Chapter Twenty Seven

Constable Christopher Maclean dragged the body of the unconscious and bloody James into the police station with a sense of triumph. “Here he is boys, Jack the Ripper caught in the act of murder itself! Me and my partner managed to save his victim though, a pretty little girl that Andrews’s taking to the hospital.”

One of the other coppers came over and emptied James pockets looking for evidence, finding his watch, two pounds, the spare monocle, a screwdriver, a pad and pen and a small calendar. They removed the gold chain from around his neck, looking askance at the Egyptian charm and the simple medallion. One of the men began reading through the calendar while another policeman began stripping James of his bloodied clothing leaving the poor man in nothing but his unmentionables.

Anne was worried, not only because of what was happening but also because James had not yet woken up from the blow to his head, she was so frustrated, when one of the cops suggested taking his under things from him she grabbed a nameplate from a desk and threw it at the man’s head. She winced as she felt her energy drain but it was worth it to here the man curse in pain.

“Come on James, wake up! You must defend yourself my love!” Anne hated feeling so powerless. Not since she had been trapped on her stoop by a murder had she felt so out of control. She began walking through the police men that had crowded around, causing them to shudder with the cold. It was a petty act of vengeance, but it was all she could do.

They carried James to an interrogation room and chained his limp form to a chair. Anne could see bruises and cuts already beginning to cover his legs from the constable dragging him down the street. One of his feet, the one that had lost its shoe, was bleeding from where a rough corner in a cobble had ripped his flesh and there was a large bruise in the center of his chest where the constable had kicked him, for the sin of being too heavy.

One of the inspectors through a bucket of icy water on James and he moaned as he began to come aware, much to Anne’s relief, though now she was concerned about pneumonia. The temperature outside, according to Elbert, was just this side of snowing, and she could see James’s breath steaming in the air of the poorly heated police station.

James’s eyes fluttered open as the water from a second bucket hit his face. He was

shivering from the cold as he stared up in horror at the constable glaring down at him.

“Whah?”

“You’ve killed you last woman Jack!” The man said harshly. Anne began pacing though the cop, back and forth. If her James was going to be cold so would his tormentor!

James blinked as his mind started to work again, trying to process a semi-transparent Anne walking though a policeman over and over. Then the constable’s words sank in, as he began shaking with the cold.

“Bloody hell! I am not Jack!”

“Sure you’re not. That’s why you were standing over a young lady with her throat ripped open.”

James’s lips were purple with the cold, but his cheeks flushed with rage. “That girl is my neighbor Emily. She was fixing a boiler at St Mary’s and asked me to walk her home. I ran late, and found her bleeding into the cobbles, with a man standing over her! I was trying to bandage her injury when someone…”

The cop backhanded James with an almost casual brutality “A likely story.” The man growled, grabbing his billy club. Anne stepped between the two men as if she could stop the beating to come with her spectral form.

“Actually, it is.” Said a familiar voice as the door to the interrogation room opened. “Stand down constable. While I appreciate your dedication to justice, you unfortunately have overstepped your authority.”

“Inspector Jones, we found this villain hunched over his victim! He’s covered in her blood!”

“And I will ask him about that. However I promise you this is not Jack. I had several men watching him and he was snug at home reading books when the fourth victim was killed. Also this gentleman is the one who rescued Alice Clemmons from the ripper last night.”

“And how do we know he didn’t attack her first!” the constable demanded, pointing his club at James.

The Inspectors face turned cold. “Careful MacLean, you are perilously close to insubordination. Go fetch the man some clothing. We are not barbarians, to leave a man to freeze to death while in out custody.”

The constable glared angrily at James before stomping off, slamming the door behind him.

“Now Professor St. Cloud, please tell me what happened to land you in this predicament.” The inspector said, releasing him from his bonds.

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Clumsily James rubbed his hands, trying to return feeling to his numb limbs, He glanced at Anne, who was looking at him with worry filled eyes, before she blushed and quickly turned around. It wasn’t proper to look at a man with nothing on, after all.

“I was going to pick Emily Porter up from St Mary’s. Her dad had donated a new boiler to the church and it was acting up.” He began. “Her father is out of town on business, so she asked me to walk her home. I am afraid I got caught up in the book I was reading and was running late. I assume she must have decided to brave Whitechapel on her own.”

“I was about a block from the chapel when I heard her scream, and I ran as fast as I could to get to her. When I got there I beat the man assaulting her off. I wanted to give chase but Emily…” James swallowed worry plain on his face for the spunky girl.

“Your friend is fine, or is going to be at any rate. Constable Andrews fetched me after he dropped her off at the hospital. Seems he was worried, and rightly so, that

Constable MacLean was going off half cocked.” The inspector observed. “Lucky for her you were there. Andrew's mother was a nurse, so he’s a fair hand at the doctoring around here so he took proper care of her.”

The door opened and a young woman walked in carrying a bundle of clothing. “Inspector Jones, Constable MacLean and Andrews are fighting in the office.” She reported, blushing and avoided looking towards James who was, himself, quite embarrassed.

“Damn it.” The inspector nodded to James. “Go ahead and get dressed. I need to go sort this fight out.” He strode off with all the purpose of a predator on the hunt, the secretary scurrying after him.

Gratefully James pulled on the course grey clothing the inspector had given him. He desperately wanted a bath to get the blood off of his skin, but at least he was a bit warmer. He lifted his foot and winced at the gash.

“That’s going to want stitching.” Anne commented, drifting up to him.

“Yes, it is.” James muttered, anger and annoyance filling his voice.

“Are you all right? I didn’t want to ask while the policeman was around.”

“I’ll be fine,” James growled. “I’m sore, and have the devil’s own headache, but

this-?” He nodded at his foot, “looks like the worst of the damage.” He watched as Anne went up to the door to keep an eye out for police. She didn’t want James caught talking to the empty air.

“I have some excellent powders at the shop. I think they were in the drawers, so Richard probably didn’t destroy them.”

“We’ll stop by your place on the way home then.” James muttered. “Right after we stop by a doctor and get this stitched.”

Anne held her hand up as the inspector walked back to the door and came into the interrogation room.

“Trouble just seems to follow you around Professor St. Cloud. However I will apologize for the enthusiasm of my man. With Jack back on the prowl again everyone’s a bit jumpy. Did you happen to see the Rippers face?”

James paused. “No. The shadows were too thick, and I think he might have been wearing a mask.” There was no point in telling this cop that Jack was a noble, a lord of the realm. Assuming the inspector believed him there was no way he was going to be able to make murder stick. There was no way that he was going to be able to get justice for Anne and the three other women he had killed, or for Emily.

“Well, after the last girl saw his face and got away that doesn’t surprise me. I’ve called a cab for you. The secretary should have your things just outside.

The inspector turned out to be right, his property being held in two small bags where they had been tossed carelessly. With a murmured thanks James hobbled out towards the front of the station, leaving a trail of tiny bloody petals behind him with each step.

“What’s making that rattling sound?” James asked himself as he walked, digging around in the bags he was carrying. With a grunt he bumped into someone, stumbling back. “Excuse me… I wasn’t paying…attention…” James’s mind came to a halt, as Anne gasped next to him.

Lord William Thompson, the man himself, stood before them wearing a fine coat and an evil, knowing smile. “It’s quite all right.” The man's voice was cultured, not the sepulcher like growl that both of them had half expected from a psychotic. “Inspector Donalds just filled me in. I feel, as a member of the Queens Parliament, that you deserve an apology for the overzealousness of Her police.”

James felt several warring emotions rip through his mind all at once. Fear, since he was facing the man he’d been trying to bring down and who could likely send him right back to the cell he’d just escaped. Rage, because of what he’d done to Anne and to Emily. And finally panic, because he wasn’t sure what to do. “That’s quite all right.” James growled. “Mistakes do happen.”

“Indeed they do.” The well heeled killer agreed with a feral smile. “How is the young lady…? Emily Porter I believe her name is?”

“She’ll survive, no thanks to… Jack.” James barely bit down on the name, barely able to catch himself before accusing the lord. The widening of the eyes, which quickly turned to angry slits, warned James that the man had gotten the point.

“I had wondered.” The man stated, and James knew instinctively that the comment had nothing to do with Emily’s health. “I would dearly hope that she stays that way. And that you don’t find yourself running afoul of Jack again.”

“Twice would be enough.” Inspector Donalds commented, stepping up to the two men, and away from the glaring MacLean. James was so focused on Lord Thompson that the anger of the constable was a mere footnote to him. “I want you to go home, and straight home, Professor St. Cloud.”

“Professor? A man of science, perhaps?”

The delight, following so closely on a warning from the murderous lords lips, almost made James wish that he could claim otherwise. “Yes. I teach engineering and physics.”

“Worth while pursuits.” The lord commented with a nod. “Much better for men such as you… such as us… then chasing after murders in the night. Wouldn’t you agree, Inspector?”

“I would.”

James was somewhat relieved to see a suspicious look shooting from the copper, bouncing between the two men. The enmity, it seemed, was filling the space between them.

“Well… Since Jack wasn’t caught, like I’d heard, I’ll just be on my way.” The nobleman said, turning away from James. The blatant disrespect the man showed by turning his back to the Professor almost inspired James to surge forward. “Do be safe getting home… and give my regards to Ms. Porter.”

Within moments he was gone, James glaring at the station house door’s as if to set them alight with his angry gaze. “I take it you know each other?” The Inspector commented.

“Quite well.” James replied. “You could almost say we were arch enemies.”

Inspector Donalds looked as though he was going to ask for details, but the moment passed. “Let me help you to the cab.” He offered.

“Thank you. I very much want to go home.”