Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

A month had passed, and much to Jessamina’s chagrin, James still hadn’t called on her. He hadn’t even left his card, or left a message explaining his absence. He just disappeared from her life as quickly as he entered.

This, in Jessamina’s mind, wasn’t a surprise. After all, he was a wealthy, eligible bachelor who probably promised calls to dozens of girls a day. She should have expected no less from him; why, if he did make calls to all the girls he danced with, he’d be exhausted! And yet, she couldn’t shake her frustration at being jilted by him. How dare he flirt with her so mercilessly, and then refuse her even the courtesy of a simple visit!

Of course, the reason she was so angered by this whole predicament was because she had no other way of gaining access to the house. James was her only chance at gathering information about her target, and therefore it was only natural that she should be upset that her plan fell through. Yes, this lack of progress was the only reason she felt so anxious that James should call on her; there was no other reason.

In order to clear her head, she decided to visit her father’s office. She lets herself into the back room, and is about to sit herself down when Edmund rushes into the room in a panic.

“Jessamina! Oh, thank heavens you’re here!”
“Is something wrong, Edmund?”
“It’s the shop! It’s the busiest it’s been all year. I can’t do everything at once, and the customers keep piling in. Do you think you could help me in the front? Like old times? All you’d have to do is collect the money.”
“Oh, I really don’t think--”
“Jessa, please.” Edmund’s panicked eyes search for a sign of sympathy. “I need you.”

As much as she wants to see Edmund suffer after all he’s put her through, she knew that the work would keep her from worrying too much about James. After all, what better distraction from your problems than arithmetic?

She gives a deep sigh, nods her head slowly, and before she can think any more about it, she finds herself behind the counter, tallying orders and totaling up bills.

The work is mindless for Jessamina. She had always been rather good at math, attributing her strength in the subject to a need for order in her life. The numbers never lied to her or betrayed her trust. No matter what chaos was happening in the world around her, the numbers always added up.

She worked alongside Edmund for quite some time, never exchanging more than names of patients or prices of medications. Soon the work day is almost over, and the hustle and bustle of the customers wears off.
“Thank you, Jessamina.”
“No gratitude necessary, Edmund. I’m simply helping at my father’s store. Nothing more than that.”
“Yes, well, I don’t know what I would have done without you.” He puts a warm and solid hand on her shoulder. “We certainly make a great pair, don’t we?”
She brushes him off quickly, as if his very touch stung her being. “Yes, we certainly did.”

A bell rang. Jessamina busied herself with the account books while Edmund went to greet the customer.

“Hello, sir. What may I help you with today?”
“I have something important I need to pick up,” growled a very deep and soft voice.

Jessamina nearly dropped her pen in shock. She turned around slowly, afraid to confirm that her suspicions were true.

Indeed, the voice belonged to a six and a quarter foot tall man, with a giant tattoo of an eagle on his right forearm. He was completely bald and incredibly scabby, with a massive pink scar above his right eyebrow. Jessamina recognized him instantly as Clarence Westing, a manager of a few shipyards on the Thames.

He was also a man Jessamina had been trying to catch for years.

She had seen him exiting the same pub as Mr. William Faunley that night when she had killed him. She had wanted to take out both, but knew that Mr. Westing wasn’t nearly as drunk or foolish to be lured into a dark alley. Now, however, her skills had increased, and if she played her cards right, she might be able to keep James off her mind for a little longer.

“Certainly, sir. I’m certain I’ll find it in the back room. Miss Delaney here will add it to your tab if you like.”
“No, I’d rather just pay or it now.”
“Right then. Well, it’s five pence.” Edmund disappeared into the back room, leaving Jessamina and Mr. Westing all alone.

Mr. Westing slapped the coins into Jessamina’s outstretched palm so roughly that she winced in pain.

“In the future, sir, we could have your orders delivered to you. Do we have your address on file?”
“No, and I’m certainly not going to give it to you,” he sneered.
“Very well, sir.” Jessamina bit her lip. This meant having to go to the pub and wait in the hopes that one night he’d be incredibly drunk.

Edmund reappeared with a small parcel and handed it to the impatient gentleman.
“Here you are, sir. And I hope your headaches get better,” Edmund chirped.

Mr. Westing growled, gave one last dirty look to Jessamina, and headed out the door.

“Poor man. Must have a splitting headache to act so rudely to us.”

Jessamina rolled her eyes. If there was thing she hated about Edmund, it was his inability to assume the worst about someone. In the entire eight years that she knew him, he had never said an unkind word about anyone. When she was younger and naive, she found this trait endearing, but now she just wanted to shake him and tell him how wrong he was to trust this cruel, cruel world.

But shaking him would involving touching him, and Jessamina hadn’t been able to do that for a very long time.

“I should be on my way home. Mother will be expecting me for supper.”
“Wait, Jessamina! I forgot to ask you how your evening went? At Mr. Blackhorne’s?”
“Oh, yes. Well, it was... disappointing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I was hoping that... well, you deserve to find happiness, you know. Don’t give up looking for it yet.”
“Thank you for you for your advice, Edmund, but I really should be going home now.”
“Would you allow me to escort you home? It’s rather late, and it wouldn’t do for a young lady to be out alone this late at night.”

Jessamina almost laughed out loud at his assumption that she couldn’t take care of herself. She’d been wandering the streets of London for years now, and she had never once encountered any danger (at least, not any danger that she hadn’t brought upon herself). Of course, there were the times when drunk men would shout lewd comments to her, but she always kept a blade strapped to her thigh next to her steam-inoculator. One flash of the knife and men scurried away like mice, fearful of who she might really be. She couldn’t reveal any of that to Edmund, however, so she she allowed herself to be walked home that night.

Walking home with Edmund reminded her too much of the midnight strolls they used to take down by the moonlit river. Once she had grown up, she found it much easier to slip downstairs without making a sound. Edmund was always waiting for her at the front door, with an extra coat in case Jessamina got cold. They would walk hand in hand, enjoying each other’s silent company. They had all of London to themselves at that hour, and they felt as if they were the only one’s left on the planet. And when they managed to find themselves back home, Edmund would leave with promise of returning at the exact same time tomorrow.

And then, eventually, he just stopped coming. Jessamina would sit alert in her bed, straining her ears, hoping for some sign of movement outside-- but there never was any. The quiet worked both ways.

He left her at the door, thanking her agin for all her help at the office. She reminded him that there was no thanks necessary, and then retreated back inside, tired of all the pleasantries she had been forced to pass between the two of them.

She went upstairs to her bedchamber and started to plan the rest of her day. If she waited until her mother had gone to bed, she could sneak out in her black cloak and walk to the pub that she knew Mr. Westing drank at. Then, she would just have to wait and hope that she could get him alone. It had been a while since she tried to pull her seduction into an alleyway technique, but if he was drunk enough, it wouldn’t matter how convincing she sounded.

She was abnormally quiet the rest of the day, not even bothering to answer her mother’s prying questions. Mrs. Delaney was just as upset that James hadn’t called yet, even if it was for different reasons.

As soon as Mrs. Delaney had fallen asleep, she dressed herself in her usual attire; a black dress and a black cloak, with her knife and steam-inoculator strapped to her leg. The knife she actually kept strapped to her leg at all times, even when she was sleeping , but the steam-inoculator was something she always had to steal from her father’s office. She made her way down to the pub, and positioned herself behind a trash-heap near the door.

She waited and waited. She knew he had to be in there, because men like Mr. Westing liked to drink away their evil deeds every night. But she had been sitting among the garbage for two hours now, and there was absolutely no sign of him. Jessamina began to panic. What if he had left the pub before Jessamina even arrived? Or what if he was planning on spending the night there? She knew it was possible that she would have to return for several more nights in order to accomplish her task, but the majority of her was just eager to have him dead and over with. He had lived far too long, and he needed to join the rest of his friends in hell.

She always found it surprising that none of the society members seemed to realize that someone was after them. After all, five of their members had died, and yet none of them seemed to be suspicious of their mysterious deaths. She chalked it up to the vast size of their underground operation; it would be impossible to keep track of all their members, and probably even more unlikely that they cared about their deaths, after all, what were a few deaths compared to the overall good of the society?

She was about to ponder this more, when the door creaked open and an outpouring of loud drinking songs and putrid smells came gushing out. She searched each dirty, grimy face for evidence of her man, but was faced with disappointment instead. She was about to head home when she heard Mr. Westing’s distinctive voice yell out something about paying his tab later. She saw him exit the pub alone. This was her chance. She cleared her throat, and in her best facsimile of a cockney accent, she simpered from the alley, “Oi! Ya big bloke! Care ta ‘ave a bit o’ fun tonight? I can show you a right treat, I can.”

He gave a deep laugh from his belly. “Oh, really? Show your face then.”

Jessamina reached under her skirt, and turned on her steam--inoculator. It hummed against her leg, but at least the sound would be muffled by her layers of petticoats. “What, an’ risk another man snatchin’ me up? No, sir. Why don’ you jus’ come wit’ me? It’s betta in the dark.” Jessamina winced. All she knew about the way in which whores and prostitutes talked were from moral novels in her library; she hardly thought this was actually the way they communicated. Nevertheless it seemed to work on Mr. Westing, as he rubbed his greasy hands onto his work shirt and drifted down the alleyway.

Jessamina quietly pulled out the steam-inoculator and waited for her subject to get closer. She knew she had only one chance to aim for his neck; the moment he had a chance to react, she’d be knocked unconscious for sure.

Mr. Westing was only meters away now; just a few more steps and his life would be over as quickly as it began. She was about to jump from the shadows, when--

“Mr. Westing?” called out a familiar young voice.

James. She immediately knew it was him. She hid behind the heap again, heart pounding solidly in her chest.

**************************************

Jessamina had only ever been close to being caught once before. She was eighteen years old, and her target was Mr. Jayne Williams, a wealthy Scottish financier.

She used the same technique as she would later use on Mr. Wiloughby; pouring ipecac into his medication when Edmund wasn’t looking. Then, she asked Mr. Williams if he wanted future orders to be delivered to his residence. When he gave her his address, she wrote it down in her notebook and waited a couple of days until she knew he would be sick enough to scare away his servants. She snuck into the house quite easily, and being as he was an incredibly weak man, she was able to retrieve a lot of valuable information from him.

“And you’re certain of this, Mr. Williams? You’re positive that Mr. Wiloughby had played a part in orchestrating all of that?”
“Most certain.” Mr. Williams coughed. “Mr. Wiloughby is the one who got your father involved in the whole ordeal. Mr. Wiloughby knew that we were looking for a poison to be created, and thought of no one better for the task than your father. Of course, when your father refused to give it to us, things turned sour.”
“And Mr. Wiloughby... he did nothing to warn my father?”
“No, of course not!”
“But they were very close friends! Since childhood, even!”
“Look, Mr. Wiloughby is a very weak man. He was far more afraid of what would happen if he interfered with our plans than if he lost a friendship.”
“And how do I know that you’re telling the truth? How do I know that this isn’t some silly ploy that you’re trying in order for me to destroy some of your enemies.”
“I know of no way I can prove that I’m telling the truth, Ms. Delaney. But what other choice do you have other than to believe me?”

Once Jessamina was satisfied that he knew nothing else, she turned on the steam-inoculator.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked warily.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Williams. Your pain will be over soon enough, just as I promised.” she comforted him as he began to shake with fear. “No need to cry. Death isn’t all bad, you know. Especially when it’s a quick one. Of course, you and your society couldn’t give my father that luxury, could you? No, you had to make it incredibly painful and horrid for him. Luckily, I’m not one who enjoys watching people suffer. Blood isn’t really something I fancy. I much prefer the quieter deaths. As simple as a heartbeat stopping. Nothing more.”
She injected poison into him, and watched as the life slowly drained from his eyes. Suddenly, there were footsteps coming up the stairs. In a panic, she hid behind the door, wondering how on earth she was going to be able to escape undetected. There was only one exit out of there, and it was the very same one that the footsteps w ere coming from. The windows were too high up for her to jump, and she didn’t have time to see wether there was any trellis she could scale. The footsteps got closer and closer.

“Mr. Williams? Sir?” said a meek little voice. Jessamina was certain it must be one of the maids whose love for her master outweighed her love of her own health.
“Sir, I’ve made some tea for you. Would you like me to bring it in? Or should I leave it outside your door?”

Jessamina hoped that the girl would be too scared to catch whatever disease Mr. Williams had.She heard the metal clanging of a tray hitting the floor. She breathed a sigh of relief, but apparently it was loud enough for the girl to hear.

“Mr. Williams?” she opened the door. “Mr. Williams, are you alright?” The maid took one look at Mr. Williams lifeless figure on the bed and screamed bloody murder. She rushed towards the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

Jessamina, in a panic, rushed out from behind the door, held her breath, and pressed down on the lever of her cameo brooch incessantly, hoping that some of it would reach the maid’s nose. Within seconds the poor girl was unconscious on the floor.

Jessamina clumsily made her way to the window and unlatched it, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. She would leave the window open, so that the powder would be swept out of the room and into the air. She sidestepped the girl, and hurried down the stairs, lest any more maids reveal themselves from the shadows.

For the next few days, she perused the daily paper, hoping that there would be no mention of a suspicious death or house burglary. She supposed that no news was good news, but she was also incredibly anxious that the maid might have known that she wasn’t alone in that room.

Luckily, a week later she finally got the story she was looking for. “Wealthy Financier Jayne Williams Found Dead at Age Forty-Two” the headline read. She checked behind her shoulders to make sure no one was behind her. Once she was certain that she wasn’t being watched, she continued reading.

“Mr. Jayne Williams was found dead in his bed on last Friday afternoon. After contracting an illness though to be Tuberculosis, he seems to have suffered a quick heart attack. One maid, Ms. Ramona Hardy, discovered the body, and promptly fainted at the sight of her beloved master gone from this world. The other servants discovered her lying by the foot of his bed, and knew what a horrible fright she must have been given. Funeral services will be held this Sunday. He is survived by no relatives.”

Luckily the maid just assumed that she had fainted out of her own accord, rather than with the help of an assassin. It seemed as thought Jessamina had just narrowly escaped detection.

***************************************

“Mr. Westing?” James repeated, peering into the darkness. “What on earth are you doing in that alley?”
“Some woman--”
“What’s this? So mere minutes after you tell me you don’t have the money to pay back my father, you were about to spend it on some loose woman? Shame on you, Mr. Westing!”

Mr. Westing grumbled and reluctantly made his way back to where James was standing.

“Mr. Westing, my father is quite ill at the moment. He sent me here on direct orders to ask you for the money you borrowed from him three years ago. I don’t know what you needed it for, or why it’s taken you so long, but that really isn’t of much importance to me. Now, I would quite understand if you really don’t have the money, and I would tell my father that you needed more time. The Blackhorne estate will survive without whatever money you borrowed returned to it. However, I know now for a fact that you have been dishonest to me and my father! And despite how much I despise my father, I refuse to lie to him; I will tell him the truth about your spending habits. And then he can have the police handle your breech of contract as they see fit.”

“Mr. Blackhorne, please--”

“I don’t want to have to tell him, Mr. Westing! Surely you know that! I get no happiness from seeing your misfortune. But my father does not appreciate deceit, and I can’t find fault in that quality of his. Listen, can’t you just pay him back in installments? I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”
“Sure, sure. Here.” He handed James a wad of notes from his back pocket.
“Thank you, Mr. Westing. I’ll make sure to tell my father about your intent to pay him back in full within the coming months. In the meantime, please try to cut back on useless spending. I hate to give moral advice, but I think that your money can be better spent elsewhere.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well then. Goodnight, Mr. Westing.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Blackhorne.”

They departed quietly and without another word. As soon as Jessamina felt that she was alone, she raced back to her home, without stopping to think of how miserably her plan had failed.

She didn’t stop panicking until she was back in her bed, staring at the wall and the way her lantern cast interesting shadows on the wall.

She couldn’t believe her horrible misfortune. After all that work and planning, James had shown up. She was terrified to try and kill Mr. Westing again. “After all,” she thought, “what if James had seen me in the alley?” She rolled over onto her back and closed her eyes in frustration. “What if he knew it was me that was waiting in the shadows? He would be incredibly disappointed in my lack of propriety, considering how I wouldn’t be able to explain why I was pretending to be a whore at night.”

Her eyes opened wide, shocked at her own thoughts. Normally, her only concern would be that there would be witnesses to the crime she was about to commit-- witnesses that she would have to deal with later. Was she actually worried about what James thought of her as a lady?

She was frightened to answer her own question, because she already knew the answer.

Despite her better judgment, a small part of her actually had feelings for the young man. She couldn’t understand why, considering he was the opposite of everything she usually stood for. And yet, she actually felt a strange sense of connection to James.

She told herself that it was nothing more that a sense of pity for the man whose father she had to kill. But even that was a small consolation. Why should she have pity on him when she had never had pity on any other victim’s family members?

She looked at her father’s picture sitting on her dressing table. “Don’t worry, Father,” she silently promised him. “I promise nothing will get in the way of my plan.”
And with that, she extinguished the flame and tried to fall asleep.