The woman sat still as a statue as she spoke, no hand-wringing or wriggling.
“And you’ve been looking for her since?”
“I have. The authorities dismissed my concerns, saying Fern had likely run off with a man.” Her eyes shot to the left and then to the right in nervous agitation. “I came here and asked about her when she didn’t return to our lodgings, but no one would speak to me. I persisted, but in the end, they refused to open the door to me, and then one month later, the place was empty. The doors bolted, and the drapes drawn.”
The words were spoken with no emotion, and Tilly knew that wasn’t because she didn’t feel any, but because she was numb to the grief. A hard shell had formed around it, and Ruby clearly dealt with her pain through composure. Tilly had firsthand knowledge of this level of grief, even if she’d been a child when she’d experienced it. Some emotions you never forgot, especially those that felt like your heart was being crushed inside your chest.
“When I realized the building was once again occupied, I approached you.”
“Your parents?—”
“Are dead. It was just us. Fern is my older sister.”
Is.
She wanted to believe that even after two years without a word, her sister was alive. It broke Tilly’s heart to see her pain.
Turning to the desk, Tilly picked up her pen, dipped it in the ink, and then began to make notes.
“I’m going to write down what you tell me, and then I will ask people I know if anyone knows your sister, Ruby.”
The small sound that came from her was like that of a wounded animal, but no emotion showed on her face. “I would be g-grateful.”
“Do you think your sister would have left London voluntarily?”
“No. She would never leave me.” The words were a vow.
“All right. Now, do you remember her mentioning any names of people she came into contact with? An employer or someone lodging here? Anything would help.”
Ruby looked down at her hands briefly. “She told me once that she thought things here were not what they seemed.”
“In what way?”
“Fern said there used to be unusual noises coming through the walls and that sometimes she would find bloodied cloths waiting to be washed.”
That was odd, Tilly thought. What reason could there be for bloodied cloths?
“There was always an odd scent inside here too. Fern described it as a very thick, cloying smell.”
There was no reason for the hairs on Tilly’s arms to rise, but they did. She stifled the shudder.
“The only person Fern was allowed to speak with was the butler. She saw others, but was forbidden to talk to them,” Ruby continued, “which is often the way in our world,” she added with the first trace of bitterness in her voice.
“And was she mistreated in any way?”
Fern looked at her hands. “Some men would grab her and say vulgar, suggestive things, but Fern said she always escaped. There was a room downstairs that the butler used to let the maids hide in when men became overly aggressive.”
Bastards.
Ruby continued with her story. “Two maids left suddenly,”she recounted. “Fern said it was odd, as they’d seemed happy enough, but first one left, and then the other followed suit two months later. They’d been Fern’s friends and hadn’t mentioned they were thinking of leaving their employment. She used to worry that something had happened to them.”
Tilly wrote down everything Ruby told her. She didn’t know what she’d do with this information, but she felt she needed to do something.
This entire story felt off, and she had a sense that Fern had not disappeared of her own accord.
“Where do you live, Ruby?”
“Flower and Dean Street in the East End.”
