J. Durham - An Act of Mercy - A gripping historical mystery set in Victorian London

J. J. Durham

an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it,

while at times based on historical fact, are

the work of the author’s imagination.

Killer Reads

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GH

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain as A Killing Kindness , by J. J. Durham 2014

This edition published by HarperCollins Publishers 2015

Copyright © J. J. Durham 2015

J. J. Durham asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers 2015

Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books

Ebook Edition © APRIL 2015 ISBN: 9780008132767

Version 2015-03-02

Contents

Cover

Title Page An Act of Mercy J. J. Durham an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it, while at times based on historical fact, are the work of the author’s imagination. Killer Reads An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GH www.harpercollins.co.uk First published in Great Britain as A Killing Kindness , by J. J. Durham 2014 This edition published by HarperCollins Publishers 2015 Copyright © J. J. Durham 2015 J. J. Durham asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers 2015 Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books Ebook Edition © APRIL 2015 ISBN: 9780008132767 Version 2015-03-02

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Have you enjoyed An Act of Mercy?

About the Publisher

‘There ain’t many things in life I’m afraid of, sir … ’

‘But … ?’ Sergeant Harry Pilgrim glared up at the constable from halfway down the sewer ladder.

He hopped from one foot to the other, peering down at his superior. ‘Rats is one of them.’

‘Rats?’

‘Just so, sir. Fearful scratchy, louse-ridden creatures, sir, and I could no more go down that hole with you than walk on water, sir, even if you paid me a hundred guineas.’

Pilgrim looked at the constable. They both knew he earned just twenty shillings a week.

‘I don’t have time for this, Wainwright. Pass me the tinder box.’

‘Here it is, sir.’ The constable’s face slackened with relief.

Pilgrim took the box and tested the wheel. It fired readily; spinning sparks into the darkness as he descended the ladder. The rungs were surprisingly dry – it hadn’t rained for more than a fortnight – but even so, Pilgrim landed at the bottom with a splash. He didn’t look down to see what he had landed in, but up instead, to Wainwright’s face, haloed by the night sky like a lugubrious saint.

‘If I’m not back in five minutes go to the barracks.’ Pilgrim’s voice echoed off the arched brickwork. ‘Tell Constable Williamson where I am, and get him to wake some of the men to follow me.’

‘Will do, sir … and sorry, sir … about the rats.’

Pilgrim sparked the tinderbox again, and lit the wick of the lamp. He raised it up. He was in one of the new parts of the sewer system. The roof was easily high enough for him to stand, but the bricks were already crumbling, and daubed with rust-coloured streaks. It wasn’t rust, of course.

Pilgrim grimaced. He was glad that smallpox had robbed him of his sense of smell. He knew he had to hurry. The man he was pursuing was at least five minutes ahead of him now. He pressed on into the sewer; a straight tunnel with no turns or visible exits.

‘… seventy-four … seventy-five …’ He counted the paces, until he reached a point where the tunnel split into two. He hesitated. His quarry could have gone down either of them. But which one? He lifted the lamp higher, and listened. Nothing. Except the scratch of claws on brickwork. He could make out the huddle of rats on the copings beyond the range of his lamp. It was just as well Wainwright hadn’t wanted to join him. On the other hand, if he had, they would at least have been able to explore both routes. Frustration welled. Pilgrim had come so far, but now found himself torn between choosing one of the tunnels at random and turning back.

Then he heard it: the rasp of metal on metal, coming from the left hand branch. He took off his scarf, hung it on a nail that was protruding from the wall of the left hand tunnel, then galvanized into action, wading through the water as quickly as he could. It was impossible not to splash, but he hoped that the man he was chasing would be too absorbed in his own progress to hear the pursuit. Pilgrim ran on through the greasy water. Something caught at his foot. He lurched and stumbled, pitching forwards, then floundered a moment, grabbing for something, anything, that might help to keep his face out of the filth. His fingers closed on something substantial, and he used it to push up onto his feet. Releasing it, he recoiled at the sight of an eye staring up at him. A dead dog.