Blood Tribute (The Lucas Gedge Thrillers Book 1) (16 page)

M
artha stared
at the dark window on the seaward side of the cottage for a few moments, gathering her strength for the tale to follow.

‘I worked for Mr DuPont. He was one of the last silk traders still going in Spitalfields. He had a little office on Heneage Street, and I was a sort of office girl. I was so happy to get that job. I started off mostly just making everyone’s tea, but gradually they began to trust me more and I got to run errands and do bits of paperwork. Only what others didn’t want to do, but I revelled in the variety of it and the feeling that I was being useful. And Mr DuPont was such a kind man. I really felt I’d fallen on my feet, and it meant I avoided drudging in some factory or warehouse.’

‘It sounds perfect,’ said Polly. ‘But then things started to go wrong?’

‘Nothing to do with the job. But I took to going to a pub on Commercial Street. With other people from work, you understand. One time, there was a big, dark-haired bloke at the bar. I noticed he was eyeing up some of the women, and when I got some drinks in, he came over and we chatted for a while. I suppose I was quite flattered. After that, he always seemed to be there. He seemed quite pleasant,
then
.’

‘And this man turned out to be Ackerman?’ said Gedge.

‘Yes. I didn’t see him anywhere but the inn. Then one weekend, when I was off work, I was walking along Commercial Street, going to the shops, when who should I see, sitting in a table in the window of a cafe that I was walking past? He beckoned to me through the window. I didn’t want to go in there, but I didn’t feel I could just walk by. When I got inside the cafe, I saw that he was with a couple of mates. So when he asked if I’d like a cup of tea, I thought I’d be safe and I said yes. All three of them were jolly, loud-voiced types. The sort who might start breaking things if they get drunk. Mostly, they talked about the racing, what was in the news and so on. Actually, I was getting quite bored, just making the odd comment here and there. I think he was really waiting for the other two to go, because after a while they said they had to be off.

‘When they’d gone, he said he had a proposition for me. That got me worried, of course, but he said it was all legit. He said I was wasting myself working at DuPont’s. He’d been watching me, and I had the looks and other qualities to really make something of myself. There were all sorts of possibilities, according to him. He said I could be a model for some of these advertisements you see springing up everywhere these days. But best of all, I could be an actress, in the theatre to start with. He said that in a few years they’d have moving pictures that’ll take over and put the theatres out of business. I said that you surely need loads of training to be an actress, but he said not really, and anyway he knew all the right people. The point was, I had the opportunity to make a lot of money for myself and travel the world. Be a big star, maybe. I must admit, it did turn my head a bit. But I’m not daft. I couldn’t see how just talking to a bloke in a cafe in Spitalfields could lead to all that. He laughed and said that I’d obviously have to work for it, and these people he knows would have to like me. But he was sure they would. He said the first step was to turn up at a particular address on the following weekend, the Saturday evening, and see how things went from there.’

Polly got up, collected their mugs and went into the kitchen to look for something to make them a meal. The place was small enough that she could still easily hear what Martha was saying.

‘The chance was too good to miss. The address he gave me was for a big house near Victoria Park. Not the sort of place I’d ever been to before. There were lots of people there, lots of important-looking men, and young women, too. I met several posh blokes, but I have trouble remembering people’s names, first time I meet them, so they didn’t register first time out. Anyway, they were very good to me, got me drinks and told me more about how I could go far doing this or that. All to do with pictures, really. There were some top-notch photographers there apparently, and I was told I could make a lot of money if it turned out my face fitted. Well, that first time was mostly a blur, but I do remember that after an hour or so, a lot of people seemed to disappear upstairs and the piano playing got louder and more raucous, and the songs a bit more risqué, if you know what I mean. Soon after that, I got the impression that they decided I’d been there long enough. Thinking about it now, I realise they probably didn’t want the new girl seeing what went on there later in the night. Not yet, anyway. They got a cab for me, and Mr Ackerman slipped me a paper package just as I left. “Same time next week, Martha, yes?” he said to me.’

‘What was in the package?’ said Gedge.

‘A wad of notes. Ten whole pounds, if you please. It still sounded very exciting to me, and with the money as well I could hardly stay away. I could barely concentrate at work, looking forward to the next weekend. Anyway, the following week I was surprised that a hansom turned up at my lodgings to take me to the big house. They seemed much freer with the wine that time. After I’d had a few drinks, a big red-faced chap with a handlebar moustache came up to me, and said he was Cedric Abernathy, photographer, and he was going to take some pictures of me, a sort of portfolio to get me started on the road to fame and fortune. I was sure I’d seen his name on some of the pictures in the weeklies, so I knew he was a proper photographer.’

Polly hadn’t found much in the store cupboard, but had made do with some rolls and tinned meat, and she brought them in. After a short break to eat, Martha resumed talking.

‘I went upstairs with Mr Abernathy, to a big room all hung about with drapes over the walls, some of them showing historical scenes and landscapes. Along one wall there were cupboards with a load of equipment, and there was one of those concertina-type screens that you can use to get changed behind. In the middle of the room was his big old camera. Anyway, he got to work, getting me to make different poses while he took his pictures, all the while making approving noises and plying me with more drink, brandy this time. I said I wasn’t sure I wanted any more, but he said, “Nonsense! It’s one of the perks of the job.” And he kept knocking it back himself.

‘After a while he asked me to change out of my own things and into several different outfits. All the usual stuff you see on those postcards. You know, a milk maid, an Egyptian queen. I liked that one. There was a peculiar one he called Brünhilde or some such nonsense, with a spear and a helmet with horns. That was fine, but I was getting pretty woozy. It was then that he said he needed to take a few pictures of me without clothes. I couldn’t believe I’d heard right at first, and started protesting. But he said it was just a formality. All of these portfolios had to have a couple of nudes. Classical they call it, like those Greek statues. He said he realised I was nervous about it, and he called in another girl to sort of provide moral support. She was lovely. French I think, and very beautiful. Name of Elise. She was only wearing a silk gown herself, and she helped me feel better about it all. I posed for the pictures and at the time I actually felt quite relaxed. In a way it felt liberating somehow, to just stand there without your clothes. Abernathy didn’t even seem to take much notice, just got on with his work. After he took the last photograph, Elise gave me another gown to put on, and as I said I was feeling tired, she told me to lie on a couch which was behind the screen.’

Martha dissolved into tears again. She took out a tissue and wiped her eyes.

Polly reached out and took her hand.

‘It’s alright, Martha. Take your time. You don’t have to go on if you don’t want to. We’re sorry to have made you dredge all this up again.’

‘No, I’ve got to go on. If it’ll help you to stop the people behind this.’

She composed herself and started again.

‘That was it, that night. I probably could have backed out then, but I didn’t know what was coming. As it was, they’d got me trapped. I woke up on the carpet next to the couch. Light was coming in through the windows, so I knew it was morning. Elise was lying partly on top of me, with her arm around me, snoring loudly, and we were both naked. The gowns were draped on the couch. I felt terrible. I had a dreadful headache and I knew I’d got myself into something horrible. I pushed Elise off and she flopped over, still snoring. I couldn’t believe I’d been there all night. I stumbled to my feet, wrapped one of the gowns round me and looked about for my clothes. Just then, Abernathy came in, and said, “Awake, are you? Looking for these?” He dropped my clothes on the couch. I stared at him and asked the time. “It’s 10.30 in the morning,” he said. “You’ll probably be wanting to get away. I’ll see you in a week’s time.”

‘Of course I told him I was the very last person he’d be seeing again, and started raging against how he’d treated me. But then he took a large buff envelope from the top of one of the cupboards and offered it to me. He said, “I think these will change your mind on that score.” As you’ve probably guessed, the envelope contained photographs. Not just the ones I knew about, but more that had been taken while I was asleep, or unconscious. He’d developed them overnight. The pictures were of Elise and me, posed to suggest the two of us doing all sorts of disgusting things. There were a dozen or so. He didn’t need to say any more. I knew I couldn’t tell anyone. Who would believe me? And if anyone I knew saw any of those pictures… I had to go back the next week, or my secret would be out.

‘So that’s how they got me involved. I ended up going to that house a dozen more times over the next few months. I can’t go into all the details, I just can’t, but…’

The tears came again and Polly hugged her close. Gedge got up from his chair and walked over to the fire, staring into it and shaking his head. But Martha still had a little more to say.

‘I was a virgin, see. And for some of them that was a big attraction. Some of the other girls said there’s a common fantasy among men. Doing it with their daughters. At that house they provided the next best thing. You become hardened to it after a while. It ceases to shock. The depravity. It wasn’t only girls, either. Boys as well. And sometimes it got violent. Some of the screams I heard. I got hit a few times, but I was lucky compared to some. And then towards the end, something different happened. I overheard Abernathy talking to some other men. He said they were winding up the business, because it didn’t do to keep tempting fate. Eventually someone would cotton on to what was happening. Then he spoke about their friends over the channel and how they’d be ready to welcome his “little chickens”. And a boat that was to leave one of the wharves at Wapping the next Sunday. I didn’t add it up then, but I realised something bad was going to happen. It sounded like they were going to take us away, for god knows what. Of course later on, I read about it. I realised they’d been taken abroad. I hate to think what happened to those girls. I wish I’d warned them and we’d all got away.’ 

Gedge knelt down in front of Martha, and spoke gently.

‘Martha, I have a few questions. Are you up to it?’

She sniffed and clung to Polly, but nodded.

A
ckerman stared
down into the Thames, as it lapped around the medieval wharf at Wapping. The river gave off a particular odour here: a stomach-churning cocktail of the city’s detritus. Rotting garbage, industrial effluent, human and animal faeces. All mixed in with the stench of death. He reflected that the depositing of dead bodies into the river was normal, historically speaking. Nothing to get worked up about. It wasn’t the first time those who’d crossed him had been consigned to the currents.

Vera stood next to him, shivering.

‘She is taken care of, I presume?’ said Ackerman.

‘Yes, sir. Trussed up good and proper. Tied to the bed, gagged. A guard will stay outside the room all the time, just in case.’

‘Seems a waste of manpower, but I can’t afford to lose any more of them. She’ll pay for what she did to Jeb when she gets to the auction. I’ll make sure she goes to the most sadistic bastard there.’

Vera pulled her thin coat tight around her, as two of Ackerman’s men lifted the long oilskin-wrapped package between them and stepped out on to the jetty, grunting and straining.

‘Jeb wasn’t that big,’ said Vera. ‘What the devil’s he weighed down with?’

Ackerman smiled. ‘Very observant. That package is larger than you might have expected because it contains two bodies, not one. Forgive me for not telling you, but the other girl, Esther, didn’t get the opportunity to inform on us after all. It was our good fortune that an associate of mine, name of Naseby, encountered her just as she turned the corner from the house. He’s got a gammy leg, but he’s quick on the uptake. Realised where she was from and tripped her up with his stick. Unfortunately for her, when she fell, she cracked her head on the pavement. Stone dead.’

Vera gulped.

The two henchmen with their heavy load shuffled past the gibbet, last used in the dark ages, but kept as an ineffective warning against modern crimes. They reached the end of the jetty and looked back at Ackerman. He nodded, and they lowered the package as far as possible, to reduce the sound of the splash, and then dropped it into the oily water. It sank immediately. As the two men made their way back off the wharf, Ackerman turned to his associate.

‘Do you ever wonder about the dead, Vera?’

‘I try not to, Mr Ackerman. But what do you mean, exactly?’

‘Leaving our old mate Jeb in the tender care of Old Mother Thames is part of an ancient tradition. Poor sod. Killed by a lucky slash with a sharp piece of crockery. You never know how you’re going to go, do you? Most of the inhabitants of London don’t know that hundreds, maybe thousands of corpses are dumped in here every year. Often, at low tide, bits of bones get washed up. Scavenging kids sell ’em on to doctors, archaeologists and the like.

‘And that’s just part of it. All over London, there are mass graves, plague pits. From the bronze age, through Roman and medieval times, right up to today. Churches like the one in Spitalfields are built right on top of them. Every time they do any excavation for one of their grand projects, they turn up skeletons, skulls. It’s almost as if the very soil of London, and the river itself, is crying out for more souls.’

‘If you say so, Mr Ackerman.’

‘Didn’t think I was a philosopher, eh, Vera? Well, I’m not usually, but tonight’s a bit different. I can’t say I’m not disappointed by this afternoon’s events. But we’re going to complete this job and get paid a king’s ransom into the bargain. Nobody’s going to stop us. If anything, I’m in a good mood. But still, I think I do hear this old river crying out, you know. It wants another soul. It wants yours.’

He saw her wide eyes dart to his face. In one movement he slipped behind her, pushed her chin up with his left hand, and with the dagger in his right, sliced her throat from ear to ear.

Briefly, he held her twitching body close, the blood gushing across his hands and arms, before pitching her off the dockside and into the water.