Mad Bride of the Ripper Page 25

  Beautifully carved. Expensive, no doubt. One of Mister Westenra’s gifts to a treasured daughter.

  It was unlocked, and he didn’t need to dig too deep to find the letters. They were wrapped in a thin leather thong and a little tag had the name John Seward written in Lucy’s delicate handwriting.

  Downstairs, he entered the room without a word and placed the wad of papers in front of the Inspector before putting himself back against the wall. Knew the slouching wasn’t very polite, but also knew he wasn’t hired to be polite.

  He was hired to be muscle.

  That’s what she wanted.

  Muscle.

  And he had enough of that to make up for the lack of social graces.

  “Thank you, Kipper,” she said. Her voice was cold. Crisp. But he’d known her long enough to feel the warmth beneath it. She was pleased, he knew.

  Pleased, but cautious.

  Afraid as she waited for Abberline’s reaction.

  Nothing should go wrong.

  Nothing.

  She watched carefully as the Inspector untied the binding with deft tugs and opened the first. His eyes dropped to read, then he lifted them quickly. Kipper was delighted to see the old man was blushing. “I’m sorry, Miss Westenra. I forgot to ask. There’s nothing, ah, personal in these, is there? We shouldn’t need them all if that’s the case.”

  “Personal?” She allowed a little smile. Not too much humour. “At the time I received his letters, I was little more than a vague acquaintance of his. I was much closer to Mina than her friends. You’ll find his words are mostly very dull. Although he does speak highly of me, he hardly knew me as a person. Everything he says about me or my feelings was a product of his twisted mind. I found them odd at the time, especially given he’d only actually spoken to me once or twice. Reading them now, they’re repugnant and deeply disturbing. You will see he complains when I never replied. I would have thrown them away, but Adele told me they might be useful to you. I meant to give them to you last time you were here, but it slipped my mind.”

  “So, you’ll not be wanting them returned, I take it?”

  “Absolutely not, Inspector. When you’re done with them, you can do with them what you like. Burn them, if you will. There’s nothing in them I am ashamed to share with the police.”

  He dropped his gaze to the letter in his hand. Traced a few of the letters with his fingers, then compared the writing technique to the one Adele had given him.

  “If these weren’t written by the same hand, then it’s uncannily similar,” he said. Unable to hide a little excitement. “Which, given the distinctive style, would be practically impossible. You can see with the curling of the letter g. It’s most unconventional. Surely no one would share this style.”

  “I’m glad they are of some help, Inspector.” Lucy looked out the window at the gleaming gas lamps piercing fog. Every light stared back at her like the eyes of eldritch gods. Shimmering as though sharing their amusement. “I can’t believe they were blackmailing Adele. She’s a sweet girl, Inspector. She doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. And her father. She must be distraught. I should go see her. To let her know I understand.”

  “Hmm?” Abberline looked up from the letters. “If you’ll pardon me for saying, Miss Westenra, I think that would be a very good thing for the girl. She was most upset at what they’d asked her to do. She worried you might see her in a dark light. But she assured me, and I believe her, that she gave them nothing which might help them get to you. In fact, the impression I got was she was determined to somehow track them down and expose their whereabouts. A misguided plan, of course, but one made with good and honourable intention.”

  “I don’t doubt it at all. Adele has always been a true friend. And she’s not easy to bully, I think.”

  “She seemed to have been very sensible in some ways,” he said. “Although, of course, it might have been better if she’d come to us earlier. I have no doubt her friend, young Mister Sloper, is quite capable, but some things are outside of his experience. I admit it’s beyond our own in many ways. However, matters as outrageous as this ought to be best served by the police.”

  “Of course.”

  Kipper stifled a snort and cleared his throat. Looked at the curtains instead, trying to block out the Inspector’s voice which was beginning to worm into his brain and drill it with a desperate need to cackle.

  And his mouth was dry, too.

  He needed a drink.

  Abberline droned on and Kipper began to have thoughts.

  Thoughts of picking up a candlestick. Or the poker by the fireplace.

  And beating the Inspector’s head in.

  Just thinking about it, he could feel the imagined steel in his hands vibrating with each solid hit. The satisfactory sensation of the blow crushing bone. Wet crack and reel of blood spattering across the wall.

  He’d stand over the old policeman, ribs heaving, and start kicking him.

  First in the chest. Then the throat. Last the head. His heavy boots soaked crimson and gore clinging to the cuff of his pants.

  Dribbling down his thigh.

  He’d kneel beside the man.

  And use his favourite switchblade to carve holes in his flesh. Deep enough to reach inside. Hands sliding through slimy guts. Finding organs hot and shivering.

  Pull them loose.

  Tear them apart.

  Rip.

  Shred.

  His mouth watering, Kipper slowly eased from the wall and his eyes found the poker. The hooked point promised violent bloody murder.

  “Kipper?” Lucy’s voice slit his intentions. “Would you fetch me a glass of water, please? Inspector? Would you like something?”

  “Hmm? Oh, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  Kipper rolled his shoulders and nodded. His eyes caught hers and he winced. “Of course, Miss,” he said, heading out into the hall without another word. Knew she was sending him away to keep him from clobbering the old policeman.

  Didn’t feel angry by it. Just disappointed in himself.

  She wanted him to hold back for just a few more days. That’s all, she said. A few more days and the Queen would be in London.

  And then?

  Anything you like, Kipper.

  Her voice was a fish gliding through deep currents. It swam beside him, elegant and cold. Glittering in the dark.

  Brushing against him.

  Hard scales.

  And, in her open jaw, savage teeth.

  Fear trickled down the back of his neck and he wiped the sweat away. The pressure against his forehead eased a little.

  But not much.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Lucy danced.

  Bare heels hammering around the cramped room. Arms twirling. Accidentally hit Amelia in the face twice, and Renfield worked hard to duck each swinging limb. Not swung with anger.

  Delight.

  “Angel-maker, Angel-maker,” she sang, beautiful voice off-key. “How many angels have you made today?”

  “Two,” the old woman said. Hatchet face stern and unyielding. Stared back at the dancing vampire without expression even after Lucy’s fingers slid past her face as she whirled, long nails a whistle close to slitting skin. “I’m getting nervous, to tell the truth. Mistress, there have been questions. I’ve been asked questions. Stopped twice in the street by those who’ve no business in what I do.”

  “What sort of questions?” Disinterested, Lucy drifted into the air, watching her own fingers wriggle at the ends of her arms.

  Worms, she thought. Like fleshy pale worms. Or maggots stretched and ready to burst.

  “About how we can so quickly arrange adoptions when there’s more girls trying to give their baby away than take them. Others in this business are starting to stick their noses in. Renfield here caught one spying on us across the road.”

  “I broke her beak,” Renfield said proudly. Raised a fist and brought it down on an invisible face. “Stick your beak elsewhere, you old trollop
! That’s what I said. Stick it elsewhere. I said, what kind of pervert are you, trying to catch a peek of little babies in their cribs? Pervert, says I. Don’t argue with me or I’ll call the police! You want a little girl, well this ain’t the street for that! Been reading too much of the Maiden Tribute? I’ll see you hanged at the end of a rope, I would! Should’ve seen her scarper, Mistress. Seen the old cow scoot! Like she took the boot of Renfield right up her warty old arse!”

  “My Renfield,” Lucy giggled. Danced up against him, planting a peck on his cheek before whirling away. “Bravest of the brave. Slayer of dragons. Bold Sir Renfield of Whitechapel.”

  “Aye,” he grinned. Knuckled his eye and the grin turned to a leer. “All the pretty girls say he’s bold.”

  “He is indeed!”

  “They’ll keep coming, though,” Amelia growled. “Mistress, I’ve seen it before. I know when things are getting too hot. Sooner or later, someone’s going to grab the nearest copper and they’ll be down our backs.”

  “Like piss,” Renfield sneered.

  “Exactly like that, you rude beggar,” she snapped. Then, pleading; “Oh, please listen, Mistress. I don’t want to go to prison. I couldn’t survive it. Not at my age.”

  Lucy stopped dancing and rose a few inches off the ground. Hovered, mood switching to thoughtful. Cocking her head at the old woman. Curious now. “Are you afraid, Amelia? Afraid of being locked up?”

  “Too bloody right I am! And you should be, too, Mistress! If they find out what you are? Why, they’ll panic! And if they panic, who knows what they’ll do? The whole city would go mad.”

  Lucy patted the old woman’s dry cheek. “Never you worry, Amelia. Her ship arrives soon. And when it does, it won’t matter at all what anyone tells the police. You’ll see. They could shriek it from the rooftops and no one will mind.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I dreamed it, of course.” Lucy’s eyes went wide in awe as she remembered. “The night I was Turned, I saw her. I saw the path she followed from Transylvania. I witnessed the battles she fought. The losses she took. I saw her laugh, Amelia. I saw her rage. I saw her run through the streets of Prague, her feet leaving bloody footprints in the rain. I saw her in Paris. And I saw her feed among the trees and alpine snow. I saw her walk the road of the damned to make peace with Lucifer himself. I saw her touch the Felstone.”

  “Felstone?” Renfield frowned. “I ain’t heard of that.”

  “In the blackest heart of Hell, lies the Felstone.” She closed her eyes and her voice was calm. “A corrupted shard torn from the skirts of Heaven by Samael’s mighty fist. Stolen by Lucifer and placed in a bowl of worship. Fed the souls of the damned, its hunger is endless. Its power is beyond human imagining. I’ve seen it. Seen what it can do. And so has she. I can’t wait to meet her. It’s been too long. Too long! I can’t hold it all much longer. Our binds, Renfield, they need to be cut!”

  “Where do you want me to be, Mistress?” Renfield asked. Eager to please. “When she arrives?”

  “You’ll be there to meet her. You must both be there.”

  “We will, hoo hoo,” Renfield crowed. “Won’t we, Angel-maker? We’ll be ready. Best boots on! Ten pence a button. All roads lead to Rome, my little sheep.”

  “I haven’t got any other boots,” the old woman said. Shifted on her scuffed old soles uncomfortably.

  “New garments and polished shoes will be waiting for you when we move. And, before you ask, that time will be soon. I will send word as soon as everything is ready. So, be prepared to move quickly. We don’t want our enemies to know before it’s time.”

  “Will I be Lord Renfield, then?”

  “King Renfield!”

  “King!” His eyes went wide. “My Majesty!”

  “King of Filth,” Amelia said. “Lord of Dustbins.”

  “Back, foul dragon, before I slay ye.” He snatched a spoon and pointed it at her throat. “You want to taste of Renfield’s blade?”

  “That’s a spoon.”

  “I’ll dig your fucking throat right out with it. Gravedigger Renfield. Shovel-pusher Renfield.”

  “Duke of Rotten Eggs,” Amelia hissed.

  One of the babies started to cry. A long wailing cry which made his eyes flick to the Angel-maker’s room and its may cots. Then back to Lucy. Crafty glint in his eye. “One for the road, Mistress? Quick bite? A tasty little snack?”

  Lucy showed teeth in a curling smile, but shook her head. “Not tonight. We must save the best for our Queen. She’ll be starving, Renfield.”

  “Famished?”

  “Thirsting.”

  “Ah. Then we’ll tuck the little tykes in and grow them nice and fat.”

  A tentative knock made them all glance to the door.

  “It’s the coppers,” Amelia said, face gaunt and pale with fright.

  Renfield lifted the spoon and snarled. “You run for it, Mistress. I‘ll chop the lot.”

  Lucy raised an eyebrow at him. “With your spoon?”

  “It’ll take them by surprise. Muck with their minds, it will. They’ll learn to fear the Ripper and his spoon. Hoo!”

  “Oh, do put your spoon away, Renfield,” she said. Reached across and ran her fingers through his hair with affection. “And open the door. That will be Adele. I asked her to meet me here.”

  “Adele?” Renfield tucked his spoon into his belt and skipped toward the door. Flung it open with a crash. Held both arms out and cried; “My pretty Polly!”

  “I’m not Polly,” Adele frowned.

  “Jemima, then? No? Betsy? Which one plays with Renfield tonight?”

  “What are you babbling about?” Looked him up and down, then over his shoulder and saw Lucy. Pushed inside and ran to the vampire. “Oh, Lucy!”

  “Adele.” She wrapped her arms around young woman. “How is William?”

  “He’s in a lot of pain. But he’ll come home with us tomorrow. I told him he could. Is that alright?”

  “Of course. He can have my father’s room.” She flashed a grin to Renfield, who answered with a smirk. “He won’t mind.”

  Adele stepped back, pressing a hand to her head. “I did my best. I hope I didn’t mess it up. I told the Inspector everything you told me to. And I gave him the letters. At least, I think I did. I can’t really remember very well.”

  “You did a wonderful job,” Lucy said. “And the Inspector got the letters. He brought them to me.”

  “You saw them?”

  “I did.”

  “William tried his best. He only had a few hours to write them before that horrible Harker tricked him.”

  “We were lucky,” Lucy allowed.

  “Do you need me to do anything else?”

  “You’ll have to see your lawyers, I think. Now that they’ve found your father, you should sort out your inheritance. Can you do that?”

  “I think so.” She pushed her head again. Pressing fingers hard against her temples. “Oh, Lucy. I can feel them inside me now. Feel them trying to get out. Scratching at my head. Wolves. Always wolves. Howling in my mind. It hurts.”

  Lucy took the other woman again into her arms and kissed her on the forehead. “Hold on just a little longer, Adele. It won’t be long. I promise. And then we can all run together.”

  “Do you think we can? Can we dash through the streets? I want to run forever.”

  “We can do whatever you like.”

  Adele chewed her bottom lip. “There’s a terrible part of me that wants to do other things, Lucy.” Lowered her voice to a whisper. “Horrible things. Things I could go to prison for.”

  “A girl after my own heart,” Renfield sniggered. “Does she like to drink the guts of pigeons? Slurp the innards of a dead cat? Lick the raw ribs of a dog slit in two?”

  Adele blinked at him, eyes glazing then glittering bright.

  “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “But I think she would like to find out.”

  “I’m sure she would,” he cackled. Waved his spoon un
der her nose. “There’s nothing in the world like a sliver of raw meat and the gush of hot blood across the tongue.”

  Adele shivered. “I know.”

  “Let me tell you things,” he said. Crafty now. “Dangerous things to know.”

  “What kind of things?”

  Renfield put the spoon away. Looked to Lucy and smiled.

  “What have you found, Renfield?” Lucy clapped her hands together. “You’ve found something, haven’t you? Oh, do tell us!”

  “I went walking, Mistress. Down the lanes. Down the dark, dark lanes. Where the fog is at its murkiest. In places where a man might lose his life to a mugger’s clip or a murderous razor’s rip. I went to pubs where they’d gut you for a wrongly spoken word. I visited whores who’d promise their juiciest wares but lead you to a corner where her man will belt you about the ears and take the silver from your teeth. I walked where betrayal is in every eye and lust has no margin. What I saw would make the Angel-maker swear off killing babies for the rest of her natural life.”

  Lucy let out a delighted squeal and clapped her hands. “Where was it? We must go there!”

  “It’s not the where what matters, hoo hoo. Oh, no, Mistress. Not the where.” He crouched with devilish charm and held arms out wide. “I merely meant to set the scene. Robbers and wenches. Rapists and thieves. Beggars with razors and children with pistols. The law won’t walk for fear of being swallowed by the terror which rules those streets. And in the houses of ill repute and hovels which hide horrors untold, there walked gentlemen of fine and upstanding quality.”

  Adele looked shocked. “Gentlemen?”

  “Aye, my pretty Polly. My darling Desiree. My magnificent Caroline. And any other you’d like to raise from the depths of your rainbow hair.” He reached, but his fingertips never touched her face. Yanking his hands back, he reeled back to Lucy and roared; “I saw gentlemen of the finest sort! They worked hard to be unseen. But Renfield’s eyes see all. They can’t hide from him. No. Might as well be wearing dinner jackets and top hats! They wandered lost, Mistress. Lost in the fog. Still, when faced with danger, they proved capable. One carried fire in his hands and threatened to use it. The thugs parted like the sea for Moses. A horse’s course, hoo hoo. And down they went. Further into the pits of Hell if they could. Seeking to hide. Seeking to be hidden among the sullied rabble, they came upon a door. A door of no peculiar interest. They knocked. Once. Twice. Thrice. And then, stranded in a sea of miscreants, found they the arms of a woman.”