Mayhem (6 page)

Shadows
. He shivered. His mouth tasted of rough metal –
fear
. More than fear, dread: endless dread. He stood by the window and looked out at the twilight. Normally he found the noise from the busy streets comforting, and felt the safety of people – even though so many were violent and criminal or drunk and aggressive. There was always the warmth of the Jewish community, many of whom, like them, had escaped and settled in this most exciting of cities. Their past sufferings united them, and now they gathered together and told stories of the old country, even thought the youngest among them, had no real memories of it.

The old country was in his blood – his grandmother’s tainted blood. And after five blissful years of freedom,
it was now screaming in his veins. Something was coming – something from the old country was moving like an icy wind through Europe. For the past few weeks Aaron had woken every morning with the taste of rot and stagnant water choking him, and an oppressive creeping dread that almost paralysed him with fear. Whatever it was, it was ancient: a parasite that would bring wickedness in its wake, infecting wherever it went. And no one would see it coming.

He shivered and peered out through the brown fog that clung to the windows. Here and there dots of sickly yellow glowed dimly as they battled to break through the poisonous atmosphere. He wished for summer, where day and night did not mingle beneath the hanging shroud that coated the city most days, refusing to let more than a sliver of sunlight through. It was, he decided, like a manifestation of the awful foreboding he felt inside. When the first vague feelings of disquiet had gripped him two months previously, he had ignored them, trying to will them away by throwing himself into work and family with an unusual vigour, surprising Matilda with his willingness to do extra where he could – anything to keep busy.

But now the visions were coming thick and fast, and the constant dread was unbearable. Blood, darkness, hunger, age: they crippled him.

Paris
.

His head swirled with snippets of French, cobbled
streets, drunk, wine, stumbling, soft skin. And then the blood: the
feeding
.

He wanted to run, to gather up the children and flee as they had done before. Would his family listen this time? Would they leave this heaving river city that had become their home, where they had settled?

The river: black, wicked, stagnant water.

It wouldn’t stray too far from a river. It would need the water.

He tried to push it from his mind, but the cold fingers gripped like a vice, digging into his brain.

His family wouldn’t leave the city – and more than that,
he
couldn’t leave the city. The visions wouldn’t let him. That scared him the most: the visions sat like something slick, a wet dead thing in the pit of his stomach. Before, the visions had told him to flee; this time they demanded that he stay.

8

London. October, 1888

Dr Bond

I had been unable to extract myself from Charles’ invitation to dinner, and even once I was in the warmth of his home and seated at the table, I found it hard to shake my distraction.
Rainham
. Ever since the mention of Rainham at the morgue my mind had taken a different turn, and I had barely been able to focus on the inspector, let alone my colleague.
Rainham
. Not the inquest itself, but the reminder of how we had stood on the steps afterwards and chatted, looking out over the hubbub of Camden.

‘You should come here more often, Thomas.’ Mary smiled as Charles refilled our glasses. ‘You know you’re welcome for dinner whenever you wish.’

‘That’s most kind,’ I replied and was glad when Charles continued the conversation, asking Juliana about her recent botany studies. The study and drawing of wildlife was quite a hobby of hers. I let their chatter wash over me, making the appropriate noises when they were required, while in my mind, I was once again standing on those steps at Camden, and my eyes caught on a figure on the other side of the road. He had been
standing perfectly still, and although his head had tilted downwards I had seen the glint of his eyes in the sunshine as they peered out from under the brim of his hat. He had been watching us. That in itself hadn’t registered overly with me as I talked; there were always a small number of ghouls or newsmen who would gather outside an inquest. What I now remembered noticing was how heavy and waxy his dark coat was; I could not conceive why anyone would wear such a garment on a day so humid that most sane men just wanted to rip away their collars and let their skin breathe. He was a tall man, and the black coat reached almost to his ankles. One arm had been tucked within its folds, even when he had suddenly ducked away and moved swiftly down a side street, perhaps having realised he had been observed.

The memory had been lost to me – it had, after all, been nothing of consequence at the time – but now,
now
, it had significance. It had been him, I was sure of it. The man outside the Rainham inquest was the same man with the withered arm whom I had seen in the opium dens – but what had he been doing in Camden that day, and why had he been watching us so intently? Surely it could not be a simple coincidence? I wished I could see more of his face in my memory, and I also wished that I could trust my memory entirely. Could this be my imagination playing tricks on me through my exhaustion? The man and his obvious search for someone had become a curiosity to me of late, so perhaps my mind had simply moved him from one
section of memory to another? I tried to concentrate on the dinner.

‘I think it’s so important that a man has a purpose, don’t you agree, Dr Bond?’

I looked at Juliana. She had grown up in the past year, and now had a confidence in her demeanor that changed her from a child to a woman. Her eyes were lively and intelligent and her chestnut curls and skin glowed with health.

‘I think it’s imperative,’ I said, smiling.

‘That’s why I’m so proud of James. He’s achieving so much, and has such a brilliant mind. I have no doubt that soon his company will be the largest import business in the whole of London.’

‘That sounds quite something,’ I said. James Harrington was a little older than Juliana’s twenty-one years, but he was still a young man: a fine-looking one, with a charming smile that tilted slightly downwards when under scrutiny. I thought that he was not one of these over-confident sorts who filled the gentlemen’s clubs these days, always competing with one another in business or gambling. He was a serious type, I decided as I saw a slight blush creep under his collar, a quiet man at heart. He would suit the exuberant Juliana well.

‘Oh, Juliana,’ the young man under my scrutiny started, interrupting her, ‘I fear that although I love the faith you have in me, you are making me sound rather too impressive.’ Harrington squeezed her hand
on the table and then turned his attention to me. ‘I was unfortunate enough to lose my father last year, just before I met Juliana, but the success of the business is very much all his work. I fully intend to do him credit by expanding it, but I have a lot to learn yet. I’m afraid I didn’t pay as much attention as I should have to his work while he and my mother were still alive.’

Sadness flickered in his eyes, but he covered it with a small smile. I remembered him now, from that same afternoon on the steps after the Rainham inquest. He had been thinner and paler, then, and no wonder.

‘Unfortunately,’ I said, ‘it is perhaps in all our natures that we take the living for granted until they are no longer with us.’

‘Not so easy for you and Father to do, I imagine,’ Juliana said.

‘True. Although your father’s natural good cheer does rather keep us both in fine spirits, even at times like these.’

‘Well, I shall certainly not be taking James for granted,’ she declared. ‘I’m going to help with the company bookkeeping and whatever else he needs me to do. I’m sure I’m far better with figures than some of the men he has working for him.’

‘Sometimes, my dear,’ Charles said, his pride obvious, ‘I do wonder whether you should have been born a boy.’

‘I have to say,’ Harrington replied, ‘that I for one am very glad she was not.’

We all laughed at that, and watching the couple I envied them their youth and excitement for life and each other. In the face of so much energy, it was hard not to feel old and tired, both of which I was. In fact, listening to the chatter around the table, I felt envious of the warmth with which Charles was surrounded. I doubted there were many sleepless nights in this house.

Despite my eagerness to get to the opium dens and find the stranger in the black coat, as the main course arrived, a very fine cut of beef, I realised how much I had been neglecting my appetite of late, surviving as I was on plates of cheese, bread and cold meats. My stomach growled loudly, twice, which caused further laughter, given the informal nature of our dining, and I finished everything on my plate with an enthusiasm that made Mary ply me with more.

I had hoped to get away quite soon after coffee, but Charles insisted I join him in his study for some brandy. We left the ladies to say their goodnights to young Harrington and closed the door behind us. Charles wasted no time in pouring two large measures and we sat on either side of the small fire gazing quietly into the flames for a few minutes. Just as the silence was reaching a palpably awkward stage, Charles shifted in his chair and leaned forward.

‘London is not herself this year, wouldn’t you say, Thomas?’ He didn’t look at me, his eyes still on the grate. His tone was quiet.

I watched as he took a long swallow of his drink before I took a sip of my own. ‘I think that could be considered a fair assumption,’ I said.

‘Sometimes I look at Juliana and my heart is gripped with fear for her.’ The leather creaked as he leaned forward in his seat to re-fill his glass from the decanter. ‘There is so much wickedness at work in the city I feel as if I can almost touch it. We’re surrounded by it.’

‘Perhaps
we
are, my friend, but I think your Juliana is safe.’ Was this the cause of his sudden melancholy? I had envied my friend his family, but perhaps I had not considered the worries that came with that. But the women in Charles’ life were surely safe from the human monsters currently hunting on London’s streets.

‘She’s not …’ I struggled to find the appropriate words, ‘she’s not in a position to cause alarm. She has her young man and her family to make sure she’s not in any place of danger.’ The idea of Juliana wandering the streets of Whitechapel was one that I could not entertain. She moved in different circles; she had a different sort of life. ‘She’s also a bright girl,’ I added. ‘She has never been childish in her thinking. Life might throw the unexpected at us at any time, this is true, but as for the London we have seen so much of this year? It won’t touch her. You can be sure of that, my friend.’

He smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and as he turned to me I realised that Charles was quite drunk.
I had been so distracted by thoughts of the stranger throughout dinner I hadn’t paid so much attention to my host’s behaviour; I had presumed his joviality to be his normal good humour. But now, seeing him in this state, I realised that his laughter had been a touch too loud; his jocularity a touch forced. I looked more closely at him in the flickering glow of the firelight. His skin was flushed and his pupils were glazed.

‘I dream of blood,’ he murmured. ‘Have I told you that, Thomas? Everything is coated in it. The world has turned red.’ His mouth turned down in a tight frown. ‘Quite horrible.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ I said, wanting to reassure him. ‘With all that has filled the news of late, and the violence that has gripped our city, it’s remarkable we’re still functioning at all.’ Despite his dreams, I envied him his sleep. Nightmares I could cope with; this endless exhaustion was something else.

‘She’s always in them,’ he said, ‘Juliana. Every dream.’

‘She is your daughter, Charles. It is entirely normal for your mind to place her at the centre of your fears. The mind is a strange terrain. It has its own way of dealing with the world while you sleep.’

Charles nodded, although it was clear he was unconvinced. He muttered something under his breath, the words slurring together.

‘What was that?’ I asked. My own tiredness was starting to feel like grit behind my eyes, and although
I was under no illusion that sleep would embrace me that night, my senses were dull. As much as Charles was my friend, I had little to offer anyone in the way of good humour and support.

‘I don’t like to look out of the windows at night,’ he admitted. ‘It’s the glass, and the darkness. It’s as if everything wicked is looking into my house. Into
me
.’

I had no answer for that other than a hollow dread in the pit of my stomach. This was not
my
Charles Hebbert, my cheery friend and colleague. If his thoughts could go to such dark places then what hope was there for mine?

I drank my brandy quickly, fully intending to make my excuses and leave, but Charles suddenly burst into a smile.

‘Don’t listen to me, Thomas. I am fine. Just a momentary bout of melancholy. Shall we have one more drink? I promise to be more cheerful.’ He slapped my shoulder, heading towards the decanter, regardless of my answer. ‘Just one more, and then I shall let you get home to bed.’

I glanced at the clock to see it was already gone ten o’clock. I would not make the dens tonight, not, at least, in any fit state to speak to the stranger should I encounter him. I forced a smile and took another drink.

*

One drink became several and it was nearly midnight when I finally rose from my chair to leave. Charles
had been true to his word, and our conversation had turned to more pleasant talk, of family life, Juliana and James, and then reminiscing on the past adventures of our own youths, but I couldn’t help but feel it was somewhat forced. Charles finally drifted off into a drunken sleep mid-sentence and I left him by the dying fire and quietly headed downstairs. My own head was spinning slightly, despite having tried to avoid matching Charles’ measures, and I was looking forward to lying in my own bed, even if sleep wouldn’t come.