What Alice Knew: A Most Curious Tale of Henry James and Jack the Ripper

Chapter 50

Everyone looked at Archie with wonder.

“How do you know Peter Newsome?” asked William.

The boy had gotten to his feet and come to the side of Alice’s bed. He stood there as he often did, waiting for her to pet him and offer him sweets. Katherine had warned that he ought not to be fed so much sugar; it ruined his appetite and would rot his teeth, but Alice explained that the psychological benefits of a piece of candy outweighed any physical harm it might do.

“’E’s a friend of Mr. Sickert and an artist too,” said Archie, eyeing the two chocolates on the little dish next to Alice’s bed.

“And you know him?” Alice asked quietly.

“Well, sure. ’E’s been by when Mr. Sickert was painting, to drop off brushes and such. ’E told Sally she’d make a fine subject for a picture. ’E’s paintin’ ’er now.”

There was a hush in the room.

Sensing that he had said something wrong, Archie spoke quickly, as if to cover his tracks. “I told ’er ’e probly couldn’t draw a pot and sure couldn’t make such pretty things as Mr. Sargent or sing songs like Mr. Sickert, but she says as she don’t care. She wants to ’av ’er portrait painted like the mistress. That’s all.”

He paused and looked around him and, seeing that the faces of the adults remained taut and anxious, added quickly, touching on the subject that he assumed was the source of their concern. “She said takin’ yer clothes off fer an artist ain’t bad. Even the fine ladies does it. So’s I believed ’er.”

“Where did she go, do you know, Archie?” asked Alice. She had taken hold of his arm and was gripping it tightly.

He did not answer but sniffled loudly and squirmed under her grasp.

“Can you tell us where Sally’s gone?” William asked sharply.

The adult behavior must have reminded him of calamitous events in his former life, for his eyes darted about, as if looking for a means of escape. “I hope Sally ain’t come to no ’arm,” he wailed.

Henry interceded. He held out the plate of chocolates and waited calmly for Archie to take one, and then he spoke with stern directness. “We need to find Sally so she won’t come to harm. We need you to help us. Can you do that?”

The boy nodded, though he continued to sob. He forced himself to speak. “I followed ’er once. I knows I’m not supposed to spy. But I did it with my mum, so I do it automatic.” He whimpered in fear.

Henry assured him that in this case they were happy he had spied. “Now, we need you to tell us where you followed her. Is it far?”

“Far enough. It’s near to where me mum died.” Archie whimpered. “I thinks,” he amended.

“Would you be able to find it if we took a hansom cab to your mum’s street?” asked William.

“Dunno,” said Archie. A look of panic crossed his face again. “Don’ want Sally to come to no ’arm!”

“Can you remember how to get there by foot?” asked Henry, realizing that the boy would be best going the way he’d gone before.

Archie nodded, still whimpering.

“Just lead us there, then,” said Henry. “Don’t worry about how far it is. Go the way you went when you followed her. I’m sure you can remember.”

The boy nodded, his face white, as the brothers urged him down the stairs and to the door. William paused only to instruct Katherine, who had been busy in the kitchen, to go immediately to Scotland Yard and alert Abberline. “Tell him to look for the shop of a framer named Peter Newsome in the vicinity of where the poor woman killed herself last week,” he explained. “Tell him to waste no time.”

There was hubbub as hats and coats were hastily put on, the front door noisily opened and shut, and then, silence. Alice was left, propped up in her bed, alone in the flat. As always, it was her fate to stay behind and wait.