Instead, Mrs. McIntosh had, at Fanny’s request, baked many loaves of gingerbread, made with molasses and honey, but Fanny also wanted the children to have something even more substantial. She had thought of buying each of them a chicken, but upon learning that not all of the families had stoves capable of cooking a whole chicken, she had instead arranged with a local tavern to bake up a large quantity of meat pies, which she would make up into parcels with the gingerbread, in a length of clean muslin, which formed part of the gift. The cost had not been excessive, and she knew everything would be welcomed by the families of her pupils.
“Christmas!” exclaimed Mr. Edifice to Cecilia Butters, certain of her concurrence. “A time to consider our own blessings, and to generously give what we can!”
But that fair lady regarded the hamper with a frown. “How much did all of this cost my poor mother-in-law, Miss Price?’
“Pray do not alarm yourself on that account, ma’am,” replied Fanny evenly, “for I have purchased these gifts with my own monies.”
“Well... of course you have no living expenses, do you, thanks to my mother-in-law. You must have a good deal of pocket money to throw about.”
“Yes, ma’am,” was all Fanny would say; but inwardly she added, what you call ‘pocket money’ is in my pocket because I earned it, all myself.
Fanny very sensibly felt the great satisfaction she derived from being able to make choices with her purse, without being obliged to the generosity or caprice of anyone else. This money was not given to me by anyone, she thought, I am beholden to no-one for it, and I can have no qualms in spending it, in exactly the manner I please.
Chapter Ten
London was shocked again by fresh horrors, a few days before Christmas. A man, his wife, and their maid were slaughtered in the dark of night in their public house and as before, the killer escaped into the streets. Once again, the murders took place in Wapping and the residents of that area almost rioted outside of the Thames River and Shadwell police offices, demanding more police protection. But the renewed terror spread through all of London and beyond.
Many households armed themselves, and men volunteered for neighbourhood patrols. The girls of the academy were dismissed at dusk, so they could walk home before darkness fell. At Stoke Newington, Mrs. Butters’ man-servants took it in turns to stay awake and guard the house all night and Madame Orly pushed her dresser in front of her bedchamber door before retiring for a restless night’s sleep. Fanny too, checked and double-checked that her window-frame was locked and pulled her blinds tight every night. She felt a little foolish doing so, but the panic of fear was highly contagious.
It was impossible to escape the atmosphere of dread which hung over the metropolis as Christmas approached.
On Christmas Eve, Mrs. Butters found it advisable to visit her banker to review her quarterly accounts and adjust her investments, having laid out so much monies on the academy and her family. Together with her brother and her sister-in-law, she went into London, and Madame Orly and Fanny were obliged to stay a little longer at the classroom, before Donald McIntosh and the carriage would return to convey them back to Stoke Newington. This arrangement suited both Fanny and the lady’s maid very well, as they wanted to put the final touches on their gift for Mrs. Butters—a new embroidered jacket—without her knowledge.
As soon as the students were dismissed, Master Blodgett, in the absence of his parents, quickly locked up the downstairs shop and went to spend the evening at a tavern. Upstairs, Fanny and Madame Orly pulled their chairs beside the stove and stitched and sewed and chatted amiably.
Half an hour became an hour, then two. Fanny set down her work and rubbed the back of her neck. “I hadn’t realized how dark it has grown, Madame,” said Fanny. “I shall fetch us some more candles.”
“What time is it?” said Madame Orly, examining her pocket watch. “Can my watch be right? Is it six o’clock already?” She jumped up and looked at the classroom clock on the wall. “Yes, six! No wonder I am so hungry! Where is McIntosh? Where can he be?”
A look of dismay and apprehension crossed the Frenchwoman’s face, and Fanny realized she was thinking of the Ratcliffe Highway killer.
Both women moved to the windows, hoping to see Donald McIntosh and his carriage. The streets were empty, and a fog had crept in with the dusk. One or two working men hurried by, shoulders hunched against the cold, faces down, guided through the gathering gloom by a few dim streetlamps. Though it was barely evening, the night sky was forbidding and cold. A man paused under a street light to fill his pipe—he looked up, idly and around, at the tall windows of the academy. Fanny and Madame Orly, with one accord, stepped back from the window.
“Would you like me to put the kettle on, Madame?” said Fanny. Will you have a little tea?”
Madame Orly shook her head. “Do not build the fire, I don’t want anyone to see smoke from the chimney. I don’t want anyone to know we are here—all alone.”
Was it the chill from the windows, or was it the fear in Madame Orly’s voice, that caused the gooseflesh to raise on Fanny’s arms? Only a few hours ago, the classroom had been light, cheery, and filled with chattering girls, exclaiming over their Christmas presents from Fanny. Now a feeling of anxiety pressed upon her. Where was Mrs. Butters and the carriage? What had happened to them?
Fanny and Madame Orly worked together to pull the long, heavy curtains across
