Whitechapel Conspiracy

“So we gotta find out w’y ’e done it,” Gracie said simply. “ ’E must ’ave ’ad a reason. ’E wouldn’t ’a done it fer nuffink.”

Charlotte was already beginning to think. Very little had come out in the newspapers about either man, except their general worthiness, their social standing and the incomprehensibility of the whole affair. If the evidence was right, and she did not question it, then there must be a great deal more to know, including something so monstrous and so ugly it had led to the murder of one of them and the sentence to death of the other. And yet it had remained totally hidden.

“Why would a man who is going to be hanged not tell anyone, in his own defense, the reason he killed a friend?” she said aloud.

“ ’Cos it don’t excuse ’im none,” Gracie answered. “If it did, ’e’d a’ said.”

Charlotte followed her train of thought, sipping at the tea again. “Why do people kill friends, people they know but aren’t related to, can’t inherit money from, or aren’t in love with?”

“Yer lash out ’cos yer ’ate someone or yer scared of ’em,” Gracie said reasonably. “Or they got suffink yer want an’ they won’t give it yer. Or yer crazy jealous.”

“They didn’t hate each other,” Charlotte answered, reaching for the bread and the knife. “They had been friends for years, and no one knows of a quarrel.”

“A woman?” Gracie suggested. “Mebbe Fetters caught ’im doin’ suffink wi’ Mrs. Fetters?”

“I suppose that’s possible,” Charlotte said thoughtfully, taking butter and marmalade. “He wouldn’t put that up as a defense because it isn’t. People would only think worse of him for it. Except he could say it wasn’t true, Fetters just imagined it, and accused him, wouldn’t listen to reason and attacked him.” She took a deep breath, and a bite of the bread, realizing she was hungry. “Except he’d hardly do it from on top of the library ladder, would he? I wouldn’t believe that if I were a juror.”

“Yer wouldn’t be a juror,” Gracie pointed out. “Yer a woman. An’ yer’ve gotta ’ave yer own ’ouse an’ yer own money.”

Charlotte did not bother to answer. “What about money?”

Gracie shook her head. “I can’t fink o’ nuffink as I’d ’ave a quarrel about from the top o’ a set o’ steps, ’specially ones wot’s got w’eels on!”

“Actually, neither can I,” Charlotte agreed. “Which means that whatever it was about, Adinett took a lot of trouble to conceal it and pretend he wasn’t involved. So it was something he was ashamed of.” They were back to the beginning.

“We gotta find out more,” Gracie said. “An’ yer should ’ave a proper breakfast. D’yer want summink ’ot? I can make an egg on toast, if yer like?”

“No, this is enough, thank you,” Charlotte declined. Maybe from now on they should not be so extravagant as to eat eggs except for the main meal. They were not working men, only women and children.

Gracie was used to the practicalities of poverty and she accepted the answer without argument.

“I think I’ll go and see Mrs. Fetters,” Charlotte said at last, when she had finished a third slice. “Thomas said she was very agreeable and believed absolutely that Adinett was guilty. She must want to know why her husband died almost as much as we do. I would!”

“That’s a good idea.” Gracie started to clear away the dishes and put the butter and marmalade back in the pantry. “She’s gotta know suffink about Adinett, and lots about ’er ’usband, poor soul. I reckon as mournin’ must be awful. If I’d jus’ lost someone as I loved, I’d ’ate ter sit around by meself in an ’ouse all muffled up, winders dark, mirrers covered an’ clocks stopped, like I was dead meself! Wearin’ black’d be bad enough. I wore black fer me granddad’s burial, an’ ’ad ter slap meself silly ter get a bit o’ color in me face, or I’d a bin scared they’d a put me in the ’ole, not ’im.”

Charlotte smiled in spite of herself. She stood up and poured a little milk into a saucer for Archie and Angus, then scraped the remainder of last night’s shepherd’s pie into their dish, and they descended on it, purring in anticipation and winding around her ankles.

After she had made sure that Gracie had everything she needed for the day, she went upstairs again. Actually, Gracie had seemed unusually settled about her chores, almost as if she had already sorted them in her mind and was uninterested in them. But they were the last thing on Charlotte’s mind either, so it hardly mattered.

She changed her clothes, having selected very carefully from her wardrobe a well-fitting dress of a soft, deep aqua shade. It was very flattering—the reason she had chosen it—but also discreet. She had selected it so it would last several seasons, but that meant it was also not unsuitable for visiting someone in mourning. Prints or yellow would have been insensitive.

She dressed her hair with considerable flair. It had taken her a long time to learn to do this well for herself, but if one’s hair looked good, then the rest of one had an excellent chance. Good posture and a smile could achieve most of the rest.