Maxim Jakubowski - The Mammoth Book of the Adventures of Professor Moriarty

The name had meant nothing to me then, but now a terrible suspicion seized me. The message had indicated he was to present himself at the Tilbury docks and, caring little, I had deciphered no further, no time, no place. It was whispered in the taverns that the Spider tolerated no departure from his order of complete silence on those who worked for him. Any peaching or blabbing would result in death and, if circumstances warranted it, that sentence would include those near to him. If Jesse had dared to trespass beyond his orders, not only could he be doomed, but also Elsie, his innocent wife, the girl who’d handed me that red rose yesterday.

I’d heard her cry: ‘Roses, red roses. Red roses for your sweetheart.’ I had no sweetheart but I had bought one nevertheless, and, as she handed it to me, she had said: ‘You look as if you need a rose, mister.’

I had been of no importance, a mere shape drifting past, but she had looked at me and cared. I might have been the unwitting messenger of her death. In vain I told myself I was not guilty of her murder, but I felt I was.

You’ll not go unavenged, Elsie , I silently promised her. I would hunt down the Spider sitting so smugly in his web and make him pay by foiling his fiendish plans.

Brave words. How to find him, however? I knew only the identity of the person to whom I passed the message. Messages were delivered to me by the same anonymous man but in a different location on every occasion. It would mean my own death if I were discovered attempting to find the beating heart of the web, the Spider himself, but to descend it might be of no avail. I was at a crossroads: which way to travel? Climb the web or seek out Jesse Bracken? I felt a surge of power. I alone could choose. If I trod carefully, even this most elusive of spiders might not notice this insignificant fly. Yes, I would climb.

But then Elsie’s cry echoed in my ears: ‘Red roses, red roses …’

Few hear the cry of those whom the metropolis’s uncaring ways trample underfoot. But I did hear it, and I knew I must answer it.

‘Hurry,’ had been Elsie’s last word, and so my first step must be to find Jesse Bracken before he too was killed. To have left the army, Bracken must be an invalid. If, as was likely, another order along a different chain had been issued for his and Elsie’s death, his killer might already have acted – or be about to act.

I had been early abroad as sleeping comes hard to me, and it was not yet six of the clock. No time to waste, however. I could see the police constable coming towards us now, but in the crowd around Elsie, it was easy to melt away with my usual anonymity and then run .

I ran from the market towards Wych Street and then down into the Strand, through the arch of Temple Bar and into Fleet Street where lies the great church of St Bride’s. London’s working world was already coming to life, and I hoped to find Jesse Bracken at his post.

There was no sign of any match-seller by or near the church, when I arrived, panting for breath. Where did Jesse live? No one could tell me. I must find Bill Butcher – who being the link above Jesse would surely know – but the taverns, whose company he sought more than that of toil, were not yet open. Then I saw a coffee stall by the cab stand and, to my relief, I could see Bill slumped against it.

He was a street entertainer, a one-man band, whose raucous music offended the ears of London. He jokes as passers-by drop halfpennies and farthings into his cap, but his eyes can turn into the coldest of weapons to those who cause him trouble. I had one advantage, however. Bill Butcher did not know who I was, just as I did not know the link above me. To him I was just another anonymous fly caught in this web.

Another of my talents is impersonations to dodge recognition; I can be an afflicted beggar, a chimney sweep, a fisherman, a jack tar, a night-soil man or even a toff as it takes my fancy, but there was no time today for such precautions. I could change my voice, but otherwise I was my own unimportant self with a fortunately unmemorable face.

I ordered tea and a muffin and stood next to Bill for a moment or two, then remarked gruffly: ‘Heard there’s a girl murdered in the Garden.’

‘What’s it to me?’ he growled.

‘Hard for her man. Invalided soldier, I’m told. Know him, do you? They’re looking for him now. Sells matches round here.’

I feared I had gone too far, but he showed no signs of recognition, as he sniggered, ‘He won’t fret. Pulled out of the river last night by them River Police. Down by the big ship docks. Knifed,’ he informed me, with much satisfaction.

My face changed not a whit, but inside I was very cold. ‘What was he doing down those parts?’

He turned away, without bothering to reply, but I’d heard enough. ‘Hurry,’ Elsie had said less than an hour ago. Jesse must already have been dead, but Elsie might not have known that. Perhaps, however, her ‘hurry’ referred to something else. Could that be the Spider’s planned crime in which Jesse and I had been links? My heart pounded within me. I must act – but how?

At that moment a police van passed, possibly carrying Elsie’s body away. I doffed my hat and, as I did so, glanced upwards. There I saw flags of red, white and blue flying from every window. I live my own anonymous life, but how could I have not considered what was exciting most of the world, even though I had dismissed it as being of no relevance to me?

On the morrow, 21 June, Her Majesty Queen Victoria would be celebrating her Golden Jubilee. She would have been on the throne for fifty years and London was already crowded with vis itors. Its ports, especially those with water deep enough to take the new large passenger ships, were greeting princes and crowned heads from as far afield as Persia, Japan and Siam; from India came maharajahs bearing gifts of jewels and servants for the royal household, and bringing gifts from Hawaii was Queen Kala Kaua. Most talk, however, was of Her Majesty’s many German relatives, including the Crown Prince Friedrich, his wife, the Queen’s eldest daughter, and their son Prince Wilhelm, later to be Kaiser himself and who was a far from popular gentleman, so the rumours went. The pomp of their arrival on the destroyer Blitz and accompanying flotilla of torpedo boats had demanded one of the newer docks.

Tilbury, I thought, where Jesse Bracken must have lost his life. The death of a flower girl seemed far removed from such grand matters of stage, and yet …

‘ Hurry, ’ Elsie had said.

Surely not even the Spider’s plans would reach as far as Her Majesty’s Jubilee Day, even to the Queen herself? It had to be considered, however, for in the past there had been failed attempts by madmen to assassinate Her Majesty, and the next might succeed. There were some foreign powers who might welcome the Queen gone from the throne of England and its empire. This very day Her Majesty was arriving by train from Windsor Castle to make her way to Buckingham Palace for the celebrations on the morrow. What could I do even if such an outrage were being planned by the Spider? For all my spurt of confidence, I was a person of no importance. I could not spill out my fears to Scotland Yard without appearing a madman myself and such a move would undoubtedly sign my own death warrant from the Spider. But I could try to climb the web even at this late stage. My very unimportance might enable me to move unseen.

And so my climb began. I went first to the dark and smoky tavern in the Strand near the Lowther Arcade; it was here that the message about Jesse had been handed to me by my anonymous link. I had little hope of finding him, not least because this was only one of the taverns where I had met him. Good fortune favoured me, however. My link had grown careless, for he was drinking here now. He failed to recognise me in the gloom, especially since my assumed accent and my cap identified me as a costermonger from the east of our city. It was surprisingly easy over the next hour or two for me to supply him with enough liquor to acquire a clue to where he had met the link above him.