01 – Nell: Arrival in Fenhole
16th November 1904
THE little girl opened her eyes. Only a thin sliver of moonlight filtered through the narrow gap between the curtains, slicing the darkness of her bedroom like a sword of light. A sound from the living room had woken her: a scratching, groaning noise, as though someone were dragging a heavy burden across the wooden floor.
Fear gripped her, and she hid beneath the bedcovers, yet she felt an irresistible urge to run to her parents – for there she would be safe, protected, and cared for.
But she didn’t dare call out to them, too afraid of whatever had made the noise.
Quietly, she slipped from the bed, opened the bedroom door, and peered into the dark hallway. From below, she could hear her mother, but her voice sounded strange, as if she were suppressing a sob.
No, she sounded sickly, as though she were struggling to breathe.
The need to go to her, to throw herself into her arms, mingled with fear and forced the girl to creep down the stairs. At the foot of the staircase, she could see into the living room. What she saw burned itself into her memory forever.
Her parents lay motionless in the silver moonlight. The wooden floorboards were slick with black wetness, reflecting the moon. Like a malevolent eye, it seemed to stare at her from the liquid, as if waiting to present her with this scene.
Over her father bent a vicious creature, black as night, with large pointed ears and bristling hair that shimmered in the moonlight as though its skull steamed. In its right clawed hand it held a dagger, its slender blade dripping with a thick, dark liquid onto her father’s body. With its other claw, it rifled through his clothing, searching for something. Her mother lay on her stomach, her hands twitching uncontrollably, a ghastly wheeze crawling from her throat. Her final breaths.
Paralyzing terror held the child captive. It tightened around her throat, stealing her breath. She tried to scream, but only a sob escaped her lips.
The creature’s head snapped up at the sound, and it stared at her with huge black eyes, as dark as a moonless sky.
The girl screamed, and the black murderer lunged toward her with a vicious snarl.
“Nell?”
A voice called her name. Who was that? Her parents?
“Nell?”
But they were dead.
“Wake up.”
With a soft groan, she opened her eyes, and a blurry face appeared in her field of vision. Where was she? Who was this stranger?
It took time for her mind to wrest itself from the dream, to reclaim control over the here and now. The hard seat beneath her rattled with the rhythm of the rails, smoke billowed past the window. She was on the train to Fenhole, a small town in northern Suffolk.
The man across from her was named Cole. He was around thirty, his brown hair neatly parted, his full beard perfectly trimmed. His dove-blue suit matched his eyes, and a black top hat completed his appearance. “We’ll be there soon.”
“I’m awake,” Nell mumbled, shifting with a sigh into a more comfortable position to ease the ache in her back.
“Did you have a bad dream?” Beside Cole sat his companion, Diana, a pretty young woman with watery blue eyes and beautifully vibrant red curls that framed her gentle features like a poem. She wore a high-necked blue dress adorned with black lace and gold floral embroidery.
“How is anyone supposed to sleep here?” Nell muttered, already accustomed to years of restless nights.
“What did you dream about?” Diana asked.
“That the train derailed.”
“Oh, I always worry about that when I travel by train,” the redhead agreed, and didn’t press further. Nell had no intention of telling her, or Cole, about her parents’ murder. She had known them barely three hours. They had met at Windchurch station, where Cole and Diana had been discussing the incidents in Fenhole. Cole was a private investigator, apparently personally summoned by the Chief Constable himself to come to Fenhole, and Diana was his… what, exactly? Assistant? She examined murder victims. That much Nell had learned so far.
Apparently, there had been murders in Fenhole that required closer investigation.
Normally, Nell paid little attention to such matters. She had more pressing concerns – like money. She was broke, surviving the past few days on little more than bread and soup, and had even washed her laundry in a stream, herself included. By now, the wear on her boots and throwing knives was taking its toll. It was high time she found work.
Her job search had led her to Windchurch, reading the employment boards at the train station. By chance, she overheard Cole and Diana. It was their casual remarks that caught her attention: enormous black dogs were said to roam Fenhole, as large as bulls, with glowing eyes.
Could this be her first real lead? At sixteen Nell had fled the orphanage and sworn to find her parents’ murderer on her own. That decision had been fifteen years ago, and she had wandered across England ever since, never coming an inch closer to her goal.
She had quickly counted her last shillings, skipped a potential job offer, and forced herself to approach Cole and Diana. It wasn't that she cared for their company, but through the private investigator, she might obtain clues otherwise unreachable. As always, she avoided revealing anything personal; years of experience had taught her to keep her past hidden. Too often she had been mocked as a wandering lunatic, drunk on visions of black clawed demons. At some point, she had lost her trust in people and resolved to pursue her goals alone; without ties, without obligations, without regard for anyone else.
She looked out the window at the first passing homesteads: farms, mills, charcoal pits, tanneries – everything that had no place in a town.
“Have you ever been here before?”
Nell shook her head. “No. Never.”
“Cole mentioned there’s a vast moor here,” Diana continued.
“The largest contiguous moor in all of England,” Cole added casually.
For Nell, it made a difference whether she had to search a thousand or ten thousand acres. “How large?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but by carriage you have to go around the area, and it takes a whole day to reach the villages on the far side.”
“And these dogs, they supposedly came from the moor?” Nell pressed.
Cole shrugged. “I don’t have the details yet. I only know what’s been reported in the newspapers. Perhaps it’s an unknown species driven from its habitat for some reason.”
Hopefully not! She hadn’t spent her last shilling on a ticket for ordinary dogs. If this lead proved false, she would be back to sleeping in stables, stealing carrots from the horses’ feed. “But they’re said to be gigantic.”
“Well, ‘gigantic’ could mean calf-sized,” Cole corrected. “Irish Wolfhounds can reach a shoulder height of three to four feet. That’s even larger than some calves.”
Unconsciously, Nell began tapping her foot. She did’t want his rationalizations, though she understood his logical approach. Nobody believed in anything supernatural. That was her constant reminder of how very alone she was with her past.
“Eyewitnesses have a habit of exaggerating,” Cole added. “You can safely trim a few inches off their accounts. Even calf-sized is still immense for a dog.”
“For Irish Wolfhounds, small, as we’ve just learned,” Diana said with a smile.
“Still a great size for a beast that’s supposedly been living unnoticed at our very doorsteps,” Nell insisted, a touch of defiance in her voice.
“That means nothing. Two years ago, an unknown species of elephant was discovered, and they aren’t exactly small either,” Diana interjected.
Good grief! Cole with his wolfhounds, and now she’s bringing up elephants! Nell sighed inwardly, but refused to let it discourage her. As long as there were only a few newspaper eyewitness reports, they could do little more than speculate wildly.
She forced her foot to stay still and spent a few heartbeats staring out the window, trying to think of something else. Cole had mentioned a moor, so she let her gaze sweep over the November-grey meadows and fields scattered between the farmsteads. How large must a moor be to sustain enormous dogs, or perhaps even more creatures?
Though she knew better by now, the desperate hope persisted – that she might one day meet someone with whom she could speak of it all. Without prejudice, without disbelief. But why had she hoped to find such people in Cole and Diana? To them these were mere fairy tales. They were realists, believing only in what they could see, touch, hear, and measure; everything else simply didn’t exist.
"But you're here for the dogs, aren't you?" Nell asked, still hoping to glean some police-insider information through Cole. For years she had stumbled in the dark, but she was certain the police knew far more than they ever admitted.
“We’re looking into the dogs as well,” Diana confirmed, though the 'but' was unmistakable. "Primarily, we have to deal with these mysterious murders, but we do know that the dogs are involved in some way." She placed her hand on Nell’s in a friendly gesture. Nell didn’t like it at all and tried, somewhat discreetly, to withdraw her hand. She had been a loner for too long to know how to respond to such gestures anymore. When men did that, they were usually after sex.
“We’ll find out whether these are the same dogs that killed your brother,” Diana promised.
Brother? Nell blinked, briefly puzzled, then remembered. At Windchurch station, she had spun a little tale about why she was interested in these dogs. In her story, her brother had been severely injured by the beasts, claiming on his deathbed that the dog was a huge black monster. Nell had never had a brother, and she would need to remember which tales she told to whom.
"Irish Wolfhounds or not, we’ll crack this riddle too," Cole promised, glancing outside as a shrill whistle pierced the air. The central town, with its massive stone houses, passed by the window, and the steam train began to slow.
"We’re almost there," Diana remarked. "What’s our next step? Should we find a hotel first?"
"We’ll meet a police officer right after we arrive, who will brief us on the cases and the progress of the investigations," Cole replied.
"You never mentioned the police," Nell muttered, displeased. She wanted Cole to glean what the police knew; but she preferred no direct dealings with them herself. Too many bad experiences with the police.
"I’m a private investigator, summoned by Chief Constable Craven. In his letter he wrote that an inspector would meet us and inform us of everything further," Cole explained.
"Do you know the Chief?" Nell asked suspiciously.
"Well…" Cole drew the word out.
"So, not at all."
“No, no, that’s not the case,” Cole countered quickly. “I do know Chief Constable Craven. We worked together some years ago, when I investigated a case here in Fenhole.”
"I hear a 'but' coming," Nell pressed.
"Craven places great value on discretion and doesn’t want the work of his police to appear poorly. The Chief Constable believes it reflects badly if the force must call in outside help. He fears it damages his reputation.”
"One of those, then," Nell muttered.
"I have his full support," Cole assured her, smiling slightly. "You really ought to be a little less suspicious."
Nell rolled her eyes lightly; she had no need for lectures.
"Craven may be an odd bird, but this case is very interesting," Cole continued, as if he had to justify his presence somehow, “and if he calls me in, the matter is serious indeed.”
The brakes squealed, and the train came to a stop at Fenhole station.
A thin mist hung over the grand, imposing station building, mingling with smoke and steam. In the dim light of the ornate gas lamps, travelers jostled on the platform, umbrellas and wide-brimmed hats shielding them from the chill. They hunched their shoulders and hurried toward the dry interior, while others rushed to catch the departing train.
"At any rate, Craven has given me the name of a police officer who will assist us with the case," Cole concluded, rising from his seat. Their luggage was stowed overhead, and he carefully reached up to pull down two cases.
Wonderful – a policeman stuck to us like glue, Nell thought as she pulled her worn duffel bag from under the seat. She adjusted her long black braid and wrapped her coat tightly around her, hiding the knives at her belt.
Outside on the platform, a damp, cold air greeted them, mixed with smoke, steam, and the smell of machine oil. They pushed through the crowd and hurried into the dry station hall. Inside, numerous electric lamps provided a pleasant brightness, leaving the dreary November weather visible only through the large windows.
As in every station, there were noticeboards offering work, advertising events, posting announcements and newspaper clippings, and of course, timetables. As always, crowds gathered before them; men and women seeking work, diversions, or news. Amid them, an old, bent man struggled with a worn broom to clear the leaves blown inside.
"He should be here somewhere," Cole muttered to himself. "He said he would meet us here."
"What’s his name?"
"Glenn Dellaware."
The only men in uniform were railway staff, but Nell’s years on the street had sharpened her eye for plain-clothes officers. The blond man near the entrance gate, with the striking moustache and a dimple in his chin, caught her attention at once. That was their policeman.
"There," Nell pointed him out to her companions.
"That must be him," Cole agreed, and they headed in his direction.
"Mr Miller Shepard?" The man approached, shifting his coat to reveal the police badge on his vest.
"That’s me." Cole and the officer shook hands. "These are my companions: Miss Diana Flanagan," he gestured toward Diana, then turned to Nell, "and Miss Nell?" He looked at her, waiting for her surname.
"Just Nell." She smiled politely. Her full name was nobody’s business. She had left her surname behind at the orphanage, ensuring no trace remained – once out of fear Lorenzo might track her down again, later simply out of habit.
"A pleasure. Inspector Glenn Dellaware," the policeman said, tipping his bowler hat charmingly. He accepted without comment that Nell withheld her full name. "Chief Constable Craven has already told me of the successful cooperation with the Windchurch police."
Oh? Was this Cole an inspector? Nell narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, then pushed the thought aside. Whatever Cole had been before mattered little to her purposes.
"It’s been a while since we last spoke. How is the Chief Constable now?" Cole asked.
"Not well. The incidents in the town are driving the townsfolk mad. We’re working day and night to prevent unrest.”
"That bad?"
"It’s like a madhouse. Just two days ago we had to stop a lynch mob from shooting stray dogs in the streets. Rumours spread that a gate to Hell has opened in the moor, causing mummified corpses. Now people fear the street dogs are possessed by demons."
"The poor animals," Diana murmured, distressed.
"Indeed," Glenn agreed, turning back to Cole. “And you must excuse the Chief Constable for not greeting you himself. He’s very busy." He gestured toward the station doors and invited them to follow. "Come. We’ll go to the police station. You’ll be briefed on everything there.”
Nell exhaled sharply and followed reluctantly.
To the police station. She had no desire for that. They all looked the same inside, filled with the same uniformed buffoons; though Glenn seemed competent. Still, and she began searching for an excuse to slip away.
Outside, the station square was chaos. Horse-drawn and steam carriages jostled for space while crowds shoved and pressed past each other. Nell immediately noticed the men and women in sturdy leather and heavy coats, many openly carrying weapons at their belts. Among shotguns and revolvers, she also saw exotic arms: crossbows, arrow pistols, and net launchers.
They weren’t here for a holiday.
“There are an awful lot of armed people about,” Diana murmured.
Dellaware’s expression turned sour. "Indeed. Come along; I’ll explain it to you at the station." Casting a glance at the grey sky, where drizzle fell ceaselessly. “At least there we’ll be dry.”
Nell had to weigh whether her curiosity was strong enough to accompany them to the station, for she was keen to learn the reason behind the armed crowd. Or would it suffice to hear the whole story later from Cole and Diana?
Meanwhile, Glenn hailed the nearest carriage. "To the police station," he said to the driver, holding the door open for his guests.
Nell paused, looking around, and a little further off she spotted the sign ‘Ironpan’ on an old half-timbered building. "Is that an inn?" she asked Dellaware.
Glenn followed her glance. “Yes. Spacious rooms, hot running water, and a decent kitchen, but I don’t believe there are any vacancies."
I’ll find that out right away. Diana and Cole had no overnight arrangements yet, so Nell seized the opportunity to avoid the police for now. "Cole, Diana, I’ll take care of our rooms. We’ll meet at the Ironpan later."
"Where?" Diana got out again and looked toward the building. "Now? Aren’t you coming with us?"
"I’m hungry and need a hot bath." That wasn’t even a lie. "We’ll meet there later, and you can tell me everything. If there are no rooms left, I’ll come to the police station."
Cole pulled out his pocket watch and nodded. "Good idea. Otherwise, we might end up sleeping in one of the cells." He winked at the two women.
"The bunks are quite comfortable, though." Glenn grinned and closed the door, so Nell could no longer hear his reply. It didn’t matter. She turned and hurried toward the Ironpan.
ivory macintyre 
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