Friday 6th June 1879: Overton Farm, Lea Bridge

Hidden in the trees, we observed the movement of two patrols through the grounds of the farm and surrounds. Two men took an anticlockwise route through the stables, in front of the main residence (where they nodded to a man guarding the gates), around to the rear, and once more through the stables. Occasionally we saw the gate warden acknowledge someone who would emerge from the house.

“Trained men,” Blackwood assured us. “Watch how they walk, used to routine, covering each checkpoint, and there is no slacking off. They are either paid well or scared—probably both.”

We watched as they passe, one guard carrying a crooked shotgun (full sized, unlike Silas’s). Both appeared to be very bored, but dutiful none-the-less.

“There’s some smoke from the outbuildings in the stables,” Silas pointed out once they were out of sight, “But not the main house.”

“A smithy perhaps?” I suggested, “For melting down their stolen silver?”

We agreed to approach the stables first, the iron fence surrounding the house looking harder to breach. Silas, used to careful timing in his surgery, counted the route of the patrol. “10 minutes, at the most.”

“In which case I would caution five, then we move,” I advised.

We hastily approached the huddled buildings in the first gap. I made short work of the gate lock, and again of the pair of side doors on the nearest high roofed stone structure. Inside was empty of men, thank goodness. Inside we found the first evidence that we were finally on the trail to solving this mystery. The room contained woodworking benches with half-finished frames lying atop. Against the wall were propped fully constructed frames, still raw timber but ready to receive a mirror.

With mounting excitement we moved toward the smallest of the building, which belched smoke from a short chimney. Because it was clearly occupied, we crouched to spy through the keyholes instead of barging inside. And lo! A tumbled pile of silver objects lay inside, near a firing forge that blazed red. A blacksmith was hard at work melting down objects from the pile being carried to him by a bare-shirted, sweating lad.

I peered in vain for Langbrook’s statue, but it was enough to see that the silverware was obviously a collection of ornaments and pieces that must be the spoils of the Man Burglar Walks Through Walls. Candlesticks, cutlery, desk weights and more.

“We have them!” I whispered excitedly.

“We do—but it’s time to make ourselves scarce,” Silas said pocketing his watch.

We hid in a nearby copse whilst waiting for the patrol to pass again (luckily they appeared oblivious to our presence and recent venturing).

“I expected to smell ammonia or similar,” Blackwood said, “If they are making mirrors here.”

“My guess is that they ship the mirrors ready-made from Italy, or wherever they are being created. Why bother making here when you can use their very properties to transport them across the globe.”

“Perhaps,” Silas said, “But we must check the other buildings—the answer may lay within.”

“No!” I protested stridently. “We have found what we need—clear guilt, motive, and means. Our next step must be the main house, there is nothing more to be found out here. The house is the heart of this affair!”

But Silas would not budge, even in the face of a small fit of temper from me. I submitted, swearing to Silas that if this extra recognisance resulted in us being caught I would never forgive him.

“Yes, yes, Gideon,” Silas said, well used to my threats.

The next building proved my point, or so I thought. Blackwood pulled up short at the door. “Ah, there it is; ammonia.”

Inside was something more akin to a lab: vats and black-stained tubs, and smooth black workbenches with extremely flat surfaces. There were no mirrors, but Blackwood swore that this was precisely the equipment required to create them.

“Silas this is all we need to see, can we please skip the last building?” I begged.

“No Gideon we may not. Let’s move on.”

We moved on. Inside the final building was a room divided in two by a central wall. The first room was obviously for the finishing work, holding several beautifully decorated and stained frames ready for use.

“Quickly now,” Silas said pointing to the iron-bound door in the wall.

I was sure we would find only bed chambers beyond, but went to work on the integrated lock. This one gave me a little more challenge, but only a little, and soon it gave way to my ministrations. What lay inside stopped us dead in our tracks.

Silas was right.

A rom with a strange lighthouse-style light focussing device, runed tabletops, astrolabe, and iron chest. Stairs lead down into darkness

A large brass device holding an glass iris in place hung from the ceiling below a skylight, dominating the room.

“A fresnel lens for focussing light and reducing spherical aberration,” Blackwood said, “Like you would find in a lighthouse.”

“If you say so,” I laughed softly. The legs of the device appeared to allow it to be rotated in place, seemingly to allow the light from above to be trained on a complex maze-like pattern that was etched on a table above the stone floor. The faint light poking through the fog outside weakly illuminated a section of the pattern.

“Moonlight, not sunlight,” Silas added staring at the skylight.

“And that is an astrolabe,” Blackwood continued, pointing to an intricate device made of rotating spheres suspended above a table, like a world globe but far more complex, with many more globes in a clockwork matrix. “It shows the path of the sun and moon, and planets.”

A compass was marked around the outside of the device. “This must be how they triangulate the mirrors to travel,” Silas said excitedly.

Two tables stood nearby, also etched with strange circular patterns that made no obvious sense. The patterns were traced into a short, napped velvet surface atop each table. Each also had a bracket standing at a right angle to the surface, forming an empty frame that seemed to allow something to be fitted into them. The brackets were only 10-inches tall and as wide as the table itself. Blackwood pointed out an articulation point in the northern table that would allow it to bend over the patterned surface.

The final item in the room was an ironclad steel cabinet, rivetted and locked. This was a very difficult lock, but I had faced difficult locks before and this was not going to beat me. We opened it carefully to find two 6-inch by 6-foot mirrors: a perfect match for the frames above the tables!

“These are the key to all of this,” Silas exclaimed, “Somehow enabling the travel.”

I agreed—why else keep them so carefully locked away.

“We’re out of time,” Silas said before we could explore any further. I hurried to the door and relocked it, adding a pin to make it harder to unlock should the guards decide to check in here. We stood above the stairs that led into darkness below, ready to scamper, but the patrol only did a cursory check of the other room before moving on. We caught a few snatches of Italian, confirming our suspicions further—and the Lea Bridge resident’s prejudices.

Blackwood wanted to check the mirrors further, so we carefully extracted them from their safe. On the rear of each he found an inscription: Dextra and Sinistra.

“Right and left,” Silas translated, “From the Latin.”

Blackwood looked over to the two tables. “Let’s make them work?”

This seemed like a bad idea and I said as much. “We have no idea how any of this works,” I said waving to the various mysteries in the room, “And the chances of us making a mistake are very high. We should move,” I said pointing to the stairs.

Silas agreed, and had an idea. “Let’s smash the mirrors. Without them they an do no further harm.”

It was a good idea, but I had a better one. “Let’s take them with us. If whoever operates them returns, they will know they have been exposed. But I think it is worth the risk.”

Everyone agreed, so the gentlemen hefted the mirrors, Blackwood cranked his mechanical light, and we descended the stairway.

Below lay a small room with a smugglers tunnel leading toward the main house. We hurried down it, passing an overhead manhole midway, before emerging in a small stone chamber. A short set of stairs led up to a closed door. We stashed the mirrors in the darkness of the passage, then Blackwood carefully tried to open the door. Something blocked it. With some effort he managed to budge it open a crack; the blockage was a cabinet pushed hard against the door. We had no choice but to keep shoving it open until it was wide enough to shift the cabinet.

The noise was small but anyone close-by would have been alerted, but after waiting a heartbeat or two it appeared we were safe. We slipped into a storeroom, full of household staples: flour, meal, etc. I could see the cabinet had been moved often, indicting the tunnel was an oft-travelled route.

Three doors led from the room, two locked. I tried the first which opened into a bedchamber. I gasped in shock when I saw who was sitting forlornly on the edge of a simple iron bed: Mr Anthony Salvin? Here??

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“Mr Salvin!” I exclaimed. The elderly gentleman looked the worse for wear, tired and drawn, but he perked up on seeing us.

“Yes? Who are you—why, Blackwood!” Savlin said looking over my shoulder, “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you,” Blackwood said, adeptly adjusting to the surprise appearance.

“This is a rescue?”

“Yes but Mr Salvin I have a confession to make,” Blackwood said. Silas and I exchanged a worried glance as he continued in a whisper; “I broke the seal on your plans.”

Salvin sat bolt upright. “But are they safe?”

“Yes but I broke the seal,” Blackwood repeated.

“Yes, yes, but you are sure they are secure?”

“Yes, they are safe,” Silas interjected. Salvin noticeably relaxed on hearing this. I hoped that what Silas said was true. We had perhaps been foolish to leave them in Blackwood’s rooms, though surely the recent events would delay any further attempts.

Blackwood meanwhile looked desperately unhappy. “It is treason, Mr Salvin.”

“Never mind that, man. Now, get me out of here.”

“It’s not that easy,” I said. “This is hostile territory, sir, and getting you out of here won’t be easy.”

“Madam I don’t believe we have been introduced,” Salvin said with a leering smile.

“I am Gideon Harrow, sir, proprietor of Harrow’s Exotic Coffee House in Covent Garden—perhaps you know it?”

“I do not, but I would certainly like to get to know you better!”

Was this really happening? Was Salvin flirting with me? “Of course you must come and see me there, it would be my pleasure entirely.”

“And mine, madam, and mine! Now do what you must and let us depart,” Salvin insisted.

I turned to the Silas and Blackwood. “Shall we leave him here whilst we explore the house? We can’t keep him safe.”

“Leave me? When you have just found me?? I fail to see how that would help!” Salvin grumbled.

He was starting to get on my nerves.

“You have your pistol, Gideon?” Silas said, freeing his shotgun again.

“Pistols? Surely they just need a little roughing up.”

“Speaking of rough, I am Dr Silas Hawthorne,” Silas said introducing himself. “Before we move you—it appears you have been subject to some unfortunate treatment. Would you like me to examine you?”

Salvin sighed, shrinking back to his bed. “Yes, well. They beat me. And I…” he hesitated, glancing at Blackwood. “I am sorry to say I gave them your name.”

“Ah. That explains a lot,” I said. “Mr Blackwood’s residence was…broken into, though he was able to stop the intruder before anything was taken.”

“Including my plans?”

“Including your plans.”

“What did they look like? Were they foreign?”

“European without a doubt,” Salvin scowled.

“And was one of them tall, moustached, perhaps a top hat?” I said, describing Foedemere as best I could.

“With that hat! Most definitely!”

I glanced with some surprise at Silas. “Kidnapping and now torture. I am surprised Foedemere was involved to this level—I had thought him a mere pawn.”

“What else did they want from you? Why did they want the plans?” Silas asked.

“They want knowledge of the Tower, of course. The treasure room, the mechanisms for operating the protection of the Crown Jewels.”

“How pedestrian,” Blackwood muttered. “Imagine what you could do with those mirrors, and they turn to theft.”

“Mirrors?”

“Never mind,” I said with a warning glance to Blackwood.

“Come with us,” Blackwood said suddenly and before I could protest he was helping Salvin to his feet. “We’re getting you out of here.”

“I have always thought of you as a good fellow,” Salvin said, “And this affirms my thoughts.” He was clearly feeling some guilt about his capitulation before his captors.

I was quite annoyed at this arbitrary decision from Blackwood. Taking Salvin would mean abandoning any exploration of the house. With a scowl I followed Blackwood who started to shunt the sideboard aside to access the tunnel. Salvin stood smugly by his side and it was suddenly too much for me. I am ashamed to say I rather lost my temper, using language quite unbecoming which I will not record here.

“What did you say?” Blackwood said with shock.

I stomped my feet and swore like a sailor again before spitting out my fury: “We have come so far only to walk away just when we are on the cusp of this entire debacle! The séance, the theatre, mirrors, robbery, magic and worse! And now we are simply going to leave it all behind?!”

Blackwood stared at me for a moment, then spun on his heel and shoved open the opposite door (luckily unlocked). I stormed after him, heedless of the risk, my blood boiling. More beds, nothing interesting. I strode back to the other locked door, ignoring Silas’s appeals to slow down, and sprung it, emerging into a kitchen area. A pantry and another door, plus stairs up. I clattered up with the gentlemen hot on my tail. More doors, more corridors.

Just as suddenly as it had risen, my anger vanished. This was too much. We had no idea where we were, who was here, and this house was huge. I turned, crestfallen, to Silas. “Help.”

“We’re taking Salvin home,” he said softly, and kindly. I nodded, glancing apologetically at Blackwood. He led us back downstairs and through the tunnel, collecting the mirrors on the way.

We regathered ourselves in the arcane chamber whilst Salvin looked around, fascinated.

“Once we get Salvin to safety we will get what he have learnt to the Baron.” Silas assured me.

“And he will get the army here,” Blackwood nodded. “They will arrest all and sundry.”

I sighed. “I appreciate your confidence, but I will hand you the deeds to the Coffee House if there is anything left here when they arrive. The moment they find Salvin gone, this entire farm will be emptied.”

“They can’t clear it that fast,” Blackwood shook his head.

“I feel sure they can. Remember the mirrors.”

“But we have these,” Silas said, reminding me of the two ‘keys’.

I nodded. “Maybe you are right. In any case, our choice is made.”

“And I have an idea for extra security,” Silas said, leading us over to the astrolabe. “We can destroy this—I am certain it is used to align the mirror transports, so without it they are stuck.”

“Destroy it!?” Salvin exclaimed. “You do know this was made by Hooke himself? It would be criminal to destroy it.”

“We should destroy it,” I said. He was really, really getting on my nerves.

“Maybe Salvin is right,” Silas said shaking his head. “A better plan might be to adjust it minutely, just enough to make their calculations very wrong.”

Blackwood grinned. A moment later he had his tools out and with a careful precision that belied his blacksmith’s frame he adjusted the compass positioning to be several degrees out of place, having carefully recorded the original placement in his ever present notebook.

We escaped the farm, mirrors and Salvin in hand, burying the mirrors in some forlorn woods near Lea Bridge. Somewhat miraculously we managed to finally trudge our way back to the Split Pig, unharmed. We were a sorry sight, bedraggled, exhausted, stressed, and worried. Daphne was still asleep.

As I stepped over the threshold a flat-capped lad stepped from the shadows and nodded at me.

“I just thought I should tell you—they did try again.”

Oh god.