Page 118 of When We Touch

It was Mireau. “Our young maid was ill,” he explained. “Lord, I don’t know that she won’t become far more ill, poor thing, don’t know if we’ll be able to afford to keep her . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to trouble you with our woes!” He reached into his pocket, looking at George Hennesy. “My good man, you are the head of the house?”

“George Hennesy,” the portly man said, reaching out for the coins, counting them, and looking very pleased. “Give this fellow his sip of brandy, Ellen!” he told his wife. She nodded his way, and her eyes had a knowing look. See! She seemed to say to her husband. Other good people are willing to give their last few coins up in honor of such a man as Jeremiah Heath!

Mireau was brought a brandy, and Mr. Hennesy turned the coins over to John, who smiled pleasantly. “Jeremiah, ’e’d help ye out from the goodness o’ his heart, ’e ’ould!” John said. “But a man’s got to live, and such a man, well, ’e needs a decent bed for his sleep!”

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Hennesy said. “But oh, dear, oh, dear, he is coming, isn’t he? I have such hopes set in this evening!”

“ ’E’s coming, Mrs. Hennesy, don’t you doubt it.”

“He’s held up in the streets; there’s mayhem out there,” Mireau said.

“Aye, another murder,” Mr. Hennesy said.

“Another murder?” Mireau said. He shook his head. “Two murders, I’m afraid.” He stared straight at Maggie, his eyes filled with warning. “A double event, so they’re shouting.”

* * *

Sadly, Jamie’s intuition had been right.

His sense of direction had been wrong.

The shouts and whistles had been going on for some time when he finally found Mitre Square at last. And already, people were milling and crowding, and the police were in vast confusion.

Some of it, Jamie ascertained immediately. The other body had been found off Berner Street while this one was in Mitre Square.

For the first time, the killer had struck in an area that was within the actual square mile that constituted the City of London. And so, officers belonging to the City of London police were running around, claiming supremacy, while their comrades from the Metropolitan force were out in abundance as well—they’d been chasing clues, chasing a killer.

Sadly, a number of policemen would still be in the Berner Street area, canvassing the homes there, searching for any small clue.

It wasn’t yet two A.M. Jack the Ripper had indeed been interrupted so it seemed, and he had walked less than a quarter of a mile to strike again.

The police were desperately trying to hold people back, to control the crime scene, and again, to find what evidence they could. There was a lieutenant apparently in charge, and Jamie excused himself through the crowd, pulling his papers from his pocket to produce for the lieutenant.

“Lord Langdon!” the officer murmured with surprise. He studied him a minute and knew that his appearance was not to be questioned. He lowered his voice. “Some of the Metropolitan fellows aren’t happy with me, but Lieutenant Colonel Henry Smith hasn’t arrived yet, and . . . this is his jurisdiction. He was spending the night at the Cloak Lane station, but . . . he’ll be here soon enough.”

“I don’t intend to touch anything or get in the way. If I might just take a look . . . ?”

“Of course.”

Jamie wished that he had not felt obliged to do so as he hunkered down to view the victim.

The woman was on her back. One leg extended straight out, the other was bent and open. She had been ripped open from the groin to the chest, and her organs had been ransacked. In a horrible display, pieces had been strewn around the body as if the killer had intent in the design. But the madman had not stopped there. Her face had also been mutilated.

Whatever fervor had been interrupted in Berner Street had been given free rein here. He stared at her a very long moment and wondered if he had ever seen her before, in one of the pubs, walking the street, or listening to Maggie as she spoke. It was sad to say, that with her nose clipped and the blood all about, he would have no idea.

The officer buckled down beside him. “He worked quickly, he did. Officer on duty came through here at one thirty A.M., and found her at one forty-five.”

“He gets around like a wraith, and works quickly, indeed,” Jamie murmured, and rose.

As Jamie stood, he saw two men being let through the crowd. “Doctors . . . Brown and Sequira,” the officer said.

Jamie nodded absently, looking around the square. There were three entrances to it. There were warehouses to one side, and what looked like a few empty houses to the other, along with one that had a light shining within.

“A policeman’s house,” the officer told him. “And there’s a night watchman at the factory . . . and no one heard a thing.”

“No, of course not,” Jamie murmured, and he wondered in what direction the killer must have gone.

“Which way does the officer’s beat go?” he asked.