Black by Gaslight (page 2) by Nene Adams ©1998 - All rights reserved

CHAPTER EIGHT

The body of a prostitute, believed to be Martha Turner, was discovered early this morning near George Yard Buildings in Spitalfields, Whitechapel. She had been stabbed a total of thirty-nine times...'' 

Rhiannon's voice trailed off. She stared at Lady Evangeline in horror, the crinkled newspaper clutched in both hands. She tried to speak, but could only croak. Then she cleared her throat and began again, this time more successfully. ''Why do you think Jack...?'' 

Lady Evangeline leaned back in her chair. ''If it were a robbery, her throat might have been cut, but all those wounds... even an enraged spouse or lover would hardly mutilate her that way. No, my dear, I firmly believe that your Jack found another victim last night; he was, I believe, the only knife wielding madman lurking in Whitechapel. Whether the police will have any success, I do not know.'' She sighed heavily. ''I blame myself. I should have either bound him or killed him, but at the time, I believed him to be merely violent with drink, not insanity.'' 

Rhiannon stared. ''You would have killed him?'' 

''Yes. I do not believe that all human life is sacred. But I am not a monster, my dear. I should only kill if I were forced to it, if circumstances allowed no other alternative. I am not a pacifist by any means.'' 

Rhiannon sighed. Well, she thought, perhaps it will all work out for the best. Milady is certainly eccentric, though.

And on that note of careful optimism, Rhiannon allowed a small shred of hope to lighten the darkness of her heart. 

The next few weeks passed in a whirlwind of activity. Rhiannon's head spun; when Lady Evangeline wanted things to be done, they by God got done, and all with a speed and efficiency that kept Rhiannon wide-eyed in amazement. 

Of course, Rhiannon thought, being able to throw fistfulls of money about certainly didn't hurt.

Now, Rhiannon had an entire wardrobe of dresses: combing gowns, breakfast gowns, tea dresses, evening gowns, afternoon attire - even an elaborate hunting costume, complete right down to the intricately knotted cravat and ostrich feathered tricorner hat. 

The enormous dresser in her bedroom groaned beneath the weight of silk stockings, lacy and delicate underthings, and soft nightgowns for summer and winter. No corsets, however; Lady Evangeline's rather graphic lecture of the perils of corsetry on the internal organs and bone structure of their feminine victims, complete with illustrations, had given Rhiannon nightmares for a week. 

A profusion of hats, gloves, scarves, shoes, parasols, shawls, jackets... all the paraphernalia dear to a young woman's heart. Lady Evangeline had taken much pleasure in Rhiannon's delight; when the young woman had protested the amount and cost of her new wardrobe, the peer had ended her objections with a snort. 

''My dear,'' she had said, ''I am a widow of few hobbies and great wealth. Pray, allow me to spend it in a fashion which will gratify me; if my generosity overwhelms you, then consider that you do a favor by indulging me and keep silent on the matter.'' 

Lady Evangline had not told Rhiannon that in indulging the young woman's every unspoken whim, she felt herself assuaged of a tiny bit of the guilt she still felt so keenly; guilt that grew with each passing day as the lady learned more and more about her erstwhile secretary... and grew to love Rhiannon with an intensity that took her breath away. If only I'd rescued her sooner! She is beautiful, intelligent, resourceful and loving. I cannot imagine my life without her in it. Curse lost opportunities! Well, I shall not make the same mistake twice. Having found her a second time, I am determined to never let her go. And equally determined to make up for the suffering she has endured - in any way I can.

Rhiannon allowed herself to be fitted, poked, prodded and preened. On the morning of September 1st, she looked at the figure she presented in the mirror with something approaching satisfaction. 

Her morning dress of robin's egg blue lightweight wool was decorated with swags of black brocade ribbon all along the hem and neckline. A series of tiny onyx buttons flowed in a line from throat to hem; the sleeves were form fitting without constriction, and a froth of spiderweb lace cascaded in tiers from the wrist. Matching lace was wrapped around her throat loosely, tied in a pretty bow in the front in imitation of a gentleman's cravat. 

A small gold lapel watch was pinned to one shoulder - a gift from Lady Evangeline, who had also made a point of picking out some small pieces of jewelry for Rhiannon when they had visited Tiffany's. 

Her red-gold hair was done up in a far looser style than Rhiannon had previously worn; a soft bun nestled at the back of her neck with tiny, curling tendrils framing her heart-shaped face. 

Rhiannon smiled at her reflection; the tawdry, world-weary, tattered prostitute she had been seemed a far cry from the young, competent lady of quality she saw within the mirror. Those terrible few years had left no outward sign of hardship upon her person; Rhiannon carried her scars within. 

She left the room and swept downstairs, calling cheerful greetings to Jackson, the two footmen, Bob and James, and the housemaid, a gangling giantess from Yorkshire, all elbows and knees, who bore the hilariously unsuitable name of Buttercup. 

Rhiannon all but ran into the study, eager to begin the day's duties. As Lady Evangeline's secretary, one of her duties was to transcribe the lady's working notes into sheets of typed foolscap; Rhiannon was still mastering the typewriting machine, but what she lacked in speed, she more than made up for in accuracy, in Lady Evangeline's opinion. 

Rhiannon was also expected to keep the study tidy, perform any research required, keep the bookshelves in order according to Lady Evangeline's particular system, maintain the files that lay within a massive, locked cabinet, and take care of any correspondence, including writing polite letters of rejection to those who still sent the peer invitations to soirees as a matter of social obligation. 

Rhiannon lived for the times she was able to be alone with Lady Evangeline. She adored the peer, and the time she had spent with the other woman only increased the intensity of Rhiannon's affection. 

In truth, Rhiannon felt she was falling in love with Lady Evangeline; the other woman was protector, friend, mentor and savior, all in one. 

Rhiannon had been a little shocked when she had realized that she would like a more physical relationship with Lady Lina; she knew such relationships between women were possible, had seen it between the prostitutes she had known before. Black Janet had explained to her that the women might do it for money with men, but sex between themselves was strictly for affection. 

Despite her feelings, the young woman had made a firm vow to herself; despite the peer's unusual lifestyle and decidedly nonconformist attitudes, she knew the lady would be shocked by the younger woman's feelings. So I'll keep it to myself, she thought, and hope she never realizes the way I feel every time she touches me.

Rhiannon renewed her vow as she walked into the study to find Lady Evangeline, clad in her preferred men's costume, sitting by the fire, staring broodingly into the flames. A cigarette in her hand sent swirls of lacy smoke around her fine boned face. 

''Lady Lina?'' Rhiannon asked, ''Would you like me to begin with letters or files? Or is there some research I need to do? Oh, I almost forgot. How did it go last night?'' 

Lady Evangeline waved a dismissive hand. ''The Duchess has her letters, my dear,'' she replied a little wearily, ''and even as we speak, the blackmailer is fleeing for the Continent, detectives hot on his heels. I managed to keep Penelope's indiscretions out of it entirely; the police believe him to have stolen some of the woman's property - specifically, this.'' 

Lady Evangeline opened a small, blue velvet box. Within, a brooch shimmered, the enormous emerald-cut sapphire surrounded by one-carat diamonds, the jewels set within an elaborately scrolled framework of gold. 

''Jackson nipped into the Duchess' home last night and picked this beauty up; it was a gift from one of the Duchess' former admirers - not the blackmailer, I might add. I can only hope Penelope will have enough sense next time to make sure her lover is more honorable than the last. Frankly, I am surprised she has not been blackmailed before, considering her husband's jealous nature and her own lack of discretion.'' 

Rhiannon took the box reverently from the lady's hands, and examined the brooch with naked envy. ''It's magnificent! What are you going to do with it?'' 

''It is for you, my dear.'' Lady Evangeline smiled at the stunned look on Rhiannon's face. ''No one has ever seen it, save the Duchess and her lover. It should be safe to wear. Besides, you should always wear sapphires, Rhiannon. Sapphires and pearls suit your complexion in ways rubies and emeralds never will.'' 

''But... but... I...'' Rhiannon was close to tears. 

''Oh, my dear,'' Lady Evangeline said, ''Pray, do not cry. You shall need some jewels to wear to balls; after all, how can you attract a bevy of beaux without a bauble or two around your pretty neck?'' 

The peer stood up , flicked her cigarette into the fire, and pulled a long string of perfect, creamy pearls from her pocket. ''If you wear this as a choker with the brooch attached, I think it will do admirably. What do you think?'' 

''I don't know how to thank you...'' Rhiannon's pale blue eyes glistened with unshed tears and her heart was almost bursting. 

Lady Evangeline crossed to the other woman and lifted the string of pearls over her neck, then kissed Rhiannon lightly on the forehead. ''Think nothing of it, my dear,'' she said. ''I cannot wear sapphires myself; I prefer moonstones or emeralds.'' 

Lady Evangeline stood so close to Rhiannon that the younger woman could feel the peer's body heat, and smell her unique fragrance of lilac and rose. 

An ache in her lower belly made Rhiannon catch her breath. ''Thank you,'' she breathed, body unconsciously arching as it strove to make further contact with the object of its desire, ''This is beautiful, absolutely beautiful. I can't thank you enough.'' 

Inwardly, Rhiannon prayed that the peer would kiss her again - this time, on her mouth. 

CHAPTER NINE

Lady Evangeline was uncomfortably aware of Rhiannon's closeness. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to take Rhiannon into her arms and kiss her into insensibility. The muscles in her jaw clenched as she wrestled with the twin demons of desire and conscience. 

Despite her ever-increasing feelings of love for the young woman, Lady Evangeline had sworn to never reveal  the true depths of her affection to Rhiannon. She might reciprocate out of some sense of gratitude, the peer thought. Better that we remain friends only; I would rather suffer an aching heart than take her as a lover, knowing there was no love returned on her part. It is enough - it must be enough - that she is here with me and shares my company so joyfully.

Lady Evangeline was not shocked by her own desire for another woman; in fact, she had had female lovers in the past, though those bouts of infatuation had, more often than not, ended in disaster. She had no such fears about Rhiannon; she only wished - sometimes - that she were not quite so honorable. It would be so easy to take advantage of the other woman's vulnerability... 

With an effort, Lady Evangeline turned away from Rhiannon's uptilted face and strode across the room to her desk. There were other matters afoot, things much more important than her relationship with her secretary - or lack thereof. Quietly, she said, ''There has been another murder.'' 

Rhiannon said nothing. Her body still thrummed with the excitement of Lady Evangeline's chaste kiss, but her mind was slowly waking up to the meaning in the peer's words. 

''Another murder? You mean... Jack?'' Rhiannon sank slowly down on the couch. 

''I am afraid so. Mary Ann Nichols was found in Buck's Row at four o'clock yesterday morning by a carpenter named William Cross. The police were summoned. I am going to the morgue this morning to witness the autopsy. You need not accompany me; I will be wearing my men's costume and shall no doubt be quite safe from molestation,'' Lady Evangeline said tightly. 

''Buck's Row is in Spitalfields.'' Rhiannon's voice was flat. ''That's near Whitechapel.'' 

''Yes, it is.'' 

''Why are you doing this, Lina? What can you do that the police cannot?'' 

Lady Evangeline sat down beside Rhiannon and put an arm around the younger woman, a gesture meant to comfort. ''As I have said before, I feel somewhat responsible for those women's deaths. As for what I can do, well, I have friends in places the police do not, in the highest circles of society and the lowest. Any information that can be gained on this man -- even the tiniest clue -- may be enough to stop these killings, bring this madman to justice.'' 

''Do you think he will kill again?'' 

Lady Evangeline thought about the question a moment before replying. ''Yes,'' she said hesitantly, ''I do. I believe that not only will he kill again, he shall keep on killing until the demon that drives him is either dead or subsumed in further insanity. From what you have told me, I believe him to be a gentleman of good family - not the wealthiest but certainly well-to-do. Further, he is English, rather than American or some other foreigner, and is familiar with the London area. Perhaps after viewing the autopsy, I shall know more. Afterwards, I intend to consult with two friends of mine and gather their thoughts about these murders.'' 

Rhiannon gathered her courage. ''I'm going with you.'' 

Lady Evangeline was a little surprised. ''Why, Rhiannon,'' she said, ebony brows raised, ''I should not think you would find an autopsy appealing, considering your unfortunate reaction to my corset lecture.'' 

Rhiannon leaned against the other woman and put an arm around Evangeline's waist. ''I'm going with you,'' Rhiannon said evenly, although her heart trembled, ''I am not afraid. Not if I'm with you.'' 

Rhiannon laid her head on Evangeline's shoulder and closed her eyes, content to merely enjoy the closeness of the moment. She knew that the autopsy would be horrible, yet she could not resist staying at the beautiful peer's side for as long as possible. She only hoped she wouldn't disgrace herself by fainting or vomiting. She vowed to be strong. I do not want her to be ashamed of me, Rhiannon thought. 

After a minute, Lady Evangeline put up a hand and stroked Rhiannon's red-gold hair. Well, my dear, the peer thought, if you insist, I have no choice. I can deny you nothing; even the opportunity to frighten yourself into fits.

Lady Evangeline made a mental note to carry a bottle of smelling salts on her expedition; no doubt it would, at some point, be needed. 
 

CHAPTER TEN

"It is quite all right, my dear. Heaven knows I fainted the first time I saw an autopsy.'' 

Rhiannon's sweet face still had a greenish tinge. To cold-bloodedly open someone up like that... she shuddered away from the thought. 

Lady Evangeline resisted a smile. ''More smelling salts?'' she asked, holding out the small silver bottle. 

Rhiannon shuddered again. ''No, thank you,'' she replied, ''I have had quite enough for one day as it is.'' 

Lady Evangeline leaned back against the leather seat of the carriage. She was dressed in a gentleman's morning costume: dark woolen suit, white shirt and maroon tie, with a black homburg perched jauntily on her head. Her midnight-dark hair had been tucked beneath the hat; round-rimmed glasses perched on her aristocratic nose gave her the look of a respectable banker. 

The peer rolled an ivory-headed cane between her gloved hands and contemplated lighting a cigarette. Another look at Rhiannon's face and she relented. The poor dear has been through enough already this morning, she thought, although she certainly looks fetching in that dress.

Rhiannon had changed for their outing; she wore a traveling costume of blue-gray wool, simply trimmed in ivory lace with an ecru ribbon wrapped around the waist. Dove gray kidskin gloves covered her dainty hands and a small beaded reticule hung from one wrist. 

A pretty straw hat, decorated with ivory ribbons and a small cluster of dark blue silk flowers, completed the outfit. Rhiannon looked fresh and thoroughly lovely; she might have been a parson's daughter on an outing with a doting uncle. 

Save for my ''uncle'' is a woman, Rhiannon thought, and the thoughts I entertain about her are certainly far from familial. 

They soon arrived at their destination; a modest house in Baker Street, a respectable if hardly wealthy address. Lady Evangeline instructed Henry to take the horses to a nearby stable and see to their comfort; he was himself to have lunch and meet the two women at three o'clock. 

Rhiannon soon found herself comfortably ensconced in a chair, a cup of tea on a table at her side. She had already taken out her small notebook and pencil, prepared to take notes of Lady Evangeline's conversation with the legendary Sherlock Holmes. 

Holmes was a lean, saturnine man whose temples were already sprinkled with gray. His dark eyes flashed with intelligence and impatience; Rhiannon could see that this was a man who did not tolerate fools well, if at all. Although the morning was well advanced, he still wore a paisley robe with an open throated shirt and gray trousers beneath it. 

''Well, my dear Holmes,'' Lady Evangeline said, ''Have you given up your seven-percent solution?'' 

Holmes smiled. ''Hardly, milady,'' he said dryly, reaching a long arm for his pipe. ''As long as the world is filled with dull, uninteresting people, places and occurrences, I fear cocaine is my only salvation from fatal ennui.'' 

Lady Evangeline laughed a little. ''And what of your friend Watson? Out ministering to the sick?'' 

Holmes pursed his lips. ''Watson has gone to visit that idiot Conan Doyle. There appears to be some difficulty with those ridiculous stories Watson has written. Something to do with authorship credit or some such rot. But enough of this foolishness! Tell me, Lady Lina, to what do I owe the honor of your visit? Your note said only that the matter was of some urgency. Working on another of your cases, perhaps?'' 

Lady Evangeline nodded her head to the silent Rhiannon. ''First, Holmes, perhaps you would indulge in a demonstration of your deductive powers for my friend.'' 

Rhiannon sat breathlessly, afraid to move, as Holmes' piercing eyes roamed over her. 

In a flash, Lady Evangeline realized that she had made a mistake. Holmes would surely recognize Rhiannon, just as she had, and she desperately did not want the young woman to know about their first meeting. For some infathomable and illogical reason, she feared that Rhiannon might leave her if she knew the truth. The faint stirrings of guilt she had felt in the beginning had grown into full-blown anxiety about the subject. She tried to signal Holmes with her eyes... but it was no use. The lady reluctantly relaxed in her seat and silently prayed. 

Holmes had leaned forward to scrutinize the young woman; now he leaned back, his eyes hooded. He took some trouble to light his meerschaum pipe to his satisfaction, then waved out the lucifer and took a deep breath of smoke, allowing it trickle from his lips before he spoke. 

''She is a woman of respectable, though impoverished family. Her father was most likely involved in academia, and either lost his life through some accident or by his own hand. Through no fault of her own, she fell on hard times; I would say that until a short time ago, your friend worked as a prostitute. She is now most honorably employed as a secretary. Despite her unfortunate former circumstances, she is nevertheless a kind-hearted soul, intelligent, observant, well mannered and...'' He stopped. 

Rhiannon held her breath. Surely this must be magic. 

''And that is all I can deduce for the moment, milady,'' he continued after a pause. Holmes smiled at the look of amazement in Rhiannon's pale blue eyes. 

Rhiannon clapped her hands together. ''Oh, Mr. Holmes!'' she said, ''That was marvelous! Tell me how you did it.'' 

''You mean, explain to you the nature of my deductions?'' Holmes shot a glance at the sweating Lady Evangeline. ''Of course. Your speech carries the inflections of the better class, but since by your use of notebook and pencil you are obviously employed in a secretarial capacity, you can hardly be a member of the peerage. Your vocabulary suggests a higher degree of education than can normally be found in young ladies; ergo, you must have been tutored by someone whom you knew well enough to agree to your education; and most likely you grew up in a relatively wealthy household, although you yourself were unrelated to the other householders. 

''That this person was your father was, I admit, not a strictly logical conclusion; I had already deduced that it must have been some member of your family and that the person in question must have been involved in academic studies. Considering your former situation -- possibly as a professor or tutor of some kind?'' 

Rhiannon nodded and Holmes continued, ''The stiffening of your body when I mentioned this conclusion was confirmation of my theory. As to your former profession... forgive me, miss, when I say, that in my work, I have frequently haunted the Whitechapel district, usually in disguise of some sort. I believe you were known as Sugarbaby?'' 

Rhiannon nodded again, shame warring with amazement. ''Yes, that's what the other... ladies called me. You recognized me, then?'' 

''How could I fail to do so? You are, if you will excuse me for mentioning it, hardly a forgettable personage; in fact, in appearance you are quite striking.'' 

''And my father's death?'' 

''What else could have reduced such a lovely, sheltered young woman to such circumstances, save the failure of her guardian to provide? Since you yourself are of such an honorable and good nature, what else could have driven you to such lengths? Hardly abandonment; one's inner strengths and traits of personality are fixed in childhood. Had your parent been a rogue, I doubt that prostitution would be your sole sin. Your father's death answers these questions and more.'' 

''How did you deduce my honorable nature, Mr. Holmes, knowing what you do about my circumstances?'' 

Holmes smiled widely. ''My dear Miss Rhiannon,'' he said, ''If you are considered a friend by Lady Evangeline, you can hardly be anything but good and honorable.'' 

Lady Evangeline smiled as well, a flood of relief making her feel as limp. Somehow, Holmes had seen her distress and been as discreet as possible. She knew she would have to provide him with an explanation but that would come later. Much later, she thought. For now it is enough that I am saved.

Patting her sweaty brow with gloved fingers, Lady Evangeline said to Rhiannon, ''You see, my dear, it is as I have told you. Allow yourself to believe in your own good nature; if any cannot see it, then it is they who are dishonorable, blind fools -- not you.'' 

Rhiannon nodded mutely, struggling to keep from crying. She wished she did not cry so often; it made her feel weak and she desperately wanted to be strong. 

Rhiannon was startled by a touch on her hand. It was Holmes, who had risen from his chair and was standing next to her. ''Miss Rhiannon,'' he said, ''no tears, please. I can see that you have a sensitive nature; I blame myself for bringing up so upsetting a subject.'' 

Turning back to Lady Evangeline, Holmes winked at her surreptitiously and continued, ''Now, enough of drama and more facts! My dear Lady Lina, I insist you tell me at once what you are doing in that ridiculous costume and the purpose of your visit. I am not a patient man...'' 

Lady Evangeline interrupted Holmes with a laugh, good humor fully restored. ''All right, you tyrant! It has to do with the murders in Whitechapel; specifically, Spitalfields...'' 

Holmes listened intently. He had returned to his seat and was slumped down, legs stretched before him, eyes hooded and hands clasped across his chest, index fingers extended and touching. 

When Lady Evangeline finished, Holmes grunted. ''Common murder. I had hoped for something a bit more in my own line.'' 

''You mean priceless gems, international treaties and the stuff by which kingdoms rise and fall?'' Lady Evangeline fixed the recumbent detective with sea-green eyes that sparkled with amusement. Then more seriously, she continued, ''I fear, Holmes, it is as you have said: murder, but not common. There is a madman stalking the streets of London and no woman is safe.'' 

''True,'' the detective said musingly, ''he may slaughter a lady of quality next.'' 

Rhiannon started to protest, then closed her mouth with a click as she recognized the gleam of sardonic humor in Holmes' dark eyes. He continued, ''I believe you attended Miss Nichols' autopsy this morning?'' 

Lady Evangeline began to ask Holmes how he had come to that singular conclusion, then stopped. At the look on her face, the detective let out a bark of laughter. ''Lady Lina, why else would you come calling dressed in men's clothing? And I know your curiosity as well as you know my methods. So, tell me, what did Dr. Llewellyn find?'' 

Lady Evangeline glanced at Rhiannon, whose face resembled a stone mask. ''There was a bruise on her face; possibly, the murder kept his hand over her mouth to prevent her from screaming. The cause of death was strangulation. The body had been cut from throat to stomach; none of the organs were missing, however, her two front teeth had been removed with some force. They were not found anywhere near the body.'' After a pause, she continued, ''Afterward, I spoke to a very helpful police sergeant.'' 

Holmes nodded. ''That would be our friend, Harry Dorset?'' 

''The very one. He told me that on the evening of the murder, Nichols had been turned away from a four-pence doss house; she had no money, despite having 'worked' most of the evening. Most likely she drank it away; her liver was quite enlarged. At any rate, there were no witnesses. Despite sleeping people only yards away from the scene, and workers of every description both returning home and leaving for their place of employment... No one saw or heard anything.'' 

''And you believe that this murder, and the previous murder of Martha Turner a few weeks ago, are all the work of the same man? A man known only to you as 'Jack?''' 

Lady Evangeline nodded. ''I blame myself, Holmes. I should have incapacitated him when I had the chance. Poor Rhiannon barely escaped with her life.'' 

Holmes shrugged. ''You cannot take responsibility for a madman's actions, Lina. That course is insanity as well.'' 

Lady Evangeline leaned forward, voice and face intense. ''I must stop him, Holmes. I must! I will do everything in my power to see him caught and hanged!'' She paused, calming herself, then continued, ''Can you help me?'' 

''Hmmmm,'' Holmes said, stroking his chin. ''I do not suppose you wish me to conjure up this man from thin air? No? Then, as long as you do not expect miracles, I shall do what I can.'' 

Lady Evangeline rose. ''Thank you, Holmes,'' she said gratefully. ''If you have anything to impart, any news, or if I can help you in any way, do not hesitate to contact me.'' She gathered up her hair and placed the homburg back on her head. ''Knowing you are on the case as well makes me feel much better about my chances of success.'' 

Holmes rose as well. ''Do not underestimate your own formidable powers. And... let us keep this our secret, shall we? If Watson should get his teeth into it...'' 

Lady Evangeline laughed. ''I shall, Holmes, never fear. The good doctor's fevered imagination and romantic nature would make a veritable hash of the case, I imagine.'' 

As Rhiannon allowed herself to be taken by the arm by the peer and led away, the echo of Holmes' chuckle stayed with her for a long time, indeed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Next, the two women paid a call on another of Lady Evangeline's friends, an author by the name of Rhoda Broughton. 

''She is Sheridan Le Fanu's niece and an author in her own right, although her works are not well regarded. In fact, when her book, Cometh Up as a Flower, was first published, the entire peerage went up in flames of indignation and censure,'' Lady Evangeline explained with a hint of a twinkle in her green eyes. 

Rhiannon nodded. She had never read any of the lady's works herself, but was eager to meet with any friend of the peer's. Sheridan Le Fanu was more familiar; his eerie supernatural stories were particular favorites of hers. 

Rhoda Broughton turned out to be a vigorous, deep bosomed woman with a profusion of kinky blonde locks and vivid violet-blue eyes. Although she was forty-eight, she still retained much in the way of youthful good looks due to her energetic nature and sheer force of intellect. 

''My dear Lina,'' Rhoda said in a deep voice, ''What a pleasant surprise!'' 

The two women hugged while Rhiannon looked on with a twinge of jealously. It was clear that Lady Evangeline and this Broughton woman were close. 

''So tell me, Lina, what brings you to visit the most scandalous woman in London?'' 

''I was only making sure you had not yet been tarred and feathered, Rho!'' Both women laughed. Rhiannon sat down on an ottoman, feeling very much the third wheel. 

''Rho, allow me the pleasure of introducing Miss Rhiannon Moore, my secretary and very good friend. Rhiannon, this is Rho Broughton, the most notorious writer in London.'' 

Rhiannon gracefully shook Rhoda's proffered hand. ''How do you do?'' she murmured politely. 

Rhoda's violet-blue eyes looked at her sharply. ''My word, such a long face! Lina, you had best cheer this child up and soon. Otherwise, her chin will be around her ankles and the only employment she shall find will be as an exhibit at the British Museum.'' Rhoda smiled widely, showing a tiny gap between her two front teeth. 

All three women laughed, Rhiannon with relief. It was clear that Rhoda considered Lina a good friend and no more. No longer feeling threatened, she allowed herself to relax. 

As Lady Evangeline quickly explained the purpose of their visit, Rhiannon looked around the parlor. Potted palms, ferns and other plants filled the room; the furniture was heavy but upholstered quite simply in pale green silk. The walls were papered in gold and white, and hung with framed watercolors and daguerreotypes of severe looking men and women. 

Every table was covered in a crocheted cloth, and practically creaked beneath the weight of numerous china knick-knacks, what-nots and miscellaneous gee-gaws. The whole effect was one of alternating claustrophobia and light. 

Lady Evangeline finished her tale and waited expectantly, hands folded in her lap. 

Rhoda's brow was crinkled in thought. After a moment, she said heavily, ''Lina, what do you expect of me? I am not a detective, you know. And frankly, I find the entire circumstances almost too horrible to contemplate.'' 

''Rho, I need your special insight into human nature. Among all my acquaintances and friends, I believe that none can suit my purposes as well as you. Even that Viennese alienist - Fried? No, Freud, could do no better. I must understand this man's motivations, his character, his reasoning. Only by knowing him have I any chance at all of stopping him. Please, Rho... can you help me? Will you use your gift in my behalf?'' 

Rhiannon watched Rhoda's inward struggle. Finally, the blonde woman sighed. ''All right, Lina. I shall help you. It will not be easy; the task you have set for me is one that makes my soul cringe in horror; nevertheless, I shall give you what aid I can.'' 

Rhiannon scribbled hasty notes as Rhoda closed her eyes and began her analysis. ''First, this is a man filled with rage and hatred specifically directed against women. I refuse to speculate on the probable cause of this hatred; it is enough to say that he feels he must act out his violent fantasies on some female whom he feels safe to consider a victim. 

''Whether his choice of prostitutes as victims is significant or not, I cannot tell. Certainly, he may be choosing them because of ready availability and lack of social protection, or he may be targeting them more specifically -- possibly as a means of revenge against some wrong he feels done to him by ladies of that profession. 

''The bodily mutilations you have described are indicative of his violent nature. They also suggest that this Jack is rapidly degenerating, his control over his murderous impulses becoming more difficult to contain. He will certainly attempt to kill again; the next victim will probably be more severely mutilated. 

''I do not consider him a pure sadist; that is, he does not feel a sense of enjoyment over his victim's pain and suffering. Both times, the women were killed almost instantly. Even during Rhiannon's attack, he attempted to sever her throat first. This would certainly indicate that he receives more satisfaction from the act of killing itself and from the fulfillment of his bloody fantasies than from his victim's suffering. 

''Finally, his inability to consummate sexual relations only adds fuel to the fire. Jack is a frustrated, violent individual who has lost control and will only continue to vent his frustrations and anger on his victims unless and until he is stopped.'' 

Rhoda opened her eyes. ''And that, my dear Lina, is all you shall get from me. I can do no more; contact with such an evil mind has left me quite shaken.'' 

Indeed, Rhoda's lips were pale and her round face ashen. Lady Evangeline said simply, ''Rho, I cannot thank you enough. I know how much it hurts you to employ your gift...'' 

Rhoda waved her away wearily. ''Lina, I love you and you are my friend. But I would wish you to go away for a while. I must recover from my ordeal.'' 

Without another word, Lady Evangeline gathered up her hat, gloves and cane and motioned Rhiannon away. Rhiannon's last sight of Rhoda Broughton was of the buxom blonde woman face, wet with tears. 
 

CHAPTER TWELVE

For an increasingly frustrating week, Lady Evangeline haunted the stews of Whitechapel in various guises, seeking information from pimps, prostitutes, cut-throats and thieves; she also made the rounds of her society acquaintances -- including the actress-turned-grande-horizontal, Lillie Langtry. 

''That red-haired witch!'' Lady Evangeline fumed over dinner that evening. ''All coy hints and batting lashes -- bah! If she knew nothing about the subject, why play the coquette?'' 

Rhiannon paused in the action of bring a forkful of potatoes to her mouth. ''Because,'' she said a little acidly, ''Miss Langtry hoped that her flirtatious manner would spark some interest on your part. Obviously.'' 

Lady Evangeline was speechless. The thought had never occurred to her. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the woman across from her at the dining table. 

The room was lit with the glow of dozens of candles; Rhiannon's red-gold hair, done up in an elaborate twist with a pair of corkscrewing curls in front of each ear, gleamed in the soft light like a precious jewel. Her gown was so dark a blue as to appear almost black; the velvet surface with its sprinkling of shimmering diamante appeared to be a piece of the evening sky. 

The gown's neckline was cut low enough to reveal Rhiannon's spectacular cleavage; there, nestled in the center of her decollete, hung the fabulous sapphire brooch, held by a triple strand of pearls around her neck. 

A pair of sapphire and pearl earrings dangled from her delicate ears and a bangle of gold encircled Rhiannon's wrist. Good Lord! Lady Evangeline thought, she is a vision. A vision of perfection!

Rhiannon noticed Lady Evangeline's eyes on her and raised her own, the better to study her table mate. 

Lina wore an eau-de-Nil evening gown encrusted with beads in graduated colors of every shade of green. Every time she drew breath, the beads coruscated in the candlelight like sunlight on ocean waves. 

Ink-black hair had been carefully arranged in a series of narrow, criss-crossing braids that came together in a great knot at the back of her neck. Her sea-green eyes were made even more brilliant by the string of square-cut emeralds she wore around her neck, with a pair of matching earrings and a diamond and emerald ring on her hand. 

Rhiannon thought that her heart would collapse from sheer over excitement. She's so beautiful! If only, she thought, if only I could be sure!

Many times over the past weeks, Rhiannon had seen a speculative gleam in Lady Evangeline's eyes when she'd thought the other woman hadn't been paying attention. Rhiannon had, in fact, been paying most scrupulous attention; the beautiful peer could not make a move that Rhiannon did not see. 

''Um, er, yes, well, Lady Lina, I suppose you couldn't be expected to notice such things, being a lady of quality and all,'' Rhiannon said. 

Lady Evangeline smirked and raised her glass of wine. ''My dear Rhiannon,'' she said, ''you would be surprised at some of the things I notice.'' 

Is she flirting with me? Rhiannon thought wildly as the peer took a healthy gulp of wine. No, it can't be. She's had a little too much to drink; that, and all the frustration of not being able to get any farther in the case.

The two women continued their meal in silence, both of them hoping for some gesture from the other... but that gesture, to their silent, mutual disappointment, never came. 

Later that evening, Rhiannon was awakened by a knock on her door. Rubbing her eyes, she muttered sleepily, ''C'm in.'' 

It was Lady Evangeline, who held a lamp up in one hand. She was dressed in a man's nightshirt, revealing strong, shapely legs and an outline which, while muscular, was nevertheless thoroughly female. ''Rhiannon. There has been another murder. I am going out shortly; I hope to examine the scene myself before the police have obliterated all the clues.'' 

Rhiannon began to struggle out of bed, but Lady Evangeline waved her back. ''No, no, my dear, you stay and rest. I only wanted to let you know where I would be going; it may be some time before I am able to return and I did not want you to worry. Good night.'' 

Rhiannon let her head flop back onto the plump feather pillow as the lady bustled away. How can I sleep now, knowing she may be heading into danger?

It would prove to be a sleepless night for both women, but for far different reasons. 
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Lady Evangeline did not return until the late afternoon; by that time, Rhiannon was nearly frantic and paced back and forth, trying to decide between going out herself in search of the missing peer or sending the redoubtable Jackson. 

''Where have you been?'' asked Rhiannon, shrill with worry, as the exhausted peer stumbled into the study. 

Lady Evangeline's eyes were dulled with lack of sleep and sheer horror. ''My dear, I am mortally glad you did not insist on going. It was terrible, truly terrible.'' 

Rhiannon made Lady Evangeline hold her explanations until she had gotten the other woman settled, an afghan around her knees and a stiff whiskey-and-soda in her hand. Despite her tired state, Lady Evangeline had to smile at Rhiannon's fussing. 

Finally, having gotten the peer settled to her satisfaction, and making sure Jackson had been dispatched to fetch a tray from Cook, Rhiannon subsided, sinking down on an ottoman near Lady Evangeline, who reclined on a sofa. 

''What happened? Can you tell me?'' Rhiannon asked softly. 

''Of course, my dear. Indeed; why don't you fetch your notebook and pencil. I should like to get this all down while it is fresh in my mind.'' 

When Rhiannon settled into her ''secretarial mode,'' as Lady Evangeline teasingly referred to the other woman's business-like air, the peer sipped her whiskey-and-soda and recited her tale. 

''Well, I was able to reach Spitalfields before the police had carried away the body. 29 Hanbury Street, to be exact. The poor woman was found huddled against a fence. A few pennies, farthings and a pair of brass rings were arranged at her feet. 

''Like poor Mary Nichols, this woman's front teeth had been removed. Mr. Phillips, the police's divisional surgeon in Spitalfields, unwound a handkerchief that had been wrapped around her neck. When he did so, her head nearly fell off her torso; the severance of her throat was so violent, it nearly cut through the spine.'' 

Ignoring Rhiannon's gasp of horror, Lady Evangeline continued. ''A bloody leather apron was found beneath a water tap. Whether it belonged to the killer or not is a matter of speculation. 

''Phillips removed the body to the mortuary. He happens to know of my interest in the case; in fact, I spoke to him about the Nichols' autopsy. Unlike many of his fellows, Phillips has no grudge against a woman investigator. He willingly shared his knowledge with me and allowed me to observe the examination. 

''When her clothing was removed at the morgue, we discovered that this women's injuries were more extensive than Nichols. 

''In addition to numerous stab wounds, incisions had been made in her back and abdomen. Careful examination revealed that certain internal organs had been removed. Since they were not found at the scene, it can only be assumed that Jack took them with him for purposes unknown. 

''I was told that an envelope, bearing the crest of the Sussex Regiment, and with a corner missing, was found on the body. It was soaked in blood. 

''After an examination of her underclothes, and subsequent investigation by police officers, the body has been identified as one Annie Chapman -- a well-known prostitute in the East End. 

''And,'' the peer concluded wearily, ''I have been over every inch of the scene and spoken to nearly every inhabitant in every hovel within a hundred yards. Amazingly, no one heard or saw anything unusual last night. If it were not for the fact that I grappled with him myself, I would swear this Jack was a ghost, able to waft away into the fog, as insubstantial as the so-called facts in this case.'' 

Rhiannon finished and put down the notebook and pencil. ''Why don't you rest for a while?'' she asked. ''Eat something. Jackson should be here soon with a tray.'' 

When Lady Evangeline showed signs of struggling up, Rhiannon's red-gold brows came together in a frown. ''I insist that you rest!'' she said forcefully, actually placing one hand on the astonished peer's chest and pushing her back onto the sofa. ''If you promise to eat, then get some sleep, I'll type these notes into your files.'' 

Lady Evangeline ceased her struggles, hard pressed not to laugh at the way the shy Rhiannon turned into a lioness when she thought the peer was pressing herself too hard. ''All right, my little extortionist,'' she chuckled, ignoring Rhiannon's pale blue glare. ''I will lie here quietly while you type away on that beastly machine. And I promise to eat, although you must not expect my appetite to be terribly keen, considering the things I have seen today.'' 

''Why do you push yourself like this? I'm sure the police are doing everything they can.'' 

''The POLICE!'' the peer roared, suddenly furious, ''The police are a pack of maundering idiots who would be hard pressed to find their buttocks with both hands! If you had heard the... the... the rot they call their theories! First, he is a foreigner, then a mad surgeon, perhaps a barber. Or a butcher. That 'Leather Apron' theory will flummox them yet. And the journalists are only adding fuel to the fire! Some fool is even going around muttering darkly about Jews and masonry and occult ritual! Mark my words, my dear, mark them well... some poor innocent is going to wind up swinging from a vigilante's rope if something is not done soon.'' 

''What can you do that isn't already being done?'' Rhiannon's eyes were dark with anxiety. 

With a visible effort, Lady Evangeline calmed. ''Perhaps nothing. Perhaps everything. I do not know.'' The raven-haired beauty lay back and closed her eyes. 

Rhiannon left Lady Evangeline to her thoughts - and began entertaining some of her own. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

On September 27, both women read a letter purporting to be from the murderer, who now styled himself ''Jack the Ripper.'' It had been sent to the Central News Agency; Holmes' brother, Mycroft, had received a copy from his police contacts, and a messenger had arrived that morning, bearing the document, ''With Mr. Holmes compliments.'' 

Dated September 25, the letter read: 

Dear Boss, 

I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I cant use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha... ha. The next job I do I shall slip the ladys ears off and send them to the police officers just for jolly wouldn't you. Keep this letter buck till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife's so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck.

Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper. 

Dont mind me giving the trade name. PS Wasnt good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands curse it. No luck yet. They say I'm a doctor now. ha ha

''Do you think it's authentic?'' Rhiannon asked. 

Lady Evangeline thought a moment. ''Yes,'' she said slowly, ''I do. The writer has obviously been decently educated; despite the somewhat illiterate tone, there are no misspellings - even difficult words such as 'squeal' and 'knife'- and most of the rules of grammar, if not punctuation, have been preserved. And he is obviously following the press notices; he refers to the 'Leather Apron' and doctor theories that have been put forth by the police.'' 

Lady Evangeline sighed and handed the paper to Rhiannon. ''Place that in the file, if you please. I fear there will be another murder before too long. I have been able to unearth nothing; nothing but speculation, rumor and fantasy. Blast! Even Rho's analysis has been of little help.'' 

As Rhiannon bustled away, Lady Evangeline's eyes followed her figure with appreciation. This morning, the younger woman wore a gown the shade of Baltic amber, its flounced hem, neckline and sleeves tiered with navy blue ribbon and swags of blonde lace. A trio of thick red-gold braids, doubled under and secured with navy ribbons, bobbed becomingly at the base of her neck. 

Rhiannon was aware that she was being watched. She swayed her hips in an exaggerated roll as she moved to the cabinet, feeling Lady Evangeline's eyes on her body. She bent to place the key in the lock and risked a look at the peer from beneath thick lashes. Tiny beads of sweat had formed on Lina's upper lip. Rhiannon smiled wickedly to herself. 

Lady Evangeline shifted uncomfortably in her chair and finally tore her eyes away from Rhiannon's lush figure. My Lord! she thought, I have never felt this way in my life! I am practically ready to throw Rhiannon to the floor and...

She did not complete the thought, ashamed that naked lust would even cause her to consider attacking Rhiannon like a crazed sex maniac. I must control myself! And, she concluded ruefully, take more cold baths. 

As Rhiannon slid the paper into the thick file, she thought, Well, well, well. So the lady isn't made of ice after all!

The bodies of Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes were discovered on the morning of October 1st. Inspector Harry Dorset, a friend of both Lady Evangeline's and Sherlock Holmes', sent a message to both with news of the double homicide. 

That same morning, Holmes' messenger, a rat-faced member of his Baker Street Irregulars, arrived with another letter. 

It, too, had been sent to the Central News Agency and was dated September 30. The letter read: 

I was not coddling dear old Boss when I gave you the tip, you'll hear about Saucy Jacky's work tomorrow double event this time number one squealed a bit couldn't finish straight off. ha not the time to get ears for police. thanks for keeping last letter back till I got to work again. Jack the Ripper

It was accompanied by a note from Holmes. Lady Evangeline scanned it quickly. ''Holmes says the original letter was bloodstained and written on the back of a common postcard, a type which is readily available in more than one hundred stationers around the metropolitan area of London. The police are of the opinion that both letters were written by a journalist.'' Lady Evangeline snorted. ''The more fools they, say I.'' 

Turning to Rhiannon, the peer continued, ''Well, I must get down to the morgue, my dear. I am expecting a visitor around two o'clock; if I am not back by then, will you see to his comfort until I return?'' 

''Oh, of course, Lina,'' Rhiannon replied. ''Shall I have Cook make tea?'' 

''Yes, yes, that would be splendid,'' Lady Evangeline replied somewhat absently. Her mind was already far away in a police morgue. 

''Who are you expecting?'' 

''A clairvoyant,'' Lady Evangeline replied, adjusting the navy blue and gold tie around her throat. For her outing, she was dressed in a man's pinstriped navy blue and white suit. She scooped up her gloves and a black homburg and turned to leave. 

''What's his name?'' Rhiannon asked desperately. 

Lady Evangeline's reply was muffled as she strode away. ''Robert James Lees.''

''Mr. Lees,'' Rhiannon said, suppressing a sigh, ''I believe Lady Evangeline has arrived.'' 

Immediately, the auburn haired man perked up. Lady Evangeline swept into the room, pulling the homburg from her head and flinging her gloves onto a chair. 

''My dear Bobby!'' she said expansively, ''Thank you for coming!'' 

The delicate man, so slightly built it seemed that a stiff wind might blow him away, nodded. ''Lina, you know I would do anything for you.'' His voice was unexpectedly deep; Rhiannon had thought upon first hearing it that the effect was rather like seeing a piccolo and hearing a bassoon. 

Lady Evangeline plopped herself into a chair and reached for the cup of tea offered by Rhiannon. ''Bobby, I am sure you have heard of this 'Leather Apron' business?'' 

''You mean Jack the Ripper?'' Lees asked with a smug smile. 

''How did you know that? Those letters have yet to be published!'' 

''I have my sources, my good woman. Besides, I had a vision which revealed some of the facts in the case.'' 

''Ah, I had hoped as much. Tell me all.'' Lady Evangeline's sea-green eyes were intense, locked on the slight, auburn haired figure in front of her. 

With a small sigh, Rhiannon took out her notebook and pencil to record the clairvoyant's story. 

''It began last month, actually,'' he began, prissily smoothing his sparse mustache, ''when I had a vivid vision of a woman's murder. It was so clear I could read the writing on the side of the building where she was killed -- George Yard Buildings.'' 

Lady Evangeline breathed, ''Martha Turner.'' 

''Precisely.'' Lees took a sip of tea. ''I naturally informed the police at once. As the Queen herself is my patron, I could do no less. They scoffed, of course. Then a few weeks later, the murder actually took place. I read about it in The Times and was quite terrified.'' 

''And then?'' Lady Evangeline asked. 

''Well, I have had no other visions as of yet, although I hope to be able to identify the murder. I have seen him, my dear, as clear as day. Such eyes!'' He shuddered. ''I shall never forget that bestial face as long as I live!'' 

''Would it be possible for you to sketch the face you have seen? Or describe it well enough for someone else to sketch?'' 

''I have already done so.'' Lees pulled a folded sheet of paper from one coat pocket. ''I contacted an artist friend of mine; the likeness is extraordinary.'' 

The paper contained an artist's sketch in pencil. Lady Evangeline recognized it at once. She passed the paper to Rhiannon, who gasped and dropped her pencil. ''That's him!'' the younger woman exclaimed. 

''Thank you for your time, Bobby.'' Lady Evangeline rose and extended a hand to the clairvoyant. ''I certainly appreciate it. If you should have any other visions...'' 

The little auburn-haired man rose and shook Lady Evangeline's hand, saying, ''Of course, Lina. You shall be the first to know.'' 

''May we keep this sketch?'' Lady Evangeline asked as the small man turned to go. 

''With my compliments,'' he replied with a twinkle. Giving a small bow to the speechless Rhiannon, Lees left. 

''By God!'' said Lady Evangeline, thumping her fist into one hand. ''Now we have him!'' 

Looking at the sketch in her hand, Rhiannon was not so sure. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

That evening, Lady Evangeline was engrossed in the notes she had taken at the two autopsies. Rhiannon sat by the fire, her hair down from its confining braids, reading a book. Lady Evangeline looked at the other woman; the firelight flickered on Rhiannon's red-gold hair and it shimmered like a shawl woven of finest silk. 

''You should wear your hair down more often, my dear,'' Lady Evangeline said. ''It is extraordinarily beautiful.'' 

''I admire your own hair, Lina,'' Rhiannon replied, closing the book and looking at her employer. ''You look so aristocratic; especially in that dress.'' 

Lady Evangeline glanced down at herself, ebony brows raised. She wore a simple ''surprise'' dress of black wool; its sides could be unbuttoned and fastened back, revealing leaf-green embroidered reveres. ''It is several years out of date, Rhiannon. Then again, I am hardly a slave to Dame Fashion.'' 

Rhiannon stood up and crossed to the desk where Lady Evangeline sat, perching herself carefully on the edge nearest the peer. ''Even if you wore sackcloth and ashes, Lina, you would still be beautiful.'' 

Lady Evangeline swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. ''No, my dear. You are beautiful -- your face, your figure.'' Your soul, she added silently, then said aloud, ''You are perfect just as you are.'' 

Rhiannon leaned back, supporting herself on one arm. She knew this position would throw her ample bust into prominence. ''You have a classic profile, you know,'' she purred. ''Those cheekbones. That mouth. Even your nose.'' She ran a playful finger down the other woman's nose, stifling a giggle when the startled peer jumped a little. 

Ah, Lady Evangeline thought, two can play that game! Casually, she reached down and took Rhiannon's foot in her hands. Removing the slipper, the raven haired woman began to massage the foot with strong yet gentle fingers, smiling inwardly when Rhiannon gasped. 

''And you, my dear, have beautiful feet,'' the peer said. ''So slim. So fine boned.'' 

Rhiannon gasped again, arching her back as electric sensations rippled through her body. I never knew having my foot touched could do this to me! she thought wildly. 

Suddenly, a gentle knock on the door of the study interrupted the two women's seductive play. Immediately, Rhiannon jumped off the desk, scooping her slipper from the floor, and hopped across the room, pulling it on. ''Come in!'' she called. 

Lady Evangeline silently cursed, resisting the urge to make the savage invective audible. Jackson walked into the room silently. 

''A message for you, milady,'' he said, proffering a silver tray. 

Lady Evangeline took the envelope and tore it open with a silver letter opener as Jackson let himself out. 

''It's from Holmes,'' the peer said, scanning the contents of the letter, former activities forgotten. ''He has finally found out what the writing was on the brick wall where Catherine Eddowes' body was found.'' 

Rhiannon gave her a confused look. ''Ah,'' Lady Evangeline said, ''I see I neglected to mention that detail. A message was written in chalk on a wall next to the body. A bloody piece of apron was found just beneath. That idiot Commissioner, Sir Charles Warren, ordered it to be scrubbed away before a photograph could be made.'' 

''I see,'' Rhiannon said. ''What did it say?'' 

''It read: 'The Juwes are the men That Will not be blamed for nothing.''' She pronounced the word, 'Joo-wez.' ''Ah! I now see why Sir Charles wished the evidence removed, though he could have allowed it to be photographed first.'' 

''What do you mean?'' 

''No doubt our good Commissioner fears further rioting against the Jews should this provocative message be made public. Well, I fear it will do him little good. Vigilante groups are already patrolling Whitechapel; just the other day a butcher was nearly lynched by an angry mob. There will be more violence before this dance is finished, I warrant.'' 

The next fortnight passed as if the murders had never taken place. Lady Evangeline escorted a bewildered Rhiannon on a whirlwind tour of London -- they saw Henry Irving play Hamlet at Covent Gardens; an operetta entitled ''The Mikado'' by Gilbert and Sullivan at the Lyceum; they dined on the most sumptuous foods at noted restaurants such as Plum's and Simpson's. 

The two women made day excursions to the British Museum and Madame Toussard's Waxwork Museum. Lady Evangeline also bought Rhiannon more hats, gloves, reticules, and jewelry, showering the young woman with gifts, including daily bouquets of flowers. 

Rhiannon felt as if she were being courted and she reveled in every minute. I have never been so happy in my life! she thought breathlessly. 

However, a twinge of disappointment kept her happiness from being complete. Since that night of mutual seduction, Lady Evangeline had never repeated her display of affection -- indeed, the other woman appeared to have forgotten the matter entirely. 

Rhiannon had tried every trick she knew to get the peer's attention. She had flirted madly; frequently touching the raven-haired beauty, including ''accidental'' brushes and caresses that were anything but. 

Rhiannon had even begun parading around after hours in a sheer, midnight blue nightgown that left little to the imagination, pretending that she did not know how revealing the gown was -- all to no avail. Rhiannon was beginning to believe that she had been mistaken; Lady Evangeline was not interested in her at all, at least, not in the way the younger woman desperately wanted. 

For her part, Lady Evangeline's self control had been taxed nearly to the breaking point. It had taken all her formidable strength of will not to act on those excruciating desires that welled up and threatened to overflow. The sight of Rhiannon prancing about, night after night, dressed in a flimsy little nothing that revealed her charms to the utmost, and apparently quite unconscious of the effect, almost drove the peer mad. 

Now, after a fortnight of enduring the exquisite torture that was Rhiannon, Lady Evangeline was having second thoughts about her decision to leave the pretty secretary alone. 

She had already explained to Holmes about her decision to keep the circumstances of their first meeting from Rhiannon. He had scoffed and mocked, telling the peer that her ''delicate'' sensibilities and feelings of guilt were, in his own words, ''pure tosh.'' But he nonetheless respected her feelings and remained silent. 

Lady Evangeline wanted Rhiannon; she knew that this was the woman. But how to win her? Crass seduction was out of the question; instead, she decided to woo her, charm her... perhaps it would be enough. And it provided a welcome distraction from the frustrations of her investigation; she had hit a dead end and was getting nowhere. 

How to show I love her without frightening her away? It was a conundrum that was proving as hard to crack as Jack the Ripper's identity. 

The two woman were in Lady Evangeline's study, quietly reading. A small posy of white rosebuds and ferns was pinned to the lapel of Rhiannon's peacock blue dress - another gift from the peer. 

Jackson, after a deferential knock, entered the room. ''You have a caller, milady.'' 

''Who is it?'' Lady Evangeline asked, setting aside her book. 

''Mr. George Lusk, milady. I gather he is the President of the Whitechapel Vigilante Committee. He did not present a card, but he claims that the matter is quite urgent.'' 

''Ah. '' Lady Evangeline sat up and straightened the folds of her dress. This morning she wore an ecru skirt embroidered in cranberry red and forest green; a forest green shirtwaist, the neck buttons undone, completed her toilette. ''Send him in, if you please. And kindly bring in some fresh tea.'' 

Mr. George Lusk was a mustachioed and mutton-chopped gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair and a nervous air. He came into the study, bunched fists thrust into the pockets of his trousers. 

''Good afternoon, ladies,'' he said. ''Sorry to disturb you, your ladyship, but I was told you'd be the person to speak to about all this.'' 

Lady Evangeline motioned for Lusk to sit down. ''What can I do for you, Mr. Lusk?'' 

''Well, you see, this morning a parcel came for me. A little cardboard box about this big.'' He held his thick fingers approximately three inches apart. ''Anyhow, I opened it up and got the shock of my life, I tell you!'' 

Lady Evangeline made encouraging noises, eyes fixed on their visitor. Lusk continued, ''I opened it up, see, and found a letter. From that Ripper fellow. And... and...'' He swallowed heavily. ''A ki...'' His voice trailed off. 

''I beg your pardon, Mr. Lusk? A what?'' 

Lusk swallowed again. ''I said a kidney, your ladyship. Or, at least, half of one. It had been preserved in wine or some such. I called the police straight away, and one of them asked me to come 'round and tell you what I seen. So I did.'' 

Lady Evangeline's face tightened with concentration. ''Half a kidney, eh?'' she said. ''Was it human?'' 

Lusk's own face took on a greenish tinge. ''I couldn't say, your ladyship. The policeman took the whole part and parcel with him. I only come 'cause he asked me to. Don't remember what the note read, either,'' he said a little sullenly. 

At that, Lady Evangeline rose. ''I do thank you for your trouble, my good man.'' She pressed several pound notes into Lusk's hand. ''Please, accept this for your trouble.'' 

Lusk made a half-hearted protest, but his hands clutched the money tightly. Lady Evangeline pulled the bellcord to summon her butler/housekeeper. ''Again, you have my enduring thanks, Mr. Lusk,'' she called as Jackson escorted the stammering man from the room. Lady Evangeline turned to Rhiannon, her eyes alight. 

Before she could say anything, Rhiannon interrupted, ''I know, I know. I'll just stay here, shall I? No doubt when you return you will be top-filled with gruesome details and sickening sketches. You really are a ghoul, you know.'' 

Lady Evangeline exited the study, laughing heartily. 

The game was afoot once again. 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The note was scribbled hastily on a piece of cheap stock. There was no date. It read: 'From hell. Mr Lusk, Sor I send you half the Kidne I took from one woman and prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nise. I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a while longer.' It was signed: 'Catch me when you can Mishter Lusk.'' Lady Evangeline handed her notebook to Rhiannon and waited. 

Rhiannon perused the page. ''Do you believe it is from the same man?'' 

''At the police station, I persuaded Henry Dorset to allow me a glimpse of the other two documents. The handwriting is similar but not identical. However, the discrepancies can be explained by the obvious haste in which this 'From Hell' note was written.'' 

''There are a lot of misspellings, aren't there? It seems to be the work of an illiterate.'' 

Lady Evangeline sat next to Rhiannon on the sofa, using her index finger to point out certain places on the page. ''You'll notice the word 'knif', though missing its ending 'e' is nevertheless spelled with a 'k' - which is unpronounced when spoken. The word 'piece' is also spelled correctly -- 'i before e' and all that; as are the words 'one', 'fried', and 'while'. No, my dear, this is the work of a literate man trying to appear illiterate. Why, I cannot say.'' 

Rhiannon nodded. Now that Lady Evangeline had explained, it made sense. ''And the kidney?'' 

''Human. The police surgeon who examined it believes it to be that of Catherine Eddowes. She suffered from Bright's disease; its effects on that particular organ are unmistakable. And her body was the more mutilated of the two. She had been stabbed repeatedly in the face and body and some of her internal organs were missing.'' 

Rhiannon shivered. ''Long Liz'' Stride's body had been barely touched, save for a slashed throat and a slightly torn ear. Jack had been interrupted before he could complete his heinous deed. No doubt he took out his frustration on poor Catherine Eddowes. 

Lady Evangeline stretched, her thigh rubbing against Rhiannon's. ''Well,'' the peer said with a yawn, ''I think I shall do some reading before luncheon.'' 

''Before you go, Lina, perhaps you can explain something to me.'' 

Lady Evangeline stared into Rhiannon's turquoise blue eyes. ''Of course, my dear. You know I can refuse you nothing.'' 

Rhiannon decided to ignore the provocative remark. ''How does he do it?'' When Lady Evangeline grimaced, Rhiannon quickly explained, ''I mean, how does he walk through the streets covered in blood and no one notices?'' 

''As to that, Rhiannon, I suspect from bruises I have seen on the bodies that the women are strangled first, probably while they are holding up their skirts.'' Rhiannon colored, remembering how she had once ''held up the wall'' for gentlemen clients. 

Lady Evangeline did not notice Rhiannon's flushed face. ''He lowers them to the ground, then severs the throat from the left while he stands on the right. Since his victim is already dead, the flow of blood is not as violent as it might have been. Then, he performs his 'acts' swiftly, with practiced skill. I begin to wonder myself if Jack might be involved with the medical profession; certainly, his extraction of internal organs is extremely precise.'' 

''Surely his hands...'' 

''Oh, well, it is but the work of a moment to wipe his hands on a bit of cloth or even the victim's skirt or apron; his knife as well. Dark clothing would hide much, as blood appears black both by moonlight and gaslight. Then he saunters away casually, laughing up his sleeve at the efforts of the police.'' 

''I see.'' Rhiannon was thinking furiously. ''Well, thank you, Lina. I had been wondering.'' 

''Glad to have been of service, my dear. Now, I shall see to my nap. I trust you will find something to do in my absence?'' 

Rhiannon nodded. As the peer left, she continued her train of thought. This Ripper must have been with prostitutes before, she concluded. How else would he know when his victim would be most vulnerable and unable to fend off his attack? Perhaps I can do something... but first, I must think!

Staring into the fireplace, Rhiannon thoughts swirled as she strove to come up with a plan. 

Five weeks passed without another murder. Both police and the population hoped that the Ripper had gone; either left London, died or been imprisoned. 

Lady Evangeline was not so sure. ''I do not know why he has not found another victim. Mistake me not, I am heartily glad another woman has not been murdered. Still, until I see his body with my own eyes, I will never be convinced that Jack is gone for good.'' 

Rhiannon looked up from her sewing. She was embroidering an Irish linen handkerchief with a pattern of roses and ivy. ''Perhaps the police are right. Maybe he was caught, imprisoned for another crime.'' 

''Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps!'' Lady Evangeline shook her head savagely; her hair, loosened from its pins, swirled around her shoulders, dark as spilled ink. ''No, my dear. I am afraid my feelings are correct; he is still out there, somewhere. Plotting ... planning... and I am no closer to the truth than I was at the beginning.'' 

Rhiannon nodded. She wore a dainty tea gown of white sprinkled with tiny silk forget-me-nots and trimmed in fine Brussels lace. A sprig of forget-me-nots and white roses, also silk, decorated the braids wound around her head in her old coronet hairstyle. 

''Well, I for one am glad you aren't rushing out at all hours of the night. I worry about you terribly.'' Rhiannon said. 

Lady Evangeline gave her an apologetic smile. ''My dear,'' she said, ''You need have no fear for me. Did I not vanquish the Whitechapel Ripper with my bare hands? Besides, I always carry a loaded revolver on my excursions.'' 

Rhiannon had decided, after much consideration, not to tell Lady Evangeline of her plan. Lina would insist on coming to protect me, the strawberry-blonde woman thought, and then it would all be for naught. The prostitutes Rhiannon had determined to consult were shy of authority. One look at Lady Evangeline doing her 'aristocratic' act and all bets would be decidedly off!

How to get away from the house was another story. Rhiannon knew she could not depend on Lina's infrequent - and mostly involuntary - naps; besides, if she left without saying something, no doubt Jackson, one of the footmen, or even the housemaid Buttercup would inform Lina immediately of Rhiannon's absence. 

It had taken her a little time to come up with a plausible excuse; even though she hated to lie, she knew that if her plan were to succeed, she would have to steel herself and make it convincing. ''Up, Lina?'' Rhiannon asked tentatively. 

''Hm?'' the peer replied lazily. A cigarette smouldered in her hand and her eyes were closed. 

''I need to go out this afternoon.'' 

Lady Evangeline opened her eyes and took a puff of her cigarette. ''Really? Where are we going?'' 

Now for the lie, Rhiannon thought. ''Well, actually, I need to go alone. It's ... well, it's something I have to do. By myself.'' 

''All by yourself, eh?'' Lady Evangeline's eyes glinted with suspicion and amusement. ''Perhaps you can share the nature of your mission.'' 

Rhiannon surreptitiously crossed the fingers of one hand behind her back. ''Cook told me it was Jackson's birthday tomorrow, so I want to go into town and get him a present.'' 

Lady Evangeline sat back and nearly smiled. Really, Rhiannon is a terrible liar! she thought. The peer knew good and well that Jackson's birthday was, ironically enough, December 25. However, her own birthday was tomorrow, a fact no doubt revealed to Rhiannon by one of the servants. Probably that busy-body, Cook.

She wants to surprise me with a present. Well, I shall let my dear little love have her fun, Lady Evangeline thought. And I shall remember to be suitably surprised when she gives me my present tomorrow!

''All right, my dear,'' Lady Evangeline said. ''You go right ahead. I am feeling quite lazy today, so I think I shall read a bit while you go on your shopping excursion. Will you be needing the carriage?'' 

''Oh, no,'' Rhiannon said brightly, ''I thought I would take a cab. Part of the adventure, you understand.'' 

Lady Evangeline was nearly moved to tears. She knew Rhiannon had little pocket money; after the peer's generosity regarding clothing and lodgings, Rhiannon had refused all but a nominal salary. The dear girl, Lady Evangeline thought, she wants to do it all herself. Well, I hope she has her grand adventure.

''Very well, my dear. You go right ahead and enjoy your afternoon. You will be back before dinner? Cook tends to become somewhat touchy when her roast is burned from being held too long.'' 

''Yes. I shan't be too long, and I'll certainly return before nine.'' Rhiannon suppressed a sigh of relief. The lie had passed for truth. 

 Now if her plan succeeded, she would be able to repay Lady Evangeline's kindness... and maybe - just maybe - it would be a big step in showing the raven-haired beauty just how much Rhiannon loved her. 

The thought that she might put herself in mortal danger never crossed her mind. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Rhiannon knew that Lady Evangeline would know the date of Jackson's birthday; but she also knew that with the peer's birthday being tomorrow, Lina would suspect that Rhiannon wished to buy her a birthday present. Rhiannon was a terrible liar; the misdirection within the lie had taken her a long time to formulate. 

Later that afternoon, Rhiannon set out on her adventure. First, though, she stopped by Tiffany's to buy Lady Evangeline a real birthday present. 

Finally, after several hours of searching, aided by frantic salesmen, Rhiannon found the perfect gift. She was exhausted but triumphant. The time she had spent, rejecting piece after piece, had been worth it. 

It lay on her hand, nestled in a box of Tiffany's midnight blue hue. A cigarette case of brushed platinum, the front inlaid with a solid piece of pale green jade. The jade, too, was inlaid, but with diamonds and emeralds in an abstract, swirling pattern that was suggestive of a series of question marks. 

It was perfect. Rhiannon waited while the case was inscribed and the salesman wrapped the gift in paper tied with a silver ribbon. She payed the exorbitant amount with a small twinge. The golden guinea she had gotten from 'Jack' had come in handy, but the cost of the cab, coupled with the gift, had left her virtually penniless. She would have to walk to her next destination. Thrusting the small packet in her bodice, Rhiannon set out on her journey. 

The walk was considerable. It was after ten o'clock before a tired Rhiannon made it to the Whitechapel district. It took time, too, to locate Black Janet, her former mentor. 

She found the aging prostitute at the Whistling Pig, a seedy tavern with an atmosphere thick with smoke, the aroma of cheap gin and unwashed bodies, and an aura of hopelessness. As Rhiannon looked around, she couldn't help but think, There but for the grace of God go I.

Rhiannon wore her threadbare blue velvet dress, rescued from the rag pile and carefully cleaned, the hole in the shoulder darned. She had ducked into an alley and changed into it after leaving Tiffany's, leaving her beautiful wool gown stuffed down inside an empty barrel. The change had been necessary; Rhiannon knew it would not do to appear prosperous in Whitechapel. There were those desperate enough to cut a throat for a handful of coppers.

Black Janet, her horsehair wig askew, sat alone at a dirty table, staring into a glass of gin. As Rhiannon approached, the prostitute looked at her blearily, then a grin spread across her lined face. 

''Well, if it isn't Sugarbaby!'' Black Janet said enthusiastically. ''C'mere, love, give old Janet a hug.'' 

Rhiannon complied, mentally wincing at the smell of vomit and decay that emanated from the older woman. ''Janet, I need a favor,'' she said. 

''Sit down, sit down, my lovely and let me have a look at you. My, my, don't we look well fed! Found yourself a gentleman keeper, 'ave you?'' Black Janet said slyly, playfully poking Rhiannon in the ribs with a sharp elbow. ''Come up in the world some since last these old eyes seen you.'' 

Rhiannon nodded. She had already decided not to explain to Black Janet the circumstances of her departure from Whitechapel and subsequent change in station and lifestyle. ''Yes, I'm a kept woman now.''  In a manner of speaking, she added silently. But I wouldn't mind being ''kept'' by Lady Lina in the traditional sense!

''I knew it, I knew it. Ol' Black Janet knew you were too pretty for the profession. I've missed you, love, but I'm glad you found someone to take care of you. Now, tell me, Sugarbaby, are you doing back down here?'' 

''I need to find someone ...'' Quickly Rhiannon explained her need to the older woman, who nodded and furrowed her brow. 

''So, you're lookin' for a girl in the profession who had a gentleman caller, maybe a keeper, a few months back. And he looked like that.'' One wrinkled finger stabbed the artist's sketch Rhiannon had laid on the table. It was Lees' portrait of the Ripper. 

''Hmmm.'' Black Janet stroked her chin as she thought. ''I don't know, Sugarbaby, I just don't know. Most of these girls is too soused with gin to notice the ground moving under their feet, much less their gentleman's faces. Still,'' she added as Rhiannon's face fell, ''it can't 'urt to ask about, see if one of the girls might've seen him.'' 

Downing her glass of gin in a single, long swallow, Black Janet rose unsteadily to her feet. ''Come along, then, love. With all this Ripper business afoot, most of the girls is 'anging around together, mostly in pubs. We'll make the rounds, see what's what.'' 

Rhiannon nervously thought about the time. It was already half past eleven and she was more than two hours late getting home. Still, she thought, I left a note for Lina explaining the real reason I went out. Hopefully, she won't do something foolish, like call the police or descend on Whitechapel like an avenging Fury.

''All right, Janet,'' Rhiannon said firmly, standing up. ''Let's go.'' 

The two women walked for hours from tavern to tavern, pub to pub, showing the portrait and asking questions. None of the women they spoke to recognized the ''gentleman.'' Rhiannon began to wonder if her quest might turn out to be a fruitless one. 

At a pub called the Blind Boar, however, her luck changed. 

''I seen 'im,'' said a tiny woman with hennaed hair and an unpleasantly nasal voice. '''E was 'angin' about Dorset Street wiv' Mary Kelly, 'er what they calls Black Mary. She was roit 'ung up on 'im, too. Fought she'd found 'erself a keeper, 'er did.'' 

''Do you know where Mary lives?'' Rhiannon asked eagerly. 

The prostitute looked at her askance. '''Ere, now, what you wanna know 'at for?'' 

Another lie. ''The gentleman was keeping me, too,'' Rhiannon said. ''And the bastard up and disappeared on me. Left me nothing but the clothes on my back, a couple of farthings and a swollen belly for my trouble. He told me he loved me, that rotten sod. So I come down here to find him, give him a right royal piece of my mind. Maybe shame the bugger into giving me some money to pay for the brat.'' Rhiannon made her voice hard, her eyes angry. 

The nasal-voiced prostitute nodded approvingly. ''There ya go, luv. You 'as at the bleedin' sod! Wot a rotter, leavin' you like 'at, an' a baby on the way, too! Well, seein' as 'ow yer in the family way an' all, I'll tell ya Miss Mary Kelly lives in Millers Court. It's on the north side o' Dorset Street.'' 

Rhiannon thanked her profusely. The prostitute waved away Rhiannon's thanks, saying, ''I ain't got no 'ope you'll find 'im, luv. I ain't seed 'im around meself, not since Black Mary give 'im the shove. But good luck, anyhow.'' 

Rhiannon had to ask. ''Why did Mary put him off?'' 

The tiny prostitute shrugged. ''I 'eard it was onna counta 'is arstin' fer strange stuff an' the loike. Black Mary was roit squeamish 'bout the whole bloody thing. Said he wanted 'er to do stuff loike let the bloke touch 'er wiv' a knoife an' such. Roit shuddery feelin', 'er was.'' 

Black Janet sat at a table, staring owlishly at a glass of gin clutched in her hand. The older woman had been imbibing heavily during their search, insisting on raising a glass in every pub they'd visited. 

Rhiannon hurried over to her. ''Janet, I think I got the information I need. You don't need to come with me; I think I can finish this by myself.'' 

Black Janet roused herself from her trance. ''All right, love. You go right ahead. Ol' Janet'll stay right here an' keep the gin company. Good luck, Sugarbaby, and don't stay away from poor Janet so long next time.'' 

Rhiannon fiercely hugged the older woman. ''Thank you, Janet. I won't forget this.'' Determination filling her soul, Rhiannon went in search of Dorset Street and Mary Kelly. 
 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It was after three o'clock in the morning before Rhiannon found Millers Court. Dorset Street, a narrow, shabby thoroughfare that ran parallel with the Spitalfields market, was deserted and silent as the grave. 

Rhiannon stood beneath the gaslights a moment, trying to get her bearings. She cautiously walked into the tiny entry of Millers Court, her feet making scarcely a sound on the cobblestones. She clutched a heavy shawl to her breast with both hands; this shawl was a far cry from the last one she had worn on these streets, but Rhiannon had considered warmth to be more important than appearance. 

It took only a minute to find Mary Kelly's house. The door hung ajar; within, a fire in the grate sent a faint glow through the filthy, fly-specked windows. Rhiannon could hear a voice murmuring, but it was too low for her to make out the words. 

Steeling herself, Rhiannon peered around the corner... then her turquoise blue eyes widened with horror. 

A wild cry of, ''Murder!'' pierced the silent night like a killer's blade. 

Lady Evangeline was beside herself. At ten o'clock, roused from involuntary slumber by a frantic Jackson, the raven-haired peer had found Rhiannon's note on the desk in her study. 

The note read: ''Dear Lina, I am sorry I lied to you. The truth is that I have gone out to Whitechapel hoping to find a prostitute who may have had Jack as a gentleman client; it is an idea I have had for some time. I have taken Mr. Lees' sketch and will be in the company of a friend named Black Janet. Please forgive me; I will return as soon as I can. Your friend, Rhiannon.'' 

The note crumpled involuntarily her fist. Lady Evangeline bellowed incoherently in rage. 

Immediately, Jackson and the two footmen burst into the room. They stopped, appalled by the look on the peer's beautiful face. 

Face engorged with blood, her eyes bulging from their sockets, cords standing out in her neck, Lady Evangeline was held in the grip of a fury that could not be denied. Every limb trembled as she fought for control, taking great gulps of air, lips bloodless and white. 

Finally, she managed to regain enough calm to croak, ''Jackson. Have Henry bring up the carriage.'' When the older man merely stared, stunned with astonishment and fear, she roared, ''MOVE!'' 

All three men jumped, turned and fled. 

Less than a quarter hour later, Lady Evangeline sat in the carriage as it rocketed through the cobblestoned streets, ignoring the inky hair that tumbled around her face. She was dressed in her men's costume of trousers and shirt, but in her haste had neglected to bring a coat or hat. The weight of a revolver made her trouser pocket bulge. 

Her green eyes were alternately incandescent with rage and dark with worry. If Rhiannon is injured on this fool's errand of hers, Lady Evangeline thought savagely, I shall kill her!

By eleven forty-seven, she had arrived at her destination, and leaped from the carriage before it had time to come to a complete stop. Up on the box, Henry's round face was lined with concern; Jackson had hastily told the coachmen what he knew of the facts, and all the servants both worried about Miss Rhiannon, although they confidently expected Lady Evangeline to take care of matters in her usual forthright manner. 

I 'opes the chit is alright, Henry thought, calming the sweating horses. 

Lady Evangeline sprinted to the front door of 221B Baker Street and, not bothering to stop, broke through the hinges with one strong shoulder and continued her headlong flight. I'll owe Holmes the cost of a new door, she thought, ignoring the sharp ache in her shoulder as she ran, but he must help me!

He is my only hope.
 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Holmes was awakened from his nap by a frantic tattoo pounded on his door. Hastily tying the belt of his paisley robe, the lean detective hurried to the door and threw it open, the revolver he had snatched from a side table ready in his hand. 

It was Lady Evangeline. 

Holmes exclaimed in surprise, ''My dear Lina! What on earth are you doing here in the middle of the night?'' 

Lady Evangeline pushed into the room without waiting for an invitation. Standing before Holmes, she fairly vibrated with tension. ''Rhiannon is missing.'' 

Holmes raised one eyebrow and closed the door. ''Missing?' he asked. ''Begin at the beginning, milady.'' 

''There is no time!'' The woman was frantic. 

Holmes held up a long-fingered hand. ''I cannot help you unless I know the facts. Speak quickly, then we will see what is to be done.'' 

Stumbling over her words, Lady Evangeline told the detective what she knew. As she spoke, Holmes studied her intently. Her face was ashen, save for two feverishly bright spots on each cheek. Those marvelously green eyes were waterlogged and bloodshot. With her jet-black hair in a tangled mess, misbuttoned shirt and trousers, she looked haggard and hag-ridden. It is as I have suspected, the great man thought. Lady Evangeline is in love with the lovely Rhiannon!

Finally, Lady Evangeline finished, ''Please, Holmes! I beg you! Help me find her before something dreadful happens!'' The peer wrung her hands together. She had never felt so helpless in her life; the combined weights of anxiety and a terrible certainty that Rhiannon was in danger had taken their toll. Lady Evangeline could not think; every fiber in her being shouted at her to act! 

Holmes said nothing; he grabbed a sheet of foolscap from his desk and scribbled a message. Folding it into an intricately cornered pattern, he weighted the packet with a shilling, then crossed to the window and flung it open. 

Below, in the pale gaslight, a ragged beggar child loitered across the street. 

Holmes whistled sharply and the boy's head popped up. The child jogged across the street to stand beneath the window. 

Holmes said loudly, ''You, there! Redcap Tom, aren't you?'' 

The boy nodded, snatching a worn cap from his filthy, tousled curls. Holmes flung down the paper; the boy caught it in one hand and stood there, staring up at the detective's face. 

''Take this message to Billy Budd,'' Holmes said. ''and keep the shilling for yourself. Make all haste, boy! Billy must receive this missive within the half hour!'' 

Redcap Tom nodded vigorously, his dirty face lightened with a grin. Clapping his hat back on his head, the child took off at a dead run and was soon swallowed up by the darkness. 

Closing the window, Holmes turned back to the agitated peer. ''I have summoned the Baker Street Irregulars. Most of them know the Whitechapel district like the backs of their hands; if Rhiannon is still there, they will find her and bring word to me.'' 

Lady Evangeline was still wringing her hands. ''Holmes! I cannot wait!'' 

''Instruct your driver to remain below with the carriage,'' Holmes said calmly. ''As soon as we have a location, we will drive like the Devil to Whitechapel.'' 

Lady Evangeline turned and headed to the door, eyes overflowing with tears, determined to go and keep looking, never stopping, until Rhiannon was safe. Holmes' strong hand on her shoulder stopped the lady in her tracks. 

''Lina. There is nothing more we can do,'' Holmes said emphatically. ''The Irregulars are far better suited to this work; they will find this Black Janet or Rhiannon as quickly as humanly possible. In the meantime, you must sit and rest, conserve your energy. No doubt it will be needed sorely before the night is out.'' 

Intellectually, Lady Evangeline acknowledged the truth of her mentor's words, but emotionally, she still thrummed with anxiety. ''It's just that I feel...'' Her voice trailed off as she realized that she could not explain her desperate need to find the other woman. 

''I understand.'' Holmes voice was gentle. ''Now, come. Sit down and I shall wake Mrs. Hudson for tea.'' The detective chuckled. ''If we can face Mrs. Hudson's wrath, then a runaway secretary and the machinations of the criminal class are as nothing.'' 

Lady Evangeline allowed herself to be steered to a chair. Although outwardly resigned, inwardly she still raged. If anything happens to her, she vowed grimly, men will shudder for centuries over Whitechapel's fate!

Holmes stared at his friend with hooded eyes, knowing her thoughts, and said nothing.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It was nearly two o'clock in the morning before a frantic knock sounded on Holmes' door. Lady Evangeline awakened with a snort, momentarily disoriented. She had fallen into an uneasy sleep and her dreams had been filled with vague forebodings. 

Rising, she observed Holmes engaged in whispered conversation with a tiny, cherubic child whose long curls were matted with filth. Finishing with an emphatic, ''Go!'' Holmes handed the child a coin that glinted with the sheen of gold and pushed him from the door gently but firmly. The child fled, guinea clutched in one grimy fist. 

Holmes turned back to the waiting peer. ''There is no sign yet of Rhiannon, although her movements have been traced as far as Spitalfields.'' Seeing Lady Evangeline's face crumple, Holmes added quickly, ''There is good news as well. Black Janet has been found, though much the worse for drink, at a pub called the Blind Boar.'' 

While Lady Evangeline stared, Holmes said with a slight smile, ''Well, hurry, woman! Get yourself together; we ride for Whitechapel at once!'' 

Despite the hour, an accident involving a carter's dray and several carriages full of inebriated peers left a tangled snarl of traffic. With every delay, Lady Evangeline's temper, already uncertain, became more ferocious. 

''What the Devil is the matter, Henry?!'' she shouted to the profusely apologizing coachman. ''Take another street or run them all down, I care not which!'' Sinking back into her seat, the enraged lady muttered savagely, ''Fools!'' 

Holmes smiled, secure in the darkness of the carriage's interior. ''Lina, you cannot cause horses to fly; even the Lord God Almighty stopped at dividing a sea.'' 

Lady Evangeline bit back a curse. As every moment passed, the fear that Rhiannon was in danger became more of a certainty. ''I shall go mad if anything happens to her. I know it, Holmes.'' 

The detective nodded. ''We will find her. Have faith, if not in yourself, then in me. I am not a modest man; you know me and you know my skills. My 'prey' has never eluded me; it shall not now.'' 

The dark-haired peer was silent. Back at Baker Street, she had taken advantage of the wait to comb her hair and twist it back into a single, inky braid that hung to her waist. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled back, exposing forearms corded with muscle. 

Rhiannon, she begged silently, please, please be all right!

At last, they found the pub. The Blind Boar was a small, rickety shack nestled in an alley between two tumbledown shops. It was nearly four o'clock in the morning, and Lady Evangeline was almost numb from nervous strain. 

Black Janet was located by the expedient of a handful of pound notes thrust into the grasping claw of the pub's bartender, a greasy harpy with a pock-marked face. 

Black Janet proved to be a wrinkled, gray-faced woman wearing a slipping horsehair wig. She was quite lost in drink; she merely sat and hummed an off-key melody while Holmes explained their mission. She appeared to be ignoring the detective and the raven-haired peer; in fact, she appeared to be oblivious of everything save the haze of cheap gin. 

Finally, Lady Evangeline could take no more. Grabbing the aged prostitute by the bodice of her dress, she hauled the other woman to her feet and exploded in rage, ''Tell me where she is! Or, by God, you will not live to see another night!'' 

Black Janet hung limply in the angry woman's hands. ''Alright, love. No need to get all in a dither. Ol' Janet'll tell ya where the Sugarbaby is.'' 

A little ashamed of her loss of control and feeling Holmes' disapproving gaze, Lady Evangeline lowered the prostitute back to her chair. ''Well, then,'' she said, swallowing her anger. ''In that case, you shall be well rewarded for the information.'' 

Black Janet cackled and adjusted her wig. ''Sugarbaby come lookin' for a gentleman, she did. Her found another girl 'oo told 'er as how Black Mary knew 'im.'' 

''And?'' Lady Evangeline wanted to scream in frustration but controlled herself with an effort. 

''An' Mary Kelly, 'er what's Black Mary, has a 'ouse over in Millers Court. 'At's off Dorset Street by the Spitalfields market. Sugarbaby allowed as how she was goin' over to 'ave a talk with Mary 'erself.'' 

''Thank you, Janet.'' The grateful peer pressed a sheaf of pound notes into the surprised prostitutes's hand. ''Bless you. Bless you!'' Lady Evangeline added fervently. 

Holmes squeezed Lady Evangeline's shoulder. ''It would be better if we walked. I believe I know the street she is referring to.'' 

The two left the pub, an odd pairing indeed -- a saturnine, older man with a face like a hawk's, and a tall, beautiful woman wearing trousers. Still, the occupants of the pub thought, stranger things have been seen in Whitechapel. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Rhiannon could see very little through the glaze of tears that flowed from her eyes. Her jaw ached where the man had struck her with his fist after her first, terrified scream. 

Now she lay in a corner, hands bound behind her back with a strip torn from her dress, ankles tied together with a piece of that same material. A gag had been forced into her mouth; Rhiannon resisted the urge to vomit, fearing she would choke to death. 

As it was, she could barely breath. She could only watch as the Ripper went about his bloody work. 

As horrifying as it was, Rhiannon could not tear her eyes away. She was grateful that her tears hid many of the details of what he was doing to Mary Kelly's body. 

The interior of the cramped, poorly lit room was liberally splashed with blood. Rhiannon could not recognize the 25-year-old victim's face; Jack had already been at work with his knife and had partially flayed the features. Now, he was busily removing his victim's breasts, soaked to the elbows in blood and body fluids. 

As he worked, Jack muttered in a sing-song voice, ''All the pretty whores ... all the pretty little whores ... get what they deserve in the end.'' 

It was almost five o'clock; Rhiannon had heard a church bell chime the half-hour. She was exhausted from trying to loosen her bonds; her wrists were chafed and bloody. She feared what the Ripper would do to her when he finished with Mary Kelly. 

Finally, having arranged his victim's viscera around the body in what he considered a pleasing enough pattern, Jack stood, bloody knife clenched in his hand. He considered a moment, then reached out and made a minute adjustment to the glistening liver that lay between Mary Kelly's feet. 

Then he turned, and his glittering eyes sought Rhiannon. 

''Noooooo,'' Rhiannon moaned through the gag, twisting frantically. He had shaved off the beard and muttonchops she had seen before, but a heavy mustache still bristled above his upper lip. 

He brought the knife up to his face and sensuously licked the blood from the razored steel. 

Rhiannon gagged, blue eyes wide with terror. 

He stepped over to her on light feet, obviously enjoying the woman's fear. ''All the pretty little whores,'' he chanted, then giggled. It was an unpleasantly high-pitched giggle and the hairs on the back of Rhiannon's neck stood up. 

''All the pretty little whores,'' Jack crooned as he knelt by Rhiannon's struggling body. Grabbing her ankles with one hand, he brandished the knife in the other. ''Get what they deserve ...'' 

Rhiannon screamed through the gag, the cords on her neck standing out in high relief. 

The knife raised higher. ''Pretty pretty whores ...'' 

Before he could strike, however, he was stopped by a commanding shout from the doorway. 

''Stop! Or I shall shoot!'' 

It was Lady Evangeline. She stood framed within the doorway, revolver steady in her fist. The peer was panting with exertion; upon reaching Dorset Street, she and Holmes had split up, the better to locate Millers Court. Somehow, Lady Evangeline had heard Rhiannon's muffled scream and raced like a madwoman to get there in time. 

Now she watched the tableau with narrowed eyes. ''Drop the knife and step away from her. NOW!'' 

Jack considered the gun-wielding woman a moment, then in a lightning move, grabbed Rhiannon and stood, holding her in front of him like a shield. His knife was poised across the strawberry-blonde woman's throat. 

Lady Evangeline gasped but did not lower the revolver. She hoped he would not call her bluff; she dared not take the risk of shooting Rhiannon. 

''So, another pretty whore come to the rescue, eh?'' Jack rasped. Rhiannon struggled a little, but stopped when the keen edge of the knife bit slightly into the white flesh of her throat, drawing a thin line of blood. 

''Let her go,'' Lady Evangeline said. Inwardly, she prayed Holmes would get there and size up the situation before acting; the detective was her only hope. 

''No, no, ol' Saucy Jacky can't do that, my fine dark bitch. But you put away your little toy gun and maybe Jack'll do her quick-like, so she don't suffer. Or maybe Jack'll leave her be. You never know.'' 

Rhiannon's eyes were as wide as saucers over the gag. She desperately wanted to tell Lady Evangeline to shoot; it did not matter if she were hit, too. She would rather die by Lina's bullet than at the hands of a madman. 

Lady Evangeline's shoulders slumped in defeat. She could not take the risk ... she lowered the revolver, tears tracing a silvery track down one cheek. To Rhiannon she mouthed silently, I'm sorry.

And Jack laughed, his whining giggle chilling both women to the bone. 
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Jack laughed and tightened his arm around Rhiannon's waist. He playfully ran the edge of the knife down the pretty woman's face and bodice, enjoying the feel of her body convulsing against his. 

Lady Evangeline had never felt so helpless, so hopeless in her entire life. Once she had felt that she stood on the cusp of great things; with Rhiannon by her side, there was literally nothing she could not do, especially in the light of the world-shaking passion she knew they could achieve together. If only...

Now the taste of defeat was as bitter as ashes in her mouth. 

She dared not shoot... but she dared not to shoot. A hellish paradox. 

If only...

Lady Evangeline finally acknowledged that she did, indeed, love Rhiannon, with all her heart and soul. I cannot imagine life without her, the peer thought. She means everything to me.

It was bitter indeed to realize that fate had given her an opportunity that she'd missed; if she'd gone back to Whitechapel after she'd first met Rhiannon, the two of them would have been blissfully together. Then she had been given a second, God-given chance at happiness... 

And now a third. 

If she failed Rhiannon this final time, there would be no more chances. The future stretched in front of her for a moment; a yawning abyss of loneliness and despair, regret and soul-destroying rue. 

Lady Evangeline's resolve hardened into adamantine. She would not fail Rhiannon again! Whipping up her arm, she fired without aiming ... trusting her heart to tell her hand where and when. 

Rhiannon's eyes closed as the booming thunder of gunfire filled her ears and a sharp blow against her breast drove the breath from her body. She slid into darkness, her final thought a regretful one. I wish I'd had the courage to tell her how I feel ... Lina, I love you! she thought desperately. 

Then she surrendered herself to swirling midnight. 

When Rhiannon awoke, she was cradled in warm, strong arms, her face wet with kisses and tears. Lady Evangeline's voice was saying brokenly, ''Oh, Rhiannon! I love you! I cannot live without you! Please, please, wake up!'' 

Rhiannon slowly opened her eyes. Evangeline gasped with relief and pulled the other woman to her even more tightly. ''Sweetheart!'' the lady gasped, ''I was so afraid you were...'' She did not finish the thought. Instead, she hugged Rhiannon to her and kissed her forehead fervently. 

Rhiannon shakily raised one hand and stroked Lady Evangeline's touseled black hair. ''I thought I was, too.'' Pulling herself from the peer's embrace, Rhiannon sat up. She was in her bed at home; a small bandage covered the scratch on her throat, both wrists wrapped in linen. There was an ache between her breasts that could only be a bruise; she wondered how she had escaped the killer's final, fatal blow ... then Lady Evangeline's words registered. 

Rhiannon cleared her throat. ''Wha... what were you just saying?'' she stuttered. Her turquoise blue eyes were serious, though her heart hammered in her chest. 

Lady Evangeline's mouth was dry. ''Um... nothing, it was nothing. I was so relieved that you were all right...'' 

Rhiannon held up on hand in an imperious gesture. ''So you mean to say that you do not love me?'' 

Lady Evangeline desperately cast about for something to say, a change of topic, something! At long last, she finally acknowledged to herself that this issue would have to be dealt with. She could not go on living a lie, pretending to feel only a friend's affection for Rhiannon when she felt so much more. 

Lady Evangeline squared her shoulder and steeled herself as if for a blow. Taking a deep breath, she took one of Rhiannon's small, fine boned hands between her own. ''Rhiannon...'' She paused and cleared her throat. ''Rhiannon,'' she began again, ''I do love you. Not just as a friend; my feelings for you are far stronger. I admit that I have entertained thoughts of you and I as... well, as lovers for some time. I have not acted upon those feelings because I...'' She stopped, not sure if she could explain her reasoning with Rhiannon's steady gaze upon her. 

Rhiannon said softly, ''You feared I could not return those feelings? And you were afraid of losing my friendship?'' 

As the astonished peer stared, gape-mouthed, Rhiannon slid closer to the other woman, so close she could feel Lady Evangeline's body heat through the thin nightgown she wore. 

''I understand, Lina. I was afraid of telling you how I felt, myself. But this morning, so close to death -- with my last thought I could do nothing but berate myself for never having told you how I feel. I love you, Lina. I want you more than anything or anyone else in the whole wide world. And, yes... I want us to be lovers, too.'' 

Lady Evangeline was beyond speech as Rhiannon took the peer's strong hands in her own small ones and placed them on her breasts, forcing Lina to cup them, feel their soft weight. Rhiannon stared into Lina's sea-green eyes. ''Please,'' she whispered softly. 

With a groan, Lady Evangeline leaned over and kissed Rhiannon's neck, careful of her wound. ''Are you sure?'' she whispered into Rhiannon's red-gold locks. 

''Quite sure,'' Rhiannon breathed. 

''There is something else you must know,'' the lady said. She searched Rhiannon's face. ''You do not remember, but you and I have met before...'' 

Lady Evangeline told Rhiannon the story of how she'd rescued her from an angry customer - and of how she'd forgotten about the beautiful young woman, dismissing her because of her lowly station. She felt deeply ashamed and half expected Rhiannon to strike her down, lacerate her with stinging whips of curses. Part of her would have welcomed that reaction. Another part cringed, fearful of losing the precious gift she'd been given. 

Instead, Rhiannon sat back calmly, though keeping the lady's hands trapped with her own. When the peer was finished, Rhiannon said, ''But that was before we knew each other, wasn't it?'' 

Dumbly, Lady Evangeline nodded. 

Rhiannon leaned forward and lightly kissed the lady on the mouth. ''You didn't fail me,'' she whispered. ''Not then, not now. I still love you, Lina. I'm just glad we got a second chance...'' 

''You forgive me?'' 

''There's nothing to forgive.'' Rhiannon raised a brow and smiled gently. ''I survived Whitechapel. Our coming together was only delayed, not lost forever. I'm just grateful that we met again. Believe me, Lina... I wouldn't care if you were the poorest rogue that ever sold matches for the rags on her back. I love you despite your station, despite your wealth and even - sometimes - despite yourself! You aren't the same person that you were before; for that matter, neither am I! We're both changed and changing. Instead of dwelling on the past, we should be forging our future.'' 

''Truer words were never spoken,'' Lady Evangeline replied. ''I treasure you, my dear. Now that I've found you at long last, I shall never let you go.'' 

''Good.'' Rhiannon snuggled closer. ''Now, will you stop feeling sorry for yourself and kiss me? I'm not the most patient woman in the world, you know.'' 

Evengeline gathered Rhiannon into her arms. ''I know...,'' she breathed. 

And there were no more words that afternoon. 
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"Well, are you ever going to tell me what happened?'' Rhiannon asked around a mouthful of bread. 

The two women were comfortably ensconced in Rhiannon's bed, sharing a tray of bread, fruit and cheese. Neither one felt up to a heavy meal. 

Lady Evangeline ran one hand through her ink-black hair. Loose, it fell to her hips in waves and mingled with Rhiannon's own red-gold. 

''Yes, I suppose I had better, or no doubt you will nag me incessantly,'' the peer said with a chuckle. 

Rhiannon punched the other woman in the arm with one small fist. ''No, I'll just beat it out of you!'' she said playfully. 

Lady Evangeline put up her hands in mock terror. ''I surrender! I surrender! To thee, milady, I show the white feather and retire from the battlefield!'' 

Rhiannon growled and extended her hands like claws. 

Lady Evangeline surrendered with a laugh. ''Well, if you insist!  After I shot Jack, Holmes finally turned up. It seems he was delayed by a most insistent gentleman who made some rather shocking advances; in the end, poor Holmes was forced to strike him unconscious in order to get away.'' 

Both women giggled at the image of the formidable detective being pursued by an unstoppably lustful homosexual. 

Lady Evangeline continued, ''I wanted to get you out of there straightaway. I knew you had not been struck by the bullet, but you were unconscious and I... well, I was frantic with worry.'' She held up the jade and platinum cigarette case. ''This saved your life, you know. Thank God jade is such a hard stone! It protected you from Jack's final knife thrust, but for a moment, I was sure you were dead. And I wanted to die myself,'' she finished miserably. 

Rhiannon tsk-tsked and leaned against Lina's arm. ''Poor thing. You must have been beside yourself.'' 

''That is one way of putting it, yes. Then who should turn up but Mycroft Holmes himself! I nearly fell down in surprise; he never leaves the Diogenes Club, you know. It was like seeing the sun come out in the middle of the night. He brought with him a pack of bully boys who scooped up Jack's body with so much as a how-d'ye-do and left.'' 

''What did he want with the body?'' 

''I asked that of Sherlock. It seems that this 'Jack the Ripper' was known to Mycroft. In fact, he was a doctor, a homosexual who had been treating a certain ... hm, 'royal personage' for suspected syphilis. I'm sure you know who I mean.'' 

Rhiannon looked thoughtful and popped a grape into her mouth. ''You mean Prince Bertie?'' 

''The very one. This doctor had conceived an unnatural passion for the Heir; I suspect he was already insane, but his insanity was compounded by the frustration he must have felt in having to conceal the nature of his attraction from the Prince. Apparently, the doctor blamed prostitutes for Bertie's condition and wanted revenge. Holmes told me that Mycroft's investigation had revealed that the good doctor had been planning the murders for some time, even taking the trouble to do 'research' into the way prostitutes did 'business' in order to facilitate his mad scheme.'' 

Rhiannon nodded. ''That's what I thought,'' she said, ''when you told me that he strangled them as they were holding up their skirts. He must have frequented prostitutes in order to know the perfect moment when they would be the most vulnerable.'' 

Lady Evangeline hugged the other women. ''Well, sweetheart, please ... I am proud you thought of it, but the next time you have an idea, share it! My heart nearly stopped when I realized where you had gone.'' 

''I promise, Lina.'' She laid a slab of creamy white cheese on a piece of bread and bit down. Chewing thoughtfully, Rhiannon murmured, ''So now what?'' 

Lady Evangeline sighed. ''Since the doctor enjoyed royal patronage, Mycroft feels that the entire story would be far to scandalous to reveal. The doctor's body will, no doubt, be discovered in time, or perhaps he will simply disappear. As for the murders, they will stop, of course, and the truth will never be known. Who knows what the people will think?'' 

''I think they will wonder about the killer, Lina. I think they will always wonder who he was and why he did those terrible things.'' 

Lady Evangeline leaned down and kissed Rhiannon on the lips softly. ''Let them wonder, my dear,'' she purred. ''You and I have more important considerations.'' 

The tray of food tumbled from the bed as the two women embraced. 

Apart, they were incomplete... 

Together, there was nothing they could not accomplish. 

Fate had, indeed, been more than kind.

And in a lonely flat in Baker Street, a man smiled ruefully as the strains of a violin sonata wafted out into the fog-bound night. 

The Author wishes to acknowledge the invaluable research materials on Jack the Ripper from: The Mammoth Book of Murder, edited by Richard Glyn Jones (Carroll & Graf Publishers, Inc., 1990); Solved and Unsolved, Classic True Murder Cases, edited by Richard Glyn Jones (Random House, 1991); and finally, a truly spectacular Ripper web site at http://ripper.wildnet.co.uk/ripintro.htm where I was able to find a copy of the coroner's report on the Ripper's final victim, Mary Jane Kelly, as well as copies of the 'Ripper' letters found within the story.

Scholars are still engaged in furious debate as to whether or not the killer who terrorized the Whitechapel district murdered other victims or not; the five victims in this story are the ones which most agree were definitely the work of one man who called himself Jack the Ripper. Other characters in this story, including police detectives, doctors and the clairvoyant, Robert James Lee, were involved in the case; however, any descriptions, conversations and attitudes are the work of my imagination.

 The two verses that begin and end this story were received by news agencies and the police during the 'Autumn of Terror,' along with many hundreds of others. It has never been confirmed that any of these missives and poems were actually written by the individual known as Jack the Ripper. He was never caught and the murderer's true identity remains a mystery to this day.

Please comment to Nene Adams at wynna1@yahoo.com

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