“I see.” Tallulah made a brave effort to look unshaken. “So that means it was someone with a very strong cruel streak, and a man who had a … a physical relationship with her.” She laughed a little jerkily. “Although since that was her trade, it is hardly surprising. But why should he actually kill her?”
“I don’t know,” Emily replied. “Could she have threatened him in any way?”
“How?” Tallulah was confused. “She was far weaker than he. She must have been.”
“Blackmail?” Emily suggested.
“Two of them?” Charlotte was highly skeptical. “Blackmail over what? Because he visited a prostitute? We don’t speak of it openly, but we know that men do. If they didn’t, then there wouldn’t be any prostitutes.”
“We know it happens,” Emily corrected her, “to someone else! What about if it is your husband? What if he has some of these unusual appetites? If he were important enough, it could ruin him. Let’s say he had a very fortunate marriage in view, or already achieved, and was dependent upon the goodwill of his father-in-law for more preferment? Or he needs a son and heir, and his wife is unlikely to give him one if she knows of his behavior?”
“Good,” Charlotte agreed. “That makes sense. Why both Ada and Nora? And why torture them? Why not simply kill them and get out as soon as possible? The longer he’s there, the more risk he runs of being discovered. Is the torture part of what he does anyway? No, it can’t be. No prostitute is going to have her fingers and toes broken whatever you pay her. Tied up, doused in cold water perhaps, but not injured.”
Tallulah was still very pale, and she sat hunched in her pretty chair.
“Proof,” she said thoughtfully. “She had proof of his behavior, and he tortured her to try to make her give it to him.”
“But she didn’t … because she had given it to Nora for safekeeping!” Charlotte finished.
“What sort of proof?” Emily pressed, but her voice was rising in eagerness. At last there was something which made at least a little sense. “Pictures? Letters? A statement from a witness? What else?”
“Statement from a witness,” Charlotte answered. “Paintings wouldn’t mean anything; they’re not evidence. No one would take photographs of such a thing. I mean, how could you? You have to sit still for ages for photographs. And who writes letters to prostitutes? It would have to be something to do with a witness. Maybe it happened before? Perhaps there are lots of women who know, and she had statements from all of them?”
“Then where are they now?” Tallulah looked from one to the other. “Does he have them, or did Nora hide them too well from him?”
“What we have to do,” Charlotte said decisively, sitting more uprightly, “is to learn all we can about Nora and Ada. That’s where the answer is. First we need to have proof they even knew each other. We need to find everything in common in their lives, and then see if we can find any other women who knew this man. They would give us a proper description of him. They might even know his name.”
“Marvelous!” Tallulah stood up. “We’ll begin straightaway. Jago will help us. He knew Ada McKinley. He’ll know where we can start, and he might even help us to gain people’s trust so they will talk to us.”
“I …” Emily looked at Charlotte, uncertain how to say what she needed to without hurting irreparably.
“What?” Tallulah demanded.
Charlotte’s mind raced. “Don’t you think that would be rather an unfair way to do it?” she said, making it up as she went along.
“Unfair?” Tallulah was confused. “To whom? The women? We’re looking for a man who murdered two of them! What has fairness to do with it?”
“Not to the women. To Jago.” Charlotte’s brain cleared. “He is their priest. He shouldn’t compromise his work with the people by being seen to help us. After all, he has to stay there as their friend long after we’ve gone.” She could only think of the hideous possibility that it was Jago himself who had killed the women. Who was more vulnerable to blackmail than a priest with a taste for prostitutes? He could be the one sort of man whose image would not survive the accusation that he had slept with a street woman, or even more than one. His work would be finished, not only in Whitechapel but in the Church anywhere.
“Oh.” Tallulah relaxed. “Yes, I suppose so. We had better go alone. We can find it easily enough. I’d rather we went in the daytime.” She flushed uncomfortably. “In the evening …”
“Of course,” Emily agreed quickly. “It will all be sufficiently unpleasant and difficult without our being considered as rivals.”
Tallulah giggled nervously, but it was agreed. They would meet in the early afternoon, proceed by hansom to Old Montague Street and begin their enquiries-suitably attired, of course.
It was not easy to obtain entrance to the house in Pentecost Alley. Madge answered the door, and remembered them clearly from their earlier visit. They were similarly dressed.
“Wot jer want this time?” she said, eyeing them narrowly through the space between the door and its frame. She looked at Charlotte. “An’ ’oo are you, the parlor maid?” She regarded her handsome figure. “You look more like a parlor maid ter me. All got thrown out, did jer? Well it in’t no good comin’ ’ere. I can’t take yer in. On’y got room for one, and that’ll be expensive. Works on yer earnin’s, though we gotta ’ave rent even if yer don’t earn nuffink. Which one of yer wants it?”
“We’ll come in and have a look,” Charlotte said immediately. “Thank you.”
Madge looked at her suspiciously. “Why does a girl wot speaks proper, like you, wanna work the streets ’round ’ere for? W’y don’t yer work up west, w’ere you could make some real money?”
“I might,” Charlotte agreed. “Let’s look at this room first. Please?”
Madge opened the door and let them in. They followed her along the corridor, which was faintly musty smelling, as if lived in too much, with windows that were never opened. She pushed the second door along and it swung wide. Charlotte was in front. She peered in, and instantly wished she had not. It was so ordinary, about the same size as her own bedroom in the house where she had grown up. It was far less pretty, but it had a lived-in air. It was too easy to imagine the woman who had slept here, and conducted her business here, and died here in fearful pain.
She heard Tallulah behind her draw in her breath sharply, and beside her Emily’s body stiffened, though she made no sound.
“D’jer wan’ it?” Madge asked bluntly, her voice harsh.
Charlotte swung around and saw the huge woman’s face tight, red and chapped, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Let’s sit down and talk about it,” Emily suggested. “Have a cup of tea. I brought a little something to add to it. You’ve got to let the room sometime.”
Without speaking Madge led them to the back of the house and the kitchen.
The room was messy, designed for laundry as well as cooking. A black stove gave off a very slight warmth, its front dull and a fine ash coating the floor around it. The kettle was already on, steaming gently. Perhaps it always was. There were dirty mugs on the board next to the basin and two pails of water standing with lids on. Charlotte guessed the water had to be fetched from the nearest well or standpipe. She hoped they boiled it thoroughly before it was offered for tea. She wished Emily had not suggested it. But then perhaps they would have no other chance to talk, and what was a possible upset stomach compared with the disaster that faced Pitt if the crime was never solved? He would always be thought of as the man who hanged Costigan when he was innocent. Perhaps worse than that, he would think of himself that way. He would doubt his judgment, be awake at night and tear his conscience. And there would be those who would believe he had done it knowingly, in order to protect someone else, someone with the money or the influence to reward him appropriately. He would be suspected of far more than a mere error. Errors could be forgiven; they were a human failing. Corruption was something far deeper; it was the ultimate betrayal, that of self.
The tea was strong and bitter, and there was no milk. They all sat around the table on uneven chairs. Emily produced a small flask of whiskey out of her voluminous pocket and put a generous dash in each mug, to Tallulah’s amazement, although she concealed it almost instantly.
“Here’s to your health,” Emily said optimistically, and lifted her mug.
“Here’s to all our health,” Charlotte echoed, more as a prayer than a toast.
“What’s the area like?” Emily asked with interest.
“S’all right,” Madge replied, taking a good swig of her scalding tea and sucking her teeth appreciatively. “That’s very civil of you,” she added, nodding her head towards the whiskey bottle. “Can make a fair livin’ if yer prepared ter work for it.”
“Ada did well, didn’t she?” Emily continued. “She was bright.”
