City of Darkness

by Kim Wright

  “The observations of the public can be relevant, Sir, if we –“

  “Relevant?” Eatwell snapped. “Of course they’re relevant, and that’s why you’ll interview every lout we drag off the streets. But the group Lusk heads is a vigilance committee, Welles. ‘Vigilance’ as in ‘vigilante.’ We can’t have the citizens taking the law into their own hands, or London will be no better than one of those savage outposts in the American West. And that’s why we - Ah, here’s the doctor now.”

  Phillips entered the room, less steady on his feet than ever. Up all night just like me, Trevor thought, only he’s thirty years older. This case will kill him before it’s over. The doctor nodded curtly and took the chair beside Trevor.

  “I was able to construct a most definite time line,” Phillips said, shortcutting any pleasantries, if indeed any were to be offered. “Elizabeth Stride died first, just as we thought. Apparently put up a bit of a fight, I’d say, due to her bruising, which was not post-mortem. Nothing under her nails or in her hands, Welles, so save your breath. A single gash across the throat, about five inches long, left to right. Not nearly as deep as what we saw on Chapman or even Nichols. Enough to sever the carotid artery but not a cut to the spine like the first two women.”

  Eatwell frowned. “A different killer? A copycat?”

  “I think not. Same narrow blade, same left to right motion, so likely the same man as the others. But this time something stopped him. The fact she fought back, perhaps, or he could have heard steps approaching. Either way, she was still warm when I arrived. So we must assume that he was interrupted before he could do his usual tricks of draining blood and dissecting organs.”

  “Approximate time of death?” Trevor asked, pencil poised above his notebook.

  “Between 12:45 and 1:15.”

  “That’s quite precise,” Eatwell said.

  “Mabrey made the first call at one,” Trevor said.

  Phillips nodded. “The bobby finds her at one, she’s still warm at 1:45 when I arrive. Meaning she couldn’t have been dead more than an hour, which would take us back to 12:45. So what we lack in clues we gain with a very tight time line.”

  Trevor scribbled in his notebook, excitement building. “And at about that same time, another aspect of the story was unfolding,” he said. “Catherine Eddowes, the second victim, was being released from the Bishopsgate police station. She had been brought in about four hours earlier for public drunkenness. Some sort of nonsense about imitating the sound of a fire engine, raising a big ruckus and then refusing to give the arresting officer her name. But apparently they knew her on sight at Bishopsgate, as she’d been in before on various charges. She slept if off in a cell and they released her at –“ Trevor reconfirmed his notes – “12:55.”

  “Damn tight,” said Eatwell.

  Trevor nodded, barely able to contain himself. They were finally getting somewhere. Warm bodies and police records were far more substantial than the paltry evidence collected from Chapman and Nichols.

  “So here we have it,” he said out loud, struggling to keep his voice professional and neutral. “Catherine Eddowes is walking out of the police station just as Elizabeth Stride is being killed. But our killer is interrupted in his task. So he hides and watches, possibly was still watching when Mabrey arrived on the scene.”

  “Indeed,” said Phillips. “Stride killed just before one, found by Mabrey at one. Takes thirty to forty-five minutes for the three of us to all arrive at the murder scene, during which time our killer slips away and encounters Eddowes on her way home from the jailhouse.”

  “He knows we are close by, but he also knows we are distracted,” Trevor said. “Time of death on Eddowes, doctor?”

  “1:30-1:45. Warm when I examined her at two.”

  “Dear God,” Trevor said, not caring that these facts were a slap in the face to Eatwell. “Do you see what this means? He truly was right there. We didn’t see him, but he saw us.”

  “Yes, so again, there’s no time to drain blood or risk moving a body. But he did have time enough to slash up the poor woman.” Phillips looked down at his notes. “Clotted blood, indicating she fell when her throat was cut and died on the spot. The mutilations were post-mortem - thank whatever God we still have to thank. Abdomen sliced, intestines removed, cuts to the groin as if he planned to flay her, rather like a fish. Pancreas cut but not removed. One kidney taken out – miraculously neat job, considering the conditions and the darkness – and apparently removed from the scene. Cuts to the womb and of course the complete….the complete desecration of her face, which we all observed.”

  “Done within minutes,” Trevor said bitterly. “While half of Scotland Yard is within shouting distance of the crime. How he taunts us.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  7:10 PM

  Leanna was ready for her theater engagement with John, but once again the entire household had been upended by the effort. Geraldine had offered the use of the Bainbridge family topazes, which Leanna had seized upon eagerly, but the necklace and earrings had looked as dull as brown glass against the blue satin gown she had planned to wear. Gerry had suggested her own russet silk would be perfect, but of course it was too large for Leanna and Emma had protested when Gerry had offered to baste the gown underneath to adapt it to Leanna’s slender form.

  “Those stitches will tear that silk, Geraldine, no matter how carefully you take them,” Emma declared, “And actually I think black is the best choice with topaz jewelry.”

  “Black?” Leanna said skeptically, standing before Gerry’s oval mirror in her chemise. “I look a fright in black.”

  “No you don’t,” Emma said. “Black is striking. Mature.”

  “Hmmm…” said Leanna, biting her lip as she always did when unsure. It would certainly be wonderful to appear striking and mature before John, whom she suspected sometimes viewed her as a giddy schoolgirl.

  “Perhaps she’s right,” Gerry said. “Fetch that mourning gown you came in.”

  “But it’s ghastly,” Leanna wailed. “That dress was homemade in Leeds and the fit makes me all, how should I say, flat across here and flat in the back…”

  “Just because a gown wasn’t bought in London doesn’t mean it can’t be fashionable,” Emma said stubbornly.

  “But to go to the theatre in such a simple dress…” Leanna said, just as stubbornly.

  “Simple is better with jewelry as elaborate as those topazes. At least try it on. If you don’t like it, nothing is lost.”

  “Nothing except time,” Leanna fretted, but she pulled on the gown, just the same. It looked precisely at it did the day she had worn it to the reading of the will - shapeless and drab - and she stood gazing grimly into the mirror until Emma slipped up behind her and began to snip away at the black netting which covered the bodice and throat.

  “What are you doing?”

  “There’s a proper dress underneath all this somewhere,” Emma said, carefully loosening each tiny thread. “You’ll see. When we get this covering off, there will be a lovely, striking, plain black gown which will set off that necklace like a star against the night.”

  “Just as you say,” Leanna mumbled, too keyed-up to protest further. The light supper of fruit and cheese Gage had sent up lay untouched on her dressing table and she felt slightly faint. To make her first London theater appearance in a homemade mourning gown? But a few seconds later, when she glanced up just in time to see the netting fall, she knew immediately that Emma had been right. Together they did up her hair in a simple, high bun and Geraldine, watching from the doorway, had to blink back tears.

  “You look like my mother, in the portrait at Rosemoral,” she said simply.

  “No, no one will ever equal Great-grandmother Bainbridge,” Leanna said, for legends of her beautiful ancestor had been handed down to her ever since she had been a gangly child. Just at that moment the door knocker sounded and Leanna jumped. “He’s here. He’s early.”

  “Gage will get the door,”
Emma said, still fumbling with the triple-clasp of the heavy necklace strand. “You don’t have to run down the stairs.” The women all fell silent, waiting for the sound of John’s voice in the entryway, but instead they heard unfamiliar high tones and then Gage’s heavy tread up the staircase.

  “Miss Leanna,” he said, his throat creaky from rare use, “there are flowers for you.”

  “Wonderful,” squealed Leanna, rushing past Gerry to take up the huge spray of red roses Gage proffered. “Good heavens, but they’re heavy. This must be two dozen.”

  “Read the card,” Emma called down after her.

  Leanna fumbled for the attached card and, after one quick glance, sat down on the top stair with a thump, the roses scattering beside her.

  “Whatever’s wrong?” Gerry asked as Emma joined her in the hall.

  “He isn’t coming,” Leanna answered flatly. “He’s been called to a case and he’s…” She picked up the note again. ”Devastated.”

  “Darling I’m sorry,” Gerry said. “But I’m sure he truly is devastated. You understand as well as anyone that a physician’s hours are never his own.”

  “I know,” Leanna said tonelessly, making no effort to halt the slow descent of the roses as they escaped her grasp and began to slide down the staircase. “I do know,” she said, again, looking at the brilliant red puddle at her feet and this time speaking with more conviction. “Gage, get me some water and a vase, will you please? A big vase.”

  “That’s the spirit, Leanna. The play will be running for months,” Gerry said, putting an arm around Leanna’s waist as they descended the stairs together.

  “It isn’t missing the theater that’s so tragic,” Emma thought, stooping to pick up the remaining black threads from the rug in Leanna’s now-silent room. “She’ll never look any lovelier than she does tonight.”

  Two hours later, as Leanna, still in the black dress and topazes, sat with Emma and Geraldine playing a dispirited three-handed game of bridge, the door knocker sounded again. “Perhaps it’s John after all,” Geraldine said hopefully. “Perhaps it was an easy delivery and he’s stopped by to apologize in person.”

  But it was Tom Bainbridge who stepped into the parlor, shaking raindrops from his hair like a playful puppy.

  “Tom,” Leanna said, leaping up. “I’ve never been so happy to see anyone. Come in, we’ll have tea, we can make up your room. How long will you be here?”

  “Slow down,” Tom laughed, as he reached out to hug his sister. “Good heavens, is this what you customarily wear for a family evening of cards?”

  Leanna’s hands flew to the strands of amber which encircled her throat. “I was supposed to go to the theatre, but my escort…he’s a doctor, Tom, I’ve met the most wonderful doctor.”

  “Let me guess,” Tom said. “He was called away by a patient, thus disappointing you and undoubtedly breaking his own heart in the process.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Leanna said dryly.

  “Oh, but I’m sure he is beyond consolation,” Tom laughed. “You look wonderful and it’s clear the city agrees with you. Hello, Emma.”

  “Hello,” Emma said.

  “Tom, Leanna is right, we must make up a room for you and not let you escape for weeks,” Geraldine said.

  “Thank you, Aunt Gerry, but this is a two-night visit. I’ll be back in class the day after tomorrow and I just wanted to come by and see how Leanna is doing.”

  “So the business at home is completed?” Leanna asked.

  Tom nodded.

  “Oh please tell me what has happened,” Leanna said nervously. “We have no secrets from Aunt Gerry or Emma or Gage.”

  “Nonsense, you need your privacy,” Geraldine said. “Tom, help yourself to the sherry and we’ll see about getting you some dinner.” Geraldine paraded out with Emma and Gage in tow, leaving Tom and Leanna to sit a moment in silence.

  “Well, it’s good news,” Tom finally said, rising and heading toward the liquor table. “Galloway was a rock, an absolute rock, and the will wasn’t broken.”

  “But they tried, didn’t they?” Leanna said. “Your letters were so maddeningly incomplete.”

  “Not on purpose, Leanna, we just couldn’t say from day to day how things were developing. Cecil got an attorney recommended by Edmund Solmes…”

  “Who? Oh yes….”

  “One of Cecil’s friends, or more accurately, one of his debtors,” Tom said, ruefully thinking of how close Leanna had come to being made all-too-aware of Edmund Solmes. “Either way, they imported a barrister from London who made quite a squawk, but Galloway held firm. Turns out the problem wasn’t William, not really. The problem was Cecil, and the amount of control he had over William. At least that’s what Galloway claims, that Grandfather knew Cecil would manage to gamble away everything and William wouldn’t have lifted a finger to stop him.”

  “Grandfather had watched Papa almost drag us all down and he wasn’t going to let that happen again,” Leanna said. “He said as much to me a dozen times although I never really grasped the implications.”

  Tom nodded. “We’re younger, but he evidently saw us as stronger. With you as heir and me as executor, Rosemoral has a prayer of going forward.”

  “Natural selection,” Leanna said thoughtfully. “Remember all those times he lectured us about Darwin? Remember that beagle that he called The Beagle even though hardly anyone understood his joke, or that box of finch bills he kept on his desk? I loved to play with them. Grandfather would line them up, smallest to largest, so that he and I could discuss which sort of bill would be most effective at cracking open seeds and getting to the meat inside. ‘It’s not the strongest or the swiftest who survive, Leanna,’ he used to say. ‘But the most adaptable. What do you think happens to those baby birds whose mothers have the wrong sort of bills?’ Looking back, it seems a rather gruesome lesson for a child.”

  “I don’t remember the box of bills,” Tom said, “but I remember his moth wings under the microscope. He’d explain how the black-winged moths could hide better on a smoky wall so you saw more of them in the city, but the brown-winged ones blended in better on a tree trunk so they could thrive in the country. And we’d talk about how often survival came down to a simple ability to blend in with one’s background.” The memory of his grandfather’s patient, gentle voice pained Tom, but he didn’t want to indulge the melancholy, so instead he picked at the cloth of his sister’s dress. “By the looks of it, I’d say you found your black city wings soon enough.”

  “Tom, you know I love Rosemoral and I would never turn my back on Grandfather’s wishes…”

  “Uh oh. What’s coming?”

  “But what if I decide to live in London?”

  Tom swirled his sherry and laughed. “So the city agrees with you, does it? I’m not surprised. If you stay in London, you stay in London, and that’s just grand. It’s an inheritance, Leanna, not a prison sentence. We’ll find an estate manager for Rosemoral. Many families maintain both a country and city home.”

  “But Mother and Cecil and William…” Leanna said.

  “Have a perfectly adequate roof over their heads and a comfortable allowance. I’m sure right this moment Mother is gossiping and William is babbling about the soil quality in some garden, and Cecil is continuing his improbable pursuit of poor Hannah Wentworth, all as if nothing has changed. Don’t let them make you believe they are destitute, Leanna, for that isn’t the case. Granted they don’t wear heirloom jewelry while lounging about the house…”

  “Oh, you’re ridiculous,” Leanna giggled, letting one of the settee cushions fly at his head. “And I owe you everything.”

  “Remember that,” he said, rising and calling toward the open door. “Aunt Gerry, you can stop eavesdropping in the hall and come back in now. See, I brought some iodine pills for Gage. I really think we can eradicate that goiter…” Leanna sat back in the chair, reflecting on how nice it was to have him there. Tom would know if John were really devastated about the cancelled
evening. Tom would know if she had misread the situation.

  Emma called from the hall. “The green room is ready, Mr. Bainbridge.”

  “Ye gods, ‘Mr. Bainbridge’ is so stuffy.”

  Emma entered, smiling slightly. “Should I have said ‘Dr. Bainbridge’?”

  Tom laughed and raised his glass to her. “You never let up on me, do you, Emma? How many times have I asked you to call me by my given name?”

  “Quite a few,” Emma admitted. “Perhaps on your birthday I shall do it.”

  “But today is my birthday,” Tom said cheerfully.

  “Isn’t that what you said the last time you were here? And the time before that?”

  Leanna was surprised at this easy banter. Neither Tom nor Emma had ever mentioned each other to her, yet they obviously were on a friendly basis. But why shouldn’t they be? They were both young and single and things were done so differently here in London. Back in Leeds she would never had been allowed to go unchaperoned for a carriage ride with a gentleman caller but his morning Aunt Gerry had packed her off with scarcely a backward glance. Leanna hadn’t seen enough of London to know if such casual conversation between the two sexes was allowed everywhere. Most likely this informality only existed in Geraldine’s household.

  But still…this new view of her younger brother was a revelation. The Tom of Winter Garden was dwarfed by Cecil and William, cursed by his birth order, alternately stammering and defiant. But the Tom of London appeared to be a different type of creature altogether – relaxed, laughing, confident. Leanna sat back in her chair, and watched her brother continue to spar with Emma. Freed from the burden of constantly trying to prove he was a man, it appeared Tom might actually become one.