by Alex Grecian
Hatty felt a creeping warmth along her scalp and her throat. She knew where Mr Hargreave’s tongue was.
“Did you know Joseph Hargreave and his brother were members of a secret society that tortures people like me?”
“Of course not.”
“It’s true. I can tell you, this is a man who needed his tongue out, and more besides.”
“That’s horrid.”
“Hatty Pitt, you and I have something in common, did you know that?”
“What have you done to Mr Hargreave?”
“I asked you a question. You can’t answer with a totally unrelated question of your own. That’s not playing by the rules of proper conversation, now is it?”
She raised her voice, calling out to the other man in the room. “I’m going to bring the police, Mr Hargreave. Please just wait a few minutes and I’ll be right back.”
“Tut, tut, Hatty Pitt. If you leave here before we finish our conversation, I will kill Mr Hargreave outright long before you return with the constabulary.”
“What do you want from me?”
“An answer, to start. Do you know what we have in common?”
“No.”
“We have both saved Nevil Hammersmith’s life at different times. Isn’t that interesting? I stopped his bleeding to death once when there was no one else to do it.”
“Why would you do that? You seem ghastly.”
“Hurtful of you to say. I did it because I had no reason not to. I didn’t wish Nevil Hammersmith any harm at the time. Of course I changed my mind some time later and tried to drop a great gob of glass on him, but you saved him from that. According to Oriental custom, we now share an obligation to Nevil Hammersmith’s well-being.”
“You’re Mr Oberon, aren’t you?”
“It’s what I’ve been calling myself.”
“You took Mr Hargreave’s place.”
“Hatty Pitt, I have spent the past weeks pretending to be someone I am not while occupying this shithole of a flat and that stupid wee cottage by the sea with only this dolt for company. He’s a terrible conversationalist, owing in part to the fact of his missing tongue. But he wasn’t of much use even before he lost that. If it isn’t too much to ask, I’d like to have a civil chat with a nice young lady.”
“‘Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.’”
“Did you call me a spider, Hatty Pitt? Are you afraid of spiders? No need to be. Spiders rid the world of filthy vermin. Do you think you’re filthy vermin? Is that why you’re afraid to converse with me? And would you place Mr Hargreave in mortal danger simply because you’re afraid? You seem like a brave girl to me. You wouldn’t do that to Mr Hargreave.”
“You’d kill us both anyway as soon as you got your hands on me.”
“Hmm. You know, you’re probably right.”
Hatty gasped and took a step backward, but something in her refused to let her leave. The man inside the room was clearly some sort of monster. But she did not want to be cowed by anyone, not man or woman or the Devil himself. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Well, perhaps you should be, after all. I sometimes have the best of intentions, but then my nature gets the better of me anyway. I’ll tell you what: I promise not to touch you once you are inside this room. To be quite honest, I could use some assistance. But if you back away any farther, I shall rush at you no matter what the cost to myself, and then I will touch you a great many times and in ways I do not think you will appreciate.”
“You may threaten me all you like, but there are people who know where I am. I told Eugenia where I was going.”
“Are you lying to me, Hatty Pitt?”
“No. No, I’m not lying to you.”
“I believe you. So you see, you’re doubly safe. You have Eugenia Merrilow’s knowledge of your whereabouts and you have my word that I will not touch you.”
“Your word isn’t worth anything to me.”
“Oh, but it should be worth something at least,” Mr Oberon said. “I almost never break my word.”
“You won’t hurt me?”
“I said I wouldn’t touch you and I won’t.”
“And you won’t hurt Mr Hargreave, either?”
“Oh, I’ve said no such thing. I’ve harmed your Mr Hargreave on a near constant basis these past weeks, both here in his flat and at his cottage. It was the only thing to keep me occupied, really. I’ve been so very bored.”
“You won’t harm him any more than you already have, then?”
“Oh, I’d hate to promise you a thing like that.”
“You must or our conversation has ended.”
Mr Oberon laughed and she heard the clapping of hands. “Delightful. So very brave. Yes, Hatty Pitt. Come and sit with me and I promise I shall leave Mr Hargreave alone for the time being.”
Hatty considered for a moment, then breathed deeply and stepped across the threshold into the room.
“Wonderful,” Mr Oberon said. “Now please, call me Jack.”
48
He thinks he’s mad,” Hammersmith said.
“He might very well be mad,” Dr Kingsley said. “Who knows what he’s been through this past year? Has he told you much?”
“Very little. When we were talking he focused more on the past month than the past year. I don’t think he remembers a lot of what happened to him.”
“Strange. Amnesia is quite rare. I wonder if he’s suffered some sort of head trauma.”
“There’s one way to find out.”
“Yes, of course,” Dr Kingsley said. “Let’s have a look at him.”
Hammersmith opened the door of the draper’s shop and followed Kingsley inside. It seemed darker than it had mere moments before, and he realized Day had rehung the curtains in the windows.
“Walter?”
“Back here.” Day’s voice traveled down the passage from the back rooms. “Out in a moment.”
Kingsley set his bag on a table and sat on the sofa, straightened the creases of his trousers. Hammersmith had never seen the doctor act nervous before.
Day entered the room, holding a curtain rod. “I managed to bend this back into—” He stopped when he saw Kingsley and dropped the rod, shrank back against the wall. “Nevil, no! What have you done?”
“He’s here to help,” Hammersmith said.
Kingsley stood and opened his arms to Day. “Walter, I wish you no harm.”
“I don’t mind whatever you wish for me. It’s what I might do to you, don’t you see?” Day disappeared, his footsteps pelting away to the back of the house again.
Kingsley shot Hammersmith a confused glance and went to the doorway. “Walter?”
“Go away, Doctor! I can’t guarantee what I’ll do if you stay here.”
“Walter, you won’t hurt me.”
“I don’t know that.”
Hammersmith still wasn’t sure how loud he was talking or whether he ought to yell. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted in a way he hoped wasn’t too forceful or unfriendly. “I won’t let you hurt him, Walter. Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course!”
“If you try to harm Dr Kingsley, I’ll stop you.”
“What if you can’t?”
“Walter,” Dr Kingsley said. “I don’t believe you’ll hurt me. Don’t you trust my judgment? Don’t you trust Nevil’s judgment?”
They were quiet then and waited. Eventually Day shuffled back into view.
“If I make one move to hurt the doctor, Nevil, you’ve got to do whatever it takes to stop me.”
“That won’t happen,” Kingsley said. “You won’t hurt me any more than you would hurt Nevil, would you?”
“I may not be in control of my actions.”
“It doesn’t matter, Walter. Let me explain something. Come here and sit.”
Day obeyed, perching uncomfortably at the edge of the sofa as if he might flee. He looked terrified, and Hammersmith pitied him, imagining his friend sleeping in a ditch to avoid endangering his friends and family. It was hard to imagine what a year in the clutches of Jack the Ripper might do to a person’s mind.
Kingsley settled into a chair across from Day and smiled. “Mr Hammersmith says you think you’ve been mesmerized?”
“Yes,” Day said. “That’s what it was. He did that to me. Jack did that.”
“It’s a popular parlor trick. But the popular conception of it is surrounded by a lot of mumbo jumbo, and most people don’t really understand how it works. I don’t think you’re going to harm anyone, Walter, no matter what you’ve been told by that lunatic.”
“He’s ordered me to kill someone, I know that much. As soon as I see that person, I’ll lash out. He’s done something to my brain to ensure that I’ve become his weapon against his enemies. Against my friends.”
Kingsley smiled. “I see. And you thought I might be Jack the Ripper’s enemy.”
“The crow,” Hammersmith said. “Or the white king.”
“I don’t know who it is,” Day said. “I don’t remember that part. He hid it from me. I only know that it’s someone close to me, which is why he’s done this, why he’s used me. I think maybe he can’t get close to the person himself, but I can. Or perhaps it’s simply his perverse sense of humor to make me do it. To ruin me. I couldn’t live with myself.”
“He certainly is perverse,” Kingsley said. “I’m just not sure he’s as smart as you seem to think he is.”
Hammersmith cleared his throat. “Can you fix this, Doctor?”
“Fix it? Certainly, if I knew the commands Jack used to do this. Without that knowledge, it might take some time.”
“Which is why,” Day said, “I’ve got to stay away from everyone I love.”
“Well, it would seem Dr Kingsley and I are both safe from you,” Hammersmith said. “What if we introduced you to each person you know, one at a time, and we’ll stop you if you try to kill them?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kingsley said.
“I was being serious,” Hammersmith said. “What’s wrong with that plan?”
Kingsley sighed. “I’m not prepared to become Mr Day’s personal attendant. Walter, you’re not a madman. As far as I can see right now, talking to you here, you’re as normal as you ever were. Somewhat indecisive, as you have always been, but a sincere and caring individual. Now, if Jack’s done something, if he’s mesmerized you as you seem to think, there are very real limitations to that. He can’t have suggested to you that you murder someone you care about and then really expect you to go through with it. You simply wouldn’t do it.”
“I wouldn’t?”
“No, Walter, you can’t be made to do something under hypnosis that you wouldn’t have done otherwise. It doesn’t work that way. In other words, if you have a strong compunction against harming me or Nevil or anyone else, why then, you’ll stop yourself, even without the intervention of Mr Hammersmith or myself. No matter how much you’ve been told to kill someone, you’ll balk at the task.”
“Is that true?”
“Well, I’m no expert in mesmerism, but from everything I’ve read, yes, you are perfectly safe from killing your friends and family. I can promise you that. You’re not likely to kill anyone else, either. In fact, given your facility for understanding other people, I’m surprised you would think such things about yourself.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of course you were. You’ve been under this person’s influence long enough, he might have got you to think anything. I can put you back under hypnosis fairly easily and I might be able to poke around in your head and see what’s been done, but it’s not necessary at the moment and I hate to do it without knowing more. And I’d like you to be a bit more calm before we make the attempt. Meantime, you’re quite safe from becoming a murderer, I assure you. It’s this memory loss that’s got me more concerned.”
“Things are starting to come back to me. I think I can remember nearly everything.”
“He remembered I’d been poisoned,” Hammersmith said.
“Good. Tell me, what did he do to you? Did Jack strike you on the head or otherwise do anything that caused you pain or headaches?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Would you allow me to examine you?”
“If you like.”
“Thank you.” Kingsley stood and approached Day, his hands held out at his sides.
“You seem wary, Doctor.”
“I am a bit.”
“But you said I won’t hurt you. You were certain of it.”
“What I meant was that Jack cannot have compelled you to hurt me. But you might still be a danger.”
Day sat very still, his hands in his lap, while Kingsley moved around to the back of the sofa and bent down to look at the top of Day’s head. “I’m going to touch your head.”
“All right.”
“Don’t be alarmed.”
“Thank you. I won’t be.”
“Good.” Kingsley probed Day’s scalp with the tips of his fingers, moving Day’s hair this way and that. “Hammersmith, bring that lamp over here, would you?”
“What is it?”
“Get that light over here. Look at that. Do you see it?”
“I don’t know,” Hammersmith said.
“Feel it. Scars. Many of them. Mr Day, have you suffered any head injuries before?”
“I was hit in the head with a shovel. But that was years ago.”
“Hmm. More than once?”
“Only the one time. It was enough to put me off the experience.”
“Indeed.” Kingsley sniffed and nodded to Hammersmith. He moved back round and sat across from Day. “Not so bad, was it?”
“No. But you say I’ve got scars on my head?”
“I’m afraid so. Quite a few. More than might be explained by your encounter with the shovel. This fellow Jack was unkind to you while you were in his care.”
“Is that why I don’t remember?”
“I don’t think it’s that simple. Walter, I think you don’t remember because you don’t want to remember. Sometimes, when a person has experienced something profoundly traumatic, he can sort of choose to forget. I’ve seen it once or twice in my practice and I believe that’s what’s happened with you.”
“I don’t want to remember what he did?”
“Exactly. And because you don’t want to remember, you’re burying those thoughts and memories deep in your brain somewhere.”
“Then can you help me remember?”
“I don’t know,” Kingsley said. “I don’t think so. Nor do I think I ought to. Sometimes the psyche protects itself this way. It might actually cause you harm if you were to remember.”
“But I need to know what Jack wanted from me or I won’t ever feel at ease around anyone again.”
Hammersmith had been standing against the wall, watching them. Now he crossed between them and sat next to Kingsley. “Figuring out what a criminal’s after? It’s only the sort of thing we do all the time, isn’t it?” He leaned forward so that he was looking Day directly in the face. “Why did the man kill his wife? What did the burglar want? Jack is a criminal, and we question criminals all the time, both directly and indirectly.”
“Right,” Walter said. He perked up a bit and edged closer to them, his hands gripping his knees. “Do you think we can?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Doctor, what was the rest of the rhyme on the wall in Walter’s house?”
“In my house?”
“Your old house on Regent’s Park. Jack left a message there.”
“It wasn’t a rhyme,” Kingsley said. “At least, not like any rhyme I’ve ever seen. It starte
d with a Latin phrase. Exitus probatur. It means—”
“It means ‘the ends are justified,’” Day said.
“Something like that,” Kingsley said.
“No, that’s exactly what they mean when they say it. The Karstphanomen, those shadowy men that Jack hates so much.”
“So that was a warning to them, not to me,” Hammersmith said.
“Jack mentioned Mr Hammersmith in his message,” Kingsley said.
“I think he’s proud that he saved your life,” Day said. “He’s responsible for you.”
“He’ll regret that when I find him.”
“What else did the message say?”
“A lot of poorly spelled nonsense,” Hammersmith said. “The point is that he’s still focused on the society, the Karstphanomen. That’s who he’s after.”
“And that’s who he’s sent me after, too,” Day said.
“Has to be. So someone you know is a Karstphanomen.”
“I don’t know any of them. Not anymore. Inspector March is dead now and I can’t think of any others.”
“But you do still know another one, you must. It’s why he needed you. You can get close to one of them and he can’t. But why can’t he do it himself? Why send you?”
“Perhaps it’s as Mr Day suggested. Jack could kill that man himself if he wanted to, but finds it more amusing to send our friend to do it,” Kingsley said.
“To hurt me, even as he hurts someone else.”
“Or to break your will even further.”
Hammersmith ran his hands through his hair and stood and paced back and forth. “We have to draw him out somehow. We have to end this. If we can figure out who that evil bloody bastard was trying to get at through Walter, maybe we can get him to make a mistake.”
“I might have some idea,” Kingsley said. “Something Mr Hammersmith said a minute ago.”
“How so?”
“That writing on the wall. He said he was after someone he called ‘the crow.’ It’s been pointed out to me that the word crow might sometimes be specific jargon meaning a doctor.”
“I hadn’t heard that before.”
“Possibly before your time, Mr Hammersmith. But Jack may be targeting a doctor, and I might know who that is.”