The Best of Kage Baker

The Leaping Lover





12th January 1838 Friday morning



My Dear Matilda,



My fond regards to all those at Greta Bridge which seems very quaint to me now, as London is so far removed it is as great a difference as Heaven above Earth I suppose. You would scarcely believe what a time I am having at Aunt Pyelott’s. The glittring Society! The refined Gentlemen, so very solicitors for ones comfort! Such attentions I have received! But you will have to imagine it all as I could not begin to describe it.

I am gazing out as I write at a district known as Lime House, very genteel and of great antikwity. The Pyelotts reside in a gracious mansion in Salmon Lane, kinveniently located above Uncle Pyelott’s premises. The Garden is pleasantly rustick and Aunt Pyelott has a hen shed to make it more like the Country as that is the current fashion here, only of course she has a Boy to see to the eggs.

We often promernod through London, perhaps down to the Comercial Road or even as far as the Basin to see the Barges, and I wore my yellow morning gown the other day, the one that John said sets off my eyes so nice, but I was obliged to wear my black boots because of the kindition of the lane rather than the Maroko slippers which I would have much prefered. However I have a new Gown being prepared of exquisitt green stuff for the Ball which is being held Friday next and the sempstress is French of course and she informs me black slippers are all the Thing now so I shall be fashionably shod.

I almost neglected to mention, Aunt Pyelott’s cousin resides here as well, a Poor Relation, Miss Maud Bellman. She is a plain little thing with specktacles but quite agreeable and anxious to make herself useful as indeed she should be. I shall perhaps endevour to make something of her as the Poor if left to themselves often descend to degerdation. Aunt Pyelott has graciously gotten her a ticket to the Ball as well, though I cannot imagine the poor thing will show to her advantage.

I must away—Madame Hector is here for my fitting. Pray write and tell me how you are getting on and my kind regards to all the Prices.



I remain

Yours and cetrer

Fanny Squeers





20th January 1838 Saturday Noon



Dear Tilda,

Perhaps you were expecting some fond account of the Ball which I was at only last night but oh, what a far more terrible tale I have to tell!

Though I will say the Ball was a Triumph. As I suspected I far outshone poor Miss Bellman, who wore only a sort of puce dress more fitting to Tea but then she hadn’t any better, and I pity the creature. I condesinded to encourage her a little, and offered her the use of my old violet shawl with the jet beads, but she declined, at which I was secretly a little releeved because really it was too fine considering the other stuff she had on and not her colour at all.

The evening was fine for the season and so we walked there, the Ball being held at the Caledonian Arms up the lane. We had some exitement at the door for I nearly thought I had left my Invitation but at the last moment Miss Bellman found it in the bottom of my reticule for me. She really may make someone a 1st rate ladys maid with a little training and I must speak to Aunt Pyelott about it.

As for the Society at the Ball, well that was a little dissapointing because most of the men present were in the trade (clerks and such) and I could see they were somewhat overwelmed by my carriage. I graciously declined to dance with most of them although there was one Gentleman who is in Ship Chandlering or something, quite well to do, Mr. Clement I recall is his name, and he was there with his Partners Mr. Tacker and Mr. Johnson. I made sure to dance with all three.

I pitied one tall fellow with black whiskers who gazed at me with such elockwent longing! Had he mustard enough courage to speak to me, I declare I might have danced with him; little did I suspect his Wild Nature! But I am getting ahead of myself. Miss Bellman, poor creature, danced with one or two fellows of the lower sort and her face got quite red, which may have been the affect of the gin punch.

Uncle Pyelott was to have called for us in a Handsom but we left rather early as I was a little fateeged. Oh, Tilda, what small twists of Chance decide our Fate! For if I had waited—but you shall hear what befell next.

I was rather apprinsieve I confess coming away from Bow Common, on account of there was no more than a gibrous moon by which to see, and no light except the watchmans all the way across the field at the Cable Manefactry. What ierny! For we were quite unmolested all that open way, and the attack did not come until we we had once reached the Shelter of houses.

What, I hear you exclaim, attack! Yes, Tilda, attack! For as we were nearly to the bridge over the canal, on a sudden a Frightful Aparishen sprung out of an alley! He was quite tall, cloaked in Inky Black, which he flung back to Reveal a Horrific Counternance. There was a spark of fire at his Bosom and then he breathed out flames. I naturally screamed in terror and so I need hardly add did Miss Bellman, the more so when the Monster then seezed me in his Powerful Arms and tore at my rayment with Fearful Claws!!!!

What his intentions were you can scarcely imagine, as you have led a sheltered life, but I was fainting and almost unable to struggle against the Force of his Passion, and what might have happened if Miss Bellman had not found a half brick in the lane and struck my Asailant, I dare not imagine. His head rang like a dinner bell as he was wearing some sort of helment. He used dreadful langwedge then and released me, and then—to my astonishment—sprang away over a wall and we heard him running into the infathemable shadows of night!

I screamed all the way home though more from Fear and Shock than Injury, as his claws left only a scratch or two and some brooses this morning. I begged Miss Bellman not to tell Uncle Pyelott for reasons which will become plain, which were: that I suspect it was the handsome Clerk with black whiskers who so admired me at the Ball.

How I am certain it was no Unearthly Feind? You may wonder, but his face was at a distance of but inches and I saw plain he wore a mask. Also when he vommited fire there was a strong smell of gin afterward and I have seen gypsys at the Fair do as much, taking a mouthful of spirits and then blowing it across a brand. Miss Bellman found a burnt match in the lane as she was endevring to revive me and I do not doubt that was where the fire come from.

Poor man! Being unable to Approach me by reason of my Exalted Station, he contrived a desprate plan to sasiate his violent thwarted passion. I pity him but cannot somehow bring myself to condem him for it. Yet if my pa were to hear of this he would see him transported or at least hung.

When I contemplait what nearly occurred I fall into swooning. Be glad, Tilda, that you are unlikely to undergo such arrowing ordeals in Greta Bridge.

I remain

Yours and cetrer

Fanny Squeers





January 25, 1838 Thursday Morning



Oh Tilda,

I am so dreadfully low. I must unburden myself; though I cannot expect you to comperhend the nature of my woe. I do not think anybody could unless it might be Helen of Troy or King Arthurs wife whose name I cannot recall at the moment but who also was the cause of great suffering because of her fatal beauty.

My secret lover was not discouraged by the half brick, it seems. For some few nights after the Ball he has been seen several times around Salmon Lane, and in Catherine Street and on Bow Common. He is clearly haunting my path in hopes of beholding me once more. This is the consequence of passions feury denyed I suppose, that drives a man to madness, but of course I am staying in at night—it were worse madness to tempt him further. So all sorts of persons have been making kimplaint to the constables about a tall masked man who leapt out from the gloom of night to surprize them, only to assault them when he discovered they were not me. There has been a blacksmith, a Respectable merchant and two boys so attacked. The children in the Lane have taking to calling him Spring-Heel’d Jack.

All this were misery enough for me to endure, knowing my accurst charms to be the cause of so much trouble. Judge then with what horror I learned the news late this morning that my poor Admirer is now also accused of Murder!

You remember Mr. Clement that I told you about, the prosprous gentleman who had a Ship Chandlery warehouse? He was the foremost of those who danced with me at the ball, and very pleasant and agreeable he was too, not so old for a man with so much money. Well he is dead! Stabbed through the heart, and left to waller in his own goar! It happened only last night. He and one of his partners had just left their counting-house in the Comercial Road and walked homeward. The partner (I think it was Mr. Tacker) parted from him at Dalglish Street and was going on for he lives hard by St. Anns.

Mr. Tacker had not got far when he heard a shout coming out of Dalglish Street. ‘Here’s Spring-Heel’d Jack!’ he thought it said. And following on this was a scream that he thought might be Mr. Clement. He ran back and turned into Dalglish Street, only to see his friend laying dead there, weltering in blood! He looked all round but it was at a point where two lanes crossed and the Murderer might have run off in any direction. He raised the cry and the Police came but it was too late. They have arrested Mr. Tacker as he was seen by the bleeding Corpse and there were no witnesses.

But it is said by everybody that the real Murderer is Spring Heel’d Jack, because there were two boot-prints in the mud by Mr. Clement’s Corpse but none leading up to it nor away, and it is supposed only Jack can leap so. Whatever shall I do? Can I think that I am responsibble for this shocking crime by reason of my beauty?

Be grateful, Tilda, that you will never bear such a weight on your conscience.

I remain

Yours and cetrer

Fanny Squeers





18th February, 1838 Sunday Afternoon



My dear Matilda,

So much has happened since last I put Pen to Paper, I hardly know where to begin. What news, you will surely ask, of Spring Heel’d Jack? What of the Infamous Murder? Read on and see for yourself.

You will recall I was sunk in woe at the thought that my dashing Admirer was guilty of so fowl a crime. Miss Bellman heard my tears and was so considerate as to ask what the matter was. Silly creature! As though it were not too plain. But I must not be unkind as she has no admirers and so no understanding of my grief. When I told her my fear she said it was certainly very queer that everyone said Spring-Heel’d Jack took such prodeejous leaps, when she had not seen him demonstrate any such Power.

I told her not to be a goose, because I myself had seen him Leap a wall at least ten feet high with but one bound. She replyed, that it wasn’t ten feet but only four or five at most. I grew quite cross with her until we went out and looked at the very wall and I saw that she was correct in her asertion. The late hour, the shadows of night and my mortal terror must have affected my apperhension of the scene.

That was when the idea struck me like a Bolt from Heaven! What if some other person had designed to murder poor Mr. Clement, perhaps for his money, and seezed the opertunety of all the uproar over Jack’s pranks to do it but make it appear as if it was Jack? I was convinced this was what had really happened and knew then that I must go to the Police, even at the risk of my good name, to explane things. If my Admirer were to be captured he would surely hang, unjustly, and my heart should break.

So I took Miss Bellman with me to the Police Station and it was very unsatisfacktry, you would think they would grant some creedence to a gentlemans daughter. So far from listening they were quite rude and positively jokular in their disbelief, but I determined not to leave the Station until I had some satisfaction. At last the Inspector called out a man of his, Constable Trumpiter, and bid him go out with us to look at the scene of the murder.

This Trumpiter is a pleasant youth if rather common and listened very thoughtfully to me as we walked back to Dalglish Street. Miss Bellman would keep interrupting me to explane things I should have thought were perfectly clear, but he heard her out without kimplaint. When we got to the scene of the murder I was in danger of swooning as there was still Blood in the street. Much of the area had been trampled over since the morning but we could still see the two boot prints in the mud by where the Corpse had layed.

I told the Constable what I had seen with my own eyes, vizz that Spring Heel’d Jack was only a man in a mask and could never have jumped over the houses to either side in the lane, never mind what foolish folk claimed, and that it were much more likely to have been Mr. Tacker done him in after all and put the boot prints there a-purpose to deceive. For I do not think I mentioned it before but Mr. Tacker is a sallow and ill-favoured sort of fellow, just what you would expect a Murderer to look like.

‘Why, Miss Squeers, I am glad you explaned,’ said Constable Trumpiter. ‘You are perseptive to be sure. Only we are not certain of Mr. Tacker’s gilt, because of the matter of the murder weepon.’ I wanted to know what he meant by that and he told me that the Dagger that made the fatal wound was nowhere to be found at the scene, nor did Mr. Tacker have it on him, and he had had no place to hide it before the Police came running into the lane in answer to Mr. Tacker’s cries.

‘Why have you arrested him then?’ said Miss Bellman, rather forewardly I thought. To which the Constable made reply that they had to arrest somebody or there would be Outcry, and in any case Mr. Tacker might turn out to have done it after all. ‘But what about the murder weppon then?’ she said. ‘Where is it?’

Poor creature, she has no idea that a true lady is diferdent and unassuming and never speaks up like that. Poor Constable Trumpiter sighed and with a nice show of patience said we should search for it again, if she liked, but the Police had already hunted pretty thoroughly. So we looked up and down Dalglish Street. ‘What horror,’ you are perhaps saying, Tilda, ‘to chance upon a Goary Blade!’ And well you might. Thankfully we did not find any such a thing, but I heard Constable Trumpiter and Miss Bellman exclaiming over something and when I run to see, they were looking at some footprints they found in a little lane which serves as a conexion between Dalglish and Magaret Streets.

It was the prints of someone who had stood in his stocking feet hard by the wall. Constable Trumpiter showed me how they came up from the Comercial Road and it was plain where the man had stopped and pulled his boots off and stood a long time by the wall, for his prints was very clear there. Then the stocking prints ran out into Dalglish Street and vanished under all the treading down of the Policemens boots. The two boot prints by the blood was the very same as the ones of the man who was wearing them before he pulled them off to wait in his stockings! And we looked a little more and found the stocking prints running back into the little lane, and out into the Comercial Road again. And I saw there, just at the kerbstone, a tiny drop of Blood!

So I said it was plain the Murderer had been hiding in the lane, took off his boots so as to run quiet, and waited till Mr. Clement came along Dalglish Street, whereupon he run out and stabbed him, dropped his boots down so as to make the prints, yelled ‘Here’s Spring Heel’d Jack!’ then run back the same way he came. Constable Trumpiter looked at me with admiration in his eyes and said he supposed it happened just so. He has peticklely fine eyes.

I then said what I thought, which was, that it might have been a Red Indian who slipped into the hold of some ship and traveled to England and crept out at Lime House, for they are supposed to delight in murder when it is least expected. But Miss Bellman said a Red Indian would be unlikely to know about Spring Heel’d Jack. Which I suppose is true.

Then Miss Bellman spoke up again and said she thought the murderer must have pitched the Bloody Blade in Lime House Basin. And it really seemed likely, because the last we could see of the prints before they dissapeared from being trampled by everyone in the Comercial Road, was that they seemed to be running for the Basin.

Constable Trumpiter was very taken with my prespickiticity, I could see, but he remained silent a while as he walked back and forth, looking time and again on what we had found. At last he said, ‘It cannot have been a lunatic, for the deed was carefully planned; but who would want to kill Mr. Clement?’

And I replyed that it must have been Mr. Tacker after all, that he might inherit all the Wealth of their business (for I knew Mr. Clement was a bachelor, you may be sure I asked at the Ball before I danced with him).

Miss Bellman said then that we ought to go speak with the prisoner, at which I very nearly swooned again at the mere idea but then thought better of it as he might confess the more readily if confronted by me with what I know. And, you know, Tilda, that though I am sensitive and shrink from unpleasantness, I can steal myself to face even Roaring Savages in matters of the heart.

So Constable Trumpiter took us round to see the Wretch in his tank. He had been weeping, most unmanly. My blood boiled to see him there, and I was all for striking him and demanding the Truth, but Miss Bellman put herself foreward again and asked him to account for himself, rather timidly I thought. Mr. Tacker asked the Constable whether he had to reply and the Constable said he had better, for we would not be denyed.

Miss Bellman then asked Mr. Tacker why he wept so, and he said ‘I am an innocent man’, and called on God to witness he had not murdered Mr. Clement. She then asked him what had happened and he said that on Wednesday all had perceded as usual, except that at midday the younger partner Mr. Johnson had gotten word that his mother was ill and left to rush to her bedside. So he, Mr. Tacker I mean, had shut up the office at 6 o’clock and he and Mr. Clement walked together along the Comercial Road as was their dayly custom. They parted at Dalglish Street like they always done and Mr. Tacker walked on, suspecting nothing was amiss until he heard the shouting.

I then asked him the question which was burning foremost, which was ‘Did you see a tall man in a cloak, wearing a mask?’ which he replyed that he had not done, indeed he had seen nobody but the deceesed lying there until the first Policeman come running in answer to his cries for help. And Miss Bellman asked had he quarreled with Mr. Clement and he said ‘No, never’.

But I could tell he was seezed by some great fear, as I am peticklely good at noticing that, so I said a little roughly that he had better not lie, for Truth Will Out. And the Constable said too that all his affairs would be gone into to veryfy what he said, and Mr. Johnson questioned as well.

At which Mr. Tacker blubbed again like a baby and, throwing up his hands to Heaven, said ‘Oh, then it will all be known’ and told us that he had borrowed against the business funds but meant to pay it back, and would have done so already but for an enexplicable delay on the part of his corispondent.

Constable Trumpiter looked very grave at that and went and asked his Superior to step in and listen. They made Mr. Tacker explane. He said that some six months past he had gotten a letter from a very respectable Widow whose late husband was the Treasurer for a society of Frenchmen who were supposed to be Investers but really had secret plans to Overthrow the French Government. And when her husband had found this out he was horrorfied as well he might be and took the money and hid it in an account in the French Bank, meaning to transfer it to the Bank of England, but then the villains apperhended his plan and had him Asassinated. So his Widow was desprate to transfer the money and a mutual friend had recommended she write to Mt. Tacker as an honest man. All he had to do was open a French Bank Account in his name with Six Hundred Pounds and make her his signee on it so she could transfer the villains’ horde to his account and thence to an English account, in return for which kindness to a lady she would give him half the sum, which amounted to Ten Thousand Pounds in our money.

Well I would have done the same if I was a gentleman but the Inspector and Constable Trumpiter were pleased to be humerous about the whole thing and thought it a great joke. I was sorry for Mr. Tacker then and felt quite sure he had not done it after all. He got down on his knees and swore that the money would be replaced as soon as the French Widow wrote back to him, and that he was guilty of no other irregulerity and certainly not murder. For if Mr. Clement had not untimely died it had never come to light. They told him that was for the Coroner to hear out.

Constable Trumpiter asked him where Mr. Johnson (that was the young partner) lived, as he must be questioned. He gave us an address in Foxes Lane. Then Constable Trumpiter saw us out and I said we must go round to Foxes Lane at once to speak to Mr. Johnson, and Constable Trumpeter said we ladies could not possibly go there by ourselves as it is not in the best neborhood, and so offered to escort us. At which Miss Bellman simpered rather I am afraid. But I graciously thanked him and said we should be glad of the company.

Miss Bellman chattered on as we walked, saying that if so great a booby as Mr. Tacker had planned the murder, it had been extrornry. I thought that rather unfeeling of her. But Constable Trumpiter said he did not seem like much of a suspect now, still we would be surprized at the things he had seen in the Police. Whereon Miss Bellman, with rather too much artfulness, asked him to tell us please, whereupon he related several remarkable occurrences of Crime as we walked along. It is pity he is so common for he is rather clever, and very much the gentleman in his manners.

We got to Foxes Lane and it was indeed no place I should care to go alone, very mean and low, and it fell out that Mr Johnson lived in a lodging-house there. Or I should say, had lived: for when we knocked the owner of the Premises came and looked over the railings and said he was Cleared Out, having left Wendesday last. Which, you will remember, Tilda, was the day of the Murder!

Constable Trumpiter looked very grave at that and said he must be let in to search. To which the owner responded with alackrity and I must say people do respect the Police, they might almost be gentlemen.

We found a bare mean room quite empty but for some few Items of Furnituer that went with the premises, the bed and washstand and a monstrous old Scotch Chest. Miss Bellman went poking about whilst Constable Trumpiter spoke to the owner and found out that Mr. Johnson had not run off owing anything, indeed he had paid up and arranged for his trunk to be sent away two days before. And Miss Bellman looked at Constable Trumpiter as much as to say that that was odd since he had got the news about his Mother being ill only afterward on Wendesday. Constable Trumpiter asked where the trunk had been sent and the owner did not recall except it was to the village of H_____.

Just then Miss Bellman exclaimed, having been looking in the kimpartments in the Scotch Chest. There was an envelop stuck in the back of one, that had slid down so only a corner was poking out, as perhaps it had been missed in a hasty removal. Constable Trumpiter came and tried to get it out but couldn’t pinch it hard enough and in the end I had to do it myself as my arm was siffishently slender enough to get back there and my fingers are quite strong when it comes to pinching.

It was a letter addressed to a Mr. Edmund Tollivere of Swan Cottage in H_____. I opened it and read it at once and it was only from a servant telling him his grandfather was taking clear broth now and felt much better, and asking whether he wanted his books sent on. I thought it must be from some former lodger but Miss Bellman pointed out that the village was the same as where the trunk was sent. Also it was dated just last month.

I saw plain that Mr. Johnson must have been the murderer, or why would he be living under a false name and running off in such haste? I said as much to Constable Trumpiter, who agreed that it was highly suspicious.

By this time it was quite late and so Constable Trumpiter escorted us back to Salmon Lane and we parted, with him promising to bring all this matter to the attention of the Inspector. I was sure my poor Admirer was out of danger of unjust Persecution.

Alas! I had not reckoned with Jack’s foolish persistence. That very night he surprized a carpenter walking home late and blew fire in his face, as well as kicked him pretty hard and trampled on him somewhat. Constable Trumpiter came round to see me next day looking greatly aggreeved, to say that a Degelation of Cittzens had been to the Police Station and demanded that Spring Heel’d Jack must be brought to Justice. In consequence of which the Inspector would not listen to what we had found out about the mysterious Mr. Johnson, but ordered all his men to extra duty after dark, and I gather made some insulting remarks to Constable Trumpiter as well. His fine eyes flashed with impatience as he spoke of it.

Whereupon Miss Bellman, who happened to be sewing in the room and heard this, said that we might go to H_____ ourselves and see what we might find out, as it is only an hours journey out of London. Constable Trumpiter said then that if we ladies were intent on going, he would go with us, since he was not on duty until half past Nine.

I was a little concerned about the perpritey of this but Miss Bellman is all of seven-and-twenty, quite old and plain enough to serve as a suitable Chaperone. So we left a note for Aunt Pyelott, who had taken a glass of cordial for the Headache and was resting, and hired a man to drive us to H_____.

H_____ must be a pretty little town in summer, I was surprized to find such a rustick spot so close to London, with a nice Inn called the Moulders Arms where we had some refreshment for which Constable Trumpiter paid, very much like a gentleman though I suppose a Constable’s wages is not very great, and I fear he was showing off a little for my sake which was dear of him. Afterward he advised me to walk about and enjoy the fresh air and pleasant sights while he went round to make some inquiries.

Miss Bellman wanted to see the shops, though of course she has no money either, and there was only the one shop in any case. But nothing would do but she must go in, so we did. It was very like Mr. Wealies shop in Greta Bridge only rather bigger with more wares. I diverted myself looking at things but Miss Bellman engaged the shopmistress in continuous chatter and really I could not think what she was at at first.

She began with cumpliments about what a pleasantly situated spot H_____ is and how nice the air is and asked the shopmistress, did folk live to great age thereabouts? Because she had an Elderly Relation in London who the Doctors advise must quit business for his health, and he wouldn’t, but she thought that if she might find a convenient place close by London he might agree. Now I almost said out loud ‘What stuff’ because of course she has no such relation unless it was Uncle Pyelott and he is quite well.

But you see it was an Artful Ruse. For she got the lady to talking about all the old folk in the village, Gammer This and Old Mistress That and Mr. Somebody’s uncle who was a hundred and two though deaf as a post and blind and had to be kept by the Hob like a baby and couldn’t remember a thing past three-quarters of an Hour though when he was clear headed he could tell you all about being at Calcutta with Clive. ‘So all the old folks are quite hale and sound?’ said Miss Bellman.

‘Well,’ quoth the shopmistress, ‘There is poor old Mr. Spool, who has been ailing these three years and is expected to go off any time now; and he is only five-and-seventy I think; but sorrow and temper have shortened his years, which only goes to show that money ain’t everything,’ and of course Miss Bellman asked what did she mean?

Well it seems that this Spool had been given to prudent Industry and built a manefactry somewhere in the north and made his fortune quite young. He came down to H_____ and built a Mansion and married. Before many years wore out he was blest with a son and then a daughter. But lately he has been greatly dissapointed in the grandson who has been ordered out of the house.

And Miss Bellman said, ‘Would that be young Mr. Tollivere?’ which quite amazed me and was the first inkling I had she is a cunning and crafty creature, for one who looks so simple. And the shopmistress said, ‘Oh, so you heard of him, have you?’ and added that he was indeed wild in his ways and she told about how when he was no more than ten years old he came into her shop and made off with two fistsful of sugar sticks to a value of sixpence.

A man came in then to buy limiment for Sheep so we said Good Afternoon and left.

I asked Miss Bellman what she was getting at and she said, ‘Don’t you see? If Mr. Johnson is really Mr. Tollivere, then we know he is a bad sort. What business did he have going up to London incognitto?’

I said, that I supposed he needed money but was too proud to let it be known he had to go into a business. And supposing he had done the Murder for the money? But Miss Bellman asked why did he leave London then, you would think he had staid and got the benefit of Mr. Tacker being arrested, which would leave him in possesssion of their Firm. Which I didn’t know. By then it was snowing some so we went back to the Moulders Arms because Miss Bellman is thin blooded and not robust as I am.

We were having a warm by the public room fire when Constable Trumpiter came in looking very handsome, with the cold putting a bloom in his cheeks, and have I mentioned his hair is curly and a nice chesnut color? He swept off his hat and sat down by us and looked at me very direct and said, ‘Miss Squeers, you danced with Mr. Johnson, did you not?’ To which I replyed that I did, and he said ‘If I was to give you a pencil and paper, could you draw his counternance?’

At which I blushed for I never learnt drawing as my pa engaged that drawing-master but he left after a week and took the spoons too. So I demured. Constable Trumpiter said ‘Perhaps then you might describe him to me?’ and he took out a notebook and pencil and licked the pencil point. ‘Was his face round or long?’ So I said long and gave other particulers, with him asking more questions, and in a few minutes he held out the open book and said, ‘Is that him?’

I declare, Tilda, he had Mr. Johnson, or should I say Mr. Tollivere, to the life. He tapped the book with his pencil and said that he had found out the way to Swan Cottage by asking, and had gone there and watched, and seen this very gentleman standing at a window of the cottage. I was all for going there direct and having him Arrested, but Constable Trumpiter said we needed more Evidence he had done something wrong.

Miss Bellman then exitedly told him about what we had found out from the shopmistress. The Constable’s eyes sparkled something lovely, he was very pleased; he said he’d just go up and see what he could learn from the servants up at The Larch, which was Mr. Spool’s Mansion. Miss Bellman wanted to go too, which shows a kimplete lack of discretion about what is proper, but Constable Trumpiter very kindly pointed out the snow was falling

rather harder now and she ought to remain by the fire.

So we sat in the snug and had muffins and tea, and I am afraid Miss Bellman displaid an unbecoming apptite. She is rather plump, and if she goes on in this way I do not doubt but that her figguer will be the worse for it. Still it is unlikely to matter much, as she is certain to make an old maid.

She lowered herself so far as to engage in conversation with the serving-maid who brought the muffins, asking what the news of the day was. The girl replyed, that there was to be a great party come Coronation Day, and Squire H_____ had put in an order for six barrels of wine to drink the little Queen’s health, to be ordered special from France.

Miss Bellman then asked if it was likely Mr. Spool would attend, at which the girl made a great show of scorn and said not likely; that he was a quarrelsome old man (only man is not the word she used, but to write the same would pollewt my pen) and hated everyone, and was like to die before summer ever came anyway. Then she coloured and said she was sorry to speak so, if we knew the man.

Of course we didn’t, but this was more of Miss Bellman’s cunning, for she said, ‘We only know him by hearsay; but I had heard Mr. Spool was recovering and expected to live a while yet.’

The saucy girl then put her finger by her nose and said she heard diffrent; and went so far as to sit down across from us and impart the news that her brother who knew the gardner at The Larch had heard that Mr. Spool was sending to find his son, that he had quarreled with years agone, so as to make amends, and why should he do that unless he were like to die?

Miss Bellman said she supposed it might be so; and asked whether the old man had had any news of the boy. The girl said he wasn’t a boy, if he was still alive; he would be quite old himself now. But from what she had heard, the earth might have swallowed him up for all that any one knew what had become of him, since he walked out of his fathers house declaring he would never see him again, and that was thirty years ago.

Miss Bellman said that was a great pity and the girl asked if there was anything else we wanted. I told her, ‘No, I thank you’ and when she had gone I wished to have a few words with Miss Bellman about her deplorble habit of conversation with anybody.

But she exclaimed, that she’d give a pretty penny to know how much money Mr. Spool had to leave to his Heirs. Which was such a common thing to say, I was quite repelled, though I wondered about the money myself. So we sat there, though she did not seem to notice my Mortifyed Silence because she was thinking quite hard, muttering to herself now and again, and her cheeks were so red from the cold and then sitting by the fire that I pitied her, for anyone seeing her must think she had been drinking Liquor.

Presently Constable Trumpiter came running in and said we must rouse our coachman if we were to get back to Lime House before nightfall. When we were back in the coach, Miss Bellman repeated what she had heard from the serving maid, and Constable Trumpiter forbore to rebeuke her, but listened courteously.

Then he told us what he had learned, which was that Mr. Spool had a great deal of money indeed, and had had someone in to see about rewriting his will. It was supposed he had meant to Disinheirit his Grandson, Mr. Tollivere. He had forborn doing this while his daughter was alive, but she had gone to her aternal reward two years since, leaving the Wastrel some little money of her own.

I saw at once that here ‘Mr. Johnson’ was caught out in another lie, for had he not said his mother was ill? And here she was dead. Which I said to Constable Trumpiter, who quite agreed. Though I still could not disern why the undoubted villain should kill a complete stranger like poor Mr. Clement.

We parted with many respectful remarks and that night I lay in dreadful nightmares, all about Murder and Bloody Blades. Then I was in the shop in H_____ and it was full of sticks of sugar shaped like little Policemen, and when I turned around there was Spring-Heel’d Jack, who went down on one knee to offer me his heart, which was made of metal and ran with blue and white Flames.

Next morning we heard how my poor Admirer had led the Police a merry chase, though they had been out with clubs and nets to catch him, and still had jumped out at an old woman near the Gas Works and pulled her hair. You can imagine that I breathed a sigh of relief to know that he had evaded Capture another night, but I did wish he would ceese this foolish

passionate behaviour.

In the afternoon Constable Trumpiter came to the door, looking rather tired but smiling, and asked whether I and Miss Bellman would like to go with him back to H_____, for he had just come from making more Inquiries and felt sure he had enough Evidence now to make an Arrest. I said yes with great alacrity and very nearly danced with impatience while Miss Bellman explaned to Aunt Pyelott. Aunt Pyelott was disinclined to let us go at first and the more so when she saw the two stout fellows Constable Trumpiter had with him, but on hearing what we were about she said to be sure and get a share in any fines that might be collected. Which had not even entered my mind I am sure.

In the coach, Constable Trumpiter told us what he had found out by going to the late Mr. Clement’s house. The Housekeeper had let him go through Mr. Clement’s papers and he had been specially interested in a packet relating to Mr. Clement’s late father: Certifiket of Death, debts paid and such. Most interesting of all, he said, were some old letters from a Miss Adeline Spool (later Mrs. Adeline Tollivere) at The Larch, H_____.

It seemed plain to me that this Mr. Clement’s father must have had some romantic connexion with Miss Spool, and perhaps there was a Missing Heir. What if Mr. Clement had been Mr. Johnson’s (though I should call him Mr. Tollivere) Lost elder Brother? Except of course he should be ilejitimate, but sometimes great families hush that sort of thing up. Constable Trumpiter said that all would be revealed in due time.

We were delayed on the Road what with one of the Horses going lame and had to change for a fresh one at Five Mile House, so it was twilight when we arrived in H_____. We drove straight to Swan Cottage. Constable Trumpiter said we ladies had perhaps ought to remain in the Coach as there was likely to be unpleasantness when he arrested Edmund Tollivere. He got out with the two stout gentlemen, who took a pair of clubs from under the seat, and they went and knocked at the door of the cottage. No sooner had they been admitted than Miss Bellman said she must know what befell, and I agreed, so we got out and walked round the cottage to see if there was any convenient window to listen at. I am afraid I tript over and fell in a lettuce-frame, which dissarrayed my hair rather.

Just round a box-tree on the corner of the house was a window, and we could see in as well, though by reason of the falling dark we could not be seen. The two stout gentleman were standing at either door, and Mr. Tollivere stood before his hearth. Oh, what a change had come over his countenance! For I had seen him at the Ball the very pictuer of agreeableness, but now his expression was all compounded of fear, scorn and wickedness genrally, and it made my blood boil to see him so and think of his awful designs.

Constable Trumpiter stood before him, very grave, and was just saying something about the suspicious circumstances attending Mr. Tollivere’s hasty removal from London, where he was living under a false name. Mr. Tollivere said he’d done no such thing; he had lived quietly at Swan Cottage these five years and never traveled. Constable Trumpiter said he had witnesses to prove otherwise.

Mr. Tollivere then sneered and said he had witnesses of his own who would swear that he’d never gone up to London at all. Constable Trumpiter, with no show of annoyance, said that there was also the matter of the murdered man being Mr. Tollivere’s cousin, which made the next likely to inherit a sure suspect in the fowl crime.

‘Oh, very likely,’ said Mr. Tollivere, ‘My Grandfather has had paid men searching for his son for years now; they should have found him if anyone might, if he were still alive.’

‘But they did not have what you had,’ said Constable Trumpiter steadily. “Letters from Edgar Spool to his sister, your late mother, letting her know that he was well and had settled in London under the name of Clement.’ He went on to say that later Mr. Spool-Clement must have written that he was married, for his sister wrote back to ask whether he would not reconcile with his father on the happy occasion. But, said Constable Trumpiter, he must have refused; for her next letter was dated some years later, offering consolation to her brothers widow and son.

‘And when your mother died,’ said Constable Trumpiter, ‘You, going through her papers, found the letters from her brother, and learnt from them that you had a Cousin, and who he was and where he was likely to be. It was then you first planned to murder him.’ For you see Tilda, the Cousin (that was young Mr. Clement, the deceesed), should he be found, would stand to inherit all the Fortune.

How I admired Constable Trumpiter! He stood tall and straight and looked so handsome in his uniform as he was laying these charges. Edmund Tollivere said it was all rubbage and Constable Trumpiter said no it wasn’t. He then went on to describe how Mr. Tollivere had come to London, sought out his cousin, joined the Partnership under an Assumed Name, and watched all his cousins habits so as to learn when he might best do the dreadful deed.

When Spring-Heel’d Jack begun to Frequent Lime House, Mr. Tollivere devised his Wicked Plan, to make it look as though my mad Admirer done it. When I heard this I was struck dumb with horror at the wicked cleverness of it all, for though I had been sure he was Guilty I had not understood the Depth of his Cunning. And when I thought of poor Jack, who is only mad for love of me, being drawn into his web of deseet my rath knew no bounds!

Constable Trumpiter said, ‘Now, sir, will you come with us to London? For you must go before the Magistrait.’

Would you believe it Tilda, Mr. Tollivere said that he would not; that Constable Trumpiter had no proof of his cock-and-a-bull story, and they were not in London, and if they did not quit his house instantly he would see Constable Trumpiter dismissed from the Police for making False Accusations. But his voice was a little shrill and he was sweating.

I was in such a perfect feury I was insensible to danger, and seezed the window and pulled it open, and pointing my finger at him accused him of Murder; whereat all in the room started and Mr. Tollivere was so dismayed by the Violent Emotion in my countenance that he screamed and backed into the fender, which put him in mind of Hellfire perhaps, for he fell over howling and begging for mercy, and I realised he thought I was an Aparishen, perhaps of Stern Justice herself.

Anyone would have despised him, to see him so unmanned by womans beauty. And it seemed that while he was Groveling there with his trousers afire he let slip some few words that he had been led astray by bad companions and had only done it because he was in debt, cetrer, which Constable Trumpiter told him was a confession.

Well they put manacles on him strait and now he sits in gaol and will be Tried and Hung, I have no doubt. I am happy and sereen for I have cleared my Admirers name, or at least have ensured that he will not be taken up for Murder. I cannot imagine how anyone could plot the death of his own Flesh and Blood. But then my Family is a very diffrent sort, as we Squeerses are all very fond of ourselves.

Oh, Tilda, how quiet things must be at Greta Bridge, compared to this! I am afraid I shall find it rather dull when I return. My best regards.

I remain

Yours and cetrer

Fanny Squeers





23 February, 1838 Friday evening



Oh, Tilda, the Infamy of Men!



But you will not find this letter blotted with my tears. I am full of stern resolution and contempt for these poor creatures.

The news of Mr. Tollivere’s arrest was scarcely a day old when I had word that Spring-Heel’d Jack had proved false to me. He went to a house in Bow, enticed a Miss Alsop to come out to him in the Lane, and there Took Liberties with her person in a most shocking manner that left no doubt it was the same man who but a fortnight ago was so perockupied with me. It was Romeo and Rosaline played over. And there can be no question about his mistaking her for me because she had a candle by which he must have seen her quite clear.

After all my labours on his behalf to clear him of suspicion! I thought it really past anything for Rank Ingrattitude.

You should know too that Constable Trumpiter has proposed Marriage to Miss Bellman. We were all rather surprized but really it is much the best thing for her, even though he is so very common, as she is not likely ever to get a better offer. It is good for her she has such sharp eyes, she will need them when she must sew buttons on a poor Policemans uniform. And I daresay her plumpness will greatly diminish when she has to live on the sort of victuels a Policemans wage affords. May they be very happy together. I have no doubt they will be. But I had thought him a more discriminating person.

When we had been confronted with this news Uncle Pyelott was very cheerful, as well he might be since now he will be spared the expence of Miss Bellman’s keep, and said we should have a bottle of Madeera to celebrate. But there were none in the Sideboard and Aunt Pyelott asked if I might step out to the Wine Merchants which was still open. I was glad of any excuse to get out of the parlour, even on so dark an evening, for it was hard to conceal my Disdain at the imoderit way Miss Bellman was behaving with Constable Trumpiter.

I was coming back and had not got above four or five yards from the Spirits Shop when who should have the effrontary to leap out before me but Spring Heel’d Jack! My indignation knew no bounds and as you know I am Fearless when once my Temper is up. I brake the bottle of Madeera on a convenient wall and rushed at him with it, and the booby turned as if to run but I caught him and tript him up. The bottle did not cut him very badly because he wore some sort of oilskin, and he knocked it from my hand as I was dragging his helment off, but I took off part of his ear anyway and got my Knees on his chest and so held him down pretty well as I renched the Mask off.

Imagine my amazement, Tilda, when I tell you it was not the handsome man with the black whiskers at all! I recognised him for a shy dull fellow who had stood mute by the Punch Bowl and wore a vulgar waistcoat that hardly danced with anybody. Which, as I remember because I asked at the time, was because he was only somebody’s clerk and not worth cultivating the acquaintance of.

At the thought that such as he had dared to assault me, a gentlemans daughter, my very Blood boiled in my vanes. I rained Blows on him with my fists and pulled out his hair until he was screaming and weeping and emploring Mercy. He said it was only a joke and he meant no harm, and promised he would never do it any more. Only the thought that if he were taken by the Police it would all get into the papers made me decyst, and in any case he was making so much Noise someone might have come out to inquire what was the matter.

I did him an Injury he will not soon forget and, rising, pitched the disgusting Mask into the canal. When I came back with the new bottle of Madeera he was dragging himself away on his hands and knees and begun to whemper when he saw me, but I spurned to notice him and only kicked him once in passing for I had done with him.

When I got back to Aunt Pyelott’s I was quite faint at the dreadfulness of everything and was obliged to retire to my chamber the rest of the evening.

It has all spoilt the city for me rather and I have decided to quit London next week, instead of staying until summer. I return to Dotheboys Hall sadder, Tilda, but ever so much wiser. I shall not again soon—if ever indeed—lose my heart to perfidious Men.

I remain

Yours and cetrer

Fanny Squeers