Whitechapel Conspiracy

But even if there had been such a carriage, what did that tell her? Nothing. Some man with more money than sense had come to this area looking for a cheap woman. So he had coarse tastes. Perhaps he found a kind of thrill in the danger of it. She had heard there were people like that. If it had been Martin Fetters, what of it? If it were made public, would it matter so much, except to his wife?

Was Remus really chasing after the reason for Fetters’s murder anyway? Perhaps she was wasting her time here, or to be more honest, Charlotte’s time.

She made a decision.

She came out of the doorway, squared her shoulders, and strode towards Remus, trying to look as if she belonged here and knew exactly what she was doing and where she was going. She was nearly past him when at last he spoke.

“Excuse me!”

She stopped. “Yeah?” Her heart was pounding and her breath was so tight in her throat her voice was a squeak.

“I beg your pardon,” he apologized. “But have you lived here for some time? I am looking for someone with some particular knowledge, you see.”

She decided to modify her reply a bit, so as not to be caught out by recent events—or the geography of the area, of which she knew very little.

“I bin away.” She gulped. “I lived ’ere a few years back.”

“How about four years ago?” he said quickly, his face eager, a little flushed.

“Yeah,” she said carefully, meeting his sharp, hazel eyes. “I were ’ere then. Wot is it yer after?”

“Do you remember seeing any carriages around? I mean really good quality carriages, not cabs.”

She screwed up her face in an effort of concentration. “Yer mean like private ones?”

“Yes! Yes, exactly,” he said urgently “Do you?”

She looked steadily at his face, the suppressed excitement, the energy inside him. Whatever he was looking for, he believed it was intensely important.

“Four year ago?” she repeated.

“Yes!” He was on the verge of adding more to prompt her, and only just stopped himself.

She concentrated on the lie. She must tell him what he expected to hear.

“Yeah, I ’member a big, fine-lookin’ carriage around ’ere. Couldn’t tell about it except, like, as it were dark, but I reckon as it were about then.” She sounded innocent. “Someone yer know, was it?”

He was staring at her as if mesmerized. “I’m not sure,” His breath caught in his throat. “Perhaps. Did you see anyone?”

She did not know what to answer because this time she was not sure what he was looking for. That was what she was here to find out. She settled for bland; that could mean anything.

“It were a big, black coach, quiet like,” she replied. “Driver up on the box, o’ course.”

“Good-looking man, with a beard?” His voice cracked with excitement.

Her heart lurched too. She was on the brink of the truth. She must be very careful now. “Dunno about good-lookin’!” She tried to sound casual. “I reckon as ’e ’ad a beard.”

“Did you see anyone inside?” He was trying to keep his face calm, but his eyes, wide and brilliant, betrayed him. “Did they stop? Did they talk to anyone?”

She invented quickly. It would not matter if the man he was looking for had not stopped. It could have been for any reason, even to ask the way.

“Yeah.” She gestured ahead of her. “Pulled up an’ spoke ter a friend o’ mine, jus’ up there. She said as they was askin’ after someone.”

“Asking after someone?” His voice was high and scratchy.

She could almost smell the tension in him.

“A particular person? A woman?”

That was what he wanted to hear. “Yeah,” she said softly. “That’s right.”

“Who? Do you know? Did she say?”

She chose the one name she knew of connected with this story. “Annie summink.”

“Annie?” He gasped and all but choked, swallowing hard so he could breathe. “Are you sure? Annie who? Do you remember? Try to think back!”

Should she risk saying “Annie Crook”? No. Better not overplay her hand. “No. Begins with a C, I think, but I in’t certain.”

There was utter silence. He seemed paralyzed. She heard someone laugh fifty yards away, and out of sight a dog barked.

His voice was a whisper. “Annie Chapman?”

She was disappointed. Suddenly all the sense in it collapsed. She was cold inside.

“Dunno,” she said flatly, unable to conceal it. “Why? ’Oo was it? Some feller after a night out on the cheap?”

“Never mind,” he said quickly, trying to conceal the importance of it to him. “You’ve been immensely helpful. Thank you very much, very much indeed.” He fished in his pocket and offered her threepence.

She took it. At least she could return it to Tellman, give him something back of what she had spent. Anyway, depending upon where Remus went next, she might need it.

He left without even looking behind him, striding off over the cobbles, dodging a coal cart. Nothing was further from his mind than the possibility that he might be followed.