The Churchill Casebook of Curiosities
Book Two: 'Smoke and Mirrors' or 'The Sinister Figure'
Chapter One: A Summons
I went to a rodeo at Eton onceSunday 4th May 1879
I have sadly neglected this journal since the events at Blackburn Lodge. In my defence I find myself quite traumatised, in a manner I have not been for many a year. Yesterday, just as I had finally begun to feel the dread withdrawing, the London Evening Standard printed their reporting on the matter—bringing on a fresh round of recrimination and creeping horror.
The reports are, of course, pure poppycock, concocted by Lady Abernathy when the police first arrived to question us in the aftermath. A conflagration caused by a lightning strike that killed all Lady Abernathy’s staff and Madam Perceptica. All very neat and convenient.
It was all I could do to agree when asked, numbed by the deaths and my taking of Jessica’s life. Silas, catching on quickly to Lady Abernathy’s tactic, provided convincingly relevant detail (claiming Peabody was struck by a falling beam was a particularly brilliant ad-lib). Curiously it did feel as though the officers were only too eager to lap up this easy solution to a messy affair. It almost felt as though they were leading us…
I did overhear Daphne pontificating in his way to a constable about what really happened, but it was so far fetched the young man eventually closed his notebook with a shake of his head, ‘That’s quite enough.’ (luckily for Mr Blackwood as Daphne was just arriving at the part where he was going to shop him for the assault on Peabody!)
Some of the reports were accurate—Mr Black did indeed slink off into the night before we had even left his boathouse, as did Simon once the police started about their business. No surprises in either case: Mr Black was a collector of all manner of sordid tomes—cannibalism being a favourite topic, and Simon had his own reputation as a Satanist which I imagine gets him into hot water with fair regularity, let alone when unexplained deaths have occurred. I noted Dr Hawthorne quietly collecting several of Mr Black’s books for his library, and I managed to slip an illustrated volume that went into particularly graphic details of tribal sexual practice—ideal for some of the more daring Coffee House patrons!
There were two extra details in the newspaper reports that sent me spiralling again.
The first: that Rufus had been impaled by a tree and had been dead for some time. Impaling being of course the way most everyone had died—Madam Perceptica, Mrs Innocenti, even the attempt on Simon (with a mongoose of all things). And what was more, Lord Reginald Abernathy had died by remarkably similar means. Normally I would ascribe that to coincidence, but now it seems that Jessica’s reign of terror may have been going on for years.
And this was the second shock. Not only was Jessica willing to kill her own sister, it appears she also was the means of her mother and father’s demise. The reports had them dead for some weeks, buried in their coal store, when all believed them travelling to the colony of New South Wales.
Jessica was a monster it seems, killing all who stood in the way of her conquest of Peabody. These further details shook me to my core, and I fear I will never get over it.
Monday 5th May 1879
I have been summoned by Major Harding once again, and suspect my erstwhile companions will also be in attendance. I am not sure how I will react to Mr Blackwood, but I will attend if for no reason other than to find out what the Major knew before sending us into that darkness.
Thursday 8th May 1879
It was a relief and pleasure to find Silas on the platform at Kings Cross. He is a good man, and his presence rather bucked me up after a troublesome week. He told me he had recorded a true account of the events, which I am glad for as his perspective will help settle mine if I should ever need to revisit those times. He said the one image he could not shake was that of Mr Blackwood floating 12ft above the ground, much as the look in Jessica’s eyes as I shot her haunts me.
As he escorted me to my carriage we caught sight of Daphne—in First, naturally—who barely acknowledged us with his practiced arrogance. Still, I was happy to see him for he is entertaining in his toffee way. As I prepared to take my seat I was shaken to see Mr Blackwood a few seats ahead. I found myself immediately anxious, clutching my pistol as Silas greeted him. Despite our last stand together fighting Jessica, I could not stomach sitting with the man, so I excused myself and moved to another carriage.
At Major Harding’s
We are jammed into a carriage provided by the Major. Daphne is holding court, explaining he had spent the week ‘self-medicating’ in order to get past the séance, and he seems to have succeeded admirably. I am writing as we travel so as to avoid Mr Blackwood, who remains as quiet and mysterious as ever. He has with him a small bag which thankfully could hold his accursed hammer, though I have no doubt he has an equally blunt instrument within just in case.
Lichfield Hall stands out from those around it, greyer and drabber, as if it alone has been subject to every misfortune. Typical I suppose; the Major has never been one to care about appearance.
We were surprised when the door was opened by a uniformed, high-ranked police officer instead of Samjee.
Superintendent Adolf ‘Dolly’ Williamson
I recognised the gentleman; an infrequent visitor to the Coffee House, but a visitor none-the-less, Superintendent Adolf Williamson. ‘Dolly’ to Harding (and my girls and boys). He knew Silas also, but not Daphne (though he was predictably impressed by the Marleybone name) or Mr Blackwood. Much to my chagrin he told me that the deplorable Detective Inspector Clement wanted to question me about ‘the O’Hara affair’, with whom I promised to be in touch.
Then he said a most curious thing to us all: “Good to have you aboard!”
“Aboard what?” I asked keenly.
“Why, on the team, Madam,” he swerved.
“What team?”
Of course he did not answer, merely bidding farewell to the Major, who hustled us inside.
Debriefing
Major Harding wasted no time with formalities. He wanted to know each of our accounts of what happened at Blackburn Lodge, revealing that Dr Hawthorne had already visited and presented his recollections.
We did so, each from our own perspective, with the Major not often interrupting, perhaps only to clarify a point here or there. Mr Blackwood surprised us all by saying the events ‘felt occultish, not science,’ and hence he could not explain them by scientific means—a frank admission from a man clearly wedded to the material world.
Another surprise was the revelation that Major Harding is Peabody’s godson! Despite this he appeared to harbour no particular resentment toward Mr Blackwood, which makes him a nobler man than I.
When we questioned him on what he knew before sending us, he claimed the only interest he had was with Madam Perceptica: he had heard tell that she was a particularly receptive or, dare I say, perceptive, spiritualist, and the Major wanted us to assess how true that was.
Despite pressing, he would not budge from this position, declaring he knew nothing of Jessica, nor Mrs Innocenti. He knew of Simon, or course, but had no interest in his presence. He would not apologise for sending us, though he did mutter something about regretting we had to go through what we did. The hunger in his eye as he absorbed our stories told me that, quite to the contrary, he didn’t regret anything.
We enquired about Jessica’s parents and what Dolly has discovered. He said the police had no leads, and in fact had landed on Jessica as a possibly suspect, but only because there was no one else to ask. This now being a dead end, the case was likely to be closed as unsolved.
John Langbrook
Once our stories were exhausted, the Major clapped his hands and Samjee appeared to escort us to dinner. Almost simultaneously a new guest arrived: a very handsome young man with a terribly upper class manner. Jovial, friendly, modern (or trying to be) and very comfortably wealthy.
He introduced himself as John Langbrook, shaking hands firmly with Daphne (and again the Marleybone name immediately elevated Daphne’s standing—‘say hello to your father for me’). Daphne knew of him, of course, introducing him as the member for East Somerset—‘someone near Cheddar Gorge, as it happens’—in the House of Commons. ‘East Somerset’ was said with some disdain; Daphne is nothing if not committed to his image.
‘I like to think I am a man of the people,’ Langbrook said with a charming smile and the clipped tones of a toff, which did nothing to hide the absurdity of the statement. The Major made no move to explain the presence of the new man, and we didn’t question it.
We sat to eat and made small talk throughout, the only notably hiccup being when Langbrook raised ‘the Zululand situation,’ which caused the Major to immediately change the subject. Langbrook didn’t miss a beat, a politician through and through.
As the main course was being cleared by Samjee (the Major does work him hard) Langbrook had a sudden recollection.
“I say Baron, I must tell of your something—Penelope and I attended the most marvellous magic show! Doctor Foedemere at the Dock Street Theatre; you really must go, I quite insist. Penelope and I have bought one, we enjoyed it so much!”
“One what?” I asked, curious.
“I cannot say, Madam, for that would spoil the show!” Langbrook grinned foolishly. Despite all his affectations he really was quite handsome.
The Major was intrigued, of course. “I shall not, but my friends here shall,” he declared in a tone that would brook no argument.
Which, naturally, meant that Daphne immediately did.
“I shall do no such thing—Dock Street is well below my station,” Daphne declared definitively.
“Daphne,” the Major said shortly, “You will attend, for if not, your mother will hear from me.”
Daphne reddened at this but stood his ground. “No, I will not.”
“Daphne!” the Major roared. He spun his chair and opened a sideboard, freeing a shotgun which he wheeled back to the table. He calmly loaded to shells into the chamber, pointed at the ceiling and fired.
Daphne jumped up and ran out of the room. Langbrook had a slice of pheasant poised as he watched on with frank fascination.
The explosion send my mind spinning back to the moment Mr Blackwood had near-deafened my as he fired at Jessica with the gun resting on my shoulder. A black wave of terror overcame me and I leapt to my feet, pulling my pistol free and aiming it at the Major with shaking hands. “No, no, not again, not again!!” I cried, barely in control of my emotions.
The Major stared at me unconcerned as he reloaded his gun. Silas shook his head and stood. “Major Harding,” he nodded, as if nothing had happened, “We shall take our leave.”
He came to me and carefully lowered my hands. “Gideon,” he said softly, “Everything is ok. The Major…has turns, it is nothing to be afraid of.”
“I can’t do this again,” I stammered, “Not again.”
Silas reassured me again, and I shuddered as the adrenalin and tension slowly drained. “I killed her, Silas. I trusted her, believed in her…and then I killed her,” I whispered.
“You had no choice,” Silas said, and I tried to believe him.
Hooked
As we departed we could hear the Major and Samjee having quite the blue—I noticed Silas slipping Samjee a tonic to help settle the Major’s nerves, and I took that lead myself, which helped enormously. As we gathered on the landing I soon felt far more at ease. Daphne was busy regaling Langbrook with the story of Jessica, but even that did not disturb my equilibrium.
Langbrook looked rather like he would like an escape from Daphne’s ravings, so I offered him one. He took my hand with gratitude, and I his. I leaned into him for ‘support’ as we made our way to the carriage. Mr Blackwood was good enough to sit with the driver, allowing me to cosy up with Langbrook for the journey. I fell asleep on his shoulder, which was a very nice shoulder indeed.
When I roused I made sure to keep my eyes closed, listening in on the gentlemen’s discussion as they recounted the dinner. “Well that was quite an eventful evening,” Langbrook said.
“It’s not my first rodeo,” Silas laughed, “Baron Churchill has not shortage of idiosyncrasies.”
“I went to a rodeo at Eton once,” Daphne mused, “It was the entire rugby team.”
This caused much mirth, and with the distraction I allowed my hand to ‘fall’ onto Langbrook’s inner thigh. He stiffened immediately, and through half-closed eyes I could see Silas smirking as Langbrook’s mind spun through the many scenarios a man will entertain in such a circumstance. I smiled to myself and, eventually, woke fully and withdrew my wandering hand with a light squeeze.
“Thank you, Mr Langbrook,” I smiled softly. “You have been quite the gentleman…I apologise for my presumption but I was quite exhausted.”
Langbrook, of course, protested it was nothing.
As we arrived at the station and Langbrook helped me down, I slipped my card into his hand. “I insist you visit—the Coffee House at Covent Garden. The night will be on me.” He flushed, bowed nervously, and looked around desperately for his second escape of the night.
Ah, yes, he was on the hook.
Friday 9th May 1879
A ticket and telegram arrived today. The ticket was for a performance by The Amazing Doctor Foedemere at Dock Street. The telegram contained a stipend of £100 (I gasped at the sum) for ‘services rendered’ and as an ongoing agreement to continue those same services.
It seems I am now obliged to, and employed by, Baron Churchill.
