THE
RIPPER LEGACIES
BOOK THREE
THE
REAPER’S KISS
BY
ROBERT SOUTHWORTH
Copyright Robert Southworth 2019
All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced, in part or in full without
the written permission from the author.
Cover images courtesy of istock images.
Dedicated
To the wonderful Diana – So sad that you are not here to see the final installment.
INTRODUCTION
London 1891
It had been nearly three years since the last official recorded death at the hands of Jack the Ripper. The fear that had gripped the streets of Whitechapel, and the city at large, had for the most part dissipated. Thoughts of the infamous killer no longer weighed heavily on the minds of the populace. Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, and Mary Jane Kelly had, for the most part, been consigned to history. The wretches that stomped the cobbles now concerned themselves with surviving the old city. The demand for justice became no more than a whisper as the deafening sound of hunger growled in their ears. Now and then, however, a grisly murder would bring the name ‘Jack the Ripper’ back to the lips of many. Nonetheless, it was fleeting, and the Ripper was reduced to the mindless ramblings contained within the gin palaces.
Fear had been replaced in the city by mischievous conspiracies. Each drunk gave his gin-fuelled expert opinion on the true identity of the Ripper. Each sentence was punctuated with the rising of a glass as they made their declaration with all the conviction that only intoxicated individuals possess. The Ripper was without doubt royalty; a leading politician, a famous artist. The choices seemed random, but all were male and a member of authority or the ruling class. Even Inspector Frederick Abberline, so long in his pursuit of the killer, would become a target for malicious accusations.
“Who better to hide the evidence,” a drunk would announce. “It’s him I tell you.”
“And he would know where the patrols were and could simply slip away,” came the reply. “Plus, if he was caught, do you think they would clamp the irons on one of their own?”
Like most rumour and gossip, it was nonsense. It faded away as a new target was identified and became fashionable. The populace had been shielded from the news that the Ripper had continued his bloody rampage. As they raised another glass to their tobacco-stained lips, they were oblivious to the fact that a group of individuals were engaged in a deadly struggle to bring the Ripper to justice or destruction. William Harkness had not faltered in his search for the infamous killer. He and his men energetically pursued any lead.
Nonetheless, despite the various and impressive skills possessed by William’s small band, the Ripper had slipped into the shadows. They knew that he was close but stubbornly remained just out of reach. William and his men had paid a substantial cost in their pursuit of the infamous killer. Gaetan, one of William’s closest friends from his days in the ranks of the British army, had been first betrayed, and then, murdered by the Abbess of the Mops. She took her orders from Jonathan Locke, a vicious killer who in turn, accepted his orders from the Ripper. Both had met with their deaths, but the identity of their master had remained shrouded in shadow. The loss did not stop there as young Tom and Obadiah Godspeed were slain. William and his men became embroiled in the Ripper’s struggle for power in the mysterious cult of Cronos. The Ripper may have lost followers, but it seemed to William that his nemesis had a never-ending supply of minions. All of them willing to commit murder or die for their beloved leader and the insane ideology of Cronos. He knew that the Ripper would not stop. He also knew that he must match the mad man’s bloodlust with his own unyielding pursuit of justice. It was only a matter of time before the blades of Cronos would rise and fall, and the streets of the old city would run with blood.
Chapter 1
Johannesburg 1891 1st of June
Africa was a place of stark contrasts. For some, it was a land of great opportunity; a vast untapped supply of resources. For others, usually the indigenous population it was a land of loss. It had changed entirely from the home that they and their forefathers had known. Johannesburg stood as an example of how a continent became distorted as the 20th century approached. In 1884, the Witwatersrand gold rush laid the foundations for the beginnings of the city. In less than five years the population would explode. Within a decade, the inhabitants would number over thirty thousand, with almost every nationality being present. American and Australian prospectors arrived in their droves in search of a fortune. Indian and Chinese traders took the opportunity to supply the masses and Europeans could not ignore the vast wealth just waiting to be exploited.
As always, the greed of men resulted in crime. Wrongdoing came in all guises. Gambling dens, whore houses, pickpockets, and common thugs all prospered in Johannesburg. One creature, however, flourished above all. They did not use violence to make their victim submit. The law was a crushing weapon and a man who possessed the knowledge to use it, could become extremely wealthy. One such man was Edgar Finch, plentiful in expertise and utterly devoid of any moral fortitude. His victims were the hard working, the type that spent their days breaking their backs and rubbing the skin from their hands. They knew dirt and shovels and the blisters that both brought. They did not, however, understand the law and the way it could rip away land and dreams in an equal measure.
Finch became rich off the backs of the hard-working masses. Nonetheless, wealth to a man such as Finch did not have a ceiling. He continued to sell his services to those that shared his lack of morals. Each task undertaken brought more coin to his purse and entertainment to his dark soul. He was loathed throughout Johannesburg even by those that required his services. He cared not a jot for his detractors; he also enjoyed the notoriety. His office situated on Pritchard Street declared his success to Johannesburg and the world. The man himself, as always, could be found at his desk. Despite his many failings, laziness could not be counted among them. His chubby digits fingered a document; the excitement he felt within his dark soul caused those digits to tremble slightly.
“Abbe, I think this will be my crowning achievement.” A young boy no more than 14 years old had just entered Finch’s office carrying more documents.
“Very good, Mr Finch.” The boy did not look at Finch but busied himself with his task.
“Very good – is that all you have to say?” Finch raised his considerable frame from his chair. “This gives me a piece of the pie, lad. A substantial piece of the pie.”
“Pie, Mr Finch?” The boy finally raised his gaze to his employer.
“Within two years, Johannesburg will have a prison of its own. I shall own a share of each company that will be given the honour and prestige of building the facility.” He placed the document on the desk and picked up his glass. “It’s strange how intelligent men are incapable of reading the fine print.” Finch rubbed his impressively rotund gut in celebration of his own genius.
“Yes, Mr Finch.” The boy gave a small smile and then returned to his duties.
Edgar Finch shook his head at the lack of appreciation the boy showed for his talents. He took to his chair once more and wallowed once again in his own perceived brilliance.
***
Mr Finch’s exuberance might well have diminished had he known that at that very moment, three men were strolling along Pritchard Street in a quest to make his acquaintance. They proceeded down the street, the populace of Johannesburg giving way if in answer to an unspoken order to step aside. The man on the left of the trio possessed skin as dark as the coals of Newcastle, his jaw jutting out like granite. His hair showed the passage of time
; flecks of grey highlighted the ebony curls. His back, however, was straight and shoulders firm. Even though a fine suit covered his body, it was clear that the passing years had not yet caused his muscle to falter. On the right was a man whose clothing compared favourably to his black comrade’s, but that was where the similarity came to an end. He produced a handkerchief from his jacket and lifted his stovepipe hat. It revealed a scalp almost devoid of hair and seemingly awash with sweat. He wiped both head and brow and replaced the headwear. The man’s face flushed from the effort of dealing with Africa’s heat. His stocky frame was draped in a fine suit too, but it did not sit well on his bones. It would have been more accurate to pronounce that the man did not fit the suit, rather than the other way around. The third and central figure was a pleasing one to the females of Johannesburg. He stood a foot taller than his comrades, his shoulders broad, strong chin and the hatless head was home to long, swept back, black hair. Despite the expensive garments adorning his body, this man was undoubtedly a pirate. The glint in his eye, betraying his intelligence and ruthless determination.
They reached the offices of Edgar Finch, and for the first time, their progress came to a halt.
“Mr Finch does not receive uninvited guests.” A heavily built man rose from a chair and stepped across their path.
The stocky man pulled a wallet from his jacket and pushed what would have been more than a year’s wages toward Finch’s guardian. “Bugger off.” Usually, the sentry would have answered the dismissive tone with an act of violence but the money soothed his anger, and within moments Finch’s protection was striding down the street.
Their path now clear, all three entered the outer office of Edgar Finch’s premises. As they did Abbe entered the same room from his master’s office. The man that resembled a pirate smiled and motioned for the boy to approach.
“What’s your name boy?” His tone was friendly but still had the authority to demand an answer.
“Abbe, sir,” the boy replied timidly.
“And where is Edgar Finch?”
“He’s in his office...but he doesn’t like to be disturbed,” the boy added quickly.
“Oh...I am sure he will make time for us. Tell me, Abbe, does your work with Finch pay well?”
The boy’s face hardened. “My work pays a debt owed by my parents.”
“We can’t have that. Benjamin, it would be fitting to reward this lad’s endeavour.” His stocky comrade stepped forward, his hand already searching out the wallet within his jacket. Moments later, the boy was looking down at his hand, which clearly contained more money than he had ever seen. “Now you have been compensated for your work. Edgar Finch will not require your services. Please inform your parents that their debt is paid.”
“Abbe!” A voice sounded from the inner office. The boy’s torment showed; he was clearly confused as to his next course of action.
“Run along, Abbe. I’m sure your parents will be pleased to hear your news.” The boy’s face suddenly erupted in a broad grin and then he raced into the street.
“Abbe,” the voice sounded again but with more malice.
“Benjamin, Bakari, shall we say hello to Mr Finch?” His two comrades nodded, and the three of them moved towards the inner office.
Finch did not look up immediately as the door to his office opened and then closed again. It was not until three shadows fell across his desk that his eyes lifted from the document in his hands.
“Who the hell are you?” he snapped.
“Mr Finch, delighted to meet you. This fine fellow is Bakari, no surname. I can only imagine his parents thought so little of him, they deemed him unworthy of a family name.” Bakari merely stared at Finch and didn’t acknowledge the teasing by his comrade. “I wouldn’t bother seeking out conversation with Bakari. He prefers action to words. However, all is not lost. Benjamin Grist here,” he turned to his stocky friend, “is a man who can talk from sunrise until dusk.”
“It’s true,” Benjamin agreed.
“And you are?” Finch asked as he stretched for a bottle of Gin.
The tall man snatched up the bottle and then poured its contents into a glass. “I am Richard Tallow, and I have matters to discuss with you, Mr Finch.” For the first time, Tallow allowed his smile to fall, his jaw to clench and eyes narrow.
“I am unaware that we have business dealings.”
“Matters! Mr Finch, there is no coin to be gained from our meeting.”
“If it does not fill my purse, then good day, sir.”
“But it is to your advantage, Edgar. May I call you Edgar? It really is quite simple. You have the opportunity to save your fat, bloated neck from the noose.”
“What is this nonsense?” Finch’s face reddened displaying to all those present, his growing annoyance. He went to rise from his chair, but Tallow pressed the Gin bottle against his chest and forced him to remain seated.
“You are a secret keeper, Edgar, but your secret is out. You hide the movement of killers. The purchase of property here, the disposal of land there, you have been busy. All to make your clients ghosts to the authorities.” Tallow paused for a moment allowing his words take effect and then decided to raise the stakes. “Talk is cheap, Finch, let me tell you what we know. You provide a service for a murderous cult and so must take the same responsibility as those that commit the butchery.”
“I…I haven’t killed anyone,” Finch stammered. His pitiful attempts to claim innocence were answered by Bakari, his powerful hand sweeping down and landing with a heavy slap against Finch’s soft, fleshy cheek.
“I told you, Bakari prefers action.” Tallow’s eyes burned into Finch as he spoke. “Your guilt is not in question and denying your actions is pointless and will lead to Bakari becoming frustrated.”
“You can’t treat me like this. I have influential friends in Johannesburg.”
“Actually, you don’t.” The reply came from Benjamin. He pulled documents from his inner jacket. We have signed witness statements that you bribed and intimidated key individuals. This enabled you to obtain the contracts for the construction of Johannesburg’s upcoming prison. You have no friends, and these people want you out. Johannesburg has forsaken you Edgar, and your only hope is to tell all you know. My employer alone can keep the rope from digging into your flesh. However, he is not a master who suffers fools and is extremely busy man. If he is to save your worthless hide, then you must make it worth his effort.”
“Who is your employer?” Finch asked meekly. The panic was beginning to show on his face.
“Sir Simeon Harkness and he is most displeased. You will begin your journey to England this night. On the way, you will tell my talkative friend Benjamin, all that you know about Cronos. He will ask questions, and you will answer, and if you prove difficult Bakari will show you the error of your ways. Are we in agreement?” Tallow was making a statement. It was clear to all including Finch that his request was not up for debate.
Finch did not reply but as Bakari’s hand rose in preparation to strike he frantically nodded his acceptance of Tallow’s deal. The sweat from Finch’s brow splattered across the desk forcing Tallow to take a step backwards, but his piercing stare did not leave Finch.
“Good, within the hour a carriage will arrive to collect you and any documents that will be useful. They will take you to your home and collect any further papers,” he paused eyeing the man to his front. “You will do well to be straight with us, Finch. It will not be of serve you to be dishonest.” His pleasant smile returned. “Benjamin will stay at your side but be warned, he is a man of books but has a skill for violence. If you think of running, he is more than capable of stopping you.”
“It’s a dangerous world,” Benjamin added in mock defence of his ability to carry out violence.
***
Tallow and Bakari exited Finch’s office. Out in the street, they stood perfectly still, observing the populace. Tallow lit a cigarette as Bakari filled his pipe.
“Forgive me, my friend,”
Tallow said. He turned from viewing the street to look at his comrade.
“What for?” Bakari replied. The confusion at the apology received, showing on his face.
“You are an educated man. Using you to instil fear in a loathsome toad like Finch is beneath you.”
Bakari laughed. “The colour of my skin still holds fear in the hearts of some men. We have a task to complete and if I must be seen as a demon to complete that task, then so be it. Besides, the opportunity to place a hand against a white devil’s soft flesh was too enticing to refuse.” He continued to laugh.
“You are a strange man, Bakari.” Tallow took a deep draw on his cigarette. “We have much to complete before we leave for England.”
A large carriage pulled up outside Finch’s office. As the door opened, the occupant was revealed carrying a large hunting gun. Tallow held out a hand to aid the man’s descent.
“Much obliged Tallow,” the man croaked. The dust of the tracks beyond the city’s border lay heavy in his throat. He pulled a water skin from the side of the carriage and drank deeply of its cleansing liquid. “The Morning Star will hold its departure. The captain,” he closed his eyes, clearly an attempt to remember a name, “Boyd, Captain Boyd...was not happy.”
“Well Josh, if he wishes to remain the captain, he will keep his disquiet to himself,” Tallow replied.
“Oh, I just informed him that Harkness demanded his cooperation.” The man called Josh started performing some strange stretching exercises.
“Are you aware of how ridiculous you look,” Tallow jested.
“I have twenty years on you. Besides, the roads in this godforsaken country are non-existent. Is our guest ready?”
“Grist is helping him get his documents together. Watch this man Josh. He hasn’t made his fortune by blindly following others.”
“Do not worry, Betsy here will discourage him from thinking too much.” He smiled and stroked the butt of his rifle.
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