Constable & Toop (28 page)

‘Yes, sir?' said Alice, appearing at the door.

‘I need to send Admiral Hardknuckle an urgent memo about an escaped convict by the name of Lapsewood.'

‘Yes, sir,' she replied, glancing at Lapsewood with sorrowful eyes.

‘This isn't the end,' said Lapsewood.

‘It is for you,' countered Colonel Penhaligan.

But Lapsewood had not been speaking to him. He had been looking at Alice.

‘Go,' she mouthed.

Lapsewood nodded, then turned to Ether Dust and escaped into the Paternoster Pipe Network.

Reverend Fallowfield sat in the coffee shop with an open newspaper in front of him. He had picked up a taste for good coffee in Paris, but had struggled to find anywhere in London that served anything remotely drinkable. As if that wasn't bad enough, there was the matter of the over-friendly waitress, who hovered over him holding the coffee pot, unable to see that he wanted to be left alone.

‘Terrible business, them murders,' she said, holding the coffee pot threateningly near to his cup without actually pouring.

‘Yes,' replied Reverend Fallowfield curtly.

‘What sort of man could do such a thing, Father? Surely that would be the devil's work.'

‘The devil does his own work,' replied Reverend Fallowfield. ‘This is the work of man.'

‘What kind of man, though? That's what I can't understand,' continued the waitress, undeterred by his blatant hostility.

When finally she poured the coffee and found another customer in need of attention, Reverend Fallowfield pulled out a piece of paper tucked into his tunic. He ran a crooked finger down the list and found an address. He looked back at the newspaper. The same address was listed. He checked the others. Each one cited in the article was on his list. Each one had been ticked off his list. What did it mean? Were these killings meant as a threat? A warning? It would not be the first; Reverend Fallowfield had made a great many enemies over the years. There were many in the church who objected to the clerical collar he wore in spite of his never having been ordained. They failed to understand that he answered to a higher authority than the corrupt institutions of churches.

‘Sorry,' said the waitress, returning. ‘Did you want my attention?'

‘No,' he snapped.

‘Only you were talking. I thought perhaps you wanted something else. A refill, perhaps?' She looked at his untouched cup.

‘I was talking to myself,' he replied, irritably.

‘Oh.' She let out a burst of intolerably loud laugher. ‘Not to worry. I do that myself sometimes. They say it's the first sign of madness, but I've got plenty more of those. I think we're all a bit mad, don't you?'

‘I was saying that perhaps you were right,' he said. ‘Perhaps this killer is doing the devil's work.'

‘Well, let's hope they catch up with him. Hanging's too good for these people.'

‘Yes,' said Reverend Fallowfield, picking up his cup of coffee to drink. ‘Yes, it is.'

Mr Tiltman stepped out of the taxicab by the entrance to Drury Lane Theatre. A sign outside read:

Mr Tiltman helped his daughter onto the pavement too.

‘The London nightlife,' he said, taking a deep breath. ‘There's nothing quite like it.'

Mr Tiltman's words were tinged with the sadness of one who was appreciating that which he would soon be denied. The offer he had put in on the house in Honor Oak had been accepted. The Tiltmans were moving to the suburbs.

Mr Tiltman paid the taxicab and led Clara into the theatre, where he purchased two tickets for the circle.

‘So how shall we expose this fraud?' he asked, as they made their way up the great staircase.

‘I told you. I do not believe Reverend Fallowfield to be a fraud,' replied Clara.

‘Oh, Clara,' said Mr Tiltman. ‘The world is full of men like him, preying on the gullible for his own financial benefit. They dwell in politics and in finance. Religion has its fair share. But this Fallowfield is more akin to the tricksters who stand on street corners with three cups and an unfindable penny.'

‘I disagree. The man with the three cups knows he is tricking his victims. Reverend Fallowfield believes in his own powers and I'm afraid so do I.'

‘So you think we will see a real ghost tonight?'

‘I have no doubt of it, and I believe I can prove it,' said Clara.

Mr Tiltman clapped his hands together in delight. ‘I feel a wager coming on. Name your terms.'

‘If I am right we stay at Aysgarth House,' said Clara.

Mr Tiltman smiled and shook his head. ‘Out of the question. The decision has been made. More reasonable terms, please.'

Clara had known this to be a long-shot. ‘Ten shillings, then,' she said.

‘I will give you three shillings, the price of the ticket, if you can prove it.'

They shook on it and Clara felt a tingle of excitement at being out with her father, being treated like a grown-up, even if it was only for one night.

‘How do you propose to prove this claim, then?' asked her father.

‘I'll show you.'

Clara had already noticed that the man checking tickets on the door was the actor whom she had met on her previous visit.

‘Tickets, please,' he said.

‘Excuse me,' said Clara. ‘I have a question.'

‘If it's why this great theatre is interrupting an excellent performance of
Doctor Faustus
for a novelty act, putting trained actors such as myself, Mr Edward Gliddon, on the doors, then I can't help you.'

‘It's about the ghost,' said Clara. ‘The Man in Grey.'

‘Oh, him,' said the actor, still not recognising her from their previous encounter.

Her father watched on, amused, but saying nothing, allowing his daughter to take the lead.

‘As someone who has seen the ghost and heard much about him, can you tell me his name?' asked Clara.

‘I've never heard any mention of it. I don't believe it's known.'

‘You're sure? No one knows his real name?'

‘That's correct as far as I know.'

‘Thank you.' She turned back to her father. ‘Let's go in.'

Mr Tiltman handed the tickets to the disgruntled actor and they entered the theatre. ‘What does that prove?' he asked.

‘No living person knows the name of this ghost,' she said. ‘But I do. If Reverend Fallowfield reveals his name as David Kerby then I'm right and you owe me three shillings.'

‘This is your proof?'

‘The only way for me to cheat would be if I was in league with Fallowfield, and you have my word that I would not speak to the man again, let alone work with him.'

Mr Tiltman inwardly congratulated himself on his part in helping to produce such a clever and funny girl. He shook her hand again. ‘I agree to your terms,' he said. ‘Although I have no idea how you might be sure of such a thing, if no one knows it.'

‘Maybe I have researched the theatre and found the name.'

‘Have you?' enquired Mr Tiltman.

‘Or maybe I have a list of ghost names,' continued Clara.

‘It is times like this when I wonder whether I was wrong to bring you up into such a progressive family. Dr Wyatt's two daughters would never dare act so mysteriously with their father.'

‘Nor so interestingly,' countered Clara.

‘True,' admitted Mr Tiltman.

The theatre was far from full but it was a sizeable crowd that had turned up to see this spectacle. A hush fell as the lights were dimmed and the curtain was raised. No fanfare or puffs of smoke introduced Reverend Fallowfield as he stepped onto the stage. In fact, he looked a little like a man who had taken a wrong turning to find himself there.

‘Good evening,' he mumbled.

‘Speak up,' yelled a voice from the stalls, causing the whole theatre to collapse into laughter.

Reverend Fallowfield scowled back at the heckler then said, ‘I am here to reveal to you the devils who walk amongst us, the half-lives of the undead, the aberrations who stand in contempt of God's almighty decree that the earth shall be for the living while the dead will be confined to hell or rewarded with heaven.' As he spoke his voice grew louder and louder. ‘I am here to rid this house of one such unpaying tenant. I am here to reveal to you then vanquish from this place the ghoul known as the Man in Grey.'

‘Where is he, then?' yelled a voice.

‘Did he have to pay three shillings a ticket too?' added another.

‘He is amongst us. I can sense the putrid stench of his ghostly presence,' said Reverend Fallowfield.

‘I think that's the drains,' cried someone, causing more raucous mirth.

‘You will not be laughing soon.'

‘I thought this was a comedy show,' shouted another heckler.

‘This is no show at all,' responded Reverend Fallowfield angrily. ‘No guile or trickery will be used. What you see here tonight is real. That is my guarantee to you.'

‘I want my money back,' yelled another.

‘You can have your money back if you are not, at the end of the night, convinced that you have witnessed a genuine exorcism this evening. Now, let us commence.'

Reverend Fallowfield slowly raised his arms and muttered incantations. The hecklers shouted out, jeered or threw peanuts, but in his trance-like state he paid little heed.

‘Spirit, show yourself,' cried Reverend Fallowfield.

A couple of drunken men in the front row repeated his words mockingly. But the laughter stopped when a woman seated in a box let out a piercing scream.

Clara nudged her father and pointed out the cloud of dust drifting down through the theatre, its particles catching in the dimmed gaslight. The dust gathered in front of Reverend Fallowfield on the stage.

‘Spirit, reveal your form,' he commanded, holding his arms up dramatically.

The smoke took the form of a human body. A pair of shoes appeared. Yellow stockings materialised. Then, a grey coat took shape. Finally, was the face of an extremely surprised-looking gentleman wearing a large, tri-cornered hat. The audience gasped. Even the hecklers were silenced.

‘Tell us, cursed demon, are you the spirit known as the Man in Grey?' asked Reverend Fallowfield.

‘Cursed demon?' said the ghost. ‘How rude. But yes, that's the name I'm known by, although, as you can see, it's an entirely inaccurate epithet. These yellow stockings were not cheap. Although I can say this of dying in them – I certainly got my money's worth.'

‘Silence.' Reverend Fallowfield held up an open palm then turned to the audience. ‘Does anyone here have a question for this spirit?' he asked.

‘What's his name?' bellowed Mr Tiltman.

‘What is your name?' repeated Reverend Fallowfield.

‘I can hear, you know,' said the ghost. ‘My name, sir, is Mr David Kerby.'

Mr Tiltman looked at his daughter with wide-eyed admiration. She smiled back. ‘Now I have two magic tricks to unravel,' he whispered.

‘Who else has a question?' asked Reverend Fallowfield.

More questions were asked and answered. The ghost told the audience of his life and of the circumstances around his death. He told them of all the great plays and actors he had seen over the years. He confirmed that yes, he had been on occasion been guilty of whispering lines to forgetful actors. Once he had got over the initial shock of being visible, the Man in Grey began to enjoy his moment in the limelight.

Soon the audience grew doubtful that this was anything other than a visually spectacular trick. One vocal dissenter suggested that the appearance of transparency was achieved with the clever application of paint, lighting techniques and carefully arranged mirrors. In response Reverend Fallowfield invited two volunteers up onto the stage, including the man from the door, Edward Gliddon. Reverend Fallowfield held the Man in Grey in place, then instructed Mr Gliddon to walk through the ghost. As he did so the audience gasped and watched with unblinking fascination. The second volunteer was an especially vocal heckler. Having watched Mr Gliddon walk straight through, he decided to stop in the middle of the ghost. Mr Kerby objected strongly, but it got a great laugh from the crowd. When the man still refused to move, Mr Kerby announced that, looking inside his head, the gap between his ears was so cavernous it was a wonder he was able to put one foot in front of the other at all. This got the biggest laugh of the evening and finally the man moved.

Reverend Fallowfield asked the volunteers to remain on stage for the finale to ensure that no trickery took place. He also asked for the lights to come up and suggested that everyone in the auditorium make sure they had a good view of the stage. ‘I will only be able to expel this spirit from the theatre once,' he announced.

‘I'd really rather you didn't,' said the Man in Grey.

‘You have dwelt here too long,' responded Reverend Fallowfield. ‘You will be exorcised.'

‘No!' screamed Clara, suddenly on her feet.

‘Sit down,' said a woman behind her.

‘He has done nothing wrong,' said Clara.

‘He is something wrong,' replied Reverend Fallowfield. ‘If you have not the stomach to watch this, little girl, then I suggest you leave.'

‘No.' This time it was Mr Tiltman on his feet. ‘This so-called man of God came to my own home with his begging exorcism. My daughter is right. You should leave this ghost be. He has done no harm.'

Reverend Fallowfield peered up at them. ‘I will rid this city of every damnable spirit, every demon, every devil that infects it,' he said.