A Beast Well Tamed (The House of Jack the Ripper Book 5)

by Amy Cross

  “I am Doctor Charles Grazier,” I say out loud, trying to steady my nerves. “I am a distinguished member of no less than five London societies, I am respected by -”

  “I'm always cold,” Catherine says suddenly.

  “You are?” I turn to her. “You should have told me.”

  “I've been cold since the other day,” she continues. “Really, I've been cold for longer, since I first became ill. Oh, you gave me blankets, Charles, and you looked after me so very well. No wife could ask for better care. Yet my body was breaking down and there was nothing that anybody could have done. Even when my bones were burning, my flesh was cold.”

  “Ill?” I am about to ask what she means by this, and to tell her that she never mentioned feeling ill, but then I realize that those words have stirred some other memory in the back of my mind. “You were ill,” I whisper. “You...”

  My voice trails off as I see that something is moving beneath the fabric of her dress. Looking down at the silhouette of her waist, I see several small wriggling shapes moving down her skin, and then one of them falls to the ground. Before I can say anything, several more of the shapes drop from her waist on the other side, and then I realize that more are crawling along her arms. It is as if hundreds and hundreds of small creatures are swarming all over her body.

  “Catherine,” I whisper, “what...”

  Suddenly I realize what they must be. For a moment I feared they might be worms of some kind, but now I know that they are something even worse. As they continue to fall from her body, I see more and more of them wriggling on the pebbles.

  “Maggots...”

  “Aren't there three of me now, Charles?” she asks, stepping closer across the beach. “There's the one in the bedroom, just a lingering voice. There's the one in the basement, rotten and moist. And there's the other one, the one in your head that's just cruel, cruel, cruel. Which is the real one, do you think? All of them? None of them? Or just one?”

  “Catherine, no...”

  Yet as she gets closer, I am finally able to discern her face, and I realize with a profound sense of horror that most of her flesh has been eaten away, particularly around her cheeks. Great hollow gaps exist between extant strings of yellowed flesh, and her eyes look putrid and swollen, as if they are about to burst. I have seen such awful injuries before, of course, but only on dead bodies in hospital mortuaries. It is quite impossible for anybody to be walking about and talking when they are in such a terrible state.

  Taking a step back, I hold my hands up in an attempt to ward her off.

  “Catherine, please,” I stammer, “whatever is wrong with you?”

  “Aren't you coming to me, Charles?” she gurgles, spraying blood from her mouth in the process. A foul stench is filling the air too, as if something rotten is wafting from the back of her throat. “I've been waiting and waiting, and I'm so lonely and cold. This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be with me forever? We were so happy in life. Perhaps we can be just as happy in death.”

  “I'm bringing you to me,” I tell her, with tears already streaming down my face. “My darling, I -”

  “You were supposed to join me!” she gasps. “I've been waiting! What have you done?”

  “I've made mistakes,” I explain, taking another step back and then another. “I've made advances that were beyond the dreams of other men. There have been terrible errors, Catherine, and moments when I have been ready to give up, but I have forged ahead regardless. I am so close now, I am on the verge of success. I have been tested, I have done things I never thought possible, I have even -”

  “Look at me!” she screams, trying to grab my arm.

  I step back, but this time I trip against a rock. Unable to steady myself in time, I fall back and land hard on the beach, and I instinctively put my hands up as Catherine towers over me. And then, as she leans closer, all I can do is put my hands over my face and turn away, letting out a whimpering cry as I feel her cold, dead hands brushing across the front of my shirt and up to my neck.

  “Look at me,” she groans, her voice accompanied by the foulest stench. “Look what you have done to me!”

  “I am doing all that I can!” I shout, shaking with fear. “Catherine, you must trust me!”

  Sobbing, I do not dare gaze upon this horror, yet I can feel her clutching at my body. As her dead fingers start clawing at my face, I lean my head back and scream, but already Catherine is digging her sharp nails through my skin and gouging my flesh, dragging the meat from my skull. I know this nightmare must end at any moment, but then seconds later I feel her teeth biting hard into my throat, squeezing tight until blood starts running down from the wound. There is blood in my mouth, too, and finally I start trying to push Catherine away. I am too weak, however, so all I can do is shudder as Catherine claws and claws at me.

  “You did this!” she gurgles, spraying more blood against my face as one of her fingertips slices into my left eye. “You did this to me, Charles!”

  If this were a dream, the pain would not be so intense, and I would not feel the blood so keenly. Somehow it is not a dream. Somehow it is all real, and I am a -

  Suddenly I am broken from this reverie by the sound of somebody banging on my front door. The image of Catherine's rotten form lingers for a few more seconds, before vanishing when I open my eyes. And then, just as I think I am saved, I blink and see her once again. Opening my eyes for a second time, I stare at the bookcase opposite the desk, and slowly I feel myself becoming more anchored in the waking world.

  I hesitate, still shaking and breathless from the dream, and when I look around the study I realize that I must have fallen asleep right here at my desk. I need to recompose my thoughts, but the banging is becoming more and more furious and finally I get to my feet and hurry across the hallway. I reach for the handle on the front door, but then I hesitate again. I cannot let anybody into the house, not given current events, so it might be wiser to wait and pretend that I am not here. Why, if anybody saw me in my current state, they would surely conclude that something is dreadfully wrong.

  And then I hear footsteps hurrying around the side of the house, and I realize that this individual means to enter by the back door. Filled with horror, I suffer a vision of the police storming inside, but then I hear a second set of footsteps, accompanied by the plaintive cry of a familiar voice.

  “There you are!” Thomas Culpepper shouts, storming into the hallway with Delilah right behind him. “Why did you not answer the door, Grazier? And where is that wretched man-servant of yours?”

  “Please,” Delilah sobs, pulling on his arm as if she means to lead him out of the house. “Thomas, don't...”

  “My wife's honor is at stake!” Thomas tells me firmly, filled with a level of anger I have never before seen in his face. “I will have my satisfaction this day, Charles. So help me, I shall not leave this house until that manservant of yours has paid for what he did to Delilah!”

  Chapter Nine

  Maddie

  Today

  By the time I catch up to Alex, she's all the way up at the top of the main staircase, standing next to the bowl of cat food and looking at the doors to the three bedrooms.

  “Alex?” I ask. “Hey, what's wrong?”

  I wait for her to explain her strange behavior, but she seems mesmerized by the door that leads into the front bedroom. This is probably just her pulling another dumb stunt, although Alex can be pretty unpredictable. And as I step around her and look at her face, I see a faraway look in her eyes, as if something has genuinely caught her attention.

  Almost as if she's scared.

  “Can you cut the creepy stuff?” I continue. “Alex, it's going to get really annoying if you keep trying to prank me like this.”

  “I heard something,” she replies, her voice tight with fear.

  If she's play-acting, she's doing a very good job.

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “Like, a bell?”

  I wait, but she doesn't answer.


  “Alex?” I continue. “Did you hear a bell? If it was a bell, I think there's a -”

  “It wasn't a bell,” she says suddenly, still staring at the open door. “I heard something.”

  “What was it?”

  “Didn't you hear it too?”

  “I didn't hear anything.”

  She turns to me. “Are you sure?”

  “Can you just tell me what you heard?” I ask, as I feel a faint trembling fear in my chest. I'm still trying to persuade myself that this is a joke, but she's doing a really good job of making me worried. “Alex, what did it sound like?”

  I wait for her to answer, but she looks genuinely scared. After a moment I turn and look at the open doorway, but all I see is the bare bed and the dresser. There's blatantly nobody there, but at the same time I can't deny that Alex's behavior is starting to seriously freak me out. I remember thinking I sensed a presence on that bed the other night, as if somebody was staring at me; I don't feel the same thing now, but that seems to be exactly where Alex is looking.

  “I heard someone talking,” she says suddenly. “Are you sure you're alone in here?”

  “Of course I'm sure,” I reply, trying not to let her hear the fear in my voice. “What kind of -”

  “It was a woman,” she continues, interrupting me. “I swear to God, Maddie, I heard a woman's voice coming from up here. I couldn't tell what she was saying, but I definitely heard her. She sounded scared, or upset, something like that. And I'm certain it was coming from that room.” She turns and looks over at the doorway again. “Maybe even from that bed.”

  She turns to me.

  “Have you seen or heard anything weird in this house?” she asks.

  “No,” I reply, although to be honest I'm starting to feel a little freaked-out. “I mean... No. Just a bell, but that was -”

  “A bell?”

  “Like on a cat's collar. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what it was.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I can't,” I admit, “but Jerry has lots of cats and I'm pretty sure one of them just wandered in. That's all.”

  “We might not be alone in this place, Maddie!”

  “You can't seriously be -”

  “This isn't good,” she continues, shaking her head. “It's not good at all. Why didn't you mention this before? I told you this place was creepy, but I didn't think you'd actually been experiencing supernatural occurrences. You should have warned me, Maddie!”

  “I haven't been experiencing anything,” I tell her with a sigh. “It's just a few bumps. There's a cat here, and -”

  “Have you seen a cat?”

  “No, but that doesn't mean anything.”

  “And has any cat eaten from that dish?”

  I look down at the untouched bowl for a moment, before turning back to her.

  “No,” I say, “but there's no such thing as ghosts, and -”

  Before I can finish, a loud bump shakes the open door behind Alex, as if it was hit from behind. We both look over as the door swings shut, and we watch as it bangs against the frame and then creaks back open. I wait for a cat to finally appear, or at least to hear a plaintive meow, but now the house is completely silent again until Alex finally turns to me.

  “If there's no such thing as ghosts,” she says, her voice thick with tension, “then what the hell was that?”

  “That was the wind,” I reply uncertainly, “or -”

  “Bull.”

  “No, seriously, this is an old house and it's natural for it to make noises now and again.”

  “Bull, Maddie.”

  “Just because we don't know what it was, doesn't mean it has to have been a ghost.”

  “Then go take a look.”

  I open my mouth to tell her that there's no need, but then I realize that I really can't back down, not now. Looking over at the open door, I feel a tightening knot of fear in my chest, but I know I've got no choice. I have to go into that room and look behind the door, which shouldn't be a problem so long as I believe everything I've just been saying.

  There's no such thing as ghosts, and I'm going to prove that.

  “Fine,” I mutter, stepping past Alex but slowing a little as I get closer to the door.

  Ahead, the gloomy room is waiting, and I can't help looking at the metal-framed bed.

  “You don't have to do this,” Alex says behind me, and she doesn't sound at all like she's enjoying this. She sounds really scared. “Seriously, Maddie, maybe we should just leave this thing well alone. If there's something here -”

  “There's nothing here,” I reply, but a moment later I swallow hard as I reach the door.

  There's no rational reason to be scared. I have to remember that. This is just some kind of primitive fear, and I shouldn't fall for these things so easily.

  “It's just a room,” I say out loud, hoping to sound confident and unworried. “There's nothing in there.”

  I still hesitate for a few seconds, before finally stepping into the room and then pulling the door to take a look behind.

  “See? There's no -”

  Suddenly a voice cries out, and I scream as something lunges at me. Clattering back against the bare wooden floor, I instinctively turn to crawl away, but then I freeze as I realize I can hear raucous laughter. Looking up, I'm horrified to see that Alex is doubled over as she continues to laugh, and Nick – having leapt out from behind the door – is also cracking up.

  “Gotcha!” Nick guffaws breathlessly. “Wow, Maddie! You should see your face right now! It's hilarious!”

  Chapter Ten

  Doctor Charles Grazier

  Tuesday October 2nd, 1888

  “Did you know that he touched her leg?” Culpepper asks as we stand in my study. His face is a picture of fury, such as I have never before seen in such a mild-mannered man. “He touched her bare leg! Her skin!”

  “He was helping me,” Delilah sobs. “Please, Thomas, I only told you because I wanted to be honest. I never thought you'd fly into such a rage!”

  “Be quiet!” he sneers, turning to her. “You have said enough already.”

  “I showed you the wound,” she whimpers. “You're making a great deal out of nothing.”

  “If you say one more word,” he continues, “I shall -”

  “Thomas!” She grabs his arm again. “Please, let us just -”

  Before she can finish, he raises his right hand and slaps her hard about the face, causing her to let out a shocked gasp as she takes a step back. She almost loses her footing, managing to hold herself up only because she bumps against the bookcase. Sobbing, she puts a hand on her cheek, as if to cover the scene of her shame.

  “Do not make me do that again!” Culpepper says firmly. “In your condition, you would do well to think of the child you are carrying!”

  She mutters an apology, as her husband turns back to me with the fury in his eyes undimmed.

  “Charles,” he continues, a little breathlessly, “I know you are a good man, but evidently in this regard you have made some kind of dreadful mistake. I can only presume that Catherine's illness clouds your judgment. This is perfectly understandable, at least to some degree, but the matter cannot be allowed to persist. You have taken a beast into your home, and you must flush him out at once! You must send him back to the sewers of London's less reputable boroughs!”

  I open my mouth to tell him that I shall take care of the matter, but at that moment I hear a faint bumping sound coming from the basement door. I look over, terrified that the sound might return and that I shall have to come up with an excuse for my visitors, but fortunately the house remains silent. When I turn back to Culpepper, I see that he apparently heard nothing at all. Evidently he is so angry that he has scant time for any other matter.

  “Your wife came into my home uninvited,” I tell him cautiously, as Delilah sits and puts her hands over her face, covering her sobs. “I returned home and found her sitting with Jack. Had she followed proper courtesies, none of
this would have happened.”

  “You blame Delilah?” Culpepper asks incredulously. “You blame my elegant wife for the actions of your oafish man-servant?”

  “He merely touched her leg,” I point out, “while he was assisting her. In the context, it was not such a terrible act. Indeed, things could have been a great deal worse.”

  “Are you defending him?”

  “I suppose I am,” I reply, surprising myself. “Thomas, this is not a good time. Your wife is in hysterics, and you should be taking her home and keeping her calm, especially when she is carrying a child. You certainly should not be striking her.”

  “Do not tell me what to do with my wife!” he snaps.

  “You are -”

  Before I can finish, I hear loud footsteps thudding this way, and I turn just in time to see Jack hurrying into the room. Ignoring us all, he heads straight around to my desk, where he sets a book down and starts looking furiously through its pages. He seems to be muttering something under his breath, although I cannot make out any of the words. A moment later I turn to Culpepper and see the shock in his eyes. He's watching Jack with a kind of horrified stare, of the type that one might ordinarily reserve for a beast that has dragged itself up from the pits of hell.

  “Do you allow this?” he asks after a moment. “Charles, the brute is at your desk, looking through one of your books! Is he even capable of reading? Surely you will not allow him to -”

  “Can you be quiet, please?” Jack snaps. “You're distracting me with your incessant whine!”

  Culpepper lets out a shocked gasp.

  “This really is not a good time,” I say with a sigh. “Can we all -”

  “He touched my wife's leg!” Culpepper says yet again, before storming over to the desk and staring at Jack. “You touched my wife's leg! Do you have no sense of proper behavior, man?”

  He waits for an answer, but Jack merely turns to the next page in the book.

  “Speak!” Culpepper shouts. “Or do you think you are above explaining yourself? Are you completely unaware of your status as a pitiful common man?”