Charlie Foster & the Gift from Gull

By Trevor Johnson

Crime reporter Charlie Foster teams up with his friends Professor Ian Robertson MD (retired) and John Drake SAS (retired)to try and solve the mysterious reappearance of the legendary 'Spring-heeled Jack'.
In the meanwhile, Detective Inspector Fred Tingwell is busy dealing with a murderer who is intent on shortening the lives of prostitutes in the Whitechapel area of London. The murderers actions have a striking similarity to 'Jack the Ripper' of old.
Together, with his old mate Fred Tingwell, Charlie Foster & Co try to solve the riddle which is 'Spring-heeled Jack' and the perplexing case of the new Whitechapel murderer.
All the while, Charle's powers grow...

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 27, 2010
• ISBN: 9781496994752

Trevor Johnson

After forming an unlikely friendship some two years previously with Professor Ian Robertson M.D (retired) and John Drake S.A.S/S.I.S (retired), the experienced crime reporter Charlie Foster teams up with his friends again to investigate the reappearance of folklore legend 'Spring-heeled Jack'. Spring-heeled Jack was the name attributed by the press of the day, but nowadays is only heard when someone witnesses feats of extreme athleticism. Spring-heeled Jack was hardly ever out of the newspapers in Victorian times. Was he merely an energetic prankster who, over the years, turned into a legendary hero, or was he something completely different? Now it's Charlie Foster & Company's turn to try and unravel one of the most baffling mysteries of the Victorian era here and now in the 21st century. Meanwhile, in the very heart of London, Detective Chief Inspector Fred Tingwell has his work cut out when a copycat 'Jack the Ripper' decides to shorten the lives of prostitutes in the Whitechapel area. With no witnesses, evidence or clues, the talented Fred Tingwell turns to his old mate Charlie Foster for help. Together, with Ian Robertson MD, professor of science and physics, Edinburgh University, retired, and John Drake, ex S.A.S colonel, they combine forces to investigate the legend that is 'Jumping Jack Flash' and the perplexing case of the new Whitechapel murders. All the while, Charlie's powers grow...

Book preview

Charlie Foster &

The Gift from Gull

Trevor Johnson

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AuthorHouse™ UK

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©2010 Trevor Johnson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in

a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means

without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 13/7/2010

ISBN: 978-1-4490-9382-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9475-2(eBook)

Contents

Preface

Chapter I

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter IO

Chapter II

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Many thanks to John B. Reynolds for his inspiring work and thoughts, and also to David Quigley of A. B. Review in uniting with me in our passion for great mysteries and adventure.

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.

Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

PREFACE

Letter from Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington, No 1 London, August 1838.

My dear Curtis,

It was extremely decent of you to reply so promptly to my last letter.

As you probably know, this Spring-heeled jack fellow has gone to ground. To this very day no further sightings of him have been reported. My futile attempts to try and track him down have been discouraging to say the least. Nevertheless, I am convinced he is still at large and I intent to pursue him to the ends of the earth if need be.

I thank you for your continued support.

Who is the letter from, dear? Lady Sarah asked her husband

Lord Curtis looked up from his writing desk. Arthur Wellesley, he replied.

Lady Sarah came closer. What on earth does he want now?

He’s keeping me up to date on Spring-heeled Jack, Lord Curtis replied.

Changing direction, Lady Sarah walked slowly over to the fireplace. He’s getting senile in old age.

The Duke is still a powerful figure, my dear. Lord Curtis reminded her, rising from his desk and facing his wife.

Lady Sarah proceeded to waft away imaginary dust from the mantelpiece clock with a frilly handkerchief. But he’s so possessed with this creature… She said, turning around.

…all he ever talks about is Spring-heeled Jack. He drives everyone quite dotty, he really does.

Lord Curtis laughed, and then said: It would be quite a feather in my cap if I could catch this rascal.

You? She almost shouted. Why on earth you?

Lord Curtis came closer. Two reasons; firstly, to expel the idea this Spring-heeled Jack fellow is some sort of monster and expose him for what he really is; perhaps a Hooray Henry with nothing better to do with his time except frighten the life out of decent folk. And secondly, I need the Duke’s support in pushing through the new reform bill. With the Duke on my side my chances are instantly doubled. In fact, the more I think about it the better it sounds…

The reform bill came and went, and the years rolled by.

In 1852, one of the finest military tacticians of all time, the Iron Duke, died. He even managed to outlive his old friend Lord Curtis.

Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington of Apsley House (No 1 London) was sent on his way with a pomp and circumstance only to be surpassed in later years by that of Sir Winston Churchill.

As a general in 1815, he defeated Napoleon at Quatra-Bas and Waterloo, and later, in 1828, he became Prime Minister. In his early years he earned the nickname the ‘Iron Duke’ because

of his will of iron. In his later years, he was fondly titled by some as the ‘Old General’.

Two years earlier in 1850, Lord Curtis had died, leaving a grieving widow and two sons. He also left behind the foundations of a very secret service.

In Lord Curtis’s drive to capture Spring-heeled Jack, not only had he gathered together a fine body of enquiry agents, but also a mountain of very useful information.

The talents of himself and his agents were quickly recognised by the right people. His work led to official recognition and later, after his death, a brand new governmental service was brought into being.

In his last will and testament, the Duke of Wellington bequeathed a large property to his old ally’s (Lord Curtis) first born son. It was a grand gesture of friendship; Lady Sarah never uttered another word against the Old General for the rest of her life.

In the spring of 1853, Albert Kitchener Curtis (Lord Curtis’s first born son) married Penelope Jayne Seymour. They would live at the house bequeathed Albert by the Duke of Wellington; Victoria House, London E3.

Although the area wasn’t exactly Mayfair, the property was secluded and securely walled in its own grounds. Mr. & Mrs. A. K. Curtis were very pleased with their new marital abode. A butler, cook, upstairs and downstairs parlour maids, a gardener, handyman and a scullery maid were the permanent staff. Stables to the rear were equipped to house two horses for their carriage and sporting trap. All in all, life was very comfortable for the Curtis family.

Albert never shared his father’s belief that Spring-heeled Jack was a prankster, and resolutely believed him to be a creature from another world. After all, his outstanding athletic feats were far too great to be human. In the back of Albert’s mind lay the Old General’s last wish - find him. Albert Kitchener Curtis left no-one in any doubt about his obsession to do just that.

In the winter of 1860, Albert’s mother, Lady Sarah, died. Although Albert and Penelope were extremely happy at Victoria House, it was decided to move back to Mayfair. In October of 1870, Mr. A. K. Curtis was summoned to meet the Prime Minister. Albert was sixty five years old.

So far, Albert had led a successful life. With his wealth, influential friends and a natural ability to organise, he had founded a very lucrative news agency. The press of the day relied heavily on such agencies for up to date articles from around the world to add spice to their ever-increasing circulations. Albert enjoyed the work immensely and had hardly taken a break in over twenty five years.

Albert was led into an anteroom by an usher and waited patiently after accepting a seat.

The door to the anteroom opened, and in walked the Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Albert stood to accept the P. M’s outstretched hand.

Please be seated, Mr. Curtis.

Albert wondered what on earth he required of him.

I imagine, the P. M said, that you are concerned as to my requesting this meeting.

Yes, sir, Albert replied. I am.

Let me put you at ease, Mr. Curtis, by saying it is a service I require of you.

Humbling himself slightly, Albert replied: I am honoured, Prime Minister. Anything I can do for my country I will do to my utmost ability.

Thank you, the P. M. smiled. I wouldn’t have expected anything less from a person of your standing in the community. Let me begin by saying I was a great admirer of your father, and indeed, the Old General himself. Although you have not taken-up your father’s title and prefer only to be known as Mister, I know your patriotism is beyond reproach…

Albert nodded his head in recognition of praise.

…It is on the question of patriotism and duty to Queen and country that we are here today, Mr. Curtis. But first, I must insist that the conversation we are now enjoying be kept secret. It is not to be repeated outside these four walls.

I understand, Prime Minister.

Good, good. I’m glad that’s cleared up. Mr. Curtis, I have a question for you. Would you be willing to give up your duties at the news agency for… say, twelve months in order to form another agency for me?

A puzzled look bore on Albert’s face. Could you be a little more specific, sir?

The P. M. smiled knowing he was intrigued if nothing else.

Yes I can and I will. As you know, we have a secret service within the structure of The Foreign Office. This agency, as I prefer to call it, is self sufficient only in the fact that no other governmental office can interfere with its workings except myself as the ultimate head of this agency…

.We have people scattered all over the globe as, indeed, you have, Mr. Curtis, with your own agency. Outsiders might title our people spies. I prefer to call them agents; agents of democracy, Mr. Curtis, agents of democracy…

.Yet there are many problems. Mountains of paperwork; too many chiefs and miles of red tape constantly interrupt the smoothness of flow. The P. M. paused a moment to let his words sink in, and then continued.

"…There have been several disastrous errors over the past six months; errors which have cost agents their lives. I am not prepared to tolerate this inefficiency any longer. I want you, Mr. Curtis, to form another agency. In fact, an agency such as the world has never known. An agency so adept it leaves all who stutter in its wake. I want an agency like no other, Mr. Curtis, like no other. And I want this agency to have the very

best equipment available and I want you to pick every man Jack."

Albert was shocked. But why me, sir?

I’ll tell you why; because I am surrounded by buffoons. The younger ones I do not trust, and the older ones are so set in their ways I don’t have faith in them to brew a decent cup of tea. No, Mr. Curtis, it’s you I want; you!

After a further half hour, Albert Curtis left The Houses of Parliament and returned to his home in Mayfair.

Although sworn to secrecy, he needed to discuss the matter with his wife.

..All I can tell you, my dear, is that it will mean giving up my work at the agency for a while to fulfil my governmental duties.

Whatever you do is fine with me, you know that. Penelope told him. I’ve never stood in your way before, I’m not about to start now, am I?

Albert smiled at his ever-loving, knowing that everything was just fine in the Curtis household.

The Prime Minister was informed of Albert’s acceptance the very next day.

Over the next two months, only seven men were chosen from hundreds of possible candidates.

The seven agents and Albert Kitchener Curtis filed into the Prime Minister’s private office. There were smiles and handshakes all round.

Have you thought of a name for our new force, Mr. Curtis? The P. M. asked.

Actually, yes I have. As we were both admirers of The Duke of Wellington and the fact that we have only managed to enlist the services of just seven men, I thought it appropriate we title our new force, The General’s Seven; perhaps G seven for short.

Thus, in 1870, G7 came into being.

Over the years, and during the life of A. K. Curtis, Spring- heeled Jack had been very active. Between 1837 (the very first sighting) and 1855, Jack was spotted many times. It became the mystery of the century; his name was hardly ever out of the newspapers.

In the winter of 1855, the residents of several Devonshire townships awoke to find a heavy snowfall had occurred during the night. In the snow lay mysterious footprints and not all were on the ground. They ran up walls and along the tops of them. They also ran across rooftops, enclosed courtyards and out into the fields and beyond for miles and miles. The superstitious Devon folk said it was the work of the devil. Others, more practical, said it was Spring-heeled Jack.

In the summer of 1876, Albert Kitchener Curtis died peacefully in his sleep. He was seventy one years old and never did find Jack. But what he did achieve was to create a secret service that, throughout the world, was second to none. The Prime Minister was pleased with his ‘little baby’. But the baby would soon outgrow the father.

Albert married late in life and his marriage to Penelope was childless. His younger brother, Townsend, had worked side by side with him at the news agency since its conception. Townsend took complete control when his brother left to form another agency for the government. From the beginning of G7 in 1870 to Albert’s death in 1876, Townsend had worked closer to his brother then ever before.

Not only bonded by blood, they had respected each others views and talents. Whilst Albert ran G7, Townsend ran the news agency. But more significantly, they shared information.

Townsend Curtis was fifteen years younger than Albert and had been married for twenty years.

In the summer of 1877, Spring-heeled Jack appeared outside the army barracks at Aldershot. Two sentries fired at almost point blank range when the intruder failed to obey their commands. Both soldiers were experienced and crack shots. They refused to believe they had missed as they watched the creature bound away leaving not a trace of blood on the ground.

G7 was alerted and agents despatched to the scene. They came away as baffled as the soldiers.

Townsend Curtis was a natural successor. Not only did he step into his brother’s comfortable shoes, he polished them as well. But if there was a fault with Townsend, then it ran in the family. This was a desperate desire to find Spring-heeled Jack.

Townsend ran G7 using the same rod of iron the Old General had done himself many, many years ago. He had agents stationed the length and breadth of the country, and it only took just one of them to set in motion a collective effort to capture the devilish creature known throughout the world as Spring-heeled Jack.

It was in the spring of 1888 that Townsend Curtis was finally to meet his tormentor.

On the outskirts of Newport, South Wales, farmer Thomas Cooper had managed to lock a mysterious intruder in his barn. When the local constabulary arrived, they were shocked by the strange noises and uncanny lights coming from inside the locked barn. They called for the army; the army informed Scotland Yard and in no time at all G7 was on the case. Thirty six hours later, Townsend arrived noticing a large crowd.

At first they’d been peaceful enough; sat on walls and fences discussing the possible outcome with excited merriment. But when someone just happened to mention Spring-heeled Jack, they began to turn ugly with shouts of; ‘string him up’,

and ‘burn the barn down.’ Townsend and his men were quick to seize control.

A large net made from strong twine was produced and Townsend’s agents were ordered to stand by the barn doors and be ready when the creature came out. The doors were unlocked and Townsend strode, apprehensively, inside.

Daylight flooded the old barn as Townsend’s head swivelled this way and that, but he couldn’t see the intruder. He moved further inside and saw all manner of regalia strewn about the place; rusty tackle hanging on rusty nails; branding irons, forks, spades, a scythe and a rake. An old cart lay in ruins in the far corner, tilting precariously to one side for the lack of a wheel. Yet there was no sign that anyone had ever been in there other than the sloppy farmer.

Townsend removed his fine Derby and scratched his head. There were no other exits other than the barn doors, and the farmer insisted no-one had come out. He was just about to give up and go back outside when something made him look up. What he saw shook him rigid. There, high in the rafters of the barn was Spring-heeled Jack.

The ceiling was a good thirty feet away and with no other means of getting there other than leaping, Townsend knew it was him. Besides, who else could cling to beams like a spider?

Suddenly and without warning, Jack came down. He leapt, turned in mid-air and landed perfectly on his feet not an arms length away from Townsend. The crowd backed away amid gasps of fear, but the agents stood their ground appearing rooted to the spot.

The creature seemed to be staring at Townsend with unparalleled curiosity. Townsend began back-pedalling; the driving force that had been with him for all these years had now deserted him; he was completely at a loss for words or action except for his involuntary backward retreat.

Townsend tripped and fell awkwardly onto his backside. The creature strode forward, bending over to take a closer look at the director of G7.

The agents outside were wondering what they should do. Townsend had told them not to fire their pistols unless it was absolutely necessary, and the fear of disobeying Townsend was almost as great as that of the creature in the barn.

With terror embedded into his face, Townsend watched the creature loom over him. He must have stood at least six feet seven inches tall and was wearing a one-piece suit underneath a dark, flapping cloak. His arms and legs appeared disproportionate to the rest of his body, and covering his head was a sort of goldfish bowl. When he opened his ghoulish mouth, short blue and white flames were emitted from the globe covering his head.

Townsend couldn’t move even if he’d wanted; he was in shock. The creature bent down to grab him. Townsend feared the worst and covered his head with his arms. Jack lifted him up and placed him gently on his feet. The ease by which he accomplished this feat had the crowd, the police and the agents trembling with a mixture of fear and awe.

Slowly, Townsend unwound his arms and opened his eyes to look at this powerful creature. Unexpectedly, he felt a pang of guilt. Perhaps it was fear, or perhaps it was the gentleness in the creature’s manner that prompted this. He noticed something else about the creature; it, too, was frightened. ‘No wonder he’s frightened surrounded by this lot’, Townsend thought.

His fears subsided as the force that had left him returned. He was just about to try and communicate with the creature when two shots rang out. Townsend felt the wind of the bullets as they passed and hit Jack full and square in the chest. Jack seemed surprised, but didn’t flinch. Townsend moved away as two more shots were fired. They had little or no effect on the creature.

With great speed and agility, Jack rushed towards the open barn doors. In the suddenness of it all, the net was completely forgotten and, in terrible fear, the crowd scattered letting him through and allowing Jack to escape into the fields and beyond.

Blithering idiots, Townsend fumed. I wanted him alive not dead.

We thought he was going to kill you. One of them replied in earnest.

Townsend calmed a little after realising how it must have looked to them, and refrained from further criticism.

Upon his return to London, Townsend reported directly to the Prime Minister. It was decided that a special task force within G7 be set up specifically to deal with Spring-heeled Jack.

Victoria House, where Townsend’s brother, Albert, once lived, was never sold. It was rented out for a while, but no-one came up with the asking price so it remained on the property market and in the sole ownership of the Curtis family.

Townsend decided to take it off the market and make the house headquarters for his newly formed task force.

The house was totally refurbished, removing the interior’s cosy, homely appearance and replacing it with a more official, contemporary style. The cellar, which was vast, was converted into a huge laboratory. If Jack were ever caught, he would be brought here. He would be secure here and he would be experimented on here.

The P. M. had said: ‘We must learn from this creature the secret of its strength, agility and extraordinary powers.’

CHAPTER I

2001

Through his bedroom window, little Tommy Makin viewed the cold whiteness of the snow with sheer delight. He should have been sound asleep by now, but anticipation of the day ahead had got the better of him. If his cough had gone by morning and he was allowed to play outside, he’d build a huge snowman the likes of which no-one had seen before. With imagination so pure and simple, Tommy’s mind was filled with pleasures only snow could possibly bring.

The sky had cleared of clouds and the winter moon shone like a giant Halogen lamp. Zillions of twinkling stars littered the heavens and vapour trails could plainly be seen.

Tommy shivered imagining the cold outside, and then a smile grew on his lips as he thought about sleds and sled- dogs.

In his mind, he was now on the back of a sled being pulled at speed by ten wonderful dogs somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. ‘Mush, mush,’ he shouted as he cracked the whip with ferocity; ‘faster you wonderful dogs, faster…’

The window pain had begun to steam-up, so Tommy lengthened a sleeve of his pyjamas and began wiping away the moisture. Suddenly, a strange face loomed up and peered at him through his bedroom window. One minute it was there,

the next it had gone. Tommy’s mind didn’t register this fact at all until the face had gone, because Tommy had been on his sled. But the moment the penny dropped, he stepped back and let out a yell.

The face had been hideously terrifying, and the only thing separating ‘it’ from ‘him’ was a thin sheet of glass. Tommy shook with terror; he tried to move but couldn’t, then he tried to call his mum but his mouth wouldn’t work. His eyes darted about his bedroom, and although the face at the window had gone, the face was all Tommy saw.

He felt a warm, damp sensation crawling down his right leg and knew exactly what had happened; it didn’t bother him as much as the face outside the window. With all the courage he could muster, he turned his head to look at the window. The face