Mad Bride of the Ripper

by Lucas Thorn

  “No,” he writhed in the chair. Put head in hands, fighting to keep tears at bay. Tears which chased his eyes like a pack of burning dogs. “No, no.”

  “Father, I couldn’t fight him. I just couldn’t. I wanted to, but they put things in my food. Sedatives, he said. To keep me from running away. He was obsessed with me. Obsessed with Van Helsing’s work, too.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I think he shares Van Helsing’s obsession with death. They both believe in demons. They kept trying to convince me I was possessed by one! John believes that’s why I refused to marry him. Can you imagine? And there’s more. So much more. Together, they torture John’s patients. Torture them in horrible ways at night when the nurses were gone. Believe me, I’ve seen him do terrible things, father. Despicable, evil things. Things which made me think I had gone mad! I shan’t sleep easily ever again, but I managed to stay sane. I managed to think only of escape! And, when my chance came, I took it. I ran. I ran so far. Through the woods. They sent dogs after me. And men. Men with guns. And John was always there. Calling my name. Telling me he’d find me. Find me and kill me. He said if he couldn’t have me, then no one would! Oh, father! He’s lost his mind. He could do anything! I don’t doubt he’s following me. He could be here any moment. What am I going to do?”

  Her father rushed to the window and peered out.

  Shotgun in hand.

  Shaking with rage.

  Finally, nodded. Decision made. “London. We’ll go to London. We’re too exposed out here. We can stay at our townhouse. They wouldn’t dare anything with so many people around. And then we must go to the police.”

  “We can’t!”

  “We must. Don’t worry, Lucy. I’ll see them hanged for this. Hanged!”

  “No, listen to me, father. Please. Van Helsing… He has friends.”

  “As do I.”

  “Royal friends. Powerful friends who protect him. He was proud of that. Always talking about it. He said they wouldn’t want word of the atrocities he’s committed ever making it to the newspapers. It would be disastrous. No, they’ll protect him. And I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “That makes no difference! I know a good number of Lords myself. They might not accept our ancestry, but they bloody well accept our money. And if they want to keep accepting it, they’ll support me on this.”

  “You must be careful.”

  “Lucy.” He collapsed back in his chair and wept. “Oh, my Lucy. I failed you already. To think I allowed that man to shake my hand. He spent three days here with me. Telling me over and over how sorry he was. If only I’d known. Why couldn’t I see it? Am I so blind?”

  “Father,” she moved off the chair and sat at his feet. Head down on his lap. Something she’d done as a child. “Please, father. They’re despicable men. Horrible men. I’m just glad the nightmare is almost over. I don’t want them to hurt you, too. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “I must do something.” One hand on the shotgun. The other, trembling, he lay on her head. “They mustn’t get away with this. I won’t let them. I won’t. I’ll go first thing to Sir Harold. Yes, he would be best. He still has close ties to the constabulary. I’m sure he’ll know what to do.”

  “If I can’t talk you out of this, then you must be careful. Van Helsing is a member of many societies. He’s very popular.”

  “I know,” Westenra growled. “But that will change when everyone knows what he’s done. Surely no one would want to associate with him once they hear this. My Lucy. My poor little girl. You’re safe now. You hear me? Safe.”

  “I know.” She let her mouth curl and her eyes thinned to slits as she stared into the flames working inside the hearth. “I know I am.”

  Pause. “Did he…?”

  “Rape me?” Felt her father’s legs stiffen at the word so callously used. “No. No, he didn’t. Not that he didn’t want to, of course. But I always cried, and he didn’t like that. I couldn’t fight him, but I could cry. And that made him angry. I know it wasn’t going to stop him forever, though. He said if I didn’t learn my place, he’d give me to Van Helsing. Oh, father. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I can’t. Please don’t make me. I just want to forget it all.”

  “Of course.” Voice cracked as the old man struggled to overcome the shock. “They’ll pay for this, Lucy. Pay dearly. But we can’t stay here. First thing in the morning, I’ll have Morten drive us to London. And we’ll talk to Sir Harold.”

  “Not in the morning, father. Let’s leave after sunset. Please?”

  “It’s not safe to travel at night.”

  “I feel safer at night. I’m afraid of it now. It torments me and I can’t sleep even for a moment. If I do, I have nightmares of them coming for me in the dark.”

  “God.” The old man’s hand brushed her hair. “How could this happen? Oh, Lucy. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I just… Didn’t know.”

  She wrapped her arms around his leg. “You’re here now, father. That’s all that matters. You’ll protect me from them, won’t you? If they come?”

  “I hope they do come,” he snarled. “I want them to. I swear, Lucy, they’ll not walk away. Royal connections or not, I’ll kill them the second I clap eyes on them.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I must say, Lucy,” Sir Harold was a ruddy little man, but his cheeks were pale as he sat listening to her tale. He sat behind a large desk in his study. Lucy had a comfortable chair, while her father paced in front of the window. Looking out at an impeccable garden. “If I hadn’t been to your funeral, I’d never believe you. I mean, Doctor Seward is a respectable man. Very respectable. I would have thought a solid sort of chap, too. And Professor Van Helsing has been making all the right waves in all the right places, you understand. An eminent scientist by all accounts. Very learned in many fields. Including alchemy and the biological sciences.”

  “Which he no doubt learned through the torture of innocents,” her father pointed out.

  “That will be difficult to prove,” Sir Harold said. Held up a hand quickly as Westenra rounded on him. “Not to me, Edward. Not to me. I’ve known Lucy since she was a little girl, and I’ve no doubt that what she said has occurred is exactly what has happened. But, I’d wager the moment we send the constabulary around to his Sanitorium, we’ll find it cleaned out most thorough. These are two calculating and intelligent men. Do you think I’m wrong, Lucy?”

  “He’s right,” Lucy said. Softly. “Father, that’s the only reason why they didn’t come after me straight away. They must have been doing what Sir Harold says. Cleaning it all up. They must know there will be questions. They would want to be prepared.”

  “Precisely,” Sir Harold said. “They’ll be sweeping everything under the rug, so to speak. Making it difficult to prove.”

  “But what about Lucy? She’s here, isn’t she? Isn’t that evidence enough that Seward lied? I mean, he signed her death certificate, didn’t he?”

  “He might claim he was mistaken? Or that she’s an imposter…”

  “Imposter?” Westenra shook. “Don’t be preposterous.”

  “Oh, I know, Edward. But you know these things. It would be her word against theirs. Two of our most respected scholars. I’m sure they’ll have a story prepared already. Lord knows they’ve had plenty of time to arrange one to how they see fit. I’m not saying it’s impossible to bring them to justice, you understand. Just difficult. The slightest doubt would lean in their favour.”

  “Difficult? Are you telling me they’re going to get away with this? That they can murder my wife, abduct my only child – my daughter! Imprison her in a dungeon and do unspeakable things to her? Is this what you’re telling me? Is this what England has become?”

  “Do try to understand our position, Edward. Professor Van Helsing has met Her Royal Highness. On many occasions. She’s quite taken with him, I hear. She fancies him to be something of an authority in many fields and even sought his advice as recently as a month ago.
You know how she feels about death and the afterlife? Have you heard? She finds his words to be most comforting, if not helpful, to her state of mind. A rare thing these days, I assure you.”

  “But he’s still a German! Not even English. Sir Harold, surely there’s something we can do?”

  “Let me consult with a few friends of mine. Discreetly, of course.”

  “Of course.” Not quite sarcastic.

  “Now, Edward. Please listen to me. England has come a long way. Royal favour is not as definite as it once used to be. Give me some time, and I’m sure we can find a way to bring these animals to justice. But it must be done with restraint and through proper channels. If we blindly rush in, it’s more likely they’ll get away with it. We must match their cunning with our own.”

  “Justice,” Lucy said. Looking down at her hands. Shoulders limp. Fragile and damaged. “That’s all I want, Sir Harold. Justice. For my mother more than anything.”

  “I understand.” He steepled his fingers thoughtfully. “Believe me, Lucy. I am shocked. Outraged by this. No, that doesn’t quite do. I am livid. Absolutely and utterly. And I swear to you both, I will do what I can. I will work very hard to ensure the right man is assigned to your case. One who understands the intricacies required and has the best chance of achieving the right outcome. In fact, I already have the perfect man in mind. Will you trust me?”

  “Forgive my outrage, Sir Harold,” Westenra said. “It’s been very distressing. And I feel so helpless. Of course I trust you. You’ve always been good to my family. Though we didn’t have the same upbringing, you’ve been a friend to me.”

  “Not all of us think a title is the definition of human, Edward.” He gave them both a kind smile. “I’ll do everything I can. I swear. Everything.”

  “Thank you,” Lucy said. “Father? Can we return to the house? I suddenly don’t feel very well.”

  “Yes. Of course. Sir Harold, I thank you again for letting us into your home so late. We felt it necessary to send no warning. As you can understand, we couldn’t take any chance on being intercepted.”

  “I understand, Edward. I would do the same.”

  Outside, the cab was still waiting.

  Westenra helped Lucy inside, his mouth a tight line.

  When the cab was on its way, bouncing through the streets, he shook his head.

  Snapped the curtain shut.

  “Nothing,” he said. Grunted. “That’s what he’s going to do. Nothing. After all I’ve done for him, he’s going to let them get away with it. You wait and see. He’ll call me back in a few days. Tell me he’s tried everything, but the Queen loves Van Helsing like a son and couldn’t bear to see him hanged. He’ll tell me you’re safe now. Tell me nothing happened. Tell me to count my lucky stars and for you to get on with your life.”

  She sat at his side, watching gaslamps slide past. Streaks of bubbled light in the fog.

  She’d forgotten the London fog. How ghostly and beautiful it was.

  And how much the city stank. Reeked of refuse and coal.

  Everyone coughed here. Even her father was coughing now and then.

  “Yes, father.”

  “God help me, I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands. Every time I think of what Seward and the bloody German did to you, I can’t think straight. I see you staring out at the world like that, and it breaks my heart.”

  “Like what?”

  “Empty. Your heart is empty. And they broke it. My little Lucy. You were a bright child. Beautiful and carefree when you left for Whitby. And now? I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do, Lucy. Tell me what I can do for you.”

  She showed him a wan smile. She was hungry.

  Mouth dry with thirst.

  In her ears, she could hear the steady rhythm of his heart. Smell the blood racing through his veins. Blood she craved.

  “There’s nothing you can do, father,” she said. “I don’t know myself. It’s like I’m living in the echo of a nightmare. I don’t know what’s real anymore. Have I truly escaped? When I look outside, I expect to see one of them on the side of the street. Watching me. Following me. Come to drag me back to his dreadful dungeon. Time, I think. Yes, that’s what I need. Time.”

  “Perhaps Doctor Sullivan could help?”

  “Never.” Shudder. “Please, father. I don’t ever want to see a doctor ever again. Not even if I’m dying in bed. No. No doctors. The sight of one would reduce me to fever. Promise me you won’t send for one. Promise.”

  “I promise.” He sighed. Opened the flap of his coat and touched the pistol inside. A habit he was building. Fidgeted with the butt. “Lucy, I want to ask you something.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I was talking to Mrs Wellington. And she said something I can’t shake. I mean, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “What did she say?” Lucy froze. Had the old woman noticed something?

  “She said there were men in Whitechapel who’d do anything for money. And she put an emphasis on anything.” He rushed his words. “I mean, I don’t want to do anything without talking to you, first. And I know this isn’t the sort of thing one should discuss with one’s daughter. But, damn it. I just feel we ought to do something! And I can’t let them get away with this evil crime. I don’t even know what I’m asking.”

  “You want to know if I want them killed.”

  “Well. When you put it like that…” He dragged a small handkerchief from his pocket and batted his forehead. “It sounds frightful. But I wasn’t born in a rich manor, you know. No, I built this empire of mine. With sweat and bloody-minded determination. And while it’s been a long time since it was needed, I got my hands dirty more than once. A part of me has always tried to fit in with society, Lucy. I’ve always wanted to be like Sir Harold. But I think those bastard Lords are right when they say my kind can’t quite get free of the gutter. There’ll always be some mud clinging to our boots, yes? Perhaps, this one time, that mud might work for us.”

  She leaned against him, placing her head on his shoulder. “I’m so tired, father. I wake up all the time expecting him to be standing over me. With his needles and his saws. You should have seen the saws. I can’t breathe just thinking of them. He used knives, too. Little knives so sharp they were like steel fangs. And I heard the girls screaming. Sometimes, I imagined it was me he was cutting into. And I cried so much. I still cry. I won’t ever feel safe, I think, until I know they’re dead. If Sir Harold can’t guarantee justice, father, then maybe…”

  “Yes.” He firmed his jaw and nodded. “Yes, I’ll speak to Mrs Wellington again. She’s bound to know someone who can, umm, help us with our problem. She’s a good woman is Mrs Wellington. I’ve known her since before you were born. She’s been devastated to hear about your mother. Horrified to hear it might be murder. And astounded the killer will get away with it just because he has some link to the Queen. I swear, I’d take it to the papers if I thought they’d print it.”

  “Father, have you written to the bank, yet? To let them know I’m alive? I was thinking I’d like to change my clothes. I can’t stand anything which reminds me of the past. I need something new.”

  “I’ll arrange it all first thing in the morning.”

  “Thank you.” She snuggled into his arm.

  Closed her eyes and listened to the clip clop of the horse’s shoes.

  Bubble of voices from the street.

  A whistle in the distance. Sharp and piercing. Police. A common sound.

  When they arrived at the townhouse, she shuffled up the stairs. Looked at him over her shoulder. “I’m going to rest,” she said. “I don’t want to do anything right now. I might just stay in my room tomorrow. I couldn’t face going out in the streets. With all the people. It’s frightening just to think they could be hiding in the crowd. Is that alright?”

  “I understand. And I’m hiring a few good men for security. I’ve a couple I can rely upon. Stout men who’ve worked with me for years. They’ll look out for the hou
se and let no one in. You’ll be safe here, Lucy.”

  “I know I will. I always felt safe with you.”

  She locked her door. Slid a chair against the handle and smiled.

  Suppressed a giggle before heading to the window.

  The street outside was filled with thick gleaming fog. Buried in its depths, globes of light from the gaslamps. Globes which looked like the stars of madness she’d found in sick minds. Only softer. Like brittle breath captured and bottled in glass orbs.

  She looked to the door again before gently opening the glass.

  Dived.

  Into the air, weightless and free. Wanted to laugh. To crow her delight.

  White dress trailing her feet like a comet’s tail. She whipped through the fog, swirling between buildings. Could just make out the hats and bonnets of people below. They’d never see her. Not with the thick fog.

  But she knew where she was.

  Knew where she was going.

  She could see his crazed light burning like a shining diamond. There were others around him. So many others. Their lives bereft of meaning. Days spent crawling the refuse-ridden streets of London in search of the scraps they needed to survive just one more day.

  Whores and thieves.

  Policemen and muggers.

  Honest workers and dishonest scavengers.

  All melting together in a wild and tense pot so close to boil. A creeping madness she could feel simmering beneath their civilised surface.

  Unlike the immaculate townhouse her father rented, Renfield had found a small warehouse. Shabby and dishevelled, its innards scorched by fire. One corner had collapsed. Repaired with sheets of tin and rough brickwork. When it rained, the water dripped from the holes and formed a wide puddle.

  There were two rooms. One for Renfield, where the little man sat on the edge of his bed. Sharpening a butcher knife. Oiled gun on the pillow beside him.

  He stayed where he was, shrouded in the dark.