Lost and Gone Forever (26 page)

“He didn’t say a thing. He just did it. It happened so fast. I don’t understand.”

“It’s all ridiculously complicated.”

He finished and cut the excess thread away, pressed bandages around the wound, and taped them securely in place. He checked the victim’s pulse again and was gratified to find that it was weak
but steady. He stood and helped Fiona up, wiped her hands with his handkerchief, and walked her over to where Claire still sat in the open window of the fabulous department store.

“Fiona, you’ve done a great deal to help already, but I need you to take care of Claire. She’s had a shock, and so have you, but you’ve got to be strong for me a bit longer. You’ve got to watch over Claire. Can you do that?” Fiona nodded, and Kingsley smiled at her. “That’s my good girl. I’m very proud of you.”

He glanced behind him at the crowd, which had begun to break up, people wandering away now that the entertainment had ended. Kingsley was disturbed to see that some of them were only children.

“Tell me where Mr Day went,” he said. “Did you see?”

Fiona nodded and pointed at the mouth of the alley.

“Fiona, was Mr Hammersmith . . . was Nevil with him?”

“No. I don’t know where Nevil is. Oh, do you think he might be in danger? Do you think Mr Day might—”

“No.” Kingsley patted her hand and smiled at her. “Don’t worry now. It will all work out. I can fix everything.”

But his words sounded hollow to him. He hoisted his bag and took a deep breath. It was, he thought, possible to fix everything, to reverse the terrible mistake he’d made in leaving Walter Day in an unstable mental condition, but in order to do that he would have to find Day before the police did.

H
ammersmith took off his jacket and ripped the left sleeve off. He discarded the rest of the jacket and wrapped the sleeve around his mouth and nose, tied it at the back of his neck. It made his face hot, but he could breathe a little more easily. He crept forward, gripping the length of pipe tight in his fist. The end of the hallway was a wall of flames and smoke, but Hammersmith needed to see Jack’s body for himself. He needed to know that the monster was finally and truly dead.

“Mr Hammersmith!”

Hammersmith turned and saw Hatty Pitt at the landing behind him. She was obscured by smoke and was coming slowly toward him. She reached out to steady herself against the wall, but pulled her hand back. The wallpaper was bubbling in the heat.

“Hatty, what are you doing here? Go back downstairs.”

“You’ll die up here,” Hatty said. “You need my help.” Her voice was low and hoarse, and Hammersmith realized his own throat burned when he tried to talk.

Hammersmith reached down and picked up his jacket, ripped off
the other sleeve, and tied it around Hatty’s mouth. He shook his head at her, but he didn’t have enough air to try to speak again, unless he absolutely had to. He waved Hatty back and proceeded once again toward the source of the flames. At least he could keep her behind him.

The fire reached the ceiling and began to crawl across it. Hammersmith knew there wasn’t much time left, but he couldn’t turn back now. He put his arms over his face, steeled himself, and ran forward, jumping through the flames and through the open door into the room. A moment later, Hatty barreled into him from behind and knocked him forward into the bed. His hand brushed against cold flesh. He pushed himself back away from it and adjusted his grip on the iron pipe, his only weapon. He shook his head again at Hatty, reached past her, and closed the door to keep out the smoke, then checked her arms and face for burns.

Somehow the air felt cooler and relatively smoke-free. The fire was out in the hallway, but soon, he knew, it would consume the doorjamb and make its way into the room. They had a few moments at most to look around. Not much time for detective work.

Hatty pulled the sleeve down off her face and pointed at a chair in the corner of the room. “He was there. Sitting right there. Mr Hammersmith, I didn’t think he could even move.”

“Well, he must have found the strength.” Hammersmith nodded at the corpse in the bed. The man lay in a dried pool of blood and his jaw was missing, the flesh torn back halfway down the length of his throat. “Is this Joseph Hargreave?”

“I believe so,” Hatty said. “At least, that’s what Mr Oberon told me.” She shuddered and looked away. “He does resemble his brother. At least . . .” Her voice trailed off. Hammersmith understood. Hatty was strong, but some things were not meant to be seen.

“Stand back,” Hammersmith said. He moved round the foot of the bed and approached the wardrobe that stood between the bed and the window. He took two deep breaths, raised his iron pipe, and pulled the door open.

A second body, stiff with rigor, fell out at his feet. Hammersmith gasped and took a step back, then leaned forward and pushed the body over on its side. It was not Mr Oberon.

“That’s Richard Hargreave,” Hatty said. “The doctor. He was this one’s brother.” She pointed at the dead man in the bed. “He’s killed both brothers. I mean, he made it sound as if he had, but I was holding out some hope.”

“Hope isn’t much of a defense against Jack,” Hammersmith said. The crackling of the fire had grown much louder, and over the top of the closed door he saw a tongue of flame lick the ceiling of their room. “Wait, Hatty, did you say this man was a doctor?”

“Yes, Dr Richard Hargreave. Mr Hammersmith, I’m afraid we’re trapped in here.”

“The crow. This was the crow in the message he left at Walter’s house. Not Dr Kingsley at all. Dr Kingsley is safe from harm. We need only worry about the white king, whoever that is.”

Smoke began to seep into the room, causing Hammersmith’s eyes to sting. He looked at Hatty and saw that her eyes were watering, too, tears streaming down her face. She coughed into her fist. “Mr Hammersmith, I think we’re going to die in here.”

“I certainly hope not. We’ve got a case to finish.” He went to the window and pulled back the curtains, his pipe raised and ready to smash the glass out of the frame. But the window was already broken, and a knotted length of linen hung from the sill, fastened around the window’s latch. Hammersmith leaned out and peered down into the narrow alleyway behind the store. He couldn’t see far
enough into the shadows below the window, couldn’t see whether the makeshift rope ladder went all the way to the ground, but decided a broken leg was better than burning to death. He banged away at the bits of broken glass still stuck in the frame. Behind him he heard Hatty yelp and turned to see that the fire had entered the room, eating away at the door all round the jamb and peeling back the wallpaper.

Hammersmith ripped the sheet from the bed, exposing the rest of poor Joseph Hargreave, and grabbed Hatty’s arm. She tried to pull back, but he gripped her harder and looped the sheet round her waist. She nodded her understanding and sat on the windowsill, rotated so that her legs were kicking free in the air outside, then pushed off without even waiting to see that Hammersmith had braced himself. He could feel the fire at his back as he strained to support Hatty’s scant weight. She turned and grabbed the knotted linen rope, and as he watched her lower herself down the outside wall of the building, it belatedly occurred to him that Jack the Ripper might be waiting for them below.

•   •   •

S
IR
E
DWARD’S CARRIAGE
pulled up outside Plumm’s, and the commissioner jumped out and scanned the street, taking in the diminishing crowd and the injured man at its center. A moment later, a second, larger carriage stopped behind his. Tiffany, Blacker, and Kett piled out, along with three constables, and they ran to catch up to Sir Edward.

“There’s a man down,” Sir Edward said. “Blacker, see to him. Tiffany, Kett, catch these people before they run off. Get statements from them. You others, cordon this off. Dr Kingsley will want to look the area over.”

He spotted Claire Day and Fiona Kingsley sitting against the building. Fiona stood and approached him.

“Miss Kingsley,” Sir Edward said. “Your father summoned me here by telephone. He said Mr Day was to be found in the vicinity, but clearly a great deal has happened since then. What can you tell me?”

“Mr Day stabbed Mr Carlyle and ran away down that alley.” She pointed. “Several people have already chased after him. Mr Carlyle needs immediate attention.”

“Yes, I see.”

“There are wagons coming to take away some bodies in a warehouse, but my father said to tell you that Mr Carlyle should be taken first.”

“Of course. And we needn’t wait for the wagons. They won’t be in any hurry to get here if they think it’s not an emergency. Dead bodies are sadly all too commonplace, especially round here these past few days.” He waved his arm at Inspector Blacker. “Blacker, use my carriage. This man is Inspector Day’s father-in-law. Get him to hospital right away, and make sure the doctors understand he’s to be a priority.”

“I’ll tell the driver,” Blacker said.

“Go with him. I want it understood that I’m taking responsibility for this man’s well-being and will be quite cross if he’s not taken care of.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Blacker, none of your jokes. I want the hospital staff to take this seriously.”

“I never joke with doctors, sir. They’re not known to be humorous people.”

“Away with you.” Sir Edward turned back to Fiona. “How is Mrs Day holding up?”

“She’s had a shock, sir. It’s been a difficult year, and this only adds to her hardships.”

“I don’t believe Walter is responsible for this.”

“I saw it, sir, with my own eyes.”

“I don’t mean that I disbelieve you. I mean there are circumstances neither you nor I can currently understand. Your father explained a bit of it when we spoke on the telephone, but I’m hoping for more details from him.”

“He’s gone with everyone else, chasing after Mr Day.”

“Then that is where I must go as well. Thank you, Miss Kingsley. Look after Mrs Day, and we’ll get this sorted. I promise you that.”

He watched her go and sighed again. They had so many problems to deal with from outside the Murder Squad. And yet there seemed to be no end of problems within the squad itself, most of them centering on Walter Day. But he was fond of the lad and was determined that he could be a steadying influence in Walter’s life.

Provided he could catch up to him.

W
alter Day, what a pleasant surprise.”

Day stopped and squinted at the shadowed end of the alley. His leg ached, which was often the case when he tried to move too fast. He looked about for a weapon, but saw nothing he could use. He wondered what had become of his walking stick. He remembered having it in his hand and didn’t recall setting it down anywhere, but it was gone.

“It’s all right,” Jack said. His voice echoed weakly back and forth between the brick walls, making it impossible to pinpoint his exact location. “I won’t bite you. Or stab you, or cut out your liver and eat it. Unless you promise to remain very still. I don’t think I’m in any shape for a fight.”

“You don’t sound good, Jack.”

“The pain is rather exquisite. I’m afraid I overextended myself climbing down.”

Day glanced up at a hazy square of light, a window overhead. A rope of some sort hung down from the ledge, and a shape hung there
in the dark. The smoke moved above and Day thought he could pick out a familiar figure at the window. He took a step forward.

“That’s close enough, Walter Day. You look confused. Is something bothering you?”

“You can’t see my face any more than I can see yours, Jack. The light’s wrong.”

“I see more than you do. And I hear more than you do. I hear confusion in your voice. What’s happened?”

“I don’t know.” Day took another step forward. If he kept Jack’s attention on him, the Ripper might not look up.

“Oh, my,” Jack said. “You did it, didn’t you?”

“Did what?”

“You finally did me that favor you promised.”

“Favor?” But now fragments of memory exploded in his head. Images of blood and anger, a man on the ground at his feet, bleeding and unconscious. “Jack, what did I do? What did you make me do?”

“An interesting fact about mesmerism, Walter Day. The public believes you can make a man do anything when he’s under your spell, but it’s not true. You can’t force someone to do something he wouldn’t do anyway. It’s what makes mesmerism such a limited tool for murder.”

“I know that now.”

“You could only have killed someone you already wanted to kill. That’s what makes it delicious.”

“I never wanted to kill him.”

“But of course you did. I helped you discard your inhibitions for one glorious moment. And in return you’ve eliminated the last of those dreadful Karstphanomen for me. Or at least of them what held me in that cold, dank prison and did things to me. I did the crow
myself, and his body’s burning even as we speak. And you’ve done the white king. Congratulations, and thank you.”

Now Day took a step back. “You’ve sealed my fate.”

“I’ve set you free.”

“What else have you set me to do? What other surprises are waiting in my head?”

“Nothing. That was the only thing. Oh, well, I did leave a little suggestion in there that you mustn’t ever harm me or stand in my way. That was only to make things easier for me with my comings and goings. I promise, other than that, you’re your own man once again.”

“I can never go back.”

“You can go wherever you please. And now I set you free from me. I don’t think we need each other anymore, do you? If you’ll stand aside, I think I can make it to the street. From there, the world is my murky oyster stew.”

“I’m not letting you go.”

“You have no choice. Oh, but Walter, look out behind you. That young lady has stopped listening to us and I think she intends to do you harm.”

Day turned just in time to see a strange woman, wearing trousers and brandishing Day’s own sword. The blade came slashing down at him, and at that same moment, he heard a shot ring out down the length of the alley.

A
h, Miss Tinsley,” Goodpenny said. “And Mrs Dew. What a delight to find you here.”

Goodpenny climbed down from the display box inside the window and sat on the sill beside Fiona. He laid a rifle across his lap and took a moment to catch his breath, watching as two constables picked up the unmoving body of Leland Carlyle. The policemen crab-walked the unconscious man to Sir Edward’s private carriage and laid him across the seat inside, folding him at the knees so he would fit.

“It looks as if exciting things have been happening out here,” Goodpenny said. “What have I missed?”

“I don’t think I can bear to repeat it all, Mr Goodpenny,” Fiona said.

“A bear, you say? How terrifying. I’m quite frightened of bears. They have a nasty habit of eating people.”

Fiona sighed, but didn’t bother to correct the well-meaning little man. They sat in silence for a long moment, and then Goodpenny
uttered a cry of delight and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out a small horn, brown and translucent, ridged like an oyster’s shell, with a leather fitting at one end and a leather strap round the middle.

“Look what I found,” he said. “It’s a horn.”

“I can see,” Fiona said. “It’s very pretty.”

“No, no, for hearing. The horn has been fashioned into an ear trumpet, you see? It’s an aid in hearing. Look at what I do.” He held it up and jammed the leather tip in his ear. “People speak and the sound goes right in here.” He pointed to the flared end of the horn. “It goes all the way through and is amplified during its journey to my ear, like so.” He swiped his finger down the length of the horn and ended with a flourish at his ear.

“You’ll finally be able to hear, Mr Goodpenny.”

“Oh, it’s not for me. My hearing’s still sharp. It’s for your young man, Mr Angerschmid. He’s hard of hearing now.” He removed the device from his ear and presented it to Fiona.

“Thank you, but he’s not my young man,” she said. She shook her head and laid the trumpet on the sill beside her.

“Give it time. Give it time. I say, that bear’s not still about, is it? We should really get you young ladies to a place of safety. I’m afraid this rifle’s of no real use since I have no bullets for it.”

“The bear has gone. They took it away to the circus.”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

“But the bear is quite the least of our problems, Mr Goodpenny.”

“Bears are enormous problems.”

“Yes, I can see that they might be. But Mrs Day’s husband has tried to kill her father. That’s him in the carriage.”

Goodpenny looked up as the driver cracked his reins and the carriage rolled away, revealing Inspector Tiffany, who had been standing on the other side of it talking to an old woman. Tiffany looked
up and nodded at them, then bent his head to hear what the woman was saying.

“What a friendly fellow,” Goodpenny said. “Tell me, did Mr Dew succeed? Did he kill the man?”

“No. Claire’s father is still alive. For the moment, at least.”

“Well, then. Many’s the man who’s tried to murder his father-in-law. I’m not sure it’s even a crime these days. I’ve been tempted myself, from time to time. It’s that bear we ought to worry about. If it escaped the circus once, it’s liable to do so again.”

“Oh, Mr Goodpenny! You’re impossible!”

“Now, now, dear. I don’t mean to make light.” He turned and smiled at Claire. “Mrs Dew, where are your delightful children?”

Claire looked up and seemed to notice Goodpenny for the first time. “My children?”

“Young Jemima and his brother, and those two darling babies.”

“They’re with their governess.”

“That horrible woman? You mustn’t neglect them for long. They’ll need you about. And they’ll need their father, too. Unless I’m very much mistaken, I’ve recently made your husband’s acquaintance.”

“He’s gone.” Claire’s eyes welled up and she buried her face in her hands.

Goodpenny put an arm around her and fished a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket. “Forgive me, my dear.”

“He’s been gone forever and now he’s going to prison. He won’t ever come home again.”

“Going to prison? Oh, I shouldn’t think so. I’ve met your husband, and he seems like a good man, a capable fellow. A bit lost, perhaps, but that’s why he has you, isn’t that right? Someone who will always bring him back home.”

“You don’t know us.”

“I know people, Mrs Dew. And just looking at you, I can tell that you’re a strong person, and that you and your husband need each other very much. Where there is love, there is always a way.”

“You must love your wife.”

“I did, my dear.” He nodded and smiled, but it was a sad sort of smile. “Yes, I do love her.”

Fiona clapped her hands and stood up. “Mr Goodpenny, you’ve given me an idea. But I wonder if you will help me with a small matter.”

“Anything for you, Miss Tinsley. You know that.”

“Might I borrow your rifle?”

“Oh, but it’s not mine. It belongs to the store, I suppose. But with all the loss Plumm’s has sustained, I suppose they won’t miss it for a time.”

“I don’t think they’ll be getting it back.”

“Yes, as long as they get it back. Here you are.”

“You don’t want to know why I need it?”

“You need it, dear. That is all I care to know.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr Goodpenny!” Fiona bent and kissed him on the cheek.

Goodpenny rubbed his cheek and watched her run across the street, where she handed the rifle to Inspector Tiffany. Tiffany took it from her, and they stood talking for quite some time. Goodpenny chuckled and patted Claire’s hand. “She’s a good girl,” he said. “Whether Mr Angerschmid realizes it or not, our Miss Tinsley is a prize.”

“I do wonder what she’s doing,” Claire said.

Goodpenny picked up the ear trumpet from the sill where Fiona had left it. He lifted it to his ear and leaned forward. “Listen, my dear. Do you smell smoke?”