The Ripper Affair

A curious tightness had built in his chest, as if he were suffering the angina again. “That is beyond my purview.” Stiffly, as if he were in the courtroom again, Valentinelli a silent presence in the crowd. “But at least we may halt this particular killer. I saw it–this spirit, I presume, that would replace Britannia–feasting upon the body of its victim, rather as would an animal.”

A peculiar look drifted over Miss Bannon’s dirt-smudged, childlike, tear-streaked face. “Not so surprising… do sit, Archibald, and tell me everything.”

“Glove, or Recall?” It was an old jest, and her shadow of a smile rewarded him. “I suggest we repair to our homes, Miss Bannon, and that you lift your ban upon Inspector Aberline at your dinner table. This rather has the earmarks of an extraordinary situation, and I assure you, for the moment Mr Finch is the last thing on Inspector Aberline’s capacious mind.”

Aberline made a strangled sound, but his assent was clear.

Miss Bannon studied Clare, over the rim of her mug.

He suppressed the urge to cajole, settled instead for bare, dry fact. “We could all certainly use a spot of rest; we shall no doubt perform our parts better for it.” He paused, but she still wore that extraordinary expression. Thoughtful, certainly, her eyebrows arched and her head tilted slightly, bright interest in her gaze and her weariness put aside for the moment. “And we may discuss our next moves at your excellent table, where we are unlikely to be overheard or disturbed. It is the logical path to take.”

“I am convinced, sir.” She handed her mug to Mikal, who had turned loose her shoulder and hooded his yellow eyes, whether from exhaustion or displeasure was difficult to measure. “Inspector. Present yourself at my door at half past five; I dine early and I believe we should discuss some aspects of this affair privately before we do so. The moment you treat Geoffrey Finch with anything less than complete courtesy, I shall learn the look of your blood.” She rose, arranging her torn skirts as smartly as possible. “Mikal? Two hansoms, please, engage one to wait upon Clare and Philip. Good morning, Inspector, and I wish you luck with clearing up this mess. Should you need to, invoke my name with Waring and he will prove slightly more amenable; I have already prepared the ground for you in that regard.”

Her timing, as usual, was impeccable, for at that moment Philip Pico flung the door wide without bothering to knock.

He was loaded down with a burlap sack full of bulges Clare’s fastidious nose identified as sausage and cheese, filched from Heaven alone knew where. “Had a spot of luck, I did. You’ll have to use your own knife on the bangers, sir and madam–ah. We’re leaving, then?”

“Quite.” She had retreated into her shell of calm precision, and swept towards Pico in the manner of a frigate swooping upon its prey. “Half past five, Inspector.”

The lad hurried aside, Mikal shut the door behind his mistress, and Aberline let loose an oath Clare chose to ignore as Philip Pico’s eyebrows nested in his hairline.

“And you feel emboldened to make a promise upon my behaviour, sir?” The good inspector was outright fuming, and had gained his feet with a speed that was, considering the night’s events, quite astonishing. “Why, I’ve a mind to—”

“You use the poppy in the manner the Grecque oracles used laurel fumes, to amplify your small sorcerous talent in some manner.” Clare nodded. “Quite interesting. I must confess I was not taking notes, but Memory will serve me when I have a few moments to gather myself. Such a thing is not quite legal, sir.”

The strength visibly left Aberline’s legs. He sat down again, heavily, and the choler had fled his cheeks.

“I have,” Clare continued, “been acquainted with Miss Bannon for a very long time, despite certain… variances… in our natures. On one point, however, we are emphatically not at variance, and that is in our service to what I would once have called Crown and Empire, but am now forced to name a very odd brand of Justice.” He realised he was pontificating, cleared his throat again. The tea was dreadful, and cold now to boot. “I have noted that the lady in question does not, as a matter of habit, overstate her case. Quite the opposite. I believe we are facing a threat to the very foundations of Britannia, and you, sir, are a loyal son of the Isle. It is your duty to be pleasant and forthcoming while pursuing this matter under Miss Bannon’s direction, and should it become necessary, sir, we shall settle like gentlemen after its conclusion.” He fixed the inspector with what he hoped was a steely, quelling look. “I would be quite happy to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Aberline exhaled sharply. “And if I am not pleasant and forthcoming, you may go to Waring and drop a word in his ear about my dissolute methods. Using such substances to artificially strengthen sorcery is quite scandalous.”