Alex Grecian - Devil's Workshop

“They’ll live?”

“I told you, they’re healthy.”

“What about you? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Dr Kingsley has given me a clean bill of health. Only I don’t like to be at home by myself anymore. Not even with Fiona there. I can’t go into the kitchen. I certainly can’t go into the parlor.”

“I heard about what happened.”

“Poor Constable Winthrop. I can’t even look in that room now. The parlor, either. Our house is ruined.”

“Nonsense. Give it a little time. We’ll make new memories there.”

“I spend a lot of time with our girls at the park. I make up little rhymes for them and they love it. They smile when I sing.”

“Of course they do. They know they’ve got the best mother in London. In the world.”

“Would you like to hear one of my rhymes?”

“Perhaps later. Maybe once I’m home again.”

“Oh, Walter, I know you’ve had second thoughts about having a child. And now there are two. Please don’t-”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know.”

He shook his head. “Not second thoughts. Not really. I was worried about you. After what happened to my mother. .”

“I’m fine. I’m not sad like your mother was. And you are not your father.”

“And you are not yours, thank God.”

She laughed. “Thank God. We really ought to name them. The babies.”

“That can wait.”

“When will you come home?”

“That’s a question for the doctor, but I should think no later than tomorrow.”

“And what about Nevil?”

“His recovery will take a good bit longer, I think.”

“Not so,” Hammersmith said. They looked at him and saw that his eyes were open and he was smiling at them. His face was very pale, and the nurses had not done a good job of shaving his chin. “If you leave tomorrow, I leave tomorrow.”

“Nevil,” Claire said, “you’ll do what Dr Kingsley tells you to or you’ll answer to me, sir.”

She stood and went to Hammersmith’s bedside, put a hand on his forehead. His hair was sweaty, but his skin was cool to the touch.

“How are you, Mrs Day?”

“Better than you are, Nevil.”

“I’m just fine.”

“Of course you are. I begin to think you’re indestructible.”

“I do wish people would stop testing that theory.”

“Yes.”

“What about Fiona Kingsley? I’d like to thank her. I’m told she saved my life.”

Claire looked away. “She’ll visit soon.” In fact, Fiona had declared that she could not bear to see Hammersmith again. She felt she was doomed to remember him always at death’s door.

They all turned at the sound of someone clearing his throat. Sir Edward Bradford stood at the door, a gift-wrapped package in his hand.

“Good,” he said. “You’re both awake. Mrs Day, good morning to you.”

“Please come in,” Claire said.

He stepped over the threshold and held the package out to her.

“I brought this,” he said, “thinking I’d give it to the inspector. I didn’t want to disturb you at home so soon after the. .” He glanced nervously at the pram.

“Oh, thank you, sir. Would you like to see them?”

“I can’t stay long. There’s still a prisoner on the loose.”

She took the package and turned the pram around so that he could look down into it. He nodded at the sleeping babies and smiled back up at Claire.

“They’re perfect, aren’t they?” he said.

“Very much so,” Claire said.

“Well done, mum.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s, um. .” He pointed to the package. “It’s a toy. I didn’t think to get two of them. I’ll send another one.”

“They can share, I’m sure.”

“It’s the sort of thing you wind up and the puppet pops up at the end.”

“How thoughtful.”

“They may have to wait to play with it. It might be frightening for babies that small. I’d forgotten how small they can be.”

“I’ll put it aside for them,” Claire said. “For when they’re ready.”

Sir Edward nodded and looked over at the men in their beds. Claire followed his gaze and hurried over to her husband, kissed his cheek.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose you men have business to discuss. I’d better go and feed these young ladies.”

“It was good to see you, Mrs Day.”

“And you, sir.”

Sir Edward watched as she covered the babies with a white coverlet and wheeled the pram out of the room. He looked down the hall after her, then closed the door and turned to his men.

“Very kind of you, sir,” Day said.

“Don’t give it a thought.”

“Well, thank you anyway. Tell me. . the Harvest Man, have they caught him yet?”

“There’s been no sign. An apothecary was broken into the night before last. Ether was stolen. And an old mask they kept as decoration. It might have been him, but we’ve got nowhere with it. Blacker and Tiffany especially are beside themselves. Haven’t slept since you two went down.”

“And what about Jack? Have you found him?”

“I’m charging Adrian March with the crimes against you.”

Day swung his legs off the bed and stood, balanced carefully on his right foot. He tried to take a step toward the commissioner, but fell backward and sat on the edge of his bed.

“Sir, it wasn’t Adrian March.”

“You were under considerable duress and those tunnels are filled with pockets of gas, Inspector Day. Your mind was not your own. I imagine you saw a great many spectacular things.”

“It was no gas. Jack the Ripper is on the loose again, and we’ve got to track him before he does something worse than he already has.”

Sir Edward gave him a long, sad look. “Don’t. . Inspector Day, I have already made my report. In it, I state that you were instrumental in stopping the murderer Cinderhouse, who invaded your home and killed poor Constable Winthrop. You found and apprehended both Napper and Griffin. You’re a hero. There’s only one convict still out there, and the public believes, largely because of what they’ve read about you in the tabloids, that we will capture the Harvest Man any day now. What do you think it would do to London, to the people in this city, if you told them that Saucy Jack was still out there among them?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hammersmith said. Day and Sir Edward both turned to the sergeant, who had not spoken to this point. “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. There’s a madman about and he will kill more people unless we stop him.”

“Ah, Sergeant, your attitude is what I’ve actually come here to discuss,” Sir Edward said.

“Sir?” Hammersmith’s expression was grim, and Day wondered how much pain he was experiencing. His own wounds hurt much more than they had two days earlier in the underground cell. In some ways the healing process was worse than the injury.

“Sergeant, you almost died,” Sir Edward said.

“I’ll be right as rain by tomorrow,” Hammersmith said.

“No, you won’t. But knowing you, you’ll attempt to come back to work anyway.”

“Sir, I-”

“Let me say it, Sergeant. Since I’ve known you, you’ve been beaten, poisoned at least twice, nearly frozen to death, and now you’ve been stabbed, cut open, and sewn back together. You rarely seem to eat or sleep. You regularly push yourself past the limits of your body.”

“I try to do my job, sir.”

“But I believe your job is killing you, Mr Hammersmith.”

“Sir, I respectfully-”

“I can’t let you do this anymore. For your own good-”

“Sir,” Day said. “You can’t.”

“I think I have to.”

“If you dismiss him, I’ll go, too.”

“You have two new babies, Inspector. Think about what you’re saying.”