Alexis couldn’t help laughing, and she nodded. “I fully understand. You like your independence, just as I do. Incidentally, speak to the concierge at your hotel, ask about Impressionist exhibitions. I think there is one on Monet coming up, also another on Renoir—” She broke off as Sebastian strolled over and took hold of her arm somewhat possessively.
Smiling at his son-in-law, he said, “Sorry to interrupt, old chap, but I need to speak to Alexis. Alone.”
“No problem, sir,” Cornelius replied, and turned to Lady Jane and Reggie, joining in their ongoing conversation with Claudia.
“Is there something the matter?” Alexis asked worriedly, observing the serious expression on Sebastian’s face.
“No, but I do need to speak to you about a certain matter. Alone.” He led her through the crush of family and guests, out into the main entrance hall, and into the library. Once inside he closed the door and locked it.
She frowned and asked, “Why are you locking the door?”
“I have something important to say and I don’t want anybody barging in here. Come and sit down on the sofa with me.”
She did as he asked.
After a moment of silence, Sebastian took hold of her right hand and looked at the emerald ring. “Why is this on the wrong finger?”
Surprised and somewhat taken aback, she said, “Because we are secretly engaged. It can’t be on the left hand.”
He sighed deeply and shook his head. “You’re living in a dream world. Everyone knows we’re together, so don’t be so silly. There’s no secret about this situation.”
She did not know how to answer him, but she understood him fully. She knew he was annoyed even though he wasn’t allowing that to show.
When she did not respond, he continued, “Some time ago, when you had been at Haven House, Claudia asked you in the carriage to tell me to announce our engagement at her wedding. You answered you couldn’t do that, and she let the matter drop. Why did you respond so negatively to her?”
Alexis bit her lip, and a sudden flush rose from her neck to flood her face. She wondered why she had. She didn’t know. And that’s what she told him.
“I see. So there’s really no reason, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes,” she whispered, now noticing the stern look in his translucent gray eyes. It occurred to her he might even be hurt. She couldn’t bear that, and silently chastised herself for being so stupid.
Glancing at her swiftly, half smiling, he removed the emerald ring from her right hand and put it on the third finger of her left. “There it stays,” he said. “I insist.”
She did not answer him, looked down at the ring and said softly, in a loving voice, “It is magnificent, Sebastian … thank you.”
After a moment of silence, he said, “I am going to announce our engagement at the end of the luncheon today. Do not say a word to me about stealing Claudia’s thunder … she’s got thunder surrounding her at this very moment, and is enjoying it thoroughly.”
Alexis gave him a long, loving look, and reached out to stroke his cheek. “I suppose I have been a bit silly.”
“You have. But I will correct that later when I tell the world that we are engaged and getting married in September. Here at Courtland.”
And that is what he did. During the luncheon, there were speeches and toasts, and more speeches, teasing, and jokes. At the very end Sebastian stood up, looked down at Alexis sitting next to him, and brought her to her feet.
“I want everyone to raise their glass to toast my future bride, Alexis. We are engaged to be married in September. Here’s to Alexis.”
“To Alexis!” the guests repeated, and raised their glasses. A moment later clapping broke out when Sebastian brought her into his arms and kissed her.
Thirty-seven
“Can I speak to you for a moment?” Henry Malvern asked, hovering in the doorway of his daughter’s office.
“Come in, Papa. Don’t stand there,” Alexis replied.
Smiling, he walked over to her desk and sat down in the chair opposite. “I know you’re often at Haven House, but I do wish you wouldn’t go to Whitechapel for a while. The newspapers are full of stories about those two women being murdered—”
“Yes, I know,” Alexis cut in. “They’re calling the murderer Jack the Ripper, because after he’s strangled them to death, he carves them up and mutilates their bodies.” A small shiver passed through Alexis. Her face was solemn as she added quietly, “And Scotland Yard doesn’t have one single clue about his identity.”
“Please, darling, do stay out of that part of London for the time being,” Henry pleaded, obviously extremely troubled by the situation in the East End.
“Papa, please, I do have to go with Claudia. In fact, we’ve an appointment there today with Madeleine Thompson, the woman who runs Haven House for us. She herself is rather upset. Even though the abused women are quite safe living at Haven House, they are somewhat afraid too. But I do have a solution, I believe.”
“A solution for their fear?” Henry asked, his dark brows coming together in a frown. “How can you do that?”
“By putting a man in the house. By that I mean a caretaker, who will make them feel more secure. Actually, Claudia and I have decided to hire a married couple to do this caretaking job. Two people will provide Madeleine with extra help, which she really needs. I do believe a man will make the women feel less vulnerable.”
“Are you telling me that the house is … full?” Henry sounded astonished as he asked the question.
“Unfortunately, I am telling you exactly that, Papa. I’m afraid a lot more women have arrived on our doorstep lately.”
“Men are abusing women more than ever,” Henry announced sharply, a hint of anger in his tone.
“Probably. But there’s something else involved, in my opinion. Now many people know about Haven House, and they are not so shy about coming to us for help the way they used to be.”
“Do you need more money? I’ll give you a check immediately,” her father volunteered, wanting to help and proud of her dedication to the charity she had started.
“How nice of you to offer, but money is not a problem. Sebastian invested the five thousand pounds I had in donations, and he’s done very well for me, for the charity.” There was a momentary pause before Alexis added, “I’m going to Haven House this afternoon, Papa, with Claudia. We always go on Wednesday. Josh will take us in the carriage, and please, believe me, those murders are taking place in an entirely different section of Whitechapel. In the slums. The two victims were prostitutes, poor souls.”
Henry nodded and stood up. “All right, if you feel it’s your duty to go and make Haven House safer, then you must do that. Knowing Josh will be with you makes me feel better.”
“I understand. Claudia will be in my carriage today. We’ll be fine, Papa.”
* * *
Later that Wednesday afternoon in early September, when Alexis and Claudia arrived at Haven House, they knew at once that Madeleine was extremely uneasy about the situation happening in another part of the district.
Sitting in her office, she explained, “I know Jack the Ripper has killed women in the poorer area of Whitechapel, but that doesn’t seem to pacify the women staying here. They seem to think he could very easily break in and kill them all in their beds.”
“But they are not prostitutes. They’re mostly abused wives,” Claudia pointed out in an even tone, not wishing to sound challenging.
“Yes, I know that, and so do they…” Madeleine’s voice trailed off. The expression on her face was one of total misery. She now announced, “I want one of you to talk to them today, or both of you perhaps. Please.”
“We will do that,” Alexis agreed. “We’ll have tea and a talk shortly. But I do think we must think in terms of hiring a caretaker, or better still a married couple. Two additional people will help you enormously, Madeleine, and a trustworthy man on the premises permanently will be reassuring to everyone.”
&n
bsp; “That makes sense. But where will we house them? What I mean is, where will they live and sleep? We’re pretty full up.”
“In the cellars. When I restored this house originally, I did put in a small kitchen and bathroom in one cellar, if you recall,” Alexis said. “However, the cellars have become storage units lately. I think one of them must be emptied, given a fresh coat of whitewash, and I’ll manage to furnish it. Somehow. And swiftly.”
Claudia exclaimed, “I’d forgotten about the cellars! We can make a nice little flat out of one of them and perhaps keep another area for storage. Aunt Thea will certainly give me some chairs and sofas. She’s redecorating. We can afford to buy a bed. Let’s do it!”
Madeleine looked from Claudia to Alexis and thought: How clever they are. Always pulling tricks out of a hat. Money. They have that readily available. Whoever said it was the cause of all evil was entirely wrong. Money talks.
Madeleine said, “All of the women who are strong enough will be pleased to help empty the cellars. So, when shall we start?”
“Tomorrow!” Alexis exclaimed. “I’ll send a painter down early on Monday morning to whitewash the walls. The furniture will soon follow. Within a few days.”
“Where will we find a couple?” Claudia asked, sounding anxious. “What if we can only find a man, not a married couple?”
“I suppose that depends on the man and his capabilities, his experience. I shall put my thinking cap on, and so should you, Claudia. Maybe someone on our staffs will know a person looking for a good job that comes with shelter and food.” Glancing at Madeleine, Alexis now continued, “What about you? Do you have any ideas?”
“I do, yes, as it so happens,” Madeleine answered in a more cheerful voice. Now that these two clever women were here and in command, it gave her a sense of security. “My brother Terry has a friend, a man he’s known for many years. His name is Don Onslow. He’s been widowed for a number of years. Recently, he left his job in a machine factory and is looking for lighter work. Terry speaks well of him.”
“Since your brother knows him and has spoken up for him, we would like to interview him, wouldn’t we, Claudia?” Alexis stared at her friend, gave her a knowing look.
“Certainly. Recommendations from people we know are preferable. Would you get in touch with your brother, Madeleine?”
“I will. When would you like to interview Mr. Onslow?”
“As soon as possible, don’t you think, Alexis? Tomorrow morning? Are you available?” Claudia asked.
“I have a business appointment at my office, but I can change it quite easily.” Glancing across at Madeleine, Alexis said, “Can you arrange this quickly?”
“I will contact my brother this evening. He doesn’t live far away.”
“Very good. And I’m assuming you do agree that a male presence in the house would do a lot to alleviate any worries the women have.”
Madeleine nodded. “I do, yes. You’d better explain you’re looking for a caretaker. Reassure them they’re really safe here. That Jack the Ripper isn’t going to come a-calling.” There was a hint of laughter in Madeleine’s voice as she said this. Alexis and Claudia exchanged glances, relieved that she had calmed down.
* * *
As they rode back in the carriage, heading in the direction of Grosvenor Square, Alexis said, “I do think the newspapers are having a bit of a field day with all these stories about the murders. And calling him Jack the Ripper. A lot of women are afraid of venturing out at night, wherever it is they live.”
“Yes, I’m inclined to agree with you. On the other hand, two murders in one week, both identical, do make it look like there’s a crazy man on a possible rampage.”
“I must agree. I think highly of Scotland Yard, Claudia. They’ll soon identify him, I’m certain of that, and get him under lock and key. And everyone, especially in the East End, will be relieved.”
Changing the subject, Claudia said, “I thought your wedding gown looked beautiful when you had the last fitting on Monday. Madame Valance is the best. So, when are you going to look at the tiaras at Courtland?”
“This weekend. Your father suggested we spend Saturday afternoon in the vaults. He wants me to choose one then, something to do with the earrings he wishes me to wear.” Alexis glanced at Claudia. “There must be a large selection of tiaras, from what he said.”
“Yes, you see they’ve been kept in the Trevalian family for the last hundred years, passed down from bride to bride. It’s quite a treasure trove. Just wait and see. You’ll get a great surprise.”
* * *
George Falconer sat at his desk in his office at The Chronicle, staring at some of the headlines of competing newspapers. All of them were lurid, as he had expected they would be. A small shudder of distaste ran through him.
It was Wednesday afternoon on September 12, four days after the second murdered woman had been found on September 8: Annie Chapman. And it was thirteen days since the body of the first woman had been discovered, on August 31: Mary Ann Nichols.
Identical murders, grisly and horrific—the women had been strangled and then horribly mutilated, hence the nickname given to the murderer … Jack the Ripper. He had ripped them apart with a scalpel or carving knife or something else that was very sharp indeed.
Although he was now the royal correspondent for his newspaper and thrilled by the promotion and new opportunities this afforded him, George was still interested in every bit of news, even these grisly murders. He was most especially intrigued since he had a good friend at Scotland Yard.
He glanced at his timepiece and saw that it was almost six o’clock. Locking his desk drawer, he picked up the column he had written that afternoon. It was about the Prince of Wales and the royal yacht, Osborne. Prince Bertie had welcomed on board his hated cousin William, heir to the German throne after his father Fritz, the present heir in waiting. The visit had been last month, and in all probability arranged by Lord Salisbury, always on the ready to foster English-German relations through the two royal families, blood cousins all.
It was what George called a “think” piece, the kind of story his editor liked. After quickly rereading it, nodding his head, knowing it would resonate in certain circles, he left his office. Walking down the corridor, he went into the editor’s empty office, placed the pages on his boss’s desk, and left the building.
It was nice weather. Since he liked to walk, stretch his legs after a day at his desk, he went up Fleet Street and into the Strand. It was there that he hailed a hackney cab and gave directions to the driver.
When they arrived at Scotland Yard, George jumped out of the cab, paid the driver, and hurried into the building that he knew so well. Within seconds he was sitting in the office of one of his closest friends, Detective Inspector Roger Crawford, who had greeted him warmly.
“I thought you were now the expert on our fanciful royals,” Roger declared, laughter echoing in his voice. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t resist digging into this Jack the Ripper mess?”
“I’m curious, of course,” George admitted. “But have no desire to dig into it. However, I do have the true instincts of a genuine newspaperman and I just wanted to give you a tip.”
“I’ll take any tip from any bugger standing around to give me one,” Roger exclaimed. “So what is it?”
“I truly believe there will be more murders. I just feel it in my bones,” George confided in a voice almost inaudible.
“Jesus! Don’t say that, George! This is one lousy case and it will be hard to crack. No evidence, nothing left at the scene of the crime. No witnesses. Nobody saw anything. Dead of night. Everything quiet. Can you believe it? Not even a small cry, never mind a scream. The whole thing is a mystery.”
“You’re baffled, Rog? Am I right?”
“I am. But it’s not just me. It’s every bloody copper in this building.”
“Were the women killed because they were prostitutes? Or doesn’t that mean anything in the long run?”
Rog
er Crawford shrugged, his expression gloomy. He was a brilliant detective, known for his in-depth investigations. For him to be baffled alarmed George.
“If you don’t have a clue, then who does?” George asked.
“I just told you … nobody. Not at this moment anyway. We’ve talked to neighbors, people who live in the area, pub owners…” Roger stopped and lifted his hands in the air. “I’d be happy if you jumped on the wagon … you were always good at sniffing things out. Help me, George.”
“Not this time. I wouldn’t be any help. Besides, I can’t. Another journalist has this beat.”
“Aye, and he’s on holiday,” Roger shot back.
“Come on, Rog. Let’s go to the pub and have a pint. I’ll give you a few of my thoughts.”
Thirty-eight
“You look wonderful, Sebastian,” Lord Reginald said, beaming at his best friend. “In good nick. The rest here has done you good.”
“It has indeed. I was beginning to feel worn out and, as you know, I’ve been schooling Cornelius in all of our methods at the bank. That’s been hard work. He’s good, though, no doubt about that in my mind. I have great faith in him. He’s clever, and I might add, very loyal.”
“Glad to hear it. Shall we go and sit over there in the ruins?” Reggie suggested. “I feel a bit puffed out. It was quite a walk you brought me on.”
Sebastian nodded, and the two old friends walked across to the ruins of the priory, sat down on flat slabs of stone, leaning against a partially ruined wall. Reaching into his riding jacket pocket, Reggie took out a packet of cigarettes, offered it to Sebastian, who declined.
“I’ve caught cold, and when I smoke, I cough. I don’t want all the women fussing over me this weekend.” He grinned. “Especially Alexis.”
“I know what you mean … they love to mother us, or so it seems to me. Anyway, old chap, you and she will soon be tying the knot, and I can’t wait to witness it.”
“Neither can I.” Sebastian started to laugh. “Can you imagine, I never thought I would ever find the right woman again, but I did, and so unexpectedly.”
Master of His Fate Page 24
