City of Darkness

Chapter TWELVE

October 1

9:45 AM





“I’m glad you could come out with me, Leanna,” John said, holding the reins lightly in his hands as the two horses trotted toward Hyde Park. “I know I wasn’t able to give you much notice.”

“It’s fine, really,” Leanna said, smiling slightly as she recalled the mad flurry of activity John’s letter had brought. She had read the invitation in one glance, squealed, and then breakfast was abandoned while Emma and Gerry helped her dress and put up her hair. There hadn’t even been time for a roll, much less the morning papers, but Leanna had spent enough time with physicians to know that a woman must take their company whenever it is offered, even if an invitation comes at the unseemly hour of eight in the morning. She beamed up at John as her stomach grumbled.

“See there?” John said, gesturing with one leather-gloved hand. “Down that street a few blocks is where I hope to put my clinic. We’re very near the East End, which I imagine is one part of London Geraldine hasn’t taken you touring.” He glanced down at Leanna and laughed at her odd expression. “Don’t worry, I shan’t take you that way either. There’s a café on Bank Street just across from the commons and I thought we could stop there for a bit of breakfast.”

Leanna pulled Gerry’s green velvet cape a bit more tightly around her shoulders. The air held autumn for the first time and she was suddenly and unexpectedly hit with a wave of homesickness, for at Rosemoral the grounds would be awash with the brilliant colors of fallen leaves and here in London there was no mark of the change of season except a slight chill in the air and a brief hint of winter pallor.

“You seem far away,” John commented, pulling his shoulder from hers.

“I was thinking of home.”

“Leeds, isn’t it? I was there not long ago myself on one of my jaunts to try to raise funds. Speaking to a ladies club, but I’m afraid they had limited sympathies for the medical problems of the women I treat. Now, if it were an orphanage…”

So that’s what he was doing on the train, Leanna thought. “If they don’t find it in their hearts to support your efforts,” she said sharply, “they may find the orphanages more full than they can handle.”

“Quite right,” John said, surprised at the intensity of her tone.

“So that’s how you’re raising your money? Speaking to women’s groups?”

“Mostly. I have my private practice, of course, Mayfair ladies who pay handsomely enough that I can afford to treat my East End patients for nothing.”

“That’s just as my grandfather worked,” Leanna said. “The middle class paid him enough to tend some of the poorer farmers for nothing, or next to nothing. It seems I remember that they often had their pride, though, and he was always receiving a jar of gooseberries or a hen in payment.” She looked at John archly. “So tell me, do your ladies of the East End offer you something in exchange for your services?”

John laughed. She really was a most extraordinary girl, he thought, clever and nearly the match of her aunt in sheer audaciousness. “No, I’m afraid these women have but one thing to barter and at the time I see them they’re usually in no condition to offer even that. I must settle for their gratitude.”

“Which is indeed excessive. I understand they have dubbed you ‘Saint John.’”

He flushed. “I assure you, I did not request such a title.”

Leanna was afraid she may have gone a bit too far and offended him and she cast about for a way to bring the conversation back to neutral ground. “Are you disappointed at the pace the fundraising is going?”

“Hmmm. How to answer, how to answer…There are some pounds so earmarked in my account, but not nearly enough for what I have planned. I visualize a small clinic, perhaps six or eight beds with a midwife constantly present and two doctors standing by on call. That’s what’s costly, the trained medical staff.”

“Your family doesn’t support your mission?”

“Regrettably, they’re more of the mind of our friend Fleanders, and believe that ladies need obstetrical assistance and poor women do not. I’m the first physician in my family and the ignorance runs deep. And I’m a third son, Leanna, you may as well know that, if Geraldine has not already told you.”

“Meaning what?” Leanna asked, although she knew well enough what it meant.

“Meaning I don’t inherit. As a younger son it falls to me to seek a profession and -”

“To marry well?”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t intend to choose my wife for her dowry, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Leanna clasped her hands over her ears. “I’m sorry, it’s just that we’ve stumbled onto a rather sore subject for me. Oldest sons seem to have been dealt all the cards of any value, youngest sons struggle by with the remains, and women…”

“And women?”

“Are left with the Joker.”

John laughed easily, and the horses slowed as they approached the more crowded streets flanking the park. “I sometimes wonder if I can challenge the lethargy of the medical establishment and here you seem posed to take on the entire social structure of England. I didn’t mean to imply that I’m a pauper, Leanna. I have a home of my own and my practice. To follow your analogy to its end, it is now my duty to play the cards dealt me, not to wail that I wasn’t sitting at the right place at the table when the shuffling began. I’ll have my clinic in time, you shall see.”

“You should have it now. It isn’t fair.”

“Nothing is fair.”

Leanna turned away from John, afraid her feelings were too plainly written on her face. At that moment she wanted more than anything to confide to him the sudden stroke of fate which had changed how she viewed everything. Strange, she reflected, that when she had little power over her future she never worried about the injustices of life but that now she was steering her own craft she found herself angry at every turn, wondering how others could bear the constraints she herself had endured without complaint for years. Trevor struggling against his obviously inferior superiors, John forced to wait for the fruition of his dreams, and Emma…Leanna was certain there was some story behind how Emma had ended up with Gerry, but she felt too uncomfortable to ask.

“I’m sorry, my dear, if I’ve upset you,” John said, misinterpreting her ducked head and silence. “I must say I admire the way you maintain total composure during a talk of blood and murder but grow shaken at the thought of social injustice. Quite a refreshing change from the ladies I know who pass by the factory children without a glance and then swoon at the spider on the wall. The right sort of things make you ill.”

“An unusual compliment.”

“But sincerely meant. Tell me, did we strike too close to a sensitive subject yet again? Is it an older brother who will arrange your marriage?”

“No, no, he has nothing to say in it.”

“So your grandfather did leave you something?”

Leanna turned her head.

“I’m the one who is sorry now,” John said quickly. “I realize how that sounded, but I was just concerned for you. So many women have no say in the matter.“

“I’ll be the one to choose my husband.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Leanna fiddled with the clasp of the green cape, more confused than ever. Was his interest in her freedom only altruistic, or did he have another reason for wondering who would be the one to grant her hand? His question about her dowry seemed odd in the wake of their discussion of his own financial problems. If only Tom were here to help her sort through it all…

“There’s the café,” John said, pulling up and handing the reins to a small Indian boy in a crisply tailored blue suit, before lightly leaping to the sidewalk. “Wonderful food. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.” Then he put his hands on her waist and lifted her down from the carriage step. She stumbled a bit - her country sure -footedness was failing her in London - and bumped into him, letting his arms slip momentarily around her. His touch was appropriate. Firm enough to steady her, not so firm as to be taken as impropriety, and as she looked up into his pale aristocratic face, Leanna admitted that it was only sport for her to wonder what his motives were. For in truth she didn’t care why he had called, only that he had. She was already half in love with him.





9:52 AM



In a café two blocks south of the one where Leanna and John were just beginning to dine, Trevor Welles sat with a newspaper and a cup of morning tea, enjoying neither. He had gotten home around six and tried to sleep for a few hours but his mind had been racing and he had finally acknowledged defeat, risen, splashed water on his face, and stepped out for some breakfast, hoping that the walk would clear his head. As he often did when preoccupied, Trevor had walked much farther than he had intended, and he had finally paused, bought a paper on the corner, and ordered tea in a café. Its courtyard offered a pleasant view of the park but, Trevor was too preoccupied to see the beauty of the morning. He opened his notebook and stared down at the single sentence.



THE JUWES ARE NOT THE MEN THAT WILL BE BLAMED FOR NOTHING



What the devil did it mean? Had the person who wrote the words actually meant “The Jews are not the men to be blamed for anything,” hence that the Jews are innocent? Or did he rather mean that the anti-Semitism of London was justified, for the killer was Jewish? But if he were Jewish, why had he announced that fact in foot-high letters? And why would anyone, Jewish or not, misspell the word “Jews”? Sir Warren had - perhaps correctly - feared a wave of anti-Semitism if the words were circulated and Trevor had complied with his order that the message be kept a secret. The morning papers, while full of speculations, didn’t have this. Trevor sighed. Well, he’d wanted the case and he’d gotten it, so there was no need to cry now.

His pocket watch informed him that he’d better start back if he would be on time for his appointment with Phillips and Eatwell. Trevor drained his cup and slumped in the thin iron café chair. Only a few moments before, his eyes had happened to fall on a young couple in a carriage, progressing slowly down the street, apparently rapt in conversation. He had remained very still until the carriage rolled past his table, uncertain why the sight of Leanna Bainbridge riding with John Harrowman should disturb him. He’d certainly found Leanna attractive the night before - although in truth, the dinner party seemed like a year ago to his rattled senses, and seeing her again had been just one more surrealistic scene in the tableau of the last twelve hours. Trevor had often teased Geraldine that if he’d been born earlier he would have surely set his cap for her, and he had always privately thought “Yes, if you were not only younger but a bit more sane…”

And then came the reality of Geraldine’s grand-niece, undeniably younger and not only sane but very bright, and he had somehow missed his chance. For there she was, a mere circle of the watch face later, gazing up at John Harrowman, who had been gazing back with a far-from-saintly expression.

There was nothing to be done about it. Trevor knew he was at least four years away from a promotion to inspector - unless he managed to solve this Whitechapel mess, but no, he wouldn’t think of that. Four years from a promotion meant four years until he would have the money and position to take on a wife, and until that time it was sheer folly to entertain any thoughts of the Bainbridge girl. If one had to count the years until one could court a woman, one was better off not counting at all, but rather making do with dinner party conversation and an occasional stroll to the East End. He fumbled for coins to pay his bill, thinking of the reasons why he knew the streets of Whitechapel so well, why he had known them well enough before the events of the last two months. It was nothing to be proud of, but nothing to be ashamed of either, although he had to admit he was ashamed, at least when in the presence of a woman he admired.

So Leanna was out with the good doctor and he had no right to be disturbed. No right and no time, for he was now chief investigator of the most important criminal case of the decade. Perhaps the century. He could not allow himself to be distracted by Leanna or anyone else. I won’t think of her, he said to himself, and then, again, almost aloud this time, “I swear I just won’t think of her.” This determined, he sat off in a roundabout path back toward the Yard for he knew it would be easier to not to think of her if he could manage to not see her again.





10:48 AM



“You were right, John, that was wonderful,” said Leanna, pushing back her plate with a contented sigh. “I’m sure you think I’ve never eaten before.”

“Nonsense, I like to see a woman enjoy her food.”

Leanna reached up impulsively and let one finger trace a faint scratch on John’s face which began just at his temple and disappeared into the dark brush of his sideburns.

“Last night,” John said, answering her questioning gaze. “A rough delivery and the mother fought me a bit.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “Are you free this evening? There’s a new play, you may have heard of it…”

“Hmmm?” murmured Leanna, distracted by the sight of her hand in his.

“A play,” John repeated. “I’d be delighted if you could accompany me. It’s by Robert Louis Stevenson, and quite the sensation. Have you heard of it?”

Leanna hadn’t, but she nodded quickly, just the same. She was hardly able to believe her luck. She would see him in the day and again in the night.

“Excellent,” said John. “I’ll come at eight to pick you up. Years from now you’ll be able to say you were among the first in London to see Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”