As Daniel and Abigail walked away from the Sickerts’ house, Abigail said thoughtfully: ‘This second murder.’
‘Kate Branson,’ nodded Daniel.
‘Why so soon after the first one?’
‘You have a theory?’
She nodded. ‘It strikes me that someone did it knowing that Sickert, as a result, would be prevented from leaving the country.’
‘Yes, that’s a good thought,’ agreed Daniel. ‘I think it’s worth going to see John Feather and making that point to him.’ He stopped and turned to make in the direction of Scotland Yard, but Abigail stopped him.
‘Do you mind if you went to see him on you own?’ she asked. ‘Only I’ve been preparing duck confit for the past two days, rubbing in the spices, and I need to finish it off. I’ve planned it for lunch, and after all that work I’d hate it to spoil.’
‘Duck confit?’ asked Daniel.
‘It’s a delicacy,’ said Abigail. ‘I told you about it. You take the legs of a duck and rub salt and thyme into them—’
‘Yes, absolutely,’ said Daniel hastily.
‘If you don’t take on board new ways of cooking …’ began Abigail, annoyed.
‘I do,’ said Daniel. ‘And I will. But right now I need to talk to John Feather. But I promise you, I will be looking forward to this duck confit with great anticipation.’
‘I hate it when you just say things to placate me,’ complained Abigail.
‘I’m not, I promise you,’ Daniel assured her.
She looked at him intently, then said: ‘A lot of work has gone into it.’
‘And I’m sorry if I was offhand about it,’ apologised Daniel.
She smiled.
‘Go,’ she said. ‘And you can moan to John Feather about me and my special recipes.’
‘I would never do that,’ he protested.
She leant forward and kissed him. ‘Go,’ she said again. ‘I’ll see you at home.’
As Daniel walked away, he told himself off: She was right. I was just placating her. I’ll make it up to her.
He was just weighing up the best way to make it up to her, what to give her as an apology present, when he felt a blow on the back of his neck which sent him staggering forward. Before he could recover his balance, strong arms had gripped his shoulders and forced him down, while at the same time a scarf was thrown over his head and pulled back, blinding and gagging him.
He felt knees fall on his back, pinioning him to the pavement, and his struggles managed to dislodge one corner of the scarf blindfold. Not enough to see properly, but he caught a glimpse of heavy boots appearing by his head and thought for a moment he was going to be stamped on. Instead, as he was held down, a voice above him hissed: ‘Why are you on Sickert’s side, Wilson? You knew it was him last time. You and Abberline. He may have got away with it before, but no longer.’ The toes of the boots moved out of sight and were replaced a moment later by a trousered knee and a fist. The skin on the wrist above the fist had the end of a tattoo of what looked like part of a capital L in blue ink. Then another voice, close to his head, snarled threateningly: ‘Stop protecting Sickert or your woman will be the next one carved up. And we mean it.’
Daniel felt cord being tied around his wrists, and then his ankles. Meanwhile the scarf was made tighter around his face.
He listened as he heard the footsteps leave, then he set to work to try to extricate himself, but whoever had tied him had done a good job and all his tugging and pulling just seemed to make the knots that held him tighter.
‘Hello, what’s going on?’ demanded a voice, and Daniel smelt the odour of stale alcohol.
‘I’ve just been attacked and left tied up,’ Daniel managed to speak through the cloth, hoping that whoever had arrived wouldn’t take advantage of his position and rob him.
‘Hang on,’ said the voice.
The scarf around his head was the first to be removed, and Daniel saw that the man who’d come to his rescue was wearing a long, grubby coat. As the man turned his attention to the bonds that held Daniel’s ankles, Daniel saw the words Dickens Brewery in large letters on the back of his coat.
‘I was just on my way to work when I saw you,’ said the man. He frowned. ‘Whoever did these knots knew what they were doing.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folding knife, which he opened and used it to cut through the cords around Daniel’s ankles, then around his wrists.
‘Thank you,’ said Daniel, getting to his feet. He held out his hand. ‘I’ll take the bits of string and scarf, thank you.’
The man looked puzzled, but handed them over.
‘They might help me work out who did it to me,’ Daniel explained.
‘Ah, a copper,’ said the man.
‘Ex-copper,’ said Daniel. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a two-shilling piece, which he held out to the man. ‘Thank you.’
The man looked at the coin, then shook his head. ‘No need,’ he said. ‘Just one bloke helping another, even if you used to be a copper. A kindness done for no reward is supposed to bring good luck, so maybe I’ll get lucky.’ With that, he walked off, whistling.
Sir Bramley Petton looked up in annoyance as the door of his office burst open and Walter Sickert rushed in, closely followed by Petton’s harassed-looking clerk, Leonard Watts.
‘I’m sorry, Sir Bramley, I told him you were busy …’ apologised Watts.
‘Yes, all right,’ grunted Petton. He looked at Sickert with a grim expression and demanded: ‘I suppose there’s a reason for you crashing in unannounced?’
‘There’s been another killing!’ said Sickert.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Petton.
‘The police think I did it.’
‘Have they told you as much?’
‘No, but they’ve barred me from leaving the country! It’s outrageous! I was on my way to Venice again, but they say I’ll be stopped from leaving Britain.’
‘Yes, I had a letter from Chief Superintendent Armstrong informing me, as your legal representative, that they require your presence in this country as a material witness.’
‘It’s the same! They’re keeping me locked up.’
‘They’re not,’ said Sir Bramley. ‘You are free to go wherever you wish, providing you do not leave these shores. Armstrong has been quite clever. He informs me that the police suspect these murders were done by someone with the aim of incriminating you. His evidence is the anonymous notes he’s received naming you, the latest of which was received by Scotland Yard this morning.’
‘Yes, Inspector Feather told me the same.’
‘His hypothesis is that the killer must be someone who you have had some acquaintance with who is determined to have you blamed for these murders. To that end it is vital you remain in the country in order for the police to have immediate access to you, should they consider someone as yet unknown as a possible suspect, for your intelligence on that person.’
‘But that’s outrageous! Surely there’s something you can do?’
‘Yes, I can get on with this very important piece of work that you have interrupted,’ snapped Petton. ‘My advice to you, Walter, is stay at home and wait until all this blows over.’
Abigail, her hands covered in flour and duck fat, looked up in surprise, and then concern, as Daniel walked into the kitchen.
‘There’s dirt on your trousers and jacket,’ she said. ‘What happened? Did you have an accident?’
‘I’m afraid it was quite deliberate,’ said Daniel. ‘I was attacked.’
‘Who by?’
‘Two, possibly three men. I didn’t get a proper chance to look at them, they pulled a scarf over my head and bundled me to the ground.’
He told her about being tied up, and about the threats.
‘They want us to stop digging for evidence that would prove Sickert is innocent?’ she said, astonished.
‘And if we don’t, they’ll harm you. In fact, the threat was that what happened to those two women would happen to you.’
‘This is appalling!’ she burst out angrily, going to the sink and rinsing her hands of the flour and fat. ‘We have to do something!’
‘Yes, you have to leave London. I suggest you go and stay with your sister, Bella, in Cambridge.’
‘What? Absolutely not!’
‘You’re in danger here. I can’t protect you, and nor can the police.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Yes I do. I was in the police. Unless you have officers guarding you 24 hours a day your life is at risk. I’m not even sure if you’ll be safe in Cambridge.’
She shook her head.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I refuse to live like that. We need to let Chief Superintendent Armstrong and John Feather know about this.’
‘All they’ll do is give you the same advice. With the best will in the world, they can’t protect you.’
‘There must be an alternative.’
Daniel sat down in his favourite chair, his face creased in thought. Then he said: ‘There may be a way.’
‘What?’
‘It depends on Armstrong.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll tell you on the way to Scotland Yard.’
Chief Superintendent Armstrong was in when they got to Scotland Yard, and Daniel and Abigail were invited into his office, along with John Feather, once the inspector had reported on the reason for their arrival.
‘They threatened to kill Miss Fenton?’ said Armstrong, shocked.
‘They did,’ said Daniel. ‘And the same way the two recent victims had been killed.’
‘You have to leave London,’ Armstrong told Abigail. ‘You’re not safe here. If someone wants to kill you, we can’t protect you 24 hours a day.’
‘I know,’ said Abigail. ‘That’s what Daniel said. And I’ll say to you the same thing I told him.’
‘She won’t go,’ groaned Daniel.
‘Why ever not?’ demanded Armstrong.
‘I refuse to be a victim,’ said Abigail. ‘I will not be bullied like this. I intend to see that justice is done in this case.’
‘Then what do you want us to do?’ asked Armstrong helplessly. ‘We’re doing all we can to catch this murderer.’
‘As are we,’ said Abigail.
‘I think there’s another option to handle this threat,’ said Daniel. ‘The attack on me shows that these people want Sickert in the frame for the murders. So Sickert didn’t kill these women, these people did.’
‘You can’t be sure of that,’ said Armstrong.
‘No, but I’m now sure that Sickert didn’t kill them. The first thing we need to do is ensure Abigail’s safety. And that means getting Sickert out of London. Once he’s gone, they won’t kill any more women here. Their whole strategy is to implicate Sickert. Get Sickert out of the country, and with a show of publicity, and the killings will stop. And so will the threat to Abigail.’
‘So he gets what he wants,’ scowled Armstrong, disgruntled. ‘Venice!’
‘I was going to suggest Dieppe. It’s near enough we can bring him back if needed. And he’s known there.’
‘The killers might follow him there.’
‘I doubt it, somehow. From their voices when they had me trapped, these men are working-class Londoners. They’d feel out of their depth on the Continent. And we fudge it by saying he’s gone to Venice, which would mean they’d have to go there to make sure he’s there. I can’t see them doing that. These are working men, I doubt if they speak either Italian or French.’
‘You’re still taking a chance with Abigail’s life,’ said Armstrong. ‘They might not kill her and butcher her the same way as the other two, but they could still carry out their threat to harm her.’
‘I know,’ said Abigail. ‘And I’m prepared to take that chance. I’ve been threatened before, remember.’
Armstrong sat, thinking, weighing up what he’d just heard, then finally he nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave it to you to tell Sickert. He’s your client.’
‘Thank you,’ said Daniel. ‘There’s another thing. When I was face down on the pavement, my nose was close to the boots of one of them. They smelt of blood and sawdust.’
‘Blood and sawdust?’ frowned Armstrong.
‘A butcher,’ said Daniel.
‘There was a butcher suspect in the first Ripper murders,’ mused Armstrong.
‘There was,’ said Daniel. ‘But that was nine years ago. That particular butcher was in his sixties, so he’d be about seventy now. The voice of the man who made the threats about Abigail was younger. About eighteen or twenty, something like that.’
‘You think a butcher did these killings?’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Daniel. ‘But it’s a possibility.’
‘But why? And why try and get Sickert blamed for it?’
‘Let’s suppose that this butcher was related to one of the women who were killed by the Ripper, maybe a son, and he heard the stories that were circulating around Whitechapel at the time naming Sickert, Prince Albert Victor and Sir William Gull.’
‘Which were poppycock,’ said Armstrong uncomfortably. ‘No evidence was ever presented against them.’
‘Because our investigation into them was stopped,’ said Daniel quietly.
‘I’m not getting into this,’ said Armstrong. ‘That was nine years ago. It’s water under the bridge.’
‘But say it isn’t to this young man. Say he believes those stories naming those three men as the Ripper. Gull’s dead. Prince Albert Victor’s dead. That leaves Sickert.’
‘You’re saying he blames Sickert and wants revenge?’
‘I’m saying it’s a possibility,’ said Daniel.
Armstrong fell silent, then said: ‘All right, we’ll look into it.’ He turned to John Feather. ‘I’ll leave that to you, Inspector.’ He then turned back to Daniel and Abigail. ‘In the meantime, you two make sure Sickert leaves the country today. And before nightfall. And make sure that everyone knows he’s gone. We don’t want any more dead women turning up on the steps of the National Gallery.’