"Concerning what?" Mullins was unsure as to what he might be alluding to, but he remembered Lord Muc's words that this man was no friend to him.
"Oh, a few things," Edwards said. He poked at some tools hanging by the door and looked back at Mullins. "It seems you were attacked by the wolf?"
"Not attacked no?"
"I didn't think so, there's not a scratch on you," Edwards said looking him over.
"I went to the aid of a woman who had a baby; I heard her scream."
"I'll be frank with you Mr. Mullins, there is a rumour going around that the wolf is yours, that you have trained it to kill and that was why you were able to escape from it without harm." Mullins was astonished by this claim, and for a moment he didn't know how to answer to it.
"That's completely incredible!" he said at last. "The reason I got out of there unharmed was that someone came to my aid, they threw a pot of scalding water over the wolf," he said hurriedly as he recalled he had an alibi in Muc.
"I heard that it was Lord Muc who saved you."
"He helped me," Mullins said, he still couldn't reconcile with that word. Edwards smiled seeming to know that it rankled him. "Why are you paying him to follow me?" Mullins asked suddenly; he was annoyed at Edwards now.
"He told you, did he?" Edwards laughed and looked like he was thinking for a moment.
"He didn't say why you wanted me followed."
"I wanted to be sure that you were not this killer who is going around."
"Are you satisfied now?"
"Not entirely, but I'm beginning to rule you out." They looked at one another, but neither spoke for a few moments.
"You said there was something else, I think?" Mullins said.
"That is much worse news for you I am afraid," Edwards had a look of mock sorrow on his face, and Mullins felt his stomach lurch with worry as to what he might be alluding to. There was something in Edwards' demeanour that told him that this was not going to be some trifle or rumour that he could bat away.
"Out with it," he almost growled it, his teeth clenched against the pain he felt was coming.
"It concerns your wife Mr. Mullins," Edwards said, and Mullins' stomach dropped another level.
"What about her?"
"It seems that she did something rash while you were in the gaol over there," Edwards nodded across to the visible 'Black Dog.'
"What do you mean?"
"She was terrified for your safety, she had not been able to gain access to see you and all the rumour out here was that you were going to hang for your alleged crimes."
"What about it!" Mullins was desperate for Edwards to get to the point; he was fighting off all sorts of things in his mind that wanted to leap forward as possibilities.
"It appears that she gave herself up to a man to secure your release," Edwards looked quite grave, as though he was terribly sorry to be the one relaying this news to him.
"What?" Mullins was stunned, this was not at all what he had thought was coming, and for a moment he was dumbfounded by it.
"She didn't know that there had been another murder committed- one that would free you as it was the work of the real killer." Mullins got hold of his thoughts, and he rushed and grabbed Edwards by the collars,
"You liar!" Mullins shouted. Edwards made no motion to defend himself, and he took his time before speaking again.
"I know that you must be upset Mr. Mullins, but I think you should go and talk to you wife, you will know by speaking to her, I'm sure, if this awful rumour is baseless or not." His calmness exuded, and Mullins felt it affect his own body, and he lessened his grip on Edwards and then released him completely and took a step back.
"Who told you this rubbish?" Mullins asked looking him in the eye.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," Edwards said as calmly as before. "Speak to her tonight, hear her part," Edwards said, and then he nodded goodbye and waked out of the shop.
Mullins was dizzy and leaned against the doorframe. He felt ill, but he didn't know what might make him feel better. Could it possibly be true? He grew angry at this, and his dizziness got worse. No, he thought, she wouldn't do something like that.
Her past was drifting by his reason and letting itself be known, a tantalising doubt that this was indeed something she might have been capable of. He wondered then who could have told Edwards about it and why they would tell him in the first place. He could think of nothing. He heard a carriage outside, and he stepped out, he needed some air.
The carriage stopped in front of the shop, and Edwards leaned out of the window.
"I'm sorry Mr. Mullins, but the reason I couldn't tell you who had told me this information was because no one had told me," he called out. Mullins didn't understand for a moment what he was talking about. Edwards was smiling mechanically, an evil bent to his face but before Mullins could piece his thoughts together, the carriage moved off. "There was a nasty bruise on her hip a few weeks ago wasn't there?" Edwards' mocking voice rang out from the fast disappearing carriage.
Mullins charged after it, but they already had a good head start and a decent head of steam going before he even set off and it was clear to him after only a few seconds that he was not going to be able to catch up with them.
"Come back here!" he shouted after it, "Coward!" He stopped running and looked after the carriage until he could see it no more. His head throbbed with his pulsating blood flow at the temples, and he bent over to catch his breath.
Chapter 57
James stepped into the whiskey cabin on Cook Street, and it seemed to him that this was becoming a regular meeting place for them. Edwards had suggested the place in a note sent to James late the previous evening.
It was nearing Five O'clock now and dark outside; the first of the evening snow was falling. As expected, Edwards was there already, sitting in that same corner at the same table as the previous times- James thought that he must pay men to vacate it when he came in, that was the only way he could get it in a place that was always busy like this. Their eyes met, but neither waved or nodded acknowledgement of the other. Edwards' eyes were alive with mocking menace as James made his way to the table.
This is what James had feared most; the mocking was the worst of it all and Edwards had some talent for it to be sure. James sat across from Edwards but still neither had said a word. James looked to the bar, called for a jug, and then turned back to Edwards.
"It was very cold out a couple of nights ago wasn't it?" Edwards said with a grin.
"You'll want to know what I was doing?" James said, not wanting to get into semantics with him.
"I know what you were doing Alderman, you were following me," Edwards said leaning back in his chair, "What I don't know is why?"
"First off I must apologise," James said. The barman dropped the jug and tumbler to the table and left without a word.
"Accepted," Edwards said.
"Someone has come to me and named you as a possible suspect for the murders."
"Did she now?" Edwards smiled, and James didn't bother pretending that it was not Kate who had said it. "What else did she have to say?"
"She said that you are trying to ruin her marriage," James looked at him indignantly at the recall of this. Edwards laughed at this, seeming to find it very amusing.
"What type of a marriage do you suppose a whore can have?" he laughed. James didn't respond to this. He didn't approve of her former life, but he knew that Kate had been a changed woman since she got married to Mullins.
"Anyway," James said wanting to get back onto the subject at hand, "You could have just asked me why I was following you the other night, it didn't have to end up in that ridiculous charade!"
"You could have come to me with your concerns Alderman, you could have spoken to me instead of skulking around on that silly horse of yours." James nodded in defeated agreement with this.
"I can only apologise for not taking that course of action, but..." James didn't go on, and his eyes fell to the table. He'd been about t
o say how much this case was getting to him, but he didn't want Edwards to know this.
"I will continue to assist you if that is what you wish Alderman," Edwards said, "But if not, I do not expect to followed again. I may be many things, but a murderer is not one of them." James looked at him again.
"I'm sorry; I would like you to continue to help if you can."
They were both silent for a time and drank a little. James looked about at the clientele of the place, and he felt that these people’s faces were becoming more and more familiar. These were the people that he was trying to protect and here each one of them sat or stood drunk and messy and a possible next victim. No one returned his gaze.
"It just so happens Alderman," Edwards started, getting James' attention once more, "I have another clue for you and one that this time I'm sure you'll be delighted with."
"What is it?"
"Something that I believe points to our man directly," Edwards was almost sneering in his smile.
"Don't do this, tell me what it is?"
"That amulet you gave me?" Edwards said.
"Yes?"
"Did anyone else see it apart from you or I?" James tried to think, had he shown it to anyone, he couldn't remember if he had.
"I don't think so?"
"So if it were to show up in say, a painting, would that seem strange to you?"
"It would indeed," James said. He was already seeing Colonel Spencer and his nervousness at the opening of the new Custom House a while back.
"I was in Spencer's house yesterday, and I got him to show me where he did the painting of the Devil that adorns the club house in the countryside. As I was looking over the attic, that is where he does some of his darker paintings, I saw one against the wall that had a woman wearing the very same amulet as you found. The painting was dated to last year. I didn't recognise the woman, but I feel sure that it would be of one of the early victims, whose face was not recognisable."
"Did you confront Spencer about this?"
"No, he doesn't know that I've seen it."
"So you think he is our man?"
"I do now, he has spoken to me of seeing the Devil everywhere he goes, and he has been unhinged for a long time. I think doing that painting of the Satan, being up close to it, eye to eye with Lucifer as it were, has done something to him."
"He sees the Devil everywhere?" James asked surprised
"Yes, a face in a crowd, out on the street if he happens to look out a window."
"Really," James wondered if any of this might be the cause of being part of the Hellfire Club, a divine punishment perhaps.
"I think he's definitely worth investigating more, perhaps we could go to his house, and I could show you the painting I mean?"
"I think that should be our next step," James agreed.
"We can go over there tonight if you want?"
"I think we should go now, this instant. If he is the killer, he could have something terrible planned for tonight for all we know."
"He won't be home until later," Edwards said, "I arranged to call in this evening in anticipation of our meeting." James looked at him and wondered if he ever stopped scheming.
"What time?"
"Eight."
"Gives us some time to eat then," James said noticing that his drink was falling on an empty stomach.
"Not here, however, I've seen the food, and it could have been the cause of more deaths than the Dolocher and Spencer put together!" Edwards smiled at his joke, but James was once again put off by his casual manner in relation to murders and the feelings of people in general. James looked around to see if there had been any reaction to the mention of both sets of murders but if there had been one he had missed it.
James threw down some money on the table for the whiskey, and they left to eat somewhere decent before going on to Colonel Spencer's house.
Chapter 58
Mary waited once more for Spencer in the downstairs room. She had been nervous about coming, had almost not come having promised John that she would stop soon. The money lured her here, there was no way she could turn it down, herself and Sarah needed it. She just hoped that he did not want to go up to the attic again for this session.
Spencer came in, his movements frantic and he looked as though he were in a great hurry. Mary was startled by his appearance, so much so that she did not say hello when he came in. His face was white and wax-like with tiredness, and he looked as though he had lost weight, his clothes hung instead of clung to him.
"Today will be the last session, Ms. Sommers," he said, and he looked at her with a thin smile, "Thank you so much for your time and willingness." Mary had not expected this, and she nodded back,
"Your welcome." He must have seen something in her face, some facet of disappointment.
"I will be paying you more than usual, this is a last payment to say thank you, and who knows, I may ask you to pose again for me some day." Mary was embarrassed now that he had known she was concerned about the money, but he seemed to take no notice. He glanced out the window and then uncovered the painting and looked at it and then Mary as though comparing the two.
"How would you feel if you did not like the painting?" he asked her.
"I'm sure I'll love it," she said.
"What if it was a painting by someone else, and you didn't like it, how would you feel?" Mary thought about this for a moment. She had never known from the start if she was ever going to actually see the finished painting and she hadn't given it much thought.
"I don't know anything about art, so I don't know what I could think," she offered weakly.
"Would you be upset if it didn't show you as how you feel you are?"
"If it made me look much worse than I am, I think I might be annoyed, but I don't think I would be angry." He nodded at this answer as though it was the wisest she could have given; like she had given him something to think about.
"Would you like to see it?" he asked.
"Yes, please," she replied. She was nervous now that it was hideous, that she would hate it and would not be able to get it out of her head. He beckoned for her to come over and she walked across the room slowly and stopped beside the canvas. He moved out of the way,
"Come around and see," he said. He seemed very nervous, and she was afraid of her reaction, of hurting his feelings unintentionally. She stepped around and looked upon the painting, something she had wanted to do since the first day.
What she saw took her breath away, and her mouth fell open. It was her, unmistakably so, but not as she had ever seen or imagined herself. She looked beautiful, even with the scars shown clearly and not hidden in the least. There was a light coming from her image, and she suddenly felt a knot in her throat, and she felt tears coming to her eyes.
"Do you like it?" Spencer asked looking apprehensively at her.
"It's wonderful!" she said, and the effort of speaking set forth a gush of tears, and she looked at Spencer. "Thank you for making me look like this," she said.
"This is how you look Mary, this is what people see every time they meet you," he said in reply. He looked relieved, and there was a smile on his face, and even his eyeballs looked lacquered.
"I never thought it could be like this," she said.
"I'm sorry it's come to an end," he said, and he rummaged in his pockets for something. He produced a coin purse and handed it to her.
"I can't take anything else from you, Mr. Spencer," she said withdrawing from him a little.
"This is less than you deserve for what you have enabled me to create," he said and taking hold of her hand, he pressed the purse into it, closing her fingers around it. He let go of her then as though he felt he had been improper touching her in this way. He looked to the window again and once more he looked nervous and agitated. Mary's own gaze wandered to the window, and she saw a man pass by in a large hooded cape that completely covered him and hid his features. She looked back at Spencer, and he looked terrified.
"You better get going," he
said to her, almost pushing her, "I have a lot of work to do." Still his eyes were on the window.
"Thank you again, so much," Mary said, and she picked up her coat and made for the door. She looked back at him once more, but he was not looking at her. He studied the painting seriously, and she left without another word.
On her way home in the carriage, Mary wondered what had made him so fearful, but she couldn't know anything that was going on in his life. She felt the mass of the purse in her pocket and tried to guess at its weight and hence value.
Though she was amazed and still emotionally charged by the painting, she wasn't all sad to be leaving this place for the last time. Ever since her encounter in the attic, she had been nervous there, and now with the added pressure of John asking her to stop doing it, she was relieved that it was all over. She wouldn't have to feel that fear any more, and she wouldn't have to lie to John any more either.
The main focus on her journey, something that wouldn't leave her mind, however, was the look of fear on Spencer's face. She had never seen anything like it before. It was so bad that she doubted her own fear of being attacked by the Dolocher had been so great.
Chapter 59
Colonel Spencer arrived home on foot one evening to a very peculiar state of affairs at home. He knocked on the door of his house- he rarely had a key with him- and after waiting for a time, no one answered. He knocked more forcefully wondering what the hold up inside could be. Still, nobody came to answer him.
This was very odd indeed, and not something he had ever come up against before. He looked up at the house and saw that there were candles burning in lots of rooms, but he didn't see the silhouette of anyone passing by them.
Spencer called out those servants whose names came immediately to mind but still there was nothing stirring within. He was getting annoyed now, and thoughts of punishment started to come into his head. Giving up on gaining entry by the front door, he walked on down the street with the aim of coming around and entering through the servants and workers entrance at the rear of the house.
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