Page 87 of When We Touch

Mireau looked at her, shaking his head. “You know where they’re all headed, don’t you?” he demanded. “The nearest pub for their gin!”

“Some,” she admitted. “But not all.”

He shook his head, still, staring at her. “Maggie, this fellow is going to strike again. And no matter how you try to help, you can’t keep these women off the streets. Ask Father Vickers.”

“Mireau, if we’ve helped one—”

“Yes, yes, we’ve changed humanity! Did you want to see Father Vickers? Let’s pray that I have cab fare home, since, God forbid, you chose not to let a coachman take us—even now, when you’ve got a man such as Darby at your beck and call!”

“If we have to, we can borrow from the poor box,” Maggie said.

“Right. Like there’s anything in the poor box here!”

“Shall we see Father Vickers?”

“Yes, yes, let’s go on in.”

They walked into the church. Father Vickers was lighting candles with a young altar boy.

“Maggie, Jacques!” he said, surprised. He left off at his task and came hurrying down the aisle to meet them. He looked at Maggie with concern. “My lady! What on earth are you doing down here? Your poor husband, hardly buried! My dear, bless you, but God will understand that you need your time.”

“What I don’t need is time, Father,” Maggie said wearily. “It’s down to where I stare at the walls in misery. I need to be busy again, Father.”

“Surely, there are friends you need to see.”

“I think not,” Maggie murmured, uncomfortably remembering her night out with Cecilia.

“This is not a good time to be risking this neighborhood,” he told her.

“We’ve heard. It’s all simply ghastly,” Mireau said.

“You don’t know just how ghastly,” Father Vickers told them. “Two poor souls—or more—gone on to God in a most horrid manner! The police can’t rightly figure just how many this one lunatic has done in. But it’s only the last two who have been so horribly butchered. Yet it’s the letters to the police . . . the articles written, that are nearly as frightening. Anarchy could well be at hand.” He looked very nervous, actually craning his head to see over their shoulders, as if someone might have followed to hear their conversation.

“Whatever is the matter?” Maggie said.

He shook his head.

“Father Vickers! I would never betray a confidence, and you know that!”

“Come, come, then, let’s go on to my little room, shall we?”

Father Vickers had a small, private place in the vicarage, adjoining the church. He had a bed, a table, a few chairs, and a stove and kettle. He set water on for tea and as he worked, he told them, “The rumors down here are running rife! At these inquests, the witnesses have given different descriptions of the men they last saw with the dead woman. Most of them point out a nondescript fellow in shabby clothing. Some say that he was well dressed. There are those who seem to believe that this murderer rides here in a grand carriage, then rides away, and that’s why the blood is not seen on the fellow. Then again, there are slaughterhouses near, and someone might not be noticed walking about covered in blood!”

“But a rich carriage would surely be noted on the streets,” Maggie said.

“Maybe. And maybe it moves out so quickly that it’s on streets where others might be. We all know that the rich sometimes like to play among the poor.” He poured water over the tea leaves.

“You’re still not saying everything,” Maggie told him gravely.

He hesitated, looked around again, and when he spoke, it was in a whisper. “Prince Eddy himself has played in these parts.”

“I have no difficulty believing that Prince Eddy might hire a prostitute, but surely . . . I think she’d be a bit more comely and younger than the girls hereabouts!” Mireau said.

“The one he was with . . . wasn’t a prostitute. She worked in a shop.”

Maggie shook her head. “Father Vickers, I’m lost. Prostitutes are being killed, not shop girls.”

He brought the tea to the table then, discarding even the offer of milk or sugar. “No, listen. He met a shop girl. A young, Catholic shop girl. There’s rumor that there was a marriage, and that the girl had a child.”