The Redemption of Dr William Thomas: Shadows from the Dark Cry

By D Judd-McDevitt

Victorian Style Gothic Horror

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dave McCran
• Release date: Jul 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781909833432

D Judd-McDevitt

Born: March 1972, Live in North Hykeham, Lincoln, UK

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Baker’s Row, Whitechapel, London

The darkened streets of Whitechapel were emptying rapidly and the last of the vendors packed away their wares and began to retreat into the labyrinth of the London suburbs.

The firmament was cloudless and there was a lingering winter chill hanging in the air. The brilliance of a full moon shone like a diamond on the deepening blue, velvet blanket of the night’s sky; a luminescence that undermined the stars pitiful attempt to steal their own moment to shine.

Please sir, could you spare a penny?

A young voice snapped out across the cold ether of the night’s bitterness and echoed through the now empty street. A tall gentleman halted from his perambulation, just short of the locale from where the sound had resonated. With his eyes examining the direction from where the voice had emanated, the tall gentleman (whom was exceptionally well turned out, dressed in a top hat and tailored tail coat) detected the origin of the request.

He had stumbled across the path of the small, ragged boy who was crouched against the numbing cold of a brick wall, clutching his arms around his knees. The boy sat upon the filthy walkway; the grime of the path seemed to ensnare him, spreading out across his very being. The child was clearly suffering; not only from the bitterness of the winter chill’s vicious bite but from the devilish strain of ravenousness. The tall gentleman stood staring down at the street urchin, catching the child in his looming shadow which threw a towering silhouette against the glittering heavens.

My dear child, where is your mother?

Don’t rightly know sir, ain’t seen her for weeks. The child replied stretching out his hand in hope for some gratuity. The tall gentleman paused.

You look half-starved and chilled to the bone. I know of a place that can provide you with shelter, warmth and sustenance for your poor, tired body. My carriage is just around the corner, shall you not come? You will be safe I can assure you of that

The boy looked at the silhouette, adjusting his head and body trying to make out some features of the tall gentleman’s face.

I am cold sir but I’m not sure about the susten-thingy business, that sounds a bit odd to me, if you don’t mind my saying so sir! The tall gentleman chuckled in response.

Of course young man, I meant that I shall take you for something warm to eat; to chase the chill from your bones,

No thank you sir, I’ll be alright, I don’t wish to be a burden on you sir, the boy snapped back. With that, he struggled to his feet as if to wriggle free from the walkway’s filth and began to slide along the wall away from his would be benefactor.

As you wish my young friend, I meant nothing by it. Here, I shall give you this penny and bid you a good night.

The boy halted in his tracks in anticipation of what it was that the tall gentleman would give to him. Reaching his hand into a pocket of his tail coat, the tall gentleman produced a bright, shining silver coin and placed it firmly into the boy’s stained hand. It sparkled magnificently in the moon light as it rested on the boy’s tiny paw.

Thank you sir, I’ll be going then! spoke the boy in hesitant glee at the shining disc which was set in his palm.

Again, he began to slide along the wall and he watched deliberately as the tall gentleman contemplated the boy’s retreat. Again, the tall gentleman meticulously manoeuvred himself as to stay in the glare of the moon’s bright light whilst the boy backed away - eyes still firmly fixed on his Samaritan - striving to catch a glimpse of any facial feature. Now feeling that he had massed a far enough distance between himself and the tall gentleman, the boy turned and accelerated away in the opposing direction, directly into a wall of leather and muscle.

The wall grabbed the stray and squeezed its left hand around the victim’s mouth, smothering him, whilst its other arm held the stray in a bear like grip. The young emaciated waif had not enough strength to resist his captor, there upon the brutish strength of his tormentor squeezed enough life from the child as for him to fall unconscious.

Put him in the carriage, we must leave this place, spoke the tall gentleman in a low, deep tone as he ushered the brute carrying the urchin to the waiting carriage parked at the corner of the street. The wall bundled the boy into the back and climbed in after its quarry. The tall gentleman scanned the streets fastidiously and finding it devoid of any potential witnesses, he clambered onto the driver’s box seat and with a crack of the horse whip; they sped off into the night.

1

My name is Dr William James Thomas and I currently await the execution of my sentence for crimes against the crown of a most heinous nature.

In light of my incarceration, I sit in reflection of the often considered opinion of religious and educated men that taking another man’s life would bring upon them the great and almighty wrath of our Holy Father; that he alone presides over the souls of men. It is deemed sacrilegious to offend by means of a murderous act within the teachings of every religious form within today’s modern and civilised societies. The Bible’s scriptures repeat the message of the fifth commandment of the Catholic faith (to which I am bound); ‘Thou shall not kill!’ Be it so that Christianity has levelled much oppressive evil on the power of this simple messages sent to us by God, but has this message truly been for the greatness of mankind?

Selection of murder is adjudged essentially as a cognitive process. It has been suggested as to why the reasons of murder is applied, may lie in the breakdown of the constitution of someone or some creature’s condition. Many mammal species have often demonstrated cerebral responses in order to exact a clearly motivated action against a threat from inside or outside of the family environment purely as a survival response. Moreover, defending one’s self against attack in any modern circumstance is not considered whatsoever to be the pretence for murder. Yet in spite of this, many human and animal species have and will often kill one another for reasons that science and nature have yet to fully understand and therefore have failed to explain.

Consequently, any species that gratifies this capricious act cannot by definition hold reasoning by means of any specific mental process: cognitive, emotive or otherwise, and therefore must be considered purely as a creature of habit; not one of intellect. It must thence come to stand that such beasts are beneath the glorious propensities of mankind; human or otherwise. Within this context, do we discern that murder is not simply a case of slaying within the simplest parameters of primeval survival, but simply arbitrary acts of aggression and is it therefore the breaking down of cognitive function?

The fact remains, that even within closed animal communes, it is a certainty that the intellectual processes of such creatures are of course - by their own nature - savage and by definition are not on an intellectual plane adjacent to that of human kind. Perhaps this is why particular classes of faunae procreate such deeds.

When unlawful death occurs within the human populous, perhaps the perpetrator’s mind begins to take on the essence of these consequential rages with the savageness of beasts, begging the question; do we ascend from the primordial soup of evolution?

If this is the case, do we not kill God by raising this very question in the process? Does the act of murder bring into question the laws that govern the compacted ideology of the fundamental principles of religious belief against evolutionary existence? Can there be one without the other? As a man of science and faith, I believe not!

My values are something that I have never before questioned! Stoic, formidable and unswaying are my thoughts of the divine. Emblazoned across my heart are the joyous reverberations of the gospels, shaping my very existence, protocols and virtues. The words of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John resound like trumpets through my soul and hold my very being in rapturous glory! I have studied and held onto the core beliefs of the Lord’s word as a beacon of morality and strength; moulding my probity. Hence, it is with a heavy heart that impetuses my mind into the questions surrounding the nature of murder and for the first time, I feel that my conviction has begun to unravel.

And yet I am a believer and I worship my Lord. His countenance must now be my guide in all that is left to be done. Yet with the issue of extreme horror which befalls me now, my own desperate countenance is failing.

It has just turned midnight and at the first light of day, I shall hang from the gallows at Newgate prison for the murders of my dear friend Dr Stirling Gordon and my most beloved wife, Imelda Thomas.

2

Before you preside in judgement over my sins in such a manner as you see fit - which of course you will do - I implore you to hear my tale before you cast your stones. I must tell you of my home and why it holds such importance in how I have perceived my existence and subsequently, I hope will it may elude to the reasons for my failings and thus why I am in the ghastly predicament in which I find myself.

My residence - East India Hall - sat on the eastern edge of the Royal Botanical Gardens on the banks of the south, Surrey shore of the river. The thoroughfare from the city brings you directly into the district of Kew along a reasonably comfortable road without many distractions. As you enter into the borough of Kew, the road banks northwards toward the south shore of the river, drawing passed the lush, green park surrounding the Botanical Gardens and leading directly to the Coach and Horses Inn. Immediately opposite the public house, stood two colossal, stone pillars, atop of which stood magnificently crafted, gold portrayals of the Lion and Unicorn; markers of great British resolve! These brazen effigies represented all that was my great grandfather; the man responsible for the vision and creation of East India Hall. These sculptures - which perched strong and bold - were most impressive. They looked out across the sprawl of the city in the distance: the Lion being perched upon the South pillar and the Unicorn upon the North pillar. Both stood proudly above and astride an incredibly elaborate set of iron gates that had been gilded with gold-leaf.

Upon these magnificent barriers was dressed the Thomas family crest. The gates themselves were extremely heavy and they needed to be in order to hold fast the majestic display of intricate iron work that formed the coat of arms. The insignia itself, sat across both gates which split into separating halves whenever the gateway opened. The crest itself was simple in design; a silver coat of arms containing three black, red-billed choughs in situ around a black chevron; two above and one below its apex. Positioned above the shield rested a silver, plumed, knight’s battle helmet, facing to the left as you looked directly towards it. The gold and silver mantling that spilled from the helmet sprayed down the sides of the crest like some vibrant waterfall with its cascade caught in time. Atop of the Knight’s helmet perched another black, red-billed chough, slightly larger than the other three. Finally, below the escutcheon resided the motto, written in its original tongue; ‘I ddubbo’ rdiolch.’ Welsh for ‘To God Be Thanks.’ You could sense the decadence from which spawned an awesome power of history; a power that furnished this place was understood the very moment you set eyes upon this monumental entrance.

From this sublime portal, you journeyed toward the impressive Georgian residence along the extensively, sweeping carriageway which curved steadily between the avenues of greyish, green cypress trees that towered above the sprawling drive. At the foot of the avenue rested an impressive, white gravel forecourt; wide and expansive. The forecourt in essence, was beautifully encircled by the lush lawns that spread across the garden like green silk sheets. The dark, grey-green cypress trees were off-set beautifully against the vibrant complexion of the grassy expanse.

Residing within the immediate centre of the forecourt, sat a large ornate pool and fountain. Perched upon the top of the golden fountain rested a golden effigy of Saint Jude, whom faced out across the sumptuous lawns to the north and from his mouth, he threw a cascade of water high into the air, which would fall indiscriminately onto the lily pads that floated listlessly within the confides of the rounded, granite pool.

Behind the fountain stood the extensively opulent, white Georgian house; three stories in height and perfectly symmetrical in design. The huge oaken doors - from which you gained entrance into this elaborate display of grandeur – were situated between two colossal, archetypal Greek pillars; creating a sense of classical magnificence. At the foot of each pillar - like two stone guardians - posed a set of hand carved marble, Indian elephants; a conceivable prescience of the British Raj that was to emerge some fifty years or so later after the construction of the house was completed. Their heads and trunks were raised and each had their outer leg striding forth in an aggressive bearing toward every visitor