“Wait!” Coldridge pleaded. “Please at least leave me the lantern.”
His cries went unheard as the familiar noise of leather boot against the staircase, sounded through the darkness. Coldridge sobbed as he stretched out a battered and shaking hand to grasp the bread.
∞∞∞
The hooded figure emerged from the circular building into the brilliant sunshine He looked at the house and spied a figure striding confidently in his direction. As the man neared he bowed his head and then with a smile upon his face held out a hand.
“So, how is the arrogant Coldridge?” The tone signalled it was a question asked out of politeness rather than genuine interest.
The hooded figure shook the new arrival’s hand. “He nears the time where he will be receptive to an enlightened path. Far sooner, I might add, than you accepted education.”
“Weaker minds are often the simpler to manipulate,” the other figure laughed.
“I see Coldridge is not the only man with arrogance as a fault.” However, the reprimand was made in jest. The hooded figure placed a hand on the shoulder of the man and steered him towards the house. “I did not realise you were visiting your family home today.”
“I wished to speak with you privately,” the figure replied and then paused as though unsure how to proceed.
“Speak, if you have concerns, I would hear them before they fester.” The hooded figure spoke as a teacher would to favourite student and not as master to servant.
“I am loathed to agree with Coldridge; I feel he may be correct concerning Harkness. He is dangerous and those that stand at his shoulder are loyal.”
“I agree; Harkness is dangerous. He has considerable talent, and so we must proceed with caution.”
“Then why not dispose of the threat?”
“William Harkness is brave, intelligent and relentless, but he is also predictable. Besides, killing him would unleash a far greater risk to our cause. Sir Simeon Harkness is a man not hampered by morality. He also has every resource at his disposal. Kill William Harkness, and we would risk unleashing a maelstrom that even our dedication would struggle to overcome. No, for the time being, we must accept this thorn in our side.”
“Then there is nothing we can do?”
“I would not say that. There are worse ills you can visit on men like William Harkness than death. Let me think about this. You have my word, William Harkness will feel our presence.” The figure noticed that his words had not eased his visitor’s fears. “You are a young man, and I sometimes forget the energy of youth. Take the opportunity to observe your enemy. Know this William Harkness, as though he were your own reflection in a mirror. Study what makes him strong and what are his frailties. Know those that he calls friend or loved ones.” He bent and picked up a fallen apple with his left hand. “Discover all there is to know and William Harkness will be exactly where we want him to be.” He placed the apple in the palm of his right hand. “Then, it will be a simple matter to rid this world of your enemy.” He squeezed the apple until it turned to pulp.
The young visitor bowed his head in acceptance of the task and then without further deliberation took his leave. The hooded figure observed the man’s departure and removed the hood, which had concealed his features. The heat of the day left his hair matted with sweat. As he pulled a cloth from his pocket and wiped the perspiration away he thought deeply on the problem that was William Harkness. As he did so, he heard the call of a bird of prey. He looked at the sky as the bird swooped from the heavens. Moments later, its cruel talons hooked an unfortunate rabbit and once more took to the sky. On the ground, a more fortunate rabbit glanced in all directions. The man could have sworn the small creature seemed confused as to the disappearance of its friend. The poor beast looked lost without any idea of which duty it should fulfil next. The man smiled as a plan formed within his mind.
Chapter 6
William sat with Abberline and Jack in the office at Slaughter Yard. A sharp rap on the door was followed by a young constable peering timidly into the room.
“What do you want, Davis?” Abberline barked.
“I have the three prisoners from the workhouse, Inspector,” the constable replied, warily.
William knew that Abberline’s fearsome reputation among his fellow officers meant that he was respected by those of lower rank, but still struck fear in their souls. The expression on the young policeman’s face bore evidence to that fact.
“Prisoners? I was not aware we had prisoners at the workhouse. I hope for your sake Davis that they have been afforded the greatest of care in their treatment.”
“Of course, sir.” The constable seemed disappointed that Abberline considered him likely to be in dereliction of his duty.
“One moment,” Abberline suddenly looked confused, “why only three?”
The constable struggled to retrieve a small notebook from his breast pocket. “A... Miss Doyle did not wake from her ordeal. She passed away at 4.22 in the early hours.”
“And nobody thought to inform me?” Abberline’s temper was clearly beginning to rise.
“I was not made aware of the fact until I arrived at the workhouse.” The constable looked flustered as he tried to placate his superior.
“It’s that damned woman!” Abberline announced. He thumped his fist on the wooden desk. There was a clang as the bottle of Bushmills tipped onto to its side, colliding with a glass. Only William’s speed of hand prevented both whiskey and glass hurtling to the floor.
“Abberline?” William said, showing his concern at his friend’s outburst.
“Fitzgerald, she’s taken offence at me stating woman had no business with murder.” The inspector replied, the redness of his cheeks displaying his irritation to all present.
“Well, the witnesses are here now. We should try to gather any information possible from them,” William suggested, trying his best to calm the irritable Abberline.
Abberline nodded to the constable, and the anxious officer momentarily disappeared from view. The door was then opened fully and the youthful constable asked the so far unseen witnesses, to enter the office. Jack rose from his chair, and after briefly catching the eye of the beautiful young woman, announced that he would fetch refreshment.
For some time, William Harkness did not speak. He took his time, eyeing each of the witnesses in turn. He wondered if any of those sat before him were involved in the murder of their master.. Each had an almost ghostly white pallor, the effects on their bodies from the poison. Harkness guessed that they’d spent many hours retching the foul contaminates. If one of them had been involved, then it was clear they’d suffered sorely for their part in the grotesque murder. Finally, his eyes came to rest on the man who seemed most at ease.
“Name?” William kept his tone neutral. It was neither stern nor comforting.
“John Branford, sir.”
“By whom were you employed?”
“Vladimir Kostya, sir.”
“I assume you saw the body in the study, was it the body of Vladimir Kostya?”
“It was, sir.” John Branford’s demeanour changed. For the first time, he did not seem at ease, and the slightest colouring showed itself upon his white, waxy complexion. William was as yet, unsure of the reason why.
“Kostya seems to have been a man of wealth. Tell me, what was his trade?”
“I have no idea, sir.” Branford paused for a moment and then added, “I have only been in his employ for a few months. Most of that time, he was either entertaining people in his home or visiting whores. The only task that could be described as work was when he visited the Lyceum.”
“Visiting the theatre could hardly be considered work,” William replied.
“I am not sure as to the reason. Kostya usually insisted that we remain outside. However, on the few occasions we were permitted entry, it was clear that Kostya was in business with the theatre management.”
William recognised Branford’s statement was another lead in the case. Non
etheless, he was careful to keep his facial expression neutral. “Tell me, did you like your employer?”
“He was an arrogant bastard. He treated those without wealth as filth. No, Mr. Harkness I hated him, and I doubt many will mourn his departure from this world.” Branford’s face contorted, as though he could actually taste the loathing he had for Kostya.
“But earlier you seemed genuinely upset about his death.”
“May I ask you a question Mr. Harkness?” Without waiting for a reply Branford continued. “I can tell by the way you hold yourself that you served in the army. I would also guess that you were a commander of men. Tell me Mr. Harkness, did you like all the men under your command, and if not, did you regret their passing while they were in your care? No, Mr. Harkness, I did not like Kostya, but it was my task to keep him safe. A task in which I have utterly failed.”
William did not reply. He studied the man to his front. He looked for signs of arrogance and deceit within Branford’s face. However, he saw only self-loathing and sadness. Jack interrupted the observation; he and the constable were carrying hot beverages. “Mr. Branford will take his refreshment outside with you, Jack. For the time being, I have finished questioning him.” William turned his gaze back to Branford. “If you would be so kind as to wait, I and the Inspector would like to discuss your employer at more length.” Branford did not reply vocally, however, he gave a simple nod of agreement before rising from his chair.
William slowly turned his gaze to the next witness. “And you are?”
“T-Tom Gibbs, sir,” The young man stuttered his reply.
“You seem nervous, Tom?”
“Never been in trouble with the peelers before, ‘ave I sir? I don’t know anything."
“Did I say you were in trouble Tom? I just need to know what happened that night,”
“All I know is we finished our work and Miss Doyle offered us some cake.” At Tom’s mention of Miss Doyle, Bessie began to sob. Tom continued, “I never saw a soul, other than those that sat around the table.”
“You didn’t see the body?”
“No, Sir.”
“How did you come to be in the employ of Vladimir Kostya?”
“My Ma owns a small farm. It is not doing so well, so Ma asked John if he could find me a position within the city. John served with my father; he’s been kind to me and Ma, since my father didn’t return from the Sudan.”
“Very well Tom, if you would join Mr. Branford.” William managed a small smile to put the young man at ease. However, inside he felt little joy. He doubted if any of the witnesses could shed any light on the investigation. As Tom departed from his office, William reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief. He passed it to the young maid. “Dry your eyes.” Then in a gentler tone he added, “I am sorry for your loss.”
“Miss Doyle never hurt a soul.” She began to sob again.
“Pull yourself together, girl,” Abberline interrupted.
William frowned and held up a hand to calm the Inspector’s impatience.
“If we are to bring those responsible for Miss Doyle’s death to task, then we must know all. Where did the cake come from...?” William realised that he was unaware of the maid’s name. The sobbing girl had clearly noticed William’s uncertainty.
“My name’s Elizabeth, but most people just call me Bessie.”
“Tell me what you know, Bessie,” William replied with an accompanying sympathetic smile. Despite Bessie’s tears and the redness of her eyes, William still noticed her beauty.
“Billy came into the kitchen. I’ve never seen him so happy; he carried a huge box in his arms. Miss Doyle scolded him for being late to his duties, but he waved away her fury and lifted the lid on the box.” Bessie stopped, her face suddenly contorted, as if the memories brought confusion.
“What is it?” William sat forward, eager to learn what caused her confusion.
“Billy – he normally jumped like a scared rabbit when Miss Doyle raised her voice.”
“And that morning he was different?”
“Yes, he claimed that he could not stay to complete his duties but had a gift as a way of apology. It looked so good; even Miss Doyle could not help licking her lips. He made us promise not to try the cake before the entire household were present. He insisted that it was a gift for all. It wasn’t easy; Miss Doyle was forced to place a cloth over it. The cloth remained intact until we heard John and Tom returning.”
“What else did Billy say?”
“Only, that he must leave immediately. He was gone in just a few moments; he placed the cake on the table and hurried from the kitchen.”
“What’s Billy’s surname?”
“Billy Trimble, he lives on the Garnet Street with his mother. The poor dear can barely walk. I cannot see Billy getting involved with the wrong sort; his mother needs him.” Suddenly, tears welled in Bessie’s eyes. “What will become of me now?”
“Have you no family?”
“My mother’s new man won’t have me in the house. He fills with rage because I won’t let him put his filthy hands on me. He will never touch me again.”
Bessie’s face was a mix of sadness and anger. William wanted to give comfort but forced himself to remain silent. Besides, another thought entered his head. An idea in its infancy, which would at the least, need time to flourish. “Thank you Bessie, if you would join the others and try not to become too concerned about the future. Possibilities are often hidden by our fears.” He watched the girl rise from her chair, and still sobbing; she took her leave from his office.
∞∞∞
With the witnesses removed, William took a bottle from his desk. The clinging of glass and bottle were the only interruption to the silence of thought. He could feel Abberline watching him.
“What is it, William?” The Inspector’s tone suggested he had lost patience in the wait.
“Tell me, Fred,” William’s voice was measured, as if the thoughts were forming as he spoke. “What do we know of these killers, do you think that they would be willing to leave a witness in this world?”
“What witness? William, they know nought.”
“Indulge me, Fred. You’re a killer, comfortable in the knowledge you have committed the perfect crime. However, you hear that those that hunt you are keeping witnesses close. Did the young Billy say more than he should? Would it make you doubt your previous certainties?”
“Are you thinking of adding bait to your line?” The Inspector stroked his substantial whiskers.
“I doubt God would look favourably on the decision. However, I feel we must draw them out from the shadows.”
“William, we are not even sure that this latest slaughter is Jack’s work. After all, this Kostya was no whore.”
“It’s him, Fred, of that I’m sure.”
“Him? I thought we had decided this could be the work of more than one killer.”
“How many are willing to slit a throat is unknown. However, at the root of this carnage, there will be one individual. A puppet master, who will manipulate others to do his bidding. He is the one we hunt; he is Jack the Ripper. Trust me, Fred, it is this individual we must eventually bring to task.”
Abberline took time to digest William’s words. He plucked his pipe from his jacket pocket and laboriously filled the smoking device. “So we can expect more deaths. Unless Naismith finds something with Kostya’s study then we are once again scrabbling around in the darkness. We have no clue as to the next victim.” He paused and looked toward the office door. “So what do you want to do with those three? We can hardly keep them locked in a cell.”
“We will split them up, if they are to become a target, then we should make them hard to hit. We can send Tom to help Naismith. Bessie can take up a position within Emily’s household.”
“Is that wise? You risk placing Emily in harm’s way.” There was real concern on Abberline’s face, and William knew that Emily had worked her charms on the old police hound. She had an undeniable gift for
making people love her.
“Obadiah is in residence while my father is away. They will be in no danger, at least no more than can be avoided in this city. Branford can assist me in finding Billy Trimble. That young man has more than a few questions to answer.”
“Indeed – that fine bakery would have cost the lad a year's salary, and I doubt his elderly mother produced such a delight.”
“Finding which establishment made it would take more resources than we have at our disposal. Besides, I can’t see our killers allowing the one item that links them to the murder being so easily traced to their doorstep.”
The Reaper's Touch Page 5
