by Andy Emery
Ackerman laughed. ‘Gedge. I see you’re dressed for the heat down here. It is rather oppressive. Normally, I’d stay for the floor-show, but I need to go and make final arrangements for our little auction. Yes, your beloved daughter is being sold off, in just a few hours. Along with the other young girlies in our possession, to the highest bidder. All upper-class types, the buyers. And I have to tell you, they’re the worst. They just don’t care, you see. Think they can get away with anything, and they usually do. Thanks to you poking your nose in, your lovely little daughter will be delivered into the hands of some rough men who’ll do exactly what they like with her. That’ll go on for a few months or years until she’s all used up, and then her body will be dumped on the nearest waste ground.
‘Cat got your tongue, Gedge? It was always going to be a mistake, trying to set yourself up as some sort of righter of wrongs, and especially picking my business to interfere in. That hack reporter found that out, and now you have, too. For me, the penny dropped some time ago, you see. The nonsense of duty to queen and country, the selfless sacrifice of the British soldier. That was what we were told, wasn’t it? It’s all rubbish. We were lied to. The empire they’ve built up was for one thing. Profits to line the pockets of those who were already rolling in it. No, all that matters is to remember it’s dog eat dog out there. Make enough money so you don’t have to be beholden to any toff who wants to push you around. You’ve got to be tougher than the other bloke, Gedge, and I’m afraid it looks like you’ve lost your touch.’
‘You’re scum, Ackerman. And where did you get that uniform?’
‘Oh, this little thing? I took this fancy jacket off some drunken old sod a while back. Never made it to officer myself, as you know so well. But I quite fancied the look. A bit rakish, you know.’
To Gedge, Ackerman looked like some depraved perversion of the noble image of the British officer. The soiled dress jacket, the criminal wearing it, his mouth twisting into a sneer.
‘Well, it’s been delightful. But I must leave now. You’ll be in the capable hands of my friend Ahmed here. As I mentioned, he has a bit of a bone to pick with you. And unfortunately you seem to be in a rather vulnerable position. Oh, I don’t think I mentioned that Ahmed is something of a Mannling, as the Germans term it. Despite appearing to be the essence of manhood, his tastes run to those of his own sex. I would imagine that might add a special piquancy to what he has in mind for you.’
Gedge gathered a gobbet of saliva in his mouth and projected it onto Ackerman’s red jacket.
Ackerman snarled, but regained his composure immediately, wiping a hand over his tunic.
‘I’ll let that pass. But Ahmed may add just a little more unpleasantness to your experience for that indiscretion.’ With that, he turned on his heel and strode back up the stairs.
While Ackerman had been talking, the big Turk had been busying himself at the brazier. Gedge now saw that he was heating up what looked like a branding iron, and he had a hammer, a blacksmith’s tongs and a broad knife, all in readiness.
Polly and Rondeau approached the perimeter fence. Attached to it every hundred feet or so were signs, reading:
Farnsworth Asylum for the Criminally Insane.
Reopening Spring 1891.
Keep Out.
Polly heard something from inside and gestured for them to take cover behind the nearest corner. A figure came out of the Gothic building’s side door and approached the same gap in the fencing that she had seen Gedge pulled through just an hour or so earlier. But now there were two men stationed there as guards. The figure had a few words with them, and as he emerged into the street, she recognised Ackerman. He looked around, and in the light from a nearby gas lamp, she saw a smile play across his face. Then he walked off up the road.
‘That’s good. If he’s gone, there’ll be one less for us to tangle with. Are you sure you’re alright with the revolver, Claude?’
‘Of course, my dear. We must do all we can to save our friend. Whatever I can contribute, I will.’ He made a little flourish with his walking stick. This evening he had decided to bring one of his more exotic examples; one that looked more like the knobkerrie favoured by the Zulus, with its formidable spherical end.
‘Alright. What about Darius? I forgot to ask.’
‘The doctor has been called, but it looks like just a small concussion. He will be back to his usual sturdy self before we know it.’
‘Alright. We’re wasting time. I’m going to put our plan into action. Wish me luck.’
She tied a scarf over her head and took the cane from Rondeau.
47
In the boiler room, Ahmed approached Gedge, a lascivious grin on his face and the knife in his hand. He looked down at Gedge, shaking his head. He showed every sign of being as mute as his brother. He raised the arm without the knife and started to trace a line with his pudgy forefinger down through the perspiration running off Gedge’s right leg, from his knee, down towards his groin, smiling all the while.
He licked the sweat from his finger, while Gedge looked away. It looked like Ahmed’s plan was to rape or sexually mutilate him before finishing him off. Although he had virtually freed his hands, he was still hanging upside down with his feet securely tied above him. His opponent was clearly much stronger than him, so his only chance would be for the Turk to come close enough for Gedge to get a weapon off him.
Outside, a little old woman approached the asylum’s boundary fence where the two men were standing and talking. They were startled by her appearance, tapping away with her cane, in the middle of an area devoted to warehouses and goods yards.
‘Alms please, alms!’ she called, in a quavering voice, holding out her hand. Her frame was bent over almost double, her head and upper body covered with a shawl and scarf.
‘Where the hell did you come from, mum?’ said one of the men. ‘You need to get away from here.’
‘Where am I? I don’t see too good, young man.’
‘A few streets away from Liverpool Street Station. You won’t find anyone in a charitable mood in these parts. No people at all at night, except for us mugs. Anyway, you wouldn’t want to come in ’ere. It was a loony asylum.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear. I’m sorry for troubling you, gentlemen.’
The old woman shambled away, slowly rounding the corner into a street of dilapidated terraced houses.
The two guards chuckled to themselves, but only a few seconds after she had disappeared from view, they heard the crone shrieking.
‘Help! Help! Gentlemen, please help! Oh gawd, help!’
‘I’d better see what’s goin’ on,’ said the taller of the two men.
‘Wait! Ackerman told us both to stay here.’
‘You stay here, then. If there’s a problem just a few yards away, I’ll bet he’ll want to know about it. But it’ll just be the old crone scared of her own shadow. I’ll get rid of her. Don’t want her hanging about when we leave anyway.’
The tall guard strode up to the corner and carefully peered around. He couldn’t see anyone or anything on the street, until he looked down. There was something on the ground. Surely that was the old woman’s shawl? But where the hell was she? He took a few steps forward and bent down to pick up the garment. That was exactly what Polly Rondeau had been waiting for. She stepped out from the doorway where she’d been hiding and swung the cane over her shoulder with all her weight, bringing the heavy knob down with a crack on the top of the man’s head. He grunted and dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the cobbles.
His friend was pacing back and forth at the door to the warehouse, rubbing his hands together and stamping his feet to keep warm. He didn’t hear the approaching footsteps.
‘You. Turn round. And keep quiet.’
He turned, and there was the “old woman”, now grown in stature, her head uncovered to reveal a shock of hair and a face about forty years younger than he’d have expected. And beside her, an elderly man had materialised out of the darkness, and was aimin
g a revolver at his chest.
‘Jesus! Where’s Sam? What is this?’
‘You should learn that appearances can be deceptive,’ said Rondeau. ‘Your friend seems to be sleeping off a little headache back there. Just be aware that I am a very good shot, so please do not try anything. Now turn around, please, and lead the way to the door over there.’
As soon as the guard turned, Polly brought the knobkerrie down a second time. Rondeau checked the man was out for the count, and between them they dragged him out of sight behind some bushes.
Earlier, when she had been tracking the men, Polly had seen the door through which they had entered the building, and they approached it now. The vast edifice of the asylum proper loomed to their left, but this door opened into a single-storey attached building.
It was not locked, betraying the over-confidence of Gedge’s captors. Inside, steps led downward, and light issued from the lower level. Polly and Rondeau began to slowly descend.
Gedge had made up his mind. He would have to take the next chance to lunge at the Turk, or it would be too late. Ackerman’s henchman was at his brazier, heating the tongs. He held them up to show Gedge the white-hot jaws. Then he shuffled towards him, the tongs held out towards his captive, almost in an act of prayer. Gedge tensed, ready to channel all of his energy into one thrust forward with his arms, to somehow force the glowing tongs into his tormentor’s body instead of his own.
‘Put that down!’
Polly?
‘Leave him, or I’ll shoot you!’
A snarl spread over Ahmed’s features, and he half-turned to see who had the temerity to challenge him. It was all the time Gedge needed. In one movement, his wrists ripped through the last shreds of rope and arced forward, gripping the Turk’s forearms with as much power as he could muster, then forcing them up towards his head. The points of the superheated tongs rammed through the soft tissue under his jawbone and up into the back of his throat. Ahmed’s eyeballs rolled back in their sockets as the sickening stench of burning flesh and boiling body-fluids filled the room. The tongs clattered to the floor. Gedge could hear Polly stifling a scream.
Yet the Turk did not fall. He stood there, swaying backwards and forwards, like the shell of a building that the wrecking ball has not quite managed to knock down. Then, he toppled to one side, his huge bulk crashing into the brazier. He came to rest among the scattered hot coals, and his trousers caught fire. Within seconds, his body was being consumed in a makeshift funeral pyre.
Polly and Rondeau rushed up to Gedge. Rondeau was carrying a crate he’d found near the entrance. He set it down next to Gedge, climbed onto it, and cut the rope binding Gedge’s ankles. Polly and Rondeau eased him down and he sat for a few moments, recovering his sense of balance, while Polly brought over his clothes.
‘Thank god we found you! Although you seemed to have things under control, anyway.’
Gedge smiled. ‘Hardly. Your distraction made all the difference. And even if I’d disposed of him on my own, I’d still have been strung up like something outside a butcher’s shop. I’m sorry you’re seeing me in this dishevelled state. It’s not exactly dignified.’
‘Don’t be silly. You’ve been through hell. Up against that, what does it matter that you’re covered in nothing more than a layer of filth? Anyway, it’s not as though I’ve never seen a man without his clothes on.’
Gedge and Rondeau exchanged glances.
‘Now,’ said Polly, ‘you’ll have to get these on. Really, they’re fit only for the rubbish bin, but they’ll have to do for now. We’ll sort you out with something more respectable at home.’
‘We’ve no time for all that. Ackerman’s got some sort of auction set up. Hannah and the other girls are to be sold off. We have to find them or she’ll be whisked away to god knows where. Where could they be holding them?’
Rondeau spoke up. ‘We may be able to shorten that process. Lucas, while you get dressed, Polly and I will fetch something. We will just be a few minutes.’ Polly looked at him quizzically, but followed him back up the stairs.
Gedge pulled on his clothes—little more than rags now—over his sweat-soaked flesh. As he picked his overcoat off the ground, his two friends returned, Rondeau holding another man at gunpoint.
‘Lucas,’ said Rondeau. ‘You may or may not remember, but Polly says this was one of the men who hauled you out of the house earlier. He fell foul of us upstairs. We think he may be able to help us with our quest.’
Gedge looked at their captive. His jaw was set.
‘You won’t make me talk.’
‘I’m willing to bet you’ll change your mind, my friend. You and your associates were brave enough when you had the drop on me, but the boot’s on the other foot, now. And remember my daughter’s life is at stake. Do you believe there are any measures I wouldn’t take to save her?’
‘I don’t know where they took ’em. I told these two. Doesn’t matter what you do to me, I can’t tell you anything, so you might as well not bother.’
‘Forgive me if I don’t believe you. I don’t have the time to hang around here debating this. One way or another, you’ll tell me. And before you scoff again, have you recognised your former colleague Ahmed?’
The thug stared at the blackened heap and, realising the source of the foul stench, explosively vomited onto the floor. Gedge grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him up against the throbbing pipework around the boiler. As a jet of steam threatened to cook the man’s left ear, Gedge pressed the point of Ahmed’s dagger against his cheek.
‘Where did they take the girls? Where is this auction taking place?’
‘I can’t tell you. I don’t know. I told you. You’re wasting your time.’
With that, Gedge sliced deftly upwards, cutting through half an inch of the man’s right nostril. He shrieked in pain, and a rivulet of blood ran down his face.
‘That’s just the start. Next time it’ll be the whole nose, then the ears, perhaps. When I was in America a few years ago, I spent some time with the native people there. Did you know that they scalp victims alive, as well as when they’re dead?’
The man had been struggling for breath for several minutes, and now he started to shake, his teeth chattering.
Gedge lowered the knife. ‘It’s simple. Just tell us the location of the auction. I’ll bet you were involved in moving the girls. Where did you move them to? Last chance.’
He jabbed the knife once more towards the man’s face, and this time he crumbled, tears welling up.
‘I was in Ackerman’s regiment. He was my sergeant. I was still loyal, like we were still in the army. We weren’t, and I knew it was wrong, but I had to do what he said.’
Gedge shouted into his face. ‘I’m not interested in your justifications! Where are the girls?’
‘Underground. It’s happening in some sort of underground chamber. Used to be part of a prison, over Clerkenwell way. I once went down there. It’s like a maze, tunnels going in all directions. The prison cells are still down there, so they can use ’em to hold the girls before they’re sold off. Hardly anybody knows it’s there. And if the police did cotton on, it’d be difficult to raid the place with only a few coppers, ’cos it’s such a rabbit warren.’
‘It makes sense,’ said Rondeau. ‘I have heard of the Clerkenwell prison. I’ll tell you about it on the way there.’
The guard had slumped against the wall, silently sobbing. Gedge spoke to him again.
‘When does the auction start?’
‘Nine o’clock. They reckon it’ll take an hour. The girls’ll be taken away by whoever’s bought them, and then the gang get paid off, and everyone disappears separately. Ackerman says he’ll find a way to contact us when another job starts up.’
‘Not this time he won’t.’
‘It’s eight o’clock now,’ said Polly. ‘How far away is Clerkenwell?’
‘Approximately a mile and a half,’ said Rondeau. ‘We should just about be able to get back to White Lion St
reet so Lucas can change and wash and then go on to the catacombs. I would also like to check on Darius.’
Gedge turned to the guard. ‘For the information you’ve provided, I’ll spare your life.’ He used Rondeau’s stick to knock the man out for the second time that evening, then bound his hands and feet.
Then he looked at Rondeau. ‘I’ve suddenly realised that I’ve no idea where we are now. But from what you’ve just said, it can’t be far from home?’
‘We’re in the boiler room of the Farnsworth Asylum, close to Liverpool Street station. It’s changed hands recently and there are currently no patients, as it’s being refurbished. The boiler has to be kept going, of course. Ackerman’s men must have dealt with any night-watchmen.’
‘Right, let’s get moving.’
They left the boiler room and headed outside.
48
After the escape attempt, when she believed that Esther would be able to get help, Hannah had warded off her fears with a mix of hope and defiance. But now she was at her lowest ebb. She had been kept bound and alone at the house, then drugged and brought to some kind of underground prison. She was lying on a hard bunk in one of the cells, behind bars and awaiting her fate. The fight had left her. There were no more thoughts of escape plans.
She wondered how many other girls they were holding here. She thought about Lizzie, the girl she’d heard through the wall in the house where they were imprisoned. She knew there were perhaps eight cells lining the corridor outside; but she had no idea how many were occupied, or how many more corridors lined with cells there might be in the building. According to Ackerman, it wouldn’t be long before she and the other girls were sold off. The buying and selling of people. It sounded like slavery; something that was supposed to have been outlawed over fifty years ago. And it was going on in the heart of London.
