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Daisy’s eighteenth birthday crept in without fanfare, a quiet marker of time amidst the turbulent currents swirling around the Bernard household. Bernard’s gift, a secondhand silver watch, held echoes of happier days, a poignant reminder of a past slipping further into the shadows with each passing moment.
Mrs. Bernard, consumed by her own turmoil, offered no more than a passing glance at the supposedly extravagant gift. Her thoughts were elsewhere, leaving Bernard and his daughter to navigate their strained relationship without interference.
As the birthday morning unfolded, Bernard found solace in the act of buying tobacco, a ritual that had become his refuge in the storm of recent days. The smoke curling from his pipe whispered of fleeting pleasures, a temporary respite from the gnawing anxieties that plagued his every waking moment.
Avoiding familiar faces and well-trodden paths had become Bernard’s modus operandi, a desperate attempt to shield himself from conversations that might unravel the fragile web of suspicions haunting his mind. But on this day, an unbidden desire for human contact pulled him towards the bustling streets near Edgware Road.
In a quaint tobacco shop, Bernard engaged in idle chatter with the tobacconist, a brief reprieve from the suffocating weight of his thoughts. Yet, even in this mundane exchange, the specter of The Lodger loomed large, a silent presence lurking just beyond the threshold of conversation.
His respite shattered by a sudden realization, Bernard’s frantic dash out of the shop mirrored the urgency of his inner turmoil. The sight of his wife standing alone, oblivious to the danger at home, ignited a primal fear that surged through Bernard’s veins like wildfire.
“Ellen!” he croaked, the words torn from his throat by sheer terror. “You’ve never gone and left my little girl alone in the house with the lodger?”
The panic in Mrs. Bernard’s eyes mirrored Bernard’s own dread, an unspoken acknowledgement passing between them in the charged silence that followed.
With hurried steps, they raced back home, Bernard’s heart pounding in his chest with each passing second. “Don’t run,” he urged, his voice strained with fear. “People are noticing you, Ellen. Don’t run.”
The clamor of their approach shattered the stillness of their home, Bernard’s frantic call for Daisy a haunting refrain in the air. Relief flooded his senses as Daisy’s voice broke through the tension, a beacon of safety in the midst of chaos.
“She’s all right,” Bernard murmured, a tremor of emotion in his voice. “She’s all right, Ellen.” But beneath the reassurance lay a deeper unease, a realization that the shadows closing in around them were far from dispelled.
He paused for a moment, the weight of uncertainty pressing against the walls of the narrow passage. “It did startle me,” he admitted, his voice carrying a tinge of caution. “Let’s not alarm the girl, Ellen.”
In the sitting room, Daisy stood before the crackling fire, her reflection dancing in the mirror. “Oh, father,” she chirped, her back still turned, “I’ve met the lodger! Quite the interesting character, though a bit eccentric. He rang for service, but I hesitated, so he ventured downstairs. We had a delightful chat—I mentioned it’s my birthday, and he proposed a visit to Madame Tussaud’s this afternoon.” Her laughter rang through the room, tinged with a hint of self-awareness. “He’s a peculiar one, he is. Asked me who I was in a rather menacing tone, and when I said I’m Mr. Bernard’s daughter, he remarked, ‘Then you’re a lucky girl to have such a nice stepmother. That’s why you look so innocent.’ Quoted some lines from the Prayer Book about innocence. Made me feel like I was back with Old Aunt again.”
“I won’t have you gallivanting with the lodger—not today,” Bernard interjected, his tone laced with frustration. His hand absentmindedly squeezed the forgotten packet of tobacco, a small act of agitation.
Daisy’s disappointment was palpable. “Oh, father, it’s my birthday! Can’t I have a little fun? I told him Saturday wasn’t ideal for Madame Tussaud’s, but he insisted we go early, before the crowds.”
Her plea was cut short by a tap at the door, sending a ripple of apprehension through the room. Had they left the door ajar, inviting in unwelcome eyes?
Their relief was palpable as Mr. Basset entered, his tall hat exchanged for a coat, a semblance of normalcy in his demeanor. “I overheard your return,” he explained to Mrs. Bernard, his voice hesitant yet oddly compelling. “Would you and Miss Bernard care to join me at Madame Tussaud’s? I’ve never seen the waxworks, though they’ve been a part of folklore for as long as I can remember.”
Bernard’s gaze lingered on the lodger, a sudden doubt creeping into his mind. Could this unassuming man truly be the shadowy figure he had feared for days? The monster he had conjured in his nightmares seemed incongruous with the gentle soul before him.
Attempting to gauge his wife’s reaction, Bernard found her gaze distant, lost in thoughts unknown. “Yes, sir. We’ll be along shortly,” she replied wearily, the weight of uncertainty hanging heavy in the air.
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Madame Tussaud’s, a place once filled with fond memories of courtship for Mrs. Bernard, now echoed with an eerie tension as they made their way inside. The memories of free passes given by the butler’s acquaintance, Hopkins, were overshadowed by the looming presence of the wax figures, frozen in macabre poses.
Ascending the grand staircase into the gallery, Mr. Basset’s abrupt halt hinted at a deeper unease, his eyes flickering over the lifeless figures that seemed to beckon death itself. Daisy, seizing the moment, urged for a venture into the Chamber of Horrors, a forbidden territory in her childhood. The lodger’s agreement to this dark excursion sent a chill through the air, a precursor to the unfolding mystery.
Inside the Napoleonic relics room, Mrs. Bernard’s discomfort grew, tempered only by the familiar face of Hopkins at the turnstile. The casual banter veiled an underlying tension, especially when Mr. Basset’s reaction hinted at a hidden past or secrets yet untold.
As the trio navigated the Chamber of Horrors’ anticipation, Hopkins’s revelation of Sir John Burney’s presence, the Commissioner of Police, added a layer of intrigue. Mrs. Bernard’s unease heightened, especially as Daisy wandered away with Mr. Basset, leaving her to navigate a sea of unknown faces and whispered conversations.
A group approached, their laughter mingling with the air heavy with secrets. Mrs. Bernard’s eyes darted among them, instinctively recognizing Sir John Burney, the authoritative figure with a shadowed past. His words, spoken with a jovial air but carrying a weight of truth about the flaws in the justice system, resonated ominously in the chamber of dark truths.
The mention of recent murders and the uncertainty of justice hung in the air, each word a thread in the fabric of suspense that wrapped around them. Daisy’s innocent inquiry pierced through the tension, drawing attention to the unsolved crimes that haunted the city, crimes that perhaps lurked closer than anyone dared to imagine.
The party huddled together, their faces lit only by the flickering glow of the fire. “Well, no.” The words hung in the air like a challenge. “I doubt that particular murderer will ever hang.”
The girl’s voice was a sharp blade cutting through the tension. “You mean you’ll never catch him?”
“I think we’ll catch him,” he drawled, his voice dripping with confidence, “because...now, don’t go repeating this to your newspaper friends, Miss Rose...because I think we know who the murderer is.”
Gasps echoed through the room, a chorus of disbelief.
“Then why haven’t you caught him?” The girl’s voice was indignant, accusatory.
“I didn’t say we knew where he was,” he corrected her, his smile a thin, cruel line. “I only said we know who he is. Or, rather, I have a very strong suspicion.”
The Frenchman’s eyes snapped to his, a flicker of interest. “De Leipsic and Liverpool?”
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He nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. “You’ve reviewed the case?”
His words tumbled out then, a rush of confession. “Four murders, eight years ago. Two in Leipsic, two in Liverpool. The same hand, the same...flourishes. He was caught, red-handed, at his last victim’s house. I saw him, spoke with him. He was mad, no question. Religious mania, they called it. But he’s escaped, made off with a fortune in gold meant for the asylum staff. That’s why it was covered up...”
He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor as if only now realizing what he’d revealed. The room was silent, heavy with the weight of his words.
Mrs. Bernard felt as if she’d been carved from ice, her heart frozen in her chest. Even if she’d had the time, she couldn’t have warned him, couldn’t have screamed the warning that ripped through her mind. Her lodger and the detective were face to face, their gazes locked like wolves.
Bissett’s face contorted, a mask of rage and terror. But they swept past, oblivious, leaving Mrs. Bernard to breathe again.
The turnstile creaked, a rusty voice calling out, “Move along, love. You’ll have the place to yourselves.”
Her lodger’s voice was a snake slithering through the grass. “Mrs. Bernard, a word.”
She took a step towards him, her heart pounding in her ears. His face was twisted, inhuman. “You betrayed me,” he spat, his breath hot against her ear. “But I am protected. I have work yet to do. Your end will be bitter, your steps will lead you to hell.”
Even as he spoke, he was moving, his eyes darting towards escape, towards freedom.
His gaze locked onto a faded placard above a tattered curtain. “Emergency Exit.” Mrs. Bernard tensed, expecting him to bolt. But Bissett surprised her. He strode over to the turnstile, his fingers fumbling in his pocket like a man searching for a lifeline. He clutched at the attendant’s arm. “I’m ill,” he gasped, his voice a panicked whisper. “The atmosphere...it’s too much. I must get out. Quickly.”
His hand flashed out, pressing something into the other man’s palm. Mrs. Bernard caught the glint of gold. “There’s an exit there. Can I go out that way?”
The attendant hesitated, a flicker of unease crossing his face. He glanced at Daisy, her cheeks flushed with excitement, then at Mrs. Bernard, her face ashen. The half-sovereign seemed to burn against his skin. “Well, yes, sir. I suppose so.”
“I’ll come back in the front if I feel better,” Bissett babbled, his words tumbling out. “I’ll pay again. Only fair.”
“You won’t have to pay again, sir. Just explain—”
But Bissett was already pushing past him, his shoulder against the door. It burst open, the sudden light forcing him to shield his eyes. “Thank you,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I’ll be all right now.”
A rusted iron staircase spiraled down into a dim, neglected courtyard. A single door led out into the night.
Bissett spun back, his gaze raking over the small group. He did feel ill, his stomach churning with a mix of rage and fear. How easy it would be to fling himself over the railing, to end it all in one swift moment.
But no. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. He couldn’t abandon his work, not yet. And he couldn’t let her win. His landlady, whom he’d trusted, whom he’d paid so generously. How could she have betrayed him to his enemy? To the man who’d conspired to lock him away, to rob him of his purpose?
He stumbled out into the cool night air, the curtain falling behind him like a shroud. He was alone, but he knew it wouldn’t last. He had to keep moving, had to find a place to hide, to plan.
Daisy’s voice drifted out after him, tinged with worry. “He did look bad, didn’t he?”
The attendant nodded, his gaze flicking to Mrs. Bernard. “That he did, poor gentleman. Your lodger, ain’t he?”
She nodded, the word barely more than a whisper. “Yes. My lodger.”
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Hopkins invited them to explore the Chamber of Horrors, but Mrs. Bernard was adamant. “We should get home,” she said, her voice firm. Daisy meekly agreed. The girl felt a flutter of unease, a prickling sense of fear. It was as if Bissett’s sudden disappearance had ripped the joy from the evening.
They made their way home in silence, the only sound the rustle of their clothes. It was Daisy who broke the silence, her voice trembling as she described Bissett’s strange collapse.
“He’ll be home soon,” Bernard said, but there was little conviction in his voice. He glanced at his wife, her face pale and drawn. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.
The hours ticked by, heavy with tension. They all knew Chandler wouldn’t be visiting tonight.
Around six, Mrs. Bernard rose, her movements stiff. She went upstairs, the gas flaring to life in Bissett’s sitting room. The space seemed to vibrate with his absence. Her Bible and his concordance lay side by side, abandoned. She felt a pang, a sharp sense of loss.
She moved to the window, peering out into the darkness. What a night to be alone, adrift.
She spun back, her gaze falling on the open drawer. The heap of sovereigns had dwindled. Why hadn’t he taken it all? Did he have enough for a night’s lodging? Then she remembered the glint of gold as he’d pressed something into Hopkins’ hand.
His words, his threat, they barely touched her now. She hadn’t betrayed him. She’d sheltered him, kept his secret. But now...now she knew. The Frenchman’s careless question echoed in her mind. “De Leipsic and Liverpool man?”
A sudden urge seized her. She pinned a black-headed pin between the pages of the Bible. Then she opened it, reading the words the pin had marked. “‘My tabernacle is spoiled and all my cords are broken...There is none to set up my curtains.’”
Leaving the Bible open, a stark testament, she went downstairs. Daisy met her in the doorway. “I’ll get the lodger’s supper started. He’ll come in when he’s hungry.”
Mrs. Bernard stepped aside, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Mr. Bissett won’t be coming back.”
A flicker of relief crossed Bernard’s face, quickly replaced by anxiety. “What makes you think that?” he muttered.
“Wait until Daisy’s asleep.”
He had to content himself with that. It wasn’t until Daisy had retired to the back room that Mrs. Bernard beckoned him upstairs. He chained the front door, earning a sharp look from his wife.
“You can’t shut him out,” she hissed.
“I won’t leave Daisy alone with him maybe walking in any minute.”
“Mr. Bissett won’t hurt Daisy. More like to hurt me,” she said, her voice cracking.
Bernard stared, his face hardening. “What do you mean? Tell me.”
And so she did, the words spilling out in a rush. He listened, his face growing grimmer with each passing moment.
“So you see,” she finished, “I was right. He was never responsible.”
He stared at her, his gaze unreadable. “Depends what you mean by responsible,” he said at last.
But she would have none of it. “I heard him myself,” she spat, her voice venomous. “A lunatic, a religious maniac.”
Bernard shook his head stubbornly. “He never seemed mad to me. Just...odd. No madder than plenty I could name.”
He paced the room, his agitation growing. “I wish I could leave out some supper for him. And his money...I hate to think of it sitting there.”
“He’ll be back for that,” Bernard said, his voice firm.
But Mrs. Bernard just shook her head. “There’s nothing for us to do,” she said quietly. “Why should there be?”
He resumed his pacing, the motion restless, aimless. “If only I could leave out a bit of supper,” he muttered. “And his money...I hate to think of it there.”
“He’ll be back,” Bernard repeated. “Count on it.”
But Mrs. Bernard just shook her head. “You go up to bed,” she said finally. “There’s no sense in sitting up longer.”
He did as he was told, taking the candle she offered him. She watched him climb the stairs, his movements slow. Then he was back, his voice a low whisper. “Ellen, take off the chain. Lock yourself in. That’s what I’ll do. He can sneak in and get his...filthy money.”
She said nothing, just watched as he disappeared into the darkness. She took off the chain, but she didn’t lock herself in. Instead, she sat, waiting. At half past seven, she made herself a cup of tea, then retired to her bedroom.
Daisy stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “Ellen, I must have been so tired...I never heard you come to bed or get up.”
“Young people sleep heavier,” Mrs. Bernard said, her voice a gentle reprimand.
“Did the lodger come in? Is he upstairs now?”
Mrs. Bernard shook her head. “It should be a lovely day at Richmond.”
Daisy smiled, a bright, carefree smile.
That evening, Mrs. Bernard broke the news to Chandler. They’d rehearsed it, the words spilling out in a practiced rhythm. Chandler took it well, lost as he was in his own happiness.
“Gone, has he?” he said, his tone casual. “Paid up, did he?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Bernard hastened to reassure him. “No trouble there.”
Bernard spoke up, his voice tinged with guilt. “He was an honest soul, Jerry. I feel bad for him. He was such a...fragile creature.”
“You always said he was odd,” Chandler pointed out, a smile in his voice.
“He was that,” Bernard agreed. “A bit...touched.” He tapped his forehead, and the young people burst out laughing.
“Want me to put out a description?” Chandler asked, still chuckling.
Mr. and Mrs. Bernard exchanged a look. “Not yet,” they said in unison.
Chandler shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many people vanish,” he said, his tone light.
He got up to leave, Daisy following him into the hallway. When she returned, she went straight to her father, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Father, I have news,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
He turned, his eyes lighting up. “What is it, my dear?”
“I’m engaged,” she breathed. “Aren’t you surprised?”
He turned, pulling her into a warm hug. “What will Old Aunt say?” he whispered.
“Leave Old Aunt to me,” his wife said, her voice firm. “I’ll manage her.”
Mrs. Bernard never heard from her lodger again. Days turned into weeks, and finally, she stopped listening for the click of the lock.
The “Rose Killer” murders stopped as abruptly as they’d begun, but come spring, a gardener found a newspaper-wrapped package in Regent’s Park. A pair of rubber-soled shoes and a long, peculiar knife. The police took an interest, but it was the anonymously donated sovereigns to the Foundling Hospital that made the news.
Mrs. Bernard had kept her word about Old Aunt, who took the news of Daisy’s engagement with surprising equanimity. “Funny thing,” she said, “leave a house to the police and it’s sure to be burgled.”
Daisy took offense, but Jerry just laughed. “I’ll make sure to keep an eye on the place,” he promised.
The Bernard's found a new position, with an old lady who valued them. They kept her comfortable, and she kept them on their toes.
THE END
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