by Sam Gafford
I had also received a medium-sized parcel in my absence.
Having just come from the whole ‘kidney affair,’ I was of course wary of it at first. However, upon examining it, I saw that the return address given was the headquarters of the Golden Dawn. The initials “A. C.” were just above it. I felt relatively confident that I could open it without disaster.
Inside was a smaller parcel which held a longer presentation box. I opened it and discovered, to my confusion, a dagger. I say dagger only in the broadest sense of the word, as it appeared to be nothing less than a piece of stone that had been carved into the form of a dagger. It had no hilt and, for all I knew, could have been fashioned by a prehistoric caveman. There was a note included
. In an elegant and slightly boastful hand, it read:
Mr. Besame—
It has come to me in a vision that you may have need of this item. I implore you to keep it with you at all times. It has certain mystical properties which may be useful to you. I think you will find its origins curious. The legend goes that a meteor struck the earth millions of years ago in an area now known as Ullapool, a small town in Scotland. This object was fashioned from one of those fragments that our ancestors dug out of the ground. It is said that whoever possesses it either goes mad or becomes a king. It is my belief that a similar fragment is the reality behind the legend of King Arthur. When you have need of it, you will know. I sincerely hope that you do not go mad but follow the other path. My only request is that you return the item to me when it has accomplished its task and tell me the ending of your tale, if you are still in this realm to tell it.
Best,
A. C.
It took a moment to realise that this was actually the enigmatic child we had met at the Golden Dawn that day they locked themselves away from the world. The package had come from ‘The Beast’ with, I hoped, favourable intentions.
I picked up the knife and held it. The thing felt odd in my hands. There was a strange slippery quality to it, as if one were trying to grab hold of water. It was not heavy, nor was it particularly light. With the chips and shavings on the edge, it could have been the head of an especially nasty spear. I had difficulty imaging a scenario where this would be more helpful than a loaded gun but appreciated the thought behind the gift.
After a brief meal during which I ate less than normally, much to Mrs. Hutchins’ chagrin, I was informed that she was planning on putting an ad in the ‘agony’ column of the evening paper for news of Ann. I doubted if it would do much help but didn’t see that it would do any harm either, so I encouraged her to begin writing it immediately. I went back upstairs to take advantage of the soft bedding to gain a few hours’ restful sleep before leaving again.
I was asleep within minutes.
But my dreams were not soothing ones. I wandered, lost and alone, through East End streets, endlessly asking passersby about Ann. None answered me, and I soon found that they were avoiding my gaze. I stumbled through a dense fog only to find myself back home and saw myself asleep on top of my bed. Feeling dread and a sense of urgency, I tried to awaken myself but could not. Softly, I heard a voice come from behind me.
“Albert?” Ann called to me. “Where are you?”
I turned but could not see her, even though her voice sounded as if it had come from right next to me.
Frantic, I looked around my room but found nothing. Finally, I threw open my closet and saw her cold, pale form shivering before me.
“You took too long. Why didn’t you come? Why didn’t you find me?”
I moved to seize her, but my arms passed through her wraith-like form. Sobbing, she began to float down through the floor.
“It’s too late,” she cried. “You’ve taken too long and soon the moon will be here. I’m lost . . . lost . . .”
I sat bolt upright on the bed, suddenly completely coherent and vigilant.
There was no one else in the room.
I ran to the closet and flung it open. The only thing inside were my meagre clothes. Devastated, I collapsed into a heap on the floor.
That was when I noticed it.
On the closet floor, exactly where Ann had floated through it in my dream, one board did not fit.
It was a small board, perhaps only six inches wide by nine inches long. I reached over and flipped it up easily. Clearly, it had not been long since it was last opened. The light was too dim for me to see, so I felt inside and found something wrapped in cloth. I carefully took it out and brought it into the light.
It was a small bundle, wrapped in sheepskin, and tied with a ribbon. I’d never seen it before and knew that I had not hidden it there. Taking it to the bed, I opened it.
Inside was a book, a photograph and a sealed letter addressed to me.
The picture was a tintype which, even by that time, had become fairly uncommon. It involved creating a direct positive on a thin sheet of metal coated with a dark lacquer or enamel. Once very popular and available only through professional photography studios, it had become the common method used in carnivals and photo booths at fairs.
It was a picture of Ann.
I’d no idea when she had the photo taken, but it showed her the way she was when we first met. Her eyes were bright and musical and her smile was open and inviting. She was wearing a simple dress of light colour and a hat of modest style. My heart ached the moment I saw it.
Putting it aside, I turned to the book. It was a small volume of the type normally made for travellers: easy to carry and fit into a bag. The leather covers were worn, and it had obviously been read many times. The title and author, however, were still bright and readable.
It was a copy of Sonnets from the Portuguese by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, arguably the most famous volume of love poems ever written. I flipped through the front pages and there, on the title page, was written, “For my love, Albert. Forever yours, Ann.”
I had to put the book aside until I could stop crying.
When I did, I opened the letter and saw that it was written in Ann’s delicate script but was undated. At first glance, I had the impression that it had been started and re-started several times before it was finished. Steeling myself, I began to read.
My darling Albert,
I do not know how to begin this letter. There is so much that I want to say but cannot find the words. Do know this: I love you. I have loved you since the day we met and I will love you forever. But I have to leave. I cannot tell you why. Perhaps, by the time you read this, you will already know the reason, but I dare not put it down here. Words have power, especially written words.
Remember that night at the theatre? When we wondered if two minds could live inside one person? I know that it is true, my darling, because I have two minds within me. One is the happy woman you know who loves singing, helping people, and you. The other is an evil wretch who desires nothing more than to drown herself in sin and decadence. I have not always known that this is so, but have discovered it recently. This—this demoness inside me has grown stronger and stronger while I am always becoming weaker. I have felt her betray you in word and deed while I was powerless to stop her. I fear . . . I fear, my love, that she will kill you if I stay here.
I beg you not to find me; and yet, I beg you to find me as well.
I have seen things, Albert. I have seen through the veil that covers this world and been shown the reality beneath. I have seen stones singing weird songs and creatures playing at being human. I am lost and beyond redemption, but there is still hope that you will survive. And so I must go away.
I do not think I will ever see your sweet face again, but remember that I have loved you, and only you, and that has made my life worthwhile.
Farewell, my darling.
Beware the ceremonies.
Love forever,
Ann
I put the letter down. My mind could not comprehend it all. It was too much to take in. I had thought that Ann had been kidnapped by Mary and her cohort, but now . . . now it was clear to m
e that Ann had left of her own accord. There was, of course, the chance that she had escaped them, but my heart told me that was untrue. No, Ann was with them. Even worse, she was with them willingly.
It was as if a brick wall had fallen down on me.
Was there any point in continuing? Ann as much as said that I should not try to find her. But it was clear that she was in danger: could I allow her to face it alone? My place was by her side, and only a coward would give up now. Determination began to fill me. I would work harder than ever, chase down every clue, search every place I could until I found her. If my methods had to become more ‘persuasive,’ then so be it.
I would not fail.
So great was my certainty that I did not notice the most important parts of Ann’s letter. If I had, perhaps the outcome would have been different for everyone or even the world.
Chapter 72
You are now
In London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow
At once is deaf and loud, and on the shore
Vomits its wrecks, and still howls on for more.
Yet in its depth what treasures!
—Percy Bysshe Shelley
Unable to sleep, I changed back into my ‘working clothes’ and headed downstairs. Mrs. Hutchins was already there waiting for me with a notebook.
“Here’s what I’ve written, Mr. Albert,” she said proudly. “You tell me what you think.”
ATTENTION: Information needed on the whereabouts of Miss Ann Simmons, disappeared on September 30th from her home. Ann is blonde with medium-length hair, twenty-four years of age, about five foot four inches tall, and a singer. Anyone with information is asked to respond to Mrs. Moira Hitchens at address above.
“I think it sounds perfectly fine, Mrs. Hutchins, but I am not sure about giving out your address. Who knows what sort that might attract? Perhaps you should ask Dr. Williams if you can give his address instead?”
She was instantly offended.
“And what makes you think I can’t take care of myself?”
Despite the memory of what had happened when Ann ‘disappeared,’ I could not help but chuckle slightly.
“Nothing at all,” I said. “I am more concerned with the health of anyone who shows up with nefarious intentions! It might be prudent to have the doctor nearby!”
She grunted, not at all pleased with my inference.
“Just let someone try,” she said; “they’ll get more than they bargained for.”
Mrs. Hutchins turned and pulled a billy-club from out of the cane stand and wielded it menacingly. I had no doubt that, forewarned, she would be a formidable opponent.
I left her with instructions that, should she discover anything important, Arthur be alerted immediately. Under no circumstances was she to take any steps herself. I impressed this upon her but felt that her temper might get the best of her, so I silently resolved to tell Arthur to check back here often.
Then I was back out on the street, as night was beginning to fall. As much as I disliked the East End and the overwhelming sense of despair it invoked, it was beginning to feel far too familiar to me. I had to remind myself that this was not my home in spite of all the time I’d spent there. Still, when I thought back to my first days in London, I realised that the poor and downcast of the East End had welcomed me far more than anyone in ‘proper’ society. Perhaps, I pondered unhappily, Whitechapel was really where I belonged, and all my thoughts and dreams of being a writer were foolish fancies as my father had told me so many times.
I headed for the Ten Bells and began to press my search for Ann more vigorously than ever before.
October 19–23, 1888
The next four days were a blur to me.
Even now I can barely remember them. I spent a great deal of time running ‘errands’ for Lusk, but after the kidney affair the man had grown frightened and nervous. He rarely went anywhere alone and often brought the strongest men in the room with him when he did. Already he was beginning to neglect some of the ‘lines of interest’ that he had inherited from Edwards, and I found myself reminding him about tasks that needed doing.
The panic in Whitechapel was increasing to a frightening pitch. By now, the last victims had been identified as Liz Stride and Catherine Eddowes. Stride had been the woman whom I had failed to save on Berner Street, while Eddowes was the poor unfortunate who had been carved up in Mitre Square. The papers had jumped on the ‘kidney’ incident and pronounced that the eminent surgeons who had been consulted by the City Police had determined that it had come from the Eddowes woman. There was some debate from other voices about this, but the die had been cast and, as far as the public were concerned, that kidney belonged to Eddowes and no other. As if nothing could make the situation worse, Jack the Ripper was now believed to be a cannibal as well.
I fear that I went mad a few times during that period.
There are vague memories of questioning people frantically about Ann and my becoming violent when I could get no answers from them. Were these not occasions held in dark alleys and hovels, I would likely have been arrested myself. One woman thought she had seen Ann a week or so before, but couldn’t testify to it. I showed her the tintype; she replied that the woman she’d seen was pregnant, so it could not have been Ann.
In those few instances where my reason cleared and I could concentrate, I began to read the small green book that Arthur had given me. It was a diary, of sorts, apparently kept by a young English girl in the countryside. The early portions were full of the usual ‘diary nonsense’ of complaining about chores or studying or the fear that her father hated her. After a few pages the tone began to change. It became something strange and eerie.
She spoke of when she was a baby and the things that only she could see:
When I was very small, and mother was alive, I can remember remembering things before that, only it has all got confused. But I remember when I was five or six I heard them talking about me when they thought I was not noticing. They were saying how queer I was a year or two before, and how nurse had called my mother to come and listen to me talking all to myself, and I was saying words that nobody could understand. I was speaking the Xu language, but I only remember a very few of the words, as it was about the little white faces that used to look at me when I was lying in my cradle. They used to talk to me, and I learnt their language and talked to them in it about some great white place where they lived, where the trees and the grass were all white, and there were white hills as high up as the moon, and a cold wind. I have often dreamed of it afterwards, but the faces went away when I was very little.
The child went on to describe another event:
So they left me there, and I sat quite still and watched, and out of the water and out of the wood came two wonderful white people, and they began to play and dance and sing. They were a kind of creamy white like the old ivory figure in the drawing-room; one was a beautiful lady with kind dark eyes, and a grave face, and long black hair, and she smiled such a strange sad smile at the other, who laughed and came to her. They played together, and danced round and round the pool, and they sang a song till I fell asleep. Nurse woke me up when she came back, and she was looking something like the lady had looked, so I told her all about it, and asked her why she looked like that. At first she cried, and then she looked very frightened, and turned quite pale. She put me down on the grass and stared at me, and I could see she was shaking all over. Then she said I had been dreaming, but I knew I hadn’t. Then she made me promise not to say a word about it to anybody, and if I did I should be thrown into the black pit. I was not frightened at all, though nurse was, and I never forgot about it, because when I shut my eyes and it was quite quiet, and I was all alone, I could see them again, very faint and far away, but very splendid; and little bits of the song they sang came into my head, but I couldn’t sing it.
It was clear that the girl was able to see a world that was invisible to others. After this event, her nurse began to guide and instruct her. Years later,
she would become adept at using her sight and find a ‘special’ place in the woods.
And I came to a hill that I never saw before. I was in a dismal thicket full of black twisted boughs that tore me as I went through them, and I cried out because I was smarting all over, and then I found that I was climbing, and I went up and up a long way, till at last the thicket stopped and I came out crying just under the top of a big bare place, where there were ugly grey stones lying all about on the grass, and here and there a little twisted, stunted tree came out from under a stone, like a snake. And I went up, right to the top, a long way. I never saw such big ugly stones before; they came out of the earth some of them, and some looked as if they had been rolled to where they were, and they went on and on as far as I could see, a long, long way. I looked out from them and saw the country, but it was strange. It was winter time, and there were black terrible woods hanging from the hills all round; it was like seeing a large room hung with black curtains, and the shape of the trees seemed quite different from any I had ever seen before. I was afraid. Then beyond the woods there were other hills round in a great ring, but I had never seen any of them; it all looked black, and everything had a voor over it. It was all so still and silent, and the sky was heavy and grey and sad, like a wicked voorish dome in Deep Dendo. I went on into the dreadful rocks. There were hundreds and hundreds of them. Some were like horrid-grinning men; I could see their faces as if they would jump at me out of the stone, and catch hold of me, and drag me with them back into the rock, so that I should always be there. And there were other rocks that were like animals, creeping, horrible animals, putting out their tongues, and others were like words that I could not say, and others like dead people lying on the grass. I went on among them, though they frightened me, and my heart was full of wicked songs that they put into it; and I wanted to make faces and twist myself about in the way they did, and I went on and on a long way till at last I liked the rocks, and they didn’t frighten me any more. I sang the songs I thought of; songs full of words that must not be spoken or written down. Then I made faces like the faces on the rocks, and I twisted myself about like the twisted ones, and I lay down flat on the ground like the dead ones, and I went up to one that was grinning, and put my arms round him and hugged him. And so I went on and on through the rocks till I came to a round mound in the middle of them. It was higher than a mound, it was nearly as high as our house, and it was like a great basin turned upside down, all smooth and round and green, with one stone, like a post, sticking up at the top. I climbed up the sides, but they were so steep I had to stop or I should have rolled all the way down again, and I should have knocked against the stones at the bottom, and perhaps been killed. But I wanted to get up to the very top of the big round mound, so I lay down flat on my face, and took hold of the grass with my hands and drew myself up, bit by bit, till I was at the top Then I sat down on the stone in the middle, and looked all round about. I felt I had come such a long, long way, just as if I were a hundred miles from home, or in some other country, or in one of the strange places I had read about in the “Tales of the Genie” and the “Arabian Nights,” or as if I had gone across the sea, far away, for years and I had found another world that nobody had ever seen or heard of before, or as if I had somehow flown through the sky and fallen on one of the stars I had read about where everything is dead and cold and grey, and there is no air, and the wind doesn’t blow. I sat on the stone and looked all round and down and round about me. It was just as if I was sitting on a tower in the middle of a great empty town, because I could see nothing all around but the grey rocks on the ground. I couldn’t make out their shapes any more, but I could see them on and on for a long way, and I looked at them, and they seemed as if they had been arranged into patterns, and shapes, and figures. I knew they couldn’t be. because I had seen a lot of them coming right out of the earth, joined to the deep rocks below, so I looked again, but still I saw nothing but circles, and small circles inside big ones, and pyramids, and domes, and spires, and they seemed all to go round and round the place where I was sitting, and the more I looked, the more I saw great big rings of rocks, getting bigger and bigger, and I stared so long that it felt as if they were all moving and turning, like a great wheel, and I was turning, too, in the middle. I got quite dizzy and queer in the head, and everything began to be hazy and not clear, and I saw little sparks of blue light, and the stones looked as if they were springing and dancing and twisting as they went round and round and round. I was frightened again, and I cried out loud, and jumped up from the stone I was sitting on, and fell down.