The London Vampire Panic

by Michael Romkey

  "Yes, sir. But the pathologist at the morgue was unable to find any sign of injury whatsoever. Right mystified by that, he was. Perhaps Dr. Blackley has a remark or two to add on Fannie Turner's case. He examined her body in the park."

  I cleared my throat and drew myself up in the attempt to conceal the fact that my bowels were about to let go with fear. The vampire had already brushed my life, and I had not even known it! It was enough to make me forget all about the beastly way the police treated the Indian boy they suspected of having been involved in the crime.

  "I briefly examined the body before it was taken away from Hyde Park. I remember being particularly puzzled. The girl appeared to be extremely anemic. Her lips and fingertips were blue, there was a slight puckering, and the skin was fallen in against her face, as if she'd lost a great deal of blood. I could find no evidence of a wound, however. It never occurred to me the girl had been killed by a…" I listened to my voice trail off. "To be perfectly honest, gentlemen, until only recently I had never heard that there was such a creature as a…"

  "Vampire," Dr. Van Helsing said, finishing the sentence for me when my voice again trailed off. "Fannie Turner was killed by a vampire."

  "Yes, I suppose she may have been," I said, feeling the perfect ass. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cotswold make an impatient gesture. To blazes with him, I thought. I knew what I had seen—at least I did now.

  "It was a month before the killer struck again," Palmer said. "His third victim was Lady Margaret Burke, whose residence is on the other side of Grosvenor Square from Moore House and Sir Richard's residence."

  "Good God, man!" Lucian exclaimed. His outburst was the only thing that prevented me from expressing my own bitter shock.

  "Steady on now, Captain," Mr. Disraeli said. "She was an acquaintance of mine, too, but it is important we hear the facts. Out with the grim details, Chief Inspector," the Prime Minister ordered, glancing from Lucian to the policeman and back. "Spare us nothing."

  I took a sideways step toward Lucian and put my hand on his shoulder. We had all felt the blow when Margaret died, but to learn she had been murdered by the vampire—we were both devastated. I wondered if Bertie knew the real cause of her death, which had been attributed to stroke. Probably not, I thought, or he would have reacted differently to the references to vampires the night we went to the Hellfire Club after the opera. My eyes and Dizzy's met, and I knew in that brief electric moment this was the P.M.'s ultimate concern in the matter. Lady Margaret Burke had been, at the time of her death, the Prince of Wales's mistress.

  "Lady Burke was thirty-two, older than the first two victims," Palmer said. "She was found dead in her bed when a maid came to wake her the morning of December fifteenth. There was no sign she had been…" The policeman glanced at the priest's collar but pressed on. "There was no sign Lady Burke had been molested in any way. The other particulars were similar to the way it was with Annie Howard. The maid who found her thought Miss Burke had two punctures on the neck, but there was no sign of them by the time the doctor arrived. Her skin had the same white, bloodless appearance. When they opened her up at the morgue—"

  "They found no blood," the Prime Minister interrupted with a wave of the hand, looking a bit bloodless himself as he indicated to Palmer that he need furnish no additional details concerning the postmortem.

  "Correct, sir," Palmer said, and obligingly proceeded to the next victim. "The killer did not strike again until New Year's Day. This time he went on a spree, killing three women. Miriam Agar, seventeen, a servant in Lord Humphrey's household on Grosvenor Square, had been dispatched on an errand. Sir Robert Swan was taking his evening constitutional when he spotted her crumpled body in the mews. The killer had been unusually savage. She'd been drained of her blood like the others, but her throat had been torn to shreds."

  "This time the wound failed to miraculously heal itself?" Cotswold asked, his tone arch.

  "Yes, sir, it did not heal."

  "There can be no healing once the damage to the flesh reaches a certain magnitude," Dr. Van Helsing advised us. "The abuse heaped on the unfortunate Miss Agar indicates the vampire has learned to enjoy killing. The vampire, you see, derives orgiastic pleasure from drinking the blood needed to keep his own lifeless corpse animated. He has abandoned himself to his perverse revels."

  The old priest gasped, but Palmer paid him no mind and plunged on.

  "A match girl, Eliza Cole, thirteen, was killed the same night near Charing Cross. A constable frightened off the monster before he could drain her as completely as the others, but the poor girl died on the way to hospital."

  "Then he's striking out beyond Mayfair," Lucian said. "The vampire is enlarging his hunting territory."

  "So it would seem," Palmer agreed. "The third victim that night was Mary O'Connor, age twenty, a seamstress and occasional prostitute. Begging your pardon. Reverend Clarkson, but in this case the woman was outraged by her killer."

  The priest, face red and eyes bulging, seemed about to explode.

  "How is it possible to draw such a conclusion, Detective?" Lord Shaftbury, who had been listening to the proceedings intently, asked. "Considering that it is her profession to have carnal relations with men, how can you tell she was raped?"

  "She had been violated with an unmistakable savagery," Palmer replied. "She might have bled to death from the damage, had she had any blood left to lose. The pathologist believes some of the damage was done after she was already dead."

  "The fiend," Lucian muttered.

  The policeman snapped his notebook shut and slipped it back into his pocket. His testimony was finished.

  "How much of this do people know?" Dizzy asked, turning to the Home Secretary.

  "We have kept it out of the papers, but not without having to use a certain amount of influence. The editor of the Pall Mall Gazette will need something to help sell papers when the time comes. I had to threaten to shut down his newspaper if he published a story about Mary O'Connor."

  "The common people are starting to talk," Lord Shaftbury said. "It is impossible to keep news about this sort of thing from spreading."

  "We instruct the witnesses to keep quiet, but the temptation to tell a friend or neighbor what you know about something as sensational as a murder is too much for most to resist," Palmer said.

  "If the loss of public order is considerable," Dizzy said, "there are those who would use the situation to advance their own political ends, to bring down the government, even to bring down the monarchy, if they could manage it. You have not been here long enough to know it, Professor Cotswold, but London is filled with communists, anarchists, levelers. We live in a social tinderbox waiting to catch fire. Why, consider the chaos in France earlier in this century."

  "We have our eye on the usual troublemakers," Cross said with a scowl.

  "There will be panic in the streets if this gets out of hand," Dizzy said. "Britain is the greatest empire on earth. I will not—" He rapped his cane on the floor for emphasis. "—allow it to happen on my watch."

  "Hear hear," Lucian said low in his throat, moved by the Prime Minister's determination to stand fast.

  "Which brings us back around to you gentlemen," Dizzy said. "I am empaneling a secret committee to investigate and bring this to a halt as quickly and quietly as is possible. Captain Lucian, I am sure that I can count on you."

  "I am at your service, Mr. Prime Minister."

  "Mr. Cross, your services are required elsewhere, and I gather your scientific skepticism, as you call it, has gotten the better of you."

  "There is no such thing as a vampire," Cross said and made a sour face at Disraeli.

  "Very well, then," Dizzy said, dismissing him. "Lord Shaftbury, I want you to serve as group chairman. You will be my personal eyes and ears on the committee."

  "As you wish, Mr. Prime Minister," he said and bowed.

  "Mr. Darwin?"

  "I must plead age and infirmity, Mr. Disraeli. I am certain you understand."

&nb
sp; "Only too well. The only thing worse than old age is the one thing that cures it. Would you be so good as to consult with the committee?"

  "Night or day, whenever it needs me. Professor Cotswold is a far better man than I to look at the science side of this," Darwin said.

  "Then can I count on your assistance, Professor Cotswold? I realize you are not one of Her Majesty's subjects, but justice knows no borders."

  "I am not sure you really want my participation," Cotswold answered. "I am completely with Mr. Cross. I do not believe in ghosts, bogeymen, or vampires."

  "But you will help us?"

  "Only to prove that vampires are bunkum."

  "An end to the killings is all I require, Professor Cotswold. In this matter the truth is of secondary importance to me. I will be satisfied with whatever the committee determines is the cause of these grim crimes, be it a vampire or merely a human vermin.

  "C.I. Palmer, you will continue to head up the official part of the investigation."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Dr. Van Helsing?"

  "But I have already volunteered my services to you, Mr. Disraeli. I have devoted my life to exterminating these creatures. Wherever they go, I go. Granted the proper resources, I promise you I will find and destroy the creature terrorizing London."

  "Reverend Clarkson, that brings us 'round to you."

  The clergyman looked back at Disraeli with startled eyes.

  "It is important to me personally, and to the Archbishop, to have the Church involved," Dizzy said. "If science can explain the vampire to us, then well enough, but the explanation needs to be tempered to take the Almighty into consideration. Messrs. Darwin and Cotswold might disagree, but it has always been my contention that the real purpose of science is to help us understand God and His creation, not pose false proofs that He does not exist."

  Reverend Clarkson nodded agreement, and in the next moment realized he had been tricked into seeming to agree to become a member of a committee he didn't want to have anything more to do with than did I. It would be embarrassing indeed for him to extricate himself now, and Dizzy, the old fox, knew it.

  "Dr. Blackley?"

  The finger of fate was pointed at last in my direction.

  "What benefit could I possibly add to so distinguished a panel, Mr. Prime Minister?" I dissembled. "I am a simple physician, not a distinguished expert like these other gentlemen."

  "We'll have none of your false modesty, Doctor. The merits of having a physician close at hand are prima facie obvious. You also have the trust of people in the highest of places, Dr. Blackley," Dizzy said, by which we all knew he meant Buckingham Palace. "That makes you exactly the right person to help deal with a sensitive problem that has touched the highest level of British society."

  "In that case, it would be an honor to serve on your committee, sir," I said, smiling as I lied.

  "How do you plan to proceed?" Dizzy asked, turning to the Hungarian. "The tactical lead in this matter is yours at this point. Dr. Van Helsing."

  "If we are to stop the epidemic from spreading, the graves of the victims must be opened and stakes driven through their hearts to ensure that they do not rise as vampires."

  I found myself exchanging a look of shock with Clarkson in his dog's collar.

  "The desecration of Christian women's graves is more than I can allow," Reverend Clarkson said.

  "Is it not better to ensure that they do not rise up from their graves with the night to go forth as living corpses, claiming the lives of more innocents, condemning more souls to eternal damnation?"

  The priest had no answer to that.

  "Bear in mind that epidemics of vampirism spread exponentially, just as with smallpox," Dr. Van Helsing said. "One person infects two, the two infect four, the four infect sixteen, ad infinitum. The virulence literally explodes through the population if left unchecked."

  "I'm in favor of doing as Van Helsing says," Cotswold said.

  "You surprise me, Professor," the Prime Minister said. "I thought you had agreed to play the role of skeptic."

  "I have, and I promise I will," the Yank said with a mirthless smile. "If we examine the corpses and find the tissue is intact and supple, if we discover no signs of decomposition, I'll admit there may be something to Van Helsing's outrageous claims. But if the bodies are fetid and rotting, then I will be able to say we have evidence that this vampire business is nothing more than hysteria."

  "Reverend Clarkson, do we have your permission to proceed?" the Prime Minister said, turning the full force of his charm toward the clergyman, as if the decision were up to him instead of Disraeli.

  "I hardly know what to make of this business," the priest stammered.

  "Nor do I," Dizzy said. "Aristotle reminds us knowledge flows from experience and observation. But without faith to guide us, knowledge is a ship without a rudder. Do we have your leave to go forward with Dr. Van Helsing's direction? Will you agree to provide the rudder to Dr. Van Helsing's considerable knowledge in this dark matter?"

  The priest swallowed dryly, then nodded.

  "Tomorrow you will learn that my methods are correct as well as effective," Dr. Van Helsing said, walking to the window and looking out at the gathering darkness. "But for now night is falling. Soon the vampires will rise from their graves. Nightfall is the most dangerous time. The creatures are ravenous when they first wake. We must wait until the morrow, when the vampires will have returned to their coffins to sleep. That is when we begin our work."

  * * *

  7

  Postmortem

  I WAS DRESSING for dinner when Algae called on me a second time that day.

  "There's been another murder," Algae said breathlessly before my servant Roberts had gotten halfway out of the room.

  I shot Algae a furious look. One didn't involve one's servants in such matters. Roberts, for his part, did his usual job of pretending not to hear. Lord knows he'd turned a deaf ear on some frightfully private utterances during the time he'd been in my employ.

  When Roberts had closed the door behind him, I asked Algae if the vampire had struck again.

  Algae swallowed hard and nodded. "A young lady, sir. Her body was found just this afternoon in Mayfair. The body has been taken to St. Alban's. The Chief wants you to have a look at her posthaste."

  I promised to attend to the matter directly and dismissed Algae.

  Straightaway I dashed off a note to the lovely barrister's wife I had intended to take to the opera that night while her husband was away, arguing a case in Portsmouth. In my apology I promised to come to tea one day next week—she knew what that meant—and sealed it in an envelope with a kiss before asking John, my porter, to deliver it.

  As a young doctor I had learned the wisdom of keeping victuals close at hand, for one never knew when it would be impossible to sit down to a decent meal. I told Roberts to have the carriage brought around and went into the kitchen to help myself to a sandwich of bread and salami. I uncorked a bottle of Madeira and threw back a quick glass as I chewed my supper, sticking an apple in my coat pocket to eat on the drive.

  St. Alban's was north of Grosvenor Square on the far side of Tiburn Road. In 1880 it was London's newest and most fashionable hospital. My first thought was that the body had been taken there instead of the city morgue for proximity's sake. It later occurred to me that Dizzy, or perhaps Cross, had ordered it as a way of disguising the fact that the vampire had struck again.

  My initial sense of dread had attenuated somewhat by the time I arrived at the hospital, giving way to the Madeira and a certain medical curiosity. I had been too naive during my first encounter with the victim of a vampire to pay sufficient attention to the strange nature of its handiwork. I wanted to observe the inexplicable rapidity with which the vampire's bites allegedly repaired themselves.

  Cotswold was waiting in the hospital lobby. With him were Lucian, Palmer, and Dr. Van Helsing, whose experience and bravery as a vampire hunter we were all depending upon. Algae had already inf
ormed me that Lord Shaftbury was at a dinner at the Russian Embassy and unable to join us.

  "The Reverend Clarkson left word he was going to evensong, but we were unable to find him. He must have stopped at a tavern for something to eat."

  Which was lucky for him. I'd have wagered a crown that the parson would have been unable to have a late dinner afterward. Maybe not even breakfast the next day. Palmer would bear up well enough. Observing autopsies was a familiar part of his professional repertoire. Dr. Van Helsing was undoubtedly experienced in the arts of vivisection, but I suspected Lucian would have a hard time of it. As for Professor Cotswold, I was entirely prepared to see the cocksure Yank make an embarrassment of himself.

  The morgue at St. Alban's was in the basement. Indeed, I have never been in a hospital where it wasn't. The examining room was walled in white tile and looked as if it had been washed down and made neat and tidy for our visit, the scales and instruments gleaming. Thomas, the attendant in charge, was an unusually diligent young man. He had worked previously at the city morgue—a mossy, fetid, crowded chamber of horrors. Perhaps that is why Thomas seemed especially intent on keeping the St. Alban's morgue a pristine contrast to the abhorrent municipal corpse locker.

  Thomas rolled a single gurney in from the cold room.

  My witnesses stood against the far wall, grouped shoulder-to-shoulder in a grim-faced queue, every bit of their attention focused on the draped figure on the cart. Palmer looked relaxed, perhaps even bored. The others might have been facing a firing squad.

  Beneath the cotton sheet was the outline of a slight female figure. Thomas took the shoulders, I the heels, and we transferred the covered body onto the marble dissection table. I removed my coat and jacket and hung them in the wardrobe.

  "How long has she been dead?"

  "She was last seen alive yesterday evening. The body was not discovered until late today. She was thought to have gone out visiting. She was in her room in the attic all along."

  Lucian shuffled his feet and looked up into a far corner. For an officer, the poor lad had little acquaintance with death, I thought, knowing his education was about to commence in earnest.