Chapter 5 #3
Hadrian inclined his head toward Tilda as he looked at Hopkins. “I agree. Did you have any notion as to how that trick was accomplished? What about the red eyes or Spring-heeled Jack’s ability to leap great heights?”
“No one to do with the attacks we investigated reported Spring-heeled Jack jumping, which is ironic given his name,” Hopkins replied. “Lea had a few theories about the blue flame, but I don’t recall what they were. I’m sure he wrote them in his notes. Perhaps you’ll be able to find them.”
Hadrian and Tilda exchanged a look. Hopefully, the clerk from Scotland Yard would find those tomorrow among the police records.
“The Alsop house is still standing in Bow if you want to speak with someone in the family,” Hopkins added. “You may be able to obtain an account of what they saw.”
“I might do that,” Tilda said. “Thank you.”
Hopkins settled back in his chair. “I thought this story had died out, at least around here. I know it’s moved to other places, but Spring-heeled Jack mostly disappeared from London after that period of hysteria.
He became a legend that has been sensationalized beyond recognition—penny dreadfuls and plays and the like.
You can’t trust that what you’ll hear isn’t a fanciful tale someone read and now thinks is a memory.
I’m surprised to hear the legend has resurfaced in this way.
You’re smart to consider any ties this kidnapper might have to the Spring-heeled Jack of the past.” Hopkins lifted a shoulder.
“Your kidnapper could be someone who knew him or was related to him, or someone who’s simply enthralled with the character.
What a fascinating case.” The former inspector sounded as though he envied them.
“The kidnapper is definitely doing his best to convince us that he’s the Spring-heeled Jack of old. He was seen last night when he collected the ransom on Hampstead Heath. He wore white oilskin, had red eyes, breathed blue flame, and leapt over a five-foot hedge.”
Leaning forward once more, Hopkins appeared most intrigued. “Since you’re here, I gather he escaped?”
“Unfortunately,” Hadrian replied.
Grimacing, Hopkins picked up his teacup. “Dare I hope the poor young woman was returned at least?”
Tilda’s features tensed. “Not yet, which is why we’re investigating the legend. We’re desperate to find her.”
“Certainly.” Hopkins set his tea back down after taking a sip.
“Once this news appears in the papers, I fear there will be another hysteria, perhaps even worse than before since a young woman is missing. If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.
” He gave them a sad smile. “I miss my work.”
“We will, thank you.” Tilda slipped her notebook and pencil back into her reticule and rose.
Hopkins jumped to his feet, displaying a surprising agility for a man in his early seventies. “I’ll walk you out.”
Hadrian stood and followed behind Hopkins as he allowed Tilda to precede him to the entrance hall. When they arrived, Hopkins turned to face them.
“Please tell Mrs. Hopkins her tea was delicious,” Hadrian said.
Tilda gave the former inspector a regretful smile. “I’m afraid I was too wrapped up in your story to drink mine, Mr. Hopkins.”
“I’ll go and drink your cup so she doesn’t notice.” Hopkins winked at Tilda, and Hadrian found himself hoping they’d have to consult with Hopkins again.
“You’re too kind,” Tilda said.
Now was the moment Hadrian had been waiting for. He extended his hand to Hopkins. “Thank you for your time today, Mr. Hopkins.”
Handshakes were always a difficult way to see a memory, but sometimes it was all Hadrian could do.
He focused his mind on Lucy Scales and her attack as he shook the man’s hand.
A man’s face appeared. He was in his early thirties, with a mop of dark brown hair and rheumy eyes.
His nose was red, and he appeared frightened.
Unfortunately, as was often the case with short handshake visions, that was the extent of what Hadrian saw.
“I wish you the best of luck.” Hopkins opened the door for them, and they departed after Tilda thanked him one last time. The skies had opened again whilst they were inside, so they hurried to the coach where Leach, wearing a wide-brimmed hat dripping with rain, opened the door.
“Leach, our next stop is number one Bearbinder Lane,” Tilda said, surprising Hadrian as he helped her into the coach.
He nodded at Leach before sitting beside Tilda. “You want to visit the Alsop house?”
“I do. I just can’t return home yet. Not without doing everything we can to find Miss Chadwick.” She looked at him with hope, her eyes bright. “I don’t suppose you glimpsed anything when you shook Mr. Hopkins’s hand?”
Hadrian described the man he saw. “I’ve no idea who he could be. He could have nothing to do with Spring-heeled Jack at all.”
Tilda exhaled. “Still, that was a helpful visit. I do hope the clerk finds Inspector Lea’s notes. We may need to inform Teague that the clerk should look for those specifically.”
“That’s a good idea.” He was eager to rescue Miss Chadwick too and was glad Tilda didn’t want to conclude their inquiries yet.
“After we visit the Alsop house, would you mind if we called on the tutors?” Tilda asked. “I know we may not have much luck on a Sunday, but I’d feel better if we tried.”
“I would too.” He smiled at her and took her hand.
Tilda sent him a brief but grateful smile. “Thank you for coming with me.”
Hadrian brushed his lips against her temple. “There is nowhere I would rather be.”