Twenty-Two

The three men discussed their individual theories into the evening. Silas’ idea that the murder locations made a pattern of the Star of David and that it was somehow relevant, was soon dismissed and he saw why. How likely was it, Thomas reasoned, that a madman had found five locations — not counting Cornfield Yard — which not only fitted his purpose in name but also in such a precise pattern? When he found the same places on a larger and more detailed map of the area, it was clear that the lines of the star were not parallel and the symbol drawn was out of shape. Similarly, Thomas’ theory that the Ripper was trying to spell out Archer’s initial was also debunked.

‘Which leaves us back where we started,’ Archer said as he poured the last of the claret and handed the glass to Thomas.

The footman had his sleeves rolled again, and Archer had given him a cigar which he enjoyed as he stood, head down over the maps and his notes. With the lamp and candles reflecting light up at him from the paper, his face was lit through smoke which hung breathless about him as if not wanting to disturb his concentration. To Silas, he looked like a young businessman in his white shirt and black trousers pinching him at the waist, a fine figure of confidence who used his enquiring mind to challenge and create. He had to admit, that his initial impression of Thomas, that he was a stuck-up servant uncomfortable around, but fascinated by men like Silas, had changed over the last twenty-four hours, and he now harboured growing respect for the man.

The events of the previous night began to take their toll, and Silas found himself fighting back yawns as the room became stuffy. He took up a position on the couch, comfortable enough to take off his shoes, which were too big for him, and rested back on the arm, his legs up.

Where Thomas was static in concentration, Archer paced, and the more the clock struck the passing hours, the more his agitation increased.

‘I know you said that the murders are coming faster,’ Silas said. ‘But maybe we should knock this on the head and come back to it in the morning. There’s nothing you can do tonight, Archie.’

‘I am compelled, Silas,’ Archer said. He had discarded his jacket and waistcoat some time ago and like Thomas wore only his shirt. He had even removed the cravat and high collar, so that where his footman appeared to be a well-to-do man of business, Archer was the workman waiting for his employer to issue an order.

‘I think Silas may be right,’ Thomas said. ‘Unless you can think of any other relevant names from the past which might direct us, I don’t see what we can do to stay one step ahead.’

‘Unless this is all purely coincidence,’ Archer reasoned. ‘In which case, we are barking up the wrong tree.’

‘What are the chances this ain’t your brother?’ The thought had been with Silas for a while, but Archer had been so fired up and certain of his theory, he hadn’t wanted to burst his bubble. Now, though, it was late, his headache had grown worse, and he was keen to get to bed. Preferably with Archer. He could easily put aside the horror and frustration if he was alone in the man’s company.

‘It’s possible,’ Archer said. ‘It could all be happenstance. I might be reading too much into it. Perhaps Cornfield Yard wasn’t a mistake, and the name does mean something, but not to me. Perhaps this is a Jewish tanner as some of the papers suggest, or a medical man with a grudge as others are saying, who just happened to find his victims in streets that only I would find relevant. I won’t know until I catch him.’

His words brought a shift in mood. Thomas, from being statuesque and regal, spun on his heels to stare at Archer who was moving to the fireplace.

‘Catch him?’ he exclaimed. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘You can’t do that.’ Silas was also shocked by the idea. ‘You can’t just go charging into the East End brandishing a sword and…’ It was preposterous. ‘You can’t mean it.’

‘As I see it, I have no other choice. I can’t inform the police. To be honest, I trust them as little as you do, Silas. They seem to be more clueless than me, but by the same token, I can’t sit here and do nothing.’

‘Do you think,’ Thomas said, following Archer to the fire. ‘That if this is your brother, he may come here for you?’

‘The thought had occurred to me,’ Archer admitted. ‘But, as with the punishment aboard ship, that would be too direct. Not evil enough. He wants me to agonise as I did then, looking on helpless while those I care about suffer. I don’t think he will come after me here.’

‘I’d bloody slice his head off,’ Silas said.

‘If I hadn’t got there first,’ Thomas added.

‘Yes, thank you, gentlemen.’ Archer rested an elbow on the mantlepiece. ‘But, I must be the one to restrain him. I don’t want to see the man dead, no matter how much he might deserve it, that is a matter for the courts. What I intend to do is capture him and deliver him to the authorities.’

‘Capture him?’

‘It wouldn’t be impossible, Tom.’

‘Without getting your name in the paper?’ Silas raised an eyebrow.

‘Good point,’ Thomas agreed. ‘If this is your brother, the news will come out in the end.’

‘Yes, well…’ Archer sighed. ‘We will have to face that if it happens, but at least by then, I would have done something to end this bloody matter, and that might possibly count in my favour.’

‘And how did you plan on catching him?’ Silas asked. ‘Even if you could work out where he might strike next?’

Archer crossed the room to the silhouette and took it from the wall. ‘This is the only image I have of him,’ he said, examining it as he returned to the mantlepiece. ‘Apart from the nightmarish visions in my head. I haven’t spoken to him since I was discharged. He doesn’t even know our father is dead and that I have his title. He is lost to me and me to him, but he is calling out to me using the locations as if he wants me to find him.’

‘And you thought that if you turned up one night and there you both were, he’d stop?’

‘No, Silas, but if I knew where he was to be, I could surprise him. Talk to him. Prevent him from committing another crime, upset his pattern, if he has one, and persuade him to turn himself in.’

The naivety of the suggestion hung in the air with the cigar smoke as Silas and Thomas exchanged knowing looks. That would not happen, but neither was able to tell Archer. It was his only plan, and it gave him hope.

‘So, what do we do?’ Thomas asked. He took away the fireguard and threw his cigar stub into the flames.

‘I’m damned if I know.’ Archer said, and dropped the silhouette into the grate. The profile blackened and curled as it was consumed. ‘I am waiting for news.’

‘News?’ Thomas said nothing about what Archer had just done, and Silas thought it best not to comment either. ‘What kind of news?’

Archer looked at the time. ‘It won’t come tonight,’ he said. ‘After the third murder, I wrote to the sanitorium where Crispin is held. A few days ago, after the fourth murder, I dispatched a telegram. I have, as yet, had no response to either.’

‘You think he has escaped?’ Thomas asked, and Archer nodded.

‘If they can confirm that he has,’ he explained. ‘Then I know who we are dealing with.’

‘And if he hasn’t?’ Silas shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Something Archer had said previously came back to him and whispered a warning in his ear in words that had not yet formed into meaning.

‘If he is still there, then I have to accept that I have been wrong all along and this is, perhaps, a crazed leather worker, or an arsenic-addled clerk, an immigrant with a zealously religious hatred of street boys, or whatever else the journals are proposing.’

‘And if you do figure the next likely place for him to strike and lie in wait?’ Thomas questioned as he replaced the fireguard. ‘Apart from the possibility of waiting there night after night and being wrong, you could find yourself face to face with a madman you don’t know, and in as much danger as those he is bent on killing. Apart from that, you’re not exactly the kind of man he’s after. You’d stand out a mile and scare him off, wouldn’t you?’

‘Hell, Tom,’ Silas said through a wry smile. ‘You have a way of saying things plain.’

Thomas shrugged.

The whisper in Silas’ mind spoke again, and although its meaning was still unclear, something did come into focus, and his pulse quickened. Archer was looking at him deep in thought.

‘As I see it,’ Thomas said. ‘There’s not much we can do tonight.’ He returned to the table and began tidying, the astute man of business becoming the conscientious footman once more.

‘There’s a great deal we can do tonight.’ Archer spoke to Silas, quietly, as if not wanting Thomas to hear his double meaning. ‘But you are right, Tom.’ He broke the stare and stretched. ‘It’s late, and I’ve kept you long enough.’

‘I don’t mind one bit, Sir,’ Thomas said. ‘I just wish there was more I could do.’

‘There’s nothing any of us can do for now, except sleep on it and hope he doesn’t strike until we are ready. Perhaps a message will arrive in the morning, and we will know more.’

Silas straightened his legs and put on his shoes. There was something Archer was not telling him, but his head was too full of streets, names and stories to think of it any longer. He was glad of the sight of Archer adjusting his shirt. His hand reached beneath his waistline to tuck it in and drew Silas’ attention lower. The unease in his heart became a flutter of desire. Could he think of such things after a day like today?

When Archer faced him and asked if he was ready for bed, Silas knew that he could.

‘I will clear these and leave you in peace, Sir, if you have finished with me?’ Thomas rolled down his sleeves and reached for his jacket, transforming himself once more into the role of a dutiful servant.

‘Tom, you have been most useful,’ Archer said, his gaze remaining on Silas. ‘I will find a way to repay you.’

‘No need, My Lord. Shall I tidy away the maps?’

‘Leave the room as it is,’ Archer said. ‘I will return to it in the morning when I am…’ He winked at Silas. ‘Refreshed.’

‘Very good, Sir.’ Thomas straightened his jacket. ‘I’ll just take the leftovers and Lucy can clear when she does the grate.’

‘Whatever you want.’ Archer held Silas’ with impish eyes. ‘And will you ask Tripp not to disturb either myself or our guest? I think we may sleep late if we can sleep at all.’

Every word held a double meaning now, and Silas felt a stirring in his underwear. He grinned back. He could think of no better way to rid his aching mind of everything they had discussed.

Only when Thomas opened the doors and let in the light from the next room did they break the stare. Silas stood as Archer began to blow out candles and extinguish the lamps.

‘Sir,’ Thomas said, collecting a tray. ‘Can I just say that I am more than willing to assist you in this matter further, if you wish it, and…’ He put down the tray and straightened his back. ‘May I say thank you for your trust?’

‘No, you can’t,’ Archer replied, taking him by surprise. ‘Because there is no need to thank me.’ He approached Thomas, taking a quick look into the drawing room as he passed the open doors. ‘Excuse the inappropriateness,’ he said standing before the man. ‘But, I would do this to any friend.’ He hugged him.

Thomas’ eyes widened in shock and then softened. He returned the embrace briefly and blushed, meeting Silas’ eyes with concern.

He had no need to worry. Silas was getting used to Archer’s softness, and he liked it. Anyone who could have a sword fight with his commanding officer, tell horrific stories from his life so honestly, and put the lives of others before his own, was allowed to be sentimental with his friends. It was odd, though, how Archer craved so much affection, but when Silas thought about it, he could understand why. His talk was of boarding school and the military, a father he had hated, and his only brother absent and in a sanitorium. Archer had the world, his wealth, his house and time to indulge his passions, but no-one to share any of it with.

Well, he thought as he followed the others from the room, now he had Thomas as a friend and hopefully, within a few more minutes would have Silas as his lover.

The last to leave the study, he turned at the doors to close them, glancing in at the desk where the light from the drawing room fell like a shaft of moonlight. It lit Archer’s sketch that rested there spotlighting similar features to his own. The dark hair, the helpless expression, the face of a boy from the gutter.

Silas knew exactly what the viscount had planned for him.