‘He wanted to go fishing. I thought it would be harmless.’
‘Come, come, Thomas,’ Hebbert interjected, ‘we swam in worse when we were boys, surely? I know I certainly did. And the boat was securely fastened and close to the bank. Let’s not make too big a fuss of all this, eh? Edward’s company has been good for the boy; none of us can doubt that.’
Outside the sunshine was fading and heavy grey storm clouds had gathered, hanging low and pressing against the glass as if to watch us all growling at each other.
‘You’re very calm about what could have been a terrible accident,’ I said. ‘Your grandson could have died. Perhaps you are more laissez faire about death than I.’ The words came out in drops of acid.
‘Thomas!’ Andrews exclaimed, as Hebbert’s eyes widened. ‘What a thing to say! At least he ran to help.’
‘Yes – where were you?’ Hebbert bit back. ‘It’s obvious you care little for the boy, but to stand at a distance and watch? That is colder than I imagined even you were capable of.’
And so the gloves were off. We glared at each other, Charles Hebbert and I. In the history of our friendship we had never had a single angry exchange – but perhaps I had never really known the man at all. He was, after all, a man who had had terrible dreams of blood as Jack murdered on our streets, and a man whose whereabouts could not be accounted for during those times.
Or perhaps it was I who was sinking back into madness after my paranoid delusions of years before.
Either way, I felt the heat rise in my stomach. ‘Whatever you believe of my feelings towards the boy, I would not have taken the child out onto the river, not without his mother’s permission. And neither will I excuse or laugh off such an action. James is Juliana’s son and it is her place and her place alone to decide these things.’
My suspicion of Hebbert and my jealousy of Kane were rolling into one mass of emotion, and I was too tired to watch my tongue. But still I asked myself, What is happening to us? Ever since Kane’s arrival my world had started changing again, and pleasant as he might be, I was beginning to hate him for that. I wanted to get home to my laudanum and brandy and the quiet of my study and forget for a while that the normality I had worked so hard to rebuild was crumbling.
‘He’s right,’ Kane said quietly. ‘He’s absolutely right. I didn’t think – but James was so keen, and I took such care with the boat … I thought maybe if I presented it as a done deal she’d realise he would be safe.’
‘He’s not your child,’ I reiterated, all the while squirming inside at the sanctimonious tenor of my voice. ‘His father is dead.’ The image rose up unbidden of Harrington’s face as I slashed at him with the broken glass. ‘Whatever your feelings for Juliana, do not confuse them with having rights that are solely hers.’
‘Thank you, Thomas.’
I turned to find Juliana standing in the doorway. Her back was stiff and her face was drawn and pale.
‘Juliana.’ Kane got to his feet. ‘I’m so sorry—’
‘Thomas is right,’ she said. Her voice was as cold as her eyes. ‘It was not your place to put my son in danger.’
‘My dear,’ Hebbert started, ‘you—’
‘“I” nothing, Papa.’ She turned to Kane and said quietly, ‘It is not that you took him out on the boat, Edward. I know that I have perhaps allowed too many of my own fears to colour how I raise my son. Had you asked, I might well have said yes.’ She drew herself up tall, and I think I had never loved her more than I did in that moment. ‘But you did not ask. And now I would ask that you leave.’ Only then did she take her eyes from the somewhat cowed Edward Kane and glance at the rest of us. ‘All of you. Thomas, if you would call tomorrow to check on James, I would be most grateful.’
‘Of course,’ I said, some of the darkness lifting. I might not have helped bring the boy out of the water but suddenly I was back in favour – and more importantly, Edward Kane was apparently out, at least for now. I knew Juliana to have a generous and forgiving nature, and I was sure that when James was fully recovered, she would calm towards him, but for now, he had broken her trust.
Outside, I walked with Andrews towards the train station. I tried to make idle conversation with him, but he was singularly unresponsive to most of what I said, emitting only one-word answers here and there and refusing to be drawn into more. A hansom cab appeared at the end of the street and he flagged it down.
‘Shall we travel together?’ I asked.
‘I think I had rather go alone,’ he said. He turned to me and his sharp eyes narrowed. ‘I think perhaps you need some rest, Thomas. How you spoke to Charles was both rude and unwarranted.’
I opened my mouth to protest, but he talked over me.
‘You implied that he did not care if young James died – how could you say that?’
‘That was not what I meant!’ Walter Andrews was my friend and a clever man. Whilst it might be true that my words had been a little too aggressive, surely he would wonder what my reasoning was, rather than just thinking me rude? ‘Perhaps none of us know Charles Hebbert as well as we think,’ I snapped.
‘What on earth do you mean by that? Hebbert is a good man – a good doctor,’ Andrews protested.
‘He lies,’ I said, turning on my heel, my teeth gritted. ‘The man lies.’
I strode away as the first rumble of thunder overhead echoed my fury.
‘What do you mean by that?’ he called after me. ‘Thomas?’
‘Forget I said it.’ I barely broke my pace but I turned so I could face him even as my feet carried me backwards. ‘And I am truly sorry if I offended you, my friend. You are right: I am very tired.’
*
I was still shaking by the time I got home, and as I poured myself a brandy the storm rattled the house as if my inner conflict was exploding outwards. What was happening to me? Had the paranoia that had gripped me years before left a seed in my guts that was now growing like unkempt summer weeds? Did it really take so little to reignite my fears? It is true that I have always found it hard to warm to little James, but my body’s refusal to run and help him had nothing to do with any possible inherited wickedness and everything to do with what the priest believed he’d thrown into the river on that bleak night, the last time I saw him. We had all believed at the time that he had consigned the Upir to the Thames.
I shuddered, catching my own reflection in the glass as lightning seared across the sky and seeing a fearful old man. Where was the notable surgeon Dr Thomas Bond? How had he become this person, a man who distrusted a long-time friend simply because he had lied about where he was on a few occasions? I thought of how I had snapped, and how Andrews had looked at me when we left Juliana’s house.
This would not do. I could not become obsessional again.
Despite the storm outside making the house feel damp and chill, I did not light a fire. My face burned as my head raced and I felt anxiety trying to grip me. I would not allow it. I would not be dragged down after all this time. It had to stop, and it had to stop now.
At my desk, I pulled out my notepaper and began to write to Andrews. I was not sure what I intended to say, only that I needed to make reparation for my actions and words of this afternoon. But once the words started, they flowed. I told him I had suffered a fear of deep water since a boating accident in my own childhood, and that had frozen me. I told him my own embarrassment had made me snap at Hebbert, and that I was feeling resentful as he was clearly favouring Kane as a suitor for Juliana’s hand over me. I told him a fall I had taken a month or two before at the hunt had left me with back pain (of everything I wrote in the letter this was the only completely truthful part), and that was making me irritable. Finally, I asked his forgiveness. I sealed the letter and addressed it before starting immediately on another for Hebbert, in which I apologised for my unforgivable rudeness, blaming my behaviour on my jealousy of Kane.
Normally I would feel ashamed at being so open with my emotions, but my desire to restore the balance of my fr
iendships – and myself – overwhelmed any such considerations. By the time I had finished and both envelopes were ready to be sent the next day, the brandy was gone and I was calmer.
If I said that such simple actions had removed all my dark woes, that would be a lie, but I was more at peace, and I was determined not to return to the bleakness of soul that so nearly destroyed me before.
I lay in bed and listened to the rain beating at the house and tried to think of nothing else but the rhythm of my heart and the ticking of the clock, filling my head with sounds rather than thoughts of dead women and old legends and drug-induced madness that never quite let go.
*
I slept fitfully, waking several times in a sweat with my sheets tangled around me, but when morning finally came, although I was tired I did not remember my dreams and for that I was grateful. I sent my letters and went straight to Juliana’s to see how James was.
I was happy to find that although Juliana was sure he had a slight fever and had confined her son to bed, James appeared to be well and happy, unscathed emotionally by his fall into the river. I agreed that he was perhaps a little hot, and although I was drawn to them, I did not focus on the faint red blotches high on his cheeks and on his neck. They were nothing, I told myself, simply the effects of a mild sickness brought on by falling into the water. But still I stayed with him throughout the day, playing cards and reading to him while Juliana watched us both – I like to think with a considerable amount of affection.
As much as I was enjoying Juliana’s appreciation of me, my feelings towards her child had not changed. That I could not help, but I did need to help myself after the previous day’s fiasco. I refused to allow my paranoias to root inside me; I knew I must allow them no room to grow during the long, dark nights. I would stay with the boy until he was well, watching him for anything unusual, for only that way could I prove to myself once and for all that no trace of the Upir existed in him.
18
The Times of London
Monday, April 20, 1896
THE CHILD MURDERS
AT READING
Annie Dyer, whose name is now said to be Amelia Dyer, alias Thomas, Harding, Stanfield, &c., described as a nurse and aged about fifty, was charged on remand before the Reading Borough Bench on Saturday with the murder of a child named Fry, the first of the children picked out of the Thames and now identified by its mother, and with the murder of two infants named Doris Marmon and Harry Simmons, found strangled in the carpet-bag that was dragged from the Thames at the Caversham Weir head. Arthur Ernest Palmer, the other prisoner’s son-in-law, was charged with being an accessory after the fact …
… The doctor would give evidence that the cause of death was strangulation by the tying of a ligament, supposed to have been tape, round the necks of the infants. In the case of the female child the tape had been removed, but in the case of the other child the tape was still around the child’s neck. The appearance of the body was such as to show that it had been in the water about ten days.
19
London. 22nd June, 1887
Dr Bond
Even thought the summer’s weather had been notably terrible thus far, as the cannon fired in Hyde Park and the sound boomed across the excited city, the clouds finally broke and bathed us in sunshine. That morning bells had rung out in all the churches of England to celebrate her Majesty’s sixty years as our monarch and the day was a holiday for all. The celebrations were planned to run for most of the week.
Once I had met up with Juliana, little James and Hebbert, we wove our way through the busy throngs to find a suitable vantage point from where to watch the procession pass by. I thought the jubilant mood of the city was very much a reflection of my own good spirits. I even held James’ hand, and later carried him for a short while so he could see more over the heads of those around us. He had shaken off the cough and fever resulting from his tumble into the river and Hebbert had declared him healthier for the experience. I had managed to shake off – very nearly – my dark thoughts and doubts, and then, two nights previously, light bloomed in my heart, for Juliana agreed to become my wife.
We had dined together in one of London’s finest restaurants, sharing both good reminisces and a fine claret. When I finally summoned up the courage to make my proposal, Juliana told me that though she was not yet ready to go forward, in principle yes, when she was ready, she was certainly not opposed to the suggestion – but she would prefer we keep our agreement between we two for now.
It had taken all my natural reserve to stop myself scooping her up in my arms and kissing her on the spot. I did not of course, for that would have been most ungentlemanly, but since that moment I felt as if years had lifted from me. The ache in my back subsided and I walked on air. There would be no more laudanum. There would be no more suspicions, no more paranoia. I would be simply Dr Thomas Bond, eminent surgeon, with a beautiful woman who was prepared to be his wife.
Now walking beside me, Juliana laughed merrily, swept up in the mood of the crowd. I had been surprised that she wanted to bring James into the heart of the celebrations, but she had said she was determined to be less protective of him and this was an occasion that he was unlikely to see again in his lifetime.
We took in the Union Jacks that hung from every window and available space, her eyes sparkling, and she squeezed my arm to point out something or other as we found ourselves a space near the National Gallery. Around us vendors hawked their commemorative wares; souvenir flags, mugs and programmes, and Hebbert waited in turn and bought us each a mug and a flag for little James to wave. I did not know if Juliana had told him of our agreement, but I had made every effort to restore my friendship with him to how it had been before, and such was Charles’ cheery disposition that he had made it easy.
An added source of joy for me was the continued absence of Edward Kane from our lives. Juliana did not talk of him and I did not raise the subject. Although I was certain he would have apologised sincerely – and more than once – for his actions, Juliana had clearly not forgiven him yet. I was sure that she would – she was not a woman to bear grudges, and now that James was fully recovered, the fear she had felt that day was fading – but I hoped that when she did she would keep him at a little distance. Though I had to admit, grudgingly, to liking and respecting the man, I was very conscious that he was a rival for Juliana’s affections and I was far happier when he was not present. I was fearful of losing Juliana to him, and I was also fearful of the past’s grip, made stronger by his relationship to James Harrington. The sooner Edward Kane returned to New York, the better it would be for all of us.
The day was wonderful: we watched the parade, with people and nationalities from all over our great empire taking part, and to my pleased surprise I found myself taking pleasure in James’ delight. He was simply a little boy, and I had been wrong to let my feelings towards his father influence my reaction to him. I would strive to be a better man, I vowed – I was a scientist, after all, and as such I more than any should not believe in hereditary evil. Watching the boy laughing, I wondered if he might soon have a little brother or sister to play with – a child of mine. It had been a long time since I had felt so happy, and when at last Queen Victoria drove past us in her open carriage pulled by eight cream horses, I cheered with the crowd until my throat was raw.
We were a happy party as we wandered away in search of food and liquid refreshments. The pubs were very busy, with people spilling out onto the crowded streets to wish her Majesty a long life and many more years reigning over us, and although plenty were past merry, there was no aggression or poor behaviour to be seen. Just a few years ago, London had been in its darkest place; today it was at its best, and men from all walks of life tipped their hats to each other as they passed as if we were truly all friends. Perhaps, on this unique day, we were.
We picnicked in the park and then, as the late afternoon crept towards evening James suddenly grew weary, as children do, and Juliana and Charles took him home, lea
ving me to head contentedly back to Westminster. As night fell, bonfires were lit on all the hills across the country and even from my house in the heart of London I could see dots of light stretching into the distance. The streets remained loud, and no doubt would throughout the night, but I did not mind. This was the London I loved.
I closed the front door behind me and for once enjoyed the emptiness, the luxury of being alone in my home, Mrs Parks having the day to herself. As I took off my hat I noticed the white envelope waiting for me on the floor, written in Henry Moore’s hand. I opened it to find an invitation to dine with him and Walter Andrews the next night, as he wished to discuss something that might be of interest. As with his speech, his writing was direct, but gave nothing away.
Perhaps he wished to pick my brains on a new case? I looked forward to the dinner regardless, for it would be an opportunity to once again apologise to Andrews. I had seen him since – he too had called on Juliana to see how James was – but he remained somewhat distant with me. Perhaps now that my mood was so obviously elevated he would be able to understand that my outburst – indeed, my behaviour that day – had been as a result of a temporary woe, and quite out of character.
I poured myself a brandy, simply for the enjoyment of the drink this time rather than to soothe my nerves, and went into my study to select a book. I left the curtains open to enjoy the light and life outside, and when I finally turned the lamp out and settled back on my sheets that night I was a contented man. Life was good.
20
The Standard
Wednesday, October 24, 1894
THE STRANGE DEATH OF A PRIEST
No order has yet been issued for the exhumation of the remains of the Argentine priest, Father Gabriel T. Segni, who was found dead in a Soho hotel on the 7th inst. After the inquest the body was interred as that of Louis Caccres in a pauper’s grave in Woking Cemetery, at the cost of the parish of St. Anne, Soho. The real name of Father Segni’s companion is believed to be Rabellot, and there is reason to suppose that some years ago he was employed as a ‘sauce and soup chef’ at a first-class restaurant near the Criterion, Piccadilly. The silk handkerchief by which the body of Father Segni was fastened to the head of the bedstead was a new one of Macclesfield manufacture, and apparently had only recently been purchased. Late last evening Chief Inspector Moore and Inspector Greet, of Scotland Yard, were put in special charge of the case, and one of these officers will probably proceed to Havre and make investigations there.
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