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A Knife in the Fog
Winner of Killer Nashville’s 2019 Silver Falchion Award for Mystery and Edgar Finalist for Best First Novel, its audiobook won Audiofile Magazine’s Earphone Award for Mystery and Suspense.

This debut novel is the first in a series starring the real-life author and suffragette Margaret Harkness, continued in Queen’s Gambit.

“Ardent feminism and cerebral detection face down the Ripper in the fog-shrouded streets of London: a feast for lovers of historical crime!”
 
—Laurie R. King, author of The Beekeeper’s Apprentice and Island of the Mad

“Arthur Conan Doyle chasing after Jack the Ripper? Bradley Harper makes this irresistible pairing come alive. Ingenious in its premise and plotting, impressive in its unique forensic precision, infectious in its overflowing passion for the subject matter, A Knife in the Fog will be relished by fans of historical fiction, Sherlock Holmes, and Ripper literature. A debut novel worth falling for.” 
 
—Matthew Pearl, author of The Dante Chamber

Physician Arthur Conan Doyle takes a break from his practice to assist London police in tracking down Jack the Ripper in this debut novel and series starter. September 1888. A twenty-nine-year-old Arthur Conan Doyle practices medicine by day and writes at night. His first Sherlock Holmes story, A Study in Scarlet, although gaining critical and popular success, has only netted him twenty-five pounds. Embittered by the experience, he vows never to write another "crime story." Then a messenger arrives with a mysterious summons from former Prime Minister William Gladstone, asking him to come to London immediately. Once there, he is offered one month's employment to assist the Metropolitan Police as a "consultant" in their hunt for the serial killer soon to be known as Jack the Ripper. Doyle agrees on the stipulation his old professor of surgery, Professor Joseph Bell--Doyle's inspiration for Sherlock Holmes--agrees to work with him. The two are joined by Miss Margaret Harkness, an author residing in the East End who knows how to use a Derringer and serves as their guide and companion. Pursuing leads through the dank alleys and courtyards of Whitechapel, they come upon the body of a savagely murdered fifth victim. Soon it becomes clear that the hunters have become the hunted when a knife-wielding figure approaches.
1127779682
A Knife in the Fog
Winner of Killer Nashville’s 2019 Silver Falchion Award for Mystery and Edgar Finalist for Best First Novel, its audiobook won Audiofile Magazine’s Earphone Award for Mystery and Suspense.

This debut novel is the first in a series starring the real-life author and suffragette Margaret Harkness, continued in Queen’s Gambit.

“Ardent feminism and cerebral detection face down the Ripper in the fog-shrouded streets of London: a feast for lovers of historical crime!”
 
—Laurie R. King, author of The Beekeeper’s Apprentice and Island of the Mad

“Arthur Conan Doyle chasing after Jack the Ripper? Bradley Harper makes this irresistible pairing come alive. Ingenious in its premise and plotting, impressive in its unique forensic precision, infectious in its overflowing passion for the subject matter, A Knife in the Fog will be relished by fans of historical fiction, Sherlock Holmes, and Ripper literature. A debut novel worth falling for.” 
 
—Matthew Pearl, author of The Dante Chamber

Physician Arthur Conan Doyle takes a break from his practice to assist London police in tracking down Jack the Ripper in this debut novel and series starter. September 1888. A twenty-nine-year-old Arthur Conan Doyle practices medicine by day and writes at night. His first Sherlock Holmes story, A Study in Scarlet, although gaining critical and popular success, has only netted him twenty-five pounds. Embittered by the experience, he vows never to write another "crime story." Then a messenger arrives with a mysterious summons from former Prime Minister William Gladstone, asking him to come to London immediately. Once there, he is offered one month's employment to assist the Metropolitan Police as a "consultant" in their hunt for the serial killer soon to be known as Jack the Ripper. Doyle agrees on the stipulation his old professor of surgery, Professor Joseph Bell--Doyle's inspiration for Sherlock Holmes--agrees to work with him. The two are joined by Miss Margaret Harkness, an author residing in the East End who knows how to use a Derringer and serves as their guide and companion. Pursuing leads through the dank alleys and courtyards of Whitechapel, they come upon the body of a savagely murdered fifth victim. Soon it becomes clear that the hunters have become the hunted when a knife-wielding figure approaches.
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A Knife in the Fog

A Knife in the Fog

by Bradley Harper
A Knife in the Fog
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A Knife in the Fog

A Knife in the Fog

by Bradley Harper

Overview

Winner of Killer Nashville’s 2019 Silver Falchion Award for Mystery and Edgar Finalist for Best First Novel, its audiobook won Audiofile Magazine’s Earphone Award for Mystery and Suspense.

This debut novel is the first in a series starring the real-life author and suffragette Margaret Harkness, continued in Queen’s Gambit.

“Ardent feminism and cerebral detection face down the Ripper in the fog-shrouded streets of London: a feast for lovers of historical crime!”
 
—Laurie R. King, author of The Beekeeper’s Apprentice and Island of the Mad

“Arthur Conan Doyle chasing after Jack the Ripper? Bradley Harper makes this irresistible pairing come alive. Ingenious in its premise and plotting, impressive in its unique forensic precision, infectious in its overflowing passion for the subject matter, A Knife in the Fog will be relished by fans of historical fiction, Sherlock Holmes, and Ripper literature. A debut novel worth falling for.” 
 
—Matthew Pearl, author of The Dante Chamber

Physician Arthur Conan Doyle takes a break from his practice to assist London police in tracking down Jack the Ripper in this debut novel and series starter. September 1888. A twenty-nine-year-old Arthur Conan Doyle practices medicine by day and writes at night. His first Sherlock Holmes story, A Study in Scarlet, although gaining critical and popular success, has only netted him twenty-five pounds. Embittered by the experience, he vows never to write another "crime story." Then a messenger arrives with a mysterious summons from former Prime Minister William Gladstone, asking him to come to London immediately. Once there, he is offered one month's employment to assist the Metropolitan Police as a "consultant" in their hunt for the serial killer soon to be known as Jack the Ripper. Doyle agrees on the stipulation his old professor of surgery, Professor Joseph Bell--Doyle's inspiration for Sherlock Holmes--agrees to work with him. The two are joined by Miss Margaret Harkness, an author residing in the East End who knows how to use a Derringer and serves as their guide and companion. Pursuing leads through the dank alleys and courtyards of Whitechapel, they come upon the body of a savagely murdered fifth victim. Soon it becomes clear that the hunters have become the hunted when a knife-wielding figure approaches.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781633884878
Publisher: Seventh Street Books
Publication date: 10/02/2018
Sold by: SIMON & SCHUSTER
Format: eBook
Pages: 288
Sales rank: 595,330
File size: 3 MB

About the Author

Bradley Harper is a retired US Army Colonel and pathologist who has performed over two-hundred autopsies and some twenty forensic investigations. A life-long fan of Sherlock Holmes, he did intensive research for this debut novel, A Knife in the Fog, including a trip to London's East End with noted Jack the Ripper historian Richard Jones. Harper’s first novel was published in October 2018 and was a finalist for a 2019 Edgar Award by the Mystery Writers of America for Best First Novel by an American Author.
Bradley Harper is a retired US Army Colonel and pathologist who has performed over two-hundred autopsies and some twenty forensic investigations. A life-long fan of Sherlock Holmes, he did intensive research for this debut novel, A Knife in the Fog, including a trip to London's East End with noted Jack the Ripper historian Richard Jones. Harper’s first novel was published in October 2018 and was a finalist for a 2019 Edgar Award by the Mystery Writers of America for Best First Novel by an American Author.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE
THE COURIER
 
Thursday, September 20, 1888
 
It began in September of 1888, the month hastening into autumn.
I was closing my clinic in Portsmouth for the day when a stranger
arrived without an appointment. I asked the nature of his ailment, and
he surprised me by responding that he was not there for a medical consultation
but was serving as a messenger, handing me his card, which
identified him as Sergeant Major (Retired) Henry Chambers, courier.
 
His erect carriage and regulation grooming were in character with
his previous occupation and rank, as were his clothes, which were well-made
but unobtrusive. When I requested the nature of his message, he
handed over a thick envelope addressed to me.
 
Within I found a ten-pound note and a letter written on thick
bond paper bearing the letterhead of former prime minister William
Gladstone.
 
Dear Doctor Doyle,

Please consider this letter an offer of employment for a period
of up to one month as a consultant. The nature of the task I request
of you is best discussed in person. As a gesture of good faith, I have
enclosed a ten-pound payment that would be yours for traveling
to London to hear my proposal. Should you decline my offer, the
payment would be yours to keep. If accepted, it would be deducted
from future reimbursements.

The courier has no knowledge of the matter but merely requires
your response. If you accept, he will telegraph my office with the date
and time of your arrival and I will ensure a member of my staff is
there to meet you.

I strongly urge you to accept my invitation, sir, as many lives
may lie upon its balance.

Respectfully,

William Gladstone
 
I could not explain how Mr. Gladstone should know of me,
or why he would seek me out. I considered myself a capable general
practitioner, but gamely admitted there was an abundance of
physicians at least as competent as—and certainly more experienced
than—myself readily available throughout London. While I was hardly
destitute, the promised sum of ten pounds for a journey I could easily
make and return from in a single day was enticing. As my wife, Louise,
was pregnant with our first child, the funds would be welcome.
 
After a moment’s reflection I agreed, perhaps as much influenced
by my curiosity as the ten-pound note, which exceeded a fortnight’s
income at the time. Besides, a brief holiday from the daily labors of
managing my practice would be invigorating.
 
The courier had a copy of the train schedule, so I selected the train
arriving at Waterloo Station at one o’clock in two days. I informed him
I would be wearing an oiled canvas coat over a checked vest so that I
could be easily identified upon arrival.
 
I notified Louise of my impending absence, posted a sign
announcing the closure of the clinic in two days’ time, and arranged
for colleagues to see my patients during my absence. Had I known at
the time the nature of the request, I cannot say to this day if I would
have accepted the invitation. Though my purse would profit significantly,
many of my preconceptions regarding humanity and society
(humanity writ large), would be lost. What else I may have gained I
leave to you, Dear Reader, to conclude at the end of my tale.
 
I arrived at Waterloo Station punctually at one o’clock, relieved
that someone would be meeting me, as at the time I was only vaguely
familiar with London. Indeed, for many years I kept a simple post-office
map of the city posted above my desk as a reference when writing
my Holmes stories. I carried it with me now, and it would become well-worn
over the next six weeks.
 
I noted a pale, well-dressed gentleman of slightly less than average
height and in his early twenties who was plainly searching for someone
among the disembarking passengers. I opened my overcoat to display
my checked vest, and his face brightened when he noticed me.
 
“Doctor Doyle?” he enquired, with a vague continental accent.
 
“Indeed,” I replied, extending my hand. “Can you tell me what this
is all about?”
 
“I see you are a straightforward man, sir,” he responded, grasping
my hand a tad over-enthusiastically. “Mr. Gladstone has empowered
me to act as his agent in this matter. My name, sir, is Wilkins. Jonathan
Wilkins. I am Mr. Gladstone’s personal secretary.”
 
“So, Mr. Gladstone is not the patient?” I asked, puzzled by his use
of the word “agent.”
 
“I apologize for the vagueness of our correspondence, Doctor
Doyle, but it is not in a medical capacity that Mr. Gladstone seeks your
assistance.”
 
“Then why in heaven’s name am I here?” I asked, irritated by the
vagueness of his reply.
 
Mr. Wilkins looked about, then hoarsely whispered in my ear,
“Murder, Doctor Doyle. Or rather, murders . . . the Whitechapel homicides.”
Then in a normal tone he added, “But I request we delay further
discussion until we reach Mr. Gladstone’s club, where you shall find the
lodgings most agreeable and paid in full.”
 
I walked along in a daze as Mr. Wilkins took my bag and guided me
to a waiting hansom. While Portsmouth is not the heart of the British
Empire, our local papers had related the grisly doings of the madman
at the time called “Leather Apron.” It had not occurred to me that I
should be asked to assume the role of my fictional character, Sherlock
Holmes, as a consulting detective. I resolved to hear Mr. Wilkins out,
politely decline, and return home on the next available train. For ten
pounds I could certainly give him an audience of a few minutes.
 
We passed the journey to the club in silence, for which I was
grateful, as I was busy mentally composing my eloquent refusal of
Wilkins’s pending request.
 
The Marlborough Club was indeed quite comfortable, conveniently
located at No. 52 Pall Mall and aptly fulfilling its stated goal
of being “a convenient and agreeable place of meeting for a society of
gentlemen.” Its members consisted primarily of affluent barristers and
members of the Stock Exchange. My traveling clothes, when contrasted
with their well-tailored suits, seemed shabby. I insisted Wilkins state
his proposal before I unpacked, should that prove unnecessary. He
escorted me to the reading room, then poured us each a glass of water
from a crystal decanter before beginning.
 
“Very well,” said Wilkins. “I could tell by your reaction that you
know of the gruesome murders that have occurred within Whitechapel
this past month. Three women, Martha Tabram on August the seventh,
Mary Ann Nichols on the thirty-first, and a fortnight ago Annie
Chapman on September the eighth. All three slain within yards of residents
asleep in their beds.”
 
Mr. Wilkins shivered slightly and sipped from his glass before
continuing.
 
“Mr. Gladstone has always been charitable to the community of fallen
women in Whitechapel, and a delegation of these ladies approached him
with a request for his assistance to end this reign of terror.”
 
“How does this involve me?” I asked, hoping to bring him to the
point.
 
“I read with great interest your story A Study in Scarlet published
this past December,” he continued, not to be deterred. “The use of scientific
methods of analysis to deduce the murderer seemed quite sound
to me, so I convinced Mr. Gladstone to summon you to serve as our
own consulting detective. Your task would be to review the work of
the police and propose avenues of investigation they have overlooked.”
 
He took a deep breath and, before giving me a chance to respond,
concluded his apparently well-rehearsed offer. “The pay is three pounds
per day, lodgings provided here in the club, and any reasonable expenses
reimbursed. Do you accept this commission, Doctor Doyle? It grants
you an opportunity to test your theories as to the role science could
play in combatting crime. The pay is not unsubstantial, and the experience
may well guide you in future stories. What say you, sir?”
 
I sat there stunned, overwhelmed by the scope of the task laid at
my feet. I have always seen myself as a champion of justice, but I did not
wish to assume a competence beyond my abilities. Were I to fail, as was
most likely, my reputation would suffer and my clumsy efforts might
impede the work of others more capable than myself. I saw no reason
to accept this strange commission, and several to refuse.
 
“I am sorry, Mr. Wilkins. Your cause is just, but I am not Sherlock
Holmes,” I replied. “He is a fictional character, with knowledge
and skills I do not possess. My inspiration for this person is my old
professor of surgery, Joseph Bell. Although I carefully studied his techniques,
I lack his keen intellect and ability to deduce the great from the
small. I recommend you contact him, though I doubt he will leave his
practice in Edinburgh for such a quixotic quest.”
 
Mr. Wilkins leaned back in the comfortable leather chair and pondered
my words with a worried frown on his face. I confidently awaited
my dismissal, when his reply caught me off guard.
 
“Very well, sir. Knowing how keen Mr. Gladstone is to resolve this
matter, I extend the same offer to Professor Bell. Please understand, I
am offering this to the both of you as a team. Professor Bell may have
the deductive skills, but you are his voice. I will only accept the professor
if you agree to work alongside him. Having a colleague to discuss
his findings may make a team that is stronger than the sum of its parts.
Is that agreeable?”
 
I recall my thoughts quite clearly at that moment: Surely Professor
Bell would never agree to this; thus, I would be excused from taking
it on myself, allowing me to walk away ten pounds richer without
angering a powerful man. I had to suppress a smile while congratulating
myself on my clever escape.
 
“Agreed,” I said with false heartiness. “I shall telegram Professor
Bell at once. As today is Saturday, I do not expect a response before
tomorrow, or perhaps not until Monday. The lodgings are quite acceptable;
I assume the daily stipend begins now?”
 
“It does,” replied Wilkins.
 
“Then I have a telegram to compose and bags to unpack. How shall
I contact you when I receive the professor’s answer?”
 
“The doorman of the club has three street Arabs he uses as couriers;
he will ensure any messages for me are sent straight away. Mr.
Gladstone prefers not to meet with you until this matter is concluded.
Please understand, his enemies have already made far too much of his
Christian charity toward these women over the years, and he does not
desire to detract from the current investigation by drawing attention
to you.”
 
“Very well then,” I replied. “Expect my message within the next
forty-eight hours.”
 
Wilkins departed, and I applied myself to the wording of my telegram
to Bell. I finally settled on the following:
 
GREETINGS FROM LONDON STOP IMMEDIATE CONSULTING
OPPORTUNITY THREE POUNDS PER DAY
STOP UNABLE TO DISCLOSE DETAILS HERE BUT
OPPORTUNITY TO SAVE SEVERAL LIVES AND SERVE
JUSTICE STOP REPLY SOONEST WITH RESPONSE AND
ARRIVAL TIME AND PLACE IF AGREED STOP DOYLE
 
I felt as though I had been sufficiently faithful toward my potential
new employer, and with a clear conscience I spent the remainder of the
day walking through London’s buffet of sights and sounds. Although in
later years I found the great metropolis wearisome, on that day I agreed
with Doctor Samuel Johnson that when a man is tired of London he is
tired of life. Thus it was with a light heart that I returned to the club in
time for dinner, to be stopped at the door with a reply from Bell:
 
INTRIGUED STOP MUST WIND DOWN MATTERS HERE
STOP ARRIVING MONDAY THREE O’CLOCK KINGS
CROSS STATION STOP BELL
 
I read this several times, brief as it was. No matter how I analyzed
it, there was only one possible explanation: Bell was coming. I was in
for it now!
 
I reluctantly sent a message to Wilkins that Bell had agreed, ate a
dinner I do not recall in the slightest, and went to my room. Shortly
before retiring I received Wilkins’s reply:
 
Excellent! Will meet with you for breakfast at eight tomorrow to help
you begin your investigation. J Wilkins.
 
I feared I would have little appetite for whatever breakfast had to
offer, and I spent a restless night pondering how fate and a single flight
of fiction had led me to this moment.

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