Stalking Jack: The Hunt Begins... (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 1) by Madison Kent
Authors: Madison Kent
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not to include Sophie and the other girls. I don’t want them to know about our Polly and see the places she frequents. I mean, I guess they know, but it is all hearsay at this point. If we find her in dire circumstances, for her sake, I am certain she will want as few people to know of it as possible,” said Helen.
“It is good that you have a veiled hat, you don’t want the likes of those people looking directly in your eye,” said Helen.
“It is truly that bad?” said Madeline.
“You’re about to find out. It’s only a short distance from here before we get into the gritty of it. We’ll cross over Mumford onto Feldgate St., and from there, it will take us directly onto Whitechapel High Street. We may as well start there as any place. People will notice us, and perhaps heads will turn when we enter into the pubs, but it is not propriety I care about right now, but you Madeline. Are you sure you wish to do this?” asked Helen.
“I am certain. We must find Polly. Do you have a photograph of her?”
“I do, but I don’t know if it will be of much use. It was taken a few years back when she was clear-eyed and not yet spoiled. The last time I saw her, she did not resemble that fresh-faced girl anymore, but I will bring it,” said Anna.
“Take heart, my friends. We must find her, especially now that you have the good news of your inheritance and your plan to share it with her. Shall we go?” asked Madeline.
They began their walk; Madeline thinking she had mentally prepared herself for what she was about to see, but the rawness of the sight and the human despair on display was so profound, she thought it would be impossible for anyone not to be thoroughly shocked by it. It appeared as if this confined area had developed a permanent affliction that had permeated into the very walls, cracking and crumbling like the patrons.
She felt comforted now that she had brought her weapons, feeling she was going into a jungle of sorts with wild animals. Anna grabbed her hand and squeezed it and said, “My poor Polly, why didn’t I try sooner. This can’t have been her life.”
They pushed through the crowd, invisible they all were to one another. A group of younger girls, grouped together on a step of a boarded up building, sat chatting and smoking.
“Ladies, if I could trouble you for a moment. We are looking for our niece and she is; we believe, at one of the pubs. Could you set us in the direction of one of the pubs that you might frequent?”
“We like the Ten Bells and the Horn of Plenty. They’re both down on Commercial Street. Be careful of the pickpockets down there. They’re a desperate bunch that gather round—do anything for a drink. What’s her name, your niece?” said a slender girl with pouty red painted lips, paper white skin, and eyes too old and sullen for her young body.
“Polly, Polly Nichols,” said Anna.
“No, don’t know her, but sometimes the ladies don’t go by their given names, and they makes up a name that suits ‘em.”
“Thank you for your help,” said Madeline and they moved along down the crowded street.
It wasn’t difficult after that to find the Horn of Plenty, even in this snarled mess you could see a flow of patrons moving in the direction of the pubs. The lady they had questioned had said there were several pubs within a short distance from each other. As a marketing strategy, this made sense. A customer could go from pub to pub within a few minutes’ walk, easily staggering into other establishments just yards away.
“Ladies—are you ready?” asked Madeline.
They half smiled at each other at the discomfort of their mission but were strident in their dedication to fulfilling it. As they walked in, it was obvious to all present they did not look like the usual patrons, but no one paid any mind to them, and they moved freely to a space at the long wooden bar.
“What can I get you ladies?” asked the unshaven bartender with reddish eyes and
“It is good that you have a veiled hat, you don’t want the likes of those people looking directly in your eye,” said Helen.
“It is truly that bad?” said Madeline.
“You’re about to find out. It’s only a short distance from here before we get into the gritty of it. We’ll cross over Mumford onto Feldgate St., and from there, it will take us directly onto Whitechapel High Street. We may as well start there as any place. People will notice us, and perhaps heads will turn when we enter into the pubs, but it is not propriety I care about right now, but you Madeline. Are you sure you wish to do this?” asked Helen.
“I am certain. We must find Polly. Do you have a photograph of her?”
“I do, but I don’t know if it will be of much use. It was taken a few years back when she was clear-eyed and not yet spoiled. The last time I saw her, she did not resemble that fresh-faced girl anymore, but I will bring it,” said Anna.
“Take heart, my friends. We must find her, especially now that you have the good news of your inheritance and your plan to share it with her. Shall we go?” asked Madeline.
They began their walk; Madeline thinking she had mentally prepared herself for what she was about to see, but the rawness of the sight and the human despair on display was so profound, she thought it would be impossible for anyone not to be thoroughly shocked by it. It appeared as if this confined area had developed a permanent affliction that had permeated into the very walls, cracking and crumbling like the patrons.
She felt comforted now that she had brought her weapons, feeling she was going into a jungle of sorts with wild animals. Anna grabbed her hand and squeezed it and said, “My poor Polly, why didn’t I try sooner. This can’t have been her life.”
They pushed through the crowd, invisible they all were to one another. A group of younger girls, grouped together on a step of a boarded up building, sat chatting and smoking.
“Ladies, if I could trouble you for a moment. We are looking for our niece and she is; we believe, at one of the pubs. Could you set us in the direction of one of the pubs that you might frequent?”
“We like the Ten Bells and the Horn of Plenty. They’re both down on Commercial Street. Be careful of the pickpockets down there. They’re a desperate bunch that gather round—do anything for a drink. What’s her name, your niece?” said a slender girl with pouty red painted lips, paper white skin, and eyes too old and sullen for her young body.
“Polly, Polly Nichols,” said Anna.
“No, don’t know her, but sometimes the ladies don’t go by their given names, and they makes up a name that suits ‘em.”
“Thank you for your help,” said Madeline and they moved along down the crowded street.
It wasn’t difficult after that to find the Horn of Plenty, even in this snarled mess you could see a flow of patrons moving in the direction of the pubs. The lady they had questioned had said there were several pubs within a short distance from each other. As a marketing strategy, this made sense. A customer could go from pub to pub within a few minutes’ walk, easily staggering into other establishments just yards away.
“Ladies—are you ready?” asked Madeline.
They half smiled at each other at the discomfort of their mission but were strident in their dedication to fulfilling it. As they walked in, it was obvious to all present they did not look like the usual patrons, but no one paid any mind to them, and they moved freely to a space at the long wooden bar.
“What can I get you ladies?” asked the unshaven bartender with reddish eyes and
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