D: Revenge Hits London (Whitby's Darkest Book 2) Page 5

  ‘Lucy I didn’t do this to upset you.’

  ‘I know, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt all the same.’

  Chapter 8

  D

  I stayed away from Vincent Square on Friday, I knew it was probably for the best. Leaving the suitcase the night before would have the whole house nervous, so I didn’t want to be seen so soon afterwards. Knowing they would be questioning its appearance on their step thrilled me. They weren’t going anywhere in a hurry, and I knew I could easily bide my time with them. I did however see Lucy taking a cab across London sometime in the afternoon. She was probably heading up to the church again where she spends hours praying in silence, she has been visiting the church more and more frequently, before heading down the road and drinking. She has a serious problem, but that will benefit me when I decide what I am going to do with her.

  I spent the afternoon by the docks, I had walked mostly along the riverside from Westminster, it was a pleasant enough day. I hadn’t realised quite how far I had walked until I reached the base of Tower Bridge. I remember working in the nearby docks and watching the bridge being built. The men I worked with were certain is was too tall and would collapse, but here it stands still. I continued on passed the bridge and found myself back at the dock I once made a living as a young man.

  Over the last couple of weeks, since returning to London, I found myself often coming here and watching the men load and unload the boats from a distance. Things are much more different here now, different faces worked here from my time, though not really that long ago in years. Young Tom worked here, I sometimes watched him from a far. I could never understand what it was that made Victoria take him from Whitby. Yes he was a pleasant boy, yes he was homeless, but never have I heard of somebody in the higher classes take in a street boy and treat them like a son. Watching him on the docks was unlike watching the other worker. He constantly has a smile on his face and spoke to everybody who crossed his path as though they were old friends. Yet other workers, ranging from children of the same age to middle aged men, were less friendly and it could easily be seen that they didn’t enjoy being there. I couldn’t understand why Tom intrigued me so much; there was just something about him that I couldn’t put my finger on.

  As the afternoon turned to evening the work men began to leave for the night. Tom was always in a hurry and would take off home at a jog. It must have taken him nearly an hour running, but you could see the determination in his face as he raced up the street and out of sight.

  I left the docks area and continued walking along the river edge. The sun was setting fast and by the time darkness covered London I had reached my destination. On the edge of the Thames was a small circular brick structure with a glazed dome for a roof. The doorway to the structure was covered with an iron gate that was chained and locked shut. I delved into my coat pocket and plucked out the small metal key, with the piece of red string tide to it. The padlock unlocked with ease and I swung open the gate, it creaked the entire way causing a loud echo through the small dome. I looked around behind me to see if anybody was watching, and when I was certain the coast was clear I slipped inside, closing the gate behind me disappearing into the darkness.

  The glass dome let in little light during nightfall, but I could see well enough to find the top of the stone spiral staircase that led down beneath the river. The stairway seemed to go on forever in the darkness, and it became narrower, colder and damper the further down I went. At the bottom was a small burning lamp positioned next to a door that perched hidden under the stone steps. The whole place stunk of urine and faeces, and was littered with newspapers and various bits of rubbish that had blown through the upstairs gate. This door was made of solid wood and had no handle at my side; it looked as though it was old and unused. I knocked with a clutched fist and waited. I looked back over my shoulder at the beginning of a tunnel that was currently being built, it was to be a new pedestrian walkway under the river, but it was still a long way from being finished.

  I knocked on the door again and as I did so it creaked open ever so slightly. I was met by the gaze of an almighty giant of a man who simply stared at me, inciting me to explain myself. I showed him the key in my hand, holding it so that he could see the red string also. The oversized man opened the door wider and beckoned me inside, closing it with a loud thud behind me. We were standing in a tiny room that was barely big enough for us both to fit inside, there was nothing in here except another door adjacent to the first. He held a candle, the only light source. His suit was far too small for his build and his bald head was sweating down his face. His eyes bulged and his nose was squashed as though he had been in many fights. He bolted the first door, and turned to the second.

  ‘Wait here.’ He said in a voice deep and intimidating. He went through the adjoining door and left me in complete darkness. The sound coming from the other side was of loud talking, faint music and the smell of people smoking. I was only waiting a moment when the door burst open again and a different face stood before me.

  ‘Ah you came. I knew that your intrigued young mind would be curious to visit my place.’ The man before me was in his late fifties, with a large bushy silver moustache. He wore a pressed suit yet his hands and fingernails were dirty. More unusual though was that he had a leather apron tied around his waist and a deerstalker hat upon his head. I couldn’t figure out why he would need to wear that inside.

  ‘What is this place?’ I asked, ‘Who are you?’

  I looked around in astonishment. I was standing in what was clearly an underground tavern. It was filled with men of all ages and the smell of alcohol and cigarettes over powered the air. The floor was made of bricks and the bar was wooden with a large selection of ales, whiskeys and liquors behind it. The ceiling had multiple arches running along it, with numerous stone columns throughout keeping them up; the large open room was vaster than I could ever have anticipated. The table and chairs had seen better days and had a candle burning upon each. I watched as a younger man went around the tables with new long candles to replace the small stumps that remained throughout the room. I was struck watching him as he did not remove the old stubs, but held the new candle above to melt the base, before slamming it on top and allowing the new candle to set in place on top. Other than the candles the only other sauce of light was from the large open fires, one at each end of the room.

  ‘Friends call me Jack. Or they would if I had friends,’ Jack chuckled at his own joke. He shook me by the shoulder and led me around towards the bar, and to an empty table beside the largest fire. ‘A drink for me and my new friend please Sal.’ He shouted at a woman with chains around her wrists and ankles. She came over moments later carrying a tray with the two drinks.

  ‘Why did you invite me here Jack, what do you want from me?’

  ‘This here is a place for people like us,’ Jack began, ‘a place we can come and not worry who may see us.’ I looked around at all the men in the bar, there was certainly a criminal vibe throughout.

  ‘People like us?’ I questioned. ‘Exactly what kind of person do you think I am?’

  Jack walked over to the bar, leaned over it and pulled out a newspaper, it was the Whitby Gazette. He joined me back at the table and threw the paper in front of me.

  ‘My sources in Yorkshire have heard that this "D" character who murdered numerous woman in Whitby has in fact not been captured, despite it being told he has to the local town folk, and what’s more he tells me the detective running the investigation was overheard saying that he suspected the murderer to be heading to London. I was given this newspaper weeks ago, the drawing on the front looks awfully similar to you.’

  I stared at the artist drawing on the newspaper, it wasn’t very good, but there was no doubt that it was me. My heart suddenly started to race. It was stupid of me to come down here, cornering myself to this trap.

  ‘What do you want with me?’ I looked over his shoulder to see if I had any chance of making a run for the door. The giant d
oorman was there, I had no chance.

  ‘As I have said, this is a place for people like us. Keep the key, come here whenever you want.’

  ‘Is that it? You don’t plan on handing me in?’

  ‘Why would I do that when you’re my new paying customer.’ Jack laughed and stood from the table; he threw the newspaper into the fire and began to walk away.

  ‘And your crime?’ I called after him. He froze to the spot and turned back to face me.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Your crime? You said this was a place for people “like us”, your putting yourself in the same classification are you not?’

  ‘Let’s just say Jack is not my real name, but the name the newspapers gave me.’ He returned behind the bar and left me to enjoy my drink alone.

  As the night wore on people continued to come and go, all of the customers were men, and the majority arrived in pairs or small groups. I stayed by the fire and kept to myself, watching each and everybody who walked in. Occasionally, I found myself listening into other people’s conversations, but they were mostly complaining about various subjects; not exactly hard criminal talk that I had expected. Just before sunrise Jack announced closing time, everybody needed to leave before the tunnel workers arrived for the day’s work. I was about to leave when Jack’s hand grabbed my shoulder.

  ‘Wait here, I have a little job for you.’ I did as I was told and waited until all the other men had left. Jack was helping the chained bar maid clear glasses from the tables, and the young man, who wasn’t chained cleaned the floor and tables and blow out the remaining lit candles before leaving also.

  ‘Who is she?’ I asked Jack so the chained woman could not hear.

  ‘That my boy is Miss Sally-Ann Boson, she used to be the housemaid of Major Henry Smith, the Commissioner of the city police.’

  ‘Used to be?’

  ‘Yes. You see Sal here was a naughty girl,’ his voice raised to ensure she heard him, ‘as she began seeing the married Mr Smith behind his wife’s back.’

  ‘I see. So why is she here?’ I could see the woman’s wrists and ankles were raw due to the heavy chains that bound her. Her eyes were blood shot and dark circles surrounded them. Her bare feet were blue and her dress was torn, dirty and barely still together.

  ‘When Major Henry Smith’s wife discovered the affair he sent her away to another house that he owned for her own safety. Here he could continue the affair without the knowledge of his wife. So his wife contacted me, she knew exactly what was going on, and she requested that I put a stop to the affair. She has been here only since Tuesday. Tonight was her last shift.’

  The woman’s eyes widened at that statement. Even I found myself looking at Jack with an inquisitive look. Jack joined Sal behind the bar and took out a small key from his pocket, he then unlocked the chains and they fell to the ground in a loud clatter. Sal began to shake with fear. She tried to speak but her lips were dry, cracked and sore looking, and she could only manage to mumble her plea.

  ‘Hush now,’ said Jack, stroking her hair, ‘you will soon be free.’

  Sal let out a sigh, I could not tell if it was from relieve or exhaustion. Jack turned away from her for only a second, turning back in one swift movement he grabbed her by the hair, pulling her closer to him he slit her throat with a large bladed knife. Sal fell onto the stone floor with a loud thud. I couldn’t see her from my side of the bar, but I could hear her gasping for air. Jack simply turned away from her and began to clean the knife with a rag. Sal continued to struggle for a number of minutes, before eventually falling silent. Jack stepped over her dead body and began walking towards me, the knife still in his hand.

  ‘I need you to help me clear this mess up.’

  Chapter 9

  Saturday 2nd June 1900

  Victoria

  I was up early this morning with Ms Lowney to put the finishing touches to Tom’s birthday cake. He had told me when his birthday was only days after leaving Whitby with us, and it had not been mentioned since. Albert and I have planned a special day for him as a surprise, I’m sure he will be astounded I remembered the date.

  ‘Would you like me to whip up some icing Ma’am and write Happy Birthday Tom on the top?’ Ms Lowney was a trained baker, working in a shop when she was young before she started working in other homes. She took enormous pride in the cake, meaning I wasn’t really allowed to do very much. She had also made some delicious looking pastries and sandwiches for lunch, which smelt delicious.

  ‘What a wonderful idea. If you have the time to do all that?’

  ‘Not a problem Ma’am, I have everything I need in the larder. It will only take an extra few minutes.’ I left Ms Lowney to it and went upstairs to change. Albert was now awake and getting dressed in the bedroom.

  ‘You were up early. Is everything alright?’

  ‘Yes dear, I was helping Ms Lowney finish the birthday cake.’ I opened the wardrobe and pulled out a summer dress and matching hat. ‘You haven’t forgotten today is Tom’s birthday have you?’

  ‘Of course not. I think the boy will be thrilled you remembered.’ Albert gave me a kiss on the cheek before leaving the bedroom and heading downstairs. I changed as quickly as possible, wanting to ensure I was back downstairs before Tom. I had hidden his gift in the wardrobe, a cricket set that we would take into the green this afternoon. When I returned downstairs and joined Albert in the dining room, Ms Lowney was bringing through a pot of tea for us both.

  ‘Is he awake yet ma’am?’ she asked, clearly excitable herself.

  ‘I think I could hear him getting dressed in his room, he won’t be long.’

  Ms Lowney brought out the cake and placed it in the centre of the table. I placed the gifts from myself and Albert next to them, and was surprised when Ms Lowney placed a small parcel upon the table too.

  ‘What is that?’ I enquired, looking at the unmarked parcel in simple brown wrapping and string.

  ‘Just a small gift from myself and Miss Baily, it’s nothing much.’

  ‘What a lovely thought. I’m sure whatever it is he will love it.’

  We heard footsteps coming down the stairs. All three of us turned to face the door, ready to cheer as Tom walked through, but it was Miss Baily.

  ‘Sorry. Did you think I was Tom?’ She chuckled and walked around the table, all four of us now waiting for Tom. It wasn’t long until we heard footsteps again, this time unmistakably Tom’s. He always managed to charge down the staircase at full speed, missing numerous steps in the process.

  ‘Happy Birthday,’ all four of us cheered in unison. Tom froze in the doorway, a shocked expression on his face.

  ‘Ow did y’all know it was mi birthday?’ he walked around the table and took the seat opposite me.

  ‘You told me the date back in February. I wrote it down so as not to forget.’ Tom’s face was flushed with joy, and a little embarrassment.

  ‘No-one has ever got me a gift, and I ain’t ever had no cake.’ His face was practically glowing.

  ‘Well Master Tom, breakfast first,’ said Ms Lowney, ‘I have made a special lunch for later and you can have cake then too.’ She picked up the cake and carried it away into the kitchen for later. Tom sat staring at his gifts, clearly unsure if he was allowed to just help himself.

  ‘This is from Albert and me.’ I pushed the large package closer to him, and he immediately opened it. I was humbled as he did not rip the paper, but gently eased open the edges until it fell open.

  ‘Oh wow, mi very own cricket set. Can we take it out this morning?’

  ‘Certainly. After we have eaten we can go into the square.’ I could not take the smile off my own face. It was times like this that made me happy to have Tom in our lives, even if the other housewives on the street disapprove.

  Ms Lowney and Miss Baily returned with a drink for Tom, and a wonderful cooked breakfast for the three of us. I had insisted they have some cooked breakfast themselves too, but they decided they would eat it afterwards.<
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  ‘Now young Tom, this little parcel here is from Miss Baily and me. It is just a little something to wish you a happy birthday.’

  Tom’s face lit up again, he had not realised the second parcel was also for him. He thanked them and started to unwrap the paper. I found myself straining to see what it was they had given him, and by Tom’s expression it was clearly something he loved.

  ‘Thank you. Thank you.’ He rose from his seat and gave them both a hug. They had given him three books, Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain and Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. For Tom these were perfect gifts, his reading was coming on well now and he often wanted to borrow books from the rest of us. He still couldn’t read a full book by himself, but he was determined in learning. Having his very own books will make him gratified indeed.

  ‘You are very welcome Tom,’ Miss Baily said with a giggle, ‘and may I enquire how old you are now?’

  ‘Sure. I’m nine years old.’ He spoke with pride as he told her, yet his words and wisdom were that of an older man. As he sat back down he could barely take his eyes off of the gifts that lay before him, his cooked breakfast almost going cold as he kept stopping to examine them.

  ‘Come now Tom,’ said Albert, ‘finish your breakfast or we won’t have much time to take the cricket set out before lunch.’ It was clearly a white lie, but it did make him finish his breakfast in lightning speed. Tom asked to be excused so that he could take the books to his room and get ready to go outside. The excitement filled his face as he raced out of the dining room. I could almost picture the joy he took at placing the books on his shelves. Once gone Miss Baily returned to the dining room and began to clear the table, an enormous smile filled her own face this morning.

  ‘Will Miss Lucy be joining you for the lunch party ma’am? I simply ask so to know if I should set a place on the table.’ She and Ms Lowney always asked with hesitation in their voices when speaking about my sister.