D: Revenge Hits London (Whitby's Darkest Book 2) Read online

  D: Revenge Hits London

  CHRIS TURNBULL

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination, or if real are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN: 197595002X

  ISBN-13: 978-1975950026

  First published 2017 by Follow This Publishing, Yorkshire (UK)

  Text © 2017 Chris Turnbull

  Cover Design © 2017 Joseph Hunt of Incredibook Design

  The right of Chris Turnbull to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording without prior permission from the publisher.

  Copyright © 2017 Chris Turnbull

  All rights reserved.

  For my best friend Leanne

  ALSO BY CHRIS TURNBULL

  The Vintage Coat

  D: Darkest Beginnings

  D:Whitby’s Darkest Secrets

  Carousel

  It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

  A Home For Emy – Children’s Book

  Death Is Nothing At All

  By Henry Scott-Holland

  Death is nothing at all.

  It does not count.

  I have only slipped away into the next room.

  Nothing has happened.

  Everything remains exactly as it was.

  I am I, and you are you,

  and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.

  Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

  Call me by the old familiar name.

  Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.

  Put no difference into your tone.

  Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

  Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.

  Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.

  Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.

  Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

  Life means all that it ever meant.

  It is the same as it ever was.

  There is absolute and unbroken continuity.

  What is this death but a negligible accident?

  Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

  I am but waiting for you, for an interval,

  somewhere very near,

  just round the corner.

  All is well.

  Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.

  One brief moment and all will be as it was before.

  How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

  D: Revenge Hits London

  Prologue.

  Saturday 24th February 1900

  The banging on the front door echoed through the house causing all occupants to jump with shock at the sudden noise. The braying of the door continuously persisted with what evidently was a fist thrashing against the wooden door. Somebody was undoubtedly in a hurry to be seen.

  ‘Okay, I’m comin’ hold on.’ Tom, the young boy from Whitby was the first to reach the large double fronted door, and pulled it open with all his strength, the hinges creaked and the old timber groaned as the door gave way. The rain outside was pouring down so fast that the entrance hall and Tom’s bare feet became soaked in seconds. The man forced himself inside passed Tom so as to take shelter, closing the door behind himself and leaving the horrendous weather behind him.

  ‘Can I ‘elp ya Sir?’ Tom asked, somewhat taken by this sudden intrusion.

  ‘My apologies young man.’ He spoke in a whisper as though out of breath. He removed his hat to better reveal his face. His light blue eyes were tired looking, and his bright auburn hair was the only colour against the man’s long black overcoat and pale complexion. He reached deep inside his coat and pulled out a small envelope.

  ‘I have been asked to bring this here, it is for a man named Albert Summers. This is the correct house I presume?’ He looked down at Tom with a hopeful expression.

  ‘Ey, that it is.’ Tom smiled. ‘I will pass it on to him for you.’

  The man nodded in gratitude and returned his hat to his head. He turned back for the front door.

  ‘Horrible weather today, son,’ the man acknowledged as he opened the door once more, ‘they reckon the Thames may overflow if it continues. Still at least with everyone hibernating at home the influenza pandemic has finally ended.’ With that the man leapt out of the door and down the stone stairs back onto the wet street. Tom watched as the odd man dashed down the road, trying to avoid the numerous puddles that covered the road and pavement he skipped and jumped as though dancing along. Tom watched him until he was out of sight, before closing the door.

  His mind now returned to the letter clutched in his hand, it was a simple small brown envelope with the edges slightly damp due to the rain; there was neat handwriting along the front which read. "Mr Summers, 12 Vincent Square, London". Underneath which was the word "URGENT". He thought he recognised the handwriting, but couldn’t quite work out who.

  Tom raced up the creaky staircase as fast as his legs would carry him. The sound of the old timbers creaked and groaned with every step, the sound echoed through the landing. Mr Summers was in his office working whilst Mrs Summers spent the afternoon baking, he had been helping her since the weather was too bad for him to play outside.

  Tom knocked on the office door and waited for the inevitable ‘Come in’ from Mr Summers. Tom always smirked when he did so, he sounded so formal in his own house and despite being the weekend, and with no plans to go out today, he was still dressed in his best suit.

  ‘A messenger at the door gave me this, Sir.’ Tom declared upon peaking around the doorframe of the large double windowed room. Books lined the walls on enormous dark wood displays, many to do with his work. But it was always the large book closest to the door with a multitude of fictional stories by a whole host of authors, which always found Tom’s eye. Tom couldn’t read, but Mrs Summers had been reading to him and even trying to teach him, he couldn’t wait to be able to read a whole book all by himself. In the middle of the room was an enormous desk, so large in fact that Tom could have used it as a bed and would still have room to spare.

  Albert stood and took the letter from him, thanking him in a tone that also acknowledged his dismissal from the room. Albert returned to his seat behind the desk and stared at the handwriting for a moment, his brow raised as he read the envelope. The heavy rain outside had caused the room to be darker than normal for the time of day, and so Albert had surrounded his desk in numerous candles sat upon two large candelabras positioned at each end of the desk. The silver candelabras gleamed in the light of the dancing flames above, and the candle wax had already begun to drip onto the desk.

  Albert tore open the envelope and unfolded the single piece of paper that rested inside.

  Dear Mr Summers,

  I was pleased to hear of your safe arrival back in London. I hope that Mrs Summers is well rested after her ordeal and that Tom is settling in well with you.

  I am writing to tell you the disappointing news regarding your final evening in Whitby. Unfortunately our plan to capture this ‘D’ character was unsuccessful.

  Upon Mrs Summers leaving the pier I was tragically unable to st
op him; a fight broke out between us which resulted in myself being thrown over the side of the pier; thus allowing him to escape. The small team of officers that were on hand to assist me had in fact been inside a small boat, and were told to approach Mrs Summers and the perpetrator from the pier edge in the hope to surround him. Unfortunately, due to the high winds and strong tides they did not make it to the pier until it was too late; however they were able to remove myself from the water and get me to hospital where I have spent the past week.

  Constable Taylor’s attempt to apprehend the offender when they collided on Church Street was also less than successful, the Constable was no match for the strength of this man and was attacked quite brutally. The Constable is still currently in the hospital, but I am pleased to say he is doing well and is due to be discharged any day.

  In the days prior to these events we managed to secure a larger team of officers to assist in a large scale search of the town and surrounding areas, numerous men have been brought in for questioning however I am disappointed to say that the culprit has thus far not been seized.

  I am aware that you will be keen to be updated on progress with this matter, and I ensure you that I hope for my next letter to be filled with the news we both long to hear.

  Please also thank Master Tom for his letter regarding the horse and carriage he left at York station. Mr Walker personally saw that they were returned to Whitby, however upon arriving at the Station Inn where young Tom had left them there was only one horse remaining. The whereabouts of the second horse is now a mystery and is being dealt with as a theft.

  I will hopefully be in touch again once I have more information regarding the case.

  Sincerely yours,

  Detective Matthews.

  Albert screwed up the letter in anger. He stood from his desk and walked to the opposing wall where a large open fire roared. The heat instantly burning against his face as he leaned in close. He threw the letter into the open flames and watched as it burned to ash.

  Chapter 1

  Friday 27th April 1900

  D.

  I had arrived.

  London smelt exactly the way I had remembered it. Smoky, horse crap littered and stuffy. It was raining heavily today as I made my way through the grey bleak city. I wasn’t sure exactly of my location, I had the address but had no idea where it was, I knew I would eventually find it.

  My journey to London felt as though it had taken a lifetime. That February night I left Whitby, the night Victoria fled from me, seemed like a distant memory. Heading up across the dark Yorkshire moors, I walked all night. As day break lit my path I was pleased to see a town in the distance. I dare not stay long in case the Detective had sent officers looking for me, and so I drank away my dehydration in a horse trough at the side of the road and continued on my way.

  I walked the entire day, avoiding as many of the main roads as possible. I ventured into smaller villages for water, and managed to steal a loaf of bread along the way. As evening began to set in once more I finally reached the walled city of York. I knew that by now Victoria would have been long gone. Tom will have taken her to York train station and she will no doubt be already home. I still couldn’t help myself but go to the station. Was it the satisfaction of knowing that she was definitely gone?

  I sat in the station for a short time. Keeping a close eye on the exit just in case. Victoria’s small suitcase rested on my knee. Her name and address staring up at me. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to open it or not. What if it wasn’t her belongings, what if it was Alberts? After all the tag did read “Mr & Mrs Summers”.

  As I went to leave the station two police officers walked in. They hadn’t seen me and I immediately hid myself behind one of the many pillars. The station was quiet and so they would have seen me if I had tried run. I edged my face around to try and see where they were going. I could see them crossing the bridge and heading for the other platforms. This was my chance. As quickly as I could, without making too much of a scene, I made for the exit. Upon leaving the station I saw more officers across the road. I made a quick left turn and headed towards the back of the Station hotel. I made my way around the hotel in the hope to get back out onto the street, but I had somehow managed to get myself into a dead end. I was surrounded by horse and carts, presumably those of the hotel guests. I barely paid them any attention as I tried to find an alternative way out.

  One of the carriages caught my eye, I was almost certain it was Tom’s carriage, but how could it be, he should have returned to Whitby hours ago. There was nobody around and so I opened the door to take a look inside. It was empty, but there was a faint smell of perfume still lingering in the air. There was no denying this was Victoria’s. Questions began to fly around in my mind, where were they, where was Tom? Had they checked into the hotel instead?

  I heard a voice coming into the yard, I hopped inside the cart and closed the door behind me. The voice was that of a young boy, at first I thought it may have been Tom, but it wasn’t. Moments later it was silent again. I exited the cart and thought about taking it. having a ride to London would be much more pleasant than walking. Although tempting I knew this was less than ideal. On the road I was more exposed to police officers, I needed to stay low.

  I unhooked one of the horses and lead it around to the exit. I could no longer see any police, but I knew they wouldn’t be far. I mounted the horse and he took me out into the now darkened street. I ushered the horse on as quickly as possible. I dare not look back. We galloped through the city walls as quickly as we could, and continued on out into the countryside.

  I was worn-out and in need of some rest. I managed to find an old run down barn, which had clearly not been used in years. The roof had more holes in than a block of cheese, and there wasn’t anything comfortable to sit upon. Yet somehow I managed to fall asleep on the hard ground.

  The next morning I was woken by the sound of birds. For a split moment I had completely forgotten where I was. I placed my hand in the deep pockets of my coat, the pocket I used to carry the book in. I had hoped it would still be there, but of course it wasn’t. All I had left was the suitcase, and that didn’t even belong to me. My anger towards Victoria rose as I sat there on the ground. My eyes began to leak, but I refused to allow myself to cry. I couldn’t remember the last time I shed a tear. I couldn’t shake Victoria’s face from my mind. I knew the journey to London would be difficult, but I was positive I would make her pay for my humiliation and heartache. I left the barn to find it was a misty dull day. This was good cover for me on my travels. I mounted the horse and took off along the small country roads.

  I kept the horse for a couple of days, eventually leaving it outside an inn near Doncaster. The animal was getting weak with all the travel and lack of food and water, it was no longer any use to me.

  The rest of the journey was by foot. I slept rough each night, and managed to steal pickings of food along the way. Although I stayed mostly to country lanes, and even walked through fields to avoid main roads, I occasionally ventured to towns and villages to make sure I was headed in the right direction. Sometimes I would stay in the same place for more than one night if I deemed it safe enough. As the weeks passed I thought my feelings of anger would diminish, but the closer I got to my goal the more blood thirsty for Victoria I became.

  ***

  It was now the end of April, I had left Whitby over two months ago. The journey had taken much longer than I had envisioned. As I reached the suburbs of London my heart raced with excitement. I had made it. I wasn’t even sure where Vincent Square was. I spent just over a week trying to find out.

  One raining afternoon I was by river when I saw a young boy that looked like Tom. I looked back in surprise to see that it was Tom. What was he doing in London? He was walking fast along the street, trying his best to avoid the puddles that lined the pavement. I took off after him, he was sure to lead me straight to Victoria. I followed him for quite some time as he headed into the Westminster district. I w
as less than familiar with this area as it was a higher class area. Surprising I had yet to venture this way in my search. Tom disappeared around corners so quickly that I had to race to match his pace. Finally I turned the final corner where I was confronted by a large open green. The houses around the square were large, and a street sign attached to metal railings read ‘Vincent Square’.

  I stayed put in the corner of the square as I watched Tom dash through the rain. He came to a house, and without knocking he opened the door and let himself inside.

  ‘Gotcha.’

  Chapter 2

  Thursday 31st May 1900

  Victoria

  It was nice to be out of the house for a while; the place seemed a little crowded at the moment. Truth be told it was only one extra person currently staying with us; my younger sister, Lucy. I love my sister terribly, but she does have a tendency to be loud and interfering, not to mention everything she says is a negative. She has been staying with us for nearly a month, and I should be more supportive considering that only four weeks ago her husband, of only a year, died out of the blue. He was only twenty-four years old and yet nobody is quite sure why he collapsed in the street and died so abruptly. Lucy has been staying with us ever since the funeral, claiming herself to be too upset to return to their marital home. She tells me her plans are to return next week, however she has said this every week for the past three, and I dare not push her away before she is ready.

  The weather was delightful today as I walked along the street; the last of the blossom had now fallen from the trees some time ago, yet our quiet little square still had multiple spots of pink and white along the grass. On the pavement in front of me the small petals were dancing around my feet in the faintest of breezes. Spring seemed to arrive late this year, with the blossom and spring flowers not appearing until the end of April, yet no matter the time the beautiful blossom never stays long enough for my liking. The cool wet weather was to blame for the delay in Spring weather, so it was a delight to have the sun shining warmly against my face as I walked along. I had to lift the base of my pale blue dress slightly in order to step over a large pile of blossom that was starting to pile up against a neighbour's garden wall.