Shadow of the Dolocher

by European P. Douglas

  "He said this to you? Outright?"

  "As clear as I say it now to you." Anger flashed on his face momentarily, and then he looked to her with almost apologetic eyes.

  "If you believe he is telling the truth in this matter, you would do well to do whatever he asks of you. It may be the only way to save your husband." Kate had been stunned by this, and she realised for the first time the actual power Mr. Edwards must wield. She knew that he was very rich and did pretty much as he pleased, but she never thought anyone could be beyond the reproach of the law.

  "What will happen to Tim if I don't?"

  "Most likely he will be hanged."

  It was those words that sent her straight on her way to this house now and had her sit here waiting for Edwards to come home. She cried as she thought of Tim and how what she had to do would pain him. She knew that he had grown very accustomed to the life of a married man and he was unlikely ever to find another woman again; there was nothing wrong with him it was just his way. Had it not been for the awful events of two years before he and she would never have gotten together in the first place. It was as much as a surprise to her as anyone else that she fell in love with him.

  A door rattled open, and the same maid as before popped her head around the corner.

  "The master is home. He says that he will see you soon; that you are to wait here until he calls for you." Kate knew that Edwards was punishing her, this is what she got for not agreeing that afternoon in the carriage when he had proposed this arrangement. He would be aware she had tried to see how it would pan out without his help but that had been worth nothing

  She was in that room an hour longer before the maid came in and led her to another. It was a small study and at the desk sat Edwards, a grin on his face.

  "Can you bring Kate something to eat please May, anything at all will do," he said politely to the maid who nodded and left the room. When they were alone, he looked over her body greedily. "I know this is hard for you," he said finally, the grin dropping for once.

  "You'll never understand how hard this is for me," Kate said, barely managing to squeeze the words out before a lump came to her throat.

  "It's not like you haven't done it before," Edwards said, not happy with her defiance it seemed. She wasn't quite sure what he meant by this, but she was sure it was some slur on her past.

  "Why do you want me here?" she asked.

  "It's simple, I love you, Kate."

  "You don't love anyone."

  "I found it hard to believe myself, it's true. I was fine when you worked in the brothel as I could visit you any time, I didn't know who else you were with, and I didn't care. But when you got married, and I had no access to you anymore, and I knew exactly who was with you at night it started to eat away at me."

  "Jealousy!" was that what this was about.

  "Maybe a little, but I knew soon after it was more than that. There are any number of prostitutes with looks like yours or even superior, but there is something else about you that gets deep inside of me." She blushed. She didn't like this line of conversation.

  "Call off your witnesses," she said, this was what she was doing this for after all.

  "First things first," he said, and he stood up. She knew what was coming next and without a word, he took her by the hand and began to lead her out of the room. May, the maid was just about to come in with a tray of sandwiches and some tea. "Put them in the dining room please," Edwards said to her, and then he continued on with Kate.

  She felt the full weight of her betrayal and her predicament at the first footstep on the bottom thickly carpeted stair. Tears began to fall down her cheeks, and they were hot, and she felt sick. He walked ahead, looking on up the stairs and she followed with her hand outstretched in front of her in his grasp, being led like some reluctant animal on a farm. How had it come to this? She closed her eyes and thought of Tim in that rat infested gaol and then forced herself to think of the moment he would get out, the moment of freedom and happiness, and that moment alone. She couldn't go beyond that and see what would come for him soon after when he realised that he was alone in the world again. They reached the top of the stairs, and he led her into a room and shut the door behind them.

  Chapter 34

  Alderman James looked out over the Liffey watching the water shift and muddle on its way out to sea. It was hard for him to feel anything other than revulsion and dread at the thoughts of another wave of murders here, by someone pretending to be something supernatural or animal. Tensions were rising in this city all the time, and it wouldn't take much to incite a riot. These new United Irishmen were going be a nuisance now; on top of everything else nationalist rhetoric was on the rise once more in the fair city.

  He was thinking of Cleaves, the man this place still insisted on calling the Dolocher, giving him a spirit and reputation that was indefatigable and refused to dissipate. Cleaves had been simply a man just like any other. He was a delivery man, and he unloaded boats at the docks. James recalled talking to him, seeing him sitting at a table. He was polite and cordial and answering James' questions as though he were talking about going for a walk on a nice sunny day.

  Cleaves hadn't denied a single thing, he told James everything that he asked of him, he even jested with him about the night the Alderman chased him up onto the roof, the closest that James had come to catching him himself. He said that he was sorry that all those people had to die, and he seemed sincere in this, his pale eyes glistening as he spoke of them collectively.

  When James asked him why he had done it, he said that James would not understand but that he would tell him, anyway. He said that he saw that Dublin was dying; that soon it would lose its heart and become nothing more than a middling town in the British Empire. He said that the Dolocher was an attempt to hold on to the dazzling Dublin that existed now, well two years ago when he was active. He thought that the deeds of a man were not something that could carry the weight of the future, but that something truly terrifying, something that had grown men fear to tread the night streets alone would live on, no matter what might befall the city.

  He said that if something of the city could survive, then the city itself would survive, would be passed on in the fears of men and women on dark nights when all they wanted was to be at home in bed, safe from this terrible world. They would fear the Dolocher, even those who lived well after its demise would fear meeting it in the alleys and quiet streets. That was all that could be saved from Dublin and all he wanted when he donned the razored arms and furry pelt that so scared the Liberties and Dublin beyond.

  James remembered the eloquent way that Cleaves had said all this and he still heard those words at night sometimes as he tried to make sense of them. Some nights he thought he could see what the murderer had meant and what he wanted to achieve, but on others he would condemn them as the words of a madman bent on killing for its own end, using words and pleasant smiles to cover up the Devil that was at work within him.

  The thought of the Devil had him look up the hill towards Hell and that alcove with the wooden statue. This, in turn, led his mind to wander to Mr. Edwards. He thought about what Kate Mullins had told him. He wished that he could have overheard any one of the conversations Edwards had with her, to hear the insinuations that she was talking about. So far James had not gotten a sense that Edwards could be in any way involved in these new killings. During the Dolocher ones, Edwards had been a suspect, if only in James mind. This time he didn't seem as interested as he had, there was no passion at the discovery of a new body or new clue as there had been before. He was almost listless now and apathetic in the face of slaughter. Where James had seen a kind of childish glee in Edwards during the Dolocher investigation, something that led him to believe at one point that Edwards was the killer, this time he only saw boredom and scarce interest.

  Could this be a way for him to cover up his crimes? Was Edwards clever enough to hide behind this ennui? It was a stark change in attitude from before, and he was innocent last
time. This rubbish went back and forth in James’ head all the time now, the paranoia of the situation drilling deep inside. He knew that at one point in the Dolocher case, he found good reason for the very people he was trying to protect to believe that he himself was the Dolocher. This is what not knowing did to a person. Many times James had wished he was dead and none more forcefully than when killers ran free in his city, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  He listed his suspects in his head once more. There were only three, and he decided on the spot that he was going to follow all of them individually. He would start with the most likely of the three, and he was surprised to be able to say this, and follow Mr. Edwards for a few days. He was probably wrong, but he had to rule him out all the same. There was something beyond the reckless playing of his membership of the Hellfire Club, James could see something beyond compassion in Edwards, a lack of empathy that was far more than the general disdain most of the upper classes showed for the poor.

  He looked back to that night on Montpelier Hill and felt that same inner fear and sickness he had felt that night when the horse looked in the door at him. He’d seen something more than a horse, something evil and residing in that place where these rich and powerful men went to while away their nights in debauchery and dedication to the supreme evil. He started to walk, the river was somehow making him feel ill, as though the bridge was swaying with the water instead of standing still over it.

  James’ headed towards ‘Hell’. It was time to start walking the streets once more in the hope of coming across this killer in the act.

  Chapter 35

  Colonel Spencer stepped out of the Chocolate House and breathed deeply of the air on Fownes Court. It had been his first time in the establishment, and he thought that it would be his last. It was not that he did not like the chocolate on offer, but more that the whole room being overpowered by the aroma made the taste seem less exquisite. He would leave his chocolate consumption for at home from now on where he knew he would enjoy it much more. He cast one more look back inside and thought what it a pity it was that it was not a coffee house; the decor was very elegant and the atmosphere lively.

  As he looked inside Spencer caught sight of himself in the glass and saw his collar had become bent. Using the window as a mirror, he set about righting it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something that made him freeze. His eyes went to the place and showed only a reflection of the gathered people walking about in the street behind him. But he was sure he had seen it.

  In the crowd, there had been for one moment a bright smiling red face, one that he had an intimate knowledge of from all those hours spent painting it. He blinked and turned to look at the people wondering if it were possible that this vision might be among them? Spencer could feel his hand trembling at his collar, and he put it to his side in an effort to control it. Even in battle, he had ever been so uneasy and ready to be scared.

  Then the real fear came; he was sure that someone was looking at him, someone unseen to him at that moment. H scanned the crowd again, searching out the faces of those whose heads were cast down but still he saw no one. Just then, his eye set on a hooded man who was about to pass out of sight around the side of a building. At the last second, the hood turned from profile and showed that grinning, malevolent face he thought he'd seen. Spencer gasped and unintentionally took a step backwards.

  The man disappeared, and a rush of his military courage came to Spencer, and he set off through the crowd in measured pursuit. Anger was growing in Spencer now, surging over his fear. If this man or creature or whatever it was wanted to haunt him, he could do it to his face!

  Spencer reached the corner and looked into what turned out to a very narrow street with a few people buying from street traders. No one in sight was his quarry. The street was long, and Spencer had to assume the fact that he could not see the man meant that he had entered one of the buildings.

  Walking slowly along he looked for some public house, whiskey cabin or coffee house but nothing like this seemed to be present on the street. Spencer stopped walking and looked about at the people he could see once more, this time scrutinising them.

  None was in a hooded garment, and more importantly, he could see all of their faces, and there was no sign of any redness in any one of them. Casting a long look in both directions along the street he was about to admit his defeat when he felt those eyes on him once more.

  Spencer cocked his head and looked all about at once, his whole body moving in a wild circle like something was on his back. Infuriatingly, there was still no source for his feeling, no one seemed to be paying him any attention at all.

  "Where are you?" Spencer muttered under his breath. He felt the handle of his blade and tilted his sword a little, enjoying the weight of it. How dearly he would love to use it right now on this tormentor. For many weeks now he had seen signs of this red faced menace, and it was grating on his nerves now, affecting his sleep and making him second guess everything he was doing.

  Movement at a window just above him caught his eye and Spence turned and looked to see a curtain flapping and a dark shape moving away.

  "I've got you now!" Spencer shouted running to the door of the house in question. He banged on it but didn't give anyone the chance to answer. He barged in shoulder first and almost fell to the floor. A woman at the rear of the house screamed in fright, but Spencer ignored her and proceeded up the stairs. He drew his sword and heard the scrape of it against the wall as he reached the top stair. Rushing in a frenzy from room to room he pulled at beds and wardrobe doors until he came to a stop on the landing once more. He stood there out of breath, there was no sign of anyone at all. How could that be?

  The woman downstairs had been calling out for help since he came in and now a large group of people were gathered at the doorway looking up at him. Spencer looked at the rear windows of the house and saw that one was open. He walked to it and looked out. It was a short drop to the ground below, and if the man got out there, he was long gone. It was even less of a drop to the neighbour's chicken coop, and Spencer looked around idly for a possible escape route. To his horror, there many rooftops over was his man. Standing tall against the skyline and though Spencer could not see him properly, he got the very distinct impression that this Devil was laughing heartily at him. Spencer looked away, not knowing if it were possible for a man to get so far away in the time since he saw him at the window.

  Spencer sheathed his sword and started to walk back down the stairs. The people went silent and made a path for him to leave the house. Spencer looked at nobody, and when he was outside, he started walking down the narrow street, not sure where it led but not caring either. He felt a heavy burden and a feeling that this was the last chance he would get to stop this evil presence.

  Chapter 36

  It was very cold on November 7th, 1791, and single thin snowflakes fluttered from the grey above from time to time threatening to flurry at any moment. Alderman James stood outside the newly opened Custom House taking some air from the throng inside.

  It was a magnificent building, and he marvelled at the sight of it when he came to it. He could remember not long ago when this very land was nothing but swamp ground. He gazed upon the stonework and knew why it had been so hard to acquire a mason over the last year, truly great work. When he'd heard about this building being built, he didn't like the idea. He was amongst many who thought that it would move the axis of the city for the worse. Thousands had protested its construction, but he had not gone so far as to join them. Now that he saw the magnificent structure he couldn't imagine the city ever being without it. He wondered would it drag any of the problems that plagued Templebar down to this part of the city as the shipping moored first here now.

  A carriage pulled up, and James recognised it immediately. Mr. Edwards climbed out, and he was followed by Colonel Spencer. They were laughing in a way that convinced James that they were drunk.

  "Alderman!" Edwards called out when he saw him.
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br />   "Hello," Spencer said in more subdued tone, though there was a bright smile on his face.

  "How are you, Gentlemen?" James replied.

  "Very good," Edwards said.

  "Fantastic building isn't it?" Spencer said to James.

  "Astounding really," James agreed.

  "What's the crowd like inside?" Edwards asked peering into the building.

  "The same as ever for this sort of thing," James said with a jaded air.

  "People have been asking you about the murders?" Edwards guessed and before James could answer he went on to Spencer, "The Alderman is cursed when it comes to murders. The locals blame him personally for each one and the rich plague him for gossip and salacious details whenever they meet him."

  "It's not quite as bad as all that," James said to Spencer with a weak smile.

  "Must be a very interesting work all the same?" Spencer asked politely

  "It has its ups and downs."

  "What are the paintings like inside?" Edwards asked.

  "Some fine works," James said, "But I wasn't really looking at them."

  "Spencer here is quite the artist himself," Edwards said slapping the Colonel on the back.

  "Really?" James said, and he saw a worried look on Spencer's face if only for the briefest moment.

  "You might have heard about his latest one?" Edwards suggested.

  "I'm afraid not, but don't be offended, I'm not a follower of the art world," James addressed Spencer.

  "Few are," Spencer chuckled, his composure back and flawless.

  "What do you paint?"

  "Oh, it could be anything."

  "Tell him what you're working on at the moment," Edwards said in a goading tone. Again there was that brief moment of worry on Spencer's face, but once more he hid it as quickly.