by Sam Christer
‘I understand. What is it that you wish to confess? Speak frankly and fully now, for you speak to the Lord thy God and master of your soul for all eternity.’
And I did. For the next half hour, without thought for the poor man’s knees on the brutal stone floor or the strains of his obvious illness, I told him everything. That is to say, every act of theft, deceit, violence and murder I could remember. The offences were so numerous and spread over so many years that I am certain there are some I forgot to mention. I named no names. And as best I could, implicated no one else. I was certain God knew to whom I referred and I did not wish to place Father Deagan in a position where he might be tempted to break his religious oaths and make himself a target for people who would need to silence him.
The old priest listened to my sins with admirable patience, without admonishment or any sign of judgement. But with his professionalism and kindness came a determination to root out all the evil that lay in me. ‘And what of the last murder you were convicted of, my son? You are in denial as to this act, yet I fear your soul is also infected by this mortal sin.’
‘No Father, it is not.’
‘Do you swear so in the presence of the Almighty?’
‘I do, Father. It is only just and proper that the Crown hangs me for the many murders I have committed, but not the one I have not.’
‘The judgement of the courts and the judgement of Christ are very different, Simeon. Lying to a court may lead to retaining your liberty; lying to the Lord leads to eternal damnation.’
‘I know that, Father. I swear on my soul, I am not guilty of that abomination.’
He raised a hand to stop me going further. ‘Then let us speak of remorse. Are you truly sorry and contrite for all your sins?’
‘I am.’
‘And do you reject Satan and all his followers and his acts?’
‘I do.’
‘Are you ready to meet the Lord your God, to beg for his blessed forgiveness and to throw yourself upon his mercy?’
‘I am.’
He opened my prayer book again. ‘Please say these words aloud, and when you speak them make sure you mean them with all of your heart.’
I looked at the text. It was the Act of Contrition. Great emotion rose within me. A thousand times or more in my life I had apologised to people and asked for their forgiveness. But this was an apology to God. My last chance to say sorry for wasting the life he had given me.
I struggled to read the words. ‘Forgive me my sins, O Lord, forgive me my sins; the sins of my youth, the sins of my age, the sins of my soul, the sins of my body; my idle sins, my serious voluntary sins; the sins I know, the sins I do not know; the sins I have concealed for so long, and which are now hidden from my memory. I am truly sorry for every sin, mortal and venial, for all the sins of my childhood up to the present hour. I know my sins have wounded thy tender heart, O my Saviour; let me be freed from the bonds of evil through the bitterest Passion of my Redeemer. Amen.’
Deagan took the book from me and gave the response in full, concluding with the words of hope that all sinners long to hear: ‘Through the ministry of the Church, may God give thee pardon and peace, and I absolve thee from thy sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.’
‘Amen.’
He took my hands in his and added, ‘I must leave you now, Simeon; but I will pray for your soul and so must you. Pray for it until the last breath of life is taken from you. Do this and the glory of God and the gates of the Kingdom of Heaven will be open to you.’
‘Thank you, Father.’
‘Please help me to my feet.’ He stretched out an arm.
As I did so, he coughed so violently his whole body shook and I felt duty bound to hold him for a good deal longer. ‘Are you all right, Father?’
‘No, my son, I fear I am not.’ Another bout of coughing caused him to double up with stomach cramps.
‘Gaoler! Gaoler, come quickly!’ No sooner had the words left my mouth than the priest staggered and fell.
Keys turned in the lock and Wallace entered. ‘Stand back,’ he shouted. ‘Get back by that window or we’ll beat you back.’
‘Hurry up – it’s Father Deagan; he’s collapsed.’
‘If this is a trick, Lynch, I’ll flog you so hard you’ll not be able to walk to the rope.’ He blew hard on a whistle.
Within the minute, half a dozen screws had rushed into the cell. The good Father was lifted up between them, carried out and my door soundly shut again.
Left behind were his bag, rosary beads and prayer books. Instinctively, I seized them.
Inside was a convict’s treasure trove – a pipe, a soft leather pouch filled with tobacco, a purple-coloured silk sash, a vial of holy water, a wooden crucifix about six inches long and three inches wide and a small mirror edged in leather. It would be a strange collection for someone such as me to carry, but was, I presumed, a standard set of tools for someone in the clerical trade. There was also a set of keys, no doubt for the parish church, and a fountain pen with a broad steel nib.
Without hesitation, I took what I wanted. The sash would make a highly workable garrotte and the crucifix a useful dagger if sharpened properly. The rosaries were well strung and could help secure all manner of things, or people.
I rushed to the brick that I had loosened, removed it, stashed my hoard and replaced it. The screws would be back any moment. I knelt with my back to the door, put my hands together and prayed. Not for Father Deagan, but that I didn’t get caught.
No sooner had I settled into that position than Wallace and one of his colleagues returned. They swore at me as they filled Deagan’s bag with his remaining things. Swore again and left me with such a hefty boot in the middle of my back that I collapsed against the wall.
The door closed and I heard them retreat down the gallery. When they were gone, I thanked God for allowing me to steal from a priest, though I suspect the appreciation should have gone to Satan. I got up and retrieved the nail that I had hidden in my shoe.
I went to the door and checked for sounds on the landing before returning to the spot where I had made the inscription SL 1900. Father Deagan had come to save my soul. He had given me absolution and within a second of his collapse I had reverted to my true self. I knew now what I had to write. What should be my message to the world. I scratched it deep into the grime of the wall.
THOUGH I WALK THROUGH THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH,
I FEAR NO EVIL.
FOR I AM EVIL.
Derbyshire, May 1887
The book Elizabeth had given me was Charles Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer. It revealed itself to be the tale of a foolish and greedy man who sells his soul to the Devil then wanders Europe, corrupting others while trying to find someone to relieve him of his burden.
I discerned the plot of the novel in the privacy of my room, while thinking over Elizabeth’s behaviour towards me. There had been a look on her face that had urged me to talk freely to her, and I had touched her heart – I was sure of it.
But she had left my thoughts and emotions spinning.
Did she really want me to take up that invitation to come to her room? She had said come with the book and she would explain it to me. But had that been more than just a literary offer?
I was filled with excitement and insecurity.
And guilt.
Guilt for in light of my newly repaired relationship with Surrey, it would be highly improper for me to pursue Elizabeth.
Darling, darling, Elizabeth.
Had she really set her sights on me?
I thought again of the old fortune-teller of Milldale and her words of opportunity. Surely, Surrey and I were destined to part. We were no more than makeweights in each other’s lives. I convinced myself that it would be better for both of us to face the reality of our situation and move on with our lives.
After dinner, I took a cowardly decision that a glass or two of whisky might help resolve the matter. And I supp
ose it did. For that evening, slightly the worse for wear, I found myself standing outside Elizabeth’s bedroom door.
I knocked. Cleared my throat and announced, ‘Elizabeth, it is Simeon. I wonder if I might disturb you?’
‘Come in,’ she answered in a tone reminiscent of my lessons in the drawing room.
I opened the door.
The room was warm and lit by numerous candles. It smelled of soft wax and fresh roses. The curtains were drawn. Elizabeth was seated on the side of her brass bed in a white cotton nightdress. Her hair was down and she was brushing it. The light seemed to catch every strand and it looked like it had been spun from gold. She looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her.
For a time, I was unaware that I was simply standing and staring. Then I realised my clumsiness and held up my copy of Melmoth the Wanderer. ‘Forgive my appearance at so late an hour, but you said to call if I were in need of help.’
‘So I did.’ She nodded at the novel I was stupidly holding aloft. ‘But if your cultural craving is to be satisfied, Simeon, then you are by necessity going to have to come closer.’
I walked towards her, aware only of the creak of the dark floorboards beneath my feet, the rhythmical tick of a grandmother clock and the thunder of my heart. I sat beside her and looked nervously across the walls, imagining that somewhere behind the boards and bricks the professor’s prying eyes were watching us. ‘Forgive me, but I fear Moriarty lurks behind the walls ghost and is spying on us.’
She took the book out of my hands, placed a cool hand to my face and kissed me lightly. ‘No one is there, I promise you.’ She pushed me back on the bed. ‘Just as I am certain you were not seen coming here, be certain I have ensured we will not be seen while you are here.’
Elizabeth undressed me. Light and deep kisses punctuated the removal of each garment. When I was naked and breathless, she stepped into the pooling candlelight so I might see her better as she removed her nightdress. I swear the sight of her naked flesh in those flickering warm hues lit a thousand fires inside me.
‘Oh my God, I want you so much,’ I said, no longer caring whether Moriarty was watching or was in the room alongside us. ‘I want you so very desperately.’
‘I know you do,’ she teased. ‘I know it very well.’
Our love played out in a shadow dance on the wall, a wonderful waltz that was one moment frantic and the next exquisitely slow. Kiss by kiss and minute by minute I slipped away from the tense reality of the world.
I fell asleep with Elizabeth in my arms, and my pleasure doubled when I found she was still there when I awoke. Dawn light fell across us both and I studied her face while she slept. She was a good ten years older than Surrey and had wrinkles around her eyes where Surrey had none. But Elizabeth was all the more beautiful for them. The tiny flaws made her unique. Made me want her more than ever.
As the room grew lighter her eyelashes fluttered open like the wings of a tired butterfly. I saw her focus. She pieced together the events of last night then smiled sleepily, ‘I am glad to see you are still here.’
‘Of course I am here.’ I stroked her hair. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? You look so beautiful when you are sleeping.’
She pushed fingers self-consciously through her hair. ‘I am afraid I look my age. Which as you know is somewhat greater than yours.’
‘Everything about you is greater than me. Greater than any other person I know.’
She touched my face and smiled. ‘You feel like that because you have hunted me for so long and are intoxicated by getting what you wanted. Once your mind clears, you will quickly bore of me and my aged greatness.’
‘“Age cannot Love destroy.”’
‘Ha! If you are to quote Shelley then you must do so in honest fullness. “Age cannot Love destroy but perfidy can blast the flower, even when in most unwary hour it blooms in Fancy’s bower.” Perfidy, Simeon, perfidy.’
I knew she meant my betrayal of Surrey was deceitful and made me likely in time to be unfaithful to her as well. ‘I only want you, Elizabeth. I will only ever want you.’
‘Then you must tell your other lover that.’
‘I know I must. And I will, as soon as Surrey returns. But what of you and the professor?’
She frowned. ‘The professor?’
‘You and he are also lovers, so—’
‘We most certainly are not!’ She sounded aghast. ‘Is that what Miss Breed said?’
I nodded.
‘Then that little dollymop has lied to you. Lied no doubt, so she could keep you for herself.’
‘Don’t call her that.’
‘She’s lower than a common toffer. She sleeps with men not to pleasure them, but to take their lives. She is a succubus.’
‘Is that worse than your relationship with Moriarty? Because no matter how you protest, there is clearly a relationship of sorts.’
The remark stung her into silence.
‘If he is not your lover, then what hold does he have over you?’
Her face crumpled.
I put my hands to her shoulders. ‘You can confide in me. I will keep your confidence. You know that I will.’
Her eyes glistened. She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek.
I wiped it with my hand. ‘Please tell me what upsets you so much that it makes you weep to even consider speaking of it.’
‘It is my father.’ She spoke softly, as though the words bore a terrible weight. ‘He is the reason why I am here. Why, like you and Surrey and Sirius, I am inextricably bound to the professor.’ She lowered her head.
‘I do not understand.’ I put my hand gently under her chin and raised it so I might see her eyes. ‘What about your father?’
‘I had him killed. By the professor. By Michael, to be precise.’
‘I can’t believe that of you.’
‘He abused me, Simeon. Abused me long before my mother died and before I was even of age.’
‘Dear God.’
‘Eventually, he made me pregnant. Lord forgive me, but it was a blessing that the poor child was stillborn.’
I tried to comfort her, but she pushed me away. It was as if she needed the space to be able to say anything more.
‘He said it was my fault. That I made him do those things. He said God had taken the baby from me because I had been sinful and wronged both my father on earth and Father in heaven.’
‘Father? That evil man was no parent to you. Had I known him, I would have killed him myself.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Forgive me for asking, but how did you even come to be acquainted with the professor and Michael?’
‘Moriarty has known me since I was a young girl. He regularly came to my father’s business and our house in Scotland for dinner.’
‘What kind of business did your family run?’
‘Shipping. Import and export. In its prime, it had vessels and crews in both Scotland and England, trading with China, Europe and America. One day, Moriarty came to see my father but he was not at home and instead he found me …’ She struggled to continue.
‘Found you what?’
‘Close to death. I had tried to end it all, by taking laudanum and cutting my wrists.’
‘Dear God.’
‘Moriarty and a maid found me bleeding and unconscious on a chaise longue.’
‘You poor thing.’
‘The professor kept me alive while a doctor was sent for. I’d have been dead but for him. It was when he came to see me the following week that I broke down and told him what Papa had been doing to me.’
‘And Moriarty offered a remedy? A permanent one?’
‘He did. But not there and then. It came more than a month later, after he and my father had fallen out. The professor asked if it was true that I would inherit both the house and the business if Papa died. I told him it was but that our home had been heavily mortgaged to pay debts run up by the business. He proposed to have him killed, in return for me transferring the business to him.�
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‘Quite a payment.’
‘One I am still settling.’
‘And your title?’
‘My title?’ she smiled ironically. ‘That came after father’s death. I was so low and wretched. We had just buried him and I told the professor I believed myself to be the worst of all womankind and he should have let me die. Instead, he berated me for my self-condemnation. Said I was a lady. Can you imagine? He insisted that I travel with him back to his home in England and stay there until I recovered, which I did. And from that moment forth, whenever he introduced me, he did so by saying, ‘Meet Elizabeth, Lady Elizabeth.’
‘And where did the Audsley come from?’
‘My mother’s maiden name. God bless her soul.’
‘Now I understand. Then I shall resume the good practice of calling you Lady Elizabeth.’
‘You will not.’ She smiled gently and added, ‘May I ask a favour of you, Simeon?’
‘Of course.’
‘Please do not take offence, but I would like to be alone now. I have said much more than I intended to. About myself. And about how I am bound, in both honour and dishonour, to the professor—’
‘As are we all,’ I interjected.
‘Indeed. But I am tired. Physically and emotionally tired, and I am feeling somewhat vulnerable.’
‘Then let me stay and care for you.’
‘We are not yet that close, Simeon. May never be. Now, if you please, just gather your clothes and leave. Last night was a mistake. One I would like neither of us to speak about ever again.’
She turned away from me. And though I did speak, did plead to stay and comfort her, Elizabeth said no more. She would not even look at me. Indeed, it seemed she had shut out the entire world.
Six Days to Execution
Newgate, 12 January 1900
Theodore Levine finally materialised. He was dressed as dandily as usual, in a purple jacket, black breeches and an astonishingly tall topper, which he took off with a flourish before glaring at the gaoler loitering in the secure room we had been shown to.