The Devil's Due by Bonnie MacBird

Author:Bonnie MacBird
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2019-08-22T17:00:00+00:00

PART FIVE

BACKWATER

‘There is some soul of goodness in things evil,

Would men observingly distil it out.’

—William Shakespeare, Henry V

CHAPTER 21

Cat and Mouse

Mrs Hudson had not exaggerated. An unseasonably dense, greenish-yellow fog had followed last night’s storm, converting an ice-frosted London into an opaque mystery. No four-wheeler was available, so we bundled into a hansom, its lack of enclosed cabin making for a very chilly ride through the murk. To my surprise, Holmes directed the driver first to an address in Kensington.

‘Watson we shall detour from this case briefly to inform Lady Eleanor Gainsborough of the facts surrounding her prize pupil. I cannot imagine it will please her, but I feel I at least owe her the report. And then … onto our main task!’

We were forced to inch along as the driver could see no more than a few yards before him. Holmes was taut with impatience, drumming the fingers of his right hand on his knee.

‘I am surprised you took on Lady Eleanor, Holmes, given how busy you are just now.’

‘Perhaps a mistake, Watson. But I have committed and must follow through.’

‘I wonder why did she not call the police about the attack on the girl?’ I said.

‘Perhaps in some way she suspected a ruse and did not wish to risk scandal.’ He paused, and smiled at me. ‘Or perhaps she has heard of Titus Billings and thought better of it.’

‘Odious man! But I sense she has a particular admiration for you, Holmes.’

He shrugged. ‘The public response to me has been polarized of late, Watson.’

‘Hers was particularly ardent,’ I persisted.

He waved the thought away. Our cab continued at a snail’s pace. Few were on the road, as driving about in this deep fog was dangerous. The gaslights along the streets remained lit even in daylight, pale orbs glowing in the fog like out-of-focus moons, helping us keep to our route.

I put this minor peril out of my mind and turned my attention to the case, which seemed as impenetrable as the mist through which we were travelling.

‘Holmes,’ I ventured, ‘I still cannot understand why the murderer would send such a letter to the Goodwins.’

‘There is something of the showman in our killer, Watson. He is proud of his work and wants attention, admiration. People who kill in series like this usually accelerate their game, shortening the time between murders, making each more gruesome, or in other ways creating a growing sense of horror. For them, it is a kind of theatre. They have been known to send notes to the police.’

‘Like the Ripper!’ I exclaimed. ‘Then why not this time?’

‘Perhaps he has. Perhaps Titus Billings has ignored it and will not say. Or it could be that this highly intelligent killer believes an idiot is currently in charge of the police force. Billings has, after all, appeared to fumble this investigation. Perhaps the killer miscalculated by sending his letter to the Goodwins, who did not announce it to the press, but rather kept the threats private.’

‘I see,’ I said.

‘Our killer has an agenda and is playing a long game.

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