by Andy Emery
‘I am well aware of that, doctor. Don’t concern yourself. I will pay the fees by the required date.’
‘Just so. I’m sure a gentleman of your obvious talents must be in a very interesting line of work? We never seem to have discussed it.’
‘On the contrary. It’s actually not very interesting at all. I suppose you could say I’m in trade: import and export. Mostly export. All very dull. Now, I’m afraid I don’t have all day. Can we please go in and see my mother?’
‘Yes, of course. Please excuse me for prattling on. Come along, then.’
Ackerman balked again at the pomposity; it seemed endemic in this place. Possibly it was in all institutions. A good reason for avoiding them whenever possible. Whitehead led the way into the room.
‘Mrs Ackerman! Hello. Look who’s here to see you. It’s your son.’
She slowly turned her head, and stared at Whitehead for a few seconds. He gestured in the direction of Ackerman, and she in turn looked at him, staring blankly. As usual, her gaunt, hollow-cheeked face betrayed no emotion. But after a few seconds her face was suddenly convulsed: by what? Fear? Anger?
‘Oh, no! He’s not my son. How could he be? He’s the bloody Ripper, him! What’ve you brought him here for? Gawd’s sake, get rid of him!’
She shrank away from Ackerman, almost falling out of the bed.
‘Mr Ackerman, you’d better leave,’ said Whitehead. ‘Wait outside for me, please. Now, Patricia, come on. Calm down, now. Orderly!’
Ackerman felt an absurd helplessness washing over him. In his normal life he was in control; he was the one sorting things out and punishing people for their indiscretions. This was the opposite. The one person he did not dare to cross, the one on whom the money he raised had to be spent, was the one who had the whip-hand over him. If only she had the wits to know it.
Anger welled up, and he decided he did not want to hear whatever Whitehead had to say. It would only be something more deflating to his ego. It would have to wait until his next visit. He strode off down the corridor.
12
Gedge sat in the kitchen at 14 White Lion Street, cradling a mug of coffee that Polly had made for him. The kitchen was just as cluttered as the drawing room. Cooking utensils and crockery seemed to occupy every inch of cupboard and shelf space, and more pots hung from wall-hooks. The central table was strewn with newspapers and more books, most of them lying open or with their pages marked by corner-folds. He and Polly had engaged in a few minutes of idle small-talk, before she hurried off to fetch something.
When she returned, she placed a sturdy strongbox on the table, unlocked it and, to Gedge’s surprise, took out a revolver.
‘What do you think? Could it stop a man?’
Gedge stared at her.
‘Please. You look as though you’re going to say that women shouldn’t handle guns.’
‘No, it’s not that. It is perhaps a shame if women feel they need to use them. I just didn’t expect this to be the reason you asked me here.’
‘It isn’t the reason. I’ll get on to that in a minute. “A shame if women feel they need to use guns”? I would think that if some of the women who’ve become victims of these traffickers had been proficient with guns, the problem might have been nipped in the bud well before now.’
Gedge flushed. He was obviously going to have to be careful what he said around Polly. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply… It was just a poor choice of words. As to this pistol, yes, despite being small and light, it would be effective. As long as you’re within a few yards of your target. It has no range to speak of.’
‘That’s alright. Thank you. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t just a pea-shooter.’
‘So, the reason you asked me to come?’
She put the gun away, locking the box and pushing it aside. ‘I’m worried about Claude. As you’ve probably realised, he isn’t here. One of his meetings. Some radical group or other. I don’t know if he told you much about his life?’
‘Not a great deal.’
‘He’s had a varied career, working both in private industry and for governments. Over time, he’s become deeply involved in a sort of network of radicals, stretching throughout Europe. They want to shine a light on injustice in society, which seems to have grown in our industrialised, imperial world. Claude’s 18th century Huguenot ancestors came to Spitalfields as refugees, fleeing persecution in France. They became part of the thriving silk industry in the area. Since then, the silk business has declined and the East End melting pot has been stirred by more waves of immigrants, especially the Irish, and more recently, Jews from Europe. I suppose his instinct to intervene on the side of oppressed people comes from his heritage as part of a displaced community.
‘But the sort of people Claude associates with are distrusted, even feared, by the authorities. He always seems to be teetering on the edge of a dangerous abyss.’
‘But what specifically has made you worried now?’
‘We’ve just learned that Harry Frowde, the Lloyd’s Weekly reporter, has gone missing. He hasn’t turned up at his office for two days and the police found his rooms ransacked.’
‘That’s the man who was looking into the disappearances for your father.’
‘Yes. He was very willing to do so, with the allure of a possible major story at the end of it. I think he was beginning to get big ideas about what it would do for his career.’
‘And now you’re worried that his disappearance is related to the abductions?’
‘Yes, and I’m worried that they know about Claude. They’re bound to have taken any notes and research material he kept at his rooms. Taken together with what those boys did, I’m a little concerned.’
Gedge thought for a few moments. ‘Perhaps he should take heed of the warning.’
‘Give up, you mean?’
‘It’s not up to Claude to bring these people to justice, is it? If the police can’t be bothered, why should a seventy-year-old man do so?’
‘He happens to believe that justice isn’t just the preserve of the police and the courts. It goes deeper than that. His whole ethos is that people can change things when the authorities can’t or won’t. He hoped you’d have the same view, but obviously not.’
‘I’m sorry, Polly. I’m not questioning his motives, and I don’t want to upset you, but how is Claude going to actually tackle this gang? Yes, I know he has contacts all over, but I don’t see what a handful of people can do to stop what’s going on.’
‘We can at least try. We’d need a plan, of course. First, find them, then—’
Gedge held up his hand. ‘Polly, stop. If Claude really is in danger, I’m only too willing to help protect him, and you, come to that. But I’m not getting involved in any vigilante stuff. My mind’s made up. And, since my martial skills seem to be what attracted him to me, I don’t suppose he’ll see much use for me in his organisation.’
After that, Polly went quiet, and Gedge decided it was time to leave. As he walked slowly back to the inn, he cursed himself. Despite his new-found desire to avoid violence, he had wanted to help Rondeau in some way. But tonight, his words didn’t seem to come out quite right. He seemed to cause offence. Or was it that she saw offence where there was none? He decided he would give White Lion Street a wide berth, for a few days at least.
13
Two nights later, Hannah and Sean emerged from the warmth and the noise and the raucous behaviour inside the Palace of Varieties in Bethnal Green, into the chill of the street. There were gaps in the clouds, and the clear sky was making the night colder. Other couples and groups scurried past them, pulling their coats and hats tightly about them, many still merry from the evening’s entertainment. Several hansom cabs were lined up, ready to take the more well-off punters home. Hannah knew she had drunk too much. She had that vague feeling of being slightly disconnected from her surroundings. Sean had his arm linked with hers, and she was grateful of the support.
Looking up, she saw a man le
aning against one of the pillars at the entrance to the venue. He seemed to be staring directly at Sean and her.
‘Who is that man, Sean?’
‘What man?’
‘Over there.’ She pointed, but the man had disappeared. ‘That’s strange. Oh, never mind. Did you enjoy the show? I certainly did. Especially that comedian.’
‘Laughing Larry? I was bit worried his jokes went a bit far, but as long as you liked it.’
‘No, he was fine. And the troupe of Malay dancers. Really made you feel you were out in the Far East.’
‘Well, up to a point, although I read somewhere that they’re often just blacked-up locals. More Brick Lane than exotic Penang. Sorry if I’ve spoiled the illusion.’
‘Hmmm, just a bit, but thank you so much for taking me.’
‘It’s my pleasure. Right, we’d better start walking. No hansom cab for us, I’m afraid.’
It wasn’t much more than a mile to Spitalfields. About halfway there, Hannah was feeling increasingly tired, and was having to lean on Sean more and more.
‘You’ll soon be tucked up in bed,’ Sean said.
They walked along a narrow, dimly lit passage. Hannah could make out the occasional sign for a shop or rooming house. The streets had emptied some time ago, and only the shrieks of a brief cat-fight in some unseen alleyway disturbed the silence.
Hannah sensed, rather than saw, a sharp movement from the shadows to her left, and suddenly she was jolted and the world was transformed from the gloomy street to total darkness. She could feel coarse material against her face and around her throat.
Despite the terror that clawed at her heart, a thought came to her, clearly and directly, like a lighthouse beam in a tempest: Someone’s kidnapping you. Leave something. Something that somebody can find.
She thrashed about with her hands. A small, hard object passed between the fingers of her right hand. She pulled, and the object came loose and she heard it hit the ground.
Her arms were forced to her sides.
‘Sean!’
She lurched about in an effort to break free. A rough voice from behind grunted, ‘Shut it, or it’ll be the worse for you!’
Now, hands were at her mouth and throat. She was silenced.
What was Sean doing? She could hear nothing from him. Was he lying dead in the gutter, or was the noise of blood pounding in her ears muffling all sound?
At last, she heard him.
‘For god’s sake, please don’t hurt her! Who—’
But his voice was cut off by a dull thud, and a moment later Hannah’s world was enveloped by a fog that seemed to enter her head, her body, her limbs. She toppled forward and felt herself grabbed and held by those unseen hands, before the world slipped away.
Maggie had invited Gedge to tea at Barnet Grove, and he had somehow found himself staying all evening. She had brought out a bottle of brandy, and they had lapsed into tales of the good times they had enjoyed together, ignoring the more frequent not-so-good ones. As he sat in front of the roaring fire, Gedge bathed in a warm feeling of contentment, the like of which he had not felt for years.
He was just beginning to think that Hannah and the boy were staying out rather late, when they were startled by a frenzied rapping on the front door.
On the step was Sean, his clothes liberally coated in dirt and his hair dishevelled. Drying blood marked one side of his face.
‘Mr Gedge! Oh, I thought… Is Mrs Gedge there?’
‘Yes, she is. Maggie! What the hell has happened? Where is Hannah?’
Sean’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, as though he couldn’t find any words. Maggie came to the door beside Gedge, and the boy seemed to find some resolve.
‘Oh, god. Someone’s taken her! She’s gone! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! I should never have taken her to that place. I should—’
A dagger of ice entered Gedge’s heart. ‘Stop there. Were you with her when she was taken?’
‘Yes, I was, but I couldn’t do anything. There were several of them…’
‘Save that for a moment. Where did this happen?’
‘A small street, about halfway between here and the Palace of Varieties. It was a shortcut. I never thought… What a stupid fool! I didn’t check the name of the street. But I could take you back there.’
‘Good. Now, tell us what happened.’
Maggie interrupted. ‘Lucas, just a moment. You’re hurt, Sean. Do you need a doctor?’
‘No, Mrs Gedge, I don’t think so. They bashed me on the head and I was knocked out. I suppose I hit my head on the pavement. But I’ll be alright... The programme ended at about 9 o’clock and we started walking back. Hannah had enjoyed it more than me, actually. I always look forward to such things and then… well, that doesn’t matter. Hannah was feeling a bit tired and I wanted to get us home quicker, so we took a shortcut.’
‘Wait!’ said Gedge. ‘Some people use the word “tired” to mean drunk. I hope that’s not the case with Hannah tonight?’
‘Well, she’d had a bit to drink, sir, but she wasn’t drunk at all. She spent a lot of time in the intermission with a group of other girls. She said she had a lot in common with them. They’d also come to London from the provinces.’
‘Lucas, let him get on with it. Our daughter’s been kidnapped. What difference does it make if she was a little merry beforehand? Carry on, Sean.’
‘We were halfway down this street when some men jumped out at us. They must have been waiting in an alley. They were on top of us in a flash. One of them put a bag over Hannah’s head and then two of them were either side of her, holding her. Another one pushed me away. I shouted out something and the next thing I know, something heavy’s connecting with the side of my head. I remember pitching forward, and that was it. I came round with a wet feeling down my face, lying in the gutter. A stray cat was nuzzling round me. They’d all gone, of course. I looked around, but there was nothing. Then I ran back here.’
‘If you left the party at nine,’ said Gedge, ‘this can’t have happened more than half an hour ago. You weren’t unconscious for long. But if they had transport, they could be miles away by now.’ He looked at Maggie, who was staring into the middle distance, tears welling up. But he didn’t have time to comfort her now. He knew that he needed to find out all he could from the boy, and as soon as possible.
‘Sean, how many of them were there? At least three, from what you’ve just said.’
‘Yes, but I think there were four or five. It all happened so quickly.’
Gedge frowned. ‘Alright. Now, I know it was dark, but you must have got some impression of these men. Something that might be helpful. Were they big, small? Did they have hats, jackets or long coats? Their voices. Did they have an accent?’
‘I really couldn’t tell. Maybe one was bigger than average, but the others… I only heard one voice. Just normal, nothing foreign. A bit hoarse maybe.’
‘So, just your average street muggers, then? Average in every way by the sound of it. Disappointing.’
Sean didn’t speak, just shrugged.
‘Now, Sean, I need you to do what you said you would. Take me back to where it happened.’
Sean wiped a hand across his face. ‘Mr Gedge, I’m not sure now. Maybe I do need medical help. My head’s starting to hurt more.’
Gedge moved in close. ‘Listen, Sean. My daughter’s in deadly danger. You were the last person to see her. The only connection we have with what happened to her. You’ll understand, I’m sure, that we need to find out all we can, as soon as we can. We’ll get a doctor for you later. But now, you will take me to where it happened.’ He clamped a hand onto Sean’s shoulder, making him wince. The youth looked sheepish, but nodded.
‘Lucas, what about the police?’ said Maggie. ‘We’ve got to tell them.’
‘And we will, but not yet. We don’t have the time, and neither does Hannah. You don’t know about many of the things I did in the army, but I’m going to have to use those skills now. From
what I’ve heard about the police, they’ll stand little chance with something like this. We will tell them, but let me handle this my way.’
Gedge looked into Maggie’s eyes. He could see she was panicking, not sure if he was taking the right course.
‘Go, then.’
‘Here! It was about here. That must be the alley where they were hiding.’
Gedge and Sean were about halfway down Loftus Walk, the street Sean had confirmed as the one where the abduction took place. They had delayed leaving Barnet Grove just long enough for Maggie to give Gedge a bullseye lantern, and he shone it into the alley. Rubbish was strewn everywhere, but Gedge was looking for anything that might have been left by the attackers. A discarded cigarette, perhaps. There was nothing that looked remotely likely.
He turned his attention to the pavement, the gutter and the street, slowly sweeping the lantern over every inch of ground. Sean hung back, waiting on the opposite pavement as Gedge went about his search. He spent a further twenty minutes scanning the area, but realised there was little more he could do in the darkness. They would have to return at first light the next morning.
He beckoned to Sean, who was sitting on his haunches shivering, either from cold or the enormity of what had happened. They started to walk back.
Gedge felt a tingle of fear. Fatigue was creeping up on him. He needed time to think, and then to get the advice of others. He needed to sleep. But then he knew what might happen if he did.
II
14
Gedge’s head throbbed to the sound of a weird rhythmic wailing, contrasted by guttural shouts in a foreign tongue. He was lying, pinned down. A brazier to his right generated tremendous heat and sent blood-red flames snaking up to a ceiling somewhere above. Flickering shadows played on the opposite wall, like some kind of fiendish puppet show.
A huge male figure appeared: bald head, naked to the waist and dripping with sweat in the heat. He moved to the brazier, a blank expression on his face. Sparks flew as he placed something in the flames. Both the heat and the wailing seemed to increase. Gedge’s head lolled from side to side. Unable to move, his own body was now so bathed in sweat that he could have been lying in a hot pool.
