Whitechapel: The Final Stand of Sherlock Holmes (3 page)

Monty, as his family called him, was hiding in the garden playing with dolls he’d stolen from his older sister’s room. He was making them do things to one another, delighted by the stiffness of his member as one doll stripped the other and tied it down with vines that grew between the fences. A large shadow passed over him with its arms spread and flapping like a great bird. He looked up, shielding his eyes as he peered into the sky, just as Georgiana landed on the fence.

She was impaled face down, staring directly at him, squirming on the spikes. One was speared through her throat, reducing her voice to hissing, gurgling noises as she sputtered his name.

Another spike stuck out of her side, opening her so that intestines spilled down the length of fence beneath. Cords of her innards uncoiled towards him, spooling all the way to the ground like a slime-ridden ladder.

Georgiana reached for him, fingers wriggling in the air. He ignored her, hesitantly touching the intestines, feeling their warmth and wetness.

Georgiana grabbed him by the collar, shaking him violently. Monty screamed, trying to wrench her hand away. Monty’s screams brought his father running, who quickly began screaming on his own.

~ * * * ~

There was no funeral. Georgiana’s body was placed in the wine cellar, covered by a sheet, until William made arrangements for her to be taken away. A carriage came to their home and the body was placed inside. When the carman strapped the horse and the carriage wheels turned down the dirt road leading away from their home, Dr. William Druitt collapsed in a sobbing heap on the front porch.

Ann Druitt’s expression did not change as she watched the wagon pull away. She looked down at her weeping husband, then went back into the house and up the stairs without speaking.

For the next week, Monty’s father moved about the house in complete silence, as if in a fog. He did not eat or speak to anyone, except for the late nights when he would come into Monty’s room and hold the boy, kissing his forehead again and again.

One day, a new carriage arrived, coming down the path and Monty looked out the door in wonder as dust billowed up from the ground.

The carriage stopped and a young man in a British military uniform dismounted and smiled at him. William raced past Monty through the door and grabbed his eldest son excitedly, kissing him on the cheeks, thanking him over and over for coming home. Will waved for Monty to join them, and he regarded the boy for a moment, “You were just a little bloke when I left home, Monty. I cannot believe how much you have grown. I brought you something.” Will reached in his pocket and produced a carved ivory elephant, which Monty took from him, eyes glowing.

That evening, the two brothers sat together in the front yard, leaning back on a large oak tree, looking up at the stars. “Do you like it so much in India, Will?” Monty asked, turning the elephant in his hands to see it from all sides. “Is that why you never come home?”

“There are other reasons, but I would rather we discuss them when you are older,” Will said, blowing smoke rings from his pipe up toward the sky.

“Is it our mother?” Monty said. “Was she as cruel to you as she is to me and Georgiana?”

Will carefully regarded his younger brother and then played with his hair, “You are a startlingly bright young man, little brother. The worst thing about being in India is that I do not get to see you. Would you like to come visit me?”

“Yes!” Monty said, taking the pipe. “I want to join the Army when I am old enough. I bet everyone thought you were a hero when you went to fight the dirty Indian rebels.” He sucked on the pipe eagerly, but retched when the hot bitter smoke filled his mouth, gagging him.

Will laughed while patting Monty on the back. “Well, be prepared for a battle long before you join the army. When I first signed up, the whole family was against the idea. Georgiana told me I was a barbarian for wanting to go slaughter innocent people who only wanted freedom from the oppressive East India Trading Company. That all changed after Cawnpore, though.”

“What is Cawnpore?” Monty asked, spitting the pipe’s foul taste from his mouth and handing it back to Will.

“Cawnpore was a garrison town for the Company. The British General stationed there was married to an Indian woman. He spoke the local language. When the rebellion started, he was a close friend to many of the high-ranking Indian members of the opposition. Even as the insurgents came closer and closer to Cawnpore, he thought his family and the people he protected would be safe, spared by his many connections to the local community.”

“Were they?”

“No,” Will said. “The bastards attacked his town, overwhelmed them and forced everyone to surrender to the resistance’s leader, Nana Sahib. One hundred and twenty women and children were taken hostage by the Indian forces, imprisoned in the home of a local clerk. Nana Sahib then hired five men to kill every single one of them with hatchets. They say that by the next morning three women and three little boys were found hiding under the mountain of bodies. The women were forced to strip all of the corpses, and throw them into a well at the rear of the property. Once these proper English women had finished this gruesome task, the five men came and pushed them down into the darkness after their compatriots. The little boys were thrown down next.”

“Alive?” Monty said.

“Yes, alive. I should not be telling you these things, Monty.”

“Why do you say that, Will? I find it amazing!”

“Amazing? What the bloody hell is so amazing about that? You a sickie, Monty? That is what we call the boys in our unit who see something ghastly and think it’s exciting, instead of wretched.”

“No,” Monty quickly added. “I am not a sickie.”

“Of course you aren’t. Come on then, enough of this nonsense,” Will said, getting up. “Do you play cricket?”

“No. It looks too difficult.”

“Of course it isn’t. Playing that game is simply all we do in India. Starting tomorrow, I will teach you to play.”

“India sounds wonderful, Will. Promise you will take me there someday.”

Will put his hand on Monty’s shoulder and said in a serious tone, “If it is the last thing we ever do together, I promise to take you there.”

~ * * * ~

Will cut his pudding into small sections, sopping up the gravy politely, then smiling and sighing over each bite. “I will tell you this much, it is a sheer delight to eat food that does not have curry in it.”

“I will thank you not to discuss that disgusting, foreign culture at my dinner table,” Ann said.

Monty lifted his pudding and took a bite, quickly dabbing the gravy from the corners of his mouth before anyone noticed. He did not find the meal nearly as delicious as his brother, and was trying to finish it as quickly as possible.

Will nodded at him, pointing to a bit of gravy he’d missed. “Actually, Mother, at the risk of speaking further about things that disturb your delicate sensibilities, I need to talk to Father about something.”

“William,” Ann said through gritted teeth, “Do you hear him ruining my Sunday dinner?”

“Now, now, darling,” William said, patting her hand. “Let the boy speak. It sounds important. Will, please use the utmost restraint.”

“As you wish, father. I wanted to tell you that I am going to finish my service with the Army and return to England.”

“Really? What are you planning on doing?” William asked.

“I would like to go to the University,” he said, adding quickly, “but not for medicine. I want to pursue legal studies.”

William’s face darkened at first, but he managed a nod. “Well, I am pleased that I will no longer have to worry about you dodging bullets in India. You have my blessing.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“I hope you do not intend to stay here,” Ann said. “I have my hands full taking care of these two, and will not suffer to be worked like a slave in my own home. Your father refuses to hire on anyone to assist me, as much as I beg him.”

William shook his head. “Let us not discuss this now. There is no need for things to become agitated.”

Monty recalled the last person who worked in the home, and how Ann had attacked the woman and chased her from the home at point-of-knife. It was one of the few times that he’d seen his father lose his temper and shout that he would never subject another living soul to his mother’s insanity. She’d ripped handfuls of hair out of her head and shrieked furiously as William locked her in her bedroom and told her through the door that he would let her out when she collected herself. It took two days.

“I will be leaving for Blackheath in a few weeks,” Will said. “There is nothing to fear, mother.”

Monty’s head whipped toward him, “You’re leaving?”

“Just for a little while, Monty,” Will patted him on the shoulder. “The time will fly until I return, you’ll see. Once I am home, I promise you and I will have grand adventures together. Does that sound all right?”

That night, the two brothers lie in Monty’s room. The young boy listened intently to everything his older brother said about the mysterious and faraway places he’d been to. Will talked about interesting foods he’d eaten and unusual instruments that made sounds stranger than anything Monty could imagine. He talked about wild animals that would stalk you in the darkness and slice you open if you did not kill them first.

~ * * * ~

Every day when Dr. William Druitt finally came home from Portsmouth, Monty would be standing by the front window listening for the sound of the cab’s wheels crunching along the country road. The boy smiled brightly when William emerged from the carriage carrying his worn leather medical bag. William always tipped his top hat at the cab’s driver as he passed, entering the house.

Sometimes Monty and his father played a game, where William would pretend not to remember where he’d hidden a treat for Monty, and the boy would have to guess which pocket held the taffy, or sometimes a small, wooden toy.

“When can I go with you to work, father? I want to be a doctor like you.”

William hugged him tightly. “When you are old enough, if you still want to be one, I will train you to be as I am.”

One evening, as father exited the cab he was met by a man and his son. The man introduced himself, and William shook his hand, gesturing for the two of them to enter the house.

“Monty?” William said, opening the door to let the others in. “This is Mr. Jack Reed. He is the new manager of the farm next to us, and his son Clifton is your age. Come say hello so you can make friends.”

Clifton was handsome and tanned. Monty smiled and they waved to each other quietly. “Can you play cricket?”

“No,” Clifton said.

“Come on and I’ll teach you.”

Clifton was instantly better at the sport that Monty was. The boy was strong and sure of himself after spending his entire life on one farm or another. He had been helping his father scythe wheat and chop wood since he was old enough to hold the tools. The only consolation Monty could find was that Clifton knew every possible thing about animals that Monty could think to ask, and could describe in intimate detail how cows were butchered and how chickens behaved when beheaded.

Clifton had also seen several cow births, and at Monty’s insistence, related the colors of the juices that spilled out of the animal’s orifices, and the gelatinous sack the newborn calves slid out in.

One day the two boys were playing in Monty’s room, and Clifton was complaining that he was tired of telling the same stories over and over, and no longer wanted to play cricket or any of the other games they knew. “Do you ever want to become lost from everyone around you? To hide yourself so that no one may find you?” Clifton said.

“I have one place,” Monty said, “but it is a secret place and you must swear to never tell anyone you were ever there.”

Clifton nodded eagerly and Monty took his hand, leading him down the hall toward the staircase. He instructed him on tiptoeing silently around the jars and toiletries. He told him which steps to avoid stepping on and keep them from squeaking.

As soon as they were in the room, Clifton surprised Monty by kissing him on the lips. Monty stepped back and swiped his hand across his mouth in disgust and said, “What did you do that for?”

“It is just for practice, Monty,” Clifton said. “So you can do it right when you kiss a woman for the first time.”

Monty looked down, feeling his cheeks grow hot. Clifton came closer to him, pressing his chest against Monty’s and lifting his chin. Their lips touched again and Monty relaxed, letting Clifton control him. He lost himself in the embrace, not hearing the door open behind them.

~ * * * ~

“Do you like how you look?”

Tears spilled hot and thick down Monty’s face. He could not bear to look in the mirror. Ann snatched him by the back of his neck, shaking him. “Look! Look!” she screamed. She swung the thick belt across his bottom again, stinging one of the open wounds. Monty howled in pain.

Porcelain dolls lined the shelves of the room. Rows and rows of wide-eyed, evil-looking, ceramic children stared at Monty in all his humiliation. None of them had been touched since Georgiana took a running leap past the bed and out of the window.

“Look at yourself, in all your filth,” Ann said, grabbing a handful of Monty’s hair.

Monty finally looked in the mirror, seeing the bright yellow flower print of Georgiana’s dress. For a moment, he thought he saw his dead sister’s face, wearing the dress and winced. Georgiana looked as she had the day she died, face swollen and blood-stained. This face, however, was Monty’s own, covered and smeared in the makeup his mother had forced him to apply.

“Do you like being a girl?” she demanded, shaking him.

“No,” Monty said.

“Do you want to be a girl?” she screamed, bending so that her mouth was directly in his ear.

“No!”

“Do you like wearing your sister’s dress, sinner?”

“No!”

Ann whipped him across the back and shoulders, making the boy scream even louder than her own shrieks of “Never, ever do that again! Filthy animal! Filthy, wretched beast!” The leather snapped across his skin, raising welts with each strike. She lost her grip, and the buckle of the belt clipped across the back of his head, cutting it open.