AN: thank you all for your wonderful comments, just one to clarify. In this story John did finish law school, but could not preside over the trial or act as a lawyer due his closeness to the case especially since Nicholas was Mary's father and a good friend of the family. The judgement would be biased so that's why John couldn't work the case
John paced the station house floor, head down and hands knitted behind his back. His heart raced, and he pursed his lips tight. Kal Painter was being interviewed by Slater, and though he could hear the muffled sound of their conversation there were not distinguishable words. He was jealous of Slater in truth, since he was not handling the situation himself but with stony resolution considered Darin's reasoning. It was hard enough keeping the business running smoothly with Nicholas's spotty appearances and the mill was still suffering the hiccups of a fledgling enterprise. He could not very well have left his post and his wife to throw himself into the case, and would have been a horribly biased participant had his involvement been allowed.
So, with his mind heavy and feet dragging to a dull rhythm, he continued his circle around the stationhouse. It was irregular to question a witness after a trial had begun, and it was possible that there would be the need for a fresh one to try Kal Painter and resentence James Slickson. John seriously hoped that would not be the case. He doubted if Mary could bear any more attacks on her character or that Nicholas would allow her to be subjected to it. He had put his wedding to Ginny on hold, and both were working frantically to ensure Mary's safety and happiness such as could be had in the interim between the trials and sentencing.
John himself had seen a marked decline in the girl and Margaret had been trying to alert him of something for weeks, though had not had a chance to ask what it was about. Every time she would try to tell him, there would be a reason why he couldn't listen and would only remember it when he was away from her, prone to forget again. Admittedly, he was curious to know what news could be revealed, but if he trusted the feeling, like a stone in his shoe, he would not like the answer. In his mind there was only two things that could be revealed; one that Mary was enceinte, or two that she had chosen to stay in Milton and not pursue her dream as a teacher. Both or either would be detrimental to her, and would need prompt arranging which, if he could ever have a proper conversation with his wife, would offer to do.
Lost in thought, he jumped when Slater entered the hall, looking haggard and forlorn, his nose nearly drooping over his small thin lips. His hawk eyes were dull and it was apparent that he needed sleep, though he would never admit it. He must have been going on fifty… John thought.
"He won't testify, the damn fool," Slater growled, voice rough from overuse. "He'd rather it was just him who suffered, not the whole family. Has it in his head that if he told the truth the whole town would turn on them and they'd be out of employment. Tis sick, really."
"I was Slickson then," John breathed a long, resigned sigh. At least they have a culprit. All this misdirection was giving him a decidedly ridiculous headache.
"Oh it was, alright, and he got the daft boy to cover for him. I'd say we needed to bring in Hamper on account of the last assault, but being as he is in London and unlikely to resurface for some time we must let it be. One out of two is hardly a loss."
John frowned and shook his head. "I hope for Mary's sake this will not last much longer. Nicholas tells me she has barely left her room or taken anything to eat since the trial began. Damn, damn. I don't understand it."
"And I don't believe you could," Slater sighed, "with what he did. It was a dirty trick."
"What did he do?" John asked haltingly, cold seeping through his skin. He had never wanted to know details, but it seemed pertinent in this case to at least understand what had really happened.
"She doesn't remember what went on because Slickson had Painter drug her at the party. They put some sort of mild hallucinogenic in her drink and then he lured her and the others to the water. She was beginning to stumble by the time they had all sat down for cigarettes, and Slickson told Vera Lawson and Eddy to run along, that they were fine. Everyone trusted Painter and he was there so they agreed."
"Oh lord," John stared, horrified.
"Yes, quite. So when the others were gone, they confused Mary because Painter was made to hold her down and Slickson assaulted her. When she slashed out, she hadn't hurt anyone, but merely cut herself on the downswing, hence the blood on the knife."
"I don't recall hearing of an injury like that," John frowned.
"Nor do I, but I am sure there must be one. Once I threatened Painter with a hanging he opened up like a freed canary. He wouldn't implicate Hamper though. He said he didn't know anything and even if he did would fear magical retribution if he spoke. Slickson assured him of that. Its hogwash of course, but what does a man say to a boy who believes in witches above his own Lord and Savior?"
"Aye, superstition can be like that," John shifted his weight and crossed his arms, tired from standing and uncomfortable with the situation. "So there is nothing else? We have the truth?"
"I am sorry John, but yes." Slater placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, lips drawn into a thin line.
"Do you have any reason why they wanted…that…?" John suddenly remembered what Mary had said in trial; the appalling mention of her lost virtue. An image swam in his head of the first time Margaret and he had lain together and swiftly brushed it aside, worried that the recollection would make him either blush with embarrassment or cringe in regret. Such things were not borne even in thought.
"Some magic ritual is all I understood," Slater grimaced. "But don't think on it, just go home and thank God we caught the bastard who did this. I was worried no one would ever confess."
"I suppose there must be some comfort in it," John waved Slater off with a half-smile though he did not feel happy or relieved at all. "But you're right. I'd better go or the wife will start wondering where I am."
"Go, go, and I'll see you tomorrow," Slater shooed him out the foyer. "I have more than enough work cut out for me tonight—," he cut John off, "and don't tell me to sleep. I won't and you cannot make this old man listen. I have at least an hour of wheedling left on the boy."
"Aye, and I wish you luck on it too," John turned, saluted Slater and left the courthouse. The unexpected chill of the night stung his cheeks, and he was grateful for the scarf Margaret had brought him earlier that day. She really was the sweetest woman he had ever known.
On his way out he picked his way carefully along the icy sidewalk, a brittle coat of ice crunching underfoot as he made it to the high street. It was half ten and empty, the dark illuminated only by gas lamps that stood as lonely sentinels, testaments to man's ingenuity but also the utter stillness of the sleeping world that he crept upon like a waking nocturnal animal, surprised to find himself alone.
He found it oddly comforting and breathed a sigh of relief, idly watching as his breath twisted and danced away into the freezing night air. He was approaching the cemetery hill and also out of the maze of the warehouse district when a sound made him stop dead and hair to prickle on the back of his neck. It sounded like footfall coming his way up the alley but no one was there. He called out once knowing that any stalker would not answer, and his right hand drifted casually to his pocket.
Cautiously he stepped forward, angling his body towards the alley wall. He was steps from the mouth, but then out of a shadows his attacker pounced on him, wrestling him to the ground. Winded, he pushed them off and staggered to his feet. They leapt up with all the agility of a cat, and moved away, just out of arm's reach.
"What the devil do you think you're doing?" John gasped, squinting to get a glimpse at his assailant. It was a man, about his height with a medium build and dark hair. His face was shrouded in darkness.
"You let this happen to yourself. You should have left well enough alone," the voice came out as a flat, cold monotone. He lifted his arm and in the dull light glancing off the alleyway a knife glittered in his hand.
"So you'll get your revenge by killing me?" John scoffed, sounded braver than he felt. "Sydney, I don't want trouble with you. I've known you since you were a bairn."
"Aye but it doesn't matter now does it? I can't come back here anymore and once Painter squeals we'll all be in for it." Came the angry reply. "Make your girl shut up or I'll kill you."
"You might try, but I won't ever let you get away with this," John said easily. He was ready when Sydney lunged at him, and the two scrabbled to the ground, Sydney's blade cutting deep into John's thigh. He had been aiming for his chest but had lost his grip in the fall. John swung at him and hit him square in the jaw, forcing himself to his feet. Sydney came up too and punched him, the knife useless some feet away. John tripped him with his good leg and forced him to the ground, pulling a shiny revolver from his coat pocket.
"I did not want to have to hurt you," John said through gritted teeth, "and I won't but you have assaulted an officer of the law. On your feet."
When Hamper just glared at him, he nudged the boy with his foot and Sydney slowly stood.
"Why did you do it, boy?" John asked, watching Sydney stand. Why did you pick Mary Higgins of all girls?"
"We knew she was a virgin," spat Sydney, "the pious little nun. Wouldn't let anyone touch her, Painter said."
"That is not what I meant," John grunted angrily, gun still pointed at Hamper's chest.
"Oh! That! Well it didn't work anyways."
"What?" John demanded. He was beginning to feel the hot rush of blood in his shoes and he struggled to stand.
Sydney gave him an incredulous look. "God you are daft. It was for a sacrifice. Pure things exchanged for a favor. But my sickness didn't go away. We thought they would after that Richardson slut. I suppose she wasn't pure after all."
"I should have known," John grimaced. "Of course." Realization settled in a bitter place in his stomach and he felt as if he would heave.
"So you see, that is why we needed the serving girl. Slickson hated you, and so we killed two birds with one stone. I'm going to die anyways, so why do I care what you think?" There was a sick, almost otherworldly appearance to Sydney's face when he said this and John feared he might be deranged.
Only then did John notice the young man's marked, blistered skin, the hollow eyes and the pockmarked, red blotched hands. He swallowed his disgust but knew he would die if someone did not come soon or he could not make it home.
"Nothing worked!" Laughed Sydney, "nothing at all! The mercury made it even worse!"
Sydney began walking towards him again, face gone suddenly blank. He had somehow retrieved the knife, and staggered, gait no doubt stilted by the painful sores that would be splitting under his feet.
"Stop," John said, "stop, or I will shoot you."
Sydney advanced and John's voice broke in despair. "S-stop, I don't want to hurt you."
The boy ignored him, and John shot him in the knee, sending Sydney crumbling to the ground. The force of the recoil sent John stumbling backwards, and he caught his arm on the wall, easing his body down. Blood soaked his trousers and he ripped his cravat, creating a tourniquet with the once white fabric. Once he was sure he could stand without bleeding out, he hobbled home, a crimson footprint following him in the snow and droplets blooming into spidery flowers on the ice. Hamper would not be dead, but would require medical attention, and he call for help. His voice was too weak to make any proper noise however and sweat stung his eyes, making his way even more treacherous.
Dixon met him at the door, and with a scream Margaret came running. Once he was sure he had seen her face his body sagged, and he fainted, blackness closing around his vision quicker than he would have imagined possible. His body relaxed and his last thought was of his wife's beautiful face. They were safe at last.
AN: is this the end?! R&R to find out!