Requiem for the Ripper

by kindels

  " 'He's gone.'

  There had been no attempt made to resuscitate Reid. I'd expected them to shock him back to life, but Ruth Truman later explained to me that Reid had firmly requested no such action be taken when the time came. He'd wanted to die as naturally and as peacefully as possible and, in that, he did at least receive his final request. The rest was now up to me, and I left Ravenswood with a heavy sense of responsibility on my mind. That night I sat and read the document, the infernal page from the journal. The very next night, the dream came to me and has haunted me ever since. I lost no time in doing everything I could to find a way to contact you and, as I so obviously succeeded, here I am!"

  "Well," I replied, "that's some tale, don't you think, Kate?"

  "Some tale indeed, David. Tell me, William, when you read the page from the journal, was it in the plastic sleeve as it is now?"

  "No, it was loose, just a piece of old, yellowed paper, or so I thought."

  "And now, of course, you believe, as Reid did, that it somehow contains the residue of the soul of Jack the Ripper?"

  "Yes, I do. I most definitely do. Surely the pair of you must think there's something in it by now?"

  "I'm certainly concerned about all of this," I replied. "And I'd like to know why I heard that music, especially as Kate didn't hear a thing."

  "I'd like to discover the answer to that one too, David," said Kate.

  "So, where do we go from here?" asked Forbes, looking worried and yet relieved at the same time. He clearly felt better for unburdening himself with the revelation of the letter from Reid, but obviously still harboured worries about what the future held in store for him and, perhaps, for all of us.

  "It's exceedingly late," Kate replied, pointing to the grandfather clock which registered almost one a.m. "I think we all need some sleep."

  "But, what if the dream comes back?" Forbes looked extraordinarily worried again.

  "David, would you be prepared to give William a large sedative, one that will put him into a deep sleep until morning, with your permission of course, William?" she asked.

  Forbes nodded his agreement.

  "Yes, of course. A heavy sedative should preclude any chance of you dreaming," I said, rising from my chair to fetch my medical bag.

  "Then I suggest we do no more until morning. There's been no reply from Christine as yet, and we have Miles Prendergast to enlist to our cause when daylight returns."

  "Very well, Kate. It looks like it's bedtime for the three of us. William, you were kind to offer to sleep in the camp bed; but; with the sedative in you, I'd rather you slept in my bed. I'll rough it for tonight."

  Forbes made no argument, and I quickly injected him with the sleep-inducing sedative. Within a few minutes, Kate had retired to the spare bedroom and Forbes was safely tucked up in my bed, the effects of the sedative already having sent him into what I hoped would be a long, deep and dreamless sleep.

  As I stretched out as best as I could, fully clothed on the camp bed soon afterwards, I found it difficult to close my mind to all we'd experienced that evening, particularly the contents of the letter from Jack Reid. What Forbes had said made sense, of course. Reid had researched his case carefully and found my name through reputable sources on the Internet and, yet, I felt uneasy. There were other, equally qualified psychologists out there. Why me? I continued to ask myself, why me? I lay there for a long time, listening to the wind as it whistled around my lonely and isolated home. Just before intense tiredness at last caused the weight of darkness to force my eyes closed for the night, I could have sworn that the wind changed its tone, albeit imperceptibly, until the notes of a delicate and eerie melody began to play upon the breeze. Sleep came, at last, as everything turned black ...

  Chapter Twenty-two

  A New Day Dawns

  Incredibly, I slept through the night with not a single disturbance. I guess I'd been so tired that an earthquake might have found it difficult to rouse me, once my eyes had closed and sleep took its blissful hold. I'd half expected to suddenly find myself sharing that terrible dream that Jack Reid had somehow passed on to William Forbes. Thankfully, no such terrors beset my sleeping mind.

  Rising from the camp bed, I stretched, loosening the muscles in my neck, which ached slightly from the less-than-comfortable sleeping position imposed upon me by the camp bed. My clothes felt stale and dirty, but I decided not to risk waking Forbes by entering my room for clean ones. Better to let him sleep and wake naturally after the large dose of sedatives he'd received the previous night. Instead, I busied myself in the kitchen. As I sat at the table, enjoying a cup of hot coffee and freshly buttered toast, Kate walked sleepily through the door.

  "Morning, David."

  "Hello Kate. Sleep well?"

  "Like a baby, surprisingly. You?"

  "Same here," I replied, making no mention of the lingering thoughts of the melody that plagued my last waking moments.

  "I think, perhaps, we were all far more tired than we'd imagined. William is still snoring his head off in your room. I popped my head round the door just now."

  "He's been through the mill a bit, hasn't he? He's definitely going through an intense psychological trauma. I'm not even sure we can help him, Kate. If all of this is really just a manifestation of a delusional mind ... "

  "Do you really believe that, David, after all we've heard and seen so far?"

  "You know, for a minute I'd forgotten that damned aura, or apparition, or whatever it was we saw, Kate. So much happened last night, it's a little difficult to separate reality from fantasy."

  "It was real enough, David. You have to believe me when I say, again, that there is much we still don't understand about the afterlife, or the power of the human spirit."

  "For now, Kate, I'll go along with whatever you suggest, and I'll keep my mind open; but, to tell you the truth, I'm not sure about any of this any longer. The sun is shining out there, the wind has dropped, the sea birds are serenading us with their usual dawn chorus, and it's awfully hard to think of some evil entity, walking the earth in perpetuity, on such a day."

  Kate walked to the window and looked out upon the crisp, clear dawn that nature had provided. Skerries Rock stood bathed in sunlight, though the constant Atlantic breeze would ensure that temperatures didn't rise much above mildly warm. In the near distance she could see the rising slope that led to the cliff top, lush swathes of billowing grass forming a writhing sea of green leading all the way to the cliff edge.

  "It's beautiful," she said quietly, and then, "but evil knows no boundaries, David. It takes no account of beauty, of sunshine or darkness. We see the blue sky and the birds, hear the sound of the waves breaking on your island shores, and watch the soft, white clouds as they float past, carried by the breeze that comes from nowhere and disappears into oblivion far from here, and yet, no matter how idyllic such a vista may appear, the malevolence that is hanging over us lies waiting, perhaps floating on that gentle breeze, or disguised in the white tops of the surf, and we must be vigilant."

  "How eloquent, Kate, and so true," said a voice from the doorway.

  "William, good morning. How are you today?" Kate responded as Forbes walked into the kitchen. Like me, it appeared he'd slept in his day clothes, everything looked crumpled and worn, as did the face of my strange and troubled guest.

  "Better for the long sleep," he replied, "but worried, extremely worried. I'm so afraid of what might happen to me, and perhaps to you as well. I fear I may have brought trouble to your home, David, and, if I have, I apologise."

  "You haven't had another dream, have you?" I asked.

  "No, it's not that. I think, however, that Jack Reid must have had some reason for suggesting you as the man to help me solve the riddle of the journal and, if he did, perhaps it bodes badly for you too. I wish to God I'd never set eyes on the man, never accepted the case from my employers, and, most of all, I wish that I'd never roped you into this madness that seems to be engulfing me."

  "I appreci
ate your sentiments, William, but it's a bit late for such thoughts now. You're here and we can't turn the clock back. If something supernatural is taking place, then, believe me, we have the best ally in the world, right here, in the form of Kate."

  "Why thank-you, kind sir, I'll try not to disappoint you." Kate smiled as she spoke. "Now, perhaps William, you and I should eat something as David already has done, and then I must get busy. First, I'll ask you to boot up your computer, David, and we'll see if Christine has replied yet. Then a phone call to Miles Prendergast will hopefully set things in motion on the family tree investigation."

  Half an hour later, after I'd showered and changed into fresh clothes, I left Forbes to do the same as Kate and I powered up my computer. Sure enough, a further reply from Christine Westerman was waiting for us, sent barely a quarter of an hour earlier. Though she hadn't identified the melody as yet, she stated that it sounded strangely familiar. She'd made the best of Forbes's hummed version and had done her best to re-create it on her piano, and had then recorded the tune. She thought that perhaps one or two notes weren't quite right, but it shouldn't stop her from identifying the tune, given time. She hoped to have an answer for us later in the day. I felt disappointed at the lack of an instant result, but, as Kate pointed out, there must have been thousands of music hall or popular songs and ditties written in the Victorian era. For Christine to have come up with an instant answer had been hoping for a little too much, too soon. Kate replied to Christine's e-mail and thanked her for taking the time and trouble to help us out. She stressed the importance of discovering the tune's name, and perhaps its origin, again without telling her friend exactly why we needed to know, and why we were in a hurry. She gave Christine Westerman my telephone number and asked her to call if she found the name of the tune, rather than e-mail us. Christine agreed. There was nothing more to do now but wait.

  As Forbes emerged from the bathroom, looking slightly less crumpled than before, Kate left the two of us together, as she took up residence in the living room, in order to phone and explain our needs to her other friend, Miles Prendergast. As the morning seemed such a pleasant one, I invited Forbes to accompany me on a walk around the island, and he readily agreed, anxious, I thought, to get some fresh air in his lungs and escape from the slightly claustrophobic atmosphere that had developed in the croft over the last twenty-four hours. Donning our outer coats and hats, we popped our heads around the living room door, and I quickly, but politely, interrupted Kate's conversation and told her our intentions. She was already deep in conversation with Miles Prendergast (I assumed), and we left her to it and made our way into the fresh air.

  "Do you really think that you can help me get through this?" asked Forbes as we stood on the cliff top, peering out at the almost infinite expanse of the Atlantic Ocean that reached out to the horizon before us.

  "With Kate's help, we've every chance" I said, though I still struggled to convince myself even as I replied to Forbes's question. "A lot depends on what she's able to discover today. She obviously thinks the song is of great importance and, if she can find a connection between your family and that of the Cavendish's, she may have an idea what to do next."

  Forbes rubbed at his eyes. The wind, or his emotions, clearly causing tears to run down his cheeks.

  "Are you okay?" I asked.

  "Yes, it's just that my life has changed so much in these last few weeks. Here we are, staring out at the most incredibly beautiful panorama and I should feel stirred by it, awed even, but all I can think of is that terrible dream and the awful feeling that something terrible is about to befall me, despite Kate's reassurances."

  "Everything will work out, you wait and see," I replied, trying to sound far more confident than I felt.

  A cormorant wheeled in a tight arc above us and screeched its call, as if to summon reinforcements in its daily hunt for fish beneath the waves. A little way out to sea I saw a pair of dolphins break the surface and leap in happiness from the water, only to splash down into the surf in seconds and disappear from view. Nature was in its element before my eyes and yet, we, Forbes, Kate, and I, were slowly being pulled from our own natural element into another, darker world, an unknown and perhaps dangerous place where the forces of nature might not prevail.

  I glanced at my watch. Incredibly, as it seemed to me, we'd been away from the croft for over an hour. It felt like no more than twenty minutes or so. The time had arrived for us to get back and discover if Kate had achieved anything as yet. Forbes willingly followed in my footsteps as we trudged back along the path. He was as anxious as I to hear what Kate had discovered, if anything.

  A few minutes later, divested of our hats and coats, we returned to the living room of my croft where Kate sat, reading from a sheet of paper which, by its appearance, she'd obviously printed off from my computer.

  "Any news, Kate?" I asked as Forbes and I flopped down into two of my comfortable armchairs.

  "Oh yes, David, my dear boy" she spoke animatedly, excitement in every word. "I do indeed. Yes, I have news. Just wait until I tell you!"

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Transformation

  "Well, come on, Kate. Don't keep us waiting," I implored as she rose from her chair, placing the sheet of paper on the coffee table in the centre of the room.

  "Yes, please tell us what you've found out," Forbes added.

  "Right then, here goes," she began. "To begin with, Miles Prendergast has been more than helpful, as I knew he would be. I explained what we were looking for, and then, at his request, I e-mailed the information you gave me on your family, William, as he and I chatted on the phone. He received it in seconds and, after perusing the document, he sounded quite hopeful. It seems the university has a rather special computer programme that can do the work of a dozen researchers in hours, as opposed to days or weeks. As you were able to provide some thoroughly accurate information on your antecedents, Miles believes that he should be able to conjure up the information I've asked for by the end of the day."

  Kate paused. I knew that her information appeared positive and of a hopeful nature, but what she'd just told us certainly didn't warrant the excitement she'd displayed on our return. I knew there was more to come.

  "Stop holding out on us, Kate. You've found out something else, haven't you?"

  "As it happens, David, yes I have. Thanks to Christine Westerman, I can now tell you the title of that strangely enigmatic tune."

  "That was fast work," I said.

  "I told you she was good," Kate smiled.

  "So, what is it?" asked Forbes. "Do you think it has any special significance, as you suspected it might?"

  "Oh yes, William. It has significance alright, as I'm sure you and David will agree when I tell you more about it, again thanks to Christine."

  "So, what is it?" I almost begged, growing impatient with my friend who definitely appeared to be dragging the moment out, perhaps for theatrical effect.

  "Sorry, David. I shan't keep you in suspense for another moment. But, please humour me for a minute. Come to your office, as I have something to show you on your computer.

  "Don't keep us in suspense, Kate, just tell us what it is, please."

  "I'm going to do better than that, David. I'm going to let you hear it in full."

  "Good Lord," Forbes exclaimed. "But how?"

  "The magic of the Internet, William," Kate replied. "Christine has a wide circle of friends who share her passion for nineteenth-century music, and she apparently sent copies of her own recording to a number of them. One of them not only contacted her with an almost instantaneous reply, but also suggested a certain Web site where people place videos of all sorts of things. There was a homemade copy of a short video there, with the song in question being used as the background to the subject matter."

  "At least tell us the title before you show us the video," I pleaded.

  Kate smiled as she replied, "The song is called A Violet from Mother's Grave."

  "Never heard of it," I
said.

  "Me neither," Forbes added.

  Kate's face assumed a deadly serious look as she continued.

  "Ah, but it isn't the song itself, or the title that gives it the significance in this case, but rather the circumstances surrounding one particular rendition of it. Christine told me that the song was a popular little ditty, as she called it, in the days of Queen Victoria. It would probably have passed into total musical oblivion, as have most of the songs from that era, had it not been for one single event that meant it would forever play a part in the singular saga of the murders of Jack the Ripper."

  "Bloody hell," I gasped.

  "This 'event' you mention. What was it?" asked Forbes, his face drained of colour as Kate's words sank home.

  "Quite simply, gentlemen, my friend Christine informed me that A Violet from Mother's Grave was the song that Jack the Ripper's final victim, Mary Kelly, had been heard singing in her miserable little home, by a passing witness, on the night of her murder. In fact, the words of the song were probably the last words that anyone, apart from her killer, heard from her."

  "Oh my god," Forbes staggered backwards, and only a firm grip on the back of an armchair prevented his legs from buckling from under him.

  "Damn it, Kate. You suspected it would be something like this, didn't you?" I said, as my mouth dried up and my temples began to throb from a sudden and quite violent headache.

  "I wasn't certain, but I did have a suspicion that the music would have something to do with the Jack the Ripper case," she agreed. "I never dreamed it would be something with such great significance to any of the individual murders."

  "Then it must be Jack the Ripper who's after me!" Forbes exclaimed, now verging on the hysterical.