The Last Watchman

by Kevin Partner

  Somehow—I cannot say how—having felt as though I had been groping in the dark ever since that fateful night, I believed I was finally on the edge of understanding. I also knew that Bryant was speaking the truth. He was a fool, but then I had also been tricked and so had my friend—Grimes clearly had developed no suspicion about McBride. We had been betrayed by a man in whom we should have been able to place complete trust. A Judas Goat of a man who would lead his species to the abattoir.

  I lowered my weapon and turned away.

  “What will you do?”

  I have been in many strange situations in my life, but few as bizarre as that one. It was my turn to sit in the chair, my hands shaking, as Theodore Bryant, dressed now and more or less back to his usual ebullience, stood beside me. Stephan had disappeared back upstairs and the drama that had ended a mere hour ago seemed almost to have been a dream as the house bustled into life.

  “I must find him, but I do not have the strength.”

  I had been fuelled by my conviction that Bryant was the traitor and, as soon as I realised that he also had been duped—with almost deadly effect—all my anger and the energy that maintained it had vanished. Now I saw Bryant with different eyes and even my revulsion at his lifestyle had abated—judgemental prig that I was.

  “But what can you achieve by finding him?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Justice for Grimes.”

  Bryant sat in the chair beside me and, with a hand that still shook a little, lit his briar pipe before settling back and breathing deeply. “He told me that Grimes was to be captured. He said nothing of killing him.”

  “A lie by omission,” I said, taking a cigar from the case and lighting it with a taper from the newly laid fire. “They were ferocious and relentless, tearing at him like dogs on a fox. Their leader—Peregrine probably—could not have called them off if he'd tried. And besides, what would be the point of having him as a prisoner? His death suits their purpose, certainly, but his capture?”

  “I cannot say, but Mr McBride might know more. It may seem unlikely, but your friend might yet be alive.”

  I fought with the hope that surged in my breast. I could not succumb to it; it was too painful and too likely to be proven vain. “No, he is dead. And soon McBride will join him.”

  I did not begin my return journey to London until after a lunch spent in the company of Theodore and Stephan. Bryant seemed to bear me no ill will and had, indeed, insisted that I remain to eat with him before (with some nervousness) asking whether his “friend” could join us.

  I will not deny that I was uncomfortable at first. It is not an easy matter to put aside a lifetime of dogma and convention. I knew, of course, that such men existed—indeed I had heard that there were even women who preferred their own sex—but, as with all decent members of society, I had acted as if in complete ignorance.

  And yet here I sat, in the company of a man I had intended to kill mere hours ago and his lover. Perhaps what disturbed me the most was that Stephan looked and acted like any normal man. I would certainly not have guessed his nature had I not found him in Bryant's bed. He told me that he worked in a local government office and it had been there that he had met Theodore. The conversation went no further.

  As I sat on the ten past one train to Paddington—I had bought a first class ticket and was alone in my compartment—I despaired of my new mission. The events of the last twenty-four hours had drained me and, though my anger at Grimes' betrayal ran as hot as ever, I could see no path to exacting my revenge and neither did I feel as though I possessed the resources to see it through.

  I heard the compartment door open and, with no good humour, looked across to see Stephan pulling the door closed before sitting down in front of me.

  “What are you doing here?” I said, not bothering to hide my astonishment and annoyance. When a man is wallowing in his own pit of despair, he does not welcome company.

  Stephan smiled and shrugged. “You cannot hope to succeed in your mission alone and Teddy is not cut out for such things, bless him; so I have come.”

  “And what makes you qualified?”

  He glanced out of the window as the train jerked into motion before settling into a smoother acceleration. “I am fit and young, and I have served in the military.”

  “You have?”

  He laughed at that. “Why are you surprised? No, do not answer. I am here to help, and you may choose to accept it, or to go it alone. You stand little enough chance with my aid, let alone without it.”

  I was embarrassed by my ignorance so all I could manage was a curt nod before distracting myself by cutting open my copy of The Telegraph. I didn't get very far as, when I turned it over to see the headline, I gave a gasp.

  The Ripper Returns: Three Men Dead

  And so it was just as Grimes had said it would be. Finally, the deaths of the two policemen and the man from the ministry had been revealed and blamed on Jack the Ripper. It was a smokescreen to cover up whatever was happening at the match works and to keep Londoners on edge.

  “What is the matter?” Stephan asked.

  In my eagerness to read the article, I'd forgotten he was there. I finished reading and, without a word, handed the paper over.

  “These men were all killed by the enemy, the vampires?” he whispered the last word as if he could hardly bring himself the utter the syllables.

  I nodded. “They were. Brutally. I saw all three bodies, and I can hardly imagine I'd witness a viler scene if I'd stumbled into a basement abattoir. McBride,” I hissed the name, “is as responsible for their deaths as the murderers themselves. He is supposed to be on our side.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Stephan asked as he looked up from the article. I saw not a trace of fear in his eyes. He gave the appearance of a novel's protagonist going on an adventure to King Solomon's Mines.

  “To kill McBride and escape London before nightfall,” I said, still trying to fathom him.

  Again, he laughed. “It's not much of a plan, is it?”

  “Perhaps not,” I said with some heat. I did not appreciate being mocked by a man whose presence I was barely tolerating. “I will go to his ministry office.”

  “And where is that?”

  “Now see here. I did not ask you to accompany me, and if all you can do is to derive amusement from me, then I must request that you leave this compartment and return to the bed of your... your… friend.”

  The smile faded. “I apologise. I'm afraid I sometimes cloak my fear in laughter, but I am not mocking you. You are a brave man—you know that returning to London and especially staying long enough to have any chance of delivering justice to McBride puts your life in grave danger and yet you do it out of loyalty to a man you have known for a handful of days. Mr Grimes must have been a singular person.”

  I sighed and sat back. “He was.” I could not acknowledge that there was any possibility that he was alive—that would be too dangerous. “I never felt safer than when I was in his company.”

  “That is how I feel when I am with Teddy.”

  I felt the heat rise again. “Grimes and I are not... not...”

  “I know. I meant no implication.”

  “I am sorry. But, however pitiful, that is my plan. I must seek him out at his place of work, once I have established where that is.”

  He reached out as if to put his hand on my knee but withdrew as he caught himself. “I have a better idea. I believe we should wait until nightfall.”

  “Why? I have been told to be out of London by then. And, in any case, he will not be in his office then.”

  The smile returned. “No, he will be at home. And I know where he lives.”

  Consumed

  After alighting from the train at Paddington station, I proceeded directly to 215 Bow Road and used the remaining afternoon hours to pack my essential possessions so I would be ready to fly should I survive the night. Stephan, it turned out, was a pleasant and efficient companion and he was of no small amount of help as I o
rganised myself.

  I did not, however, allow him to accompany me as I searched Grimes' room. I don't know what I imagined I would find—weapons, perhaps—but there was nothing save a trap door in the ceiling. The door had a keyhole, but I suspected that Grimes had been carrying the key on his person when he’d been attacked and I didn’t have time to attempt to break through it.

  His bedroom was, to all appearances, the sort of place a lowly clerk might rent on the top floor of a boarding house for working men. Beneath his floor, I knew, was a room only slightly larger that housed half a dozen—mattresses crammed together, some on the floor—in a fetid atmosphere. There was always at least one inhabitant who was unwell, and I could hear his laboured coughing through the floorboards.

  We took a little supper as darkness fell, sitting at the table in the living room that, in such a short time, had become a kind of home for me but that now seemed empty of life. Stephan ate little and I wondered whether his confidence and good humour were his way of shielding his true fears. I couldn't quite understand why he'd followed me onto the train, especially given that it had been against the wishes of Bryant. Indeed, the telegram I'd received that afternoon had indicated that Theodore didn't even know where Stephan was —he was imploring me to help find his friend.

  I had sent a reply late enough that Bryant wouldn't be able to get into London in time to thwart us and, a little after six, we were ready. We had agreed that Stephan would help me find and get inside McBride's home, but that would be the end of his involvement. I did not wish to attract the attention of the police to him for fear of his nature being discovered.

  McBride lived in the fashionable St James’s area of London and we took a hansom to Arlington Street which left us with a walk of a few hundred yards. In the London of that time, even more so than now, the poor lived in close proximity to the rich and so, initially, we took great care to keep ourselves away from the alleyway openings between the slums and, as far as possible, within the radiance of the old gas lamps that still ran along the street here.

  The paths were busy with people travelling through the area on their way to their homes in the suburbs via the parliamentary trains. Drunks lay against the walls of houses and it was because of the risk of falling over their outstretched legs—a trap for those unfamiliar with London—that we walked rather along the pavement edge, almost on the cobbled road itself. Mercifully, the mist and rain of earlier had passed, but the lack of appreciable wind meant they'd been replaced by a heavy miasma of human waste mixed with the bitter aroma of burning coal. Half the population, it seemed, was wracked with cold and we did our best to avoid them as, with great relief, we passed under the first electric streetlight and knew we were entering a more well to do area.

  Perhaps, having been alert to attack while in the poorer district, we let down our guard and that left us vulnerable. Whatever the reason, I did not see the shape launching at me until it had pushed me to the ground, and I felt biting teeth sinking into my shoulder.

  I cried out in agony and rolled back and forth trying to dislodge the maddened face from my shoulder. I couldn't reach my pistol as the creature was attacking my right-hand side, but I managed to pull the knife from my left trouser pocket and, with a heave, thrust it at the ravening beast.

  Pulling myself to my feet, I glanced at the crowd that had gathered.

  “Thank you for your aid,” I spat at them and then watched as a police constable began barging through.

  I couldn't afford to get involved in a police enquiry, so I pulled my jacket around my bleeding right shoulder and slipped through the crowd whose attention was focused entirely on my assailant. No longer were they content to hide; these monsters were now coming out of the shadows.

  I turned a corner and leaned against the wall, looking around. Then, with a lurch in my gut, I realised that I hadn't seen Stephan since the attack. I walked back to the turn in the road and peered around it, my heart beating frantically. Where was he? They must have carried him off and, as sickness rose in my heart, I realised that he had become the first of many victims of this new plague.

  My thoughts hardened again, and I recognised that single-minded purpose that had descended upon me when I had decided to go after Bryant. The fact that I had been entirely wrong in my judgement of him did not diminish my determination to do justice on McBride one iota. Tonight, he would die.

  I took a deep breath as I watched the people walking up and down the road. There were fewer here and most were proceeding along the street towards the scene of the attack. I was constantly astonished at how quickly word travelled in the metropolis.

  My hand was bloodied, but the shoulder wound had stopped bleeding. Though the injury was extremely painful, the creature had bitten to the bone and not punctured any major veins or arteries. My right arm was practically useless, but I was fairly competent with my left hand and, indeed, might have written with that hand had it not been beaten out of me at school.

  I did not dare pull my revolver out just yet since there were too many people around, so I turned to face the granite-stoned house I'd stopped outside and slipped the gun from my right jacket pocket into the left pocket of my ulster.

  It was only a few minutes later when I turned into Arlington Street and counted off the numbers of the four storey terraced houses. I knew this to be a well-off area and entirely the sort of place I'd expect a senior member of the government to reside. Such a man would have servants, of course. At the very least, I would expect a butler, housekeeper, cook and several housemaids, but there was every possibility that I'd also have a valet, page boy and perhaps even a footman to deal with.

  I'd decided on the train that this was not a time for subtlety. If I could not persuade his servants to bring me before him, I would use my pistol to get myself in front of the man and shoot him dead on the spot. Not for him the long explanation Bryant received since I could not risk being overpowered. Efficiency was the key.

  But then, what if Grimes were still alive? McBride might be able to lead me to him. The agony of uncertainty turned my mind to treacle, so I swept it away. He was dead. And if, by any chance, he was not, how could I hope to rescue him? No, better to seek justice first so that, at the very least, his betrayer would pay with his life.

  When I was within two doors of his house, I paused and collected myself. I put my hand into the left pocket of my coat and took reassurance in its cold smoothness before drawing in a deep breath and walking the last few yards.

  I climbed the steps and stood at the top, brushing the dust from the front of my ulster before rapping the door knocker.

  The door opened within moments and the austere face of a middle-aged man appeared in the gap. He had a wide nose, small eyes and a florid face that spoke of an overfondness for his master's wine cellar. I'd seen his type before and this, at least, I was prepared for.

  “I wish to see Mr McBride on a matter of some importance,” I said.

  The face looked me up and down and came to the inevitable conclusion.

  “Sir Charles is indisposed. You may make an appointment with his secretary.”

  “Sir Charles? Your master has been knighted?”

  His cheeks rose causing his eyes to sink further back. I imagine he was smiling. “It was announced in Her Majesty's honours list for the New Year.”

  “Then I wish to see Sir Charles. You may inform him that Inspector Pitt of the constabulary stands upon his threshold with intelligence of an essential nature. Hurry, I have been injured in the course of doing my duty and must make my report before I seek medical assistance.”

  The man's tiny eyes passed up and down me as if calculating whether I truly was a policeman but, for once, my upbringing proved useful to me. I had spent the first two thirds of my life-giving orders to servants and these long years of practice now paid off.

  “Follow me, Inspector,” he said, though he didn't care to hide his distaste at having to admit someone better suited to the tradesman's entrance.

  I
followed him into a brightly lit hall dominated by a staircase. I don't believe I'd ever seen so many electric lights in one place. My father, though he certainly had the means to install electricity, was a stick in the mud and only had gas because his father had added it.

  “Please wait here,” the butler said, motioning to a gilded chair against the wall, “and I shall inform Sir Charles of your presence.”

  I sat and gazed around at the lavish ornamentation that spoke so readily of new money. It would be impossible for anyone walking past this house to imagine that its restrained exterior hid such ostentatious luxury. Far more than could be achieved on the salary of a government minister.

  The butler, who had ascended the staircase with as much dignity and as little speed as could possibly be managed, now came down again in similar fashion. When he finally reached the bottom, he gestured for me to follow and I only barely bit back my anger at his insolence. I was, after all, supposed to be a policeman, not the son of a noble.

  Again, I sought the reassurance of the revolver in my pocket as I made my way upstairs but withdrew my hand when we reached the first landing. My guide turned left and knocked gently on an oak-fronted door which opened just a fraction.

  “Yes?” said a voice from within and my anger rose further at this charade.

  “An Inspector Pitt of the Metropolitan Police to see the master on a matter of importance.”

  The door opened further to reveal a thin figure dressed in a plain black suit. He had a pale face with sunken cheeks and was clean shaven. All in all, he gave the impression of a particularly ill boy in a man's clothes.

  “I am Sir Charles' valet, Prestwich,” he said in a shrill voice that complemented his freakish appearance. “You may follow me.”