Hunting Down the Darkness

by European P. Douglas

  Mary was so scared that even while out during the daylight selling her potatoes from baskets around the Liberties she would not dare take a short cut down a quiet street, and she would follow the crowds wherever they would take her. It was a horrible feeling to have fear so cemented back in her life.

  One afternoon, as she came back to the vegetable stall in Templebar to restock, Sarah handed her a letter.

  “What’s this?” Mary asked; she was not used to getting letters, in fact, she thought this was the first one she’d ever received.

  “I don’t know,” Sarah said, “A boy came up and gave it to me. He ran off before I could ask him about it. It was only when he was gone that I saw it was addressed to you.”

  “Who could be writing to me?” Mary asked and fear swarmed afresh over her.

  “What’s wrong, Mary?” Sarah asked with concern, “You’ve gone grey in the face.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” Mary said getting control of herself. Sarah looked dubious but didn’t press her.

  “Are you going to open it?” she asked.

  “Not right now,” Mary said wondering if she were being watched at this very moment. What had so scared her was the recollection that Spencer had been writing taunting letters to Alderman James while he was on his killing spree. She was afraid that this new killer- if there was one- was the person who had written to her. The idea that he might be watching her right now, waiting to see her reaction to what was inside chilled her to the quick. “We’ll open it together, this evening, when Kate is home too.”

  “It’s your letter, Mary,” Sarah said looking at her friend. “Why don’t you just stay by the stall with me for the rest of the afternoon,” she said. “It’s been a busy day so I think we’ve done alright.” Mary was more than happy to go along with this and she set her baskets down under the stall and stood in beside Sarah waiting for their next customer.

  That evening the three women sat in the front room of the apartment in front of a low fire. Kate had been in when they got home and she had a dinner ready. Mary was glad that Kate had spoken no more about moving out; it was nice to not be struggling so much for once.

  “So are you going to open your letter, Mary?” Sarah asked when they had finished eating. Kate looked at Mary with interest.

  “Yes, I suppose so, now that we are all here.”

  “What's this about?” Kate asked.

  “We don’t know,” Sarah answered, “A boy gave me a letter at the stall for Mary, but she didn’t want to open it until we were home.”

  Mary took the letter from her shawl and looked at it properly for the first time.

  All that was written on the envelope was her name and it was in a more elegant hand than she could ever recall seeing. It reminded her a little of her aunt’s handwriting, the person who had taught Mary how to read and write many years ago.

  Pulling the single page from the envelope she laid the letter out flat on the table so the others could see too -not that this would be of any use to Kate who had not learned to read yet. It read as follows.

  Dear Ms. Sommers,

  I feel odd in writing this letter to you but I truly feel you are the only person in the world who could be so generous to help me.

  My time spent locked away here at Swifts Hospital, has given me a great deal of perspective. I no longer see what once plagued me, have left the madness this lead me to behind and now believe I was not responsible for the murders that currently bear my name.

  I ask that you assist me in trying to prove this and to free myself from this torture. What I propose is to find out the dates when the murders took place and use those to try recall any alibi I might have had at the time.

  While I was suffering, I freely admitted things I now think were false and as such, no alibi for me was ever sought. I do not have contact with anyone from outside the hospital and even this letter to you has had to be smuggled out.

  I implore you to help me. Please, if you have any ability to do so, can you find out the dates of the murders and communicate them to me? I would be forever in your debt were you to do me this service.

  Yours Sincerely,

  Archibald Spencer.

  “Good Lord!” Sarah cried, “I didn’t expect it to be this!”

  “What is it?” Kate asked.

  “It’s from Colonel Spencer,” Mary said softly. “He says he didn't commit those murders and he’s looking for me to help him prove he didn’t.”

  “What?” Kate asked sounding completely incredulous.

  “He wants her to find out all the dates of the murders so he can try prove he didn’t do them.”

  “That’s crazy!” Kate said and Sarah nodded. Mary didn’t say anything for a time and she reread the letter a couple of times.

  “You’re not thinking about helping him are you?” Sarah asked after a minute of silence. Still Mary didn’t answer; she was deep in thought.

  Spencer had never seemed like the right fit to her for those murders. She knew him as the gentle artist who painted her portrait and was always kind to her. Yes, there was that terrible painting and his membership of the Hellfire Club but still she felt something was wrong. She had been the one to turn him in when he confessed to her but Alderman James had discovered it was him around the same time and was already looking for him.

  In her anger at losing John, whom she was sure was dead, she had let the other murders fall from her mind. But now it was back and he was saying he was innocent. Could this be the case?

  “What are you going to do, Mary?” Kate asked.

  “I’m not sure, yet,” Mary replied, folding the letter and putting it back into the envelope.

  Chapter 20

  The Stapleton’s, along with Alderman James and now Mr. Edwards, arranged themselves in the Study of Wild Boar Hall for the telling of the legend by Fredrick. James looked at the others and saw that they all seemed eager to hear the tale as though it were something new to them. Edwards most of all was sitting forward in his chair like an eager dog waiting for a treat. He held a glass of wine in one hand and had seemed to be doing so since he entered the dining hall this evening.

  Fredrick, also with his usual brimming glass stood theatrically once more in the firelight. He looked them over as he had the night before and then looked around the room as though something was not to his satisfaction.

  “Too many candles burning,” he said at last. “It’s too bright.” He went about the room hurriedly and blew out every candle in the room so that the only light now was that thrown by the glowing fire. “Much better,” he said getting back into position.

  With his body blocking most of the fire now, James found it very hard to see anyone’s face at all. He could make out the shapes of their heads and perhaps some item of clothing but it was difficult indeed to make anything out for sure. The dimmed lights had made everyone giddy though and he could hear some of the family making ghost noises and laughing. He smiled at the pleasant scene of family life.

  “So,” Fredrick said getting everyone’s attention again, “We come to the reason this house is so famous in the Empire.” James thought this was something of an exaggeration. He’d only barely heard of the place himself until recently. He doubted anyone in England or Wales would know much about it now, much less any farther afield than that.

  “By the time this story begins, the Leicester family are still the wards and owners of the house but the most evil and depraved of them are long gone by now. The current family are decent and there is no more ill treatment of anyone for a long, long time.” James was glad to hear this part; he thought about how much Edwards would have relished all the horror in the story from the previous night. He would have been in stiches laughing at it all no doubt. As he thought this, he was glad Edwards could not see him in this light.

  “One night in 1701, a terrible thunderstorm struck up out of nowhere, the likes of which the area had never known. During the storm, a dark stranger rode up to the hall on horseback seeking shelter. He sa
id he’d been at sea and had been driven into the coast by the high waves and harsh seas.

  “The family took him in, seeing that he was clearly of noble stock and gave him the shelter and comfort he sought.

  “Over the next few days, the weather didn’t let up and there was no opportunity for the man to go back to his boat. He seemed happy to stay and the hospitality of the family was generous to a fault.

  “As you may expect in such close quarters like these, the daughter of the Leicester’s fell head over heels in love with the man. Her father and mother had come to like the man too and they made no interruption to dissuade their daughter from her love.

  “One night soon after, all the grownups in the house sat down to a game of cards after dinner. It was a joyous evening and to everyone’s delight the stranger seemed to be reciprocating the interest the daughter was showing in him. Little did they know how badly the night was going to end.”

  Here Fredrick looked about the room, the eyes of everyone starting to adjust to the dimness. No one said a word and James, despite knowing it was only a silly story could feel the icy finger of fear on the base of his neck.

  “During one of the hands, the daughter dropped one of her cards, apparently it was the five of hearts but that is of no interest to the story. As she bent down to retrieve the card from under the table she saw with alarm that the man across from her, the dark stranger who had been staying in their home for almost a week now was not at all, what she had thought!

  “Instead of fine leather boots or shoes she was greeted with the sight protruding from his cloak of large gnarled cloven hooves! She gasped in fright and swooned back. Everyone looked to her and at that moment, the stranger understood what had taken place.

  “With a bellow of infernal rage his face was unmasked as that of Lucifer himself and he burst into a fireball that blasted up through the roof like a cannonball! The family were terrified by what they had seen but there was very quickly a large fire that had to be brought under control that took their attention for the next few hours.

  “The poor daughter never recovered and she went into a state of shock that soon turned to madness. The family, afraid that the news of her condition would get out, locked her up in the tapestry room just down the hall from where we now sit.

  “She died about two years later, never once seeming to have a moment's peace from reliving that night over and over again. She was only twenty-two at the time of her death. From that time on there have been many, many people who have said they have seen her at the door to the room peering out into the hallway, or else have heard her weep in that room as they passed.” Fredrick looked at them all once more and seemed very pleased with himself. He did not say any more but simply leaned back against the mantle and let his story sink in to the minds of his audience.

  Chapter 21

  Pat Croker was lost. It was not the first time since he’d arrived in Dublin that this had happened to him. He was such a troublesome lodger that he was frequently moved on and often lost track of where he was staying from one night to the next. He stood on Nicholas Street looking around at the buildings to see if anything might jog his memory.

  He’d come up this way earlier to do some work moving barrels from a flooded basement of a pub, but he didn’t recall anything on this street.

  There was no one around to ask and it was late enough that no candles lit the doorways or windows of any of the buildings around him.

  Pat peered around some more, not too concerned with the time as it was a nice night and he wasn’t feeling anything of a chill so far. He walked on a few more feet, feeling the road slope down and deciding it was best to let the lie of the land take him back to the river. He could figure out where he was from there.

  From this new vantage point, however he could see down Back Lane and saw some torches burning at the far end. Someone was up, he thought, and they would be able to guide him back to his lodgings- once he could recall for sure where he was staying.

  Crossing the road to the entry of the laneway, this upturn in fortune led him to start whistling a merry tune he’d heard this evening. He didn’t know the song but he liked it and it had stuck with him.

  Just after coming on to Back Lane there was a narrow opening to his right, another laneway and this one much darker than the one he was on. A noise startled Pat and suddenly a man came stumbling from the darkness and fell against Pat grabbing his clothes. Pat called out in alarm and grabbed the arms of the man thinking he was trying to attack.

  At once, however, he could feel that there was no strength in the man and that he was starting to slump to the ground. Pat tried to hold him up but to no avail and he helped ease the man down. As he kneeled down to ask the man what was wrong he saw the blood and gore trail at his feet leading back into the darkness where the man had come from.

  Pat jumped back startled,

  “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed.

  His eyes caught something at the far end of the alley and he was sure it was a person rounding the corner.

  “Hey!” Pat called out starting to walk after them. The person disappeared without looking back. The full weight of what had just happened hit Pat like a hammer.

  “Stop!” he shouted as loudly as he could, “Murder!”

  In a moment of what he would later decide was madness, Pat set off after the killer. His pursuit ended after only a couple of feet however and he slipped hard on the slimy blood spattered cobbles and found he could not get up for a while.

  People started to appear at windows and men with lanterns soon came.

  “He’s been attacked,” Pat said from his position on the ground to the first men who got there. They looked the man over quickly,

  “He’d dead,” one of them said grimly.

  “There was a man at the far end of the lane, he went to the right but he’ll be long gone now,” Pat lamented. Even as he lay there, however, with his damaged hip he felt it was probably a lucky thing he had fallen. He could be dead now himself if he’d caught up with the man.

  “Did you see who it was?” someone asked him, a suspicious eye levelled on him.

  “No, just a shape, broad shoulders is about the best description I could give you.”

  Some members of the Parish Watch arrived. On seeing the scene and hearing Croker’s feeble story they arrested him. He was hauled up from the ground before being taken him down the laneway to the gates of The Black Dog Prison. The gaoler, Marcus Cabinteely, was only too happy to take him in and lock him up until he could be questioned properly.

  “Two murders in the same place,” he said to Croker who didn’t know what he meant by this.

  “Sir?” he asked.

  “I said it doesn’t make sense to me that a killer would strike twice in the same place and in the same way.”

  “I only saw one man dead,” Croker answered still not understanding.

  “I don’t mean tonight, there was a murder on Angel Alley on a few nights ago as well. The blood from the first is still fresh down there.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Croker said, “I’m not long in Dublin, I don’t know the place yet.” Cabinteely looked at him and shook his head.

  “Well, this is not a place anyone wants to see the inside of. I’d rest if I was you. I expect things are going to get worse for you before they get better if you are innocent.”

  Chapter 22

  As Kate watched the blacksmith’s she saw the last customer leave. This was the third day in a row she’d come here to talk to Tim but so far she hadn’t plucked up the courage to get any closer than she was now. It had been frustrating and now this boiled over and she rushed across the road and straight into the shop without knocking or making it known she was coming.

  Mullins had been leaning over a boy showing him something in the fires and he turned as if to greet a customer. His smile quickly faded when he saw it was her. The boy looked too and gave her a thin smile but Kate didn’t think it wise to smile back at him right now. Mullins was just
standing there staring at her, his face a grey cloud of anger. She didn’t know what to say to open her conversation. She had planned what to say of course but inevitably, it left her mind as soon as she stood in front of him.

  Her heart ached at seeing him. All she wanted was to run to him and wrap her arms around him and it was the hardest thing in the world for her to not attempt this.

  “Why don’t you go out the back a minute, Larry,” Mullins said to the boy, “Just give it a little bit of tidy up and I’ll come get you then.” As he spoke, he never took his eyes off Kate. The boy looked up to him, nodded and went out the back without a word.

  “You have a new apprentice?” Kate said to break the ice.

  “What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

  “I’ve come to ask for your help. For Mary, Sarah and me.”

  “Help?” this seemed to have thrown him and all of a sudden, he didn’t look so mean. Perhaps this plan of Muc’s had been right after all.

  “You’ve heard there is a killer again?”

  “I hear that all the time,” he answered waving his hand.

  “Another man was killed a couple of nights ago where Tam Grady was murdered.”

  “What of it?”

  “It was in the same place as Tam’s killing. Right off Back Lane where the Dolocher and Spencer murders started.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been listening to too many gossips talking,” he said turning and stoking the fire.

  “Mary was attacked,” she said flatly to his back. Mullins turned back to face her at this,

  “What?”

  “She was chased through the streets last week and only she ran in to Lord Muc on Cork Hill there’s no telling what could have happened to her.”