she’d done it, that’s how wicked she was. She had smiled at Katherine and taken the garments, meeting her gaze shamelessly, and all the while her mind had been fixed on what she would treat herself to that evening – maybe a buttercake, that sweet taste she had never outgrown, or perhaps some German sausage. Her mouth hadbeen watering all the way to where she had agreed to meet the gentleman and sell on the coats. She would be happy never to see a buttercake again. She would sew buttonholes until her fingers bled if it would get her out of this dark and miserable place and back into the stinking sunshine.
He bent over the open box and took out something she couldn’t quite see, placing it with a heavy thud on the workbench before lighting a dusty lamp and turning to face her. She had thought that light would somehow appease her fear, but now she wished he would plunge them back into the gloom, where she could still pretend that perhaps he had forgotten about her. As his shadow stretched out behind him in the glow of the small light, all thoughts of food and sunshine evaporated from her mind, leaving nothing but terror. His blue eyes were wide as he stared at her, focused and curious and quite, quite mad.
‘Old blood,’ he said, a small smile on his face. ‘You have old blood. From home. I didn’t know what it was at first, this scent in the air every time you walked past. But then suddenly I knew: it was your blood that was driving me mad.’ He frowned. ‘And I’ve been so good – I’ve tried to be so good, for so many months. I thought – I thought perhaps I had control.’
Ava couldn’t stop herself shaking. She shook her head from side to side, as if somehow she could persuade him that she was not the girl he thought.It wasn’t she who had the old blood, whatever that was; she couldn’t come from his home. He was an Englishman and she was a Polish immigrant.
‘It wants you,’ he said, softly, ‘and I have to give it what it wants.’ He picked up a knife from the table and Ava tugged desperately at the leather ties that bound her to the lead pipes, wishing she had tried harder to free herself, wishing she had fought back harder when he’d hit her, wishing that she had never started working for Katherine Jackson three months ago.
He held something else behind his back as he came closer to her and crouched down. ‘Can you see it?’ he whispered. ‘Can you see it?’
She stared at him, uncomprehending. What did he want from her? If she could just give him the right answer, then maybe he would release her. Maybe—
‘It’s behind me – always behind me. Can’t you see it?’
Ava’s eyes blurred with fresh tears. There was nothing there, nothing behind him; he was just a madman. A madman with a knife. She shook her head. No, she couldn’t see it—
‘ She saw it,’ he said as his arm came from behind his back. He held a dead woman’s head high, gripping it by the hair. The skin had turned to leather and thinned against the bones, but the mouth was forever open in terror. ‘They all see it, in the end.’
As Ava screamed and screamed behind her gag,her mind snapping at the horror of her impending fate, the man leaned in closer, and she did; she saw it. Magda’s voice had been wrong. The man wasn’t the Devil at all. The Devil was behind him.
10
Daily Telegraph
October 4, 1888
THE WHITEHALL MURDER
Very little additional information has been allotted by the authorities regarding the identity of the victim of the atrocious crime whose dismembered remains were found on Tuesday afternoon in the new Police buildings, on the Embankment at Westminster.
----
Sent to the Central News Service, 5 Oct. 1888
Dear Friend
In the name of God hear me I swear I did not kill the female whose body was found at Whitehall. If she was an honest woman I will hunt down and destroy her murderer. If she was a whore God will bless the hand that slew her, for the women of Moab and Midian shall die and
He bent over the open box and took out something she couldn’t quite see, placing it with a heavy thud on the workbench before lighting a dusty lamp and turning to face her. She had thought that light would somehow appease her fear, but now she wished he would plunge them back into the gloom, where she could still pretend that perhaps he had forgotten about her. As his shadow stretched out behind him in the glow of the small light, all thoughts of food and sunshine evaporated from her mind, leaving nothing but terror. His blue eyes were wide as he stared at her, focused and curious and quite, quite mad.
‘Old blood,’ he said, a small smile on his face. ‘You have old blood. From home. I didn’t know what it was at first, this scent in the air every time you walked past. But then suddenly I knew: it was your blood that was driving me mad.’ He frowned. ‘And I’ve been so good – I’ve tried to be so good, for so many months. I thought – I thought perhaps I had control.’
Ava couldn’t stop herself shaking. She shook her head from side to side, as if somehow she could persuade him that she was not the girl he thought.It wasn’t she who had the old blood, whatever that was; she couldn’t come from his home. He was an Englishman and she was a Polish immigrant.
‘It wants you,’ he said, softly, ‘and I have to give it what it wants.’ He picked up a knife from the table and Ava tugged desperately at the leather ties that bound her to the lead pipes, wishing she had tried harder to free herself, wishing she had fought back harder when he’d hit her, wishing that she had never started working for Katherine Jackson three months ago.
He held something else behind his back as he came closer to her and crouched down. ‘Can you see it?’ he whispered. ‘Can you see it?’
She stared at him, uncomprehending. What did he want from her? If she could just give him the right answer, then maybe he would release her. Maybe—
‘It’s behind me – always behind me. Can’t you see it?’
Ava’s eyes blurred with fresh tears. There was nothing there, nothing behind him; he was just a madman. A madman with a knife. She shook her head. No, she couldn’t see it—
‘ She saw it,’ he said as his arm came from behind his back. He held a dead woman’s head high, gripping it by the hair. The skin had turned to leather and thinned against the bones, but the mouth was forever open in terror. ‘They all see it, in the end.’
As Ava screamed and screamed behind her gag,her mind snapping at the horror of her impending fate, the man leaned in closer, and she did; she saw it. Magda’s voice had been wrong. The man wasn’t the Devil at all. The Devil was behind him.
10
Daily Telegraph
October 4, 1888
THE WHITEHALL MURDER
Very little additional information has been allotted by the authorities regarding the identity of the victim of the atrocious crime whose dismembered remains were found on Tuesday afternoon in the new Police buildings, on the Embankment at Westminster.
----
Sent to the Central News Service, 5 Oct. 1888
Dear Friend
In the name of God hear me I swear I did not kill the female whose body was found at Whitehall. If she was an honest woman I will hunt down and destroy her murderer. If she was a whore God will bless the hand that slew her, for the women of Moab and Midian shall die and
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