Murder by Sarah Pinborough

Author:Sarah Pinborough [Pinborough, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quercus
Published: 2014-09-05T16:00:00+00:00

30

The Colonist

October 14, 1897

ANOTHER ‘JACK THE RIPPER’

Paris, October 12

A man named Vacher has been arrested in Lyons in connections with a number of mysterious crimes. He has confessed that he murdered eight women under circumstances similar to the murders committed a few years back in Whitechapel, England, and attributed to ‘Jack the Ripper’.

31

London. November, 1897

Dr Bond

We dined at Charles Hebbert’s. Perhaps it was my imagination, but as we sat at the table, even with the lights glowing brightly, it seemed as if the darkness that had filled the house before – when James Harrington had been living here – had once again returned. Shadows crept up the walls, bleeding darkness into the patterns, and although it was cold outside, the air felt stifled, as if no windows had been opened all summer. Even the fire barely crackled in the grate, as if it too felt the weight that hung over the room. Was this my fault? Had some part of what had infected Harrington and now had me in its grip touched Hebbert so badly that it lingered in his house?

He had not redecorated since Mary had died and there was an emptiness in the building that no amount of forced laughter could fill. I had not realised the depth of his grief for his wife’s loss, instead trusting in his stoicism and his apparent return to good humour, but the house was haunted with echoes of her. They were far more visible now that this ‘other’ bleakness was back.

I let the other two make most of the conversation as the housekeeper brought in various dishes of roast meats and vegetables, interjecting occasionally, but mainly watching Charles’ behaviour. His hands were twitching in what had become almost a nervous tic, and he had refilled his wine glass twice before I had finished my first. His speech was too loud and too fast, almost manic, and I had to concede that if he was behaving like this around Henry Moore, the policeman had every right to be worried.

I sipped some more wine, and then at last we fell into a comfortable almost-silence as we ate. The food was delicious, and for once I found that I was ravenously hungry. It was only when Andrews put his cutlery down and looked with surprise at both Charles and me that I paused.

‘Have you two been out with the hunt today?’ he asked quizzically. ‘I’ve never seen men eat so much so quickly.’ He laughed, clearly finding it entertaining, but only then did I realise that I had refilled my plate once already and was about to help myself to more. I had been eating in a daze, but my hunger felt bottomless. I thought of the dead dog and the missing liver and my stomach turned.

I laid down my own knife and fork and looked up at Charles, trying to ignore the gravy dripping down his chin. ‘It would appear the change in the weather has made us hungry,’ I said, trying to laugh it off.

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