The Reaper's Kiss

by Robert Southworth

  “I find a drink can clear the mind.” Naismith smiled, and the returned to his seat.

  “As long as it is just one,” Simeon replied and then downed the contents of the glass. He closed his eyes as the liquid raced down his throat. As it warmed from within, the usual composure he showed on the exterior, returned. “Forgive me gentlemen for my momentary lapse in focus.”

  “We are all human,” Abberline’s gravelled voice sounded.

  “I cannot afford to allow my thoughts to become clouded.”

  “Now we know where William gets it from,” Abberline chuckled. “Leading men can be a lonely task, but I would remind you that this room contains many leaders. Share your thoughts, and you will share the burden.”

  “Bloody hell! Frederick Abberline, the philosopher. God works in mysterious ways,” Naismith teased.

  “I merely point out that Sir Simeon can rely on us,” Abberline replied his annoyance showing.

  Naismith held up a hand to calm the inspector.

  “I know Abberline. I meant no disrespect,” Naismith replied. The beaming smile still present.

  Simeon cut across the chatter.

  “It seems that after Finch had left these shores, Gilbert Wilde continued to use his position at Drummonds to obtain properties and to filter funds. Naismith and Benjamin have gathered information on other properties that we believe are in the possession of the men we seek. They have also brought to light substantial funds that I will use my contacts to freeze. We will raid the properties and close them down. Strangely, there was also a fishing vessel called the Bonnie Prince. but we have already made enquiries, and it has been reported sunk off the coast of Scotland.”

  “And Finch’s list?” Jack asked.

  “Three properties that Wilde obtained were on Finch’s list. It shows that Wilde was either more successful at convincing the owners or they used other means. We will concentrate on the properties that we know Cronos has obtained. William could be being held at any of them, and so, we must act with caution.” Simeon paused for a moment and then walked over to the whiskey and poured another drink. He passed the bottle to Naismith and indicated that he should provide everyone with a drink. “We will be, as I said, cautious but…our first obligation is to destroy Cronos and bring the Ripper to justice.”

  “Are you sure?” Naismith asked.

  “The dead demand that we complete our task. I love William as much as any father could love a son. But is his life worth more than Obadiah’s or the countless others that have been torn from this world by the Ripper, and his minions. I would happily exchange my life for William’s but I will not deny the dead their justice. I have never been a religious man, but I swear to you all that I will bring ruin to the Ripper and his followers…no matter the cost.”

  “Then what is our first move?” Abberline growled.

  “That is for tomorrow. I have not been drunk for twenty years. Tonight, my friends we will feast and drink. When the new day breaks, we go to war and shall tear down the Ripper’s world.”

  ***

  Dr Fitzgerald rapped her fingers on a bedroom door. She could hear a music box and guessed that Emily must be within. She had dawdled in the attempt to converse with Emily. There was a reason that she surrounded herself with the dead. Those robbed of life were not talkative or in need of emotional support. From an early age, Fitzgerald had witnessed brutality, which ended in the loss of the only person she had ever loved. It had been a turning point; she had withdrawn from people. They had become nothing more than an irritation. Any interaction was kept to a minimum, and usually only occurred in relation to her occupation. It wasn’t that she loathed people; she simply found the majority of them tiresome. The few that she did respect found her difficult to comprehend. The dead, however, you knew where you were with the dead.

  The knock on the door received no acknowledgement. She was about to knock again, but she was never one to wait patiently. She turned the room’s handle and slipped inside. Her eyes were drawn to the bed, but it showed no signs of life. Then a voice sounded from over at the window.

  “Tomkins, there is no need to keep visiting me. I am fine.”

  Fitzgerald looked to the figure that had not turned to see who had entered her room.

  “Forgive me, Emily. There are too many men downstairs, and I seek sanctuary from their common ways.”

  Emily turned and raised an eyebrow.

  “Hmm, you do not strike me as the sort to be cowed by boorish behaviour, Dr Fitzgerald. Are you sure that Simeon as not drafted you in as reinforcement?”

  “Reinforcements?” Fitzgerald asked.

  “Simeon seems to think I am in deep despair.”

  “Is he wrong?” Fitzgerald pressed.

  “Not despair. I am perhaps overconfident in William’s abilities. I know he will walk up that road,” she pointed out of the window, “I know its foolish but standing here day after day, I hope to be a beacon and guide him home.”

  “It would be hard to be overconfident in William’s abilities. He is a remarkable man. However, I doubt he would want you spending your days doing nought but awaiting his return. You are not a faithful old hunting dog. Besides, your child will benefit from the country air, and a seat at the window would also be advantageous.”

  Emily stared at Fitzgerald as if she was terrified of uttering her next words.

  “But what if I miss his return?” As she spoke, her lip trembled.

  “There is not an army in the world that could prevent him from finding you. Now, why don’t you get a shawl, and we shall take a walk in the grounds. I imagine the men in this monstrosity of a house will be busy with making their plans, and consuming copious amounts of alcohol. When we return, we can have a small meal. Afterwards, I will arrange for a comfortable chair to be placed at the window.”

  “The fresh air would be a pleasant change. Tell me Fitzgerald did Simeon ask you to examine me?”

  “He wanted me to enquire as to your health. My name is Anne. I only insist on being called ‘doctor’ when dealing with men. I find it offends their view of the world.” Fitzgerald gave a mischievous grin.

  “You are wicked, Anne. But you haven’t asked about my health.”

  “You know your body better than any doctor. If you become concerned, then I am here. Sir Simeon Harkness is like most men and is at a loss when a child is on its way. They cannot control nature, and so they run here and there, resembling a headless chicken. Women would do well to ignore their wing flapping. Now, let us take that walk.”

  Chapter 17

  Gossup strode through Slaughter Yard’s gates. His upturned collar had done little to protect him from the torrential rain. Soaked clothes felt like ice as they pressed against his skin. The discomfort only added to his annoyance at not being able to catch the scent of Finch. He opened the door to the Yard’s office and felt warm air rush out.

  “Hello!” He called out because he thought the Yard would be empty. There was no reply, and unconsciously his hand moved toward the blade hidden within his jacket.

  “Move Goss, I’m getting soaked,” a voice sounded to his rear.

  Gossup turned to see John, his arms filled with logs.

  “What you doing, John?” Gossup replied. He stood to one side and held the door so his friend could pass more easily.

  “Orders,” John replied over his shoulder. He moved towards the fire grate and dropped the logs without ceremony on the floor. “I’ve been asked to stay here as a point of contact for any of the men as they carry out their tasks. We tried to send you word, but nobody had a clue as to your whereabouts.” John dropped a log on the fire; it crackled and sent a cloud of thick smoke into the air. “The rest of the men are scouting properties believed to belong to the Ripper.” John suddenly stopped talking and looked Gossup up and down. “Get those clothes off. You will catch your death.”

  Thirty minutes later, Gossup was sat in front of the fire in just his underwear. The hot tea in his hands helped to drive the cold from hi
s body.

  “I thought you were giving up this game, John?”

  “So, did I. I had hoped that Tom’s mother would ask me to come live with her in the countryside.”

  “She resisted your charms?” Gossup teased.

  “It’s not that,” John’s face suddenly looked serious. “I think she feels that I should have done more to keep young Tom safe.” John stared into his own mug.

  “She lost her boy. A mother isn’t likely to think straight,” Gossup replied.

  “Isn’t she thinking straight? I told her I would keep Tom safe and he’s dead.”

  “He was murdered by bastards. There was nothing you could do. Besides, Tom was no boy and old enough to make his own decisions. Lads of his age have been blown apart for the good of the empire for decades. I liked Tom but why should he be any different to every other poor wretch that walks these streets. We rise each morning without any guarantees that we will see the end of the day.”

  “That’s the truth,” John nodded his head as he answered.

  “Besides, thinking on the dead will not bring them back or keep you safe. Put it from your mind.”

  The next few hours passed with little conversation. John seemed to be lost in his thoughts, and Gossup slipped in and out of sleep as dancing flames convinced him of his tiredness. His eyes had just closed when a sharp rap sounded at the door.

  “What damn fool is out in this?” John asked.

  The door was knocked again. Gossup sighed and got up from the chair. He stopped at his drying clothes and pulled his blade from one of the pockets. He crossed to the door and opened it at arm’s length, so that he would be prepared for an attack. The visitor looked as though he had spent a thousand nights sleeping rough.

  “Sorry Goss, you said finding that man was urgent,” the man blurted out as he shook with cold.

  “Get in here, Grub. John get another brew before this one drops dead on us.”

  “Much appreciated, Goss. I’m wet, but the note is dry… honest.” Grub forced his hand into his drawers, which were held against their will, by twine. “Mr Chivers told me I should bring you this,” he held out a note, “said it was important.” Gossup stretched out a hand and reluctantly took the note from Grub.

  “What does it say?” John asked.

  “Finch has managed to get passage to America on the Benvenue. It seems Finch has obtained some funds. It is a trading vessel and would have cost a great deal to convince the owners to take a passenger,” Gossup replied.

  “Then let’s go get the bastard.”

  “No, the ship doesn’t leave until the morning. Finch won’t risk breaking cover until the last minute. Besides, we are going nowhere. You have your orders to remain at Slaughter.”

  “But it could be dangerous,” John protested.

  “Oh, it will be. But I will try not to hurt anyone,” Gossup smiled as he replied.

  ***

  Gossup had left Slaughter Yard before the rising of the sun. He knew that John would have tried to accompany him on his task. He knew that John was a good man and could handle himself in a fight, but Gossup had always liked to work alone. He knew how to track his prey and when to strike; if a mistake were to cause his death, then it would be his own mistake. He had seen far too many good men die in the ranks because of the errors made by poor officers. He had grown to loathe those in authority. William and Gaetan had been the exceptions. Both men led by example and didn’t ask their men to take risks that they were not prepared to take themselves. Gaetan was dead, and William would probably never return, and so, he would work alone.

  The note that Gossup had received the previous night told him that Benvenue would set sail from the Royal Albert Dock. That would mean that Finch would need to be within a short walk of the ship. Finch was not the sort of man to spend the night in a slum and would require a place to lay his head that offered comfort if not luxury. Gossup knew that only two such properties fulfilled the criteria. The Three Feathers, a public house that provided rooms, and a boarding house known as the Crib. Cummins owned a number of boarding houses, but this was by far the most upmarket. Prostitutes were barred from the rooms, and it was even rumoured that the bedding was free from fleas. The problem facing Gossup was that both the Feathers and the Crib were three streets apart and he could not watch both. He took his time as he walked the streets of London. He tried to place himself in Finch’s position; a trapped animal will see danger at every corner. Which building would afford Finch the best protection? The Feathers would be noisy. The approach of an enemy in search of Finch would be concealed until the very last minute. The Crib, however, was known for running a tight ship. Place coin in the right person’s hand, and warning would be sounded long before the room door was being kicked in. Gossup decided on his course of action. He would find an advantageous position outside the Crib and wait.

  Thankfully, the rain was no more than a persistent drizzle. Gossup watched the Crib and the street for any unusual activity. The Crib had shown no movement but outside in the street three men seemed busy acting as though they belonged in their surroundings. Two stood together and chatted away. Gossup noticed that they would frequently glance in the direction of the Crib, seemingly unconcerned with anything else in their surroundings. The third man leaned against a wall; a newspaper clutched in his hands. Gossup could tell that the man’s line of sight was above the printed news of the day. Then, movement at the Crib caught Gossup’s eye. A figure had emerged wearing a full-length coat, the collar of which had been pulled up to cover much of the face. A hat also helped to hide his identity. However, the man was hefty, and no coat in the world could hide such bulk. Gossup decided that it was Finch who had emerged, and it seemed that the three strangers in the street had come to the same conclusion. As Finch walked away, the three figures followed; Gossup was left with no alternative but to do the same.

  As Gossup watched the men to his front, the two that had stood together disappeared up a side street. He assumed that they intended to race ahead and block Finch’s path. The third man, however, stopped, turned and looked straight at Gossup. The stranger’s hand moved to his inner jacket and drew a blade. Gossup knew things were about to get interesting. His would-be attacker was now running. Perhaps he thinks I will run away? Gossup thought as he calmly pulled his carved weapon from his jacket. The stranger charged forward without speaking a word. As he neared, he threw his hand forward; clearly, he hoped for a quick kill. In one rapid movement, Gossup slipped beneath the blow and brought his own blade round, slashing his attacker’s inner thigh. Before the attacker could contemplate his error, Gossup had turned full circle, and drawn his blade across the man’s throat. He waited to see his enemy fall to the pavement. It was only a matter of time before the man bled out on the street. Gossup moved away quickly, determined to catch up with Finch before he walked into a trap.

  Finch was a big man, and that slowed his progress. He must have heard Gossup approaching; Finch spun around, pistol in his hand. Gossup was far too fast for the terrified lawyer. The former soldier slipped beneath the pistol and brought his blade up. Its wickedly sharp edge stopped as it pressed against the flesh of Finch’s throat.

  “I’ve killed one man today. I have no reluctance to making it two,” Gossup whispered.

  “What do you want? I... I have money,” Finch stammered.

  “Quiet! I am one of Sir Simeon Harkness’s men, and you are being hunted.”

  “What! How do you know?”

  Gossup took the pistol from Finch.

  “Forgive me, but I have no wish to be shot in the back as I protect your pathetic arse. I know, because I have just killed the man to your rear and two more are waiting for you up ahead.”

  “We should go back the way we came.”

  “And then we would have no idea where our enemy is or when they will attack. Give me your hat and coat.” Finch looked confused but did not argue. Gossup quickly put on Finch’s garments. They looked ridiculous, but he was betting that by the time
those who lay waiting realised that he wasn’t Finch, it would be too late and the trap would have failed. Gossup pushed Finch into a doorway. “I promise that if you move from this spot, I will forget my orders and cut your bloody head off. Do you understand?”

  Finch did not reply.

  “Do you understand?” Gossup slapped Finch across the face.

  “Yes!”

  Gossup turned and walked towards the docks. He may have seemed confident to Finch, but he was concerned. His task was to re-capture Finch and to identify those that hunted him. He wondered how he was going to keep Finch as a prisoner and capture one of the would-be killers. For the first time, he regretted not bringing John. His mind was brought into focus when he heard a noise up ahead. As he moved forward a figure stepped from the shadows, ten paces to his front. He eyed the man, but as he did so, he felt another presence stepping from a doorway no more than a pace away.

  “You have been summoned, Finch,” a voice sounded to his side and a hand grasped his coat.

  Gossup slipped from the oversized garment and brought his blade around. Its intended victim was caught entirely off guard and looked in horror at the knife protruding from his chest. Gossup retrieved his weapon and allowed the man to collapse.

  “Bastard!” The second man called out and moved forward.

  Gossup raised Finch’s pistol, but the appearance of the firearm did not slow his foe’s advance. Conscious that he needed the man alive Gossup pointed the pistol at the man’s thigh and pulled the trigger.

  “Finch, you bloody arse!” Gossup called out as he realised the pistol wasn’t loaded.

  The attacker moved forward with speed and Gossup was forced to drop the pistol and move out of harm’s way. For the first time, he could see the man up close. He was tall and sinewy. Resembling Jack in his build. He also had confidence in the way he moved. Gossup could tell that this man was a killer with skill. His enemy darted forward; the small blade was flicking out like a serpent’s tongue. When Gossup had managed to take a step back, he was nursing a cut to his thigh. The attacker’s smile had vanished to be replaced with anger as he fingered a wound to his shoulder. Gossup realised that he could not fight at a distance; his foe had both skill and the reach. He moved one way and then dived forward taking the taller man to the floor. Gossup’s blade was knocked from his hand and the attacker was able to gain the upper hand. Gossup was held down by the man’s body weight, feeling him trying to stab him in the gut. Frantically he glanced around for his knife, but all he could see was Finch’s pistol. He swore and then allowed the attacker’s blade to move downwards. He felt a burning pain, but now his hand was free he grasped the pistol from the ground and drove it into the attacker’s eye socket. The man sat upright as he screamed and tried to pull the pistol out. Gossup withdrew the blade from his own body and drove it up through man’s chin. The screaming stopped abruptly, and the attacker slipped from Gossup.