Page 35 of Secrets in the Dark
“Yes,” she said, hesitating a second. “I visit the graves. Mary Ann Nichols—Polly—and Catherine Eddowes are buried at the City of London Cemetery,” she added quietly. “I go sometimes to see them, and others, where they are buried.”
“Have they—remained?” Della asked.
Abigail shook her head. “No. And I’m thankful because I truly believe that there is a heaven and that their poor souls are at rest. I just go to pray. And to make myself feel better, I believe. And I do believe, as I said, that they are in a far better place, and still...”
“I understand,” Della assured her. “And you saw someone resembling this image there? Interesting.” She glanced at Mason. Was there would-be Ripper King trying to learn everything he possibly could about the past—including visits to gravesites on the canonical victims?
Abigail nodded. “I saw him. But he didn’t seem to be... Well, he didn’t seem to show any empathy. It wasn’t as if he went to pray. He stared at the graves and he... I think he smiled. I didn’t pay that much attention to him. Many people come, just as they come to go on the Ripper tours. But now that I’ve seen this image...”
“Yes?” Della prodded gently.
Her voice trailed. “I tried—others tried. You must understand the world back then.” She winced. “You see, murder in the Whitechapel and Spitalfields areas was not rare. Three other women might have been early victims, though detectives through the years believe that his victims were limited to the five. But there was a file on the Whitechapel murders that included others like Frances Smith, Emma Coles and Martha Tabram. For many in the establishment, violence in Whitechapel was something shrugged off—the crime rate was horrible and our so-called more refined society considered that violence to be part of life for the hard people here living explosive and dangerous lives. When it came to the victims at first, it was lamentable, of course, to good Christians, but it was also almost as if they were...”
“Throwaway people, disposable,” Della said. “And please, don’t worry. We do understand how hard living conditions were for these people. We don’t think poorly of them, or that they were disposable in any way.”
Abigail nodded, her eyes closing briefly, the hint of a smile on her lips.
“This present-day killer—this monster—he thinks nothing of any woman. All are prey for him. But he’s a fool, because it’s not the same world the original Jack knew!” Abigail said fiercely. “And you won’t let him get away with more murders. Will you?”
“We’re taught never to make promises because none of us can give guarantees,” Mason said. “But I swear to you that we will do everything in our power to apprehend him.”
“We won’t stop,” Della added. “Know this, we will not stop.”
Abigail nodded again. “Well, you will have me, too. I never was a detective, but I hope that I will be...” She paused and then smiled brightly again. “I will be a secret weapon against this monster!”
“A highly valued secret weapon!” Della said. “Thank you!”
Abigail nodded somberly. She appeared to straighten her spectral shoulders.
“We’ll keep walking the area. We know that he’s out here somewhere,” Mason said. But then, he excused himself; his phone was ringing.
He took a step away to answer the call. As he did so, Della smiled at their determined Victorian ghost.
“Was it hard for you, being a journalist, an advocate, in the 1880s?”
Abigail smiled. “Almost impossible. But my uncle was a man ahead of his time. And he owned the paper. He didn’t even insist that I use a man’s pseudonym. He was... Well, I miss him almost as much as I miss my husband. Of course, my husband... Strange, isn’t it? I saw many marriages in my day that were forced. I knew manyrespectablecouples who were miserable. And, of course, it was far more accepted for a man to seek solace elsewhere than it was for a woman, but...” She paused, shrugging. “To exist so long, I see that laws change, that morality may change, but the human being remains the same. Love is beautiful. Sometimes it twists, and couples turn on one another. I had a good marriage. My husband was a truly good man. His mind was filled with the brightest health, but his body was ravaged by disease.”
Della hesitated. “Abigail, may I ask you something?”
“Of course, dear.”
“You were young yourself,” Della said softly.
Abigail smiled and nodded. “Yes. And I had children. A boy and a girl. Maybe I care so much about these women being maligned because...when Allen died, I drank too much. Oh, I could function—I wrote well. And I was a good mother. And I would have died, just not so soon. My body did not do well with what I was doing to it, but, you see, I know what it is like to long to feel numb, and...well. The good! My uncle had a daughter about my age and she hadn’t been able to have children and Jane was happy to care for my babes and I always loved her, so... Well!”
She stopped speaking and Della knew that Mason was returning to them. He nodded to Abigail and told Della, “Edmund and Sean have a list of those who might have witnessed something during the vampire murders. They’re headed to see someone named Reginald Alder and we’re off to see a Gary Hudson. Mrs. Scott—”
“Abigail, please,” their ghost reminded him, glancing at Della with a smile.
“Abigail,” Mason said, nodding. “You know where we’re staying and, of course—”
“I will find you if I hear or see anything,” she promised. She hesitated. “I keep walking but I don’t believe that our killer stalks his victims until night falls.”
“I think that you’re right. But I also believe that while his first Ripper murder might have been a killing of convenience, I think he’s already chosen his second victim and is watching her routine. He’ll take a week, possibly, which is good for us. It would be wonderful if you could keep your eyes open for us.”
“Of course!”
“Della?” Mason said.
