“Please, whatever you can do.”
“I would love to assist you, Detective Sergeant White. I tell you what. I’ll decapitate Lady Clarence, Obadiah Deadlock, Edmund Cherrytree and Inspector Salt, who are the main culprits. Their group will fall apart without them. We can’t have a member of the police force involved with them – what would Queen Victoria say? In return, you must do me a little favour.”
“Which is?”
“In the near future I will need your help, and I will call upon you. It is a matter very close to my heart.” He looked at me almost as though he would burst into tears, and then within an instant he was grinning again.
“All right.” We shook hands. A deal had been struck. And I wouldn’t regret it.
“Don’t ever feel guilt, detective. Remember they are already dead. You are administering natural law and I am your willing assassin.”
I felt the greatest sense of relief. He was as mad as a spoon. But he was also oddly heroic and had absolutely no fear of anything. I wondered what on Earth had happened to him to make him into this creature. And I suddenly realised, I think, that I actually liked him.
VIII: August 1888
The Funeral of Elijah Whistle
What on Earth does one wear for a funeral? Something dramatic, obviously. The theme is death. So, black seems obvious, if not a little predictable, and I am not at all predictable. I was of course invited. I am one of the richest men in England and considered an amusing eccentric. So, I can really wear whatever I like. And I can kill whomever I like.
I’d chosen to wear white with, of course, my trademark red hearts. A dashing bachelor!
I’d been mulling over how to kill them all.
* * *
DECAPITATION
I simply love the word. Head over heels
I take my ancestral sword with me. Daddy will be so proud that it was going to get some use. Heads lying around the cemetery like pumpkins! I can’t wait. I do hope they have an interesting vicar. Maybe one with a lisp. It is going to be a splendid day!
Clippety-clop. Off we trot in my white carriage with white horses. I do like to make an impact. White is so saint-like. So ghostly charming. Clippety-clop. To Underwood Church and cemetery. I really could not be late. Important people to kill. Promises to be kept. Keep your fingers crossed, Detective Sergeant White. This one is for you, sir.
It is a beautiful, shiny day in London. My favourite city. My little world. I like to watch the people, the tiny dolls. Puppet people on invisible strings. The bearded ladies dancing in the mud, the rude, misshapen street children, the frog-croaking drunks. All this wickedness of history, layer upon layer of it, like one of Aunt Rosebud’s trifles. Poison neatly laid to rest in the layer of custard.
And we arrive at the gates of Underwood Cemetery. A little white church for the elite. Even a rose garden especially for the dead. How very pretty – and they were all hovering about like flies over dung. I could see Lady Clarence in a black gown with a string of pearls, she was weeping on the shoulder of Doctor Cherrytree. What a marvellous actress she would have made. A very sturdy Lady Macbeth, no doubt. Ooooh, and I could see Obadiah Deadlock, that orange-haired fellow on his own. Not much good with company, that one. Maybe he’s a bit shy? Even Inspector Salt was there, always good to have a corrupt member of the police force at a mock funeral. And out of the carriage I popped, sword in hand. Am I eccentric enough for you all? I approached them and bowed very low to Lady Clarence. “I really am terribly sorry about the death of Elijah. Have I missed the service?”
Lady Clarence looked at me as though I was a bug to be squashed. She reminded me of Aunt Rosebud in many ways. “Yes. It was a beautiful service,” she said, not really looking at me but at an imaginary audience. “We are about to bury him, if you’d like to follow us. If my nerves can stand it – I feel so frail. My poor Elijah. Taken so young.”
“Surely not that young, madam,” I piped in. “He was a good ripe age.” Yes, I imagine he was nearly one hundred.
And all eyes fell upon me. “But his talent will live on. It is certainly burned into my memory!” and I tapped my skull rather animatedly.
At this her lips pursed and she started to move into the cemetery, the rest of her acolytes trailing behind. I could hear Doctor Cherrytree, who was holding her arm, whispering, “Odd fellow, that Loveheart.”
Obadiah Deadlock crept up on me. “I do like your sword, Mr Loveheart.”
“Oh, thank you very much. I am quite fond of it, myself. Tell me, what’s the vicar like?”
“Oh, he’s fine. Has a bit of a lisp though.”
“Marvellous.” I said.
Obadiah scratched his large head, nervously. “I am worried about Lady Clarence. During the service she broke down in tears several times. And she’s such a strong lady. Quite formidable, if I dare say.”
“Yes, I was just thinking that she reminded me of my Aunt Rosebud.”