Twenty-Five

Silas was practically dragged into the study where Archer closed the doors, took hold of him and kissed him passionately. Silas backed against the wall and, with their bodies pressed firmly together, wrapped Archer in his arms as their tongues clashed. The intensity of the moment left him breathless.

‘I’ve wanted to do that all day,’ Archer panted. ‘You were gone for hours. I didn’t have time to talk this morning. Servants listen. God, you’re so bloody desirable.’

Silas was still trapped, but he adored the feeling of the man’s body against his and revelled in his delight.

‘Slow down,’ he said. ‘Blimey!’ Archer released him, but Silas didn’t let him escape. ‘Not so fast.’ He grinned. ‘We’ve got a few hours to catch up on, but I can see you’ve got something more important going on.’

‘There’s nothing more important than you,’ Archer replied and kissed him again. ‘When this bloody mess is done with, I’ll take you away. We can go to the country or abroad. Wherever you want, and I’ll show you the true depth of my feelings. I promise.’

‘You don’t have to promise me nothing, Archie. Only that you’ll tell me what’s got you so fired up.’

‘You, mainly.’ Archer touched Silas’ face, ran his fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead. His movements were quick, his eyes flickering and, when his hands began to travel downwards to clutch Silas’ hips and join them there even more closely, Silas had to push him away.

‘I got the message,’ he laughed. ‘But that’s for later. What’s happened?’

‘I have to wait for Thomas.’ Archer adjusted the front of his trousers, as Silas was doing. ‘Where did Lady Marshall take you? She likes you, that’s a good thing. And those clothes!’ Archer stood back to admire him, and Silas allowed it. He had never felt so special and cared for and was pleased to show himself off. ‘I love the way those trousers hug your cock. I can even make out your sack.’ Archer was pressed against him in a second, his hands cupping Silas’ backside.

‘Oi!’ Silas laughed. ‘You keep doing that you’re going to give Thomas a right eyeful of your massive dick.’ It was again throbbing insistently against his.

‘I can’t control it when you’re around. And it’s not massive.’

‘Off!’ Silas wriggled free. Archer was overexcited, wild even, and there were more important matters. ‘Sit down. Get a drink. What’s got you so dizzy?’

‘You.’

‘Come on, Archie. We’ve got to think about your brother.’ Silas stood at the desk and picked up the drawing. ‘I know what this is about,’ he said.

‘Oh, that.’ Archer snatched it from him and put it in a drawer. ‘Don’t worry about that. Where’s Thomas?’ He took three strides to the bell-pull and rang.

‘It’s me, isn’t it?’ Silas said. ‘In the picture?’

‘No.’

‘I know why you were looking for a renter like me.’

His tone was challenging, and it caught Archer unawares. The manic smile faded from his lips as he approached. ‘What do you mean?’

Silas opened the drawer to remove the sketch and held it facing Archer.

‘That’s him, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘Who?’

‘Your man from before. The one you and your brother fought over.’

‘Harrington? No.’

‘It’s alright, Archie.’ Silas put the paper down and took his hands. Archer didn’t understand. ‘I get it. You wanted to find someone to catch your brother’s eye. Someone who looked like the boy he took from you. You sent Thomas to find a street boy you could use as bait to catch him.’

Whatever reaction Silas expected, it wasn’t the one Archer gave. His expression remained one of confusion and didn’t change as he dropped Silas’ hands and stepped back. Gradually, like lamplight brightening through a receding mist, his confusion cleared to reveal horror. His head moved from side to side, and his eyes glistened. He brought a hand to his mouth to cover the shock and used a knuckle to wipe away a tear.

Trembling, he took the sketch, looked at it once, and tore it into pieces.

‘No,’ he said, his words barely audible. ‘You can’t think that of me.’

‘I don’t mind. I’ll do it.’

‘How could you think that…?’

‘It’s alright, Archie.’ Silas took his hands again. ‘I’d do anything for you. Even that.’

‘Oh, Silas.’ Archer sniffed and swallowed. ‘You’ve taken me so wrong, and it’s all my fault.’ A tentative smile breached his lips. ‘That was never my intention. That drawing looks nothing like Simon Harrington. It was a fantasy, that’s all.’ His strong fingers pushed away Silas’ fringe. ‘I needed someone to tell me about life in the East End, so why not a man who was my idea of perfection? What I got was beyond my dreams, because he came with courage and heart, innocence and intelligence. I would never put you in harm’s way.’

Silas fell on his lips. Even if he had been the greatest artist in the world, he would never have been able to draw the perfection he found in Archer.

They were still kissing and in a heightened state of arousal when there was a knock on the door.

‘Hell,’ Archer said as they broke apart. ‘We can’t keep doing this.’ He looked frantically for some way to hide his prominent erection, and Silas did the same. ‘You do believe me, don’t you?’

‘I ain’t going to stop doing this.’

‘About the picture,’ Archer was laughing, his excitable state reinstated by panic.

‘Yeah.’ Silas shushed him. ‘Sit at the desk.’

As Archer slid into the captain’s chair and faced the desk while Silas grabbed a book and sat in an armchair with it open in his lap.

‘Come!’ Archer called busying himself with some letters.

Thomas entered. ‘Your supper, My Lord.’

‘Thank you, Thomas. On the reading table if you would.’

He thought about some trivial matter, pen raised, and scribbled notes while Silas read an Old Moore’s Almanack upside down. The supper was delivered, the maids dismissed, and Thomas asked to stay behind. Once the drawing room doors were closed, Thomas shut the study to the outside world. No sooner had he heard the click of the latch than Archer slid his chair from under the desk and spun on it.

‘Men,’ he said. ‘I have had a brainwave. We have a lot of thinking to do and a lot of planning, and we have no time. Tom, relax, sit and think. Silas, you’ve given me an idea. By the by, Tom,’ he added as he searched the desk. ‘Thank you again for your intervention this morning. Well played.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Thomas removed his tailcoat and sat, giving Silas a tip of the head.

Silas winked a reply.

Archer found what he was looking for, and when the three were seated, opened a notebook to a marked page. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I have made progress, and just in time. But I must steady myself. This is the most serious of matters.’ He took a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘Let me take you through the morning. To do so will help sharpen my mind.’

Archer was grateful that Lady Marshall had not only taken an instant liking to Silas and accepted the difference in status, but had also taken him away for a few hours. It wasn’t that Archer didn’t want to be with Silas, his body ached for him, but Dolly had been right. For Silas to pass as his secretary — a stroke of accidental genius on Her Ladyship’s part — he needed to look like a middle-class man of ability. Archer would give him a suite of rooms in the city house and a cottage on the estate, employing him on paper as an administrator. There would be no questions asked.

That problem solved, and with the house to himself, he was able to pull the strands of his life together and sift through them to find the most important thread. Regrettably, the journalists on his doorstep was it. As Silas made what Lady Marshall termed his clandestine escape from the back of the house, Archer addressed the gathering hacks on his front step, thereby creating a diversion. He sent them off with polite words confirming his presence with the medical examiner and explaining his interest from the charitable trust’s point of view. Whether they believed him or not, he no longer cared. There would undoubtedly be more lucrative headlines waiting for them around the corner, and tomorrow he would be yesterday’s news.

With Silas out of the house, his mind was free to concentrate on the Ripper. He dispatched Thomas to the telegraph office for any news from Holland, and to convey His Lordship’s displeasure at the length of time it was taking to receive a reply. While there, Thomas was to send another telegram which blatantly demanded an answer.

“Urgent. Confirm Hon Crispin Riddington still with you. Matter of life and death. Immediate reply expected else legal action ensues.”

It was when he was counting the days since his first message and the hours since the second, that a strange thought struck him. He was, at the time, idly staring at the map of Greychurch and Thomas’ letter A, the lines blurring as he looked through them in thought.

He had written to the sanitorium following the death of his father a few months ago. He didn’t remember the exact date because of everything else that was going on, but he knew the week. A letter of condolence had arrived six weeks later, so he took that as the accepted, though incredibly slow time it took the organisation to grind into action. He had written to thank them and assure them Crispin’s bills would continue to be paid and had asked for news on his progress. He had not yet received a reply, but that was still within the six weeks to be expected. His telegram had followed after the fourth murder, seven days ago.

It wasn’t the delays that sparked the notion, but the fact they made him think about time. He had first thought the dates of the murders were random. He had searched his Almanack for phases of the moon and the details of tides, even looked at the alignment of the planets, but he found no clues. The actual dates, the numbers, bore no pattern or relevance, and the only thing timewise that the murders had in common was that they happened at night, usually in the early hours. As there were no witnesses, he couldn’t be sure of exact times, but he doubted they would be pertinent. The Ripper didn’t book appointments, he took chances as and when they appeared.

For all his logical and clear thinking, something remained lodged at the back of his mind. An idea or a piece of knowledge fluttered like a caged bird desperate to fly, and the more he studied the names of streets that might mean something to Crispin, the more panicked the bird became. It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that the annoying, flapping ‘what is it?’ in his head dropped from its perch and landed on the floor of his mind like a dead thing.

It happened when he read the name of an inconsequential street in Limedock, Lessening Lane.

It was a narrow alley that, as its name suggested, began wider than it finished. It appeared to have no purpose except to take a person from a street to a wharf. The location was appropriate, being not far from the scene of the first murder, but even that was not what fuelled his excitement.

It was the word lessening which caused the trapped thought to flutter and squawk.

Back at his desk, he noted the murder dates on a chart. This time, he wasn’t looking at the numbers, but their relation to each other in a broader time spectrum. One month had elapsed between the first murder and the second, two weeks between the second and third. Between the third and fourth, one week had passed, and between the fourth and the double event, four days. The conclusion was obvious.

Silas and Thomas had been right. There was a pattern, but it was in the timing, not the locations.

‘So,’ Thomas asked when the viscount had finished talking. ‘By your logic, there will be two days between the last and the next.’ He closed his eyes in thought, opening them a second later in shock. ‘Really?’

‘Exactly!’ Archer leapt from his chair. ‘Tonight.’

Thomas thought about it calmly. ‘And then what?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘One day? Then twelve hours? Six?’

‘Until he disappears up his own arse.’ Silas’ attempt to lighten the mood was not appreciated. ‘Sorry.’

‘No, it’s a good point.’ Archer wheeled his chair closer to him. ‘I hadn’t thought further than tonight and my chance to catch him.’

‘Our chance,’ Silas corrected.

‘Very well…’ Thomas was still thinking, and Archer was regarding him keenly. ‘But what if that wasn’t the first murder and your timing is off?’

‘The pattern is still there.’

‘True.’ Thomas conceded. ‘But if there were any earlier ones, then by your logic, the Ripper is not your brother, because he was definitely locked up when the late viscount passed, and that would be within the two months before… I see.’

Silas had to picture a calendar to see the pattern, but he too understood. ‘So that still leaves us not knowing for sure if it is him, and not knowing where he’s going to be tonight,’ he said. ‘Unless “Lessening” is a name that rings a bell?’

‘If it does it’s a wren in an aviary,’ Archer said, causing the others to glance at each other for a meaning. ‘It just caught my eye. But…’ He held up the map with the murder sites marked. ‘I thought it might complete a circle. It’s not a spiral, it’s not an A or a Star of David, if there is any pattern to the locations, it’s a dubious one. With that in mind…’ He rose to find a second map which he held for them to see. ‘I drew one but it’s more of a six-sided thing, and there’s no discernible centre. The pattern, if there is one, was not to be found on the ground but in time.’

‘And that time’s tonight?’ Silas was dubious, it sounded too contrived, and he couldn’t equate the logic of timed murders with the mind of a madman. He wished Fecker was with him. He’d have seen through the smoke and pointed out the fire, the clue they were undoubtedly missing.

‘Yes, tonight,’ Archer said. ‘Which is why I came up with a plan. Or, I should say, three.’ He brought his chair back to them, and they sat in a triangle. ‘I was going to take some of Lady Marshall’s household, the ones built like Coldstream Guards, enter Greychurch tonight and search for Crispin, so sure am I of his presence there. But then I saw that would mean having to explain to Her Ladyship what I am about. Besides, we would be little more than vigilantes, and there are enough of them. My second plan was to go alone…’

Silas gasped, and Thomas protested.

‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ Archer said, reassuring them with a gesture. ‘I will not go unarmed.’

‘And you won’t go alone,’ Thomas insisted.

‘Of course he won’t.’ Silas wasn’t having that. ‘I’ll go. The Ripper ain’t going to come after you, you’re the wrong sort. You need to lure him out.’

‘Silas, say no more. I will employ a local youth to assist me, no questions asked.’

‘And then what?’ Silas was on his feet. His blood was beginning to boil at the thought of Archer’s stupidity. ‘You and him walk around arm in arm? No-one’s going to fall for that. It’s not how it works.’

‘I will follow him closely.’

‘No, you won’t.’ Silas had trouble fighting back his anger. ‘’Cos that ain’t how it works neither. You don’t pick up a rat and take him for a stroll. There’s a… ritual, a code. You pass him under a lamppost, give him the eye, up, down, see how he replies. Looks away? Out of luck. Back-tip of the head? Off you go. Then you follow him ’cos he knows the places, what yard or alley is being used, who’s doing business where.’ He glared at Archer and his anger melted into fear. ‘Even if you found a lad who knows what you’re doing, doesn’t think you are the Ripper and doesn’t just take your money and scarper, you can’t be anywhere near him else the Ripper will know what’s going on and get scared off.’

He sat, trembling. He had imagined the whole scene in his mind except it ended in attack and bloodshed, the flash of a knife and death.

‘I’ll go with you,’ Thomas said.

Archer made no reply. He was staring at Silas, pale and upset. Their eyes locked and Silas knew the plan would only work if it was him walking the streets. Archer couldn’t trust anyone else.

‘No, you won’t, Tom,’ Silas said.

He tore his eyes away from the viscount and put a hand on Thomas’ knee. When he’d first met the man, he’d taken him for an idiot, the same as anyone else who spent their life working in the service of others, but Thomas was anything but stupid.

‘Sorry, mate, but you’d stand out too much.’

‘The decision should be Archer’s,’ Thomas said, moving his leg.

‘He hasn’t got a choice.’ Silas smiled at the viscount. ‘I believe you when you say this wasn’t planned. It’s obvious none of this has been planned much.’ It was said in fake reproach with a supportive smile. ‘But it’s what we’ve got, so we have to use it.’

‘I won’t put you in danger, either of you.’ Archer was adamant.

‘But you’ll put yourself in danger,’ Silas countered. ‘As if you don’t mean anything to us.’

‘I have my pistols.’

‘Don’t do you any good in the dark.’

‘I have training.’

‘Yeah?’ Silas’ annoyance was rising again. ‘Did they train you what to do in the half a second you get when you work out that the cold scratch on your throat is the deep slash of a knife and it’s too late?’

Archer was wavering.

‘I’ll observe from a distance,’ he said.

‘And what good will that do?’ Silas shouted, tears coming to his eyes. ‘By the time you’re across the street, a boy’ll be dead and you next, most likely.’

‘It’s my brother. I’ll call his name, distract him. He wants me to be there.’

‘So he can fucking kill you!’

‘Silas!’ Thomas had him by the shoulders. ‘Please, calm down.’

Silas was too upset. There were too many horrific images.

‘Ah, get off me.’

Thomas wouldn’t let him struggle free, and Silas didn’t want him to. He needed someone to hold him back else he would have flown at Archer and beat on his chest until he understood how much he meant.

‘It’s alright.’ Thomas guided his head to his chest and held it there. ‘I couldn’t do without him either,’ he whispered privately in Silas’ ear. ‘But you have to let him do it his way.’

His words were intended to reassure, but somehow they went further than that and bonded the pair.

Silas returned the hug, holding it for a moment too long before stepping back and wiping his eyes. Sniffing, he pulled himself together.

‘Sorry about that, Tom,’ he said.

‘I’m not,’ Thomas replied, offering a helpless expression before retaking his seat.

‘Archie…?’ Silas crouched before the viscount, held his arms and spoke softly, comforted by Thomas’ concern. ‘If you go on your own and something happens to you, I don’t care that it would leave me back on the streets ’cos it won’t matter, not without you. But what about Tom and the others, eh? What happens to them if you get yourself killed?’

Archer sighed, leant forward and kissed him.

‘I didn’t mean to involve you in this,’ he said. ‘I only wanted your advice.’

‘Ha! You want my advice, My Lord?’ Silas stood. ‘Then you listen to Tommy. He’s got more sense than anyone.’

‘I will, and I have,’ Archer said. ‘But, it wouldn’t be fair on Tom to make him decide our course of action. No. I said that I had three plans and one must be enacted tonight. We have the time frame, and we have the rough location, I’m sure of it. Lessening Lane, or the area nearby. What I propose is…’

He suddenly stopped talking, shocked. His mouth remained open, and his stare fixed on Silas. It was as if someone had slapped him in the face.

‘What is it?’

Archer stood slowly, his eyes widening and his brow furrowing. He moved to the fireplace as a man in a dream walks a straight line to a destination he can’t see.

‘What is it, Archer?’ Thomas asked.

He and Silas exchanged uneasy glances, both confused. The intrigue deepened when Archer turned to them, his fingers waving about his head like grass in a breeze.

‘Birds in a cage,’ he said, explaining nothing. ‘I’ve got a raven, and it won’t land.’

Silas checked the wine bottles. Still unopened.

‘Do you want to explain?’ he prompted.

‘I can’t… It’s not quite there…’ Archer struggled, his fingers lacing on the top of his head, and he stamped his foot. ‘What is it?’

‘Perhaps a brandy?’ Thomas was on his feet.

‘No. Shush… It’s…’ He struck the mantlepiece with a fist and growled in his throat. ‘Damn it!’

‘Archie, what’s up?’ Silas hurried to his side and turned his head. ‘What’s wrong?’

The viscount stared as if he had no idea who he was, but gradually, the memory returned.

‘Lessening,’ he said. ‘It’s my brother’s lessening.’