The Last Confession of Sherlock Holmes (18 page)

“When do we ignite this bomb of yours?”

“Tonight. We shall journey to Mycroft's, and from the comfort of his quarters, we shall set the capital ablaze.”

Chapter IX - Dinner and a Show

The unmasking of Jack the Ripper was a subject that the entire civilised world had been fascinated with for many years. The brutality of his actions was caught up in a grotesque and perverted admiration, not only for the audacity of his crimes, but also the ease with which he evaded both capture and identification.

My excitement at the prospect of ending this most disturbing of chapters was combined with an almost fearful reluctance. It is one thing to chase a demon through the valleys of damnation, but to finally pull back the veil and stare into the soulless sockets of this hellish spectre would require all the courage I could muster.

Sherlock Holmes did not cater to such theatrical notions; but I remained unsure how even he, the foremost man of logic and reason, would respond once truly in the presence of this most demonic of criminals. I could not help but shudder at the thought of a resurrected Moriarty and the consequences this would have upon my great friend; but still, even if confronted with this greatest of fears, I suspected Holmes would refuse to balk in the face of the devil and would instead rather simply shake his hand.

We remained silent throughout our journey to Pall Mall, but I was certain it was thoughts along these lines which dominated Holmes's mind: if he could conclusively place Professor James Moriarty and Jack the Ripper into the chronicles of history, it would be a professional feat of truly monumental proportions. He would certainly refuse any credit or public admiration, but his contributions would surely be placed amongst the greatest this country has seen. Perhaps one day, Holmes would be seen looking out, ever vigilant, across the city, immortalised by his own column.

We arrived outside Mycroft's lodgings at nine o'clock. As we exited our carriage, we were blasted by the cool crisp bite of the night air, an irritating drizzle as its companion. Holmes remained convinced that the Ripper would continue to act only after midnight, for if he were to alter from such a pattern, it would diminish the audacity of both his crime and escape. Accordingly, he argued, our time would be more constructively used discussing the finer details of our approaching task, and I suspected that the formalities of dinner, insisted upon by Mycroft, were only agreed to purely for my benefit.

We were welcomed at the door by Geoffrey, and shown into a room dominated by a splendid oak table: there were only three seats present, and it was apparent that two of these had only recently been put out. Holmes had previously informed me that Mycroft's distaste for visitors was such that he only acceded to hosting political meetings in the most important of circumstances. If further evidence was required of such a notion, the room was rather blandly decorated with just two portraits: one of Lord Palmerston, the other of Pitt the Elder. We were soon joined by our reluctant host, and though Holmes predictably ate very little, Mycroft and I enjoyed a splendour of culinary triumphs. We were treated to a light helping of spinach soup, soles au gratin and pigeon stewed with mushroom. This was followed by the wonderful offerings of both lamb and salmon, served with potatoes, asparagus, salad and whole beans. To finish our meal, we had strawberries and cream, accompanied by some truly fine Cognac. I must admit that our surroundings were entirely inappropriate for the course our evening was about to take, but if we were to be roaming the streets of hell in search of Jack the Ripper, I was acutely aware this supper could well be my last.

Such was the occasion that Mycroft, to my delight, offered Holmes and I one of his H. Upmann cigars: a truly fine smoke, which he had saved from the previous year. We made our way into the sitting-room to discuss matters in privacy, away from any possible interruptions or potential eavesdropping by the servants, and each took a seat by the fire.

A large map of Whitechapel was placed on the table between us, three vultures surveying the scene before swooping down upon their prey. Carefully marked were the designated positions of each would-be victim; unlike previous instances, it would be necessary for our decoys to be in places of relative exposure, so as to create as great a panic as possible. The outer net and bait for the trap encompassed four locations: the first destination was south of Whitechapel Road in a Goods Depot yard between Lambeth Street and Gower's Walk. Our eastern location would be close to London Hospital and Medical College, on the Turner Street end of Green Street. The northern site would be at a brewery on Carter Street, just off Brick Lane, and completing the encirclement to the west was a Van and Cart Works, situated between Fournier Street and Fashion Street.

I admit that upon first hearing this aspect of the plan, I thought it was leaving far too much to chance, for I had momentarily forgotten that we also controlled the exact location of the only women permitted to go about their business in the Whitechapel area. These women, who were being paid handsomely for their endeavours, were only allowed to operate within the secondary ring; all other night-walkers had been subsidised for their private incarceration. Such was the desperation of these women that they had previously been forced to risk the Ripper, in order to earn enough income simply to survive, and it was imperative that he should not find such an opportunity this night.

The trap would begin at the Osborne Street end of Whitechapel High Street: it would run east until running briefly north up Bakers Row, where it would turn west down Hanbury Street before dipping south down King Edward Street, opposite the church of the latest murder. Here the trail would once again turn west down Chicksand Street, which would finally turn south upon Brick Lane and merge back into Osborne Street and thus completing the trap. It was within the confines of this secondary inner-ring where Jack the Ripper would be forced to find his prey; policemen would patrol the area in their usual formulaic routine in no greater numbers, so as not to arouse unnecessary suspicion.

“So what do you think of our design, Watson?” asked Holmes, a look of triumph upon his face.

“It is indeed a comprehensive plan; I believe the subtlety in which you avoid simply flooding the area with men yet control virtually every movement within, could well prove a masterstroke,” said I, retaking my seat and enjoying the fine sensation my cigar had upon dampening my nervous stimulation. “Where shall we be placed?”

“We shall be disguised, patrolling the streets; we will travel separately into Whitechapel and remain detached. I feel we would be rather wasted in a lookout post, and our purpose shall be better served if we are dispersed.”

“Excellent,” said I. “What about the two Inspectors? I assume that they will have roles to play.”

“Lestrade and Abberline will both be situated at the church: it offers a certain strategic advantage and they shall be able to see out into the streets from high above, while no one will be any the wiser for their presence. It is important that neither of them, particularly Abberline, is seen wandering the streets, or it shall give the game away. I am also anxious to ensure that he would not be left to his own devices, Watson, as I knew that it would make you uncomfortable.”

“I am pleased you take my suspicions so seriously. I know it is far-fetched, but as a former soldier, I am more than aware just how crucial one's instincts can be. I assume on account of your usual habits that you shall remain here, Mycroft?”

“Indeed you are correct,” said he, doing little to hide the tone of monotony in his voice. “Someone has to remain upon the sidelines; every theatre of war needs a director.”

“Of course. Holmes, do we have any idea where he is likely to strike?”

“There is a school which runs alongside Old Montague Street and St Mary Street. Unless I am sorely mistaken, I believe that, given the opportunity, and having only recently acted so deplorably outside a church, the Ripper would quite fancy the defilement of a school. We must patrol and hope that we can lure him into the comforting darkness; it is there that we shall at last come face to face with Jack the Ripper. But that can wait until this evening,” said Holmes, swiftly making toward the exit. “before I descend into Whitechapel, I have a few points of interest which I wish to discuss with Lord Balmoral, should our plan prove unsuccessful. Watson, your hansom should arrive shortly after mine and return you to Baker Street. Another will then arrive at precisely eleven o'clock to take you to the East End.”

“I never was able to comprehend why he spends so much time running around,” said Mycroft, after Holmes had disappeared into the night's now heavy rain. “I believe once you have reached a certain intellect, it is far easier to let others exert themselves in such a fashion.”

“We cannot all remain idle, Mycroft,” I said, buttoning my coat. “Even you have already been busy planning with Holmes.”

“Ah well, he only came to me from time to time. I was a consultant, not an orchestrator, and such a distinction is immaterial: the current plan of action could not have been improved. I hope to see you both triumphantly return here later this evening, so that I may inform the Prime Minister that we are finally at the end of this ghastly affair.”

I rattled along the streets of London toward the East End disguised in a dirty, bushy beard, a long shabby coat and a flat-cap; a fully-loaded revolver as my only companion. I had found further instructions waiting at 221
B
: I was to take the cab as far as Whitechapel High Street, where I would complete the journey on foot into the inner-ring of the trap. I had no designated area to patrol, only to remain aware that I should not linger.

Though my night had the potential to become exceedingly dangerous, I could not help but allow Holmes' behaviour to consume my thoughts. Mycroft's last remark had rather struck me, for I could deduce no reason why Holmes would deceive me: his usual custom in such a circumstance is to divulge to me no information at all.

I stepped out of the hansom and began my steady march into Whitechapel; the cold, relentless downpour caused the matted hair of my beard to press irritably against my face. I made my way down the road, but such were the conditions that I almost walked straight past Great Garden Street. Confident that it was virtually impossible to have been followed in the almost impenetrable darkness, I continued on into the very heart of the trap, ever vigilant for any signs of Jack the Ripper. Quite how Holmes expected to even sight, let alone catch the Ripper in such circumstances was not apparent, for half my attention was upon my every step. I decided to briefly take shelter in a nearby alleyway, no longer certain as to my bearings. Such was my appearance that it was not difficult to adopt the role of a homeless man, so I slumped back upon the threshold of a closed butchers' and waited.

I am not sure how long I remained stationary: my muscles began to shake and my bones rattled in response to the fierce chill blowing in the night air; the old wound in my shoulder began to throb as a reminder that my suffering can always intensify. Painful though it was, I was convinced that it was less suspicious to have taken shelter than to be still seen wandering the streets.

I remained alone in the dark, content to allow the rain to pour down around me. My mind began to wander as I continued to squint into the all-encompassing dark canvas. I could not help but contemplate the chaos which was likely to ensue if our night's adventure was to fail. Such is Holmes' brilliance that this is thankfully a rare consideration, but never before had we encountered a criminal mind so singular.

I stood up in an effort to prevent the inevitable stiffness from rusting my joints, and pulled my coat tight around my neck, when I suddenly noticed the silhouette of a figure in the distance. It was impossible to ascertain any notable features of this lurking shadow, so I left my post.

Instantly I was struck by the bitter howl of wind, and almost lost sight of my man. I quickened my pace, a terrible instinct driving me forward. My haste almost cost me dearly, for when I arrived into the square, I was forced to instantly drop to the ground. Peering out into the darkness, I could now clearly see his outline: he wore a long black coat and top hat. I was certain that he could not see where I lay, but fear had taken my body. I was possessed with a great urge to flee; but no sooner had I dismissed such a treacherous notion than the Ripper turned and disappeared down a narrow passageway.

Determined that Holmes would not have to combat this monster alone, I leapt to my feet and continued my pursuit, running down the minor incline of an adjacent alleyway. The Ripper had quickened his pace and was almost out of sight as I rounded the corner. Unnerved by this sudden development, I momentarily glanced down the passageway from which he had descended. All that could be seen in the darkness was what appeared to be a solitary arm, lying lifelessly in the alley. My heart filled with trepidation. I approached the body, and to my horror, noticed a stream of blood flowing down the street. There was a man lying in the gutter: his innocent eyes staring blankly into the night sky, a terrible laceration across his throat. Constable Smith was the first victim of the night.

I could not help but stand and look upon Smith's tragic face; he had gone to the races but been thrown to the wolves. It was clear that he was beyond aid, so I turned and ran down the street where I had last seen the Ripper, fully conscious that there was now an unguarded woman roaming the streets of Whitechapel.

Unsure where to even begin my search, I frantically scoured my immediate surroundings for any indication of where to turn, when Holmes's earlier prediction dawned upon me. Continuing my pursuit down a side-street, I ran on through the darkness before coming to an abrupt halt; there in the distance was Jack the Ripper, dragging the lifeless body of a woman into the school. Desperate to atone for my failure, I was determined to bring an end to this most heinous of chapters. I withdrew the revolver from my pocket and made haste toward the entrance. I was just about to enter, when I was suddenly grabbed and swung round by none other than Sherlock Holmes.