‘Benjamin is fine,’ she said. ‘He is under the care of Dr Furnbridge, whom I understand you know, and is looking forward to starting at his new school. He is in good spirits, although he misses you dearly. Mrs Coleman fusses over him, although she continuously calls him Arthur and then stops and curses herself. Who is Arthur, is he a boy you knew?’
I bit my lip for a moment before speaking. ‘Arthur? No, I have never heard of him before. Perhaps she had a son of her own once, although I’m sure I would have known of him. Anyway, tell me about Benjamin, is he truly happy?’
‘He is, in part.’
‘In part – what do you mean, in part?’
‘He has seen how unhappy I am without you, Sam. It was his idea that I return, although he wants me to persuade you to go back to York so that we can all be together. But enough of that – this blood, where is it from? Please do not tell me that you are still in danger?’
‘No, I think that the danger is past for now. Life has been… well, a little dull without the pair of you around.’
I bathed and changed. Alice cooked us both a meal prepared with whatever meagre provisions she could find in the cupboard, a place which had quickly reverted to its bachelor state.
‘I thought of going to see Mr Tandry tomorrow, to find out whether there’s any work for me still. It would help to see us through until you get work back in York.’
‘York?’ I said coughing slightly.
‘Yes, York, like I said. Well, now Benjamin is settled, I thought that it would be good for us to move to York and start a new life there.’
‘New life?’
‘Oh come now, Samuel. Do not tell me that you have forgotten your promises from not two weeks ago? You told us both that we would be able to start a new life once things had settled down. Why not in York? You have a home there, Benjamin is happy. I’m sure that you would easily get a good job with one of the newspapers there. Maybe you could even find someone to publish your Sibelius Darke story.’
‘I want The Illustrated Police News to publish it. That has been the plan for years – that has always been the plan. London will be safe for us all soon, I am sure. Benjamin can come back; you can get more work through Tandry. Our future is here, Alice. I cannot go back to York.’
‘But why?’
‘Because… because I do not believe in going back,’ I snapped. ‘I have left that place behind – and all it represents!’
‘But what of Benjamin?’
‘Benjamin will not stay in York a moment longer than he has to. Please stop now, Alice. I cannot talk about this any more.’ I stood from the table and carried our plates to the kitchen.
‘But, Sam, I do not understand,’ she called after me. ‘I know that you left York under some kind of cloud, but that doesn’t have to be a problem for us.’
I paused. The anger I felt was not towards her and in that moment I wanted to tell her everything about the reasons that I fled York – but I couldn’t.
‘It is more than that, Alice. Much more, but I will not talk about it. I will not talk about anything to do with moving back there. This discussion is over.’
Although she followed me to the kitchen, she did not press me any further on the subject. Our conversation was polite and cordial and I wished that I could have opened my heart to her, but I did not. For now, I was glad that she had returned to me and the wound created when she and Benjamin left was partially healed.
***
The following day, Alice did indeed visit Mr Tandry, who was most pleased to see her. According to Alice, he nearly tripped over his own feet in his excitement when she walked through the doors of his office on Marylebone Road. There would ‘of course, ha ha!’ be work for someone of Alice’s quality; in fact, she could head straight up the road to a nearby address in her uniform and say that Mr Tandry had sent her. The work, he said, would be regular and long standing if she proved her worth. She returned to me shortly afterwards to change into the grey dress that Mr Tandry had provided.
I was sitting at my desk putting the finishing touches to a truly terrifying picture related to a scene that I had attended earlier in the week. Builders renovating a nearby convent on Earl’s Street had uncovered what they first thought was an ancient priest hole. In fact, it transpired that the dark and musty space that they had found beyond a bricked and plastered wall at the back of the chapel was no more than one hundred years old and contained the skeletons of no less than three nuns, still dressed in their habits. This situation was a pure blessing for me and I threw myself into creating something which would stun Purkess and his readers. I needed something to push myself back into the limelight and make myself indispensable once more. In my mind, the threat from Falconer and the Dolorian Club had now passed and it was time to return to my rightful place at the top of Old George’s list.
Alice was almost hysterical with excitement, happy to be back with me and filled with eagerness to impress her new employer.
‘This is a great chance for me to help build something for us,’ came her voice from the bedroom as she changed. ‘I have thought about our discussion last night, Sam. If this works out for me then I think we could arrange for Benjamin to come back to us, in time for him to start at St Stephen’s as we originally planned.’
‘Mm,’ I replied. The words had gone in; however, I was deeply engrossed in my work.
She spoke again but, I confess, I did not hear her words. In fact, I heard very little more of what she said. It concerned ‘new beginnings’ and ‘putting our troubles behind us’, yet my mind was elsewhere.
I was shaken from my concentration when she danced through from the bedroom and landed in my lap, throwing her arms around my neck.
‘When will you be back tonight?’ I asked.
‘I think it will be sometime after midnight. Apparently there is a special function this evening. It is the perfect opportunity to make a good impression, Mr Tandry says.’
‘Then go and do your impressing,’ I said with a smile, kissing her lightly on the cheek. ‘I shall be here when you return, probably still working on this damned picture.’
With a final embrace she breezed out of our home and I spent a short moment looking towards the closed door with a warm feeling inside. Perhaps she was right, I thought; perhaps this was where everything changed for us.
And I was correct; for she did not return.
11
A Bringer of Death
My only job, before coming down to London, was as a junior correspondent at the York Herald. Most of my days were spent running their errands, a job which I hated and abused as often as possible, taking myself off to wander the streets, observing and sketching as I had done when a child.
After one year of service I was finally given the opportunity to show my skills when, from nowhere and quite to my surprise, I was asked to help on a story for one of the senior writers, Jack Bartlett. Mr Bartlett had always been a man whom I had held in greater esteem than his colleagues due to his morbid interests in the darker side of city life. Although I possessed a higher degree of awe and respect for the man, I craved his job and saw myself as usurping Jack Bartlett at my soonest opportunity. I was superior in terms of the vivid realities of my writing and the added bonus of the picture portrayals which I could also offer. He knew this; I had made it clear to him. I had shown him my work and my art, and I had told him that I wished to be in his position as soon as my work was recognised. At that time I did not think it bothered him. He was a confident man with years of experience – what fear could he have of me, a mere upstart boy?
One particular day Jack took me aside and told me how he wished to nurture my talents and help me on my way. He had been investigating a number of brothels in the area which, rumour had it, were controlled and owned not by the criminal classes but by a small group of seemingly respectable gentlemen about town. This fellowship kept these houses running in town both for their own uses and for the revenue and profits which they could bring in. Jack was well known
in the city, and would undoubtedly be turned away should he attempt to gain entry to one of these establishments. I, however, was an unknown, the perfect person to avail myself of their services whilst collecting clues as to the true ownership of these establishments. I could also use my artistic skills to portray their degradation and sordidness in all of their nasty glory, capturing the faces of those within and of the girls who earned their shilling. I would, of course, he told me, be given the recognition due to me for assisting him in this project. I was simply to attend one of the brothels over the course of a few nights and, after making my excuses, leave and accurately draw and make notes on what I had seen. This would be the making of my career; it was all but assured.
I had decided upon a story that I would tell if asked regarding my background; I was to be a solicitor visiting York.
I was nervous of my task, although kept this well hidden, as I had promised myself that I would not throw away this golden opportunity. Mr Bartlett had given me a list of the brothels and suggested that I visit one on Fossgate first, which was renowned in the area as the place for well-known gentlemen about town to visit.
I approached the tall, smooth painted door with not a little tension; although confident of my ability to lie and give the appearance of someone I was not, I was still a young man who had had very little experience of dealing with womenfolk, not least those womenfolk who plied their trade through sin and iniquity.
There was no bell or knocker in sight, and at first I wondered whether the address that Bartlett had given me had been false, for there was no sound coming from within. With less force or confidence than I would have liked or intended, I rapped upon the wood with my knuckles. There was no answer at first and still no noise from within, and I began to wonder if there was some type of coded knock required, upon which the riches and joys of the brothel were unlocked to the visiting gentleman. I knocked again, this time with slightly greater force, and, at last, I heard the rough sliding of deadbolts from inside and the rattling of a key in the large lock. The door began to open and I was immediately struck by noise as loud music and laughter rang out of the slowly opening crack. As it opened wider the door frame was immediately filled by a smartly dressed man of impressive size and threatening face. His head was high domed and looked almost polished in the light of the gas lamps.
‘Are you expected?’ he boomed down at me.
I did not answer immediately; I found myself staring up at the man with an open mouth that would normally mark me as slow witted.
‘I… er… no,’ I stuttered; my lips, it seemed, were not fully under my control. ‘I do not think that I am expected. I was given this address by a work colleague who told me to pay a visit if I were ever in the area. Perhaps I have made a mistake.’ Suddenly the thought of entering such a place twisted my stomach and I cursed my own overconfidence at putting myself in this situation.
‘Well that all depends, boy,’ the man said, his face relaxing with a warmth that I only supposed was sarcasm. ‘This colleague of yours, did he tell you what to expect once you had entered? Did he give vivid detail to his recommendation?’
‘Why no, sir!’ I proclaimed. ‘He is a gentleman and would not openly discuss such matters. He merely told me that if I wished to see a different side of York and I had money to spend on… company, then this was the place to visit. Was he wrong? If he was then I can only apologise and take my leave.’ I began to turn but felt a large paw upon my shoulder.
‘Money to spend, eh?’ His eyebrows raised a touch. ‘If it’s money you have, then this may be the place for you. Why don’t you step inside for a while and see if we have anything that takes your fancy.’ With the grip of his hand still firmly in place he drew me inside.
In truth I had not been fully prepared for the attack on the senses that the interior of this house brought upon me. I stepped immediately into a large lounge area, busy with both young girls and men old enough to be their fathers. They drank and cavorted, danced and lay upon the long, soft seats which littered the room. The noise was varied and loud and I wondered why I had not heard it from the street outside; there was laughter filling the room, from light, tinkling giggles to raucous, hearty guffaws, which seemed to burst from every corner. The music being played was that of the music halls, bawdy and coarse, hammered out on an upright piano by a wide older woman, who encouraged those about her to sing along. The lighting of the house was varied too; lamps hung from the walls, casting a soft glow down upon those in their range, yet these areas of warmth were offset by corners of darkness where it was difficult to make out exactly what went on, the only signs being shifting limbs and shadowed faces.
The atmosphere was smoky both from the cigars shared by amorous couples and also from hookah pipes, of which there were a few placed around the room. The scent that they gave off was decidedly not from tobacco; it was more heady and perfumed, full of sharp spice and soft flowers. The air made my eyes water, a powerful and overpowering change from the fresh night of the street.
I am sure that my expression of wide-eyed innocence did no harm to the character which I wished to portray to those inside, but it is true to say that I had never experienced a place such as this in my young life. To see such obvious debauchery and flagrant immorality set out in all of its terrible glory both shocked and, I am ashamed to say, stirred private feelings within me that I would not normally reveal in such a public place. My open-mouthed wonder was, of course, noted by my guide, who shook me from my stupor by slapping me suddenly between my shoulder blades.
‘Was this perhaps not what you were expecting, young sir?’ he laughed, leering. ‘Let me get you introduced and see if we cannot turn that look of yours into a smile. Isabelle!’ he called to a woman on the other side of the room, who was facing away from me and talking to a pair of older gentlemen. ‘Isabelle, we have a new visitor. Won’t you come over and give him the benefit of your welcome!’
As she turned I saw that she was, without doubt, the most attractive woman whom I had ever laid my young eyes upon. Her hair was a dark red in colour and, although pinned up in tight curls, I could tell that it was unnaturally long. Her green eyes were wide and inviting, almost innocent in their aspect – almost. She floated across the room to where I stood and smiled warmly at me, a look which I attempted to return. I must have looked every bit the young and callow fool, out of my depth and grinning like a simpleton.
‘Good evening,’ she said, holding out a long-gloved hand for me to receive. ‘I do not think I have seen you within our sugared walls before. I am Isabelle; I am here to make your visit memorable. Would you like a drink? We have most kinds.’
‘A drink would be most welcome, miss,’ I stammered, feeling the flush of my face lighting up the room. ‘Brandy would be good at this time.’
She laughed gently, and walked to the trolley at the side of the room where she filled a glass, which I am glad to say was large in its volume.
‘Tell me,’ she said as she passed it to my grateful fingers. ‘How is it that such a charming young man has not graced my eyes before? Are you new to York?’
I took a large gulp of the drink.
‘I am from Leeds,’ I said. ‘Here on business for the evening. I travel back tomorrow. A colleague told me that I could not stay a night in York without paying your house a visit and may I now say that I can see why.’ I wore my most charming smile, although later I imagined it to be weak and boyish.
Our conversation continued, if a little stilted in places. However, despite my best attempts at social pleasantries, together with her obvious skills at making gentlemen feel comfortable, I cringed inside at my feeble abilities to talk to the opposite sex. I was also very distracted by my need to observe the men in the room, some of whom I recognised as well known in York. Others that were not known to me I studied as closely as I dared; I planned to make carefully drawn studies of these men after leaving this place.
I took two more large drinks before I came across the large obstacle that I had e
xpected to encounter.
‘So tell me,’ my hostess said, as bold as you like. ‘What takes your fancy? Anything in the room?’ She placed her hand on my arm and gently motioned around the room to the various young ladies who appeared to be unattended at the time.
A bead of sweat broke on my brow.
‘Well it’s, er… I do not know quite what to say,’ I stumbled. ‘I mean, they all look most delightful. Perhaps I could just step outside again and get a breath of fresh air? It seems awfully hot in here all of a sudden.’
I started to turn, looking towards the door, but my arm was suddenly held tightly by Isabelle. She nodded to the large bald man at the door who quickly rushed over to where I stood and, laughing, threw his arm around my shoulder.
To all around it would have looked like he was an old friend embracing and guiding me but, I can assure you, this was no friendly gesture and he used his obvious strength to lead me away from the door and up the stairs.
‘Don’t you worry,’ Isabelle whispered into my ear, as we followed her up. ‘You aren’t the first young man to get hit by a case of the collywobbles on his first visit, and I have no doubt that you won’t be the last. I have someone upstairs who we keep for such occasions and who would just love to spend time with you.’
The drink had suddenly hit me quite hard and the staircase began to spin. If it had not been for the large man, half carrying me up the stairs, then I am sure that I would have fallen.
‘No, really,’ I slurred. ‘I think if you would just let me get some air…’
We reached the top of the stairs, where the large man pushed me up against the wall next to a closed door. He reached into my coat pocket, pulling out my wallet.
Isabelle knocked gently on the door and entered.
‘Charlotte, I have a young man who is keen to make your acquaintance.’ She turned her head to the man, who had now emptied my wallet. ‘How long does he get, Harold?’
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