by Emily Organ
“I’d be lying if I said he was proud of me. He didn’t like what I did, but he couldn’t bear to give me up. He would never have told the police; he loved me too much. He didn’t want to lose me, and he thought he could make me stop. He tried hard to make me stop and told me that each one must be my last. I couldn’t stop, though. I realised that in the end. I will never be able to.”
“Was Hugo afraid of you?”
“I suppose he was. Everyone is after me now, aren’t they? They’re going to hang me.”
He lifted the knife and held it up to his throat. He grimaced and began to push the sharp edge of the knife against his neck.
I winced and turned away. “David, stop! Put the knife down! Throw it away!”
I looked back and his eyes were still glittering out at me through the mask. His mouth was fixed in a strange grin and he bared his teeth. A trickle of blood ran down his throat.
I didn’t want the children to see what he was doing to himself.
“Stop!”
I took a step towards him and swung my bag at his arm. It knocked his elbow and dislodged the knife from his neck, but I shivered when I saw the blood oozing from the gash that had opened up there.
“Drop the knife!” I shouted.
His mouth twisted into a snarl and he lunged at me with the blood-stained blade.
Two gunshots rang out and I ducked and covered my head. Then a figure came hurtling out of the fog and knocked David to the ground. The knife fell from his hand and spun across the cobbles.
I crawled forward, grabbed the handle of the knife and rolled away from David. I looked up to see James kneeling on David’s chest, pinning his arms to the ground.
“James!” I cried out. “Is he dead?”
“No. I don’t think any of my shots reached him, although he’s losing a lot of blood from this cut on his throat.”
I got to my feet and dashed over to the children, who looked up at me with large, frightened eyes.
“It’s all right,” I said. “You’re safe now.”
Finally, I could reassure them with real certainty.
The gunshots had alerted the attention of a number of people. Within moments, a small crowd had gathered around us, including many police officers. I handed the knife to one of them.
Then my legs were unable to support my weight any longer and gave way beneath me. I sat down by Hettie and Will and tried to suppress a wave of nausea.
Chapter 49
“The preparation for this trial will be quite straightforward,” said James. “I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a suspect before who has spoken about his crimes with such enthusiasm.”
“It begs the question whether there is any need for a trial!” said Mr Sherman. “Just hang the fellow and then London can get back to business.”
“At least we stopped him from getting to Martha Nicholls,” I said. “I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if he’d harmed her.”
“And he had a fairly nebulous reason for doing so,” said James. “I think the man became so fond of bloodshed that it seemed that any reason at all would do.”
“Adam de Vries,” said Edgar. “Why didn’t I solve that anagram?”
“What was the missionary’s justification for killing the boy?” asked Frederick.
“He was never a missionary,” I said. “Not in the proper sense of the word.”
“David Meares’ explanation for each murder was that he was exacting revenge on Hugo’s enemies,” said James. “Over a period of many years, he had developed an all-consuming loyalty to the man who had rescued him from a pickpocketing gang in Salford’s slums. Anyone who exchanged a cross word with Hugo Hawkins incurred the wrath of his protégé.
“Apparently, Jack Burton reminded Hugo of David as a boy. Hugo had almost succeeded in saving Jack Burton. The boy regularly attended chapel for some time, but then he stopped coming and no longer wanted to have any contact with the missionaries. This rejection deeply upset Hugo, and this made David angry. Perhaps David also harboured some jealousy towards the boy. Perhaps he worried that Jack would eventually become his replacement. He followed him for a number of evenings and eventually found his opportunity to cut the boy’s throat when he was trying to escape having snatched Miss Green’s bag.”
“He did it extremely quickly,” I said. “And to think that he stood in that courtyard a short while later as if he’d had nothing to do with it!”
“It’s the best cover,” said James. “Running away rouses suspicion.”
“You’d have thought he’d have been blood-stained,” said Mr Sherman.
“His clothes were dark and it was night-time,” I replied.
“And Hugo didn’t notice?” said Edgar.
“I’m sure he knew what David had done that evening, but he couldn’t bring himself to betray his fosterling,” said James. “The swift murder of Jack Burton was in stark contrast to the murder of Ernest Larcombe, the pawnbroker. David lay in wait for him in his shop, prepared with the knife and a bottle of chloroform. Ernest Larcombe didn’t like the missionaries. He accused them of interfering in people’s lives and believed most people in St Giles were far too sinful to ever be granted redemption. I’ve heard accounts of the many drunken arguments Larcombe had, and it seems that a number of them were with Hawkins.”
“And Larcombe’s sister, Mrs Baxter? Was she involved in any of these arguments?” asked Edgar.
“She may have been. However, there was a separate conflict with Mrs Baxter. Sometime earlier, Hugo had requested that her tours of St Giles should call in at the missionaries’ chapel. Apparently, he wanted the wealthy visitors to hear about the work he and David were doing, and I suspect that he would also have welcomed some donations from them.”
“That must have been the true reason,” said Edgar. “Money.”
“Mrs Baxter stood her ground and refused to include the missionaries in her tours. Clearly, the stand-off between the two escalated until David put a brutal end to it.”
“And Mr Turner, the philanthropist?” asked Frederick. “Was he actually a philanthropist, or did his interest in fallen women extend beyond charity?”
“Sadly, the latter,” said James. “E Division spoke to quite a number of these women, who explained exactly what Turner’s relationship with them had entailed. They were desperate for money, of course, and he had plenty of it.”
“And a wife and children at home in Chelsea,” I added.
“Indeed. And perhaps we can find some worthiness in Hugo’s character in that he was concerned about Turner’s motives. He confronted Turner and, as you can imagine, the antagonism would have increased from that moment onwards. Turner was murdered in his own home, and he probably allowed David in because he must have recognised him from St Giles. He would have been interested to find out why the missionary should be calling himself Adam de Vries.”
“And David didn’t give him any time to find out, did he?” said Edgar.
“Murdering Reuben was senseless,” I said.
“All of the murders were senseless,” said Edgar.
“Reuben O’Donoghue had been supportive of the missionaries to begin with,” said James. “Despite a propensity for fighting, he donated money to the mission in the belief that he was helping the poverty-stricken. He was far from wealthy, but he had some modest income from his rag shop.”
“And he wanted to know what Hugo was doing with the money,” added Edgar.
“They served up soup on cold days,” I said, “but perhaps Reuben thought they could have done more with the donations they received.”
“Reuben thought that Hugo was keeping some of it back for himself,” said James. “I asked my colleagues in Manchester to make some enquiries at the mission Hawkins worked in while he was in Salford, and there was an accusation that some of the donations there were finding their way into his pocket.”
“So that’s why Hawkins and Meares came to London,” said Edgar.
“Probably. But two pe
ople had also had their throats cut in Salford, in the vicinity of the mission where Hawkins and Meares worked.”
Edgar’s mouth fell open. “You think Meares murdered those people too?”
“It’s possible, and I’m sure he’ll confess to the murders if he was responsible for them. The man seems strangely proud of his crimes.”
“And the first couple of victims, Mrs O’Brien and Mr Yeomans?” asked Mr Sherman.
“I’m told that Mrs O’Brien was always first in line for soup, but never joined the missionaries for prayers. Hugo tried to help her after her husband abandoned her, but she never appeared grateful for his work. Like Larcombe, Mr Yeomans considered the missionaries an imposition. Apparently, he once told Hawkins that if there really was a God then he wouldn’t allow anyone to live in such poverty as there is in St Giles.”
“An extreme view,” said Mr Sherman.
“Extreme enough to cost Mr Yeomans his life.”
“For a while, life was going well for Hawkins, wasn’t it?” said Edgar. “Whenever someone antagonised him, his friend silenced them. I wonder who would have been next?”
“Surely he and Ed Keller must have fallen out?” I said.
“You’d be surprised, Penny. I spoke to Ed Keller after we arrested Meares and, apparently, he had a good relationship with the missionaries. There was an agreement that the Seven Dials Gang looked after the chapel in return for a weekly payment.”
“With Hawkins falling out with so many people, it was probably a necessity that his chapel was guarded,” said Mr Sherman.
I kept quiet, but I realised that Keller’s friendly relationship with Hawkins helped to explain why he had stopped attacking me the moment Hugo Hawkins had ordered him to let me go.
“Thankfully, E Division have managed to arrest Ed Keller for selling stolen property, and I’m hoping he’ll be spending some time in Newgate,” said James, catching my eye and giving me a subtle smile.
Mr Sherman lit his pipe. “Well, there won’t be much space in tomorrow’s edition for any news other than this. Who would have thought that two missionaries could have caused such a terrible fear to sweep through London for as long as seven weeks? Mr Fish and Miss Green, you’d better get your stories written up in time for deadline. We need to trounce The Gazette’s sales tomorrow.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” laughed Edgar. “Clifford’s only just been released from his police cell. He’s got rather a lot to catch up on!”
Chapter 50
Dear Ms Green,
Legend says that the falls of Tequendama were created by Bochica, who struck the rocks with his golden staff to drain the Bogota savannah after it was flooded by the angry god Chibchachum. I read this in An Historical, Geographical and Topographical Description of the United States of Colombia. I wonder if your father was aware of this legend when he visited the mighty falls? It will be interesting to find out whether he alludes to it in his diaries or letters.
I also wondered if you would like to accompany me for a walk in Hyde Park on a Saturday afternoon when the weather allows? You would be most welcome to bring a chaperone, of course.
Perhaps you can reply to me at your earliest convenience.
I remain
Your most truly
Mr Francis Edwards
I felt my face flush hot. I hadn’t noticed the small piece of paper this message was written on among the other papers Mr Edwards had given me. I had no idea how I would respond to him. I folded his note and placed it in my biscuit tin while I gave it some thought.
“What an ingenious idea!” said Eliza. “Onions growing in old packing cases!”
“Sixpence for ’alf a dozen,” croaked a reptilian-looking woman wearing four or five tattered shawls.
“Of course.” Eliza gave her some coins and came away with six onions wrapped in newspaper. “So this is the notorious Seven Dials?” She looked around her. “It doesn’t seem so bad, although the pubs appear rather busy for this time in the morning.”
“They’re always busy,” I replied.
“Which way is the chapel?”
“It’s on Neal Street, just up this way.”
“I think it’s extremely sensible that they’re pulling the houses down around here. Some of these buildings are extremely old and people need new, sanitary dwellings.”
“They do, although I’m not sure that the current residents will be permitted to live in the new ones.”
“What will happen to them?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps they’ll be moved on to another rookery somewhere. Perhaps out in the East End. It looks as though Hettie and Will will be accommodated in one of Dr Barnardo’s homes there, their mother is unable to care for them any longer. I’m planning to visit them soon.”
“Poor children, they deserve a proper home don’t they?”
“They do.”
“You haven’t told me how you’re progressing with Father’s book. Has your work on it completely stalled?”
“No, I’ve just begun work on it again.”
“It’s the massacre, isn’t it? It put you off the idea.”
“I won’t mention it in the book.”
“Of course not. But the knowledge that he did it has dampened your enthusiasm for the book, hasn’t it?”
“I’m still enthusiastic, Ellie, I—” I faltered, unsure what to say.
“It has changed your opinion of him.”
“Does Mother know?”
Eliza shook her head. “I don’t think so. She could never bring herself to read his diaries in detail. If she did know, perhaps she would cope with the news better than you and I. The older generation seem to have more tolerance of barbaric acts than we might.”
“Is that what you think it is? Barbaric?”
“Perhaps that is too strong a word. I think that it’s difficult for the two of us to pass judgement when we have never travelled in those parts of the world. Father was a brave man and I think we should feel proud of him. It’s important to continue with the book so that we can acknowledge the good work he did.”
“I’ll get back to it when I feel ready.”
We turned into Neal Street.
“There’s still quite a crowd gathered here,” I said.
We walked up to join them.
“That’s an unpleasant smell, isn’t it?” said my sister, wrinkling her nose. “Burnt timber.”
Even after the night’s rainfall, wisps of smoke continued to rise from the ashes of The Mission of Faith, Hope and Charity. A group of people stood staring at the spot where the chapel had once been. A few picked their way through the embers, hoping to find something they could salvage.
“The buildings either side of it have gone too,” I said. “It’s fortunate that no one was injured. I know I shouldn’t say this, but I’m pleased that someone burnt it down. It was never a proper chapel. They weren’t proper missionaries. It makes me angry that people like them use the cloak of religion to hide their wickedness.”
“Does anyone know who started the fire?” asked Eliza.
“A few do, but they ain’t sayin’,” said a stocky woman in front of us, wearing a headscarf. She turned around and gave us a smile.
“Martha!” I cried out. “How are you?”
“I’m a’right. ’Appy they got ’im at last. David Meares? I never would of thought it, but ’e were a quiet one now I comes to think of it. Kept ’imself to ’imself, didn’t he? Now we knows why!”
Thankfully, no one had explained to Martha Nicholls that she had been David’s next intended victim.
“I’m so sorry about what happened with Winston.”
Her smile faded slightly. “Yeah, well, the police didn’t know what they was doin’ ’alf they time, did they? Seems hev’ryone was a suspect at one time or another. I’m just ’appy Winston ain’t been out murderin’ no one.”
“As am I. This is my sister, Eliza. She wanted to see the remains of the chapel.”
“Nice to meet yer.
Where d’yer live then? Not round ’ere, I can tell!”
“Bayswater,” Eliza replied. “How long have you lived in St Giles?”
As my sister and Martha talked, I noticed two men standing apart from the crowd, pointing at the smoking ruins. It was Inspector Fenton and James. I walked up to them.
“Good morning, Miss Green,” said Fenton. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard who carried out this act of pyromania? We’re on the hunt for the persons responsible.”
“Do you need to find them?” I asked. “I don’t think the false missionaries need their makeshift chapel any longer.”
“Someone has carried out an act of arson, Miss Green!” He scowled at me. “Perhaps someone in this crowd has heard something.”
He strode off to speak to the group of onlookers, his boots echoing noisily against the cobbles. James and I were left alone.
His tie was black, but his face looked brighter than it had been for a long time.
“Are you ready for David Meares’ trial?” I asked.
“I think so. Hopefully it will be nothing more than an uncomplicated formality. The man is freely admitting his guilt. Will you be writing about the case?”
“Yes, so I’m sure I shall see you at the court from time to time.”
“Yes, you will.” He smiled. “I haven’t yet thanked you for your help with this case, Penny.”
“I’m not sure I did much. There were many people working on it.”
“You stopped David Meares from cutting his own throat. If he’d been successful, the victims wouldn’t have received the justice they’re due.”
“I hit him with my bag! It wasn’t what I’d describe as an heroic act.”
“It was brave, Penny.”
“Anyone would have done the same if they’d had a large carpet bag with them.”
I glanced around the street, wanting to say words which I knew were inappropriate. Instead, I settled on something mundane. “I suppose life will return to normal now and we shall see less of each other now that the case is over.”
