by Bryan Porter
had company at the moment, but I did make out that they were fighting about a lass by the name of Jenny. Thats all I really know, though both men were still alive when my attention was pulled away.”
My friend sat with his chin in his hand absorbing the information for a long while before he spoke. “Did you perchance hear the name of either of the men?”
“I believe so, the other man referred to the dead man as Will.”
“That is it?”
“Yes.”
After our interview with the courtesan we stepped back out into the street.
“Tis a strange affair.” I said
“Assuredly, but we have been able to garnish a few truths. Firstly that our victim is almost certainly the man I sought, one William Bathurst. Secondly that he was killed in a matter of love.”
“Well what should our next step be?”
“Two we must take at this juncture. If you could get Mr. Delores to begin a search for the place that young Bathurst was murdered.”
“Count, surely we already have that.”
“No. I think not. Even if he was surprised, William was young enough and strong enough to put up a struggle of which some would have been overheard. Also such grievous wounds would have left the young man lying in a pool of his own blood, but there is hardly any around the body.”
“What else must we do?” Said I, caught up in the Count's explanation.
“Why it is quite clear, that we must visit his family.”
It took me a quarter of an hour to inform Delores of his duty, and have us set on our way. The family, like most of the upper nobility, lived in Westminster, the manor was richly decorated with ornate designs. When we arrived and the name of the count was given to the chamberlain, the better part of the family greeted us in the sitting room eager for news of their lost son.
The Duke was a heavyset man, with a deeply lined face and a straight bearing, while his wife was a willowy woman, sunken eyes from worry. Sir John Bathurst, the oldest son was a strapping man of perhaps five and thirty years, with a round face an jovial eyes.
“Sir.” Said the Duke address my friend. “I can only hope that you have some word of my son.”
“Sadly I do.” At the words the Duke's face became ashen, and seem to have trouble with his breath.
“It is the worst then.” Said the Duchess when the duke couldn't answer.
“It is, Madam. I wish I could bring happier tidings.”
“How?” Asked the duke in a strangled tone.
“It seems your son, was killed over a matter of love. A young woman named Jenny.”
If it was possible it seemed that the duke's face increased in paler.
“This name is familiar to you?” Said I.
“Yes.” Said the duchess. “We had a serving girl by the name of Jenny Schultz, a German girl. William used to dote upon her. Really it wasn't proper so we had to send the girl away.”
“To be perfectly honest I think he loved the girl.” John Bathurst chimed in for the first time, in a deep a melodious voice.
“Really, John. You go to far.” Said the duke.
“I speak only the truth, Father.” And with that John stepped forward and took the Count's hand in both of his. “I beg you sir, to please find the rogue who has killed my brother.”
The count's face that was usually so relaxed had taken on a sullen expression. “You have my word on it Sir.”
“Do you remember where this Jenny Schultz lived?”
“I can't really say.” Said the Duchess. “It was in Whitechapel somewhere, I really can't say why we ever allowed such a low born girl near our home.”
I, seeing no reason to stay, was about to leave, but the Count made no move to do so.
"Sir.” Said the Count, addressing the Duke. “For how long have you known that you were going to die?”
The room went deathly quiet, and the Duke's eyes seemed to enlarge like that of a frog.
“How did you....”
“It was your fingers.” Said the count as the Duke raised his hand up to examine his fingers. “The swelling around the nail is called clubbing, that along with your shortness of breath, and your complexion led me to believe that you are here only here for a short while.”
“It is as you say.” Said the Duke. “I was informed that I am not likely to see another year.”
The Count nodded absently. “This is very far from our subject, and I beg your pardon, but I have been having trouble with some legal work. Do you suppose that you could oblige me in recommending an office?”
“It certainly is poor time for you to bring up such a matter, but I feel obliged to you so I must answer. I have always found Sterling to be of the very best.”
“Ah thank you, and I shan’t take up one more minute of your time.”
We were back in the hansom before I asked. “What was all that about?”
“Oh, nothing that serious just a bit of foolery.”
“You certainly picked a bad moment for it.”
“Perhaps, but it shall help us in the end if I am not mistaken.”
I was of a mind to find this Jenny Schultz directly but the Count insisted on stopping at Sterling first, though for what I know not. He bade me stay in the hansom, and returned several minutes later, and would say nothing of what he had done.
Jenny Schultz lived on 37b Whitechapel Road, in board to a Mrs. Irene Penderecki. The apartments seemed barely able to house one soul, let alone the six to eight that sometimes reside in them. It took us several minutes of assuring the good woman that young Miss Schultz had done no crime as to bring her to our attention before we were allowed to see her.
As we entered her room, I did not need the well trained eye of my friend to tell me that the young woman was some months pregnant, as I had seen my wife in such a state on three occasions.
“Madame Schultz?” Said my companion pleasantly
“Yes.” Even the single word was spoken with a heavy accent.
“Did you now the young William Bathurst?”
“I did.”
“Was he the father of your child?” The young woman shrank at this, until the soothingly spoke to her.
“It is alright. We aren't here to make judgement upon you, we only want to help William.”
“Has something happened to him?”
My companions unwillingness to meet her eyes spoke all.
“Then he is dead?” She said her finger balls in her skirts.
“I am sorry.”
Jenny Schultz wailed quite bitterly for several minutes, speaking in her native tongue so that I new not what she said. It was long minutes later before she could be consoled.
“What can I do?” She asked tears still staining her cheeks.
“William was coming to see you last night?”
“He was, he said he wanted to speak to me of the baby. He did not say what he wished to do.”
My friend patted her hand gently. “There is only one thing more I need to know. Did William have any rival for your affections?”
She shock her head vehemently. “There was none before him.” She said with a force that made it final.
“Thank you.” My friend said heading towards the door.
“Sir.” Called the woman.
“Yes?”
“Please, catch this man.”
My friend bowed his head and we were away.
“This case seems quite murky.” Said I as we rejoined the hansom.
“I am of the opposite opinion.”
“How so, your theory of a crime of love has been destroyed.”
“That was only one theory my friend, as other fall away that leaves us with the most likely one.”
My friend would say no more as we returned to the scene of the crime. When we arrived constable Delores was waiting for us.
“Ah, Sir your time is most agreeable.”
“You have found the scene?” asked my friend.
“Yes. If you would follow me.”
The actua
l scene was some twenty paces away in an abandoned home. The floor boards were rotten through and there was a hole from the second floor all the way to the cellar, where it seemed like something large had crashed through and stabbed themselves on a great deal of broken glass. The glass in the cellar was heavily stained with blood, to such a degree that I had to admit that it was the location of the crime.
“What do you make of this?” asked I.
“Certainly seems like the place.” For one of the first times I saw my friends face become befuddled as if he was struggling with his conclusions. “We are missing one large piece of this puzzle.” He said absently, before slipping into a revery that lasted for several hours. He would not speak or take drink, simply shifting his gaze between the second floor and the cellar.
It was near five before the Count was returned by the appearance of a page boy holding a letter for the Count. Breaking the seal on the letter, the Count read quickly, his features slowly shifting back into their regular place. “And now we have it.”
“You know who the rogue is?”
“I certainly do.” Said the Count, with an cheerful tone that belied his expression. He bade the boy to send a letter to the Bathursts, but as he had not paper or ink he had to give the message verbally to the boy.
“Be sure to say this word for word, and you will get a half a sovereign for your troubles.” The boys eyes seemed to light at this, and promised that he would indeed remember the message.
The message went like this. “Dear Duke Bathurst. It is will the greatest excitement that I tell you that we are close to the capture of your sons murderer. We have found an abandoned home which we believe the crime took place, but the hour is such that a search will have to take place tomorrow. I known for a certainty that the rogue left something of his behind, so that you need not worry, your son's killer will