by Sam Gafford
“I just feel as if we should be out doing something!”
“I know, and we will. The key, I feel, is and always has been Mary Kelly. She is the centre around which all this revolves. She is the one who has initiated the Ceremonies. This is her plan, and now we need to find her.”
“What, exactly, are the ‘Ceremonies,’ Arthur? You’ve only given me vague answers. I need to know what you know.”
Rose came in and cleared away our plates. He motioned to me to be quiet.
“We’ll take our coffee in the parlour, Rose.” She nodded and we left the room.
I had no desire for coffee but drank it anyway. Arthur did not speak again until Rose had gone.
“As I’ve said in the past, Albert, there are many different Ceremonies. Each has its own purpose and function. I know now, based on what we have heard from both Lees and the Beast, that Mary Kelly means to perform the Scarlet Ceremonies all the way to their end.”
“And that means what?”
He sighed. “It is difficult for me to put into words. You recall that I have said the concept of true sin, as man knows it, is wrong?”
I nodded.
“True sin is a corruption of the natural order of this universe. The ‘stones singing in the morning’ type thing. This—this ‘corruption’ comes from ‘outside’ this reality.”
“What do you mean by ‘outside’?”
“I mean, Albert, that this world, this universe, is not the only one. There are others, other planes of existence besides ours. Some are distant, but a few are separated from us by only a thin membrane. So when I speak of ‘true sin,’ I am speaking of those times when these other realities break through to ours.
“In most cases, these are slight incidents—things that we chalk up to folklore or legends or even to insanity.”
“Like ghosts?”
“If you like.”
“Then what is the purpose of the Scarlet Ceremonies? Is it to contact these other dimensions?”
Arthur hesitated. Clearly, it was not something he wanted to talk about, but I would not be put off this time.
“No, contact is not the objective. It is ‘communication’—an opening of the door, if you will. The creation of a portal for the other side to come through to our reality.”
“To do what?”
Arthur was silent.
“Arthur, to do what?”
“If the door is open long enough,” he said hesitantly, “not only will things come through but what we know as reality will be rewritten. Our world will be absorbed. Everything we know and love will be erased from existence.”
“No,” I said, “that can’t be possible. It just can’t.”
Arthur said nothing.
“Even—even if such a thing could be true, why would someone ever want to do such a thing? It’d be suicide!”
Arthur looked away. “I’ve a theory about that, but I can’t discuss it right now.”
“Why not? I swear, Arthur, I am tired of being kept in the dark about everything. Haven’t I proven by now that I can be trusted?”
Regret instantly passed over Arthur’s face. “My dear Albert, it’s not like that at all. If I hold anything back, it is only because I am not sure of my own thoughts. They go to strange places sometimes and I cannot always be sure that they are correct or even real.”
I understood but still wasn’t satisfied.
“Regardless, Arthur, by this point I do not think that any thought could be too outlandish to consider.”
“I suppose you are correct. Still, it is nothing more than a thought. You see, no rational person would seek to destroy the world; I think we can agree on that. So, if one were to do so, then that person would have to be insane. Yes?”
I nodded my agreement.
“Well, what if there was another reason? Given what we’re discussing, what if the person behind all this wasn’t a person at all? What if it was something that had come through before? Would it be so odd for its objective to be destroying this world in favour of its own?”
“I suppose that might make some sense. Are you talking about Mary Kelly?”
He looked guiltily at the floor.
“No,” he said mournfully. “I’m talking about the thing that plays at being Mary Kelly.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
Like a man hesitating before a vast precipice, he paused.
“I think,” he finally said, “that when Mary and I were children and we performed our own ‘ceremonies,’ something took her place. I think that she intended for something to take my place as well, but our relationship was terminated before she could accomplish it. I think that my ‘replacement’ is what has been killing those women in Whitechapel, but I don’t know why. That, I hope, is something that this book will answer for me.”
He took out the little volume we had gotten from the Beast and began leafing through it.
“This is a journal of some kind. Based on the handwriting, it is that of a very young girl. Perhaps this was the tale of someone else who fell down the same path as Mary. If so, I hope to be able to find some way to stop her.
“In the end, however, I feel that all this is my fault and it is my responsibility to end it by whatever means necessary.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
He smiled but shook his head.
“No, I am not fit company tonight. The hour has grown late and Amy is not yet home—and this preys on my mind as well. Go home and wait for Ann. Try and find out as much as you can about her activities. Perhaps there is some clue there we can use. We need to find Mary. If need be, we may have to compel Ann to bring her to us. I hope it doesn’t come to that, so continue to watch and track her movements as much as you can. Otherwise, I am at a loss to proceed. I am hopeful that our path will look clearer in the morning.”
I took my leave and headed home. I had asked for more information and had gotten it, even if it did little to soothe my nerves. By the time I entered my house, Ann was already home and ensconced in her room. I debated knocking on her door, but in the end I didn’t have the nerve so went to bed.
My dreams were dark and bloody.
September 20, 1888
To my surprise, Ann was not only up before me but was sitting at the breakfast table waiting for me. She seemed to delight in my confusion and uneasiness as I sat down. Mrs. Hutchins brought in a full breakfast and everything looked, at least on the outside, exactly the way it had when I had first became a border in the house.
“Are you feeling better now, Miss Ann?” Mrs. Hutchins asked, full of concern.
“Oh, yes, much better. Thank you, Mrs. Hutchins.”
“Have you been unwell?” I asked.
“Nothing serious,” she replied. “Just a little nausea. It passed quickly.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I understand that you were at a gallery opening last night with Mrs. Machen. How did that go?”
It was my turn to enjoy her sense of surprise and uncertainty.
“Why, yes, it was quite lovely. Ann, that is, Mrs. Machen, knows so much about art and she knows all the most important artists. The paintings were so amazing! I’d never seen such colours before. That painter who was at her party had some paintings in the show. Sickert, I believe his name was. I didn’t care for his work. Very dark subjects and all swirls and smushes, but I suppose I’m not much of an art critic.”
“You do yourself a disservice, my dear,” I replied. “I think you probably have a very good eye. I’d wager you see more than you let on.”
She looked at me the way a cobra would look at a rat that had the temerity to strike back. I would not allow her to see my fear, but it was there all the same.
“And what are you up to today?” I asked, clearing my plate of the last kipper.
“Back to help at the church. There is always so much to do, so many unfortunates.”
I was about to comment upon that when she began to cough violently. Her entire body shook, and despite
myself I rushed over and began patting her on the back. Ann coughed into her table napkin, and Mrs. Hutchins forced her to drink some water. Slowly the attack passed and she returned to normal.
She moved to avoid my hand upon her back and stood up. “I’m fine, Mrs. Hutchins. It’s passed now. Excuse me, I need to be going.”
Ann quickly moved around me and left the room. Mrs. Hutchins began to clear the table as if I were no longer there. Curious, I picked up Ann’s napkin and noticed several spots of blood from her cough. Could it be tuberculosis? Or something worse?
The front door slammed, and I was quickly on her heels. I said nothing to Mrs. Hutchins nor she to me. It was as if I had ceased to exist the minute that Ann had left the table.
*
It was not difficult to find Ann on the street. She was wearing a particularly bright blue hat which stood out as it bobbed along. Nor did she hail a cab or climb into any other vehicle. Instead, she walked determinedly ahead and straight in the direction of the East End. I thought that perhaps she was enjoying the unusually good weather that morning and taking advantage of a brisk walk, but not surprisingly her path did not lead to St. John’s but towards Commercial Street and the centre of Whitechapel itself.
The late morning crowds poured through the street but did not make it impossible for me to keep track of Ann. If she knew I was following her, she gave no sign of it. There was nothing of nervousness about her. Ann moved with the smooth confidence of one who knows exactly where she is going and the comfortable air of one who belongs there. Despite being dressed better than virtually everyone on the street, she was never accosted or harassed. Indeed, from a distance it looked to me almost as if others were taking pains to get out of her way and not acknowledge her.
It crossed my mind that perhaps this might be it. Perhaps she would lead me to Mary Kelly’s hiding place. The only question would be if I would run to get Arthur’s help or carry on alone. I knew already that I would not wait. I’d do everything in my power to wrest Ann from her vile spell no matter what it might cost me. I should have been more cautious.
All thought for my own safety was gone. The only thing I focused on was that blue hat which moved ever forward. Now off Commercial Street down a still crowded side-street to Dorset Street, which had been called the most dangerous street in all London. Ann started moving faster now as if she was afraid of being late for an appointment.
She took one quick turn and then another down a side alley. I followed as quickly as I could without betraying my presence, but the crowds grew thin. We passed in back of building where the sidewalks and the people upon them were covered with filth. The smells were overwhelming, and I began to wonder if we were getting close to the Thames and the world of the Toshers again.
Suddenly Ann darted down a small lane which was not even large enough for a cart to pass through. It opened up into a tiny court with several other exits. It reminded me a bit of Ah Sing’s place, but I knew that was just a trick of the architecture. She stopped and looked around. I quickly ducked behind a large pile of wooden crates, but evidently she did not see me as she quietly walked up to a worn door and opened it.
Without another look, she went inside and closed the door behind her.
I carefully I crept up to the entrance but could not see anything. There were windows on each side of the door, but both were heavily curtained. No light or sound could penetrate them.
I grabbed the doorknob and turned it slowly. It gave no resistance. The door had been left unlocked. I opened it a thin crack; there was nothing but darkness inside. I knew I would have to move quickly. The bright light from outside would be like a beacon to anyone on the other side of the door. Holding my breath, I slipped inside and shut the door fast behind me.
Everywhere was darkness.
There was no light anywhere. I had the sense of a large room but could not see its walls or anything inside. Fearing I had made a target of myself, I stepped quickly to the side and could feel the curtains rustle behind me. A small sliver of light broke through, and my eyes began to adjust to the darkness.
“Albert? Is that you? Help me, Albert! For God’s sake, help me!”
Ann’s voice broke through the blackness like a shot, and I carelessly ran forward because it was the old Ann’s voice crying out and not the one I had heard come from her lips with such venomous hatred.
“Ann!” I called. “Where are you?”
Within moments, I had completely lost my bearings. I heard her voice swirling about me. One instant she was in front; the next, in back of me. Close to me and then far away. My presence there had already been exposed, so I took out a match and struck it with my thumb.
The light blinded me, so I instantly looked away and directly into Edwards’ face.
He smiled an ugly smile and then swung at me with his right hand. I felt something hard smash against my head and I went down on to the floor. I tried to keep awake, but just as I was getting back up he hit me again and I felt the world swirl around me.
As I started to lose consciousness, I opened my eyes and saw Ann walking towards me and laughing. I fell into the blackness with her mocking filling my ears and then I was gone, certain I would not wake up alive this time.
Chapter 55
I think this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas.
—William Shakespeare
To my surprise, I did eventually awake but without any idea where I was or how long I had been unconscious. My head throbbed painfully as did my side, but when I tried to move I found that I had been tied to an old, stout chair. It was painful to open my eyes, but I could see that I was in a room or chamber of some kind. The walls were made of dense, cut stone and the ceiling was slightly arched. Trickles of water seeped down in some areas, and I could feel the weight of miles of earth above me. The only thing in the room besides myself was a wooden table (upon which sat a single oil lamp) and two more chairs like the one to which I was tied.
A thick iron door was the only exit, and it was shut tightly. As much as I struggled, I could not loosen the rope that bound me. My exertions made my head ache more than before, and I could feel blood dripping down my face. I tried to throw myself back and break the chair, but I didn’t have the strength.
I shouted but the only answer was the echoes of my voice.
Somewhere above me, I could hear the sound of trains running and their motions would shake dust from the ceiling. Evidently, I was in some sort of catacombs below the underground. It was a place, I knew, where I would never be found.
Finally I passed out again. . . .
. . . and was awoken by a slap across my face.
I looked up at Edwards’ ugly face.
“About time you woke up,” he grinned. “I like a man to be awake when I punish him.”
“What are you doing? Where am I?”
He slapped me hard again. I felt my lip split and blood pour out.
“Who said you could ask me anything, eh? You and your bloody lot, always thinking you’re too good for everyone else. Well, I know more than you think I do.”
“Where’s Ann?” I asked.
“Who? That tart?” He laughed. “You don’t know anything, do you? Mr. Stephens took care of that. Somehow he knew the best way to lure you, and damned if he weren’t right! Walked right into it, you did!”
Edwards wiped his hand with a dirty handkerchief. It didn’t seem to make him any cleaner.
“Mind you, you weren’t supposed to be this much trouble. But you didn’t go with Netley that time, and at other times you were always in crowds. Stephens likes the ‘quiet’ touch, he does.”
I spit out blood and mucus on the floor.
“What’s the point of this, Edwards? Why are you working for Stephens anyway?”
Edwards shrugged. “He pays well. Besides”—he came close to me and bent down to my face—“I never liked you. Not for a minute.”
I spit in his face, and he punched me hard enough to knock me over.
“And Stephens isn’t like that?”
“Oh, no, he is, but he don’t pretend he ain’t. You see, I’ve got more respect for a man who tells you what he is straight up, no fakery. What’s more, like I said, he pays well.”
“You need to let me go. There’s people who will look for me if I don’t come back . . .”
He laughed. “Like who? That Welsh writer you’re always larking about with? Oh, don’t worry, there’s plans for him too. You’re first, though, plus the Gaffer’s got a score to settle with you.”
He could see the fear in my eyes.
“Oh, yeah, he ain’t forgotten about you, and he’ll get his turn all right. See, first Mr. Stephens is going ask you some questions—and you’re gonna answer him, and you’re gonna answer him right. Then, when it’s over, well, the Gaffer’s got his own ‘questions’ for you, only he tends to talk with his fists.”
“Why would I tell you anything if my fate is the same regardless?”
He seemed to consider that for a moment, as if it were a flaw that hadn’t occurred to him before. “Well, that’s true, that’s true. But you see, we can fix it so that you don’t live long enough for the Gaffer to get ahold of you. Of course, he’ll still mutilate your corpse, but you’ll be dead then, so who cares?”
“I won’t tell you anything,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, you will. I brought a little something to help assure that.”
Edwards took a small case from out of his pocket and opened it to reveal a hypodermic needle.
“This here,” he said, “is what is called ‘cocaine.’ They tell me that, in small doses, it does great things for pain. But in a large dose like this, well, let’s just say that your time won’t be pleasant.”
I struggled and pushed and tried to get away from him, but he bent over me and held me down from the back with one powerful knee. I suddenly felt the sting of the needle in my neck, and then it was done. Edwards got off me and put the case back in his pocket.