hatter

by Mark wells

  ‘Very well, four for dinner on Sunday’. I had done nothing to catch the killer, and I still could not remember where I had seen the face which I had seen for an instant in the hallway. Thoughts of home, and the shires weighed heavily on my mind. It seemed that, something was missing, some small piece of

  information, which would lead me to put a name to the face I had seen. I went over, and

  over the facts in my mind, but nothing fitted. The rest of the ten canes had dispersed throughout Britain, and I hoped that would keep them safe, for now at least. That left, two of us in London, myself, and George Fairfax. I knew I had to try and stop the prize fight that was planned for Monday. I would go to his house tomorrow. Saturday arrived, and after the loneliness of the night before, even George’s company would be more than welcome. The weather outside was turning worse, thick snow covered almost everything, icicles hung from the coal gas street lamps that stood in rows, like guards to attention. Freezing fog hung low over the Thames. My heavy overcoat and gloves offered some sort of warmth, my cane kept me upright, as the metal cap on the bottom pierced the snow like a knife. It was only a short distance from Cheyne Walk to George’s house on Sloane square

  FINDING GEORGE FAIRFAX:

  I arrived at George’s at eleven a.m and knocked repeatedly on the door, but to no benefit. The only place I thought he might be was the Army and Navy club, so I made my way there by hansom. I found George seated in his normal chair reading the latest news, about the war in America.

  ‘I wish I was there, instead of here doing nothing, getting richer by the hour and bored to the point of disillusionment. Look at us James. Look at what we have become, tired old men, with nought left to live for, but money. That is not enough for me. I crave the noise of battle, and the comradeship of soldiers. I wish I had died at Sevastopol’.

  ‘What about your wife and children? They need a strong arm, and with what has happened, they need you more than ever’.

  ‘While I am here they are safe. My wife and I have drifted further, and further apart. It is only a marriage of convenience now’.

  ‘You seem to be at war with everyone, is that why you have engaged in prize fighting’?

  ‘Oh! I see that Richard Mayne’s been talking’.

  ‘I came here to ask you not to fight, but I see that nothing I say will stop you’.

  ‘Thomas King is one of the best, and if I beat him I will be one step closer to America. Will you be

  there’?

  ‘I will, but only for moral support. I do not agree with prize fighting, you know that’.

  ‘Thank you for that’. His mood had changed from one of his normal bad tempered self moods, to one of calm, and focus.

  ‘I will see you Monday, but I wish you would reconsider’.

  ‘No, I cannot, and will not’.

  I shook his hand, placed my heavy overcoat, over my shoulders, and left the Army and Navy club, to go home to Cheyne Walk. The business papers had already been delivered.

  The apprentice must be working well, I thought. The rest of that day was spent reading, and writing to Charlotte. Christmas cards were all the rage by now, and I decided to buy some, and take them home, for no matter what, I would not spend Christmas, without Charlotte, Charles, and Emy, and the lads.

  THE CRIBBS ARRIVAL:

  Sunday arrived, and at the stroke of ten, the front door knocker sounded, and I knew this to be the Cribbs. Catherine opened the door, and announced their arrival. They were then shown into the drawing room. They were dressed in what I believe they thought were travelling clothes, but obviously, had no idea of what to wear, their clothes were gaudy at the least, but that did not matter. All that mattered was the fact that they were here. were here.

  ‘Please be seated we have much to discuss, and papers to sign, for I have decided to finance this entire venture, if willing. His wife nearly fainted with shock. She composed herself, but in her excitement, she temporarily lost control, and flung her arms, around my neck. ‘Now, now, do not take on so. I have given you nothing you do not deserve. As of yet I do not even know your name’.

  ‘Elizabeth’, she said crying.

  ‘I must assume from your reaction that you have talked about Canada’?

  ‘Yes there is nothing left for us here. We managed to get by when Joshua worked down the mines, but since the war he has not been able to find work’.

  ‘Treat the house, as your own, until tomorrow. There is a bathroom, children’s play room, and three bedrooms, but do not take the one facing the Thames, that is mine. I will not pretend that your life in Canada will be easy, but I will give you as much help, as I can. I will not be able to come with you tomorrow, for there is something I have to do here, and you will be leaving, from Liverpool on Tuesday Here are your tickets, guard them well. You will travel to Liverpool tomorrow, and take a boarding house for the night. Your passage has been booked on the Hibernian, on which I have secured a cabin. You will arrive in Quebec, about thirteen days later’.

  ‘This kindness is more than we can ever repay’ said Elizabeth, crying.

  ‘Your husband’s hard work, and strength of character, has bought you to this, now I have business papers, which need to be signed. I have had a document drafted, which gives me thirty percent of any businesses, which you may be involved in, for three years, with an option of buying back my thirty percent, at the end of that time. Is that agreeable to you’?

  ‘I had nothing before. What have I got to lose? I will do my very best for both of us’; he said putting his name to paper, which was only just legible.

  ‘I have heard the best place, to find gold at the moment is Nova Scotia, and that is where you will be heading, first. That signature is all that I require, but I will expect a report, once a month, to be sent to Paul Winter, just to keep me informed of your progress. I am sure, that if you can find bits of coal in the mud of the Thames, with your feet, then gold should not cause you any problem. You will be given an allowance, on your arrival in Canada, just to get you started, and an allowance each month, until you get up, and running. How

  does that sound? There is no need to thank me. Work for me, and try and help others. That is all I ask. Now how about something to eat? You look famished’. I was not troubled with table manners, I did not expect any, and so the basic tools of knife, fork, and spoon, were supplied. I had scarcely finished my first course, when their plates were cleaned, so large was their need for food, and I wondered how many more, there were like them, in this sprawling metropolis. ‘There is more if you wish it.’

  ‘No thank you, and I am regretful for our manners, but we haven’t eaten for two days’, Elizabeth said. ‘Do not apologize. I am glad that I can help. Something to drink Joshua’.

  ‘Perhaps some tea for my wife and I, and some

  lemonade, for Aaron, if you have any’?

  ‘I bet you would like some apple pie, with that lemonade Aaron’, I said going into the sort of voice I used with Emy, whom I missed, very much. ‘Go down to the end of the hall, and tell cook I sent you’. The rest of the day was spent, in dialogue, about their past, and hopes for their soon to be future.

  The day had engaged its toll on all of us, and I showed the Cribbs to the guest room. Sunday came, and an air of excitement filled the house. Edith was hurrying around preparing, a small hamper, to help keep the Cribbs family busy on their journey to Liverpool. This was how I liked the house to be, it had almost come alive, unlike the sterility of the weeks before this. I missed my Charlotte deeply, even her persistent nagging would be a welcome edition, to the desolation that I felt at the moment. All was ready, the Cribbs had their full hamper, and their possessions which were few were packed inside a small trunk, and loaded on to the back of a hansom. We were soon on our way to the train station. Steam rose up from the train like pipe smoke. Elizabeth hugged me, and thanked me over, and over for the chance of a new life. Joshua reached out to shake my hand and I took his hand between both of mine.

  ‘I will not
shake your hand normally, for the last time I did that, I nearly ended up with crushed fingers’.

  ‘I will not let you down, but you already know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes! I do’. ‘We have to board the train now, so for my family. I would like to thank you, and I hope your problem is resolved quickly’.

  ‘Yes, so do I. I want to return home to Braebourne, and there is no need to thank me, for I know we will do well’. With a final hug from Elizabeth and a final hand shake from Joshua I picked up Aaron, and placed him on the train. I watched from the platform as they seated themselves, then I tapped on the window. ‘Come and see us at Braebourne, when we are rich’. Joshua smiled, and I waved as the train pulled out of the station. Now back to normality, or what was left of it, I thought. I walked, not in any particular direction, and not at any particular pace. I was in no hurry to go home, just yet. Faces flashed by me as I walked, familiar noises bombarded me from every direction, yet I seemed to be unable to register them, as if I were in a dreamlike state. Should I visit Viscount Palmerstone, or Sir Richard Mayne, should I try and retrace my friend’s final moments? The latter seemed to be the best option, and I had nothing better to do, this day. I made my way, firstly to Southwalk Bridge, and asked questions, of anyone I came in contact with, but this met with very little response. I had no idea why I went there, for it was a policeman that found him, and I could get any information from them. I did not need to go to Battersea, for the information from there, I had already had, and that left Mary Jeffries, and I had been there, and did not want to return to that house without good reason. I slowly came to the conclusion that I should be at Cheyne walk, and nowhere else, preparing myself for the horrendous day tomorrow. I stopped at Bridge gardens, to feed the birds with some crumbs I had brought on the way home. I knew they would be grateful, for any scraps at this time of year, and they were, some were fighting each other, and quite a few gathered round, and even took it from my hands. I soon ran out of crumbs, and in an instant the birds were gone. It seemed to take me forever to walk the short distance to Cheyne Walk. The house had been put back to how it was before, as if the Cribbs had not been there at all, spotless, pristine, sterile, and cold, without the life that people brought to the place. I had already decided that when this was all over I would sell Cheyne Walk, and stay in the shires permanently, and only return to London when the need arose. I could not think of what to do next, should I read, attempt to play the piano, or go to bed, and as it was getting late I decided on the latter. My dreams that night took on the shape of George, fighting, bleeding, and dying. I remembered it vividly when I woke on Monday morning, covered in cold sweat, but on occasion dreams take on a reverse meaning; maybe it was some sort of premonition, all I knew for certain, was that the fight was today, and I was unable to stop it. I sat and read for most of the day, taking refreshment Now and again I would get up now and again and pace the floor, talking to myself, trying to work out, what my next course of action should be, my judgement was being clouded by thoughts of family, and friends departed, I needed to focus all my energy, all my thinking even the ticking of the clock in the hall was beginning to distract me.

  THE DEATH OFGEORGES FAIRFAX:

  Five o’clock arrived, and a loud knock on the front door, startled me, but I knew who it was.

  Mr Thompson entered the drawing room, and after a brief conversation regarding business, we had to leave. I donned my heavy coat, and gloves, and we were on our way to a farm building on the edge of London at Brent. Carriages lined the small track which led to the building.

  ‘I will not be able to get any closer than this, so you will have to walk the rest of the way. The carriage will take me back to my lodgings then return for you later. I told you, that you would be unable to stop the fight.’

  ‘I did try, but you were correct’.

  I walked the rest of the track; my polished shoes were covered in thick mud, within minutes. I arrived at the large building, and spent time, cleaning the heavy clumps of mud off my shoes. There were about two hundred people inside waiting for the start of the fight, which I felt sick at the thought of seeing. The noise of wagers being placed filled the air, mingling with the smell of cigar, and pipe smoke. Thomas King arrived, from the left. I looked at this small figure of a man, and wondered where; this man had got his reputation from. This will not take long, for George was easily twice his size, I thought. George arrived from the right, spotted me and nodded in my direction. I could feel the tension mounting in the room as the first blows were dealt, each being hit above waist height, and each blow receiving a loud roar from the crowd, like something from a Roman arena. George held him in a clinch which was soon repelled, a blow then caught George on the side of the face sending him into a spin. He regained his posture, and caught Thomas square on the chin. That blow should have knocked him off his feet, but he never moved. The next round saw Thomas catch George on the right side of the face, causing a small wound, which bled down the side of his face, spattering the ground red. Thomas had a similar wound on the left; both men were bleeding, which seemed to be getting worse. I wondered when this punishment would end, but it did not, after eighteen rounds of this both men’s eyes were closed, and there faces badly bruised, each round made matters worse, but neither would give up. I thought that they were trying to kill each other. George then caught Thomas in the nineteenth under the chin which sent Thomas to the ground. He walked over to where Thomas lay, moaning, and spat blood at him showing his contempt, which immediately received a boo from the crowd. He turned to walk away, and Thomas somehow got to his feet. George turned to a barrage of blows from this man whose eyes were totally closed by now. He caught George with what I can only describe as a knuckle punch to the throat George reeled backward clutching his neck, and I knew it was over. Thomas’s hands were raised in victory, and I was left to take George and his belongings home. I managed to support him down that muddy track to the cab which was waiting. I could not let George out of my sight, his wounds needed tending, his voice slurred, almost incoherent, and so I took him home to Cheyne Walk. Edith opened the door, took one look at George, and shouted loudly for Elizabeth. ‘Help me get him upstairs’. ‘Put him in my room’, I said. It took all the strength we could muster, for George was not a small man. ‘Fetch me some hot water and plenty of it’, Edith said to Elizabeth. We removed his clothes and Edith began to bathe his wounds, his nose was obviously broken, his eyes blackened, his jaw twisted to one side by the force of the blows. ‘How did this happen’, Edith said.

  ‘Prize fight, I told him not to do it, but he would not listen.

  ‘Well I will make him as comfortable as I can, then I will fetch a doctor, for this is beyond my capabilities’ She managed to stop the bleeding from his nose, and applied cold flannels to his head. ‘Stay with him, and I will be as quick as I can’. She almost ran out of the house, and returned with the local doctor. I gave Dr Snow a brief description of the night’s events, which had occurred, that day and took him to the bedroom where George was drifting, in and out of consciousness. He then examined his injuries, carefully. ‘At this point, there is nothing I can do for him. I cannot give him any pain relief, as to do so might mask any internal damage. His nose is not broken, and even if it was, there would be little I could do. His jaw on the other hand is broken. I am more concerned about the blows which he has received to his head, because on examination of his eyes, I have noticed that one of his pupils is unreactive to light. We have to get him to St Thomas’s, by the morning, or it may be too late to save him.’ We managed to get George half dressed, and down the stairs, and in to the street, my eyes closing with tiredness, the cold air of winter quickly brought me to my senses. I managed to hail a hansom. George was in trouble, unable to stand, but we managed to get him into the cab. ‘St Thomas’s, as quick as you can’. The horse pulled, and grunted its disapproval. It would not take long, the street lights flashed by; shadows of buildings went in and out of focus, bathed in hazy moonlight.


  We arrived at St Thomas’s and George, almost crying in pain, was quickly placed on a stretcher and carried in. This was not the sort of hospital that I expected, I would have preferred Guy’s, but speed was needed, and St Thomas’s was the closest. A young doctor came out to where I was pacing the floor.

  ‘Has he any relatives at hand, for we need to

  operate’.

  ‘No! I will have to take responsibility. Is there no other way?’.

  ‘He has a small amount of blood coming from his ears, and his eyes are fixed, and dilated. We believe he has a fracture of the skull, and bleeding to the brain. We have to release the pressure, or he will die, but the operation may also kill him’

  ‘I am his business partner, and can give any

  permission needed’. With that the doctor left. He returned an hour later, his gown covered in blood. The injuries were worse than we thought. We have managed to save him, for now, but the next few hours will be critical, and if he does survive, he will need constant care for the rest of his life’. This was the type of care, which I knew George would not want and I prayed for him to die. At around six thirty in the morning, I was told that George had died. I said I would notify his family, and take care of his personal effects. I could not even shed a tear; recent events had drained my emotions completely, I was starting to focus my thoughts on the killer of my friends above all else, not knowing how, or when I would find him. I arrived home, and went directly to bed; sleep had overtaken the events of the night before. I woke at twelve thirty, and Edith made me a cup of strong coffee, thick, and black, which sent a shudder racing down my spine. Edith looked tired, and I told her to take Catherine home, and take the rest of the day off. I told her of George’s death. ‘I did not think he would survive’, she said in a sorrowful tone. I sat and wrote, a telegram to George’s wife, and asked Edith, if she would not mind sending it, on the way home. It was a short walk to where George’s London home was on Sloane square, but I needed the walk, to ease this headache, caused by the lack of sleep the night before. I turned the key in the lock on the front door, knowing that George had kept no servants in London. The waft of cigar smoke was the first thing that I noticed, as I opened the door to George’s home. I went from room to room making sure that all was secure. The ceilings although high, had gone a shade of brown, George was a heavy smoker, and by the looks of this house, had not looked after himself of late. I paused in the drawing room, giving a moment, in thought to my friend, I thought of the ten canes, and the code we swore we would live by. I realised that my life in the shires had shielded me from the inequalities that existed, in society, and I knew that there were some soul wrenching decisions I would soon have to make. My eye caught the shape of a hat box on top of a grandfather clock, which told the wrong time, un-wound, and uncared for. I found the key to the clock, and gently wound it, moving the hands to the correct time by my pocket watch. I took the hat box, and held it in my hands and sat down. I remembered we all had one made by Lloyds of the Strand; we all had one made by the best top hat maker in London. I opened the box, and it was empty. George would not have gone anywhere without it. I had not worn mine. I liked to keep it for occasions which I thought required it. Then finally the jigsaw started to take shape. I remembered where I had seen the man in my hallway before; he was the man who had made all of our top hats. Richard’s was the only thing missing, when they found him beneath Southwalk Bridge. Jason’s cane had been delivered to me, his money and top hat had been taken, and so was Robert’s, although his may be at the bottom of the Thames. I took a deep breath, and realised that no-one would ever think that a top hat would be the reason, for all of this. I had to be sure; Richard Mayne would think that I had gone mad. I made my way to the strand, and quickly entered the shop. ‘Good day can I help you’, the shop assistant replied’. ‘Can I see the owner? I wish a new top hat making’.