The Gentleman Killer, Part VII and Epilogue - a Halloween Serial
Today marks the conclusion of “The Gentleman Killer.” That’s right, this is the final installment. This installment is broken into two segments, Part VII and an Epilogue to round it off. I’ve had way too much fun writing this story and I’ve tried hard to keep my lips sealed about the conclusion of the story. It has been fun hearing people discuss Niamh and wonder about where it was all leading to. Well, in a moment you will know. After reading, please sound off in the comments to let me know what you thought of the story and whether or not you liked this special Halloween treat. If everyone had a good time, I’d like to plan for an annual Halloween short story in the newsletter.
Previously:
I’m also pleased to announce I’ve compiled the entire story into a free ebook, so you can keep a copy and re-read it in the future as one piece.
And without further typing, enjoy the final installment of “The Gentleman Killer.”
Rated R: Violence, child abuse, spousal abuse, sexism.
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Copyright © 2024 by Nat Weaver.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted by Artificial Intelligence (AI) or used in the training of AI, for either commercial or non-commercial purposes. For permission requests, write to the author, with subject “The Gentleman Killer” at the following email address: nat@weaver.wtf.
“The Gentleman Killer”
A Short Story by Nat Weaver
VII.
A Man from Hell.
Niamh walked along the wall, grazing the books with her hand. The leather bounds were soft to the touch yet firm. It was true she had never seen a personal library so large. The one Cara and she perused after removing Larsson from its premises was much smaller and yet she still had not read each book. It was not for a lack of trying, but she had much to learn about language and reading. Cara had been teaching her to read and write, the books were teaching her about science, history, and mathematics. If Moody hadn’t been such a prominent fixture in London, they would have moved in and taken over the library and his home.
Moody leaned back in his chair, “At the start of the evening, you said she was your mother. But she isn’t really your mother, is she?”
“I never met my mother. She died giving birth to me,” Niamh said as she continued to browse the books.
Moody cleared his throat, “Apologies. Unfortunately, that’s common with childbirth.”
“The man who delivered me made a decision. He chose me over her,” Niamh explained. “The nurse told me later he didn’t even ask my mother, he just cut her open, pulled me out, cut me loose from her, and let her die. She had no choice in the matter. Man... the audacity of man.” She stopped at a book on human anatomy, she took it from the shelf and opened it up to a page that had a drawing of a naked man. “Why did you sign that letter ‘From Hell?’”
“I beg your pardon,” Moody said and sat up attentively.
She turned and looked him in the eyes. “When you signed your letter, you signed it ‘From Hell.’ Why did you sign it ‘From Hell?’”
Moody raised an eyebrow. “Are you insinuating that I’m Jack the Ripper?”
“I'm not insinuating. I know you’re Jack,” Niamh put the book back on the shelf. She began to slowly move across the floor to the desk where Moody sat. “You remember those footfalls you heard clicking behind you as you wrote on the walls and tried to blame yourself on the Jews? That was me. I almost had you that night. And two nights ago, I just missed you and saw what you done to Mary Jane Kelly. We didn’t know who you were for a while, but we kept on your heels. Scotland Yard is useless and don’t care what happens to women, especially poor prostitutes. But I’m here now. And the women you tortured and killed will have their vengeance.” She stopped at the edge of his desk.
Under the desk drawer Moody pressed a panic button that rang a bell in the servants’ quarters where his butler would be eager to come to his aide. “I believe you’ve outstayed your welcome.”
She bit her bottom lip in rage. “Do you sign ‘From Hell’ because the inside of your mind is Hell? Or because you are a monster spewed from the pits of Hell by Hades himself?” She slowly pulled a dagger from inside her coat while Moody sat motionless and silent. “Hell can have you, Jack.”
The doors behind her swung open and crashed against the shelves. She spun to see a large man, Moody’s butler, with thick, black eyebrows and white hair. He took aim with a four-barreled pepperbox revolver, but Niamh threw the dagger, and as he caught it with one hand, she bolted to the side door. With blood dripping from his hand that held the blade of the dagger, the butler took his first shot, but it grazed the wall beside her head as she ducked out into the hallway. She stopped, reached up her skirt and grabbed a Colt 1849 Pocket revolver she had in a hostler on her leg. She cocked the compact revolver and walked back into the room and unloaded it into the butler. The first bullet caught his right shoulder, and he dropped his revolver, but he didn’t stop and kept coming at her. The second bullet grazed his neck, and he grabbed at it with his right hand, but he kept coming. The third bullet hit him in the chest, and he fell back and crashed against the chair she had sat in earlier. The chair slid out from under him and skidded across the floor. Two more bullets went into his chest as she stood over him and the sixth went into his head as he reached out to her with a bloody hand. His hand fell and he finally stopped moving.
She turned her aim on Moody who still sat in his chair behind the desk. “You’re out of bullets.”
“I know.” She said. She placed the revolver on the edge of the desk.
Moody stood up and grabbed his cane that leaned against the desk. He gently turned the handle and unsheathed a rapier that was hidden inside it. “Do you know why I cut their ears off? Because women won’t listen. Damn fools the whole lot of you.”
Niamh took a few steps back from the desk. She suspected he was formidable with a blade and didn’t want to take her chances. She grabbed the side of her skirt and pulled it off revealing she was wearing pants under it. She and Cara had sown skirts to be detached for such occasions. Attached to the side of her left leg was a rapier. She pulled it lose.
Moody came around the side of the desk and pushed a small mahogany table away with his foot, clearing more room for the fight. “I stand against the whores of this world, and I shall not stop ripping them apart until I am caught. Today is not that day. And you are not the one to stop Saucy Jack.”
He lunged at her, and she parried his advance. She backed away in a circle. She wanted to put some distance between them and study his movements before going on the offensive. He snorted through his nostrils like a bull and took a swing at her head which she dodged and skipped to her right and away from him. He took three swift swipes at her, and she blocked each, and then skipped to her right in a circle. He rolled his shoulders in frustration. He took two quick swipes and tried to finish by plunging the rapier through her stomach. She dodged each advance and continued to move about near the bookshelves.
“Stop dancing, bitch, and fight me!” Moody growled at the top of his lungs. He rushed her and took a series of swipes; each one she blocked while moving backwards and to her left. She backed up to a sofa with a floral design and promptly climbed back over it without looking and dropped to the floor on the backside. He kept swiping at her as she crossed the sofa, and she kept blocking. He grabbed the back of the sofa with his hand and flipped it over and out of his way. He lunged, she dodged, but she nicked his ear with her rapier and backed away, rocking back and forth on her feet. Cara had taught her to keep her legs and feet light. To find a rhythm. Moody had no rhythm; he was a brute.
Moody lowered his hand from his bloody ear. He stared at the blood in his palm for a moment while Niamh watched and bounced up and down in her boots. “I’m going to kill you,” he started, “And then I’m going to cut out your kidney, fry it, and eat it.” He slowly walked towards her. “And then I’m going to send your heart to Scotland Yard. And your ear to a newspaper. And throw your goddamn tongue into the river. You worthless whore, no one will remember you. No one will even know your name.”
“Good,” Niamh said. “We’ve gone to great lengths to keep it that way. You, on the other hand, will be remembered only as the monster you are. Any contributions you made to science will be forgotten. Your legacy dies tonight.”
Furious, Moody charged into a ruthless offensive. She had baited his ego into a fool’s errand, and she slowly picked at him with her rapier until he couldn’t stand. Cuts all over his body, blood running all over and dripping onto the floor. He tried to carry himself but collapsed. He leaned his back against the desk. He struggled to find his breath and she stood over him with her rapier at her side. She watched him as he tried to speak one last time.
“I will have your ear,” he coughed up blood onto his chest. “Give me your ear…” He trailed off begging for possession of her ear. He took his last breath staring into her cold eyes.
Niamh found her way to the kitchen and the servants’ entrance. She unlocked the door and opened it. She stuck her head out into the cold night air so Cara could see it was her. She went back inside and left the door open. She placed her arms under Moody’s armpits and dragged him behind the desk. She propped him up in the chair.
Cara entered and handed her a paintbrush. Niamh used the blood from Moody to write the words From Hell on the wall behind him and draw an arrow that pointed down to him in the chair. A message for Scotland Yard, so they would know the hunt for Saucy Jack was over. It was also a warning to any man thinking of taking up Saucy Jack’s mantle.
Niamh joined Cara in grabbing expensive items from around the house and tossing them in a large bag. They would sell the items and use the money to live, but also to give to Maude’s Orphan Home. Mrs. Bloch, who had taken charge of the former Kincaid’s Orphan Asylum for Girls, had returned the original name to the orphanage and made some significant changes in staffing. She let the young men go and hired teachers to educate the young girls. The orphans were learning to read and write, studying other languages, science, mathematics, history, and politics. She was also able to renovate the girl’s sleeping conditions from financial contributions made by an anonymous donor. One day a week Cara would go to the orphanage and teach the girls how to handle a sword, dagger, and revolver.
The two women headed out into the streets in front of the Moody residence with their bag and walked home through a haze of gaslight and fog. Niamh felt a swell of pride and purpose for once in her life. Perhaps her mother had not died in vain.
Epilogue.
The Commissioner of the Police Metropolis, Sir Charles Warren, entered the study where his good friend, Thaddeus Moody, sat brutally murdered. Above him the words of an accusation. The butler lay bloodied on the floor with a gaping wound in the back of his head from the final gunshot wound. Warren stroked his large mustache.
“What the hell, man?” He barked at a photographer preparing to take a photo of Moody with the words behind him.
“The inspector told me to take a photo,” the photographer explained. “Like we did with that last victim of Jack’s.”
“That was a whore,” Warren said as he turned and looked at his lifeless friend. “This was a gentleman. Show him some respect.” He ordered the photographer to leave and for two constables to paint over the writing on the wall. He thought to himself about his recent resignation and how he couldn’t wait for his successor to take over. He had grown frustrated with the criticism tossed at him regarding his handling of the Ripper case. Damn them all, he thought to himself. I know what I’m doing.
