Whitechapel Conspiracy

“I didn’t!” she protested. “ ’E went ter the police first, askin’ about a coach driver called Nickley tryin’ ter run down a little girl about seven or eight, wot ’e did twice, but never got ’er.” She caught her breath. “An’ after the second time ’e went an’ jumped inter the river, but ’e took ’is boots off first, so ’e din’t really mean ter kill ’isself, ’e jus’ wanted folks ter think ’e did.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” he asked quickly He caught hold of her arm and pulled her to the side of the pavement, out of the way of two men passing by. He did not let go of her.

“I dunno!” she said.

He was struggling to find sense in the story, to see the connections to Annie Crook and what it could have to do with Adinett and Pitt. But deeper, from the core of him, welling up in spite of all he could do to prevent it, he was fighting his fear for Gracie, and his fear for himself because she mattered to him more than he could control or knew how to deal with.

“But ’e knows,” she said, watching him. “Remus knows. ’E’s so lit up yer could see yer way across London by ’im.”

He was still staring at her.

“I saw ’is face in the lamplight in Mitre Square,” she repeated. “That’s w’ere Jack did Kate Eddowes … an ’e knew that! Remus knew! That’s w’y ’e were there.”

Suddenly he realized what she was saying. “You followed him there at night?” He was aghast. “By yourself … into Mitre Square?” He heard his voice ascend up the scale, trembling and out of control. “Haven’t you got the wits you were born with? Think what could have happened to you!” He shut his eyes so tightly it hurt, trying to force away the visions that were inside his head. He could remember the pictures of the bodies four years ago, hideous distortions of the human form, a mockery of the decencies of death.

And Gracie had gone there, at night, following a man who could be anything. “You stupid …” he shouted. “Stupid …” No word came to him that was adequate for his fear for her, his rage and relief, and the fury at his own vulnerability—because if anything had happened to her he would never have been happy again.

He was oblivious of people stopping to stare at him, even of an elderly gentleman who hesitated by Gracie, concerned for her safety. Then apparently he decided it was domestic, and hurried on.

Tellman did not want to care so much, about Gracie or anyone else, but particularly about her. She was prickly, wrong-headed about almost everything that mattered; she didn’t even like him, let alone love him; and she was determined to stay in service to the Pitts. The very thought of being in service to anyone set his teeth on edge, like the sound of a knife scraping on glass.

“You are stupid!” he shouted at her again, swinging his arm around as if he would smash something on the ground, only he had nothing to throw. “Don’t you ever think what you’re doing?”

Now she was angry too. She had been frightened before, but he had insulted her, and she was not going to stand for that.

“Well, I found out wot Remus were after, an’ that’s more’n you did!” she shouted back. “So if I’m stupid, wot does that make you, eh? An’ if yer in too much of a rage ter see wot I jus’ told yer, an’ use it ter ’elp Mr. Pitt, then I’ll jus’ ’ave ter do it meself! I dunno ’ow, but I’ll do it. I’ll go an’ find Remus again an’ tell ’im I know wot ’e’s doin’, an’ if’e don’t tell me—”

“Oh, no you won’t!” He caught hold of her wrist as she turned to leave, almost cannoning into a large woman in a striped dress.

“Get off o’ me!” Gracie tried to snatch herself away, but Tellman had her tightly, and he was too strong for her. She bent forward and bit him, hard.

He yelled with pain and let go of her. “You little beast!”

The large woman hurried away, muttering to herself.

“Then you keep yer ’ands ter yerself!” Gracie shouted back at Tellman. “An’ don’t yer try tellin’ me wot ter do and wot not ter do! I don’t belong ter nobody, an’ I’ll do wot I like. Yer can ’elp me an’ Mr. Pitt, or yer can stand there an’ call me names. It don’t make no difference. We’ll find out the truth, an’ we’ll get ’im back—you’ll see!” This time she flounced her skirts around and stormed off.

He started to go after her, then stopped. His hand was thoroughly sore. Unconsciously he put it to his lips. He had no idea what to say to Gracie anyway. He felt crushed. He wanted to help, for Pitt’s sake, and because it was right, and for Gracie’s sake too. She would have to trust him, and he would be more than worthy of it.

But he was terrified for her, and it was a new and dreadful feeling, a fear like no other, cold and knotting him up inside.

She stopped a dozen yards away and swung around to face him again.

“Are you really jus’ gonna stand there like a bleedin’ lamppost?” she demanded.