Stalking Jack: The Hunt Begins... (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 1) (23 page)

She moved closer to the carriage and could see into the reddened, dark eyes of the man who was speaking. He was well dressed and trim, and only his eyes showed anything about him of depravity. She was tempted to go inside when he held his hand out to her to assist her. Again, it was the left hand he used. “Come…come in from the cold.”

He now reached out to her with both hands, and she turned and ran, “I changed me mind.”

She had thought for a moment she would go to the aunts’ home, and confess what she was doing, but it was after midnight, and they would be alarmed to have seen her like this.

She took the Hansom back to the hotel, straightening herself out in the carriage, covering herself with her long coat so that none could see her disguise.

She rushed past the desk and into her room. It was too late to call for a bath, but she could light the fire and lay by it for warmth and comfort. She pulled her pillow down beside it and a coverlet, and listened to the wood crackling. Soon she drifted peacefully into sleep.

Chapter Twenty

Closer to Truth

October 15, 1888

My journey into Whitechapel last night revealed that Motts was, once again, harassing women. My attempt to follow him was thwarted by a man who threw me up against the wall of the building. I don’t know if he intended to harm me, but I think he was the one who sent the threatening note. He face was covered, so I would not be able to recognize him again, but as I injured him, if he is about anywhere in Whitechapel; he will certainly be moving with a limp of some kind, and perhaps I will be able to recognize him by his walk.

The royal coach appeared, and the man inside attempted to entice me to go with him. His mention of wishing to inflict physical pain for money again confirmed his darker side. I do not know if he is a royal, but I was able to get a clear look at him, and would remember his face if he were ever to be considered a suspect by the Yard. I did not enter the coach, although tempted, I felt the danger to me was great, and at the very least I thought I might have been mishandled or physically hurt. However, that was not the primary reason for my refusal to get into the coach. When he reached out to me, I was able to see his right hand which had the middle and index finger gone at the knuckle. As the murderer has been concluded to be right handed from the angle of the throat cuts, I do not see how he could have held a blade and make such deep cuts without the dexterity of having all digits on his right hand. For now, I am excluding him from my list of suspects.

On the evening of Friday, the 19
th
, she received another threatening note. This time, it was slipped under her door.

The next time we meet, it will be you who will be hurt. You are playing with fire.

She placed the note in her journal, but this time, did not tell anyone of it. No one knew of her encounter with him and what had transpired. She would have to explain how she had met him and what had happened, and thought there was no sense in worrying Jonathan or Hugh about her comings and goings in Whitechapel as
Jenny
. She was more concerned about the tone of this note, and found herself reluctant to travel, but she had not heard from Hugh and was concerned. She had wanted to speak with Jonathan anyway, so she sent word asking if he would take her to Hugh’s house to allay her concern about his well-being.

Walking downstairs to await his arrival, Clinton stopped her, “Mrs. Donovan, I have asked around, and no one seems to know who this gentleman is. I think there might be a possibility that he came from the outside and somehow discovered your room number.”

“I had come to think that was the case. Thank you for inquiring. If you do see someone about the hotel fitting his description, will you let me know? I don’t think that will be the last time he will come around.”

“For your sake, I hope that’s not true, but I will alert the staff as to your request. Someone like that shouldn’t be hard to spot. There are not that many elderly residents or tourists that come to The George.”

A short time later, Jonathan arrived at The George.

“Madeline, I came as soon as I could. I agree with you, it is not like Hugh to not respond to your notes. If ever there was a steady, reliable fellow, it’s him. Would you like to get something for dinner first or just go directly there?” said Jonathan.

“I’ve eaten, thank you. I would prefer just to go there.”

Their carriage ride was filled with talk of the latest developments, and she had told him her theory about the circle in the blood.

“So you think it might be some type of symbolic payment of some kind? Yes, I can see that, but he is so intent upon the murder, it seems unlikely he would stop and have the presence, with blood on his hands, to reach in his pocket for a coin.”

“I know. I have thought of that also, and it doesn’t ring true that he would do that, but somehow it must be connected.”

“The Yard still does not have anyone detained who is a primary suspect. With all of London looking for this man, it seems incredulous that he is able to walk freely and not be detected.”

“The pressure he must feel when everyone is searching for him, must be on his mind. He either will be caught, or he will leave the country, and do his dark deeds somewhere else. It cannot go on unchecked. His days are numbered.”

They arrived at Hugh’s place of residence and knocked several times, but no one answered.

“I suppose he might be at work, but he usually is home by this hour. Perhaps it is nothing, and he is busy doing other things. Still, I would like to be certain he is all right. His uncle does not live far from here. Do you mind if we walk over?”

“Not at all.”

His maid informed them he was in and asked them to wait in the study.

Dr. Scott walked in.

“You’ve come about Hugh?”

“Why…yes,” said Madeline. “Is he well? He has not responded to several notes that I have sent to him.”

“Then you did not hear? He said he did not wish to worry you, but I thought by now he might have sent word to you. He has been assaulted. He has two broken ribs and an infection in his eye where he was hit. I have wrapped his ribs and treated his eye. Now it is just the business of healing.”

“We just came from his home, and he did not answer. Is he in the hospital?” asked Madeline.

“No, he is home, but he would not have been able to walk to the door without difficulty. My wife has been over to care for him, but she may have had to go out. If you return, she should be there to let you in.”

“What happened? Do you know?”

“He said he was on his way to Whitechapel―planning to visit the aunts and check in on them when someone accosted him.”

“Was it a robbery?”

“No…nothing was taken, but he told me he thought it might have something to do with your trips looking for Jack.”

“You know about that?” said Madeline.

“I cannot say I approve, Mrs. Donovan. It seems a foolhardy thing to do. That is the work of the Yard.”

“I am so sorry this has happened. We will be off to see him. I wish he would have told us, but now that we know, we will see if there is anything we can do to help him,” said Madeline.

As they walked back towards Hugh’s home, she continued, “I wish I had come sooner. I should have known something was wrong as soon as he did not respond, but I felt I would be overstepping my bounds to intrude. I thought perhaps he had chosen not to stay in contact. I should have known better.”

“Madeline, we all have regrets about inaction, but we are here now. I would have done the same thing. I wouldn’t have automatically jumped in either.”

They stood again outside Hugh’s door knocking, but there was still no response. This time, they waited on a bench in the front yard.

A short time later, a petite woman, beautifully attired, came up the walkway. “May I help you?” she asked.

“We are here to see Hugh. We are friends of his. Are you Mrs. Scott?”

“Yes, I am. May I ask your names?”

“I am Mrs. Madeline Donovan, and this is Jonathan Franks.”

“How is it you know my name?”

“We went to see Dr. Scott when Hugh did not answer, and he told us you might be here attending to Hugh.”

“I have just gone to the market to get him some provisions. He is on the mend. Please come in, and I will tell him you are here. He is recovering, I believe he is reading in his room. I don’t know if he will feel well enough for visitors, but I will tell him you are here.”

She came back in and said, “He will see you. I will put a pot of tea on the stove. I have some cakes I just bought, and we will have a nice visit.”

Hugh shuffled in, his face blackened in areas with streaks of blue and yellow. He looked like a Gauguin painting. Wearing lounging pajamas with a silk burgundy robe, he walked in with slow precision. She wanted to rush up and hold him in her arms and comfort him.

“Before you say anything, I know I should have told you. After everything that has happened, I had hoped to spare you any further anxiety.”

He directed his words at them both, but his eyes only looked at her.

To see him wounded made her feel something she hadn’t in a long time, a kind of love for someone. He had never seemed so endearing to her. His vulnerability brought out her mothering instinct and her compassion for him.

  “Can you sit?” asked Hugh.

“Not for very long, I’m afraid. It is too painful. Every breath brings sharp stinging pains with it.”

“We will not stay long, but please tell us what happened,” said Madeline.

“I was coming home late one evening from work, later than usual; it was almost eight when I decided I would stop in at Ten Bells for a glass of ale, just to hear the latest scuttlebutt. I thought I might hear, or see something that I could tell you about. It was the general talk about the Ripper, and everyone spoke with a certainty that a royal was somehow involved. Patrick was there, and we spoke about you. It was uneventful. I decided to stop in and check on the aunts, as I was within walking distance of them. I hadn’t gotten more than a block or so, when some figure in a long black coat; his face covered with a scarf and a hat pulled over his face, knocked me to the ground and began to hit me in the face. I was caught so unaware; I didn’t react quickly enough. By the time I landed a blow to his chest, he had brought out some wooden object and hit me across the chest with it. A police whistle called him off, and he ran off. I did notice he appeared to be walking with a limp.”

“I wonder…do you remember if the coat was a navy blue with gold buttons?” asked Madeline.

“I can’t recall. It happened so quickly. Why?”

“It is nothing; someone I thought was suspicious wore that type of clothing.”

“There was one other interesting thing that happened that I wanted to tell you. It seems your friend, Patrick, has given your place of residence to someone.”

“What?”

“He wanted me to tell you that someone came round asking about you. The man told him you were looking for him, and that he had information you needed. He said he hoped he had done the right thing. He felt guilty afterward for not informing you first.”

“That explains everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have received a note, a threatening note, telling me to stop asking questions in Whitechapel. I could not imagine how anyone would know where I lived unless they had followed me, and I think I would have noticed that. I had forgotten that there was one person, besides our intimate circle, that I did tell where I stayed.”

“Did you go to the police? Have you been harmed in any way?” he said with alarm.

“Do not worry yourself at all. Everything is fine. You are the one we need to take care of, not me. I didn’t go to the police. I just believed it was an idle threat, but now, after what has happened to you, I am not so sure. I believe the same person who attacked you was the one who sent the note to me.”

“Patrick made an error in judgment,” said Jonathan.

“Maybe so, but I have spoken to him so many times, and left word about people who I wanted to speak to and those I was looking for, I don’t think he thought anything of it when he gave them my contact information. It is unfortunate, but, at least, Patrick may be able to give us a description or a name of the man he spoke with. When I speak to him, I will make it clear to not divulge that information again. But it is done, and we will move forward,” said Madeline.

“We can go there after we leave here,” said Jonathan.

“Hugh, I will come anytime and assist you in any way I can. Please let me help. I feel responsible; this happened because I have asked you to accompany me into the pubs,” said Madeline.

“Nonsense—I knew full well what we were doing, and I would do it again. I fault myself for not being more on guard, and not realizing that perhaps we were ruffling feathers.

I would like it if you would come and see me. I would enjoy the company, as I will not be able to work for a while yet—and you also, Jonathan.”

He looked so helpless and wounded, she wanted to hug him, but that would have given him physical pain, however, when he was well, she would. She would hold him in her arms, and tell him of the feelings that she had for him and how special he was to her.

Leaving Hugh, they walked towards Ten Bells, both speaking of what had just occurred.

“You have got yourself into the thick of it now. Do be careful. I hope you will not consider going out alone anymore,” said Jonathan.

She avoided the question and said, “I feel the trap we tried to set is producing fruit, but not the kind we expected. I am anxious to speak with Patrick. He holds the key to the identity of Hugh’s attacker.”

When they arrived at Ten Bells, Patrick nodded to them, and they waited for him to come over.

“What do you think about my theory of the coin?” asked Madeline.

“I think you have something, but, unfortunately, it doesn’t shed any light on the perpetrator.”