The Coffin Rose

Introduction

It’s the winter of 1893 and in Kensington, London; William Harvey Marsely is mourning the murder and death of his daughter Anne Marsely who was viciously decapitated in Marsely’s own home! The police don’t have any information on who killed the girl or why they did it and after a series of events William Marsely finds himself serving in Kensington Prison for illegally importing cattle for his leather factory in the North. Whilst in prison Marsely finds an old friend namely Ranger McWright the two again become firm friends and eventually decide to go after Anne’s killer. On their journey along the country Ranger meets the love of his life; a young Texan called Karen Bell after meeting Marsely and also deciding to live with him and Ranger the three go to York to find the first killer a vicious murderer who has killed three innocent people in York and the surrounding areas. The three must find Anne’s murderer and kill him or her to stop any more innocent lives being destroyed; but becoming murderers themselves they must try to not be caught by the authorities if they are then they face twelve years each in prison.

Chapter 1: Marsely’s world & its rapid decline.

The coldness of the night and the eeriness of the moon on the wet and black cobbled pavement was clear for any wanderer for miles. And yet the illusiveness of the man in question still plagued the dwelling of La propriet di Marsely (The Marsely Estate) of South London. Though the man in question was well known, by face and structure not a single soul ever had accounted him. And though several times he had dwelled at the Martin’s Institute for the mentally insane, not a single record could be discovered on why or when he had gone to the place. Even if the local authority did ever find a scratch of him or his presence there they could never hope to find him, for a definite it was a he because one witness had cried out “It’s Him!” before she too became a dead rat in the gutter.

The night after the incident was very peculiar due to the fact that despite the victims clearly showing signs of unbearable decapitation not a single thread of muscle had been roughly cut neither to say had any of the skin, and yet the weapon had been caught, with the blood on it, in fact the weapons surface couldn’t be seen through the sea of human blood. “Womanly blood, for sure.” Spoke the detective, D.I. Louis Wreck, “Well sir I congratulate you on your discovery” said the father of the diseased lady, Mr. William Harvey Marsely, himself a rich, very divine man in a quite surely new suit, fitting perfectly down to the ankle bone. And yet the sir seemed yet to show the anger and emotion that was surely reaching boiling point. And yet his woman couldn’t have wept anymore if she tried, but yet the woman never once looked at the daughter’s corpse “Sir, please. I beg you find my daughters killer and hang him from the gallows!” “Please Madam we will find him, as soon as we can trace his journey from the capital to here.” The detective looked in utter disgust at the body, drooped cautiously over the table it too drenched in the blood of a now decaying body of a woman whom just hours ago was prime in life and beauty.

The house was from an outside eye seemingly derelict for days; no-one entered and no-one seemed to go out, For sure the family were still in grave mourning for their beloved daughter, sister, aunt and niece. The funeral itself was little more than thirty minutes long, in a small village church, the service held by the local vicar who’s name may come as some concern to you, Reverend Christopher Marsely, the brother and mourner to the dead body which had once been his sister, and in his eyes he saw that God had chosen her for a purpose beyond the function of any mortal being.

 The father though thought this reason to be nothing more than a barrier, a barrier set to defend the truth, like a roman wall or a medieval castle, to stand tall forever in the brother’s mind. He spoke with little emotion and carried no sense of guilt, at least none could be seen from the body of the naked eye, a quite tall man, like his Father, with brown hair and a nearly ghostly face that showed both not a speck of colour or emotion, his ears pinned back and ever so slightly pointed at the ends like a bat’s used to sense in on it surroundings in a darkened cave. Though he was tall he carried a few pounds of weight on him, not huge but not small, clad from head to foot in his usual attire, a white dog collar, black shirt , a white over shirt, black cotton trousers and black shoes, the normal attire for a vicar, a reverend or which ever name you wish to call them.

The coffin was lifted by six relatives, of course all male, whilst their wives whisked away their tears on their handkerchiefs, some weeping, some looking shuddery and stiff and some of the more mature variety urging their minds to clear of all emotion and to simply seem unfazed by the situation. The six males lifted the coffin and walked down the aisle, trying to be as steady and cautious as possible as they could, the relatives had all given a red rose and they were now situated upon the coffins face, never did one even sway as they led it towards the grave. The wind picked up as the church bells struck twelve midday, the coffin (made of wood) was carefully lowered into the ground, the body had been dressed in a linen blue dress with her grandmother’s silver necklace with a ruby encrusted centre left between her hands which lay shut on her stomach for all eternity.

 The roses on top of the coffin never once even moved as the coffin hit the soggy under soil. The mother wept into her husband’s chest and he in return cuddled her with is left arm as he held his walking stick in his right and stood upright trying his absolute best to stay aware of his emotions and that is why he didn’t cry, the vicar spoke “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...” and as the relatives walked on towards their carriages the grave was starting to be filled with the remaining soil, her gravestone read: “R.I.P lady Anne Rye Marsely

Born 10th December 1863 Died 12th November 1893 “May she rest in peace forever with the touch of God in her forever. Amen”.

After the sixth day of mourning the family if that’s what you would call it was greeted by a knock at the door, the first knock the door had seen in days, or at least the first one to have been answered by an inmate of the property, “Sir I come with news of your daughters case, please may I come in.” “You may.” Spoke the now ghostly figure who had once been William Marsely, he had started to become like the house ruined, his hair now dawned a snowy hill top of white previously dark black, his eyes had become blood shot with lack of sleep and increased use of alcohol, mainly a Russian whisky name “ Red Flag Whisky”.

His face still held no colour but for his lips which had gone a deep purple with the use of excess alcohol. His wrinkles had now become more visible and covered his face like a mask hiding a much younger man. His weight had noticeable dropped from 13st 4oz to around about 9st 4oz, he no longer stood with the elegance of the man which so many knew him as but now he looked more like a scavenger caught in a rich man’s house. Meanwhile the man stood at the door was dressed in a black coat with knitted on police badges, underneath he was cladded in blue with glimmering silver buttons all of which were perfectly festered in a perfectly straight line running along the man’s top half until the beginning of his trousers which were held in place by a black leather belt and a silver buckle, he also dawned a police truncheon and a set of handcuffs and keys.

 He wore his hat high and proud in the pouring rain, the man himself was quite podgy, rather small and had not shaven for at least three week and presented a glorious charcoal black beard which made his extremely baby like eyes look more intimidating, he spoke in what seemed to Mr. Marsely to be a rather childish voice. As they walked through the hallway and into the sitting room Marsely lit three lamps and sat on his leather chair in front of the fireplace which was now roaring golden yellow flames and could easily heat the whole house for a month but Marsely didn’t bother with moving anything in the room, the room was rather big, well big enough for two antique cabinets, a desk, a fireplace, a bay window, two small tables and a wall painting of Marsely’s father,

 Mr. Bartholomew Chester Marsely ( Bernie to his colleagues and family) Bernie had made his fortune from making wine and other liquors and exporting them to foreign lands such as France, Spain and Africa his wealth had accumulated to around about £400,000 in English money, which is where the Marsely’s originated, Essex to be precise. And when his Father passed on in 1861 it was all left to William, he though had accumulated debt and now only had £200,000 left, when he was thirty-two he had to sell the business to stop being bankrupt and become homeless, he now owned a small leather factory and profited £2,000 a year, enough to keep out of debt and keep the house and of course keep the wife and family happy.

But Marsely nearly wrecked his own house when he had heard the news from the police, he raised his voice so loud that the house nearly shook from side to side, but the policeman kept calm through the whole conversation if that’s what you would call it. “YOU WHAT?!” “Sir please” “DON’T YOU SIR PLEASE ME!” “We have found your daughter’s necklace on another woman killed yesterday not far away from here.” “MY DAUGHTER WAS BUIRED WITH THAT NECKLACE AND THE GRAVE WAS SEALED SO SIR TELL ME PLEASE HOW DID IT GET TO THIS OTHER WOMAN?”

“Sir the woman was found with multiple bruising on her back face and legs.” “Where did this woman work and where did she live?” Marsely had calmed down now, “She was a bar maid and she lived on Mary Duke Road.” “And her name was?” “Mary Castillo or Bonnie Mare to her customers.” “And where was the locket?” “It was... well...it was...” “Go on spit it out sir” “It was in her stomach.” “What?!” “It was lodged into her stomach but we can’t find any scaring or any sign of an operation” “Can you please go now sir, I wish to be left alone” “But sir...” “GO!” “Goodbye then Sir if there’s anymore news we’ll let you know.” “Thank you now good day.” The great wooden door echoed an empty slam across the estate and as the moon lay lazily on her slender back the night began to stalk its prey; this was the night of the wind and storm.

There have been several more murders and all seven have been within a ten mile radius of the village. Also the situation on who murdered Anne Marsely and who then dug her up and stole her necklace has so far resulted in nothing. And the situation for Mr. William Marsely’s decline has worsened to the state of bankruptcy for his business and he has been charged with illegally importing cattle for his leather factory and his health has worsened to the state of psychiatric help....

“Sir you do realise what you have been charged with.” Spoke the judge with a loud and confident voice, to which Marsely replied in his new found depressing whisper of a voice “Yes” “And do you understand what the penalties could be if you are found guilty of this charge?” “Yes.” “And do you sir realise that you shall be made bankrupt and homeless if these charges are carried out?” “Yes” “And do you...”  “Sir Can we please press on, as you can clearly see my client is unwell and has had a nightmare year.” Spoke Mr. Marsely’s lawyer, a well dressed, polite gentleman with combed back hair and a moustache, his name was Mr. Henry Ryte Quinton a fare English born lawyer whom came across from Italy to live in England, and so far seemed to be enjoying it, with a hard good reputation and a well spoken about man everybody liked him and he seemed to like everybody, but this was indeed his toughest case yet.

 “Mr. Marsely is it true that last month you received psychiatric help after the death of your wife Miss. Lady Elizabeth Wilson Marie Marsely?” “Yes” “You sir in the last month alone have spent over £1000 on whisky and other liquors is this true?” “Yes” “Sir you have asked this man question after question and he has answered so please stopping adding in inappropriate questions and get on with it!” “As you wish Mr. Quinton” “Thank you.” “Mr. William Harvey Marsely do you confess to the following charges put against you today in this court room, Illegally buying and importing animals for your leather business, failing to pay your bills on time and racking up a £22,000 debt to the state and do you sir confess to stealing £200 to pay for your own personal benefit?”

Marsely remained silent and so did the court, the scraggy old man now had white electric like hair, a white beard from not shaving for weeks and clothes that were ripped and torn and smelt of the darkest depths of hell. “Well Sir, Yes or No?” YES!”

“Mr. William Harvey Marsely I find you guilty of the charges put against you today and declare your company bankrupt, your estate shall now belong to the council and every last penny of your savings shall be used to clear up your debt, and you shall serve 3 months in Kensington Prison!” “Case Closed take him away!” “I’ll find him” said Marsely “Don’t you worry I’ll find the gutter dog who killed my daughter and I will KILL HIM!”

 On the Saturday after the trial Marsely’s Estate was emptied of all it’s possessions and his bank account had been virtually emptied, now just £300 remained for Marsely to live from, he was evicted, everything he had ever owned went to auction to be sold to pay of his debts, his factory in the North of England was closed down and 250 workers were left redundant.

Again the factory went to auction and was sold to an incredibly wealthy Bulgarian businessman namely Ryan Barrack. Meanwhile Marsely was left with a small duffle bag with just four sets of clothes and two pairs of shoes and his walking stick. After the church bells struck six he was taken by two police officers and put into a carriage and transported to the Prison and put into his prison clothes, a white shirt with a blue denim jacket and jeans with black plimsolls, he was then photographed and taken to block D, corridor 5U and Cell 14 his number was 123090. He immediately slung his belongings on to the cold completely bleak concrete flooring, and put his wrinkled hand into his pocket and pulled from it a crinkled piece of paper, recently printed by the police force; it had on it a face of a new criminal whose seed like eyes and scuffed up face haunted your eyes. Marsely soon began to stick these printed pictures on his corner wall; it seemed that he wanted to know a detailed evaluation of each of the person’s in question.