by Lucas Thorn
Doctor Seward leaned his back against the wall and looked up at the fog drifting overhead. Squinting at the bright glare. “I can’t keep this up, Abraham,” he said. “I just can’t. We’re wanted men, now. This has gotten too far out of hand. The police are after us. What are we going to do? How the bloody Hell can we explain it?”
“You still have some powerful friends,” Harker reminded the old man. “Maybe it’s time to start contacting them again. We’re going to need help getting out of London.”
Van Helsing scowled at the house. “We’re not leaving the city until she’s back in captivity or destroyed. I refuse to let her roam England. If she’s let loose here, who knows what hideous depravities she’ll unleash. You’ve heard the stories of what’s happening in Whitechapel? The murders are connected to her. Everything is connected to her!”
“You can’t know that,” Doctor Seward said.
“I can,” he snapped. “And I do. You would, too, but you’re blinded by your affection for a silly girl who I assure you is quite long gone. It is not her life we can save now, John. We fight instead for her soul. If we can. But more importantly, we need to protect humanity itself. Nothing is more important than that.”
“If you’re determined to stay, then we’ll need a place to lay low in. Somewhere we can be safe while we plan what to do next.” Harker pulled them back into the alley. Lowering his voice. “I say we go back to our bolthole in Whitechapel. It’s further away from her, but it’s safe.”
“William knows its location.”
“Oh, yes. I forgot.” Ran his fingers through his hair and pursed his lips. Thinking fast. “Look, I might know somewhere. But I warn you, it won’t be very pleasant.”
“Where is it?”
“Miller’s Court.”
“Miller’s Court,” Doctor Seward groaned. Clutched his bag tighter to his chest. “Can we sink no further?”
“I met a young lady there. She’s very agreeable, if we pay her. I think she’d take us in for a day or two without asking too many questions.”
“You saw the pictures, Harker,” Doctor Seward said. “Of us. They’re up on almost every post. What if she turns us in?”
“We’ll have to pay her more than that’s worth is all.”
“It will have to do,” Van Helsing sighed. “I think you’re right about contacting some of our more powerful allies. I believe it’s time to contact Lord Salisbury and let him know what’s happening. With luck, he’ll be able to divert police attention while we do what we must. In the meantime, we should be very careful.”
“On a night like this, it should be easy to stay out of sight,” Harker said, rubbing his hands together against the cold. “At least there’s one thing this damned fog is useful for.”
The three men drifted into the gloom. Back down streets which grew dirtier and shabbier the further they distanced themselves from the vampire’s residence.
Miller’s itself was a bustle of activity, and none of it reputable.
Before they’d gone a few steps inside, one man heaved himself against Harker and put a razor to his throat. “What we got here, then? A lost toff and his old biscuits? Pretty little thing, ain’t yer? Now how about you loosen up your pockets and dump what you’ve got in my cap right here…?”
Harker didn’t move. “Do you like your balls?”
“What?”
“Your balls. Do you like them?”
“I don’t-” Then sucked a breath as Harker pushed the revolver muzzle harder.
“Because I’ll fucking well shoot them both off if you don’t get out of my bloody way. Is that clear?”
“I weren’t meaning anything,” the man stuttered, shuffling back.
“See that you don’t.”
“God help us,” Doctor Seward said. “This is worse than Hell.”
“Nothing is worse than Hell,” Van Helsing said. “I promise you that, John.”
They passed a pub where a small group of weasel-faced men eyed them with thin expressions. Didn’t say anything. Drank from chipped mugs.
Staring.
“Quick,” Harker said as he reached a door. “In here. Let’s not let anyone have a good look at us.”
He led the way, marching to a fragile-looking door and knocking on it. “Mary? Mary, are you in?”
The door cracked open. “Who is it?”
“It’s me. You remember me, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Peter. Remember? Peter Shaw. Two weeks ago, I took you to the pub. Bought you a sherry.”
“That’s nice.” Still made no move to open the door. “What you want? I don’t do three at once.”
“Yes, well. That’s not what we’re asking. Look, can we come in? I have an offer for you.”
“Told you, I-”
“Ten pounds.”
“What?”
“Ten pounds if you let us stay the night. Just one night. We’ll sleep on the floor if we have to.”
She frowned. “You in some kind of trouble?”
“Yes. I’m afraid so.”
“Let’s see it.”
“See what?”
“The ten pounds.”
“Yes, right.” He looked up and down the hall before pulling a few notes from his pocket. “How about I give you ten now, and another ten in the morning?”
She sniffed at the door. Then pulled it open. Hand open to take the cash. “Alright, Mister Shaw. Come in. And wipe your feet. Don’t want any muck on the floor, do we?”
Said the last with a touch of bitterness.
“Thank you, Mary,” Harker said. “We really appreciate it.”
Tried to put his arm around her, but she skipped loose. “You want more than a place to kip, you’d best have more of these pounds, Mister Shaw. Or whatever your name is. And who are your friends? Beaky and Bob?”
“What? No. This is Hans. He’s a German, but don’t hold that against him. And this is Doctor Williams. He’s from Dover. You’ve been to Dover, Mary?”
“Sure,” she snorted. “Ain’t everyone? Every weekend, I go down. Have me a right good bleeding holiday. It’ll be Paris next week. And then Spain. You know me, Mister Shaw. Nothing but the best hotels and all. Now what’s his problem, then?”
This at Doctor Seward, who was leaning against the wall just inside the doorway.
Arm up over his nose.
“Him?” Harker shrugged. “Pay him no mind. He thinks he’s too rich for a place like this, Mary. But I don’t. You know me.”
“Sure.” Her shoulders slumped as she turned from the doctor. “I know you alright, John.”
“Peter.”
She kicked a chair by her table. “Sit yourself down then, Peter. You lot might as well, too.”
“Thank you,” Van Helsing said, taking a chair and placing his bag down beside his leg. “We do apologise for imposing, Miss Mary.”
“Right. Sure you do. Look, is he going to stand against the wall all night? If he is, he can hold all our coats.”
Harker sighed. “Doctor, please sit down. You’re making everybody nervous.” He looked to Mary. “It’s not that much trouble, Mary. Not really. It’s just a misunderstanding. The police have the wrong idea. And we just need a few days to sort things out and everything will be right as rain.”
“Oh, yeah? You said one night.”
“Maybe two.”
“Long as you’ve got the pounds.”
“We do.” He looked around. “Do you have anything to drink, perhaps? And maybe to eat?”
“What do you think this is?”
“Well, perhaps you could get some for us?”
She held out a hand and he dutifully placed some coins in her palm.
She counted it carefully before tucking them away. “What is it you want, Tom?”
“Peter,” he said. “It’s Peter, remember? We could use something to eat. Doesn’t have to be fancy. Anything they have going is fine. And maybe just some cans of beer if you can.”
“Oh,
yeah? Maybe some smoked kippers and a side of lamb.” Sarcasm bled from her voice.
She looked tired.
Stifled a yawn.
He sighed. “Anything you can get, love. Really.”
“Tomorrow. In the morning.”
“That’s fine.”
“Well, alright.” She looked around the cramped little room before heading back to her bed. “Make yourselves at home.”
Doctor Seward watched a cockroach creep from a crack in the wall. “Oh, God,” he said. “This isn’t happening.”
“Stop complaining, please,” Harker said, his voice nearly cracking. “And will you sit down?”
“What’s that smell?”
“Oh, hush up, you fool.” He stretched his neck which was already beginning to cramp. The young woman was on her bed and rolling up inside her blankets. Didn’t appear to be listening, but he whispered anyway. “I’m sorry, Abraham. It’s the best I could do.”
“We must all make do,” the old man said, aiming his words to Doctor Seward. “Now. You took a wound, Peter. Perhaps our Doctor Williams should attend to it?”
“It’s fine.”
“No, he’s right,” Doctor Seward said. He put his bag on the table. “Show me your arm. I’m sorry. Both of you. I’m just scared out of my wits. That’s all. After the Dracula business. Then Mina. And Lucy. My poor Lucy. I just don’t know what’s happening anymore. I feel like I’m drowning, and the water keeps getting deeper every day.”
“Don’t worry about it, Doctor. We quite understand.” Harker peeled off his coat. He’d been bleeding, but it wasn’t much more than a graze, he was sure.
“Well, it’s not bleeding anymore. And looks like it passed right through. I should clean it, though. Just in case. I’ll have to use some of the, ah, holy water. I trust it to be clean.”
“If you must,” Van Helsing said. “But only use what you need. We may need the rest of it soon.”
“You think she’d come here? Tonight?”
“Who knows what’s going through her mind?” Van Helsing’s eyes slitted dangerously. “She’s been very clever so far. Much more clever than I thought her to be. She’s outfoxed us, I’m afraid. No matter what we say, we’ll look like madmen. Or worse.”
“She’s getting more powerful,” Harker said. “Everything happening in the streets is sign of it.”
“Yes.” Van Helsing retrieved a small book from his bag. Lay it on the table in front of him and scanned the handwritten pages. “Look here. I have notes from a vampire I once encountered in southern Italy. It, too, showed signs of being able to manipulate the emotions of mortal men. As he grew in power, his ability to control large numbers grew, too. I believe Lucy is learning how to do the same. She must be experimenting. Pushing her limits. With Dracula’s tainted blood in her veins, who knows how strong she’ll become? Strong enough to spread her madness through Whitechapel? The city? Country? World? It’s a frightening thought. It’s my belief that, right now, she’s more dangerous than any other vampire we’ve ever faced.”
“That’s all we need. What with Dracula’s Brides right on our doorstep.”
“How long before they get here?” Doctor Seward wet a cloth and pressed it against Harker’s arm. Ignored the young man’s hissing breath. “How long?”
“I don’t know,” Van Helsing said. “Our last news was from Mayberry, who said they’d finally given up on carriages. They were now catching trains. I expect them to be in Paris already.”
“Paris?” Doctor Seward’s hand shook. “Then they could be here soon.”
“Yes. Something must have delayed them. I had expected them to have arrived by now. We can only hope whatever has waylaid them was either permanent or continues to prevent them from making the crossing. Whichever the case, we have very little time to deal with Lucy.”
“We can’t do anything tonight. There’s too many police,” Harker said. “And not enough of us to deal with the two men she has guarding her.”
“Yes. We will need help. And that may take a few days to arrange.”
“Not here,” Doctor Seward said. Chewed on his bottom lip. “We can’t wait here. Surely not.”
Harker saw the young woman curl tighter in her bed. He remembered what Sloper had said. About how he’d never quite looked at the lower classes as human at all.
Hearing the disgust in the doctor’s voice now made him wonder if he’d ever had that same tone when talking to Sloper. Also remembered when Mary had first let him into the tiny little hovel. How he’d fought an urge to vomit before letting her drag him onto her sour sheets.
Ultimately, it was the smell which made him leave before he’d finished enjoying himself.
Before he’d gotten what he really wanted from her.
His feelings collided. Smashed to pieces into a confused heap inside his chest. He felt a spark of pity for her. How must she feel listening to such contempt for a place which was her home? Home not by choice, but necessity.
Also felt a touch of guilt for the shameful desires he’d never satisfied on her body.
Feeling heat in his cheeks, he looked up at the doctor and shook his head. “No matter what you think of where she lives, she’s a fine girl. A very fine girl. I won’t have you upsetting her. You hear me?”
“I didn’t say she wasn’t!”
“But you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Harker watched the dark shadow of her torso rise and fall as she breathed slow. “She deserves better. They all do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Inspector Abberline thought she was very brave.
He’d told her so many times. Would later tell his peers that she was a remarkable woman of great fortitude and internal strength. Her lack of tears or hysterics when she was informed of her father’s murder was something he both pitied and admired even as his heart broke for her.
He noticed the trembling of her shoulders.
The twitch of her mouth.
The dazed stare and lifting brow.
Like an animal startled by light.
Then, when he told her of what he’d found in the house directly behind hers, he expected that to be the last straw.
“One of my officers went missing. We were attempting to locate him and were doing a house to house. Due to the suspicions of another officer, we broke open the door. We found his body. Also, the occupant, a Mrs Anne Murphy. She appears to have been deceased for a few days. Did you know her, Miss Westenra?”
“No, Inspector. I haven’t spent much time in London before. It’s not that I dislike the city, but I suppose I was happier in the countryside. This is the first time I’ve been here for more than a few days, and I haven’t felt at all like entertaining. I’m sure you understand why. Besides, what with all the rumours, I’m sure my neighbours have no compulsion to be social with me. They certainly haven’t offered.”
He nodded his understanding before continuing; “We also found the body of another man in the cellar. Unidentified. He’d been stabbed.”
Kipper watched the Inspector’s face and found himself mesmerized by it.
The policeman was absolutely struck by her, he thought. Every word he uttered was conveyed with as much sympathy and compassion as Abberline could muster. Every piece of news given tentatively as though each revelation was accompanied by the lashing of a whip.
Keeping arms crossed over his chest, the big man’s own expression conveyed a bewildered sense of awe.
Which Abberline took as being sign of Kipper’s own shock at the news.
He hardly listened as the Inspector reeled off the steps in his investigation which had led him to the hospital. And then made Lucy’s body rigid with tension as he announced the police had raided a ramshackle hovel in Whitechapel and discovered the dismembered remains of Adele’s father.
Well.
He didn’t say dismembered, Kipper conceded.
But he certainly conveyed it.
Trophies, too. Grisly trophies from the wome
n killed by the man calling himself Jack the Ripper.
There had been letters, the Inspector said. Letters with the same handwriting as those in Adele’s possession.
Abberline unfolded one and handed it over. “Do you recognise the handwriting by chance? I mean, would you say it was familiar to you?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “It could be John’s. Doctor Seward, I mean. I have some letters upstairs. He sent them to me last year. I could bring them down for you if you like.”
The Inspector’s body stiffened and something about his face turned predatory as he sniffed something he liked. Confirmation of guesswork which turned suspicion into fact.
Evidence.
Still, he tried to hide his enthusiasm and keep the mood as calm as he could. Always professional.
“That would be most helpful.”
Worried, Kipper thought, that any change in temper might send Lucy into a meltdown of tears and wailing.
Kipper brought a hand to his mouth and coughed heavily to disguise the giggle.
Lucy glanced at him with dull gaze. “Kipper, could you get them for me, please? The letters. They’re in the little chest at the end of my bed.”
“Yes, Miss,” he said, glad to leave the room. If he stayed much longer, he thought he’d slide to the ground and die of laughter.
There was no sign of the blood which had been spilled beside her bed. Not even a single drop.
He’d himself spent the better part of the morning scrubbing and mopping. Had to toss a small rug which couldn’t be saved.
There was a smell, though.
Clinging to the air.
A sweet, yet metallic smell. As though the echoes of the constable’s death still lingered. He fancied the man’s ghost standing forlorn in the middle of the room. Looking around in confusion and still wondering what it was which had killed him.
Kipper strode to where he fancied the ghost might be standing. Right over where the body had fallen. He did a quick jig, throwing arms in the air and clicking his fingers.
Ghosts didn’t scare him.
Not anymore.
He felt a subtle pressure against his forehead and sobered fast. Knew it for her touch. The grin vanished, replaced by an impassive stare aimed at the little chest.