There comes a time in every boy’s life when he must learn how to dance. As it happened, that time was not now. James Wakefield, the earl of Wakefield Estate, was due to learn the art of ballroom dancing, but a summons from the queen put his dreaded lessons on hold. He was the young but independent owner of one of the most successful trade and travel companies in the area. At just 12, he inherited his father’s business when both of his parents died in a house fire. In just 2 years, James managed to become an economic superpower. Now, at a short stature of only five feet and fair of hair and eyes, he stood strong in the economic turmoil of Victorian London’s commerce. Along with his trade, he also inherited his father’s title as the queen’s guardian.
What that meant exactly, was only known to him, his butler, and the queen herself. The aforementioned butler, Michael Wren, has been in the Wakefields’ employ for the two years that James had been on his own. Besides the usual butler tasks, he has also taken up any and all tutorial duties that needed filling for the young earl. This was mainly general lessons, such as maths, english, geography, and music, but he could take the place of any other tutor with ease.
For now, though, Michael was delivering a message from Queen Victoria to the young Earl. Had the message not been marked “Important”, he would have observed James’s dance class for it was quite amusing to watch him stumble and trip over his teacher’s feet every other step. Instead, he cleared his throat upon entering the room to gain their attention and presented the folded and sealed piece of paper to the head of the estate.
James stopped his ‘dancing’ when Michael coughed from the doorway and said, “What is it?”
“This just in, sir. It seems the queen is in need of your services again,” Michael responded calmly. “She has sent you a formal request for your assistance.”
“It’s from the queen; of course it’s formal. Can’t this wait? The Lady Rowena’s ball is next week and, as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t know how to dance.”
“Sir, it’s marked as important.”
“Her letters always are. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I--”
“Pardon the interruption; Grey said it was about him,” Michael cut in, mid-sentence, and looked up at James’s ballroom etiquette instructor who had been forgotten up until this point.
James hesitated and mulled over what his butler had said before simply saying, “I see.” He turned to his tutor. “This will have to wait until our next lesson, Miss Ada.”
She curtsied lightly and exited the room. James held his hand out to Michael who placed the letter in it. He broke the seal and unfurled the slip of parchment to reveal curly handwriting that was trademark of the queen. While reading, James’s expression changed from skeptical about the true importance of the letter to shock at what the writing revealed.
“It seems,” he paused as he folded the paper back up, “that the Ripper is at it again. The queen is concerned about the safety of her people and would like us to look into it.”
“What do you presume our next steps to be?” Michael asked, knowing that much of the work would be on his shoulders to complete.
“We need to talk to her. From there, we can decide whether the attacker has major ties to the Underworld.” James cringed at the thought of who he had to talk to to get the information that he needed. It seemed that Michael caught the reference because he reacted in much the same way.
“Sir, are you sure talking to her is a good idea? You know how she can be.”
“Yes, I know. I don’t like this any more than you do, but it must be done. We leave in an hour. Please have a carriage prepared.”
“Of course, sir.” Michael bowed as James turned and walked out of the room toward his study.
*****
The carriage rolled up in front of the derelict building in the Whitechapel region of London. They had stopped by the police station to get records on all the victims of the Ripper to date. The journey from there had only taken about a half hour, but it felt much too short when James thought about who he now had to talk with. The funeral parlor had never been his favorite place to be, but the owner was his eyes and ears in London’s Underworld. Lenore Blackwood, known more commonly by her late husband’s surname, Poe. After he had died, she reverted to her maiden name, but people continued to call her ‘Poe’. She went mad with grief at his sudden death but when her heart recovered, her mind did not and she embraced her madness fully. Now, she wore it like a new dress.
“Do you have the stuff?” James asked Michael as he stepped out of the carriage door in front of the funeral parlor.
“Of course, sir,” Michael said, closing the door and producing a rather large package from behind his back. He stepped hesitantly toward the door.
“Well, here goes nothing,” James stated with a sigh as Michael opened the front door. Inside was gloomy and dusty and there were cobwebs everywhere, but that was to be expected seeing as Poe didn’t care what her shop looked like, so long as it was still functional. There were coffins strewn haphazardly throughout the front room, behind the counter, there were barrels of salt and other preservatives, there were shelves around the room with random bottles and vials of multicolored liquid and no labels, and, interestingly enough, there was a rather large jar on the desk with a brain floating in green liquid inside.
“Well, well, well. What have we here?” a voice said from the shadows. It rose and fell in a sing-song manner. Looking around, the earl noticed that the candlelight was reflected off a pair of eyes in the back corner of the room. The eyes moved closer and soon revealed the slight form of a woman dressed entirely in oversized black robes. She had dark hair and a wild gleam in her eyes. Before speaking again, she crept forward so that she was awkwardly close to the young lord and stroked one of her long fingernails down his cheek. “Is it finally time to fit you for your coffin, my dear Earl Wakefield?”
James cringed away and grimaced at her ‘greeting’. “You just can’t wait for me to die, can you, Poe?”
“Oh, don’t be so brash. It’s coming and you know it.” As she walked back toward her desk, James could have sworn that he heard her mutter, “Very soon, now.”
“My impending death aside, we need your help.” James held his hand out toward Michael who produced the files they had collected earlier and handed them to the earl. He then spread them across the desk in front of Poe. “Have you seen any of these people recently?”
Poe perused the files, studying all the faces and descriptions. She made odd grunts and other noises as she looked through and then closed all the folders. “I have information, but it’ll cost you.” Her voice always went up at the end as if she were asking a question but it sounded normal in comparison with how much her voice wavered up and down in tones.
“Michael,” the earl said without looking away from her. Michael placed the parcel they had brought from the manor on the desk without saying a word. Poe eagerly opened it to reveal a solid block of chocolate. “That should be enough, don’t you think? It’s Swiss. Now what information do you have?”
Poe looked at the cube hungrily. She didn’t believe in the use of the queen’s coins and instead preferred to trade her services for fine sweets. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” The earl looked taken aback and very shocked at the response. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I mean that I don’t know any of these people, neither have they been in my shop.”
“Well, how is that supposed to help us? You’re giving us nothing to go on. You said you had information!”
“I do: I don’t know.” Poe narrowed her eyes. “I know that I don’t know.”
“I see,” Michael piped up from behind James. “If you don’t know then that means that the killer wasn’t part of the Underworld. Everyone in it goes through here to dispose of their dead, but the aristocrats have more distinguished people care for the deceased. No offense to you, of course.”
Poe smiled widely. Too widely. It was really unsettling. “None taken, butler.” She handed the folders back to Michael. “I’m glad that I could be of service.”
“Until next time then, Poe,” James said and began to walk out of the shop.
“Perhaps then I will finally have the chance to build your coffin.” She started laughing maniacally as the earl and his butler exited the building.
James and Michael reentered the carriage to go back to the manor and await the next attack.
****
The next morning, the earl and his butler were notified of another victim. She was found in an old house that was thought to be abandoned. The body was bloodied and mutilated around the abdomen with the throat cut. Everything fit the modus operandi of the Ripper. Upon further observation of the body, the police found that both the left kidney and the uterus had been removed with surgical precision. This set off red flags for James. To Michael, he said, “So the killer isn’t part of the Underworld and has surgical training? Look into this and write up a list of people in the area that have the means to do this. The police claim that she was killed around 1 last night. From the list that you make, determine who had a solid alibi and a motive. Go now.”
“Of course, young master.” And with that, Michael lept into action to review any and all records available to the public. The police were wary about allowing James into the crimescene. He was only a child, after all, but he had seen much more in previous years of being the queen’s guardian. He had eliminated several other major criminals for Her Majesty and was not bothered by such things as blood. As one had approached him about it, he gave a hint as to what it was that he actually did.
“Hey, kid. You shouldn’t be here. Go back home with your parents,” the officer had said off-handedly.
“Do you know who I am?” James said back.
“Yeah, you’re a kid and this is a crime scene. You shouldn’t be seeing this kind of thing.”
“I’m Earl Wakefield, guardian of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria.” James was quite salty rather irate that the officer would not let him through even though he had the authority to pass and observe the crime scene without even talking to the police.
The officer looked down at him, seeing who he was for the first time. “I’m sorry, but you still can’t enter, earl.”
James’s expression darkened and softened a moment later. “Do you know why no one knows what happens to the people whom the queen’s guard is set on?”
“No.” The officer was looking anxious. It seemed he had heard rumors of criminals mysteriously disappearing when the title “Guardian” was applied to their case.
“That’s because no one lives to tell the tale.” James paused as he took this in and then proceeded to pull out the letter that had been sent to him. “Also, I have permission from the queen to access any and all information relevant to the case.” James smiled up at the officer in a way that only a kid could.
He was permitted to pass through shortly after.
The corpse was just as it had been described to him, but he had to see it in person. As Michael had gone to carry out his task on foot, the Wakefield carriage was still parked on the street with the driver dozing in his seat. James woke him when he opened the door and climbed in. Out the window, he called, “To home, Hiram.” The carriage immediately began moving.
***
The next evening, when Michael was serving his tea, James inquired on the status of the suspects list. From his jacket, Michael produced a list of dozens of people with the qualifications and abilities to flawlessly remove two organs. On it, were red marks through some of the names that effectively removed them from the list.
“What did you find out?” James asked, still looking at the paper that was handed to him.
“There are exactly 1,938 people in England with the medical training necessary for such an operation.” He paused when he saw the earl’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Because of the time of year, more than half of those people were in their country homes on the dates of the attacks. I have made sure of this. Narrowing it down then to only 206, I looked at people with no alibis. Assuming the Ripper is a single person, another large portion of the remaining names could be eliminated based on the dates of previous Ripper hits. There were then only 73 people who were unaccounted for on all of these dates around the estimated times of death. Poking my nose around, I found that three of these people had also died before the most recent attack or any preceding it, be cause of death natural or otherwise.”
“What of the remaining 70?”
“I interviewed them as well to find some kind of motive. Because all the victims were prostitutes in the Whitechapel area, it was highly likely that the killer was also in that area. After interviews, I eliminated another dozen or so from the list. Next, I looked at the descriptions that witnesses gave about the supposed killer. Most said that it was a male, sharply dressed, fair of skin but with dark hair. This means that the killer likely wasn’t someone with hair that was long or blond. Taking appearances into account, I additionally was able to cross off an additional 15. Of the remaining 33, I reviewed their files to find any connection with the Underworld. I also spoke to Poe again with pictures of all the remaining suspects and she confirmed my suspicions. Being privy to all the workings and happenings of the Underworld, she was able to tell me which ones she had seen in the company of less than savory characters around town.”
“So after all that, how many people do we have left to review?”
“Three.”
“Three? You took a list of nearly 2,000 and narrowed it down to just 3 in one night?”
“That is what you ordered me to do, yes. It was rather tiring and I was late to prepare supper, but it is done.”
“Very well done, Michael. Who remains on the list?”
“Madame Lehmann, Earl Drummond, and Viscount Faulkner,” Michael said, taking the list from the desk where James had abandoned it and folding it up.
“Madame Lehmann? She’s my aunt. I thought she lived in Ireland?” James looked confused. She was his mother’s sister and had moved away to Ireland when she had gotten married to a wealthy trader.
“Yes; she moved to England 6 months ago and currently works at a hospital in Whitechapel. Relation or no, she fits the description and has no alibi for any of those nights. Do you know if she had a motive?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met her. If the witnesses claim they saw a man, how could she be a suspect?”
Michael pulled a folder out of his coat and opened it in from of James to reveal a picture of his mother. No. That wasn’t his mother. This woman had darker hair, cut just below her chin. The faces were the same, however. James read the name next to the picture: ‘Esmee Lehmann’. “Recent photos of her show short hair and she has been known to prefer men’s clothing to women’s.”
“I see,” James looked up from the picture of his aunt that he’d never met. “So Lehmann could very well have been the person the witnesses saw. After all, it was dark and in the middle of the night. Having short hair and wearing trousers, anyone could mistake her for man from a distance. The circumstances of the other suspects?”
“The Viscount is a little bit of a stretch with the description because he doesn’t live too close to Whitechapel and the Earl fits but doesn’t have the morals or personality of a killer.”
“And what of the morals of Lehmann?”
“She has been described as having a dark side to her. Any more than that is unknown as she mostly keeps to herself.”
“Interesting.” The earl nodded as he said this, taking in the information that was being given to him. “Well, it seems as though we will have to await the next attack so that we may be sure of our culprit.”
**
Dressed as though he lived on the streets, James lurked in alleyways that lead to abandoned buildings in the Whitechapel district. Michael was nearby enough that he could see what was going on. They were both waiting for the Ripper to strike. As the previous victims suggested, the killer had a ‘type’ so to speak. All of the victims were prostitutes who had been recently registered for abdominal surgery less than a week prior to their deaths. There was only one person left who currently fit that description and she was commonly seen in this area.
Sure enough, the Ripper took action. James and Michael heard a scream pierce through the silent night air coming from the back of an adjoining alley. Both rushed to the scene to find the derelict building occupied for the first time in what looked like a very long time. There was faint candle light coming from inside and vague shapes could be seen moving about through the windows.
“Michael, go!” James yelled back as he rushed forward to open the door. His butler yelled something in return but he couldn’t hear it over the drumming of his heart in his ears. It sounded like a warning.
When the door swung open at his touch, James realized what Michael was trying to warn him of. There was a fresh body lying on the floor with the Ripper himself standing over it. When the killer heard the door open and the panting of the earl enter, he spun to face him. The face of the Ripper was all too familiar to him. However, just because he had a familiar face, did not mean that it was the face he was expecting to see.
All the evidence had been pointing to Madame Lehmann but the feminine face of his estranged aunt was not the one that was bloodied and looking at him now. It was the face of someone who was not even on the list. It was a face that was long dead.
It was...Isaac Claxton? James was deeply confused and it showed. Claxton laughed a maniacal laugh.
“Surprise, kid. I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me, eh, Earl Wakefield?” he called across the room. Claxton had been a criminal that James had “taken care of” a year or so back on an order from the queen. He had been heavily into opium dealing in London’s underworld before Her Majesty caught wind of it and set her guardian on him. Since then, he hadn’t been seen and was presumed to be dead. There was a dangerous gleam in his eye as he spoke.
“But why? How are you alive?” James hoped beyond hope that Michael, having known that James was blocking the only exit from a madman had gone to get the police.
“Why? Oh, no reason in particular. Perhaps it was for the pure joy in the adrenaline rush. Or maybe it was because I knew I wouldn’t get caught. After all, who better to be an anonymous serial killer than a dead man? No one suspects the dead!”
“But how are you alive? I made sure that you were dead. You fell by my hand.” Shock was slowly being replaced with anger.
“Hush now. You know that a magician never reveals his secrets.” James was in stunned and bewildered silence. This man was not a magician, nor had he ever claimed to be. He was an opium dealer, but no producer of magic tricks. Perhaps the his usage of the drug could account for some of the things he has said. He was completely mad. James could only hope that the police were on their way.
Voices were heard outside and the young earl knew that Michael had summoned the authorities. They seemed to be setting up their formations. Claxton didn’t appear to notice until the first officer stepped in behind James. Only then did he adopt a deer-in-the-headlights expression.
“Stay where you are!” the officer called across the room. Claxton tried to escape, but in searching the room, he found that the only exit was blocked by Wakefield and a member of the police force. Then he looked toward the window and his face lifted. It was at this moment that James knew his plan. He was going to jump through the window and escape up the fire escape just outside. James called something out but what it was was lost in the commotion caused by Claxton’s sudden movement. He made for the window and very nearly made it; he slipped on the blood that he had spilt and was sprawled out on the floor.
The officer recovered from his shock right as Claxton was attempting to stand. He quickly grabbed ahold of him and restrained his wrists behind him. Claxton surely knew by now that his reign of terror over London’s women was over. Now that he had been caught, the murders and mutilations would stop and the queen would be content with her dog’s work once again.
Outside, James met with Michael once more and thanked him for notifying the police.
“You underestimate me, my lord. What kind of butler would I be if I couldn’t take a simple hint?” He smirked and began to lead James to the carriage parked across the block but Earl Wakefield had no intention of moving just yet. He instead stared at Claxton being captured and decided that there really was no better person to commit a crime than a dead man. The thought made him wonder who else had come to this conclusion.
“He said that the dead were never suspected. Next time we hunt a criminal, remind me to check the deceased for their alibis as well.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I suppose the queen will be pleased with our work then.”
*