Page 139 of When We Touch

She hadn’t seen Jamie again, and she was concerned, except that her brother had taken up residence at the house, and told her that Jamie had asked about her, but that he was busy. He had gotten Mireau to write some articles and see that they were sent to the paper; they were calming articles, saying as how the entire community must learn to fight terror together.

Hearing this, Maggie decided that she could aid the cause, and she got Mireau to sit with her while she had him write up her version of her particular story, claiming that the police, along with Lord James, had certainly saved her life, that they were a city with a massive population, learning to fight crime. She made certain to stand up for Prince Eddy, pointing out clearly that he had been in Scotland during the murders, and she had urged other men and women of any financial prosperity to help those who were so in need. She made sure that the byline was that of a fictitious member of the Salvation Army, and therefore, she didn’t add any of the scandal of her own life to what was written.

The days ahead were hard, though—horrible. The entire city indeed lived in fear. A piece of kidney, proved to be human, was delivered to Mr. Lusk, head of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, and the police and the citizens had to grimly accept the fact that it might well have been taken from one of the victims.

The story was printed, and Maggie was glad to see that there were people who talked about it, and rather than drag down the monarchy or continue to ridicule such hardworking fellows as Abberline, they began to form their own watch committees.

And to add aid to those in the East End.

A week after the night when she had gone to Hennesy’s house and possibly had her own encounter with the madman, Jamie came to the house. He was in a tense and dire mood, and she was surprised when he said that he wasn’t ordering her about, but if she cared anything for him, she would go away for a while.

“Where?”

“Go visit Clayton’s sisters. Visit the baby,” he told her.

Mireau was there, and she glared at him furiously. He lifted his hands helplessly. “He . . . has a way of making me say things!” Mireau said.

“Just for a while, Maggie, please. Just for a while. Alexander is a madman, whether he is the East End fiend or not, and he wants you dead. I can’t worry about you and do the things I should be doing.”

She wanted to argue. She didn’t. She had to admit that she wasn’t feeling her usual strength as yet. Except that she didn’t want to be away from him. First, everything had been so volatile, and then, when she had finally discovered a taste of real tenderness . . .

“All right,” she told him.

So she went up to the woods, and met Clayton’s sisters, and spent time playing with the absolutely precious little girl called Ally.

Arianna came for the first week, which made Justin come, too. They were waiting, of course—her period of mourning for her father was long from over, but as she told Maggie, Justin was her prince in shining armor, and she wanted to be with him more than anything in the world.

Cecilia came to visit as well, bringing with her news from London. Sir Charles Warren had buckled to pressure and resigned.

Actually, he resigned again, and then again, but the whole of the police departments were in a state of flux. Maggie’s cousin Tristan had joined with the Metropolitan police, and was very pleased to be working.

Cecilia announced that she had done some investigating, since they really didn’t know much about their little Ally.

“There is definitely a woman named Annie Crook now escaped somewhere to the North. She had been in and out of many of the relief houses. She is not supposed to be a prostitute, but, well, women make their money where they can! And she has borne a few children. One whose name is Alice, but that baby is with her, alive and unharmed. Whether this is a woman with whom Eddy had an affair . . . I do think that our Ally is his child. Annie Crook may have had several, or maybe she isn’t even the mother.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Maggie told her. “Ally belongs here, in this lovely cottage, being raised by gentlewomen who adore her. You’re not supposed to know who she is, or that she’s here. Mireau can’t keep a secret!”

Cecilia was offended at that. “Maggie! I would go to my grave with the secret! After all we’ve been through together!”

And, of course, she was right.

“No one must ever know about her, though. Really, truly,” Maggie reminded Cecilia.

“Of course!”

And they progressed to talk about other matters.

There was other crime in the City of London. As accusations and arguments climbed, so did the fear. More and more letters poured into police stations.

But time passed . . .

A month, and the murderer did not strike again.

Then, he came back with his most savage rage of killing yet.

And naturally, the papers were full of it. For once, he didn’t kill his victim on the streets, or leave the body there, exposed.

But what he did surpassed any evil previously seen.