"You're awful quiet, Miss Moore. Is something the matter?"
"No, nothing, I'm merely tired from my journey." I replied to the poke-bonneted old woman who walked beside me.
"Quite a speech the Reverend gave today; I wish I could have stayed till the end, but these old bones won't work for as long as they used to, I'm afraid."
"Yes, it was... stirring." I searched out the word.
"Always said that young man was a special conduit of the Holy Spirit - when he preached from the pulpit it was as though God, Himself, were speaking directly to you."
"How long have you known Lt. Smith?"
"Long enough to know him as Rev. Smith." she replied with a twinkle in her eye. "Though that must have been, my word! Not less than 19 years ago. And in all that time you know I still remember his very first Sunday at our church. The Bishop sent him after our old vicar had up and died - right in the middle of the Easter season if you can believe that! He was from some town off the eastern coast is all I recall - I couldn't tell you which one for the life of me - and we were his first real congregation. I remember him lookin' down on us all, his pretty little daughter and wife sitting in the very first pew, so nervous you'd a thought he'd drop over if a stiff wind blew. But, you know, then he turned a page in the Bible and set to preaching the most beautiful sermon I'd ever heard in my entire life up until that point. My husband, Donald, surely you recall he sat next to me at the meeting?" I could not say I did, but nodded in affirmation regardless, "Well, he said the same thing - that is why when he left and joined the Salvation Army we followed him as did a number of others in the congregation. I used to knit stockings for his wife's charity baskets - she was a quiet women, sweet as they come, the daughter of one of those Irish railway workers. Not one who would turn many an Englishman's head, mind you, not with that upbringing, but he never seemed to give it a thought. And she was a good wife to him, a good mother so long as I knew her - which was far too short a time. It was a sad day when she passed, sudden-like, one day mid-Spring. I always felt sorry for that poor little girl, grow'n up without a mother. I suppose he did the best he could." Her tone gave me pause, I knew it well for the many times I had heard it used in reference to myself when the speakers thought I was not within earshot - the sorry clucking of the gossip who holds a secret one need only ask to have it be revealed. Perhaps it was not fear but shame which had caused Lt. Smith to send his daughter away. He would have had little to worry about for, though I did not know of her reputation, mine was certainly at least as infamous.
"Is there something amiss with his daughter?" I asked, expecting the reply of some form of madness.
"No." They always did begin with 'No.', did they not? And then it was always followed by the very things which would contradict it; as though the 'no' were a mere vestige of propriety. "She is very kind and generous, but..." I raised my eyebrows to indicate the small interest needed to spur her continuation. "Do not think me to be speaking ill against Gen. Booth's teachings; I suppose I am just not accustomed to seeing women in positions of leadership in the church is all. I know God calls all to be a part of his church but it seems so unladylike to see a woman leading the church or preaching to the masses, especially when we have men who are qualified to do so. Don't think I mean any disrespect to Capt. Smith, but when we first declared war both our leaders were men. And the same is true of Shoreham by Sea. It's not that I don't think women can be lead just that..."
"They shouldn't." I said, finishing her thought; a gesture she took as a sign she were speaking to one of a like mind, false as that assumption was I had no desire to correct her.
"Precisely!" exclaimed the doddering old woman, her milky blue bulbs sparkling with excitement at this believed kinship. "It is against God's intention for the sex. We were always meant to help the men, not lead them! I know they talk about Miriam but even she was subservient to Moses. I just don't think it is right for women to be leading our church. I love Bertha like a granddaughter, I worry for her. If she had known a mother's proper upbringing she would know her place; what man would ever marry a woman who makes such a display of herself? And, of course, her father allows it. I daresay he encourages her and that has only made her bolder. She will die an old maid, mark my words." I nodded. "I have tried to warn him, offered to take care of the girl and raise her up to be a proper young lady, but he won't hear of it, and now, I fear, it is too late."
"She is a member of the Salvation Army, then?"
"Yes, she's already a Captain - she outranks her father, and more's the pity of it."
"Why isn't he a Captain as well?"
"I couldn't say, I know he was offered the title but he declined it. I wish I knew why. He should be our leader. Perhaps we would not be in our current trouble if he were." We passed the large church and turned down Lt. Smith's street. "I fear if this continues, all our years of hard work to start the Corps here will be for naught." I could now see the little house in the distance, I strained my neck forward as if that would deliver me there faster for, with the topic of Lt. Smith's daughter spent, I knew it would not be long before-
"Now my dear, tell me, do you have a gentleman?" and there it was. And the house so close but not close enough.
"No, Mrs. Shaw, I'm afraid I do not." The old lady searched me over, incredulous, as though looking for a sign of this being mere modesty,
"A fine young Lady such as yourself with no prospects? I find that hard to believe."
"Your ability to believe it does not in any way alter the matter." was my terse reply.
"Well, you must come over for supper one of these days and meet my grandson, Russell." Russell? "He's a such a fine young man, works at a shop on Montague-"
"Thank you for your invitation, I will consider it. You have been lovely company but I'm afraid I must be going. Thank you for walking with me." I interrupted, relieved to finally be in front of the house.
"Oh you're welcome, dear." I thought I heard as I made for the door. Shutting it behind, I alighted the stairs taking them two at a time and finally dove into the small bed that belonged to the young Miss Smith, burying my head in the pillow. A shop boy? The presumption of some people! Father would cast me out and burn my belongings on a pyre were I to even suggest such a thing! I turned over, grinning to the ceiling - perhaps I should call on them for dinner some time. Russell! The very name would cause Father to boil in fury. No question his parents were Whigs! But that was neither here nor there at the moment, and I lacked the cruelty to entertain it further beyond the mere knowledge that it would enrage my father and scandalize my mother.
Still, despite the momentary levity of the thought, I could not shake the overwhelming malaise the Lieutenant's speech had left in the pit of my stomach. Was this Nicholas's final legacy? That I might fear all those men of great passion? This was a man well spoken of by my friends - above reproach. But then, what man is above reproach? He had been 19 years in Worthing. That would mean he relocated in 1865. The old woman had said he was from the eastern coast but she did not say where, precisely... My mind began to form the connections even before I had intentionally considered them. The first of the Blackpool murders was in June of 1864 - almost twenty years to the day from Miss Keller's slaying. That would place Lt. Smith in the region at the time. It seemed quite a coincidence that he would also be in Worthing when a slew of similar murder began. But, then, many people are from that region who have never been within twenty-five miles of Blackpool, I argued to myself. And there was no doubt regarding what had been found in Chapman's apartment all those years past. Roger swore he had borne witness to the same ghoulish display in Australia. Certainly, these murders were the work of that same fiend! Yet no matter how I attempted to obviate my suspicion of Lt. Smith, I could not stop the itch nagging at my mind.
"This is insanity!" I cried to the bare walls. "You know it to be impossible, you have allowed yourself to become too eager to suspect evil where there is no cause for such thoughts." I rolled off the bed and set to the little writing desk which occupied the far corner of the room. If I could not do away with the thought, I would distract myself from it with my own bastion of sanity amidst the madness of the world. I dipped the pen into the inkwell.
Dearest Millie, I scratched onto the parchment.
I do hope this letter finds you well. It has only been a week since last I saw you but it feels quite a bit longer - perhaps this feeling exasperated by the instability of my return date. The doctor was unclear as to when, precisely, I should return - I cannot believe the sea air to be any better for me then the leafy summer breezes of N-shire. It is my suspicion I was sent away as Father and Mother wished to be rid of me and once again have dared to hope I might be more apt to ensnare a husband in a town where I was less well known (why they persist in such foolishness is beyond my understanding - they may as well surrender their hopes and allow Elizabeth to come out) or, at the very least, be less of an influence on my siblings for fear my madness may be contagious. It is to their great misfortune they have sent me to Worthing and not Brighton. Certainly, there are fewer men and women of society that I might besmirch the family name in front of, but I daresay there are fewer men of any note here whatsoever. It seems an unruly element has increased its numbers in the town in protest of the Salvation Army (you remember, that church started by that Rev. Booth from two towns over) which is causing most respectable people to avoid holidays in that town. Certainly, had I not already been exiled here against my will, I would not wish to remain surrounded by such ruffians the like of which I have heretofore never beheld.
I am currently residing with a former Reverend, one George Smith by name, a long time associate of Rev. Underhill. I cannot say I particularly like the man - he is far too serious and possesses an inordinate amount of religious fervor. He is one of those infamous Salvationists as well; a fact which, if my parents had known, would certainly have caused them to ban my staying. He is a widower with a daughter two years my senior, but she is in London staying with relatives. Do not even think it, Millie! There will certainly be none of that talk here! Were you to meet him you would understand. The house is quite nice, a pleasant departure from those large hotels and questionable public houses with its solitude. I shall certainly use the peace to my advantage. The town is a pleasant one aside from the rougher element. There are a number of shops on Montague St. I believe you would find of interest and I am certain you would enjoy the roller skating rink I have already heard so much about from the locals, who so far have been a friendly, if somewhat colorful, lot. I have already been invited to dine with one of the local families. I am glad to note Quentin Underhill has planned to call on Sunday and intends to remain a few days - though he will be staying elsewhere. I am grateful for the visit as I know he can little afford to take time for a holiday with his obligations at the parish. He is the curate in all but name though his father will still not surrender the title. I fear Quentin may have been correct when he said his father would be ten years in his grave before he bestowed it on his bachelor son. It is hard to believe he has not come to call since he stayed with you and Edgar for Christmas! I wish Dinah were able to join us as well but her father is wary to allow it given the newspaper reports of the current situation; but she is optimistic that the trouble will, hopefully, have calmed by August and then she will make her sojourn to the sea. I do look forward to seeing our dear friend again. There is much I wish to discuss with him for no one else is quite sufficient. I know what you will say as you have never ceased repeating that particular chorus from the day he and I met, but I am certain he does not wish to wed so you may as well reserve your ink for other sentiments. I will convey to him your warmest regards.
I hope this letter finds you well. I am glad the rain has stopped but I fear we are not yet done with it. Still, I hope you are able to visit the park with Freddy (for I know how you like to take him along) before it comes. I know Edgar is due back from Scotland this week, do give him my love, as well as a hug and kiss for Freddy.
All my love,
M
Signing off with a flourish I looked up from my work to the window - was it already dark? And still Lt. Smith had not returned. Likely they were preparing what they would say before the magistrates on Wednesday. It mattered little to me, for I had my own preparations to attend to. If I were to trust Roger (as I did), then I must not tarry in my investigation of those who identified themselves as the sworn opponents of the Salvationists, the Skeleton Army, amongst whom our killer might easily be hiding. Opening my trunk I rifled through the clothing until I found just the thing I had been looking for. It was a pale, misshapen dress of calico, hardly anything to catch the eye except in its plainness. I quickly located the thin shawl which accompanied it. Digging to the bottom of the trunk I was able to extricate hideously brown hobnail boots, mob hat stuffed within, I would need to complete the disguise. Collecting the items I carefully removed the bottom dresser drawer, put it aside, and neatly arranged my items along the back so as to occupy the smallest space possible, and then replaced the drawer. It protruded ever so slightly from the rest despite my efforts. It was not matter, I would conceal it in plain sight. I filled the bottom drawer with clothes as well as the other two, allowing all the drawers to stick out just enough so that it appeared slovenly habit rather than oddity. Sunday afternoon, before Quentin arrived, would be the best time, I reasoned. Lt. Smith would be marching with his troops and I was willing to wager the men of the Skeleton Army would be only too glad to meet them in battle.
