hatter

by Mark wells

  ‘Mr McAlister, I thought I would be getting a visit from you. Please be seated’. He looked at me over the top of his half glasses, and waited for me to speak.

  ‘Are you aware of Jason Crane’s death’?

  ‘I am, aware of it. It was in the early papers and I am not at all shocked by it’.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ I could feel my anger starting to rise.

  ‘That is my business’.

  ‘You had better explain yourself sir’.

  ‘Well I will say this, at least now; I will not have to pay his gambling debts, anymore’.

  ‘You lie’.

  ‘I assure you sir, I do not’. He then produced receipts for money he had paid out, which he threw across the desk. I read with dismay, the losses he had made.

  ‘Was he still solvent?’

  ‘I would not be doing my job, if he were not’. The smug look on his face, said it all. ‘You know what people say about absolute power, corrupting absolutely’, he said. For the very first time in our long, but difficult business relationship, my tail was between my legs, and I felt small next to this most despicable of men.

  ‘By the way. Stop having me followed. It is no surprise, that I drink too much alcohol. I am here at four thirty in the morning, and leave at eight o’clock at night. My poor wife never sees me at all’.

  ‘I was not aware that you were even married’

  ‘Did you ever ask?

  ‘No, and please forgive me for that. Have you any children?’

  ‘Yes, I have two sons, William, and Peter, twins of nine years old. I have missed so much of their lives already. That is why I will not take any more work. Somebody else will have to take care of Jason Crane’s affairs’.

  The enmity I felt for this man, went in an instant. For the very first time I felt warmth for this man, now I knew he was married with children. ‘Please forgive me for the wrong I thought of you these past years. If there is any way I can placate this wrong, I will’.

  ‘Firstly there is no need to have me followed.

  Secondly I have always wanted to fish with the fly, but have never had the time to learn’.

  ‘Very well! We will arrange this, for the New Year, when the last ice has gone. Bring your family as well’.

  ‘I would like that very much’.

  Was this, a most unlikely friendship being formed, time would tell, I thought. ‘Is there any more you can tell me about Jason? If there is, then I should know, before my next visit to Sir Richard Mayne’s office, for he will certainly want to question you, about Jason’s affairs’.

  ‘No there is nothing more that I can tell you’.

  I could have stayed longer, for I now wanted to know more about his life, but I had another place to go that day. I made my way out of his office, and the cold damp air of London made me cough. I thought of Charlotte on her way home to, Braebourne, and a tear came to my eye, which was quickly wiped away. I decided to clear my mind by walking a while, knowing that I was safe during daylight hours. I then proceeded to the nearest coffee shop. Many of which had seemed to spring up lately, and were places that most information could be gleaned, from those gathered, mostly of a business nature, and I needed a touch of something else to occupy my mind, for a short while at least. The orange coffee house on Pimlico road was my favourite, so I made my way there trying to block Richard, and Jason, from my mind, but they were ever present. The aroma of cigar, and cigarette smoke filled the air, as I sat down to the sound of a coffee cup, falling to the floor, the ensemble turned, and then the usual chatter recommenced. I pulled a packet of Sweet Threes from my pocket, and lit one of these new cigarettes things, that seemed to be the in thing at the moment. The smoke made my head spin, but these were strong cigarettes. A cup of coffee costing one penny was soon in my hands, hot and black, like mud with a slightly nutty aroma. No sooner had I taken the first sip when a gentleman, that I had not seen before came to my table. He took a silver case from his pocket, and placed a business card on the table. I looked at the name on the card, but the name Robert William Thompson, was one I had not heard before. I thought that he was a bit of a chancer, but I was in need of conversation, of a diverse nature. I asked him to be seated, and we spoke of his ideas, at length. His head was unmistakably in the future of transportation. I explained to him, that I dealt in commodities, and not inventions, but I found his ideas to be of a sound nature, so therefore I would discuss them at Cheyne Walk, the following week on Wednesday, at two thirty. This jolt back to business was what was needed, for life still had to soldier on, with no matter about what was happening elsewhere. By the time he had finished speaking, I was aware of his health problems, family life, and background. Not the informed information I was looking for, but information, of any kind, could be an ally. I bade the man farewell, till the next week. As I rose to depart, having drained the last of the thick black coffee, a heated metaphysical discussion, had started at the back, and would clearly escalate. This was one of my personal beliefs, which had always worked for me, so I joined the argument at the point they were discussing the ‘Law of attraction’. It took me a long while to try to explain to them of its workings, but I believed that, I had imparted some of my considerable knowledge on the subject to them, before I left to pay Mary Jeffries a visit, something I did not want to do but would be done out of necessity.

  VISIT TO MARY JEFFRIES:

  It was quite a distance from Pimlico Road to Church Street, but I decided the walk, would be beneficial to me, so I strode off at a brisk pace, my silver cane flicking out in front of me. I was aware of everything that was going on around me, but my focus was as sharp as a razors edge, must be the coffee, I thought. Even though the day was cold, I could feel sweat on my brow, a nervous sweat as I neared Church Street. I wondered if I should knock the door, or not, I stood outside trying to pluck courage from the air. The very thought of what was going on inside this den of iniquity repulsed me. I wrapped the door with the head of my cane, and a girl of in the region of eighteen years old, answered. ‘I wish to see Mary Jeffries, I said in a voice, which showed my hatred, of this place.

  ‘You cannot see her at the moment; she is busy, with a gentleman’

  ‘Then I will wait’, I said pushing my way past her. ‘Very well, but you might have a long wait. Is there anything I can do for you?’

  ‘No, there is not’. Half an hour later, Mary Jeffries entered the room, where I was waiting, rather flustered. I could feel myself getting angry, for I hated to be kept waiting. More than that, I hated to be kept waiting in this place.

  ‘Is this another social, or business call, James McAlister, for I have another client in half an hour’, she snapped.

  ‘I would like information about the man killed in an alley, not far from here’.

  ‘I have already told the police all I know about Jason Crane. He was a regular here’. I could not believe my ears. The code we stood by, since the ten canes were formed was in tatters.

  ‘How do you know my name’?

  ‘I make it my business to know the names of all the men, who enter my house, whether clients or not. I know all about the so called ten canes. Now if you will excuse me I have another client to attend to, and not one as high, and mighty as you’, she laughed.

  ‘Why have you not been arrested’? ‘Arrest me’. Her laughter was louder than before, with that she turned, and left through one of the hidden doors in the house. I turned to leave this place, never again to enter, when I heard laughter coming from a room, to the right. I knew that laugh instinctively. I opened the door to find Robert Rowan, semi naked, and obviously drunk with one of the girls. I could not contain my fury, any longer. I walked toward him, with my cane raised, when a large hand, pulled me backwards. ‘I will ask you to leave. You can walk out or be carried. The choice is yours’.

  I turned to see a giant of a man, so I chose the latter, not wishing my arms pulled out of their sockets. ‘I will continue this matter later Robert’. Although I knew that I did
not want to see him again. I left, my heart heavy in the knowledge that, I could no longer continue with the farce. The guiding principles upon which the ten canes were founded, had been all but shattered. The code we lived by, of helping others less fortunate, and being grateful, for their help in return, had heaped wealth for all of the ten. I decided that I would continue this method of living, but it was for me alone. I needed to think, so I paused at Bridge Gardens. I sat for a while, deep in thought about the events of the day. I could not forget about Jason, or Richard, and I could not just walk away, for I knew that, for whatever reason, the killer would be coming for me soon. ‘A penny for your thoughts’. A voice said from behind. I turned to see the Anglican minister from the church, where we held the service for Richard. ‘You have the look of a man deeply troubled. Sometimes it is better to talk’. He said in a voice, which reached my soul. I told him of Richard, and Jason, and the ten canes, and the principles we stood by, and how one by one, those principles were being destroyed. He directed me to prayer. I told him of my study into the Law of attraction, for some reason, and he smiled.

  ‘There are many incidences of this in the Holy Bible. Ask and you will receive, seek and you will find, knock and the door will open. Or if you study the works of Hermes Trismegistus, as above, so below, as within, so without. He clearly had a lot of knowledge, which surpassed the normal Church, workings. With that I felt better, offered him my thanks, and rose to go home. I arrived back at Cheyne walk, around seven thirty. The house felt cold, without Charlotte, to warm the mood of the place. Edith asked if I required anything to eat, but I could not, so I politely declined. I sat by the fire, and poured a glass of brandy, which I could not drink, so I poured it back into the bottle; my mood had hit an all time low. I rang for Edith, and asked if she would make me some warm milk, and bring it to me in bed. If ever I needed a mother’s love and advice, it was now. I was soon in bed, my clothes folded neatly, on the chair drinking warm milk, which made me calm inside, like a pair of arms, were folded round me. I was soon fast asleep. I woke at about nine o’clock the next day, which was extremely late for me. My eyes felt like they had been ripped from their sockets, and my head was splitting. I washed and went down stairs in my dressing gown. I sat upon the carpet, and let the heat from the fire, take away my headache. The one thing that I could not have was coffee, for that would only make it worse, so I asked Edith, to make me some tea. She soon returned with the tea, and had made me some boiled eggs as well. I really needed this, to help calm my stomach which was doing cartwheels. ‘Thank you Edith’. That will be all for the rest of the day. You may take the rest of the day off, if you wish. In fact take the rest of the week off. Silence filled the house, after she had departed for the day, just me and the occasional chime, of the mantel clock, black with gold flower inlay. My mood was certainly down. I then heard a loud knock at the front door. I peered through the front window, to see Robert Rowan standing there. I opened the front door, half expecting, raised words, which would never be the done thing in this area of London.

  ‘I have come to return this. I know it means a lot to you, but it has very little meaning left, for me’. He held out the cane, and placed the lion’s head in my hand. I took it, and held it loosely by my side.

  ‘Come inside, we have to talk’.

  ‘Very well, but I will not be staying long’. I escorted Robert in to the drawing room, and asked him to be seated. He removed his hat and placed it on the drinks table, his face was one of despair. He placed his hand under his chin, his fingers curled over his lips.

  ‘I am not like you James. You have all that I want in life, a wife, children, and stability, I have nothing but money, enough to last me several life times, with no one to share it with. I can buy anything, I want. I can go, anywhere I want, but the one thing I would give it all for is one moment of love, that is pure, and honest, but look at me, I am not what you would call the best catch. I look in the mirror, and see this ugly thing looking back at me. I am a shadow of my early self, and I hide behind laughter’.

  ‘Remember when, and why the ten canes, was formed. We went through hell, during the Crimea, I was wounded at Sevastopol, and you wounded at Inkerman. We saw friends, die side by side, with the enlisted men, and we swore an oath that we would help, all men if we could. That was why we formed the brotherhood, when we met at the Army, and Navy club, after the war. I know we came back, changed men. Our parents were dead so we only had each other, and we swore to help each other, as brothers, would. You should have told me of your difficulties; maybe I could have helped you in some way’.

  ‘I think you should come with me. You have, been away for too long at Braebourne. There is another reason why I am like this’.With that we left the house shortly afterwards. Robert hailed a cab, and we were soon on our way, to where, I did not know.

  Robert bade the driver to stop at London Bridge, where we alighted.

  ‘We will walk from here’. We were half way across, when he suddenly stopped.

  ‘What have we stopped here for’, I asked.

  ‘Look down there at the mud flats, and tell me what you see?’

  ‘What are those children and women doing’? ‘They are mudlarks. People who try to earn some kind of living, from what they can find in the mud. They feel with their feet, which get cut on broken glass, they pick up pieces of coal, or steal it from the barges. Sailors throw things over to them to be sold later, they find bits of copper, and rivets, to be sold back to the ship builders. This is the very fabric of the life we tried to stop. Where is gratitude now?’ The tone in his voice was one of anger, and sorrow. ‘Well at least these people, are proud enough not to resort to other methods of earning a crust’.

  ‘What other methods?’

  ‘How many prostitutes do you think there are in London’? I shrugged my shoulders.

  ‘There are thousands. Some enjoy the trade, most do not, but have no choice. Children as young as nine, work ten hour days, in our slave factories, when they ought be at school, while we sit here, as rich as Midas, in our Ivory palaces, getting richer by the hour. Now, do you understand why I cannot carry on? The oaths we took mean nothing’.

  ‘I did not know. You deserve this cane more than I, for you have seen the horrors, of mans inhumanity to man’.

  ‘That may be, but I will not be part of this anymore. I hope we remain friends for the little time I have left’.

  ‘You have many years ahead of you, if you wish it’.

  ‘I have very little time, maybe six months, at the most, or so they say’

  ‘I will not ask why. You are welcome to spend that time, with us at Braebourne’.

  ‘No I will live my last days as I wish. All that I ask is you put my affairs in order, making sure my servants are well looked after. Build a school with the rest, name it after me, wont you’?

  ‘I will do as you ask’. ‘I am going to the Army and Navy club now. Will you come?’

  ‘I have much to consider, and would not be good company today’.

  ‘Very well. I will leave you here’. With that Robert turned, and left, to cross the bridge on his own. I hailed a cab, and returned to Cheyne Walk, my mood getting more solemn, by the hour. I had to do something to brighten my senses so, I decided to go and see the play ‘It must be true, t’was in the paper’ by E. Falconer, on at the Lyceum theatre on Wellington Street, fairly safe in the knowledge that I was being escorted from the shadows, by one of Richard Mayne’s detectives. I arrived home, and went to the kitchen, where I made a meal of bacon, and eggs. I made my way to the drawing room, where the fire, had died down. Not wanting to be cold as well as miserable, I picked up the poker, and began to stoke the fire, adding more coal, from the scuttle as I did so. I sat down to eat, in the knowledge that my larder was well stocked, if I needed something else to eat later, yet I could not have eaten any more whilst people outside my cotton wool life were starving. I felt humbled by what I had seen, and would help press for any reforms, that would help those less fo
rtunate, than myself, and they numbered many. The house was silent except for the ticking, and occasional chiming, of the mantel clock. I could hear the wind howling from the Thames. Every creak from the doors sent a shiver down my spine. The light from the fire sent shadows running around the drawing room, like someone being chased. Faces laughing at me started to form in the flames. For the first time I felt really alone, and confused. I sank into a deep uneasy sleep. Pictures filled my mind of Jason, and Richard, soaked in blood pointing upwards, as if they were both trying to tell me something, but pointing at what, I did not know. I woke at around eleven. I had missed the play at the Lyceum, but that did not matter; I needed to rest, and more than this, I needed restful sleep. I made my way up the stairs, to the bedroom; the smell of polish from the hand rail, filled my nostrils, and I quickly closed the door and turned the key in the lock. It took moments, for me to slip, below the heavy quilt, which felt very cold, without Charlotte, to keep me warm, and I decided that tomorrow, I would go home, for I needed my family, and friends, not this loneliness, and sorrow that I felt. I needed warmth, and laughter, coupled with the sound of Charlotte’s voice, to comfort me. This was an uncomfortable night. I could not seem to fall into the restful sleep that I so desperately needed. It must have been four o’clock in the morning, when I finally made the journey into sleep. I woke about nine o’clock, to a screaming headache. I required more sleep to rid myself of it. I pulled the quilt over my head, and slept. I finally managed to get out of bed, at eleven thirty, my head much clearer. Cold water splashed on my face soon shocked me into life. I made my way into the kitchen, where I knew I would find some coffee, hot and black. Through the gloom of the kitchen, something caught my eye. A flash of silver, standing next to the door. Charlotte should have taken the cane back to Braebourne. I picked it up and held it in my hand thinking about what it meant to me, and my so called brothers. I turned it between my fingers, expecting to see J.C below the head, when I saw the letters R.R. I jumped up knocking the chair, and coffee cup to the floor. Spinning round I saw the figure of a man, standing at the front door, but before I could get to him he had gone. Rushing out into the street, I could see no one except the crowds, going about their daily business. However, I had seen his face, a face I had seen before, but from where I did not know. I tried hard to be as unruffled as I could, but the realization of this man being in my house, panicked me, yet nothing had been disturbed. I thought of what might have been, if I had not, locked the bedroom door, I might be dead. Thank God for English oak and sturdy locks, I thought. Hastily I made sure the house was in order, before locking the front door behind me. The only place I needed to be now was Whitehall Place, with Sir Richard Mayne. A cab was soon hailed, and I was on my way. Having asked the driver to make haste, I was soon climbing the steps, which led to Sir Richard’s office. The police officer who was in charge stopped me from just walking in. I was in an appalling frame of mind, unaware of my surroundings, or what was going on around me. ‘Sit down, if you don’t I will have you removed, and I do not care who you are’, shouted the officer. This rebuke, bought me to my senses, rapidly.