City of Darkness

Chapter TWENTY-TWO

October 9

8: 17 AM





The sun was rising brightly over Mayfair, unusual for an October morning in London. Gage had opened the draperies early to allow the rays to heat the house before Geraldine and the girls awakened for the day. He had returned from his errands with a box of fresh baked tarts and an armful of newspapers. At nine, Gerry descended the stairs still in her bedclothes and robe, as she enjoyed doing on certain lazy days such as this. A clear day seemed to cheer up almost everyone, she noted, for even Gage wore a smile as he greeted her at the bottom of the stairs.

“Morning, Madame. Tea, tarts, and newspapers in the parlor as you wished.”

“Thank you, Gage. I see your walk agreed with you.”

“Yes, Madame,” answered Gage, again with the corners of his mouth curling up. “Seems we have the start of a lovely day.”

He disappeared into the kitchen and, musing that if they lived in Tahiti, Gage would be absolutely mirthful, Gerry poured herself a cup of tea and nestled herself into her favorite chair. She picked up a copy of the London Times and glanced over the headlines before serving herself the plumpest apricot tart.

“Good morning, Aunt Gerry,” Leanna said, entering the parlor dressed in her robe and bedclothes also. “Have you seen Emma this morning?”

No sooner had she asked the question, when Emma entered from the kitchen, fully clothed, but as cheery as all the others. She took a plate and the closest newspaper and sat down herself. The women were in the habit of scouring the morning news for a mention of the Ripper or a quote from Trevor. For the last few days, however, the story seemed to have died down a bit and Leanna tossed aside the Star with a sigh. “Most of the accounts are just being repeated.”

“Listen to this,” Geraldine said, waving her own paper. “’The police still do not know who he or she is and seem to be as baffled as the public.’ Imagine that. ‘He or she’. Do you think there really is a chance the Ripper is female?”

“Oh, I doubt it,” Leanna said. “More likely just some reporter trying to get a new column out of the same tired old information. Raising the possibility of Jill the Ripper is just another way to sell issues, nothing more.”

“Whatever they’re doing, it’s working, for people never tire of violence and gore,” Geraldine said piously, managing to ignore the fact that she purchased more papers than anyone. Leanna shot Emma a conspiratorial smile which went unnoticed, for Emma was intent on a letter to an editor of the Times concerning anti-vivisection, and a familiar sounding phrase had caught her eye.

“Gerry! Gerry! They’ve printed it. The Herman Strong letter. It’s here. And it’s on the editorial page, too,” Emma cried, jumping to her feet and showing the section to Geraldine.

“Herman Strong?” asked Leanna. “Who’s he?”

“Let me see! Let me see!” exclaimed Aunt Gerry, snatching the paper from Emma’s hand and spreading it across her plate. Emma and Leanna gathered around her and read along with her, Geraldine’s face slowly filling with glee.

“Marvelous,” she sighed. “They printed every line.”

“Herman Strong?” Leanna asked again. “Who is he?”

“I’m Herman Strong,” Gerry said. “I send all my letters to editors under a male pseudonym, so they’ll print the blasted things. For years, I sent them with my own signature only to be rejected. Then one day while I was at a newspaper office arguing with an editor, a funny thing happened. They were in the process of removing me from the premises when a very polite clerk whispered that I should sign a man’s name to my letters and they would have a better chance of making the edition. So I did and at last I’m in print,” she explained with an ever-widening grin. “Her-man Strong. Do you get it, darling? I’m the ‘her’ who is as ‘strong’ as any ‘man’.”

“Um, very clever, but I can’t believe you’d…”

“Oh, I’m not happy to have to play these silly games, but it’s a case of the message being more important than the messenger. If an editor believes a man wrote a letter against vivisection, he deems it a worthy topic for public debate, and in the end that’s all that matters. People rename emotions, darling, when men have them. What they once called ‘hysterics’ becomes ‘compassion.’” Gerry squinted down at the paper. “Scientific experimentation on live animals! It’s absolutely repellant! I understand that even the Queen is against it.”

Leanna slumped back in her chair. So many things were bothering her lately. When Tom had visited, his ease in Gerry’s home had made it quite clear that he had traveled to London numerous times during his first year of school. The aunt who had been only a shadowy presence to Leanna, had been a friend to him. The city she had only glimpsed on rare occasions, had been his holiday playground. And, although she had considered her younger brother her closest confidant, it was clear he had kept many things from her. Mostly the fact that he enjoyed – merely because he was male – a richer, fuller, more exciting life.

Why had her family not taken her to London more often? During her years growing up in the country, she had rarely questioned the small scope of her daily activities but now she was renaming things herself and what she had once called simplicity was beginning to seem more like monotony. Her grandfather she could understand, for Leonard hated the bustle of the city and probably would never have ventured there himself if it hadn’t been for the museums and galleries. But why hadn’t her mother realized how much a jaunt to London would thrill a young girl?

Leanna’s mind drifted back to her first week in London, an afternoon when she and Emma had been out looking at dresses. When the shopkeeper had noticed Leanna’s interest in the wine-colored silk, he had slipped over to her side. But when she had asked him the price, he had only laughed and said not to worry. The bill would not be enough to drive her husband or her father to despair.

“I don’t have a husband – or a father,” she had said. “But I do have money and I’m asking how much of it you’d expect in exchange for this dress.”

A hush had fallen over the already-hushed shop and the man had literally backed away from her, as if she had suddenly sprouted horns. Emma had merely looked up from the gloves she was admiring and said “The price, Sir?” and the man had said promptly, “Seven pounds.”

At the time Leanna had been unable to understand where she had gone wrong. She and Emma were the same age. Leanna’s mourning clothes did not indicate she was a woman of means and Emma’s cultured voice did not indicate that she was a servant. So how had the man so swiftly placed them in their respective categories, decided that Emma was someone capable of discussing money while Leanna was not? She had tried to talk to Emma about it on the way home but Emma had been no help. Leanna had shaken the bundle which held her new dress – Emma had been able to talk the shopkeeper down to six pounds – and asked “Why wouldn’t he tell me the price?”

“He could see you were a lady,” Emma had said shortly. “Ladies may shop, in the sense that they select, but they don’t haggle on the price and they don’t pay.”

“But how could he possibly know that – “

“That I wasn’t a lady?” Emma had jerked her chin so violently that Leanna had fallen silent. “Shopkeepers always know these things, Leanna. They can smell money from two blocks away.”

So I have money, but I can’t just go out and spend it, Leanna thought. Someone else has to spend it on my behalf. I can’t feel coins in my palm, I can’t vote, or think for myself, or kiss a man, or row the Thames. And the worst part of all is that I never knew all the things I couldn’t do until a few weeks ago. I’ve been deliberately held back from my own life. Preserved, like one of Grandfather’s specimens. But for what? To what great end did they all plan to use me?

“Emma, this is cause for celebration,” Geraldine said, pulling Leanna’s thoughts back to the present. “Will you assist me in selecting my clothes for the day? I wish to take a walk, perhaps call on Tess and then Fleanders. Won’t he paw the ground when he hears of this?”

“Today calls for the peacock silk,” Emma said, following Gerry out of the room. Leanna sat alone in the parlor. How unfair it was, when a woman as intelligent and educated as Aunt Gerry cannot be taken seriously enough that her opinion can be printed in a simple newspaper, she thought, reaching for a second roll. She remembered John’s words about his clinic, that nothing was fair, and the tart tasted a bit sour in her mouth.

Grandfather lied to me, she thought grimly. Trying to teach me and Tom that the world has a natural order, that everything’s for a reason and it can all be understood, even mastered, if we put our minds to it. A big wretched lie. Our lives are all a matter of circumstances of birth, mere accidents of chance. Leanna set the tart aside on the nearest table and walked to the window, gazing out at the manicured gardens on each side of the street, the neat brickwork, the symmetry of the houses. This was a lie too. The whole street was a lie, an implication that the people who lived there deserved to live there, that they were kept safe within these gardens and gates for a reason, that they were somehow by birth entitled to this pretty, pleasant life. But, Leanna thought, what have I done to deserve any of this? A different spin of the wheel and I could be one of those women walking the streets of the East End.

Men were so pragmatic. Trevor and John and Tom all of them saying that it didn’t matter how things are done as long as they’re done. But, still, it was shocking to learn that even Aunt Gerry was willing to obscure her identity in order to serve a higher purpose.

“Evidently I’m the one who’s wrong,” Leanna said aloud. But she didn’t really think so.





1:20 PM





“So, Neddy, you can see why we’re a bit desperate,” Cecil Bainbridge said, settling back awkwardly in the spindle chair. “The best legal minds that promises can buy have all insisted Grandfather’s will is unbreakable. We’re left to find another way ‘round.”

Edmund Solmes pursed his lips. “You could play on your sister’s sympathies. I’m sure if you both went to her, asked for a hundred pounds apiece or so…”

“A hundred pounds!” Cecil exploded. “Scarcely a drop in the bucket to what I need, and when that’s gone I shall have to go back and beg and wheedle for a hundred more and then a bit more. It’s endless, Neddy, just as it was when Grandfather was alive, only more degrading this time because ‘tis my baby sister who is clutching the pursestrings. Try to understand my position…”

“It’s actually your position, isn’t it?” Solmes said to William. “You’re the eldest, the one deprived of his natural expectations.”

William shrugged his beefy shoulders. “Unlike my brother, I’ve come to terms with the situation. In fact, I’ve recently made a decision. I plan to study the science of estate management.”

“Estate…management?” Cecil said, his tone as incredulous as if William had announced plans to become a priest.

“It’s honest work and it will allow me to remain at Rosemoral,” William said. His tone was calm and steady but he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Cecil’s eyes. “Leanna will need help to keep the property productive and it isn’t as if I don’t know the land. Truly, Cecil, there’s no shame in taking up a profession. You could consider it as well. ”

“Please! Can you really imagine me toiling as a tradesman or soldier or even - no offense intended, Neddy - a barrister? Taking lessons, rising at dawn, holding a schedule…”

“The will allows for it,” William said stubbornly. “If you went to Tom and professed some sort of interest he would be bound to release funds for tuition and then you could - ”

“Neither one of you understands the true enormity of my needs,” Cecil said, bending forward to drop his pale face into well-manicured hands. “It isn’t merely that I’ve lost what I had…”

The silence in the room grew uncomfortable and William and Edmund Solmes exchanged a pointed glance. The man must dye his hair with shoe polish, William thought, for no one could have such a weathered face and still maintain that shock of ebony hair. And his hands…they tremble with the palsy when one gets quite close to him. Cecil is a fool, fawning over this dandy, promising him their sister. Calling him Neddy, indeed, as if they were schoolboys! Precisely how old was the fellow, anyway?

“I think we do understand you, Cecil,” Solmes finally said. “You’ve wagered not only against funds in pocket but against future earnings, that’s the trouble, isn’t it?”

“Strange time to hear a lecture from you, Neddy.”

“And I take it Miss Wentworth is out of the picture? There’s no means of escape in her?”

Cecil flushed. “You’re aware she will no longer receive me.”

“So,” Solmes said. “All roads lead back to Rosemoral and the estate that is housed there.”

“Really, Cecil,” William said. “This is one time I can’t say I feel that sorry for you. The will allows you income, you had Hannah all but hooked, and as Mr. Solmes said, if you had played it smart, gone to Leanna every now and again for a bit of cash…”

“In dribs and drabs,” Cecil said morosely. “I can’t live like that. I have my pride!”

William turned away in disgust, his vision falling on the moth-eaten tapestries suspended from the ceiling. This office, he reflected, was much like its owner, with a thin veneer of gloss applied over a crumbling core. The sort of place which impresses the eye at first glance and then upon reflection begins to disappoint in innumerable small ways. Not like Rosemoral, William thought. The surface may not be as glamorous, but there is substance and quality underneath. Although he would never confess this to Cecil, William rather liked the idea of estate management. He could see himself living out his years at Rosemoral with a plump little wife, his herb garden, a litter of children and an annuity promptly paid each month…

“Is this really enough for you?” Cecil asked, as if William’s thoughts were an open book. “Begging Tom for money so you can go to school to learn how to be a farmer, for God’s sake. Being in Leanna’s employ! I can’t believe you’d even consider it.”

“I am considering it,” William said. “And the more I consider it, the more I think being the estate manager wouldn’t be so different from being the master of Rosemoral. It would enable me to go through with the plans I’ve made. The back acreage is being wasted. We could bring in sheep…”

“Sheep,” Cecil said bitterly. “How appropriate.”

William felt as if he were seeing his brother for the first time. When they’d been boys, people had often mistaken Cecil for the elder of the two. William had the brawn but Cecil had been the one gifted with the quick mind, the glib turn of phrase, the ability to converse with adults when he was still in short pants. Why did I envy him, William wondered. Why have I spent my entire life trying to win his approval?

“Yes, sheep,” he said again, more firmly. “I think Leanna and Tom will both see my reasoning. And I want to bring in an ostentation of peacocks.”

Cecil and Solmes merely stared at him.

“That’s what you call a group of peacocks,” William said, nodding as if the decision was already made. “An ostentation.”

Cecil fumbled for his pipe. “Have you gone mad?”

“I always have rather liked peacocks,” William said, to no one in particular. “They give the lawns such a regal air.”

Edmund Solmes considered this remark for perhaps two seconds, then turned his attention, and his full body, back towards Cecil. “There is, of course, the chance your sister might marry someone sympathetic to your needs. If she marries, control of the funds will pass to her husband and if he were the right sort of man he might seek to rectify the mistakes of the will.”

“And give all the money back to his brothers-in-law?” Cecil asked irritably. “I bloody rather doubt it, unless she marries a dunce, and even so there is baby Tom to consider.”

“As her family, as her older male relatives, you may have some influence over her choice.”

“Gad, Neddy, that’s quite out of our hands now. Leanna’s independent. She can take up with the apple seller on the corner for all I know or care. Besides, I wouldn’t put it past Leanna to remain a virgin until death just to spite us, and we all know that virgins live forever.”

Solmes smiled. “Actually, if your sister should happen to predecease you - ”

“What?” Cecil asked, his head jerking up.

“A small provision in the will, over around page seventy or so. If your sister dies childless the estate reverts back to her three brothers to be shared in equally. But, heavens, Cecil, wipe that hungry look from your face. The girl is barely out of her teens after all, and the last time I saw her she was a bouncy little armful of flesh, looking quite healthy and capable.”

“Yes, Cecil, hush,” said William, infuriated that Solmes would refer to his sister in such a familiar way. “You are truly grasping at straws. Leanna is but a girl. She doubtless has fifty full years ahead of her.”

“Oh, of course, rosy and healthy and just a girl…” Cecil said slowly. “But she lives in London now, doesn’t she? And London is such a dangerous place.”