by Sam Gafford
Chapter 30
This melancholy London—I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually. One feels them passing like a whiff of air.
—William Butler Yeats
September 8, 1888
It was well after midnight when we left Sickert’s, and I was feeling the results of my infirmity. I looked over at Arthur and could see that he was weary as well. Still, I tried to rally myself and asked, “What do we do now?”
Arthur sighed and looked out the window of our cab.
“I honestly do not know, Albert. If Sickert is telling the truth, then Eddy had nothing to do with the murder of that poor Nichols woman.”
“You think he was lying then?”
Arthur thought for a moment. “No. No, I do not. Lying would have not gained him anything, and his fear was quite real. We could verify the woman’s abduction and perhaps even her ‘operation,’ but I’m not sure how much that would help. Eddy’s ‘marriage’ has already been wiped out by forces greater than us. That poor girl is beyond our help now. What good would revealing it all do her now? In her current state she might be considered harmless; but if we were to reveal her existence, her life would be ended before we could even find her.”
Silently, I had to agree with Arthur. But it stuck in my craw like a burning ember.
“Is that it then? Are we simply to stand by when such evil is done and not say a word?”
Smiling, Arthur replied, “That was not ‘evil,’ Albert, just base human nature. True evil is something far, far worse . . . and I would know.”
“Still,” I said, “at least this seems to clear the prince of the Nichols murder. That must be some comfort at least.”
“Actually, no. . . . I was really hoping it was Eddy.”
“Why on earth would you want such a thing?”
“Because,” Arthur said slowly, deliberating choosing every word, “that would have been such a nice, simple answer. My other theory is much darker, more disturbing. Eddy’s diary gave me hope that I was on the wrong track but now . . .”
After a pause, he continued. “I think that we should get you home, Albert. I’ve kept you out far longer than I intended and, it seems, all for naught.” Arthur stuck his head out the window and called out my address to the driver.
I should have argued the point with him. I should have refused to leave his side that night, but to my everlasting regret I did not. Instead, I let the fatigue wash over me and sank back into the cushioned seat. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember was Arthur gently shaking me. “Come along, old fellow, you’re home now.”
Arthur saw me to the door and then climbed back into the cab. I didn’t hear his directions to the driver and barely remember my own crawl back up into my bed. Perhaps if I had heard him say, “Whitechapel, driver,” I could have stopped what was to come that night. Part of me wishes that; but another, more downbeaten part believes that it wouldn’t have made any difference.
*
I awoke the next morning with a renewed determination.
I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to go about it, but I felt that I had to do something about Eddy even if, in the end, it accomplished nothing. I would begin with the one bargaining chip I had left: Eddy’s diary.
I quickly dressed and made my morning wash and shave. The night’s sleep had left me feeling energised and ready for my new journey. I had hopes of catching Ann before she left on her day’s work, but I was disappointed to enter the dining room and find only Dr. Williams sipping a cup of coffee.
“Mr. Besame,” he said, not altogether warmly, “I see you continue to disregard my advice.”
“Dr. Williams! I, ah . . .” I stumbled for words, but thankfully my stomach quickly spoke for me. “Is Mrs. Hutchins about? I could do with a spot of breakfast.”
“She’s down in her root cellar. She’ll be up in a moment. Actually, this is useful, as I wanted to talk to you about her son.”
“Oh?” I had, in truth, forgotten all about the man.
“William was released from custody yesterday. His mother gave him an alibi for the dates in question, and they had no further evidence against him. So, naturally, they let him go.”
I thought for a moment. “Well, that’s a good thing then, isn’t it? They must not think he was guilty if they released him.”
The doctor leaned in closer and whispered. “I’m afraid that his mother lied for him. I know of at least one date when she was not with him.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I was with her, and that is all I will say on that matter for the moment.”
“So there is still a chance that he may be the culprit?”
“Possibly. I’ve heard that the police are looking for another man right now. Perhaps he is the one.”
My head was already spinning when a much happier, smiling Mrs. Hutchins burst into the room. “Now, John, you must try these— Oh, Mr. Besame! You’re up! Should he be up, Dr. Williams?”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. “Whether he should or shouldn’t, he is now—and he looks as if he plans to stay that way.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hutchins, but I must go and check in with my employers. I mustn’t lose my situation, after all!”
Mrs. Hutchins’ face paled at the thought. “Oh, my, no! We can’t have that. Sit right down while I fetch up some breakfast for you.”
She immediately set a tray of pastries before the doctor and then vanished back into the kitchen.
I lowered my voice. “But the police do have another ‘Leather Apron’ suspect?”
The doctor replied between bites of his pastry. “Apparently there is some fellow known in the East End for mistreating women. They’re attempting to find him now. Still, I don’t envy them trying to flush someone out of that hell-hole.”
“And what about Mrs. Hutchins’ son?”
“I’ll be keeping a close eye on him. Let us hope none of my patients will decide to run around the city and keep getting knocked about the head so it keeps me from watching him!”
“I assure you, Dr. Williams, I have no intention of doing any ‘running’ for some time.”
“Hmm, seems I’ve heard that before. Quiet, here she comes.”
Mrs. Hutchins quickly came into the room carrying a tray of bacon, eggs, and a slice of ham. I don’t think I’d ever seen such a welcome sight.
In between bites of food and gulps of coffee, I managed to ask if Ann had risen yet.
“Oh, she’s been and gone, Mr. Albert. Out with the sun this morning.”
I was disappointed she had not waited to breakfast with me, and it showed on my face.
“She was on her way to do some work with that Reverend Barnett,” Mrs. Hutchins quickly said. “She didn’t want to wake you.”
Something about the way Mrs. Hutchins said that didn’t ring true, but I was too afraid to push the matter any further. “Will she be home for dinner?” I asked as I wiped my mouth with my napkin and stood up.
Mrs. Hutchins looked away. “She said she might be out for the day.”
“And what about you, Mr. Besame?” Dr. Williams asked. “Will you be sensible and be home for dinner?”
“The Devil himself could not keep me away!” I responded cheerfully and headed out the door.
To my regret, I did not spare much thought for Ann that morning. My mind was full of other things, chiefly my impending conversation with The Brothers. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to say or how they would reply. Indeed, I thought it was a fair possibility that I would lose my job over the matter, but I was determined to press ahead in any event. In a lifetime of foolish things, this was perhaps the most foolish of all.
*
The sight of the storefront of Robson & Carslake, Booksellers fairly made my heart leap with joy. I had no idea how much I had missed the calm, staid life of books during my frantic adventures. The thought of being able to immerse myself in a sea of the print
ed word was like a siren’s song to me. It was all I could do to keep myself from simply turning over Eddy’s diary and climbing back into the ‘Black Hole’ where creatures like the Gaffer could never find me. I straightened my clothes, and my nerve, and walked inside.
I was immediately greeted with shouts of joy from both of my employers.
“Albert!” Wendell cried as he leapt out from behind a pile of books. “It’s so good to see you! I didn’t think you’d be around for a couple of days yet.”
“Nonsense,” Robert replied, “he’s a fit young man. What’s a couple of knocks to the head, eh?” He jokingly jabbed me on the shoulder, but his face looked tired and drawn. The ordeal had not been easy for either of them.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier,” I said, “but I’ve been a little under the weather.”
“Yes,” Wendell quickly added, “Arthur told us all about your little ‘adventure.’ But it’s all done now, yes?”
As a reply, I took Eddy’s diary out of my coat pocket.
The two men each expelled a gasp of relief at the sight of the book. I instantly saw relief fill Wendell’s eyes, and I even thought that Robert beheld me with a new-found sense of respect.
“If we may,” I said, my hand firmly on the book, “perhaps we could discuss this in your office?”
They looked at each other, and I saw fear fill them once again. Silently, they followed me back to their office where, not too long before, I had been interrogated as a possible thief.
“What’s this about, Albert?” Wendell asked.
I could sense that Robert was readying himself for some sort of ransom demand on my part. The fact that, after all I had gone through on their behalf, he could still think so ill of me angered me. But I held myself in check and held the book out for Wendell to take.
“I only felt that this wasn’t something we should discuss out in the middle of the store,” I replied and smiled.
The happiness which spread through Wendell at the touch of the book was as great as the sun after a foggy morning. The man fairly beamed with joy.
“Oh, Albert,” he sighed, nearly crying, “you’ve no idea what you’ve done for us.”
Even Robert smiled, thinking that the crisis had passed.
“Has there been any news from the police as to who stole the book in the first place?” I asked.
Wendell looked glum. “No, there’s been no word. Truthfully, I wonder if they’re investigating it at all.”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t very successful in that regard either. I only know that the man who actually stole it was hired by another man. He never got the chance to tell me who it was before he was killed.”
Both Wendell and Robert stared at me. I wasn’t sure how much of the story Arthur had actually told them, so I briefly outlined my investigation beginning with Edwards and ending with the run-in with the muggers after we got the book from the Toshers. They were stunned.
“Albert,” Robert said, “I’m truly sorry. I had no idea what you’ve been through. How can we possibly make it up to you?”
“Yes, Albert, please! What can we do for you?”
I paused, savouring their gratitude before finally saying what I had been practicing on my way there.
“I was glad to help. You gave me a job when no one else would take a chance on me. I was happy for the chance to repay you. However,” I said, “there is one thing I would like.”
“Name it!” Wendell exclaimed, nearly shouting. “Anything you like. Help yourself to any book in the store!”
I could see Robert blanch at that, but he kept silent.
“Thank you, but what I would truly like . . .”
They looked at me in dreadful anticipation.
“. . . is to meet the prince myself.”
Chapter 31
London is the clearing-house of the world.
—Joseph Chamberlain
September 8, 1888
8:00 a.m.
Outside of 29 Hanbury Street a crowd was gathering, although I had no idea about that at the time.
*
The Brothers were stunned. It was as if I had asked them to find some way to put me on the moon.
“Albert,” Robert began, “I’m not really sure if that’s possible.”
“Why not?”
“Well,” Wendell replied, “it’s just not that simple! One doesn’t exactly walk up to the gates of Buckingham Palace and say ‘hello’!”
“I wasn’t asking for a private audience. I just wanted to meet the man. You know, I’ve never meet anyone that important before.”
They looked at each other. I knew that I couldn’t tell them my real reason for wanting to meet Eddy. If I did, I’d have to admit that I had read the diary, which would have been a serious breach of trust. I was hoping they would believe that I just wanted to meet a royal. There was no need to involve them in my plans if I didn’t have to.
“You know, Albert, it’s not that we’re not appreciative,” Robert said, “but I just don’t know how we could do that. You have to realise that we’re not in that circle either. We just work as their agents at times.”
“Of course,” I replied, “I wasn’t expecting an invitation from the Queen for tea. But after all, I did go through a great deal to recover this book.”
“Yes, we understand completely,” Wendell said. “I suppose we could introduce you the next time the prince comes in, but there’s no telling when that might be.”
“According to the papers,” Robert said, “the prince isn’t even in London right now. That was why we weren’t worried when Arthur didn’t bring the diary back while you were recovering.”
“But the prince does come into the shop, doesn’t he?” I said.
Robert hesitated. “Yes, sometimes. But not very often.”
It was the first time I truly knew that Robert was lying to me. If the diary was updated as often as it was, the prince had to be a fairly regular visitor. In all probability, he came in late by special appointment. Unless they had given him a key of his own?
“There might be a way . . .” Wendell began slowly.
“Wendell, have a care.”
“No, no, Robert. I think we could do this. I think we owe this to Albert.”
“What are you thinking, Wendell?” I asked.
“Well, I can’t very well go to the Princess of Wales or the young prince and say, ‘We’ve got someone here who wants to meet you.’ That wouldn’t work at all. However, we do have this!”
Wendell went to the special locked bookcase they kept in the office and pulled out a small book. It looked old but not ancient. The binding was faded leather but still smooth and uncracked.
“This is a book,” Wendell continued, “that just came in a few days ago. We had originally obtained it because it was on a list of titles that were highly desired by the prince’s friend. What if we were to inform him that it has arrived and ask him to come and pick it up? Then we could take the moment to introduce the prince to our ‘most excellent clerk,’ whom we trust to serve the prince as well as we do ourselves.”
Robert was not pleased. “No, Wendell, that won’t do. Have you already forgotten what we’ve promised the princess? We said we would no longer procure those types of books for her son.”
Wendell was quick to the retort. “Ah, but that’s the thing! Remember, we had already ordered this book before we made that promise. It came in afterward and we haven’t bought any other books for him since. This one was already on its way here.”
Robert sighed. “Now, really, Wendell. You know as well as I do that you’re just splitting hairs here. The princess was very explicit in her request. Do you want to risk offending her?”
Wendell looked at me, and for a moment I was afraid that he was going to give in to Robert; but he stood fast.
“In this case, yes, I would take that risk.”
Robert looked at Wendell and was silent for a moment.
“I can see,” he finally said, “that I am out
numbered here. Very well, Wendell, let the prince know that the book is here. I would suggest, however, not using the usual method of notification, as I’m sure the princess will be watching his mail. Wait until we know the prince is back in the city and then contact him, yes?”
“I think that’s reasonable,” Wendell said. “The papers usually report the royal schedules, so I’ll check for when he’s back. When we hear from him, we’ll let you know, Albert. Is that agreeable?”
Smiling, I said, “That’s more than agreeable. Thank you both. It means a great deal to me to meet the prince. Growing up in Cornwall, I never thought I’d ever meet anyone important, to say nothing of a royal!”
“Believe me, Albert,” Robert said, “they’re not all that much different. They’re people all the same . . .”
“Just royal!” Wendell finished, laughing.
I smiled and felt I had gotten as much as I was going to get that day. But I did have one more point to bring up.
“You know, there’s still someone out there who wants that book. By now, he has figured out that he stole the wrong one from Arthur. He may come back for the real thing.”
“Never fear!” Wendell replied. “We’ve made a few changes since you were here. Voila!” He stepped aside and there, under a pile of books, was a new safe. It looked heavy and impenetrable. I doubted if anyone would be able to crack it or carry it away very easily.
“This book is going right in here. With any luck, when the prince comes in he’ll take it away with him and relieve us of this nightmare.” Wendell opened the safe door, placed Eddy’s diary comfortably inside, and shut the door with a theatrical flourish.
“That’s very comforting. Well, now I suppose I will get downstairs and back to work.”
Wendell looked concerned. “Are you sure? Do you think you’re up for it so soon?”
“I think so. At least, I’d like to do as much as I can today. I’m sure that you’ve continued to get in new stock while I’ve been gone.” I made my way downstairs and once again lost myself in the world of books.
*
Around 9 a.m. I came up to ask a question about a particularly nice brace of Renaissance poets. Poetry was not really my cup of tea, but the books themselves were excellently bound and printed in exquisite red leather. Before my foot even hit the top step, I could tell there was something wrong.