For a moment there was silence as the crowd, and I, stood and stared at the blood and gold which littered the ground. I do not know who moved first, but I knew that I followed quickly. I dived at the broken mess, grabbing a lump of gold and stuffing it under my arm where I held her cloak and my camera. The crowd descended into frenzy, each trying to get a piece of her, not caring for the broken men who were cast aside in their lust for gold. I did not stay to watch; I walked slowly away back to the Portland Hotel, where I gathered my things and, hailing a passing carriage, went back to my rooms on Amberley Road. As I sat in the carriage and unrolled her cloak, I found that I held before me a perfectly formed hand. The hand of a golden killer, summoned to do the devil’s work.
***
A half hour later I got home and slowly climbed the stairs to my rooms on the third floor. As I reached the top and looked down the corridor, I noted that a dim light shone out from beneath my door. The light was creeping and flickering across the crusted floorboards as if it were alive. I knew immediately that my fire had been lit; I was used to such a sight when coming home to Alice and Benjamin.
I paused for a moment, wondering what evil lay within. Was it Dawes and Soames returned to finish the job?
I thought of Alice and of how she had been taken from me and in that brief moment I also saw the image of my mother flash through my mind. I saw her face the last time that I visited her, so pale and lost, and remembered her violent removal and incarceration on the orders of my father. A knot of pain formed in the pit of my stomach, sending tendrils of anxiety through my body. My hand shook as I reached out for the door handle. So this was where I would meet my end.
As my fingers touched the cold metal, however, these pangs diminished and the ball of tension within me dissolved into a wave of calm. There was not the will nor the strength left within me to fight any more. All that I had held dear, little though it was, had been lost to me, taken by dark and irrepressible forces which could not be met. I turned the handle and calmly stepped inside to see a figure sitting in the high-backed cushioned chair next to the fire.
The high wings of the armchair shrouded the figure’s face in darkness but I could tell that it was a man, well dressed and holding a half-empty bottle of brandy in his hand. He leaned forwards as I entered, the soft dancing glow of the flames illuminating his face.
‘Hullo, old boy,’ croaked the man. ‘I’m afraid I have helped myself to your brandy supply. You really need to hide it better; any fool could have found it.’
I placed the bundle, still wrapped in the black cloak, upon the sideboard and lunged forward in relief, thrusting an outstretched hand towards my friend.
‘Higgins! Good God man, you are a sight for sore eyes!’ I shook his hand vigorously and it was then that I noted the sadness in his face. It sagged in weariness and he wore the stubble of more than one day’s growth. His complexion was pale and damp, his cheeks sallow, and I thought then that he looked for all the world like a man with consumption. He sighed and sank back into the darkness of the chair. ‘You look terrible,’ I said. ‘Are you sick?’
‘I fear I may be ailing, Sam. But it is not a sickness that is recognised by any medical man. Things have been bad for me since our night together in Pluckley and our interaction with the spirit world. I have been plagued by terrible dreams and visions, haunted and chased; there is no escape for me, not even through my usual means.’ He lifted the bottle to his lips.
I drew up a chair opposite him and sat. ‘It would seem that we have both been cursed since that night, Edward. I could tell you stories of murder and death that I have witnessed that would make fine additions to your tour. But first you must explain your presence here. Is there something with which you feel I might help?’
His eyes raised towards me and he held out the bottle for me, which I took, gulping a swig.
‘Do you remember the spirit that appeared above the Devil’s Bush? The one that tried to speak to us?’
‘Why of course, how could I forget…’ I made to interrupt, to tell him about my meeting with Darke, but he continued.
‘Well, it seems he is the insistent sort and, after you left, he attempted to visit my dreams on a nightly basis; it was all that I could do to resist him. I took to not sleeping, to try to save myself from his scourge, but lack of sleep can turn a man to madness, Sam, really it can.’ He took the bottle back from me – it was nearly empty. ‘I even confided in Tom at the Black Horse,’ he continued. ‘I told him that I was being plagued by the spirit that had wished to speak to him at the séance, but that I could sense the evil within it and would not let it in.’
‘How did Tom react?’ I asked.
‘He became excited, Sam, very excited. He even asked that we go ahead with the séance; he said that he wished to speak to him. I could not allow it, though; I could not let this beast take over my body. I have told you before, Sam, that I do not revel in my so-called gift. If I did I could be a rich man by now, tending to the desperate needs of those who wish to speak to the loved and lost. No, it is not for me.’
‘And is it this that has brought you to such a state of distress and undoing?’ I asked, genuinely concerned for the welfare of my friend.
‘Gods no, man. It takes more than a ghoulish visitor in the night to get to me. It was what Tom confided in me that has made me such a wreck.’ He took another long swig of brandy, checking the bottle as he lowered it to see the paltry amount that remained. ‘I am afraid I have emptied your house of booze.’
‘You underestimate me, Higgins. Even you could not dry my house so easily.’ I stood and made my way to my bedroom, picking up the cloak as I did so. Closing the bedroom door behind me, I moved the bed to one side before lifting the floorboards and pulling out a wide chest, within which I kept all of my notes, pictures and items of interest concerning Sibelius Darke, and subsequently the Dolorian Club. Therein I carefully placed the hand. I knew that I could trust Higgins with everything that I knew about the Golden Woman murders but, for some reason, I wished to keep the hand to myself; it was not only an item of value because of the metal of which it was made, but a memento of the murders, and I knew that its value would be unlimited once the truth of this whole affair came to light.
After ensuring that the chest was safely hidden under the bed once more, I opened my bedside cabinets, wherein lay another bottle of brandy; one which I kept in case of emergency. The visit of Higgins to my home was indeed a suitable example of this.
‘I apologise for the delay, Edward,’ I said, passing a new bottle to him, the label of which he examined briefly before hungrily pulling on the stopper. ‘Pray continue with your story, I am listening.’
Higgins withdrew a cigarette case from the inside of his jacket and lit himself a stick before dropping into the storytelling manner which he employed to such good use.
***
‘It was late one evening and the Black Horse was beginning to clear. It had been a good night for me; I had taken a small group from London around many ghostly spots of interest, some that you saw and a few others besides. They had been most appreciative, paid well and even put some money behind the bar to pay for my beverages.
‘Miss Finnan was in fine spirits for a change and had not hurried me along after ringing the bell and I was looking forward to a rare bit of after-hours drinking. According to Anne, Tom had been out since just after lunch on one of his secretive jaunts which had become much more frequent of late. I noticed that I was the only customer left and had decided to chance my arm and ask for another, when Tom came blustering in, full of bother and fret. Anne asked him what was wrong, and it was clear that she was unused to seeing him like this. He brushed her concerns away, however, and, seeing me, said that he was glad that I was still there and that he needed to have a private word; Anne took the hint and left us.
‘I was a little nervous as I wondered whether he would attempt to persuade me to commune with the devil in my dreams again, but decided to give the man my time – as long
as the booze kept flowing. Thankfully it did. Tom stepped behind the bar and brought out a bottle of Grant’s Morella, which he knew I could never resist. He poured us both a good measure and opened his mouth to speak; however, I stopped him before a word could pass his lips.
‘“If you plan to have me infested with some sort of demon spirit from the otherworld then you are wasting your time, Tom,” I said, quickly picking up my drink before he could snatch it back.
‘“Nothing of the sort, Edward,” he said, smiling. “You have made your beliefs perfectly clear and I would not force a man to undertake such an action. I have another proposition for you, one which comes after an explanation of sorts. An explanation as to where I disappear to during the day and to the nature of my presence in this village.”
‘“Well, I must say that I had wondered what you have been up to, Tom. I assumed it was some religious task, seeing as you spend so much time in the company of Mr Williams, the verger. I have even gone so far as to quiz the verger myself, but found him to be aggravatingly unhelpful.”
‘Tom laughed at this comment and told me that Mr Williams was a good friend and most certainly a man to be trusted. I drained my glass and was overjoyed when Tom filled it once more.
‘“As you may know, I lived and worked in Whitechapel before coming here,” Tom said. “Anne and I ran a pub called the Princess Alice; my daughter lived with us also. Tell me, Edward,” he said cautiously, toying with the rim of his glass. “Have you ever heard of Sibelius Darke?”
‘“Why of course,” I said. “There is not a man in England surely who does not know of his terrible crimes and how he terrorised London. I just wish he had visited Pluckley so that I could include him in my tour. You didn’t know him, did you?”
‘“I did, Edward. I knew him very well, since he was a child in fact. He was like a son to me and his brother was betrothed to my daughter Bethany.”
‘“But didn’t he murder his brother and father in cold blood?”
‘“That is what people have been led to believe, but it is not true. Nor did he commit the child murders that he was accused of.”
‘“But was he not seen striding out of his club as it was engulfed in flames? Had he not walked the halls and rooms shooting dead any club members in his path?”
‘“That he did do… but I can speak for him for those crimes. You see, it was not he who committed the child killings and those of his brother and father. They were carried out by some kind of otherworldy beast that inhabited a human form and killed upon the instruction of its master.”
‘“What?” I exclaimed, thinking that Tom must have spent the day drinking in the sort of quantities I thought familiar only to me.
‘“Darke’s club controlled the beast and bade it kill,” said Tom. “When Sibelius discovered the truth, he destroyed the club and later vanquished the beast, dying himself in the process.”
‘“But what has this got to do with you and your move to Pluckley?” I asked, proffering my glass for another refill.
‘“The effects of the murders upon my daughter, Bethany, were terrible; she lost her mind through the trauma of losing both her betrothed, Nikolas Darke, and subsequently his brother Sibelius, whom she had grown close to. She saw some awful things when aiding Sibelius to discover the truth. She witnessed the murder of children and even came face to face with the demonic spirit itself. It was all too much and she retreated into herself. In the end, Anne and I had no choice but to commit her to a safe place, while I carried out my own revenge for the loss of Sibelius and the damage to Bethany’s mind.”
‘I could not help but smile.
‘“It may seem to be humorous to you, Edward,” he continued. “I understand that I am not everyone’s idea of an avenging angel, but I was angered by the course of events. I had lost my dearest friend and my daughter; someone had to be to blame.”
‘“But you said that Darke had killed them all?” I said.
‘“Not all. He had taken many lives when he had burnt the club to the ground, but it is a large organisation connected to many influential individuals and, of course, not every member was there during the fire. In fact, many of the more leading members were absent at the time. Of the inner circle who led the organisation, only Charles Earnshaw died.” Tom paused for a moment and finally took a small sip. “I followed the story in the newspapers,” he continued. “I scanned them daily for word of the club. Soon all of the rats came scurrying from the woodwork, stating publicly how terrible Darke had been to try to damage such an important institution, not just a club but a fellowship of men committed to the furtherance of our country.
‘“One man came forward who had donated his house in London as a new base for the club, a place where they could start afresh and continue striving towards the values that they held dear; that man was Lord William Falconer. I decided to concentrate my efforts on the man, find out all I could, but he is a living mystery; on one side is the man about town, often seen at the music halls and society gatherings of London, but on the other, he would often disappear for weeks on end, with no one knowing or being willing to admit where he went. I discovered that his country home lay here, not three miles away at Surrenden Manor. According to some, he had won it in a card game.”
‘Tom told me then how he and Anne had visited Pluckley to come and see the house for himself. They had even stayed at the Black Horse, when it was owned and occupied by the previous landlord. It seems he had some money put away and he offered to buy the Black Horse for more than it was worth in order to obtain it; the landlord agreed.
‘Tom and his sister moved in shortly afterwards, first selling their pub in Whitechapel, and Tom spent his days going off to investigate the big house and find out all he could about its occupier, noting down all visitors. He ingratiated himself with the servants, many of whom either lived or day-tripped into the village. Finally, after listening to the many ghost stories concerning Pluckley and the surrounding area, he heard tell of a secret passage which led from St Nicholas’s Church straight to Surrenden Manor. Working with Mr Williams, the verger, he journeyed through this passage to conduct surveillance on the house and its inhabitants.
‘He has discovered some terrible things, Samuel; terrible, terrible things; stories of ritual murder and of offerings to some dark power. It is enough to turn your hair white, truly it is. But now that he has the information he requires, he has sent me to you, Sam. He knows who you are, of the job you do, and who you work for; he wants you to expose Falconer. I fear for him, though, I really do. Surely it is only a matter of time before this Falconer fellow finds him out and then God only knows what will befall him – or anyone connected with him, me included. We are all in terrible danger, Sam, and you have the tools that Tom needs to bring us to safety, you and your newspaper. Will you come back to Pluckley with me and meet with him?’
***
I had listened closely and carefully to Edward’s tale, to the pleading tone of his voice when he asked me to return with him, but all the time my mind had been spinning in thought. Suddenly there was clarity in my mind; firstly, regarding the stag’s head painted on the wall at Boston Place and the subsequent appearance of these forms on the gateposts of Surrenden; secondly, concerning Tom’s mysterious disappearance when I had tried to follow him during my day in the village; and lastly the absolute truth that Falconer was indeed the villain that I knew him to be.
For the first time in so very long I felt that I was not alone in my fight; a friend, Higgins, had appeared this night and I now knew that Tom had as much reason to hate the Dolorian Club and its members as I did for their part in Alice’s death. I raised my bottle to old Edward then.
‘Of course I will return with you,’ I said. ‘Like Tom, I already have much evidence against Falconer and his fellows, and together I am sure that we will have enough to bring them down. I have even met this so-called lord in person, Edward; the man is a beast who must be stopped before he takes any more innocent lives.’
‘Y
ou have met Lord Falconer?’ Edward exclaimed. ‘You are a braver man than I gave credit, Samuel. If what Tom said of him is true then you are lucky to still be alive.’
‘I think he toyed with me. He enjoys watching people suffer and, by his actions towards me, he gained greater enjoyment through observing my mental pain. It is of no matter, though; we have him now and will bring about his downfall together. However, I must pay a visit to my employer George Purkess tomorrow, first thing; I will not tell him much, merely that he can hold his front page for this week until I return from Pluckley. I know that Falconer’s club has widespread interests and connections throughout London, but I am sure of Mr Purkess; he is a man whom I would trust above all others. Once I have seen him, we will travel back to Pluckley, where Tom and I will compare our evidence and destroy Falconer once and for all.’
For the first time since Alice’s disappearance I wore a smile on my face. While Edward and I sat for a while drinking and talking, he described to me how even inside the manor house there were secret tunnels and passageways, which were used by Tom and the verger Williams to keep watch on the club members’ activities when they were in residence. However, they had still not seen Falconer himself, as he had always remained obscured from the various spyholes.
I told him of Alice and Benjamin and of how I had been happy in their company; of how I had, for the first time, dreamt of living as a family with someone, and of how those dreams were dashed by Falconer. I rambled on, telling him of the Golden Woman and the murders of the servant girls and explained how, this very night, she had been destroyed.
I do not know how long I spoke, but when I had finished telling my story, I realised that Edward Higgins was long gone in the chair, a half-empty bottle of brandy still clutched to his sleeping body.
Domini Mortum Page 24