Cold Stone and Ivy (51 page)

“It’s got honour, Ivy, just like a sailor! But we take out the wombs and such, just in case.”

“In case?”

“In case someone finds ’em and brings ’em to Bondie and he sees she’s been Restelled. He’d get suspicious. He’s a smart one, is Bondie.”

“So how did one get in the construction site of the New Scotland Yard?”

“That was Lewie being an ass!” He flung his hands in the air. “You know it, Marie! You was with him that night! He’s an ass, that man is!”

Mary Jane looked up. “’E said ’e were dropping some lime off for the workers. I didn’t know it were a . . . it were a . . . you know . . .”

Ivy nodded, sighed. “I’m sorry, Rosie. I’m sorry for all of you.”

“You can’t tell anyone, Ivy.”

“Come with us, Rosie,” she said. “It’ll be easier if you do.”

He swallowed, and Ivy was glad it wasn’t Bender or Lewis. Rosie had no fight in him. She couldn’t say the same for the other two.

Of Christien, she had no clue.

Finally, Rosie sighed. “I gots to put ’er away. Wait for me outside, will you?”

They did, waiting outside the ghoulish surgical theatre for almost ten minutes before Ivy rolled the door open once again.

Ambrose Pickett and the cadaver from Bedlam were gone, a fact that did not surprise her.

SEBASTIEN DE LACEY
suddenly stopped as Savage held the door open to the laneway behind Great Scotland Yard.

“Bastien?” asked Christien, but he did not touch him.

The Mad Lord blinked and blinked again, looked around the dark hall, past the constables, detectives, and his brother, all surrounding him like Queen Victoria in a May Day Parade. The locket was spinning and flashing, creating a kaleidoscope of colour across the brick.

“They’re gone,” he said. And he looked around again.

Savage glared at Christien, shaking his head.

“Who’s gone?” asked Christien.

“Just a moment . . .”

Sebastien closed his eyes, turned his palms upwards, but they were manacled together and the chains made it difficult. The temperature in the hallway dropped immediately, and they could see their breath in front of their faces.

“What the hell is he doing?” grumbled Savage.

“Two gone,” said Sebastien, and he smiled at the inspector, as bright as the regal French sun. “Two of the torsos gone. Released. I don’t know how. Life is wondrous strange, isn’t it? New surprises every day.”

“Get him out the door.”

And they pushed the Mad Lord out of A-Division and into the lane that led to the Central Offices of Scotland Yard.

Of Parking, Policemen,
and the Unfortunate Punch Card

IVY HAD BEGUN
to realize that “parking” for Franny Helmsly-Wimpoll simply meant stopping the forward motion of the steamcar. As they piled out at the Met’s A-Division Station on Whitehall Road, most of the tires were on the paved walk and the car was almost blocking the doors. In fact, it was directly under the cold gaze of the A-Division Sentinels, and Ivy thought it was a very safe, albeit illegal, place to be.

It had begun to rain on the drive over from the Royal, and A-Division was crowded with seas of people rushing to lodge protests, file complaints, and get out of the rain. She began to despair of getting anywhere when suddenly a woman with great brown eyes and red curls swept through the crowd on her way out the door. It was Ginny Beals, Carter’s happy wife, and as she swept past, she caught Ivy’s hands and clung for dear life.

“Ivy, my girl!”

“Ginny! It’s wonderful to see you!”

Ivy held on but the crowds were like a current, straining to pull the woman out of her arms.

“I just brought Carter his tea, but Ivy, I have news! I’m pregnant!” she exclaimed over the roar of voices. “Can you imagine? Pregnant again! Number five on the way!”

“I’m so happy for you, Ginny! Maybe it will be a girl this time!”

“That’s what I’m hoping! Oh dear, this crowd!”

“Best of luck, Ginny!”

“God bless, dear girl!”

And just like that, Ginny Beals was swept out of her arms and out the door of A-Division.

People were pressing in on them now, and she began to fear that the four of them might be sent in different directions, but they grasped hands and plowed through the crowd. They were stopped before they made the stair.

“Only staff, miss,” growled a large ironclad of a man. His nameplate read “Constable Twist,” and he looked utterly formidable.

“Hallo, sir. I’m the daughter of Inspector Savage, H-Division,” she said. “He’s upstairs with Inspector Beals, Chief Inspector Moore, and the de Lacey brothers. I was here with them all only last night.”

“Sorry, miss. They’ve all gone to Central Office across the way.”

“To Central?” She blinked. “But why?”

“Don’t know, miss. They’re with Bondie and Abberline now.”

Ivy felt all the air leave her body. “Abberline . . .”

“Now, darling,” hushed Fanny, catching her arm. “Dr. Bond and Inspector Abberline are upright, virtuous men. This can only be good for your Sebastien Laurent, surely.”

“Surely,” said Franny.

“I seen Abberline once,” added Mary Jane. “’E looks like a banker.”

“But he is the most familiar with the Ripper cases. They must be thinking . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Oh dear Lord, what have I done?”

“None of this is your fault, dearest,” said Fanny. “The police are simply investigating every lead. Isn’t that right, officer?”

“They do, miss,” said the constable. His eyes were darting under his helm at the women. Altogether, they made a very unusual puzzle.

“There, you see?” said Fanny. “Not to worry. Besides, I’m quite certain your Christien Jeremie is with him, isn’t he?”

“Isn’t he?” echoed Franny.

“Yes,” said Ivy. “I’m sure he is. But he believes Sebastien to be mad.”

“But dearest,” said Fanny. “He is, isn’t he?”

“Isn’t he?” echoed Franny.

“Well, yes . . .” Ivy frowned. “But not
terribly
mad.”

“Is ’e ’andsome?” asked Mary Jane. “Like yer Remy? Is that the problem, then? You’ve got it fer both fellas?”

Ivy found herself at a loss for words, while the sisters merely sniffed and looked off in opposite directions.

“Coo,” said Mary Jane, and she smiled wickedly. “And ’ere, I thought you was a
good
girl . . .”

Ivy looked up at Constable Twist.

“Sir,” she said. “I must insist we be taken to Inspector Savage at once. We have knowledge of a most heinous crime.”

“Most heinous,” said Fanny.

That was when Mary Jane smiled at him, dimples dazzling. Ivy could have sworn the man’s cheeks reddened and his moustache twitched just once.

“This way.”

And the ironclad of a man turned and carved a path through the crowd that parted like the Red Sea. The four women followed in his wake.

THE ROOM AT
Central Office was much the same as the room in A-Division, only minus the bed and covered pot. The two buildings were virtually identical, with only a narrow lane separating them. In fact, there were so many of these red-bricked addresses now that made up the Yard that police services were much impeded, hence the need for a comprehensive new building on the Embankment. It would have been a wonderful, progressive thing, had there not been a torso in the cellar.

Damn those torsos. But there were two fewer to plague him, and it was all he could do to keep from smiling. That, Sebastien concluded, would simply not go down well at the present time.

“Well,” said the man sitting across the table from him, closing up his medical bag. “These injuries do seem consistent with blows from a spade. Had you not the metal plates in your skull, sir, you could easily have been killed.”

It had been a pleasure to finally meet Dr. Thomas Bond, the man who had been so instrumental in his brother’s life, and he desperately wished it could have been in happier circumstances. There was little shadow in him and no malice, only pride, a quick, inquisitive mind, and strong sense of justice. However, Sebastien could not shake the feeling that life would not end well for Dr. Bond. Some people just dragged sadness like a chain.

“In fact,” Bond went on, “I have never seen anything quite like them. A Dr. Arvin Frankow, you say? Neurosurgeon?”

“Psychiatrist.”

Bond raised a grey brow. “A talented man.”

“I am alive and sensate, so I will give him that.”

“Now, de Lacey,” said the other man. “You are maintaining that it was the Ripper who took this round out of you?”

He looked like a banker, with thinning dark hair, large deep-set eyes, and a fine up-turned moustache. He had been introduced as Inspector Frederick Abberline, and while the other officers had paid him great respect, Sebastien had yet to see why. He seemed much like the others—pedantic, authoritarian, and sharp. They all threatened like bullies.

He was tired. Every bone in his body ached. He hadn’t eaten for days and was desperately beginning to wish for either the wide fields of Lasingstoke or the solitary comfort of Lonsdale. He had never been one for much sitting.

“De Lacey?” the banker reminded him.

“In my mind, the man I encountered and pursued through the entirety of Whitechapel could only have been London’s Ripper, so yes, I maintain that he is one and the same. But it is my private opinion. A man cannot be held for having an opinion, surely.”

“And you maintain that this man was left-handed?”

“He swung the spade with his left. He pressed the blade into my throat with his left, so yes, I do maintain that.”

“So why did he stop?”

“I have asked myself the very question. I have yet to discover the answer.”

“The arms fit, sir,” said Bond now. “To the torso they found at the construction site.”

“I would expect that they should.”

“So did you, or did you not, see a head in the Thames?”

Sebastien was silent.

“De Lacey?”

“May I tell you the truth, sir?”

Abberline snorted but Bond nodded earnestly. “Please do.”

“I did, in fact, see a head in the Thames. But I have also seen the entire torso for over two months and sent her to a little house we call Seventh at Lasingstoke. But she’s free now, for whatever reason I cannot imagine. She and the other from last summer are gone, although there are two more, very old. I doubt your boys had anything to do with them.”

“My boys?”

“Your boys, sir. The medical students.”

“You suspect my boys because they are medical students?” asked Bond. “You read far too many papers, sir.”

“I do read many papers, but I suspect your boys because the dead despise them.”

There was silence once again in the little room for several moments before Dr. Bond leaned forward. “Your brother is very concerned for you, de Lacey.”

Sebastien leaned forward. “And your boys are very wicked, Dr. Bond. If I had had my pistol that night, I would have shot the lot of them. Without hesitation.”

“Your brother included?”

Sebastien set his jaw. “I will never shoot my brother.”

“Ah,” said Abberline. “Only those who have little or no value to you.”

“The dead are self-absorbed, sir,” he said. “I am rather preoccupied with their business and leave the living to themselves.”

“The dead speak to you, then?”

“The dead rarely speak.”

There was a rap at the door and a uniformed constable peered in.

“Dr. Bond? You’re wanted on the floor.”

With a deep breath, Bond rose to his feet, but paused at the door, throwing a glance at the Mad Lord.

“Have you ever considered lithium, sir? It might help with the delusions.”

Sebastien stared at him a moment.

“Thank you,” he said. “I will consider it.”

And Bond left the room.

“So, de Lacey, you’re a clairvoyant?” Abberline asked. “A psychic channel of the other side? A spiritualist?”

“If I say yes, will you boot me out the door like you did Mr. Robert James Lees? For I would very much like to be booted out this door.”

Abberline grinned. “I like you, de Lacey. And in fact, I don’t believe you are the Ripper. Can you give me any hard evidence at all that can corroborate your testimony? I have a public that very much wants a hanging.”

Sebastien sighed and sat back in his chair, the chains making a scraping sound across the table.

“When the first woman died, a man in a dark Coburn dropped over the fence. He had a black bag similar to a medical bag. When I gave chase, he loosed his Coburn, so perhaps it is also on the street, although it was a very fine coat and I think someone would have nabbed it. There is a yard with a four-foot wall and a spade that might still have my blood on it but it was raining, so any blood will likely have been washed away. Other than those things, sir, there is little I can give you.”