Death at Whitechapel Read Online Free Page A

their own ambition, sometimes becoming villains, sometimes heroines. Strong-willed, forthright women who managed their own affairs, knew their own minds, and followed their own hearts. Women like Jennie Churchill—and hence Kate’s interest in her guest.
    â€œPerhaps,” Jennie said, “you would consider writing a story for the first issue of my new literary venture. And I should very much like to have your advice and counsel on the magazine itself.”
    â€œMine?” Kate asked in surprise. “But I thought that Mr. Raeburn—”
    â€œMr. Raeburn,” Jennie said firmly, “is experienced in the technical and financial aspects of publishing. But I need someone who knows the literary scene and can help me make an editorial plan for the first four issues.” Her dark eyes were intense, her face passionate. “I have such dreams for the magazine, Kate! My life has grown meaningless these last two years. I sometimes think that all I have to look forward to is an endless parade of country-house parties, dinners, and balls.” She leaned forward. “The magazine can change all that. It will give my life direction. More than that, it will have an influence on the way people think.”
    â€œI quite agree,” Kate said. “If I can help in any way, please do call on me.”
    â€œWonderful!” Jennie exclaimed. “Perhaps, then, we might spend several mornings next week discussing what might be done.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Kate said. “I’m leaving for the country tomorrow.” At Jennie’s crestfallen look, she added, “But I should be very pleased if you would come to stay with me at Bishop’s Keep. Charles will be at Somersworth and I have only a few little projects to keep me occupied. Please come, whenever you like.”
    It was true that Kate had only a few projects currently in hand, but one of them was hardly “little.” Her School for the Useful Arts had created quite a controversy in the neighborhood, especially among certain local churchmen who considered public education their purogative, and she was going to have to deal with the problem. But that shouldn’t occupy all her time.
    â€œWe can be quite alone,” she went on, “and walk in the garden and drive to the village and talk to our hearts’ content—if you wouldn’t find it all too boring.” She smiled. “I’m afraid there is no Society to speak of, and we are very quiet.”
    â€œNo Society!” Jennie clapped her hands delightedly. “Oh, Kate, it sounds delightful! No parties, no balls, no silly chatter—just quiet talks and evenings before the fire. I shall come whenever it is convenient for you.”
    At that point, Miss Raeburn entered the room and turned the conversation to her recent, extended tour of the Mediterranean countries. It was nearly twenty minutes before she drew a breath and Kate could suggest that they join the men in the library.
    Â 
    â€œSo, Winston, I hear that you’re bound for India again. You’ll be rejoining the Fourth, will you?”
    Charles sat down in a wing chair with his snifter of brandy and crossed his legs. Raeburn and Cornwallis-West had detached themselves and were engaged in an animated discussion by the fire, the topic of which seemed to be stag shooting in Scotland. Actually, Charles thought, this was rather a relief. Though he seldom noticed such things, the tension between Winston and the two other men had been quite evident at dinner. Winston obviously resented the young guardsman’s attentions to his mother and had turned a noticeable cold shoulder to Raeburn, in spite of the fact that they’d been at Aldershot together.
    â€œYes, after the first of the year,” Winston said, accepting a cigar from the butler and folding himself into the chair opposite. “I departed India so precipitously that I left quite a few loose ends.”