The Reaper's Kiss

by Robert Southworth

  Chapter 3

  William and Abberline parted ways with the former heading back to the location of the first murder. William wanted to visit Slaughter Yard but decided that his home needed to be his first port of call. He had the urge to change his clothes; the stench of death clung to the fabric like flies to a rotting carcass.

  As he entered his home, he could hear Emily singing and quickly worked out that she was in the kitchen. Deciding not to disturb her, he began to climb the staircase but had only traversed a few steps when he heard the kitchen door open.

  “Since when do you enter our home without kissing me, William Harkness?”

  He looked at her smiling face and then allowed his eyes to drift down to her swollen stomach.

  “I need to wash up first.” Without another word he climbed the remainder of the staircase, stripping away his clothing in the process.

  Within fifteen minutes he was standing in their bedroom completely naked. He dried the last of the cleansing liquid from his face, and allowed the towel to drop away. To his surprise Emily was standing to his front, and he had no idea how long she had been observing him.

  “You were a great loss to the British army. The enemy scouts would have never heard you coming.”

  “Was it murder, William?” She asked, apparently in no mood for his teasing.

  “Two.” He closed the distance between them and placed a kiss on her lips. His hand slipped down her figure and came to rest on her belly. “Forgive me, but that world does not belong near our child.”

  “We belong with you, no matter the world. Although I have to admit the greyness of London is no place for a newborn.” Emily turned from him and looked into the street.

  William could not argue the point, as he too looked into the world beyond his window; he observed a city that lacked colour. A grey and sullen world populated by grey and sullen creatures that ambled without purpose from one mundane task to another.

  “We can’t leave London at the moment. These murders will consume much of my time, but my father needs to know that he is to be a grandfather. Perhaps we can spend Christmas at Cloveney.”

  “Cloveney is at its most beautiful in the winter, and yes, Simeon should know.” She gave him a disapproving stare.

  William grimaced. “I know, it just seemed an announcement that should be made face to face.”

  “That is settled then. We shall travel to Cloveney at Christmas whether it is convenient for the Ripper or not.”

  “You have my word. Besides, I am not sure the Ripper takes our social calendar into account.”

  “Then he should, the loathsome beast,” she paused for a moment. “Do you think these murders mean that he is back?” Her jaw gave a slight flinch betraying her anxiety.

  “I do not think that he ever went away. It feels like he is involved in some way, but I cannot say how. One day I will sit across the table from that man, and he will know my displeasure.”

  ***

  The day had moved on, William had taken breakfast with Emily. He had sensed her unease that the Ripper might have continued his slaughter. The meal had been concluded without another word being spoken about the killer, but he was there, an unspoken spectre haunting their thoughts. William kissed his love as he prepared to leave. Her embrace lasted just a few moments longer than was necessary.

  As William left his home, he knew he must make one further stop before joining his men at Slaughter Yard. Within the hour his carriage came to a halt in front of the gates to Kensal Green Cemetery. For a moment he stared at the entrance and then slowly dismounted from the carriage. He slowed his usual military stride to a more dignified pace in respect for his surroundings. He looked around as he walked, content in the choice he had made for his friend. He knew that Gaetan would appreciate the solemn beauty of his resting place. The graveside he sought was on the opposite side from the entrance and although it was the reason for his visit, he felt no urgency to reach the marker of his friend’s passing. Nonetheless, within ten minutes the white marble of Gaetan’s eternal home came into view. William’s pace slowed further as his imagined his friend’s body, dressed in its finest uniform, beneath the soil. Upon reaching the graveside he placed a gentle hand on the stone, as if it was the man himself.

  “Forgive me my friend, I have not yet avenged you,” William whispered. He crouched low and removed a few sporadic weeds that had sprung up at the side of the grave. “He’s a slippery bastard. I am not sure I will get him.” William paused as he pulled at a stubborn plant. “I...I don’t think I have the intelligence.” Moments later, William smiled as he imagined what Gaetan would reply. “Your language would have been colourful, to say the least but I am not feeling sorry for myself old friend. It is hard for me to admit but I am afraid.” He paused as an old memory swam into his mind. “When I was a boy, I would love to play in the meadow. There was this one summer - I was around eight years of age, and things were worse than usual between me and my father. Almost every moment was spent in solitude. I idled the days away sitting on a branch that overlooked that meadow. However, that year two stray dogs had chosen our grounds as their new home. Each time I strode to the meadow they would torment me. Snarling and growling they would come at me, one from the front and the other from the rear. They never managed to sink their teeth into my flesh but the torment was almost too much to withstand. I never knew where or when the attack would come. From the front or back, I could not outrun the beasts and so my torment continued. The ordeal continued for a number of days. Fortunately, Obadiah and my father witnessed my misery. Obadiah took me to the house and my father collected his smooth bore. It was a weapon more suited to bringing down a charging elephant than a couple of hounds. The dogs were no longer a problem. What I am trying to say is the Ripper is like the two dogs. I can’t predict his movements or when the next attack will arrive. He has reduced me to that little boy.” William momentarily stopped talking, fighting back the shame of admitting his fears. Then he shook his head and forced himself to talk about more trivial matters. “Oh Goss, is doing fine. He even wears a recognisable suit now. That was Emily’s doing not mine. He has a home and cares for a young boy called Alfie. It is a responsibility that he wears better than the suit. Emily is to have a child and it seems I am doomed to become a country gent.” William gave a snort of laughter but his face quickly became stern. “That is of course, if the Ripper does not get me first.” He stood upright and patted the grave stone. “I miss you, old friend.” He turned and then slowly walked away.

  ***

  The remainder of the journey to Slaughter Yard had begun in a carriage, but William had felt the interior oppressive and soon called out to the driver to halt. He stepped out into the relatively fresh air of London and gave the driver his payment and a little more for not receiving his full fare. He began the rest of the journey on foot relieved to feel the ground beneath his feet. He was, after all, a former captain in the 66th regiment of foot. Walking helped organise his thinking and raise his spirits. He could feel the pains of the many injuries that his body had suffered as both soldier and hunter of the Ripper. However, as he strolled he remembered the words of his former sergeant, ‘You have to be alive to feel pain’. It was a simplistic view but difficult to argue against. By the time the gates to Slaughter Yard came into view the weight of what the future held had indeed lifted.

  He stepped through the gates; before him a number of constables were unloading a wagon. As he drew near Isaac appeared from the far side of the transport.

  “Documents from the warehouse,” Isaac announced.

  “Have we conducted our own search of the premises?” William asked.

  “Jack and Gossup are there now. I imagine they will return shortly, Abberline was ripping the place apart. I can’t imagine him missing anything, and Fitzgerald has taken the body.”

  “I am sure the constables do not need supervising in this task. Come inside and have a drink.”

  Isaac nodded his acceptance and the two of them m
oved toward the interior of Slaughter Yard. Once inside William did not go directly to his office. He lingered in the first room that had become an unofficial reception area. The lateness of the year had brought a chill to the air and it caused his old wounds to bark like disgruntled hounds. This room was the only one that offered a source of heat. A fire place played host to a small but welcoming flame and William took the opportunity to warm his rear. William allowed the heat to wash over him, closing his eyes and delighting in the warming sensual touch. When finally, he opened his eyes, he noticed that Isaac had a look of bemusement on his face.

  “Sorry Isaac, my time in the army taught me to take advantage of any chance to warm the bones,” he announced a little sheepishly.

  “I would have thought the Afghan would have been nought but heat.”

  “The days yes - but the nights delivered cold like you would not believe,” William paused then added, “amongst other things.”

  “Such as?” Isaac asked.

  “Fear and death mostly. We were the foreigners in that land and as the sun fell, we were tethered, unable see or move freely. Our enemies, of which there were many, knew the land. They took advantage of our blindness.”

  “It must have been terrible.”

  William gave a wry smile. “For the most part it was bloody awful but war brings out the worst and the best in men. It brings blood and screams but it also forges the bonds of friendship.” He lifted a poker and gave the logs on the fire a tentative stab. “Of course, you also had the peace of mind that you knew who wanted to kill you. Oh, the locals could switch loyalties but you rarely placed your trust in them.”

  “You can trust me, William.”

  “I did not mean you, my friend,” William replied noticing the forlorn look on Isaac’s face. He knew that Isaac Naismith was a man who felt deep regret and shame because his brother had been a killer in the employ of the Ripper. “You are one of the few men in this loathsome city that I trust without hesitation.”

  “Thank you,” Isaac replied through a developing smile.

  “Look out there,” William instructed, his tone remaining serious. “Three constables all working hard without slacking or complaint. Yet for all we know, one or all three may be in the employ of the Ripper. Look beyond into the street. The butcher, baker, bloody candlestick maker not one can we trust.” William’s jaw twitched showing his annoyance.

  Isaac placed a hand on William’s shoulder. “The Ripper is a formidable opponent - you will get no argument from me on that matter. However, I think you give him far too much credit. He does not have an army at his disposal or the wealth of kings. He is simply a man of cruel intelligence and is determined to use that intelligence to create chaos and destruction. I do not doubt his capabilities but sooner or later he will make an error that will bring him within our reach. When that happens, I will wager it is you who will be there to deliver justice.”

  “I think you have more faith in my capabilities than they deserve,” William replied but managed a slight.

  “Quite possibly...you pay my wages and it really isn’t the done thing to call your employer a bloody idiot.” Isaac burst out laughing and was rewarded with a playful punch to his upper arm.

  Chapter 4

  Cloveney Hall December 1891

  The home of Sir Simeon Harkness felt the weight of the winter snows. It was eight months since the death of Obadiah during the attack on Cloveney Hall. The Ripper and his minions and disappeared leaving no tracks for those that sought justice to follow. With the danger to William and his men seemingly at an end, they filtered back to the city. Simeon Harkness was suddenly aware of his enforced solitude. The lure of business, so long his passion, had lost its lustre. For the first time in many years, he found himself unsure of which path to take in life. The days were empty and devoid of purpose. The only act carried out with solemn frequency was the visiting of Obadiah’s grave. A duty, religiously undertaken ignoring any inclement weather afflicting Cloveney’s grounds. For some reason, the last couple of days had taxed Simeon to the emotional hilt, but as the sun brought a new day, Simeon’s mood lightened.

  He strode from the interior of the great manor. He did not care a jot for the cold as his eyes remained fixed to the furthest point on the Cloveney estate’s horizon. He hoped to see a carriage fighting its way through the snow. The shroud of white, however, remained obstinately unblemished. Suddenly, he felt heavy fabric being placed on his shoulders. Simeon had not heard Tomkins approach but was grateful to his employee for bringing out his coat.

  “Thank you, Tomkins. I fear William will not arrive this day. The inclement weather will block the roads.” Simeon shook his head, displaying his disappointment he felt at the lost opportunity to see his son.

  “Master William is a man of determination, Sir. I doubt he will allow a little snow to conquer his wish to be at your side.” Tomkins replied.

  Simeon smiled. “Yes - he has always been bloody-minded. He must follow in his mother’s footsteps.” He turned and looked directly at Tomkins.

  “Yes, sir.” Tomkins’ face displayed no trace of a smile.

  “You should have been a politician, Tomkins.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He turned on his heels and retreated into the interior of Cloveney.

  Simeon was once again left alone. He looked into the distance, trying to visualise where the meandering road lay. The snows hid every feature of his home. The vista displayed the hall’s grounds as a corpse in a sombre shroud. If his wife had been alive, the snows would not have been a source of melancholy. He could almost see her entertaining the young William with carefree abandonment, a state of mind he had never mastered. They would have played for hours, and then as the boy slept from his exertions, she would have taken to her paints. He had always marvelled at how she not only captured the landscape, but the feelings attached to each scene. Each of her canvasses bore witness to happier times. Her collection stood in testament to the joy once felt at Cloveney. It was an atmosphere that Simeon doubted would ever return. He gave an involuntary shrug and whispered to himself, “What Cloveney needed was a child’s laughter.”

  Sir Simeon Harkness reached into his jacket and clasped his flask. Moments later he felt the liquid it contained warm his throat. He gave a silent salute to distant, more joyous times and promptly returned the container to its original resting place. He turned, but as he was about to retreat to the comfort of Cloveney, movement in the distance caught his eye. He spun around as an excitement gripped his soul.

  His eyes narrowed as he studied the shape more closely. As it drew nearer, the unmistakable outline of a horse-drawn carriage emerged. The mist that rose from the sweating beasts at its front hovered like locusts in the sky. The wheels of the transport threw the trampled snow into the air as if in disgust at the downfalls attempt to slow its progress. With each moment the carriage drew closer, and Simeon’s excitement became harder to deny. The calm exterior of a man of position faltered at the thought of seeing his son and the delightful Emily.

  The carriage and horses came to a halt at the bellowing order of the driver. A tall figure immediately stepped from the carriage his heavy frame disrupting the virginal snow at his feet.

  “William, my boy! I doubted you make it through.” Simeon could not keep the joy from showing on his face.

  “No easy task, Father. However, Emily is not easily dissuaded.” As William spoke, Emily’s familiar smile, appeared in the doorway of the carriage. Then as she began to disembark, Simeon could not believe his eyes.

  “Emily.” He could only manage her name as his eyes focused on the slightly fuller figure that Emily now possessed.

  “I wanted to tell you, but William thought it would make a pleasant surprise.” Her hand drifted to the small but definite rise in her clothing that dominated her slender frame. Simeon’s pitiful attempt at concealing his excitement at William’s arrival now evaporated completely. He rushed forward, and as William offered a hand in greeting, he brushed it aside. Th
e younger Harkness was plucked from the snow, in a bear-like embrace. William’s face showed his shock at Simeon’s embrace, but moments later his son was returning the embrace with equal vigour. A cough emanated from the carriage, and the embrace was at an end as Simeon rushed to Emily’s side.

  “Is the surprise a pleasant one, Simeon?” she asked.

  “I am overjoyed, Emily. Come,” he held out a hand, “let us get you inside.”

  Within the hour, the cold was driven from Cloveney’s new inhabitants. A roaring fire and warm beverage helped vanquish the effects of the long journey. Tomkins placed a blanket across Emily’s lap.

  “Thank you, that is most kind,” Emily announced as she accepted the covering.

  “Will there be anything else,” Tomkins enquired of the room.

  “That will be all, Tomkins,” Simeon replied. “I trust preparations are in place for tomorrow.”

  “All is in order, sir.”

  “Good, ensure that we are not disturbed and ... thank you, Tomkins.”

  “Very good, sir.” Tomkins gave a polite nod to Emily and took his leave. As he closed the door, William turned to Simeon.

  “Preparations?” William asked.

  “I thought that Cloveney would benefit from welcome friends rather than the usual guests.”

  “Such as?” William’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  Simeon could tell that his son was becoming suspicious. “The men from Slaughter Yard and their families...amongst others.”

  “You’re acting secretive, Father,”