The Kit Aston Mysteries (All Five Books)

by Jack Murray

  The dining room was large, dark and austere. It seemed, unaccountably to Kit, Catholic. This was not solely because of the large wooden crucifix on the wall or the painting of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Nor indeed was it the painting of Pope Benedict XV looking like the artist had just interrupted him reading Wittgenstein. The room had a spiritual dimension, a seriousness that Kit rarely encountered elsewhere. He wondered for a moment if there really was a ‘something ‘ about the room or whether it was merely his expectation that it should be like this.

  On the sideboard there was a small, framed photograph of Father Vaughan standing beside a biplane wearing flying goggles. He’d flown over to Flanders to meet the soldiers during the War. Father Vaughan caught Kit staring at the picture. They looked at one another for a moment but no reference was made to the trip. Then the priest surveyed his guests with a welcoming smile.

  ‘I suspect there are more to come,’ said Vaughan knowingly to Kit.

  ‘May I get you a drink?’ asked the housekeeper to Agatha and Betty.

  ‘Yes, a brandy would be just the thing, my dear,’ said Agatha.

  The housekeeper stopped and stared at Agatha and then glanced mournfully down at the jug of water sitting on the table. Her eyes met Father Vaughan who wore an amused expression. He nodded to her and she left to the room to prepare brandies for the ladies.

  Kit replied to Father Vaughan that more were expected. As he said this, the sound of knocking echoed down the corridor and into the room. A few moments later, Chief Inspector Jellicoe and Sergeant Wellbeloved entered the room. The latter was a surprise to Kit. Not a pleasant one, either. He exchanged looks with the Chief Inspector. If Jellicoe looked unhappy about having a partner such as Wellbeloved then it was unlikely anyone would be able to recognise the difference from his normal disposition.

  Introductions were made. Jellicoe looked at Kit and said with what might have been a wry smile, ‘This is somewhat unusual, your lordship.’

  Kit nodded but there was no smile. This meeting was more than unusual. It was probably unprecedented. There was another rap on the door and the housekeeper, Mrs Tring, gave a loud sigh that prompted amusement in the room to all who heard it. Even Father Vaughan, a man who made the Chief Inspector seem positively jovial by comparison, allowed himself a smile.

  The door to the room opened a minute later. Wag McDonald and Alice Diamond entered. There were no handshakes, no introductions. The new entrants merely nodded to those assembled and sat at the large dining room table. Alice Diamond’s attention was instantly drawn to Mary Cavendish. The two young women sized one another up like gunfighters in a saloon.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Kit rising to his feet. ‘We’re all here.’

  He looked around and was immediately struck by the thought that this felt like a moment from that most elevated of literary forms.

  ‘In the penny bloods that my aunt is so fond of reading, this is normally the end. The moment when the killer is revealed. Alas, we’re not quite in this position yet. However, we are all holding pieces of a large and rather disturbing jigsaw puzzle which means that we all, no matter how we may feel towards one another in the general way of things, must work together. There is a common enemy. A dangerous, malicious and murderous enemy.’

  Kit paused and again looked around. Wag McDonald and Alice were sitting across the table from the two detectives. The two sides looked at one another, neither prepared to give an inch in the intensity of their gaze.

  ‘This is, possibly, an unprecedented moment when, one might say, the two sides of the law must work together. Do I have your agreement that, for the moment, whatever hostility you are feeling will cease for the duration of this investigation?’

  All eyes turned towards Chief Inspector Jellicoe. He nodded. Kit looked at Wag McDonald. He gave a curt nod.

  ‘Not sure it’ll hold up in court,’ continued Kit. ‘but a contract of sorts.’

  Kit walked over towards his aunt and Betty Simpson and stood behind them. This somewhat disconcerted Agatha as it meant she could not see her nephew. It was not her way to disguise irritation when it was possible to communicate it to the world. There were a few smiles from both sides of the table at her reaction.

  ‘My interest in this case began a day or two ago. It comes from His Majesty’s Government.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Wag McDonald.

  ‘I can’t say Mr McDonald although as you had someone follow me this morning, I’m surprised you don’t already know.’

  ‘You lost him.’

  Kit smiled and shrugged modestly.

  ‘I’ve had occasion to do this sort of thing before. I only mention it as this case, whilst tragic in its outcome for so many young women, has wider implications which could result in our country being blackmailed by either a foreign power or…’ Kit paused for a moment and tried to think of the best way of describing ORCA, an organisation he had encountered in previous cases.

  ‘Or some other organisation dedicated to terror and anarchism. The minister in question is aware that the threads of this case are intertwined with other cases that date back quite some time. I told him that this is not the beginning of the end, merely the end of the beginning. We have much to do and it begins this afternoon. We must share what we know. We will listen to our host, Father Vaughan, who has some knowledge of the area we are dealing with. Specifically, the occult or Satanism. Call it what you will. These people are dangerous and must be stopped.’

  Kit looked towards the two detectives.

  ‘Chief Inspector, how many cases do we believe are connected to this recent murder?’

  Jellicoe had a file sitting on the table in front of him. He turned to Wellbeloved.

  ‘Sergeant?’

  Wellbeloved did not need to look at it. Instead, he gazed back at Kit before answering.

  ‘Thirteen.’

  There was almost a collective gasp at the number. It was unimaginable that so many women could have been murdered without so much as a word in the press connecting the deaths. Even the Chief Inspector, noted Kit, seemed surprised by the number. This was for another time, as was the reason why such a number of murders had remained unconnected for so long.

  ‘They were all young women. All murdered in a ritual manner with the same markings on the body. The first recorded case was in Bournemouth in December 1907. There was at least one every year until 1914 and then none until earlier this year when they recommenced. Enid Blake was the second one this year.’

  ‘Which is where Mr McDonald and Miss Diamond come into the picture,’ said Kit, taking over. ‘Enid was a friend of Miss Diamond and Mr McDonald. Once again, I’m sorry for your loss.’

  Mary looked on, fascinated by the mix of personalities around the table. At the mention of Enid Blake, she became distinctly aware of the look that Alice Diamond gave Sergeant Wellbeloved. There was no anger or antagonism in the look. If anything, it was sympathy.

  ‘Her death, the first of Miss Diamond’s associates…’

  ‘The second,’ said Wag McDonald.

  Once again there was a stunned silence. McDonald raised his eyebrows to Jellicoe, but it was clearly news to the Chief Inspector.

  ‘Liza Shepherd. 1913.’

  The mention of the name caused a flurry of activity from Betty Simpson, whose fingers leafed through the scrapbook with a nimbleness and a speed that belied her seventy plus years. She found the page just as Jellicoe spoke.

  ‘We weren’t aware that she was one of your associates.’ Jellicoe opened the file, found the page referring to Liza Shepherd and made some notes on the page.

  ‘Liza and Enid were both working the maid game. They’d find work in a big house, get to know the layout, what was worth stealing. Then they’d leave for some reason or another. A few weeks later the house would be visited by someone like your manservant, your lordship.’

  There were a few wry smiles at this, but they lasted momentarily. The atmosphere was too heavy, the subject too serious and the cause too urgent.
>
  ‘We’ll need the names of the last places Miss Blake worked,’ said Jellicoe.

  Alice Diamond nodded. The transition from suspicion to business happened almost without anyone realising. Kit moved away from Agatha and stood near Father Vaughan.

  ‘Before we hear from Father Vaughan, I think we should hear more about the involvement of Eva Kerr.’

  ‘Must we?’ said Father Vaughan. This brought a ghost of a smile from Jellicoe.

  ‘Yes, Father,’ replied Kit. ‘Whatever you may think of this woman, medium or whatever she may be, the plain fact is she has led the police to the scene of two murders. There’s no suggestion that the first murder is connected to these ritual killings, Chief Inspector, is there?’

  ‘None, the victim was male,’ replied Jellicoe.

  ‘I see. Can you tell us what manner of medium she is?’

  ‘A fake,’ whispered Father Vaughan.

  Jellicoe turned to Wellbeloved. The sergeant cleared his throat and began to speak.

  ‘Miss Kerr claims to have an out-of-the-body experience. She does speak to the other side in a séance, as far as we understand, but not on these occasions. She claims not to know how she sees these visions. They come to her sometimes, but not always, when she is in a meditative state.’

  ‘Astral travel is bunkum,’ announced Father Vaughan. Kit frowned and looked back towards Wellbeloved.

  ‘These visions,’ pressed Kit, ‘How accurate were they?’

  ‘She did not provide names and addresses, your lordship,’ said Wellbeloved, which caused a ripple of amusement. ‘However, her description of the people and the locations where we found the bodies was remarkably accurate.’

  ‘May I meet her?’ asked Kit to Jellicoe.

  ‘If I may, I would like to talk to you in private about that,’ replied Jellicoe.

  Kit turned to Father Vaughan. The priest, thus far, had confined himself to just a few remarks around his scepticism towards the medium. He looked up at Kit.

  ‘The floor seems to be mine. Very well. I won’t add anything further to my remarks on Eva Kerr. Instead, I wish to speak about Satanism as we understand this cult. Specifically, I will address the role of sacrifice. I repeat, this cult has no spiritual basis. They can no more call upon the powers of Satan than a medium practicing necromancy can call upon the dead to ask them how they’re enjoying life on the other side.’

  There was no attempt to disguise his hostility to the practice. Vaughan was a sceptic and he wanted everyone in the room to share his scepticism.

  ‘These people are well-versed in folklore. They are serious students of the Occult. Their activities often find expression in Black Magic or the Black Mass. This is a parody of the Roman Catholic mass dating back to the Middle Ages. It’s merely an excuse for practicing the very worst sort of depravity. On certain occasions such as the two Solstices, All Hallows Eve and St Walpurgis’s Eve, on April 30th, it can result in murder of young, unmarried women. I suspect not many of the victims had reached the age of twenty-one.’

  ‘Do any of the dates of the other deaths or ages tally with Father Vaughan’s evaluation?’ asked Kit.

  Everyone looked at Jellicoe but, oddly, it was Betty Simpson who spoke first. Her eyes were glued to the scrapbook in front of her.

  ‘My goodness, most of them seem to be around either All Hallows Eve or St. Walpurgis’s Night. There are one, no, two that took place during the summer solstice. Some other dates, too, by the looks of things. Nothing about the ages, I’m afraid.’

  Betty looked up and directed her attention towards the two policemen. Jellicoe nodded to Betty and then spoke.

  ‘There are only two exceptions, but, yes, all of the deaths are on or around the dates mentioned by Father Vaughan. We can only speculate as to the other murders, but it may have been to silence troublemakers or some initiation. From what I can remember, few of the victims were as old as twenty-one’

  Agatha had been following proceedings with a keen eye levelled at each speaker. If either the police or Wag McDonald were wondering why there were two old ladies in the room these questions were finally put to bed when Agatha spoke.

  ‘I don’t understand why the murders are related to either solstice. Surely this relates to druids. They worship a much older god, the sun.’

  Father Vaughan held his hands up and acknowledged the truth of this statement.

  ‘Yes, but Satanism and druidism have no original scripture surviving in the way the monotheistic religions have. They are entirely modern constructions using texts created in the Middle Ages. In fact, the vogue for Satanism may have been prompted by a recent French book by Huysmans, La-Bas.’

  ‘French? I should have known,’ said Agatha. ‘I doubt the French Satan is any way repelled by garlic.’

  Father Vaughan allowed himself a smile.

  ‘I doubt the real Satan would be put off by any of the charms and devices these old texts believe fend him off.’

  ‘So, if we may conclude, Father Vaughan,’ said Agatha, ‘These practitioners are performing ceremonies of their own invention. We are, in no way, facing anything remotely spiritual or occult.’

  ‘We are not.’

  Agatha leaned forward. This was always a prelude, in Kit’s experience, to a question of unusual perspicacity.

  ‘But do the practitioners believe this?’

  Father Vaughan leaned back and smiled. He nodded an acknowledgement to Agatha.

  ‘I cannot say for certain, Lady Frost. Faith is a strange and misunderstood idea. There is no reason to suppose that many of the neophytes are not true believers. However, once you reach more senior levels of, and I use the word guardedly, enlightenment, who knows what you believe? This order is called Ipsissimus. At this level you are, theoretically, free from limitations. In all likelihood they believe themselves free of morality. The men, and we must assume they are men, committing these crimes, will be, I am certain, at the level of Ipsissimus.’

  ‘And it is always women who suffer.’

  Mary’s words stunned the room. Not just because it was Mary. Not just because it was clearly the voice of a young woman. It was also because it was a statement rather than a question. Until this point, she had been silent. However, the words themselves, the suppressed anger in the voice and her youthful innocence brought everyone back to a sense of what was at stake.

  ‘And it is always women who suffer,’ repeated Father Vaughan in confirmation.

  A sense of despondency fell on the room. Anger, too.

  ‘Towards the end of the 1880’s,’ continued Vaughan, ‘there was an organisation formed called the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. It was devoted to the study of the Occult. It was rather similar to the Masonic order in its hierarchy and initiation practices. Many people who you will have heard of were members. The poet Yeats, Doyle probably, the actress Florence Farr. The intention was not, I believe, malevolent. They sought spiritual enlightenment. The source documents were probably fake, however. My point, though, is that the Order broke up at the start of the century and its followers splintered into various groups. I believe the murders we are seeing may have been perpetrated by a member of one of these splinter groups.’

  Silence.

  The implication was clear to everyone. Kit, finally, gave voice to the thoughts circulating around the room.

  ‘We have a number of murders of young women, committed by people from the highest levels in society, covered up by that same strata and a two decade old police investigation that has made little progress. Thank you, Father Vaughan. I think that just about covers where we are now. It gives us a number of avenues for inquiry. The next question for us to decide is how we shall work together.’

  Kit turned towards Agatha and Betty. Both of them looked as if they should have been taking tea in a drawing room. In fact, they were both, at that moment, finishing off their respective glasses of brandy with some relish. Agatha nodded her approval to Father Vaughan.

  ‘I have had some thoughts on how we
approach, well, to be more accurate, my aunt has suggested some of this. Aunt Agatha?’

  ‘Ah yes. Speaking with my nephew earlier…’ She paused for a moment, aware that Mary was looking at her askance.

  ‘You were in bed, my dear, otherwise you would have been welcome to join us.’

  Kit shrugged as Mary looked at him archly. Agatha continued her train of thought.

  ‘Where was I? Oh yes. It’s clear that these vile acts are being perpetrated by people who are in the higher social echelons, aristocracy, even. As a member of this class, I can confirm that their ability to close ranks is without equal. The police are unlikely to make much of a dent on the walls of this citadel. To continue the analogy, we need a Trojan horse. My proposal is simple. Betty and I will seek to become members of groups who are involved with spiritualism under the guise of wishing to communicate with our husbands. This will provide, we believe, a possible opening to identify potential practitioners of the dark arts referred to by Father Vaughan.’

  ‘What makes you think that the spiritualist groups are in any way connected to Satanists?’ asked Chief Inspector Jellicoe.

  Moments later, something landed on the table on front of him, thrown by Kit. Taken by surprise, Jellicoe glanced up at Kit and then picked up the object. After a few moments of examination he asked, ‘Where did you find this, your lordship?’

  He held the object up so that everyone present could see. It was a small collar. Something you would put on a pet. Attached to the collar was a silver star.

  ‘But this is an inverted pentagram,’ said Father Vaughan, leaning forward suddenly.

  ‘I know,’ said Kit. ‘And it’s been under my nose for the last day or two. The collar was worn by a cat named Simpkins. He belonged to the late Countess Laskov. Simpkins appears to have moved into my flat. A remarkable coincidence which I doubt any penny blood writer would ever get away with, but true all the same.’