I sat with my spine pressed firmly against the dresser that stood stalwart between myself and the door. What was I to do? I had all the evidence I required to go to the police - the cords were hidden in his dresser, there was reason to believe the murders were symbolic of his own wife - but then, the case was circumstantial at best. I could no more prove that those were the rosaries which bound the women than I could that they had belonged to his wife. I ran my fingers through my hair until they met at the base of my skull. What was it that troubled me so? I heard the front door open,
"It's a bad way we're in, sir." A man's muffled voice floated up the stairs. I could not place it - it was neither Lt. Smith nor Mr. Kitt. "I don't expect we can hold out much longer."
"No," the defeated tone of Lt. Smith answered. "No, I suppose not. I wish-" his voice caught. "But it's not safe. We can't risk another woman being murdered by these ruffians."
"Aye."
"But then if we don't serve them, how many will die for want of a meal? How many with no knowledge of their savior - condemned to the depths forever by our cowardice?"
"It would only be for a while, just until the crowd disperses back to their homes. We can do them no good as we are; they're in danger every time they come to a meeting. You'll see, come Autumn all the excitement will be long forgotten and we can march again."
"But what of those poor souls in the meantime?"
"I suspect they'll have to shift the best they can. We can still help them from the Barracks, still go out and tell them the good news though our daily goings and doings. It's not as though we would wholly abandon them."
"But those are a poor substitute for the witness we give them by marching, by holding our meetings in the open where they might hear the gospel merely by passing near."
"George, they aren't able to hear the good news anyhow, with those Skeletons about."
"To see it then!" there was a moment of silence. "I know you speak sense, Donald, but I just can't reconcile myself to the idea of suspending our meetings. Christ did not cease His ministry when they attempted to stone him or drove him from the town. Not even in the face of death."
"But you are not Christ, George." the elder Shaw admonished.
"I know, it is only my pride speaking. I am not yet ready to surrender to the will of the mob."
"Nor are we, any of us. But there comes a time when we must see reason."
"I suppose it all comes down to tomorrow then. Perhaps God will inspire the magistrates to turn to our cause after all, or, at the very least, the constable. It would not be the first time He has inspired a leader to protect his people in the 11th hour."
"No, it would not be." Mr. Shaw's words of hope were belied by their funereal tone. "Well, we shall have a better understanding of His will tomorrow - there's no sense speculating what it may be before it is revealed. We can only trust it is to His good, in the end."
"Of course, you are right. God be with you, Donald."
"You as well, George." I heard the front door shut. Below the sounds of Lt. Smith busying himself in the kitchen, the clink of dishes and the metallic clank of the heavy kettle being placed on the fire telling of his purpose. Footfalls gradually grew louder as he climbed the stair. I could hear the floorboards before my room groan in protest under his weight. I held my breath as if he might somehow be able to hear my breathing, the pounding of my heart, through the door. I heard the dull rap of two fingers upon the door.
"Miss Moore," his voice called quietly. "if you are still awake, I am making tea." He stood, I knew, awaiting a response. None I gave, nor any indication I stirred at all. Finally, I heard the footsteps as they made their way back down the stair and into the kitchen. I sat, my shoulder blade impressed painfully upon the corner of the dresser, unable to force myself to move for fear of giving away my conscious state by some errant creak or scratch, even when I heard the soft snores of the man from the room beside mine.
I awoke still propped against the dresser, the dusky first rays of the sun only just trickling in from the window, motes of dust floating suspended in their beams. For a moment I attempted to collect myself - how had I wound up on the floor? For my life it seemed the strangest thing until I lifted my head, cracking it smartly against the corner of the dresser. I rubbed the sore spot, now I remembered, not that I needed such a painful awakening to my precarious position. With the dawn came a clarity the fear from last night's discovery had not allowed. How long had it been since terror had left me asleep against a door? There was a strangeness, a clue I could not place or recall, yet one that told me Lt. Smith was not the murderer I should believe him to be though all evidence indited him. I knew it, somewhere in another lifetime it was there begging to reveal itself, a message adrift in a bottle floating helplessly on a sea of memories. Dinah would tell me to trust my intuition; that the good Lord gave women such a gift for a reason and it must not be ignored when it so strongly pulls. Of course, she and Quentin would also tell me I was mad for even suspecting the man, I allowed with a crooked smile. Still, I was certain of one thing, the targets were not nearly so random as they had appeared and, at the moment, I was not among them. If the villain were truly Lt. Smith, and the more I allowed that thought room in my head the more certain I was of its veracity, I was now aware of it and would be on my guard. And were it not, I would soon find the culprit. But, either way, I should not prove terribly effective in my duties hiding behind a dresser. Pulling my stiff body up, I felt rather the fool - what would Roger say if her were to come upon me situated such? If I truly believed I were a spy the equal of the famed Lord Bond, then it was time I began behaving that way. Performing my toilet proved a greater chore than usual, my joints protesting the cruelty of having been forced to sleep in such a manner, but activity soon loosened them. There was much to do today.
"I would advise you not to come to meetings today." Lt. Smith said sadly, as he placed a plate of eggs and toast before me. Fried this time. Well, at least there was jam.
"Do you expect some trouble?" I absently inquired, spreading jam liberally across my toast.
"Aye, possibly more than just some."
"That sounds rather ominous. Is that why you cancelled the early meeting?"
"I fear you have guessed the reason exactly. So I ask that you would stay in today, and don't open the door to anyone but myself or another officer." he looked at me as one who half expected to never return. I wished I could offer him some words of consolation, some assurance that the Skeleton Army only meant mischief, not explicit harm. But then, the fire in their eyes last night - if violence were to begin it would certainly be taken up by the lot of them for they had nothing but a single mind between them and that mind was keen for blood and fire. "Promise me that you will. I cannot worry for your safety as well as my own. No matter what were to occur today I could, at least, have the comfort of knowing you were safe." He took my hand in both of his, his pleading eyes met mine, shining in their desperation. I marveled at this man. Still, though he feared so for my own life, was he willing to go and risk his own on what, even I would call, say essentially a fool's errand. "Promise me." he repeated somberly.
"I promise." I had no intention of honoring this promise for more than the three minutes it would take for him to get far enough ahead to not realize he was being trailed, but if it would bring him some peace to believe it I saw no reason to deny him.
"Thank you." he released my hand. It felt warm, moistened by his own. He was more afraid than he would admit. Discreetly, I wiped my hand on my napkin - were he a murderer he certainly was not a particularly insensate one. He feigned a smile and we returned to our breakfasts.
Take care, Miss Moore." he called as he joined Mr. Kitt and Donald Shaw who waited just outside the door, having arrived only moments ago.
"You as well, Lt. Smith. I will pray for you."
"Thank you." a weak, yet genuine smile, passed over his lips. He turned to leave but thought better of it, coming back to me, he placed a light kiss on my forehead, his blue eyes intent on mine, "Remember, do not open the door for anyone but myself or an officer. Should it be required, there is an envelope in my desk addressed to Bertha." his voice caught. He turned and was gone. My hands flew to my face, attempting to cool the burning fire on my cheeks. Not wanting to be directly spotted; I hooked my umbrella over my arm, strolled to the back door, and, counting to ten, I swung it open.
A strong sea breeze whipped across my face warning of later showers, though the clouds indicated such warnings to be impotent. When this case was over I sincerely hoped to take a week holiday in one of these coastal towns. I strode through the backyard easily vaulting the low wall that separated it from its neighbor. "Oh hells bells." I groaned as I noticed I had crushed a stand of marigolds underfoot. I hadn't noticed before that the neighbor had quite a proclivity for gardening, but now I found myself carefully picking through a labyrinth of flowering plants. By the time I was through, Lt. Smith and his cadre were nowhere to be seen. "Blast it all." I cursed under my breath, hurrying to make up for lost time. The meeting would not be until ten, it was only just now nine thirty; even if they were lost to me I could recover them at the barracks. I made swift work of the road, coming to the intersection with Shelley. Looking left, I saw them only a block ahead of me - they must have opted to meet with the rest of the Shaw clan on Gratwicke rather than going by way of the barracks. Now sure of their path, I turned down Crescent. I had waited some time, cloaking myself in the shadows afforded by the alley beside the Rose and Crown, before I saw the first of the boys running pell mell down around the corner from New St. - I recognized his face as one of those who had strained to see above the windows at the Bonfire club meeting. My heart sickened - the child was serving as a scout. I had sincerely hoped the Bonfire Boys were all talk, but it now appeared we should not be so lucky; they intended conflict and conflict would be had. A few moments later a small knot of blue clothed women and men walked into view, nervously scanning their surroundings before turning onto Gratwicke. I recognized one, a cadet - Hartnett, I believed - but the other three were strangers to me. Anxious, I followed behind them. Already, it seemed rowdies were melting out from the shadows into the streets. It felt as though we were being swallowed in the black clouds of a gathering storm ready to loose its rage upon the Salvation Army. I redoubled my step, less intent on following those behind me than getting out of this street before I was caught in their crush. Only a handful of minutes passed before I was able to make out Lt. Smith's sharp features from another gaggle of blue and red outfitted beings as I approached the park, the towering Mr. Kitt at the rear. Lt. Smith raised a hand to halt the party as they approached the corner, he took a handful of steps ahead, peering down the street, before he waved them to continue. I ached to make my presence known to him, to warn him of the impending danger - but my hands were bound! How could I reveal what I knew without also revealing myself? I made out another figure, just behind Mr. Kitt - not fully obscured for his own size. It was Russell Shaw! He was in plain clothes but was undoubtedly with the party. His appearance boded far worse for the situation than any other could have. Fear for his relations must have compelled him to their protection! How great must the threat be that he would feel such a need? There could now be no doubt, he expected violence from his friends. I quickly concealed myself behind a stand of trees.
I heard the strains of that dark song, chanted more than sung by the crowd bearing down on the civilian soldiers, well before I could make the ominous words that chilled me to the bone:
We want disturbance and mob law
Far, far away
It was old Booth who declared the war,
Far, far away,
Things have come to a dreadful pitch,
And we have no means of getting rich,
We'll drown the Army in a ditch,
Far, far away.
The dreadful force of at least two hundred men surrounded the gathered Salvationists. They looked as scared rabbits, ready to break and run at the slightest provocation. Russell placed his arm around his grandmother and pulled her tight to himself. The flag bearer nervously rose the banner,
"Form ranks soldiers!" a woman's voice pierced the air. The Salvation Army gathered into their procession formation and began to march in the direction of Montague Hall. The Skeleton Army pressed in on them, pushing and jostling their rivals as the Salvationists attempted to walk through them. They had not even reached crescent before the cry went out,
"Grab the flag!" The Skeleton Army broke upon the Salvationists with a fury. Fists flew, it seemed the little army had been enveloped by madness. A blow to the face felled Lt. Smith, who was then borne up by Mr. Kitt. Russell Shaw stood, momentarily baffled, until a man (rather accidentally) fell hard onto his Grandmother, causing the elder Mrs. Shaw to cry out in shock. I watched, my feelings a combination of marvel and horror, as Russell threw the man into the crowd. The man appeared equally stunned by the assault from his own countryman who now tossed his former colleagues about as easily as if they had been sacks of flour. From my vantage point I saw the banner proclaiming "Blood and Fire" dip and wave as a force of six men battled fiercely over possession of it. It dipped again, disappearing into the mob. The pole rose again, its banner stripped from it, Henry stood waving the pole, grinning madly with glory.
"We may not have gotten the flag, but we have the pole!" he exulted. A loud hurrah rose from the crowd. I saw the telltale uniforms of the Salvationists as they managed to extricate themselves from the violence, escaping in the direction of Montague Hall. The Skeleton Army members laughed as they watched the last of their enemy flee.
The mob again took up their mocking song led by Henry who held the flag pole high as he led his parade of degenerates down toward Montague St.,
"They tried hard to lock us up,
Far, far away,
The Bench told them to try their luck,
Far, far away.
The row they did themselves provoke,
For their processions were no joke,
We wish they'd disappear like smoke,
Far, far away.
Where is a Bobby to be found
Far, far away,
They say he's sent upon a round
Far, far away..."
And where were the police anyhow? Not wishing to overtly protect the Salvation Army I might be persuaded to understand, but they should at least be present to restore order. They were effectively turning control of the town to this violent rabble. I waited until the last of them had departed down the road at the tail of their ignominious parade before leaving my hiding place. I trotted the short distance to Lt. Smith's home, still aware of the Skeleton's song ringing through the town, hopeful that he had gone with the rest to Montague Hall - I did not wish to bring on him further concern if he came home to find me disappeared without a trace.
The first star of evening hung in the sky before Lt. Smith arrived home with Mr. Kitt at his side. His face was bruised from the earlier blow, but not near so much as his spirit. I looked to Mr. Kitt who understood my unspoken query,
"We've been confined to the Barracks."
"For how long?"
"I can't say for sure. It went poorly today." I nodded not wanting to prod the poor man's wounds with further questions. Lt. Smith silently walked to the kitchen and began to fill the kettle,
"Damn it all!" he ejaculated, slamming the kettle onto the metal stove. Mr. Kitt and I gaped in disbelief at his sudden display. "I'm sorry," he collected himself, running his hand over his face. "I'll be in my room." he said and, without another word, he walked up the stair. I heard the loud slam of his door and then nothing more.
"He's had a bad day of it."
"What happened?" I asked, replacing the kettle on the stove. While I detested Mr. Kitt, at this moment I wanted nothing more than the company of anyone who had been at the melee. And I suppose I was thankful to him for aiding Lt. Smith.
"What happened is they were lying in wait for us, took our flag pole - wasn't nothin' we could do to stop it." the man replied, falling heavily onto the sofa. "We managed to get to Montague Hall, tried to hold services in there, but when we left they came after us again - attacked one of our boys, jest a kid you know, near tore his uniform off him; if it hadn't been for the intervention of a bystander who knows what might have become of the boy! George is taking it mighty hard, but I don't see there was much choice in the matter. It's not like it's over, just stopped for a bit till they go home." Through the open window the strains of a Skeleton hymn could be heard. I peered out into the growing night to see three young men staggering about singing poorly of their triumph. They stopped before the house and seemed to whisper before one of them flung a bottle in the direction of the front gate slurring,
"This one's for you Reverend Smith!" The pathetic missile did not even clear the street before it burst on the paving stones. Its mark was irrelevant, the other two members of the party congratulated the man as though it were some great accomplishment (I would wager the greater accomplishment was that he was able to remain standing at all given his condition).
"I take it the police have declined to take action?"
"Police? If any were there it was on the side of the Skeletons." he grumbled. Serving the tea, I took a seat across from the man and sipped the piping hot concoction. It was in need of cream, but I lacked the will to retrieve it. Mr. Kitt took a rather large gulp, "Ahhh" he sighed, loudly. "Nothing like a good cup of tea to bring the life back into you."
"I wonder if Lt. Smith would like a cup?"
"I wouldn't chance it right now, Missy. Give him a little time." We sat, drinking our tea, in a most uncomfortable silence. Finally, finding the lacking conversation intolerable, I broached, what I believed to be, a rather innocuous subject;
"How long have you lived in Worthing?"
"Maybe three years now, maybe four. Don't exactly remember - time goes faster when you get to be my age."
"Yet you are only a first year Cadet?" Self-conscious, he looked at the single red bar on his shoulder.
"Very perceptive, aren't you? Yes, I joined the Army after the declaration of War went out. Afore then I never gave much thought to it, you know?" I nodded as if in agreement.
"Is that when you came to know Lt. Smith?"
"About then."
"You have known him quite some time, how does he strike you?"
"Fancy him, do ya?" the accusation brought the rose to my cheeks, not for its truth but rather its bluntness. "Well, I'd look elsewhere, Missy. He'll never be tied to none but the memory of his wife. Suppose he made her into something of an idol for himself. Sorry thing to see a man waste the best of his years alone. But he is a good man, quiet, keeps to himself a bit much. Kind. Always a great friend to women in need - particularly the blonds, like yourself, I think they remind him of his wife. But I shouldn't tease you so and get your hopes a flowing. When I met him I was jest a no account laborer, drinking away my pay with the lot of them. He took me under his wing as it were. Never had much to speak for before I joined. Now I have a proper room, a uniform, a position, a purpose to my life. A man can't survive without a purpose, you know."
"You were a laborer before then?"
"Dock hand mostly. Odd jobs here and there." A fitting career, it was no great leap to imagine the man loading and unloading ships. "Not much work on the Island, never was, so I come here."
"Do you ever miss your family?" He made a dismissive sound,
"Not much there to miss. My father died when I was just a boy."
"What of your mother?" His eyes narrowed, staring, not at me, but beyond as if I had conjured some villainous spectre behind myself with the words,
"No, I don't miss her in the slightest. Would that she have died, rather than him. Nagged him to death, she did. Nearly caught me as well. She was a worm, always wheedling, striving, smiling while she consumed your very heart and left your mind just a husk for her to lay her eggs in that they might hatch and make you the same as she." I found myself very eager to end this conversation.
"Well, it is getting quite late, I suppose it is time for bed. Mr. Kitt, it is always a pleasure." I rose, offering a quick bow of my head. He caught my hand in his painful grip and lifted it to his eyes which looked into mine with a meaning that seemed more menacing than tender,
"No, Missy, the pleasure has been mine." he pressed his lips to the unsteady, white knuckles. "Take care to watch out for yourself." he whispered, then followed it loudly with, "Tell George I will pop by tomorrow afternoon." he said with a wave as he shut the door behind him. I stood, stunned, by his display, not quite sure what to make of it. He may have meant well but his words had only further implicated his friend. Had he meant to warn me? I could not comprehend Mr. Kitt, and, in truth, I had no desire to seek a greater understanding of him. I gathered the dishes, taking them to the sink to be cleaned. Above I heard the creaking of someone pacing about. Whatever part of my mind that suspected him of villainy could not sustain when countered with such terrible pity. My heart was rent for the poor man, alone upstairs, with his violently dashed dreams. I poured the remainder of the water in the kettle into a teacup.
"Lt. Smith?" I called gently rapping at the door. There was no answer. "I brought you a cup of tea." I heard footsteps, the door opened, revealing the pale face of Lt. Smith. His bruise had grown darker, but it was his eyes, rimmed red, which arrested me.
"Thank you, Miss Moore." he took the saucer, managing something of a smile. "God bless you." he began to shut the door,
"Lt. Smith?" I rushed.
"Yes, Miss Moore?"
"I was wondering if we might go to the seashore? I have not yet had a chance to see it. Perhaps, we might even visit the castle Arundel?" he seemed to waiver at the idea. "It might be beneficial to get away from town for a time." I added, my motive now completely transparent. He thought for a moment, then smiled,
"Well, I suppose you have been rather isolated here since you arrived - I have not had much of a chance to be a proper host to you. We may be able to get away on Thursday, if that would be acceptable to you. It will take all day, we won't arrive home until nightfall." I nodded,
"I look forward to it, Lt. Smith."
"I as well, Miss Moore." his face now noticeably more cheered than a moment ago, he shut the door. I fell backward against the wall, hand to my forehead - What on Earth had I done!
It was a foolhardy risk, I knew it even as I was asking. But then, he had seemed so very sad. It seemed my pity for the man had overwhelmed my good sense. Certainly, the idea had positively effected him. But now I was to spend the day alone with a man who very well may have murdered five women! And I might be joining their ranks come Thursday night as penitence for my tender-hearted ways. "Be careful" Roger had warned - so full of care was I! I shook my head in disbelief at my own idiocy - why not just walk right into the Lion's Den wearing a Sunday roast? And where was the man anyhow? Off in Bletchley taking his own good time reporting back. Most probably enjoying a drink at the pub while I toiled away in mortal peril! My rage burned against him - infuriating man! I slipped into my own room, shutting the door with more force than was required and leaned against it. Lt. Smith would wonder at the noise. And why should that concern me one way or another? What did I need? I began pacing the room. I needed the identity of the fourth woman. And even more than that I needed to find Miss Carville before the killer did. The killer? Why could I not reconcile the notion of George being the murderer? I had discovered the cords in his dresser myself! It was easily enough evidence to go to the Constable with. Yet, I was hesitant. Was it for want of more definitive proof? But then what could be more definitive aside from finding him over the corpse of a freshly murdered woman? He was familiar with the victims (but for the fourth one of which we could not be certain), the final one in particular - which might account for the greater violence in the murder. Even his own friend seemed to implicate him. From any angle the pieces of the puzzle appeared to fit together, but, when tried - gaps appeared. The fit was not proper - it was too convenient. Perhaps my tongue had, once more, acted to my best interest. A day trip to the shore would provide the ideal opportunity to observe the man, speak with him - for, in truth, I scarcely knew him. To be sure, this might prove the best opportunity to uncover whether or not he truly was the Blackpool killer.