They wound their way back along the Liffey and crossed at Essex Bridge travelling up Capel Street before turning right onto Bolton Street and then onto Dorset Street. After a short spin on this for, they turned a final left onto Dominick Street where the carriage pulled up outside a large townhouse.
"Just up the steps madam; someone is waiting to let you in," the driver said opening the door and helping her out to the ground.
"Thank you," she said to him. She hadn't thought to take any money with her, and now she was unsure as to whether she was supposed to tip this man or not; if it was rude not to give him something. She rummaged in her cloak on the off chance that she might find something. She felt her face go crimson and the driver looked at her, and he took hold of her hands.
"All taken care of Miss, you better get inside out of this rain," he smiled at her, and she couldn't help but smile back. He was such a genial man, and she could feel the warmth of his hands even through his gloves. She thought he must be someone's father and what a lucky child that would be.
"Thank you again," she said to him, and she started up the steps.
As Mary approached the bright red door, it opened, and a maid with a smiling face stood there to greet her.
"Come in dear," she said pleasantly and taking her by the arms. The house was warm, and as soon as Mary was inside, she could feel it infuse her whole body.
There was a mat inside the door, and the maid took her cloak and hung it on a hook on the wall and beckoned her to follow. Mary wiped her feet and stepped of onto the softest surface she'd ever stood on. Deep red carpets lined the hallway and ran up the stairs, and she couldn't believe how soft it was and the comparison to even the mat at the door. She felt as though she shouldn't be wearing shoes on it, afraid that she would be getting it dirty. She took small steps on tiptoe almost as she followed the maid.
She was brought to a room and told to wait and was then left alone. It was a large square room; the carpet was less thick here but still very soft and a brighter red than that in the hallway. The walls were covered in gold leaf designed wallpaper that shone with the light from the many candles in the chandelier. There were paintings on the walls of men in uniform, some who looked like Spencer and some battle scenes of which she had no way of even guessing at. There was a magnificent fireplace piled for a fire but not in use just then, it was white and clean, and there were ornaments of various birds on the mantle. There was very little furniture in the room. A couch and a chair side by side were all.
Across from these was a wooden frame; she didn't know what it was called, but she knew people used them for painting. She had seen people in the street using them before. The maid came back in and said that the Colonel would be in shortly and asked if she wanted anything to eat or drink. Mary was too embarrassed to say she did, so she declined politely.
She was left alone again, and soon Spencer came in with a large canvas under his arm and a leather bag in the other hand.
"Hello?" he said happily, "I'm glad you came!"
"Hello, Sir," she said, and she completed an awkward curtsy.
"No need for such formalities, while you are in my house you call me Spencer, is that all right?" He was smiling a lot, and he looked at her a couple of times as he set up his canvas and set down his bag and began to go through it.
"Yes, Sir," she replied.
"Yes who?" he said laughing.
"Sp-Spencer," she said nervously, but his smile was infectious, and she let one slip of her own.
"That's it!" he said. "I like that you wore black; it's a perfect contrast to your white skin." Mary blushed at this feeling a compliment even though she hadn't heard one she understood. "We're just going to get things set up today, get you in a pose you find comfortable, and then I'll make a few quick sketches in my notebook," he said, taking this last item out of his bag. He looked at her for approval, and she nodded.
"Why don't you sit down?" he suggested.
"Where?" she asked.
"Try the couch first, maybe."
Mary sat down, her knees together and her feet planted on the floor. She sat upright and didn't lean into the back. "You'll have to get more comfortable than that," Spencer smiled. "Sit back, it's very soft and nice." Mary did as she was told and once more she was astonished by how soft and comfortable everything was here. It went so far back that for a moment she was afraid that she was going to fall through it and end out on the floor behind. But it stopped, and she felt the cool covering on her skin, and she liked it very, very much.
"How's that?"
"Nice."
"It doesn't quite suit the painting I have in mind, though," he said looking at her and then the couch as though he were trying to work something out. "Can you sit with your feet up and lean your side against the arm? Maybe hold your head up with your elbow propped on the arm and your fist under your chin?" he demonstrated what he meant as he spoke.
Mary felt awkward doing this, but she slipped out of her shoes and put them to the side of the couch and pulled her legs up assuming the position he had asked. "Very good," he said, "Now can you look out towards the window, please?" She did this. "Perfect!" he exclaimed. She smiled at his enthusiasm. "Do you think you could hold that for twenty minutes at a go?"
"I think so. It seems fine."
"Great. Hold there for a bit so."
Mary stayed as still as she could. She could see a nest on top of the building across the road, and she focused on this for a time. Just out of the corner of her eye, she could make out the movements of Spencer, but it was only a sense, and she didn't really know what he was doing. She could hear his pencils rushing over the paper, and now and then she would hear a sheet be torn and hear it as it fell to the floor. Some of these sheets came into her view but of what she could see one seemed to be only her hair, and the other was the bottom of the couch with her shoes beside it. Frequently he would make some noise in approval at something, or else scold himself for some mistake or blot he must have made.
"Nearly done for today," he said soon, and Mary was surprised at how quick the time had seemed to pass. She didn't know if she was allowed to move or reply so she let her eyes move to him for a moment and the looked back out the window. "You can move your head now, I'm just getting down something of the dress now," he said with a smile. She blushed at the thought of him studying her body so closely, as he would have to be if he was focusing on her dress.
"All done," he said finally. She stood up and stretched out her neck and hips.
"That was fast," she said.
"I'll try to keep all the sessions as brief as I can, I know it's not very exciting just sitting there."
"It was fine for me."
"Nice to near it. My coachman will drop you home or anywhere else you might like to go," Spencer said. He rummaged in his pockets and brought out some coins and offered them to her. She was about to put her hand out when he snatched them back suddenly. "How rude of me, dropping coins into your hands!" He went to his bag and took out a small change pouch and dropped the coins into it and tied the top and then handed it to her. "Terribly sorry about that," he said.
"That's no problem. Thank you," Mary said. She didn't look at the pouch, but she could feel the weight of the money and was excited by it.
"Next week at the same time?" he asked.
"Yes. Thank you."
"You have nothing to thank me for." Mary didn't know what to say to this, but he went on. "I have to get ready to go out now, so I'll get Hetty to call the coachman and see you out. See you next week," he said with a wave and then he left the room at speed. Mary felt the money in her hand, and she couldn't wait to get home and show Sarah. She was delighted too that she was going to be taken home in the carriage as it was a long walk for her from here.
Chapter 16
It was late in the day, and the dusk was still off by a little bit when the mob reached the graveyard. It had been no secret where Cleaves had been buried. Hundreds had turned out for his hanging, and many came to
the site of the burial. It had been proposed that he be flung into a communal grave, but those with loved ones already in there raised concerns about them having to spend eternity with that monster beside them. Finally, the authorities, tired of hearing this, changed the location and Cleaves was given a dank pit of his own that was ordered to remain unmarked. The people cheered when he was buried, and it was known that people would often use the grave site as a toilet if they were caught short, on their way home drunk or just felt a little mischievous.
On this night they got to the grave, and their intention was morbid and out of fear. It had taken the men to drink a little before they could be cajoled into doing this deed that many thought sacrilegious despite the occupant of the grave. There was also the silly fear in some that they might find that they would be the ones to wake the actual Dolocher by digging him up. However, most just had to know. They had to be sure that he was still in his grave and that there was no way it was really him as he had been in human form going around and killing once more.
There was a brief discussion and disagreement as to the exact location but when this was settled three men set about digging. Having taken on a lot of alcohol, they were soon out of breath, and another two men took over for a time, and it was very slow progress. Women badgered from the side and jeered at the men for their lack of effort. After about twenty minutes there was a general withdrawal from the grave, and one of the women let out a shriek.
They had uncovered a body, but it was not the decomposing and wretched body of Cleaves, no, instead in its place was that of a young woman, killed only very recently and buried in this spot. There was no sign of the Dolocher and the people around blessed themselves and looked about suddenly as though in terrible danger as the dusk began to settle. The women cried, and the men with shovels brandished them more firmly as all looked about as if expecting the Dolocher to launch an attack on them from any direction right there and then.
In a huddle they left, each afraid of their own shadow and all regretful that they had been so foolhardy to come and do what they had.
Mullins watched them leave from his vantage point at the edge of the cemetery. He'd been at the graveside cursing his former friend to high heaven, in a fit of anger at Cleaves for turning out not to be the man Mullins had so liked. When he heard the crowd approaching, he fled, not wanting to be seen at the grave in case he was mistaken for a mourner- that would be the last thing he needed. Now that they were all safely gone, he approached the grave once more, curiosity being his lure now.
As he got closer, he saw the mounds of freshly dug earth that the men hadn't bothered pushing back in, and soon he was going to be close enough to see over it and into the grave. He braced himself for what he might see. He had never seen a body this long after burial, but he had no thoughts other than it being Cleaves in there, and in such a state that the people went scurrying off in revulsion. He closed his eyes as he stood on the mound and took a deep breath before looking in.
To his surprise, he saw the woman, and he knew straight away that she was not dead all that long. She had been the victim of a murder, and there were black stains all over the clothes that Mullins assumed were dried and caked blood. He wanted to jump in and take her out and dig down to see if Cleaves was underneath, but he knew in his heart that he was not down there. Now that he knew what was in the grave he knew he had to get away from here. Those people would bring back the first policeman or soldier they could find. The last thing he needed was to be caught near a scene like this.
He left quickly and travelled a few streets before stopping. There was terrible anger in him, and his emotions were so mixed. He had always been capable of self deception when it came to Cleaves's guilt for all those murders. Even though he knew he had done it, Mullins couldn't help but remember the good times with Cleaves, the times he told stories to the children or when he helped out people in need. It was so hard to reconcile this with what had happened. He had countless hours of fond memories of his friend, but only those few minutes at the end of seeing him as the Dolocher.
He'd wanted to visit the grave before now, but he hadn't dared for what people might think, especially with the rumours that flew around about his knowledge at that time. He felt tears on his cheeks, and he didn't know if it was for his lost friend, for the fact that someone had desecrated his grave and took his body somewhere, or because of the girl whose body he had just seen. He started walking again but with no real aim. He wasn't well known in this area, and he walked here in the hope that no one would recognise him.
Later in a coffee house on Fleet Street, he saw in his mind the wound on the woman's stomach and how large it was and how much blood there had been if everything he thought he'd seen had been blood. She had been savaged, a horrible way to die. It looked like a giant bite, but he knew that it must have been done by a person and so it must have been cut out of her.
The place would be cordoned off by now and no doubt the Alderman would be there. This was part of the new murders and the link to the Dolocher this time was not one of the sites of his murders but in the fact that his grave was used. He was sure too that Cleaves had been taken away so that doubt could be pressed into people's minds, that they could believe that he was back amongst the living. Whoever was responsible was interested in more than just killing, they wanted the fear and the paranoia that had been rife those two winters of 1788 and 1789. They wanted fear to reign and the streets to be emptied at night.
That whole time had been a terrible experience for anyone living in the Liberties and especially himself. Lord Muc's words came back to him; would Mullins be suspected again? He felt stupid now for going to the grave, and he wondered if anyone had seen him there. How could he have been so stupid! He wanted a drink, but he knew he shouldn't have one. He should go home and lie low for the evening. Cleaves was gone from his grave, what did that mean?
Chapter 17
Alderman James climbed with distaste down the slopes that had been dug into the site of the Dolocher's grave. The mud slushed about, and he used his cane to balance, quickly feeling the stump of it grow heavy and slippery with mulch. There were foot prints of many other people here as he went down, no doubt they were the people who dug this hole and perhaps the first couple of soldiers who had been on the scene.
He looked at the dead woman’s face, not someone he recognised but he hadn't expected her to be. Looking at the face first was a habit he'd formed years before, there was always a chance that you might fleetingly have seen the person somewhere; crossing the road and nearly getting hit by a carriage, dropping something as they walked in front of you, who knew? That one thing could be a clue that would otherwise go undiscovered from the evidence of a case.
She was in her twenties, maybe mid-twenties he supposed, probably pretty while she was alive. Her clothes were those of one of the prostitutes who worked exclusively in one of the houses, not a street walkers get up. There was a massive hole in her abdomen, and he could see the jagged edges of the rim of it and the ripped and torn dress that clung thickly with blood to the skin. It was dark, and the lights of the lanterns were not enough for him to see inside the wound too well. He knew that the soldiers above would be watching, so he didn't want to put his hand inside the wound; who knew what rumours could come from something like that. He knew this was another killing by the same person who had sent him the letter. Who else would have dug up the Dolocher's grave, taken his body and replaced him with this fresh victim other than the new killer.
"Where is the cart to transport this woman to the mortuary?" he snapped looking up at the men. They looked around to see if it was in sight.
"It was called for about ten minutes ago, Sir," the officer said nervously. That meant it should be here in the next ten minutes, James thought. He stood up and began to trudge up the side of the embankment; there was no point in staying in the grave while he waited if he couldn't see anything properly.
As he clambered out over the mound, he saw Edwards at the fringe of th
e graveyard, beyond the metal railing that ran around it. He was talking to some youths over at a street corner who looked like they had gathered to gawk at the military presence. He watched until Edwards looked over and he nodded in greeting. Edwards finished talking to the boys and made his way over to him.
"Did they see anything?" James asked, assuming that this was what Edwards had been talking to them about.
"They did. They said they saw a big man here earlier, and they gave me a description."
"Did you recognise it?"
"Big, muscled, a scar on his face," Edwards said looking at him knowingly.
"Lord Muc?"
"Try again," Edwards smiled.
"Mullins?"
"That's how it sounded to me."
"Definitely not Muc?"
"I asked a few more specific questions, and I ruled Muc out based on their answers." James nodded to this. The same names again, over and over. "Anything on the body?" Edwards said nodding at the girl and looking down at her.
"It's too dark to see, but I'm going to go to the mortuary when the cart comes."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"If you can, yes." Another pair of eyes couldn't hurt, and Edwards had the kind of eyes that could see things both he and the doctor might miss.
"Do you think the blacksmith being here means anything?" Edwards asked him after a pause. James shrugged.
"I'm not sure."
"He could have been simply visiting his friend’s grave."
"Possibly," James agreed, but even that was suspicious. He couldn't imagine visiting the grave of anyone he knew who turned out to be a lunatic murderer.
The cart came, and the body was lifted up carefully by the soldiers and loaded on to it. James was climbing up too when Edwards took him by the arm.
"It's getting a little cold Alderman, why don't you ride with me in my carriage; we can follow behind the cart and keep an eye on it that way." James hadn't felt the cold before but now that he had heard it said he could feel it inside him like he had been standing on damp ground for too long.
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