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 in the curtains, slicing the darkness like a blade. 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.
Gripped by fear, the young child hid behind her bedclothes, yet she felt compelled to run to her parents, for she was safe with them, protected and sheltered.
But she did not 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. She could hear her mother downstairs, but her voice sounded so strange, as though she were trying to suppress a sob.
No, she sounded sickly, as though she were struggling to breathe.
Her need to go to her and throw herself into her arms was fuelled by worry and fear, compelling the girl to creep down the stairs. There, at the foot of the staircase, she could see into the sitting room. She looked inside, and the sight that met her eyes burned itself into her memory for ever.
Her parents lay motionless in the silver moonlight. The wooden floorboards were slick with black wetness, in which the moon lay reflected, its usual gentleness gone. 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 clawed hand, the Devil busily rummaged through her father’s clothing, searching for something. Her mother lay on her stomach, her hands twitching uncontrollably, and a ghastly rattle crept from her throat. Her final breaths.
Paralysing horror 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 her a moment to pull herself out of the dream and back to the present. 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 sitting opposite her was called Cole. He was about thirty, with neatly parted brown hair and a perfectly trimmed full beard. His dove-blue suit matched the colour of 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 pale 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 grumbled. She had not enjoyed a good night’s sleep in years.
“What were you dreaming about?” Diana wanted to know.
“That the train derailed.“
“Oh, that always worries me when I travel by train, too,” the redhead agreed, and did not press the matter further. Nell had no intention of telling her or Cole about her parents’ murder. She had known them for barely three hours. Both had been discussing the incidents in Fenhole at Windchurch station. Cole was a private investigator and had apparently been summoned to Fenhole personally by the Chief Constable. 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 had no interest in such matters. She had more pressing problems. A lack of money, for instance. She was broke, having lived on nothing but bread and soup for the past few days, and had most recently washed her laundry in a stream, herself included. By now, wear and tear were taking their toll on her boots and throwing knives. It was high time she found some work.
Her search for employment had brought her to Windchurch, where she had gone to the station to read the noticeboards advertising jobs. On that occasion, she had inadvertently overheard Cole and Diana. It had been the casual remarks between the two that had caught Nell’s attention. Huge black dogs were said to be roaming Fenhole, as large as bulls and 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.
On impulse, she had counted up her last few shillings, abandoned the prospect of looking for work, and forced herself to approach Cole and Diana. It was not that she particularly valued their company, but through the private investigator she might gain access to clues that would otherwise remain beyond her reach. As always, she had avoided revealing any details about herself, for the experience of the past years had taught her to remain silent about her past. She had been laughed at often enough, dismissed as a wandering lunatic who had seen black Devils with claws whilst drunk. At some point during those years, she had lost her trust in people and resolved to pursue her goals alone, without obligations and without consideration for others.
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 entirely sure, but the carriage has to make a wide detour around the area, and it takes a whole day to reach the villages on the other 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 had not 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.“
Nell began to jiggle her foot without realising it. She did not particularly want to hear the investigator's attempts to put things into perspective, even though she understood that he approached his cases logically. No one believed in the supernatural, which repeatedly reminded Nell how alone she was with her past.
“Eyewitnesses tend to exaggerate their accounts. You can safely subtract a few inches from such reports. The size of a calf is still enormous for a dog,” the investigator added.
“Small, for an Irish Wolfhound, 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 doesn't mean anything. An unknown species of elephant was discovered two years ago, and they aren't exactly small, either,” Diana remarked.
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?
Although she knew better by now, a desperate hope always stirred within her that she might meet someone somewhere with whom she could talk about everything that had happened. Someone without reservations or prejudice. But why had she hoped to find such people in Cole and Diana? To them, these things were nothing but fairy tales. They were realists who believed only in what they could see, touch, hear and measure. Everything else simply did not exist.
“But you're here for the dogs, aren't you?“ Nell asked, still hoping to gain access to police information through Cole. For years she had been groping in the dark, but she was certain the police knew far more than they let on.
“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 did not 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 touched her like that, they usually wanted something else.
“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 little story, her brother had been badly mauled by dogs, and on his deathbed he had claimed that the dog had been a gigantic black beast. 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're meeting a police officer as soon as we arrive. He'll brief us on the cases and the progress of the investigations,” Cole replied.
“You never mentioned the police,“ Nell muttered, displeased. She did want to gain access to the police's knowledge through Cole, but preferably without having any personal contact with them. The investigator was supposed to do that work for her, for she had accumulated enough unpleasant experiences with the police. Enough to last her the next twenty years.
“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 importance on discretion, and he doesn't want his police force's work to be seen in a bad light,” Cole explained. “The Chief Constable thinks it reflects poorly on the police if they have to seek outside help. In any case, he believes it will damage 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 at many stations, there were noticeboards here, too, where jobs were advertised and sought, announcements, events, advertisements and newspaper clippings could be found, along with the timetables, of course. 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 must be somewhere around here,” Cole murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “He was supposed to 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, then let the thought go. 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 complete madness. Just two days ago we had to stop a lynch mob from shooting stray dogs in the streets. There are rumours that a gate to Hell has opened in the moor and is spitting out 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. “But you must excuse Chief Constable Craven for not being able to meet you personally. He is truly very busy.” He gestured towards the station doors and invited his guests to follow him. “Come along. We'll go to the police station. You'll learn everything else there.”
Nell exhaled sharply and followed reluctantly.
To the police station. She certainly had no desire to go there. For one thing, they all looked the same inside, and every one of them was filled with the same uniformed fools, although Glenn seemed quite competent. Even so, the prospect did not appeal to her, and on the way out she was already looking for a suitable excuse.
There was a great deal of traffic outside the station. Numerous horse-drawn and steam carriages had gathered in the forecourt, while pedestrians pushed, jostled and squeezed their way between them. 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 were not here for a holiday.
“There are a lot of armed people here,” Diana murmured.
Dellaware nodded sourly. “Indeed. Come along, I'll tell you about it at the station.” Glancing up at the gloomy sky, from which drizzle fell incessantly, he added, “We'll be dry in there.”
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, it is. Spacious rooms, hot running water and decent food, but I don't think there are any rooms left.”
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 did not matter. She turned and hurried toward the Ironpan.
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