“No, but there’s a part of me thatneedsto know. Are theFreemasons connected? And is Father part of the coverup? If he tossed Mary onto the street and she becomes one of the victims, doesn’t that seem suspect? I can’t rest until I know the truth.”
My parents shared a glance, and Mama said, “Be careful, Kathryn. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I will.” I smiled, trying to reassure her.
I just wished I could reassure myself.
When I returned to the London Museum at Lancaster House after lunch, I had a newfound purpose. I needed to learn as much as I could about the next two murders—the Double Event—and see if there was a way I could get a glimpse of Jack the Ripper in person. Was he a prominent member of society? One I might recognize? And was he a Freemason? If so, then perhaps I could find out what his connection was to Mary Jane Kelly and the other women.
It was the opposite of promising to be careful.
Lancaster House was quiet. Most people were too occupied with the threat of war to spend their free time at a museum. They were busy building makeshift bomb shelters in their backyards and canning vegetables from their gardens and trying to decide if they should stay in London or leave for their country homes—if they were fortunate enough to have a country house.
“How was lunch?” Calan asked as I entered the office we were sharing.
“It was nice,” I said, trying not to reveal the depth of my emotions. As I took off my hat and laid it on my desk, I asked, “What do you know about the Double Event?”
His eyebrows came up as he leaned back in his chair, a file in hand. “Hi, how are you? I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry for being so abrupt.” I took a seat, suddenly feeling weak and exhausted. “My parents are threatening to take me back to the States because of Hitler. I’m desperate to get this exhibit puttogether, but I haven’t even completed all the research I need.” It was only part of the reason I’d asked him about the Double Event, but it was the part he might understand.
He sat up in his chair, a frown marring his handsome face. “You’re leaving?”
“Not yet, not if I can help it, but they’re nervous.”
“And rightly so.” He had been looking over a file of letters that we borrowed from the Crime Museum, but he put them on the desk and gave me his full attention. “I don’t want you to leave yet.”
“I don’t either.”
“I was just getting up the nerve to ask you out.” His mouth came up in a grin, and I knew he was teasing. Calan was a flirt with all the female staff at the museum, even Gloria, the seventy-year-old volunteer docent who gave tours of the Costume Gallery.
“Even if that were true,” I told him, “my answer would be no.”
“Which would only encourage me to keep trying,” he said with a wink. “I love a good challenge.”
I took a deep breath and said, “Do you know anything about the Double Event?”
He grew serious as he nodded. “I do.”
“What can you tell me?”
He leaned his forearms against the top of the desk as he spoke. “The name of the first victim of the Double Event was Elizabeth Stride. She was born in Sweden and went to work as a domestic servant in Gothenburg, where she was arrested for prostitution and treated twice for, ah, diseases related to her profession. She also gave birth to a stillborn daughter, probably due to her health. She then came to London and tried to get a fresh start. She met and married a man named John Stride. He was from a wealthy family in Sheerness. His father—a Freemason, I might add—was a property owner, but he left nothing in his will to Elizabeth’s husband. It was the final blow after several years of difficulty, and John and Elizabeth separated. Eventually, Elizabeth returned to her old trade and became the Ripper’s third victim.”
“John Stride’s father was a Freemason?” I asked. “Was everyone a Freemason in 1888?”
Calan shook his head. “No, but usually the wealthy and powerful were part of the Brotherhood.”
“Do you know anything about Elizabeth’s murder?” I asked him.
“Around one in the morning on September 30th, her body was discovered in Dutfield’s Yard by the steward of the International Working Men’s Education Club, the building adjacent to the yard. It’s believed that Jack had just slit Elizabeth’s throat in the dark courtyard and was interrupted by the steward’s arrival, because there were no other mutilations to her body.
“Less than an hour later, at 1:44 in the morning, Catherine Eddowes’s body was discovered in Mitre Square, less than a mile away from Elizabeth Stride’s body. But Jack wasn’t interrupted during the second murder. He slit Catherine’s throat and then mutilated her body, placing her intestines over her right shoulder. The lobe and part of her right ear were cut off and were not with the body, and her left kidney had been removed.” He paused and let out a breath. “Also, her apron had been cut off and was no longer with the body. But it was found an hour later, bloodstained and resting at the bottom of the steps of a tenement building on Goulston Street, a ten-minute walk from Mitre Square. The officer who found it said it had not been there thirty minutes before when he’d been by on his beat. Above the apron, on the side of the building, was a message written in chalk that said, ‘The Juwes are the men that will not be blamed for nothing.’”
I had heard about all of this, but it was all starting to take shape in a different way. “The Juwes?” I asked.
“J-U-W-E-S. Some think it was a misspelling of Jews and referenced the Jewish immigrants in the area who had been flooding into Whitechapel since 1880, fleeing persecution in eastern Europe and Russia. There was a lot of antisemitism, and many believed Jack the Ripper was a Jewish immigrant, not accepting that he could be English.”
“What do you think?” I asked him.
