Mayhem

  ‘Of course you can,’ Juliana said, ‘and you must – we insist. We would not want anyone else. You have been so kind to us.’

  ‘We shall celebrate at dinner tomorrow,’ Harrington said, ‘but now, we must get on, or we shall be late for our appointment.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ I said, finally gathering myself. ‘And my heartiest congratulations to you both.’

  I did not take the opium with me the next night – how could I? Juliana had looked so happy; how could I spoil that? She glowed as we all laughed and ate and drank, and for the first time in a long time, it felt as if life were normal. Charles was on fine form as we toasted all of our soon-to-be new roles in the life of the unborn child, and although it was high summer, there was a feel of Christmas to the night: an expectation of better things to come. I could not ruin that by asking questions about cold, dead girls, however much I felt their ghosts watching me and waiting for justice. I could not bear to be the one who destroyed Juliana’s joy that way.

  I studied James. Every now and then he would absently touch Juliana’s hand, a gesture of love and affection that she would return. I saw no sign of madness in him. He was a gentle man; quiet and studious – could I really believe that he had a secret life in which he carved up women and threw them, bit by bit, into the river? For Upir or not, that is what I had convinced myself of. Even if I had taken the drug, how could I be sure it would not show me just what I expected to see – how would that be proof of anything at all?

  I could not see how I could trust myself, and suddenly, I was full of doubt. For the next few days, I threw myself into work, forcing all thought of James Harrington from my mind. I discussed the cases with Moore and Andrews and drew out the names of Ripper suspects from them. The priest had not lied to me; Kosminski was indeed a ‘favourite’ of one of Moore’s superiors. I suggested that the killer they sought would probably be far more contained and controlled than the little hairdresser; his madness would not be apparent but would come to the fore only in the frenzied bouts during which he had murdered those unfortunate women. In short, he would appear quite normal, to all intents and purposes.

  I knew that Moore respected my opinions and would pass this on, and hopefully, it would help Kosminski – the man was tortured enough without being suspected of being a monster. I felt very little guilt, because my evaluation was entirely honest: I did believe the Ripper walked among polite gentlemen, unnoticed as the madman he was.

  Despite myself, I could not help but apply the same logic to my own suspicions of Harrington: he had known Elizabeth Jackson, after all, and yet he had not mentioned it – why was that? He would surely know she was a victim. Juliana was always abreast of her father’s cases and my own, and even if we had not discussed it, she would have seen it reported in the newspapers. My head was filled with questions, and I could not empty it.

  37

  London. July, 1889

  Dr Bond

  As the days passed, my thoughts grew increasingly dark and all pretence at sleep left me. I took too much laudanum and paced the house through the long hours of the night. I felt like a ghost; an echo of the man who used to live here.

  One late afternoon I found myself in church. Like all good Englishmen, I am a Christian, and I have faith in the Lord, but my belief was more a habit, an effect of my upbringing, than something I felt in the core of my being. The study of science can be at odds with matters of the spirit, but now that so much of my thinking concerned the existence of the supernatural, I wondered if perhaps I could find some comfort in God’s house.

  As it was, I found the empty silence of the austere building oppressive. I tried to pray, but my mind wandered and my tired eyes rested on the figures stained in glass who looked down on me. Was that pity or revulsion? Was I working for God, or against him? My mind was dulled by exhaustion and laudanum and I longed for the quieter times of years past. Eventually I got up, my knees aching, and turned to leave. There was no peace for me here. I wondered if Hell was eating me up from the inside in a mass of doubts and wavering commitment.

  ‘It will feed again.’

  The words came so suddenly out of nowhere that I gasped aloud, my heart almost stopping in my chest.

  ‘You cannot hide from what you know – what you need to know.’ The priest stepped out of the shadows by the vestry. I had felt unwelcome here, but he was truly an interloper. He might be a man of the cloth, but there was no place for him in the public face of the Church.

  ‘I am not sure I have the right man,’ I said. The words sounded feeble, even to me, and I moved quickly, wanting to scurry past him and back out into the throb of the city. I kept my head down.

  ‘Then make sure,’ he growled. He grabbed my arm, and I was aware of how thin and weak it felt in his tight grip. The past year had taken its toll on me physically, and while those around me might not have noticed the gradual changes, when I faced myself naked in the mirror it was clear how much this had literally eaten away at me.

  ‘He will kill again. And we must stop him.’

  I could not help but meet his resolute gaze. ‘I will not do anything without proof. I cannot – it goes against everything I am. I must have more solid evidence against him.’

  The priest hissed in disgust and cast my arm aside, sending me twisting awkwardly into the stone wall. ‘Always there must be a doubter,’ he said, ‘a half-believer.’

  We stared at each other as I nursed my arm. Always? How many times had he done this? Were there always a Kosminski and a me involved?

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said, straightening myself up and remembering the sacred nature of the building in which we stood, ‘I am here to serve as your conscience.’

  There was the slightest slump in his shoulders at that. I had hit a nerve of truth.

  ‘You need to trust your instincts,’ he said. His words were quieter now. ‘I will not wait for ever. Find your proof if you must, but also find mine: take the drug and tell me what you see.’ His eyes softened. ‘Believe me, mine will be the hardest part in our trials.’

  I did not want to know what he meant by that, but there was a melancholy sadness in his words that made me shiver.

  He left the church, and by the time I had followed him out onto the street he had disappeared. I reached into my coat for the laudanum bottle, not caring if anyone could see me. Nor did I look to see how much was left in the bottle since I had refilled it this morning. Would the Dr Bond of even a year ago recognise himself now, I wondered. Would he be disgusted?

  The priest was right: only answers would bring me the peace I craved. I had to see our mad adventure through to the end.

  *

  It was nearly six by the time I arrived at the wharves, but they were still busy, with men rushing this way and that, loading or unloading great crates and boxes in and out of the warehouses that lined the river’s edge. They started early and worked late here, long hours of heavy labour lugging things on and off boats and into storage or onto vehicles.

  Finally I found someone who could point me in the right direction, and I headed towards James Harrington’s office. Outside steps led up to the offices. I kept my eyes away from the river – I had never visited the wharves before and I had not realised just how close James worked to the water. The closest I had come before now was Bluegate Fields, the maze of alleyways where the opium dens were hidden, but my focus had always been elsewhere.

  Harrington’s secretary, a rather nervous man of indeterminate age, was sorting through a large pile of invoices and noting them in a ledger. He eyed me rather suspiciously until I declared myself a friend of the family, and then his smile warmed.

  ‘Mr Harrington is in his office, sir,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’ He led me up a further flight of narrow wooden stairs overlooking the warehouse below, where various crates were being stacked, no doubt from a just-arrived ship. I had not paid that much attention to Harrington’s business affairs, but it looked as if his father had left him with a successful enterprise, just a
s Juliana had told me. The men at work below looked up, and again I caught a sense of unease in their glances. What were they wary of? Who did they think I was?

  James was behind his desk when we came in, and he jumped slightly at our interruption. There were papers everywhere, but he had been staring into space rather than at them. The secretary closed the door behind us, and although I smiled jovially in greeting, Harrington’s face was wary.

  ‘If you’ve come about Juliana, then I had rather you just left,’ he said bluntly.

  ‘Juliana?’ I was thrown slightly. ‘No, I was simply passing and thought I would come in and take a look at your empire – you know so much about my world, and I … What about Juliana?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, now feeling awkward in his turn. ‘I thought she might have come to you,’ he said. ‘I know she feels close to you.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’ I might have come here because of my suspicions of Harrington, but my own feeling for Juliana overrode everything else. My stomach tightened at the thought of her having come to any harm.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘she’s fine – we had an argument.’ He frowned, and moved some papers around on his desk. There appeared to be no order to them, and the cause of the worry on the faces of his secretary and the men who worked for him below started to become clear. ‘She wanted to help me,’ he said. ‘There have been a few … problems. Confusion over some bills. Nothing that cannot be sorted out.’ He sat up straight in his chair and forced a smile. ‘But I cannot have her here, not now she’s carrying our child. What if something happened to her? I would never live with myself. So I told her no, it would be better if she stayed at home. You can understand that, can’t you, Dr Bond? You can see this is no place for a woman.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, although I could see no reason why Juliana should not be safe enough up here, away from the docks and boats, and the loads of herbs and spices that came in and out. But I wished to placate him.

  ‘Women get so emotional,’ James muttered. ‘I just do not want her to come here – not here. This is where I work.’

  ‘I suppose,’ I said, keeping my tone light, ‘that she recalls you once told her she could help you in the office. I imagine she misses you. You work such long hours.’

  ‘Did I say that?’ He looked genuinely confused. Was it the proximity to the river that affected him? Did it make the Upir stronger, quashing his naturally gentle personality? Even if there was no Upir, he was still a troubled man, and I truly believed he had some involvement with the death of Elizabeth Jackson; I felt it in every nerve that jangled in my tired body.

  There was a monster of some kind inside James Harrington, I was sure of it –and whether it was just part of his tortured mind, or a real beast from the bottom of a Polish river, it was connected to the water. That was where most of the girls’ bodies had been pulled from.

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘I do not recall. I forget a lot these days. My illness, I think – that’s why I have to work so hard, to stay focused.’ He looked up at me, and I could see no sign of that happy man I had met in the street only days before; he did not exist in those glassy eyes. Perhaps in the wake of their good news, Harrington had been able to fight his personal demons for a while, but now that he was back in London, whatever plagued him was settling back in.

  ‘That’s why I cannot be distracted by Juliana,’ Harrington continued. ‘You know how it is: we men must concentrate on our work. Our work is important.’

  ‘It certainly is.’

  ‘I do not remember saying that at all. How strange.’ Harrington was staring into space, the frown still etched on his forehead and then suddenly his eyes snapped back to me. He smiled again. ‘But speaking of work …’ He gestured at the mass of untidiness that covered his desk. ‘I really must get on, or I shan’t be home before midnight. If I had known you were coming, I would have put some time aside to give you a tour, but …’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘I understand perfectly. I am sorry to have disturbed you.’ I glanced again at the disorganised papers on his desk. For someone who apparently worked such long hours, he did not seem to be on top of his affairs at all. ‘And I am quite sure Juliana will be fine when you get home.’

  He did not get up to see me out. As I opened the door, his secretary almost tumbled in. He muttered his apologies for his clumsiness and started, ‘We need somewhere to store the tea that’s just come in. I was thinking warehouse three. That’s nearest the—’

  ‘No. That’s being used.’

  ‘Is it? I was sure that—’

  I closed the door behind me and left them to figure out which was the cause of the confusion. I imagined it was Harrington. This was not the self-deprecating young businessman I had met last year.

  I had no desire to go home and sit alone with my thoughts, so I decided to call on Juliana and the Hebberts instead. I was now almost part of the family; they would not object to my arriving unannounced. My concern was obviously for Juliana; the way Harrington had immediately jumped to the conclusion that I had come about her implied that he had done more than just politely ask her to leave. She must have been in quite a state for him to think I had come to berate him, when I had never spoken an ill word to him in all our acquaintance. I could not imagine any circumstance wherein anyone could be angry with Juliana, and the thought of it upset me. My feelings for her were stronger than they should be, that I knew, but they did not lie about her nature: she was sweet and intelligent and warm – and she was also pregnant.

  Summer having full reign, it was still light when I arrived, but as I stepped into Charles’ house, the temperature dropped and any brightness was shut outside with the closing of the door. The lamps were already lit, but their light was dull, and shadows clung to every surface. I joined Charles in his study, where I found him in a not-dissimilar position to Harrington: at his desk and surrounded by reports and folders.

  ‘I’m trying to put together a paper on the Jackson girl,’ he said, ‘but I just cannot concentrate. I think we need a thunderstorm, don’t you? Something to clear this air, anyway.’

  Although the day was warm, I had not found it muggy, but inside the house, the air felt oppressive, and the book-lined walls started to close in on me, almost as if threatening to tumble and crush both me and my superstitions under the weight of science. My heart began the strange beat I dreaded, and my face tingled. What was it about being in this house that made my anxiety surge? I surely had enough laudanum in my body that it should not even have been possible. I took slow deep breaths, pretending to study the spines of the dusty volumes, until some semblance of calm had returned.

  ‘I have decided to take a holiday myself,’ Charles announced abruptly. ‘I am taking Mary away, the day after tomorrow – somewhere by the sea. I think I shall sleep better by the sea.’ He was smiling, but his eyes were tired. ‘I think I shall sleep better out of London for a while.’

  ‘You have been working very hard,’ I said.

  ‘You should consider a holiday too, Thomas. If you do not mind me saying, you are a shadow of your former self – do not think I have not noticed. I am a doctor, after all.’ He smiled, and it was almost the cheery expression I always associated with him … but not quite. We had both become ghosts of ourselves, I feared, and the smile sat like it was drawn on tracing paper stretched over his face.

  ‘Did you know that Elizabeth Jackson used to work in a house on the street where James lives?’ I asked.

  ‘Really?’ Charles dropped his face to his papers. ‘No, I didn’t. Still, people have to live somewhere. Juliana is resting, by the way. I think she’s suffering slightly with this pregnancy. She won’t rest enough, that’s her problem. She was always so active, even as a child.’ He tossed his pen down and pushed away from the desk. ‘I think we should have a drink.’

  His words came out in a cheerful rush, almost as if to drown my words in their surge. He was not going to comment further? Surely there should be some discu
ssion, even if only to decide it was simply a strange coincidence. I stared at my friend’s back. Or had he already known? It was hardly confidential information; if I knew, then there was no reason that Charles would not. But why had not he mentioned it? Simply because he thought there was no reason to, or because he too was caught up in a whirl of suspicion? And if he did already know, then why not say so when I brought it up?

  He turned and handed me a brandy glass.

  ‘This house is so full,’ he said. ‘It will be good to be alone with Mary. I asked Juliana if she would like to come, but she would rather stay here with James. That’s natural, I suppose.’

  It had been only a few days since the young couple had moved in, and the last time I had been here they had all been full of mirth at the thought of a new arrival. How much had changed in so short a time: this house was not small – there was plenty of room for them all, and several more besides, before it would feel crowded. However, I would have to agree that there was definitely something oppressive in the place. I noticed that my breaths were shorter, as if the air itself was heavy and resisting inhalation, wanting to suffocate, rather than provide life. It was dark, too, despite the curtains being open and the early evening sun still shining outside. I sipped my brandy.

  ‘I imagine she would not want to be far from her own house,’ I suggested. ‘If James is always working, then she will have to oversee the labour there.’

  ‘True,’ Charles said, ‘but I am sorry she won’t come with us. The seaside would do her good.’

  ‘She’s just been to Bath. That will have refreshed her.’

  Charles looked distinctly unhappy at the thought of leaving Juliana behind, and I wondered if he realised how much he sounded like he was running from something rather than simply taking a well-deserved break. The one person he was leaving behind was Harrington – was he running from his son-in-law? Was he even aware of it? The priest said the Upir brought mayhem with it; if it really was attached to Harrington, then perhaps it was no wonder that Charles felt so despondent while he was in the house; maybe that was why he was suddenly plagued by nightmares, when he had always been the most optimistic of men.