Shadow of the Dolocher Page 25

He felt the chill of the wind hit him head on, as he walked up the incline of Parliament Street. He continued around onto Cork Hill and then to Copper Alley. He decided he should start for home as the bruised sky looked threatening.

  He walked more briskly along John's Lane, looking up at the Cathedral as he passed, a building that caught the eye of everyone who ever passed by this way.

  Coming on to Winetavern Street, he heard a call. It was a young voice, and for a moment he thought that it could be Scally, who he had not seen for some time now. He stopped so his heavy steps would not impede the sound and listened. The cry came out again.

  It was a boy’s voice; someone who was scared and the second call had the rounded echo of tears in it. Mullins followed the sound and came to a thin alley between buildings. Again, he was in a nervous situation as to what it might look like if he was to come upon a murder. However, he knew that he had no choice, this was the type of man he was, and he went headlong into the alley.

  Rounding the corner, he came upon the sight of a boy of about twelve years old brandishing a bit of stick out in front of himself that he was clearly using to try to fend off a man. Mullins had never seen the boy before, that he knew of, but he did recognise the man. He didn't know his name, but he had often seen the man in the streets, and sometimes in the cabin. He regarded Mullins with a guilty face, but that quickly turned into a scowling one. Mullins looked at the boy and nodded towards the exit,

  "Get going lad," he said. The man looked to Mullins again warily as the boy used the full width of the alley to come around to Mullins' side and then he ran off without a word. Mullins didn't know what had been going on and he didn't want to know; all he desired now was to leave this lane without having to do any harm to this fella.

  "The blacksmith, skulking the alleys as ever," the man said. His voice was a little slurred, and Mullins thought he was drunk. He turned without saying anything and walked away. "If there's another body found I'll be sure to remember this!" the man called out after him. Mullins almost stopped and went back but with no drink in his system, he was able to remain in control, and he continued on.

  He was annoyed enough, however, to stop into the cabin on his way home. As he stepped inside, he was greeted by an atmosphere of abandon and cheerfulness.

  "What's going on?" he asked the first man he made contact with.

  "The wolf is caught," the man said to him.

  "By who?"

  "Lord Muc," the man was pointing at the far side of the room.

  Mullins looked over, and he could see Lord Muc sitting down with a circle around him. As Mullins came closer, he was then able to see the huge animal on the table.

  In this setting, it looked twice the size it had when he faced it in the alley. There were some heavy wounds inflicted on the animal and Muc was the worse for wear himself. Blood oozed from various cuts, and he was dazed with possible whacks to the head. He was telling his tale of conquest and didn't notice Mullins come in. The blacksmith smiled and backed away, he'd been right about who was going to bring it in.

  He left the cabin to its celebrations and walked the short distance home. As he walked, he thought about Scally, and he wondered what he was doing now. He really hoped that he had not become a victim of the killer and his body had not shown up yet. He missed the lad at the shop, and he felt like the world had abandoned him these last few years. It was in a fine melancholy that he found his chair in front of the fire a short time later.

  Chapter 66

  When Kate came to she was in a place she had never seen before. It was a room not too unlike those at Madam Melanie's, but this was not her place, nor did it seem to be any other whorehouse. It was a comfortable room with a fire going against the far wall from the couch she lay on. The attack! It came back to her in a shocking pain in her ribs, and she sat up,

  "Don't worry, you're safe here," a voice said calmly. She knew it was Edwards without having to look and she recalled then that he had come to her rescue. She lay back down.

  "Did you see who it was?" she asked him.

  "No, did you?"

  "No."

  They were silent for a while. Kate was relieved that she had not been killed, but she resented being in his debt.

  "Are you in pain?" he asked.

  "Not really," she answered as pain shot up her side. "Why were you following me?"

  "In case just such an event were to take place." She thought about thanking him, felt that it would have been appropriate under the circumstances, but she couldn't bring herself to utter those words.

  "Why did you tell Tim what I did?" There was a long silence, and finally, she looked over at him for an answer. He was looking at the floor.

  "I'm sorry for doing that," he said and then looked up at her. She was taken aback by the look on his face and in particular in his eyes; they were moist, and she had never seen him like this before. It put her on her guard as she felt something akin to her natural pity rise up inside.

  "You can see what's happened as a result of it?" she wanted this to hurt him, feeling as she did that he was vulnerable just then. He nodded but didn't say anything. "I've been made homeless by it too," she said.

  "You can stay here in this place, it will cost you nothing," Edwards said.

  "This is yours?"

  "Yes, it looks out over the river," he said indicating the window.

  "I'll never forgive you for what you've done," she said, "I want you to know that. I will stay here happily as I have no other place to go, but you have had me in bed for the last time, and I will never hold you in anything other than contempt for the rest of my life!"

  "I understand," Edwards replied.

  Kate was confused; this was not the Edwards she knew. She had seen him in dark moods and even cruel ones, but this, this was something entirely different. She wondered what was going through his head.

  For a moment she felt a sense of the night they had been together when Tim was in gaol, and she was surprised by the electric jolt it gave her, and she compared it to other times they had been to bed.

  She was in too agitated a state to notice it at the time, but there was a hunger in him that night that had been more than lust. Now that she was able to look over it with more objective eyes she realised that it had been so different to any time before and then she knew what it was. He was in love with her, it wasn't all just words and games- these were just the only way he knew to go about things- he actually loved her, and he was relishing her that night as he had never relished anything in his life up to that moment. Kate suddenly felt embarrassed in his company, and she looked away from him.

  Edwards seemed to get some sense of how she was feeling, and he sat upright and cleared his throat, putting on a more normal and confident air, though one that in this instance she could see through easily.

  "You'll need something to eat perhaps before you retire?" he stood up. She went to resist this, but she was hungry, and she nodded absently. He left the room, and she looked into the flicker of the fire and wondered what time it was. It was still and quiet outside, but there was no hint of daylight through the windows.

  Edwards came back with some bread and cheese. He had a pot of water in his other hand and this he brought to the fireplace and began to heat it.

  "This will do fine," Kate said.

  "It would be better to get something warm inside you before you go to sleep," Edwards said as he stood up from the fireplace. He stood for a moment as though contemplating something and then he said, "I'll leave you alone, here is the key, I do not have a copy. I will come see that you are able to settle in sometime tomorrow." He moved quickly for the door,

  "Wait!" she said, and he stopped, half in the room and half out. She had called out to him in a moment of pity, which was in her nature, but she couldn't tell him anything she thought he might want to hear. "Thank you for saving me," she said.

  "I was there, and there was no other course of action I would have been capable of taking," he said, and then he bowed and l
eft the room. She heard a door close down a short hallway, and she was alone.

  She moved closer to the fire so as to keep an eye on the water as it heated. The bread was fresh, and the cheese was cut thickly, and she enjoyed the weight of it in her hand. She was reminded of the day she herself was let out of the 'Black Dog,' and she had slept in a big bed in Edwards' house and the opulence she had seen that she had never been privy to before that day.

  It was an odd feeling for her to know for sure now that Edwards was in love with her. She wondered why he had thrown her out after only two days at his home, but she knew the answer despite not seeing it for a time. The whole period she was there, from the moment of arrival, straight after they went to bed and all the next day she had asked incessantly about the fate of Tim. This must have heavily jarred on the ideas of a man in love. She had seen men do very odd things over the years and the odder the thing, the more likely it was that love was at the root of it. She had wounded his pride, hurt his love by all but saying that she did not and would not return it, could not return it. He was an impetuous man, she'd always know that about him, but that he was capable of love, this was the first time she had ever thought that.

  Chapter 67

  When someone knocked on the door to the apartment on Skinners Row, Mary wasn't too surprised. Neighbours would often drop by looking for something or offering left over food, and Sarah was forever going out without her key.

  This time, however, the visitor was an entirely unexpected one. Colonel Spencer stood at her door, and he looked to be in an extreme state of agitation. His hair was matted to his forehead, and he started when she opened the door as though he'd not expected it. He rushed into the room and closed the door and then went to the window and looked down onto the street.

  "What's the matter?" Mary asked when she was over her initial surprise.

  "Are you alone here?" he asked, and he looked around the room.

  "Yes, yes," she said and then she grabbed him by the arm, so he looked at her, "What is it?" she asked again, her voice calm and soft. He stilled and then seemed to be following the lines of the scar on her face.

  "I think I've done something terrible," he said, and he rushed to the window and looked out again.

  "Is someone following you?" Mary asked, coming over to look outside too.

  "Not someone," Spencer answered.

  "What then?"

  "I've displeased him somehow," he was getting agitated again, so Mary grabbed him once more to make him look at her face.

  "Who?"

  "I painted him," Spencer said, his voice trembling, "and since then he has come after me, everywhere I go!" he wept pitifully. Mary recalled the image of the Devil she was sure she'd seen that day in his attic.

  "The painting of the Devil?" she asked, and he nodded. "You think the Devil has been following you?" She wondered now if he was not drunk or drugged, she could smell none of these things off him, but that didn't prove anything.

  "He's been taunting me, and he's made me do some things, I can't even remember them!" he wailed.

  "What things?" Mary was uneasy asking this question, she was not sure that she wanted to hear the answer.

  "He sent the wolf after me!"

  "The wolf?" Mary said, "The wolf is dead."

  "Yes, but before that, he came for me at my home,"

  "What have you done?" she asked him and her feeling of dread grew worse as the answer became more and more apparent to her.

  "It's me," he said, tears streaming down his face. He dropped to his knees and grabbed hold of her skirts in a bundle. She backed away, and he fell to all fours.

  "What are you talking about?" Her voice was sterner now, and she was getting angry at his display of remorse. "Did you do something to John?" she asked, and now it was her turn to weep.

  He nodded though he was still facing the ground. Mary's heart sank, and she hit out at him,

  “What did you do, what did you do?" she shouted.

  "I'm the one who killed all those people," he said, and he looked up at her. His eyes were wild now, and he looked terrified. "I didn't know I was doing it, he made me do it all!"

  "Did you kill John?" Mary asked, dropping to her knees to be of a height with him.

  "I don't know who any of them were," Spence said, "I don't remember anything, but I know I did it all."

  "Why?" Mary cried harder now and clumped down on her side. This was the confirmation she had been dreading for weeks now- that John was dead. She could feel the truth of it in her soul.

  "He's unhappy with me, I don't know why!" Spencer went on, and then a look came over his face as though he had suddenly realised something. "I have to destroy it," he said. Mary wasn't listening to him now though she heard these words.

  He stood up and seemed to have collected himself. Mary sidled up against a chair and looked at him warily. He seemed to have calmed considerably now that he had made his confession. She wondered was he going to kill her now too. She hadn't been this scared since she had witnessed the murder of her aunt by Thomas Olocher.

  Spencer looked down on her, and she could see pity in his eyes.

  "I'm sorry to have troubled you with this," he said in a calm and gentlemanly voice, "But you are the only purely good person I have ever met." Mary didn't know what to say to this. He ran a hand through his hair and straightened his clothes out and looked out the window once more. This time he didn't seem at all frightened or worried about what he might see. "I have to go to the hill and destroy it; to hell with what Edwards has to say about it!" Mary started at the mention of the name and wondered if it was the same Edwards who had done so much harm to Kate.

  "Did you kill John?" Mary asked feebly once again. He looked down at her, and she could see he was mostly if not all the way back in control of his faculties.

  "Has his body been found?" he asked. She shook her head. "I don’t know, but I think all of them have been found," he said. She felt relief flood her body.

  "Thank you!" she said as though he had done her some great service.

  "Don't thank me, Mary, it was luck alone that saved your man, I had no control over this, it was all his doing." Was he still talking about the Devil? "Again, I'm very sorry to have burdened you with this; you must go to the Alderman with what I have told you."

  He made for the door, opened it, and looked back at her one more time, “It was a great honour to paint you, Mary, I hope you find your man soon."

  Mary got up, went to the window, looked outside, and saw him come out of the building and walk in the direction of Hell. Her hands were shaking as she pulled on her cloak. She had to get to a soldier at once.

  Chapter 68

  The light of the day was just about to disappear when Edwards and Lord Muc rode up the pathway to the hunting lodge on Montpelier Hill. They were coming here as payment of Muc's price for following Mullins around. Edwards looked at Muc to see his reaction upon seeing the house.

  "I thought it would be much bigger," Muc said.

  "It's quite big enough for its use," Edwards said. They rode up to the stables, tied up the horses, and then walked the perimeter to stretch out their legs after the long ride out.

  "What do you do up here, anyway?" Muc asked when they had done a full circuit and were back at the entrance ramp.

  "Nothing really, we eat and drink and listen to music," Edwards replied.

  "And women?"

  "And women, yes, of course," Edward smiled as though this was a given that had no need of verbalisation.

  "If you get up to nothing, why have this place so remote?" There was suspicion in Muc's voice and look, but it was good-natured, as though he knew full well what went on here and he knew he was not going to hear it from Edwards' mouth.

  "We like the quiet life," Edwards replied grinning. "Shall we go inside?" he put his hand out to indicate the guest should go first. Muc walked up the ramp and opened the door, Edwards saw him notice that it was not locked.

  They went in and Muc looked about
the room, taking in the stone walls and the paintings and animal heads that adorned them. Then his eyes settled on something, and Edwards followed his gaze with pride to the large painting of the Devil that Spencer had done for the club. Muc walked towards it as though he were drawn to it; Edwards certainly also thought it had this quality and he could see why it had driven Spencer so mad. To look into those lifelike eyes day after day and week after week would be enough to send any man potty.

  "What the hell is this?" Muc said his voice incredulous.

  "You've said it!" Edwards laughed. Muc looked at him, and then realising what he meant, looked back at the painting.

  "I'd heard rumours about this, but I never thought it would be anything like this." It seemed to Edwards that this might be the first thing to have impressed Lord Muc in many, many years.

  "It really is amazing, isn't it? And a perfect likeness." Edwards couldn't help but smile at this joke of his.

  Muc was about to say something else when there was a crash, and both men looked in the direction of the sound.

  "Who's there?" Edwards called out. There was no reply, and Muc pulled a long knife from inside his tunic and gripped it tightly. Edwards couldn't be sure, but he thought that for the first time he may have seen a moment of fear in Muc. Could it be that he was a God fearing man underneath all that mayhem and that he was unnerved by the devil?

  A loud whoosh sound went up, and flames suddenly streaked across one of the tapestries on the wall and began to spread across some of the paintings.

  "The place has been doused in something!" Muc shouted, and the flames went up and took hold of the roof. There was movement in the back room, and a shape ran past the doorway. Muc and Edwards set off in pursuit.

  As they ran in through the archway, the fire seemed to run on ahead of them, rushing up walls and across the roof with great and terrific speed. The fleeing man was pulling things down behind him and spreading the flames still further across the rugs and carpets and up the legs of tables and chairs.