《THE POTION MASTER》


 PROLOGUE

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    1599 - DR. MOREHOUSE


    The sixteenth century drew to a close. It was the final night of the final year, and only two hours remained until the birth of a new year and a new century.


    The night was solemn and beautiful, with the sky a deep vault paved by myriads of stars. The crescent moon hung like a silver lamp among them. A stream of rosy, quivering light issued from the north, traversing the sky like the tail of a stupendous comet. From its point of effluence, bursts of light broke forth, rivaling the most brilliant fireworks in splendor and variety of hue.


    A sharp frost prevailed; the atmosphere was clear and dry, and neither wind nor snow aggravated the wholesome rigor of the season. Water lay in thick congealed masses around conduits and wells, and buckets were frozen on their stands. The thoroughfares were sheathed in ice, perilous for horsemen and vehicles, but the footways were firm and pleasant to the tread.


    Fires were sporadically lit in the streets, around which ragged urchins and mendicants gathered, roasting meat fragments on iron prongs or quaffing deep draughts of metheglin and ale from leathern cups. Crowds collected in open spaces, gazing at the wonders in the heavens, drawing auguries¡ªmostly sinister¡ªfor most believed the signs portended the imminent death of the queen and the advent of a new monarch from the north. Given the advanced age and declining health of the illustrious Elizabeth, along with the known appointment of her successor, James of Scotland, this was a safe and easy interpretation.


    Despite the early habits of the times, few had retired to rest, with a universal wish prevailing among the citizens to see the new year in and welcome the century accompanying it. Lights glimmered in most windows, revealing holly sprigs and laurel leaves stuck thickly in their diamond panes. Whenever a door opened, a ruddy gleam burst across the street, revealing inmates gathered around glowing hearths, occupied in mirthful sports¡ªfox-i¡¯-th¡¯-hole, blind-man¡¯s buff, or shoe-the-mare¡ªor seated at ample boards groaning with Christmas cheer.


    Music and singing echoed at every corner, and bands of comely damsels, escorted by their sweethearts, went from house to house, bearing huge brown bowls dressed with ribbons and rosemary. These bowls were filled with a drink called ¡°lamb¡¯s-wool,¡± composed of sturdy ale, sweetened with sugar, spiced with nutmeg, and floating toasts and burnt crabs within it¡ªa draught seldom rewarded with less than a groat and occasionally a more valuable coin.


    Such was the vigil of the year sixteen hundred.


    At the tenth hour of this night, a man of striking and venerable appearance emerged onto a small wooden balcony, projecting from a bay window near the top of a picturesque structure at the southern extremity of London Bridge. The old man¡¯s beard and hair were as white as snow, the former descending almost to his girdle, as were the thick, overhanging brows that shaded his still-piercing eyes. His forehead was high, bald, and ploughed by innumerable wrinkles. His countenance, despite its death-like paleness, had a noble and majestic cast, and his figure, though worn to the bone by a life of severe study and bent by the weight of years, must have been once lofty and commanding. His dress consisted of a doublet and hose of somber cloth, over which he wore a loose gown of black silk. His head was covered by a square black cap, from beneath which his silver locks strayed over his shoulders.


    Known by the name of Doctor Morehouse, this venerable figure was a subject of dark fascination among the townsfolk, who whispered that he was little better than a wizard. Strange tales swirled around him, tales of arcane experiments and forbidden knowledge. The presence of a deformed, crack-brained dwarf named Flapdragon, who assisted him in his shadowy pursuits, only added fuel to the fire of rumors.


    Doctor Morehouse¡¯s gaze was fixed intently upon the heavens, his eyes tracking the position of the moon relative to a particular star. He seemed lost in some esoteric calculation, a figure of eerie calm against the backdrop of the night sky.


    After a few minutes, he was about to retire when a loud crash pierced the silence. He turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as he sought the source of the disturbance.


    Before him stood the Southwark Gateway¡ªa foreboding stone structure with round, embattled turrets at each corner and a flat leaden roof adorned with a forest of poles, each garnished with human heads. To his astonishment, he saw a tall man in the act of toppling two of these poles and stripping them of their grisly burdens.


    The mysterious plunderer quickly thrust his macabre trophies into a leathern bag and was about to descend by a rope ladder attached to the battlements. However, his retreat was cut off by the gatekeeper, Beethoven, armed with a halberd and bearing a lantern. Beethoven emerged from a door opening onto the leads, his face set in grim determination.


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    Seeing his escape route blocked, the marauder, with a desperate look, hurled the sack and its ghastly contents through Doctor Morehouse¡¯s open window. He then attempted to reach the ladder, but Beethoven intercepted him, delivering a brutal blow to the head with his halberd. The plunderer cried out in pain and tried to draw his sword, but Beethoven struck again, thrusting his weapon into the man¡¯s side. The would-be thief fell, blood pooling beneath him, but Beethoven raised his halberd for another blow.


    ¡°Do not kill him, good Beethoven,¡± Doctor Morehouse called out, his voice urgent. ¡°The attempt may not be as criminal as it seems. It is likely the poor wretch sought to recover the remains of his kin, horrified by their exposure.¡±


    Beethoven paused, his grip on the halberd loosening. ¡°It may be, Doctor, and if so, I am sorry to have hurt him. But I am responsible for the safe custody of these traitorous relics. Allowing their removal could cost me my head.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Doctor Morehouse replied, his tone conciliatory. ¡°You have acted rightly. However, we must ascertain whose remains have been disturbed.¡±


    ¡°They were the heads of two rank papists,¡± Beethoven responded, his voice steady. ¡°Decapitated on Tower Hill three weeks ago, on Saint Nicholas¡¯s Day, for conspiring against the queen.¡±


    ¡°But their names?¡± Doctor Morehouse pressed, his eyes dark with concern. ¡°Who were they?¡±


    ¡°Sir Simon Darcy and his son, Master Reginald Darcy,¡± Beethoven replied. ¡°Did you know them?¡±


    ¡°Too well,¡± Doctor Morehouse answered, his voice trembling with emotion. ¡°They were close kinsmen of mine. What of the one who attempted this? What does he look like?¡±


    ¡°A fair youth,¡± Beethoven said, lowering the lantern over the fallen man. ¡°Heaven grant I have not killed him. No, his heart still beats. Ah, here are his tablets.¡± Beethoven extracted a small book from the man¡¯s doublet. ¡°These may provide the answers you seek. The name inscribed within is the same as the others¡ªAnthony Darcy.¡±


    ¡°I see it all now,¡± Doctor Morehouse exclaimed. ¡°His act was one of piety and love. Bring him to my dwelling, Beethoven, and you shall be well rewarded. Hurry, I beg you.¡±


    As Beethoven carefully lifted the wounded man, the youth groaned in pain, a sound that cut through the cold night air.


    ¡°Throw me the weapon you struck him with,¡± Doctor Morehouse instructed, his voice tinged with compassion. ¡°I will anoint it with the powder of sympathy, and his suffering will be alleviated.¡±


    ¡°I know your worship can perform miracles,¡± Beethoven said, tossing the halberd into the balcony. ¡°I will carry him as gently as I can.¡±


    Doctor Morehouse caught the weapon and quickly began his work, the night¡¯s eerie calm settling once more as he prepared to ease the young man¡¯s pain.


    As Doctor Morehouse vanished through the window with the weapon, the gatekeeper, Beethoven, carefully lifted the wounded man by the shoulders and carried him down a narrow, winding staircase to a lower chamber. Despite his caution, the sufferer groaned in excruciating pain. When Beethoven placed him on a wooden bench and held a lamp close, he saw that the youth¡¯s features were darkened and contorted in agony.


    ¡°I fear it¡¯s all over with him,¡± Beethoven murmured, shaking his head. ¡°I¡¯ll be taking a corpse to Doctor Morehouse. It would be a mercy to put him out of his misery now. The doctor has a reputation for cunning, but if he can heal this poor soul without even seeing him, then maybe those whispers about him consorting with the devil hold some truth.¡±


    As Beethoven brooded over these thoughts, a sudden, extraordinary transformation overcame the youth. As if by some dark magic, the contractions of his muscles eased, his features regained a healthy hue, and his breathing normalized. Beethoven stared in disbelief, as if witnessing a miracle.


    Now that the youth¡¯s countenance had returned to its original state, Beethoven couldn¡¯t help but be struck by its extreme beauty. His face was a perfect oval, with regular and delicate features. A short, silken mustache adorned his proud upper lip, and a pointed beard framed his chin. His black, glossy hair was cut short, revealing a broad, intellectual brow. The youth¡¯s figure was slight but admirably proportioned, clad in a black satin doublet slashed with white, black silk hose, and a short velvet mantle. Though his eyes remained closed, there was something undeniably sinister and almost demoniacal about his restored face.


    Suddenly, with as much abruptness as his recovery, the youth started, uttering a piercing cry and clutching his side.


    ¡°Caitiff!¡± he shouted, his eyes blazing as they locked onto Beethoven. ¡°Why do you torture me so? Finish me at once¡ªoh!¡± Overcome by pain, he collapsed again.


    ¡°I have not touched you, sir,¡± Beethoven replied calmly. ¡°I brought you here to aid you. You¡¯ll feel better soon. Doctor Morehouse must have wiped the halberd,¡± he muttered to himself.


    Another rapid transformation occurred. The pain fled from the youth¡¯s face, leaving him at ease once more.


    ¡°What have you done to me?¡± he asked, his voice tinged with gratitude. ¡°The agony of my wound has suddenly vanished, as if a balm had been applied. Please, let me remain in this state if you have any mercy¡ªor end my suffering, for the previous torment was unbearable.¡±


    ¡°You are in the care of someone with greater skill than any chirurgeon in London,¡± Beethoven reassured him. ¡°If I can get you to his lodgings, he will heal your wounds swiftly.¡±


    ¡°Do not delay, then,¡± Anthony implored faintly. ¡°Though I am free from pain, I feel my life slipping away.¡±


    ¡°Press this handkerchief to your side and lean on me,¡± Beethoven instructed. ¡°Doctor Morehouse¡¯s dwelling is but a short distance from the gateway¡ªthe first house on the bridge. By the way, the doctor claims he is your kinsman.¡±


    ¡°It is the first I have heard of him,¡± Anthony replied weakly. ¡°But take me to him quickly, or it will be too late.¡±


    Supporting the wounded youth, Beethoven began the careful journey to Doctor Morehouse¡¯s abode, the night air thick with foreboding as the bridge loomed ahead.

 PROLOGUE Part 2

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    In another moment, they arrived at the doctor¡¯s door. Beethoven knocked, and the door was promptly opened by a diminutive figure clad in a coarse grey jerkin and a leathern apron. This was Flapdragon, the doctor¡¯s peculiar assistant.


    Blear-eyed and smoke-grimed, with a lantern jaw, the dwarf looked as though he had spent his entire existence over a furnace. In truth, he had. He was little more than a pair of human bellows. In his hand, he held the halberd that had wounded Anthony.


    ¡°So, you¡¯ve been playing the leech, Flapdragon?¡± Beethoven called out.


    ¡°Aye, indeed,¡± replied the dwarf, grinning wildly to reveal a set of wolfish teeth. ¡°Master ordered me to smear the halberd with the sympathetic ointment. I did as he said: rubbed the steel point, first on one side, then the other; wiped it, and smeared it again.¡±


    ¡°Which put the patient in exquisite pain,¡± Beethoven replied. ¡°Help me get him to the laboratory.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if the doctor wishes to be disturbed,¡± Flapdragon said, hesitating. ¡°He¡¯s deep into a grand operation.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that risk,¡± Beethoven insisted. ¡°The youth will die if he stays here. Look, he¡¯s fainted already!¡±


    Urged by Beethoven, the dwarf set the halberd down. Together, they carried Anthony up a wide, creaking staircase to the laboratory. Doctor Morehouse was engrossed in his work, pumping bellows at a roaring furnace topped by a large alembic, his focus so intense he barely acknowledged their entry.


    ¡°Place the youth on the ground and prop his head against the chair,¡± Doctor Morehouse barked without turning around. ¡°Bathe his brows with the decoction in that crucible. I will attend to him soon. Beethoven, come to me tomorrow, and I will repay you for your trouble. I am busy now.¡±


    ¡°These relics, doctor,¡± Beethoven said, glancing at the bag from which a bald head protruded, ¡°I ought to take them back with me.¡±


    ¡°Leave them¡ªthey are safe with me,¡± Doctor Morehouse snapped impatiently. ¡°Tomorrow¡ªtomorrow.¡±


    With a reluctant shrug and a furtive glance around the laboratory, Beethoven departed. Following his master¡¯s instructions, Flapdragon bathed the sufferer¡¯s temples with the decoction, then turned for further orders.


    ¡°Begone!¡± the doctor roared, so fiercely that the dwarf darted from the room, slamming the door behind him.


    Doctor Morehouse then returned to his work with renewed fervor, completely absorbed and oblivious to the presence of the wounded stranger sprawled on the floor. The shadows cast by the flickering flames danced eerily on the walls, deepening the Gothic atmosphere of the chamber. The alembic bubbled and hissed, filling the room with an acrid, metallic scent as the alchemist labored, seemingly lost in a world of his own creation, where the lines between science and dark art blurred beyond recognition.


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    Revived by the stimulant, Anthony¡¯s eyes fluttered open. As his gaze swept around the room, he wondered if he was dreaming. The chamber was a labyrinth of arcane and macabre paraphernalia: bolt-heads, crucibles, cucurbites, and retorts lay strewn about in chaotic disarray. In one corner, a massive terrestrial globe stood next to an astrolabe, both overshadowed by a heap of disused glass vessels. Nearby, a black, sinister-looking book fastened with brass clasps was surrounded by a ram¡¯s horn, forceps, a roll of parchment, a pestle and mortar, and a large copper plate engraved with the enigmatic symbols of the Isaical table. The bag containing the two decapitated heads lay ominously, one head protruding, its lifeless eyes staring blankly.


    A table at the far end of the room held a large open tome with parchment leaves covered in cabalistic characters, each referring to the names of spirits. Two parchment scrolls, marked with ancient Chaldaic script, lay weighted by a skull. A grotesque brass lamp, its twin snake-headed burners casting an eerie light, illuminated the room. From the ceiling hung a huge, scaly sea monster, its fins outspread, jaws agape with tremendous teeth, and great goggling eyes staring down. Nearby, a celestial sphere dangled. The chimney-piece, intricately carved and projecting far into the room, was cluttered with hermetic instruments. Above it hung dried bats and flitter-mice, interspersed with the skulls of birds and apes. A stone-sculpted horary and a large starfish adorned the mantle. The fireplace housed the furnace, its flames dancing beneath an alembic connected by a long, serpentine pipe to a receiver.


    Two skeletons occupied the room, one standing behind a curtain in a window¡¯s deep embrasure, its polished bones gleaming in the moonlight. The other sat near the chimney, its fleshless feet dangling into the furnace¡¯s smoke.


    Doctor Morehouse continued his work, pausing occasionally to throw various roots and drugs onto the charcoal. Each addition produced flames of different colors¡ªblue, green, and blood-red¡ªthat cast a kaleidoscopic glow over the room. The objects seemed to shift and morph in the flickering light: cucurbites became bloated toads, bolt-heads transformed into serpents, worm-like pipes turned into adders, alembics resembled plumed helmets, and the symbols on the Isaical table and parchment scrolls glowed and changed like living fire. The sea monster appeared to bellow and struggle against its hook, skeletons seemed to mockingly wag their jaws and raise bony fingers, blue flames flickered in their eyeless sockets, and the bellows took on the shape of a monstrous bat. Even Doctor Morehouse seemed to transform into an archfiend presiding over a witches¡¯ sabbath.


    Anthony¡¯s mind reeled. He pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to block out the horrific visions, but the phantasms persisted, and he imagined he could hear the infernal din surrounding him.


    Suddenly, a triumphant cry pierced the air. Uncovering his eyes, Anthony saw Doctor Morehouse pouring a bright, transparent liquid from the alembic into a small phial. Securing the bottle with a glass stopper, the doctor held it up to the light, his face alight with rapture.


    ¡°At last,¡± he exclaimed, ¡°the great work is achieved. With the birth of this century, I first saw light, and the elixir I hold in my hand shall allow me to witness centuries yet to come. Composed of the lunar stones, the solar stones, and the mercurial stones¡ªprepared according to the instructions of Rabbi Ben Lucca¡ªby the separation of the pure from the impure, the volatilisation of the fixed, and the fixing of the volatile¡ªthis elixir shall renew my youth like that of the eagle and grant me longevity surpassing any patriarch.¡±


    He held the sparkling liquid aloft, gazing at it as if it were a holy relic. ¡°To live forever!¡± he cried, his voice trembling with awe. ¡°To escape death¡¯s jaws as they gape to devour me! To be free from all accidents! It¡¯s a glorious thought! But the rabbi warned of one peril the elixir could not guard against¡ªone vulnerable point, akin to Achilles¡¯ heel. What is it? Where can it lie?¡±


    He fell into deep, troubled thought, the room around him pulsating with the dark energy of his achievement.

 PROLOGUE Part 3

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    ¡°This uncertainty will poison all my happiness,¡± the doctor muttered, his voice trembling. ¡°I shall live in constant dread of an invisible enemy. But no matter! Perpetual life! Perpetual youth! What more could one desire?¡±


    ¡°What more, indeed?¡± Anthony replied, his voice thick with sarcasm.


    Doctor Morehouse started, as if just remembering Anthony¡¯s presence. He swiftly concealed the phial beneath his cloak.


    ¡°Your caution is futile, doctor,¡± Anthony continued. ¡°I heard everything. You believe you¡¯ve discovered the elixir of life.¡±


    ¡°Believe?¡± Doctor Morehouse barked a bitter laugh. ¡°The matter is beyond doubt. I possess the wondrous secret, the miraculous preservative against decay that philosophers have sought for centuries.¡±


    ¡°The man who brought me here said you were my kinsman,¡± Anthony said, his voice now laced with suspicion. ¡°Is that true?¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± replied the doctor, his tone softening. ¡°And now, you shall learn the connection between us. Look at that ghastly relic,¡± he added, pointing to the head protruding from the bag. ¡°That was my son Simon. His son¡¯s head is within the sack¡ªyour father¡¯s head¡ªuniting four generations.¡±


    ¡°Gracious Heaven!¡± Anthony gasped, raising himself on his elbow. ¡°You are my great-grandsire? My father thought you died in his infancy. There¡¯s an old family tale that you were charged with sorcery and fled to avoid the stake.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true that I fled and took a new name,¡± the old man confessed, his voice heavy with regret. ¡°But the charge of sorcery was false. I devoted myself to the deepest sciences, communing with the stars and uncovering Nature¡¯s hidden secrets. But I have committed two crimes, both of which I hope have been expiated by repentance.¡±


    ¡°Were they deeds of blood?¡± Anthony asked, his voice barely a whisper.


    ¡°One was,¡± the doctor replied, shuddering. ¡°A cowardly and treacherous deed, tainted by base ingratitude. Listen, and you shall hear how it happened. A Roman rabbi named Ben Lucca, skilled in hermetic science, came to this city. His fame reached me, and I sought him out, offering myself as his disciple. For months, I stayed with him in his laboratory, working at the furnace, poring over mystic lore. One night, he showed me that volume,¡± he gestured to the book, ¡°and pointed to a page within it. ¡®Those characters,¡¯ he said, ¡®contain the secret of the elixir of life. I will explain them to you, and then we shall proceed with the operation.¡¯ He unfolded the mystery but warned that the menstruum was defective in one aspect, leaving some hidden peril. With what greediness I drank in his words! What visions of perpetual youth and pleasure floated before me! At that moment, a demon whispered in my ear, ¡®This secret must be yours alone. No one else must possess it.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡± exclaimed Anthony, recoiling.


    ¡°The evil thought was no sooner conceived than acted upon,¡± the doctor continued, his voice hollow. ¡°I drew my dagger and plunged it into the rabbi¡¯s heart. But as his blood spilled onto the book, it obliterated the characters, and I could not recall the composition of the elixir by any effort of memory.¡±


    ¡°When did you regain the secret?¡± Anthony asked, his curiosity overcoming his horror.


    ¡°Tonight,¡± replied the doctor, his eyes gleaming. ¡°Within this very hour. For fifty years, I conducted fruitless experiments. A film of blood obscured my mental sight. I proceeded through calcination, solution, putrefaction¡ªproducing oils to fix crude mercury, to transform all substances into sol and luna¡ªbut I failed to ferment the stone into the true elixir. Tonight, I thought to wash the bloodstained page with a subtle liquid. Doubting the experiment¡¯s efficacy, I left it to work while I sought fresh air by the window. Gazing upwards, I noted the malignant aspect of my star. How this reconciles with my newfound success, I do not know. It was at this moment your rash but pious attempt occurred. Discovering our relationship, I instructed the gatekeeper to bring you here. When I returned to my laboratory, I was astonished to see the page free of blood!¡±


    Anthony uttered a small exclamation, gazing at the book with superstitious awe.


    ¡°The sight was so shocking that I dropped the sack I had brought with me,¡± Darcy continued, his voice trembling. ¡°Terrified of losing the secret again, I steeled myself and added more fuel to the fire. I dismissed my attendant with hurried instructions about you. Then, I set to work. How I have succeeded, you can see. I hold in my hand the treasure I have sought for so long¡ªso eagerly coveted. The wealth of the entire world could not purchase it from me.¡±


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    Anthony gazed intently at his aged relative but remained silent.


    ¡°In a few moments, I shall be as full of vigor and activity as you,¡± Darcy continued, his eyes gleaming with mad anticipation. ¡°We will no longer be great-grandsire and descendant, but friends¡ªcompanions¡ªequals, equals in age, strength, activity, beauty, fortune¡ªfor youth is fortune¡ªha! ha! I feel young already!¡±


    ¡°You spoke of two crimes that burden your conscience,¡± Anthony remarked, his voice low and cautious. ¡°You have mentioned only one.¡±


    ¡°The other was not as foul as the one I described,¡± Darcy said, his tone changing, becoming almost melancholic. ¡°It was unintentional and driven by no base motive. My wife, your ancestress, was a most lovely woman. I was so passionately enamored of her that I tried every art to heighten and preserve her beauty. I fed her on the flesh of capons nourished with vipers, steeped her limbs in baths distilled from roses and violets, and used the most potent cosmetics. At last, I prepared a draught from poisons¡ªyes, poisons¡ªthat I believed would have wondrous effects. She drank it and died horribly disfigured. Imagine my despair at seeing the fair image of my idolatry destroyed¡ªdefaced by my own hand. In my frenzy, I would have ended my own life had I not been restrained. Love may again rule my heart¡ªbeauty may again dazzle my eyes, but I shall never feel the passion I had for my lost Amice¡ªnever see charms equal to hers.¡±


    He pressed his hand to his face, as if trying to hide from the memory.


    ¡°The mistake you made then should serve as a warning,¡± Anthony said, his voice steady. ¡°What if this is poison? Test a few drops on an animal.¡±


    ¡°No¡ªno; it is the true elixir,¡± Darcy insisted. ¡°Not a drop must be wasted. You will witness its effect soon. Like the snake, I shall shed my old skin and emerge younger than I was at twenty.¡±


    ¡°In the meantime, I beg you to help me,¡± Anthony groaned, pain evident in his voice. ¡°While you prepare for immortality, I may die before your eyes.¡±


    ¡°Do not fear,¡± Darcy replied, almost dismissively. ¡°You shall take no harm. I will care for you shortly, and I understand leechcraft well enough to guarantee your speedy recovery.¡±


    ¡°Drink, then!¡± Anthony urged.


    ¡°I know not what stays my hand,¡± Darcy said, raising the phial. ¡°Now that immortality is within my grasp, I dare not seize it.¡±


    ¡°Give me the potion, then,¡± Anthony demanded.


    ¡°Not for the world,¡± Darcy replied, clutching the phial to his chest. ¡°No; I will be young again¡ªrich¡ªhappy. I will bask in the smiles of beauty, feast, revel, sing¡ªlife shall be a perpetual round of enjoyment. Now for the trial¡ªha!¡± As he raised the potion to his lips, a sudden pang shot through his heart. ¡°What is this?¡± he cried, staggering. ¡°Can death assail me when I am about to achieve perpetual life? Help me, good grandson! Place the phial to my lips. Pour its contents down my throat¡ªquick! quick!¡±


    ¡°I am too weak to move,¡± Anthony groaned. ¡°You have delayed too long.¡±


    ¡°Oh, heavens! We shall both perish,¡± Darcy shrieked, his arm failing him. ¡°Perish with the blissful shore in view.¡±


    He sank backward, catching at the terrestrial sphere for support.


    ¡°Help me¡ªhelp me!¡± he screamed, his eyes wide with unutterable anguish.


    ¡°It is worth the struggle,¡± Anthony muttered, summoning all his strength to rise and stagger towards the old man.


    ¡°Saved¡ªsaved!¡± Darcy shrieked. ¡°Pour it down my throat. An instant, and all will be well.¡±


    ¡°Do you think I have done this for you?¡± Anthony snarled, snatching the potion. ¡°No¡ªno.¡±


    Supporting himself against the furnace, he placed the phial to his lips and eagerly drained its contents. Darcy seemed paralyzed by the action, watching in horror as Anthony drank the elixir to the last drop. The old man let out a piercing cry, threw up his arms, and collapsed heavily.


    Dead¡ªdead!


    Flashes of light danced before Anthony¡¯s eyes, and strange noises filled his ears. Bewildered as if drunk, he laughed and sang discordantly. Objects reeled and danced around him. Glass vessels clashed together, yet remained unbroken; the furnace exhaled flames and noxious vapors; the spiral worm of the alembic glowed red-hot, seemingly filled with molten lead; the pipe of the bolt-head ran blood; the sphere of the earth rolled across the floor, rebounding from the walls as if struck by a giant hand; skeletons grinned and gibbered; the death¡¯s head on the table and the skulls in the chimney joined in the macabre chorus; the monstrous sea-fish belched fire and smoke; the decapitated head opened its eyes, fixing a stony glare on the young man; the dead alchemist shook his hand menacingly.


    Unable to bear these accumulated horrors, Anthony fainted. When he regained consciousness, all was still. The lamp had gone out, but moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the rigid features of the unfortunate alchemist and the cabalistic characters of the open volume beside him.


    Eager to test the elixir¡¯s effect, Anthony touched his side. The wound was gone; he felt no pain. On the contrary, he seemed endowed with supernatural strength. His chest swelled with rapture, and he longed for motion.


    Striding over the body of his aged relative, he threw open the window. Joyous peals rang from the surrounding churches, announcing the new year.


    As he listened, Anthony gazed at the moonlit city stretched before him.


    ¡°A hundred years from now,¡± he thought, ¡°scarcely a soul within those houses will live, save myself. A hundred years after that, their descendants will be gone to the grave. But I shall live on¡ªthrough all changes¡ªall customs¡ªall time. What revelations I shall have to make, if I dare to disclose them!¡±


    As he mused, a skeleton hanging nearby swayed in the wind, its bony fingers brushing his cheek. A dreadful idea struck him.


    ¡°There is one peril to avoid,¡± he thought; ¡°ONE PERIL!¡ªwhat is it? Pshaw! I will think no more of it. It may never arise. I must leave this place¡ªit fevered me.¡±


    With that, he left the laboratory. Descending the stairs, he found Flapdragon at the foot and passed out of the house into the night.

 Chapter 1

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    Late one night in the spring of 1830, two shadowy figures emerged from a dilapidated public-house near Millbank, heading towards Vauxhall Bridge. Avoiding the river footpath, they skulked along the farther side of the road where the open ground allowed for a swift escape if needed. The intermittent moonlight, breaking through heavy clouds, revealed their haggard features etched with the marks of crime and debauchery: fierce, restless eyes, beards of several days¡¯ growth, and wild, unkempt hair. Their attire matched their disreputable appearance¡ªsordid, ragged clothes, shoes without soles, and old hats without crowns.


    One was tall and gaunt, his large hands and feet betraying latent strength despite his meagerness. The other, shorter but broad-shouldered and bow-legged, had a long aquiline nose and coarse mouth that emphasized his brutish nature. His stubby red beard and sandy hair, coupled with white brows and eyelashes, gave him an almost spectral appearance. The taller man¡¯s face was dark and blotchy from habitual intemperance, his leering, malignant eyes accentuated by a blood-spotted handkerchief tied across his brow, contrasting starkly with his matted black hair.


    The shorter ruffian hefted a mallet on his shoulder, while his companion concealed a dark lantern beneath his coat. They moved silently, ever vigilant, their quick, shambling steps echoing in the quiet night. Occasionally, sounds arose from the riverbanks¡ªa splash in the water or a distant cry from passing boats¡ªbut otherwise, all was still. The moonlight illuminated the Dutch-like structures on the opposite bank, the coal-barges, timber-yards, and the ominous Penitentiary¡ªa dismal fortress-like edifice casting a shadow over the sleeping metropolis.


    Oblivious to their surroundings, the men continued until they were a couple of hundred yards from the bridge. Suddenly, as if by prior arrangement, they veered off the road, leapt over a rail, and ran across a field, plunging into a hollow formed by a dried-up pit. There, they paused momentarily.


    ¡°You ain¡¯t gammonin¡¯ me, Tinker?¡± the shorter man, known as Sandman, growled. ¡°The cove¡¯s sure to come?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t swear for another like I can for meself, Sandman,¡± Tinker replied. ¡°But if his word¡¯s good, he¡¯ll be there. I heard him clear as day¡ª¡®I¡¯ll be here tomorrow night¡ªsame hour.¡¯¡±


    ¡°And that was one o¡¯clock?¡± Sandman pressed.


    ¡°Thereabouts,¡± Tinker confirmed.


    ¡°And who did he say that to?¡± Sandman demanded.


    ¡°To hisself, I s¡¯pose,¡± Tinker shrugged. ¡°Didn¡¯t see no one with him.¡±


    ¡°Think he¡¯s one of our lot?¡± Sandman asked.


    ¡°Bless you, no,¡± Tinker said. ¡°He¡¯s a right swell.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s no reason,¡± Sandman retorted. ¡°Many a first-rate swell dabbles in our trade. But he can¡¯t be right in the head to come to a place like that and act as you say.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say about that,¡± Tinker replied. ¡°Don¡¯t matter much to us.¡±


    ¡°Devil a bit,¡± Sandman agreed. ¡°Except¡ªyou¡¯re sure it weren¡¯t a spirit, Tinker? They say this place is haunted. I don¡¯t fear no living man, but a ghost¡¯s another thing.¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯ll find our swell is flesh and blood,¡± Tinker assured. ¡°So come on, and let¡¯s not scare ourselves with old women¡¯s tales.¡±


    With that, they climbed out of the pit, crossed the field, and entered a narrow alley lined with a few scattered houses, eventually merging into the Vauxhall Bridge Road.


    Here they kept to the shadows, crossing the street only when necessary to avoid the lamplight. Soon, two watchmen appeared from Belvoir Terrace. As the guardians of the night drew near, the ruffians slipped into an alley, holding their breath until the watchmen passed. Once the coast was clear, they emerged and hastened their pace, arriving at a row of abandoned, crumbling houses¡ªtheir destination.


    The desolate dwellings, more than a dozen in number, were likely entangled in legal limbo, sharing the fate of most such properties. They stood in a state of severe disrepair¡ªroofs missing, windows shattered, floors rotted away. Only the bare, crumbling walls remained, their dilapidated condition a testament to neglect. These forsaken structures served as repositories for old iron, blocks of stone and wood, and other heavy debris. The eerie and foreboding atmosphere of the place deterred any passerby after dark.


    Skulking along the blank, dreary walls, Tinker, now a bit ahead, stopped before a door. Pushing it open, he entered the dwelling, followed closely by Sandman.


    The sight that greeted Sandman¡¯s eyes was a bizarre and unsettling array of objects, all shrouded in the gloom of the moonlight filtering through broken windows. The deserted appearance of the place only heightened the effect on his hardened yet superstitious nature.


    He saw a jumble of huge millstones, enormous water-wheels, steam-engine boilers, iron vats, cylinders, cranes, iron pumps of peculiar designs, a gigantic pair of wooden scales, old iron safes, boilers, gas-pipes, water-pipes, cracked bells, birdcages, iron plates, pulleys, ropes, and rusty chains¡ªan incongruous heap of discarded machinery and junk. In the midst of this chaotic mass loomed the bearded, colossal head of Neptune, once the figurehead of a man-of-war. Above it, on a makeshift framework, lay the prostrate statue of a nymph, alongside a bust of Fox, its nose partially demolished and eyes gouged in. Overhead, three garden divinities huddled together. To the left stood a tall, headless Grecian warrior missing his right hand. The whole grotesque ensemble was surmounted by an immense ventilator perched on the end of an iron rod, ascending like a lightning conductor from a steam-engine pump.


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    In the eerie moonlight, the various objects cast strange, distorted shadows, blending the grotesque with the terrifying. The building itself, with its ragged brickwork overgrown with weeds, seemed to take on a sinister life of its own, the bricks forming eerie, watchful faces that appeared to monitor their movements.


    A precarious means of crossing the building without descending into the vault below was provided by a pair of planks. The far wall was higher than the near one, and the planks were bowed with age, making the passage treacherous.


    Without hesitation, Tinker leapt into the cellar, uncovering his lantern to reveal a sort of hiding place between a bulk of timber and a boiler. He beckoned Sandman to follow.


    Sandman jumped down, grumbling, ¡°The ale from the ¡®Two Fighting Cocks¡¯ is making me drowsy, Tinker,¡± as he stretched out on the bulk. ¡°I¡¯ll just take a snooze. Wake me if I snore¡ªor when our spirit shows up.¡±


    Tinker nodded, his eyes scanning the shadows. Sandman had barely drifted into a restless sleep when he felt a sharp nudge. Tinker whispered urgently, ¡°He¡¯s here!¡±


    ¡°Where? Where?¡± Sandman asked, his voice quivering with a mixture of excitement and fear.


    ¡°Look up, and you¡¯ll see him,¡± Tinker replied, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes wide with anticipation.


    Slightly shifting his position, the Sandman caught sight of a figure standing upon the planks above them. The figure belonged to a young man, his hat off, revealing features bathed in the cold radiance of the moon. His face was deathly pale, and though handsome, it bore a sinister expression. He was tall, slight, and well-proportioned, and his attire¡ªa tightly-buttoned, single-breasted coat and a moustache upon his lip¡ªgave him a distinctly military air.


    ¡°He seems to be walking in his sleep,¡± muttered the Sandman. ¡°He¡¯s talking to someone we can¡¯t see.¡±


    ¡°Hush¡ªhush!¡± whispered Tinker. ¡°Let¡¯s hear what he¡¯s saying.¡±


    ¡°Why have you brought me here?¡± the young man cried, his voice hollow and chilling. ¡°What is to be done?¡±


    ¡°It makes my blood run cold to hear him,¡± whispered the Sandman. ¡°What do you think he sees?¡±


    ¡°Why do you not speak to me?¡± the young man cried again. ¡°Why do you beckon me forward? Very well, I will follow you.¡±


    He moved slowly across the plank.


    ¡°Look, he¡¯s going through that door,¡± whispered Tinker. ¡°Let¡¯s follow him.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like it,¡± replied the Sandman, his teeth chattering with apprehension. ¡°We might see something that will drive us mad.¡±


    ¡°Tut!¡± scoffed Tinker. ¡°It¡¯s only a sleepwalker. What are you afraid of?¡±


    With that, he vaulted onto the planks. Peering cautiously through the open door, he watched the young man enter the adjoining house through a broken window.


    Signaling to the Sandman, who was close behind, Tinker crept forward on all fours. Reaching the window, he raised himself just enough to peer inside. Unfortunately, the moon was obscured by clouds at that moment, and he could only make out the dusky outlines of various objects similar to those in the neighboring house. He listened intently, but not the slightest sound reached his ears.


    After a tense period of silence, Tinker began to fear the young man had departed. Suddenly, a piercing scream echoed through the dwelling. Something heavy crashed to the floor, and footsteps approached the window.


    Hastily retreating to their former hiding place, Tinker and Sandman had scarcely regained it when the young man reappeared on the plank. His demeanor had changed drastically. He staggered rather than walked, his countenance even paler than before. After crossing the plank, he moved along the top of the broken wall towards the door.


    ¡°Now, Sandman!¡± hissed Tinker. ¡°Now¡¯s your time!¡±


    The Sandman nodded. Grasping his mallet with deadly determination, he sprang noiselessly onto the wall and overtook his intended victim just as he reached the door.


    Hearing a sound behind him, the young man turned, his eyes widening in horror. The mallet descended upon his head before he could react. He fell, crushed and senseless, to the ground.


    ¡°The work¡¯s done!¡± cried the Sandman to his companion, who instantly approached with the dark lantern. ¡°Let¡¯s take him below and strip him.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± replied the Tinker, eyeing the lifeless form. ¡°But first, let¡¯s see what he¡¯s got in his pockets.¡±


    ¡°With all my heart,¡± replied the Sandman, rummaging through the victim¡¯s clothes. ¡°A wallet! I hope it¡¯s well-lined. We¡¯ll check it below. The body would tell awkward tales if anyone happened to peek in.¡±


    ¡°Shall we strip him here?¡± asked the Tinker, noticing the fine attire illuminated by the lantern. ¡°Now that we can see, he¡¯s wearing some famous togs.¡±


    ¡°Do you want to get us hanged, fool?¡± snarled the Sandman, leaping into the vault. ¡°Hoist him down here.¡±


    He positioned the wounded man¡¯s legs over his own shoulders, and with the Tinker¡¯s help, was in the process of lowering the body when the street door suddenly flew open. A stout figure, flanked by two watchmen, burst in.


    ¡°There the villains are!¡± shouted the newcomer. ¡°They¡¯ve been murdering a gentleman. Seize them!¡±


    As he spoke, he fired a pistol, the ball whistling past the Tinker¡¯s ear. Without waiting for another shot, the ruffian kicked the lantern into the vault and sprang after the Sandman, who had already disappeared into the shadows.


    Familiar with the labyrinthine layout, the Tinker led his companion through a hole into an adjoining vault. They scaled a wall, slipped into the next house, and exited through an open window, making their escape while the watchmen futilely searched under every bulk and piece of iron.


    ¡°Here, watchmen!¡± cried the stout man who had acted as leader. ¡°Never mind the villains right now. Help me get this poor young gentleman to my house, where we can render proper assistance. He still breathes, but he¡¯s received a terrible blow to the head. I hope his skull isn¡¯t broken.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope not, Mr. Thorneycroft,¡± replied the foremost watchman. ¡°But those were two of the most desperate characters I¡¯ve ever seen, capable of any atrocity.¡±


    ¡°What a frightful scream I heard!¡± exclaimed Mr. Thorneycroft. ¡°I was certain something dreadful was happening. It was fortunate I hadn¡¯t gone to bed; even more fortunate that you happened to be coming up at the time. But we mustn¡¯t stand here chatting. Bring the poor young gentleman along.¡±


    Preceded by Mr. Thorneycroft, the watchmen carried the wounded man across the road towards a small house. The door was held open by a female servant holding a candle. The poor woman uttered a cry of horror as the body was brought in.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be crying out in that way, Peggy,¡± said Mr. Thorneycroft sternly. ¡°Go get me some brandy. Here, watchmen, lay the poor young gentleman down on the sofa¡ªthere, gently, gently. And now, one of you run to Wheeler Street and fetch Mr. Howell, the surgeon. Less noise, Peggy, less noise, or you¡¯ll wake Miss Evaline, and I wouldn¡¯t have her disturbed for the world.¡±


    With that, he snatched the bottle of brandy from the maid, filled a wine-glass with the spirit, and poured it down the throat of the wounded man. A choking sound followed, and after a few moments of violent struggle for breath, the young man opened his eyes.

 Chapter 2

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    The Rookery! Who, passing through Saint Giles¡¯s on the way to the city or back, hasn¡¯t glimpsed its squalid hovels and ruffianly occupants through narrow alleyways? Who hasn¡¯t marveled that such a cesspool of vice and crime is permitted to fester in the heart of the metropolis, like a gangrenous sore corrupting the entire system? Only recently has the march of progress demanded its eradication. For years, this den of iniquity was tolerated, its foul presence complained of yet unchallenged, like an unwashed wound ignored by a negligent physician. Now that it¡¯s been mostly razed, replaced by a broad and airy street, a brief recollection of its former horrors seems fitting.


    Entering a narrow street guarded by posts and cross-bars, a few steps from the bustling thoroughfare brought you into a nightmare realm, the lair of half the city¡¯s lawless denizens. Coarse profanity assailed your ears, and vile odors plagued your nostrils. As you picked your way through filth-filled gutters and over heaps of decaying refuse and oyster shells, the full repulsiveness of the place unfolded before you. The savage, grotesque spectacle was both mesmerizing and revolting. The houses were sordid, encrusted with the leprosy of vice, reflecting the degradation of their tenants. They were horrors in themselves: windowless, or with panes replaced by brown paper or tin; doorless, openly displaying the squalor within. Rather than conceal the wretchedness, it was flaunted. Miserable rooms, nearly devoid of furniture, their floors and walls caked with grime or adorned with gaudy, coarse prints; shameless, debased women; children barefoot and in tatters; these were the common sights. Few men were seen, presumably out on nefarious business; those present had sinister looks and mean attire, perfectly suited to the setting. These dismal dwellings were teeming, every room from garret to cellar swarming with inhabitants. The cellars, dark and cavernous, seemed too wretched even for beasts. Clothes-lines stretched from house to house, festooned with every kind of garment. Branching off the main street were numerous alleys and passages, equally, if not more, wretched, and teeming with life. Personal safety forbade exploration of these labyrinths, but the imagination could easily conjure their horrors from the given sample. Every step brought insult or annoyance. Every soul seemed brutalized, degraded; the women especially, utterly lost to decency, their cries, quarrels, and curses ringing through the streets. To escape this hellhole and breathe clean air again was a profound relief.


    Such was the Rookery by day. Imagine its horrors when night cloaked its denizens in darkness! Yet it is at this hour we must now enter its innermost depths.


    After escaping the ruined house on Vauxhall Road, the two ruffians, breathless and wild-eyed, sprinted through the labyrinthine streets towards Saint Giles¡¯s. They reached the Broadway just as the church clock struck two, the ominous chimes echoing in the desolate night. Ducking into a narrow alley, they barreled through obstructions, emerging onto a slightly wider cross-street before slipping into a shadowy entryway. At the bottom of this passage was a swing-door, which admitted them into a small, grim court.


    A dwarfish figure, swathed in a tattered watchman¡¯s greatcoat, sat on a rickety stool with a horn lantern in his hand and a cutty pipe clenched between his teeth. The glow of the pipe illuminated his withered, craggy features, casting grotesque shadows that danced eerily on the walls. This was Old Parr, the deputy-porter of the lodging house. The ruffians acknowledged him with a nod before pushing through another door into a dim, smoke-filled kitchen.


    At the far end of the room, a fire blazed cheerfully under a large copper kettle, the warmth a stark contrast to the squalor surrounding it. A deal table stood off to one side, surrounded by men of sinister aspect and sordid attire, engaged in a tense game of cards. Another, smaller table was situated near the fire, and a rickety staircase led to the upper rooms. The place reeked of neglect; the floors, blackened with years of grime, and the walls, thick with filth. In one corner, a boy lay sprawled on a heap of coal and coke, fast asleep, his skin as blackened as a chimney sweep¡¯s. He was the waiter.


    The primary illumination came from a single candle stuck against the wall, its flickering flame reflected by a tarnished tin plate. Before the fire stood a peculiar figure: a man in a velveteen jacket with ivory buttons, a striped waistcoat, and drab knee-breeches. His faded black silk neckcloth was tied in a great bow, and ancient Wellingtons climbed halfway up his disproportionately thin legs, contrasting starkly with his square, robust frame. His face was broad and jolly, with a bulbous nose, fleshy lips, and cunning light gray eyes. Long flakes of dunnish red hair dangled over his ears and neck, matching his whiskers and beard. A superannuated white castor hat, adorned with a black hat-band, was jauntily cocked on one side of his head, giving him a rakish air.


    This man, known as Ginger, was a dog-fancier¡ªa dealer and stealer of dogs, well-versed in the nefarious tricks of his trade. His self-satisfied demeanor bespoke a confidence born of cunning and knavery, while his droll, winning manners made him adept at duping his customers. His true name was Taylor, but among his cronies, he was simply Ginger. A beautiful black-and-tan spaniel peeked from one coat pocket, while a pug nestled in his breast and two Blenheims were tucked under each arm. At his feet lay an Isle of Skye terrier and a cropped French poodle, its snowy fur adorned with a red ribbon.


    As the Sandman and the Tinker entered, Ginger nodded familiarly. ¡°Well, my ¡¯arties, what luck?¡± he inquired with a sly grin.


    ¡°Oh, pretty middlin¡¯,¡± the Sandman replied gruffly, settling himself at the table near the fire. He kicked the sleeping boy awake. ¡°Fetch us a pot of half-and-half.¡±


    The Tinker took a seat beside him, both men waiting in silence for their drink. When it arrived, they disposed of it in two hearty swigs. Ginger, seeing they were occupied, sauntered over to the card table, his four-legged entourage in tow.


    The Sandman, unable to contain his curiosity any longer, pulled out a worn pocket-book. ¡°Let¡¯s see what fortune has given us,¡± he muttered, his voice tinged with greed and anticipation.


    So saying, the Sandman unclasped the pocket-book, while the Tinker leaned in with eager anticipation. Their search for money, however, proved fruitless. No bank-notes surfaced, only several memoranda, slips of paper, a few cards, and an almanac for the year. Their faces fell with bitter disappointment.


    ¡°All this trouble for nuthin¡¯, and nearly gettin¡¯ shot to boot,¡± snarled the Sandman, slamming the book onto the table with an oath. ¡°Wish I¡¯d never taken the job.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t give up so quick,¡± the Tinker urged. ¡°There might be somethin¡¯ useful in them papers. Let¡¯s take a closer look.¡±


    ¡°Look ¡¯em over yourself,¡± the Sandman replied curtly, shoving the book towards him. ¡°I¡¯m done with it. Hey, lazy-bones, bring us two glasses of rum-and-water¡ªstiff, you hear?¡±


    As the groggy youth scurried to comply, the Tinker meticulously examined each memorandum and scrap of paper in the pocket-book. He read them once, then again, rubbing his hands together with growing glee.


    ¡°What¡¯s got you all excited?¡± the Sandman asked, lighting a cutty pipe and settling back to smoke.


    ¡°There¡¯s secrets in here worth a hundred pounds or more,¡± the Tinker exclaimed, unable to contain his satisfaction. ¡°We didn¡¯t go through all that trouble for nothin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Glad to hear it,¡± the Sandman said, narrowing his eyes. ¡°What kind of secrets?¡±


    ¡°Hangin¡¯ secrets,¡± the Tinker replied with ominous emphasis. ¡°This bloke¡¯s done some serious crimes¡ªmurder, wholesale.¡±


    ¡°Wholesale!¡± echoed the Sandman, removing the pipe from his lips. ¡°That sounds bad. But what kind of fool keeps a record of his crimes?¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t expect the pocket-book to end up with us,¡± the Tinker pointed out.


    ¡°Maybe not,¡± the Sandman conceded. ¡°But someone else could¡¯ve seen it. Only an idiot would keep such records. Imagine if we did that¡ªwhat a mess we¡¯d be in when the accounts were settled!¡±


    ¡°Our business is different,¡± the Tinker retorted. ¡°This bloke¡¯s a whole different kind of mystery. How old do you reckon he is?¡±


    ¡°Twenty-five, tops,¡± the Sandman guessed.


    ¡°More like sixty-five,¡± the Tinker corrected. ¡°There are dates going back that far.¡±


    ¡°Sixty-five devils!¡± the Sandman exclaimed. ¡°Must be some mistake in the reckonin¡¯.¡±


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°No mistake,¡± the Tinker insisted. ¡°I checked twice. One paper, dated 1780, mentions other documents.¡±


    ¡°Must be his granddad¡¯s then,¡± the Sandman reasoned. ¡°No way they¡¯re about him.¡±


    ¡°They are,¡± the Tinker said, growing irate at having his assertion doubted. ¡°If his own word¡¯s to be trusted. These papers are valuable. If no one else believes them, he will, and he¡¯ll pay to get them back.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a scheme worthy of an Old Bailey lawyer,¡± the Sandman mused. ¡°What¡¯s the bloke¡¯s name?¡±


    ¡°Anthony Darcy,¡± the Tinker answered, reading off a card.


    ¡°Any address?¡± the Sandman asked.


    The Tinker shook his head. ¡°None I can see.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a setback,¡± the Sandman muttered. ¡°No clues?¡±


    ¡°None,¡± the Tinker confirmed.


    ¡°Then we¡¯re back where we started,¡± the Sandman sighed. ¡°But no matter. Not much chance of makin¡¯ a deal with him now. That crack to the skull I gave him likely finished him off.¡±


    ¡°Nothing of the sort,¡± the Tinker retorted, eyes glinting with a sinister light. ¡°He always recovers from every kind of accident.¡±


    ¡°Always recovers!¡± The Sandman echoed in disbelief. ¡°What a constitution he must have!¡±


    ¡°Surprising, ain¡¯t it?¡± replied the Tinker, voice low with unease. ¡°He never suffers from injuries¡ªleast not much; never grows old; never expects to die. Says what he plans on doing a hundred years from now.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s a lunatic!¡± the Sandman declared, his voice tinged with derision. ¡°A downright lunatic. That explains his visit to that ruined house, thinking he heard someone talk to him. He¡¯s mad, sure enough. Unless I¡¯ve cured him.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve a different opinion,¡± the Tinker countered.


    ¡°And so have I,¡± interjected Mr. Ginger, who had approached unnoticed, having overheard most of their conversation.


    ¡°What can you know about it, Ginger?¡± the Sandman growled, clearly irritated.


    ¡°I know this,¡± Ginger said, a cunning smile curling his lips. ¡°You¡¯ve got a good case, and if you let me in on it, I¡¯ll make something of it.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m agreeable,¡± the Sandman conceded.


    ¡°And so am I,¡± added the Tinker.


    ¡°Not that I pay much mind to what¡¯s in those papers,¡± Ginger continued. ¡°The gentleman¡¯s evidently half-cracked, if not fully. But he¡¯s just the type to manipulate. Thinks himself immortal, does he?¡±


    ¡°Exactly so,¡± confirmed the Tinker.


    ¡°And he thinks he¡¯s committed a slew of murders?¡± Ginger pressed.


    ¡°A desperate lot,¡± the Tinker affirmed.


    ¡°Then he¡¯ll be eager to buy those papers at any price,¡± Ginger said with a knowing nod. ¡°We¡¯ll handle this like I handle a dog¡ªset a high price for its return.¡±


    ¡°We have to find him first,¡± the Sandman reminded.


    ¡°That¡¯s no trouble,¡± Ginger reassured. ¡°Keep an eye out, and you¡¯re bound to run into him eventually.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± the Sandman agreed. ¡°And he won¡¯t recognize us. I knocked him out cold the moment he turned around.¡±


    ¡°After all,¡± the Tinker mused, ¡°there¡¯s no trade as safe as yours, Ginger. The law¡¯s on your side, and the coppers are too scared to touch you. I might become a dog-fancier myself.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a good business,¡± Ginger said, a smug look crossing his face. ¡°But it needs education. As I was saying, we sometimes get a high price for returning a favorite, especially with a soft-hearted lady. Some women love their dogs more than their own children. When we nab one of their pets, we ransom it like the brigands do with their prisoners¡ªthreaten to send an ear, then a paw, or a tail. Let me tell you what happened the other day. There was this lady¡ªMiss White¡ªdesperate for her dog. Ugly little thing, but she¡¯d lost her heart to it. Well, she lost it, and somehow or other, I found it. She was in great distress, and a friend of mine tells her she can have the dog back for eight pounds. She thinks it¡¯s too much and hesitates, so I send word through my friend that if she doesn¡¯t pay up, the poor animal¡¯s throat will be slit that very night.¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡ªha!¡ªha!¡± The others laughed, their mirth echoing in the grimy room.


    ¡°Well, she sent four pounds, and I settled for it,¡± Ginger continued, ¡°but about a month later she loses her favorite again. Strange, but I find it once more. Same game, and she coughs up another four pounds. This time, though, she takes precautions. As soon as she gets her dog back, she hops on a steamer to France, thinking she¡¯ll keep it safe there.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Miss Bailey, unfortunate Miss Bailey! Fol-de-riddle-tol-ol-lol¡ªunfortunate Miss Bailey!¡± sang the Tinker, his voice dripping with mockery.


    ¡°But there are dog-fanciers in France too, ain¡¯t there?¡± asked the Sandman, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.


    ¡°Lord bless you, yes,¡± replied Ginger, a sinister gleam in his eye. ¡°There are as many fanciers in France as there are here. Why, we run a smart trade with them through the foreign steamers. Hardly a steamer leaves the port of London without a cargo of dogs. We sell them to stewards, stokers, and sailors¡ªcheap, no questions asked. They go to Ostend, Antwerp, Rotterdam, Hamburg, and sometimes to Havre. There¡¯s a Monsieur Coquillu who comes over to buy dogs, and we take them to him at a house near Billingsgate market.¡±


    ¡°So, you¡¯re always sure of a ready market,¡± observed the Sandman, his voice dripping with a mix of envy and admiration.


    ¡°Certain,¡± Ginger affirmed, his tone triumphant. ¡°Because the law is so kind to us. A policeman can¡¯t detain us, even if he knows we¡¯ve got a stolen dog, as long as we swear it¡¯s ours. But he¡¯d stop you in a minute if he saw you with a suspicious-looking bundle. Now, to show you the difference between our professions: I steal a dog worth maybe fifty pounds, perhaps more. Even if I¡¯m caught, I might get fined twenty pounds or face six months¡¯ imprisonment. But if you steal an old handkerchief worth three farthings, you¡¯re looking at seven years abroad, guaranteed.¡±


    ¡°That seems harsh on us,¡± the Sandman reflected, a dark shadow crossing his face.


    ¡°It¡¯s the law!¡± Ginger exclaimed, a twisted smile playing on his lips. ¡°We generally escape by paying the fine because our pals go out and steal more dogs to raise the money. We always stand by each other. There¡¯s a regular organization among us, so we can always bring witnesses to swear what we like. We confuse the judges so much that the case gets dismissed. The constable asks, ¡®Which party should I give the dog to, Your Worship?¡¯ The judge replies, shaking his wise head, ¡®Give it to the person in whose possession it was found. I have nothing more to do with it.¡¯ Of course, the dog is handed back to us.¡±


    ¡°The law seems made for dog-fanciers,¡± remarked the Tinker, a note of resignation in his voice.


    ¡°Here¡¯s a tale for you,¡± Ginger continued, eyes glittering with malevolence. ¡°I was standing at the corner of Gray¡¯s Inn Lane with some of my pals near a coach-stand when a lady walks by with a dog¡ªa real beauty, a long-eared spaniel¡ªfollowing her. The moment I see it, I untie my apron, scoop up the dog, and cover it in a trice. The lady sees me and gives me in charge to a policeman. But that doesn¡¯t matter. I bring six witnesses to swear the dog was mine, and that I¡¯d had it since it was a blind little puppy. I even bring its mother, which settles the point. So I¡¯m discharged; the dog is given to me; and the lady goes away lamenting. I then play the amiable and offer to sell it back to her for twenty guineas, seeing how she had taken a fancy to it. But she doesn¡¯t bite. So if I don¡¯t sell it next week, I¡¯ll send it to Monsieur Coquillu. The only way you can go wrong is by stealing a dog with a collar on. If you do, you might get seven years¡¯ transportation for a bit of leather and a brass plate worth a shilling, while the animal, though worth a hundred pounds, can¡¯t hurt you. There¡¯s the law for you¡ªha, ha!¡±


    ¡°Dog-fancier¡¯s law!¡± laughed the Sandman, shaking his head.


    ¡°Some of the Fancy are cruel,¡± Ginger went on, his voice darkening. ¡°They crop a dog¡¯s ears or pull out its teeth to disguise it. But I¡¯m too fond of the animals for that. I may frighten old ladies sometimes, but I never seriously harm their pets. Nor do I ever kill a dog for its skin, as some do.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re always sure of getting a dog if you want one, I suppose?¡± inquired the Tinker.


    ¡°Always,¡± replied Ginger with a wicked grin. ¡°No man¡¯s dog is safe. I don¡¯t care how it¡¯s kept; we¡¯re sure to have it in the end. We feel out the servants and find out how much the master or mistress values the dog. Soon after, the animal¡¯s gone. With a bit of liver, prepared in my particular way, I can tame the fiercest dog, take him off his chain, and have him follow me at a gallop.¡±


    ¡°Do respectable people ever buy dogs knowing they¡¯re stolen?¡± the Tinker asked, his curiosity piqued.


    ¡°Of course,¡± replied Ginger, his eyes narrowing. ¡°Sometimes first-rate nobs. They set us up to it themselves. They¡¯ll say, ¡®I¡¯ve just left my Lord So-and-So¡¯s, and there I saw a couple of the finest pointers I ever laid eyes on. I want you to get me just such another couple.¡¯ We understand in a minute, and in due time, the identical dogs find their way to our customer.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s how it¡¯s done?¡± remarked the Sandman, a dark smile curling his lips.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s the way,¡± replied Ginger, his voice low and conspiratorial. ¡°Sometimes a client needs a couple of dogs for the shooting season. We ask, ¡®Which way are you heading¡ªinto Surrey or Kent?¡¯ Depending on the answer, we arrange our plans.¡±


    ¡°Well, your trade seems both profitable and safe, I must say,¡± remarked the Sandman, his eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and envy.


    ¡°Perfectly so,¡± Ginger confirmed with a sinister smile. ¡°Nothing can touch us until dogs are declared property by statute and stealing them a misdemeanor. And that won¡¯t happen in my lifetime.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope not,¡± the other two murmured in agreement, their voices echoing the dim room¡¯s oppressive silence.


    ¡°To return to the point from which we started,¡± said the Tinker, his voice dropping to a whisper. ¡°Our gentleman¡¯s case isn¡¯t as surprising as it first appears. There are some who believe they will never die¡ªand I share that belief. Our old deputy here, whom we call Old Parr, claims he lived in Queen Bess¡¯s time, remembers King Charles being beheaded perfectly well, and recalls the Great Fire of London as if it happened yesterday.¡±


    ¡°Walker!¡± exclaimed Ginger, his skepticism clear as he tapped his nose.


    ¡°You may laugh, but it¡¯s true,¡± the Tinker insisted, his eyes dark and earnest. ¡°An old man told me he knew the deputy sixty years ago, and he looked just the same then as he does now¡ªneither older nor younger.¡±


    ¡°Humph!¡± Ginger grunted, a shadow of doubt crossing his face. ¡°He doesn¡¯t look that old now.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the curious part of it,¡± the Tinker continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°He doesn¡¯t like to talk about his age unless he¡¯s in the mood. But once, he confided in me that he didn¡¯t know why he lived so long, except it might be due to a potion he swallowed, brewed by his master, who was a great conjurer in Queen Bess¡¯s days.¡±


    ¡°Pshaw!¡± Ginger scoffed, shaking his head. ¡°I thought you were too clever, Tinker, to be taken in by such an old wife¡¯s tale.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s bring the old fellow in and talk to him,¡± replied the Tinker, a wicked gleam in his eye. ¡°Here, lazy-bones,¡± he called, rousing the sleeping youth slumped in the corner. ¡°Go and fetch Old Parr. Tell him we want his company over a glass of rum and water.¡±

 Chapter 3

    <hr>


    A cacophony of furious barking from Mr. Ginger¡¯s dogs pierced the air, heralding the arrival of a grotesque figure. This creature, barely reaching the table¡¯s height with his hunched form, was Old Parr. His head, too large for his body, was crowned with a wild tangle of rust-black hair peeking out from a strangely shaped seal-skin cap. His hands and feet, disproportionate to his stature, hung like twisted branches, and his long arms seemed to stretch unnaturally, almost touching his ankles. His spine curved, and his head seemed to sink into his chest. While his face bore traces of middle age, closer scrutiny revealed the marks of extreme oldness¡ªhis flat, broad nose, a long upper lip, projecting jaws, and a retreating forehead lent him an almost simian appearance. Despite his dull, swarthy complexion, his eyes gleamed with a sharp, cunning light.


    His attire mirrored his eccentricity. Donning cast-off tawny tights from his time as a theatre performer, an elastic shirt with bat-like wings attached to its sleeves, and a blood-red tunic cinched at his waist, he cut a bizarre figure. His diminutive form was wrapped in a greatcoat whose tails swept the floor like a sinister train.


    As the commotion settled, Mr. Ginger and the Tinker erupted into laughter at the sight of Old Parr, finding amusement in his odd appearance, while the Sandman¡¯s expression remained stoic.


    Their mirth was short-lived as the dwarf, in a shrill, strange voice, questioned, ¡°Did you summon me just to mock?¡±


    ¡°Certainly not, deputy,¡± the Tinker hastily replied. ¡°Here, lazy-bones, rum and water for all.¡±


    The drowsy youth sprang into action, fetching the spirits and water as requested. Glasses were filled, and the Tinker offered his guest a steaming glass, urging him to make himself comfortable.


    Opposite their table stood a dilapidated staircase, leading to a locked door midway up. This door, guarded by Old Parr, marked the entry to a branching staircase and a narrow passage to the bedrooms, each securely locked and windowless. No lights were permitted, adding to the eerie ambiance.


    Appeased by the drink, Old Parr settled near the locked door, shedding his greatcoat to reveal his impish attire. The dogs, sensing his otherworldly presence, howled in fear, requiring Ginger¡¯s intervention to calm them.


    When silence finally reigned, the Tinker, exchanging sly glances with his companions, broached the subject. ¡°Deputy, we¡¯ve been debating a matter you can settle for us.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hear it,¡± squeaked Old Parr.


    ¡°It concerns your age,¡± the Tinker pressed on. ¡°When were you born?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been so long, I can hardly remember,¡± Old Parr replied, his tone sullen.


    ¡°You must have witnessed many changes,¡± the Tinker persisted, waiting for the potent liquor to loosen the dwarf¡¯s tongue.


    ¡°I have indeed,¡± Old Parr began, the alcohol loosening his tongue. ¡°I¡¯ve seen London rise and fall, seen it grow into the vast metropolis it is today. Believe it or not, this very neighborhood was once a verdant field, surrounded by hedges and trees. Saint Giles¡¯s, a quaint village, stood where now we have this bustling Rookery. And Covent Garden, now a market, was once a park-like garden, stretching from Saint Martin¡¯s Lane to Drury House, a mansion nestled amid a grove of majestic trees.¡±


    Ginger let out a long, low whistle. ¡°The place must be utterly transformed!¡± he exclaimed.


    Old Parr¡¯s gaze turned distant as he delved into the city¡¯s metamorphosis. ¡°Describing London¡¯s changes in my time would take weeks,¡± he mused. ¡°The Thames itself, once crystal clear, now resembles a muddy swamp. Once, its banks were lined with verdant gardens, and its waters teemed with splendid vessels and luxurious barges. Now, all of that is gone.¡±


    ¡°The river must have been a paradise for those jolly watermen near Blackfriars,¡± the Tinker chimed in, his voice carrying a mournful tune. ¡°But the steamers have taken their place, leaving nostalgia in their wake.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Old Parr nodded. ¡°I lament the loss. The city has grown mighty, yes, but its beauty has waned. I recall the grandeur of the Strand, lined with noble houses, and the opulent goldsmiths¡¯ shops in Lombard Street and Gracechurch Street. Those were days to remember.¡±


    ¡°But London is what it is now,¡± the Tinker shrugged. ¡°No turning back the clock.¡±


    ¡°Not likely,¡± Old Parr agreed, signaling for a refill.


    Ginger, eager for tales of old, shifted the conversation. ¡°And what of the king, whose name these little beauties bear?¡± he asked, patting the heads of his two spaniels.


    ¡°Old Rowley?¡± Old Parr¡¯s eyes brightened. ¡°I served in his time, witnessed his love for both women and canines. But that¡¯s a tale for another day.¡±


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°I¡¯d wager you¡¯ve seen more than most,¡± Ginger said, puffing his pipe thoughtfully.


    Old Parr chuckled. ¡°More than I care to admit. Walking through these streets, unchanged in name but not in spirit, is a surreal experience. If only you could glimpse the London of old, you¡¯d find it hard to settle for the present.¡±


    ¡°You speak like those penny-a-liners,¡± Ginger teased. ¡°But you make me yearn for those bygone days.¡±


    ¡°If you lived then, you¡¯d likely be found at Paris Garden or the bear-baiting pits,¡± Old Parr retorted. ¡°Men may change their fashions, but their natures remain.¡±


    ¡°According to your tale, you¡¯ve lived well over two hundred and seventy years,¡± Ginger remarked, a hint of skepticism in his tone.


    Old Parr chuckled. ¡°My body may be hearty, but my mind wanders at times.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps more than a wander,¡± Ginger hinted, eyeing him curiously. ¡°It¡¯s not natural, you know, to have lived so long.¡±


    ¡°Maybe not,¡± Old Parr conceded. ¡°But it¡¯s how it is.¡±


    Their conversation drifted, haunted by visions of an ancient city lost to time, mingled with doubts and mysteries surrounding the enigmatic Old Parr.


    The air in the room grew thick with intrigue as Ginger probed the mysterious Old Parr. ¡°If you¡¯ve lived so long,¡± he began, stretching leisurely, ¡°why aren¡¯t you better off, as folks say?¡±


    Old Parr¡¯s response was silence, his face hidden in his hands, wrestling with unseen emotions. Ginger persisted, his curiosity piqued. ¡°If you won¡¯t tell us, how can we believe you?¡± he pressed.


    The Tinker chimed in, attempting to soothe the tense atmosphere. ¡°We believe you, deputy. Tell us your tale,¡± he urged, his eyes flicking to the Sandman for affirmation.


    With a sigh, Old Parr relented. ¡°Fate has not been kind,¡± he confessed gruffly. ¡°I¡¯ve had my chances, but they all led to ruin. It¡¯s my destiny.¡±


    ¡°Hard fate indeed,¡± the Tinker sympathized. ¡°But what of your longevity? How do you explain it?¡±


    The dwarf¡¯s eyes gleamed with a hint of defiance. ¡°I served Doctor Morehouse, an alchemist from Queen Bess¡¯s era,¡± he began. ¡°He sought not just gold but the elixir of life.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of such pursuits,¡± Ginger interjected, his tone tinged with skepticism.


    Old Parr continued, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. ¡°Night and day we toiled, until on the last night of the sixteenth century, a wounded young man arrived. He drank the elixir and walked out renewed, as if death had never touched him.¡±


    The Tinker¡¯s eyes widened, exchanging knowing glances with the others. The tale spun by Old Parr hinted at secrets beyond mortal comprehension, weaving a tapestry of mystery and wonder in the dimly lit room.


    In a room thick with shadows and the scent of age-old secrets, Old Parr¡¯s voice carried a weight of ancient sorrows as he continued his tale. ¡°As soon as he was gone,¡± he recounted, his voice a whisper edged with dread, ¡°I raced to the laboratory. There lay Doctor Morehouse, lifeless. I debated my next move¡ªshould I hunt down his killer, the young man? But what use? Then, my eyes fell on the table, a phial empty, a glass receiver holding a transparent liquid, and I hesitated. I drank the elixir of immortality, feeling fire course through me. The room came alive, dead eyes staring, skeletons rattling, and I lost myself to terror. When I regained my senses, all was still, but a curse clung to me.¡±


    The Tinker leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial murmur. ¡°Have you ever met the young man who drank the elixir?¡±


    Old Parr¡¯s eyes widened, fear flickering in their depths. ¡°Never.¡±


    ¡°Remember his name?¡± pressed the Tinker.


    ¡°It eludes me,¡± admitted the dwarf.


    ¡°Anthony Darcy,¡± declared the Tinker, watching for a reaction.


    Old Parr¡¯s shock was palpable. ¡°That was his name! But how do you know?¡±


    The Tinker¡¯s smile was sly. ¡°We know more than you think. You might be useful, proving facts against him.¡±


    The dwarf¡¯s agitation grew. ¡°What facts? Against whom?¡±


    ¡°One more question,¡± continued the Tinker. ¡°Would you recognize him if you saw him again?¡±


    ¡°Undoubtedly,¡± affirmed Old Parr. ¡°He haunts my dreams.¡±


    ¡°Shall we involve him?¡± the Tinker consulted his comrades.


    ¡°Aye,¡± murmured the Sandman.


    ¡°Wait,¡± cautioned Ginger, uncertainty clouding his features.


    ¡°No waiting,¡± insisted the Tinker. ¡°Examine these papers.¡± He handed Old Parr a pocketbook. ¡°Share your thoughts.¡±


    In the midst of their conversation, a sudden disturbance shattered the eerie calm of the room. A hand thrust through the banisters, shrouded in heavy black drapery, seized the dwarf by the neck, lifting him off the ground despite his frantic struggles and piercing screams.


    Chaos ensued. The dogs barked wildly, one of them trampling over the drowsy waiter who had been resting on the coals. The Tinker, cursing fiercely, lunged for the dwarf¡¯s legs but was too late. In an instant, the dwarf vanished, leaving behind only a sense of dread and confusion.


    ¡°What in the devil¡¯s name just happened?¡± exclaimed Ginger, his eyes wide with shock. ¡°And look! The old man took the pocket-book with him! It¡¯s as if the devil himself snatched him away. Perhaps his time was closer than he knew.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll retrieve him or that pocket-book, mark my words!¡± declared the Tinker, rushing up the stairs and climbing through the opening where a banister had been removed.


    In the darkness of the gallery, the Tinker called out, his voice echoing in the empty space. No response came, no sign of the dwarf could be found. Meanwhile, the others gathered below, their faces etched with fear and uncertainty.


    As the Tinker continued his fruitless search, venting his frustration with every step, the landlord arrived with the Sandman and Ginger, the latter accompanied by his still-barking dogs. The drowsy waiter, now wide awake and carrying a flickering candle, completed the anxious group.


    Despite their thorough search, no trace of the dwarf or any clue to his disappearance emerged. Astonishment and dread hung heavy in the air.


    ¡°What could have happened?¡± the landlord muttered, his expression grim.


    ¡°It¡¯s like the devil himself spirited him away,¡± the Tinker muttered, his frustration evident.


    ¡°I saw only a hand and a cloak,¡± the Sandman added.


    ¡°I swear I saw hoofs,¡± the waiter chimed in. ¡°And gleaming eyes!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a mystery,¡± the landlord concluded. ¡°No one could have entered or left unnoticed. Old Parr always secured the rooms.¡±


    ¡°All hope is lost,¡± sighed the Tinker. ¡°And our plans with it, I fear.¡±


    ¡°Not so fast,¡± Ginger interjected. ¡°The old man left this paper behind, dropped from his pocket-book as he fled. It might hold some answers. Let¡¯s return downstairs. There¡¯s nothing more to find here.¡±


    Agreeing with his sentiment, they descended back to the lower room, their minds filled with dread and unanswered questions.

 Chapter 4

    <hr>


    A week had drifted by since Anthony Darcy¡¯s ordeal in the derelict house, his body slowly healing from the brutal assault. Yet, he remained under the care of his rescuer, ensconced within the iron-merchant¡¯s abode.


    On a radiant morning, the door leading to the front yard creaked open, and a vision of youth and innocence emerged. Evaline Thorneycroft stepped out, a portrait of ethereal beauty against the backdrop of the day¡¯s burgeoning light.


    Evaline was a marvel of nature¡¯s craftsmanship¡ªslender and tall, her form a symphony of delicate curves and graceful lines. Her skin, porcelain white with a hint of blush, framed features that could rival heavenly seraphs. Summer blue eyes sparkled beneath arched brows, accentuated by locks of radiant hair cascading over her shoulders. Her attire, though modest, accentuated her fair complexion, a stark contrast against the yard¡¯s rugged ironwork.


    Her first task was to tend to her pet linnet in its cage, perched above the door. A massive bulldog, loyal and protective, received her affectionate pats as it emerged from its kennel. After exchanging pleasantries with the forge workers, she ventured deeper into the yard.


    The scene within was a curious amalgamation of chaos and craftsmanship. Rusty iron chains lay in tangled heaps like forgotten nets, old iron fixtures scattered about in a haphazard dance of neglect. The air carried the scent of metal and industry, mingling with the crisp morning breeze.


    Upright posts adorned with an assortment of ironware stood sentinel, each piece a testament to the merchant¡¯s trade¡ªrat-traps, man-traps, lanterns, and more, arranged with a peculiar aesthetic sense. Horse-shoes adorned beams, a rusty bell hanging solemnly in the center, while nearby, tools of the smithy awaited their next task.


    As Evaline stood, momentarily captivated by the beauty of the morning, the street beyond came alive with activity¡ªpassersby bustling about their day¡¯s affairs, carts laden with goods rumbling along the road. Lost in her thoughts, she leaned against the gate, savoring the gentle caress of the sun-kissed air.


    Unbeknownst to her, a figure cloaked in darkness observed from across the street. His gaze, intense and unwavering, lingered on Evaline, a silent observer in the midst of life¡¯s bustling stage.


    Venturing a short distance away, the enigmatic figure crossed over, retracing his steps towards the iron-merchant¡¯s abode. Evaline¡¯s attention was drawn to him for the first time, and she couldn¡¯t help but be unsettled by his eerie presence. His features, though handsome, exuded a malevolence that sent shivers down her spine. A cruel smirk played on his lips, his jet-black hair sharply contrasting against his deathly complexion. His dark, piercing eyes held a hypnotic allure, leaving Evaline trembling and unable to break free from their gaze. A foreboding of impending doom washed over her, fearing the stranger might somehow be intertwined with her destiny.


    The stranger, too, sensed the impact he had made. Abruptly halting, he locked eyes with Evaline, who stood transfixed, unable to tear herself away. A sense of urgency pushed her to retreat towards the safety of the house.


    As she reached the door, Anthony emerged, his pallor hinting at recent struggles, his left arm cradled in a sling.


    ¡°You seem distressed,¡± he remarked, noting Evaline¡¯s unease. ¡°What¡¯s troubling you?¡±


    ¡°Not much,¡± she replied, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. ¡°But I was alarmed by someone near the gate.¡±


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Indeed?¡± Anthony¡¯s concern deepened. ¡°Where is he? I see no one.¡±


    ¡°A tall man, draped in black?¡± Evaline described cautiously, following him.


    ¡°Ah!¡± Anthony¡¯s expression shifted. ¡°Has he been here?¡±


    ¡°You know of him?¡± Evaline pressed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve encountered someone matching that description,¡± he admitted, a tense smile flickering.


    ¡°The man is unforgettable,¡± Evaline continued, her voice trembling. ¡°He carries an air of malevolence that¡¯s hard to shake.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s him, no doubt,¡± Anthony confirmed, his tone darkening.


    ¡°Who is he?¡± Evaline demanded, her curiosity tinged with fear.


    ¡°A harbinger of misfortune,¡± Anthony replied gravely. ¡°I¡¯m grateful he¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°Are you certain?¡± Evaline¡¯s voice quivered as she glanced nervously along the road, but the mysterious figure had vanished into the shadows.


    ¡°So, after piquing my curiosity, you refuse to satisfy it?¡± she pressed, her tone tinged with frustration.


    ¡°I cannot,¡± Anthony replied firmly.


    ¡°Very well, then. I¡¯ll go prepare breakfast,¡± Evaline said, turning to leave. ¡°My father must be up by now.¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡± Anthony¡¯s voice halted her just before she reached the door. ¡°I need to speak with you.¡±


    Evaline paused, the color draining from her cheeks.


    But Anthony hesitated, unable to continue. They avoided each other¡¯s gaze, enveloped in an uneasy silence.


    ¡°Evaline,¡± Anthony finally spoke, ¡°I must leave your father¡¯s house today.¡±


    ¡°So soon?¡± Evaline¡¯s eyes searched his face. ¡°You¡¯re not fully recovered.¡±


    ¡°I cannot stay,¡± Anthony insisted.


    ¡°Cannot?¡± Evaline¡¯s voice quivered, but Anthony remained silent.


    The clinking of hammers from the workshop broke the tense silence.


    ¡°If you must go,¡± Evaline said after a moment, ¡°will we see you again?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Anthony replied. ¡°I owe your father a debt I fear I can never repay.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s happy to have saved you,¡± Evaline said. ¡°He¡¯ll be sorry to see you go so soon.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been here a week,¡± Anthony explained. ¡°Staying longer might complicate things.¡±


    A pause fell, broken by an old worker in the workshop muttering to his companion about the potential for a romance brewing between Evaline and Anthony.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean to pry,¡± Evaline said, looking up again, ¡°but as you¡¯re leaving, I¡¯m curious about your past.¡±


    ¡°I cannot share it,¡± Anthony¡¯s tone was resolute. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe me if I did. My history is darker than you can imagine. It¡¯s better if you see me as a monster, someone to avoid.¡±


    Evaline stared at him, concern and confusion flickering in her eyes.


    ¡°You think me mad,¡± Anthony continued, ¡°but I am not. I¡¯m painfully aware of my situation. Fate led me here, to you, and I¡¯ve seen your kindness. But I cannot risk your safety. Hate me if you must, but stay away from me.¡±


    ¡°You say this with purpose,¡± the girl¡¯s voice trembled with fear.


    ¡°My purpose is a warning,¡± Anthony¡¯s tone was grave. ¡°Loving me will only bring you harm¡ªgreat harm!¡±


    His words left her speechless, tears streaming down her face. Anthony gently took her hand.


    ¡°There¡¯s a dark fate that follows me, one you mustn¡¯t be part of,¡± he spoke solemnly.


    ¡°I wish you never came here,¡± she cried, her voice filled with anguish.


    ¡°Is it too late, then?¡± Anthony¡¯s despair was palpable.


    ¡°If loving you means danger,¡± she replied, ¡°then yes, it is.¡±


    ¡°Recant those words, Evaline,¡± Anthony pleaded, striking his forehead. ¡°But no, once said, they¡¯re irreversible. We¡¯re bound now. I must face my destiny.¡±


    A low growl from the dog drew their attention to the gate, where the sinister figure in the black cloak stood, a wicked smile playing on his lips.


    ¡°That¡¯s the man who frightened me!¡± Evaline exclaimed.


    ¡°It¡¯s who I suspected,¡± Anthony muttered. ¡°Leave me, Evaline. I¡¯ll join you soon.¡±


    As she retreated, trembling with fear, Anthony approached the intruder.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been searching for you,¡± the tall man spoke in a commanding tone. ¡°You missed our meeting.¡±


    ¡°An accident delayed me,¡± Anthony explained.


    ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± the man continued. ¡°But our meeting must happen soon. Three days from now, at seven in Hyde Park, by the statue.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be there,¡± Anthony promised.


    ¡°That girl,¡± the stranger nodded towards the house, ¡°she¡¯s next.¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Anthony¡¯s voice boomed.


    ¡°I trust you understand our agreement,¡± the stranger said with a smirk, then vanished into the night.


    ¡°Fate has ensnared me again,¡± Anthony muttered bitterly. ¡°But I¡¯ll protect Evaline at any cost. I must stay away from her.¡±


    Instead of returning to the house, he hurried in the opposite direction of the stranger, determined to break the dark chain that bound him.


    3.5

 CHAPTER 5

    <hr>


    The evening of the third day crept in like a shadow, casting its eerie embrace over Hyde Park as Anthony slipped through Stanhope Gate. A glance at his watch revealed the nearness of the appointed hour for his meeting with the enigmatic stranger. With swift strides, he cut across the park, his arm free from the sling that once bound it. His pace was urgent, yet his pallid complexion and disheveled appearance startled the few souls who crossed his path, their gazes lingering with unease.


    Approaching the edge of the Serpentine River, Anthony¡¯s haunted gaze fixated on the dark waters below. ¡°If only I could find solace in their depths,¡± he muttered, his voice a whisper lost in the night. ¡°But escape eludes me. I must bear the weight of my sins, seek a way to free myself from this torment. Once I feared the unknown, now I crave its revelation.¡±


    His contemplation was shattered by a dark form surfacing on the water, initially mistaken for a monstrous fish with eerie green fins. Closer inspection revealed a human figure, adorned in masquerade attire, its feeble struggles a testament to life clinging on. Despite moments earlier considering his own demise, instinct urged Anthony to rescue the stranger. Without hesitation, he plunged into the icy embrace, clothes clinging, and reached the struggling figure¡ªa diminutive old man, garbed in pantomimic whimsy, a rope menacingly entwined around his neck.


    Without delay, Anthony seized the leather wings of the dwarf and propelled himself back to shore, dragging the other¡¯s limp form with him. As onlookers converged, their disbelief mingled with awe at the surreal scene before them. Oblivious to their presence, Anthony grappled with memories of the past, a sudden realization striking him. ¡°It¡¯s Flapdragon, my grandfather¡¯s attendant,¡± he exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief. ¡°But he¡¯s long dead! Yet the resemblance is uncanny!¡±


    His outburst puzzled the onlookers, who mistook the bizarre attire of the dwarf as a sideshow act gone awry. Hastily, they tended to the revived dwarf, administering brandy and warmth, their confusion mirrored in Anthony¡¯s haunted eyes as he stood amidst the unfolding mystery.


    ¡°It must be Flapdragon!¡± exclaimed Anthony, his voice edged with disbelief and dread.


    ¡°Ah! who calls me?¡± cried the dwarf, his voice echoing eerily in the gathering dusk.


    ¡°I!¡± Anthony¡¯s response was sharp, filled with a mix of recognition and apprehension. ¡°Do you not recollect me?¡±


    ¡°To be sure!¡± The dwarf¡¯s eyes widened, fixing on Anthony with an intensity that sent shivers down the onlookers¡¯ spines. ¡°You are¡ª¡ª¡± His words trailed off ominously.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°You have been thrown into the water, Master Flapdragon?¡± observed a bystander, his gaze drawn to the cord around the dwarf¡¯s throat, a stark symbol of his recent brush with death.


    ¡°I have,¡± the little old man confirmed, his voice carrying the weight of ancient secrets.


    ¡°By your governor¡ªthat is, by this person?¡± Another bystander pointed accusingly at Anthony, suspicion and fear mingling in his tone.


    ¡°By him¡ªno,¡± Flapdragon corrected, his gaze piercing through the shadows. ¡°I have not seen that gentleman for nearly three centuries.¡±


    ¡°Three centuries, my little patriarch?¡± The disbelief was palpable in the man who had offered the dwarf brandy. ¡°That¡¯s a long time. Think again.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s perfectly true, nevertheless,¡± the dwarf insisted, his eyes gleaming with an otherworldly knowingness.


    ¡°His wits have been washed away by the water,¡± the first speaker interjected, attempting to dismiss the dwarf¡¯s claims. ¡°Give him a drop more brandy.¡±


    ¡°Not a bit of it,¡± Flapdragon retorted sharply. ¡°My senses were never clearer than at this moment.¡±


    ¡°We must speak of this anon,¡± Anthony interjected, his tone cryptic yet urgent. ¡°Will you convey him to the nearest tavern?¡± He passed money to the man holding Flapdragon, a silent plea in his eyes.


    ¡°Willingly, sir,¡± the man acknowledged, his expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension. ¡°I¡¯ll take him to the Life Guardsman, near the barracks¡ªthat¡¯s the nearest public.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll join him there in an hour,¡± Anthony replied, his gaze already turning toward the looming darkness.


    As Anthony vanished into the gloom, the man lifted Flapdragon in his arms, a task made heavier by the dwarf¡¯s dripping form. They moved toward the barracks, leaving behind an atmosphere heavy with unanswered questions and foreboding shadows.


    Alone on the bench, Anthony was consumed by a darkness that matched the encroaching night. His thoughts were a labyrinth of secrets and fears, swirling like the impending storm. Just as despair threatened to engulf him, a hand rested on his shoulder, a touch that felt like a harbinger of unknown perils lurking in the shadows.


    upon him.


    ¡°Possession of the girl I saw three days ago,¡± the stranger¡¯s demand was as cold as death itself. ¡°The iron-merchant¡¯s daughter, Evaline. She must be mine.¡±


    ¡°Never!¡± Anthony¡¯s defiance rang out, his resolve firm. ¡°Never will I surrender her to you.¡±


    ¡°Beware how you tempt me to exert my power,¡± the stranger¡¯s warning carried an ominous weight. ¡°She must be mine¡ªor face dire consequences.¡±


    ¡°I defy you!¡± Anthony¡¯s words were a challenge, though his heart raced with fear. ¡°I will never consent to such evil.¡±


    ¡°Fool!¡± The stranger¡¯s grip tightened on Anthony¡¯s arm, his gaze burning with a wrathful intensity. ¡°Bring her to me ere the week be out, or dread my vengeance!¡±


    With those words, the stranger shrouded himself in his cloak, melting into the darkness behind the looming statue. A sudden gust of wind moaned through the park, heralding the arrival of heavy rain that drummed a menacing rhythm against the earth. Yet Anthony remained rooted to the bench, his mind a whirlwind of dread and determination, knowing that a dark and treacherous path lay ahead.

 CHAPTER 6

    <hr>


    On a serene spring afternoon, the sun cast a gentle glow over Langham Church as a stout middle-aged man, accompanied by a young woman of captivating beauty, stationed themselves in its front. As the clock chimed two, a young man emerged from a side street, stumbling upon the couple unawares. His discomfort was palpable, mirrored in the young lady¡¯s deep blush and concealed delight. Ignoring the awkwardness, the elder man extended his hand to the young man and exclaimed:


    ¡°Mr. Darcy, is it truly you? We feared we had lost you! What led to your sudden departure? We¡¯ve awaited your explanation eagerly. My daughter has been quite anxious, haven¡¯t you, Evaline?¡±


    Evaline remained silent, her eyes cast downward.


    ¡°I had intended to explain my abrupt leave today,¡± Anthony replied. ¡°I trust you received my letter, explaining the unavoidable circumstances.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, and the snuffbox as well,¡± Mr. Thorneycroft interjected. ¡°But you omitted to provide an address for acknowledgment.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t give one at the time,¡± Anthony explained.


    ¡°I¡¯m pleased to see your arm has recovered,¡± Mr. Thorneycroft observed. ¡°But you appear paler. What do you think, Evaline?¡±


    ¡°Mr. Darcy seems troubled, as if burdened by mental distress rather than physical ailment,¡± Evaline timidly remarked.


    ¡°I am,¡± Anthony admitted, his gaze locking with Evaline¡¯s. ¡°A grave incident has befallen me. But answer me, has the mysterious figure in the black cloak troubled you again?¡±


    ¡°What figure?¡± Mr. Thorneycroft inquired, surprised.


    ¡°Forget it, father,¡± Evaline interjected. ¡°I saw him last night. I was alone in the back room, wondering about your whereabouts, when a tap sounded on the partly open window. I saw the tall stranger in the dim light, his eyes gleaming fiercely like a predator¡¯s. He spoke of you, Anthony, and directed me to Langham Place tomorrow at two. He vanished before I could respond.¡±


    ¡°You never mentioned this!¡± Mr. Thorneycroft exclaimed. ¡°You brought me out hoping to find Mr. Darcy but kept this certainty hidden. Did you send this stranger to her?¡± he asked Anthony.


    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t,¡± Anthony replied somberly.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Mr. Thorneycroft mused. ¡°In any case, join us for dinner, won¡¯t you?¡±


    Anthony hesitated, but a pleading look from Evaline changed his mind. ¡°I¡¯ll accept,¡± he said, offering his arm to her as they walked towards Oxford Street, Mr. Thorneycroft following a few steps behind.


    As they walked along the Quadrant, the shadows seemed to deepen around them, casting an eerie veil over the bustling street. Evaline¡¯s voice carried a tone of gratitude and sorrow as she spoke to Anthony.


    ¡°This kindness means so much to me, Mr. Darcy,¡± Evaline said. ¡°I¡¯ve been in such torment!¡±


    ¡°I regret causing you distress,¡± Anthony replied, his voice tinged with remorse. ¡°I wished you could forget me.¡±


    ¡°I never could,¡± she protested, her words ringing with sincerity.


    A tremor ran through Anthony¡¯s body, noticeable to Evaline. ¡°What¡¯s troubling you?¡± she asked, her concern growing.


    ¡°I would have stayed away if I could,¡± Anthony admitted. ¡°But fate, a cruel master, has brought us together again.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m relieved,¡± Evaline said, her relief genuine. ¡°Since our last talk, I¡¯ve pondered your words. I believe you¡¯re confused from your recent accident.¡±


    ¡°Do not be fooled,¡± Anthony warned urgently. ¡°I¡¯m under a dark influence. Remember the figure at your window?¡±


    ¡°What about him?¡± Evaline¡¯s voice quivered with fear.


    ¡°He controls my fate,¡± Anthony revealed.


    ¡°How does he involve me?¡± Evaline¡¯s voice trembled.


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    ¡°He has plans,¡± Anthony replied, his voice shaking.


    ¡°You¡¯re scaring me,¡± Evaline confessed. ¡°Please explain.¡±


    Before Anthony could respond, Mr. Thorneycroft intervened, diverting their conversation.


    As they neared the Quadrant, a man with an odd collection of dogs caught Evaline¡¯s eye. It was Mr. Ginger.


    ¡°What a lovely dog!¡± Evaline exclaimed, drawn to a Charles the Second spaniel.


    ¡°Allow me to give it to you?¡± Anthony offered.


    ¡°It would mean a lot, but I can¡¯t accept it,¡± Evaline replied, blushing.


    The dog-fancier, noticing Evaline¡¯s interest, urged her. ¡°Have a look, miss. She¡¯s gentle as a Morehouse.¡±


    Evaline couldn¡¯t resist patting the spaniel¡¯s head. ¡°Fairy seems fond of you,¡± Ginger remarked. ¡°I¡¯d sell her at a bargain, not taking advantage of you.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your bargain?¡± Evaline asked, intrigued.


    ¡°I¡¯d love to gift her, but I must earn,¡± Ginger explained. ¡°I¡¯ll offer her at a fair price, a trifle above what I paid.¡±


    ¡°Hope you didn¡¯t pay too much,¡± Evaline quipped, her smile returning.


    In the midst of the bustling street, Ginger¡¯s voice carried a persuasive tone, mingled with hints of pride in his honesty.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t pay half her worth¡ªnot half,¡± Ginger confessed. ¡°And if you¡¯re not pleased with her in a month, I¡¯ll buy her back from you. You¡¯ll always find me here¡ªalways. Mr. Ginger¡ªthat¡¯s my name, miss. The only honest man in the dog-fancying line. Just ask Mr. Bishop, the renowned gunmaker of Bond Street, about me¡ªthe Bishop of Bond Street as the elites call him¡ªand he¡¯ll vouch for me.¡±


    ¡°But you haven¡¯t answered the lady¡¯s question,¡± Anthony interjected. ¡°What¡¯s the price for the dog?¡±


    ¡°Do you want it for yourself or her?¡± Ginger inquired, eyes flickering with calculation.


    ¡°What does it matter?¡± Anthony snapped, his patience fraying.


    ¡°It matters a great deal, sir,¡± Ginger explained calmly. ¡°For you, she¡¯s twenty-five guineas. For the young lady, twenty.¡±


    ¡°What if I purchase her for the young lady?¡± Anthony questioned sharply.


    ¡°In that case, sir, you¡¯ll have her at the lower price,¡± Ginger clarified.


    ¡°I hope you¡¯re not serious about buying the dog?¡± Mr. Thorneycroft interjected, disapprovingly eyeing the spaniel.


    ¡°The price is exorbitant,¡± Thorneycroft criticized.


    ¡°It may seem so to you, sir, in your ignorance of the value of such an animal,¡± Ginger defended. ¡°But I assure you, she¡¯s worth every penny. Why, just last week, the Prussian Ambassador bought a Charles from me for eighty guineas to gift to a duchess acquaintance. And let me tell you, the dog I sold him couldn¡¯t compare to Fairy here.¡±


    ¡°Rubbish!¡± Thorneycroft dismissed, clearly unimpressed.


    ¡°It¡¯s no exaggeration,¡± Ginger insisted. ¡°Look at those ears, miss¡ªlong as your own ringlets¡ªand those paws. You won¡¯t find a better deal at twenty pounds.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s indeed charming,¡± Evaline conceded, gently stroking the spaniel¡¯s head.


    Meanwhile, two suspicious figures lurked nearby, eyeing Anthony with hidden intent.


    ¡°It¡¯s him,¡± the taller one whispered to his companion. ¡°Anthony Darcy.¡±


    ¡°Looks like him,¡± the other agreed, peering cautiously.


    ¡°It¡¯s him, Sandman,¡± the taller one affirmed. ¡°We must signal our comrade.¡±


    ¡°Well, miss,¡± Ginger coaxed, ¡°your sweetheart¡ªI¡¯m certain he¡¯s your sweetheart¡ªshall give me fifteen pounds, and the dog is yours. I¡¯ll take a loss of five pounds for such a kind customer as you. Fairy deserves a caring mistress.¡±


    Caught in his thoughts, Anthony suddenly snapped back. ¡°What are you saying?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m saying the young lady can have the dog for fifteen pounds,¡± Ginger reiterated, eyes gleaming with the promise of a sale.


    ¡°No, Anthony,¡± Evaline intervened swiftly. ¡°It¡¯s too much.¡±


    ¡°Far too much, Mr. Darcy,¡± Thorneycroft added, echoing her sentiment.


    In the dimly lit street, Ginger¡¯s muttered words carried a weight of suspicion and intrigue.


    ¡°Anthony and Darcy!¡± Ginger muttered under his breath. ¡°Could this be the gentleman we¡¯ve been searching for? Where are my two partners, I wonder? Ah, there they are,¡± he added, noticing a signal from behind the pillar. ¡°They¡¯re keeping watch, I see.¡±


    ¡°Give the lady the dog and take the money,¡± Anthony demanded sharply.


    ¡°Excuse me, sir,¡± Ginger interjected, ¡°shouldn¡¯t I escort the dog to the young lady¡¯s home? It might encounter mishaps along the way.¡±


    ¡°Mishaps? Nonsense!¡± Mr. Thorneycroft scoffed. ¡°The rogue only wants to track you home, learn your address, and steal the dog back. Take my advice, Mr. Darcy, and don¡¯t proceed with the purchase.¡±


    ¡°The deal is done,¡± Ginger stated firmly, handing the dog to Evaline and pocketing the money from Anthony.


    ¡°How can I thank you for this, Anthony?¡± Evaline exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with joy.


    ¡°By directing your affection toward this treasure,¡± Anthony replied in a hushed tone.


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible,¡± Evaline countered.


    ¡°Let¡¯s depart immediately,¡± Mr. Thorneycroft suggested. ¡°Cab!¡±


    As they prepared to leave, Anthony felt a presence beside him¡ªa tall, imposing figure.


    ¡°Excuse me, sir,¡± the man said, tipping his hat, ¡°but are you Mr. Anthony Darcy?¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± Anthony confirmed, eyeing the man intently. ¡°Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°I need a private word with you, sir,¡± the man continued. ¡°Alone.¡±


    ¡°Speak now or leave,¡± Anthony demanded. ¡°I have no business with you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll want to hear me out, sir,¡± the man persisted, his tone cryptic. ¡°I must speak with you¡ªprivately.¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t leave, I¡¯ll summon the authorities,¡± Anthony threatened.


    ¡°No, you won¡¯t, sir¡ªno, you won¡¯t,¡± the man replied, shaking his head. Lowering his voice, he added, ¡°You¡¯ll be keen on buying my silence when you learn what secrets of yours I¡¯ve uncovered.¡±


    ¡°Are you coming, Mr. Darcy?¡± Thorneycroft called from the coach.


    ¡°I need to speak with this man,¡± Anthony replied. ¡°I¡¯ll join you later. Farewell, Evaline.¡± As the coach departed, Anthony turned to the man. ¡°Now, what is it?¡±


    ¡°Come this way, sir,¡± the man said, gesturing towards a shadowy alley. ¡°Two of my associates wish to be present. Let¡¯s find a quieter spot.¡±

 CHAPTER 7

    <hr>


    Anthony followed the Tinker through the dimly lit alleys of Great Windmill Street, a sense of dread gnawing at him. The Tinker led the way with Ginger and the Sandman trailing close behind. They reached a shadowy establishment known as the Black Lion. The flickering lantern outside cast ominous shadows on the cracked walls, adding to the foreboding atmosphere.


    Once inside, Ginger handed over his canine companions to the landlord, a man with a face as rough as the bark of an old tree. The landlord nodded, recognizing Ginger, and ushered the group into a secluded back room. The air inside was thick with the scent of stale ale and pipe smoke. Anthony threw himself into a rickety chair, while Ginger positioned himself near the door, ensuring no escape.


    ¡°Now, what do you want with me?¡± Anthony demanded, his voice edged with impatience.


    ¡°You¡¯ll find out soon enough,¡± the Tinker replied, his tone dripping with malice. ¡°First, it¡¯s worth mentioning that a certain pocket-book has been found.¡±


    Anthony¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You¡¯re the scoundrels who ambushed me in the old house on Vauxhall Road!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± the Tinker said, a cruel smile spreading across his face. ¡°We found your pocket-book and made some truly horrifying discoveries. It was enough to make our hair stand on end. You¡¯re quite the fiend, aren¡¯t you? Seems you¡¯ve been making away with young women every decade. Your last victim was in 1820, the one before that in 1810, and so on.¡±


    ¡°Hanging¡¯s too good for the likes of you,¡± the Sandman spat. ¡°If we turn you in, you¡¯re certain to swing.¡±


    ¡°That pretty lady we saw earlier isn¡¯t your next target, is she?¡± Ginger sneered.


    ¡°Silence!¡± Anthony thundered, his anger barely contained. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°A hundred pounds each will buy our silence,¡± the Tinker stated flatly.


    ¡°We should be asking for double that,¡± the Sandman growled. ¡°Considering the monstrous crimes you¡¯ve committed, we¡¯re doing you a favor by asking so little. We don¡¯t commit wholesale murder.¡±


    ¡°Speak for yourself,¡± Ginger muttered, casting a nervous glance around.


    ¡°You might think we don¡¯t know your full story,¡± the Tinker continued, ¡°but let me jog your memory. Ever hear of a man who murdered Doctor Morehouse, the renowned alchemist of Queen Elizabeth¡¯s time? And after drinking the elixir the doctor brewed for himself, he¡¯s lived ever since. Know anyone like that?¡±


    Anthony stared at him, disbelief etched across his face. ¡°What nonsense are you spouting?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s no nonsense,¡± the Tinker said confidently. ¡°We have a witness¡ªa living witness.¡±


    ¡°What witness?¡± Anthony demanded.


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    ¡°Remember the dwarf who served Doctor Morehouse?¡± the Tinker replied. ¡°He¡¯s still alive. We call him Old Parr, given his great age.¡±


    ¡°Where is he? What¡¯s become of him?¡± Anthony pressed, desperation seeping into his voice.


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯ll produce him in due time,¡± the Tinker said slyly. ¡°But tell me, sir, now that we understand each other, do you agree to our terms? Give us the money, and we won¡¯t trouble you further.¡±


    ¡°The pocket-book must be returned to me if I agree,¡± Anthony insisted. ¡°And you must find the dwarf.¡±


    ¡°Well, that might be tricky,¡± the Tinker hedged. ¡°But the pocket-book will never be used against you, you have my word.¡±


    ¡°I must have it, or you get nothing from me,¡± Anthony declared firmly.


    ¡°Here¡¯s a piece from the pocket-book,¡± Ginger said, pulling out a worn slip of paper. ¡°Want to hear what it says? ¡®How many crimes have I to reproach myself with! How many innocents have I destroyed! And all owing to my fatal compact with¡ª¡¯¡±


    ¡°Give me that paper,¡± Anthony shouted, lunging at Ginger to snatch the damning evidence.


    At that critical moment, as Ginger recoiled from Anthony¡¯s grasp, the door behind them creaked open silently. A hand, pale and ghostly, slipped through the crack and snatched the paper from Ginger¡¯s grasp. The door shut with a quiet but decisive click before anyone could react.


    ¡°Hey! What just happened?¡± Ginger exclaimed, bewildered. ¡°The paper¡¯s gone!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the hand again!¡± the Sandman gasped, eyes wide with terror. ¡°Check the passage! Quick!¡±


    Ginger hesitated but eventually opened the door a crack and peered into the dim hallway. ¡°There¡¯s no one here. Must be the devil himself. I¡¯m done with this!¡±


    ¡°Stop being a coward!¡± the Tinker scolded, though his voice wavered. ¡°No matter what, the gentleman won¡¯t leave until he agrees to pay us three hundred pounds.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t scare me that easily,¡± Anthony shot back, his voice steely. ¡°I can summon help with a mere stamp of my foot, and you¡¯ll be overpowered.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t provoke him,¡± Ginger whispered urgently, tugging at the Tinker¡¯s sleeve. ¡°I¡¯m out of here. No amount of money is worth this.¡± He slipped out of the room, visibly shaken.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see what¡¯s up with Ginger,¡± the Sandman mumbled, slinking after his companion.


    The Tinker, now alone with Anthony, glanced around nervously, his bravado faltering. Shadows seemed to creep closer, whispering fears into his ears.


    ¡°Here, take this purse, and leave me be!¡± Anthony hurled a pouch of coins at the Tinker.


    The Tinker caught it reflexively but immediately placed it back down. ¡°I¡¯m no saint, but I won¡¯t sell my soul to the devil,¡± he muttered before fleeing.


    Left alone, Anthony slumped into a chair, burying his face in his hands. His mind whirled with dread and despair. When he finally looked up, a tall figure in a black cloak loomed beside him, a sinister smile curling his lips.


    ¡°You again?¡± Anthony¡¯s voice trembled.


    ¡°Naturally,¡± the stranger replied smoothly. ¡°I¡¯m here to ensure your safety. Those men meant you harm, but worry no more. I have your pocket-book and the incriminating slip of paper.¡± He produced both with a flourish. ¡°Now, let us discuss more pressing matters. You just parted from Evaline. You¡¯ll see her again this evening.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Anthony muttered.


    ¡°You will,¡± the stranger insisted, his tone commanding. ¡°Remember, your ten-year limit is nearly up. If you do not renew it, the consequences will be dire, and you know them well. With the means to renew in your possession, why hesitate?¡±


    ¡°I refuse to sacrifice her,¡± Anthony replied, his voice firm.


    ¡°You have no choice,¡± the stranger sneered. ¡°I command you to bring her to me.¡±


    ¡°I will not,¡± Anthony retorted, defiance burning in his eyes.


    ¡°Defiance is futile,¡± the stranger said, his voice like ice. ¡°A new moon has risen. When it reaches its first quarter, Evaline shall be mine. Until then, farewell.¡±


    With those chilling words, the stranger vanished through the door, leaving Anthony in the oppressive silence, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and resolve.

 Chapter 8

    <hr>


    Who hasn¡¯t heard of the infamous Barber of London? His shop, nestled near Lincoln¡¯s Inn, is known to every member of the legal profession. High or low, from the judges down to the most junior barristers, all frequent Mr. Tuffnell Trigge¡¯s establishment for a haircut or a wig dressing. Mr. Trigge, a man as pleasant and gossipy as Figaro himself, has become a fixture in the legal community. If you need a shave, a stylish flow imparted to your stubborn locks, or a bespoke wig, Mr. Trigge is the man to see. Not only will he attend to your grooming needs, but he¡¯ll also regale you with the latest court gossip, the most recent quip from Mr. Serjeant Larkins, and the number of briefs received by the eminent Mr. Skinner Fyne. By the time you rise from his chair, you¡¯ll feel you¡¯ve spent a most delightful five minutes.


    Mr. Trigge¡¯s shop is a haven for notable characters. You might see a newly minted barrister ordering his first wig, with Mr. Trigge predicting his future success with an air of certainty. ¡°Ah, sir,¡± he¡¯ll say, eyeing the young man¡¯s stoic features, ¡°you have quite the face of a Chief Justice. Quite the face. I wasn¡¯t around when he ordered his first wig, but I hope to see you reach the same heights. Quite within your reach, sir, if you apply yourself. Absolutely sure of it.¡± Or you might witness him attending to a grave master in Chancery, listening intently to his musings, or laughing heartily at the jokes of a witty special pleader. Discussions about theaters, actors, and actresses are common when young attorneys or conveyancing pupils visit, for they are Mr. Trigge¡¯s favorite customers. With them, he is in his element, earning the moniker of the Barber of London. His clientele also includes managing clerks, barristers¡¯ clerks, engrossing clerks, and others, who often become his private friends.


    Mr. Trigge¡¯s shop isn¡¯t one of those pristine West End establishments with grand mirrors on every wall and shelves stocked with fancy grooming products. No, his is a genuine barber¡¯s shop of the old school, where you can get a cut and curl for a shilling and a shave for half that price. The floor is not carpeted but bears the marks of countless customers, scattered with their hair. In the window, a collection of wax busts showcases Mr. Trigge¡¯s artistry, alongside several examples of legal wigs. On the counter behind the window, amidst large pots of pomade and bears¡¯-grease, and the irons and brushes in constant use, stand other lifelike busts, ever-smiling into the room. A judge¡¯s wig, freshly dressed by Mr. Trigge, sits on a block, and a counsel¡¯s wig on a higher one. Portraits of Lord Eldon and Lord Lyndhurst adorn the walls, along with those of pretty actresses. A playbill is displayed near the counter, and a piece of crockery advertises the availability of bears¡¯-grease on the premises. Amongst Mr. Trigge¡¯s live stock is a chattering magpie in a wicker cage, which, according to its master, ¡°knows everything as well as a Christian.¡±


    As for Mr. Tuffnell Trigge himself, he is a tall, thin man who stands so straight he loses not an inch of his stature. His large head and long face are marked by a self-satisfied expression, a testament to the talent that earned him the title of the Barber of London. A fringe of black whisker adorns his cheek and chin, and his bristly black hair is brushed back to reveal a prodigious forehead. His eyebrows are perpetually raised, as if in constant scorn.


    Mr. Trigge typically dons a black velvet waistcoat and tight black trousers, protected by a white apron with pockets for his scissors and combs. Over this, he wears a short nankeen jacket, with his hands frequently thrust into its pockets when not otherwise occupied. A black satin stock with a large bow encircles his throat, and black enamel studs fasten his shirt. Such is Mr. Tuffnell Trigge, the renowned Barber of London.


    At the time of this tale, Mr. Trigge had just advertised for an assistant, as his current young man, Rutherford Watts, was about to set up his own shop in Canterbury. It was around two o¡¯clock when Mr. Trigge, having just taken some refreshment in an inner room, returned to find Watts cutting the hair of a sour-looking middle-aged gentleman seated by the fire. Mr. Trigge bowed to the gentleman, ready to engage in conversation, but receiving no response, turned to chat with his magpie.


    As he chattered, the bird screeched, ¡°Pretty dear!¡ªpretty dear!¡±


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    ¡°What¡¯s that? Who is it?¡± Trigge called out, startled.


    ¡°Pretty dear!¡ªpretty dear!¡± the magpie reiterated, its beady eyes gleaming with mischief.


    Mr. Tuffnell Trigge¡¯s day had been progressing with the mundane rhythm of snipping scissors and murmured gossip when a peculiar figure darkened the doorway. This newcomer, a curious little man with the appearance of a groom¡ªclad in a long grey coat, drab knees, and small top-boots¡ªstepped into the shop. His large, protruding mouth and shock of black hair gave him a distinctly simian visage.


    ¡°Pretty dear!¡ªpretty dear!¡± screeched the magpie from its cage.


    ¡°I see nothing pretty about him,¡± mused Mr. Trigge, his eyes narrowing. ¡°What a strange little fellow! Even the Lord Chancellor would be hard-pressed to guess his age.¡±


    The little man doffed his hat, bowing deeply to the barber before unfurling the Times newspaper he carried. He held it up towards Mr. Trigge, pointing to an advertisement.


    ¡°What do you want, my little friend, eh?¡± inquired Trigge, curiosity piqued.


    ¡°High wages!¡ªhigh wages!¡± echoed the magpie, its beady eyes glinting with mischief.


    ¡°Is this yours, sir?¡± the little man asked, indicating the ad.


    ¡°Yes, yes, that¡¯s my advertisement,¡± replied Mr. Trigge. ¡°But what of it?¡±


    Before the little man could respond, a commotion erupted. Watts, distracted by the newcomer, had neglected the hot curling-irons, resulting in a burn on the sour-looking gentleman¡¯s forehead and singed hair.


    ¡°Take care, sir!¡± the gentleman bellowed, fury etched on his face. ¡°What the devil are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Yes, take care, sir, as Judge Learmouth says to a saucy witness,¡± chimed in Trigge. ¡°¡®Take care, or I¡¯ll commit you!¡¯¡±


    ¡°Damn Judge Learmouth!¡± the gentleman snapped. ¡°If I were a judge, I¡¯d hang such a careless fellow.¡±


    ¡°Sarve him right!¡± screeched the magpie. ¡°Sarve him right!¡±


    ¡°Beg pardon, sir,¡± stammered Watts. ¡°I¡¯ll rectify it in a minute.¡±


    Turning back to the little man, Trigge inquired, ¡°Well, my little friend, what brings you here? As the great conveyancer Mr. Plodwell says to his clients¡ªwhat is your purpose?¡±


    ¡°You need an assistant, don¡¯t you, sir?¡± the little man replied humbly.


    ¡°Are you applying for yourself or on behalf of someone else?¡± Trigge asked, a note of skepticism in his voice.


    ¡°For myself,¡± the little man answered.


    ¡°And what are your qualifications?¡± Trigge demanded. ¡°What can you do?¡±


    ¡°I believe I understand the business,¡± the little man said quietly. ¡°I was a perruquier myself when wigs were more fashionable.¡±


    ¡°Ha! Indeed?¡± Trigge laughed. ¡°That must have been in the last century¡ªin Queen Anne¡¯s time, perhaps?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve hit it exactly, sir,¡± the little man replied. ¡°It was in Queen Anne¡¯s time.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps you recall when wigs were first worn, my little Nestor?¡± Trigge jeered.


    ¡°I do,¡± the little man said, unperturbed. ¡°French periwigs were first worn during Charles the Second¡¯s reign.¡±


    ¡°You saw them, of course?¡± the barber sneered.


    ¡°I did,¡± the little man answered simply.


    ¡°Oh, he must be out of his mind,¡± Trigge muttered. ¡°We¡¯ll have to issue a commission de lunatico here, as the Master of the Rolls might say.¡±


    ¡°I hope I may suit you, sir,¡± the little man said earnestly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so, my friend,¡± Trigge replied, shaking his head. ¡°You don¡¯t have the hand for hairdressing. Do you realize the talent required for this art? Do you understand what it cost me to earn the title of the Barber of London? I¡¯m as proud of that title as if I were¡ª¡±


    ¡°Lord Chancellor!¡ªLord Chancellor!¡± the magpie interrupted.


    ¡°Precisely, Mag,¡± said Mr. Trigge. ¡°As if I were Lord Chancellor.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m sorry to hear that,¡± the little man said, looking dejected.


    ¡°Pretty dear!¡± the magpie screeched again. ¡°Pretty dear!¡±


    ¡°What a remarkable bird you have,¡± the sour-looking gentleman remarked, rising and paying Mr. Trigge. ¡°Its responses are quite fitting.¡±


    ¡°Ah, Mag is a clever creature, sir¡ªvery clever,¡± the barber replied. ¡°She cost me a good deal.¡±


    ¡°Little or nothing!¡ªlittle or nothing!¡± screeched Mag.


    ¡°What is your name, friend?¡± the gentleman asked, addressing the little man who lingered in the shop.


    ¡°Why, sir, I¡¯ve had many names,¡± he replied. ¡°At one time I was called Flapdragon, at another, Old Parr. But my true name is Gregory Morse.¡±


    ¡°An Old Bailey answer,¡± Trigge muttered, shaking his head. ¡°Flapdragon, alias Old Parr, alias Gregory Morse, alias¡ª¡±


    ¡°Pretty dear!¡± screeched Mag.


    ¡°And you¡¯re looking for a job?¡± the gentleman asked, scrutinizing Morse.


    ¡°Desperately,¡± Morse replied.


    ¡°Well then, follow me,¡± the gentleman said, a strange smile curling his lips. ¡°I¡¯ll see what can be done for you.¡±


    And with that, they left the shop together, the door swinging shut with an ominous creak.

 CHAPTER 9

    <hr>


    Despite his resolve to avoid Evaline, Anthony found himself drawn to her with an irresistible force, becoming a daily presence at her father¡¯s house. Mr. Thorneycroft, observing their growing attachment, was pleased. He wanted his daughter to marry the man she loved and hinted to Anthony about a substantial marriage portion to ensure her happiness.


    Recently, Anthony¡¯s demeanor had shifted dramatically. The melancholy that had once clouded his spirits seemed to dissipate, replaced by a newfound cheerfulness that enchanted Evaline. She began to dream blissfully of their future together.


    One evening, they strolled together, their steps naturally leading them towards the river. As they lingered on the banks, they admired the full tide, the glorious sunset, and whispered sweet nothings, each word imbued with the tender eloquence of lovers.


    ¡°Oh, how different you are from a week ago,¡± Evaline teased. ¡°Promise me you won¡¯t fall into those gloomy moods again.¡±


    ¡°I will try my best, sweet Evaline,¡± Anthony replied. ¡°But my spirits are not always within my control. Even I am surprised by my cheerfulness tonight.¡±


    ¡°I have never felt so happy,¡± Evaline said, her eyes shining. ¡°The calm river, the warm sky still flushed with red from the sunset¡ªit¡¯s all so soothing. And look, there¡¯s the crescent moon in her first quarter.¡±


    ¡°The moon in her first quarter!¡± Anthony gasped, his voice suddenly filled with anguish. ¡°Then all is lost.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Evaline asked, alarmed by his sudden change.


    ¡°Oh, Evaline,¡± he said, his voice breaking. ¡°I must leave you. I¡¯ve let myself dream of happiness for too long. I¡¯m cursed, destined to bring misery to those who love me. I warned you from the start, but you wouldn¡¯t believe me. Let me go, and maybe it¡¯s not too late to save you.¡±


    ¡°No, don¡¯t leave me!¡± Evaline cried, clinging to him. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid as long as you¡¯re with me.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand the terrible fate I¡¯m bound to,¡± Anthony said. ¡°Tonight is the night it will be fulfilled.¡±


    ¡°Your dark thoughts don¡¯t scare me anymore, dear Anthony,¡± she said gently. ¡°I know they¡¯re just figments of your imagination. Come, let¡¯s continue our walk.¡± She took his arm, trying to soothe him.


    ¡°Evaline,¡± he implored, ¡°please, let me go. I can¡¯t leave unless you help me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it,¡± she said, determined. ¡°Then I¡¯ll hold you fast.¡±


    ¡°You have no idea what you¡¯re doing!¡± Anthony cried. ¡°Release me! Please, release me!¡±


    ¡°In a few moments, this will pass,¡± she said confidently. ¡°Let¡¯s walk towards the abbey.¡±


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    ¡°It¡¯s useless to fight fate,¡± Anthony muttered despairingly.


    He let her lead him, his resistance ebbing. Evaline spoke to him, but her words fell on deaf ears, and soon, she too fell silent. They walked along Millbank Street and Abingdon Street, turning off towards an old, partially-demolished building. By now, the darkness was complete, the moon hidden behind a shroud of clouds. A light glowed from an upper story window, casting eerie shadows on the broken walls, creating a haunting, picturesque scene.


    Evaline paused, her eyes fixed on the ruin, her curiosity piqued. ¡°Let¡¯s go inside,¡± she whispered, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and unease. Anthony, lost in his own thoughts, offered no resistance. They stepped through an arched doorway and ascended a narrow, spiral stone staircase. At the top, they emerged into a roofless chamber, littered with tools and debris, a testament to its impending demolition.


    A large archway, partially bricked up, yawned ominously on one side. A narrow doorway, elevated from the ground, was accessible only by a precarious plank. Beneath it lay a pile of stones, some carved into grotesque faces that seemed to mock them in the flickering light. In the center of the chamber, a gaping square hole revealed the top of a ladder, next to a flaming brazier that cast eerie shadows on the crumbling walls. The crescent moon hung low in the sky, its ghostly light casting a pallid glow over the scene.


    ¡°What a strange place,¡± Evaline murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°It feels like something out of a dark romance. I wonder where that trap leads.¡±


    ¡°To the vault below, most likely,¡± Anthony replied, his voice tight with tension. ¡°But why did we come here?¡±


    As he spoke, a chilling sound echoed through the chamber¡ªa mocking laughter that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.


    ¡°Did you hear that?¡± Anthony asked, his eyes wide with fear.


    ¡°It¡¯s just laughter from the street,¡± Evaline tried to reassure him, though her own heart raced. ¡°You¡¯re scaring yourself over nothing, Anthony.¡±


    ¡°No, Evaline, it¡¯s not without reason,¡± he insisted. ¡°I am ensnared by a malevolent force, one that seeks to harm you. Listen to me¡ªwhatever I say, however unbelievable, know it is the truth.¡±


    ¡°Beware!¡± A deep voice boomed from the depths below, sending a shiver down Evaline¡¯s spine.


    ¡°Someone¡¯s here,¡± she gasped, her earlier bravado crumbling. ¡°Let¡¯s leave, Anthony. Now.¡±


    ¡°Come on, then,¡± Anthony urged, but their path was blocked.


    ¡°Not so fast,¡± the deep voice echoed again, and from the shadows emerged a figure draped in a black cloak, his presence suffocating and sinister.


    ¡°Evaline, you are mine,¡± the stranger declared. ¡°Anthony has delivered you to me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a lie!¡± Anthony shouted, stepping protectively in front of Evaline. ¡°I will never surrender her to you.¡±


    ¡°Remember your pact,¡± the stranger sneered, his voice dripping with malice.


    Evaline turned to Anthony, horror in her eyes. ¡°Anthony, what have you done? Have you made a deal with this demon?¡±


    ¡°He has,¡± the stranger confirmed, his laughter echoing off the stone walls. ¡°And by that pact, you belong to me.¡±


    The stranger advanced, his cloak swirling around Evaline, muffling her cries. Anthony lunged at him, desperate to free her. ¡°Release her, or I renounce our pact entirely!¡±


    ¡°Fool!¡± the stranger hissed. ¡°You dare defy me? Face your doom.¡±


    He stomped the ground, and from the trap-door, a skeletal arm shot up, its grip like iron around Anthony¡¯s wrist.


    As Evaline was dragged toward the narrow doorway, the stranger looked back, his face a mask of triumph. ¡°Behold the moon in her first quarter,¡± he mocked. ¡°My words are fulfilled.¡±


    With a final, taunting laugh, he disappeared into the darkness, taking Evaline with him.


    Anthony struggled against the unyielding grip, his shouts of rage and despair echoing through the chamber. The arm pulled him down, dragging him into the black abyss of the vault, leaving only his desperate cries to haunt the ruins.

 CHAPTER 10

    <hr>


    One fog-laden morning, two figures strode along Parliament Street and Whitehall, their conversation an animated murmur against the backdrop of the city¡¯s early bustle. They turned into Spring Gardens, their destination the statue at Charing Cross. One of them, a man of dwarfish stature and withered features, walked with a peculiar gait. The other, of average height but thin and slightly stooped with age, possessed a sharp countenance softened by a benevolent expression. His black coat, though worn and well-brushed, was buttoned up to the chin. He wore black tights, short drab gaiters, a white neckcloth, and spectacles.


    This was Mr. Loftus, a retired merchant of moderate means residing in Abingdon Street. A bachelor by choice, he indulged his passion for antiquities, often rambling through the city in search of historical curiosities. His companion was Morse, whose presence seemed as out of place as Loftus¡¯ curiosity was piqued.


    ¡°By Jove, Morse! What a magnificent statue!¡± Loftus exclaimed, his eyes wide with admiration. ¡°The horse is absolutely splendid.¡±


    ¡°I remember when this very spot bore a gibbet, and instead of a statue, there was an effigy of the martyred king,¡± Morse replied, his voice thick with the weight of bygone days. ¡°That was during the Protectorate.¡±


    ¡°You and your memories, Morse,¡± Loftus chuckled. ¡°I almost envy your belief in living through centuries.¡±


    ¡°I only wish you could have seen the old cross that once stood here, erected by Edward I for his beloved Eleanor of Castile,¡± Morse continued, ignoring Loftus¡¯ jest. ¡°Even in its mutilated state, with broken pinnacles and defaced foliage, the queen¡¯s statues in the recesses were still a sight to behold.¡±


    ¡°That must have been a marvel,¡± Loftus mused, rubbing his hands together. ¡°Though I admire the statue, I would have loved to see that Gothic cross. It¡¯s a miracle this one escaped destruction during Cromwell¡¯s reign.¡±


    ¡°I can tell you exactly how that happened,¡± Morse said, his tone darkening. ¡°I was an assistant to John Rivers, the brazier who bought the statue.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Loftus exclaimed, leaning in. ¡°I¡¯ve heard bits of the story, but I¡¯d love to know the full tale.¡±


    ¡°Then listen well,¡± Morse began. ¡°That statue, cast by Hubert le Sueur in 1633, was ordered by Parliament to be sold and destroyed. John Rivers, a secret Royalist, offered a hefty sum for it and became its purchaser. But hiding it was the challenge. He trusted no one but me, knowing my loyalty matched his. We dug a deep pit in his cellar and buried the statue. It took us a month, during which Rivers collected old brass pieces. He presented these as the statue¡¯s remains. The real jest was yet to come. Rivers cast knife and fork handles from the brass, selling them as pieces of the statue. Cavaliers bought them as mementos, and Roundheads as tokens of victory. In this way, he recouped his expenses.¡±


    ¡°Ha! ha! ha!¡± Loftus laughed heartily, his breath forming ghostly puffs in the cold air.


    ¡°When the Restoration came,¡± Morse continued, his voice low, ¡°Rivers revealed the hidden statue to King Charles II. It was unearthed and restored to its place. Whether Rivers was rewarded, I can¡¯t recall, but his satisfaction came from preserving a piece of history.¡±


    ¡°No reward could surpass that,¡± Loftus declared. ¡°Now, let¡¯s inspect the sculpture on the pedestal more closely.¡±


    They crossed the road, and Loftus, removing his hat, peered through the iron railing surrounding the pedestal. Morse, eager to illustrate the details, climbed onto a nearby stump.


    As they scrutinized the statue, the fog thickened, cloaking the city in a shroud of mystery. Their figures, silhouetted against the gloomy morning, seemed to blend with the dark Gothic surroundings, adding a palpable sense of foreboding to their historical reverie.


    ¡°You are aware that this is the work of Grinling Gibbons, sir?¡± cried the dwarf, his voice cutting through the morning mist.


    ¡°Indeed, I am,¡± replied Loftus, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. ¡°The finesse and vibrancy in the depiction of these trophies are simply unparalleled!¡±


    ¡°The rendering of the royal arms is equally exquisite,¡± Morse added, his fingers tracing the intricate carvings.


    ¡°Never seen anything finer,¡± Loftus affirmed, almost breathless with admiration. ¡°Truly, a masterpiece.¡±


    As anyone familiar with London knows, it takes little to gather a crowd, and our two antiquaries soon found themselves the center of attention. Ragged urchins encircled them, craning their necks to see what the pair were examining, all the while making jesting remarks. They were quickly joined by a motley group: a young street-sweeper, a ticket-porter, a butcher¡¯s apprentice, an elderly Jewish peddler, a coal heaver, and two charity boys.


    ¡°My eyes!¡± exclaimed the street-sweeper, his broom resting against his shoulder. ¡°Look at these gents! If they ain¡¯t a couple of greenhorns, I¡¯ll eat my broom.¡±


    ¡°Old Spectacles thinks he¡¯s cracked the code,¡± remarked the porter with a smirk. ¡°We¡¯ll find out what it all means soon enough.¡±


    ¡°Bless my heart,¡± muttered the Jewish peddler, his accent thick with curiosity. ¡°What a pair of peculiar old gentlemen. I wonder what they think they¡¯re seeing?¡±


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    ¡°I¡¯ll tell ¡®ee, mate,¡± chimed in the butcher¡¯s apprentice, his apron stained with the morning¡¯s work. ¡°They¡¯re seein¡¯ who can see furthest into a millstone.¡±


    ¡°Imagine living my whole life in London and never truly appreciating this splendid work of art!¡± Loftus exclaimed, oblivious to the curious eyes fixed upon him.


    ¡°Take a closer look, old gentleman,¡± the porter taunted. ¡°The closer you get, the more you¡¯ll admire it.¡±


    ¡°Quite true,¡± Loftus responded, mistaking the porter¡¯s voice for Morse¡¯s. ¡°It¡¯ll bear the closest inspection.¡±


    ¡°Hey, Ned,¡± whispered one charity boy to the other, ¡°think they dropped something inside the railing. See what it is.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid of spiking myself, Joe,¡± replied Ned. ¡°But give us a lift, and I¡¯ll try.¡±


    ¡°What are you up to there, you young rascals?¡± bellowed the coal heaver. ¡°Come down, or I¡¯ll fetch the police!¡±


    ¡°Look at these two clowns!¡± sneered a ragamuffin lad, his bulldog straining at the leash. ¡°I feel like tossing the little one off the post and setting Tartar on him. Here, boy, here!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯d be a laugh, Spicer!¡± cried another miscreant.


    ¡°Arrah! leave them be, you young devils!¡± shouted an Irish bricklayer. ¡°Can¡¯t you see they¡¯re just two peaceable antiquaries?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re antiquaries, are they?¡± mocked the street-sweeper. ¡°Well, I¡¯ve never seen the likes of them before, have you, Sam?¡±


    ¡°Never,¡± replied the porter, shaking his head.


    ¡°Och, murder in Irish! You¡¯ve upset me and all the fruits of my labor!¡± shrieked an applewoman, as the bricklayer¡¯s barrow collided with her stall. ¡°Devil take you for a careless lout! Why don¡¯t you look where you¡¯re going?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Molly,¡± said the bricklayer, flustered. ¡°I was so taken by those antiquaries that I didn¡¯t see you.¡±


    ¡°Antiquaries be damned! What¡¯s such vermin to me?¡± the applewoman spat. ¡°You¡¯ve ruined my day¡¯s market! Curse you!¡±


    ¡°Never mind, Molly,¡± the bricklayer consoled. ¡°I¡¯ll make it up to you. Pick up your apples and join me for a drop of the good stuff.¡±


    Amidst the commotion, a stout gentleman approached from the far side of the statue. Spotting Loftus, he called out, ¡°Why, brother-in-law, is that you?¡±


    Loftus, engrossed in his admiration of the statue, didn¡¯t respond. ¡°Grinling Gibbons,¡± he murmured, tracing the intricate carvings. ¡°Horace Walpole said that no one before him could give to wood the airy lightness of a flower, and here he has given it to stone.¡±


    ¡°Fine words, my good fellow,¡± the stout gentleman interrupted, grabbing Loftus by the shoulder. ¡°But don¡¯t you see the crowd you¡¯re gathering? You¡¯ll be mobbed soon.¡±


    ¡°How the devil did you get here, brother Thorneycroft?¡± Loftus finally recognized him.


    ¡°Come along, and I¡¯ll explain,¡± the iron merchant said, dragging him away, with Morse close behind. ¡°I¡¯m so glad to have found you,¡± Thorneycroft continued as they escaped the mob. ¡°You¡¯ll be shocked to hear what¡¯s happened to your niece, Evaline.¡±


    ¡°What has happened to her?¡± Loftus demanded, his heart pounding. ¡°You alarm me. Out with it at once. I hate to be kept in suspense.¡±


    ¡°She has left me,¡± Thorneycroft lamented, his voice tinged with a bitterness that cut through the chilly air. ¡°Left her old, indulgent father¡ªrun away.¡±


    ¡°Run away?¡± Loftus repeated, his eyes widening in disbelief. ¡°Impossible! I won¡¯t believe it, even from your lips.¡±


    ¡°I wish it weren¡¯t true, but alas, it is,¡± Thorneycroft responded mournfully. ¡°And it was so unnecessary. I would have gladly given her to the young man. My only hope is that she hasn¡¯t utterly disgraced herself.¡±


    ¡°No, she¡¯s too principled for that,¡± Loftus reassured him. ¡°Rest easy on that score. But with whom has she run away?¡±


    ¡°A young man named Anthony Darcy,¡± Thorneycroft revealed. ¡°He came to my house under peculiar circumstances.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of him,¡± Loftus said.


    ¡°But I have,¡± interjected Morse, his voice carrying a strange, timeless weight. ¡°I¡¯ve known him for two hundred years.¡±


    ¡°Who is this?¡± Thorneycroft demanded, eyes narrowing.


    ¡°A crack-brained fellow I¡¯ve engaged as my valet,¡± Loftus explained. ¡°He fancies he was born in Queen Elizabeth¡¯s time.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s no fancy,¡± Morse insisted. ¡°I am well acquainted with Anthony Darcy¡¯s history. He drank the same elixir as myself.¡±


    ¡°If you know him, can you help us find him?¡± Thorneycroft asked, hope flickering in his eyes.


    ¡°I am sorry, but I cannot,¡± Morse replied. ¡°I only saw him for a few minutes the other night, after I was thrown into the Serpentine by the tall man in the black cloak.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Thorneycroft exclaimed, his voice quickening. ¡°I¡¯ve heard Evaline speak of a tall man in a black cloak. I hope he has nothing to do with her disappearance.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he did,¡± Morse said. ¡°I believe that black-cloaked gentleman to be¡ª¡±


    ¡°What! Who?¡± Thorneycroft demanded urgently.


    ¡°None other than the devil himself,¡± Morse declared mysteriously.


    ¡°Rubbish!¡± Loftus scoffed. ¡°I told you the poor fellow was half-cracked.¡±


    At that moment, a roguish-looking fellow with fiery red whiskers and hair, dressed in a velveteen jacket with ivory buttons, approached. He had been watching Thorneycroft from a distance. Touching his hat, he said, ¡°Mr. Thorneycroft, I believe?¡±


    ¡°My name is Thorneycroft,¡± the iron-merchant responded, eyeing him warily. ¡°And your name is Ginger, I fancy?¡±


    ¡°Exactly, sir,¡± Ginger replied, touching his hat again. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d remember me, sir. I¡¯ve got news about your daughter.¡±


    ¡°Evaline!¡± Thorneycroft exclaimed, his voice thick with emotion. ¡°I hope your news is good.¡±


    ¡°I wish it was better, for her sake and yours, sir,¡± Ginger said gravely. ¡°But I¡¯m afraid she¡¯s in very bad hands.¡±


    ¡°She is if she¡¯s with the black-cloaked gentleman,¡± Morse added.


    ¡°Why, Old Parr, is that you?¡± Ginger asked, astonished. ¡°How you¡¯ve changed!¡±


    ¡°But what of my daughter?¡± Thorneycroft pressed. ¡°Where is she? Take me to her, and you¡¯ll be well rewarded.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best to take you to her, and without any reward,¡± Ginger said. ¡°My heart bleeds for the poor young creature. She¡¯s in dreadful bad hands.¡±


    ¡°Do you mean Mr. Anthony Darcy?¡± Thorneycroft asked.


    ¡°No, he¡¯s as much a victim of this infernal plot as your daughter,¡± Ginger replied. ¡°I thought differently of him at first, but I¡¯ve changed my mind since learning more.¡±


    ¡°Your hints alarm me,¡± Thorneycroft said, his face pale. ¡°What can we do?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll know more in a few hours,¡± Ginger said. ¡°I don¡¯t have the exact clue yet. But come to me at eleven tonight, at the Turk¡¯s Head, behind Shoreditch Church, and I¡¯ll put you on the right track. You must come alone.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d prefer my brother-in-law accompany me,¡± Thorneycroft said.


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t help,¡± Ginger replied. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure there¡¯s plenty of assistance. It¡¯s a dangerous business, and it can only be managed a certain way by a certain person, and he¡¯d object to anyone but you. Tonight, at eleven. Goodbye, Old Parr. We¡¯ll meet again soon.¡±


    And without another word, he hurried away, leaving Thorneycroft and Loftus standing in the gathering gloom, shadows lengthening around them like sinister tendrils.

 Chapter 11

    <hr>


    On that same fateful night, precisely at the appointed hour, Mr. Thorneycroft made his way to the shadowy recesses of Shoreditch. The narrow, dimly lit street behind the ancient church led him to the Turk¡¯s Head, a decrepit tavern with an air of foreboding. A solitary hackney-coach stood ominously at the entrance.


    Inside, the landlord directed him to a cramped, dimly lit back room where three men sat around a small table, the acrid scent of gin and tobacco smoke hanging heavy in the air. A fourth figure loomed near the fire, his broad back turned to the door. Wrapped in a rough, threadbare greatcoat, this tall, powerfully built man did not acknowledge Thorneycroft¡¯s entrance.


    ¡°Punctual, Mr. Thorneycroft,¡± Ginger greeted, rising from the table, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. ¡°I¡¯ve arranged everything, sir. My friends here are ready to take on the job. But they won¡¯t do it on quite such easy terms as mine.¡±


    The Tinker and the Sandman, rugged men with hard eyes and harder lives, nodded in agreement, their faces partially obscured by shadows.


    ¡°As I told you this morning, Mr. Thorneycroft,¡± Ginger continued, his tone grave, ¡°this is a difficult and dangerous business. There¡¯s no telling what might come of it. But it¡¯s your only chance of recovering your daughter.¡±


    ¡°Yes, your only chance,¡± the Tinker echoed, his voice a rasp.


    ¡°We¡¯re risking our lives for you, sir,¡± added the Sandman, ¡°so naturally, we expect a proportionate reward.¡±


    ¡°If you help me regain my daughter, you will not find me ungrateful,¡± Thorneycroft promised, his voice firm with determination.


    ¡°I need a hundred pounds,¡± the Tinker stated flatly. ¡°That¡¯s my minimum.¡±


    ¡°And mine too,¡± the Sandman agreed.


    ¡°I want nothing but the glory,¡± Ginger declared. ¡°I¡¯m the sworn champion of distressed young damsels. But my friends must make their own bargains.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Thorneycroft said quickly. ¡°The sooner we set out, the better.¡±


    ¡°Are you armed?¡± Ginger asked, his eyes glinting in the firelight.


    ¡°I have a brace of pistols in my pocket,¡± Thorneycroft replied, patting his coat.


    ¡°Good. We¡¯re all equipped with pistols and cutlasses,¡± Ginger confirmed. ¡°Let¡¯s be off.¡±


    As the Tinker and Sandman rose from their seats, the man by the fire slowly turned around. Thorneycroft¡¯s breath caught in his throat as he saw the stranger¡¯s face was concealed behind a piece of black crape.


    ¡°Who is this?¡± Thorneycroft asked, suspicion gnawing at him.


    ¡°A friend,¡± Ginger replied. ¡°Without him, we can do nothing. His name is Reeks, and he¡¯s the leader of our enterprise.¡±


    ¡°He expects a reward too, I suppose?¡± Thorneycroft inquired, his voice tinged with wariness.


    ¡°I will tell you what reward I claim, Mr. Thorneycroft,¡± Reeks said, his voice deep and menacing, ¡°when all is over. For now, give me your solemn pledge that whatever you see tonight, you will not divulge.¡±


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    ¡°I give it,¡± Thorneycroft agreed reluctantly, ¡°provided always¡ª¡±


    ¡°No provisions, sir,¡± Reeks interrupted sharply. ¡°You must swear to keep silent unconditionally, or I will not guide you. I alone can lead you to your daughter.¡±


    ¡°Swear, sir. It¡¯s your only chance,¡± Ginger whispered urgently.


    ¡°If it must be, I swear to keep silent,¡± Thorneycroft conceded. ¡°But your proceedings are highly mysterious.¡±


    ¡°The entire affair is mysterious,¡± Reeks replied coolly. ¡°You must also consent to be blindfolded when you enter the coach.¡±


    ¡°Anything more?¡± Thorneycroft asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.


    ¡°You must obey my orders without question when we reach our destination,¡± Reeks demanded. ¡°Otherwise, there is no chance of success.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± Thorneycroft said, resignation in his tone. ¡°I have no choice but to agree.¡±


    ¡°All is clearly understood, then,¡± Reeks concluded. ¡°We can set out.¡±


    Ginger led Thorneycroft to the waiting coach, and as soon as he was inside, tied a handkerchief tightly over his eyes. In the stifling darkness, Thorneycroft could hear the Tinker and Sandman settling in beside him. The absence of Reeks¡¯ voice suggested he had taken a position outside, perhaps on the coachman¡¯s seat, guiding their journey into the unknown.


    The coach lurched forward, and with it, Thorneycroft felt his heart plummet into a chasm of dread and anticipation. The night ahead promised revelations cloaked in shadows, and the iron-merchant steeled himself for whatever grim truths awaited.


    The coach lurched forward, rattling over the cobblestones at a brisk, almost reckless pace. It twisted and turned through a labyrinth of narrow streets before finally settling into a steady, rhythmic clatter. The air grew fresher, the surroundings quieter, and Mr. Thorneycroft began to suspect they had left the confines of the city for the isolation of the countryside. A tense silence enveloped the occupants; not a word was exchanged.


    After what felt like an eternity, the coach came to a sudden halt. The door creaked open, and rough hands helped Thorneycroft disembark. He anticipated the removal of his blindfold, but Reeks instead gripped his arm tightly, pulling him along at a swift pace.


    ¡°Be cautious,¡± Reeks whispered, his voice a mere breath against Thorneycroft¡¯s ear. ¡°Stay close to the wall.¡±


    They moved stealthily, the sound of their footsteps muffled against the damp earth. A door creaked open ahead of them, and as they crossed its threshold, it shut with a resonant thud behind them.


    Only then did Reeks remove the blindfold. Thorneycroft blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim, eerie light of a cloudy night. They stood in a large, overgrown garden, choked with weeds and shadowed by the silhouette of a dilapidated mansion. The once-grand structure loomed ominously, its windows like vacant, soulless eyes.


    ¡°We have arrived,¡± Reeks announced, his tone devoid of emotion. ¡°You will need all your courage.¡±


    ¡°I will rescue her, or die trying,¡± Thorneycroft declared, brandishing his pistols with a determined gleam in his eye.


    The others drew their cutlasses, the metal glinting faintly in the moonlight.


    ¡°Follow me, and do exactly as I say,¡± Reeks commanded.


    He led them down a narrow alley framed by dense, foreboding hedges of privet. The path ended at the rear of the mansion, where Reeks approached a low window. With deft, practiced movements, he silently pried it open. One by one, they slipped inside, the darkness swallowing them whole.


    The interior was as forsaken as the garden, with peeling wallpaper, broken furniture, and an air of desolation that clung to every surface. Reeks moved with silent precision, guiding them through the shadows with an unsettling familiarity.


    A faint, almost imperceptible sound caught Thorneycroft¡¯s attention. He strained to hear, his heart pounding in his chest. Was it a whisper? A cry for help? The weight of anticipation pressed heavily upon him.


    ¡°Stay close and keep silent,¡± Reeks warned, his eyes glinting with a strange intensity.


    They advanced deeper into the mansion, each step echoing with the weight of their collective resolve. The old house seemed to breathe around them, its ancient timbers groaning and settling as if disturbed by their presence. Shadows danced in the corners of Thorneycroft¡¯s vision, and he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that unseen eyes were watching their every move.


    Finally, they reached a set of grand, ornate doors, their surface marred by time and neglect. Reeks paused, his hand resting on the tarnished handle.


    ¡°Beyond this door lies the heart of the mystery,¡± he said quietly. ¡°Prepare yourselves for whatever horrors may await.¡±


    With a determined nod from Thorneycroft, Reeks pushed the door open. The creak of its hinges was a mournful wail, echoing through the hollow halls as they stepped into the unknown, ready to face whatever darkness lay ahead.

 Chapter 12

    <hr>


    We now return to the fateful night of Evaline¡¯s abduction by the enigmatic stranger. Terror-stricken and barely conscious, Evaline sensed herself being carried down a steep descent, her captor¡¯s movements purposeful and unyielding. They traversed a considerable distance on level ground before she was placed into a carriage, which hurtled forward at a breakneck pace. Though blind to her surroundings, Evaline¡¯s mind conjured the horrifying image of a precipice, each jarring motion suggesting an imminent and fatal plunge.


    At last, the vehicle halted. Evaline was lifted out, carried through a labyrinthine passage, and the groan of ancient hinges announced the opening of a door. Once inside, she was unceremoniously deposited on a bench, her terror overwhelming her into unconsciousness.


    When she awoke, Evaline found herself seated on a black velvet fauteuil in a vast, shadowy chamber. The room¡¯s oppressive gloom was only broken by the flickering light of a massive lamp, its flame casting grotesque shadows on the black marble walls. Supporting her was the stranger, his eyes cold and unrelenting. He held a large goblet filled with a potent liquid, pressing it to her lips and forcing her to drink. The powerful stimulant revived her but filled her with a strange, uncontrollable energy. She struggled against it, her will battling the foreign sensation.


    ¡°Drink!¡± the stranger commanded, his voice a harsh whisper. ¡°You need your strength for what lies ahead.¡±


    Evaline mechanically raised the goblet to her lips, but as she caught the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, she flung it to the ground.


    ¡°Foolish girl,¡± he hissed. ¡°That potion would have fortified you.¡±


    Evaline averted her gaze from his, feeling the weight of his malevolent influence. Her eyes darted around the chamber, taking in its sepulchral atmosphere. The black marble walls and floor added to the sense of being entombed. Nearby, an estrade draped in black velvet held a table, upon which rested a lamp fashioned like a demonic imp, its wings supporting a cauldron. The lamp¡¯s multiple burners cast a lurid glow, enhancing the room¡¯s eerie ambiance.


    A dagger with an ornate hilt was embedded in the table beside a mask, an open book, an antique inkstand, and a parchment inscribed with ominous characters. Dominating the lower end of the room, a massive black curtain concealed some unknown horror. Two jet-black vases stood sentinel at its base, adding to the chamber¡¯s cryptic menace.


    ¡°What is behind that curtain?¡± Evaline asked, her voice trembling.


    ¡°You will see soon enough,¡± the stranger replied. ¡°For now, sit in that chair and read the writing on the scroll.¡±


    Evaline hesitated, but the stranger¡¯s grip tightened as he led her to the chair.


    ¡°Read,¡± he commanded.


    Evaline glanced at the document and shivered. ¡°By this,¡± she read aloud, ¡°I surrender myself, body and soul, to you?¡±


    ¡°You do,¡± the stranger affirmed, his voice dark with triumph.


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    ¡°I have committed no sin that warrants damnation,¡± Evaline cried, falling to her knees. ¡°I call upon Heaven for protection! Begone, fiend!¡±


    At her words, the cap of the lamp fell, plunging the room into impenetrable darkness. Mocking laughter echoed around her, mingling with wailing cries of inexpressible horror.


    Evaline prayed fervently, her pleas for deliverance intertwining with thoughts of Anthony. Her prayers were interrupted by strains of exquisite music emanating from behind the curtain, followed by a deafening gong. The lamp¡¯s cover lifted, and the burners reignited, bathing the room in a hellish light. Clouds of incense rose from the vases, filling the air with a cloying, stupefying fragrance.


    Again, the gong sounded, and Evaline¡¯s gaze was drawn to the curtain. Towering above the vases were two gigantic figures, cloaked in black, their faces hidden by monk-like hoods. Gleaming eyes peered from behind masks, their hands crossed upon their chests. At their feet crouched two other spectral figures, similarly attired, their fingers pointed mockingly at her.


    A strong light behind the curtain revealed a staircase of black marble, leading to some unseen chamber. A gigantic shadow loomed against the drapery, a hand pointing ominously towards her.


    Evaline covered her eyes, but curiosity soon forced her to look again. An ebony door revolved open, admitting three female figures, robed in black, hooded, and veiled. They advanced soundlessly, stopping a few paces from her.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Evaline cried, her voice edged with hysteria.


    ¡°We are the victims of Anthony,¡± the figure on the right intoned. ¡°As we are, so shall you be.¡±


    ¡°What crime have you committed?¡± Evaline demanded.


    ¡°We have loved him,¡± the second figure replied, their voices a haunting chorus in the oppressive gloom.


    ¡°Is that a crime?¡± Evaline cried out. ¡°If so, I am equally guilty with you.¡±


    ¡°You will share our doom,¡± replied the third figure, her voice a chilling echo.


    ¡°Heaven have mercy upon me!¡± Evaline exclaimed, collapsing to her knees in desperation.


    A voice, deep and terrible, boomed from behind the curtain, ¡°Sign, or Anthony is lost forever.¡±


    ¡°I cannot yield my soul, even to save him,¡± Evaline replied, her voice trembling with anguish.


    ¡°Witness his punishment, then,¡± the voice commanded.


    A side door creaked open, and Anthony was dragged forth by two masked figures, their garb reminiscent of Inquisition torturers.


    ¡°Do not yield to this fiend, Evaline!¡± Anthony¡¯s voice was desperate, his eyes pleading.


    ¡°Will you save him before he is cast, living, into the tomb?¡± the voice taunted.


    A heavy marble slab rose slowly from the floor near Evaline, revealing a dark, yawning abyss. She stared into the pit, her heart pounding with indescribable terror.


    ¡°There he will be immured, unless you sign,¡± the voice hissed. ¡°As he is immortal, he will endure an eternity of torture.¡±


    ¡°I cannot save him that way, but I may precede him,¡± Evaline cried. With a final, desperate glance at Anthony, she threw her hands aloft and plunged into the pit.


    A horrific scream echoed through the chamber. It came from Anthony, who struggled frantically against his captors, trying to follow her into the abyss.


    Moments later, as Anthony gazed into the darkness, a tongue of blue flame erupted from the pit, danced eerily in the air, and then vanished. From the abyss, a figure shrouded in black slowly ascended, appearing to float without support, and stood motionless at the edge.


    ¡°Evaline!¡± Anthony¡¯s voice was filled with despair. ¡°Is it you?¡±


    The figure nodded but remained silent.


    ¡°Sign!¡± the voice thundered again. ¡°Your attempt at self-destruction has placed you wholly in my power. Sign!¡±


    The figure moved toward the table. To Anthony¡¯s horror, it picked up the pen and inscribed a name on the parchment. He leaned forward and saw the name: Evaline Thorneycroft.


    A groan of utter despair escaped him, echoed by a roar of diabolical laughter. The figure moved away and joined the other veiled forms.


    ¡°All is accomplished,¡± the voice declared triumphantly. ¡°Away with him!¡±

 Chapter 13

    <hr>


    YEAR 1800


    On the night of March 1st, 1800, in the witching hour, a man cloaked in a heavy horseman¡¯s mantle, with a sinister and unsettling air, stepped into an old, abandoned house near Stepney Green. He stood tall, exuding an eerie vigor of early manhood, yet his features bore the ravages of depravity and excess. His eyes, dark and gleaming with a malevolent spark, added to his diabolical presence.


    He had slipped into the house from the overgrown garden at the back and now stood in a vast, dilapidated hall. A broad oaken staircase, adorned with intricately carved banisters, led up to a gallery and the upper chambers. The place exuded an oppressive dread. The once grand ceiling sagged under the weight of cobwebs, sections of it collapsed into piles of dust. Dampness had erased the glory of the tapestry-clad walls. The black and white marble tiles beneath his feet were loose and wobbled with each step. A cavernous, empty fireplace yawned like a dark abyss. The window bolts were rusted shut, and the thick layer of dust on the outer door indicated that it had not been opened in years.


    The man produced a dark lantern from beneath his cloak, casting a dim, flickering light around the decrepit hall. A sardonic smile curled his lips as he surveyed his surroundings. With deliberate steps, he moved toward an open door on the right, entering a large, oak-paneled room as decrepit as the hall.


    This chamber held one notable decoration: a portrait of an austere man in the cap and gown of Henry the Eighth¡¯s era, preserved by the damp walls. Below the portrait, a brass plate inscribed with mystical symbols bore the name ¡°Cyprianus de Rougemont, Fra. R.C.¡± and the date 1550.


    The man paused before the portrait, illuminating it with the lantern¡¯s light. The severe, philosophical features bore a resemblance to his own, particularly the same eerie glimmer in the eyes.


    ¡°Dost thou hear me, old ancestor?¡± he called, his voice echoing through the empty house. ¡°I, thy descendant, Cyprian de Rougemont, call upon thee to reveal where thy gold is hidden. I know thou wert a brother of the Rosy Cross, a master of nature¡¯s mysteries, buried here with vast treasures. Yet, despite my search and others before me, thy grave remains undiscovered. Last night, Satan appeared in a dream, bidding me come hither to find what I seek. He demanded either my soul or that of Anthony Darcy. I agreed. Now, show me thy treasure!¡±


    He struck the portrait with his clenched fist. ¡°Dost thou hear me, old ancestor? Give me thy treasure!¡± he demanded, striking again with greater force.


    The brass plate beneath the portrait dislodged and fell with a clatter.


    ¡°What is this?¡± Rougemont exclaimed, peering into the newly revealed cavity. ¡°Ha! My invocation has been answered!¡±


    Seizing the lantern, he discovered a stone with an iron ring at the recess¡¯s bottom. With a triumphant cry, he grasped the ring and pulled the stone aside, revealing an opening.


    ¡°This must be the entrance to my ancestor¡¯s tomb,¡± Rougemont declared. ¡°The old Rosicrucian kept his secret well, but the devil helped me to uncover it. Now, to procure the necessary tools.¡±


    He quickly exited the room, returning almost immediately with a mallet, lever, and pitchfork. Armed with these and the lantern, he squeezed through the opening and found himself at the top of a stone staircase. He descended into an arched vault entrance, where a stout oak door stood, inscribed with:


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    ¡°POST C.C.L. ANNOS PATEBO, 1550.¡±


    ¡°In 250 years, I shall open,¡± Rougemont read aloud. ¡°And the date¡ª1550¡ªyes, the time has come. Old Cyprian intended for me to find this. The devil¡¯s bargain was unnecessary. And look, the key remains in the lock.¡±


    He turned the key and pushed against the door. The rusted hinges gave way, and the door fell inward with a resounding crash.


    From the aperture left by the fallen door, a silvery light, soft yet eerie, streamed forth. Stepping into the room, Rougemont found himself in a spacious vault. Suspended from the ceiling was a large crystal globe, within which burned a small, perpetual flame, casting a gentle moon-like glow. This was the ever-burning lamp of the Rosicrucians, and Rougemont stared at it in astonishment. The flame had burned for two hundred and fifty years, undimmed and unwavering. Encircling the globe was a golden serpent biting its own tail¡ªa symbol of eternity. Above it, silver wings alluded to the soul. Chains of gold, twisted like snakes, suspended the lamp.


    But Rougemont¡¯s awe quickly turned to greed as he scanned the vault. The chamber was septilateral, about eight feet high, its stone walls supported by elegantly groined arches. The masonry was pristine, as if untouched by time.


    In six of the corners stood large chests, adorned with intricate ironwork, which Rougemont imagined were filled with untold treasures. In the seventh corner, near the door, was a small, exquisite monument of white marble, depicting two hooded figures kneeling and holding a veil between them, partially concealing a small recess. On one of the chests opposite the monument stood a bizarrely-shaped bottle and an antique cup, both encrusted with gems.


    The walls were covered with circles, squares, and diagrams, and adorned with grotesque carvings. At the center of the vault was a black marble altar, topped with a golden plate bearing the inscription:


    ¡°Hoc universi compendium unius mihi sepulcrum feci.¡±


    ¡°Here, then, lies old Cyprian,¡± Rougemont muttered.


    Driven by an irresistible impulse, he seized the altar by its upper rim and overturned it. The heavy marble fell with a thunderous crash, shattering the flagstone beneath it. A deep groan seemed to echo through the vault, a spectral reproach for his sacrilege. Undeterred, Rougemont wedged the point of his lever into the broken stone, and with all his strength, lifted the fragments, revealing the grave.


    Within the grave, clad in the garb he wore in life, with a white beard flowing to his waist, lay the uncoffined body of Cyprian de Rougemont. The corpse, carefully embalmed, was untouched by decay. On the chest, the hands clasped over it, lay a large book, bound in black vellum and fastened with brass clasps. Rougemont snatched up the book and knelt on the nearest chest, opening it eagerly. To his dismay, the pages were filled with cabalistic characters he could not decipher.


    At length, he found a page he could understand, and he lingered over it, an almost fiendish smile twisting his lips.


    ¡°Aha!¡± he exclaimed, closing the book. ¡°Now I understand the meaning of my dream. My ancestor¡¯s power was infernal, born of a pact with the Prince of Darkness. But what do I care? Give me wealth, no matter the source¡ªha! ha!¡±


    Grabbing the lever, he pried open the chest beside him. It was filled with bars of silver. The next chest contained gold. The third was laden with pearls and precious stones, and the rest held treasures beyond reckoning. Rougemont¡¯s eyes gleamed with unholy joy.


    ¡°At last, my wish is granted,¡± he cried. ¡°Boundless wealth, and thus, boundless power, are mine. I shall revel in pleasure¡ªrevel in vengeance. As for my soul, I¡¯ll risk its perdition. But Anthony¡¯s soul¡ªI will ensure its destruction. His gambling and his passion for Edith Talbot will be his undoing. And I have another tool at my disposal.¡±


    He glanced at the bottle. ¡°This bottle,¡± he murmured, ¡°contains an infernal potion, as described in the book. It shatters the brain without ending life, inducing maddening fancies. It will serve my purpose well. For this, I thank thee, Satan.¡±


    Rougemont¡¯s laughter echoed through the vault, a chilling sound that mingled with the eternal flame¡¯s flickering light.

 Chapter 14

    <hr>


    About two months after that fateful night, near midnight, a young man hurried along Pall Mall, his face twisted in the wildest despair. His headlong rush was abruptly halted by a firm grasp, and a familiar, chilling voice whispered in his ear.


    ¡°It is useless to contemplate self-destruction, Anthony Darcy,¡± said the figure that had seized him. ¡°If you find life unbearable, I can make it tolerable for you.¡±


    Anthony turned, recognizing the tall man shrouded in a long black cloak. The sinister features of Cyprian Rougemont, well-known to him, leered back.


    ¡°Leave me, Rougemont!¡± Anthony cried fiercely. ¡°I want no company¡ªleast of all yours. You know you¡¯ve ruined me, and there¡¯s nothing more to take. Leave, or I might harm you.¡±


    ¡°Tut, tut, Anthony. I am your friend,¡± Rougemont replied, a dark smile playing on his lips. ¡°I aim to ease your suffering.¡±


    ¡°Will you return the money you¡¯ve won from me?¡± Anthony demanded. ¡°Will you pay my relentless creditors? Save me from prison?¡±


    ¡°I will do all this, and more,¡± Rougemont said smoothly. ¡°I will make you one of the richest men in London.¡±


    ¡°Spare me your cruel jests,¡± Anthony snapped. ¡°I¡¯m in no mood for them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not jesting,¡± Rougemont said, his tone unwavering. ¡°Come with me, and you¡¯ll see my sincerity.¡±


    Reluctantly, Anthony followed. They turned into Saint James¡¯s Square and paused before a magnificent house. Rougemont ascended the steps, while Anthony, almost mechanically, stared in astonishment.


    ¡°Do you live here?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Ask no questions,¡± Rougemont replied, knocking at the door, which was promptly opened by a hall porter. Other servants in rich liveries appeared at a distance. Rougemont spoke softly to them, and they bowed respectfully to Anthony, leading the way up a grand staircase.


    All this was a bewildering mystery to Anthony, but he followed in silence, soon ushered into a lavishly furnished, brilliantly illuminated room.


    Once alone, Anthony exploded, ¡°Is it to mock me that you¡¯ve brought me here?¡±


    ¡°To mock you? No,¡± Rougemont replied. ¡°I told you, I mean to make you rich. But you look exhausted. A glass of wine will revive you.¡±


    Rougemont moved to a small cabinet, retrieving a curiously-shaped bottle and a goblet. ¡°Taste this wine¡ªit has been in my family for generations,¡± he said, filling the cup.


    Anthony drank it down in one gulp. ¡°It¡¯s a strange, bewildering drink,¡± he muttered, setting down the empty goblet and rubbing his eyes.


    ¡°You drank it on an empty stomach, that¡¯s all,¡± Rougemont reassured. ¡°You¡¯ll feel better soon.¡±


    ¡°I feel like I¡¯m going mad,¡± Anthony cried. ¡°What have you given me? Some damnable potion?¡±


    ¡°Ha! ha!¡± Rougemont laughed. ¡°Reminds you of the elixir you once quaffed, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Enough of this mockery!¡± Anthony snapped. ¡°I told you, I¡¯m in no mood for it.¡±


    ¡°Pshaw! No offence meant,¡± Rougemont said, changing his tone. ¡°What do you think of this house?¡±


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    ¡°It¡¯s magnificent,¡± Anthony admitted, glancing around. ¡°I envy you its possession.¡±


    ¡°It can be yours, if you wish,¡± Rougemont offered.


    ¡°Mine? You¡¯re mocking me again.¡±


    ¡°Not at all. You can buy it from me, if you please.¡±


    ¡°At what price?¡± Anthony asked bitterly.


    ¡°At a price you can easily pay,¡± Rougemont replied. ¡°Come, let¡¯s conclude the bargain.¡±


    They moved to the far end of the room, entering a small, exquisitely furnished chamber, surrounded by luxurious sofas. In the center was a table with writing materials.


    ¡°It would be pointless to give you this house without the means to maintain it,¡± Rougemont said, carefully closing the door. ¡°This pocket-book will provide for you.¡±


    ¡°Notes to an immense amount!¡± Anthony gasped, opening the pocket-book and glimpsing its contents.


    ¡°They are yours, along with the house,¡± Rougemont said, his voice a silken whisper, ¡°if you will but sign a compact with me.¡±


    ¡°A compact?¡± Anthony echoed, his eyes widening with indefinable terror. ¡°Who¡ªwhat are you?¡±


    ¡°Some might call me the devil,¡± Rougemont replied nonchalantly. ¡°But you know me too well to believe such nonsense. I offer you wealth. What more could you desire?¡±


    ¡°But on what terms?¡± Anthony demanded, suspicion lacing his words.


    ¡°The easiest imaginable,¡± Rougemont replied smoothly. ¡°See for yourself.¡±


    He opened a writing desk on the table and pulled out a parchment. ¡°Sit down,¡± he added. ¡°Read this.¡±


    Anthony complied, his hands trembling as he scanned the document. Fear and astonishment paralyzed him, causing the pocket-book to slip from his grasp. After a long, tense silence, he looked up at Rougemont, who was leaning over his shoulder, a derisive smile twisting his lips.


    ¡°Then you are the Fiend?¡± Anthony cried.


    ¡°If you insist,¡± Rougemont replied with a careless shrug.


    ¡°You are Satan in the guise of a man I once knew,¡± Anthony shouted, recoiling. ¡°Begone! I will have no dealings with you.¡±


    ¡°I thought you wiser than to succumb to such childish fears,¡± Rougemont chided. ¡°Even if your foolish notion of me is correct, why should you be alarmed? You are immortal.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± Anthony conceded, his voice thoughtful. ¡°But yet¡ª¡±


    ¡°Pshaw!¡± Rougemont interrupted. ¡°Sign, and be done with it.¡±


    ¡°By this compact, I am bound to deliver a victim¡ªa female victim¡ªwhenever you require it,¡± Anthony said, horror dawning on his face.


    ¡°Precisely,¡± Rougemont affirmed. ¡°You will find it a simple task.¡±


    ¡°But if I fail, I am doomed¡ª¡±


    ¡°You will not fail,¡± Rougemont interrupted, lighting a taper and sealing the parchment. ¡°Now, sign it.¡±


    Anthony mechanically took the pen, his eyes fixed on the document. ¡°I will bring eternal destruction upon myself if I sign it,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°A stroke of the pen will rescue you from utter ruin,¡± Rougemont whispered, leaning close. ¡°Riches and happiness are yours. You won¡¯t have such another chance.¡±


    ¡°Tempter!¡± Anthony cried, hastily scrawling his signature. But he recoiled in horror at the fiendish laugh that echoed through the room.


    ¡°I repent¡ªgive it back!¡± he cried, lunging for the parchment, which Rougemont quickly tucked into his cloak.


    ¡°It is too late!¡± Rougemont declared triumphantly. ¡°You are mine¡ªirredeemably mine.¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡± Anthony exclaimed, collapsing onto a couch.


    ¡°I leave you in possession of your house,¡± Rougemont continued, his voice dripping with malice. ¡°But I shall return in a week, when I will require my first victim.¡±


    ¡°Your first victim! Oh, Heaven!¡± Anthony gasped.


    ¡°Indeed. And my choice falls on Edith Talbot,¡± Rougemont said with a cruel smile.


    ¡°Edith Talbot!¡± Anthony cried. ¡°You want her? The one I love more than life itself?¡±


    ¡°It is precisely because she loves you that I have chosen her,¡± Rougemont sneered. ¡°Such will always be the case for you. Do not seek to love again, for your affection will be fatal to its object. When the week has passed, I will require Edith from you. Until then, farewell!¡±


    ¡°Stay!¡± Anthony shouted. ¡°I break the bargain with you, fiend. I want none of it. I abjure you.¡±


    He dashed after Rougemont, who had already reached the larger chamber. But before Anthony could catch him, Rougemont had slipped through the outer door, vanishing into the night. Anthony burst onto the gallery, but the man was gone.


    Servants hurriedly answered Anthony¡¯s frantic shouts, informing him that Mr. Rougemont had left moments ago, assuring them their master was satisfied with the arrangements.


    ¡°And we hope nothing has changed your opinion, sir?¡± the hall porter asked.


    ¡°You are certain Mr. Rougemont is gone?¡± Anthony demanded.


    ¡°Absolutely, sir,¡± the porter replied. ¡°I helped him with his cloak myself. He said he would return this day next week.¡±


    ¡°If he comes, I will not see him,¡± Anthony snapped. ¡°Deny him entry. On no account let him into the house.¡±


    ¡°Your orders will be strictly obeyed,¡± the porter assured, his eyes wide with surprise.


    ¡°Leave me,¡± Anthony commanded, and as the servants departed, he muttered to himself, his voice a shadow of despair, ¡°All precautions are useless. I am indeed lost!¡±


    4o

 Chapter 15

    <hr>


    Upon returning to the dimly lit cabinet where his fatal compact with Rougemont had been signed, Anthony noticed the pocket-book lying near the table. He picked it up, intending to deposit it in the writing-desk, but an irresistible impulse made him examine its contents once more. Unfolding the roll of notes, he counted them, discovering they amounted to more than a hundred thousand pounds. The sight of such wealth and the thought of the pleasure and power it would bring began to dispel his fears. Rising in a frenzy of delight, he exclaimed, ¡°Yes, yes¡ªall obstacles are now removed! When Mr. Talbot finds I am thus wealthy, he will no longer refuse me his daughter.¡±


    But then he stopped, his joy suddenly clouded. ¡°But I am mad,¡± he muttered, ¡°worse than mad, to indulge such hopes. If I have indeed sold myself to the Fiend, there is no help from perdition! If it be a man, I am scarcely less fettered. In either case, I will not stay here any longer; nor will I use this accursed money, which has tempted me to my undoing.¡±


    He hurled the pocket-book to the far end of the room and was about to leave when a mocking laugh echoed around him. He turned, astonished and filled with dread, but saw no one. After a moment, he moved forward again, but Rougemont¡¯s voice stopped him cold.


    ¡°It will be in vain to flee,¡± said the unseen speaker. ¡°You cannot escape me. Whether you remain here or not¡ªwhether you use the wealth I have given you or leave it behind¡ªyou cannot annul your bargain. With this knowledge, you are free to go. But remember, on the seventh night from this, I shall require Edith Talbot from you!¡±


    ¡°Where are you, fiend?¡± Anthony demanded, eyes darting around wildly. ¡°Show yourself, that I may confront you.¡±


    A mocking laugh was his only answer.


    ¡°Give me back the compact,¡± Anthony pleaded. ¡°I signed in ignorance. I knew not the price I was to pay for your assistance. Wealth is worthless to me without Edith.¡±


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    ¡°Without wealth, you could not obtain her,¡± the voice replied. ¡°You are only where you were. But you will reconsider the bargain by morning. Meanwhile, I advise you to lock the money you have foolishly discarded and seek repose. You will awaken with very different thoughts.¡±


    ¡°How am I to account for my sudden wealth?¡± Anthony asked, after a pause.


    ¡°You, a gambler, ask that question?¡± the unseen stranger laughed bitterly. ¡°But I will ease your mind. As for the house, you will find a regular conveyance of it within that writing-desk. The note on the table, bearing your address, is from me, announcing the payment of a hundred and twenty thousand pounds to you, as a debt of honor. I have accounted for every difficulty. Now, farewell!¡±


    The voice fell silent, and though Anthony shouted several more questions, no answer came. After a moment of indecision, he retrieved the pocket-book and placed it in the writing-desk, where he found, as foretold, a deed conveying the house to him. He opened the note on the table and found it matched what had been told him. Placing it with the pocket-book, he locked the writing-desk, exclaiming, ¡°It is useless to struggle¡ªI must yield to fate!¡±


    This done, he entered the adjoining room, his eyes drawn to an antique bottle and flagon. The flagon was filled to the brim¡ªhow or with what, Anthony did not pause to examine. Grabbing the cup with desperation, he placed it to his lips and emptied it in one draught.


    A pleasant intoxication, akin to the effects of opium, soon followed. All his fears vanished, replaced by gentle and delightful fancies. Surrendering to their influence, he sank onto a couch, falling into a dreamy elysium. He imagined wandering with Edith Talbot in a lovely garden, redolent with sweet fragrances and alive with birdsong. Their path led through a grove to a marble-brimmed fountain. As they hastened toward it, Edith suddenly screamed and pointed to a large black snake lying before her. She would have stepped on it the next moment. Anthony sprang forward to crush the reptile with his heel, but it evaded the blow, coiled around his leg, and sank its venomous teeth into his flesh. The pain from the imaginary wound jolted him awake, and he saw a servant standing nearby.


    Bowing obsequiously, the man inquired if he required anything.


    ¡°Show me to my bedroom¡ªthat is all I need,¡± Anthony replied, barely able to shake off the vision.


    Rising, he followed the servant out of the room, moving almost mechanically.

 Chapter 16

    <hr>


    It was late when Anthony arose the following morning. At first, finding himself in a large and opulently furnished chamber, he was at a loss to recall how he came to be there. The events of the previous night slowly drifted back to him, shrouded in the haze of their mystery. Rougemont¡¯s cryptic assurances echoed in his mind, and he felt a strange, newfound calm settle over him.


    After dressing, Anthony descended to the lower apartments where a sumptuous breakfast awaited him. As he ate, he took a comprehensive survey of the house. It was grander than he had imagined, every corner steeped in an eerie magnificence. Pocketing a tidy sum from the well-stocked pocketbook Rougemont had provided, he ventured out into the crisp morning air.


    His first task was to acquire a splendid carriage and horses, followed by commissioning some new and richly detailed attire. He moved with an air of purpose, his mind set on the day¡¯s tasks.


    When he arrived at the large house at the upper end of Curzon Street, his heart pounded with a mix of hope and trepidation. Shown into an elegantly decorated drawing-room, his anxiety mounted until the servant returned with regretful news.


    ¡°Miss Talbot is not at home, sir,¡± the servant said. ¡°Both she and Mr. Talbot left about half an hour ago.¡±


    Anthony¡¯s heart sank, but he masked his disappointment. Without a word, he departed, hurrying home to pen a letter to Mr. Talbot. He poured his excitement and newfound fortune into the letter, formally requesting Edith¡¯s hand in marriage. As he was about to send the letter, a note arrived from Edith herself.


    Reading her assurances of constant attachment, Anthony felt a surge of joy. He kissed the note fervently, then quickly dispatched his own letter to her father, adding a brief mention of his intention to call the next day for a response.


    But Anthony didn¡¯t have to wait long. Within the hour, Mr. Talbot arrived in person.


    Mr. Talbot, a tall, thin man of about sixty, with grey hair and piercing black eyebrows, exuded an air of genteel authority. His bilious complexion contrasted sharply with his daughter¡¯s beauty, suggesting she had inherited her looks from her mother.


    A shrewd man of the world, Mr. Talbot had initially regarded Anthony¡¯s courtship unfavorably, concerned about the young man¡¯s financial prospects. However, the magnificence of Anthony¡¯s new residence had swiftly changed his mind. With a glint of avarice in his eyes, he warmly embraced Anthony¡¯s proposal.


    ¡°Of course, I would be delighted to have you as a son-in-law,¡± Mr. Talbot declared.


    Buoyed by this reception, Anthony implored Mr. Talbot to arrange the wedding within three days.


    Mr. Talbot sighed, regret shading his voice. ¡°I must travel to Nottingham tomorrow and won¡¯t return for three days. We cannot marry before I leave.¡±


    ¡°But we can marry before you go?¡± Anthony pressed, desperation creeping into his tone.


    Mr. Talbot smiled blandly. ¡°Scarcely, my dear friend. Control your impatience. We shall marry on the sixth day from this¡ªWednesday next week.¡±


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    The coincidence with Rougemont¡¯s ominous timeline struck Anthony like a blow. Struggling to maintain his composure, he agreed to dine with Mr. Talbot that evening.


    At seven o¡¯clock sharp, Anthony arrived, finding Edith alone in the drawing-room, surrounded by a fragrant garden of flowers. She greeted him with a joyful exclamation, her eyes sparkling.


    Anthony took her delicate hand, pressing it to his lips. ¡°Your father has consented to our union.¡±


    Edith blushed deeply and murmured her assent. ¡°He has fixed Wednesday next,¡± Anthony continued, a shadow passing over his face. ¡°But I wish it could be sooner. I fear if our marriage is delayed, it may never happen.¡±


    ¡°You are full of misgivings, Anthony,¡± she replied gently.


    ¡°I am,¡± he confessed. ¡°My fears are so intense, I urge you to consider a private marriage in your father¡¯s absence.¡±


    Edith recoiled slightly. ¡°No, Anthony. Much as I love you, I cannot agree to that. I could never deceive my father. His trust in me is sacred, and I cannot betray it.¡±


    Further conversation was interrupted by Mr. Talbot¡¯s arrival, his entrance a whirlwind of energy that filled the room. He approached Anthony with outstretched hands, a broad smile stretching across his face.


    ¡°Anthony, my boy!¡± he exclaimed, clasping Anthony¡¯s hand with genuine warmth. ¡°It¡¯s a delight to see you!¡±


    The dinner passed pleasantly, the room filled with laughter and light conversation. Mr. Talbot¡¯s infectious high spirits enveloped everyone, and soon Anthony found himself swept up in the old man¡¯s mirth. When they moved upstairs for tea, they discovered Edith¡¯s aunt, Mrs. Maitland, had arrived. She had always been fond of Anthony and had encouraged his courtship of Edith, so she was pleased with the turn of events.


    It was near midnight before Anthony could tear himself away. Mr. Talbot, having yawned frequently but to no avail, finally said, ¡°Well, Anthony, we¡¯ll see you back on the evening of the third day. In the meantime, Mrs. Maitland and Edith will take good care of you.¡±


    The next three days passed in a blur of happiness and anticipation. On the evening of the third day, just as the little party had gathered in the drawing-room after dinner, Mr. Talbot returned.


    ¡°Well, here I am!¡± he declared, embracing Edith. ¡°No misadventures. Everything went smoothly.¡±


    Edith beamed. ¡°Oh, Papa, I¡¯m so happy you¡¯re back! Anthony, now you can stop worrying.¡±


    ¡°Apprehensions? What apprehensions?¡± Mr. Talbot asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.


    ¡°Of something happening to you that might interfere with our happiness,¡± Anthony replied.


    ¡°Lovers and their fears,¡± Mr. Talbot chuckled. ¡°They are unreasonable creatures. But here I am, safe and sound. Tomorrow we will finalize all the arrangements, and the day after, you shall be made happy¡ªha!¡±


    ¡°Anthony is planning a grand ball for our wedding day,¡± Edith chimed in. ¡°He has invited everyone.¡±


    Mr. Talbot¡¯s expression turned serious. ¡°I hope you haven¡¯t invited Cyprian Rougemont.¡±


    Anthony paled. ¡°I haven¡¯t, sir. But why do you mention him specifically?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard unsavory things about him,¡± Mr. Talbot said, his gaze steady on Anthony.


    ¡°What have you heard?¡± Anthony pressed.


    ¡°One shouldn¡¯t believe all the rumors, but I would prefer if you distanced yourself from him,¡± Mr. Talbot replied. ¡°Now, let¡¯s change the subject.¡±


    Mr. Talbot seated himself beside Mrs. Maitland and recounted his journey, which had been both pleasant and swift. Despite the lively conversation, Anthony couldn¡¯t shake a sense of foreboding. He excused himself early, promising to meet Mr. Talbot at his lawyer¡¯s in Lincoln¡¯s Inn the next day.


    At the appointed time, Anthony arrived and, to Mr. Talbot¡¯s great delight and the lawyer¡¯s surprise, transferred a hundred thousand pounds to be settled on Edith.


    ¡°You are a man of honor, Anthony,¡± Mr. Talbot said, clapping him on the shoulder. ¡°I have no doubt Edith will make you an excellent wife.¡±


    ¡°Nor I¡ªif I ever possess her,¡± Anthony thought grimly.


    The morning passed in a flurry of preparations. That evening, the lovers met as usual, Edith brimming with excitement. She was certain the next day would bring their happiness. Since his pact with Rougemont, Anthony had neither seen nor heard from the man. He took every precaution to ensure Rougemont¡¯s absence, but the shadow of their agreement loomed large over his thoughts.

 Chapter 17

    <hr>


    It was a deceptively beautiful morning in May. The sun shone brightly on Anthony¡¯s opulent carriage as he drove to St. George¡¯s, Hanover Square, where he was to wed Edith. Everything seemed auspicious, and Anthony felt emboldened enough to challenge fate itself. With the object of his love beside him, bound to him by the strongest and holiest ties, it seemed impossible that she could be taken from him.


    The morning passed uneventfully, filling Anthony with a false sense of security. He instructed that a carriage and four be ready an hour before midnight to whisk him and his bride away to Richmond for their honeymoon.


    As night fell, guests began to arrive for the grand ball. Anthony had spared no expense to ensure the evening¡¯s splendor. It was magnificent in every respect. The festivities began with a concert performed by the finest singers from the Italian Opera. Afterwards, Anthony and his radiant bride opened the ball with a dance. As soon as the dance ended, Anthony signaled to an attendant, who promptly vanished.


    ¡°Are you ready to leave this lively scene with me, Edith?¡± Anthony asked, his heart swelling with rapture.


    ¡°Yes, let¡¯s leave this chaos behind,¡± Edith replied, her eyes filled with tenderness. ¡°I long to be alone with you.¡±


    Anthony took her arm, and together they slipped out of the ball-room. Instead of taking the main staircase, they chose a more secluded route. They entered a grand hall through a side door, its spaciousness and beauty almost overwhelming. Statues stood on pedestals, watching them silently, while frescoed ceilings loomed above, supported by two majestic scagliola pillars. Between these pillars, a wide staircase of white marble ascended to the upper rooms.


    The staircase was crowded with guests making their way to the ball-room, from which music and glimpses of dancing figures spilled forth. Anthony, anxious to avoid a newly-arrived party in the hall, paused with Edith near a pillar.


    ¡°Who is that?¡± Edith suddenly exclaimed, pointing to a tall man with a sinister expression, dressed entirely in black. He had emerged from behind the pillar and blocked their path, his back partially turned to them.


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    A chill ran through Anthony. He recognized Rougemont, who now turned and fixed his malignant gaze upon him. There was no escape.


    ¡°You thought you could deceive me,¡± Rougemont whispered, his voice cutting through the air like a knife, audible only to Anthony. ¡°But you underestimated your host. I have come to claim my victim.¡±


    ¡°Why do you tremble so, dear Anthony?¡± Edith asked, her voice laced with concern. ¡°Who is this man?¡±


    Anthony couldn¡¯t speak; terror had stolen his voice.


    ¡°Your carriage awaits, madam,¡± Rougemont said, stepping forward and taking Edith¡¯s hand. ¡°All is prepared.¡±


    ¡°You are coming, Anthony?¡± Edith asked, uncertainty clouding her eyes.


    ¡°Yes¡ªyes,¡± Anthony stammered, a desperate plan forming in his mind. ¡°This is my friend, Mr. Rougemont¡ªgo with him.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Rougemont?¡± Edith echoed. ¡°You told my father he wouldn¡¯t be here.¡±


    ¡°Your husband did not invite me,¡± Rougemont said with a cold smile, ¡°but knowing I would be welcome, I came unasked. Now, let us avoid those people.¡±


    They moved quickly towards the door. The carriage, a dark silhouette against the night, waited with its four horses. A man-servant in traveling attire stood by the steps. The sight reassured Anthony, and he allowed Rougemont to drape a cloak over Edith¡¯s shoulders. She climbed into the carriage, and Anthony moved to follow when a sudden blow to his chest sent him sprawling onto the pavement.


    Before he could rise, Rougemont had jumped into the carriage. The servant swiftly closed the steps and mounted the box. The postillions spurred their horses, and the carriage sped away with lightning speed. As it turned the corner of King Street, Anthony, struggling to his feet, caught a glimpse of Rougemont¡¯s face in the window, twisted into a fiendish grin of triumph.


    ¡°What has happened?¡± Mr. Talbot¡¯s voice called out as he approached Anthony. ¡°I came to bid you farewell. Why are you here alone? Where is the carriage? What has become of Edith?¡±


    ¡°She is in the power of the Fiend,¡± Anthony replied bleakly. ¡°I have sold her to him.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, wretch?¡± Mr. Talbot shouted in despair. ¡°I heard that Cyprian Rougemont was here. Has he taken her?¡±


    ¡°You have guessed correctly,¡± Anthony answered. ¡°He bought her with the money I gave you. I have sold her¡ªand myself¡ªto perdition.¡±


    ¡°Horror!¡± the old man gasped, collapsing to the ground.


    ¡°Yes, breathe your last!¡± Anthony cried wildly. ¡°Would that I could give up my life as well!¡±

 Chapter 18

    <hr>


    Mr. Thorneycroft and his companions had barely entered the darkened passage of the abandoned mansion, their steps echoing ominously on the wooden floorboards, when a sudden, violent clanging of a bell overhead froze them in place. Each man gripped his weapon tighter, hearts pounding with the anticipation of an attack. The sound abruptly ceased, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake. After a tense moment, they cautiously continued, moving deeper into the shadows until they reached a grand hall, dimly lit by the light filtering through a lofty window. The lack of shutters allowed just enough light to reveal the mansion¡¯s state of decay.


    Four side doors lined the hall, each leading to unknown chambers. Reeks, the group¡¯s self-appointed leader, cautiously tested the first three doors, finding them all locked. The fourth door, however, creaked open, revealing a chamber dimly illuminated by a flickering lamp. The room¡¯s walls were paneled in dark oak, and a faded tapestry depicting the Assyrian monarch Ninus and his captive Zoroaster hung at the far end. The grotesquely carved, high-backed chairs scattered around the room added to the eerie atmosphere. Nearby, a powerful electrical machine hummed ominously. Symbols and circles were drawn on the dusty floor, surrounded by cups and balls, suggestive of a magician¡¯s lair.


    The chamber¡¯s occupant, whoever they were, seemed to have recently vacated the space. A table, laden with food and flanked by taper-necked bottles, suggested a hedonistic indulgence amidst the arcane paraphernalia. As Mr. Thorneycroft gazed upwards, he noted three small holes in the ceiling above each chair, their purpose unclear but undoubtedly sinister.


    ¡°A peculiar room,¡± Thorneycroft murmured to Reeks, his unease palpable. ¡°Did you expect to find anyone here?¡±


    ¡°I am uncertain,¡± Reeks replied, his eyes scanning the shadows. ¡°That bell may have given an alarm. I will soon find out. Stay here until I return.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not leaving us, are you?¡± Thorneycroft asked, his voice trembling with apprehension.


    ¡°Only for a moment,¡± Reeks assured him. ¡°Remain quiet, and no harm will come to you. Whatever you hear outside, do not react.¡±


    ¡°What are we likely to hear?¡± Thorneycroft¡¯s fear was mounting.


    ¡°Impossible to say,¡± Reeks responded, his tone grave. ¡°But any outcry could endanger us all.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re sure you won¡¯t abandon us?¡± Thorneycroft insisted.


    ¡°Rest assured, I have no such intention,¡± Reeks replied sternly.


    ¡°We¡¯ll take care of you, don¡¯t worry, old gent,¡± Ginger added with a leering grin.


    ¡°Yes, we¡¯ll take care of you,¡± echoed the Tinker and the Sandman, their expressions menacing.


    ¡°You can trust them as much as me,¡± Reeks said. ¡°Before we explore the lower levels, I need to check if anyone is upstairs.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this about lower levels, Mr. Reeks?¡± Ginger interjected nervously. ¡°We¡¯re not going below, are we?¡±


    Ignoring the question, Reeks slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He crossed the hall and cautiously ascended a staircase at the far end. Reaching the landing, he advanced down a gallery lined with several closed doors. He paused, straining to hear any sound. A faint noise from a room on the right caught his attention. He crept forward and peered through the keyhole, his breath catching at the sight.


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    Inside, Cyprian Rougemont paced with quick, agitated strides, his tall frame cloaked in black. Three other figures, shrouded in sable gowns and wearing grotesque masks, stood silently watching him. On a table in the center of the room lay an open book bound in black vellum, its pages covered in arcane symbols. A single lamp illuminated the eerie scene.


    Suddenly, Rougemont stopped and began flipping through the book, searching for a specific incantation. Before he could find it, a shrill alarm bell rang, and the doors of a cabinet flew open. A large, ape-like creature, dressed in woolen garments, sprang out, landing on the table beside Rougemont. It pressed its mouth to Rougemont¡¯s ear, delivering a message that caused Rougemont¡¯s face to contort with anger. He issued curt instructions to the creature, which nodded obediently before bounding back to the cabinet. The doors closed behind it with a resounding thud.


    Rougemont picked up the lamp, clearly intending to leave the room. Reeks retreated to a nearby chamber, hiding just in time as the four figures emerged into the gallery. He watched them descend the staircase and cross the hall towards the chamber where Mr. Thorneycroft and his companions waited. Rougemont silently locked the door, pocketing the key, and left two of his masked attendants on guard before heading back towards the staircase with the third.


    The house seemed to breathe with malevolence, each creak and shadow a testament to the dark forces at play.


    Without a moment¡¯s hesitation, Reeks turned and hurried down the gallery, his footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust. He reached a back staircase and descended quickly, the air growing colder and damper with each step. The basement floor was a maze of shadowy vaults and twisting passages. He navigated the labyrinthine corridors until he found a narrow, arched passageway, dimly lit by sporadic, flickering lamps casting eerie shadows on the walls.


    Reeks stopped in front of a heavy iron door, its surface pitted and rusted. He struck it sharply with his hand, the sound echoing ominously through the passage. He struck again, harder this time.


    ¡°Leave me in peace!¡± a hoarse voice rasped from within.


    ¡°Is it Anthony Darcy who speaks?¡± Reeks demanded, his voice steady.


    ¡°It is,¡± replied the prisoner. ¡°Who are you that puts the question?¡±


    ¡°A friend,¡± Reeks answered.


    ¡°I have no friend here,¡± Anthony said, his tone filled with despair.


    ¡°You are mistaken,¡± Reeks replied firmly. ¡°I have come with Mr. Thorneycroft to deliver you.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Thorneycroft has come too late. He has lost his daughter,¡± Anthony responded, his voice breaking.


    ¡°What has happened to her?¡± Reeks pressed, his urgency palpable.


    ¡°She is in the power of the Fiend,¡± Anthony said, his words a mixture of sorrow and anger.


    ¡°I know she is detained by Cyprian Rougemont,¡± Reeks said. ¡°But what has befallen her?¡±


    ¡°She has become like his other victims¡ªlike my victims!¡± Anthony cried, a note of hysteria in his voice.


    ¡°Do not despair,¡± Reeks urged. ¡°She may yet be saved.¡±


    ¡°Saved! How?¡± Anthony shouted, his voice echoing through the stone corridor. ¡°All is over.¡±


    ¡°So it may seem to you,¡± Reeks countered. ¡°But you are the victim of delusion.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that I could think so!¡± Anthony exclaimed. ¡°But no¡ªI saw her fall into the pit. I beheld her veiled figure rise from it. I witnessed her signature to the fatal scroll. There could be no illusion in what I then beheld.¡±


    ¡°Despite all this, you will see her again,¡± Reeks said with conviction.


    ¡°Who are you who give me this promise?¡± Anthony asked, his tone wary.


    ¡°As I have already declared, a friend,¡± Reeks replied.


    ¡°Are you human?¡± Anthony¡¯s voice wavered with suspicion.


    ¡°As human as yourself,¡± Reeks assured him.


    ¡°Then you seek in vain to struggle with the powers of darkness,¡± Anthony said, his voice tinged with hopelessness.


    ¡°I have no fear of Cyprian Rougemont,¡± Reeks replied with a confident laugh.


    ¡°Your voice seems familiar to me,¡± Anthony said, a hint of recognition creeping in. ¡°Tell me who you are.¡±


    ¡°You shall know soon enough,¡± Reeks replied. ¡°But hush!¡ªwe are interrupted. Someone approaches.¡±

 Chapter 19

    <hr>


    More than ten minutes had elapsed since Reeks¡¯ departure, and Mr. Thorneycroft, who had been struggling to contain his growing anger, began muttering threats and complaints under his breath. His impatience was mirrored by the Tinker, who approached Ginger with a frown.


    ¡°What the devil can Mr. Reeks be up to? I hope nothing has happened to him,¡± the Tinker grumbled.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mention a certain gent¡¯s name here,¡± Ginger remarked with a pointed glare. ¡°Or if you do, treat it with proper respect.¡±


    ¡°Pshaw!¡± exclaimed the Tinker impatiently. ¡°I don¡¯t like a man staying away in this manner. It looks suspicious. I say we go and see after him. We can leave the old gent to take a quiet nap by himself. Don¡¯t worry, sir. We¡¯ll just give a look around and then come back.¡±


    ¡°Stay where you are, rascal!¡± Thorneycroft cried angrily. ¡°I won¡¯t be left alone. Stay where you are, I command you!¡±


    ¡°Well, we¡¯ve got a new captain, I¡¯m thinking,¡± the Tinker said, winking at the others. ¡°We¡¯ve no wish to disoblige you, sir. I¡¯ll just peep out into the hall and see if Mr. Reeks is anywhere about. Why, damnation!¡± he added, trying the door. ¡°It¡¯s locked!¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s locked?¡± cried Thorneycroft in dismay.


    ¡°The door, to be sure,¡± replied the Tinker. ¡°We¡¯re prisoners.¡±


    ¡°O Lord, you don¡¯t say so!¡± cried Thorneycroft, his face pale with fear. ¡°What will become of us?¡±


    A roar of laughter from the others converted his terror into fury.


    ¡°I see how it is,¡± he cried. ¡°You have entrapped me, ruffians. It¡¯s all a trick. You mean to murder me. But I¡¯ll sell my life dearly. The first who approaches shall have his brains blown out.¡± As he spoke, he levelled a pistol at the Tinker¡¯s head.


    ¡°Holloa! What are you about, sir?¡± cried the Tinker, raising his hands in defense. ¡°You¡¯re mistaken¡ªa complete mistake. If it¡¯s a trap, we¡¯re caught in it as well as yourself.¡±


    ¡°To be sure we are,¡± added the Sandman. ¡°Sit down and wait a bit. I daresay Mr. Reeks will come back, and it won¡¯t do no good getting into a passion.¡±


    ¡°Well, well, I must resign myself, I suppose,¡± groaned Thorneycroft, sinking into a chair. ¡°It¡¯s a terrible situation to be in¡ªshut up in a haunted house.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been in much worse situations,¡± observed Ginger. ¡°And I always found the best way to get out of ¡¯em was to take things quietly.¡±


    ¡°Besides, there¡¯s no help for it,¡± said the Tinker, seating himself.


    ¡°That remains to be seen,¡± observed the Sandman, taking the chair opposite Thorneycroft. ¡°If Reeks doesn¡¯t come back soon, I¡¯ll bust open the door.¡±


    ¡°Plenty of time for that,¡± said Ginger, sauntering towards the table laden with provisions. ¡°What do you say to a mouthful of food?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t touch it for the world,¡± replied the Sandman.


    ¡°Nor I,¡± added the Tinker. ¡°It may be poisoned.¡±


    ¡°Poisoned¡ªnonsense!¡± cried Ginger. ¡°Don¡¯t you see someone has been taking his supper here? I¡¯ll just finish it for him.¡±


    ¡°With all my heart,¡± said the Tinker.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch it on any account,¡± Thorneycroft insisted. ¡°I agree with your companions, it may be poisoned.¡±


    ¡°Oh! I ain¡¯t afraid,¡± Ginger retorted, helping himself to a dish. ¡°As good a pigeon-pie as ever I tasted. Your health, Mr. Thorneycroft,¡± he added, filling a goblet from one of the bottles. ¡°My service to you, gents. Famous tipple, by Jove!¡± He drew a long breath after the draught and smacked his lips with satisfaction. ¡°Never tasted such a glass of wine in all my born days,¡± he continued, refilling the goblet. ¡°I wonder what it¡¯s called?¡±


    ¡°Prussic acid,¡± replied Mr. Thorneycroft gruffly.


    ¡°Prussic fiddlestick!¡± cried Ginger. ¡°More likely Tokay. I shall finish the bottle and never be the worse for it!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s getting tipsy,¡± said the Tinker. ¡°I wonder whether it¡¯s really Tokay?¡±


    ¡°No such thing,¡± Thorneycroft snapped. ¡°Let him alone.¡±


    ¡°I must taste it,¡± the Tinker said, unable to resist the temptation. ¡°Here, give us a glass, Ginger!¡±


    ¡°With pleasure,¡± Ginger replied, filling a goblet to the brim and handing it over. ¡°You¡¯d better be persuaded, Sandy.¡±


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    ¡°Well, I suppose I must,¡± replied the Sandman, taking the goblet proffered to him.


    ¡°Here¡¯s to the lawmen!¡± Ginger toasted. ¡°I give that toast ¡¯cause they¡¯re always so kind to us dog-fanciers.¡±


    ¡°Dog-fanciers¡ªsay rather, dog-stealers; for that¡¯s the name such vagabonds deserve to be known by,¡± Thorneycroft interjected with some asperity.


    ¡°Well, we won¡¯t quarrel about names,¡± Ginger laughed. ¡°But I¡¯ll relate a circumstance to you that¡¯ll prove that whatever your opinion of our vocation may be, the law upholds it.¡±


    ¡°There can be but one opinion as to your nefarious profession,¡± Thorneycroft said. ¡°And that is, it¡¯s as bad as horse-stealing and sheep-stealing, and should be punished accordingly.¡±


    ¡°So I think, sir,¡± said Ginger, winking at the others. ¡°But to my story, and don¡¯t interrupt me, or I can¡¯t get through with it properly. There¡¯s a gent living not a hundred miles from Pall Mall, as the newspapers say, who had a favorite Scotch terrier, not worth more than half a crown to anyone but himself, but highly valuable to him because it was a favorite. Well, the dog goes missing. A pal of mine gets hold of it, and the gent soon offers a reward for its recovery. This don¡¯t bring it back quite so soon as he expects because he don¡¯t offer enough; so he goes to an agent, Mr. Simpkins, in the Edger Road, and Mr. Simpkins says to him, ¡®How are you, sir? I expected you some days ago. You¡¯ve come about that Scotch terrier. You¡¯ve got a valuable greyhound, I understand. A man told me he¡¯d have that before long.¡¯ Seeing the gent stare, Mr. S. adds, ¡®Well, I¡¯ll tell you what you must give for your dog. The party won¡¯t take less than six guineas. He knows it ain¡¯t worth six shillings, but it¡¯s a great favorite and has given him a precious sight of trouble in getting it.¡¯ ¡®Given him trouble!¡¯ cries the gent angrily¡ª¡®and what has it given me? I hope to see the rascal hanged! I shall pay no such money.¡¯ ¡®Very well,¡¯ replies Mr. Simpkins coolly, ¡®then your dog will be bled to death, as the nobleman¡¯s was, and thrown down a breathless carcass before your door.¡¯¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t mean to say that such a horrid circumstance as that really took place?¡± cried Thorneycroft, who was much interested in the tale.


    ¡°Only the other day, I assure you,¡± replied Ginger.


    ¡°I¡¯d shoot the ruffian who treated a dog of mine so if I caught him!¡± cried Mr. Thorneycroft indignantly.


    ¡°And serve him right, too,¡± said Ginger. ¡°I discourage all cruelty to animals. But don¡¯t interrupt me again. After a bit more haggling with Mr. Simpkins, the gent offers three pounds for his dog and then goes away. Next day he reads a report in the Times newspaper that a man has been taken up for dog-stealing, and that a lot of dogs are shut up in the green-yard behind the police office in Bow Street. So he goes there in search of his favorite, and sure enough he finds it, but the inspector won¡¯t give it up to him because the superintendent is out of the way.¡±


    ¡°Shameful!¡± cried Mr. Thorneycroft.


    ¡°Shameful, indeed, sir,¡± echoed Ginger, laughing. ¡°Thinking his dog safe enough in the hands of the police, the gent sleeps soundly that night, but when he goes back the next morning he finds it has disappeared. The green-yard has been broken into overnight, and all the dogs stolen from it.¡±


    ¡°Under the noses of the police?¡± cried Thorneycroft.


    ¡°Under their very noses,¡± replied Ginger. ¡°But now comes the cream of the jest. You shall hear what the beak says to him when the gent craves his assistance. ¡®I can¡¯t interfere in the matter,¡¯ says he, bending his brows in a majestic manner. ¡®Parties don¡¯t ought to come here with complaints of which I can¡¯t take notice. This place ain¡¯t an advertising office, and I shan¡¯t suffer it to be made one. I won¡¯t listen to statements affecting the characters of absent parties.¡¯ Statements affecting our characters¡ªdo you twig that, sir?¡±


    ¡°I do, indeed,¡± said Thorneycroft, sighing. ¡°And I am sorry to think such a remark should have dropped from the bench.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right to say dropped from it, sir,¡± laughed Ginger. ¡°I told you the beaks were our best friends; they always take our parts. When the gent urges that it was a subject of serious importance to all dog-owners, the magistrate angrily interrupts him, saying¡ª¡®Then let there be a meeting of dog-owners to discuss their grievances. Don¡¯t come to me. I can¡¯t help you.¡¯ And he wouldn¡¯t if he could, ¡¯cause he¡¯s the dog-fancier¡¯s friend.¡±


    ¡°It looks like it, I must own,¡± replied Thorneycroft. ¡°Such reprehensible indifference gives encouragement to people of your profession. The government itself is to blame. As all persons who keep dogs pay a tax for them, their property ought to be protected.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m quite satisfied with the present state of the law,¡± said Ginger. ¡°Here¡¯s to the worthy beak! I¡¯ll drink his health a second time.¡±


    ¡°Halloa! What¡¯s that?¡± cried the Tinker. ¡°I thought I heard a noise.¡±


    ¡°So did I,¡± rejoined the Sandman. ¡°A strange sort of rumbling sound overhead.¡±


    ¡°There it goes again!¡± cried Ginger. ¡°What an awful din!¡±


    ¡°Now it¡¯s underneath,¡± said Mr. Thorneycroft, turning pale and trembling. ¡°It sounds as if some hidden machinery were at work.¡±


    The noise, which up to this moment had borne an indistinct resemblance to the creaking of wheels and pulleys, now increased to a violent clatter, while the house shook as if by the explosion of a mine beneath it.


    At the same time, the occupants of the chairs received a sharp electrical shock, that agitated every limb and caused Mr. Thorneycroft to let fall his pistol, which went off as it reached the ground. The Sandman dropped his goblet, and the Tinker relinquished his grasp of the cutlass. Before they could recover from the shock, all three were caught by stout wooden hooks, which, detaching themselves from the back of the chairs, pinioned their arms, while their legs were restrained by fetters that sprang from the ground and clasped around their ankles. Thus fixed, they struggled vainly to get free. The chairs seemed nailed to the ground, so that all efforts to move them proved futile.


    But the worst was yet to come. From the holes in the ceiling descended three heavy bell-shaped helmets, fashioned like those worn by divers at the bottom of the sea, and having round eyelet holes of glass. It was evident, from the manner of their descent, that these helmets must drop on the heads of the sitters¡ªa conviction that filled them with inexpressible terror. They shouted and swore frightfully, but their vociferations availed them nothing. Down came the helmets, and at the same moment, the monkey, which had been seen by Reeks, issued from a cupboard at the top of a cabinet, grinning and gibbering at them.


    The first helmet covered the Tinker to the shoulders. His appearance was at once ludicrous and terrifying, and his roaring within the casque sounded like the bellowing of a baited bull. The second helmet descended more slowly, and the Sandman was eclipsed in the same manner as the Tinker, roaring as loudly.

 Chapter 20

    <hr>


    Before the chair, in which Mr. Thorneycroft was fixed, reached the ground, terror had already stolen away his senses. When he finally awoke, it was to the acrid sting of smelling salts forced under his nose, and the sight of two figures, grotesquely masked and cloaked in sable, looming over him. Nearby stood a third figure, clutching a lantern with an otherworldly glow. Thorneycroft¡¯s gaze darted around for his companions, but their chairs sat empty, leaving him alone in his plight.


    His cries and pleas were met with eerie silence. The masked figures, showing no acknowledgment of his presence, released the bindings that secured him to the chair with a swift motion. Seizing him under the arms, they dragged him out of the vault and down a narrow passageway. The walls seemed to close in on him as they moved, until they emerged into a vast chamber sheathed in black marble, where Cyprian Rougemont sat on a black velvet throne, his eyes gleaming with malevolent triumph.


    ¡°Welcome, Mr. Thorneycroft,¡± Rougemont sneered. ¡°You have come to seek your daughter. Behold her!¡±


    With a dramatic flourish, the black curtains at the far end of the chamber were drawn back, revealing Evaline Thorneycroft. She stood at the foot of a marble staircase, her face as pale as death, her limbs unnaturally still, but her eyes burning with an unnatural light. At the sight of her, Thorneycroft let out a heart-wrenching cry and tried to rush to her, only to be held back by the masked figures who tightened their grip on his arms.


    ¡°Evaline!¡± he cried. ¡°Evaline!¡±


    But she remained oblivious to his cries, standing as if frozen in place, her eyes turned away.


    ¡°What have you done to her?¡± Thorneycroft demanded, his voice breaking with anguish. ¡°Evaline! Evaline!¡±


    ¡°Call louder,¡± Rougemont mocked, a cruel smile twisting his lips.


    ¡°Do you not know me? Do you not hear me?¡± Thorneycroft¡¯s voice rose to a frantic shriek.


    Still, Evaline did not respond, her figure immovable as a statue.


    ¡°I told you you would see her,¡± Rougemont taunted, ¡°but she is beyond your reach.¡±


    ¡°Not so, not so!¡± Thorneycroft pleaded. ¡°Come to me, Evaline! Come to your father! Oh, Heaven! She hears me not! She heeds me not! Her senses are gone.¡±


    ¡°She is bound by a spell,¡± Rougemont declared coldly. ¡°Take a last look at her. You will see her no more.¡±


    With a dismissive wave of his hand, the curtains descended slowly, enshrouding Evaline from view. Thorneycroft groaned in despair, sinking to his knees.


    ¡°Are you not content?¡± Rougemont asked with a sneer. ¡°Will you depart in peace and swear never to return? If so, I will liberate you and your companions.¡±


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    ¡°So far from complying with your request, I swear never to rest until I have rescued my child from you, accursed being!¡± Thorneycroft vowed, his voice filled with unwavering determination.


    ¡°Then you have sealed your doom,¡± Rougemont replied, a sinister glint in his eye. ¡°But before you are confined, you shall see how Anthony Darcy fares. Bring him along.¡±


    The masked attendants hauled Thorneycroft to his feet and followed Rougemont through an ominous opening on the right. A few steps brought them to the entrance of a cell. Rougemont touched the heavy iron door, which swung open with a grating sound, revealing Anthony chained to a stone in the far corner of the narrow chamber.


    For several moments, silence reigned as the captives regarded each other with piteous eyes.


    ¡°Oh, Mr. Thorneycroft,¡± Anthony finally cried, his voice choked with guilt. ¡°Forgive me. I have destroyed your daughter.¡±


    ¡°You!¡± Thorneycroft exclaimed, his eyes wide with astonishment.


    ¡°It is true,¡± Rougemont confirmed, his voice dripping with malice.


    Anthony¡¯s voice echoed through the chamber, filled with desperate sorrow. ¡°I would have saved her if it had been possible!¡± he cried. ¡°I warned her that loving me would be her doom. I told her I was bound to a fate that would ensnare her as well¡ªbut she wouldn¡¯t listen.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Thorneycroft gasped, his voice a mix of disbelief and agony.


    Rougemont¡¯s derisive laugh cut through the tension like a knife. ¡°You see, it is he you should blame, not me.¡±


    ¡°I would have given my life, my soul, to protect her, if I could!¡± Anthony¡¯s anguish was palpable.


    Thorneycroft¡¯s eyes widened as he fought to keep his sanity. ¡°Horrors crowd upon me until my mind reels,¡± he cried. Turning to Rougemont, he spat out, ¡°Merciless wretch! Fiend¡ªwhatever you are, finish your work of ruin by destroying me. I have nothing left to tie me to this wretched life.¡±


    Rougemont¡¯s laugh was cold and diabolical. ¡°I prefer the miserable to live,¡± he said. ¡°It is only the happy I seek to destroy. But you have your own obstinacy to thank for your suffering. Bid a lasting farewell to Anthony. You will see him no more.¡±


    ¡°Hold!¡± exclaimed Anthony, his voice a desperate plea. ¡°A word before we part.¡±


    ¡°Ay, hold!¡± echoed a loud, imperious voice from the shadows of the passage.


    ¡°Who speaks?¡± Rougemont demanded, a flicker of unease crossing his face.


    ¡°I, Gerard Paston!¡± came the response, as a figure emerged from the darkness. The man, with handsome and resolute features, now stood defiantly before them, a pistol in each hand.


    ¡°Gerard Paston?¡± Anthony murmured in astonishment. ¡°The brother of Clara, my second victim!¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Gerard replied, his voice steady. ¡°Your deliverance is at hand, Anthony.¡±


    Rougemont¡¯s rage was palpable, his face contorting with fury. ¡°You dare to come here, Gerard?¡± he thundered. ¡°Remember, you are bound to me by the same ties as Anthony. You will share his fate.¡±


    Gerard laughed scornfully. ¡°Your threats do not frighten me, Rougemont. Your dark arts have held sway for too long. Release Anthony and this gentleman, or¡ª¡± He leveled the pistols at Rougemont.


    ¡°Fire!¡± Rougemont bellowed, drawing himself to his full height. ¡°No earthly bullets can harm me.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s test that!¡± came a voice from behind Gerard. It was Ginger, who had crept up unnoticed. He fired a pistol at Rougemont¡¯s chest, but the shot left Rougemont standing, seemingly unharmed.


    ¡°You see how futile your weapons are,¡± Rougemont mocked, his laugh echoing through the chamber.


    ¡°It must be the devil!¡± Ginger cried, fleeing in terror.


    ¡°I will try mine,¡± Gerard said, but before he could pull the triggers, the pistols were ripped from his hands by the masked attendants who had silently approached. They seized him, pinning his arms to his sides.


    Rougemont¡¯s cruel smile deepened as he watched the scene unfold. ¡°Your futile resistance only amuses me. Now, prepare to face your doom.¡±

 Chapter 21

    <hr>


    The iron-merchant, bewildered by the strange and terrifying events that had befallen him, found himself paralyzed with fear even after the two masked attendants had released him. As they turned to seize Gerard Paston, Thorneycroft stood frozen, incapable of exertion, and would likely have made no attempt to escape if not for a sudden, vigorous tug on his coat and a low, urgent voice whispering, ¡°Fly.¡±


    He glanced back, seeing a diminutive figure at the entrance of a side passage, obscured from Rougemont and his attendants. It was Old Parr, disguised as a monkey, pulling at his coat. With surprising strength, the dwarf tugged him into the passage and grasped his hand, dragging him along its dark, winding path.


    ¡°Where are you taking me?¡± Thorneycroft panted, trying to halt their progress.


    ¡°Ask no questions,¡± Old Parr hissed, pulling him forward. ¡°Do you want to be captured and locked in a cell for the rest of your life?¡±


    ¡°Certainly not,¡± Thorneycroft replied, quickening his pace. ¡°I hope there¡¯s no chance of it.¡±


    ¡°Every chance,¡± Old Parr muttered. ¡°If they catch us, you¡¯ll share Anthony¡¯s fate.¡±


    ¡°Oh Lord, I hope not,¡± groaned Thorneycroft. ¡°You¡¯re scaring me so much I can¡¯t move. I¡¯ll collapse any second.¡±


    ¡°Move!¡± screamed the dwarf. ¡°They¡¯re right behind us.¡±


    Shouts and the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps echoed through the passage.


    ¡°I can¡¯t go any further,¡± Thorneycroft gasped, collapsing. ¡°I¡¯m done for. Better to surrender now.¡±


    ¡°Without a fight?¡± Old Parr taunted. ¡°Think of your daughter. She¡¯s lost forever if you don¡¯t escape this cursed place.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s lost forever as it is,¡± Thorneycroft cried in despair.


    ¡°No¡ªthere¡¯s still hope,¡± Old Parr urged. ¡°Come on¡ªthey¡¯re almost upon us!¡±


    The increased clamor of their pursuers spurred Thorneycroft into action. Fueled by desperation and the hope of saving his daughter, he sprang forward. They reached a door, only to find it closed. Old Parr frantically searched for the handle but found none.


    ¡°We¡¯re trapped! We¡¯re doomed!¡± he screamed. ¡°I was a fool to try saving you. We should have rotted in a dungeon rather than incur Rougemont¡¯s wrath.¡±


    Thorneycroft groaned in response. ¡°It¡¯s over. I¡¯ll die here.¡±


    ¡°No¡ªwe¡¯re saved!¡± Old Parr cried as the light from their pursuers¡¯ torches revealed a small iron button. ¡°Saved¡ªsaved!¡±


    He pressed the button, releasing a spring, and the door flew open. They slipped through just as the masked attendants came into view. The dwarf slammed the door shut and bolted it from their side. The pursuers crashed against the door, but it held firm. After a few moments, the pounding stopped, and the footsteps receded.


    ¡°They¡¯re finding another way to intercept us,¡± Old Parr warned, pausing to listen. ¡°We must keep moving, Mr. Thorneycroft.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll try,¡± the iron-merchant replied with a groan, ¡°but I¡¯m spent. Why did I ever come to this place?¡±


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    ¡°It¡¯s too late for regrets. You came to rescue your daughter,¡± Old Parr said. ¡°Stay close. Who knows where this passage leads?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you know?¡± Thorneycroft asked, his voice trembling.


    ¡°Not at all,¡± the dwarf admitted. ¡°This is my first time here, and it will be my last if I have any say.¡±


    ¡°How did you even get here?¡± Thorneycroft asked, bewildered.


    ¡°I hardly know,¡± Old Parr replied, his voice tinged with frustration. ¡°But it¡¯s proving much harder to leave than to enter. This passage twists like a serpent. It feels like we¡¯re going in circles.¡±


    ¡°I think we¡¯re spinning ourselves,¡± Thorneycroft cried, his fear mounting. ¡°My head is spinning. Oh dear, oh dear!¡±


    ¡°Why, this is uncanny,¡± the dwarf muttered, coming to a halt. ¡°It feels like the very walls are shifting around us.¡±


    ¡°They are moving,¡± Thorneycroft gasped, his hand outstretched against the cold stone. ¡°Lord, have mercy! Deliver us from the Evil One!¡±


    ¡°The place is on fire,¡± the dwarf exclaimed, his voice tinged with urgency. ¡°Thick smoke is filling the passage. Can¡¯t you smell it, Mr. Thorneycroft?¡±


    ¡°Of course I do!¡± Thorneycroft coughed violently. ¡°It¡¯s like being trapped in a room with a clogged chimney and no open window. I¡¯m suffocating!¡±


    ¡°Keep moving!¡± the dwarf urged, seemingly unbothered. ¡°We¡¯ll be out of the smoke soon.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t stand it,¡± Thorneycroft wheezed. ¡°I¡¯ll die here. Oh! I can¡¯t breathe!¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± Old Parr insisted. ¡°You¡¯ll find fresh air in a minute. Wait¡ªwhat¡¯s this? No outlet? We¡¯ve hit a dead end.¡±


    ¡°Dead end!¡± Thorneycroft echoed, panic rising in his voice. ¡°What now? What new horror awaits?¡±


    ¡°A solid wall blocks our way,¡± Old Parr replied, his tone oddly calm.


    ¡°Blocked?¡± Thorneycroft cried. ¡°Then we¡¯re entombed alive!¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± the dwarf said nonchalantly. ¡°For you, it¡¯ll soon be over. Nothing can harm me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure,¡± a voice echoed from above.


    ¡°Did you speak, Mr. Thorneycroft?¡± asked the dwarf, his unease growing.


    ¡°N-no, not I,¡± Thorneycroft gasped, on the verge of collapse. ¡°Help me out of here!¡±


    ¡°Get out if you can,¡± the voice taunted.


    ¡°It¡¯s Rougemont,¡± the dwarf hissed in fear. ¡°We¡¯re trapped. There¡¯s no escape.¡±


    ¡°None whatsoever, rascal,¡± Rougemont¡¯s unseen presence confirmed. ¡°I need you. There¡¯s more work to be done.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t leave Mr. Thorneycroft,¡± the dwarf shouted defiantly. ¡°I swore to protect him, and I will.¡±


    ¡°Fool!¡± Rougemont spat. ¡°You must obey my commands.¡±


    A hand suddenly shot down from above, seizing the dwarf by the neck and lifting him effortlessly.


    ¡°Grab me, Mr. Thorneycroft!¡± Old Parr screamed. ¡°They¡¯re taking me! Pull me down!¡±


    Choking on the thick, acrid smoke, Thorneycroft found himself unable to comply. Before he could react, Old Parr was hoisted out of reach. Left alone, the iron-merchant stumbled blindly through the passage, each breath a struggle, until a gust of fresh air hit his face, reviving him slightly. He moved forward cautiously, barely avoiding a pit that yawned open before him.


    A brazen lamp flickered under an archway, revealing a ladder leading down. Thorneycroft descended carefully but was abruptly seized by a man who emerged from the shadows. The grip loosened almost immediately.


    ¡°Bless my heart, if it ain¡¯t Mr. Thorneycroft,¡± the familiar voice of the Tinker exclaimed.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me,¡± Thorneycroft replied, relief washing over him. ¡°Who¡¯s with you?¡±


    ¡°Who else but the Sandman,¡± the Tinker grunted. ¡°We¡¯ve freed ourselves and made some discoveries.¡±


    ¡°What have you found?¡± Thorneycroft asked breathlessly. ¡°Have you found my daughter? Where is she? Take me to her!¡±


    ¡°Not so fast, old gent,¡± the Tinker replied. ¡°We ain¡¯t sure we¡¯ve found your daughter, but we¡¯ve seen a young woman.¡±


    ¡°It must be her!¡± Thorneycroft cried. ¡°Take me to her immediately!¡±


    ¡°But we can¡¯t get to her,¡± the Tinker explained. ¡°We know where she¡¯s held¡ªthat¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Take me there,¡± Thorneycroft pleaded.


    ¡°Follow me, then,¡± the Tinker said, moving toward the archway. ¡°Sandy, did you shut the door?¡±


    ¡°Not I,¡± replied the Sandman. ¡°Open it.¡±


    ¡°Easier said than done,¡± the Tinker grumbled. ¡°It¡¯s bolted from the other side!¡±


    ¡°Someone followed you,¡± Thorneycroft groaned. ¡°We¡¯re watched on all sides.¡±


    ¡°And from above, too!¡± the Sandman shouted in alarm. ¡°Look up!¡±


    ¡°What now?¡± Thorneycroft asked, dread filling his voice.


    ¡°The roof¡¯s coming down!¡± the Sandman cried. ¡°We¡¯ve got to get out of here!¡±


    They pounded against the door in vain, while the Sandman rushed to the ladder. Before he could climb, an immense iron cover slid into place, sealing the pit and trapping them inside. The heavy clang echoed like a death knell in the suffocating darkness.

 Chapter 22

    <hr>


    For several hours, Anthony had been ensnared in a deep, drug-induced sleep. When he finally awoke, he found himself in a cell with walls, floor, and ceiling made of solid stone. In the center of the room stood a massive granite pillar, its capital adorned with grotesque carvings of skulls and crossbones. Anthony¡¯s left arm was chained to this pillar with heavy iron links, securing him to a ring embedded in the adjacent wall. Beside him, a pitcher of water stood untouched, and an ancient-looking book bound in black vellum lay nearby.


    The dungeon was circular, with a coved roof supported by the pillar. A steep flight of steps rose from a doorway set six feet below the level of the chamber, framed by a pointed arch. A thin stream of light filtered through a narrow aperture in the roof, casting an eerie glow on Anthony¡¯s gaunt features. His dark-brown hair hung in wild tangles, and his beard was untrimmed. His eyes, wide and haunted, stared vacantly, as if fixed on some horrific vision only he could see. He sat on the cold stone floor, his hand supporting his chin, lost in a reverie filled with vivid, tormenting images. His clothing was not of modern times but a doublet and hose of rich material, styled after the fashion of Elizabethan England.


    After some time, Anthony reached for the ancient tome and began to turn its pages. The book was filled with arcane symbols and magical discourses. On one of the early pages, he found a name that immediately riveted his attention. He searched in vain for an explanation within the rest of the text, then set the book aside and sank into deep thought. He sighed heavily and turned back to the book, his gaze finally falling on his attire. Startled, he examined his sleeve closely, then rose to inspect himself from head to foot. He was indeed dressed in the garb of a gentleman from Elizabethan times.


    ¡°What can this mean?¡± he cried out. ¡°Have I endured a long and troubled dream, in which I imagined living for more than two centuries? O Heaven, let it be so! Let the horrific crimes I think I have committed be mere figments of a nightmare! Let my victims be imaginary! Let Evaline be only a beautiful phantom of the night! And yet, I almost wish the rest were real, so that she might exist. I cannot bear the thought that she is nothing more than a vision. But it must be so¡ªI have been dreaming. What a dream it has been, what strange glimpses of the future it has afforded me! I seemed to live through the reigns of many sovereigns, witnessed one being led to the block, saw revolutions shake the kingdom, old dynasties fall, and new ones rise. Fashions changed so drastically that I had forgotten the old ways, and my fellow men seemed entirely different. Can I be the same? Is this the dress I once wore? Let me find proof.¡±


    He thrust his hand into his doublet and drew out some tablets. As he examined them, he saw they bore his name and some writing. With a cry of joy, he exclaimed, ¡°This is proof enough¡ªI have been dreaming all this while.¡±


    ¡°The scheme works like a charm,¡± muttered a shadowy figure lurking at the base of the steps leading up from the doorway. Concealed from view, he watched the prisoner with a malignant, exultant gaze.


    ¡°And yet, why am I here?¡± Anthony murmured, looking around the cell. ¡°Ah, I see,¡± he added with a shudder. ¡°I must have been mad¡ªperhaps I still am. That explains the strange delusions that have tormented me.¡±


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    ¡°I¡¯ll act on that,¡± muttered the listener, a sinister smile curling his lips.


    ¡°What use is memory,¡± Anthony continued, ¡°if things that never were seem real? If joys and sorrows we never experienced are stamped upon our minds¡ªif visions of places, faces, and events we¡¯ve never known haunt us as if they were once familiar? But I am mad¡ªmad!¡±


    The listener suppressed a laugh, a gleam of sadistic pleasure in his eyes.


    ¡°How else, if I were not mad, could I have believed I swallowed the fabled elixir vitae? And yet, is it truly a fable? I feel old¡ªold¡ªthough I look and feel young. Madness, all of it. Yet how vivid and distinct it seems! I remember events from Charles II¡¯s time. Ha!¡ªwho told me of Charles II? How do I know he existed? The reigning sovereign should be James, yet I fancy it is George IV. Oh! I am mad¡ªutterly mad!¡±


    A pause followed, during which the listener indulged in another fit of suppressed laughter.


    ¡°Would that I could look out from this dungeon,¡± Anthony resumed, ¡°and discern truth from falsehood by gazing upon the external world. I am so perplexed that if I weren¡¯t already insane, these thoughts would surely drive me there. Such dismal, terrible fancies weigh upon me still¡ªthe pact with Rougemont¡ªha!¡±


    ¡°Now it comes,¡± muttered the listener eagerly.


    ¡°Oh, if only I could shake off this conviction¡ªthat my soul, though heavily burdened, might still be saved! If only I dared to hope!¡±


    ¡°I must interrupt him if he continues in this vein,¡± said the listener, a note of urgency in his voice.


    ¡°Whether my crimes are real or imaginary¡ªwhether I stole the cup of immortality from my dying grandfather¡ªwhether I signed a pact with the Fiend and delivered a victim every tenth year¡ªI cannot know now. But if it is true, I deeply, bitterly regret my actions and would atone with a life of penance.¡±


    At that moment, Rougemont, dressed similarly to the prisoner, ascended the steps and called out, ¡°What ho, Anthony! Anthony Darcy!¡±


    ¡°Who speaks?¡± demanded Anthony, his eyes wild with fear. ¡°Ah! Is it you, Fiend?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re still clinging to your old delusions,¡± Rougemont replied. ¡°I thought the draught I gave you last night would have cured you.¡±


    ¡°Tell me who and what I am,¡± Anthony cried, stupefied. ¡°What age am I living in? Am I in my right mind or not?¡±


    ¡°For the first, you are Anthony Darcy,¡± Rougemont replied. ¡°For the second, you live in the reign of his most Catholic Majesty James I of England, and sixth of Scotland. And for the third, I trust you will soon recover your reason.¡±


    ¡°Amazement!¡± Anthony exclaimed, striking his brow with a clenched hand. ¡°Then I am mad.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s plain your reason is returning since you are conscious of your condition,¡± Rougemont observed. ¡°But calm yourself, you have been subject to violent frenzies.¡±


    ¡°And I have been confined here for safety?¡± Anthony asked.


    ¡°Precisely,¡± Rougemont confirmed.


    ¡°And you are¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Your keeper,¡± Rougemont replied.


    ¡°My God! What a wretched mind I must have!¡± Anthony groaned. ¡°Answer me one question¡ªIs there such a person as Evaline Thorneycroft?¡±


    ¡°You have often raved about her,¡± Rougemont said dismissively. ¡°But she is merely a figment of your imagination.¡±


    Anthony groaned again and sank against the wall.


    ¡°Since you have become so reasonable, you shall go forth into the world again,¡± Rougemont said. ¡°But the first outing must be at night, to avoid attracting attention. I will return in a few hours. Farewell for now.¡±


    Casting a sinister glance at his captive, Rougemont turned on his heel, descended the steps, and left the cell, his laughter echoing faintly in the damp, cold air.

 Chapter 23

    <hr>


    Night fell, and the cell sank into an oppressive darkness. Anthony¡¯s impatience grew as he awaited his keeper, but the hours dragged on without any sign of his arrival. Exhausted by doubt and bewildering thoughts, Anthony¡¯s mind turned to a grim solution¡ªsuicide. The idea gripped him with a dark intensity, and as if fate conspired with his despair, his foot struck something on the floor. The rattling sound drew his attention, and stooping, he grasped the cold, bare blade of a knife.


    ¡°This will end my doubts,¡± he declared to the shadows. ¡°I will drive this blade into my heart, and if I am mortal, my sufferings will cease.¡±


    He positioned the knife against his chest, fully intending to strike, but before he could inflict a wound, a powerful hand seized his arm.


    ¡°Would you destroy yourself, madman?¡± roared a voice. ¡°I thought your violence had abated, and you could be released safely. But I see you are more deranged than ever.¡±


    Anthony groaned, the knife slipping from his grasp. The newcomer kicked it away with a scornful sneer.


    ¡°You will be moved to another chamber,¡± he continued, ¡°where you can be watched more closely.¡±


    ¡°Take me out¡ªplease, take me out,¡± pleaded Anthony. ¡°It was a moment of desperation, which I now regret.¡±


    ¡°I cannot trust you. You will commit some act of madness for which I will be blamed. When I heeded your pleas before and took you out, I barely stopped you from causing harm.¡±


    ¡°I remember no such event,¡± Anthony replied mournfully. ¡°But it may be true. If so, it only proves how far gone I am¡ªmy memory and reason are shattered!¡±


    ¡°Ay, both gone,¡± the other said with a mocking laugh.


    ¡°Ha!¡± Anthony exclaimed, starting. ¡°I am not so mad that I do not recognize you as the Evil Being who tempted me. I remember our terrible meetings.¡±


    ¡°What, you are raving again!¡± Rougemont barked fiercely. ¡°I must call my assistants to bind you.¡±


    ¡°Leave me¡ªplease leave me!¡± Anthony implored. ¡°I will no longer resist. Whatever thoughts I have, I will keep them to myself. Just take me out.¡±


    ¡°I came to do that,¡± said Rougemont. ¡°But I cannot trust you yet. You are still too unstable.¡±


    ¡°Test me,¡± Anthony urged.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Rougemont replied. ¡°I will see what I can do to calm you.¡±


    He disappeared briefly, returning with a torch. Setting it on the ground, he produced a phial and handed it to Anthony.


    ¡°Drink,¡± he commanded.


    Without hesitation, Anthony complied. ¡°It feels more like a stimulant than a sedative,¡± he remarked, the liquid burning his throat.


    ¡°You are in no state to judge,¡± Rougemont retorted, as he unfastened Anthony¡¯s chains. ¡°Now, come with me, and do not attempt to escape, or you will regret it.¡±


    Like one in a fevered dream, Anthony trailed behind his captor down the flight of stone steps leading from the dungeon and along a narrow, damp passage. Shadows danced in the torchlight, and he thought he heard stealthy footsteps echoing behind him, but he dared not turn to see if he was truly being followed. They reached a short, steep staircase, and upon ascending it, entered a vault where Rougemont paused and placed the torch on the floor. Its flickering glow cast ominous shadows, revealing the stone walls and ancient, rough-hewn benches that lined the chamber. Rougemont motioned Anthony to sit, then sounded a silver whistle.


    The eerie call was soon answered by a dwarf whose attire had changed again, now clad in a grey serge jerkin reminiscent of Elizabethan commoners, a trencher-cap perched on his head. Anthony watched the dwarf timidly approach Rougemont, a vague sense of recognition stirring within him, though he could not recall from where.


    ¡°Is your master abed?¡± demanded Rougemont.


    ¡°Abed! Good lack, sir!¡± exclaimed the dwarf. ¡°Doctor Morehouse knows little of sleep. He toils at the furnace until the stars have set.¡±


    ¡°Doctor Morehouse!¡± Anthony repeated, his voice trembling. ¡°Surely I have heard that name before.¡±


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    ¡°Very likely,¡± replied Rougemont, ¡°for it is the name of your nearest kinsman.¡±


    ¡°How fares the poor young gentleman?¡± asked the dwarf, casting a sympathetic glance at Anthony. ¡°My master often inquires about his grandson and grieves that the state of his mind necessitates confinement.¡±


    ¡°His grandson! I¡ªDoctor Morehouse¡¯s grandson!¡± cried Anthony, disbelief evident in his voice.


    ¡°In sooth, you are, young sir,¡± the dwarf responded. ¡°Were you in your right mind, you would know that my master¡¯s true name is the same as yours¡ªDarcy¡ªReginald Darcy. He uses the name Doctor Morehouse to deceive the masses. He told you this himself, if your poor wits could recall it.¡±


    ¡°Am I dreaming, good fellow? Tell me,¡± Anthony pleaded, his mind a whirlwind of confusion.


    ¡°Alack, no, sir,¡± replied the dwarf. ¡°To my thinking, you are wide awake. But you know, sir,¡± he added, tapping his forehead, ¡°your mind has been a bit unsettled, and your memory and reason are not the clearest.¡±


    ¡°Where does my grandsire dwell?¡± asked Anthony, desperation tinging his words.


    ¡°Why, here, sir,¡± the dwarf replied. ¡°The house is situated at the south end of London Bridge.¡±


    ¡°On the bridge¡ªdid you say on the bridge?¡± Anthony repeated incredulously.


    ¡°Aye, on the bridge¡ªwhere else should it be? You wouldn¡¯t have your grandsire live under the river, would you?¡± the dwarf retorted. ¡°Though, for all I know, some of these vaults might extend beneath it. They are damp enough.¡±


    Anthony sank into reflective silence, not noticing the conspiratorial glance exchanged between the dwarf and Rougemont.


    ¡°Will it disturb Doctor Morehouse if his grandson visits him?¡± Rougemont asked after a brief pause.


    ¡°My master does not like to be interrupted in his work, as you know, sir,¡± the dwarf replied, ¡°and rarely allows anyone but me into his laboratory. But I will make so bold as to introduce Master Anthony, if he wishes it.¡±


    ¡°You will do me the greatest favor,¡± Anthony said, rising eagerly.


    ¡°Sit down¡ªsit down!¡± Rougemont commanded. ¡°You cannot go up until the doctor has been informed. Stay here while Flapdragon and I ascertain his wishes.¡± With that, he exited the chamber with the dwarf.


    Alone in the dim vault, Anthony¡¯s thoughts churned in turmoil. He struggled to convince himself that he was not ensnared in some bizarre delusion. The oppressive silence was finally broken by the dwarf¡¯s return.


    ¡°Your grandsire will see you,¡± the dwarf announced.


    ¡°One word before we go,¡± Anthony said, gripping the dwarf¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Saints! How you frighten me!¡± the dwarf exclaimed. ¡°You must keep composed, or I dare not take you to my master.¡±


    ¡°Pardon me,¡± Anthony replied, releasing him. ¡°I meant no harm. Where is the person who brought me here?¡±


    ¡°Your keeper?¡± said the dwarf. ¡°Oh, he is within call. He will join you soon. Now, follow me.¡±


    Taking up the torch, the dwarf led the way out of the chamber. They ascended a spiral staircase, seemingly within a turret, until they reached a door. Flapdragon opened it, revealing a scene that nearly stupefied Anthony.


    It was the laboratory, just as he had seen it over two centuries ago. The floor was strewn with alchemical implements, the table covered with mystic parchments inscribed with cabalistic characters. The furnace stood in the corner, crucibles and cucurbites adorned the chimney-board, and the sphere and brazen lamp hung from the ceiling. Skeletons grinned from behind the chimney-corner¡ªall exactly as he remembered. There, too, was Doctor Morehouse, garbed in a loose gown of sable silk, a square black cap atop his venerable head, and his snowy beard streaming to his girdle.


    The old man¡¯s gaze was fixed upon a crucible placed upon the furnace, and he was working the bellows. As Anthony entered, the old man turned his head, revealing features impossible to forget.


    ¡°Come in, grandson,¡± said the old man kindly. ¡°Come in, and close the door after you. The draught affects the furnace¡ªmy Athanor, as we adepts term it. Your keeper tells me you are much better.¡±


    ¡°Are you indeed living?¡± cried Anthony, rushing wildly towards him, attempting to grasp his hand.


    ¡°Off¡ªoff!¡± cried the old man, drawing back in alarm. ¡°You disturb my operations. Keep him calm, Flapdragon, or take him hence. He may do me a mischief.¡±


    ¡°I have no such intention, sir,¡± said Anthony. ¡°I only wish to be assured that you are my aged relative.¡±


    ¡°To be sure he is, young sir,¡± interposed the dwarf. ¡°Why should you doubt it?¡±


    ¡°O sir,¡± cried Anthony, throwing himself at the old man¡¯s feet, ¡°pity me if I am mad, but offer me some explanation that may restore my senses. My reason seems gone, yet I appear capable of receiving impressions from external objects. I see you, and recognize you. I see this chamber, these alchemical implements, that furnace, and all these objects. Am I deceived, or is this real?¡±


    ¡°You are not deceived, my son,¡± replied the old man. ¡°You have been here before and seen me before. It would be useless to explain to you now how you have suffered from fever and what visions your delirium has produced. When you are fully restored, we will discuss it.¡±


    With that, he resumed blowing the fire and watched the changing colors of the liquid in the cucurbite with great interest.


    Anthony studied him earnestly, but the old man was too absorbed in his work to notice. Eventually, Anthony broke the silence.


    ¡°I would feel convinced if I might look out from that window,¡± he said.


    ¡°Convinced of what?¡± the old man asked sharply.


    ¡°That I am what I seem,¡± replied Anthony.


    ¡°Look forth, then,¡± said the old man. ¡°But do not disturb me with idle talk. There is the rosy color in the projection for which I have waited so long.¡±


    Anthony walked to the window and gazed through the tinted panes. The night was profoundly dark, and objects were only faintly discernible. He thought he detected the gleam of the river beneath him and a long line of houses on the bridge. He believed he saw other buildings with high roofs and gables, characteristic of Elizabethan architecture. He persuaded himself he could make out the venerable Gothic pile of Saint Paul¡¯s Cathedral on the other side of the river, and as if to confirm it, a deep, solemn bell tolled the hour of two. After a while, he returned from the window and addressed his supposed grandsire.


    ¡°I am satisfied. I have lived centuries in a few nights.¡±


    THE END