of the footmen to escort him to his door?”
“That isn’t necessary,” he said. “I can find it just fine.”
The professor jumped up and hurried out of the carriage so fast, Ike had to move quickly to catch up to him. “Annie and I are working on the investigation at our London office. If you think of anything that might be of help in determining who the Whitechapel Murderer is, please contact us. And as you guessed, it never set well with me that the monster who killed in Austin was never caught.”
“It was a travesty,” Dr. Langston agreed. “Those husbands were arrested far too quickly, and Jimmy Phillips even got a guilty verdict, though it was overturned on appeal. Moses Hancock went free. Nobody thought about the others who didn’t have justice either.” He paused to shake his head. “If I find out anything, I will send word. Where is your office?”
Ike grinned. “Buckingham Palace.”
The professor let out a low whistle. “My office is much less grand. I’ll be conducting research at the Greenwich Observatory most days. You can find me there.”
They exchanged goodbyes, and Ike returned to the carriage. “What do you think of his theory about the cook?” he asked Annie.
“It does fit with what others have theorized, and he seemed adamant about the facts. If Dr. Langston has seen the cook here in Whitechapel, then he has proximity to both sets of murder scenes.”
“And motive, if his temper and grudge are to be believed.”
“That remains to be seen.”
Ike sat back against the seat and closed his eyes. Exhaustion was tugging at him again. He retrieved his watch and realized it was still set to the time in Texas.
“You kept it.” Annie smiled. “I’m glad.”
“Of course I did,” he said. “It reminds me of the half of that ridiculous story that was true.”
“What half is that?”
“The half where Blake wrote about you and me. How it was obvious to anyone who cared to notice that I was over the moon in love with you.” Ike paused, knowing he was straying into dangerous territory but too tired to care. “Because I was. I probably still am. But you probably know all that.”
Chapter 25
Annie sat very still and watched Isaiah’s eyes drift shut. His words still hung between them in the silence of the carriage.
I probably still am.
She hadn’t expected that. For all his joking to the contrary, she knew Isaiah had a woman back in Austin waiting for him. A woman who was determined to show Annie just how far he had come since those days when Isaiah was professing his love for her.
A woman who had, on Isaiah’s own admission, planned a career for him in politics and convinced her father to finance it. Or something of that sort.
That was not the life of a man who was in love with another woman.
Or was it?
If that other woman spurned his affections and left without ever admitting that she loved him too, then would it be so far out of the realm of possibility that the man would dry his tears on another woman’s shoulder?
She knew the answer. It would not.
His breath slowed as he fell deeper into sleep. Thick lashes dusted high cheekbones, and a lock of hair fell onto his forehead. Isaiah looked much younger like this.
Annie thought of that Christmas Eve when she covered him in a blanket and kissed him softly. He hadn’t recalled that, most likely, but she hoped he remembered their kisses under the mistletoe.
She would never forget them.
The carriage hit a bump in the road and lurched to one side as they turned into the grand gates of Buckingham Palace. In an instant, Isaiah was awake.
“Did I miss anything?”
Annie almost said me. “No,” she said instead, “but we’ve arrived at the palace, and I think we ought to call it a night. You’re exhausted.”
“Nonsense,” Isaiah said. “I’m fine now. I just needed a little nap.”
“Tomorrow,” Annie said firmly. “We’ve got plenty of work to do, and you’ll need to have all your wits about you.”
He chuckled. “Around you, that is impossible.”
The carriage stopped, but the well-trained driver did not make a move to open the door.
“Stop teasing me,” she said, “or I’m going to start thinking your Theodora isn’t going to keep her man after all.”
He froze and turned around. “How would you feel about that?”
“Truly?” she asked.
“Truly,” he responded.
“Relieved. She’s not the right woman for you, and you know it. You need a woman who will appreciate you for who you are and not what she can turn you into. What in the world were you thinking?”
He leaned closer. “I was thinking that I could never have the woman I loved, so settling for someone else was the next best thing.”
“Settling?” Annie looked into his eyes. “How sad.”
“I’m a good man, Annie, and I would have treated her well. She never would have known.” He paused. “But I’m pretty sure she has figured it out now.”
“I would say so,” Annie said.
“Why didn’t you just say yes?”
She shook her head. “Yes to what?”
“Yes to me,” he whispered. “When I asked you to marry me. It would have been a simple thing to just say yes.”
Oh, but he was close. Those eyes watching her, not missing a thing.
And what would one kiss hurt, really?
Isaiah seemed to understand her question even though she hadn’t asked it. His hand reached for hers.
“Annie, I still—”
The carriage door opened, and the Buckingham Palace footman appeared in the doorway. “Welcome home, ma’am, sir.”
Annie jumped back, her heart thumping. Isaiah gave her a lazy grin and climbed out of the carriage, then reached to help her.
“I can do that, sir,” the footman said.
“I would rather you did not.” Isaiah’s hands spanned her waist as he lifted her down. Had she not been completely certain that Granny or one of her courtiers was watching, she might have continued the journey toward another kiss right there.
But she knew better. And she knew she’d just been saved from something she ought not to have considered.
So she said good night at the door and hurried up the staircase to the room assigned to her. The room she’d always been assigned since she was a little girl.
Dropping her gloves on the table next to the door, Annie wandered toward the window that faced the river. She’d loved the vantage point up here, a lovely view that allowed her to count the boats as they floated past in the distance and to pretend she was in a grand house in the clouds.
Tonight, however, she merely looked out into the darkness and wondered how she would manage to keep herself out of love with Isaiah. Perhaps it was true that they were meant to be. Granny certainly had not been dismissive of her request to hire him as an associate on this investigation.
If she was still adamant that he stay away, why would she allow him here?
Annie went right to work on her notes, allowing her mind to move from the questions she had about Isaiah to the questions she had about her current investigation. The similarities between the two killers filled two pages in her notebook, and then came the details about the Malay cook and the college professor who was his friend.
That’s where Annie stopped. Back in Austin, the college professor who was his friend gave them information that turned out to be completely false. He had made an accusation and had come to a conclusion about the killer that turned out to be untrue.
Was he now a reliable witness in this case? Annie wasn’t so sure.
The facts were the facts, but something in Dr. Langston’s story was not quite right. She just wasn’t sure yet what that was.
Annie sighed and rang for the maid. A warm soak in a lavender scented tub would cure what plagued her. Or at least it would pass as a suitable substitute.
After her bath, she returned to her bedchamber to find a silver tray piled high with envelopes. Sorting them while the maid dressed her hair for bed, Annie paused when she found a letter written in her sister’s handwriting:
Annie, I’ve found the most unsuitable man. Papa hates him and Mama swears if I marry him Granny will never give us another shilling. You faced this choice and made your decision. Do you regret the path you took? I don’t care about the money, and yes, I know I should. But I do not, nor should Mama and Papa. What should I do? I am in love. Is that wrong?
Bea
“Oh Bea,” Annie said on an exhale of breath as she reached for writing paper. “What should I tell you? The truth? Or the story that will keep you from hardship?”
She dipped the pen in ink and wrote two words: Marry him.
The she signed the letter. Emboldened, she retrieved another sheet of writing paper and wrote a single sentence: I should have said yes.
When the maid finished, Annie turned around and handed her the two letters. “Please have this one delivered to my sister, Beatrice, and the other to Mr. Joplin who is staying here at the castle. Both are urgent.”
That done, she climbed into bed and doused the light. Tomorrow was another day, a day when Isaiah would awaken knowing she loved him.
Not that she had actually said this, of course. That might come soon. Or not.
But probably.
She awakened to a maid opening her curtains to allow sunlight to stream in. On the table beside her was a breakfast tray. Beside the tray were two letters.
Annie scrambled into a seated position and reached for both of them, opening the one on top. It was from Beatrice.
Thank you for your honesty. You’ve helped me decide. Will you do what you can to sway Granny to our side? Perhaps you could mention that he trains horses and loves dogs, two of her favorite things. Or you could remind her how very much we love her, and how we look like her at her age, or something that will make her remember that she was once young and in love and got to marry the man she wanted to marry. Whatever you say will be much appreciated.
She tossed that letter aside and opened the second one. The handwriting was Isaiah’s, but the one-sentence response was odd: Marry who?
Annie groaned. The maid had mixed up the letters. That worked out fine for Beatrice, who’d been encouraged by her sister’s admission that she should have said yes to Isaiah. But that meant that the former Pinkerton had received a note from her telling him to marry someone.
A man.
No wonder he was confused. She sighed again.
Was this a sign that she should forget this line of thought? Perhaps. The best way to handle it, she decided after a few more minutes of debate, would be to laugh off the mistake and go on about their day. He need not know that there was a letter to him that her sister received.
That was information for another time. Or never.
A short while later, Annie made her way down to their temporary office where she found Isaiah and Simon with their heads together and a drawing on the table in front of them. Neither looked up when she came in.
“What have you got there?” she asked cheerily.
“Maps,” Isaiah said. “Two of them. Come and look.” When Annie drew near enough to see the two maps, one of Austin and one of London, he continued. “See here how the Austin murders are clustered together within a mile of the Pearl House. Three of them are much closer than that.”
“I do,” she said. “That’s interesting.”
“Now look at the map of Whitechapel,” Simon said. “We agree that while there are a number of killings that are attributed to the madman, there are only the five that are proven to have been him. These are Mary Ann Nichols, Mary Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, and Mary Jane Kelley. Do you agree, Annie?”
“I do,” she said. “There have been others, to be sure, but at this point they seem slightly disconnected in some way. Just not a close match to the manner of death of the others.”
“Agreed,” Isaiah said. “So with that information, and the address of the cook given to us by the professor, we put him in the center of the five murder scenes.”
“Oh,” Annie said, “that is interesting, isn’t it?”
“I’ve sent a detective to bring him in,” Simon told her. “We may have our man. Now let’s talk about Prince Eddy.”
“If we must,” Annie said. “What is his alibi, or doesn’t he have one?”
“He has an impeccable alibi per his private secretary,” Simon said. “The fellow showed me his datebook. Eddy was away from London all five days when women were killed.”
“So he has an alibi for all of them,” Annie said. “That’s good news.”
“It is except that I am having trouble verifying these dates. One of them was with the queen at Sandringham, but the queen’s private secretary will not confirm Eddy was there. He can only say the queen was there. Others are easier to find a witness for, yet those witnesses are less reliable.” He paused. “Shooting party in Norfolk. That sort of thing.”
“Places that were private enough to allow only those who were invited to know who was there,” Isaiah said. “That’s convenient.”
“And his friends are not going to say he wasn’t there if Eddy says he was.”
“Truly, Simon,” Annie s
aid. “Do you think my uncle did this? He does not even cut his own meat at dinner. I’ve seen it myself. And Granny will confirm or deny any dates you present to her.”
“I don’t think he did,” he said. “Your theory that there is a link between Austin and Whitechapel intrigues me. The prince could not have been our killer in Austin. That isn’t possible for a number of reasons.” He paused. “I’ve found another person with ties to both places that we haven’t spoken with yet.”
“Oh?” Isaiah said. “Who is that?”
“Charlie Einhorn.”
“The knife thrower in Buffalo Bill’s show?” Isaiah shook his head. “Why him?”
“Because when Bill Cody and his cast and crew left London, not all of them went with him. A few unfortunates got stuck here under circumstances that were not of their making, but they eventually got home a few months later. Charlie Einhorn stayed here.”
“Any idea why?” Isaiah asked.
“Something about a woman, is what the newspapers reported.” He reached to retrieve a file from the corner of the table and pulled out a clipping. “Here’s the article that appeared in the local papers. It was a romantic story that went wrong quickly.”
“How so?” Annie asked.
“She died.” Isaiah looked up from the clipping. “Under mysterious circumstances. They found her in the river. There were, as the paper said, alterations to her form that might have been made by a knife.” He paused. “There’s more.”
“What’s that?”
“Charlie Einhorn was born and raised in Austin. Bill Cody discovered him while Charlie was on a trail drive. He basically took him right out of the stockyards in Fort Worth, and Charlie never went back home to Austin.”
“When was that?” Annie asked.
“The spring of 1886.”
Annie shook her head. “So within months of the last killings?”
The Black Midnight Page 20
