What Alice Knew: A Most Curious Tale of Henry James & Jack the Ripper by Paula Marantz Cohen

Author:Paula Marantz Cohen
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Historical, London (England), Mystery & Detective, Biographical, Henry, Alice, General, William, Fantasy, Mystery fiction, Jack, Historical fiction, James, Crime, Serial murder investigation, Fiction
ISBN: 9781402243554
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2010-09-06T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

William and Henry were seated at the little table in their sister’s bedroom the next morning. Henry was eating a large bowl of the oatmeal with brown sugar that Sally had made for him (Archie, Sally had announced proudly, had already eaten two bowls). William ate a banana (as part of his Fletcher diet), and Alice, excited to hear her brothers’ news, had eaten nothing, despite the protestations of Katherine that she must keep up her strength if she were going to expose a murderer.

She listened to Henry’s account first. He tried, as far as he could, to relay the sense of importance he felt attached to Sickert’s imitation of Whistler’s laugh. Katherine and William didn’t see much in it, but Alice was more encouraging. “Henry’s instincts are the most developed in the family,” she asserted. “If he senses something worth pursuing in this Sickert, then it must be respected. Interesting how we seem to return to Whistler; but you say that he’s out of the question as a suspect?”

“Yes,” said Henry. “He’s in Paris on his honeymoon and hasn’t been in London since July. I have ample correspondence from Bourget and others to that effect. Besides, someone who laughs like Jimmy is hardly likely to render laughter that way in writing.”

Alice nodded. “You’re saying it’s laughter someone else might notice and imitate. It’s the parodic aspect that struck you.”

“Precisely,” said Henry, pleased to have it put so well. It was indeed the element of parody that impressed him in the Ripper letters and that the young Sickert had echoed in his verbal imitation.

“Sickert,” Alice ruminated. “A name worthy of a murderer. William says that we mold our personalities to our physical characteristics. Why not to our names? Had I been named Dolly or Daisy, I’m sure I would have been gay and pretty instead of grim and plain.” She sighed and returned to the topic at hand. “You also said Sickert had a gift for mimicry and comfort with costume and that he is an artist with a dark and macabre palette. It’s all very suggestive.”

Henry nodded complacently. It was pleasant to have his sister’s approval, especially as her subsequent response to William’s findings was less enthusiastic.

“How do you know that the essay is even related to the photograph?” she said, looking skeptically at the book that William handed to her. “Perhaps one of the police planted the picture in order to frame this social revolutionary Cohen.”

“It’s possible,” acknowledged William. Cohen had said he saw an officer find the photograph, but sleight of hand was not to be discounted.

“The essay is fairly well-known,” continued Alice. “It’s likely to elicit interest on a purely academic level from many readers.”

“Gosse often mentions the piece,” piped in Henry. “His father used to read it to him as a child. Scared him half to death.”

“But the underlined sentence and the initials,” insisted William, pointing to the volume. It had seemed compelling at the time. Now it seemed less so. Could Cohen himself

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