Page 88 of Secrets in the Dark
They thanked them.
It was after they left Della off at Lucretia Mayberry’s flat that he finally realized what had been bothering him about their new Ripper’s messages to the media.
Theshethe man wanted might just be Della.
Lucretia seemed honestly glad to see Della.
Maybe she was just happy when someone was interested in the past and the peoples of the past.
“I’ve been at sites in the Middle East and Africa that are truly amazing as far as discovering the evolution of man,” she told Della, “But I admit, I love being right here, in London. There’s just such a richness in the many centuries and the population through the centuries. And the discoveries that we make, and for me...sadly, much has to do with the tragedies man has faced. The bubonic plague that seriously struck London in 1348 killed about sixty percent of the population—we unearth bodies from those days more often than you’d care to think. Before the plague, circa 1315, there was a famine—and we find truth of events throughout history through the bones of the dead frequently. Even Professor Goodridge unearths a microcosm of amazing human events. Plague, of course, would continue to arrive every few decades, taking more and more people. And, of course, no one can forget the Great Fire that burned down about eighty-five percent of the city! We discover so much!”
Della smiled and nodded while she listened.
“I’m curious. Is there anything you can tell me about the area where we’re staying in Whitechapel. Were there previously digs in the blocks surrounding St. Botolph’s?” she asked.
“Whitechapel, of course, has a rich and varied history,” Lucretia said. “The center of the area is Whitechapel High Road—the name derives from the little chapel of St. Mary’s, and it ran through with the old Roman road. Through hundreds of years, it was where immigrants came. At one time, there were over a hundred and fifty houses to shelter the poor and desperate. Entire families lived in one-room flats. No sanitation... I can’t imagine the misery of being there!”
Della thought of Abigail Scott. She had been an impressive woman, determined that others see the way that some had to live.
She nodded again. “What I need to know is... We think that the killer we’re seeking is moving underground, but we’re trying to figure out how.”
Lucretia was thoughtful. “Well, sad to say, in the area, there were murders that occurred before the Ripper. Domestic disagreements, robberies gone bad... In fact, when the Ripper first started, the cry ofmurder! meant little in the streets.”
“Is there a way, perhaps, to discover if anything went on in that direct area? Or, perhaps, even in the time before the Ripper.”
She smiled. “Underground London is amazing, as I’m sure I’ve said. I don’t know of anything in particular at this moment, but I can do some research on the anthropologists and archeologists who have been here in the last years.”
“I would so appreciate that.”
“I can say that your theory is more than just possible. People apply to dig a cellar when they haven’t had one—and bones are discovered because the property once held catacombs. Then again,” she murmured, shrugging, “as I said. The area was horrifically poor—and that meant that it could also be horrifically violent. Muggings, assaults and robberies going on, constantly. Oh! Not to say that all the people were bad, quite the contrary. Most were just struggling to get by, and maybe even find a way to make a better life for their children.” She paused, frowning. “I have an idea of where to start. In the late 1700s, there were strange disappearances in the area by the church. The Metropolitan Police Act wasn’t in force until 1829 and before that you had elected constables, but none paid, and as populations increased so did crime. Some of the buildings near St. Botolph’s were owned by the younger son of a titled family, a man named Nathaniel Bradenton. He was thought to be somewhat of a shady character, resentful that he’d inherit just about nothing while his older brother would be set for life. His own daughter left behind a diary that is heartbreaking to read—she feared that her father was half-mad, and she didn’t know what he did in the late hours of the night that so often caused him to come home disheveled andalmost foaming at the mouth, like a rabid dog, according to her diary. I don’t know if the area has been inspected or if there has been any building that would call for discovery of the underground, but I will see what I can discover.”
“We will so appreciate any help that you can give us,” Della told her.
“Of course! I will help in any way!”
There was little else that Della could do regarding the possible history of the underground that she needed until Lucretia had time to do her research. She smiled, thanked her and left.
Despite the kindly patrolman’s offer to come running when bidden, Della decided just to call a rideshare. She thought it would be faster; it was.
But she had herself dropped off on the corner across the street from the house they had rented. They had gone into the pub, but they hadn’t stopped by the candy store or the clothing shop. She wondered if she should get Edmund or Sean to join her, but she was there now and it seemed to her that time was becoming more and more important.
They had to find Jesse Miller before he struck again.
She started with the candy shop.
It was impressive; customers could watch toffee being made in one corner. In another corner, fresh nuts were salted or mixed in with honey or other additives.
There were rows and rows of every candy imaginable to man, and an impressive register area with giant candy canes as if they were the gateway to a magical kingdom.
There were employees working throughout the shop but Della headed to the young woman behind the giant candy canes. She couldn’t have been more than twenty or twenty-one, blue-eyed, dark-haired and energetically cheerful.
“Hello there! How may I help you?” the woman inquired politely.
Della smiled and produced her badge, which, of course, just confused the young woman until she explained that she was part of an international unit seeking the man who had murdered a woman so brutally as a “Ripper.”
“And you think he’s here?” she asked in horror.
“No, no, certainly not now,” Della said. “But we’re looking into possible hiding places—”
