Stanley that, in reviewing the status of the Nile debate, gave well-balanced consideration to both positions. Burton's theory that the great river flowed out of the as yet unexplored northern shore of Lake Tanganyika was presented as a possibility in need of further investigation. John Speke's proposal that the Nyanza was the source was deemed more probably correct but, again, further expeditions were required. As for the explorers themselves, Burton, Stanley claimed, had been a victim of severe misfortune when fever prevented him from circumnavigating Tanganyika, while Speke had lacked the skills and experience necessary for geographical surveys and had made serious mistakes. Stanley was also highly critical of Speke's 'renaming' of Nyanza. There was no need, he wrote, for a 'Lake Albert' in central Africa.
It was a surprising turnaround, thought Burton, for he'd considered Stanley an implacable enemy, one of the men who'd stoked the fires of Speke's misplaced resentment against him.
What was the damned Yankee up to?
The answer came a few minutes later when he opened a letter from Sir Roderick Murchison. It was many pages long and covered a range of topics, though was mainly concerned with the financial mess Burton had left behind upon his departure from Zanzibar two years ago. The explorer had denied full payment to most of the porters who'd accompanied him and Speke for seven hundred miles into unexplored territory then seven hundred miles back again. The porters had not, Burton asserted, remained true to their contract, having mutinied and deserted in droves, and therefore did not deserve full payment.
Unfortunately, the British Consul at Zanzibar, Christopher Rigby, was yet another of Burton's foes. They had known each other back in India, and Rigby had never forgiven the explorer for repeatedly beating him out of his usual first place position in language examinations. Rigby was now getting his revenge by using his official position to stir up trouble, causing the payment affair to drag on for two tedious years.
This, however, was old news. What really caught Burton's attention was a paragraph in which Sir Roderick revealed that Henry Morton Stanley had received approval from his editor to mount an expedition of his own to settle the Nile question once and for all. Murchison continued: I have thus made available to him the f zits of your labours, which I ani certain will be of invaluable assistance in this f •esh endeavour Please rest assured. my dear Burton, that your place in histo; y is secure, and it will ever be stated that the results of Stanley's expedition, whatever they may be, would not have been possible were it not for your outstanding achievements, which. as it were. have 'blazed a trail' for all who follow
Again, Sir Richard Francis Burton was suddenly aware of that peculiar sense of being divided, for he knew that this news would once have infuriated him, yet now he felt nothing. Geographical exploration now belonged, he sensed, to another version of himself; to the doppelganger.
He spent the next few hours writing up his case notes, creating a copy of the Spring Heeled Jack reports that Detective Inspector Trounce had loaned him, and designing a filing system in which to keep records of his cases.
At ten o'clock that evening, Trounce called at the house.
'You've cracked it, old chap!' he announced, dropping into an armchair and accepting a proffered glass of whisky. 'I've had a right old foot slog around the Battersea district today but every twinge of my bunions is worth it! Listen to this!'
Burton sat down and sipped his port while the policeman spoke.
'Of those Brigade members on your list, seven have daughters and the rest can be ignored for now. I shall deal with the seven one by one. The first is Martin Shepherd, still living, sixty-one years old, married to Louisa Buckle. They had two sons and a daughter, Jennifer. She was born in 1822. In 1838, aged sixteen, she was molested by what she described as `a hopping demon' while crossing Battersea Fields. She was shocked but unharmed and the family never reported the incident. In 1842, she married a man named Thomas Shoemaker and they had a daughter, Sarah, who, coincidentally, is now sixteen. The whole family emigrated to South Africa soon after the girl's birth. Do you mind if I smoke my pipe?'
'Not at all,' replied Burton. 'You think the `hopping demon' was Spring Heeled Jack?'
'It sounds like it, doesn't it? Shame I can't interview Jennifer Shoemaker. I don't think it's necessary, though, and you'll probably agree when you hear the rest of it. Let's move on to Brigade member number two: Mr. Bartholomew Stevens.'
'Mary Stevens's father.'
'Yes.' Trounce started pushing tobacco into the bowl of a stained meerschaum.
'Bartholomew married Elisabeth Pringle in 1821 and the following year Mary was born. As you know, she was attacked by Jack in '37, when she was fifteen years old. Five years later she married a man named Albert Fairweather and the whole family moved to Essex where they now live. The Fairweathers have four children, three boys and a girl. The daughter, Connie, is now seventeen.
'Our third chap is Carl Goodkind, who passed away five years ago. He left a widow, Emily, who still lives. They had one child, a daughter, Deborah, who, in 1838, was committed to Bedlam, having suddenly gone insane for no clear reason-at least, none that I could get Mrs. Goodkind to talk about. Deborah died in the asylum twelve years ago.'
'Spring Heeled Jack again?' pondered Burton.
'You've seen the files, Captain. You know there are recorded cases of his victims losing their minds, so yes, I rather suspect that Deborah Goodkind was another such. And we shouldn't be surprised that the assault was never spoken of-even to other members of the Brigade-for you know the shame and embarrassment that attach to mental aberrations.'
The king's agent nodded thoughtfully.
'The fourth man is Edwin Fraser, born 1780, died earlier this year at the grand old age of eighty-one. He married May Wells and they had a daughter, Lizzie Fraser, in 1823. Apparently she was a happy and intelligent child until the age of fourteen when, after a mental breakdown, she became morose and reclusive. Nevertheless, she found a husband in Desmond Steephill and gave birth to a daughter, Marian, in 1847. She would have turned fourteen in a couple of months.'
'Would have?'
Trounce took a long draw on his pipe and blew a column of blue smoke into the air.
'Last month,' he said, quietly, 'Lizzie poisoned herself, her husband, and her daughter.'
'By Gad!'
'According to the coroner's report, there were bruises on the young girl's arms, as if she'd been gripped tightly, and scratches on her chest. They were not made the same day as the poisoning.'
Trounce looked directly at Burton, and through the tobacco smoke his blue eyes seemed to shine as if lit from within.
'I think,' he said, 'that Lizzie Fraser was the Lizzie that Spring Heeled Jack asked after when he caused the brougham to crash back in '37. Furthermore, I think he found and assaulted her, causing her subsequent mental breakdown. I also believe that, last month, he attacked her daughter, Marian, and that Lizzie, in an insane attempt to escape his attentions, poisoned herself and her family.'
'Great heavens, man!' exclaimed Burton. 'Are you suggesting that the fiend is specifically targeting the womenfolk of Battersea Brigade members?'
'Yes, Captain, I am. Listen to the rest, then tell me if I'm wrong! The fifth of our seven is fifty-nine-year-old Mr. Frederick Adams, who married Virginia Jones in 1821. You've met their daughter.'
'I have?'
'Tilly Adams, born 1822, married Edward Tew in 1845, gave birth to Angela Tew in 1846.'
'I'll be damned!'
'Exactly,' agreed Trounce. 'I did some poking about in Mrs. Tew's past. She was bedridden for reasons unknown for the greater part of 1839.'
'So I was right about that strange look she gave me when we were leaving her cottage,' mused Burton. 'Sort of secretive and resentful.'
'Yes. As you suggested, she was hiding something. I have no doubt that she knew her daughter's attacker,' said Trounce, 'because she herself had been one of his victims more than two decades ago. Can I trouble you for a refill?'
'Certainly,' responded Burton, reaching for the bottle. He topped up the Yard man's glass.
'And number six?'
