“Copper! ‘Ere help me! He tried to kill me!” she yelled and ran towards her rescuer, bare tit bouncing and bleeding, and her clothes in tatters. The bobby quickened pace and, raising his truncheon, he blew hard on his whistle in three long blasts.
“Stop! Stop right there! You’re under arrest!” The bobby shouted but the creature-like figure, struggling to stand upright after the assault on his crotch, catapulted himself ten-feet into the air and disappeared over the brick wall into the night. “What the bleeding ‘ell?” The constable stood stock still- mouth agog, as the wailing woman flung herself into his body and clung to him.
“Thank ‘eavens you came Sir! I thought I was a goner, I did! It tried to…to. Oh gawd Sir, the things he was doing.” She broke down and he gently laid a protective arm around her shoulders.
“Now then young lady, you’re safe now. We need to get you home, I’ll take a statement when we get there. Where do you live?”
“It’s not far Sir, walking distance I reckon…I got lost when that thing was chasing me.”
“Well, cover yourself up miss and let’s get off then.” He noticed the blood and wound on her chest and gestured towards her, “You need a doctor?”
The young woman blushed as she attempted to arrange the rags of her chemise to cover her bare breast and the Constable politely averted his gaze.
“It’s Bessie. My name’s Bessie. Ain’t got no money to pay for a doctor. My sister is at home with the baby, she’ll fix me up.”
They set off walking and a moment later the Constable stopped.
“What did you mean when you called him a ‘thing’?” he asked, his brows creased. Bessie, still pale as a sheet and visibly shaken, replied
“It weren’t no human. No chance. Never seen nothing like it I ain’t. Its eyes glowed blood red and he had ‘orrible claws! You saw what it did? No human could jump over a wall like that.” Bessie shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, hunkering her shoulders. “T’ain’t natural. Like he had ruddy springs in his heels.”
Giles placed the breakfast tray, containing two letters and the morning newspaper- neatly folded of course, on the table next to Midnight.
“Ah! Thank you, Giles. I hope these letters are what I think they are!” He glanced at the butler who gave a brief nod and smiled.
“Would Sir like bacon or salmon with his eggs this morning?”
“Both please.”
Giles’s left eyebrow arched in response to the odd combination of salty pork and smoked fish but served it up on the plate nevertheless.
“Yes!” Midnight leapt out of his chair, fist in the air, causing Giles to scare and drop the plate of food he was carrying. “Oh! Giles, did I do that? I am sorry.” He dropped the letter he’d been reading and quickly bent to help his butler clean up the mess on the floor.
“No need, I can manage.” Giles tried to keep the chastising tone from his voice but didn’t succeed. Midnight chuckled.
“You sounded just like my father then,” he beamed. “Come now, let me help? It was my fault after all.” The old butler sighed and resigned himself to being helped by his master but not before Midnight caught the merest glimpse of a smile. He was sure the likening to his father was the cause. Since the untimely death of Josiah Gunn, Giles had taken over complete care of the then almost sixteen year-old Midnight. Having no other family that he knew of- none had attended his father’s funeral- Midnight had relied solely on Giles and the remaining household staff during his transition into adulthood. He trusted Giles entirely, as his father had. Josiah, had never remarried after his mother, Josephine, had died giving birth to him. There were paintings of his mother all over the Gunn mansion and her bedroom had been left as it was after her passing. Nothing had been removed, sold or given away. The whole house was a shrine to his mother. Josiah had relied heavily on the company of his butler. All social events and gatherings had stopped and Josiah’s presence in polite society had gradually faded. Midnight had never known a banquet to be held at their home and nobody had ever made social calls. His father only ever dealt with businessmen and colleagues. He’d thrown himself into making money, and he’d been good at it- trebling the family fortunes in those 15 years since his beloved wife’s death. Midnight imagined that Giles and Josiah must’ve become more than employer and employee during that time, they’d become friends of a sort. Giles was the only constant presence in the house and thus became his father’s confidant. Upon Josiah’s passing, it was Giles that guided the young Midnight in the business affairs of his father and so it followed that Midnight carried forth the same relationship. He trusted Giles with his life.
When the mash up of eggs, bacon and salmon had been scrapped from the rug, Midnight wiped his hands on the napkin and reached for the letter.
“Read it!” he exclaimed, a huge broad grin spread across his chiselled face. Giles took the letter and began to read. A few moments later, he passed it back with an approving nod.
“Excellent news Sir. When are you planning on a visit?”
“No time like the present I’d say. What say you Giles, fancy a day trip?”
“Me?” The butler looked a little taken aback. Midnight clapped him on the shoulder,
“Of course man! Who else would I trust to give me sound advice? Get your coat and I’ll ready a cab.”
Giles spluttered, “But the breakfast!”
“Breakfast is over and this cannot wait. We must pounce before anyone else seizes the opportunity!” Midnight noticed the dilemma on his butler’s face- he was looking at the rug and frowning. “You’re worrying about the smell, aren’t you?”
“Smoked salmon will leave terrible stench Sir!”
“I’ll inform Mrs. Phillips, I’m sure she’ll have some wondrous concoction that will bring it right out. Now, go get your coat and hat and let’s enjoy a jolly!”
When they were settled in the cab, en route to the address, Giles handed Midnight the morning paper that he’d brought from the breakfast table.
“Something you may want to look at Sir.”
Midnight was intrigued and unfolded the paper on his lap. The headline on the front page of The Morning Post read:
SPRING-HEELED JACK
Murderous Villain Terrorises London!
A spate of terrible attacks upon the helpless city residents is causing wide-spread panic. The attacks, spread over the course of the last two months or more, have been perpetrated by a frightening creature not of this world. Our sources say that a mysterious demon-like creature, which takes human form, has been responsible for the murder of at least one victim: Miss Emeline Rowbotham, the daughter of wealthy merchant, Robert Rowbotham. It has been indicted that the number of attacks is vast and are concentrated around the Southwark area. Scotland Yard, leading the investigation, have refused to comment but want to ensure city residents that there is no need to panic and to go about their daily business. Any suspicious activity should be reported to a local police station.
Latest victim and lucky survivor, Bessie Green said in her statement to the press:
“It was inhuman, a vicious monster with claws, 8ft tall and black as the night, like a giant bat!”
Miss Green said the black-tongued, red-eyed creature escaped when she was rescued by Constable Henry Perch- by leaping over a 10ft brick wall. Perch corroborated Miss Green’s story of the creature’s spectacular and impossible escape.
The story continued and was accompanied by a detailed sketch of a monstrous figure leaping over a wall. Midnight slammed the paper down on the cab seat and swore.
“Blasted reporters! Gredge assured me this wouldn’t go public. That’s all we need is to set the whole of bloody London on edge. There’ll be a ton of false reports flooding in from the panicked public now- jumping at shadows and alley cats!” He thumped a fisted hand against the cab wall and swore again.
“I take it you have no further clues as to the situation then Sir?” asked Giles.
“Nothing gets past you does it.”
The butler inclined his head.
“A quick glance at the article this morning whilst setting the breakfast tray, coupled with your recent nightly activities merely raised my suspicions Sir. I can usually tell when you’re involved with an investigation.”
“You can?”
“Indeed Sir. You become…agitated and overzealous.”
The corner of Midnight’s mouth twitched a little.
“Overzealous? How so?”
The butler looked out of the small cab window as it jostled to and fro, the horses’ hooves clopped along at a steady pace on the cobbles.
“Current destination: a warehouse at the docks with a view to converting it into a charitable hospital for the poor and needy.” Giles stated dryly.
“A project which you approved of if I’m not mistaken?”
“Indeed Sir, indeed. However, I do recall suggesting several suitable small country houses that needed little intervention to enable the project. You chose… a near derelict warehouse.”
“Yes but those houses were outside of the city, what use is that to the people of London? I’m grateful of course, Giles for your efforts, but that warehouse is perfect! It’s cheaper than the houses, it has a huge amount of space. I mean just imagine the number of patients we could fit in there! It has a great deal of potential don’t you think? I have such plans Giles! There’s space enough for in-house nurses’ quarters, separate wards. It’s right by the docks, right where it’s needed the most.”
Giles was grinning and shaking his head in a placatory way. Midnight stopped mid-speech, mouth hung open like a fish and then he conceded with a grin of his own.
“Overzealous…but admirably so Sir,” Giles said smiling. “I hope you catch him soon,” he added, nodding towards the crumpled newspaper. Midnight sighed heavily and turned his face towards the window to gaze out.
“I have to,” he said simply, “I just have to.” He thought of little Polly, sick as she was, being sent to God-knows-where and having no effective treatment or care. She’d be scuttled away in some desolate room in a rundown orphanage. She wouldn’t last long in her frail state. He thought of the others, even the ones lucky enough to have families to help care for them. All they could do really was wait for them to die. The poor had no access to medical care or useful medicines if they couldn’t pay for it. Yes, he had to do something fast. He had to catch this creature and stop it and he had to do something to help the poor people of his beloved city. Even if he was having trouble finding any useful leads on the killer, he felt that pursuing the hospital project was somewhat productive in getting those victims out of harm’s way and starting to fight back against the ills of such a class-divided society.
It was true, he’d been born into privilege but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use his wealth for the benefit of those who needed it more. Truth be known he’d never felt at home among polite society. The seedy public houses, raucous music halls and open parks of London had proved more appealing- the people more real. What some might consider the dregs of society, Midnight thought of as the heart of the city. A city with no heart was just an empty shell, a facade.
Sometime later the Hansom rattled to a stop and Giles exited first to hold the door open for his master. He paid the cabby and left a generous tip then the unlikely pair proceeded to the address in the letter. Midnight, dressed in the best that Saville Row tailoring could offer, appeared every inch the perfect aristocrat. Nobody passing him in the street would guess what unnatural power lurked beneath the fine clothes, top hat and confident walk. He could blend in if he had a mind to. However, if one got too close one might sense there was more to the man that first thought. Midnight was careful not to bump into anyone on the busy street; sometimes if this happened, he inadvertently caught a glimpse of a memory or was flooded by strong emotions emanating from passers-by. Useful in certain circumstances but today he needed a clear mind.
They halted their steps outside a large run-down warehouse just down the way from the dockyards. The frontage was quite spectacular for a commercial establishment. A large arched double doorway faced the Thames in the centre of the brick building and two long arched windows stood guard either side of the entrance adding to its grandeur. Midnight looked towards the roof as he examined the outer perimeter and laughed when he noticed it adorned with gruesome gargoyles. These quirky architectural features gave the warehouse an almost ecclesiastical feel, something Midnight found quite ironic and vastly amusing.
“I think this might just do, Giles. What say you?”
“I would say let us examine the interior before making any rash decisions Sir.”
“Of course, you’re right. But don’t you feel it?”
“Feel it, Sir?”
“It’s alive Giles- a sleeping giant just waiting to awaken to its true purpose,” he pointed upwards to the gargoyles, “see there? Gargoyles are protectors, they keep away bad spirits. Now, I ask you, why would gargoyles be atop a warehouse?”
“One would assume then, to keep the contents of said warehouse safe, Sir.” Giles replied.
“Oh yes, no doubt. But, its true purpose is to protect the people that will be attending our little hospital!”
“If you say so.” Said Giles indulgently.
“I feel it, its heart has quickened pace. It calls to me. Let’s go inside.”
The auctioneer met them at the door and let them in. As they entered, light streaked across the dimly lit floor, the movement threw up dust particles that danced merrily in the sunbeams- their welcoming committee. Midnight reached out his hand to them and drank in the warmth. Pleasant, calm sensations washed over him, reaffirming his opinion that they had found the perfect location for the hospital. The auctioneer was prattling on, delivering his rehearsed sales patter when Midnight interrupted.
“When is the auction?”
“Two days hence, Sir, there’s been much interest in this building. I hear the East India Company have shown a liking for it.” Midnight knew this was not good news; the East India Company virtually ran London’s commercial import and export trade. He would be going up against some of London’s wealthiest Barons. No matter, he decided, one way or another he would hold the deeds to this wonderful property. He would use whatever methods…or powers needed to attain it.
“Listen, I know what you’re saying Midnight, but I need leads. Leaking that story to the press might just throw up some new information. I know we’ll have a hundred and one false reports to sift through too but it’s worth it if just one of them can give us a lead.”
“A hundred and one false reports and possible widespread panic.” Midnight interjected, “But yes, I suppose I understand your logic, Arthur,” he took a sip of his tea and sat forward in his chair. The small tea rooms overlooked St James’ Park. Arthur had requested an urgent meeting with him to discuss the progress on the Spring-Heeled Jack case, of which there turned out to be little. “What happens now?” He looked at his pocket watch briefly. He had about twenty minutes left before he had to be at the auction house.
“I need your help with something.” said Arthur.
“Go on.”
“Right, here’s what we know so far,” Gredge got out his notebook and pencil and ran through a roughly scrawled list, “all but one of the victims were local to Southwark, all but one survived, all victims were suffering in some way before their attack, and a couple of ‘em had spoken of some kind of meeting or appointment before they disappeared.” Gredge ticked each item on the list as he read. “That’s the victims, the killer is described as unusually tall,” he snorted dismissively remembering Bessie Green’s description of her 8ft tall attacker, “red, glowing eyes, metal claws and a black tongue.” Gredge put his notepad down on the table and took a gulp of his cooling tea. “Seems to me there’s not much to go on in terms of clues but the one thing that stands out to me, is the rich girl. She doesn’t fit.”
Midnight considered this and agreed.
“So, we go back and talk to the
Rowbotham’s again?”
Arthur nodded, “Seems the only thing we can do at present. I’m sure I’m missing something there. I got the feeling the family weren’t being entirely truthful when we last spoke.”
“Rowbotham’s it is then. Only not today- I have a rather important auction to attend and I’m running late.” Midnight glanced again at his pocket watch. He rose from his seat and began putting on his hat. Gredge rose too,
“Auction? You buying land or property?”
“I’m buying a solution, Arthur. Or a beginning, either way I’m running late. Feel free to accompany me if you wish. I’m meeting Giles at the auction house in five minutes, we can continue our chat on the way.”
“Yes, alright. I will, I’m intrigued.” Arthur smirked. His curious mind had gotten the better of him. If truth be known he wanted to be nosey and find out more about the mysterious Midnight Gunn. Over the years, he had come to think of him as a friend as well as a colleague. They had met in unusual circumstances five years ago- during the case of the Peckham vampire- (which had turned out to be nothing more than a man with a fetish for drinking blood). They had continued to work together, when needed, ever since. But Arthur knew little of Midnight’s personal business aside from his residential address which he’d sometimes visited in a professional capacity. They’d never socialised outside of police matters. He found now that he couldn’t refuse the opportunity to witness a possible business transaction and was curious to know of this ‘solution’ his friend spoke of and its purpose.
The auction house was jam-packed with London’s finest, all dressed in their most business-like garb. Over-fed, red-faced gentry jostled for prime position in the room, greeting each other in loud, blustering voices. Plastering on their friendliest smiles but secretly planning to steal prize properties from under each other’s noses. Midnight hated it. He could never envisage a time where he might want to willingly enter such social circles. He was reluctant when business matters required him to mingle with his so-called peers. Still, today warranted the effort it took to nod, smile and greet politely those who approached him. Some recognised him from previous transactions, legal or financial matters and some were merely curious to know who the dapper young man accompanied by a Detective and a butler was. Midnight bore it the best he could and was thankful when the auctioneer rapped his gavel on the wooden podium to indicate the start of the day’s business.
The Hollows Page 4
