bloody splashes. In the grate, a bundle of clothes burned, casting a red light that seared into Genevieve’s night- sensitive eyes.
Jack was not overly concerned with their intrusion.
‘Nearly done,’ he said, easing out something from a pie-shaped expanse that had been a face. ‘I have to be sure Lucy is dead. Van Helsing says her soul will not rest until she is truly dead.’
He was calm, not ranting. He performed his butchery with a surgeon’s precision. In his mind, there was purpose.
‘There,’ Jack said. ‘She is delivered. God is merciful.’
Charles had his pistol out and aimed. His hand was trembling. ‘Put down the knife and step away from her,’ he said.
Jack placed the knife on the bedspread and stood up, wiping his hands on an already-bloody patch of apron.
‘See, she is at peace,’ Jack said. ‘Sleep well, Lucy my love.’
Mary Jane Kelly was truly dead. Genevieve had no doubt about that.
‘It’s over,’ Jack said. ‘We’ve beaten him. We’ve defeated the Count. The contagion cannot spread.’
Genevieve had nothing to say. Her stomach was still a tight fist. Jack seemed to notice her for the first time.
‘Lucy,’ he said, alarmed. He was seeing someone else, somewhere else. ‘Lucy, it was all for you...’
He bent to pick up his silver scalpel and Charles shot him in the shoulder. He spun around, fingers grasping air, and slammed against the mantel. He pressed his gloved hand to the wall and sank downwards, knees protruding as he tried to make his body shrink. Jack was huddled, holding his wound. The shot had gone completely through and torn the murder out of him.
Genevieve snatched the scalpel away from the bed. Its silver blade made her itch, so she shifted to hold it by the enamelled grip. It was such a small thing to have done so much hurt.
‘We have to get him out of here,’ Charles said. ‘A mob would tear him apart.’
Genevieve hauled Jack upright and between them they managed him into the courtyard. His clothes were tacky from the drying gore.
It was nearing morning, and Genevieve was suddenly tired. The cold air did not dispel the throbbing in her head. The image of 13 Miller’s Court was imprinted in her mind like a photograph upon paper. She would never, she thought, lose it.
Jack was easy to manipulate. He would walk with them to a police station, or to Hell.
56
LORD JACK
It had been dizzyingly hot inside Mary Jane Kelly’s room; the chill of the court was sobering. Once out of the charnel house, Beauregard realised that though the mystery was solved, he was faced with a quandary. The women were dead, Seward hopelessly mad. What justice would be served by turning him over to Lestrade? In whose interests was he to act now? Sir Charles Warren’s, by letting the police take credit for an arrest? The Prince Consort’s, by turning over another vanquished foe to the spikes outside the Palace?
‘He bit me,’ the Ripper said, remembering some trivial incident, ‘the madman bit me.’ Seward held out his gloved, swollen hand. Blood was pooled in the palm.
‘Vlad Tepes will make him immortal, just so he can torture him forever,’ Genevieve said.
Someone came out of the chandler’s shop and stood in the archway. Beauregard saw red eyes in the dark and made out the silhouette of a big man in a check ulster and a billycock hat. How much had this vampire witnessed? He stepped into the court.
‘Well done, sir. You’ve put an end to Jack the Ripper.’
It was Sergeant Dravot from the Diogenes Club.
‘All along, sir, there were two murderers, working together,’ said Dravot. ‘It should have been obvious.’
The world was spinning again, the cobbles beneath him falling away. Beauregard did not know where it would stop.
Dravot bent down and whipped a ragged blanket away from a human bundle that had been shoved into a corner. A dead white face stared up, lips drawn back in a last snarl.
‘It’s Godalming,’ Beauregard exclaimed.
‘Lord Godalming, sir,’ Dravot said. ‘He was in it with Dr Seward. They fell out last night.’
Beauregard could not make all the pieces fit. He knelt by the body. There was a large patch of black blood on his breast, soaking his shirt. In the patch was a ragged wound, over the heart.
‘How long have you known all this, Dravot?’
‘You caught the Rippers, sir. I’ve just been looking out for you. The cabal set me up as your guardian angel.’
Genevieve was standing apart from them, holding Jack Seward’s arm. Her face was shadowed.
‘And Jago? Was that you?’
Dravot shrugged. ‘Another matter, sir.’
Beauregard stood, pushing the cobbles with his cane, and brushed off his knees.
‘There’ll be a fearful scandal. Godalming was well-thought-of. He had a reputation as a coming man.’
‘His name will be entirely blackened, sir.’
‘And he was a vampire. That will cause a stir. The assumption was that the Ripper was warm.’
Dravot nodded.
‘I should think the cabal will be delighted,’ Beauregard continued. ‘This will embarrass a great many people. There will be repercussions. Careers will be smashed, reputations overturned. The Prime Minister will look foolish.’
Genevieve spoke bitterly. ‘It’s all very tidy, gentlemen. But what about Jack?’
Dravot and Beauregard looked at her. And at Seward. The Ripper was propped against the wall of the court. His face was wearily free of expression. Blood dribbled from his wound.
‘His mind is gone completely,’ Genevieve said. ‘Whatever glue held him together is dissolved.’
‘It would be best if Mr Beauregard did the honours.’
Genevieve looked at Dravot with something approaching loathing. Beauregard felt he had no choice. His actions had been directed by others. He was almost at the end of his duty. With a great weariness, he realised he had done little but leap hurdles on a course set out for him.
‘Hold him up,’ Beauregard said. ‘Against the wall.’
Genevieve’s hand was at Seward’s throat, her nails extending. ‘Charles,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to. If it must be done, I can...’
He shook his head. She could not spare him this. It had been the same with Elizabeth Stride. He had simply been merciful. ‘It’s alright, Genevieve,’ he said. ‘Just hold him.’
She knew what he was about and gave her consent. She took her hand from Seward’s throat. ‘Good-bye, Jack,’ she said. He gave no sign of understanding.
Beauregard drew his sword-cane. The rasp cut through the tiny night-sounds. Genevieve nodded and Beauregard slipped his blade through Seward’s heart. The point scraped brickwork. Beauregard withdrew the sword, and sheathed it. Seward, cleanly dead, crumpled. He fell beside Godalming. Two monsters together.
‘Good work, sir,’ Dravot said. ‘You cornered the murderers and Dr Seward became frenzied. He destroyed his confederate and you bested him in single combat.’
Beauregard was irritated to be treated as if he were a schoolboy being tutored by his fellows in an excuse.
‘And what of me?’
Beauregard and Dravot both looked at Genevieve.
‘Am I a “loose end”? Like Jack, like Godalming? Like that poor girl in there?’ She nodded to Mary Jane Kelly’s doorway. ‘You let him butcher her, didn’t you?’
Dravot said nothing.
