‘You’re sure he knows something?’
‘I can tell you how to find out for sure . . .’
Tanner had stopped listening. He was hovering over Mr Reeve’s desk, reading the article. It listed the addresses where the bodies had been found. He didn’t need to check his list to know they were the ones he had given to Jack. This was Jack’s solution – not persuading ghosts, but creating them. Sam had been right. Tanner had put his lot in with a bad man and now terrible things were happening. People were being killed and it was Tanner’s fault. Tanner turned to Ether Dust and flew through the wall into the pub. So intense was his anger and guilt that he knocked a freshly poured pint of ale clean off the bar as he whooshed past, sending it smashing onto the wooden floor.
57
Poor Mrs Preston
Since the appearance of the dead girl in the kitchen, Aysgarth House had been a very different place to live. Gone was the air of levity. In its place, an unpleasant tension lingered. Obsessed with moving house, Mrs Tiltman had grown increasingly frustrated with her husband’s attempts to pretend that everything was fine.
‘Whatever happened to that article you were writing about that man Fallowfield, Clara?’ asked Mr Tiltman, from behind his newspaper.
‘I’m still working on it,’ replied Clara.
‘Well, you’d better get a move on. It looks as if the old fraud’s about to go public.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Mrs Tiltman coldly.
‘This advertisement says there’s to be a public exorcism at Drury Lane Theatre. It mentions Fallowfield’s name,’ he said. ‘It says the place has been haunted for years.’
‘The Man in Grey,’ said Clara, remembering what the doorman had said.
‘I’m impressed,’ said her father. ‘You have been researching the subject.’
‘So he’s putting on a show?’ asked Clara.
‘Fallowfield is inviting sceptics to come and debunk his show. The gall of the man. He’s throwing down the gauntlet. You know how much I like a good gauntlet-throwing. Let’s go.’ Mr Tiltman’s eyes sparkled with childlike excitement.
‘No. I forbid it,’ said Mrs Tiltman.
‘Forbid?’ replied Mr Tiltman, catching Clara’s eye.
‘You think the two of you can go down and poke fun at the whole thing, but no, I won’t allow you to take Clara, not at night. No,’ stated Mrs Tiltman, folding her arms defiantly.
‘She’ll be with me,’ said her husband. ‘London is no less safe than it ever was.’
‘No less safe?’ exclaimed Mrs Tiltman. ‘How can you say that with this killer roaming the streets?’
‘Darling, please keep your voice down.’ Mr Tiltman spoke sternly. ‘Mrs Preston will hear.’
‘Mrs Preston?’ pronounced Mrs Tiltman. ‘What about me? I can barely stand to leave the house these days. I can’t sleep. I’m scared to step outside. I’m scared to stay in. I will not have you taking Clara out at night while this monster is out there.’
Mr Tiltman sighed. ‘It was an unfortunate incident and that is all.’
‘A burst pipe or the stubbing of a toe is an unfortunate incident,’ countered Mrs Tiltman. ‘This is something else. How long must you keep us here, living in abject fear?’
‘If you are worried, take a holiday. Take Clara to visit your aunt. The country air will do you good.’
‘No, we need to move, George. All of us. We need to get out of the city.’
‘I don’t want to go,’ said Clara.
‘The decision is not yours,’ snapped her mother.
‘He doesn’t want to leave either,’ replied Clara.
‘You will not speak to me that way,’ said Mrs Tiltman.
‘I don’t think we should be hasty in reacting to this. It was a terrible shock for us all,’ said Mr Tiltman.
‘Yes it was,’ shrieked Mrs Tiltman. ‘Finding that poor murdered girl in a pool of blood. It was a shock.’
With her back to the kitchen door, Mrs Tiltman couldn’t see Hopkins standing in the doorway, holding a tray. Behind him in the kitchen Mrs Preston burst into tears.
‘Are you happy now?’ asked Mr Tiltman.
‘Happy?’ replied Mrs Tiltman, who was also crying. ‘No, I’m very far from happy.’
‘That poor woman has been through enough,’ said Mr Tiltman.
‘Can’t you see? It’s not just about her. The body was found in our house. Ours. We have been invaded by this horror. Can’t you see that? Our house is stained with that girl’s blood.’ Mrs Tiltman stood up, knocking over her chair, and fled the room.
‘Darling,’ pleaded her husband, following her out.
Hopkins said, ‘I had better see to Mrs Preston, Miss.’
‘Yes,’ replied Clara.
Eventually everyone calmed down and dinner was brought and consumed in a frosty, reserved atmosphere. Afterwards Clara went to her room.
‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ she said, unsure where to look. ‘It’s your ghost. You’re the girl that was dragged in here, aren’t you? You made my theatre move. Do it again, show me you’re here.’
Nothing happened.
‘Please. I want to help.’
Still nothing.
Clara wasn’t to know that Emily’s ghost was downstairs in the kitchen, standing next to Hopkins, trying her best to comfort Mrs Preston.
58
The Return of Inspector Savage
Sam was helping his father when there was a knock on the workshop door. Mr Toop looked up from the piece of wood he was planing. ‘Yes?’ he called.
The door opened and Mr Constable appeared. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Mr Toop,’ he said. ‘This gentleman would like a word.’
Behind him stood the man with the pockmarked face.
‘Inspector Savage,’ said Mr Toop.
Sam could tell his father was spooked by the policeman’s return.
‘Charlie Toop,’ said Inspector Savage.
‘I prefer Charles.’
‘I prefer Charlie. As in Charlie and Jack.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Sam’s father sounded flustered.
‘I think you do,’ said Inspector Savage.
‘If you have something to say, I’d appreciate you coming out and saying it.’ Mr Toop spoke angrily. ‘As you can see I have no corpses for you to flavour today, Inspector.’
‘I’d be careful with your jokes, Mr Toop. I’m here to discuss your brother. We have reason to believe he’s back in London up to his old tricks. I’d like to know everything you know.’
‘I already told you—’
‘That you have no brother? Yes, you did say that and I do not appreciate being lied to.’ Inspector Savage’s manner was calm but assertive. ‘You are Charlie Toop. You grew up in the district of Whitechapel with your brother Jack. Your brother is guilty of murder, and if you are found to be protecting him the law will see you swing for your part in this unsavoury business.’
‘Father—’ began Sam.
‘Sam, please leave this to me,’ snapped Mr Toop. He turned to Inspector Savage. ‘We parted ways many years ago. We chose different paths, Jack and I, so when I said I didn’t have a brother I meant I didn’t have a brother any more.’
‘No,’ said Inspector Savage. ‘You lied to me, Mr Toop, but that’s going to stop now.’
Mr Toop said nothing.
‘I can make life very difficult for you if I want,’ said Inspector Savage. ‘I can start asking questions that haven’t been asked for some time, investigating things that haven’t been investigated, if you get my drift. Or you can co-operate and let me know everything you know.’
Mr Toop looked at his son, then back at Inspector Savage. ‘Not here,’ he said. ‘We’ll speak upstairs.’
Inspector Savage nodded.
‘Sam, finish off this coffin,’ said Mr Toop. ‘I won’t be long.’ He led Savage up the staircase.
Sam turned to Mr Constable, but Mr Constable turned away and muttered, ‘Best do as
your father says,’ and allowed the door to swing shut behind him.
59
A French Intrusion
Tanner lingered in the air as Ether Dust, mixing with the smog and the fog and the stinking tobacco smoke that polluted London’s air. Jack stood in the shadowy alleyway. Tanner swirled around his body, seeing now the stains on his grubby black frock-coat. The blood of his victims. Jack rubbed his hands together to warm them. His fingerless gloves revealed stubby fingers with blackened filth around the edge of the nails. In its leather sheath was the blade he had used to cut his victims’ throats. In his pockets were a few coins they had been carrying, taken as souvenirs of their murders.
What kind of man chose murder when there were other options available? Tanner thought about that poor girl in the attic window. Now, he understood the look in her eyes. Not the sadness of a ghost imprisoned, but the bewilderment of a girl whose life had been taken for reasons far beyond her own understanding.
‘Come on out,’ snarled Jack. ‘I know you’re ’ere. I can smell you lot out. Death has its own stench, don’t it.’
Tanner materialised in front of him, his fists clenched, his eyes burning with dark anger.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ asked Jack.
‘I know what you’re doing,’ replied Tanner.
‘What? Talking to you?’
‘You’re killing people.’
Jack shrugged. ‘What d’you care? I’m getting you ghosts, ain’t I?’
‘I never asked for murder.’
‘You asked for help and that’s what you’re gettin’.’
‘Help as a Talker.’
‘Talk? Who wants to talk to a whining ghost? You expect me to persuade and negotiate when there’s short cuts available?’ Jack pulled his knife out and jabbed it through Tanner’s chest.
In spite of himself Tanner flinched.
‘Anyway, I’m only killin’ them with no lives,’ said Jack. ‘Drunks, urchins, whores. They should ’ang a medal on my chest. I’m cleanin’ up London.’
‘They’re calling you the Kitchen Killer,’ replied Tanner.
Jack smirked. ‘Jack Toop, the Kitchen Killer,’ he said with a wistful smile. ‘Yes, that’ll do.’
‘They’re closing in on you, Jack. The police have your name. Reeve told them you killed that copper.’
‘Did he?’ breathed Jack. ‘He’ll live to regret giving me up, he will. Then he’ll die to regret it too. Give us another of your addresses and I’ll drag his body inside. That way I can go visit his ghost and he can watch as I take over his empire.’
‘I will not be a part of this,’ said Tanner.
‘Suit yourself. You’ve served your purpose now. I had my suspicions that it was him but I had to know for sure. Reeve’s goin’ to get what’s coming to him. I want him to look into my eyes while the blood drains from his body.’
‘I hope they catch you.’
‘Don’t be like that,’ said Jack mockingly. ‘You should be proud of yourself. You’re the first ghost that ever proved useful.’
Jack stepped into the street and was swiftly gone in amongst the crowds. Tanner thought about the five lives ended because of him. The dead liked to speak of being ghost-born to make it sound more pleasant, but Tanner knew that nothing could sweeten the violence of death. He remembered his own. He didn’t know the name of the sickness that killed him, but the pain of death lingered on in his memory. Nothing that could happen in life hurt like the feeling of having it torn away. Refusing the Unseen Door and remaining a ghost was to retain the memory of that pain forever. That was why the pull of the door was so hard to resist; it promised to wipe away that pain.
Tanner turned. Something had caught his eye.
‘Who’s there?’ he called.
A ghost materialised. He was a well-dressed man, with a thin moustache, and greasy slicked-back hair. He smiled.
‘What do you want?’ asked Tanner.
‘Bonjour,’ said the man.
‘Eh?’
‘Typical ignorant English ghost,’ said the ghost.
Tanner didn’t like the way he looked at him. He began to turn to Ether Dust but felt two cold metallic hands suddenly clamp around his wrists, preventing him from escaping. ‘What you playing at?’ he demanded.
‘I am not here to play, Monsieur Tanner,’ replied the man. ‘I am here to work.’
60
Always Alice
The past few weeks had changed Lapsewood. After a lifetime, and subsequently a deathtime, of treading the careful path of conformity, he had finally been set free. He had walked amongst the living as a ghost, acted upon his own initiative, been thrown into, then broken out of prison. He had even found his way into the Central Records Library without being caught. If ghosts had reflections his would have looked very different now as he walked purposefully along the corridor with the Marquis by his side. Moving around the Bureau as an escaped convict was surprisingly easy. With the exception of restricted areas, no one asked for their papers. Of course, it did help that no one knew they were missing.
They stopped in front of an entrance to the Paternoster Pipe.
‘Thank you,’ said Lapsewood, grasping the Marquis’ hand. ‘You have been a great help.’
‘Spoken with such finality,’ replied the Marquis.
‘The danger in which I must now put myself is for me alone and there will be no need for distractions. You can take the Pipe to the exit and find exile in the physical world.’
‘A very good speech and I will reluctantly agree to this parting,’ replied the Marquis. ‘But I will save my final oration for the moment we are reunited.’
Lapsewood smiled. ‘I must go to speak with Alice. It’s likely I’ll be rearrested.’
‘Then don’t do it,’ urged the Marquis. ‘Find another way.’
‘No, this is the only way,’ said Lapsewood. ‘If I’m the only one investigating the Black Rot, why did Alice get that list out of the CRL? No, something is going on.’
‘I can see you are determined to walk this path alone,’ said the Marquis. ‘So, with a heavy heart, I wish you good luck and goodbye.’
The two men shook hands then turned to Ether Dust slowly so that, for a moment, all that remained were two hands clasped together. Then they flew into the Paternoster Pipe and parted ways. The distaste Lapsewood had always felt for the Paternoster Pipe Network did not seem relevant any more. He no longer felt the need to pretend he was still alive. Walking the streets of London unseen by the crowds of living people had made him realise he shouldn’t be ashamed about being dead. The dead had as much of a role to play as the living. They had as much right to their existence. The physical world may have been home to the living, but it was the legacy of the dead.
Lapsewood materialised on the twenty-fifth floor and once more laid eyes on the unmatched beauty of Alice Biggins. She was sitting behind her desk, looking as beautiful as ever. She stared at him. He stared back. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she uttered, ‘How can you be—’
He raised a finger to his lips, cutting her off mid-flow.
‘Is he in there?’ he asked, pointing to Penhaligan’s office door.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
He had forgotten how that voice made him feel, as though all his energy had been sucked out and replaced with a soft, sweet contented mush.
‘I saw that you were arrested. Have you been released?’ she asked.
‘Sort of,’ replied Lapsewood.
‘I didn’t like the idea of you being stuck down there,’ said Alice. ‘Is it as awful as they say?’
‘I’m here about the list,’ he replied.
‘The list?’
‘The London Tenancy List.’
‘Oh, that. Why do you care about that?’
‘Where is it now?’
‘He wanted it, didn’t he?’ She pointed to Colonel Penhaligan’s door.
‘How did you get hold of it so quickly?’
‘Quickly?’
exclaimed Alice. ‘It took me weeks to get that.’
‘Weeks? When did you take it out?’
‘I don’t know. A month ago?’ she replied. ‘I think he gave to Monsieur Vidocq.’
‘Vidocq?’
‘That’s right. The Prowler. French, nice moustache.’
‘Yes,’ replied Lapsewood irritably. ‘I remember him. Why would Penhaligan give the list to him?’
‘Don’t ask me. He doesn’t tell me anything. Oh, Lapsewood, it is nice to see you.’
‘You’ve . . . You’ve missed me?’ Lapsewood felt wrong-footed.
‘Oh yes. The way Mr Grunt dabbed his neck all the time made me feel awful queasy. But he’s gone now too, hasn’t he?’
‘Has he?’
‘Yes, the last time I saw him I told him about you being in the Vault. I haven’t seen him since.’
‘And what about Vidocq? Where is he now?’
‘Out in the physical world, I suppose. No idea where, though. You know what it’s like with Prowlers. Everything’s all so secretive, isn’t it?’
‘I’m going in to see him.’ Lapsewood looked at Penhaligan’s door. That door had filled him with so much dread before. Now, it was just one more obstacle.
‘You haven’t got an appointment. You know what he’s like about unscheduled interruptions.’
‘The time for appointments is over,’ said Lapsewood.
61
Emily’s Play
It was when Emily thought about her mother that she first made Clara’s toy theatre move. As the pain of losing her filled Emily’s body, she saw the paper actor twitch. A few more experiments and she realised she could maniplate it whenever she felt strong emotions. The trick was to feel the emotion without getting dragged down by her spiralling self-destructive thoughts.
Constable & Toop Page 19