by Sam Gafford
“I have not had any notice of that. I should have been glad if notice had been given me, because I should have been better prepared to give the evidence. However, I will do my best.”
“Would you like to postpone it?”
“Oh, no, I will do my best. I still think that it is a very great pity to make this evidence public. Of course, I bow to your decision; but there are matters that have come to light now which show the wisdom of the course pursued on the last occasion, and I cannot help reiterating my regret that you have come to a different conclusion. On the last occasion, just before I left the court, I mentioned to you that there were reasons why I thought the perpetrator of the act upon the woman’s throat had caught hold of her chin. These reasons were that just below the lobe of the left ear were three scratches, and there was also a bruise on the right cheek. When I come to speak of the wounds on the lower part of the body I must again repeat my opinion that it is highly injudicious to make the results of my examination public. These details are fit only for yourself, sir, and the jury, but to make them public would simply be disgusting.”
“We are here in the interests of justice and must have all the evidence before us. I see, however, that there are several ladies and boys in the room, and I think they might retire.”
Two ladies and a few newspaper messenger boys left the court, but in general everyone kept their seats and eagerly waited for the testimony.
Dr. Phillips again raised an objection to the evidence, remarking; “In giving these details to the public I believe you are thwarting the ends of justice.”
Baxter was beginning to bluster and clearly had had more than enough of Phillips’ deliberate attempts to obfuscate the proceedings.
“We are bound to take all the evidence in the case, and whether it be made public or not is a matter for the responsibility of the press.”
The foreman of the jury took the opportunity to speak up. “We are of opinion that the evidence the doctor on the last occasion wished to keep back should be heard.”
Several jurymen loudly proclaimed their agreement, and the audience began to do so as well.
“I have carefully considered the matter and have never before heard of any evidence requested being kept back,” said the coroner.
“I have not kept it back; I have only queried whether it should be given or not.”
If Baxter could have leaped over the podium and strangled Phillips, I believe he would have at this point.
“We have delayed taking this evidence as long as possible, because you said the interests of justice might be served by keeping it back; but it is now a fortnight since this occurred, and I do not see why it should be kept back from the jury any longer! I am compelling you to answer, sir!”
“I am of the opinion that what I am about to describe took place after death, so that it could not affect the cause of death, which you are enquiring into.”
“That is only your opinion, sir, and might be repudiated by other medical experts. Get on with it!”
“Very well.” Dr. Phillips sighed loudly and consulted his notebook. “I will give you the results of my post-mortem examination.
“After the initial examination which I previously detailed, I inspected the lower portion of the body. The abdomen had been entirely laid open: the intestines, severed from their mesenteric attachments, had been lifted out of the body and placed on the shoulder of the corpse; whilst from the pelvis, the uterus and its appendages, with the upper portion of the vagina and the posterior two-thirds of the bladder, had been entirely removed. No trace of these parts could be found and the incisions were cleanly cut, avoiding the rectum and dividing the vagina low enough to avoid injury to the cervix uteri.
“Obviously the work was that of an expert or one, at least, who had such knowledge of anatomical or pathological examinations as to be enabled to secure the pelvic organs with one sweep of the knife, which must therefore have at least five or six inches in length, probably more. The appearance of the cuts confirmed to me my opinion that the instrument, like the one which divided the neck, had been of a very sharp character. The mode in which the knife had been used seemed to indicate great anatomical knowledge. A portion of her uterus had been removed and taken away by the murderer.”
The room was silent. Even Baxter seemed incapable of believing what he had just heard. A few women who stayed started weeping, and I heard a man nearby me exclaim “My God!” in a terrified whisper.
In detailing the mutilations and method, Phillips had just thrown suspicion upon anyone with medical skill or knowledge. Perhaps he was holding it back to protect someone in his profession.
“Can you give any idea how long it would take to perform the incisions found on the body?”
“I think I can guide you by saying that I myself could not have performed all the injuries I saw on that woman and complete them, even without a struggle, under a quarter of an hour. If I had done it in a deliberate way, such as would fall to the duties of a surgeon, it would probably have taken me the best part of an hour. The whole inference seems to me that the operation was performed to enable the perpetrator to obtain possession of these parts of the body.”
Was he saying that these women had been killed not because of anger or passion or money but because of their organs? The idea was inconceivable.
“Have you anything further to add with reference to the stains on the wall?”
“I have not been able to obtain any further traces of blood on the wall.”
The foreman spoke up. “Is there anything to indicate that the crime in the case of the woman Nichols was perpetrated with the same object as this?”
“There is a difference in this respect, at all events, that the medical expert is of opinion that, in the case of Nichols, the mutilations were made first.”
The foreman continued: “Was any photograph of the eyes of the deceased taken, in case they should retain any impression of the murderer?”
I had to stifle a laugh, and Arthur looked at me very sternly like a headmaster reprimanding one of his students. I couldn’t believe that anyone still believed that old myth of the eye retaining the last thing it saw after death.
“I have no particular opinion upon that point myself,” Dr. Phillips replied. “I was asked about it very early in the enquiry, and I gave my opinion that the operation would be useless, especially in this case. The use of a bloodhound was also suggested. It may be my ignorance, but the blood around was that of the murdered woman, and it would be more likely to be traced than the murderer. These questions were submitted to me by the police very early, I think within twenty-four hours of the murder of the woman.”
“Were the injuries to the face and neck such as might have produced insensibility?” asked Baxter.
“Yes,” answered Phillips, “they were consistent with partial suffocation.”
“So she was dead when she was . . . was mutilated?”
“Very much so,” said Phillips.
“Well,” Baxter said as he ruffled the papers on his podium, “thank God for that at least.”
After Phillips testified that he had nothing more to add, Baxter released him to their mutual relief. The witnesses that followed were definitely anticlimactic. They basically just confirmed who the victim was and when she was last seen—which, once again, didn’t seem to me to be very helpful at all. Everyone knew who she was by this point and that testimony seemed more fitted to a future court trial, if they ever had one.
With a sudden burst of energy, Arthur pointed to his pocket watch and fairly pulled me out of the building, but not before I noticed Inspector Abberline taking note of our attendance. I felt that we would be getting a visit from him sooner rather than later and that it would not be a pleasant one.
*
Arthur quickly bundled me into another cab, and we were off for our meeting at the Golden Dawn.
When I could finally catch my breath I asked, “Am I correct in thinking that the coroner just hinted that a doctor could
be the Whitechapel killer?”
Arthur waved a hand dismissively. “That is just an example of a dull mind wrestling with concepts beyond its understanding. No, what is interesting is the implication that organs have been taken from the body. Do you remember, Albert, when we were hiding and heard Dr. Gull specifically ask Llewellyn if anything had been taken from Polly Nichols’ body? Isn’t it odd that he should have been asking such a question back then before anyone even thought to check? Gull is mixed up in this, but I just can’t figure out why yet.”
The cab came to a quick stop. Albert paid the driver and quickly bounded up the stairs. I was stunned by his display of energy. Perhaps he had stumbled upon some clue that could make sense of this whole business.
The same footman, Mandrill, whom we had seen at our last visit, solemnly opened the door and allowed us to enter. Without a word, he took our hats and coats and then ushered us down a long corridor that passed many rooms and closed doors from which emanated weird sounds and low voices. After several twists and turns, he came to a solid oak door and knocked on it in an off-beat, rhythmic manner. The door opened and Mandrill stood to the side.
We carefully entered the room, which appeared to be completely pitch black, but I quickly discovered that this was caused by heavy, dark curtains that hung completely around the room. Mathers came forward, shook our hands, and parted the curtain for us to enter.
In the centre of the room was a resting couch which was flanked by an abundance of large, soft curtains. On the couch was a young boy, no more than twelve, who eyed us suspiciously as we drew closer. Near him, on a pedestal, stood a magnificent chess set of ivory and onyx which held a problem he had clearly been studying before our entrance.
“These,” Mathers said to the boy, “are the men I told you about. This is Arthur Machen and Albert Besame. Gentlemen, this is Aleister . . .”
“Please,” interjected the boy in a quiet but firm manner, “do not say my name. You may refer to me as ‘the Beast,’ if you must refer to me at all.”
The boy was fascinating. Even at such a young age, he had a power and intensity about him which few manage to achieve even after a lifetime. His gaze was piercing, but I noticed a slight swelling about his hands and face that seemed unnatural. His voice was commanding and decisive. Whoever he was, the boy was striking. He reclined casually on the sofa, clad only in a dark robe that reached down to his feet, which were clad in comfortable, and expensive, slippers.
“Are you a member of the Golden Dawn?” asked Arthur.
The Beast seemed almost insulted at the question. “Not at the moment. Oh, they have been trying to recruit me and I have ‘assisted’ them on occasions, but in a formal sense no, I am not.”
Mathers jumped in, rather apologetically.
“Our young colleague has strong interests in Western esotericism. In addition, he has had the most profound visions we have ever known. His knowledge goes beyond this existence.”
“None of which,” the Beast quickly explained, “is known outside this building. I have reasons for not revealing myself just yet. I would not be speaking to you now if Mathers had not vouched for your character and if I had not already had the most striking visions of both of you.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It is about the Ceremonies,” the Beast continued. “Mr. Machen has some knowledge of them, partially gained from our own library. But you do not see the whole picture yet. This is the time of the Scarlet Ceremonies, but it is not the first time they have been performed.
“There are legends that tell of it occurring during the dawn of time and, since then, others have tried and failed. There was a group in the Massachusetts colony of the United States of America which attempted to bring the Scarlet Ceremonies to conclusion nearly two hundred years ago. They failed, but they came dangerously close to succeeding.
“Their knowledge spread secretly to others in different lands, including England. Even, as Mr. Machen suspects, to Wales. Because I knew you were coming, I brought this to bring to you.”
The Beast stood up and withdrew something from the folds of his robe. I could see it was a small parcel. He undid a wrapping of paper, and produced a green pocketbook.
“This may explain some of your questions, Mr. Machen, though I fear it will not bring you any peace.” He moved to hand it to Arthur and then hesitated.
“You will take care of it?” he said. “Don’t leave it lying about. It is one of the choicer pieces in my collection, and I should be very sorry if it were lost.”
He fondled the faded binding.
“I will make sure it will come to no harm,” Arthur said, and the Beast reluctantly handed it over.
“I have quite a ‘secret’ collection of occult tomes. This was given to me only recently, and if I did not feel it vital that you read it, I would never let it go. Think on this: what is the purpose of a ceremony? Is it to praise something that is passing or to exalt something that is rising?”
“It can have several meanings,” I responded, “depending upon the circumstances.”
“Exactly so,” said the Beast. “There is something coming, Mr. Besame; it is something old and infinitely evil. And it is coming for you specifically even if it is not aware of that just yet.”
“What do you mean?” asked Arthur.
“The visions I have had are troubling but not especially clear. Mr. Machen, I see you grieving intensely, but I cannot say why or for what reason. The two of you are together in that vision, but later Mr. Besame will be alone and will be on a hill. He will be attacked by the very forces that move against you now, but I cannot say if he will prevail. For that reason, the Order of the Golden Dawn is leaving London.”
Arthur turned and looked at Mathers in complete disbelief.
“Is this true? You are deserting the city?”
Mathers, in that ‘stiff upper lip’ English style, merely replied, “We can do nothing here. We have other ‘places’ where we can set up fortifications and try to weather this storm.”
“And if those fail?”
Mathers did not falter. “Then the world will fail.”
“And what of you?” I asked the Beast. “Will you go with them or home to family?”
I had clearly touched a nerve, as the boy gave an ugly sneer. “My father is dead, Mr. Besame. As for my mother, I would not care if she were obliterated from this world. No, I will probably return to school until such time as something happens . . . or does not happen.”
“As to this point, Arthur,” Mathers declared, “we can give you no more help. As soon as you leave, this building will be locked and barred. No one will re-enter it until the danger has passed.”
“And when will that be?” I asked.
“You,” answered the Beast, “will know that better than anyone, Mr. Besame.”
When we had gained the street again, I paused and looked back at the building that housed the Order of the Golden Dawn. I could see Mendrill and Mathers raising strong shutters behind the windows and could swear that I heard the sound of iron doors clanging shut echoing from deep within. The fortress was being deserted. The defenders were fleeing the city.
Chapter 54
The streets of London have their map, but our passions are uncharted. What are you going to meet if you turn this corner?
—Virgina Woolf
“What do you mean Mrs. Machen isn’t home?” Arthur asked Rose, who appeared quite nervous.
“She . . . she left a few hours ago, sir. She didn’t tell me where, but she left this note for you.”
Perhaps we were both too shaken from our meeting at the Golden Dawn, but Arthur and I each stared at the note as if it were the portent of some new evil. Rose stood still until Arthur dismissed her with a curt wave of his hand.
He opened the note and read it. Previously, I had noted that my friend had an open countenance and perhaps one too easy to decipher, but that seemed a lifetime ago. His face grew grim and his jaw clenched as he handed me the note
to read.
Written in a fine, delicate hand of a woman, it said:
Arthur,
Am going to a gallery opening at Raliegh’s in the West End tonight. Rose will see to your supper. Don’t wait up!
Amy
P.S.—Am taking Arthur’s young lady, Amy, with me. She is very excited!
My blood ran cold.
“What do you think this means?” I asked Arthur.
He shrugged. “It could mean danger and heartbreak and evil. Or, on the other hand, it could simply mean that two young ladies are going to look at some pretty pictures. At the moment, perhaps you’ll forgive me for hoping for the less catastrophic option. Let’s see what Rose has rustled up for us, shall we?”
To my frustration, Arthur would say no more. As we consumed a large meal of beef, potatoes, carrots, and more, I had to keep myself in check. I wanted to run out and throw myself into the fray. Were we not just allowing ourselves to be defenceless? Sitting and eating while the world fell apart outside?
I said as much to Arthur, but it did not impress.
“And what,” he finally asked, “would you have us do right now? We have nothing but speculation and supposition and psychic visions. None of which, by the way, have identified the true nature of what we are facing or even such a mundane fact as where we might find this terror. It is true that I have my own theories, but in the end they are just theories.”
“What about the police? What about Abberline? We could go to him?”
He pushed his plate away in frustration.
“And tell him what? Abberline is a realist, Albert. He believes in what he can see and hear and touch. He understands motives like greed, anger, and lust. To him, as to every detective, all humanity can be summed up by one of those three motivations. So here we come with our theories of ‘ceremonies’ and dholes and universal evil wrapped up in one person, and what do you think he will do? He’ will kick us out on our arses, if we’re lucky, or lock us up in Bedlam if we’re not. He’s looking for a man. We’re looking for something that pretends to be a man.”