Kill All Kill All

by Craig McNish

  “Well, Ridgway, you certainly know how to kick a man while he is down, don't you?” said Cutter with a lot of malice. Brass was quick to spring to Ridgway's defence.

  “Mister Ridgway is right, Robert; it is no good taking out your anger on an innocent man. You made bad decisions and here are the consequences. In an effort to save a few pounds by evading the law, your livelihood has gone. Sooner or later, you must face up to the fact that all of this around you – the house and everything inside it – will need to be sold, just to allow you to get by. Do not kid yourself into thinking a large sum of money will fall into your lap from the heavens. As one of my oldest friends, I could see my way to loaning you a sum for a short time to get you through the worst, but I would need written guarantees or items of worth from you to say that it would be paid back to me. As much as I might want to, I cannot afford to give away money to cover for another's mistakes. So how might we go about settling this debt with Ridgway?”

  With the grandfather clock now making its way past eleven, this night of nightmares was still far from over for Robert Cutter.

  *

  The mangled corpse of John Brass lay underneath the sash window. His face was a bloodied mess, beaten black and blue by fists and a hatchet. The body was swollen and bruised underneath the clothing, and the blood that had poured from the wound in his throat was starting to dry, both on his skin and a large amount of the surrounding carpet. It was a horrific sight to behold.

  Across the room, not far from the side of the bed, Jane Brass was also slumped lifeless on the floor. Her face was pale now, her lips a darkening blue. Mills had launched a frenzied attack upon her without any sign of mercy. The once-beautiful face was lost, buried underneath masses of black and blue bruising. And there was knife marks, too. Mills had not lied when he said that Jane's fair looks would be taken away from her. He had used his knife to carve lines across her cheeks, her brow and under her chin. But it was her body that had fared worst; the puncture wounds from Mills' knife were numerous, and he had counted each and every one of them as his knife met its mark. Sixty-two stab wounds covered Jane Brass' arms, legs and torso. It might have been even more had Mills not finally tired and moved away to rest back against the wall, his breathing heavy and his eyes red and watery.

  Now Mills became aware of another noise in the room; not from him in any way. He lifted his head and there, huddled under the bedclothes and shaking in fear and fright, was Elizabeth Brass. She looked at him afraid, certain that she would be the next to suffer.

  “Please spare me, Andrew Mills” Elizabeth said quietly. “I have not harmed you, nor would I ever want to. You are my friend. You made me laugh. You made me happy. I have no wish to die.” Mills said nothing, but his expression was not harsh or fierce. He waited to see what Elizabeth would say next.

  “The pantry is no doubt full – Priscilla always keeps a well-filled larder. In it there will be bread and butter, sugar and meat. You could take it all and leave, before mother and father arrive back here. You would not starve. I have some toys; maybe you could sell them to raise a few shillings. Alas, I have no savings of my own but you are welcome to take whatever possessions I have that you might like. My mother more than anyone would be beside herself if she was to lose me along with my brother and sister. She is a kind and good lady. It would kill her also if she was to see all of her children perish. Please, I beg of you – leave me be.” Mills appeared not to be listening, but had heard every word Elizabeth had spoken.

  “Everything you say is true” Mills said in a quiet voice. “To take the life of one so innocent would be unthinkable. If your brother and sister had learned to behave in the same way as you, then none of this would ever have happened. But it is no joke to insult a man every time you speak with him. They did not learn the lesson, and have had to pay the price. You should stay here; I will gather my things and in a few short minutes will be gone from Brass Farm. Where to, I do not know, but it is certain that you will never see me again. Have a good life, Miss Elizabeth.” Mills slowly got to his feet, and with his right hand threw down his bloodied knife before he left through the smashed-up door.

  The passageway outside that led to the top of the staircase was pitch black. Not a sound could be heard anywhere inside the house. Mills thought for a second about where he might go next; he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. And when he opened his eyes again, saw a sight that could never have been imagined in the worst of his dreams.

  An apparition appeared at the top of the staircase; the most hideous creature that one could ever see. In the guise of a huge, black dog, or maybe a wolf, stood what most might consider to be the Devil himself. It had eyes that glowed a fiery red colour, with strong and powerful legs resembling those of a horse or a stag, and a pair of folded wings on its back which extended as far as the walls would allow before returning to a position of rest. Rather than be scared, Mills found himself to be transfixed. The two regarded one another for a time, with no words spoken. And then the creature, in a voice which was little above a whisper, said these words:

  “Go back, thou hateful wretch, resume thy cursed knife

  “I long to view more blood, spare not the young one's life.”

  “But I promised I would let her live” Mills told the creature, who snarled and curled his lip at hearing the words.

  “You will do as I say!” said the beast, for that was the only way it could be described. “The child will die, or you will take her place! Kill all, Andrew Mills!”

  “Kill all!

  “Kill all!

  “KILL ALL!”

  And with these last two words resounding in his ears and the inside of his head, Mills felt compelled to obey. The creature didn't stir, but instead waited for Mills to make his move. A minute or so went by, and he turned without a word to go back into the room he had just left.

  Mills saw not a sign of Elizabeth Brass, just an empty and unmade bed. The window was still closed, so she could not have climbed outside. Surely she knew it would be folly to do such a thing anyway. She must still be inside the room. And then Mills had a notion; he stooped down, looked under the bed. Elizabeth was laid there in terror, clutching hold of a rag doll made for her by Jane and praying for her soul. Mills went to the side of the bed and reached under, grabbing a hold of her arm and pulling Elizabeth from her hiding place.

  “You are not going to spare me now?”

  “I cannot. I am sorry.”

  “But you promised not to kill me, Andrew Mills...”

  “That I did, but when I left this room with every intention of getting away from here, I saw...someone. He told me I could not spare your life.”

  “Who did you see? I could not hear you speaking with anyone...”

  “I do not believe you would understand if I were to tell you, but it is something I must do. I truly am sorry for what I am about to do, Miss Elizabeth.” Mills reached his left hand out a way and took hold of his knife once more.

  Bound by an overwhelming sense of love and loyalty, George Bancks was still stood by the oak tree. Not once did he allow himself to believe that Jane would no longer be joining him here. It was, after all, she who had approached him and asked the questions, not something she would likely do only to change her mind a short time after. Bancks guessed it would be about twenty minutes before midnight; he would wait a little longer then go to the house, even if it meant coming face to face with John Brass.

  *

  Robert Cutter felt like a fool and a failure as he watched Ridgway cast a roving eye over his prized possessions. It did not sit well with him to be open to such scrutiny, but without the support of his friend there seemed little else he could do. So not only was the plans for the marriage of their son in ruins, but he was now faced with the humiliation of being indebted to a man who was more than happy to take anything that he owned. His wife Elinor had found it too much to bear and left some time ago for the bedroom; Margaret Brass had followed to try and offer some words of solace and comfort, but
they would be hard to find.

  “The silver” said Ridgway at last. “I think that would cover the debt.” But Cutter was quick to disagree.

  “A wedding present from Elinor's parents” Cutter argued. “There is no chance of giving it up to anyone.” Ridgway looked around some more.

  “Your good lady wife has gems and jewellery, I would guess? They could prove to be sufficient recompense...”

  “A preposterous idea!” Cutter thundered. “My wife had no part in this – why should she have to pay? No, sir – absolutely not!”

  “The furniture, then; it appears to be made of oak and mahogany, and of fine craftsmanship. I have a friend who would give you a very fair price for select pieces.”

  “Elinor loves every piece of furniture in this place – she would want to part with none of it.” Ridgway sighed, shook his head.

  “I do believe you would make up some excuse for any suggestion I might make so as to avoid paying me what is owed. You have your own ideas as to what would prove acceptable, Mister Cutter?”

  “If you were to make contact with the captain of the ship returning to Portsmouth from Van Dieman's Land, you could tell him Robert Cutter will not think any more of what he did if he pays you the debt in full. Surely that would be acceptable?”

  “You would have me travel to the far end of England and meet with a man I have not even heard of in the vain hope he would willingly give me over three hundred pounds? Why, you must be out of your mind, sir! Either you pay me in full what is owed this very minute in cash or goods of equal value, or I shall have you arrested and thrown into debtor's prison! How would you feel about that?” Cutter was at first frightened but then infuriated by the remark.

  “You would dare to threaten me, blacksmith? A man of my good standing? Why, I doubt very much anyone would believe a single word you said!”

  “Your reputation was lost along with your illicitly-transported cargo, Cutter – you have no standing any more. You are a criminal – let us not forget that. And because you cannot have your way, you think it is proper to bluff your way out of this situation you find yourself in by making threats and assertions you cannot possibly hope to meet. The proof is clear of the debt, and Mister Brass has heard every word you had to say about how you came to lose your fortune. If you want to avoid prison at all, it would be a good thing to make good on your debts to me. Maybe then I shan't mention to anyone your practice of avoiding the proper way of shipping goods across the sea. My words are not threats, but promises. You have until the clock strikes twelve to make your decision. Pay me, or I will have you arrested.” John Brass could argue little on behalf of his friend, for were it him in the blacksmith's position he would probably do the same. In fact, punches might have already been thrown, so he had to commend Ridgway on keeping calm for such a length of time.

  The platoon of eight soldiers, led by Lieutenant Michael Hodgson, was in good spirits as they reached the end of their march. They had come from Darlington, which was only about fifteen miles distant, but in such harsh conditions it had been an arduous trek. Now they were close to Ferryhill – about a mile away – and looking forward to being with their wives and loved ones. They talked about how good it was to be home, and while so tired how ale and a hot meal would be most desirable right now above anything.

  At Brass Farm, George Bancks could wait not a second longer. He had expected maybe a short delay, but at more than two hours overdue something had to be wrong. Hopefully, Jane had simply fallen asleep and they could soon be on their way. Bancks was also mindful of the fact that Ridgway was most likely home and asleep by now and it would be unfair to wake him at such an hour, but the blacksmith had insisted they call back there before leaving town and so they would. From the cover of the oak tree, Bancks opted to remain in the field but in sight of the roadway, so he could see if Jane passed him by.

  Not far from the courtyard, Bancks heard what he felt certain was the front door of the house opening and then closing again. At last! He was about to exit the field and present himself when he saw it was not Jane at all who was running towards him at speed; it was a larger, broader figure, and he looked to be in a great hurry. Because the night was pitch dark, Bancks was not able to see who the mysterious figure was but it was a good guess he had been up to no good. And while he was glad Mills would have been at hand to see off the attack, it would mean he was now awake and alert. To be caught roaming around in the dark when a robber had just been sent on his way would be no good thing, and so he stayed at the edge of the field to see what might happen next.

  “Your decision, Mister Cutter?”

  “I cannot give what I do not have, Mister Ridgway.”

  “You have plenty! What you mean is you will not give what is proven to be owed. Well, so be it. I hear prison is not the most welcoming place even to brawlers and murderers, so for someone so unused to trouble such as yourself it will be a terrifying place, most definitely. Mister Brass, it would be appreciated if you might keep Cutter here while I go to fetch help.”

  “Of course.” Ridgway grabbed the ledger from the table and ran outside to summon a couple of bodies who might be willing to help take Cutter in for a couple of shillings. He hadn't been gone long when Cutter picked up a candlestick from the table and also made to leave.

  “Robert, what are you doing?”

  “I won't go to prison, John – I'll hit Ridgway in the head, knock him out cold. Then I'll remove his clothing, make people think it was the work of robbers. He won't last the night in these temperatures without any clothing. And then I will be free of that arrogant man and his persecution of my family.” And then he too was gone, with John Brass hurrying behind to try and talk sense into the man.

  “Finally, here we are” said Hodgson as the platoon of eight hungry and tired soldiers walked into Ferryhill. “There is not much chance of a hot meal at this hour, but I would not even need to remove my boots to sleep like a baby on this night. We will all go to our homes and talk tomorrow. And so, my comrades, I bid you...what is that racket?” Hodgson and the others listened intently. Raised voices, from at least two men. Threats were being made, and resistance being offered. “We should probably see what is happening before we go. The sight of soldiers is likely to be enough to shut down any quarrel. This way.” Hodgson led the men in the direction he believed the voices to be coming from. After turning one corner, and then another, three men could be spotted arguing in the street, though one appeared to be acting more as a peacemaker than participant. Hodgson signalled for his platoon to stop a short way distant and approached the men on his own.

  “Gentlemen, what is with the strong words at this time of night? Can this fight not be conducted at a more suitable hour and not while the folks of Ferryhill are asleep in their beds?” Ridgway couldn't believe his luck; he would never find greater allies to the truth than soldiers, who would be more than willing to help his cause.

  “I want this man arrested!” declared Ridgway loudly to Hodgson, pointing out Robert Cutter. “He owes me a large sum of money – over three hundred pounds, all in – and refuses to pay even a farthing! I have given him his chances to make good on the debt, but always there is an excuse as to why he cannot pay. I have had my fill of his talk and want him thrown in jail tonight!”

  “I understand why you would be angered, sir, but bawling in the middle of the street never solved a problem so I must ask you to quiet down a little” Hodgson told Ridgway. Then he turned his attention to Cutter.

  “Is it true what this man says?” asked Hodgson.

  “The man is being unreasonable!” spluttered Cutter. “I have told him I do not have the money to pay and still he won't listen, demanding I pay him this instant!”

  “Liar! I've given you plenty of chances, Cutter, but you chose to believe I would just crawl away and hide under a stone after you said no for at least the tenth time. A debt is a debt, and I won't go away until it is resolved.” Hodgson had been hoping only to get home and sleep, but that would not
be happening just yet. Now he looked to John Brass for help.

  “John, my good fellow – how are the family?”

  “We've been well, thank you, Lieutenant. But the arguments you are hearing now have meant the wedding between my Jane and William Cutter will no longer take place.”

  “A great pity, I'm sure. Can you help me resolve this dispute?”

  “What do you need to know?”

  “For the main part, is there any truth behind these claims?” Both Cutter and Ridgway looked at Brass to see what he would say.

  “I'll tell you what I know” Brass said to Hodgson. “Ridgway here is a decent, hard-working man. He has done a lot of jobs for Mister Cutter, and they have gone unpaid for some time now. Ridgway's apprentice was here earlier and showed me the proof. The ledger he keeps is immaculate and shows an outstanding debt of over three hundred pounds to Ridgway from Cutter. They have spoken of it many times but it has come to this to try and make good the problem.”

  “Is the apprentice here now?”

  “He is not, Lieutenant, sir – I sent him home after he showed Mister Brass the proof” said Ridgway.

  “This ledger, I presume you have it with you?”

  “I do.”

  “Would you mind if one of my men were to look it over and confirm what is being said here?”

  “Only too glad to oblige, sir! Any man of your choosing, and maybe we can go back indoors where a candle can be lit and the numbers seen properly.” Hodgson raised his fingers to his lips and whistled loudly.

  “Raphaell!” A young man left the platoon group and jogged over to where his superior stood with the others. “I believe you are good with numbers, correct?”

  “That I am, sir. What is it you want me to do?”