notice the years of the ledgers: eighty-eight and eighty-nine. Jack’s time.’
I forced a laugh. ‘Sadly, this in not related to our missing killer but a far more mundane matter of spending. Something I would rather keep quiet for others’ sake.’
‘Well, if you need any more help, then just ask. And you know you can talk to me about anything that might be concerning you.’
‘And I would, Walter, I would.’ I shook his hand firmly, hoping my palm wasn’t sweating in his. ‘Now I’m sure you have supper waiting for you at home. I’ve kept you out long enough.’
Finally, he left and I heaved a sigh of relief as the door closed behind him. I gave it a few minutes until I was sure he was truly gone and then I grabbed the ledgers and ran up the stairs to my study. I had already drawn up a list of the dates of the Ripper killings and I placed it next to the books. I’d start with Alice McKenzie. If Hebbert had been in the club as he’d said, then the rest was of no consequence and I could sleep easy in my bed once again, all the while laughing at my own foolishness.
July sixteenth. I scanned through the months until I found the date and then ran my finger down the inked names. I reached the last entry and paused. With a sickly knot forming in my guts I went back to the top and started again. Three more times I searched, my eyes moving faster and faster over the names as dread crept into my limbs.
Charles Hebbert’s name was not there. I looked to my list and reached for the 1888 books. Martha Tabram, Polly Nicholls, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes and lastly poor Mary Jane Kelly, the wreck of whose body I had studied in her room. Hebbert had not been at his club on the nights of any of their murders.
I sat back in my chair, a boulder settling on my chest. Could I really be suspecting Charles Hebbert of such crimes? And if it was Hebbert, why had the killings stopped so suddenly?
Because Harrington had died
. My mind’s whisper was like a worm burrowing deep into my head.
And Harrington was the
Upir
and the
Upir
had brought the mayhem
.
Without the
Upir
close by, Hebbert was saved from the dark urges and fantasies that had lived inside him
.
It was preposterous – it had to be. I poured myself a brandy and drank it quickly, hoping to stop the trembling in my hands. Then I flicked through the pages of the books once more. Even where Hebbert was present, I could find only two occasions when he had taken Harrington with him – and yet Juliana had complained to me at the time that Harrington and her father were always at his club. Why would Hebbert lie about that? Surely one or the other would have revealed the truth at some point – so was this lie complicit? Had they known of each others’ awful secret deeds?
I needed to look at Harrington’s letters. The thought filled me with a terrible fear, but I knew my curiosity would drive me to madness otherwise. I would not read them all, I vowed, as I went downstairs and pulled on my coat and hat. I would simply scan them, looking for references to Hebbert’s club, no more than that. I would not be pulled into the insanity of the supernatural again. I had to go to my office at the Westminster and see what the letters held.
As I stepped outside, the freezing night gathered round me like a shroud and in my wake I could feel the ghosts of dead women reaching out to cling to me. They needed answers. And, God help me, so did I.
13
Extract from letter from James Harrington to Edward Kane, dated 1888
… I have been so wrapped up in my fears for my sanity that when she said she was upset about my behaviour I was expecting some revelation that she knew of my blackouts, or perhaps something worse, some confirmation of the things I fear I am doing in those times. But it was none of that. She said only that she felt lonely. I had promised her she could come and help me with some of the books and she said she did not mind that the opportunity had