In the due course of time, Patricia and I returned to the constable house where Mr. Aberforth had made his first appearance. There we found the local constabulary engaged in a battle of wits and insults with Crimson. It was not much of a contest—one side was armed with a scant smattering of the usual taunts and jibes while the other wielded an actual functioning intellect—but I suppose that professional pride compelled the constables to try despite their disadvantages. The bitterness in Ms. Crimson’s gaze testified that she knew as well as they that the ultimate victory would be theirs in any case.
Our arrival broke up the dispute almost immediately. The horror of our appearance might have had something to do with the suddenness of their reaction. The sight of two people in such a serious state must have been rather alarming, especially with the battered and broken form of the Dollmaker dragged between us. If it had not been for a passing horseless carriage and a kind driver, we likely would not have made it so far, particularly with Patricia’s wounds. A doctor was called for while Mr. Aberforth was fetched from his office upstairs. He hurried down in great agitation. At first I was touched by his concern; at least until he spoke and made his particular worries clear.
“Mr. Kingsley, Ms. Anderson, I cannot believe you would risk our safety so! The prisoner will be disturbed by the presence of so much blood. What were you thinking?”
I paused to consider Crimson. She had stopped her measured pacing of the cell; her dark eyes glittered in the shadows, locked firmly on our wounds. It was, as it had been other times, extraordinarily disturbing to be examined in such a fashion. At the same time I remembered what the Dollmaker had said, and my sympathy for her situation increased all the more. “I apologize for our intrusion, Inspector Aberforth, but our need was much greater than our concern for your convenience. If you would permit us to rest, I assure you that our intelligence regarding the actual murderer will be rather useful to you.”
My emphasis could hardly be missed or misinterpreted. Aberforth blinked twice, and then spun to his men. “What are you waiting for? Get Mustang a cot, go!” When he turned back to us, his teeth had clenched tightly. The muscles corded all along the length of his jaw. “So be it. Tell me what you know, and we will see how that effects our current…situation. I trust fully that such experienced persons such as yourselves will not waste my time.”
Patricia snorted, and then winced as the movement brought pain from her wounds. I shifted to allow her a more comfortable stance until one of the constables escorted her behind a screen to wait for the doctor’s attention. “Of course, Inspector Aberforth, and I trust that you are a discerning enough man that I will not disappoint you in the slightest.”
In truth there was little chance of that possibility, as the next hour and a half proved. I related, in careful detail, the sequence of events that had led me to aid Patricia in her time of need. Not all of the facts appeared in my account, of course, and I did take care to obscure some details that I wished to avoid explaining. Few constables would believe that Lord Devonshire had been the source of my information—I only mentioned that I had received that intelligence through an anonymous informant—and fewer still would have remained so calm had I told them that I had deliberately ignored a raid on a bank in order to reach Patricia in time.
Had I expounded on that subject, I would have undoubtedly have heard several shouted lectures on the greater good and the public safety. There would surely have been instances of gnashed teeth and recriminations of the highest and most self-righteous of planes. My selfishness, my terrible lack of foresight, they would say, had blinded me to the higher concerns. It was worse than a failing, blacker than a mistake, it was a sin. No, a crime!
All of which would have ultimately ended with me spending the rest of my life behind bars and in chains, likely accompanied by people I did not want to acquaint myself with—or reacquaint, as the case might be. Thus, despite how honestly I deserved those rebukes, and how sorely my conscience was already troubled by those unvoiced condemnations, the only real option I had was to conceal the whole matter until I could bring it to light in a more favorable setting. Preferably when Lord Devonshire had been brought to heel, of course.
At the end of my recitations concerning the Dollmaker, which had been helpfully punctuated by Patricia’s input from her cot once the doctor had finished, Aberforth stared at me in momentary silence. He looked from me to where the Dollmaker lay unconscious on the ground, and then to where Crimson still waited in her jail cell. When his gaze came back to me, his eyes were filled with a dark and foreboding sentiment I could not discern. “Your tale is rather interesting in several respects, Mr. Kingsley, but first and foremost I must make sure of certain things. The man I knew as Mr. Eaton, his words exonerated Ms. Aleman, correct?”
I nodded, and the inspector continued in an even voice. “As glad as I am to hear that I have been fooled, I cannot simply rely on a confession delivered by hearsay. And I doubt that he would voluntarily incriminate himself once he has recovered.” His eyebrows quirked in sardonic amusement, but I responded without irony.
“Yet you can verify the fact that the man was not who he said he was, Inspector. Investigate the matter, and I am quite sure that you will find that Mr. Eaton died on the other side of the Atlantic, which calls into question this man’s purpose in assuming a false identity. You also have the evidence of his assault on Ms. Anderson here, and his use of a knife as well. An inspection of the slaughterhouse itself might yield more clues, since he had implied that he had used it as his killing ground.”
I paused and glanced at Crimson. “Mostly, however, you must consider what would happen if you put Ms. Crimson to trial—and likely afterwards, in jail or a grave, depending on the mercy of the judge and jury—and future evidence appears to vindicate my theories, especially if this man goes free and kills again. How will the people of London view your actions then? Further, how will those you work with view you, and how will you view yourself?”
Aberforth’s eyes flashed with indignation. “Mr. Eaton—if that truly is his name—will not be allowed to go prancing through the streets, Mr. Kingsley. Even if he is not the Dollmaker, he has attacked you both, and will be punished for it.” He nodded to the nearest two constables, who strode over and dragged the still-unconscious vampire to an empty cell. Aberforth turned back to me, his jaw set stubbornly. “The matter remains that Ms. Aleman is our chief suspect for the Dollmaker murders, and I have little solid reasoning to let her go beyond your word.”
With a shake of my head, I turned back to him. “In all honesty, your evidence against Ms. Crimson is not strong to begin with. You will shortly discover that there were two vampires in the room with Dr. Burke, both of whom could have been accused by him of complicity, and only one of them actively attempted to murder someone in the hours since that accusation. Further, it was not Crimson that killed Dr. Burke—in fact, other than the regrettable confrontation with me, I doubt you could find anyone Crimson has actually harmed. Threatened, perhaps, but not harmed. Those facts alone should acquit her, and prove to you which way your investigations must now turn.”
My words appeared to have some effect on Aberforth. He studied Crimson carefully. She had grown somewhat more serene once the doctor had begun his ministrations to Patricia, but that same intent hunger seemed to be present. Her eyes strayed too frequently in my direction, or in the direction of the back room where Patricia had been taken, and occasionally her hands twitched as if she meant to draw her absent knife. Aberforth sighed. “You are right, Mr. Kingsley. But do I dare release her? The way she is right now, she might very well kill us all out of spite—not that some of us would not deserve it by now.”
He had added that last sentence as he looked toward a knot of rather concerned constables nearby. They seemed to be the same constables, who, I noted, had been clustered about the bars of Ms.Crimson’s cell a few moments before. I had little doubt that they were reviewing the taunts they had hurled in her direction and wondering exactly how a vampire would elect to take her revenge—or perhaps, more accurately, just how painful that revenge would be. Some of them had been eavesdropping on the conversation, and the pale faces flushed with some desperate outrage at their comrade’s remark. Before they could respond with protests, I answered him.
“Constraining her in the first place was an error, but an understandable one, Inspector Aberforth. I am sure that in spite of her quite justifiable displeasure with the past few hours, Ms. Crimson would forgive those offenses easily. If you continued to restrain her once it has become perfectly clear that there is no need, then I am afraid your mistake becomes something rather more criminal and unfair—which, I might add, will only worsen as time goes on. It would be far better for all of us if we let her go now.”
Aberforth still hesitated, his eyes on Crimson, but before he responded I heard Patricia speak from the back room. “Just let her go already, unless you lack the courage.”
I turned and found Patricia limping from where the doctor had helped her. Bandages must have staunched the flow of blood; with her wounds hidden under her coat, she almost looked unharmed. There was no hint of weakness in her eyes, and they flashed with humor as she looked back and forth between us. Her voice took on a patronizing tone that had to grate harshly on the inspector’s nerves. “If she makes any trouble, I’ll just shoot her, if that helps you feel any safer. I won’t let her hurt you at all, Aberforth.”
The mocking lilt to Patricia’s words appeared to savage the already wounded pride of the constable. His back straightened, and his face grew red. “Constable Loring, release the prisoner immediately. Constable Farsworth, fetch her belongings and return them to her.” Both men stood motionless for a moment longer until he frowned at them. “Now, gentlemen, unless you would prefer to be arrested and jailed with her in that cell.”
As they rushed to their tasks, Mr. Aberforth turned his gaze back to me. “There. I do hope you are quite satisfied, Mr. Kingsley. You have indeed earned your pay in this case, something I will keep in mind in the future. Now, will you and Ms. Anderson be off, or shall I anticipate still more surprises from you?”
Despite my fatigue and the sting of my own wounds, I endeavored to smile. “No, Inspector Aberforth. I believe I have had enough of those to last a lifetime.”
As the inspector nodded coldly at me, the other constables had been about their business. Crimson stepped free of her confinement, and to my infinite relief she did not leap for the throat of the nearest man. Instead, she offered a curtsy in my direction. “My thanks to you, Mr. Kingsley. You have been of great assistance to me, despite all appearances to the contrary.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Then, to my surprise, she turned and curtsied as well to Patricia. “And my thanks to you as well, Ms. Anderson. For your entirely unforgettable effect on my life.”
There was a moment of mutual study between the two women, and then Patricia inclined her head, ever so slightly. “I won’t be forgetting you any time soon either, Ms. Crimson. Be more careful who you leap for next time.”
A hint of mirth twitched at the vampire’s lips. Her dark eyes shone. “Indeed I shall.”
She had just turned to go when some commotion at the front of the building drew my attention. A fresh group of constables had arrived. It was rather obvious that they had not been assigned to this particular station and had somehow been above the chaos and casualties of the past few days. Their uniforms, in contrast to the unkempt clothing of the Whitechapel officers, were spotless and well pressed, with collars and lapels so sharp they would likely have drawn blood from a casual brush. Medallions glowed on their chests, and they moved with a kind of purpose and arrogant authority that bespoke men who had never confronted a real challenge.
The three constables pushed their way through the milling crowd of constables—or rather, they walked through the space that rapidly cleared around them as constables backed away from the newly freed Crimson. Without any pause, they marched up to Inspector Aberforth and addressed him. There was no salute or other gesture of respect that I could discern.
“Inspector Aberforth, assigned to Whitechapel division?” The hint of derision in that question was unmistakable, and I could sense the effort Aberforth must have made to keep his lips from curling in a sneer in response.
“Yes?”
“Inspector Hollsworth, Bishopsgate division. We’ve come to take charge of the criminal currently in your custody.” The lead constable’s eyes began to search the people around Aberforth, as if he already expected the culprit to be right before him.
Aberforth folded his arms and frowned. He had obviously taken as much of a dislike to the other man as I had. “I’m afraid that the true culprit for the Dollmaker murders is already in custody; the previous suspect has been proven innocent. There is no need for you to attempt to restrain Ms. Aleman.” His frown grew. “Not that I saw any reason for Bishopsgate to take any part in this case. Why would they have sent you?”
Hollsworth fixed his beady eyes on Aberforth again. “The Dollmaker case? No, that is your lookout, Aberforth. I’m here for another reason entirely, and you’d do well not to stand in my way.” He went back to his search, and his eyes fell on me. “There you are. Hector Kingsley, you are under arrest as an accomplice in the robbery of the Barings bank. Come along quietly and we will not have to use force.”
For a moment, shock and surprise overrode any sense of realization that I might have had. The fact that Hollsworth and his friends now placed their hands on their shiny, likely unused truncheons had a wonderfully clarifying effect on my mind, however. As I drew back, and as the rest of the constables and people around me turned to stare in astonishment, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.
Devonshire had told me that he had a use for me. The Barings robbery had been too blunt, too dramatic for even his resources to discourage investigation; even with considerable planning and effort, the search by the constabulary would have been an unending annoyance. Unless, of course, Devonshire could arrange for a scapegoat, a clever but entirely unknown investigator, to be caught in the net; then the law would be satisfied by merely catching at the coattails of the criminals who had performed the act and society could once again congratulate itself that justice had been done.
While they were all patting themselves on the back and while I rotted in the gaol, Devonshire would be free to do whatever he pleased. Once again, he had won.
Aberforth was the first to respond. “What kind of nonsense is this, Hollsworth? Just this morning he was engaged fully in the resolution of one of the worst murderers in the history of London, and now you’re here to arrest him on some sort of foolish charge?”
Hollsworth snorted in disdain. “This morning Barings was hit by a gang of thieves using a tunnel. The entire building was taken by surprise; not a single guard caught on before the robbers had done their work. Thousands of pounds of treasure was taken, and all the evidence leads back to this man.”
He took a step toward me. “There was some machinery there that was made by a friend of his, you see. We’ve already spoken to this Daniel Summervale, and he has claimed that the machine was meant to sedate livestock of some sort. Even has a signed statement, so he’s above reproach. Kingsley’s cane was also discovered at the other end of the tunnel, likely broken during the commission of the crime. The fact is that Kingsley here must have supplied it to the robbers, or taken a hand in the job himself. He has to know who took the rest of the money, so no matter what he’s been doing here in the slums, he’s coming back in chains with me.”
There was a click that I knew all too well, and Hollsworth froze. His lieutenants half drew their weapons before Patricia’s iron hard voice stopped them. “He’s not going anywhere in chains, I can tell you that right now. And if you think that you’ll be able to get more than one shot off before I nail all three of you to the wall, you should probably know I’ve handled worse than this before.” I glanced back to find her smiling, despite the obvious bandages under her clothes. “Haven’t I, Hector?”
I was helpless to do more than nod mechanically. Things were rapidly getting out of hand. Aberforth, his voice faint, made a rather obvious attempt to prevent a complete disaster on the very eve of his triumph. “Now, Mustang, there is no need for that. Mr. Hollsworth is only proceeding according to what the law dictates; I am sure Mr. Kingsley will be given a fair hearing and treated with all due respect.”
“Like bullocks he will!” Hollsworth’s face had gone brutally red now; were it not for his careful lack of motion under Patricia’s aim, I would have assumed that he was ready to launch himself at me that very moment. “I’ll drag him through the streets if I please, and he’ll be up at Newgate by afternoon and on the gallows soon after! And if you don’t put that gun up this instant, girl, I’ll put you up there right alongside him. Constables, take these two into custody immediately!”
Even Hollsworth’s own men seemed abashed at his outburst, though I’m sure Mustang’s rather checkered reputation for violence had more to do with their reaction than any sense of decorum. Aberforth’s men, though rather unkindly disposed toward me, were also much less motivated to challenge Patricia’s firepower, particularly when I had just stopped the man who had hunted their streets for victims these past few months. Neither group of constables made any more than a slight move toward us, and Hollsworth’s face grew alarmingly red. I began to wonder if the poor officer was on the verge of a fit of temper that would lead to the deaths of everyone here.
My options were rather limited now. I could attempt to escape with Patricia, but it would probably lead to our deaths. While the constables were hesitant for the moment, they were quite likely to attack if we turned our backs to them, which we would have to do if we ran. A cold-blooded man might have advocated killing them all before fleeing, but I would not have the blood of men entrusted with the public peace on my hands if I could avoid it, even if they were all fools such as Hollsworth seemed to be.
I could, of course, remand myself into their custody and trust in the system of law to exonerate me, but I knew that would be ultimately just as fatal. Devonshire would have arranged things too well against me, and the public outrage alone would either consign me to death or life—likely shortened by former acquaintances—in prison. There seemed to be no escape left.
Yet perhaps that fate was to be my sacrifice. If I surrendered without a fight, I could convince Patricia to hold her fire. Hollsworth might be content to have me unopposed and would leave her alone. She would go free, still safe, no matter what happened to me. If I could achieve that, I could not call myself sad. The woman was worth whatever consequences I now faced; she always had been.
Then I lifted my eyes and found myself staring directly into the dark gaze of Ms. Crimson, who was standing with her newly returned weapons in her hand. For a moment, there was nothing but a tense silence. A smile twitched at her lips, and she bowed her head slightly.
Without further hesitation and with no discernible hint as to her intentions, she then leaped onto the back of the nearest of Hollsworth’s men. The pommel of her dagger clipped him above the ear, and he went down with a groan. She shrieked, and the shrill sound filled the air as if it had torn the silence asunder. “Blood! I must have blood!”
As an actress, Crimson obviously needed some small improvement. Her antics still convinced the remainder of the constables of their danger; Aberforth’s constables scattered with yelps of alarm, and Hollsworth and his remaining companion fell back along with them. Crimson paused only long enough to gesture at me to run before she chased after them, her high, melodramatic shrieks having much the same effect as a fox’s barks among a flock of hens. In the midst of the chaos I grabbed Patricia’s arm and yanked her in the direction of the rear door. She resisted for only a moment, and then understanding dawned in her eyes.
When we reached the door, I opened it for her and glanced back. Crimson had set upon Inspector Hollsworth and seemed to be attempting to remove the high collar of his uniform to gain access to his neck. For his part, the inspector was howling piteously as the remainder of the constables tried to organize properly to make the effort to pull her off of him. No one seemed anxious to go first.
Standing apart from the chaos, Mr. Aberforth had apparently dismissed the danger. The inspector had been close enough to Crimson’s last true loss of control, and he had obviously seen through the ruse immediately. He stared instead in my direction, his face uncertain. Our eyes met, and for a moment I wondered if he would raise the alarm.
Then his eyes crinkled in what might have been a restrained smile. He nodded once, and then strode forward to haul Crimson back. “That’s enough, Ms. Aleman! My apologies to you, Mr. Hollsworth, but she must have been overwhelmed from the confinement and all the blood before. Not her fault, I assure you; I take full responsibility—”
I did not stay to hear the end of it. Before the constables managed to reorganize themselves, I was three streets away and running fast, with a still-bandaged Patricia loping along at my side. We soon ducked into an alley where we could wait out the immediate pursuit without worry and there we stayed, panting in the shadows. Exhausted, and with the totality of my defeat looming before me, I leaned heavily against a grime-coated wall and strove to recover.
It is said that survival, while occasionally a sparse fare, contains a spice to flavor even the most meager of meals. Unfortunately there was much to taste bitter for me now, and all of it was a consequence of my own actions. We were fugitives now; our families, friends, and homes would be watched. There was no law to protect us, and as I recovered my breath I idly wondered if it would be the gangs, the constabulary, or Devonshire’s own men who would finally bring us down.
Yet before long, my worries turned back to the state of my companion. She seemed quiet, almost solemn, as we waited. I worried that the exertion of our escape had reopened her wounds, but when she finally spoke, it was a different concern that awakened. “He did it, didn’t he? Devonshire.”
More spite and discontent had never been packed into a single name. Her grim hatred reminded me of my own, and I nodded. “He did. I would have stopped him today, but—”
I did not finish, but with Patricia, I did not have to. She laid a hand on my arm, and I looked over to see an expression approaching tenderness on her face. “You won’t lose him again, Hector. I promise. This time, he’ll be dealing with both of us. We’ll take him down together, for good.”
Her words breathed life back into my heart, and I stepped away from the wall that had supported me. I made a concerted effort to clean the grime from my tattered coat, futile as it might have been. “I am sure that we will, Patricia, but for now, I need a new place to stay. I am afraid that my own apartment must be full of constables by now, and Devonshire will be out to find me as well.”
Patricia smiled and jerked her head further down the alley. “I know a place. Come on, and I’ll get you taken care of.” She strode off, carbine over her shoulder. I followed, the hope beginning to swirl once more within me. I had lost today, and lost dearly, but I did not despair. Devonshire might have hurt me, but I had retained what mattered most, and that had been his true mistake. While I was alive I would hunt him, and now I would not be alone. My defeat this day was not an ending, not yet. He would have more plots, and I was still alive to foil them.
In the end, he would have his own date to meet with consequence. When that distant day arrived, Patricia would be standing with me. We would stop him, together.