by Kerry Tombs
Slowly, knowing not what she might find, she made her way up the narrow steps on the outside of the old warehouse, until she reached the door at their head. Realizing that it was slightly ajar, and that she would be expected, she pushed open the door and entered.
At first she could see nothing in the room, except the flickering flame from a solitary candle that burned somewhere in the distance. Cautiously she drew near, saying nothing, but aware that there was another there who had awaited her arrival, and who was now observing her every move.
‘You are the man they call Monk?’ she enquired, in a voice that seemed unlike her own.
‘The child said you would come,’ said a voice from somewhere in the darkness beyond the candle. ‘Take a seat, my good lady.’
She almost stumbled into the wooden chair that had been placed before the table, but quickly recovered her composure and seated herself.
She waited for the other to speak, and began to wish that she had never come. Even now there would be time to draw back, to make her way out of that room, and to escape once more into the outside world.
‘I would prefer to see your face,’ said the disembodied voice suddenly. ‘Why have you sought me out?’
‘I believe that you are the only man who can undertake that which I most desire,’ she replied, ignoring his request to lift her veil.
‘And what is that?’ he enquired, in a voice which she thought sounded both harsh and distracted.
‘To gain my revenge on those who have caused hurt to my family.’
‘A noble sentiment, my dear lady — and why do you think that it is only I who can assist you?’
‘I have learnt much about your activities since your arrival in the city.’ She paused, not knowing whether she had been foolish to disclose so much.
‘Then you must know that I could kill you right now, in this room tonight, and that your body would never be found in the lower depths of the river that runs through this festering city!’
She sensed the anger in his voice, but feeling her own inner pain, quickly replied, ‘But you would be foolish to do so, when you could gain so much.’
He said nothing and she grew anxious. All she could do was to wait, watching the candle flickering in the cold air, casting fleeting shadows on the walls of the room.
‘I have money,’ she said, breaking the unbearable silence.
‘It always comes down to money,’ he sneered.
Quickly reaching into her purse, she took out the small pouch and placed it carefully down upon the table. ‘Ten sovereigns,’ she said. ‘And there will be a further twenty when you have carried out what I desire of you.’
‘And what is it exactly that you so desire so much?’
She hesitated for a moment, affronted by the contempt in his voice, but then, leaning forward in her chair, she removed a small piece of folded paper from her purse, which she then placed upon the table. ‘This paper contains the name and address of a certain person’ — she hesitated for a moment — ‘whom I would desire you to kill.’
‘You think I am a common murderer!’ he shouted suddenly.
‘I am sorry. I have made a mistake. I should not have come,’ she said quickly rising from her seat. ‘Please forgive me. It is foolish to proceed.’
‘I have not declined your request,’ said the other reassuringly, and with firmness.
‘But—’ she protested, unsure of whether her mission had succeeded.
‘Twenty sovereigns you said?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, regaining her seat.
‘Very well.’
A hand appeared from out of the darkness and took the paper from off the table. He unfolded the sheet and, as he leaned towards the flame to read its words, she thought she caught a brief reflection of the light across his eyes. He gave a grunt of recognition, before tossing the paper down upon the table.
‘You know of her?’ she asked, recovering her composure.
‘I have heard stories, gossip no more. They say she is a common whore. Why would you seek to rid yourself of this person?’
‘There are to be no questions asked,’ she replied, gaining in confidence. ‘You are to be given no further information, you must make no enquiries regarding myself and you must forget that I ever came here tonight. I will return here at the same time next week. If I have read in the newspapers that you have carried out the deed, then you will receive your payment. If I learn that you have failed me, you will see no more of me,’ she said, standing up, indicating that their meeting was at an end.
‘Wait. How do I know that you will not betray me to the authorities?’
‘Because we have need of each other — and because, there will be further work to be undertaken, for which you will be more than amply rewarded.’
‘There will be others?’ he enquired.
‘Yes. There will be others.’
She walked quickly across the room, anxious to quit the darkened space as soon as possible, now that he had accepted her payment.
He watched her close the door behind her and listened to the sound of her boots on the steps as she made her way down the flight. Then he opened the paper once more and looked down at the name he saw there—
MARY ANN NICHOLS. WHITE HOUSE. FLOWER AND DEAN STREET.
—then, bringing it towards the candle, he allowed himself a brief smile as the flame quickly consumed the words.
CHAPTER ONE
WORCESTER — SEPTEMBER 1888
The church clock struck the hour of eleven as Nicholas Evelyn made his way between the rows of old houses that formed the area known as the Shambles in the city of Worcester, drawing his long coat closer around himself despite the late warmth of the summer evening.
He had known this street all his life, and in those sixty-two years it had seemed to change very little. By day the traders spread out their wares before their premises and the place was alive with the sounds of argument, transaction and vulgarity. In the evenings there seemed little alteration, for although the shopkeepers closed up their places of work and retired to their living quarters on the floors above, the area took on a more aggressive, unsure aspect with its late night revellers, and women of dubious certainty who called out to their prospective clients from dimmed doorways. Nicholas had long learnt to avoid the former, whilst the latter had long since learnt to ignore him.
Nicholas continued on his way, down the narrow passageway that opened up into a wider road, passing the music shop on his left and the old inn on his right, before the cathedral came into view. He paused momentarily to look upwards at the great building, as he had done so in the same place for the past forty-five years, and felt humbled once more by its magnificence and its mystery. A few minutes ago he had sat writing in his rooms near the old Cornmarket, straining to see the letters in the dim light, and taking sips from his tankard of ale as if trying to give himself the courage that he knew would shortly be required of him.
He made his way across the grass towards the building, but instead of entering by the door immediately in front of him, he slipped quietly to the side, letting the darkness conceal his presence. It was important that tonight — above all others — that he should not be seen by anyone either entering or leaving such a place.
Eventually he reached the side door of the cathedral and, after glancing over his shoulder to see that he had not been followed, he pushed gently on the wooden panels. For a moment the door failed to yield, and the sudden realization that he would perhaps be unable to carry out his mission made his heart beat faster — but then he applied more pressure and was relieved to see that the ancient woodwork move slowly inwards, creaking as it did so.
He stepped inside, and stood silent for a moment, listening for any sound that might indicate that his arrival had been observed, and so that his eyes could adjust to the dim lights on the wall in the distance. Reassured that all was well, he turned around and closed the door behind him.
Keeping to the areas of darkness at the side of the building,
he made his way step by step towards the small side chapel, his ears straining to hear the words of prayer. He knew that Brother Jonus would be offering up his words of penitence, as he did every night at this same hour and, as he came nearer he was almost relieved to learn that the familiar ritual had not been broken. There was the solitary monk kneeling before the altar, his hands clasped before him, a single candle casting light on the gold cross that stood on the table.
Nicholas pulled his hat closer over his forehead and slipped past the chapel, keeping his eyes in the other’s direction, listening for any indication that he had been detected, but the monk continued with his prayers, and he knew that all was well and he could proceed with his undertaking.
Reaching the end of the building, he paused beneath the hissing gas lamp on the wall. Knowing that he would need light to make his way upwards, he took one of the candles from the offertory table and lit it from another that had almost burnt its course. Then, turning the corner, he found the door to the staircase he was looking for and began to make his way up the stone steps, holding the candle before him to light his way lest he stumble in the darkness. Although he knew that he would have almost another hour before the monks would enter the cathedral to conduct the midnight mass, he was anxious to proceed as quickly as possible.
At the top of the flight of steps he found a door before him and, finding it locked, reached into the pocket of his coat and took out the ring of keys he had brought with him. He placed one of them in the lock, turned the key and entered the vestry, and walked across to the large oak table where the guardians of the cathedral had conducted their affairs for centuries, seeking the candlestick which he knew he would find on its centre. Not disappointed, he fixed the dripping candle into its stem and taking his handkerchief from his coat pocket removed the hot wax which had trickled down on to his thin fingers.
Before continuing he listened to see whether anyone had followed him, and hearing nothing save the sound of the ticking grandfather clock in the corner of the room, decided that it would be safe to proceed with the next part of his journey. He crossed over to the corner of the vestry to the old winding wooden staircase and began to climb the well-worn steps towards the library — the same fifty-eight steps which he had climbed twice a day, every day of his working life, for the past forty-five years.
As he went, he recalled the first time he had climbed those same stairs. He had been apprenticed then to Ganderton, the librarian, who had showed him how to care for all the ancient books and manuscripts in his charge. The old man had taken a fancy to his young charge and had even taught him how to read some of the fine words. In those early days Nicholas had been so eager to begin his duties each morning, he would run across the cathedral lawns and bound up the steps two at a time, and had suffered the elder man’s reprimands for his youthful exuberance. Then as he had grown into middle age, his friend and mentor had died, and he had succeeded to the position of librarian. He began to extend his knowledge by reading those works that the older man had forbidden him to take down from the shelves lest his youthful clumsiness should damage their fragility, and in those many hours when there had been no visitors to the library he had sat at his desk turning the pages of the handwritten books, and running his fingers around the brightly coloured letters, as if seeking to encompass the past and to bridge the knowledge of centuries. To him, the books had gradually become his friends and he had been content that it had been so.
As his role had grown in importance, so his daily progress up the staircase had gradually become more sedate and dignified, — as befitted his austere position as the custodian of the cathedral’s legacy. But as the years passed and his thinning hair became greyer and his eyes dimmer, he began to find the climb almost an unwelcome start to the morning, and lately there had even been days when the prospect of turning yet another page in the ancient volumes had begun to lose its appeal. There had been whispers between the monks that he should take on another, or even retire from his position, but he had known no other world and was not yet willing to pass on the mantle to a younger man.
All these thoughts, these fragments of his past life, seemed to crowd in upon his mind as he made his way up the staircase, holding the candle before him and sheltering its meagre flame with his other hand, lest a sudden draught should plunge him into darkness.
He pushed open the door at the head of the stairs and entered the room. There were the three candles on the table before him, just as he had left them five hours previously, and he leaned forward and lit their wicks. Soon the room was bathed in a golden flickering light, which shone forth, illuminating the rows of ancient books and glass cases that were situated there.
He stood gazing around the room for a moment or two, then made his way across to his desk and seated himself. Reaching to replenish the empty glass that lay before him from the jug of water there, he was surprised to find that his hands were shaking so much that some of the liquid spilled over on to the woodwork. Quickly he applied a cloth to soak up the water, before bringing the quivering glass to his dry lips and letting the water ease his throat. Placing the glass back down upon the desk, he cast his eyes around the room at the rows of books, drew his coat closer and, as the tears began to flow he covered his face with his hands.
For some minutes he cried uncontrollably, occasionally banging the table with his fist in his frustration, and cursing his fate that his life had now come to this.
Eventually the tears subsided and after glancing across at the old clock in the corner, he quickly dried his eyes and blew his nose before replacing the handkerchief. The hands of the clock had pointed to 11.30, and he realized now that time was short, and that he must complete his mission before the cathedral became busier again at the midnight hour.
He crossed over to the glass case in the corner of the room. There was the book, lying in its usual place on the crimson cushion, its brightly illuminated pages shining forth as they had done for centuries. Briefly he allowed himself the indulgence of viewing the open pages for the final time, before taking his ring of keys from his coat pocket and slowly turning the lock of the cabinet. He reached out for the work. His hands began to shake violently as he closed the volume shut and lifted it from its place. Quickly he crossed over to his desk and wrapped the precious volume in the piece of cloth that lay waiting there, and thrust the package deep into the inside pocket of his coat before returning to lock the cabinet.
Taking hold of one of the candlesticks, he snuffed out the candle, and bringing the stick above his shoulder he thrust it down suddenly on to the front of the cabinet. Startled by the flying glass, he backed away quickly, alarmed by the damage he had just caused.
He had not thought it would be like this, and the sudden realization of what he had done seemed to sweep over him, and he grew afraid.
Then a new desire took hold in his mind — now that the deed had been done, all he wanted to do was to leave as quickly as possible, to escape from the room, to seek the midnight air, and to ask God’s forgiveness for the violation he had just committed.
Quickly he blew out the remaining candles, save one which he held before him to light his way. He closed the door of the library behind him, and made his way down the wooden steps towards the vestry, before beginning his descent towards the main body of the cathedral.
Suddenly his foot missed one of the steps and he felt himself falling. In blind panic he thrust out a hand and steadied himself against the side of the wall, dropping the candle as he did so. He almost cried out in the darkness and cursed his carelessness.
Nicholas felt the cold sweat on his forehead. He heard his breathing coming in short gasps, and it seemed as though the noise from his beating heart would split open his head at any moment.
Then he told himself he was nearly at the bottom of the staircase, and that if he kept his composure, he would be able to feel his way down the remaining steps.
After what seemed like an eternity, his hand felt the contours of the wooden door and he kne
w that he would be safe. Gently he pushed it open and stepped once more into the main building.
He stood still for a moment, listening and looking for any indication that others may have noticed his presence. Growing in confidence, he began to retrace his steps along the dark side of the building, passed the small chapel where old Jonus was still continuing with his prayers, until he reached the outer door and stepped out into the night air.
A welcoming cool breeze blew across his face, and he briefly removed his hat to wipe away the beads of perspiration which had collected upon his forehead. Now all he desired was to walk away from the building, and to complete his final task, so that he could begin to rid himself of the terrible act he had just perpetrated.
Crossing the Green, he found the steps that took him down towards the river. His pace quickened now as he realized the lateness of the hour. As he turned the corner at the end of the flight he collided with another who suddenly emerged from the darkness. Not wishing to be detained in conversation, he kept his head down, muttered some brief words of apology and continued on his way.
As he proceeded along the footpath at the side of the river, he could see the lights of far off dwellings on the other side of the water. He kept the old walls of the city on his left side, and soon distanced himself from the ancient cathedral. The sounds of singing and shouting drifted down from the Diglis Inn to the water’s edge as he passed by. Soon he was leaving the distant lights of the city behind him.
Suddenly turning away from the river, he pushed open a wooden door in the wall at his side. He found himself in an enclosed garden and made his way through the undergrowth until he reached the remains of the ruined building. He had been here before, so despite the darkness of the night, he soon found that which he sought.
Sliding the stone to one side, he revealed the cavity. He reached into his pocket, withdrew the packet and laid it within the space, before replacing the cover.
