Mister Creecher

by Chris Priestley

  Frankenstein was in the courtyard beyond, seemingly eyeing up the place. One building in particular occupied his attention and he walked its length, looking at the walls and up at the roof, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bunch of keys.

  Frankenstein looked round, causing Billy to duck out of sight. When he felt he was able to look again, the Swiss had gone.

  Billy crept forward. The door was still swinging back and forth on whining hinges. He came as near as he dared and peered inside.

  There was no sign of Frankenstein, but he could see that there was a set of steps leading downwards just beyond the door. The building looked like a warehouse that would be filled with barrels and clutter, but from what little Billy could see of it – there were no windows save for greasy skylights high above – it was in fact surprisingly tidy and clear except for two or three large tables and several crates. What was Frankenstein doing in a place like this?

  While this question was still forming in Billy’s mind, Frankenstein suddenly began to ascend the staircase. Billy’s heart leapt into his mouth. He ran out of the alley as fast as he could and stood panting in a doorway nearby, his back pressed against the door, praying that the shadows would conceal him.

  A minute later, the Swiss emerged from the alley. Billy heard his familiar footsteps clip across the cobbles. After a nervous few moments, he peered round and saw Frankenstein’s silhouetted figure walking away and then disappear round a street corner. Billy waited a second and set off in pursuit.

  CHAPTER XI.

  That evening, when the sun was setting and the clouds were blood-soaked swabs and the chill of night had begun to descend on the city streets, Billy and Creecher made their way back to Clerkenwell to collect their clothes from Gratz’s nephew.

  For the first time, Creecher had been pleased by one of Billy’s reports. When he had told the giant of Frankenstein’s mysterious visit to the warehouse, Creecher clapped his hands together.

  ‘Finally,’ he said. ‘This is good news, mon ami. This is excellent news!’

  But he had given Billy no clue as to why this was such excellent news. For his part, Billy was happy to enjoy the giant’s lighter mood and saw no reason to ruin it.

  Gratz’s nephew was standing outside as they arrived, his sharp shadowy form like a stick man drawing. There was a group of children with him.

  ‘All right, then, boys and girls,’ he said, seeing Billy and Creecher approach. ‘Off you go.’

  Billy looked at the ragged urchins who clustered around the doorway, with their tattered clothes and filthy, half-starved faces. A small boy turned to face him and Billy felt as though he were looking at his younger self. He smiled, but the boy simply stared back at him, dead-eyed. When the children noticed Creecher, a couple of them stared up in wonder, until they joined the others in running away as fast as their legs would carry them.

  ‘And make sure you work hard,’ Gratz’s nephew called after them, ‘or I might have to set the giant on you!’

  He cackled as the children disappeared. Billy stared after them. Was he ever that young? He felt a chill go through him, as if the blood was freezing in his veins.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said the nephew, peering at Billy. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’

  He opened the door and they followed him through to the main room. Billy looked around for Gratz, but there was no sign of the old man. The air smelled of dust, damp clothes and decay.

  ‘Uncle sends his apologies,’ said the nephew, with a hunch of his shoulders. ‘He is feeling a little bit under the weather and has taken to his bed early this evening.’

  Billy looked at the door that led to the private chambers upstairs and imagined the bolts and locks that lay on the other side and Gratz trembling above them.

  ‘Have you got the clothes?’ he asked.

  ‘Would I let you down?’ said the nephew, hand to his heart.

  He opened a wooden chest nearby and brought out two piles of clothes and shoes, placing each on top of the chest once it was shut.

  ‘I think the cobbler rather enjoyed making your boots, my friend.’

  He handed a pair to Creecher, who took them and turned them over, nodding appreciatively.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘They are well made.’

  ‘Oh – he knows his stuff all right,’ said the nephew, turning to pick up a coat. ‘Now this was a little harder. It took a bit of careful opening out here and there, and a lengthening of the sleeves with these cuffs and so on. It ain’t a bad sort of a coat. And warm, too. That’s good quality that is.’

  Creecher took his coat off and dropped it over the wooden counter beside him. He put the new coat on and, again, nodded approvingly. Billy was less sure. The coat was dark and made the ghastly pallor of the giant’s skin even more noticeable. But at least the high collar helped hide his face.

  ‘And I thought a hat might help . . . well, it might assist . . .’

  Creecher took the hat. It was broad-brimmed and, together with the collar, did indeed help. It helped mask the worst of Creecher’s terrible face. It was Billy’s turn to nod with approval.

  ‘Very good,’ said Creecher. ‘You have done well.’

  ‘There, you see,’ said Gratz’s nephew, with evident relief.

  Creecher picked up a book that was lying on the counter.

  ‘You are a scholar, sir?’ said the nephew. ‘I thought you might be. I said to myself, there’s a man with a brain if ever I saw one.’

  ‘How much?’ said Creecher.

  ‘My gift, my dear.’

  ‘Good,’ said Billy. ‘We’ll be off.’

  ‘I hope you gentlemen will think of us should you have anything else you might want to exchange.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Billy, without turning round.

  ‘It’s been a pleasure to do business with you, my friend,’ the nephew called from the doorway as Creecher walked away after Billy.

  Creecher looked at him but said nothing. Glancing up, he saw the face of Gratz staring down from a window for a few seconds before the old man jumped back into the darkness, letting the filthy curtain fall back into place. Creecher nodded at the nephew and he and Billy left.

  They walked back to the city and returned to the attic to change. They each went to the furthest reaches of the room to strip but Billy could not resist a quick glimpse of the giant’s naked form.

  Creecher had his back to Billy and was stripped to the waist. Billy had never seen muscles like it – not even on builders or the bare-knuckle boxers at the fair. Samson himself could not have been more powerful.

  But no living man ever looked like Creecher: the rippling muscles that looked as though they had been flayed, the dry, parchment skin more like the casing of a chrysalis than the hide of a human being.

  Creecher turned as he picked up his shirt and Billy looked away, embarrassed. It was just a glimpse, but there was something odd about that muscled torso – something not quite as it should be. Billy just could not settle on what, though.

  Half an hour later, they stood in their new clothes at the end of the alleyway at the back of the baker’s, illuminated by the mellow light from a window above them. Billy had persuaded Creecher that another robbery was needed to refill his empty purse.

  ‘How do I look?’ asked Creecher, noticing Billy’s expression.

  ‘Better,’ said Billy. ‘It’s just . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ll get annoyed with me. And then you’ll throttle me.’

  ‘I will not get annoyed,’ said Creecher. ‘I promise.’

  Billy took a deep breath.

  ‘Look, there’s nothing wrong with the clothes,’ he said. ‘It’s more the way you wear them.’

  Creecher frowned.

  ‘I do not understand.’

  Billy scratched his chin and tried to think of the best way to word what he was about to say.

  ‘You need to have a bit more style about you,’ he said. ‘Look at you. You standing there. You’re so . .
. stiff.’

  ‘Stiff?’ said Creecher.

  ‘Yeah, like you was about to read a sermon or something.’

  Creecher looked baffled.

  ‘If I was your size, I’d really . . . I’d . . . Well, I wouldn’t stand like a trooper on parade anyway. Bend your neck a bit. Get your head lower. Look out from under your eyebrows. Stick out your jaw like you’re daring someone to thump it. Let your arms swing,’ said Billy, all the while miming these words with growing enthusiasm.

  ‘And when you walk, you should roll,’ he added. ‘Like you’re walking along a ship in a stormy sea. Let that coat flap around like a sail. You need a big walk to go with your size: big, slow steps, like you was wading through mud. You ain’t in no hurry cos you ain’t afraid of nobody. You get what I’m saying?’

  Creecher nodded and, taking a deep breath, lowered his head, stuck out his jaw and set off down the alleyway with a big loping stride, arms swinging, coat flapping.

  Billy collapsed to the floor, howling with laughter. Creecher slowly came to a halt and turned to face him, glowering from under his eyebrows. It was a little while before Billy could get to his feet and speak.

  ‘That is the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time,’ he said between pants, holding his stomach as if winded.

  ‘But you told me –’

  ‘I know,’ said Billy, patting him on the back. ‘I know I did. You just need a bit more practice, that’s all. I’m sorry I laughed. Really.’

  Creecher nodded.

  ‘Then I would very much appreciate it if you would consider recapitulating for me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Show me again,’ said Creecher.

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Billy. ‘We really ought to do something about the way you talk as well.’

  Creecher frowned.

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Billy. ‘One thing at a time.’

  Billy’s swaggering lessons continued for the next twenty minutes, the first five of which were mainly taken up with Billy’s efforts to resist laughing.

  Slowly, though, the giant seemed to grasp the coordination necessary and Billy sent him away to one end of the alley and told him to strut his way back.

  Creecher disappeared into the darkness and there was a long pause. Then all at once the giant emerged into the light, head down, eyes glinting from under his furrowed brow, his coat sweeping back and forth as he took long rolling strides towards Billy.

  ‘Good,’ said Billy, his mouth a little dry. ‘That was good.’

  ‘Shall I try once more?’ asked Creecher.

  ‘No,’ said Billy, putting his hat on and walking towards the light at the alley’s end. ‘I think you’ve got the idea.’

  CHAPTER XII.

  The cloud that for months had covered the city like a filthy blanket momentarily developed a ragged tear and a beam of light poured through, hitting the soot-blackened dome of St Paul’s and polishing the golden cross at its summit. It gleamed like a crucifix on a priest’s black cassock.

  The effect was startling, if short-lived, and even Billy, who was normally immune to the architectural delights of London, joined the tourists in looking up in wonder.

  For a few seconds it was as if the whole of the City stopped to watch, but as soon as the clouds rolled back and the light faded, each one of the crowd – lawyer, con man, banker, thief – went back to their allotted tasks.

  Billy, too, returned to his employment. Frankenstein and Clerval were sightseeing in the City and Billy was in slow but dogged pursuit. Billy had already accompanied the men on a visit to the docks, where Clerval had arranged meetings with several importers and exporters.

  From there Billy had tailed the two men up the winding narrow streets to the hill on which London’s great cathedral stood, dominating the skyline for miles around.

  Frankenstein and Clerval walked up the steps and into the cathedral entrance. Billy followed moments later and saw the two men strolling down the nave, stopping below the dome, looking up and pointing.

  Clerval, as usual, was the most animated, constantly tapping Frankenstein’s arm to show him some new feature he had spotted. For his part, Frankenstein seemed relaxed for a change and bore his friend’s enthusiasm with an amused indulgence. After looking at the choir stalls and the altar, the men headed towards the crypt.

  Billy followed them down the stairs. He had never been to the crypt before. He had been to the cathedral many times: the exiting congregation, chatting, distracted, provided easy pickings. But the crypt had always felt too enclosed, too much of a potential trap. Billy felt nervous.

  He watched from a safe distance as the two men studied a large tomb in the centre of the vaulted room: a huge monument, topped with a black sarcophagus. Only when they moved away did Billy see that it was Lord Nelson’s tomb.

  He was taken aback by the sudden surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. One of Billy’s earliest memories was standing on the bank of the Thames, watching the funeral barge sail down the river. They had been allowed a day away from the workhouse for the occasion.

  It was a painful memory, not because he had any special feelings for Nelson, but because it came as such a vivid reminder of his mother. He could almost feel her hand in his – as though they were standing together once more amid that great crowd of mourners thronging the waterfront.

  But like a dream it slipped away and Billy was left with all that desperate loss renewed. Tears blurred his vision and, as always, his sadness changed in moments to anger, to a bitter and violent resentment of the whole world about him.

  He stomped out of the crypt. Frankenstein and Clerval continued their tour and headed for the stairs that would take them to the top of the dome and the great view of London that attracted so many visitors.

  Billy did not follow them. He would be too easy to spot in such a confined space. He knew where they were and he simply had to wait for them to come down again. He sat on the steps by the entrance, the image of his mother at the waterfront still clinging to his mind.

  All those thousands of people and yet it was his mother who had to die. Billy wondered how many of the people milling around the cathedral were there that day. Why did they live and not her? He would have killed any one of them with his bare hands if it could have brought her back to life.

  The image of Creecher’s mighty hands around Fletcher’s head came fleetingly into his mind’s eye again, but he was able to waft it away. He would not feel remorse for that animal. Creecher had done the world a favour.

  Billy spotted Frankenstein and Clerval leaving the cathedral and as he got to his feet to follow them, he noticed a familiar figure walking east. Even from the back he could tell it was Skinner, together with a couple of his cronies. Sooner or later, Billy knew he was going to bump into Skinner. He could only hope that Creecher would be on hand when he did.

  He cursed and looked around for Frankenstein and Clerval, and saw them strolling down the hill. The clouds above were dense and it was oppressively dark. The sky, the soot-blackened buildings and the granite cobbled streets filled Billy’s entire view with a grimy gloom.

  At the point where Ludgate Street became Ludgate Hill, a great crowd was gathering. Billy could see that they were clustered at the end of Old Bailey and he sped up so that he would not lose sight of Frankenstein or Clerval as they became part of the throng.

  The crowd was ragged at the edges and surged gently back and forth, like waves against a shore. Frankenstein and Clerval, clearly curious as to what the attraction might be, decided to take a closer look. Billy, who knew all too well what was going on, followed them in turn.

  Sure enough, a scaffold had been erected outside Newgate Prison. A hanging always drew a large and enthusiastic crowd. Billy often worked these congregations too, thieving in the shadow of the gallows.

  Three of the four on the scaffold had already had their heads covered by the time they joined the crowd. The last was a young woman who Billy guessed must have been nineteen or
thereabouts. Her pretty face was marble pale, her eyes wide and shadowed. Her lips were fluttering but Billy couldn’t hear what she was saying above the noise of the crowd.

  The hangman covered her face with a nightcap, stepped back and dropped the trapdoors. Suddenly all was silent. Billy looked away. He’d seen that dance before and had no wish to see it again. He wished his ears had not caught the creak of the hemp ropes as they took their weight. Then the crowd roared to life.

  He turned towards Frankenstein, who was staring at the hanging figures with an expression so moved that it could not have been stronger had a member of his own flesh and blood been dangling on the scaffold.

  Clerval looked sour and shook his head wearily and then leapt to the aid of Frankenstein, who collapsed backwards and would surely have fallen had his friend not held him.

  A couple of people chuckled at the sensitive foreigner. Clerval helped his friend to a quieter courtyard nearby and sat him down while Billy watched from the shadows.

  Frankenstein fumbled in his pockets and took out a small bottle. Clerval grabbed his arm and said something in French that Billy could not understand, though he could guess what the bottle contained without catching the word opium.

  Frankenstein pushed his friend away and, pulling the stopper from the bottle, took a swig while Clerval turned away angrily. Frankenstein looked back in the direction of Newgate and the scaffold and took another swig.

  Was this man – a man who fainted away at the sight of a stranger’s death – the dangerous man that Creecher spoke of? It seemed hard to believe.

  When Billy recounted the day’s events to Creecher that evening in the attic, the giant listened in silence until Billy reached the part about the hanging.

  As soon as he mentioned the woman on the scaffold, Creecher let out a strange moan, like a wounded dog. His hands flexed, his fingers falling in and out of fists. Billy grew nervous. This was the way the sweep would get just before he gave Billy a beating.