City of Darkness

Chapter TWENTY-SIX

October 28, 1888

10:40 AM





“Blast it,” a voice roared from the doorsill and Trevor looked up from his reports in surprise. Eatwell, his face flushed, was waving a letter in his general direction.

“Just came,” he sputtered. “You’d better go home and dress.”

“What is it?” Trevor asked, as Davy also rose to his feet.

“An epistle from Her Majesty, Queen Victoria,” Eatwell said, flinching with each word. “She wishes an audience with the chief detective of the Ripper case at Buckingham Palace, one this afternoon.”

“Blimey,” Davy exploded, as Trevor gazed down at the letter.

“Yes, blimey sums it up,” said Eatwell. “I’ve served the Yard for thirty-five years and I’ve no more than glimpsed Her Majesty through the window of her coach. But our grand Detective Welles is summoned for a private audience.”

“Yes Sir,” Trevor said, stomach churning, for he had no more than glimpsed the Queen from a carriage window himself.

“What a job this is,” Davy said, nearly in rapture. “From Mad Maudy to the Queen.”





11:50 AM



Leanna rechecked the window for the tenth time and nervously pressed her gown with her hands. This, she was sure, would be a meeting of great significance. She had seen John Harrowman on four different social occasions and each time he had been attentive company. But each time they had also been surrounded by a swarm of people and the morning he had taken her out in his carriage, a day which seemed eons ago now, remained the only time he had touched her.

Leanna didn’t know what to make of him. In some ways his attitudes were like that of a suitor, but in other ways he remained maddeningly formal and correct, once even deliberately avoiding a chance to bid her goodbye on the private side porch in favor of a more public exit via the front entrance. His words were right, but they seemed to be spoken in the wrong tone of voice, as if John were an unskilled actor in a parish play, sure of his lines but unable to convey the emotions behind them. All her novels were no help, for they generally had heroes who spoke gruffly to the heroine but whose eyes betrayed an inner fire, not a man like John who told her she was lovely but who always seemed to be looking past her, into the next room.

Today, however, was going to be special. Leanna’s fevered plans and a few strokes of luck had seen to that. Knowing John generally started his rounds in early afternoon, she had invited him for lunch beforehand, carefully choosing a day when she knew Aunt Gerry would be distributing blankets at the veteran’s home. Emma had been the tough one. Things had been terse and uncomfortable between them since the night they’d gone to the theater. Leanna could kick herself for turning Trevor’s rare chance to recreate into an awkward evening, but she had the sense that there was some greater debate going on between Emma and herself, a dialogue that had little to do with Jekyll, Hyde, or even the Ripper. Emma seemed determined to teach her something, but Leanna was tired of learning lessons. If her future was going to be any different from the narrow world society had prescribed for her, it was time to take matters into her own lands.

This morning, Emma had ultimately decided to go with Geraldine on her mission, and Leanna had rushed to the kitchen, where she flattered Gage so shamelessly about the stuffed chops he had made the week before that he had vowed to serve them to her again that very night. The chops required any number of rare ingredients so Gage would be walking from market to market all afternoon. She and John would have the parlor to themselves.

Once she finally had seen Geraldine, Emma, and Gage off on their respective errands, Leanna had sprung into action. She had managed to get some of the chicken Gage had served the night before into a warming pan with potatoes and carrots and had galloped up the stairs to change into her silk afternoon dress. She was not particularly adept at putting up her own hair, no more than she was at cooking, and she could only hope John would be so enchanted with her presence that he would overlook any imperfections. Leanna whirled around before the mirror, trying to make sure she had managed to get the back buttons in the right buttonholes. This is the first time I’ve ever been in a house alone, she thought. Always someone with me – a relative or governess or schoolmate. This is the first time I could sing or scream or run about naked with no one to tell.

Could she get used to it? Could this be a full life? Leanna went to the window again, and peered down into the empty street. An hour alone – such a dizzying experience, as wild an excursion in its own way as Aunt Gerry’s trek to India – and then, even more amazingly, she would be entertaining John Harrowman all by herself.

Leanna’s mouth twisted at the thought of an unmarried woman and man left together in a house, even for an hour in the middle of the day. Such an idea would have her mother and the other country ladies in a paroxysm of horror and Leanna suspected such a visit would not be considered proper in London either. But she didn’t care. Today, surely, John would declare himself in some manner or another and if he didn’t, she would have to admit that he likely wasn’t going to. An unnerving thought, that she may emerge from the parlor in a matter of hours with her hopes utterly dashed, but Leanna had lived with uncertainty ever since the night of the dinner party, and she was prepared to endure even the sharpest disappointment rather than to go on much longer in this dreadful state of Not Knowing. Leanna strained toward the window. John had told her he would be by at noon and it was still five minutes until the clock struck that hour, but perhaps he would be early. She closed her eyes and prayed to whichever small ineffectual god protects the hearts of women that he would be.





12:40 PM



In the cleanest carriage Scotland Yard had to offer, and in his best suit, Trevor jostled his way through the gates of Buckingham Palace. Despite the grandeur of the facade, the palace was a somewhat forbidding looking structure, for, at the insistence of the Queen, all of the curtains and tapestries were pulled down in mourning for the death of her husband Albert over twenty-five years earlier. The morbidity exhibited by Victoria, who had dressed in black each day of the last two decades, seemed excessive even to Trevor, who had adored the Prince Consort as a boy, and who could still remember the day when, in the school chapel, he had heard Albert was dead.

But if she had ended her social life with the death of her husband, the Queen was still more than interested in affairs of state, as his own summons proved. Trevor was whisked in and taken through several enormous halls in which his footsteps echoed and his quiet cough resounded as a roar. To his relief he was finally seated in a much smaller study, a rather cozy little nook in fact, with a blazing fire and footstools scattered about, as if this were the room in which the royal family actually lounged. The man who had shown him there disappeared with no offer of tea or of even taking his wrap, and Trevor unclasped his cape and stood uncertainly in the middle of the room.

He did not have to wait long.

The doorknob turned and in walked a short, round woman with large blue eyes and a surprisingly youthful expression. Trevor, who had expected the Queen would be announced - with a flaring of trumpets, perhaps - was so startled by this sudden appearance that he dropped his cape to the floor. He bowed, then bowed again, and when he dared to look up the Queen was right before him, extending one chubby hand for a kiss. “Detective Welles, we believe,” she said. It was custom that no one spoke to the Queen until she had addressed them first. Eatwell had warned him of this much at least, and Trevor was grateful to her for taking the initiative.

“Your Majesty,” he croaked, bowing again, quite stupidly. When he met her eyes, the Queen was smiling in a bemused, private way.

“We must sit,” she said, nodding toward a circle of chairs. “We hope you will pardon the informality, but this is where we meet the Prime Minister and other government servants such as yourself. A private place can be had even in a cavernous home, can it not?” Her voice was clear, bell-like, beautiful to the ear. Trevor followed her to the chairs, where she sat down, propped her small feet on the nearest footstool, and, with an impatient sweep of her hand, indicated he should do the same.

“We are sure that you are busy so we won’t take much of your time,” the Queen said. Trevor grinned idiotically, but Victoria was looking straight ahead as if posing for a portrait. “We are outraged by the killings and even more so by the gleeful way the matter has been handled by the press. The mania appears to have faded a bit of late and we’re sure you are the one to thank for that. But we are also certain that you are aware of the potential for riots, for hysteria, if this matter is not definitively closed.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Certain facts have been kept private.”

“As they should be.” The Queen now leaned back in her chair and appraised Trevor with a measured gaze. “What we find alarming when we read the reports and we do, of course, read the reports, is that there appears to be so little physical evidence. It would seem the murderer’s clothes must be saturated with blood and must be kept somewhere. And the East End is so close to the dock. Have the cattleboats and passenger boats been examined? Has any investigation been made as to the number of single men occupying rooms to themselves? Is there sufficient surveillance at night?”

Trevor exhaled sharply. The last thing he had expected to hear was an actual query about the details of the case. And she was right on the money with her questions too, as astute as a trained detective and, heaven knows, more practical than most of them.

“I too am alarmed by the fact no bloody clothes have been found. It seems incomprehensible that a man covered with blood, as this fiend must be by the time he finished his work, could simply stroll the streets without attracting someone’s attention, so we can only assume he has either found a way to dispose of those clothes when his work is finished or that he is of an profession where blood on his clothing might be expected.”

“Such as a butcher?”

“Such as, Ma’am, yes.” Trevor gulped for air. “It has been a lengthy chore to examine the men living by themselves in the East End, but we have attempted to do this and our efforts have yielded us a long list of potential suspects. Thanks to your own speech in Parliament, Your Majesty, the Yard has adequate funds to place twice as many bobbies on the East End nightshift as we would ordinarily have.”

“And the docks? Could there be a way he is escaping by water?”

“Always a possibility given the location of Whitechapel, but no, I do not really think that is the case. We have put intensive surveillance all about the harbor and it’s come down to nothing. I am beginning to think our Ripper is not a resident of the East End.” The Queen merely looked at Trevor with an expectant expression. “My feeling, Your Majesty,” he continued, “is that we are dealing with a gentleman, someone who lives in the residential districts of the West Side.”

Trevor sat back. There. He had said it and he would undoubtedly be tossed from the palace at once.

“Why do you say this?” Her voice revealed nothing.

“The skill of the work for one thing and the fact that gentlemen sometimes do…”

“Have reason to visit Whitechapel?”

Trevor nodded, a little uncertainly. Victoria was known for her intolerance of improprieties and here he had waltzed through the gates of Windsor and as much as told her that he thought the Ripper was a gentryman with a taste for whores. He would probably not only be thrown from the palace, he would probably be removed from the case. “I apologize, Your Majesty, for the bold and tactless manner…”

“Nonsense, this is an unpleasant matter and cannot be discussed with pleasant words. We appreciate your frankness, Detective, and we must confess it is not only our own curiosity which has led to this discussion. The true reason we called you here today was to see how we might help in your efforts.”

Trevor looked at Victoria, astounded. “Forensically, Your Majesty…”

“We are not familiar with that term.”

“Ah, my apologies, there is no reason why Your Majesty should be. I am convinced this case will only be solved through evidential police work, which is forensics. Through fibers left on the body, the manner in which the incisions were made, bloodstains and other physical evidence…”

“We understand. Because of the enormous number of potential suspects you need some scientific way to eliminate a portion of them. To interview and monitor every man in London is an impossibility.”

By God, she really did understand. Trevor nodded quickly. “There are techniques widely used by the Paris police, techniques we are not familiar with…”

The Queen’s lips twitched. “You are suggesting the French are more informed than the English?”

“Only in this very small area, Your Majesty.”

The lips twitched again, this time, Trevor was relieved to see, into the beginning of a smile. “Perhaps a man from Scotland Yard could go to France and study these techniques, then return and teach them to our coroners and detectives.”

“I for one would be delighted…”

She lifted her chin. “No, Detective, we cannot spare you from your present duties. Is there another you might suggest?”

Trevor only hesitated for a moment. “Rayley Abrams. He’s a very quick study.”

The Queen nodded. “I shall remember the name, mention it to Sir Warren and Abrams will be in Paris within the month. Is there anything else?”

“Scotland Yard will need a true forensic laboratory before long, Your Majesty, a place set aside specifically to examine physical evidence and to impress upon the men the importance of following exact procedure. One of the reasons we are so hampered in our efforts is that the bodies of the first two victims were washed and moved before they could be examined.”

“But we are sure your superiors have reprimanded those men for their carelessness.”

Trevor hesitated.

The Queen nodded. “Ah. So your superiors are part of the problem. We shall issue a proclamation that in the matter of the Whitechapel murders ultimate consideration should be given to proper forensic procedure.” She used the newly- learned word with pleasure, as a child might. “We assume you will be able to write a paper explaining what these procedures are to be.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Then we will guarantee a copy of this paper will be in the hands of each inspector within twenty-four hours. Go home and begin it immediately.”

He could have fallen on the floor and kissed her feet. “This is far more than I had dared hope for, Your Majesty.”

“You are dismissed,” Victoria said abruptly.

Trevor rose, bowed, collected his things and began backing toward the door. The Queen was gazing into the fire.

“Detective?”

“Your Majesty?”

“I understand my grandson is one of your suspects.”

Trevor stood stunned, both by the boldness of the inquiry and the fact she had for once dropped the use of the royal “we”. Finally he found his voice. “All of London is our suspect, Ma’am. But your grandson’s alibi proved impeccable, did it not?”

The queen managed a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh. “Quite a clever answer, Detective, our guess is that you will go far in life. You are dismissed,” she said again and Trevor fled.





1:10 PM



Leanna watched with ill-concealed impatience while John finished the last of his chicken and folded the blue napkin back to its original design. “This has been a lovely lunch,” he said, smiling at her.

“Yes, lovely. Have you noticed anything unusual about it?”

“The mint sauce for the chicken? Quite daring. Was that your idea?”

“You know I’m not speaking of the mint sauce,” Leanna fairly howled in exasperation, for it was impossible to tell when John was joking and when he was not. “We’re alone, quite utterly alone, and please don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed of course, but thought it would be ungentlemanly to comment on the fact and thus cause you distress.”

“And thus cause me distress? Honestly, John, sometimes you can be as thick as plank. I have plotted all morning to get everyone out of the house.”

“Is there something you wanted to discuss?”

Leanna nervously fiddled with the lace of her gown. Of course there was something she wanted to discuss, but there was no way a lady could ask a gentleman to declare his intentions. Strange that she had planned how to get him alone, but been unable to script the conversation to follow. She looked at John hopelessly.

“Are you upset with me?” John asked. “Because of the cancelled theater dates? I know no apology can suffice…”

“Your apologies have all sufficed. It’s just that you seem so casual about our courtship. Is this even a courtship? Is that the right word? I don’t know where I stand.”

His eyes were so dark it was impossible to distinguish pupil from iris and Leanna noticed he was nervously pulling at the buttons on his waistcoat as if attempting to mirror her own bodice fiddling. “I explained to you, Leanna, when we first met, that I am not in a position to inherit from my family.”

“Meaning what?” Leanna asked, anxiety now becoming an acute pain in her chest, for she knew what was to follow.

“Meaning that I must restrain any feelings toward you until that point in time where I am capable of pressing for a serious courtship. I have a practice to establish, a clinic to build, and to declare my intentions to you before I am in a position to offer…”

“You’re saying you won’t be able to court anyone for years! Money isn’t all that matters. My family – “

“Your family is wealthy, is that what you’re about to say? That doesn’t make things better, it makes them worse. It only means the gulf between us is all the wider. Do you plan to take me home to the country, to the family estate? Do you think your mother and brothers would be delighted to welcome their precious Leanna and her penniless suitor?”

“You’re hardly penniless, John. You have a thriving practice. And that wasn’t what I was about to say about my family at all. If you only knew how things really stand….”

He turned from her, resting his chin on his knuckles so that she could only see his profile. “I wouldn’t ask you anything until I was in the position to give you the world. It wouldn’t be gentlemanly.”

“Oh, dash that word ‘gentlemanly’ from the language. More pain has been given to more girls by men who were trying to be gentlemanly…I don’t want the world, John. When have I suggested that I expect you to give me the world?”

“How old are you, Leanna?”

She swallowed, knowing that the answer would be used against her. “Twenty.”

“I am thirty-two. When you are my age, you will see what I mean and you’ll thank me for not promising what I cannot deliver.”

“If you’re saying that you think your whole career must be established before you marry, that’s foolish,” Leanna said, carelessly reaching across the table to grasp his arm. “I understand life better than you think I do and besides, I know wealthy people. So does Aunt Geraldine. I could help you with your work.” My God, she was close to begging. She forced herself to release his wrist, sit up straight again and control her voice. He was still unwilling to meet her eyes and suddenly her desperation gave way to anger.

“But that isn’t it, is it? You’re only using your work and your lack of money to shield me from the real truth. You don’t have to choke back passion for my sake because there isn’t any passion. It’s easy to restrain an emotion you don’t feel, isn’t it John? And to receive a reputation for saintliness in the bargain…”

“You know nothing!” he suddenly roared, sending the silver flying and causing Leanna’s to jerk back her hand. “You don’t know me at all, don’t know what I think! How dare you tell me what is and isn’t hard to bear? Thank you for the lunch, Leanna, but I’m leaving.”

Leanna could barely see him rise through her tears. “I only wanted you to touch me, once, just so I would know that you cared.”

“You think that when a man touches a woman it’s proof of his love?” John rasped, his face splotched with anger and his hands unsteady. “By God, but you are young and stupid. And you think you can help me in my work! That is quite the joke, Leanna.”

“Then go. You’ve insulted me enough.”

“No, I haven’t, you’ve insulted yourself. You may not like this, probably won’t, but there are certain social truths you must learn to accept. There are women men may freely touch and there are those whom they may not. You fall into the latter group and why you find that insulting, I can’t begin to guess.”

“Oh, spare me your analysis,” Leanna said, her own composure returning a bit. “What you really mean is that women are like curios in a shop. Some are laid out and marked quite clearly and affordable to anyone who ventures in. Others are on a high shelf and if you must ask the price that in itself is a sign you cannot afford to buy. To obtain one of those curios you have to enter into lengthy negotiation with the shopkeeper who keeps telling you how special and unique each one is. All you’re saying, John, is that I am on a high shelf. In your heart you believe that, one way or another, all women are for sale and the only problem between the two of us is that you can’t afford me yet.”

“If that is the way you see our relationship, then there is nothing more to discuss,” John said. “I’d ask Gage for my coat, but as you point out every ten minutes, Gage isn’t here.” He looked at her, his expression flat. “You’re quite spoiled and I can’t believe I ever took you so seriously.”

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me. I know you want to.”

He stood up, looking down at her, and a new emotion came into his face. Sadness. “You’re playing games and I can’t say I fully blame you. You’re young, and I may be your first suitor. You want to turn me into one of the men in your books. Restraint may be foolish in fiction, but not in real life, Leanna. No, I won’t kiss you. I’m not a toy.”

“Neither am I, John. I want some sign that you really do care. Evidently I am expected to wait…”

“No one is asking you to wait. Do as you please.”

“I want to wait,” Leanna said, vowing not to break into sobs for a second time. “Just give me a reason to believe…”

“If you need proof of my feelings then you don’t know me. No, I won’t kiss you. I won’t touch you at all.”

Leanna took a big gulp. “Why not?”

“Because I intend to marry you.”

Leanna sank back into her chair, breathless and tearless, and John pulled on his coat and left the room without a backward glance. The oaken door onto Kingsly Place slammed shut with an angry crack, but Leanna did not flinch at the sound. A minute passed, measured by the dull thuds of the mantle clock, then another. Still Leanna did not move and she waited for some feeling to come. Despair? Triumph? Relief? Frustration? But no emotion rose from the solid surface of her numbness and finally, with surprising steadiness, she stood and began to collect the dishes on a platter to take to the kitchen. She gazed down at the scattered silver and linens under John’s chair. A great war had evidently been fought here, but Leanna was not sure if she had won or lost.