by Sam Gafford
Chapter 69
London is too full of fogs and serious people. Whether the fogs produce the serious people, or whether the serious people produce the fogs, I don’t know.
—Oscar Wilde
October 10, 1888
Two days later, I reappeared at Arthur’s house. Before that, I took the liberty of stopping in at my old home to change and clean up. It would not do for someone dressed like an East End dockhand to show up at the house of an important man like Lees. Mrs. Hutchins was not around, and the place had the stale air of not having been inhabited for a while. Although the house was cleaner, most of the furniture had still not been repaired. I wondered if Mrs. Hutchins had any intention of ever returning to the place at all.
Oddly, I found myself feeling out of place in my clean clothes after a brisk wash. I had allowed myself to become so enmeshed with my ‘lower’ character that it now took umbrage at my attempts to appear above my station. The shirt and collar, in particular, itched horribly.
Amy answered the door, and I was pleased to find that she seemed to be recovering from whatever ailment had struck her down previously. Her skin had a bright, lively tone and her eyes sparkled, but I could tell that she was moving more slowly and had difficulty being active for more than a few moments at a time. After exchanging pleasantries, Arthur and I left for our appointment at Lees.
In the cab, Arthur asked if I had made any progress. I had to admit that I had not. I told him about my new friend, Sully, who seemed eager to promote me to Lusk, and said that I had the suspicion that Lusk was attempting to fill the power vacuum caused by Edwards’ imprisonment. Although I had kept my eyes and ears open, I still had no news.
We were admitted into Lees’ house by his butler and guided to the same room we had been in before, where Lees and his wife waited. I could tell that neither knew why we were there.
Arthur engaged in some small talk about various personages, but I found that my patience had worn thin for such trivialities.
“We noticed you attended the funeral of Catherine Eddowes,” I blurted out, taking everyone by surprise. “I wouldn’t have thought that you were acquainted with her.”
Lees shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “Not so much, no. I knew her, of course, because of her unfortunate end, but that was not the only place I had seen her.
“Three times I have been to the police to tell them what I have seen in my visions. Three times! And three times I have been booted out of the place. Not one of them have ever bothered to hear what I had to say.”
“What did you see?” I asked.
“Their deaths. I saw Catherine Eddowes and Liz Stride both murdered. I could feel the strokes of the knife as it entered their flesh.”
Mrs. Lees gave an involuntary gasp, but a quick look from her husband quieted her.
“Did you see how he killed them?”
Lees head drooped on his chest. “No, I was seeing through the killer’s eyes. I saw what he saw. Sadly, at no point did he stop at a mirror or window to check his appearance. But I got the feeling that he was a stout, average-sized man. I saw his eyes fixate upon them and then his mad dash upon them.
“With the first woman, something interrupted him; his eyes turned and saw a figure running towards him, so he ran. Then, after he had come upon that poor Eddowes creature and slaughtered her, he sped away, only to be knocked down by someone else and struggle to get away. I wonder why no one has made mention of this in the papers.”
I had a good idea why that was. No doubt my account of that night was only known to a few, including Abberline, and the police were inclined to dismiss it. And, if they never bothered to listen to Lees at all, they never would have heard him confirm any of my story at all.
“You said you’ve had three visions. What was the third?”
Lees looked uncertainly at his wife.
“My dear,” he said softly, “perhaps it would be better if you left the room now.”
Her face became stern and determined.
“I will do no such thing,” she responded. “Here I sit and here I stay. I will not leave your side.”
Lees looked as if he were saddened and proud at the same time.
“Two nights after the ‘Double Event,’ as the papers are fond of referring to the murders of the unfortunate Stride and Eddowes, I had the most extraordinary dream. Now you have to understand that my dreams can take on many shapes. In most of them, I am merely an observer. I see what happens before me dispassionately. But in others, I am a participant, seeing through the eyes of another. This dream started with my ‘dream-self’ descending down below the streets of London.
“I drifted for some small amount of time until I felt myself being pulled forward to a particular destination. As I passed through a wall, I entered a chamber that I had never seen before. It was far below the city streets and even below the depths of the underground—or, at least, such was my impression.
“It was, gentlemen, for all the world like a scene from a painting by Bosch. You know the one of which I speak? His triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights? It shows a landscape of hell with a multitude of sins and torments being committed at the same time.”
I felt myself growing nervous. I was frightened at what I might hear next.
“About the chamber, loathsome creatures cavorted. They were naked and deformed. I don’t believe that any were more than four feet in height, and their features showed the delights of the pit. Some were . . . fornicating while others were twirling around like dervishes, almost to the point of death. They circled a large mound of dirt that stood, more or less, in the centre of the room. Upon this was a stone altar carved with symbols that were unknown to me, but which filled me with the most overwhelming fear and terror. It was as if an ancient, primordial part of me recognised those glyphs and knew what they represented.
“There was a blonde woman lying naked on the altar. Three figures stood around her. On her left was a man who appeared normal, but he dripped corruption like water off a raincoat. Opposite him was a soft, clay-like figure that looked like a man, but his appearance shimmered and he sometimes looked exactly like you, Arthur. Behind the head of the altar stood that woman. You know the one I mean. She was at your house when you had your party and I did the séance. Her hair was red like blood, and she was entirely naked. She chanted some words, and the creatures below writhed in time to the rhythm of her speech. I moved closer and saw that the blonde woman was also someone I had met at your party, Arthur. She was the girl who sang that dreadful song. She twisted and jerked as if she were in pain, but there was nothing touching her. The other woman continued to sing until, looking up, she saw me there! Never, in any of my visions, has anyone ever been aware of my presence—but she was! She laughed wickedly and licked her lips.
“‘Do you like what you see, spiritualist? Shall I show you more?’
“She reached out, and I could feel her hands around my throat as if I were there in the flesh. Her eyes opened wide, and I fell through their gaze into a vision of hell like nothing I had ever seen before.
“The world had been burned alive as if our very air had become a fire that blazed over the globe. I floated over the wreckage of a city with buildings smashed like matchboxes and thousands of corpses tossed into piles like firewood. Those hideous creatures I had seen in the chamber crawled over everything, devouring the dead and violating the few that lived. Large, disgusting monsters flowed through the air above, dropping black tentacles that oozed with sin and apathy that draped down like a funeral shroud. With a rush of horror, I realised that I was in Trafalgar Square and the ruined city around me had once been London.
“Through it all, I heard that she-demon’s laughter. When I came too close to a mound which I recognised as Westminster Abbey and was shown the thing that had taken that hallowed place as its own, my mind could bear no more. I woke up screaming. My good wife says I did not stop screaming for a full five minutes.”
It was hard to think of anything to say afte
r that.
“Did—did you recognise the other man in the chamber?” Arthur finally asked.
“No, I didn’t. But it is my opinion that he is this woman’s slave. She has bent him completely to her will.”
“Was this, your vision, was it something that has happened or something that will happen?” I asked.
Lees was silent. Finally he replied, “I do not think that it has happened yet, but I feel sure that it will happen soon. It may already be happening. I do not know.”
“And,” Arthur added, “that other vision you had, of London after a disaster—what does that mean?”
Lees shook his head. “I do not know. I fear it is tied to whatever sinister purpose this woman is working towards, but how she accomplishes it is not clear to me. What is clear is that the blonde woman is essential to it somehow. I feel that she is the key to the entire matter. If you could find and stop her, I believe you could keep my vision from coming to pass.”
“Finding her is exactly what we have been trying to do,” I said, and we quickly explained to Lees that the blonde woman was almost certainly Ann and that we had been trying to locate her for over a week.
Mrs. Lees looked as if she were about to faint.
“So,” Lees said, “this is all inexplicably tied to these ‘Ripper’ murders? I thought perhaps that they were two separate visions.”
“No,” I replied, “they are bound together. Mary Kelly has been directing the murderer; but as for what purpose, we have yet to discover.”
Lees could not identify the chamber he had seen in his vision or where it might be located. All we had to go on was that it was underground and possibly below the railroad tunnels and stations. But it was certain that the chamber had been built, which meant that there had to have been some record of it somewhere.
After satisfying ourselves that Lees could offer nothing further of interest, we prepared to leave. First, however, Arthur promised to impress upon Abberline the importance of consulting Lees and not to disregard him as a quack. Second, Lees was to inform Arthur immediately if he had any other visions, no matter what they contained.
As we walked out into the brisk September air, I asked Arthur if we could consult the Golden Dawn one more time.
“Perhaps they may know more about Kelly’s ultimate plan. I fail to see how the murder of unfortunate women can result in the destruction of an entire world!”
Arthur sighed. “I shall attempt to send them a message, but I would not count on them for any assistance. As we saw the last time, they have withdrawn from the world, possibly to wait out this coming apocalypse. Still, at least it will actually be something to do instead of waiting and hoping for a clue to fall into our laps.”
We continued to walk, heading aimlessly towards Hyde Park, when an idea recurred to me.
“Lees speaks of this chamber as being something that was constructed. Now, I am new to London, but it seems to me that things do not get constructed without someone knowing about them. There must be some evidence of it somewhere.”
Arthur grew excited. “Yes! You’re right! Certainly a room of the size he mentions and so far underground could not be kept completely quiet. I know someone in the city planning office. I think that we need to look at the blueprints for the underground. There may be something there!”
Our steps had taken us into Hyde Park, where we wandered before coming upon a group of men near one of the great lawns who seemed to be very amused by something they were watching. We walked up to them and, not surprisingly, Arthur knew a few fellows in the crowd.
“Mr. Best,” Arthur addressed a man near the front of the crowd.
“Eh?” He turned around briefly to identify Arthur, then looked back so he would not miss any part of whatever he was watching. He was a shorter-than-average man with at least a day’s stubble on his face and a battered derby hat on his head. His clothes were not poor as much as they were well used. I noticed that there were notes scrawled in pencil on his shirt cuffs. “Ah, Machen, looking to hunt up a spare line or two? You know the Star is always interested in even ‘amateur’ scribblings like yours.”
The touch of sarcasm was evident, and it was clear that Arthur cared for this Best even less.
“What are we all watching so intently?”
Another man spoke up. “Just our most excellent police commissioner making a fool of himself!”
Just then an older man ran from behind a clump of trees, across the lawn, and into a group of bushes. A few minutes later, two bloodhounds came bounding down, following the same line and pulling two constables along behind them.
“What is this?” Arthur asked.
“Haven’t you heard?” Best replied. “This is Warren’s big idea on how to catch the Ripper. He’s going to use dogs to run the killer to ground!”
All the other men laughed.
“He’s brought these dogs in, special like,” another man said. “They’ve been trained to track anything—so says the man they’re renting them from.”
Best laughed. “Mind you, they’d probably do a better job than these bloody fools! How many days since the ‘Double Event,’ dozens of arrests and dozens of people let go? Maybe they should just lock up everyone in the East End. It’s the only way to make sure they’ll catch him!”
“Don’t give them any ideas,” another man said. “The anarchists would love to see mass arrests for no reason.”
“What does Warren expect to prove with this?” asked Arthur. “He must know how foolish this makes him look.”
“He’s got to do something,” Best said. “Whitehall’s frozen him out completely.”
“What do you mean?” Arthur asked.
“Best, don’t be talking out of turn now,” the first man said.
Best scoffed. “Just because we can’t write about it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. You remember our glorious Home Secretary Matthews, right?”
“Yes,” Arthur replied, “the man described as ‘the member of the government whom everyone wishes to turn out.’”
“Well, Matthews and Warren hate each other—passionately. So Matthews made sure to install his chum, Monro, as assistant commissioner responsible for the Criminal Investigation Department of the Metropolitan Police. This gave Monro almost complete control over the Detective Department without any requirements to report to Warren. So, nearly every day, there is a meeting in Whitehall between Matthews, Monro, Anderson (Assistant Commissioner of the entire Metropolitan Police), and their detectives about the Ripper. Warren is not only not invited but excluded from these meetings.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “How can anyone solve a case if his own people aren’t communicating?”
Everyone but Arthur laughed.
“Welcome to London, lad,” another man said.
The dogs started barking loudly, and they quickly flushed Warren out of the bushes. He jokingly patted them on the head and slowly walked over to us.
“The man himself graces us with his presence,” Best said.
“Gentlemen,” Warren said, a little breathless, “that was the second test this morning. As you can see, these magnificent bloodhounds are capable of tracking a man over a long distance, in spite of many attempts of my trying to hide my trail from them. I have no doubt that they will be of invaluable help to us should the murderer strike again.”
A handler had come from behind and led the dogs away quietly. It was difficult to tell if this had been a sincere attempt at a test or nothing more than a performance for the reporters.
“The only problem I can see, Mr. Warren,” Best said, “is that, in order for your bloodhound theory to work, the ‘Ripper’ has to kill again.”
“I’ve told you before, Mr. Best, I do not care for that repellent identification. We are, of course, continuing to make every effort to lay our hands on this man, but we must also realise that there may be another murder before we can make that happen. Should such an event occur, as much as we deeply desire that it not happen, we need to b
e prepared. These bloodhounds are being kept in a secure and secret location. They can be transported to any murder scene within hours of discovery.”
“Excuse me, sir,” another reporter said, “why are they being kept in a ‘secret location’?”
Warren looked irritated by the question.
“There is always a possibility that the killer, upon learning of the prodigious tracking ability of these hounds, will attempt to kill them as well. It is for their protection. Now if there are no further questions, I have to get back to the Yard.”
The group slowly broke up. Not one of them had taken any of this seriously, and I was sure that their disdain would be evident in their articles. Still, part of me thought that the principle might not be unfounded even if not particularly practical in this case.
“‘Ripper,’ eh? How long did it take you to think up that tagline, Best?” Arthur’s contempt was obvious.
“Why, Machen, I’m insulted,” he replied. “How could you possibly insinuate that I would do something so low as to write false letters to the police? All just to sell more papers? What do you take me for, a ghoul?”
“No, a ghoul has more dignity. I take you for a reporter—and not a particularly good one, at that.”
Best shook his head and wagged his finger at Arthur. “Have a care, Machen. Who knows? You could end up on Fleet Street someday and be working for me. Editors have a great deal of power, you know. You might need a friend.”
“If I’m ever working for you, or on Fleet Street for that matter, I’ll put a bullet through my brain.”
Best smiled. “Promise?”
*
I left Arthur shortly after with instructions for him to check any blueprints he could find for the East End underground. It was just a hunch, but I had a feeling that we needed to look closely at the area where I had been kidnapped. The room I had been held captive in was not near the same place, so I thought it might be a bit of misdirection on Mary Kelly’s part. In any case, it gave us somewhere to start.
Not surprisingly, Arthur was preoccupied with Best’s information regarding Warren. He was convinced that there was some conspiracy behind the inability of the police to make any progress in the case. Perhaps there was, but I couldn’t see how any of it was connected to our problems. During all this, there had been no hint of Mary Kelly having anything to do with anyone in the ruling class. However, the more I thought of it and remembered Kelly’s almost unnatural control of other men, the more certain the possibility seemed. If true, however, her resources would far outstrip our own and there would be no hope of bringing her to justice, much less stopping her.