The Whitechapel Conspiracy

Tellman strode down Keppel Street purposefully towards Tottenham Court Road. He was going for the omnibus. That would make things rather difficult. If she caught the same one, he would be bound to see her. If she waited for the next one, she would be too late by up to a quarter of an hour.

But she knew where Remus’s rooms were. She had a good chance of arriving there at about the same time if she took the underground train. It was worth the risk.

She turned sharply away in the opposite direction, and then started to run. If she was lucky, it would work. And she would have enough money, easily.

She paced the platform, and when the train came, sat fidgeting from stop to stop. As soon as it arrived she charged through the door, across the platform and up the stairs.

The street was busy, and it took her a moment or two to realize exactly where she was. She had to ask directions of a muffin girl, then set out at a half run again.

She got there and swung around the last corner and ca

He swore with feeling and more color than she had known him capable of.

“That’s terrible!” she said in amazement.

He blushed scarlet. He was so embarrassed it robbed him temporarily of the ability to stand on his dignity and order her to go home again.

She straightened her hat and stared back at him. “So, ’e in’t ’ere yet, then?”

“No…” He cleared his throat. “Not yet.”

“Then we’d best wait,” she pronounced, looking away from him and assuming a position of great patience.

He drew in his breath and started to argue, but after the first word he realized the futility of it and stopped again. She was here. He had no power or ability to send her away. He might as well make an ally of her.

They stood side by side on the corner of the street opposite the entrance of Remus’s lodging house. After five minutes of silence and the curious stares of one or two passersby, Gracie decided to give her opinion.

“If yer don’t want ter be noticed, we’d do better ter talk ter each other. Like this we look like we’re ’ere fer no good. Sayin’ nothin’ we don’t even look like we’ve quarreled. Nob’dy keeps up a sulk forever.”

“I’m not sulking,” he said quickly.

“Then talk ter me,” she responded.

“I can’t just… talk.”

“Yes, yer can.”

“What about?” he protested.

“Anythink. If yer could go anywhere in the world fer a visit, where’d yer go? If yer could talk ter anybody out of ’istory, oo’d it be? Wot’d yer say ter ’em?”

He stared at her, his eyes wide.

“Well?” she prompted. “An’ don’ look at me. Watch for Remus. That’s wot we’re ’ere fer. Oo’d yer meet, then?”

There were faint spots of color in his cheeks again. “Who’d you meet?”

“Florence Nightingale,” she said immediately.

“I knew you’d say that,” he replied. “But she isn’t dead yet.”

“Don’t matter. She’s still ’istory. Oo’d you meet?”

“Admiral Nelson.”

“W’y?”

“Because he was a great leader as well as a great fighter. He made his men love him,” he replied.

She smiled. She was glad he had said that. It sometimes showed a lot to know who people’s heroes were, and why.

He grasped her arm suddenly. “There’s Remus!” he said fiercely. “Come on!” He yanked her forward and plunged across the road, dodging in between traffic and reaching the footpath at the far side just as Remus went in through the door.

“Remus!” Tellman called out, stopping just short of actually bumping into him.

Remus turned, startled. As soon as he recognized Tellman his face darkened. “No time to talk to you,” he said briskly. “Sorry.” He took another step forward, his back to Tellman, and started to close the door.

Tellman put his foot in the doorway, still dragging Gracie with him by the hand, not that she was unwilling.

Remus stopped, his expression changing to one of anger.

“Didn’t you hear me? I’ve nothing else to say, and no time. Now, get out of my way!”

Tellman tensed his body as if to resist a blow, and remained exactly where he was. “If you’re still going after the Whitechapel murderer and the story of A

“It’s a damned sight too dangerous to tell anyone about until I’ve got the proof,” Remus retorted. “And you, of all people, should know that!” He turned to Gracie. “And you, whoever you are.”

“I know who you can trust,” Tellman said urgently. “Let them know. It’s the only safeguard you’ve got.”

Remus’s eyes were bright, and there was a decided sneer on his lips. “No doubt you’d like me to tell the police. Perhaps starting with you, eh?” He gave an abrupt little laugh, full of contempt. “Now, get your foot out of my door. I know how dangerous it is, and the police are the last people I’d trust.”

Tellman struggled to find an argument, and failed.

Gracie could think of nothing either. In Remus’s place she would have trusted no one.

“Well, be careful,” she said. “Yer know wot they done ter them women.”

Remus smiled at her. “Of course I know. I am careful.”

“No, you in’t!” she challenged, the words spitting out. “I followed yer all the way ’round Whitechapel, even spoke ter yer, an’ yer never knowed. Followed yer ter Mitre Square, too, but yer was so full o’ wot yer was thinkin’ yer ’ad no idea!”

Remus paled. He stared at her. “Who are you? Why would you follow me-if you did?” But there was fear in his voice now. Perhaps the mention of Mitre Square had made him realize she spoke the truth.

“It don’t matter ’oo I am,” she argued. “If I can follow yer, so can they! Do like ’e says.” She gestured to Tellman. “An’ be careful.”

“All right! I’ll be careful. Now go away,” Remus replied, stepping farther inside and begi

Tellman accepted that they had done all they could, and he retreated, Gracie with him.

Back across the street again he stopped, looking at her questioningly.

“ ’E’s onter summink,” she said decisively. “ ’E’s scared, but ’e in’t givin’ up.”

“I agree,” Tellman said in a low voice. “I’m going to follow him, see if I can protect him at all. You go home…”

“I’m comin’ wif yer.”

“No, you’re not!”

“I’m comin’-wif yer or be’ind yer!”

“Gracie…”

But at that moment Remus’s door opened again and he came out, looked from left to right and back again, and apparently concluding that they had gone, he set out. There was no time to argue. They went after him.

They followed him successfully for nearly two hours, first to Belgravia, where he stayed for about twenty-five minutes, then east and south to the river and along the Embankment just short of the Tower. They finally lost him as he was going east again. It was just growing dusk.

Tellman swore in frustration, but this time watching his language far more carefully.

“He did that on purpose,” he said furiously. “He knew we were here. We must have shown ourselves, got too close to him. Stupid!”

“ ’E mebbe knew we would be,” she pointed out. “Or p’rhaps it weren’t us ’e were tryin’ ter shake? Mebbe ’e were bein’ careful, like we told ’im?”

Tellman stood on the footpath, staring along the street in the direction they had last thought they saw Remus, his eyes squinted, his mouth pulled tight.

“We’ve still lost him. And he’s going towards Whitechapel again!”

It was growing dark. The lamplighter was working the farther side of the street and he was hurrying.

“We’ll never find him in this.” Tellman looked around at the traffic, the rattle and clatter of hooves and wheels over the cobbles, the occasional shouts of drivers. Everyone seemed to be pressing forward as fast as they could. They could barely see fifty yards ahead in any direction in the gloom and the shifting mass of horses and people.

Gracie felt a bitter disappointment. Her feet were tired and she was hungry, but she could not dismiss the fear that Remus had not truly understood the danger he was in; there must be something they could still do to make him realize it.