As she walked down the seemingly peaceful streets of Cowloon in eastern London, she couldn't help but feel a little uneasy. It wasn't the first time either for a widow like her, but yet, theRE is only so much that a noblewoman can achieve without a man to support her in her opinion. Cowloon street was on its surface the same as many other silent and dark lanes of the burrows of 1860's London. It was a very cheerful place in the morning with its bakeries and motels. It was also widely known for its metalworking legacy. All in all, it was a prosperous locality of iron workers and bakers to feed them.
But this same legacy was what made the place seem so desolate at night, the metalworkers grandfathers and great-grandfathers had all been very famous for one thing, the making of torture equipments. True, since the beginning of the last century, that particular trade had been discarded for other and more profitable ventures, the shop owners all agreed upon the fact that the hundreds of victims who had died of those torture devices wouldn't pardon them so easily. Hence their union had declared all lights, including streetlights of the area to be closed off by late evening. All in all, it was a spooky lace full of ghosts.
Now she, the Lady Smith of St.James county, according to the bag that she carried must have had no reason to fear ghosts nor did she did. For all she knew, if ghosts were real, then she might see her husband.
The chilly wind however combined with the almost complete darkness only disturbed by some mandatory watchman oil lamps made it seem disturbing.
Out of the corner of her eye she was keeping a watch behind her too, and now suddenly she could feel a presence behind her, it must have been walking behind her for a long time but she had begun to eel its reality right now. She proceeded to quicken her pace, the presence which seemed humanly did so to. She started doing a brisk jog too, this time the figure started running and before screaming she decided to look back and confront the figure bravely.
Even in the darkness, the few ounces of light made the medal of 'The City of London police' glitter like a star.
She heaved a sigh of relief.
The policeman quickly came up near her and enquired.
"Where are you going so late at evening Ma'am?"
To which she replied "I am returning from a ball near Buckingham palace, i am not really of the servant and entourage type since my beloved died" .
"Hmm, do you want me to walk along just in case....................................I mean these parts round here aren't exactly the safety first type huh?" he asked in a gallantry tone.
She thought for a few minutes and replied "Uh, ok, thanks" .
So then the two started walking through the darkness, the policeman's lamp made the whole process much more easier.
However the disturbing silence was still apparent to her mind. Judging that the policeman must be hesitant to speak to her, she started the conversation.
"Hmm, so, how was the month officer, no wars since the Sepoy mutiny, no major crimes, no attacks on our sovereign, isn't it pretty boring?" .
"Huh" he looked visibly surprised.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Madame, I am sorry if I say that you are uninformed, but that would be the truth" he said.
"What do you mean?" she asked curiously.
"Just 5 days before, in this very Cowloon street, a robber by the name James Hill brutally murdered anther by the name of William Matson" he said.
"What do you mean by brutally?" she asked with even more curiosity.
"No madam, the exact details are too grisly for delicate souls such as you, why bother your pretty mind with such thoughts on a night so dark?" he replied.
"NO officer, I have traveled with my husband to Hindoostan, I have seen enough grisly death there, even more grisly than any you can find in England, tell me, I hardly read the news nowadays, I need to know" she said.
He tried dissuading her several times but in vain, finally he started.
"Now you see, this William Matson was robbing this street on dark nights such as this since the time the Queen wasn't crowned yet, he had a complete monopoly on robbing people on this street. Whenever anyone tried to encroach into his 'Territory', he would finish him off. Now it so happened that this guy James Hill, a deserter from '57 came to this street a few months back and brutally beat up a rich old man. This naturally offended Matson who decided to tell Hill who was the boss here, so he found him out in his measly lodgings near London docks and beat up the life out of him.
It took Hill 8 and a half months to recover, but when he did, he decided to take revenge, so the day before that unfortunate date, he purchased a massive sledgehammer. Naturally we caught the man who sold it to him, but thats for another time.
Now, this Hill waited in the dark alleyways of the street hoping for Matson to appear, now Matson was much more aged than him, so Hill decided to surprise him.
That same day, Matson was returning after extracting 10 pounds from a local trader in exchange for not robbing him on a daily basis and leaving his customers mostly alone. In his arrogance he had even stopped carrying a knife to defend himself these days. So when the masked Hill appeared before him, he only laughed. He asked Hill about how he had the audacity to attack a man of such high stature like him. To this Hill replied that Matson was now growing old and it was time for succession. Then Hill raised his sledgehammer and..................................................... we found Matson's beat up body in this very place where we are standing right now"
"Hmm, thats intriguing" she replied.
"Yes, but you know what's even intriguing?" he asked. A subtle change had come over him, he looked to be a man on a mission.
"What?" she asked as an answer.
"I am not a policeman, I am James Hill, I have a sledgehammer and I want you to empty your bag and remove your jewels immediately, or your ghost will be wandering these streets by tomorrow" he said laughing.
"AND NEITHER AM I LADY SMITH OF ST.JAMES, I AM WILLIAM MATSON THE EVERCHOSEN LEADER OF COWLOON STREET" she grinned.
Never had anyone seen a more grisly manner of mutilation of a human body from Afghanistan to Apacheria than the one seen on the robber James Hill's on that sad rainy winter day 6 days after he had himself murdered the older robber William Matson the everchosen of Cowloon street in eastern London..................................................................................................................................................................