Mad Bride of the Ripper

by Lucas Thorn

  Staring at the doorway as she entered.

  The other room was for the Angel-maker. Amelia. Who’d already let it be known she was open for trade.

  A few small cots lined the wall near the old woman’s bed. She was on her back. Snoring. One arm draped across her belly, the other hanging off the side. Fingertips almost touching the floor.

  The little babes slept.

  Sometimes they cried. Sometimes they made gentle babble.

  But not tonight.

  Tonight, they were silent.

  Renfield watched, eyes widening, as Lucy crept into the Angel-maker’s room on bare feet.

  Wet crunch. Muffled mew.

  He let out a nasty giggle as he listened to her suckle and slurp.

  The Bloofer Lady was back.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Lucy! Lucy, are you alright?”

  She closed the window and hissed at the door. Forced her voice to sound tired. “Yes, father, I’m here.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Paused. “I was worried. You weren’t answering. The door is locked.”

  “I know. I was tired. I didn’t hear you.” She pulled a nightgown over her stained dress and gently moved the chair out of the way. Turned the key. Pulled the door open, but not far enough to invite him in. “The slightest noise wakes me, so I put cotton in my ears to block the sound. It’s why I didn’t hear you. But if I don’t, I simply lay there dreading the door opening. I will sleep better when the sun comes up, I’m sure.”

  “I understand,” he said. Didn’t cross the threshold. “I wanted to know you were safe. And I panicked when you didn’t answer. I’m going to the bank today. Your account will be reopened.”

  “Thank you.” She pulled the gown tighter. Shivered. “It’s cold.”

  “Is it?” He looked down at his own clothes. He looked more than a little awry. His coat unbuttoned. Shirt almost untucked. “I hadn’t noticed. I’ll be running from one blasted accountant to the other. I won’t be home until late.”

  “Your beard needs a trim.”

  He flushed. “I know.”

  “And your hair.”

  “I can’t think of such things. To be honest, I can’t sit still.” He lowered his voice. “I spoke to Mrs Wellington. She says she can recommend a few people.”

  “Be careful, father.”

  “I will.” He tucked his thumbs into his belt and hitched his trousers. “But I’ll be damned if I’ll let anyone hurt my family. Your mother… Well. I just won’t let this go unpunished. To Hell with everything, they won’t escape justice. I’d hire the devil himself if he were available.”

  She put a hand to her mouth. “Father!”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” He crossed himself. “Your mother would be ashamed of me.”

  “No.” Lucy absently reached out and smoothed his coat. “She’d be very proud.”

  “Yes. Well.” Awkward smile. “I ought to go. But I needed to tell you there are two men downstairs. Their names are Kipper and Blasko. I didn’t want you to be frightened when you first see them. They’ve been with the company for years. They’re good lads. Helped me out of a lot of scrapes. I trust them both with my life. I know it’s an inconvenience, but always keep them with you, do you understand?”

  “Kipper and Blasko.”

  “Yes.” He trundled back down the hallway to the stairs, wrestling with his clothes. “You can’t miss them!”

  He was right.

  The two men were mountains of muscle. So big it took her breath away. Wide broad shoulders and hard faces. Very hard. Like she could smash their heads into the pavement all day long and they’d hardly notice.

  Kipper was blonde. Dirty blonde. Most of it hidden under a floppy black cap. Wide jaw. Blue eyes. And more than a few pinpoints of glittering madness danced inside his skull.

  Blasko was dark. A brooding look to his face. Rough bristles across his chin.

  More muscle than Kipper. A touch more height. But a few less sparkles inside his head. A bland man, she thought, and immediately forgot him.

  Their clothes weren’t new, but they were clean.

  She smiled at them as she came outside. “Are you my bodyguards?”

  “Yes, Miss,” Kipper said. “That’s us.”

  She strode smoothly toward the waiting cab and looked up and down the street before climbing inside. Kipper followed her into the cabin while Blasko climbed up beside the driver.

  She’d expected to feel stifled by the two men. Instead, she found the idea of having a pair of guards around her to be exciting. It was easy to imagine them trading bullets with Van Helsing and his band of vampire hunters.

  Kipper would surely be able to bring down at least a dozen on his own.

  He peered between the cracked curtains, eyes narrow as he kept an eye on the road behind them.

  While Lucy studied the glittering lights inside his mind.

  Sparkling like tiny stars. Swirling through his brain.

  She leaned back in her seat, eyes focussed to a point beyond his face.

  One light was brighter than the others. It hovered close to the back of his head. She wanted to reach out and touch it. Stretch it out like warm clay.

  The cab bounced, tossing her suddenly in her seat.

  She let out a yelp and grabbed the handle.

  Blasko tapped the roof above. Cried; “All good! Hit a pothole.”

  And Kipper relaxed. Slid the gun back into his belt. Nodded slowly. “Sorry, Miss. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “It’s alright,” she said. “I was startled, that’s all.”

  “No fear, Miss. Ain’t no one’s gonna get close to you. Not with me and Blaz around. Get a few shots to the face if they try, pardon me saying.”

  He would, too. As he’d grabbed the weapon, the bright lights in his brain had flared.

  He liked violence.

  Craved it.

  Lucy curled her mouth and looked deep into his blue eyes. “Tell me, Kipper. Have you ever shot a man?”

  “Aye. One time on the way to Reading. Was him or me, it was. Highwayman.”

  “Oh?” He was lying. Not about the shooting. That had happened. But it wasn’t a highwayman. “It must have been thrilling.”

  Licked lips before replying. “It were something, alright.”

  The light glittered in his mind and shone brighter when she giggled. “The men who are after me are very dangerous. You shouldn’t hesitate when you see them.”

  “Oh, I won’t, Miss. I really won’t. You can trust me, you can.” Struggled to hold back as she blew ethereal breeze over the embers in his brain. Licked his lips and said soft; “In truth, I’ve killed plenty. Before.”

  “Before you worked for my father, you mean?”

  “Aye. Before that.”

  “With Blasko?”

  “No. He’s just muscle, he is. Bit of a feather. All soft inside.” Didn’t quite sneer. “Looks the part, though, don’t he?”

  “Yes, he does.” She imagined her fingers around the brightest light. Warming it. “But looks aren’t everything, are they? Deeds count more.”

  “Aye. Deeds are better.”

  “How many have you killed?”

  “I lost count.” Face flushed. The stars flickered. “I mean, I shouldn’t talk about it. Not… Not to a lady.”

  “I’m no lady, Kipper.” Her eyes drilled into his mind with fierce intensity. Tugging at the lights. Making them dance. “Tell me about them. Who was your first?”

  “My cousin. He cheated at dice, he did. Didn’t figure he’d try it on me, though. But he were desperate, he said.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I was out of it. Too much beer, it was. That’s all. I didn’t mean it, but he riled me up. So, I slit his throat, didn’t I? Ear to ear. I’d done it to my pa’s pigs. We had a farm, you see. Weren’t much harder than doing pigs.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “No. He were my cousin. I still miss him sometimes.”

&nb
sp; “Oh.”

  Kipper’s smile was slow, but content. Tiny white tips of his teeth showed between tight lips. “But the others? I liked them. Liked them a lot.”

  “I bet you did. You’re a bad man.” The stars swirled. She reached out and touched his arm. Pulled on the stars like they were hooks.

  He sucked a breath, face suddenly pale. Beads of sweat squeezed through pores and slid down his cheeks. “Oh, Lord…”

  “He’s not listening, Kipper. Trust me, He doesn’t care. His eyes are closed to this world. But I do. I care. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “There’s no need to hide from me.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I might need you to kill for me, Kipper. You’d like to kill for me, wouldn’t you? Like to cut a throat or two?”

  “Aye. More than anything!”

  “Such a beautiful boy,” she said. The warm light danced eagerly inside his head. She leaned against the side of the cab. “Let me know when we’ve reached the shop.”

  “Aye, Mistress. I will.”

  She closed her eyes, thinking about Van Helsing.

  The old man’s stern face. Austere presence. She’d felt intimidated by his overpowering self-belief. He was like a priest in many ways. A rabid and savage priest. She’d seen the light in his mind, too. But it wasn’t like Renfield’s. Or Kipper’s.

  Van Helsing’s brain was a place of rigid order.

  Structure.

  His madness was the insanity of single-minded purpose, the bright light hidden behind dark tracks racing into its core.

  She twirled her finger through her hair. How far could she have pushed the old man? Far enough to make him lose himself to the river of insanity which drowned souls like Renfield?

  It was worth thinking about.

  “Mistress?”

  “Yes, Kipper?”

  “We’re here.” He flipped the door open and kicked the steps out before dropping to the ground. Hand tucked across his gun, he looked around the shady streets. Squinted at a few men dangling in the fog further down. Then shrugged up at her. “Seems fine.”

  She ignored the hand he held out and stepped soft to the ground.

  Blasko spoke a few slow words to the driver.

  Nodded.

  And slid down beside her. Meaty hands in his coat pockets. No doubt wrapped around a gun of his own. He grunted to Kipper and the two men headed to the shop. Kipper held the door and Lucy whirled inside.

  “Why, It’s Miss Westenra!” A gnarled old woman hobbled from behind the counter. “I was just about to shut shop I was. Oh, my, look at you. How you’ve grown. I heard the most dreadful rumours about you, you know.”

  “Not true, Diedre,” Lucy said with a cramped grin. Spun a circle, arms out. “As you can see, I’m quite alive.”

  “And thank the Lord for that! But who are these two ruffians? Are they with you?”

  “I’m afraid so. Do you mind? They won’t be in the way.”

  “Oh, little Lucy. What trouble have you gotten into? It wasn’t that Mina girl, was it? I always thought she was a bad influence, that one.”

  “Mina? Indeed not, Diedre. No. I was engaged to be married, you see. To Arthur Holmwood.”

  “Lord Godalming’s son? Why, Lucy, your father must be proud!”

  “Yes. He was. But there was a doctor. A strange old man who ran the Sanitorium outside of Whitby. He became obsessed with me. He followed me everywhere. And he really began to annoy Arthur. Now Arthur is missing. I fear something terrible has happened to him. When Arthur disappeared, Doctor Seward and his German friend kidnapped me. They kept me prisoner for a while in the Sanitorium, and told everyone I had died. Thankfully, I managed to escape. But my father is worried he’ll send men to bring me back. Nothing can be done about it because he’s got a very close friend with the Queen.” She sighed. “Not a pleasant tale, Diedre. And I do hope you don’t tell anyone. I probably shouldn’t have told you anything, but I feel I ought to explain why I brought these two fellows to your shop with me.”

  Diedre put a hand to her mouth in shock. “That’s awful. I can’t imagine it. You poor dear, you must be terrified!”

  “Yes.” She turned to the dresses on display. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “I won’t tell a soul. I swear!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The policeman waited in the hall. Seated in a small chair. Hat on his lap. Cane upright between his knees and both hands resting on top. Neither short nor tall but with a stomach starting to get a little too round. He hid it beneath a waistcoat and pants just a little too baggy.

  A pocketwatch gleamed in his left hand, but he hadn’t looked at it.

  Seemed to hold it more out of habit than anything.

  The only time he moved was to carefully slide a small comb from his pocket and brush at the corners of his moustache. From lip to jaw. Careful patient strokes. Another habit.

  Blasko stood at the end of the hall, leaning against a wall.

  If the policeman was bothered by the big man’s impassive stare, he never once showed it.

  “Inspector?”

  “Mister Westenra.” The policeman rose to his feet as the old man came swiftly down the steps. “It’s good of you to take the time to speak to me.”

  “I do apologise for keeping you waiting. But you said it was my daughter you wished to speak to, and I’m afraid she’s having a difficult time as I’m sure you understand.” Westenra reached to shake hands. “To be honest, Inspector, we’re at our wits end. I’m not sure how much more of this I can cope with. All of London is talking about it now. I can’t leave the house without odd looks and secretive whispers at my back. And as for poor Lucy? Well. The frightful things which have been spoken about her. This past week has been a trial.”

  “Yes,” the policeman leaned on his cane. “I understand perfectly. I don’t wish to upset her any more than she has been, of course.”

  “No, no. Of course not. And it’s good of you to come. Sir Harold said we should expect you.”

  The policeman’s smile was slight.

  In his mind, this had been a waste of time. Courtly gossip and political intrigue hadn’t interested him in a long time. And everything he’d heard so far smacked of the absurd. He was sure the only reason he was here was because of this old man’s connection to Sir Harold.

  To think a respected gentleman would fake a woman’s death then hold her hostage in a Sanitorium for his own foul and perverted pleasure?

  Gossip, he’d told himself as he waited. That’s all it could be.

  The story was simply too ludicrous to be true.

  “I’ll do what I can,” he said. Carefully. Whatever the girl’s story, her father had chewed on it to the end of the hook.

  Best not to upset him.

  He let himself be led upstairs, noticing Blasko saunter to the front door and take up position near the bottom of the stairs.

  “He looks like a serious sort,” the policeman said without judgement.

  “Who? Blasko?” Westenra’s face hardened a little. “He’d better be. I won’t let those animals get close to her again. Believe me, Inspector, I know what you’re thinking. And I know there’s very few of your people who want to take her seriously. Very few above you want them to, I’m sure. But you talk to her. Just look at her. She used to be a sweet girl. Always smiling. Always cheerful. Bit cheeky, if you want the truth. But now? Oh, Lord. She’s a lost soul. I fear for her. I won’t leave anything sharp in her room, and I’m grateful she wants nothing to do with doctors anymore or I’d worry they’d give her too much laudanum.”

  The policeman raised an eyebrow at the implication of suicide. “You think she’d do such a thing?”

  “I hope not. But she’s afraid, Inspector. Terrified! She barricades herself inside her room all day and night. Refuses to leave most of the time. She’s afraid of crowds. Afraid of strangers. Only comes out for a short time in the evening. It’s breaking m
y heart. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Have you heard from them, sir?”

  “No. Not a peep.” He looked back toward the stairs. “In truth, Inspector, it’s the waiting which is making it worse.”

  “Pardon me for asking, but their names…” He pulled a small notebook from his pocket and glanced inside. “Doctor John Seward and Professor Abraham?”

  “Yes. That’s them.” Then, catching something in the policeman’s tone; “You know them?”

  Tucking the notebook away, he offered a reassuring smile. “I had never heard of Doctor Seward before. But the German? I know of him, sir. He was brought in to give us a speech. Bit of an odd topic, as I recall. He was friends with some Lord or another and they deemed it important for our little minds to be expanded.”

  The old man’s face was tight. Almost pale. “It won’t be a problem, will it? I mean, if you’re acquainted…?”

  “Don’t worry about that, sir. As I said. He gave a speech is all. I wasn’t there by choice, so hardly paid any attention. He spoke a lot about occult beliefs. I remember him taking it all very seriously. You know what it’s like nowadays. Everyone’s obsessed with table-knockers.”

  “I suppose they are. They used to amuse my wife greatly, but I don’t have time for it myself. I’m sure it’s fakery and nonsense.”

  “Then we at least have something in common, sir.” He tapped his cane, aware they were standing in the hall. “Well? Shall we?”

  “What? Oh, yes. Of course. Please. Come through here. It’s my sitting room. I thought it best to be somewhere warm. Lucy will be with us shortly. Please, take a seat. Be comfortable. Would you like something to drink? I have some brandy to take the edge off the cold.”

  “That’s very kind of you, sir. Thank you.”

  The old man fussed with some glasses. “My wife used to be better at this sort of thing. Entertaining, or whatever it is. I’m not exactly a people person, Inspector. One would think someone in my position would be good at it. But I was better at telling people what to do than getting lost in meaningless conversations about the weather. Are you married?”

  “Yes. Twelve years.”

  “Respectable time.”

  “Your wife has, ah…”