It dropped then; a large, cloaked mass which fell with force onto the young constable, knocking him to his knees. In a flash, before either Abe or I could react, a large golden blade, flat and thin, appeared from within the folds of the cloak and swung like a scythe, slicing the young man’s head clear from his shoulders. All this before the poor boy’s body had even realised what had happened and crumpled into a heap upon the grass.
Despite his size, Abe’s reactions were quicker than mine and he pushed me to the ground, away from him, as he attempted to draw his pistol from inside his overcoat. He was not quick enough; the golden blade loosed his hand from his wrist as he pulled the gun clear and attempted to take aim. For a short moment, time seemed to stand very still; Abe stared in disbelief at his arm before him, his hand falling to the ground still gripping the pistol, his index finger remaining poised on the trigger.
The figure in the cloak was tall, a good head taller than I, and remained fully shrouded, showing little of what lay beneath. The hand that bore the blade seemed hidden inside the sleeve and its other hand appeared gloved in some kind of tight gauntlet, also gold in colour. Of the face there was no sign – the hood was drawn well down, hiding any sight of the man.
I shuffled backwards quickly, trying to regain my feet.
‘Abe!’ I called. ‘Abe, we must run. We must leave this place!’
The figures of Abe and his assailant stood frozen.
Suddenly Abe screamed and threw himself at the hooded man, attempting to wrestle him to the floor. He did not make it further than one yard. I saw the blade shoot from the base of his back, only to be pulled upwards, dividing the man and leaving at his left shoulder.
I cried in horror, scrabbling backwards, trying to get away from the hooded figure, and came upon something soft. I looked down to see Abe’s severed fist in my own, the gun still in its fingers. I pulled the pistol free and pointed it at the figure, pulling on the trigger and firing. I knew that my aim was true and my target easily within my sight, but the bullets did not bring it down. With each shot a responding noise rang out, as if the bullets were striking metal, as if the figure wore armour under its cloak.
The figure turned, leaving the body of Abe Thomas split before it, and strode towards me. As I threw my empty gun towards it, I looked up at the golden blade raised in the air; my end, it seemed, was close.
What happened then was the most remarkable thing. The blade appeared to shimmer and change shape, as if it had become heated enough to melt. It shrank and thickened, withdrawing into the sleeve of the figure’s cloak and, as it was just about to disappear altogether, I saw that it had moulded itself into the form of a golden hand.
My expression must have been one of horrifying disbelief, which did not improve when the hand lifted to pull down the hood of the figure and I saw its face for the first time. The face of a beautiful woman.
I am an educated man. I have visited the museums of London and seen pieces of art on display that have been created by man, but I have never seen anything as shockingly stunning as the face which I saw before me in that moment. I compare it to art because it is that which it was most like. It was like a carved bronze, only moulded from pure gold, statue-like and impassive, expressionless and devoid of all sign of life. She leant in, bringing that solemn mask close to my face. Apart from my own childlike whimpering, there was no sound; not a whisper of noise came from the golden woman, no breath. Time seemed to stop and, unmoving and cold though her eyes were, I could feel that I was being closely observed, like some oddity or strange antiquity in a circus. Stinging sweat ran down my forehead and into my eyes.
The moment was broken by the sound of approaching voices in the distance. The gunfire had obviously been heard, and the police were on their way.
The golden woman stood up suddenly, raising her right arm, which immediately melted into the form of a sword once more. As the voices grew nearer she lowered the sword until it hovered unmoving above my head. I closed my eyes and waited.
My death did not come.
I heard the flutter of her cloak and when I opened my eyes the golden woman had gone, disappeared into the darkness. I crawled over to where the divided body of Abe Thomas lay. To my surprise he was gasping for breath.
‘Abe,’ I breathed. ‘Do not worry, help is on its way.’
He tried to speak but his voice was a gargle of blood, which he coughed weakly from his mouth.
‘Dolor…’ he spat, his words rimmed red. ‘That is the key… find the Dolorian Club.’ He choked again and spat out another mouthful of blood. ‘Go!’ he spluttered. ‘Don’t let them see you here. Don’t let them hide it again.’
There were men’s voices now and I knew that at any moment I would be seen. Abe was gone and I touched his bloody face briefly before hauling myself to my feet and, after pulling free the iron spike which held the torso to the tree and stuffing it into my pocket, I ran in the opposite direction to the approaching men. I heard the screams and the cries as they discovered the bodies of Inspector Thomas and the young policeman.
Finding a gap in the railings at the edge of the park, I did not stop running until I reached home.
As I burst through the door, I saw Alice standing in the doorway of my bedroom, waiting for me. She saw the blood on my clothes, the expression on my face and the tears in my eyes; she ran to me and held me close.
I did not tell her then what I had witnessed that evening; in fact, I hardly spoke at all, merely to say that I had been with the police, working. After pouring myself a large brandy, which I downed in one swig, I undressed and took to my bed, where I held Alice to me. Eventually, sobbing like a child and cursed with dreams of the deadly Golden Woman, I slept.
9
Those Who Watch
When I awoke the next morning both Alice and Benjamin were out. I had slept fitfully during the night; I felt tired and broken. My legs, unused to the exercise and effort expended during my escape from Regent’s Park, burned with lethargy and I near shuffled into the kitchen to prepare some coffee to wake me fully.
I sat for a while at my desk, looking out of the window while I drank. The horror of what I had seen had not left me, and I doubted that it ever would. Abe’s final coughed words resounded around my mind, repeating themselves each time with emphasis and force.
It is strange, but the sadness which I felt that morning was as much for myself as for the good Inspector. I thought about my past revelry in matters murderous, when I had regarded them not as terrible incidents of great violence and repulsion, but as opportunities for the furtherance of my career. What had made me this way? And were my current circumstances some kind of penance for my sins?
If I did not have Alice and Benjamin then I am sure that I would have shut myself away that morning and sunk into a deep despair, the like of which I have known just once in my life before, following my mother’s committal to the asylum.
In the days after her sudden absence I refused to attend school and spent long hours in my room, lying in my bed staring out of the window. Mrs Coleman would bring me food regularly and try to mother me into eating but I rarely did and, after a few weeks of this stubborn behaviour, my health began to suffer. I lost a great deal of weight – my constitution was not strong enough to fight off sickness. I became weak and pale and prone to long coughing fits, during which I would bark and wheeze.
Father came to me daily, imploring me to eat and to venture outside, offering me treats and rewards if I would obey, but from him I wanted nothing. He had taken away the one bright constant in my life and he would not be forgiven. Thinking back on this time now, I recognised that it was childish and pathetic in the extreme to punish my father for taking Mother away. It was not him suffering to be sure; he had not changed his daily routine at all and continued to spend as much time away from home as before her incarceration, probably more.
It was Victoria who brought me out of the mire that I wallowed in. She came to me each day, sitting on the edge of my bed and talking
to me. Just talking. She did not get any response but then, in truth, I do not think that she expected any. She did not implore and beg me to eat, like her mother; nor did she make promises like Father. No, she just talked. She told me about her day and the chores she had completed and she told me of the gossip from town that she had heard from her mother and her friends. She told me of the gardens and the work that Mr Morgan was doing, digging new beds in the lower lawns or planting daffodil bulbs around the apple and pear trees in the orchard ready for the coming spring.
I lay and listened to her each day. The sound of her voice became a soothing balm to my troubled mind; a soft and constant reminder that life in the world continued without my attendance. One day, perhaps four weeks into my self-induced confinement, she did not come. I watched the clock for nearly three hours, wondering where she was and what she was doing. Finally, when my curiosity could bear it no more, I pulled back my covers and, with effort, swung my legs over the side of the bed, so that my bare feet touched the cold floor. I pushed myself up on unsteady legs and stood for a moment, balancing myself before walking towards the window. In the garden Mr Morgan was planting bulbs, just as Victoria had said, and Mrs Coleman was hanging out washing. It was a bright but cold day with a soft breeze and, for a while, I simply stood watching the white sheets swaying in the gentle wind. I looked to the clock once more; still she did not come. I shuffled towards the door of my bedroom and opened it, holding it ajar and peering out of a crack in the small world that I had created; all was silent in the house.
I stepped outside onto the landing, my feet enjoying the feel of the runner carpet which lay along the length of the hallway leading to the stairs. I made my way down the stairs; still there was no sound from the house other than the occasional creak in the risers as I descended.
I walked into the kitchen. It was warm and my head was filled with the comforting smell of freshly baked bread, which made my stomach complain at the lack of attention I’d paid it. Victoria stood with her back to me at the stove. She held a frying pan in her hand and was cooking eggs; she did not turn or acknowledge my presence. On the broad wooden table was a plate with thick-sliced buttered bread and I sat down and reached for it.
‘Can you not wait for your eggs?’ Victoria said suddenly, and I jumped with a start. She smiled at me before bringing the pan over and depositing two fried eggs upon my plate beside the bread. I said nothing and picked up my knife and fork, wolfing down the late breakfast.
‘I will draw a bath for you shortly,’ she said. ‘But do not worry – I shall not be attending or helping you with that.’
I looked up at her and smiled weakly.
‘Thank you, Victoria,’ I said, preparing to stand.
‘Do not rush. We have all day to bring you back to the land of the living. Perhaps after your bath we can walk in the gardens together?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I would like that very much.’
As I sat drinking my coffee and waiting for Alice and Benjamin’s return, I thought of the day that my father’s plain but loving housemaid brought me out of my misery, and, despite it being a warm memory, tears ran down my face when I thought of the pain, misery and humiliating end with which I had rewarded poor Victoria.
***
The road was busy outside. Carriages, cutting through for the Harrow Road on their way to the Edgware Road, and central London beyond, ambled past. Barges, some drawn by heavy horses, made their slow way on the Paddington Canal. It was a grey day, one which fitted my mood on waking, but the sun was attempting to break through the clouds, occasionally escaping their cover to dance on the water of the canal, which dominated the view from my window. When it cleared, it brought a warm yellow glow to the street and waterway, and I found myself temporarily in awe of this scene which I had taken for granted for so long.
Thinking back on my discussion with Frederick Draper, I wrote a short letter to Edward Higgins. I asked after his well-being and whether he had given any more thought to contacting George Purkess regarding his ghost stories. According to Mr Purkess, he had not received any such letter as yet, but he told me that he would be glad to meet Higgins and offer him the opportunity to appear in the newspaper. I then asked whether Edward had noticed any suspicious visitors in Pluckley. If it was known that I had visited Kent, Draper and his associates would know that I went to learn of Sibelius Darke through Tom Finnan. I thought of the veiled threats given to me by Draper and, through my liking of Tom Finnan, would not have wished these threats to extend to the landlord of the Black Horse or his sister. I smiled upon thinking of Higgins and his charming manner; how I would be glad to have the opportunity to enjoy a drink with him again.
It was as the sun’s autumn light shone golden upon the finished letter on my desk that the door to my rooms opened and Alice and her brother came in. Benjamin looked a little nervous at first but, after a tap on the shoulder from his sister, he ran over to where I sat and threw his arms around me.
‘Alice says you had a late night with the police,’ he said. ‘Was it a murder? Did they catch the killer?’
I smiled a little, driving the memory of Abe’s murder from my mind. ‘It was not so bad, an accident involving a carriage,’ I remarked. ‘Nothing for you to worry about. Now tell me where you and your sister have been this morning. I hope not to buy sweet things from the baker again.’
‘We have not been doing anything of the sort,’ Alice said, coming over and laying a hand on each of our shoulders. ‘We have been down to the agency I told you about, to see if there was any work today. Mr Tandry asked me to return later this afternoon as there may be some evening work at an event in town; kitchen work, nothing more, but it’s a start.’
‘It is indeed,’ I said, putting my arm around her waist and drawing her close so that I held both her and her brother tightly. I felt a sudden surge of emotion, which I fought hard to repress, before jumping to my feet and announcing that we would be going out for breakfast.
We broke our fast in a small coffee shop on the Harrow Road and there Alice and I told Benjamin of how their stay with me would not be so temporary, and of how we thought to enrol him in a school nearby. He seemed overjoyed at this; he had never had the benefit of any formal schooling like his sister and had relied on her teaching.
I left Alice and Benjamin after breakfast. They had friends to see and I had given Alice some money to buy herself and Benjamin some clothes fitting for a young lady entering the employment market and her soon to be school-bound brother.
I had shaken the horror of the previous evening’s events from my mind and now thought of them as terrible actions which it was my duty to report and visualise. I had learnt a valuable lesson from my experience in Regent’s Park: a call to wake up from my revelry in all things murderous and terrible. It was as though I had been given the opportunity to make a new start for myself. Therefore, with the decision made to unburden myself, I returned briefly to my rooms to collect my satchel of works and headed into town to see the proprietor of The Illustrated Police News.
***
Mr Purkess had never worn such a dark expression.
I walked in slowly, placing my satchel on the chair in front of his desk.
‘I understand that you wish to see me,’ I said, looking towards the floor. ‘Mr Cope said something about a visit from the city police earlier.’
He said nothing but motioned towards the chair. I seated myself in silence. I thought of reaching into my satchel and bringing out my sketchbook to show him the fruits of my terrible evening with poor Abe Thomas, but I could tell from his expression that he would hear no word of it. He leaned forwards, his arms resting on the desk.
‘Mr Cope is right; I did have a visitation from the law today.’ His voice was ire and fury tightly contained. ‘They asked after you, Weaver; they were very persistent. It would seem that there was another ‘incident’ last night, something in Regent’s Park, where two policemen and a member of the House of Lords were butchered.’
‘And another servant girl!’ I cut in, with anger of my own that he did not deem her worthy of mentioning.
‘…and another servant girl,’ he replied. ‘One of the policemen murdered was Inspector Abe Thomas, a good friend of mine, a good friend of our newspaper and, of course, a good friend of yours also.’
I made to speak but he raised his hand and continued.
‘Witnesses at the park say that our good friend Inspector Thomas was accompanied by a young man fitting your description, who was introduced as being a police artist. Were you aware of this?’
‘I was aware of this, sir; in fact it was the reason…’
He held up his hand once more. ‘Were you with Inspector Abraham Thomas last night in Regent’s Park and were you witness to his death?’
‘I was.’
‘And did you run away from the scene before the police arrived?’
‘I did, but…’
‘The police are very interested to speak to you, Mr Weaver. They came to me this morning, asking for your address.’
‘You didn’t give it to them, did you?’ I said, thinking of Alice and Benjamin.
‘No, I did not, although I doubt that it would have taken them long to track you down… if I hadn’t told them that you were with me all night.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes, I thought to protect you – and the reputation of this very newspaper – although, sitting here now, I cannot for the life of me think why. They are very angry men, Weaver, very angry indeed. Two of their own killed, and a lord – Lord Blakenbury – who was a personal friend of the Commissioner himself. They are taking this matter very seriously indeed.’
‘I saw the lad die,’ I said. ‘He did not have a chance; he died very quickly. The lord was already dead when I got there. I didn’t get to see his body.’
Mr Purkess turned puce with rage and leapt to his feet, slamming his hands upon his desk.
Domini Mortum Page 14
