hatter

by Mark wells

  ‘Certainly, I will see if he is not busy’. ‘Give him this card’. Mr Lloyd came out from the rear of the hat shop, his apron covered in chemicals, the smell of which, made me quite ill. ‘Hello James. McAlister I have not seen you for months surely the top hat, has not worn out already’ ‘No, but I think I need another. Can I be fitted by the same hat maker as before’?’

  ‘Unfortunately we had to let Michael Merlot go, and it was a pity really, he was the best journeyman hatter I have ever seen, but he had become difficult, most of the time he was quiet, and did his work faultlessly, but then he would explode with anger, usually in the shop, and usually in front of customers. I thought he had gone quite mad. I asked where he lived, and directions were given, to twenty one Falsgrove place ‘I do not believe he lives there any more, his wife had no choice but to throw him out, after one of his outbursts’.

  I told the shop keeper, what had happened, and told him of the loss of the hats.

  ‘Michael would be capable of anything whilst having one of his outbursts’, he replied.

  I left the shop, and made my way to the address which I had been given, should I knock the door or find a policeman. I knew what I should do, but this had become personal. Without thought I rapped the door, and a woman, short in stature answered.

  TO CATCH A HATTER:

  ‘Is this where I might find Michael Merlot’? Knowing that he had left some months before, but I had to get some sort of dialogue going between us.

  ‘No he doesn’t, and what’s it to you’, her manner was coarse and unfriendly.

  ‘I came to see him, about a top hat that he made for me’

  ‘Top hat, top hat! She screamed, I will show you top hats’. She led me into a room at the back of the house, which had been turned into some sort of workshop Papers were piled to one side of a table, and I picked them up, and read. They were notes on speeding up the manufacture of hats, and the manufacture of hats using materials, which I had never heard of, clearly by reading, this man was trying to invent a hat that was impervious to wear, and waterproof. Chemicals stood side by side, they were unmistakably marked, silver nitrate, mercury, arsenic, to name but a few. Hats in various states of finish lined the floor, and not just top-hats.

  ‘How long has it been, since he was last here’.

  ‘Six months, not that I care. Last I heard of him he was living somewhere in Southwalk’.

  This was all that I needed to be sure, but I wanted to know more about the man ‘Tell me of Michael?’ ‘Michael was a loving, tender husband. We have no children, and I believe this had something to do with the content of those glass bottles. He had his work, but he was always trying to make his hats better, bringing them home from work, and then continuing into the night. His mood began to change. He would be calm and happy one minute, and fly into fits of extreme anger the next. One night he beat me so severely, that I had no choice but to end our marriage. I still carry the marks of that beating, would you like to see?’

  ‘No! But do you not think that, maybe he can be helped’?

  ‘No, and I don’t care. I wish he were dead, for what he did to me’. I told her what had happened, and gave her one of my cards, just in case she found his whereabouts. I was as sure as I could be that I had found my man. My next stop would be the offices of Richard Mayne at Whitehall place.

  ‘Come in James, and sit down. I’m afraid that we have got no further with the case. Everything that we have done so far has led to a dead end’. I told him that I had remembered, the face of the man I saw in the hallway of Cheyne Walk, and I told him where he lived. I also told him why I believed we had become his target. ‘He blames us for his life, and the symbol of that blame was the top hats, in his madness he believes, that if he gets them back, he will get his life back’. ‘It seems far fetched to me, although lunacy takes many forms. We have no proof that he has killed anyone at the moment. All we have him for is breaking and entry to your property. I would like a police artist to do another drawing of the man, who gained entry to your house, and I will get it circulated’.

  ‘I need to talk to a doctor of the mind at Guys, to confirm my suspicions’, but I knew I was right, and there was only one way to catch him. I will have to wear that top hat’.

  ‘Assuming you are right, that would be a very dangerous game’.

  ‘I know’. I thanked Sir Richard for his time, and as always tipped my hat to the picture of Queen Victoria on my way out of his office. The next stop would be Guy’s. I arrived there late afternoon, and was shown to the offices of Dr Humphry Osbourne

  After a brief description of the past events, and my theory Dr Osbourne responded.

  ‘If this man had not been wearing gloves, and some sort of face mask, then the chemicals you speak of would have been absorbed in to his body through his skin, mouth, and nose, and if this had been done for a period of time then the levels of toxicity in his brain, and body would cause the symptoms of extreme calm, with uncontrollable periods of anger, and that anger could then be directed at those he believed caused his illness, and his failings in life and would almost certainly result in their death. For he would feel that when all the ten canes were dead, his life would return to normal’.

  ‘Then I am right. Could there be no cure?’

  I was starting to feel some sort of pity, for this man, knowing that because of us, and people like us, he had deteriorated into madness’.

  ‘No not if toxic levels of the chemicals had been reached’. His personality would be lost forever’.

  I thanked Dr Osbourne for his time, and left his office. I returned to Cheyne Walk, and penned a telegram to Charlotte, telling her or George’s death, and that we were close to catching the killer, whose name was now known to me. The house was silent and cold. I decided that when this was all over I would sell it, and retire to my estate in the shires, such was my need to be with my family at all times. The next two weeks was spent, walking the streets in day-light, and at night, wearing the hat, going to the places where my friends had fallen. I spent some time at the Cremorne gardens, with people that I had known through parliament circles but always wearing that top-hat, in the hope that I could taunt, the killer into some kind of action, but nothing happened. I wondered if he was in one of the calm phases. I was on the point of giving up when I received a telegram. He had once again struck. Mild, Steven Farnsworth was dead, no wonder he had not attacked me, he was not even here, but it was only a matter of time till he was. I sent telegrams to the rest of the ten canes, telling them on no account were they to where the top hats, that were made at Lloyds of London, and I made them aware of why. I would force the killer back to London. It was by this time the middle of December, and thoughts of Christmas filled my mind. I had to catch him now, and quickly.

  I placed the top hat on my head, and purposely positioned it wrong, there was etiquette about such things, and I made my way to Southwalk Bridge, where it all began. It was dark, and there seemed to be a lack of people about that night, maybe because it was snowing heavily. I reached the spot where Richard had fallen. A single shot rang out. I felt the intense burning pain of a round that nicked my left arm. I turned to see two men struggling on the ground, one I recognised as Paul winter, the other was the hatter I had tried to get for months. I ran to where they were. My cane was lighter than the rest. I twisted the lions head and pulled a sword from its sheath, and lunged at the man stopping short of his throat. The anger must have been visible, for Paul shouted me to stop. Immediately I became calm, just as two policemen ran towards us on the bridge, their police whistles screaming, echoing into the night. We managed to keep him there, but the look of hatred on his face was something I would certainly not be able forget. A horse drawn enclosed carriage, arrived on the scene, and took him away, after I had explained to the police what had happened backed up by Paul Winter.

  My arm was bleeding, but it was just a graze, that I knew would heal well. I took the hand of Paul Winter, and shook it.

  ‘I have been f
ollowing you for weeks. I guessed what you would do, and nothing was going to stop, our new friendship, or that fishing lesson’. I managed a laugh, and shook his hand once again. ‘You are welcome at Braebourne any time’. We made our way back to Cheyne Walk, and made light work of a brandy, some of which I poured on my arm. I felt safe now, and I took Mr Winter home throwing that infernal hat in the Thames on the way.

  The next day I informed Edith that I would be going home, and would not be back until the New Year. I went to the offices of Richard Mayne, who greeted me with a smile.

  ‘What will happen to Michael Merlot now’? I said with my arm in a sling.

  ‘He will be taken to court, and will most certainly be judged to be insane. He will spend the rest of his life in an asylum. I stood up, tipped my hat to the painting of the Queen, and left. The train was the best thing I had ever seen in my life, for every turn of its wheels brought me closer to Charlotte. I arrived home, and Charlotte said. ‘Is it over?’

  ‘Yes it is over’, I said my arms about her neck.

  ‘Is he dead’?

  ‘No they have him in an asylum, for he is quite mad. What was between you and Robert that made you want this man dead’?

  ‘He made me laugh every time we saw him’.

  ‘Then I will do too’.

  ‘Would you like some tea in the conservatory Sir? I have made some toast, and two boiled eggs as well.

  ‘Thank you Carlton’.

  FIN: