Saturday, 4 June, 1870
Our Party began stirring fairly early this morning, owing mainly to a number of us having disturbing dreams. Between Miss Chigwidgeon sitting up suddenly with a gasp, and Mr Salmalin speaking with Miss Whitnell and Mrs Cuthbert next door, I had little doubt that something was afoot.
Miss Chigwidgeon, Miss Whitnell, and Mrs Cuthbert all reported dreams with remarkable commonalities. Mr Salmalin had been disturbed by a feeling of presence. As these dreams were being described over breakfast, George chimed in to say that "The Master" (by whom he meant J. Moriarty) had come to him and complained that the rest of us were very difficult to communicate with (the Cheek of it!).
So, after much discussion, the following elements were identified as important:
1) Jerrold Moriarty appeared in all, issuing a variety of literary quotations. He seemed to be trying to say that he doesn't want to be brought back to life.
2) to that end, Moriarty was trying to tell us about a pair of ritual knives, and instructing us to find them before Miranda Derwent does (George indicated that he had been charged to distribute two parcels at Moriarty's death, which we now suspect were those knives).
3) The timeframe required for Lady Miranda's reincarnation ritual (as dreamed by Mrs Cuthbert, featuring the unpleasant deaths of several of us) is unclear. Last night's dreams indicated some action revolving around Sir Cosmo's and Miss Chigwidgeon's wedding.
4) several of the dreams featured some man the dreamers described as "a cheese man." Relevance is unclear.
No one seems to doubt the premise that Moriarty wants our help to avoid being reborn. Aside from any doubts about the accuracy of dream messages from beyond the grave, I wonder if we should trust Moriarty's intentions.
This is a man who was perfectly ready to shoot Sir Cosmo in the back and who died of his own malice. His lieutenants are eager to avenge him to our permanent detriment.
What's to say that this putative message is not entirely meant to lead us all into a trap? If Moriarty really doesn't want to be reborn, why tell us? Why not approach Lady Miranda and the Loyalist faction, and tell them to leave him in peace?
Well, so far all we've planned to do is retrieve the knives, which we would want to do in any case, to keep them away from Lady Miranda. If I perceive we are being led into a more dangerous circumstance, I will have to speak my mind. Meanwhile, it harms us not at all for Miss Whitnell to pray for the repose of Moriarty's soul.
Now that we are safely aboard the tugboat and enroute back to Town, I will retrace my story and tell what I heard about Dr Wilson's adventures in the hot air balloon...
Dr. Wilson and Henri Tabatier had, as reported, gone up in a hired balloon to try to photograph a rocket in flight (the Marquis being an amateur photographer, and having some kind of fast-working photographic device).
Apparently the balloon operator went berserk and started trying to push them out of the balloon. When that failed, he tried to cut the lines. After some struggle, the balloon operator was overpowered, and he fell to earth, a very long drop.
Below, our friends could see a black coach, and a blond-haired man drawing symbols on the ground. Henri Tabatier took a photo of the scene while he was dangling from the rigging of the balloon; we'll see if any positive identification emerges. The description suggests Baron Blackhall. The Mystics are inclined to believe that the Baron was exercising some sort of control over the unfortunate operator.
Once the man had fallen, Dr Wilson and the Marquis noticed that Dr Wilson's assistant appeared to be aiming a rocket at the balloon. Sure enough, the man fired, and Dr Wilson was just able to destroy the rocket in the air with one of his own.
After all this, they were adrift in the balloon, and all their efforts to repair or control it only made matters worse. It was at this point when we received the message from the assistant, who had awakened from his hypnotised state and discovered that the balloon was missing and the operator was dead.
Which is how we come to be here, on this workaday boat. Mr Salmalin is suggesting that we attempt some Defence training while we are aboard this morning, so I must put this writing aside.
Saturday, June 4, 1870
(early evening)
When we arrived back at Mayfair, we found a typical quantity of mail, though nothing for me today. I was trying to find Edward to get some work in on some Geometry when Lt Lochsley and Lt Pellew came to call. I had heard that Lt Lochsley would be coming, as he has been exchanging letters with Mrs Cuthbert since our journey on the Griffin. Lt Pellew's visit was a surprise. He had brought a very old book as a gift for Edward: "Travel and Adventures in Remote Lands" by a Capt Samuel Bingfield.
Lt Pellew credited this book for sparking his interest in travel and Geography...I felt sure that Edward could use something to improve his interest in that subject. My glance at the book told me that it might be somewhat fanciful, but considering the unexpected sights I have personally seen, it could all be perfectly accurate. I was rather surprised that the Lt would be moved to make such a generous and personal gift to Edward. I hadn't marked any significant interest in the boy during our time aboard ship.
Meanwhile, Mr Ramsay arrived, quite blown, having rushed over from the Museum, where he had recieved a note from Nigel, saying that Nigel had spotted "the white-skinned assassin" and was intending to follow him.
I should mention that this albinistic man had already figured in Nigel's dreams as the murderer of Miss Chigwidgeon and Sir Cosmo, so the Mystics had taken some pains, in the midst of all the other dream interpretation to identify him.
He is named Proctor Xanthus. He is a renowned criminal, and the illegitimate son of a dissipated aristocrat who was so foolish as to oppose Sir Cosmo in a duel some years back. This fellow apparently has a vendetta against Sir Cosmo as the killer of his father. He has been linked to the Smuggling branch of the Moriarty organisation, and may even be running it.
So, here is our young Nigel Graham hot on the trail of a vicious killer, whom he believes will try to kill the young woman he holds in unrequited adoration. Mrs Cuthbert and Miss Whitnell were already in a fit about Nigel because some of their dreams last night suggested that he is in a perturbed and possibly self-destructive frame of mind. There is nothing for it but that we all trundle out to find him.
In the middle of this, Sir Cosmo had cooked up a notion that we should attempt to ally ourselves with this nasty Xanthus fellow in order to defeat Claude Moriarty and possibly Baron Blackhall.
I was so astonished that he would contemplate such a disastrous notion, I think I did not argue well.
I was thinking:
1) we will most likely defeat Moriarty and Blackhall quickly enough on our own, now that we are getting a clearer picture of their methods and their assets.
2) Sir Cosmo's primary assertion that we could trust an alliance with Xanthus for exactly as far as his self-interest extends, is not correct. My understanding is that Xanthus has a personal vendetta against Sir Cosmo... such motivations are not guided by self-interest, and many seemingly intelligent persons will take great risks and pay very highly to satisfy vendettas.
As sensible as this sounds now, I daresay that the argument I voiced consisted of saying, "No, that is not a good idea!" rather repetitively.
Fortunately, I was not alone in my disagreement with Sir Cosmo. Miss Whitnell, Mrs Cuthbert, and most importantly Miss Chigwidgeon were all adamant in opposing this idea.
At this point, Inspector MacGregor chimed in with an interesting story about being politely summoned by one of the matriarchs of the Billingham family. She gave him information that might clear her nephew Charlie and provide evidence against Claude Moriarty in the LaRothiere case.
Inspector Mac Gregor came away with the impression that the women of the Billingham family and those of the Molloy family might be relied on to choose the well-being of their respective families over profit or honor. Their particular powers of persuasion in their clans might make them good allies in calming the factional strife.
This gave Sir Cosmo a new direction for his alliance idea. Thank goodness!
The lot of us sorted out into carriages to go find young Nigel. Mrs Cuthbert used her little mirror (before we all went haring away!), and we could see that he was watching over a pub in Southwerk.
The Marquis voluteered his quick gig and Lt Lochsley and Lt Pellew accompanied him. Alas, none of them actually comprehended the mission, so their early arrival at the scene was somewhat wasted.
The Mystics were traveling in the Cuthbert carriage, while I traveled with Sir Cosmo, Miss Chigwidgeon, and Emily, with Edward driving.
Rip Chigwidgeon happened by, and came over to speak to his daughter. He mentioned that her brother was working at a music-hall across the street. I hadn't known she had a brother, but I wasn't all that surprised, as I really know so little about her. I supposed that her brother must be in the same line of work as Mr Chigwidgeon.
Now it came out that she had only recently learned that she had a brother herself, and she had yet to even meet him. She wanted to go into the club where he was working. She would hear none of my objections. Sir Cosmo merely offered to go with her if she wished. She insisted that she would be safe enough in her father's company. I felt quite sick. As if we didn't have enough trouble safeguarding the household's reputation. All our labours to keep her suitably accompanied, right out the window. I thought that Miss Whitnell would never forgive me. I screwed up my courage to accompany her, and she simply refused to have me along.
She concluded her visit very quickly, at least, and we turned back to the task at hand.
Salmalin, Inspector MacGregor, and Mr Cuthbert slipped into the pub where Nigel was waiting, and brought him out safely. We got the details of the recent dream that brought him here, and left some of the party to watch for Proctor Xanthus.
I must still have been in shock over Miss Chigwidgeon's foray into "Les Fantastiques," because I didn't utter any protest when Edward, George and Emily were delegated to stay behind and maintain watch for Xanthus. I suppose I've been forced to accept the idea that Edward's personal safety is no longer my concern, and Emily has shown herself quite capable. All they are supposed to do is observe. Hah.
The rest of us have returned to Mayfair. The Mystics are in Miss Whitnell's room trying again to pinpoint the daggers. I am in the parlour, pondering the questions of the day.
I am considering the list, presented today by Sir Cosmo, of the various factions which threaten the League, in approximate order of urgency.
Baron Blackhall puzzles me. His interests in the Moriarty Organisation are somewhat obscure, but his attack on Dr Wilson suggests that he is prepared to attack us if opportunity arises.
He seems to have affinity with Lady Miranda Derwent, as noted at the recital at the Criterion.
Lady Miranda is believed to be "the Widow" among the Cobb Loyalists, which group certainly includes Master Tandu.
However, the statement by Sentenza's Raven-spririt colleague implicates Baron Blackhall in an attempt to confound both our League and Master Tandu. What is the explanation?
Is he not actually allied with Lady Miranda? Is Lady Miranda not actually allied with Master Tandu? Is the Baron crossing his allies for some reason? Was it really Blackhall who betrayed the Raven and orchestrated the trap at the Black Lion?
It seems to me that alliances among such persons (and factions) are a risky business...every agreement allows an enemy within one's defences.
I am concerned about the enemies surrounding us; yet, I take heart when I consider that each faction is just as beset as we are, as none can trust any of the others. Every move they make against us or one another gives us more insight into their motives and their assets. We need only stay alert and work our way methodically down our list, paring away enemies one at a time.
I hear the others coming downstairs. It would appear that we are about to depart in search of the knives.
Sunday, 5 June, 1870
(very early morning)
I have unintentionally been out for a riotous night on the town. I certainly hope Mother never hears of it.
The Mystics' efforts led us once again into southwerk. Perhaps we should all just take a seedy flat there, and save the footmen the trouble of getting out the carriages.
Oh, Dear...The shocks of the evening have provoked me to shrewish sarcasm.
We returned to southwerk in the carriages. Immediately upon our arrival, we learned that Edward and his company had met and defeated Claude so-called Moriarty (tick one off the list!).
This transpired because Claude was watching the very same location as Edward, and took the opportunity when Edward appeared to be alone. Claude once again attempted to lure Edward to join his budding Organisation. Edward scoffed, and insulted Claude's intelligence. Claude then attacked Edward (proving that Edward was right about his intelligence).
Who should come to Edward's assistance but Lt Pellew! Hereby, we learned that Claude is not Moriarty's son at all. Claude is called Claude Smith, and has recently returned from Australia. Lt Pellew knows about him because Pellew himself is Moriarty's son, and Edward's Father.
Among them, George, Emily, Edward, and the redoubtable Lt Pellew accounted for fourteen Thuggees and severely injured Claude Smith.
Inspector MacGregor had just arrived in the neighborhood in search of a witness to the LaRothiere murder. He was just in time to tell the regular Constables that Lt Pellew had come upon a riot among the Thuggees, had rescued some innocents from the midst of the fighting, and then knocked the last of the fight out of the remaining Thuggees. Thus the retiring members of our League were spared lengthy interrogation.
At this point we arrived, and Mrs Cuthbert was persuaded to do a bit of nursing to keep Claude Smith from dying outright. Mr Frazer also arrived, just in time to take custody of Claude Moriarty and take him away in the police wagon. I scarcely had an opportunity to greet him, but it's just as well that he was not at hand for the rest of the evening...
The rest of us took up the vigil for Proctor Xanthus--by going into the club where Nigel's vision had suggested he would be in the evening. I had had something more like a rooftop in mind, but there were too many of us, and the police constables were swarming all over the roofs looking for Thuggees.
Anyway, we had to go into "Les Fantastiques," a particular sort of Music-Hall. I was so horribly embarrassed to be there. It's just the sort of low-minded entertainment that I have always scorned. All the audience struck me as dissipated aristocrats or as coarse low-class persons looking for a thrill. Read A Book!
The singers and dancers were skillful enough, if you like that sort of thing, but it all seems like such a waste of energy and ability! Most of the audience seemed interested only in getting a view of far too much of dancers' legs.
A chief attraction of this place seems to be male performers dressed and made up to look like the gaudiest sort of women.
I should mention that Miss Chigwidgeon's brother works there not as a strongarm, but as a performer. In a gown. He looked so much like Miss Chigwidgeon that Nigel, who had joined us, ran out of the private box our party was occupying in profound alarm. Poor boy.
Mr Fong Chigwidgeon, who uses the ridiculous name "Princess Quan Lee" was singing a rather charming song. If Miss Chigwidgeon shares his musical aptitude, she might cultivate it into a suitable aristocratic "accomplishment."
I can hardly believe what happened next...
Three foppish-looking men came in and took a seat at a table on the main floor. One of them was Cousin Peter!
Miss Whitnell turned sharply toward me as I gasped. She said that the were the three men she had seen when she conjured upon my cousin's letter--and that all three were Vampires!
Ere now, I have mostly been ignoring discussions of vampires; despite all the impossible and bizarre things I've seen and been forced to accept as truth, I have been unable to swallow the idea of vampires. Such well-known creations of legend and fiction couldn't possibly be real.
But here was my cousin; he looked the same as ever, though his clothes were outr
Miss Whitnell and Mr Cuthbert hit upon an idea, and went down to the bar. She apparently had a phial of Holy Water hidden in the pommel of her new rapier, which was sheathed beneath her outer skirts. The two of them intercepted the drinks intended for the "vampires" and slipped the holy water in (yet another unsavoury talent displayed by Mr Cuthbert).
While they were doing this, I saw the proprietor of the club (a very strange person in an elaborate evening gown) approach Peter's table. This person leaned close to the three and said, "I know who you are. If any of my patrons or employees suffer any harm, I will find you and you will be sorry. Permanently."
This warning was delivered in the iciest, most confident tone. I suddenly felt a great qualm about the mischief my friend intended to wreak. This proprietor would not tolerate disruption of business. My fears eased, though, when I saw the altered drinks arrive at the table. The Proprietor looked at the drinks sharply, then smiled and settled back. It seemed that the plan was perceived and approved.
I had doubts that this plan would work at all. After all, Holy Water is still just water. I have always attributed any beneficial effects it might have for anyone to the suggestibility of the parties involved. How could it harm these putative Vampires, especially if they didn't know it was there?
But harm them it did. Peter, ever the careless one, threw back his drink all at a gulp. The other two drank as well, though with more refinement. A few moments later, Peter began to look pained, he convulsed, and then he burst into flame!
Before the patrons could panic, the proprietor leapt onto the stage, into the midst of the performers, and began producing distracting fireworks. This seemed to have a hypnogogic effect, as most of the patrons watched the stage, disregarding the smouldering trio escaping out into the street.
According to Salmalin, the two others threw Cousin Peter into a puddle and stamped out the fire, then all three vanished into a swarm of bats. Peter seemed very gravely hurt, but not dead.
I'm ashamed to say that I was actually pleased to see my own cousin catch fire. I felt that he was getting his comeuppance for threatening me.
Upon reflection, I am sorry for it. I can only view this "vampirism" as akin to Rabies, which turns ordinary creatures mad and dangerous. Although my Cousin was undoubtedly foolish to fall in with these others, who infected him with this malady, he couldn't deserve such a dire fate. Now, if my colleagues are correct, about the vampires, we shall have to hunt him out and put him down; I shall take no joy in it. My poor aunt.
By this time, I had nearly forgotten that we had come here in pursuit of Proctor Xanthus.
Yet, here he came. He joined a very fine-looking gentleman in one of the other boxes. Mr Ramsay recognised the man as Mr Dorian Gray, who has been under scrutiny by the Order of St Jerome for unspecified reasons.
M Xanthus gave Mr Gray a small box, and said, "It is a pleasure doing business with you." He then exited the box. We waited to see him come down to the door so we might consider following. Alas, he vanished, probably into the passages which connect all the businesses on this block.
We have now returned to Mayfair.
We have learned but little regarding M Xanthus, though what we did see might lend credence to the theory that he is working with the Smugglers, possibly selling exotic and illicit drugs.
We did make the Astonishing Discovery of Lt Pellew's paternal relationship with Edward. What a relief that is!
Even the self-willed Edward must view a parent as a model of potential courses in life. Until today, all of Edward's Parentage suggested criminal uses for his abilities. Now we have an honourable-seeming person with a passion for geography. This, in combination with Sir Cosmo's fosterage, leads me to hope that the "Young Cobb's" legacy may yet fade away.
Proceed to 6. Whatever mayhem comes naturally
Return to Miss Sinclair's Diary Index
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