Darkest of Times [Albert J Moriarty] - Moriarty the Patriot

Act 4, Scene 3 - A Criminal Encounter

"Knock knock?"

Fixing her hair from the chair in her dressing room, Eleanor stands up, looking around in the direction of the voice.

A smug looking Emily pokes her head around the door. "Your Lord is waiting for you."

Lips in a thin line to hide her grin, Eleanor grabs her purse, waving a hand to Emily and she walks out the room and closes the door.

"Good evening, Eleanor."

She spins on her spot, greeting him as he stands in the hallway, hat tucked underneath his arm. "Good evening, Albert."

From down the corridor, Emily and another cast member dreamily gaze at Albert and Eleanor clears her throat.

"Shall we go?" She asks, taking his arm as he places his hat on his head.

Albert nods, placing his coat over Eleanor's shoulders and she hugs it tighter. They make their way down the corridor, Eleanor waving at her fellow cast members before they leave out the back entrance.

"We have time for dinner out if you'd like?"

"That sounds lovely," Eleanor nods, Albert guiding her over the road lit by streetlamps and she greets the carriage driver. "Where to?"

Albert helps her inside the carriage and they sit opposite one another as the driver pulls away. "There's a new restaurant opened up on the central avenue, I'm sure we'll like it."

"Have you had a good day?" Eleanor asks.

He nods, straightening his vest. "I had lunch with my brothers before they became busy and I returned home. A rather quiet day for me. How about the performance?"

"I'd say it went well," She tells him. "I'm trying to speak more positively about my performances lately, my trip has made me feel better."

"I'm glad to hear it," Albert smiles. "Oh, I gather your father has warned you of being alone at night as of late?"

"With Jack the Ripper on the loose?" Her lips press into a thin line. "I can't believe someone would murder those women, and so violently too. Did you read the letter he wrote to Scotland Yard in the paper? What a truly terrifying man."

Albert shakes his head. "He's a maniac who seems to be enjoying his killings. Nonetheless, the letter is more a scare tactic than anything but please be careful."

"I will," She assures him. "Did you read the letter? He was laughing about using red ink to write it after the blood he'd collected had turned 'thick like glue' and he couldn't use it."

"It's disgusting." Albert comments.

Eleanor sighs. "I don't wish to speak ill of the dead, however, the victims have all been women of the same, how should I phrase it, lower social standing? Not that it should matter what their societal position is, but he's obviously picking these women for a reason."

"What are you thinking?" Albert wonders.

She shrugs. "The women are all prostitutes, are they not? I've just been thinking, that—"

The carriage comes to a halt and it sounds as if the driver has stepped down from his seat. The pair share a confused look.

"What's going on?" Eleanor asks and Albert shakes his head, opening the door of the carriage and stepping out.

"Samuel?" He questions, watching as the driver converses with someone.

As Albert approaches them, he gains a full view of the other man. Sweat forming on his brow, the stranger's eyes are wide and his attention turns from Samuel to Albert as he approaches the dimly lit road.