Appendix 38: Notes from Mr. Nigel Graham, an untrained seer loosely associated with the Cowperthwaite league
(an excerpt)

1 June, 1870

Miss Chigwidgeon tells me that her friend, Miss Whitnell, believes my dreams may be prophetic and wishes to talk to me about them. I have decided, therefore, that I should record any unusual dreams I have, so that I can explain them in detail when we meet on Thursday.

Last night I had another of these odd dreams, though somewhat different than the most recent ones. This one began inside the study of a great house, with bookcases that went up to the ceiling. Two men and three women were in the study. One of the men was blond, clean shaven, quite handsome, but with a cold and calculating gleam in his eyes. The second man appeared to be a red indian, dressed just like some of those pictures in the magazine stories of Kid Rocket's adventures on the American Frontier. Two of the women were almost identical, apparently hindu, perhaps thirty years old. The third woman had reddish hair and wore a lot of jewelry.

They were discussing someone who was imprisoned. They seemed to be planning on breaking this person out of his place of imprisonment, because they were speaking of "eliminating the guard" and "take him out quietly through the back way." They also spoke of Sir Cosmo, Mr. Salmalin, Mr. Cuthbert, Kid Rocket, and Miss Whitnell, though in less than polite terms. It seems they feared interference from "Cosmo's Menagerie."

They finished their plotting, and the women left the house. The English woman was taken away in a fancy carriage. The two hindu women went away in a delivery wagon. The Englishwoman's carriage crossed the city, passing within a few blocks of Sir Cosmo's house.

Suddenly the dream changed, and could see Miss Chigwidgeon, Miss Whitnell, and Mrs. Cuthbert sitting in one of the rooms of Sir Cosmo's house. They were having a friendly chat about some sort of concert or dance, I'm not certain which. They were interrupted at least once by an argument between Edward and Miss Sinclair. But other than that moment, the rest of the dream was a pleasant one, as Miss Chigwidgeon and the others laughed and planned.

2 June, 1870

I must commit this horrid nightmare to paper before the memory fades. It is wholly unlike any I have had before, yet strangely familiar. Perhaps Namaste's friends who wish to speak to me today concerning my other dreams will be able to tell me what it means.

My dream began with a red-headed girl. I would have guessed her to be ten years old. I had never seen this girl before, and yet she seemed strangely familiar. She was living in a basement, or perhaps I should say a series of basements and cellars interconnected by many tunnels.

She had several servants attending. One of these was Mr. Salmalin, the hindu footman who works for Sir Cosmo. There were several others, most notably another young hindu man, and an auburn-haired boy who looked a few years older than the girl, and seemed to be very fond of her.

The girl spent much of her time in a strange sort of office or workshop that was crowded with many half-finished mechanical projects. People kept coming to her in the office and reporting as to the goings on of various persons in the city. After each report, she would give them instructions and they would leave to implement her wishes. Among the people mentioned it the reports were myself, Miss Sinclair, and something called Zanthis -- or something. As the agents made their reports to her, sometimes I could see the people being talked about. I, for example, was sitting in a pub, quite drunk, and scribbling in a notebook. The agent said that I was employed by one of the less reputable papers, and that my drinking continued to get worse, with no sign that I would recover from the tragedy.

Miss Sinclair, on the other hand, was employed as an instructor at some school for girls. She looked tired and worn and permanently cranky, as if she had suffered a devastating disappointment.

This Zanthis person was most unusual. He was a man of indeterminate age. His skin was completely white, as if his face were carved from ivory. So, too, was his hair colorless. And his eyes were strangely red or pink. He was dressed in fine evening clothes, where ever he was, and attended by a group of muscular arab servants. According to the agent's report he was involved in smuggling, and making a profit at it. This last news seemed to upset the girl greatly.

After receiving many more of these reports, the girl prepared to go somewhere. It was at this time that I realize she was dressed completely in black: her long skirt and many petticoats, the ribbons and lace, even the buttons were black as the darkest night. She pulled on a pair of long black gloves, and a matching hat with a double-veil. Then she and her three chief servants left the tunnels.

They arrived at a church yard. It was a foggy morning or evening, I'm not sure which. They made their way across the yard. They paused and ducked behind a moss-covered monument. There was an elderly man standing at a grave side, crying. He was dressed in exceptionally fine clothes. Standing on either side of him was Mr. Graves. Yes, there seemed to be two Mr. Graves in my dream! One of them referred to the gentleman as "My lord" and reminded him that they were expected at the palace. The old man nodded. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his eyes, and allowed them to lead him away.

Then the girl and her three companions moved to the same grave. There were two impressive marble monuments. The stone showed no sign of wear or weathering. The girl spoke to the graves. "You will be avenged. The noose is drawing tight and soon he will pay for what he did. I promise." Mr. Salmalin was crying, and did nothing to hide the tears. The girl placed some flowers on the grave. That is when I saw the names on the head stones: Sir Cosmo and Namaste.

I don't know why they had been buried side-by-side in my dream, except that I was quite certain, now, that they had been murdered by that strange white-skinned man I had seen earlier in the dream.

I awoke with an overwhelming sense of sorrow and fear. For a few moments I believed it was true, that my beloved had been murdered. Even as I write this, my hand still trembles.

I realise, as I re-read those words, that I have been terribly remiss. I have never told Namaste how strongly I feel for her. I have been afraid to say it. Afraid I would be speaking out of turn. Afraid that she would think me a just a child. I have seen the way Mr. Salmalin's eyes sparkle when he looks at her. I have been afraid to watch her face when she speaks to him, because I am certain he loves her, and fear she may return those feelings.

And I can never show this sheet of paper to her or to Miss Whitnell. I shall have to copy the dream over to a fresh sheet before I go there this afternoon.

3 June, 1870

I've set pen to paper because writing has always helped me to calm down before. I pray it is some help now.

It can't possibly get worse. I fear I will go mad if I can not tell someone what has happened, yet who can I tell? And how can I know if I have not yet lost my mind? How many times have I heard a minister say that sin creates a fever in a man's soul that will destroy him? It does feel almost like a fire is burning in my head.

She doesn't love me.

Thank heavens she told me that she was engaged before I made a complete fool of myself and confessed my feelings for her. To think I was afraid that it was Mr. Salmalin who was courting her! What an idiot I am not to have seen it. An educated, intelligent woman isn't going to be content as the wife of an undertaker's apprentice or a footman! What did I think she was, a scullery maid or a street vendor's daughter?

I think I managed to contain my dismay when she told me. I'm not really sure. As soon as she said it I got this horrible pain in the pit of my stomach, a roaring in my ears, and eveything seemed to get much darker. I don't really remember what I said, or what she said, afterwards. I left as soon as I could.

Mr. Cuthbert met me on my way out and said his coachman was taking him to the city, and I might as well let him give me a ride. I wish I had declined! The next thing I knew we were at one of those wild places I've heard John talk about in Southwerk. It was loud and there were many people there, including a lot of ladies who were dressed very immodestly! But the ale was good, and I didn't really want to go home. I knew Mother would be waiting to ask after Miss Chigwidgeon the minute I arrived. And I didn't know what I would say. I was deathly afraid I'd burst into tears as soon as Mother mentioned her name.

I drank so much. We went to several of these establishments, I lost count of the names. It all became a blur, like I was living inside a nightmare. It was so similar to those dreams I had had in Northumberland. I was quite sure that at least one of those places Mr. Cuthbert took me was the same as the place in my dreams. I had this nagging suspicion that I should be careful, that there was something important I should watch out for.

There were these girls. There had been several girls during the evening. They all seemed to know Mr. Cuthbert and be quite fond of him. He kept introducing me to them, though I could never keep the names straight. But one of them was a bit different. I don't know, she really seemed to be interested in me. I suppose I rather desperately needed to have someone be interested, so I wasn't just polite with her, I was friendly. Why didn't I realize where it was leading?

What I did was terrible and unforgiveable. I can't say anything more than that.

They say there is no rest for the wicked, but I slept more deeply than I have in a long time. There were no dreams at all. Until, suddenly, I had the strongest sensation that I was being watched. I woke up completely, and suddenly. It was as if there was no transition from the the dead sleep to sitting up wide awake. I woke up with the certain knowledge that Mrs. Cuthbert had been looking at me, and blushing--but of course, she wasn't there. Why would she have been anywhere near such a notorious house?

I crawled out of bed and quietly began to get dressed. My companion did not awaken, thank goodness, because I had no idea what I should say. I left the room, made my way down a hallway until I found some stairs. When I reached the street I took out my pocket watch to check the time. It was nearly 4 in the morning. I had been nearly falling down drunk a few hours earlier, and now I felt only mildly sick.

Mr. Caine came upon me then. I was quite astonished to see him. He told me that he had been helping Mr. Cuthbert's coachman get Mr. Cuthbert home, when Mr. Cuthbert mentioned something about misplacing me. So Mr. Caine had taken it upon himself to begin searching the neighborhood for me. He had a cab. He offered to get me home and help me get into the house without disturbing my family.

I was surprised that he would go to such trouble for me, and I told him so. He was quite friendly and nonchalant about it all. He claimed that he had a great deal of experience at getting people out of difficult situations.

So, I accepted the ride, and he did help me climb in a back window into the house. I managed to get a few more hours sleep before I had to be up and off to work. I managed to dash out before Mother or anyone else asked too many questions. I still don't know how I'm going to tell them.

Tonight I am supposed to present myself at the house at the end of Great Russell Street. Mr. Ramsay and Mrs. Cuthbert tell me I have a gift, that my dreams sometimes foretell the future, or at least warn about possible dangers. My grandmother tells stories about a cousin of her mother's who they said had the gift of second sight. Grandmother says it is a gift from God. When they first told me my dreams were depicting real events, I thought that it must be something like this.

But what if it isn't a gift from God? After all, why would he waste something like that on a person who is capable of doing the sorts of things I did? Shouldn't gifts like that go to holy, devout people?

Maybe that's why I had no dreams last night. Maybe the ones before were from Him, and now since I... maybe that would be for the best. I'm not sure I want to know anything more about the future. My present is painful enough, without borrowing trouble.

If I go to this thing, at least I wouldn't have to go home and explain anything to Mother. So I think I will keep the appointment. I'll wait until the end of the day before I mention it to Father. That way there will be no time for argument, because I have to be on my way. Maybe by tomorrow I'll think of a way to break the news to Mother.

At least now I know why the graves were side by side.

Proceed to A moment of clarity

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