He shook his head sadly. ‘It is hopeless, Watson. Absolutely hopeless.’
Two
‘Poor mite. He ain’t eating still. He’ll waste away if he goes on much longer like this.’
The woman wiped her nose with the back of her hand and threw the plate into the sink. The sound of it echoed around the shabby chamber.
‘Hey, you silly cow,’ cried her husband with fervour, ‘I could’ve ate that.’
‘Ah, it’s gone cold now.’
‘Still…’ He pursed his lips and, with a petulant gesture, pulled a wooden chair away from the table nearer the fire. ‘The young gentleman’ll learn in time. Two or three more days and he’ll be ready to eat a dead rat. You mark my words.’
The woman gave a wheezy laugh. ‘I’d like to see you serve that up to him.’
The man grinned. ‘Rats is rich in vittles.’ He chuckled wheezily.
‘You are a devil, Percy. You really are.’ The woman smiled, revealing a mouth that had lost most of its teeth.
‘Well, maybe. I’d certainly prefer to be about some devilish business rather than turning into a nursery maid.’
‘It won’t be for much longer. At least that’s what he said.’
‘Aye, maybe.’ Absentmindedly, he examined his fingers; large, fleshy, dirt-ingrained appendages atop a huge hand. He clenched them into a fist and punched the air. ‘I miss the ring,’ he muttered to himself.
‘Ah, you’re too old and slow for that game now.’
He gave a grunt of annoyance. He knew that she was right and this made the knowledge all the more painful. He rubbed the gnarled growth on the side of his head which a thousand punches ago had been an ear. ‘I need some ale.’ He rose from the chair and made for the door.
‘You don’t be late and don’t come back roarin’ drunk. We have responsibilities, Percy, which we’re paid handsomely for.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said, grabbing his overcoat from the coat hook. ‘I’ll be a good boy.’ He gurgled mirthfully and left.
The woman, Annie Grimes, sat for some time by the fire gazing at the flames, her mind free of thought, and then with a sigh she rose with some purpose. Candlestick in hand she made her way up the rickety staircase to the first room on the landing. She unlocked the door and peered inside. The boy lay curled on the rough sacking that served as his bed. He appeared to be asleep.
‘Hungry yet?’ said Annie, not unkindly.
There was no response.
Her expression soured. ‘Please yourself then,’ she said, closing and locking the door.
Three
Dr Watson’s Journal
Charlotte Temple was a very pretty woman in her early thirties. She was shorter and rounder than her sister and her features were somehow softer and kinder. It was clear that she had applied some extra face powder to hide the dark circles under her eyes and the ravages of sleepless nights that had marred her beauty. She shook both our hands gently, appearing somewhat wary of us, and then joined her husband on the sofa. Her sister, Hilda, sat upright in a chair by the drawing-room window.
‘I know how very trying this must be for you,’ said Holmes sympathetically, ‘but I do not ask you to recount the events of the day your son disappeared lightly. It may be that one trifling piece of information that you are able to give me may be of vital importance. We shall have to see.’ When he wanted to – usually in the pursuit of evidence for a case – Holmes could be remarkably gentle and persuasive with the opposite sex. It was a talent rather than a natural facility.
Charlotte Temple shifted her position on the sofa as though she was nervous, but she replied in a clear, forthright manner: ‘I am more than happy to go over the events again if they have only an infinitesimal chance of providing a clue to where my little boy is.’
‘Good,’ said Holmes with a smile. ‘So, this excursion to London. Had it been planned for a while?’
‘It was a belated birthday treat. William had a heavy cold on his birthday so the celebrations were somewhat muted. I promised him this trip when he was feeling better. We travelled up to town in the morning…’
‘We?’
‘William, my husband and Mrs Gordon, our nanny. My husband went off to his work and we visited the Natural History Museum. It was a very happy occasion.’
‘Were you conscious of anyone following you or did you perhaps see certain individuals more than once in different locations?’
Charlotte Temple shook her head. ‘No. Nothing like that,’ she said without hesitation.
‘Did anything unusual happen at all while you were at the museum?’
‘No, not that I can recall…’
‘Anything?’
Mrs Temple thought hard for some moments before replying. ‘Well, I was almost pushed to the ground by a fellow desperate to leave the building. He collided with me as he rushed past in a terrible hurry, knocking me sideways, and for a moment I feared I might lose my balance. He muttered his apologies without stopping.’
‘Could you describe him?’
She closed her eyes as though trying to bring an image of this man to mind. ‘It all happened so fast and I thought nothing of it. He was youngish, dark-haired and tall. Oh, and he carried a silver-headed cane.’
Holmes nodded. ‘Thank you. What happened after you visited the museum?’
‘We walked to Kensington Gardens. Our plan was to stroll about a little in the sunshine, watch the model boats on the Round Pond and then take William for a late lunch at a restaurant near to where my husband works. He was due to join us there.’
‘The two men you saw who took William away – did you observe them before the abduction? Loitering nearby, perhaps?’
‘Oh, Mr Holmes, this is a question that haunts me. I cannot be sure. Sometimes my mind says that I did. At other times, I think I’m fooling myself.’
‘I understand. Now please describe to me in precise detail what happened when William was taken.’
Charlotte Temple clasped her husband’s hand and took a deep breath before responding. ‘William had become fascinated by one of the boats on the pond, a little white-masted schooner. He rushed along the edge of the water keeping up with its progress. As a result, his enthusiasm caused him to run well ahead of Mrs Gordon and me and then… and then…’ She faltered momentarily, but resumed her narrative with added steel in her voice. ‘He disappeared from our sight, lost in the throng at the edge of the pond. At first we were not in any way alarmed, but as we quickened our pace to catch up with him we realised we could not see him – had no idea where he was. There were crowds that day and it was so easy to get lost in the crush. We began calling his name. And then, as we broke through a knot of people, we saw in the distance two men taking William away with them. They were virtually dragging him along at great speed.’
‘What were these men like?’
‘Again I can only give you the sketchiest of details. They were tall, brutish, I should say. Not gentlemen. That’s about all, I’m afraid.’
‘What happened next?’
‘We hastened after these men, calling out, but we were hindered by the crowd who took no notice of our cries and then out of nowhere it seemed this woman ran into us with a pram and winded me. I fell to the ground briefly.’
‘This woman – what was she like?’
‘Well, I assume she wasn’t the mother of the baby for she appeared quite advanced in years. A rough-looking woman, rather shabbily dressed. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted her to be in charge of any child of mine.’
‘Did you see the baby?’
Charlotte Temple seemed surprised at this question and her brow furrowed. ‘Well… no not really. The hood of the pram was up… but she’d hardly be pushing an empty perambulator would she?’
Holmes pursed his lips. ‘Quite.’
‘What did this woman say? Did she apologise?’ I asked.
‘No, she did not. She told me to mind where I was going and to get out of her way.’
‘A charming soul.�
��
‘I took little notice of her ill manners. I was desperate to catch up with the two men who had my boy, but by the time we resumed our chase they had… disappeared.’
Mrs Temple gave a sharp intake of breath and lowered her head as though the retelling of these dreadful details had robbed her of all energy. My heart went out to this poor distressed soul.
‘Why would they take him, Mr Holmes, for what reason?’ This question came from Hilda Bennett.
‘There are several possible reasons, but it would be futile to discuss them in detail now until we have more data. However, it does seem that a ransom is not one of them. There has been no communication from the kidnappers?’
Mrs Temple shook her head.
‘Do you have a photograph of your son? It will help greatly in our investigation.’
Mrs Temple nodded assent. ‘I will select one for you. Perhaps you also ought to know that William has a birthmark. On his shoulder.’ She indicated the location on her own body. ‘It is in the shape of a triangle or pyramid. It is very distinctive.’
Holmes jotted this down in his notebook. ‘Excellent. That is most useful to know. And now perhaps I could have words with Mrs Gordon.’
‘She can only tell you what my wife has done,’ said Temple. There was a brittleness in his voice, borne no doubt of frustration and tiredness.
‘Nevertheless…’ responded Holmes gently.
* * *
Mrs Susan Gordon was a homely soul, a lady in her early sixties I should guess, and one who radiated both warmth and reliability. We interviewed her alone in her private sitting room and indeed she gave the very same account of the abduction as Mrs Temple, but Holmes questioned her further.
‘These wonderful samples of needlepoint I see around me are your work, I suspect,’ he said with some enthusiasm.
The lady smiled. ‘Yes, they are.’
‘They are exquisite. You have a keen eye to perform work in such detail.’
‘I believe so,’ she replied modestly.
‘I am now going to call upon those eyes to describe to me the two men you saw take young Master William.’
‘Oh, it all happened so quickly… there really wasn’t time to notice much.’
‘Not much, but something.’
She hesitated for a moment, her brow furrowing gently. ‘Well, yes, I suppose it’s possible.’
‘Take your mind back to the incident. Form an image in your mind. Think hard. You are back in Kensington Gardens. There are people all around you. Young William – you see him ahead of you, by the water’s edge…’
‘Yes… yes I do,’ Mrs Gordon replied breathily, her body erect and her gaze directed into the far distance.
‘Now,’ said Holmes, leaning towards the woman, ‘you see the two men, tall…’
‘One was taller than the other. The shorter one was stout and had wispy hair sticking out beneath his cap.’
‘A cap, not a hat.’
‘Yes, a cap: one of those large tweed things – like the raised crust on a mutton pie.’
‘Good. What else? What about his features?’
‘I only saw him sideways, in profile. There wasn’t a lot to see.’
‘Clean-shaven?’
Mrs Gordon hesitated a moment. ‘Why no. He had a moustache, a big one. The sort that hangs over the lip. What do you call them?’
‘A walrus moustache.’
‘That’s it.’
‘What age was this man would you say?’
‘Difficult to say. The hair was greyish. Probably in his forties, maybe late forties.’
‘And what of his clothes?’
Mrs Gordon thought a while then smiled. ‘Why, now you come to mention it, I believe he was wearing checked trousers.’
Holmes threw me a satisfied glance. ‘And what about the other fellow? The tall one.’
‘Oh, he was an ugly brute. His features were large. Great big bulbous nose and pockmarked skin. And one of his ears, well it was like some sort of gnarled growth on the side of his head.’ She shuddered at the thought.
‘Excellent.’ Holmes clapped his hands with pleasure.
Mrs Gordon smiled benignly. ‘I had no idea that I remembered so much.’
‘The mind takes in many things subconsciously; it’s just that we need to take extra coaxing to retrieve them. You have done most excellently.’
‘Will it help?’
‘I hope so. I truly hope so.’
* * *
Some ten minutes later we took our leave of Mr and Mrs Temple. Holmes had secured a photograph of the missing boy and assured them he would do his best to discover the whereabouts of their son.
On the cab ride back to Baker Street Holmes said little. He sat, his shoulders hunched inside his ulster with his chin resting on his chest like some great brooding bird. I knew that in moments like this there was little point in trying to engage my friend in conversation. I was aware that he was deep in thought about the case, removed mentally from his physical surroundings, and I had no intention of interrupting his musings.
It wasn’t until late that evening, when we sat by our fireside sipping a nightcap, that I referred to the desperate business that he had been summoned to resolve.
‘Have you developed any theories regarding the matter?’ I asked in as casual a manner as I could muster.
Holmes gave a derisive snort. ‘I am a detective, not a magician. I cannot conjure up a solution out of thin air. I need data, facts, evidence. Only then can I function with some efficacy.’
‘Was there nothing you learned today that is of any use?’
Holmes pursed his lips. ‘A little. The two abductors are no doubt of the fancy sporting types. The tweed cap and checked trousers are de rigueur for the track and the ring and the brutish fellow with the bulbous nose and cauliflower ear is most likely a boxer, probably an ex-boxer now that he is employed in such nefarious activities as kidnapping. And I use the word ‘employed’ carefully, for it is clear to me that these two fellows are hired hands. Individuals of that ilk are not the progenitors of such crimes as kidnapping, they are merely worker bees. There is something dark and dangerous about this business, I am convinced of it. It goes much deeper than a simple kidnapping. It troubles me greatly.’ He stared into the dying flames and sighed.
* * *
I came down to breakfast the following morning quite early, but Holmes was already up and I found him at the table examining the photograph of young William Temple that his mother had given to us. As I sat by my friend, he passed it to me. ‘Do you notice anything odd about this photograph?’ he asked.
I had looked at it the day before and seen nothing that could be regarded as odd. It had obviously been taken in a photographer’s studio and featured a young boy, sitting on a small bench staring easily at the camera. He seemed a gentle soul with dark curly hair and wide innocent eyes. I studied it for some moments, but I could not see anything that might have aroused Holmes’s interest. I passed the photograph back to him with a shake of the head.
‘You’re going to have to tell me,’ I said, reaching over for the coffee pot.
‘What if I give you a clue?’ His eyes twinkled mischievously.
‘Bit early in the morning to be sitting an exam,’ I grinned. ‘Oh, very well. Give me a clue.’
‘The hair and the nose,’ he said, holding the photograph up for me.
I looked again.
‘I see nothing of consequence,’ I said.
‘Cast your mind back to yesterday and the faces of the parents: to their narrow clean-cut features. Both mother and father have fine aquiline noses and prominent chins and light, straight, almost straw-coloured hair. Now look at the boy: round features, broad fleshy nose, dark curly hair and wide eyes. In the great scheme of life the offspring resembles at least one of the parents…’
‘What on earth are you saying…?’ Of course, I knew what my friend was implying, but I needed him to confirm it in words.
‘The boy is not th
eir natural son.’
I looked again at the photograph. I could see what Holmes meant by the complete lack of similarity between the boy and his parents. It hadn’t occurred to me, but now Holmes had pointed it out it seemed obvious.
‘What on earth does this mean?’ I asked.
‘Well, it means that we haven’t been told the whole truth, the full story. There is more to this matter than has been revealed to us.’
I shook my head in disbelief. ‘Why would they do that?’
‘That is something I intend to find out.’ He rose and pushed back his chair. ‘Drink up, Watson. We leave for Cedar Lodge in five minutes.’
Four
‘I believe that you are refusing to eat, young sir,’ said the tall man with the large shiny hat and the silver-topped cane, as he leant casually against the doorjamb.
‘I want to go home. I want to see my parents,’ said the boy. There was no fear in the voice, but the man could tell he was close to tears.
‘I am afraid that is not going to be possible. Not for the moment at least. But you must keep up your strength if you want to see them again. I’m sure your mother would not wish you to starve.’
‘Let me go.’
‘You see, sir, the little blighter won’t be told,’ observed Annie Grimes, who materialised behind the tall gentleman.
‘The pangs of hunger are a mighty persuader, Mrs Grimes. When he is near death’s door, we may have to force-feed him. You wouldn’t like that, would you, boy? Think on it.’ He grinned and Annie Grimes cackled.
Slowly, the man closed the door, plunging the boy into the grey gloom of the windowless chamber. He gazed disconsolately at the plate of cold mince on the table. Tempting though it was despite its ugly, congealed appearance, William determined that he would not give in. As if to prove it, more to himself than to his captors, he picked the plate up and threw it face down on the floor.
* * *
The tall man with the silver-topped cane placed two sovereigns in Annie Grimes’ claw-like hand. ‘It won’t be long now before we take the boy away. I am just awaiting the word from my master,’ he said silkily.
The Ripper Legacy Page 2
