Person or Persons Unknown (10 page)

Though not tardy, I found him already hard at work, perspiring freely, banging away with his fist at a great bag of sailcloth about the size of a man’s trunk which swung free from a tree in one comer of the yard. It seemed to be filled with sand or dirt, for its weight was substantial.

He happened to turn as I crossed the stable yard, which was empty but for two grooms lounging indifferently about. I was glad he spied me coming, for it seemed a risky matter to tap him on the shoulder when he was so engaged.

“Ah, Jeremy,” said he, “glad I am to see you. I took an early start, seeing I’ll be doing more teaching than working. I do like to get up a sweat each day, you see. Seem better for it, somehow.”

“I’ll remember that,” said I.

“Aye, you’d do well to keep it in mind.”

He was panting a bit. I wondered if he had not already put in a full hour.

“Now,” he continued, “where might we start? First of all, doff that hat and pull off your coat. Though it’s a bit cool today, you’ll soon warm up.”

I did as he told me, then rolled up my sleeves as well, as he had also done.

For a good five minutes he put me through a most strenuous series of stretches and pushes which quite exhausted me. But then I learned that all of it was mere preparation for what was to follow. And that was a period of hard work beating upon that heavy bag which hung from the tree. I could not make it swing freely as he had, yet that did not trouble him. Mr. Perkins was far more particular that I delivered my blows in the correct manner, leaning forward with each one, or as he put it, “throwing the body behind it.” When I got the knack of that, I was able to make the bag swing a bit, and very proud I was. Yet just as I began to enjoy myself a bit (in spite of the rawness in my hands), he stopped me, saying that would do for now.

“But we’re not through for the day,” said he. “Ah no. For you must understand there’s more to defendin’ yourself than fisticuffs. As a matter of pure fact, you’ll meet with few troublemakers willing to stand up and meet you man to man. If they’re bigger than you, they’ll try to wrestle you down and gouge out an eye or throttle you dead. If they’re your size or smaller, then you must watch out for a knife.”

“What then?” said I.

“Then, well … Take a look at me, Jeremy. If we were of the same strength and had the same skill with our fists, you’d have an advantage, now wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose I would.”

“Because you have two hands, and I have but one, ain’t that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But look sharp now.” He stood close. “I have a knee to cause you great pain in your privates.” And with that he pumped his leg so that his knee touched my groin yet without the force of a blow. “And I have a head to butt with.” He grabbed my shirt and pulled me even closer, and then he touched my forehead with his own.

“Now,” he continued, “some of your blackguards are quite adept at kneein’ and buttin’, but few of them — I’ve yet to meet one — who could manage this or defend proper against it.”

He left me and went to the big bag hanging from the tree and put on a remarkable demonstration. He whirled about the bag, delivering kicks at it from one side and then another. He would feint with one foot, then hit with another — and then perhaps a double feint before striking. He kept constantly in motion, moving with the grace and speed of a dancer. But the kicks were delivered sharply and from every angle; some of them, it seemed, were sent home with deadly force. I had never seen, nor even imagined, the like.

Then, of a sudden, he stopped, turned, and walked to me. Again he panted slightly, yet he was nowhere near exhausted, as it seemed to me he should have been.

“Your kick is your best weapon,” said he with a wink. “And that is because your legs are stronger than your arms. You can deliver it from your arse and break a bone. At the shin is good, for even if you don’t break a leg, you can cause great pain. At the knee is better, for the kneecap is not well set, and if you dislodge it or crack it, you’ve crippled him absolutely. Best of all is the kick in the ribs, for if you break one of them — and they’re not terrible strong — you may damage his inwards.”

“But Mr. Perkins,” said I, “is it fair to fight so?”

“Are you daft, Jeremy? You’re no bully. You’ll not go out looking for trouble. But trouble may find you just any day or night. When some villain seeks you out, you must defend yourself. He will not fight fair. You shouldn’t neither.”

“Yes, sir, I understand.”

“Now let me see some kicks from you. You needn’t keep moving as I did — not for now — just give me a few.”

I let fly two, shifted my position, then hit the heavy bag twice more.

“Good,” said he, “but put more snap into it. Snap it from the knee.”

I went at it hard, trying to do as he had instructed.

“Better,” said he, “but hit higher. Aim for the ribs.”

More kicks, then:

“Put your arse into it. This time I want you to kick with the left, and feint with the right. The only defense he has is to grab your foot and set you hopping. If he shows you he intends that, then you let him have a fist in the face. His guard will be down most certain. So let’s see a kick, a feint, and a blow to the face. Go on, Jeremy, you’re doin’ fine. You’re a right good scholar, you are.”

The second victim was found twenty-eight days after the first. Here, as I understand them, were the circumstances of the discovery: Constable Clarence Brede, a man of taciturn nature not well known to me personally, had been making a tour of those streets and lanes beyond Covent Garden as far as St. Martin’s Lane. Circling back on Bedford Court to Bedford Street, where the stews and dives were well filled even at that hour of four o’clock in the morning, he found his way to that narrow alley which led to the churchyard of St. Paul’s. It occurred to him he had not checked it first time round, and so he set off towards the locked gate of the churchyard. There was apparently no one about. A setting moon was low over the church. It provided sufficient light for him to see a large bundle or object up against the spiked bars of the churchyard fence. He hastened towards it, and coming near he saw that it was a body, the clothed body of a woman. She was, for the most part, supine, yet her shoulders were propped up against the fence, and her head lolled forward upon her chest. Any thought he may have had that the woman might simply have fallen there in a drunken stupor was quickly dispelled when he made to slap her cheek lightly to waken her. The cheek was cold. Her head flopped to one side. By the light of the moon he then saw that her chin and jowls had obscured a mortal wound circling her throat.

Immediately he pulled his tinder box from his pocket and lit the lantern he carried with him. Lifting her chin slightly he examined the wound more closely and saw that at its center there had been a good deal of bleeding which was not immediately apparent, for the blood had run down to the collar and bust of her frock, which was of a shade of dark blue called indigo, and been absorbed. It was half-dried and tacky to the touch. Constable Brede left the body where it lay and, with his lantern held high, made a general search of the area. By the time he had satisfied himself that his first impression was correct, that there was indeed no one about, he had returned to Bedford Street. Seizing upon the first nearly sober fellow to happen along, he asked his name and where he lived, then instructed him to proceed in haste to Number 4 Bow Street and inform the first constable met there that there was a murdered woman at the gates to St. Paul’s churchyard, just off Bedford Street. Constable Brede added that if the fellow were to fail to deliver the message, he would be guilty of hindering a constable in the discharge of his duties and would be dealt with severely by Sir John Fielding, Magistrate of the Bow Street Court. The messenger set off at a tipsy jog-trot, and the constable retired to the gates to stand guard over the corpus.

Thus it came about that I, called from my bed by Annie Oakum, accompanied Sir John and Benjamin Bailey to the site of the second homicide. It was well on to five o’clock, perhaps a bit after, by the time that we reached our destination, and there were in the east gray hints of dawn approaching. If Constable Brede’s messenger had faithfully fulfilled his mission to Bow Street, he must also have told quite a few others along the way about the murder at the churchyard gates, for upon our arrival, we found that a considerable crowd had gathered. There must have been twenty or thirty there, and among them, five or six women. They had congregated at the far end of the narrow alley near the gates, inspired by nothing more than rowdy curiosity. Most were inebriated; a few seemed to have difficulty keeping their feet. They seemed to be pressing in on the constable. But for his part, he held firm, keeping them at bay a good eight or ten feet from the prone figure which he guarded.

“Follow me,” said Benjamin Bailey.

And that we did — Sir John last of all with his hand upon my shoulder — proceeding close in the wake of that giant of a man who had long served as captain of the Bow Street Runners. Mr. Bailey simply pushed through the assemblage, his club held before him in two hands, spilling them right and left as he led the way to Mr. Brede.

“Ah,” said the beleaguered constable, “glad I am to see you. I’ve had to whack a couple, though I’ve broken no heads.”

“Well, you and Mr. Bailey must clear them out. You have my permission to break a few if you must,” said Sir John. “But first I shall give them warning.”

He stepped forward so that he was near nose-to-nose with the front rank.

“I am Sir John Fielding, Magistrate of the Bow Street Court,” he announced. There were grumbles in response.

“I order you to disperse,” he continued. “Any who think they may know the identity of the victim of this attack or have information to offer, I would have you wait in Bedford Street. The rest of you are to return to your dwelling places that we may be free to conduct our inquiry without interruption or bother. I shall give you a minute to clear the area, then I shall bid my constables to drive you out. Any who resist will be subject to arrest, fine, and imprisonment for not less than thirty days.”

Sir John took two steps back and waited. About half the crowd, including all the women in their number, immediately turned about and started for the street beyond. The rest remained for but a moment, exchanging sullen glances, then began backing away, some slowly, most at a quickstep.

“Mr. Bailey, when you and Mr. Brede have seen them to Bedford Street, I would like you to remain there to see that they do not return. You might also interrogate those who may have information to see if any are worth my bother. Mr. Brede, when you have reached the street, please return to me and give your report.” He gave a moment’s pause. “You may proceed, gentlemen.”

The two constables set out with some wide distance between them. Each held his crested club before him in two hands. What was left of the crowd scattered before them. One of the most drunken, however, permitted his legs to become entangled one with the other and fell sprawling before Mr. Brede. Unable to rise, even with the assistance of a whack on the backside administered by the constable, the poor fellow simply scrabbled with his elbows and knees quite without result. Mr. Brede bent down and said something that was lost to me in the clatter of feet on the cobblestones, then he moved on and left him lying. It took but a minute more to clear the alley.

“Have you noticed, Jeremy,” said Sir John, “that there seems to be an increase in riotous behavior, unruly crowds, and the like?”

“Now that you mention it, sir, yes, I have.”

“There was a terrible disturbance in St. Martin’s Lane but a month past and another in Drury Lane two weeks ago near as bad.” He paused, then added, “I do fear the rule of King Mob.”

Constable Brede came back at a jog-trot, pausing only to have a word with him who had fallen. Then, a moment more, and he was with us.

“Mr. Brede?”

“Yes, Sir John, I am here.”

“Then give your report, sir.”

That he did, using far fewer words than I have in describing his discovery of the woman’s body. He was, as I have said, a taciturn man, reserved in nature, one who kept himself a bit apart from the other constables. Not unfriendly was he — simply a bit stiff in his manner — an uncomfortable man who seemed to make others uncomfortable, too.

“Do you believe the attack took place where you found the body?” asked Sir John.

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Well… why. Constable? What did you find to support your belief?”

“It’s what I didn’t find.”

“Yes?”

“After I saw she was dead, I lit my lantern and went searching in case the killer was still about — though I thought that unlikely. I also kept an eye open for blood spots. They wasn’t any to be found — nowhere in the alley. There was something else, as well.”

“And what, pray tell, was that?”

“Well, sir, if you wouldn’t mind stepping over here to where she’s lyin’.” I guided Sir John for the three necessary steps. “When I come back, and before the crowd started to come, I took a closer look at her with the lantern, and I saw her dress was unbuttoned and just pushed together, like. So I ventured a look — I know we’re not supposed to disturb things but I thought it might be important. May I now, sir?”

“Yes, of course.”

Except for a cursory glance upon our arrival, I had not looked at the victim lying against the gates. The ugly wound at her throat was quite visible as Mr. Brede held up his lantern for us to see. Then he knelt beside her and pulled open her frock. Though certainly not experienced at viewing the dead and having little knowledge of the sort of damage possible to the human body by a determined assassin wielding a knife, I was not then, nor have I ever been, what one might call squeamish. Nevertheless, I was so shocked at what I saw that my stomach took a sudden, nasty turn. I turned away in disgust.

“I know you can’t see, sir, so you must take my word she’s quite bad cut-up in her body.”

“Jeremy, can you be more specific?”

“Yes, sir, I’ll try.” I took a deep breath to begin and was suddenly aware of a bad odor compounded of blood and bodily organs, a slaughterhouse smell. “There’s a big long cut from between her breasts to as far down as I can see. Then there are cuts under the breasts and the skin has been pulled back and sort of tucked to her sides so her inwards are exposed. There’s a deal of blood, and some stuff like thick, bloody rope has been pulled out of her.”