The Incendiary's Trail (10 page)

There was a knock at the street door and PC Cullen called up the stairs: ‘Reverend Josiah Archer here to see you as requested, sir!’

‘Send him up, Constable.’

The clergyman stamped up the stairs and into the room. He was a fearsome-looking man in his flowing black robes and cloak. His head was a glabrous egg, framed above the ears with wiry grey hair,
and his eyes had the roving intensity of the insane. In truth, he had once been a respected member of the Anglican Church until his doctrine had become warped with extremism and his sermons
condemnatory of his very own flock. Under scrutiny, his robes, which most likely constituted his entire clothing, were soiled with mud, grease and food. His church was now the streets and his
congregation the entire population of London. Mr Williamson inadvertently wrinkled his nose at the smell of his visiter.

‘Thank you, Reverend, for agreeing to visit me here,’ began the detective. ‘I understand that this is your second visit to the house. May I ask what motivated your earlier
visit?’

The clergyman spoke loudly, as if addressing a busy street corner: ‘Are you familiar with scripture, Sergeant?’

‘As well as the next man, I imagine. As to your visiting—’

‘
And I stood upon the land of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of
blasphemy
!
’

‘Well, quite.’

‘The Book of Revelation, chapter thirteen, verse one. I’m sure you perceive the parallels.’

‘Frankly, no. Why did you visit this house on Wednesday last?’

‘The Book predicts the Apocalypse, Sergeant. Its warning signs are among us even now: many-headed freaks of nature, flames of fire in our midst.
Babylon is fallen, is fallen that great
city because she made all nations drink of the wine of the wrath of her fornication
. Chapter fourteen, verse eight. London is the modern Babylon – a Sodom and a Gomorrah in one. The reek
of its sin reaches Heaven Itself.’

‘So you came here to see Eliza-Beth, the two-headed girl, for proof of the prophecy? Is that correct?’

‘The beasts that dwelled here were an abomination in the eyes of the Lord! See how they multiply and mock Him. I am called to witness these things, to record them and preach them. The
Redeemer is to return at any moment – the signs make it clear. Are you saved, Sergeant?’

‘Reverend Archer – a murder has been committed. The girl that you saw is dead, her throat cut in that very chair.’

Mr Archer looked towards the chair and then at the gouts of dried gore on the wall and floor around it. He paled and supported himself on a nearby table.

‘Reverend – have you been in this room before?’

‘No. My viewing of the monsters was held in the downstairs kitchen, under the supervision of Dr Zwigoff. He introduced them to me individually and described each infirmity with great
relish. The man will burn as assuredly as they.’

‘Did you speak with Eliza-Beth?’

‘I spoke to none of them. My purpose is to witness, to record and to preach.’

‘Have you written a letter to any of the people you saw?’

‘A letter? To them? Why? I would sooner write a letter to the Devil!’

‘Then, did you see Eliza-Beth in possession of a letter during your visit?’

‘Are you insane? I was looking at a natural aberration with two heads! She was flanked by a giant, a half-man and a human dog. Do you think I would stop to notice a letter tucked into
someone’s clothing?’

‘I suppose not, Reverend Archer. Not everyone has the observation of a detective.’

‘Quite right, Sergeant. Quite right. Now, is there anything further I can tell you? I am uncomfortable in this infernal place. It breathes the very vapours of Hell. I have witnessed; I
have recorded; now I must preach.’

‘Did you see anyone loitering about the building when you visited? Or perhaps you encountered another interested party here?’

‘I believe a man was leaving as I arrived. I almost walked into him as he left the house. He did not apologize and I shouted after him that he should learn some courtesy.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Our meeting was brief. He wore something over his lower face – a scarf perhaps. Have you finished now, Detective? I am unwilling to spend time here when there are souls to be saved
elsewhere.’

‘One more question, if I may. Have you any children?’

‘What an absurdity! I am a man of God! I have taken a voluntary vow of chastity in order that I may remain untainted by the sin of fornication. My mind is pure.
Let not sin therefore
reign in your mortal body, that ye should obey it in the lusts thereof.
Book of Romans, chapter six, verse twelve. Something more?’

‘Nothing more. I will seek you if I need further information. Thank you.’

And the clergyman departed, offering a parting suggestion that Mr Williamson might reacquaint himself with the New Testament that his soul could be prepared. The man was clearly deranged. He had
been preaching about London for years and had never hurt anyone. It seemed highly unlikely that he had committed the murder. Of course, that did not mean that he knew nothing about it.

The detective looked around once more at the scene. One of the beds had two pillows, one laid next to the other – presumably Eliza-Beth’s bed. He walked over to it, trying to recall
which head had belonged to which girl. A single strand of red hair lay on the left-hand pillow. As he reached down to take it between thumb and forefinger, he felt paper crackle beneath. The
letter?

The stitching at the side of the pillow had been unpicked in order to hide the secret within. He opened the narrow aperture and delved into the horsehair to extract what he had been searching
for.

The letter had no addresses, reinforcing the assertion that it had been delivered personally to the house. By her parent, or by a representative thereof? The hand was in standard copperplate and
could have been written by a male or female hand. He sniffed the paper but could not identify any perfume, not even pipe smoke. Sitting on the bed, he read:

There was no signature. There were, however, some new questions to be answered. First among them was why the Reverend Archer, who confessed to his own poor observation, had
alluded to ‘
a letter tucked into someone’s clothing
’ – just as it had been described by Miss Eugenia and Mr Coggins. Second was the identity of the messenger who was
to visit that very morning. Was he the stranger identified by the locals? Or was the ‘toff’ an associate of the murderer come to see what was happening?

EIGHT

We will step momentarily away from the case itself to cast an eye over the sensation that the Lambeth Murder very shortly began to cause in the city. The facts of the case,
like smoke from the chimney of that very boarding house, seemed to rise into the sky over the sea of rooftops. There, they intermingled with the carbonaceous effluvia of a million other chimneys:
domestically burned wood and coal, the sulphurous billows of the copper manufactory, the acid clouds of the alkali works, the ferrous breath of the foundry, and the hot, malty outpourings of the
distillery. They cooled, solidified, and then began to settle across the city in a fine particulate of scandal, rumour, gossip – and news. No corner of the metropolis could escape the
story.

Of course, the newspapers covered every detail. But among the common man, it was the clever patterer who spread the news like a wind-borne fire through the streets. There he was at the street
corner, shouting his wares with carefully emphasized words:

‘HIDEOUS and UNNATURAL MURDER in Lambeth! TWO-HEADED-MONSTER slain by razor in den of abominable DEFORMITY . . .’

Called by his words, the people approached to buy his broadsheets, which were spiced with similar linguistic
bonbons
to tantalize those who read them. Others who could not read listened
in hushed congregations as the words were read to them, evoking the yearned-for terror of monsters and murderers in their midst. Thousands of people had already handed over their penny to see that
sheet beginning, ‘An authentic account of the recent events in Lambeth and the MURDER of Eliza-Beth, a two-headed girl . . .’ Viewings of ‘Dr Zwigoff’s peculiarities had
multiplied tenfold at the nightly Vauxhall extravaganza, and Mr Coggins was a deeply contented man.

I offer the following pieces in illustration of the official fascination and outrage caused (adding, with all modesty, that the first piece is my own work).

The reader will observe that no mention has been made of the letters or the locket. I was compelled to omit these details by a senior police officer so that the insane who
habitually confess to such crimes may be eliminated on questioning.

Commissioner Mayne sat at the same table he’d headed those few months previously. Those very editions of
the Times
were spread before him, the letter of A.D. of
Stoke Newington circled twice, somewhat brutally, and also partially underlined in black ink. Superintendent Wilberforce and Inspector Newsome sat either side of him.