Whitechapel Conspiracy

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But he died there naturally, the end of last year. Remus seemed to care that he was Roman Catholic. The only thing I can see that mattered about him was that he had a daughter who worked at the tobacconist’s in Cleveland Street—and his mother was cousin to the Mr. Stephen who starved himself to death in the madhouse in Northampton.”

“Wot?” She was aghast.

“Wot are yer talkin’ about?”

He told her briefly about his train journey and what he had learned at the asylum. She sat in complete silence, her eyes fixed on him.

“An’ ’e were the teacher o’ poor Prince Eddy ’oo just died?”

“That’s what they said,” he agreed.

She frowned. “Wot’s that got ter do wi’ Cleveland Street? Wot were Adinett doin’ there?”

“I don’t know,” he had to admit again. “But Remus is sure it all ties together. If you’d seen his face you’d know that. He was like a bloodhound on the scent. He practically quivered with excitement, his face was alight, like a child at Christmas.”

“Summink ’appened at Cleveland Street, wot started all this goin’,” she said thoughtfully, screwing up her face. “Or else it ’appened arter that, because o’ wot ’appened at Cleveland Street. An’ Fetters an’ Adinett knew about it.”

“It looks that way,” he agreed. “And I intend to find out what it was.”

“You be careful!” she warned him, her face pale, eyes frightened. Unconsciously she reached across the table towards him.

“Don’t worry,” he answered her. “Remus has no idea I’m following him.” He put his hand over hers. He was amazed how small it was, like a child’s. She did not pull away from him, and for a moment that was all he could think of.

“Not Remus, yer daft article,” she whispered huskily. “Yer new boss wot took Mr. Pitt’s place. ’E’ll have yer if ’e catches yer out o’ line, an’ then w’ere will yer be? Out on the street wi’ nuffink!”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, but he was cold inside. He could not afford to have Cullen complain of him again, or to be seen by anyone where he should not be. He had worked since he was fourteen to reach the position he was in now, and if he were thrown out of the police force he would lose his income, and perhaps his character when he needed references for another job. Although there was no other job he wanted or was qualified to do. His whole life would be damaged, every value he had lived by overturned.

And with no job, and soon no lodgings, how could he ever be the man he wanted to be, like Pitt, with a home and a wife … how could he be the man Gracie wanted him to be?

He went on speaking to drive out the thoughts. He was committed now, whatever it cost him. He had to find out the truth—for Pitt, for Gracie, for the sake of honor.

“After Remus got back from Northampton he didn’t go home. He had a meal in a public house, then he went by cab to Regent’s Park and met a man there, by appointment, because he kept looking at his watch.”

“Wot kind o’ man?” she asked very quietly, still not moving her hands from his, but keeping them very still, as if not to remind him they were there.

“Very well dressed,” he replied, feeling the small bones under his fingers and longing to hold them tighter. “Bit taller than ordinary, wearing a coat with the collar turned up, even at this time of year, and his hat pulled down. I couldn’t really see his face. And even though I was only a few yards away, I couldn’t hear a word they said.”

She nodded without interrupting.

“Then Remus went off quickly again, excited, eager. He’s after something so big he hardly knows how to contain himself—or he thinks he is. If it’s to do with Adinett, it might be the proof that Mr. Pitt is right.”

“I know that,” she agreed quickly. “I’ll follow ’im. No rozzer’s gon’ ter notice me, nor think anythin’ of it if they do.”

“You can’t …” he began.

She took her hands away. “Yeah, I can. Least I can try. ’E don’t know me, an’ even if ’e saw me, it won’t mean anythin’ to ’im. Anyway … you can’t stop me.”

“I could tell Mrs. Pitt not to let you off,” he pointed out, leaning back in his chair again.

“Yer wouldn’t!” The look of dismay in her face was momentarily comical. “What about Mr. Pitt stuck in Spitalfields, an’ all the lies they’re sayin’ about ’im?”

“Well, be careful,” he insisted. “Don’t follow too close. Just remember where he goes. And come home as soon as it begins to get dark. Don’t go into any public houses.” He fished in his pockets one after another and took out all his change. He put it on the table. “You’ll need money for cabs, or omnibuses.”

It was plain in her face that she had not thought of that. She stared across at him, struggling with herself over accepting it.

“Take it!” he ordered. “You can’t follow him on foot. And if he goes outside the city again, leave him be. Do you understand?” He looked at her sharply, his stomach knotting. “You’re not to go on any trains. No one would know where you are. Anything could happen to you, and where would we even begin to look?”

She swallowed hard. “O’right,” she said meekly. “I’ll do that.”