City of Darkness

Chapter EIGHT

September 29, 1888

7:10 PM





Aunt Gerry had been right when she told her not to worry about the purple dress. Compared to Madame Renata in her shapeless sari and Tess Arborton in her multicolored plumes, Leanna would surely be the most conservatively attired woman in the room. She paused uncertainly on the landing, biting her lip as she considered the scene below. This was hardly like the country parties at home, or the scientific conferences Grandfather had sponsored at Rosemoral, and it wasn’t as if she could expect an escort to be waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

Besides Tess and Madame Renata, who had stuffed themselves companionably into the smallest divan, there was an elderly gentleman in what appeared to be an ancient admiral’s uniform. He was crouched in an absurd, twisted manner, bending over Tiny Alex, a midget who had traveled the continent with Barnum before retiring to become the darling of the London social circuit. Tiny Alex’s appeal was not immediately apparent to Leanna, for the man, who had the disconcerting manner of a five year old with a beard, seemed far more interested in Gage’s canapés than the swirl of conversation. Gerry herself, looking flushed and breathless, was engaged in what appeared to be a debate with a man in grey broadcloth, a man whose neat shoulders and long, slender torso seemed somehow familiar to Leanna. This was hardly a group to be concerned about a young woman who wore purple instead of the usual black of mourning and Emma, who was circulating among the group bearing a tray of champagne glasses, noticed her and gave a nod.

Emma’s hair was pulled back in a neat bun and in her stiffly starched maid’s uniform she looked like a very bastion of propriety. Silently she paused at the banister and handed up a full glass of champagne. Leanna downed it in one fast gulp and shakily gave the glass back to Emma, who raised her biscuit-colored eyebrows. Leanna didn’t care. The champagne was cool and tart and gave her a fast burst of courage. There was surely time for her to drink a magnum; no one below had noticed her arrival.

Tess suddenly stood in a quite agitated manner. “Forty years?” she said incredulously to Madame Renata, who sat still and implacable. “You must have made some dreadful miscalculation. Geraldine, this woman has said there won’t be suffrage for forty years.”

“Most likely forty thousand,” said the tall man in the military uniform, but no one appeared to be listening to him.

“That is what I see,” Madame Renata said, folding her arms over her ample abdomen. “It will be the 1920s at the earliest.”

“Then your glass ball must be all cloudy or you’ve read the wrong tea leaves,” Tess said, two high spots of color in her cheeks. “I know the women in this movement and they think - “

“Balderdash, they don’t think,” sputtered the man Leanna had come to think of as The Admiral. “What of that woman who threw herself under the policeman’s horse at the front of Westminster Abbey? Damn near unseated him.”

Leanna had never heard a man swear in the presence of women, but no one else seemed surprised by the Admiral’s choice of words.

“You don’t think that shows the depth of her commitment??” Tess demanded.

“Shows the depth of her stupidity. You’re confusing hysteria with courage, my dear Tessy.”

“I’m not your dear anything and it does show courage. She was willing to risk her life to bring attention to her cause and I –“

“Balderdash!”

“Hush, Fleanders,” Aunt Gerry said. “I know you’re all salt and vinegar but the others – “

“He’s saying women haven’t any courage,” Tess said, her chin bobbing furiously.

“Courage, what do women know of courage? Were women in Crimea?”

“Florence Nightingale was,” Gerry pointed out. “She spoke to our ladies auxiliary to raise funds for a hospital in-“

“A simple nurse!”

“You’re an old fool,” Tess said judiciously, accepting another glass from Emma’s tray.

“Don’t ask me, ask this young man, he looks as if he knows something of women. Tell us all, and speak up, have you ever known a woman to exhibit a real courage, to act as if she had the necessary constitution…”

The gray-backed young man spoke quietly, so quietly that Leanna had to stretch over the railing to hear him. “You’ll never convince me women have no courage, Sir. I am an obstetrician. I have watched them fight their own wars on a daily basis.” With this he turned, and Leanna let out a long low gasp of shock.

It was the man on the train. Even though no one had looked at her - and, given the intensity of the discussion, no one was apt to - she sank to her knees and tried to conceal herself behind the railing. She had the sudden foolish feeling that all her thoughts had been laid bare, and that anyone glancing up at the stairwell could have read her emotions in a single look. What manner of coincidence was this, that the man who paid the fare to bring her to London would emerge here as a friend of Geraldine’s? And that he would be a doctor?

“You see, Fleanders, that’s what happens why you try to circumvent a proper introduction,” said Gerry. “This is John Harrowman, the doctor I’ve been telling you all about, the one who plans to open an East End clinic.”

“Really?” said Tess, all smiles now. “When Gerry told me you planned to put a clinic there I was quite swept away.”

“I’m afraid saying I plan to do this is a bit premature,” said John, emerging from the shadows of the entry and stroking his dark mustache. In the stronger light, he suddenly looked younger, more hesitant, and unaccustomed to such attention. “I haven’t the funds yet, so I suppose it should be rightly introduced as more of a dream than a plan.”

“What sort of clinic?” asked Fleanders, removing his spectacles to reveal enormous watery eyes.

“An obstetrics clinic.”

“Whatever for?”

John paused. “To… deliver babies.”

“I repeat, whatever for? They’ve gotten along all right down there for generations breeding like rabbits without any sort of clinic…”

“A poor woman is as likely to experience a difficult delivery as is a woman of the middle classes.”

“Balderdash, there’s some sort of difference in the pelvis, isn’t there? Ladies have narrow hipbones and their children have large craniums but in contrast those East End women, I suppose you could call them, have large pelvises…”

Leanna remained rigid, her hands gripping the banisters. She had never overheard such a discussion as this in her whole life, but no one in Gerry’s parlor seemed to think it at all odd. In fact, Madame Renata was doddering on the edge of a nap, and the midget seemed only concerned with how many clams he could balance in one chubby palm. John, however, stood nearly as still as Leanna, his dark eyes intent on the Admiral.

“I assure you, there’s no difference in pelvic size among the classes, nor in cranial size.”

“Perhaps you should go back to anatomy class, young man. How else do you describe the ease with which they drop their young?”

A slow flush was beginning along John’s cheeks but he took another sip from his glass and when he spoke his voice was low and controlled.

“They don’t all drop them so easily, Sir. Both the maternal and the infant mortality rate in the East End is three times that of Mayfair, which is why they need a clinic.”

“The young doctor is very forward thinking” said Tess. “You could learn a lesson, Fleanders. This isn’t the Dark Ages.”

“When it comes to breeding,” Fleanders said decisively, “they’re animals.”

“When it comes to breeding,” John said, just as decisively, “we all are.”

Just at this moment Madame Renata let go of her crystal ball and it rolled down the valley of her legs and onto the floor with a thump as she settled back with a soft snore.

“See there?” Gerry said. “You’ve bored my guests with all this dreary talk of pelvises. And where is Leanna? This is her party and - - why, here she is. Come along, darling, everyone is wild for the chance to meet you.”

Leanna blushed and stood up quickly as six pairs of eyes rose to the landing. “I’m sorry, I know it looks as if I were eavesdropping…”

“Glad someone found the conversation so enthralling,” snorted Fleanders. “Come down and let me have a look of you. Why, you’re the image of your grandfather. See here, John, Leanna’s grandfather was a physician too.”

Leanna supposed that in the nebulous world of Gerry’s parties this qualified as an introduction, and she stole a cautious glance at John. Would he remember her as the pauper on the train? But evidently he did not, because he was advancing toward the stairwell smiling and holding out a hand. “Miss Bainbridge, I’m delighted.”

Leanna descended one step and suddenly her palm was inside his. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself as he leaned forward in a confidential manner. “I must apologize, I had no idea a young lady was in a position of overhearing.”

“Oh no,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “Just as the gentleman said, my grandfather was a physician so I believe I can withstand a discussion of anatomy. My very first memory is when I was three and he let me hold a monkey’s head. Or skull, I should say. I held a monkey’s skull.” Why was she running on like this? She must sound like a lunatic. Fortunately, in this particular room it was unlikely anyone would notice.

“Good heavens John, don’t monopolize the child,” Tess ordered. “Bring her down here into the light so we can all meet her.” John offered his arm and Leanna moved into the circle of scrutiny.

“Fleanders, you’re mad,” Tess snorted. “This girl is a beauty and Leonard Bainbridge had a jaw like a bull terrier. Tell me, Leanna, what do you think of our position in India? Did you read the editorial in today’s Star?”





An hour later Leanna found herself seated on the divan with the still-snoring Madame Renata. After her initial nervousness had passed she had begun to enjoy the party enormously and had found herself becoming quite animated, even venturing into discussion of Darwin with Fleanders, who had proven to be not a retired admiral but a retired major-general. Still, the flow of conversation had been exhausting and she was happy to take a moment’s refuge with a second glass of champagne and the slumbering mystic. The divan also offered her a perfect place to observe John Harrowman.

He had not appeared to recognize her at all, which was a tremendous relief… and a slight disappointment. At what point had all her feelings become so muddled? Leanna could remember a time when she felt clearly and strongly about every subject, when she was not dogged by second thoughts and strange random intuitions, but ever since that evening she had fainted in Grandfather’s study she had awakened to a different, blurry world.

“I say, Geraldine, do you intend to starve us?” Fleanders suddenly roared. “It’s well past eight and there’s no sign of a meal.”

“One of the guests has sent a message he’s been detained, so I suggest you have another clam,” Gerry said. “I won’t announce dinner until Trevor Welles is here.”

“Trevor’s coming? Marvelous,” squealed Tess. “Do you think he’ll know something new about the Whitechapel murders? I’m sure they don’t put all the facts in the paper. Geraldine, you’re a sly fox to nab such a celebrity. I do hope you’ve seated him beside me.”

“Balderdash, the young man wouldn’t want to hear your prattle. Geraldine has the judgment to seat him beside me.”

Leanna frowned. Trevor Welles must be quite the paragon to have won the approval of both Fleanders and Tess. She could see Emma gesturing frantically from the doorway and, since Aunt Gerry was too engrossed to remember her hostess duties. Leanna got to her feet and slipped into the hall.

“What’s wrong?”

“If Geraldine doesn’t decide to serve soon I won’t be responsible for this lamb. I’ve basted it and basted it but it’ll dry out if we wait much longer. Gage is completely in a state.”

“She says Trevor Welles has been detained.”

“Well, she’ll hold dinner even if he doesn’t appear until midnight, that’s for sure. She adores him and with all this publicity about the Ripper -“

“Emma, are all her parties like this?”

“Not quite. They’re keeping this one sedate, in your honor.”

Leanna sunk back against the wall suddenly feeling overcome with the heaviness of the dress and the unaccustomed champagne. “I suppose you know who is to be seated on my other side as well?”

“Aren’t you the very lucky one? It’s Doctor John.”

Leanna bit her lip again. John made her so nervous she was afraid she would either babble or go mute. She could only hope Trevor Welles proved as fascinating a conversationalist as everyone believed he would be and would keep the talk flowing without much help from her. “Your aunt wanted you between the two eligible men,” Emma said. “Those were the only seating instructions she gave, except for the fact that of course she’d be beside Fleanders.”

“Why do you say ‘of course’?”

“He’s Geraldine’s beau.”

Leanna stared at Emma. “Balderdash.”

Emma laughed. “So are you pleased to have the doctor at your side?”

“Better than dining with Madame Renata, I suppose. Wait. Is that the door knocker?”

“It had better be the elusive Mr. Welles. For heaven’s sake, eat a few of those clams. You’re pale as a ghost.”

Emma dashed off, smoothing her apron. Leanna gazed after her, wondering if they would ever become true friends, if indeed it were possible for an heiress to become friends with a maid. She had always regretted her lack of sisters and although she loved her mother, she had never quite broken through Gwynette’s reserve. Leanna glanced at her reflection in the mirror and was not displeased. The wine-colored dress, the dress which would never have been allowed in Rosemoral but which seemed almost stuffy for Mayfair, made her look like a woman of the world. She gave the bodice one last nervous yank. The excited murmur in the parlor had confirmed the arrival of Trevor Welles.

Welles was a compact, energetic man and as he shucked his overcoat and handed it to Emma, Leanna noticed the pull of the muscles barely concealed beneath his tweed jacket. He and John were a picture in contrasts with Trevor being blond, ruddy, and giving the sense of a barely contained power - a marked juxtaposition to John’s languid dark eyes and long, elegant form.

“Welles,” said Fleanders, “Bloody decent of you to make time for us in the middle of all that’s happening. Geraldine says she was certain you’d become an inspector from the very first time she laid eyes on you.”

“Really, Fleanders, he was just a young copper then. When was that, Trevor, a year ago?”

“Two,” Trevor said, his voice deep and a little gravelly. “And I’m afraid I’m a detective, not an inspector.”

“And yet they’ve put you on the Whitechapel case,” Fleanders persisted. “That must be quite exciting for all you boys at the Yard. I can’t remember a time when everyone in London was so obsessed with the same thing, not even when there was that scandal with the Duke of Clarence and the horsewhip -“

“Emma’s going mad,” Gerry cut in. “I hope you won’t think us abrupt, Trevor, but we’ve held dinner as long as we can…”

“No, no, I never dreamed you’d hold it at all. Please, let’s sit down before we keel over from hunger.” He stepped out of the circle of admirers and paused, his eyes lighting on Leanna. “I take it this is our guest of honor?”

“My grandniece,” Gerry said promptly, “Leanna Bainbridge. Darling, I have no doubt you know who this is.”

“I read the article this morning that quoted you,” Leanna said. “And I’ve been following everything Scotland Yard is doing, even on the train coming in from Leeds.” Would this jog John’s memory? But apparently not, for he was still twirling his champagne in a meditative fashion. “That article,” Leanna told Trevor, “was my first impression of London.”

“And you came on anyway? Brave girl.”

She laughed, finding him easy to talk to, as easy as Tom, and she let him escort her into the dining room and pull out her chair. Emma, grim faced, was already circulating with the bowls of soup and everyone scurried to their seats like school children.

“Gad, Geraldine, this soup is pink,” muttered Fleanders.

“It’s borscht, dear. Beet soup and they eat it daily in Russia. Full of iron and good for the blood.”

Fleanders dubiously lifted his spoon, not waiting for the ladies. “So tell us everything, Inspector Welles. Give us the sort of gory details they don’t put in the papers.”

“Yes, do,” Tess murmured.

“Please, I’m a detective and not an inspector yet,” Trevor protested. “And I’m not in charge of the Whitechapel case, as dearly as I’d love the opportunity.”

“You will be before this is over,” Gerry said confidently, “and I’ll brag to all my friends I was important enough to be hauled in by the Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard.”

“Geraldine,” Trevor laughed, tasting the borscht with enthusiasm. “If everyone had as much confidence in me as you do, I would be a happy man. You should summon your carriage and take all your friends to the Yard at a gallop to demand I be named head of the case.”

“But you should be, darling, and then I’ll be able to mention the romantic story of how we met. I can say you arrested me when you were still in your salad days.”

“Salad?” trilled Madame Renata. “Did you say we were having salad? Tell the girl to bring it on, I can’t bear much more of this horrid soup.”

“What’s the feeling at the Yard?” John asked, leaning around Leanna and eyeing Trevor in a sympathetic manner. “Do you suspect you’re being stuck with an impossible case?”

“Oh, we never say a case is impossible, any more than a doctor would use those words. But it’s a difficult one. It was mucked up terribly at first.”

“With the first killing they couldn’t have known what they were dealing with,” John said. “I’ve done a bit of work on the East End myself, and I know that the women who live there do not necessarily enjoy long lives.”

Trevor raised his bushy brows. “You work there?”

“I’m an obstetrician.”

“Indeed? You must be the Dr. Harrowman I’ve heard so much about. Some of the women we’ve interviewed in connection with the case have mentioned your name. Saint John, I believe they call you and I must say your plan of a clinic is commend-“

“Blast that clinic,” Fleanders snorted, drops of borscht in his white beard. “Tell us what you know.”

“Not much,” Trevor said bluntly. “The doctor is right, with the first case they had no idea they were dealing with a serial killer – “

“Serial?” Geraldine asked, frowning.

“Serial, as in a series. Multiple killings at the hand of one person, with the victims chosen apparently at random. It’s a new term, there’s no reason you should have heard it.” Trevor turned back to John. “The body was moved and washed before we could even inspect it. The whole area was hosed down, wiped clean by the local coppers…”

“Well of course they wouldn’t leave the mess for their superiors,” Madame Renata said.

“Actually Madame, they left us a bigger mess. Any evidence that may have been in the area was washed away. There’s no respect in the force for forensic detail, they just rush in topsy-turvy and mop up the crime scene as if it were a ballroom after a party. So there’s no way of knowing what we might have missed. For example, perhaps there were footprints in the blood which would have given us some indication of the killer’s shoe size.”

“Frustrating for you, I can imagine.” John said.

“Maddening,” Trevor confirmed. “And the second case was handled nearly as badly. But this time I think the killer wished to leave us a bit more of a clue.”

“A clue? What do you mean?” said Leanna.

“It’s odd, but it seems we’re being teased a bit. The second unfortunate woman- I’m almost finished with the soup, yes, thank you, Emma…” Leanna looked up, surprised Trevor knew Emma by name. “The second woman had been worked on a bit more thoroughly than the first.”

“Do tell, tell us everything,” Tess said. “Good heavens, this is exciting and the papers are so incomplete in their descriptions. When will there ever be another story like this one in London?”

Trevor nodded vigorously. “I agree. It’s the case of the century, in my humble opinion. In the second woman, Annie Chapman , both the ovaries and her kidneys were missing…”

“Dear lord,” gasped Gerry. “We’re dealing with a madman.”

“No, no, not totally,” Trevor said. “That’s the interesting part. The organs were removed with great skill, with very little trauma to the outer tissues, as if the person doing the job was a professional of some sort. There was a washed leather apron found nearby, quite devoid of evidence, unfortunately, but it was an apron of the type used by people who work in slaughterhouses. And there are two in the area.”

“Ah, I see, so you think the killer may work in one of them,” said Gerry. “A butcher would have some anatomical knowledge.”

“That was our first thought, yes,” Trevor said, leaning back to allow Emma to take his soup dish and replace it was a steaming plate of lamb.

“But that seems almost too obvious, doesn’t it?” Leanna said, so absorbed in the story that her shyness had disappeared. “To leave a slaughterhouse apron is almost like a joke.”

Trevor turned to her, his eyes piercing. “Yes, yes, Miss Bainbridge, that’s precisely as I see it. I believe he meant us to think of the slaughterhouse, just as you say, as a type of nasty joke, but I don’t believe the killer would leave an apron in sight if he actually worked there. My superiors cling to the idea and in fact the papers originally called the killer Leather Apron, before he himself provided us the far more memorable moniker Jack the Ripper. But just as you say, Miss Bainbridge, I think the apron is a planted clue. Meant to throw us off the true scent.” Trevor sighed. “And the killer had more than just some anatomical knowledge. To remove four bodily organs so quickly…”

“….would take a surgeon,” John finished. A brief silence fell on the party as they all sat absorbed in their private thoughts.

“I think so too, as does the police physician who did the autopsy on the body,” Trevor said. “A bit of his report was printed in the paper.”

“But a doctor wouldn’t be in those streets and wouldn’t commit such savageries,” protested Fleanders. “It’s almost as if you’re saying you think the Ripper is…a gentleman.”

Trevor laughed. “Well he was hardly a gentleman, was he? But I think it’s possible he could be of the upper classes, could be an educated man.”

“Balderdash,” roared Fleanders.

“Yes, that’s pretty much what my superiors say,” Trevor conceded. “Geraldine, this rack of lamb is a marvel.” Everyone else looked down at their untouched plates.

“Yes,” Leanna said hollowly, picking up her fork. “Tell Gage it looks wonderful.”

“But if you’re saying that the Ripper is an educated man,” Tess protested, “I must say that for once I’m in agreement with Fleanders.”

“I’m only repeating what the autopsy revealed,” Trevor said with equanimity. “A body couldn’t be drained of blood that quickly unless -”

“Drained of blood?” everyone howled in unison. Even Tiny Alex, perched precariously on a stack of books, looked appalled.

“Yes, that’s the oddest thing of all,” Trevor said. “Both bodies had been nearly completely drained of blood. There were few bloodstains around them, but very little when you consider the severity of the wounds.”

“They were killed somewhere else and moved,” Leanna ventured.

“You think like me, Miss Bainbridge,” Trevor said, clearly paying her what he considered to be the ultimate compliment. “But there were no trails of blood, no stains anywhere else.”

“If they were strangled before the butchering began,” John said thoughtfully, “that would have reduced the bloodflow when the throats were cut.”

“Exactly as Dr. Phillips saw it.”

Leanna slumped down, dismayed. John and Trevor were literally talking over her head.

“But the spill would still have been significant,” John went on. “Unless Leanna is right and the body was moved, I don’t see how it could have been drained on the spot without leaving behind bloodstains.”

“A madman,” Gerry repeated. “A maniac.”

“He’ll never be found,” Madame Renata intoned. Everyone paused and stared at her.

“This Jack the Ripper,” she said. “He will never be apprehended.”

“I’m set to prove you wrong, ma’am,” Trevor said.

“Oh don’t be dismayed by her, Inspector,” Tess said. “An hour or two ago, she told me women wouldn’t receive the vote until the 1920’s. She’s not so gifted a clairvoyant as she thinks.”

“It’s not the purpose of my gift to just tell people what they wish to hear,” Madame Renata said, delicately picking at her rice pilaf.

“And I’m not an inspector.” Trevor said, more to himself than anyone else.

“With so much attention is there any chance Jack will simply move on?” John asked. “He has to be aware he’s the priority of Scotland Yard.”

“All the more reason we think he won’t stop,” Trevor said. “He enjoys the stage he’s built for himself.” Trevor was aware that the “we” he referred to was not the whole of the Yard but rather just himself and Abrams, but he nodded with confidence as he spoke. “There was a definite sense of escalating violence between the murders, even though they were only a week apart. In the first case, Nichols, the throat was merely cut. In the second, not only did Chapman lose several body organs but the initial slash was so deep that her head was nearly severed from her body…”

Leanna lunged for her water glass, feeling light headed and queasy. Even Tess had paled a bit in this last description and Trevor looked around the table, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I have such a mania for this case that when I begin talking I must confess I lose all reason. I’ve forgotten the ladies.”

“Hmmm,” said Fleanders, looking none too hale himself. “Let’s talk of Jenny Lind.”

“Indeed,” John said, lifting his wine glass. “Let’s talk of Jenny Lind. Did you hear Barnum is asking sixty pounds for a ticket to hear her sing at the Palladium? Did you command those fees on your tour, Alex? That’s a crime of robbery, wouldn’t you say?”

Leanna took another gulp of water and looked around the room. The group had grown subdued and Trevor was looking down with reddened cheeks, cutting into his lamb with – there was no other way to say it - the concentration of a surgeon.





Later, in the kitchen, Emma stood scraping bones into a pail while Gage busied himself with the tea. Despite the delay in serving, Emma thought dinner had gone well. She was so preoccupied with her chores that it was a minute before she heard the rapping. Wiping her hands, she walked over and squinted out into the darkness but the small glass plate in the center of the door revealed no one. She cautiously unbolted the door to find a young boy, cowering in the darkness and compulsively wiping his nose on a raggedy sleeve.

“He’s heard of Geraldine’s charity,” Emma thought, prepared to bring him in and warm up a plate. “All the stray dogs of London know about Geraldine.” But before she could speak the child blurted out, “Is Saint John ‘ere?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Saint John, ma’am, ‘is cook said he’s come ‘ere. Me Mum, she’s awful bad with a baby…” He broke off, wild-eyed, and Emma took his arm and drew him inside.

“Yes, just take a breath. Dr. Harrowman is here and I’m sure he’ll come with you. Gage?” But the butler had already disappeared into the dining room, returning in a matter of seconds with John.

“It’s me Mum, Saint John,” the child stammered, bursting into tears of relief. “She said I was to find you.”

“So the baby’s come calling a little early, um, Bobby?” John said, pulling on this black cape and tying a red scarf loosely around his throat. “We’ll find a cab and be across town in an instant.” He put an arm around the boy’s thin shoulders and handed him a handkerchief, as they stepped out into the night.

“Thank you Emma, Gage,” John called back. “Lovely dinner. Please give my apologies to Miss Bainbridge and Geraldine.” Emma stood in the doorway, watching the two until their backs were obscured by the mist, occasionally catching scraps of John’s voice gently saying “Hush, Bobby, your mum’s come through this sort of business before.” Emma’s chest tightened as she remembered how frantically she and Adam had gone from house to house seeking the county doctor when her mother had begun her own death rattle. But there had been no doctor, no carriage, no hope.

I suppose it’s true, she thought to herself, staring after the dark man in the dark cape disappearing into the dark night. He really is a saint.