Page 121 of When We Touch

George was evidently thinking of the fact that he would owe very little for the night, since Mireau had given him such a fine stack of coins.

“Naturally,” George said.

“Well, we’ve certainly imposed upon your hospitality enough tonight,” Cecilia said, rising. The others did the same.

Maggie was desperate to get a word to Arianna. As they all headed for the door, she hung back, throwing her arms around her and proclaiming, “I didn’t thank you, my dear. You blessed, blessed, wonderful girl!”

Ahead, they all stopped. But Maggie dared whisper, “Tomorrow night, you’ll be out of here. Take care, just until then!”

To her amazement, Arianna hugged her back. And whispered in return, “No, you fool! I won’t come with you, he’ll kill us all. He can do it, he’ll kill us all. Even a hint of the police, and anyone in his way will die! Try to take me, and I’ll scream, do you understand? He’ll not think I was a part of it. Somehow, sometime, I’ll get out of this!”

Aloud, she said, “I’ve done nothing for you, Mona, but . . . I know that tomorrow night, Jeremiah will give you the solace that you need.”

“Yes, yes, of course!”

There could be nothing else said. The man had returned. His huge hand was on her shoulder.

“Until tomorrow!” Maggie said, and then, Mireau was dragging her out of the house and she could only look back and see the sadness in Arianna’s eyes.

A sadness like . . . death.

Chapter 16

The papers ran headlines that screamed across Britain and beyond.

Jack the Ripper had struck again. And again.

The first victim in the wee hours of the morning had been Elizabeth Stride, Long Liz, as she had been known, and the killer had evidently been interrupted, because the lady had lost her life, but not, as one article so crudely put it, her innards.

The second victim had not been left in one piece. She had been cruelly vivisected. Many of the newspapers were gruesome in their detail.

And speculation was running rampant. There was a gang, there was one madman, there was rumor that someone of influence and money was surely doing the crimes, entering into the district with horse and carriage, and thus disappearing without signs of blood upon his person. There was even speculation in a few of the papers that suggested there might be a conspiracy, reaching to very important persons in the country. Considering the behavior of some members of the highest of the high in society, God alone knew just what might be happening.

There were those who suggested that it was a midwife gone mad. Jill the Ripper.

It was someone with an extreme knowledge of anatomy—a doctor.

It was someone with a crude knowledge of anatomy—a butcher, a hunter, perhaps even a housewife who knew what to do with a chicken.

It was a late in the morning, nearly noon, when Jamie awoke at last. He had attended the autopsy of the second victim, Catherine Eddowes, also known as Kate Kelly, among a few other names, and he had left the mortuary feeling weary and ill, shocked. In all his days, and some of those in India, facing the continued threats of the Thugees, despite the fact that India was now part of the Empire, he had never seen such heinous butchery perpetuated upon one human being by another. But the autopsy had not been the most dismaying part of his night out on the Queen’s behest.

Far worse had occurred.

The police must have been right on the trail of the killer. They had found a piece of the woman’s bloody apron. And near it, on the black dado of a wall on Goulston Street, there had been a written message. Chalked by the killer? No one knew.

And there was not even a photograph of what might have been crucial evidence.

There was chaos over that fact. Detectives had guarded it, had pleaded with their superiors to leave the writing for daylight, so that it might be photographed. But Sir Charles Warren—of the Metropolitan police—had ordered that it be wiped down before it was seen by people in the area. He claimed that he was afraid there would be a riot. Englishmen were up in arms about foreigners, and there was a hotbed of hatred and fear in existence.

The Juwes are not

The men that

Will be

Blamed for nothing

Warren had sworn that leaving the message would create a riot.