The Bell Rock Mystery - Chapter 11
Created | Updated Apr 26, 2007
Kate Wood sat engrossed in the notes of Herbert Kitchener. Several questions had come to mind. Who was he? Where did he live? His name was not one she had come across even in her extensive research at university. Did he have any family still living that could shed more light on the case? She could try to find out, after all, this was the very centre of the British Police Force. Two names to go on, a bonus, for his wife was mentioned in his case notes, Muriel. What was her story? Had any notes been passed down to his offspring or even down the generations by word of mouth? Questions all questions.
Kate decided to finish reading the case notes before exploring any other avenues of investigation. These notes had remained untouched for so long. Had they been used in the original case? They must have been, she decided. The case ran on for years after the murders stopped. Yes, of course they would have been considered, but why was his trip to Scotland connected to the Ripper case. Surely there must be some connection?
The door to the dusty old storeroom opened. The draft blew dust across the floor. Kate turned to see Karen framed in the doorway. “Come on, have you seen the time?”
Kate had been so engrossed in the accounts of 1888 she had totally lost track of the time. It was in fact ten past five and time to leave. “Oh dear”, she replied jumping up out of the dusty old chair. Suddenly she realised that she was in a state of half undress, lucky it was only Karen who had come in through the door. “I’ll be with you in a tick.” Kate hurriedly put on her shoes and finally her jacket.
Karen, at a loose end, used the waiting time to help herself to one of the files stacked up on the central rack. Opening it, and then glancing at the charge sheet she put it back on the shelf unread.
Kate, in the meantime, was busying herself stuffing all the bits and pieces of Kitchener’s records into her black shoulder bag. The bag though, capacious as it was, couldn’t take all the documents, the outstanding pieces of paper she put in a blue cardboard folder.
“Where do you fancy tonight?” asked Karen as she read the spines of the box files, “the wine bar?”
“Its as good as any.” Kate replied, while struggling to turn the gas heater off. “Come on then, I’m ready for a large glass of something after being stuck in here all day.”
She flicked off the old brown light switch on her way out of the door. The room was back to the dormant state it had been in for the last twenty years.
The two women walked at pace across the office floor heading towards the lift doors. They were stopped in their tracks suddenly by the imposing figure of Superintendent Marson.
He had found himself at a loose end and when this happened it wasn’t unusual for him to have a stroll around the department and act the father figure to his officers. The department was almost empty now. He did the rounds turning off monitors that remained on, all showing a grey box with the legend ‘Press alt. Control, + del.’ The members of his department must learn to save money, even turning computer screens off saved pounds.
Seeing the two WPC’s he made a b-line for them, someone to talk to.
“Taking your work home with you WPC Wood?” he asked spotting the file under her arm.
“Oh, er, yes Sir. Just a bit of bedtime reading.”
“Excellent.” smiled Marson, “That’s what I like too see.” If only there were more like her.
“Thank you Sir.”
Both women hurriedly made for the lift before Marson could re-engage the conversation.
“Thank you Sir?” mocked Karen as the lift doors closed.
Marson could have sworn he heard the sound of laughter from behind the lift doors. He smiled to himself. He had high hopes for those two. With that thought he continued with his rounds. Look, another desk lamp left on.
Kate normally enjoyed the after work drink with Karen. It was the best way she could think of to relax at the end of the day. It was also an excellent way of catching up on all the gossip of the day. Talent spotting was always high on the agenda. Karen would position herself so as to gain a good view of the door and all those coming through it.
Tonight, Kate was not in the mood for such activities. She was anxious to get home and continue reading the notes that had filled her afternoon. After only one large glass of wine she found herself making an excuse to leave, telling Karen that she had a headache, which she blamed on the old gas heater.
Karen didn’t mind in the least. She seemed to be pre-occupied by a young man she had just spotted entering the bar. He was a young PC that she had had an eye on for a couple of weeks now.
As Kate said her goodbyes to Karen, Karen made her move on the poor unsuspecting lad.
Superintendent Marson looked at his reflection in the mirror. Having dispensed with the uniform, he now wore a dinner suit and professionally pressed winged collared shirt. Putting the finishing touches to his bow tie he checked his reflection, both front and profile.
A knock came from the general direction of the door. He looked around, an embarrassed expression on his face at his moment of vanity.
“Enter”, he shouted as he crossed back to his desk.
A young sergeant came through the door leading from the outer office,
“Your driver’s here Sir.”
“Ah, good.” Marson said as he once more fiddled with his bow tie.
“Enjoy your evening Sir.” The young lad said as he opened the door for his senior officer.
“Thank you, young…”
“Hopkins Sir.”
“Hopkins, yes.” He would enjoy the evening. There would be no talk of budget, logistics or job cuts tonight. This would come as somewhat of a relief after the week’s meetings and the problems raised by them.
In Kate’s tastefully furnished flat the breakfast pots had been tidied away and once again the living room was clean and tidy. Neatly arranged on the coffee table lay the pieces of paper taken from the Blue Store Room. Next to the settee a standard lamp gave the only illumination in the room. The smell of cooking filled each of the downstairs rooms of the red brick Victorian house.
Kate entered from the kitchen carrying a bowl of roast vegetables and pasta in one hand and a large glass of red wine in the other.
Making herself comfortable on the settee, she took a mouthful of wine. A warm feeling filled her chest as she put the glass down on the coffee table. It tasted as though it was past its best, as indeed it was. The bottle had been opened on Saturday night; having drunk only half of it she had fallen asleep watching television. The wine didn’t receive any attention until the next morning when the cork was firmly returned to the bottleneck. It was still drinkable though, no need to open another.
Picking up a piece of paper from the coffee table she realised that her meal would be going cold. Not wanting to eat cold pasta she forced two forks full into her mouth before placing the next set of case notes on her lap. Squeezing a piece of broccoli into her mouth she started to read.
In the grand lobbying hall of the Houses of Parliament one of the many doors slowly opened, the hinges creaked with a low-pitched moan. The noise was amplified beyond all proportion in the huge high ceiling of the chamber.
From around the door the head of Chief Inspector Kitchener appeared. His jaw dropped as he looked in disbelief when he saw where he had emerged.
Why was he shocked? Deep down he knew, he knew something was going on, “Hell, this proves one thing at least.” he said with awe in his voice.
His thoughts were interrupted as he heard voices coming from one of the many corridors leading from the main hall. In fright he almost stopped breathing. Pulling the door to, he listened intently trying to make out the conversation. The acoustics aided him considerably in listening in to the conversation.
The first voice sounded well read with a Home Counties accent, “The current situation is most unsatisfactory, something must be done about the head.”
“Steps have been put in place regarding this matter. I spoke to the Home Sec…” said the voice. The voices merged with their own echo and became unrecognisable with the resonance of the marble lined corridors.
What had they been talking about? The head of what? Was it the head of the government, or the Police”? Now he may never find out.
Later that night as he walked his beat around Hyde Park he recalled the events of the previous evening. He could prove nothing, he didn’t actually see the suspect go into the sewer and maybe it was just a coincidence the passage led into the heart of Government. Maybe it was used for delivering food or drink to one of many other properties.
The park was dark and quiet, only the occasional rustle of a bush by some nocturnal creature would warrant Kitchener taking a second look. The sound of horses’ hooves on the cobbled road broke the silence of the night. A four-wheeled carriage approached from the direction of Knightsbridge. Kitchener took hardly any notice of the cab; he was far too engrossed in his own thoughts.
He continued to walk in the opposite direction as the carriage came to a halt outside the Central Masonic Hall. Kitchener should have had his wits about him and taken more notice of the carriage. He would have recognised the passenger who disembarked from the transport was the man who he had tailed only the night before, down near the river and he was still carrying the same brown doctor’s bag.
As the cab pulled away Kitchener stopped and turned. The street was empty, no soul around. Kitchener shivered; cupping his hands he blew a warm breath into them trying to bring some feeling back into his fingers. Then with that done he continued his rounds.
Inside the Masonic Hall two men sat in the comparative warmth of the library. Both men were in the act of smoking a large cigar. One of the men had grey hair swept back over his head, the second was none other than Sir Albert Hucksley, head of the Scotland Yard detective force.
An unexpected problem had arisen in their plans. The two great minds had to come up with a satisfactory solution, or a full report would have to be made to the society.
“Did he actually see him enter?” the grey haired man asked in a seriously grave tone.
“No, he could only presume he entered the Parliament Building via the sewer. This was solely based on the fact that it was the only route of escape for our man in the short space of time available to him.”
The grey haired man tapped the index finger of his right hand against his dry lips. “Is he capable, this detective?” he said with disdain.
“He is one of the best ones, yes,” said Sir Albert with regret.
“Shame, shame.” he paused, “ I think he should be assigned a special case. Safety of the Sovereign is always paramount in our minds. He can join the Royal party on the Christmas holiday to Scotland. That should keep him busy for the rest of the year and out of the way. See to it.”
“Yes Sir.”
Strand found the conversation fascinating, “So that’s how you came to be with the royal party, a recommendation from the Chief Constable himself.”
“It was an honour. The Ripper investigation still played on my mind. The next night I was back on the Hyde Park beat.
I’d already done a lap of the park and was outside the Central Masonic Lodge, when I looked into one of the windows…”
It was one of those feelings you may often get when you think you’re being watched. That was exactly what Kitchener was feeling right now. He turned around and could not believe what he was seeing. A thousand things ran through his mind at once. There, framed in one of the first floor sash windows of the Masonic Lodge was The Ripper suspect. “My God.” was all he could say.
His first instinct was not to be seen. He looked around for the nearest point of cover. Three feet to his left was an oak tree, so quickly he jumped behind it and hoped that his breath wasn’t visible in the cold night air
For two hours he remained rooted to the spot, waiting for the man to leave. He was so cold; after all it was the middle of the night. Constantly he stamped his feet on the hard grassy ground, they felt as though they could freeze to the spot if not constantly moved. Jumping up and down on the spot he struggled to keep the blood circulating around all parts of his body.
The sound of a carriage drawing up broke into the silent night air. From the sound of it, the cab must have come to a halt outside of the Masonic Hall. Very slowly he looked around the tree, being careful not to expose any more of his frame than was required.
The carriage sat at rest with no passenger in sight to fill its interior. The horses were becoming restless, butting their heads up and down in the night air. The cab driver calmed them with an “Easy lads, easy.” As if he’d spoken a magical spell the two charges came to an easy standing position. Not another sound was heard from them.
The heavy dark oak doors of the building opened and out he came, doctor’s bag and all. Slowly, almost majestically he walked down the stone steps that lead from the doorway to the street below. Silently he mounted the carriage and without any command to the driver the horses pulled away.
A split second decision was needed by Kitchener; did he follow the cab or investigate the hall? The cab was almost out of sight and now he was freezing cold with standing around. The warmth of the hall seemed inviting as well as intimidating. So that’s what he would do.
In the entrance hall of the lodge Kitchener could hear voices. He looked around for a moment trying to get his bearings. The room he stood in was decorated with strange symbols and had regalia hanging from the walls. He didn’t have the faintest idea what any of it was or its meaning. He was more interested in finding the source of the voices. The white marbled corridors stretched out in front of him, doors lined both sides of the passage.
Kitchener slowly and silently set off down the corridor in search of the source of the voices, which became louder the further down the corridor he strayed. Grateful for the marble floor, which was almost silent to walk on, no echo was given off the cold, hard surface. Half way down the passage he found the door he sought. Voices could be clearly heard from inside the room. On the door a wooden plaque indicated the room’s purpose. ‘Inner Members Library – Strictly Private’
So, even the Masons have a class system he thought to himself. Looking around to check no one was with him, he put his left ear to the door and listened.
Behind the door in the book lined library thirteen men sat around an oval table. The air hung heavy with grey cigar smoke. One of the many men spoke, “The press are having a field day.”
All the man gathered there that night for the secret meeting looked pretty well similar to one another. Most had grey hair, all smoked cigars and dressed in winged collars and frock coats. “We have vigilantes on the streets, anything could happen. The last thing we want is the lower classes rising up; this is exactly the kind of thing that could be a catalyst for revolution. Its not long since the Great Mutiny and our forces are dangerously stretched across the globe. We should be taking care.”
A hum of discontent circled the table. One of the attendees coughed loudly and repeatedly. He was unfortunate enough to be taking a mouthful of brandy as the last speaker’s rant mentioned the prospect of revolution. His choking continued as a man with grey, swept back hair stood, ready to calm the situation.
“Everything’s under control…” he spoke with such authority the uncomfortable hum that rounded the table died away. All attention turned to him. “The vigilantes are in my employ. They are just another distraction for the already over stretched Police Force. Now, two or three more should be enough and then the plan will be in place and ready to put into action. I also have a cover story ready in the unlikely event of anything going wrong. Then it will stop.”
The assembled company sat in silence, each one feeling a little guilty for ever having had doubts about the master planner. Only one member raised, or at least dared to raise, a question.
“And her head?”
“Just another victim of our friend, its for the good of us all.”
“And our friend, Jack?” a murmur of unrest travelled around the room at the mention of the name all had sworn not to say,
“He will get his seat and pave the way, under our control of course, for all of them. Gentlemen, the fruits of our labour.” He raised his glass, as did all of those assembled, repeating the toast and then laughing at the prospect of a great empire to come.
Outside the door Kitchener listened intently. Trying to make sense of what he’d just heard, he decided that discretion was the better part of valour and made towards the front entrance.
In desperation he tried to string the snippets of the conversation together that he had managed to hear. No matter how many times he ran through them it came out with only the one explanation. Their friend Jack? That could only be one person, but then what did he mean by all of them, was there more than one Jack the Ripper? He was not convinced; after all he had seen him at the murder scene and here tonight leaving the meeting.
Who was being referred to when the voice said ‘She’ and what was her connection to the Empire? The most logical explanation was too terrible to contemplate. Was she going to be a victim of the Ripper?
“I had to get a look at who was at that meeting.” Kitchener told Strand who was now sitting on the edge of his seat. “Hiding behind the same tree as earlier I watched them come out and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. They were all Parliamentary Ministers in Government or opposition. The last man to leave was…”
He was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Both men looked at each other, both with the same expression on their faces; that of fear. Kitchener made a gesture to Strand, who understood immediately. Both men took up a position ready to intercept anyone coming up the stairs into the living room.
Strand stood there motionless, his hands were shaking like the leaves on a tree in an autumn breeze. He couldn’t control his fear, Kitchener looked on and realised that the keeper wouldn’t be much good if it came to a fight. Size and strength he possessed in abundance, but nerve, he had little of.
The footsteps became louder, getting nearer, until through the hatch leading down from the living room came a large mop of curly hair. Following on came the figure of Donald Preston. Slowly one step at a time he came up the wooden steps.
Kitchener readied himself for the pounce, but as the stranger reached the penultimate rung he saw the two men waiting for him, he let out a groan and fell head long onto the living room floor. Kitchener reacted immediately, “Quick man, get him up.”
Both men lifted Preston onto the nearest sofa. He was considerably heavier than he looked. They struggled to manoeuvre him as his arms flopped around at the slightest movement of his body. Finally though they made it.
“Whisky” ordered an out of breath Kitchener.
Strand jumped to the task; such was the authority in the Englishman’s voice. The keeper handed his own glass of whisky over, which was sitting on the floor next to where he had been moments before.
“Thank you.” Kitchener took the glass from Strand and offered it to the newcomer’s lips. “Here drink this,” he said in a calm voice. A drop of whisky was gently poured into Preston’s mouth. It appeared to have the desired effect as he came around and then the liquid hit his throat and a coughing fit erupted. Preston sat bolt-upright a look of horror on his face. Strand jumped back in fright at the sight of the large man in his state of panic.
Anticipating the reaction from him Kitchener held him down in restraint.
“No, please no?” pleaded Preston.
“Alright man, calm down, We’re friends.” Strand said in a calm voice, although speaking from a safe distance.
Preston, with an almighty effort, threw off the burley figure of the Police officer, tossing him across the room. Turning his attention to Strand he looked, and then calmed down, which was much to Strand’s relief.
This man was wearing the attire of a lighthouse keeper, rescue was here.
Coming soon, chapter 12.
Kate decided to finish reading the case notes before exploring any other avenues of investigation. These notes had remained untouched for so long. Had they been used in the original case? They must have been, she decided. The case ran on for years after the murders stopped. Yes, of course they would have been considered, but why was his trip to Scotland connected to the Ripper case. Surely there must be some connection?
The door to the dusty old storeroom opened. The draft blew dust across the floor. Kate turned to see Karen framed in the doorway. “Come on, have you seen the time?”
Kate had been so engrossed in the accounts of 1888 she had totally lost track of the time. It was in fact ten past five and time to leave. “Oh dear”, she replied jumping up out of the dusty old chair. Suddenly she realised that she was in a state of half undress, lucky it was only Karen who had come in through the door. “I’ll be with you in a tick.” Kate hurriedly put on her shoes and finally her jacket.
Karen, at a loose end, used the waiting time to help herself to one of the files stacked up on the central rack. Opening it, and then glancing at the charge sheet she put it back on the shelf unread.
Kate, in the meantime, was busying herself stuffing all the bits and pieces of Kitchener’s records into her black shoulder bag. The bag though, capacious as it was, couldn’t take all the documents, the outstanding pieces of paper she put in a blue cardboard folder.
“Where do you fancy tonight?” asked Karen as she read the spines of the box files, “the wine bar?”
“Its as good as any.” Kate replied, while struggling to turn the gas heater off. “Come on then, I’m ready for a large glass of something after being stuck in here all day.”
She flicked off the old brown light switch on her way out of the door. The room was back to the dormant state it had been in for the last twenty years.
The two women walked at pace across the office floor heading towards the lift doors. They were stopped in their tracks suddenly by the imposing figure of Superintendent Marson.
He had found himself at a loose end and when this happened it wasn’t unusual for him to have a stroll around the department and act the father figure to his officers. The department was almost empty now. He did the rounds turning off monitors that remained on, all showing a grey box with the legend ‘Press alt. Control, + del.’ The members of his department must learn to save money, even turning computer screens off saved pounds.
Seeing the two WPC’s he made a b-line for them, someone to talk to.
“Taking your work home with you WPC Wood?” he asked spotting the file under her arm.
“Oh, er, yes Sir. Just a bit of bedtime reading.”
“Excellent.” smiled Marson, “That’s what I like too see.” If only there were more like her.
“Thank you Sir.”
Both women hurriedly made for the lift before Marson could re-engage the conversation.
“Thank you Sir?” mocked Karen as the lift doors closed.
Marson could have sworn he heard the sound of laughter from behind the lift doors. He smiled to himself. He had high hopes for those two. With that thought he continued with his rounds. Look, another desk lamp left on.
Kate normally enjoyed the after work drink with Karen. It was the best way she could think of to relax at the end of the day. It was also an excellent way of catching up on all the gossip of the day. Talent spotting was always high on the agenda. Karen would position herself so as to gain a good view of the door and all those coming through it.
Tonight, Kate was not in the mood for such activities. She was anxious to get home and continue reading the notes that had filled her afternoon. After only one large glass of wine she found herself making an excuse to leave, telling Karen that she had a headache, which she blamed on the old gas heater.
Karen didn’t mind in the least. She seemed to be pre-occupied by a young man she had just spotted entering the bar. He was a young PC that she had had an eye on for a couple of weeks now.
As Kate said her goodbyes to Karen, Karen made her move on the poor unsuspecting lad.
Superintendent Marson looked at his reflection in the mirror. Having dispensed with the uniform, he now wore a dinner suit and professionally pressed winged collared shirt. Putting the finishing touches to his bow tie he checked his reflection, both front and profile.
A knock came from the general direction of the door. He looked around, an embarrassed expression on his face at his moment of vanity.
“Enter”, he shouted as he crossed back to his desk.
A young sergeant came through the door leading from the outer office,
“Your driver’s here Sir.”
“Ah, good.” Marson said as he once more fiddled with his bow tie.
“Enjoy your evening Sir.” The young lad said as he opened the door for his senior officer.
“Thank you, young…”
“Hopkins Sir.”
“Hopkins, yes.” He would enjoy the evening. There would be no talk of budget, logistics or job cuts tonight. This would come as somewhat of a relief after the week’s meetings and the problems raised by them.
In Kate’s tastefully furnished flat the breakfast pots had been tidied away and once again the living room was clean and tidy. Neatly arranged on the coffee table lay the pieces of paper taken from the Blue Store Room. Next to the settee a standard lamp gave the only illumination in the room. The smell of cooking filled each of the downstairs rooms of the red brick Victorian house.
Kate entered from the kitchen carrying a bowl of roast vegetables and pasta in one hand and a large glass of red wine in the other.
Making herself comfortable on the settee, she took a mouthful of wine. A warm feeling filled her chest as she put the glass down on the coffee table. It tasted as though it was past its best, as indeed it was. The bottle had been opened on Saturday night; having drunk only half of it she had fallen asleep watching television. The wine didn’t receive any attention until the next morning when the cork was firmly returned to the bottleneck. It was still drinkable though, no need to open another.
Picking up a piece of paper from the coffee table she realised that her meal would be going cold. Not wanting to eat cold pasta she forced two forks full into her mouth before placing the next set of case notes on her lap. Squeezing a piece of broccoli into her mouth she started to read.
In the grand lobbying hall of the Houses of Parliament one of the many doors slowly opened, the hinges creaked with a low-pitched moan. The noise was amplified beyond all proportion in the huge high ceiling of the chamber.
From around the door the head of Chief Inspector Kitchener appeared. His jaw dropped as he looked in disbelief when he saw where he had emerged.
Why was he shocked? Deep down he knew, he knew something was going on, “Hell, this proves one thing at least.” he said with awe in his voice.
His thoughts were interrupted as he heard voices coming from one of the many corridors leading from the main hall. In fright he almost stopped breathing. Pulling the door to, he listened intently trying to make out the conversation. The acoustics aided him considerably in listening in to the conversation.
The first voice sounded well read with a Home Counties accent, “The current situation is most unsatisfactory, something must be done about the head.”
“Steps have been put in place regarding this matter. I spoke to the Home Sec…” said the voice. The voices merged with their own echo and became unrecognisable with the resonance of the marble lined corridors.
What had they been talking about? The head of what? Was it the head of the government, or the Police”? Now he may never find out.
Later that night as he walked his beat around Hyde Park he recalled the events of the previous evening. He could prove nothing, he didn’t actually see the suspect go into the sewer and maybe it was just a coincidence the passage led into the heart of Government. Maybe it was used for delivering food or drink to one of many other properties.
The park was dark and quiet, only the occasional rustle of a bush by some nocturnal creature would warrant Kitchener taking a second look. The sound of horses’ hooves on the cobbled road broke the silence of the night. A four-wheeled carriage approached from the direction of Knightsbridge. Kitchener took hardly any notice of the cab; he was far too engrossed in his own thoughts.
He continued to walk in the opposite direction as the carriage came to a halt outside the Central Masonic Hall. Kitchener should have had his wits about him and taken more notice of the carriage. He would have recognised the passenger who disembarked from the transport was the man who he had tailed only the night before, down near the river and he was still carrying the same brown doctor’s bag.
As the cab pulled away Kitchener stopped and turned. The street was empty, no soul around. Kitchener shivered; cupping his hands he blew a warm breath into them trying to bring some feeling back into his fingers. Then with that done he continued his rounds.
Inside the Masonic Hall two men sat in the comparative warmth of the library. Both men were in the act of smoking a large cigar. One of the men had grey hair swept back over his head, the second was none other than Sir Albert Hucksley, head of the Scotland Yard detective force.
An unexpected problem had arisen in their plans. The two great minds had to come up with a satisfactory solution, or a full report would have to be made to the society.
“Did he actually see him enter?” the grey haired man asked in a seriously grave tone.
“No, he could only presume he entered the Parliament Building via the sewer. This was solely based on the fact that it was the only route of escape for our man in the short space of time available to him.”
The grey haired man tapped the index finger of his right hand against his dry lips. “Is he capable, this detective?” he said with disdain.
“He is one of the best ones, yes,” said Sir Albert with regret.
“Shame, shame.” he paused, “ I think he should be assigned a special case. Safety of the Sovereign is always paramount in our minds. He can join the Royal party on the Christmas holiday to Scotland. That should keep him busy for the rest of the year and out of the way. See to it.”
“Yes Sir.”
Strand found the conversation fascinating, “So that’s how you came to be with the royal party, a recommendation from the Chief Constable himself.”
“It was an honour. The Ripper investigation still played on my mind. The next night I was back on the Hyde Park beat.
I’d already done a lap of the park and was outside the Central Masonic Lodge, when I looked into one of the windows…”
It was one of those feelings you may often get when you think you’re being watched. That was exactly what Kitchener was feeling right now. He turned around and could not believe what he was seeing. A thousand things ran through his mind at once. There, framed in one of the first floor sash windows of the Masonic Lodge was The Ripper suspect. “My God.” was all he could say.
His first instinct was not to be seen. He looked around for the nearest point of cover. Three feet to his left was an oak tree, so quickly he jumped behind it and hoped that his breath wasn’t visible in the cold night air
For two hours he remained rooted to the spot, waiting for the man to leave. He was so cold; after all it was the middle of the night. Constantly he stamped his feet on the hard grassy ground, they felt as though they could freeze to the spot if not constantly moved. Jumping up and down on the spot he struggled to keep the blood circulating around all parts of his body.
The sound of a carriage drawing up broke into the silent night air. From the sound of it, the cab must have come to a halt outside of the Masonic Hall. Very slowly he looked around the tree, being careful not to expose any more of his frame than was required.
The carriage sat at rest with no passenger in sight to fill its interior. The horses were becoming restless, butting their heads up and down in the night air. The cab driver calmed them with an “Easy lads, easy.” As if he’d spoken a magical spell the two charges came to an easy standing position. Not another sound was heard from them.
The heavy dark oak doors of the building opened and out he came, doctor’s bag and all. Slowly, almost majestically he walked down the stone steps that lead from the doorway to the street below. Silently he mounted the carriage and without any command to the driver the horses pulled away.
A split second decision was needed by Kitchener; did he follow the cab or investigate the hall? The cab was almost out of sight and now he was freezing cold with standing around. The warmth of the hall seemed inviting as well as intimidating. So that’s what he would do.
In the entrance hall of the lodge Kitchener could hear voices. He looked around for a moment trying to get his bearings. The room he stood in was decorated with strange symbols and had regalia hanging from the walls. He didn’t have the faintest idea what any of it was or its meaning. He was more interested in finding the source of the voices. The white marbled corridors stretched out in front of him, doors lined both sides of the passage.
Kitchener slowly and silently set off down the corridor in search of the source of the voices, which became louder the further down the corridor he strayed. Grateful for the marble floor, which was almost silent to walk on, no echo was given off the cold, hard surface. Half way down the passage he found the door he sought. Voices could be clearly heard from inside the room. On the door a wooden plaque indicated the room’s purpose. ‘Inner Members Library – Strictly Private’
So, even the Masons have a class system he thought to himself. Looking around to check no one was with him, he put his left ear to the door and listened.
Behind the door in the book lined library thirteen men sat around an oval table. The air hung heavy with grey cigar smoke. One of the many men spoke, “The press are having a field day.”
All the man gathered there that night for the secret meeting looked pretty well similar to one another. Most had grey hair, all smoked cigars and dressed in winged collars and frock coats. “We have vigilantes on the streets, anything could happen. The last thing we want is the lower classes rising up; this is exactly the kind of thing that could be a catalyst for revolution. Its not long since the Great Mutiny and our forces are dangerously stretched across the globe. We should be taking care.”
A hum of discontent circled the table. One of the attendees coughed loudly and repeatedly. He was unfortunate enough to be taking a mouthful of brandy as the last speaker’s rant mentioned the prospect of revolution. His choking continued as a man with grey, swept back hair stood, ready to calm the situation.
“Everything’s under control…” he spoke with such authority the uncomfortable hum that rounded the table died away. All attention turned to him. “The vigilantes are in my employ. They are just another distraction for the already over stretched Police Force. Now, two or three more should be enough and then the plan will be in place and ready to put into action. I also have a cover story ready in the unlikely event of anything going wrong. Then it will stop.”
The assembled company sat in silence, each one feeling a little guilty for ever having had doubts about the master planner. Only one member raised, or at least dared to raise, a question.
“And her head?”
“Just another victim of our friend, its for the good of us all.”
“And our friend, Jack?” a murmur of unrest travelled around the room at the mention of the name all had sworn not to say,
“He will get his seat and pave the way, under our control of course, for all of them. Gentlemen, the fruits of our labour.” He raised his glass, as did all of those assembled, repeating the toast and then laughing at the prospect of a great empire to come.
Outside the door Kitchener listened intently. Trying to make sense of what he’d just heard, he decided that discretion was the better part of valour and made towards the front entrance.
In desperation he tried to string the snippets of the conversation together that he had managed to hear. No matter how many times he ran through them it came out with only the one explanation. Their friend Jack? That could only be one person, but then what did he mean by all of them, was there more than one Jack the Ripper? He was not convinced; after all he had seen him at the murder scene and here tonight leaving the meeting.
Who was being referred to when the voice said ‘She’ and what was her connection to the Empire? The most logical explanation was too terrible to contemplate. Was she going to be a victim of the Ripper?
“I had to get a look at who was at that meeting.” Kitchener told Strand who was now sitting on the edge of his seat. “Hiding behind the same tree as earlier I watched them come out and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. They were all Parliamentary Ministers in Government or opposition. The last man to leave was…”
He was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Both men looked at each other, both with the same expression on their faces; that of fear. Kitchener made a gesture to Strand, who understood immediately. Both men took up a position ready to intercept anyone coming up the stairs into the living room.
Strand stood there motionless, his hands were shaking like the leaves on a tree in an autumn breeze. He couldn’t control his fear, Kitchener looked on and realised that the keeper wouldn’t be much good if it came to a fight. Size and strength he possessed in abundance, but nerve, he had little of.
The footsteps became louder, getting nearer, until through the hatch leading down from the living room came a large mop of curly hair. Following on came the figure of Donald Preston. Slowly one step at a time he came up the wooden steps.
Kitchener readied himself for the pounce, but as the stranger reached the penultimate rung he saw the two men waiting for him, he let out a groan and fell head long onto the living room floor. Kitchener reacted immediately, “Quick man, get him up.”
Both men lifted Preston onto the nearest sofa. He was considerably heavier than he looked. They struggled to manoeuvre him as his arms flopped around at the slightest movement of his body. Finally though they made it.
“Whisky” ordered an out of breath Kitchener.
Strand jumped to the task; such was the authority in the Englishman’s voice. The keeper handed his own glass of whisky over, which was sitting on the floor next to where he had been moments before.
“Thank you.” Kitchener took the glass from Strand and offered it to the newcomer’s lips. “Here drink this,” he said in a calm voice. A drop of whisky was gently poured into Preston’s mouth. It appeared to have the desired effect as he came around and then the liquid hit his throat and a coughing fit erupted. Preston sat bolt-upright a look of horror on his face. Strand jumped back in fright at the sight of the large man in his state of panic.
Anticipating the reaction from him Kitchener held him down in restraint.
“No, please no?” pleaded Preston.
“Alright man, calm down, We’re friends.” Strand said in a calm voice, although speaking from a safe distance.
Preston, with an almighty effort, threw off the burley figure of the Police officer, tossing him across the room. Turning his attention to Strand he looked, and then calmed down, which was much to Strand’s relief.
This man was wearing the attire of a lighthouse keeper, rescue was here.
Coming soon, chapter 12.
