Whitechapel Conspiracy

That realization made her blush suddenly, and she swung around and strode into the larder to get the cold vegetables and start cooking. She brought them back and kept her back to him while she chopped and fried the onions, then added the rest and moved it gently till it was steaming hot on the inside and crisp brown on the outside. She put it all onto a warm plate and set it in front of him. Then she boiled the kettle again and made fresh tea.

At last she sat down on the chair opposite him again.

“So are we goin’ ter find Remus and tell ’im just ’ow big this is? In case ’e’s so ’ell-bent on getting ’is story ’e in’t realized ’oo ’e’s up agin?”

“Yes,” he replied with his mouth full, trying to smile at the same time. “I am. You aren’t.”

She drew in her breath.

“You aren’t!” he said quickly. “Don’t argue with me. That’s the end of it.”

She sighed heavily and said nothing.

He bent his attention to eating the bubble and squeak. It was hot, crisp and fragrant with onions. It did not seem to occur to him that she had given in rather easily.

When he had finished, he thanked her with a touch of real admiration. He remained another ten minutes or so, then left out of the scullery door.

Gracie had followed Remus successfully all the way to Whitechapel and back again. She thought she was really rather good at it. She now took her coat and hat from the peg at the back door and went after Tellman. She did not especially like Lyndon Remus, but she had learned something about him, his likes and dislikes, seen the excitement and the terror in him. She did not want to think of him hurt, not seriously. A little chastening would not harm, but there was nothing moderate about any part of this.

Of course, following Tellman would be much harder because he knew her. On the other hand, he was not expecting her to follow, and she knew where he was going: to Remus’s rooms to await his return from whatever story he was working on apart from the Whitechapel murders.

She had only about one shilling and fivepence. There had been no time to look for any more. Unfortunately, there had also not been time to write more than a hasty note for Charlotte explaining where she had gone. Even that had been done in the larder on a brown paper bag, and written with a kitchen pencil. Her spelling was a little uncertain, but since it was Charlotte who had taught her to read and write, she would understand what Gracie meant.

Tellman strode down Keppel Street purposefully towards Tottenham Court Road. He was going for the omnibus. That would make things rather difficult. If she caught the same one, he would be bound to see her. If she waited for the next one, she would be too late by up to a quarter of an hour.

But she knew where Remus’s rooms were. She had a good chance of arriving there at about the same time if she took the underground train. It was worth the risk.

She turned sharply away in the opposite direction, and then started to run. If she was lucky, it would work. And she would have enough money, easily.

She paced the platform, and when the train came, sat fidgeting from stop to stop. As soon as it arrived she charged through the door, across the platform and up the stairs.

The street was busy, and it took her a moment or two to realize exactly where she was. She had to ask directions of a muffin girl, then set out at a half run again.

She got there and swung around the last corner and cannoned straight into Tellman, almost overbalancing him.

He swore with feeling and more color than she had known him capable of.

“That’s terrible!” she said in amazement.

He blushed scarlet. He was so embarrassed it robbed him temporarily of the ability to stand on his dignity and order her to go home again.

She straightened her hat and stared back at him. “So, ’e in’t ’ere yet, then?”

“No …” He cleared his throat. “Not yet.”

“Then we’d best wait,” she pronounced, looking away from him and assuming a position of great patience.

He drew in his breath and started to argue, but after the first word he realized the futility of it and stopped again. She was here. He had no power or ability to send her away. He might as well make an ally of her.

They stood side by side on the corner of the street opposite the entrance of Remus’s lodging house. After five minutes of silence and the curious stares of one or two passersby, Gracie decided to give her opinion.

“If yer don’t want ter be noticed, we’d do better ter talk ter each other. Like this we look like we’re ’ere fer no good. Sayin’ nothin’ we don’t even look like we’ve quarreled. Nob’dy keeps up a sulk forever.”

“I’m not sulking,” he said quickly.

“Then talk ter me,” she responded.

“I can’t just … talk.”

“Yes, yer can.”

“What about?” he protested.

“Anythink. If yer could go anywhere in the world fer a visit, where’d yer go? If yer could talk ter anybody out of ’istory, oo’d it be? Wot’d yer say ter ’em?”

He stared at her, his eyes wide.

“Well?” she prompted. “An’ don’ look at me. Watch for Remus. That’s wot we’re ’ere fer. Oo’d yer meet, then?”