Murder (22 page)

‘Yes, yes we should,’ Bond answered, as a hansom came to a halt in front of him. ‘When I am better, we must.’

Moore watched until the hansom had disappeared and was happy to feel the wave of maudlin thoughts that were so at odds with his pragmatic personality disappear with it. He was left with a more practical consideration, however. Maybe it was time to look for another police surgeon to be his first port of call. In his mind Thomas Bond was by far the best, but he was no longer young, and perhaps less death around him would help his current decline. He’d speak to Andrews. Maybe he could keep an eye on him.

It was a relief to be home and close the front door behind me. I had barely concentrated at the inquest, for Juliana’s words were still ringing loudly in my head, and I had been in no mood for idle chatter with Henry Moore.

‘I have something to tell you, Thomas – but before I do, please remember that I do care for you, very deeply. But I cannot marry you. I am in love with Edward.’

Care for
. Those two words had been daggers into my heart. There was pity in them: pity for the old man who had hoped and dreamed of looking after her, of making her happy. I had thought that once Charles had left she would be more inclined to push our wedding forward, but instead, all this time she had been falling in love with another man and pitying me for still clinging on to my hopes.

Though it was early in the day, I went straight to my study and drank both laudanum and brandy as I wished for the awful pain in my stomach to vanish. My whole body was trembling at the memory, which refused to leave my mind. She had arrived early that morning as I was preparing to leave for the inquest and I had been happy to see her. The first hints of a fresh fever had come on me in the night, filling me with despair, and her goodness and beauty were a rare tonic – they gave me the strength to keep control of the nightmare in which I was living.
She
gave me the strength.

I had known immediately that something was wrong: she could not meet my eyes and paced in the hallway, clutching her bag. I tried to ask her if all was well with James, but she hushed me and said she had something to tell me and that she needed to say it straight away. And then she did. In all honesty, I cannot remember what I said in response. I muttered something about the inquest and that I had to go and as I hurried her back out into the street her eyes were so full of concern for me that it made everything worse. Every time I closed my eyes I could see her expression, and it made my stomach churn. To be rejected was one thing, but to be
pitied
? I could not bear it. I momentarily wished I had left London in place of Charles Hebbert, but even in my grief at her loss, the thought of never seeing her again was too much to bear. In London she was still here, and I knew her well enough to know she would continue to want my friendship. I also knew that like the old fool I was, I would give it to her.

I lit the fire, poured another drink and stared out through the window. The world sat in a grey mist so damp that I could see water clinging to the leaves of the trees outside. I thought of the poor woman buried in pieces beyond those overhanging branches and felt the unnatural heat flood through my veins. Did the
Upir
have a stronger grip when my emotions were unleashed? I certainly felt physically worse than I had when I woke up.

It was all Edward Kane’s fault. If he had not arrived then I was sure that Juliana and I would have been married by now and living happily together, either here or at her house in Barnes. Without Kane there would have been no reminders of James Harrington and all that I had done in those years, and even with Moore’s discovery of the priest’s letter to me I might
not have gone to see Kosminski. Hebbert would still be here and I would be ignorant of his crimes. I ached for ignorance and a return to innocence.

My anger towards the handsome American raged, and with my eyes still focused on that contaminated patch of ground at the far end of the garden, I found myself filled with a sudden and aggressive urge to destroy him, to murder him and chop him up into such small pieces that even if I left them in a pile outside Henry Moore’s own house, no one would ever be able to put him back together and identify him.

I trembled with self-loathing and drained the brandy, enjoying the warmth that rushed at once to my stomach and my head. I knew that much of the violence of my thoughts came from the parasite attached to me, but I would not allow it even those moments. It would not want me to kill Edward Kane to feed its hunger – the
Upir
just wanted women, the creators of life, for its sustenance – but it would take delight from it, from my downfall. It wanted to break me, I could feel it. In my dreams, when I had not passed out from the laudanum or drink, I wrestled with it, just as the priest had when he pulled it from Harrington’s back. Its red eyes, so full of ancient horrors, were always shining in glee. These were not just dreams, I knew that. I was in a battle for my very soul.

I thought again of Edward Kane, and this time I just felt tired and old. My bitterness at his success with the woman I loved was as much because on some level I had expected it but had chosen not to see. Of course Juliana would prefer him to me: he was the right age for her, he was wealthy and charming, and more than anything he had no links to the tragedies of her past. Edward Kane was a good man. To kill
him out of jealousy would both make me monstrous and destroy Juliana’s happiness. I wished for neither to occur.

My eyes itched and I went down to the kitchen and made a small meal I had no desire to eat. If I was to keep the fever at bay I needed to keep up my strength. Once that was done I wandered the house restlessly, the twisting knots of heartache in my guts not allowing me to settle with a book. I paused as I caught sight of myself in the hall mirror. I was ageing fast. My moustache, although still thick, was filling with white and the skin beginning to hang loose at my neck. I twisted my shoulders round this way and that, but could see no sign of the demon on my back, and its very invisibility paired with my knowledge that it was there made me shudder. I wanted to sob. I was alone with my madness, no longer having even the hope of Juliana at my side in my retirement to buoy my flagging spirits. Unless I could find a way to force the
Upir
to leave me, this was to be my life for the rest of my years: an unholy marriage until death do we part.

I laughed aloud at that, and the sound, ringing around my empty house, unnerved me. I needed oblivion. I needed to let my mind separate from the horror attached to my body for a few hours. I needed to go to Bluegate Fields. I did not care that it was not yet night. The dens were open at all hours, and where once my craving for opium to see me through my sleepless nights had been my most shameful secret, I was now far past that.

I did not even bother to change my clothes, but instead, just grabbed my hat and coat and left. What did it matter if anyone saw me? What was the worst that could happen? I would lose the respect of my peers? In some ways I wished for it.

*

Of course I encountered no one I knew as I alighted in the East End and made my way down the alleyways to find a suitable establishment for a few hours of oblivion. No heads turned as I took my place in a corner of the stinking room and waited for the ancient Oriental to bring my pipe and a hope at peace. In the dens we were all equals, and even those who might murder you for a sideways glance when outside were safe company here, in the grim environment of the overcrowded tenements. Each man was lost in his own reverie, the transient sailors, the lascars, and the lost souls like me. Chi-Chi scurried over to me on his soft-soled slippers, making barely a sound as he moved, and he did not meet my eyes as he prepared the bowl of the pipe. I remembered the man from years before; he had sold me the stranger opium in order for me to see the
Upir
as the priest directed. I wondered if perhaps these men from such far-away lands could
see
more than we did. One day I might pluck up the courage to take that drug again and get a full sight of what was attached to me, but I feared it would drive me truly mad. It was enough to constantly feel its weight and catch the slippery darkness in the corner of my eye. Juliana’s words had weakened me and all I wished for was a hazy oblivion. I would think not of her or the
Upir
but of happier times gone by. My dreams would be of the joys of my youth and my first love. I took off my hat and greedily sucked in the heady, sweet smoke, and then lay down on the thin mattress and let the stained and chipped ceiling become a doorway to better things.

*

It was several hours later when I emerged and the city was in the grip of night, if not of sleep. Although the immediate and debilitating effects of the drug had faded, my head felt thick
and I moved through the streets as if the smog were truly an ocean I had to wade through, and the lights and noises around me were strange creatures that lived in its depths. I staggered towards the main streets in order to find a hansom to take me to the sanctuary of my home, away from the too vivid life which surrounded me. I kept my head down and occasionally I held a hand out on the damp brick wall to steady myself. I no longer felt the elation of my opium dreams; they were now just vague tastes of memory. But at least I felt numb, Juliana and the
Upir
simply abstract problems to be faced again the next day.

‘All right, sir?’ She came out of the gloom, a mess of tumbling hair and a gait as unsteady as my own. ‘A gent like you shouldn’t be out here alone at night. Not unless you’re lookin’ for some company? Are ya?’

She leered at me, her mouth widening unnaturally with my altered vision. Every reeking inch of her seemed to consume me as she slipped her arms inside my open overcoat and wrapped them round me.

‘I’d keep you warm, I would. Wouldn’t cost much neither, not for a gent like you.’ Her breath was rancid and my senses were too heightened to cope. Filled with horror at her touch, I pushed her away, gasping for breath and falling into the wall which was all that prevented me from tumbling to the filthy ground, such was my urge to keep this monstrosity away from me. Her red hair was dried out, streaked with grey in the matted curls which hung to her shoulders. Her skin was doughy and blotchy from the cold. Somewhere deep inside I felt my own fever rising.

‘Stay away from me.’ I spat the words out, and she pulled away, almost laughing.

‘All right, all right. Whatsa matter with you?’

She turned and began to walk away, and I noticed, as I got my breath against the wall, that she no longer appeared as intoxicated as she had moments before. Instinctively, even though my hands felt almost separated from my body, I checked my pockets. My watch was gone.

I stared after her, suddenly filled with indignation. She had taken me for a fool. I might have been a fool for Juliana, but I would not be a fool for this creature. It was my watch and I would have it returned.

‘Wait!’ I called after her. My voice slurred and it did not sound like my own. ‘Wait.’

Her footsteps stopped and she turned.

Under the starched sheet and rough blanket, Aaron twitched in his sleep. His mouth fell open in a gasp, but no one paid any attention. Further down the large room lined with beds on either side, others were tossing and muttering, releasing their demons as they slept, or lying awake in the night staring at the ceiling, lost in their own worlds. Since moving to the dormitory Aaron had begun to find the presence of others comforting, even though he did not interact with them, or get close enough that they might touch him. He had kept a wary eye on those who had visitors, waiting for the monster to return to seek him out again – Dr Bond would try, of that he was certain. Though he cried when he thought of Dr Bond, and of his own weakness, he had been so relieved to be released. He could not have it back. He
would not
have it back.

At last he slept, and the visions came. The
Upir
was not in Leavesden, he knew that, for the horror gripped him and he
saw
. It was in London, and it was hungry. He whimpered again, dribbling onto his thin pillow, lost in the moments unfolding behind his closed eyes, and somewhere deep in the part of him that was conscious and aware, he cursed his grandmother for her gift and he cursed his own mother for ever bringing him into this world.

She came back because she was greedy and she thought the man a fool. It was there in the shine of her eyes and the smile that stretched
across her face. He did not know she had his watch. She’d get some money from him for her services and then she’d have both. She wasn’t old – despite the cheap powder and skin puffy from the drink and cold she was still in her twenties, and her body was firm under her tired clothes. She walked with more purpose, swinging her hips, looking at the old man as if he were prey. The closer she drew, the more the scent of blood travelled with her: the last dregs of her monthly loss had escaped her, not so much that a customer would notice, but enough to carry in the stagnant air like honey.

‘Not in the streets,’ he said. He was not aware that he was speaking; his mind was still in an opium fog, but watching from his place both there and yet not there, Aaron knew this was not the
Upir
alone. She had angered the doctor and the
Upir
was using his rage, feeding it, to achieve its own ends. They were becoming one. ‘Come to my house. I will pay you well.’

In his bed, Aaron sobbed loudly, his eyes squeezed shut tight. There was no release from the vision, however. This was not like before. This was immediate, not simply sensory or a terrible dread: it was as if the
Upir
now carried a part of him with it, and that link would never be broken. He had been tainted, and that taint would remain for ever.

The woman was excited, that was clear by the racing of her heart and the rise in her body temperature. A night in a gentleman’s house? She’d take that happily. She took his arm and held him steady, quite unaware of the unnatural strength that filled him. They found a hansom and he directed the driver to Westminster as she climbed aboard, flashing her legs at him and laughing raucously. She was East End born and bred, and even with his watch tucked into her bodice she felt no fear. Maybe, if he paid properly, she’d drop it on the floor in his bedroom, make it look like it came from his clothes. He was old and drunk and she doubted she’d be working hard for her money tonight –
if she was lucky he’d fall asleep and she’d get to spend the night in a big soft bed in a warm room.