Catherine protested at that remark, but our dear brother was too engaged with his venison to take offence.
Father’s voice came out low, in that ominous tone we’d all learned to fear in our childhoods. ‘You are really irritating me now, Elgie. The entire matter is out of the question and I won’t hear another word. Have you heard me?’
Elgie threw his napkin on the table and rose so quickly his chair fell backwards. As he stormed away he nearly collided with a servant who was coming in.
‘He is beginning to show the Freys’ temper,’ said Laurence as his wine glass was refilled.
Catherine glared at me. ‘This is your fault! See what an example you’ve set for my child, leaving our house for your flea-ridden lodgings!’
I took a deep breath, and instead of arguing I looked at the servant, who had brought a letter on a silver tray. ‘Yes?’
‘There is a message for you, sir.’
‘Perhaps they are offering you the post back!’ Catherine ventured, sarcastic to her very core.
I took the note and recognized the hand of my dear fiancée.
‘It is from Eugenia,’ I said. My spirits lifted even more as I tore the envelope open.
Dearest Ian,
I have just looked for you in Suffolk Street. Your maid told me that you could be found at your parents’ house. May I please speak with you this evening? I must see you. It is a matter of urgency. I shall wait for you all night if I must.
E.
‘Well, delightful as the evening has been, I must leave!’ I said with a triumphant grin. ‘Eugenia needs to see me without delay.’
‘I wonder what for …’ Laurence mumbled.
Within a few minutes I was already in a carriage, heading happily to the Ferrars’ house. All of a sudden the cool, fouled air of London felt surprisingly invigorating.
4
Eugenia was waiting for me in her parlour. When I walked in she was accompanied only by a young maid serving tea.
Seeing her waiting all by herself made me feel a wave of warmth. Everything in that face was sweet and beautiful; the wide blue eyes, the snow-white skin, the childish lips and the golden curls. That evening she was wearing a pink muslin dress, perfectly fitted to her tiny waist. A white kitten was playing on her lap, meowing as she caressed its bright fur. Suddenly all my quarrels and tribulations seemed a small price to pay for being with her.
Eugenia had only turned twenty a couple of months earlier, so I liked to think of her as a young girl whom I might spoil. Her frequent whims, and the way she wrinkled her nose and stamped her feet when cross only made her sweeter.
Reginald Ferrars, her father, was a much respected barrister in Chancery Lane. The man was a business associate of my brother Laurence, and would attend Catherine’s parties quite frequently. I had met Eugenia for the first time at one such occasion, and it was not long before we were engaged.
‘Good evening, my love,’ I said with a grin. ‘Why you are all alone? Is your father not at home?’
As I sat next to her, I thought of how frequently it was remarked what a nice couple we were: she was short, sweet and demure, I tall and protective.
‘He is busy,’ was all she said. Then I had the chance to study her face. The warm glow of the fireplace and the gaslight partly concealed how pale her cheeks really were. A tiny frown marked her pretty face.
‘Eugenia … is there anything wrong?’
She waved a hand to dispatch both the maid who was serving tea and the one who had announced my arrival. The women left us alone at once, but Eugenia would not speak immediately. She ran her hand over the cat’s back; it was only for a second, but a quiver of her fingers told me how anxious she was.
‘Pray tell me what is wrong,’ I said soothingly.
She fixed her eyes on her lap, inhaled deeply, swallowed, and then spoke hastily, as if the words burned her mouth and she had to spit them out.
‘Ian, I cannot marry you.’
The kitten meowed and twisted in her nervous hands before jumping onto the floor. We both fell silent.
I was expecting her to say something else … anything. Despite the torrent of bad news I had received during the day, Eugenia was the first one to make me stammer.
‘Wha – wha … Y-you’re not serious!’ I laughed nervously and looked for her hand. ‘Eugenia, this has not been the best of days and I am not …’
As soon as my fingers touched hers she drew her hand away. ‘Ian, I have never been more serious in my life. I am breaking our engagement.’
Then it was Eugenia who looked for my hand, but only to push a tasteful diamond ring onto my palm.
I stared at the shining gem while she looked for her cat. The five golden tips of a tiny maple leaf enveloped the perfectly cut diamond. I had commissioned that ring from Giuliano especially for her.
‘So is that it?’ I asked. ‘What silly matter made you change like this all of a sudden? Have you heard of my dismissal? Is that what troubles you?’
‘Oh, Ian, I did hear, but it is not that … It’s –’
Again she could speak no more. I caressed her chin tenderly. ‘Whatever is wrong you can tell me. You know I will understand. I promise.’
Sobbing, she managed to speak.
‘I … I have received another proposal …’
‘You have what! ’
‘A-and I … I have accepted.’
Her blue eyes, usually angelic, were unexpectedly glowing with sheer trenchancy. I blinked, inhaled, surveyed the room and only after a moment realized that the gears in my brain had stopped turning. Once the words had fully sunk in, my mouth exploded in a torrent of injured abuse that flowed freely like spurts of acid.
‘You – you sharp-clawed, treacherous, little harpy!’
‘Ian! You promised you would understand!’
‘And you promised you would marry me, dear! We are not very good at keeping our word, it seems.’
‘Ian –’
‘My career and my professional reputation are possibly ruined for ever – perhaps even before the eyes of Lord Salisbury himself – and now you tell me that you have accepted another bloody man’s proposal! ’
Through the window I saw passers-by turn to peer inside, for my last sentence had been an open roar. I walked around in circles like a trapped lion, trying to control my rage.
‘Ian, you should leave,’ she said, her lip trembling.
Very soon I’d regret my shameful display, but at that moment I could not think.
‘What about your honour?’ I sputtered, not listening to her. ‘What do you think people will say about you when they hear what you have done?’
‘They will probably praise my good sense,’ she snapped. ‘Have you not just said it is you who has little honour left?’
I could take those words from anyone else, even from my father, but coming from her they were like knives.
‘Please, Ian. Go,’ she insisted.
On any other day I would have retorted, stayed and fought her until she regained her senses. My heart, however, had never felt so heavy. The preceding hours had drained my spirit and I was tired, too tired for even one more battle.
She was right in one thing: I’d better leave before I lost what little dignity I had left.
My fingers closed around the ring as I turned to the door. Before leaving the room I cast a last glance at my former sweetheart. She was holding the kitten, her eyes staring hard through the window, as if she were no longer there.
Despite my weariness, I managed to utter one last question. ‘May I at least know the name of this noble gentleman who declares his love to an already engaged woman?’
Eugenia did not reply. She simply stood still by the window, the cat in her arms.
‘On second thought … I do not want to know,’ I whispered, and then left her.
She still had another very nasty surprise reserved for me, but it would take me a while to discover it.
That very morning, oblivious of what was coming
upon me, I had had a prestigious job that kept me active and passionate, and a sweetheart who made me feel like I could fly … Overall, I’d had a bright future to think about … Yet before suppertime I had lost everything but my overblown pride.
I climbed the steps to my house and swiftly produced my keys.
‘Jesus …’ I mumbled.
The door was already unlocked; ajar, actually, allowing anybody to walk inside. I swallowed painfully and instinctively felt for my pistol, only to remember that I had unloaded the weapon in the afternoon since I was no longer on duty.
From outside it appeared that all the rooms were in darkness, so I decided to draw the gun anyway. At least I would not look defenceless.
I kicked the door open as I called in a loud voice. ‘Joan!’
No reply.
The street lamps cast weak rays of yellow light into the entrance hall, just enough to illuminate the way for two or three yards. With cautious steps, I made my slow progress into the shadows.
I stopped for a moment, while my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, and then my heart stopped as I made out the crouching figures of at least five men along the corridor.
I roared. ‘Don’t move, or else –’
Then a cold hand grabbed me by the shoulder and I heard the door slamming mightily. I turned around, my heart pounding, and pointed my gun firmly at the broad shadow of a man. I could see only a pair of small eyes fixed on me, maliciously, as the intruder spoke.
‘Come on, Frey, I know you have no bullets.’
5
I hesitated, feeling a drop of cold sweat rolling down my temple and hearing the men around me approaching. For a moment I could not believe my ears.
‘Is that … Salisbury?’
The man sighed and lit a match. The little flame revealed a bushy beard and the most piercing stare; he indeed was Britain’s prime minister. I lowered my gun immediately, utterly puzzled.
‘Yes, Frey,’ he said, lighting up the nearest oil lamp with the remainder of the match. ‘Although it is Lord Salisbury to you, my man.’
I looked around and found that the other men in the house were the guards I had seen next to him that very morning – none of them was wearing uniform.
It was bizarre beyond expression, being suddenly forced to bow low to the man who had broken into my home. ‘Of course. My apologies, but Your Lordship will surely understand my astonishment –’
‘Why, I am the astonished one. I did not expect a senior inspector to occupy such small lodgings …’ My father would have had a stroke had he heard the prime minister delivering such remarks.
‘And keeping only one servant, who finishes her duties in the middle of the afternoon!’ said another familiar voice – the last I would have expected to hear.
Walking into the light came the plump figure of Sir Charles Warren. I had to shake my head at the picture: two of the most prominent men in Britain, whom I thought would be the fiercest of enemies, were breaking into my home in a joint enterprise! The whole situation felt like an odd dream.
‘Sir Charles!’
‘We do understand how untoward this is,’ he said, ‘but we have to deal with the most urgent matter … urgent enough for us to lurk in the night like common thieves. Can we speak in private?’
I quickly examined Warren’s face. His gaze did seem worried, and Lord Salisbury’s lips were so tense that they looked like a twisted line.
‘Follow me, please,’ I said, leading the way to my small study.
The prime minister nodded at the officers and all the men remained behind. A few puzzled stares fell on me, telling me that they themselves ignored what was happening.
We entered my studio, and when I lit the desk lamp I found a note from Joan. Using preposterous spelling and nearly impenetrable dialect, she told me how the dark streets scared her out of her wits, and then apologized for leaving the house early. Surely she had read the descriptions of the last Ripper’s murder with too much attention.
I crumpled the piece of paper and threw it aside. ‘Have a seat, gentlemen.’
Sir Charles looked outside, making sure that the men were away, and then indicated that I could close the door. Both men sat in front of my desk; Warren rather let himself fall onto the chair, his legs apparently exhausted.
‘I will go straight to the point,’ Lord Salisbury began, snorting and grunting in one of my armchairs like an uncomfortable bull. ‘Sir Charles has told me that you know about the situation in Scotland. Is that correct?’
‘The murdered musician? Yes, My Lord.’
‘This is no ordinary murder. The man …’ Salisbury seemed more and more uncomfortable. ‘Do you have brandy? I decidedly need a drink.’
I drew my best bottle from a shelf and poured three measures. The PM gulped his down and shook his bulging cheeks, looking utterly invigorated.
‘At least you do keep good spirits! As I was saying, the victim was an old virtuoso in Edinburgh – Guilleum Fontaine. I understand your family is versed in music, perhaps you have heard of him.’
‘I have not,’ I admitted, ‘but perhaps my brother has.’
‘Well, there is no apparent reason for his murder,’ Sir Charles intervened. ‘The man was a widower leading a peaceful life. He had been teaching in Scotland for the last thirty years and from what I’ve heard the he was praised among his peers.’
‘But …?’
‘He was killed most viciously; throat cut open, then they ripped apart his belly and mutilated his innards.’
Lately I had become rather used to hearing such descriptions, but they still nauseated me.
‘That does sound like something the Ripper would do,’ I said.
‘Precisely,’ Sir Charles nodded with sudden vehemence. ‘It has to be some sadistic wretch that is aping the Ripper’s work. Fontaine died just hours before Many Jane Kelly; it is impossible for anyone to travel from Edinburgh to London in such a short time.’
‘Of course we have kept this in the utmost secrecy,’ Salisbury added. ‘If this case goes to the press, those fiendish journalists will feast on our flesh. Only a handful of men know the details of the murder and we cannot let it spread any further – even that damn fool Monro does not know all the particulars! As always, it takes only one man to start things before a brainless flock follows. Can you imagine what would become of the British Empire if we suddenly had a Ripper in every county? Panic! Bloody, sheer panic everywhere!’
I shuddered at the picture; the British Isles in an utter state of fear, with similarly ghastly murders committed every week all around us. No wonder they were so worried; the actual death of the man might not be crucial for them, but the context in which it had occurred made it dangerous in the extreme.
‘And you want me to investigate,’ I murmured. In fact it sounded like a very exciting assignment; one of those that can make or break a career. Unexpectedly, my heartbeat quickened in anticipation, but the thrill would not last.
‘Indeed,’ said the prime minister. ‘I remembered your name this morning, as you probably noticed. The reports of your pursuit of that blasted black widow made most amusing reading on Sunday mornings.’
No wonder. The case of Good Mary Brown had hit the papers as one of the most spectacular arrests in recent years. The woman had lived in five counties, from Lincolnshire to Devonshire, using a different name with each new husband she decided to poison. Gathering sufficient evidence to prosecute her had cost me blood, sweat and tears.
‘I need one of our best men up there,’ Lord Salisbury continued, ‘but with the Ripper case at its worst, the CID cannot spare any big name without causing suspicion. Monro’s dislike of you provided me with the perfect alibi; nobody in London will suspect of you being transferred to Scotland in an official capacity – not after Sir Charles, your mentor and Monro’s arch-enemy, has resigned.’
I noticed Sir Charles squinting at the coldness with which the end of his career was being discussed. The prime minister was undoubtedly very good at
scheming.
I savoured a sip of brandy. ‘I presume we will have to craft some excuse for my presence in Edinburgh.’
‘We already have,’ said Sir Charles. ‘You will assist a new special subdivision led by Inspector McGray.’
I arched an eyebrow. ‘I had not heard of new subdivisions being created.’
‘This is a particular case,’ said Lord Salisbury. ‘Inspector McGray has championed the creation of a team devoted to investigating … erm … apparitions.’
There was an uncomfortable silence in the room.
‘Apparitions,’ I repeated. ‘Do you mean apparitions … as in –?’
‘Apparitions as in apparitions!’ Salisbury spluttered, with a slight colouring in his cheeks. ‘Ghosts, goblins, witches … that kind of thing. We are using McGray’s new subdivision – in fact, we are creating it – as a smokescreen. Assigning the case to such a … bizarre agent will keep the eyes of the “respectable” reporters safely away.’
It took me a moment to recollect what he’d said. It sounded incredibly foolish … but that was precisely what would make it work.
‘If that is where we stand …’ I said, my mind swiftly analysing the circumstances, ‘to the rest of the world I would just be going to Edinburgh in absolute dishonour after being downgraded by Commissioner Monro … Am I correct?’
Sir Charles sighed heavily and Lord Salisbury replied in a monotone. ‘That is correct, Frey. Officially, we never came to see you, it was Monro alone who decided you were to go to Scotland, and you were more than willing to take on the assignment rather than being permanently dismissed.’
My chest felt like it was boiling. I had a flashing memory of my father’s endless ranting against the Scots. I could almost see him, his mouth covered in crumbs, spitting pieces of buttered bread and yelling ‘Edin-bloody-burgh!’
‘I hope I have been clear enough,’ Salisbury said, ‘and I certainly hope you understand the seriousness of the situation. I have assigned Sir Charles to monitor your progress, since he will have the free time; you will keep in constant communication with him and report any advances as the case develops. Also, I will have Monro send you all the “official” paperwork dealing with your transfer. I will leave you now to arrange the details between yourselves.’ As he stood up, Sir Charles and I jumped from our seats. ‘Leave the formalities for quieter days, gentlemen, I know the way out.’ He opened the door, but before leaving he cast me one last stabbing stare. ‘Do not disappoint us, Frey. I had a tête-à-tête with Her Majesty today and she is utterly distressed!’
The Strings of Murder Page 4