Bruce Alexander - Person or Persons Unknown

“Indeed, it is true,” said I.

“But here, let me fix your pillow, so you may lie comfortable.”

She went about it as if her mind were elsewhere. When she had done, I lay back and looked up at her.

Then, after hesitating a moment, she spoke: “Jeremy, I shall tell you something I have never told Jack, so let it be a secret between us.” Again she hesitated. “At the time Jack asked me to marry, Mr. Tolliver was also courting me with the intention of marriage. He made that plain. He was a widower, and in every way he appeared to me to be a fine, upstanding man. I would indeed have married him had not Jack asked me. I cannot believe that I am such a bad judge of character that a man I would have married would be guilty of crimes of any sort, least of all those of such horrendous nature. And so you see, I am especially grateful to you for your part in bringing that man they call the Raker to the rope. I thank you for it, and I thank you, too, for your words to Jack in support of Mr. Tolliver.”

All that she told me I had guessed long before. Nevertheless, I said: “He will return and have a good reason for his absence. I’m sure of it.”

“Let that be our secret,” said she. And picking up the empty bowl she left me with the most serious of smiles.

Not long afterwards, Annie appeared at my door, stopping by prior to the buying trip to Covent Garden which, under ordinary circumstances, I might have made for her. She looked tired, and I told her so.

“And well I might be,” said she, “with Sir John stompin’ up and down the stairs, and me risin’ to look in on you twice more durin’ the night.”

“But you needn’t have, Annie. As you see, I’m in fine fettle.”

“Oh, I see fair enough. I’ve no doubt you look better than me — feel better, too. Well, I’m glad for it, Jeremy, for indeed you earned it. Maybe you ain’t heard, but it’s Sir John’s thought you should get that reward voted by Parliament — twenty guineas, and ain’t that a fair fortune!”

“He said that?”

“He did. And wouldn’t I take a knock on the head for twenty guineas?” Having said that, she looked down quickly to the floor. Then did she amend it: “Didn’t mean it. I’m sure you earned the reward, as well.” And, with a sigh: “Jeremy, old chum, I’m off to market. I’ll buy some apples, should Mr. Donnelly say you can have them.”

Within an hour of Annie’s visit. Sir John came to see me. I had spent the time between dreaming of what I might do with twenty guineas. Annie was right: it was a fair fortune. With it I could buy Mariah’s freedom still, and … and what? The bitterness I had taken away from our last two meetings had somehow been expunged by that remarkable dream I had had. Would what was left from her deliverance buy our passage to the colonies? I doubted it — though it might indeed see her back to Italy and her people there. Was that what I wanted? Of course not, though I should prefer that to seeing her remain in London with no trade, no proper work at all. Perhaps once she was free of that villain, I could persuade her to enter the Magdalene Home or accept the offer of employment Mr. Bilbo had made to her — yes, I was sure I could. In the latter situation, at least, she would be safe, live an ordered life, and best of all, I could see her often as I liked. My mind dwelt so on these possibilities that I gave no notice when I heard Sir John’s step upon the stairs. Thus I was taken by surprise when he stood at my door in an attitude of uncertainty. He could, of course, not tell whether I waked or slept.

“Come in. Sir John,” said I, “for I am eager to hear all you might have to tell.”

“Ah, Jeremy, good lad. I heard from Kate you were much improved. Took nourishment, you did.”

He stepped inside and stood, hands clasped behind him, beside my bed. For my part, I had rearranged my pillow and now sat up with no ill effect.

“I did eat,” said I, “and glad I was, for I was most famished. I do believe I’ll soon be ready to eat proper food again.”

“Something stronger than broth, eh? Well, that will depend on what Mr. Donnelly has to say. He’ll be by later to have a look at you.”

He paused. I waited. Then did he launch into his account of the Raker’s capture. There were, in all, six of them who arrived at the necropolis down by the river — four constables led by Mr. Perkins, and with them Mr. Donnelly and Sir John himself. They went quietly to the barn, from which a dim light shone. Yet there was little need for quiet, for when they arrived, they found him criminally engaged, oblivious of all but what he was at.

“In flagrante delicto we found him,” thundered Sir John. “So sure of himself was he that once he had knocked you senseless and made his escape through the adjoining court, he had got himself one more victim, and done her in with that same single knife-thrust to the heart. He had practiced it for months on the bodies in his barn. Mr. Perkins put a pistol to the Raker’s head, and the Raker left off what he was doing soon enough.”

(All this, reader, was a bit vague to me.)

Found so, the fellow readily confessed and produced the thin, long-bladed stiletto with which he had done his villainous work. He allowed that there had been more victims than we knew. He had killed about one a month, for the better part of a year. It was only because Teresa O’Reilly’s body was discovered before he could cart it off that his nefarious work came to light.

“I should have suspected him, stupid of me really,” said Sir John, “for twice he was on the scene, unbidden, with his wagon. Yet he was so familiar, so much a part of the process, that I gave him no thought.”

And, remembering, I then interrupted his narrative for the first time: “I recall. Sir John, that I saw his wagon in the alley off Bedford Street where Poll Tarkin was killed — and that just before his attack upon me.”

“And you thought nothing of it?”

“Nothing at all. Only that he had come to collect one who had died of natural causes.”

“Then I am perhaps not the dolt I supposed myself to be.” Holding back but a moment, he then proceeded somewhat thoughtfully: “Something quite disappointing came out today in court. I held coroner’s inquest on last night’s murder and the Raker’s hearing all in one. It may not have been proper procedure, yet that way I had done with it swiftly. In any case, it developed that while that madman quite willingly confessed to three of the murders, he quite hotly denied that he had had anything to do with the deaths of Poll Tarkin and Libby Tribble — that is, those in which the bodies were so brutally defiled. To quote him: ‘I would not treat a woman so’ — as if his method of murder were so much more merciful than that practiced upon those two women. I gave him a proper dressing-down on that point. I said — ” He shrugged. “Well, it matters little what I said. The significant thing is, I had no choice but to believe him. And so, having apprehended one murderer, we must now seek a second.”

“And Mr. Tolliver is still held suspect.”

“For want of any other, yes.”

“Lady Fielding will be sore disappointed.”

“She has already expressed her disappointment. No doubt you are about to do the same.”

“No, sir, you have heard all I have to say on that matter.”

“For that I thank you. There is one other matter affected by this revelation, and it has to do with you, Jeremy. I had intended to put your name forward to Parliament to be the recipient of the reward that was offered for the apprehension of the murderer. But since we now know there are not one but two murderers, you will no doubt be given part, though not all, of the reward. I know not how it shall be divided, but you should be receiving a considerable amount.”