Murder (12 page)

As much as I was enjoying Juliana’s appreciation of me, my feelings towards her child had not changed. That I could not help, but I did need to help myself after the previous day’s fiasco. I refused to allow my paranoias to root inside me; I knew I must allow them no room to grow during the long, dark
nights. I would stay with the boy until he was well, watching him for anything unusual, for only that way could I prove to myself once and for all that no trace of the
Upir
existed in him.

Annie Dyer, whose name is now said to be Amelia Dyer, alias Thomas, Harding, Stanfield, &c., described as a nurse and aged about fifty, was charged on remand before the Reading Borough Bench on Saturday with the murder of a child named Fry, the first of the children picked out of the Thames and now identified by its mother, and with the murder of two infants named Doris Marmon and Harry Simmons, found strangled in the carpet-bag that was dragged from the Thames at the Caversham Weir head. Arthur Ernest Palmer, the other prisoner’s son-in-law, was charged with being an accessory after the fact …

… The doctor would give evidence that the cause of death was strangulation by the tying of a ligament, supposed to have been tape, round the necks of the infants. In the case of the female child the tape had been removed, but in the case of the other child the tape was still around the child’s neck. The appearance of the body was such as to show that it had been in the water about ten days
.

Even thought the summer’s weather had been notably terrible thus far, as the cannon fired in Hyde Park and the sound boomed across the excited city, the clouds finally broke and bathed us in sunshine. That morning bells had rung out in all the churches of England to celebrate her Majesty’s sixty years as our monarch and the day was a holiday for all. The celebrations were planned to run for most of the week.

Once I had met up with Juliana, little James and Hebbert, we wove our way through the busy throngs to find a suitable vantage point from where to watch the procession pass by. I thought the jubilant mood of the city was very much a reflection of my own good spirits. I even held James’ hand, and later carried him for a short while so he could see more over the heads of those around us. He had shaken off the cough and fever resulting from his tumble into the river and Hebbert had declared him healthier for the experience. I had managed to shake off – very nearly – my dark thoughts and doubts, and then, two nights previously, light bloomed in my heart, for Juliana agreed to become my wife.

We had dined together in one of London’s finest restaurants, sharing both good reminisces and a fine claret. When I finally summoned up the courage to make my proposal, Juliana told me that though she was not yet ready to go forward,
in principle yes, when she was ready, she was certainly not opposed to the suggestion – but she would prefer we keep our agreement between we two for now.

It had taken all my natural reserve to stop myself scooping her up in my arms and kissing her on the spot. I did not of course, for that would have been most ungentlemanly, but since that moment I felt as if years had lifted from me. The ache in my back subsided and I walked on air. There would be no more laudanum. There would be no more suspicions, no more paranoia. I would be simply Dr Thomas Bond, eminent surgeon, with a beautiful woman who was prepared to be his wife.

Now walking beside me, Juliana laughed merrily, swept up in the mood of the crowd. I had been surprised that she wanted to bring James into the heart of the celebrations, but she had said she was determined to be less protective of him and this was an occasion that he was unlikely to see again in his lifetime.

We took in the Union Jacks that hung from every window and available space, her eyes sparkling, and she squeezed my arm to point out something or other as we found ourselves a space near the National Gallery. Around us vendors hawked their commemorative wares; souvenir flags, mugs and programmes, and Hebbert waited in turn and bought us each a mug and a flag for little James to wave. I did not know if Juliana had told him of our agreement, but I had made every effort to restore my friendship with him to how it had been before, and such was Charles’ cheery disposition that he had made it easy.

An added source of joy for me was the continued absence of Edward Kane from our lives. Juliana did not talk of him and I
did not raise the subject. Although I was certain he would have apologised sincerely – and more than once – for his actions, Juliana had clearly not forgiven him yet. I was sure that she would – she was not a woman to bear grudges, and now that James was fully recovered, the fear she had felt that day was fading – but I hoped that when she did she would keep him at a little distance. Though I had to admit, grudgingly, to liking and respecting the man, I was very conscious that he was a rival for Juliana’s affections and I was far happier when he was not present. I was fearful of losing Juliana to him, and I was also fearful of the past’s grip, made stronger by his relationship to James Harrington. The sooner Edward Kane returned to New York, the better it would be for all of us.

The day was wonderful: we watched the parade, with people and nationalities from all over our great empire taking part, and to my pleased surprise I found myself taking pleasure in James’ delight. He was simply a little boy, and I had been wrong to let my feelings towards his father influence my reaction to him. I would strive to be a better man, I vowed – I was a scientist, after all, and as such I more than any should not believe in hereditary evil. Watching the boy laughing, I wondered if he might soon have a little brother or sister to play with – a child of mine. It had been a long time since I had felt so happy, and when at last Queen Victoria drove past us in her open carriage pulled by eight cream horses, I cheered with the crowd until my throat was raw.

We were a happy party as we wandered away in search of food and liquid refreshments. The pubs were very busy, with people spilling out onto the crowded streets to wish her Majesty a long life and many more years reigning over us, and although plenty were past merry, there was no aggression or
poor behaviour to be seen. Just a few years ago, London had been in its darkest place; today it was at its best, and men from all walks of life tipped their hats to each other as they passed as if we were truly all friends. Perhaps, on this unique day, we were.

We picnicked in the park and then, as the late afternoon crept towards evening James suddenly grew weary, as children do, and Juliana and Charles took him home, leaving me to head contentedly back to Westminster. As night fell, bonfires were lit on all the hills across the country and even from my house in the heart of London I could see dots of light stretching into the distance. The streets remained loud, and no doubt would throughout the night, but I did not mind. This was the London I loved.

I closed the front door behind me and for once enjoyed the emptiness, the luxury of being alone in my home, Mrs Parks having the day to herself. As I took off my hat I noticed the white envelope waiting for me on the floor, written in Henry Moore’s hand. I opened it to find an invitation to dine with him and Walter Andrews the next night, as he wished to discuss something that might be of interest. As with his speech, his writing was direct, but gave nothing away.

Perhaps he wished to pick my brains on a new case? I looked forward to the dinner regardless, for it would be an opportunity to once again apologise to Andrews. I had seen him since – he too had called on Juliana to see how James was – but he remained somewhat distant with me. Perhaps now that my mood was so obviously elevated he would be able to understand that my outburst – indeed, my behaviour that day – had been as a result of a temporary woe, and quite out of character.

I poured myself a brandy, simply for the enjoyment of the drink this time rather than to soothe my nerves, and went into my study to select a book. I left the curtains open to enjoy the light and life outside, and when I finally turned the lamp out and settled back on my sheets that night I was a contented man. Life was good.

No order has yet been issued for the exhumation of the remains of the Argentine priest, Father Gabriel T. Segni, who was found dead in a Soho hotel on the 7
^th
inst. After the inquest the body was interred as that of Louis Caccres in a pauper’s grave in Woking Cemetery, at the cost of the parish of St. Anne, Soho. The real name of Father Segni’s companion is believed to be Rabellot, and there is reason to suppose that some years ago he was employed as a ‘sauce and soup chef’ at a first-class restaurant near the Criterion, Piccadilly. The silk handkerchief by which the body of Father Segni was fastened to the head of the bedstead was a new one of Macclesfield manufacture, and apparently had only recently been purchased. Late last evening Chief Inspector Moore and Inspector Greet, of Scotland Yard, were put in special charge of the case, and one of these officers will probably proceed to Havre and make investigations there
.

In the end he hadn’t been able to stay away. The only message she’d answered was a letter he’d sent asking if little James was okay, and she had sent only a brief reply saying that, thankfully, he was fine. She had not asked how he was, nor had she mentioned any of his other letters full of apologies and stating quite clearly how he felt about her
and
young James. He had spent the Jubilee celebrations in his hotel room, staring at various papers to do with his work and watching the words blur in front of him as his mind refused to focus and his stomach twisted in knots. Of all the things that he had expected from his visit to London, this had not been one of them – women, perhaps, but not one woman.

‘I suppose you had better come in,’ she said, when she found him waiting outside her house like some lovesick fool, his hat in his hands as he paced nervously up and down the pavement carrying chocolates and a toy. James had broken away from her and run to him, laughing and calling his name, and he had had to resist the urge to pick him up and hug him, knowing that Juliana might see their bond as a betrayal of her.

‘We’ve been to a parade with horses and a man is going to tutor me!’ James said excitedly. ‘I’m going to go there every day and then I might go to school!’

‘You really must watch your manners, James,’ Juliana said, ushering the child inside. ‘What have I told you about speaking
before spoken to?’ She closed the door behind them and Edward stood back awkwardly as she took off her hat and gloves.

‘Sorry, Mother,’ James said.

A young girl in a maid’s uniform hurried into the hallway and Juliana asked her to take James and put him to bed, after bringing tea to the sitting room. She bent to kiss him, promising to read him a story when he was all tucked up.

‘A new addition to the household?’ he asked, returning James’ sneaky wave goodbye over her shoulder as the girl led him away.

‘I intend to start taking more of an interest in the business,’ she said. Her chin was high and the lowering sun cut through the stained glass at the top of the front door, bathing her beauty in fractured colours. She looked like a dark angel, a mystery wrapped up in soft skin, and he wanted so much to slide inside her and feel her enveloping him. He also wanted to throw himself into the river for having such thoughts. What had happened to him? When had one woman been able to control him like this? He hadn’t been able even to think of another, let alone touch one, since meeting Juliana Harrington.

‘So not all my ideas are bad ones then,’ he said with a smile, walking into the sitting room. He might be nervous as all hell on the inside, but he was damned if he was going to show it. He’d grovelled enough. Away from her all he’d felt was the fear that he’d never see her again, but now she was close she brought the fire back into him. ‘And I see James is looking well.’

‘You should never have taken him out on the river!’ Her façade of coolness fell away and her face flushed as she turned on him. ‘How could you
do
that? How could you? I trusted you!’

‘He was safe, Juliana – and he would have stayed safe if you hadn’t panicked him.’

She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued to speak over her. ‘And I’ve apologised as much as I can. If I had the time over I would have spoken to you about it. It was foolish, I know, but I wanted the boy to have some
fun
. I don’t want him to grow up and resent you the way I resented my parents. You can’t smother him, and I know you know that. I have written and said I’m sorry, and I have begged for your forgiveness to the point of shamelessness. I have told you everything I feel, and – goddamn you, woman, I think you feel the same way too! So why can’t we just put this behind us?’

She stared at him and he was sure she was trembling slightly. ‘I cannot,’ she said. ‘I just cannot. It’s not that simple.’

‘Why isn’t it? You know how I feel, Juliana: I love you. And I know women well enough to know you are not immune to me either.’

Light and dark shimmered in her eyes and her mouth twitched. She looked like a cornered animal. ‘I have spoken with Dr Bond about marriage,’ she said quietly.

The sentence was like a punch in the guts and he prayed he had not heard her correctly.

‘You’ve done what?’

There was a light knock on the door and they stood in silence as the young maid brought in the tea tray and placed it on the table before scurrying out again.

He stared at Juliana and her eyes slipped past him.

‘I said—’

‘I heard what you said. Are you crazy? He’s old enough to be your father! You can’t possibly love him—’

‘Do not presume to tell me what I feel!’ Juliana cried. ‘I
do
love him. He’s been very kind to me – he always has been. Even
when James was alive and sick and I was lonely. Thomas is a
good
man.’