by Alex Grecian
She nodded and Day saw her give Hammersmith a worried glance. The three men went to the door and out, and Day listened for the click of the bolt before he went down the steps to the road. Kingsley clapped Day on the shoulder and peeled off in the direction of Trafalgar Square without a word. Hammersmith shoved Day’s revolver in his belt and shook his head.
“She’s fine, Walter,” he said.
“I know.”
“We’ll have her back within the hour. I promise.” And with that, Hammersmith turned and ran toward the canal. Day watched him disappear into the gathering darkness, then he limped across the road and into the park. He prayed that his child was still alive and that she’d be found in time. Alan Ridgway had delivered a message from Jack. Something about Day having been chosen, whatever that meant. But if Jack was toying with him, if he was behind Winnie’s disappearance, Day thought he had an idea where he might find him.
52
There was a church on the corner. Hammersmith vaulted the low fence around its gardens and trotted to the back, where he knew he would find stairs down to the waterway. He could smell mildew and decay and freshwater, could hear the canal, full from the recent rain and lapping against its banks. He moved quickly and carefully down the dark steps and stood for a moment at the bottom, getting used to the gloom. The sun was going down and branches hung low over the water, filtering out all but a few diamond sparkles through the leaves and on the water. A red narrowboat bobbed up and down nearby, nudging against the stone embankment. Hammersmith moved toward it.
“You there!”
Hammersmith turned and saw Leland Carlyle running toward him. Hammersmith moved his hand off the gun in his belt and waited for the older man to catch up to him.
“What are you doing here? Do I know you?”
“We met once, sir,” Hammersmith said. “I’m a friend of Walter’s.”
“Is there news? Has the baby been found?”
“Nothing yet. I thought there was a chance he might have brought her here.”
“I thought the same thing,” Carlyle said. “The fellow was apparently wet when he arrived at the house.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ve been all up and down this side, but I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.”
Hammersmith glanced at the narrowboat and Carlyle followed his gaze.
“Yes,” Carlyle said, “I thought of that, too, but it’s empty. There’s nothing here. I’ve encountered a few people walking along here, but nobody’s seen a big man with a baby.”
“We’ll find her, sir.”
“Will we? How can you be certain?”
“I have faith in Walter. He’ll think of something. He always does.”
“I wish I shared your conviction, young man.”
Hammersmith shook his head and squinted at the water’s surface. “If they’re not down here, perhaps we should go find Walter. He can’t be far. Maybe he’s on the right track.”
“Let’s hope someone is.”
• • •
TRAFALGAR SQUARE WAS sparsely populated, only a few clerks heading home from the office and a single straggling vendor, wheeling his oyster cart slowly across the square, hoping for one more sale before the day was done. Kingsley didn’t even look at the man, but hurried straight across to the lamppost on the southeast corner. He hesitated at the low door before reaching up to rap on the dark window with his knuckles. He was afraid he’d find Henry here, and he was afraid he wouldn’t.
After a long moment, Kingsley heard a soft noise from inside the hollow stone structure. He put his ear to the window and listened. The unmistakable fussing of a baby was clearly audible. He reached for the knob and rattled it, but the door was locked.
“Henry? Henry, if you’re in there, open up.”
“No.”
“Henry, is the baby all right?”
“She smells bad.”
“Is she all right?”
“I think she messed herself. And we’re hungry.”
Kingsley let out a sigh of relief and sagged against the post. “Henry, you have to open the door. You’ve created a great deal of trouble for yourself.”
“I’m scared.”
“You’ll be in more trouble if you don’t open up.”
“No, I’m scared about the baby.”
“What about the baby?”
“She’s in danger. The voice told me she was in danger. I’m saving her.”
“Saving her from what, Henry?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who told you she was in danger?”
“I don’t know.”
“Henry, somebody lied to you. The baby isn’t in danger. I’m afraid you’re the one who is in some trouble. And you’re only making it worse.”
“I’m saving her,” Henry said again.
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then open the door now.”
Kingsley waited. At last he heard more noises from within the lamppost. A scraping sound, a click, and the door swung open. Henry crouched there in the dark, holding the little girl in his arms. Kingsley reached out and took her from the giant. Winnie Day kicked her legs and turned her face toward Kingsley’s chest. He checked her eyes and they were clear and bright. He laid her on the low stone wall beside the lamppost, kept one hand on her to prevent her rolling off. He conducted a cursory examination of the infant and satisfied himself that she was healthy and hungry and unharmed. Kingsley didn’t know what to think about his assistant. He’d always known the man was simple, but now he wondered if he might be deranged.
“Oh, Henry,” he said at last. “What have you done?”
“I didn’t hurt her.”
“No, I know you didn’t.”
“Should we take her back to Mrs Day now?”
“I’m going to do just that, Henry. But you can’t come with me.”
“Why can’t I?”
“I don’t imagine Mrs Day wants to see you anytime very soon. In fact, she may have you arrested. You’d better stay far away from her, and from Mr Day, too.”
“Until tomorrow?”
“For a long time. I don’t think you’d better come back to work, either.”
“What will I do?”
“I don’t know that. I’m very sorry, Henry. I don’t know what to tell you just now. I’ll do what I can for you.”
“Oh, that sounds very bad.”
“Mrs Day is a kind woman and I’m sure she’ll forgive you. But these things take time. Wait here until I send for you.”
With that he walked away across the square with the baby in his arms, looking for a cab that could get him back to Primrose Hill. Behind him, he heard poor Henry sob.
53
The house was dim and quiet, but there was a strange electricity in the air, humming just beneath the senses, as if one only needed to turn in the right direction to see or hear or feel whatever it was that was waiting there at 184 Regent’s Park Road.
Day closed the front door behind him and clomped down the hallway. He paused at the parlor door and stood watching the dark room until he was certain it was unoccupied. He could almost picture the dead man lying on the floor where Jack the Ripper had left him only weeks before. Where Jack had, in fact, disassembled the body and strewn its pieces about like an angry child upending his chessboard. Or like a messenger delivering a warning from somewhere humans could never set foot.
But there was nothing to see in the parlor except a memory. Day moved down the long passage to the kitchen. It was as empty as the parlor. Here, too, had been a body, this one simply discarded facedown in a pool of blood. Constable Rupert Winthrop had been a good young man with promise and prospects. It was through no fault of his own that he’d been caught up in the web of madness and violence that seemed to surround Walte
r Day. Day retraced his steps, checking the study and the small crawl space under the stairs. Something about the crawl space nudged at him, tickling his brain. Something he should have thought of earlier. He stared through the tiny doorway at the odds and ends that were stored there, but could not think of what was bothering him about it. He closed the door and went to the bottom of the steps, made his slow way up to the first floor. He paused at the landing and listened. He heard his own breathing, labored and nervous, but that was all. He moved on. His bedroom was empty, and so was the governess’s room. At the last door, he paused. It entered his mind that he could simply retreat. He could limp back to the staircase and go down and out of the house and never come back.
But his daughter was missing. And so Day reached out and turned the knob and pushed the nursery door open.
“Hello, Walter Day.” Jack’s voice, low and silky, somewhere deep in the pitch-black room. “I knew you’d find me if I waited long enough.”
Day stood in the open door, aware that he was silhouetted at the threshold, a perfect target. But to enter the room would be no better. Jack’s eyes were surely adjusted to the darkness, whereas Day would be stumbling about blind. He stayed where he was. “Where’s my baby, Jack?”
“Your baby? Oh, why is it always about you, Walter Day? There’s always some bit of business you’ve got on your mind, never just stopping by for a chat, maybe a hand or two of Happy Families or a leisurely game of chess.”
“The baby. Tell me.”
“Well, what about the baby? Surely you can share her. I consider Winnie Day to be practically my own family.”
“She’s nothing to do with you. You’ve gone too far this time.” Day could hear his own voice, flat and emotionless, a counterpoint to Jack’s rich singsong tones.
“But I always go too far,” Jack said. “It’s part of my not inconsiderable charm.”
“She’s an infant.”
“What is it the Jesuits say, Walter Day? ‘Give me a child for seven years . . .’ But what comes after that? I forget. ‘Give me a child for seven years and I’ll most likely kill her anyway.’ Is that right?”
“Jack!”
“Why seven years? What a beastly long time to have to deal with a child.”
“Stop playing games,” Day said. “Talk to me like a man. Do you have her here?”
“No. I don’t have her here. Is this masculine enough, the way I’m talking to you now? I never dreamed you’d find me feminine.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Enough, Walter Day. You’re exciting yourself. Have a drink.”
“A drink?”
“From that flask you’re so fond of.”
Day reached into his pocket and took out the flask. He didn’t look at it, but let it drop to the floor at his feet. “I don’t feel like a drink right now.”
“Then let’s get more comfortable. Why don’t you come in here and shut the door behind you?”
“So you can murder me?”
“I would never murder you, Walter Day. You’ve always misunderstood our special relationship.”
“We have no relationship.”
“You wound me.”
“You’ve wounded me in far worse ways.”
“Touché! How is your leg?”
“Damn you to hell.”
“Holding a grudge, are we? Then perhaps a peace offering is in order: Your daughter is safe, Walter Day. She was always safe. Safe from me and safe from anyone else who might want to harm her. I promise that for the rest of her life, I will be there, always and forever somewhere at the fringes of her sight, watching her and protecting her from wickedness.”
“The rest of her . . .”
“Always and forever,” Jack said again.
“Leave her alone. Leave us all alone.”
“It’s too late for that, Walter Day.”
“What is it you want from me?”
“I want . . . Let me think. I suppose it’s possible I only want a friend. I’ve had vassals, toadies, mimics, and suck-ups galore. How they weary me. Oh! Speaking of the like, you made quick work of Alan Ridgway, didn’t you?”
“I’m not proud of that. I had to shoot him.”
“I knew you had it in you.”
“If you don’t mean to harm me and my family, why did you send him to kill me?”
Jack chuckled. He had a pleasant laugh, melodious and clear, and it bothered Day that he could detect no evil or falsehood in the sound of it.
“Alan Ridgway? Kill the great Walter Day? No, that was never going to happen. I didn’t send him to kill you, Walter Day. I sent him to be killed by you. He was an offering. And I sent him with an invitation.”
“An invitation?”
“And here you are. I wish you’d been a little quicker. This rocking chair is not as comfortable as I’d imagined it would be.”
“You’re in the rocking chair, then? Now I know where you are, I could shoot you from here.”
“But what if I’m holding little Winnie Day? You might shoot her by accident.” There was a false note of alarm in Jack’s voice. Mocking Day, taunting him.
“You’ve already told me she’s not here,” Day said. “And you don’t lie, do you?”
“Ha. No, never. You’ve got me there. Lying isn’t kind, is it? But we both know you won’t shoot me anyway. Even if you had your trusty Colt revolver with you, which you don’t. You won’t shoot me, because you’re curious about me. You pride yourself on understanding people, on your grasp of your adversaries’ minds, their methods, what they want, and how they go about getting it. But me? You don’t understand me at all. And you want to, don’t you? You need to.”
“I only need my daughter. Tell me how to get her back.”
“If you’re a good friend to me and do just what I tell you to do, Winnie Day will be returned this very evening to the house where your wife waits. My, but Claire Day is long-suffering, isn’t she? You chose well with that one, Walter Day. I think a less patient woman would long ago have—”
“So you’ll bring the baby back?”
“She has a name, you know. Why don’t you call her by her name?”
“You’ll bring her back.”
“I’ll arrange it.”
“Someone else has her, then?”
“Yes.”
“Henry? Does Henry still have her?”
“That would be telling.”
“Where? Where does he have her?”
“I can’t tell you that, either.”
“Contact him. Send for Henry. Tell him to bring her to me now.”
“That’s not the arrangement I had in mind.”
“What then? What arrangement?”
“I want you to come with me.”
“With you? Where?”
“I have a little place picked out for us by the water. We’ll talk and we’ll become better friends and I’ll teach you what’s in here.”
“What’s in where?”
“I’m pointing to my head. Sorry, you can’t see me. It’s terribly dark in here and your eyes still haven’t adjusted, have they?”
“Not yet.”
“You could have tried to trick me just now, tried to make me think you could see. But you don’t lie either, do you, Walter Day? Perhaps that’s why I’m so fond of you. We’re alike in some ways, you and I.”
“We’re nothing alike.”
“You protest too much. You know, I think we could be even more alike if we take the time to learn from each other. We could be twins, Walter Day.” Day heard hands clapping. “Just like your babies. How marvelous!”
Day’s leg hurt and he was having trouble ignoring the pain. He wanted to lean against the doorjamb or sit down, but he was afraid Jack would see it as weakness and attack. Assuming Jack hadn’t already noticed
how Day felt. The creature seemed preternaturally empathetic. Day concentrated on the cane, leaned harder on it, thought about what was hidden within its length. As long as Jack didn’t know what was inside the cane, Day had an advantage. He only needed to wait until Jack got close enough to him. Jack had to leave the room at some point and he would have to pass Day in the narrow doorway . . .
It was as if Jack could read his mind. “Walter Day, if you won’t enter the room, then would you do me the great favor of taking two steps backward?”
“Backward?”
“If I have to ask again, I’ll become displeased with you, Walter Day. I’m not as patient as your wife.”
Day did as he was told. He stood out in the open on the landing, squinting at the black rectangle of the nursery door, waiting for Jack to rush out of that darkness at him. He heard the rocking chair squeak.
“Now turn around,” Jack said. His voice sounded closer. “Put your back to me.”
“I’d rather not do that, Jack.”
“I understand.” It was impossible to tell exactly where Jack was in the room. His voice seemed to bounce around from one wall to the other and back again. Day glanced to either side, but there was nothing nearby to step behind or to put between himself and the open doorway. “You’re going to have to make yourself quite vulnerable.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are. Think of it as proof of your trust in me.”
“But I don’t trust you, Jack. You know I don’t.”
“Stop being so contrary. I’m trying to be nice. Now turn around.” Jack’s voice had lost its silky quality. It sounded now like the low growl of some forest predator. “Turn around or our little game will end too soon and you’ll never see your daughter again.”
Day swallowed hard. He tightened his grip on the heavy silver knob at the top of his cane and turned so that his back was to the nursery. The staircase was directly ahead of him. If Jack hit him from behind, Day thought he might be able to drop and roll to the stairs. Even if he fell down them, he’d put distance between himself and the Ripper.
But looking at the stairs, the thought he’d been trying to catch earlier came to him at last. Eugenia Merrilow’s house didn’t have an attic for the Harvest Man to hide in, but he wouldn’t have risked moving on after stealing the mask. He wasn’t brave or daring. He would have found the next best thing to an attic: a crawl space. The Harvest Man was there now in that house with Hatty Pitt, hiding almost within arm’s reach, and Day knew it. But there was no way for him to do anything about it, no way to warn anyone, not while he was trapped here with Jack.
