"For all the good it will do. Besides, their involvement does not change our participation – do not forget we are in league with a killer here. We cannot afford some mistakes. The liberty of foolishness is now alien to us."
Palmer grinned to himself. "You make it sound like a bad thing, being in league with a killer."
"Do you not see? He has got us right where he wants us," Francis started to reason. "If the law clamps down on this we will all be the ones to take the hit."
"The public hearing is happening on Tuesday," Lucius clapped, silencing everyone and indicating the discussion to be over. "I will be there, I suggest you all attend."
With that, no further discussion was had. We all stood to leave, ignoring one another. Upon exiting the club no goodbyes were uttered. Instead, we made our ways home in silence and deep thought. As always Francis and I walked together, although we found we had little to say. What could one say? We were stuck and there was little way to escape, other than fleeing London itself. Francis would not do this due to his wife and I could not due to my lack of funds to support myself, for the very same reasons that I had returned to London in the first place.
When we arrived outside Francis' house he turned and nodded to me, but that was all. He disappeared inside and I continued on in silence through the darkened cobblestone streets. Whereas there would normally be drunkards about the night, stumbling home and singing to themselves, they had been replaced with something that should have made me feel better, but instead made my heart sink. Officers of the law, surveying the street, checking the alleys, watching me.
The streets of London were on high alert.
Act III: The Terror of London
Chapter XII
It was a cold Tuesday morning when the crowd gathered outside Mansion House. When the great doors opened, the rabid masses pushed their way through into the meeting hall, eager to get close to the front. The Mayor of London sat at his desk at the far end of the room, elevated above the crowd as if some sort of higher power. He was already addressing public queries by the time I managed to shoulder my way in. He was mostly addressing the effects of the recession that had crippled the country in recent years. The turnout in the room was rowdy; many had no doubt come in interest of hearing about the recent murders.
Amidst the crowd I spied Lucius, Harry and Palmer huddled together conspicuously near the corner. They all shared the same wide eyed attentiveness as they listened to every word that echoed about the room. None of them spoke as I slipped in beside them, although Harry gave me a nod of acknowledgement. Lucius ignored me and gave a grave shake of his head as he continued to listen to the speech. His gaze did not break from the Mayor. I thought about asking why Francis was not among them, but figured it was best to not mention him at all. I do not suppose he wanted to get caught up any further than he already was, instead only doing the bare minimum in order to remain on His good side.
The Mayor demanded order amongst the rabid crowd, who shushed at his authoritative bellow. "It is not without note that the recent murders in London have been committed. An official investigation has been launched and will continue until the perpetrator has been brought to justice. Of special interest is a note I received only recently, signed an anonymous resident of London. The letter regards the attacks directly."
The room spontaneously burst into a choir of chatter. An anonymous letter regarding the attacks was a twist in itself. Who would know such information to be able to report it? The Mayor hushed the crowd into submission before continuing. "The letter states as follows: It appears that some individuals of the highest ranks of life have laid a wager, a pact if you will, with a mischievous and foolhardy companion who durst take it upon himself to carry out crimes most heinous in their gain."
Behind me, Palmer leaned over to Lucius and whispered in his ear. "The highest ranks of life?"
Lucius, however, did not respond. His stony stare lay fixedly on the Mayor. For the first time I thought I could regard worry behind those cold eyes. His lips pursed and I could hear him growl, “You git, Rufus.”
The Mayor continued to read the letter. "The wage has been accepted, and the unmanly villain has succeeded in depriving several men of their lives. This affair has continued for some time, and, strange to say, the papers are still silent on the subject other than to glorify the villain. It is as if the journalists and constabulary of our time are unable to effectively communicate or reason that these events are the result of a perpetrator of whom the public should be informed, rather than feared. The writer has reason to believe that they have the whole history at their finger-ends but, through interested motives, are induced to remain silent." The mayor broke from the letter to address the enraptured audience. "I received this letter and the odd nature of which has induced me to withhold it from the public for some days. I was expectant that such a statement might be made through a source of indisputable authority relative to the matter of which it informed."
The crowd remained silent as the Mayor paused, clearing his throat before continuing. "On reading the account I believe there is truth behind the letter. Although I would very much prefer to speak to the author, it is apparent that he wishes to remain anonymous. It appears that the letter was written in a knowledgeable hand, possibly by someone who is in league with the murderer and therefore worried for his safety. I have no doubt with this new knowledge that the police may be depended upon to prevent any further disturbance."
With this a figure stepped onto the stage. Tall. Handsome. Authoritative. My heart sank. It was James.
"As head of the case," he spoke as my heart sank further, "I can promise that we will endeavour to capture this villain quickly and efficiently. A mania is strife amongst those who claim to witness the unholy guise of this atrocious ghoul, but I can promise that behind the mask of night he is simply a man, albeit a wretched one."
The crowd burst into chatter once again. An audience member rose up to call out. "There are many reports about London telling dreadful stories of this ghost or devil."
James responded, "I have heard of such stories. The truth is he has struck down many men and burdened their unfortunate families. Worse he also has stricken fear into those who would idly listen to tall tales. I am sceptical as to whether this being is ghost or devil, but what we must accept is that people are dead as a result. He is no more a devil than a man, and as a man it will not be long before he is caught. Until then I advise you all to avoid travelling the streets after dark." With these words he turned and left the stage, the Mayor leading him from both Mansion House and its rabid crowd.
Lucius turned to us. "So, he knows that a group of wealthy people are behind the killings, but little more."
Palmer was on the tips of his toes trying to peer over the crowd. "How did he get to such a conclusion?"
“I suspect a certain ex-partner of ours may be to blame for that Palmer, although I can only speculate on the matter. Unless someone out there is paying close attention to our actions, then it could only be someone within our circle and only he has been foolish enough to act in such a rash way. I propose we meet soon to discuss these events and how we should respond."
Before any of us could say any more there came a voice from behind me. The familiar feeling of my heart drowning confirmed the very thing I wished it not to be. It was James.
"I did not expect to see you here, Eric." He smiled, placing he hand on my shoulder in a friendly manner. His expression dropped somewhat. "Certainly together, as you are."
Harry said, "James, it has been a while. How are you?"
The expression lingered. "I am good, thank you, Harry. Were you all here for the Jack announcement?" I prayed for James to not further divulge his involvement in the case, but I knew it was too late. He was a proud man - and it was that pride that occasionally ruled his mouth. Every fibre of my being wanted to stop him. To shout, or to reach out and interrupt him, but I knew not of a way to silence my friend without being conspicuous. He continued, "I have been app
ointed as the lead investigator of the case, did you hear?”
Lucius smiled. A fake smile if I ever saw one. "Congratulations, James. A proud post indeed. Now, if you will excuse me, I am required."
With this Lucius pushed his way into the crowd, letting the mass of people form a barrier between him and James as he vanished. Palmer and Harry followed him without saying anything further to us.
"They are not a crowd I expected to you entertain," James spoke as they disappeared into the crowd.
"They are not," I lied. "I spied them in the crowd when I entered and thought it rude to not acknowledge them, is all."
"They were here for the Jack announcement, I suppose?"
I nodded. "It appears that Rufus's murder was committed by this Jack figure. According to the things one hears, anyway."
James nodded in silence. For a minute I thought he was onto us, but his expression relaxed and he seemed to drop the notion. "I am surprised Lucius would show such interest in another man's death when he stands nothing to gain. In particular, the only funeral I would expect him to turn up to would be his own."
I chuckled, agreeing wholeheartedly with the sentiment. "So, it is that you are lead investigator on the case?"
"That is correct," he beamed.
"You must be proud of being attached to such a high profile case. Can I expect to see your name in the headlines again?"
James grinned. "Leave it be, Eric. You know I hate it - even more so with the distorting of this case. The media have been nothing but a nightmare recently. If they reported that this Jack fellow was a murderous elephant I could guarantee you that I'd have a crowd of people at the station the following morning to report just that."
I laughed. Partly because I found it funny, but mostly because it felt good to have someone poke holes through the ridiculousness of the situation. "So, no leads?"
"We have two suspects in for questioning right now, although neither have given me anything worthwhile so far. If I cannot break them soon then I will have to let them go, but that is not what I wish."
We began to exit Manor House with the crowd. The pale light of the day washed down on us.
I asked, "Do you think they are the ones doing it?"
James shrugged. "Perhaps. I will observe them for a couple of days. Nobody knows about the arrest, so if another murder happens then I guess I will have my answer. I will not be best pleased if that is the case! It is an honour to carry out such a task for the Lord Mayor and I want to do the case absolute justice, but there is so little to go off."
"I hope you find him, James. I really do."
James paused on the steps down from the great hall. "I will not let this madman get away. He is a murderer, a traitor to his Queen and Country. This is the duty given to me. I will not rest until I see him to the gallows." He broke free from the professional stance that had possessed him and smiled at me, not as an officer but as a friend once again. "I must return to work; plenty to do, I am sure you understand. I will visit soon and we shall talk. I do not see you as much as I wish I could."
With that parting statement, James and I shook his hands one final time and took our leave. I walked home alone, breaking away from the bustling crowd. Many were talking loudly about their beliefs on the Jack case. Many uninformed pretending to know what they talked of. I broke from this crowd quickly and headed home.
Away from the centre the streets were silent. The air began to chill as evening came round. Down the way I could see a policeman patrolling, eyeing every shadow and alley purposefully. He eyed me as I walked past. And eyed the stragglers of the crowd behind me. He eyed families and businessmen. To the officer anyone in this street could be Him, ready to strike at any given moment. Everyone was suspect. And I no different! He could be anyone. Perhaps I knew Him personally, shared in conversation with him in my past life. But I stopped thinking of such things. The thoughts were tiring and confusing. They only served to confuse and terrify me, yet brought me no closer to a conclusion.
I hastily made my way down the street to my house before I was approached by the good officer. Not that I had any given any reason for him to do so, but I wished to get out of the streets anyway. It felt as if oppression had gripped London tightly. But not political oppression - it was fear. A fear rarely known and shared by such a mass of people.
By the time I made it to my porch I felt exhausted. Although I had done little but stand, it felt as if my mind had been walking all day. I unlocked the door and stepped into my home in a daze. I lit the fire and poured a drink, for I felt as if I could stand no longer. I sunk into my armchair and stared at the flames. They flickered unassumingly. I had no real reason to be concerned of them, but they seemed to threaten me as they shuddered within the fireplace. I slouched, drinking and in thought for some while. My head hurt from the exhaustion and the wound on my arm stung. All I wished for was sleep and, with the warmth of the fire on my side, I was soon granted it.
Chapter XIII
Each day after the public meeting I woke early and purchased a copy of The Times. For several days there was only silence, something that seemed to unnerve me more than when there was news. Since my face to face encounter with the murderer I had found myself living in fear of Him. Deep inside I wished only that the next murder would not happen, and that the entire thing would go away and we could resume living as we were. Yet, even in desperation, I knew this was not going to happen. My fears came true on the Monday when I bought the paper and the very news I wished not to see was reported on the front page.
THE TIMES, MONDAY, JANUARY 17, 1838
POLITICIAN JASPER THATCHER has become the latest victim in a string of brutal murders committed throughout London by the notorious Spring-heeled Jack.
He was viciously murdered in his home late Saturday evening. A witness insisted that the murderer was dressed like that of a gentleman when he approached Mr Gosforth. Following a short conversation, the witness claims the murderer spat in the face of the victim, before bludgeoning him to death and finally making his escape by leaping over a nearby wall.
The article made me sick. This murderer – this monster! – had bludgeoned an innocent man in his own home for our own gain. And He was dressed as a gentleman, as if that made Him acceptable to society, as if merely wearing a suit enabled one to act as they wish without remorse. Was this in response to the public meeting?
I can promise that behind the mask of night he is simply a man.
Was He mocking us? Was this His response to the public recognition?
I felt depressed as I understood that Jasper Thatcher was now dead by our hands. Even if not all of us wished for it be, none of us had done anything to prevent it. His death had provided very little gain to our plight. Further money for those that already were wealthy enough. And, in regards to identifying the villain, all I could gain from the matter was that He was able and willing to hunt down anyone at our very command. Instead of providing me with a clue as to who He may be, it simply made me fear for my own life more.
I ventured to work shortly after, feeling ill in myself. I opened the door to my workplace, the soft jingle of the bell resonating from within as I did, and stepped in. As always, Gilbert did not so much as look up at me as I entered and I merely made my way to my desk, placing the newspaper down and shifting into the silence of work. I sat at down and read over the article again. Although it made me sick, reading over it and envisioning it built up the rage within me, the rage that helped me to continue on. "I knew Thatcher," Gilbert spoke from nowhere as I was lowering myself down to my seat. His attention had been drawn from his paperwork; perhaps my tense posture had caught his eye. He stood and walked over to my desk slowly, as if a tamer encircling a lion, and reached out for the newspaper from under me, snatching it and scanning over it. "Git of a man he was, but he did not deserve such a death."
I slouched down into my seat. I had no desire to work, and little desire to mask it. "What do you think would bring a man to carry out such a heinous act
against him?"
Gilbert did not answer. I do not suppose he had an answer, for I had searched for closure on the matter and yet I found none. Wealth was the obvious answer, but it was no real explanation for how horrific these murders were. No rational thought could bring a man to kill like this, nor to even think such thoughts. It was almost as if the killer was relishing in it by this point. Gilbert placed the newspaper down, drawing his gaze from it and saying nothing further. I no longer wished to acknowledge it and shut it in the draw of my desk.
We worked in silence for the remainder of the afternoon. Mine and Gilbert's relationship may have been acrimonious at times, yet it seemed by now we had settled to such a routine that we made sure not to cross ourselves with one another. I worked from a logbook for the remainder of the day, tallying profits and losses for the company. I indulged several hours into this menial event, enjoying the break from any sort of thought. My arms and my eyes moved, but there was no true purpose or vision behind them. I merely existed.
Prior to closing I came across a detail in one of the logs that I did not quite understand. I looked up to Gilbert, who was planted at his desk, drawn into his work, and called out. "What is this loss from last month?"
"What loss?" he responded, not looking up.
"The trade. The earnings from last month are reporting a loss."
"Loss is natural," he concluded. "Some months are worse for trade than others."
"You said that back in August. Have we been operating at a loss this entire time?"
He placed his quill down and leant back in his chair. "Not the entire time."
"Just most of it then? Have we made any profit?"
He cocked his head sheepishly. "I have been trying to maintain this business by myself since your Father left. You have done little to aid me, when you have been here. It is natural that business reputation has taken a hit."
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