Thursday 22nd May 1879: The Coffee House

Quill has found me. Silas observed him talking to Eunice at the door of the Coffee House prior to our meeting today. I snapped at Eunice when I discovered she had not already informed me; I must make amends. She was innocent, of course (what would I do without her?), not knowing Quill from a bar of French soap. He apparently posed as a magician seeking work and enquiring about our schedule. I believe Eunice said he also asked about Mr Chan. We must be careful—both he and Fodemere obviously know more about us than we thought.

I had a difficult night, as might be expected, helped only by administering myself tonics. Which meant I was late for our gathering and wearing only a silk dressing gown, Eunice once again rescuing me once the gentlemen had assembled.

As I joined them Blackwood was head down in a scientific paper as a hung-over Daphne (the handkerchief covering his woes an obvious giveaway!) ordered a triple Turkish coffee from Eunice. By this time she was quite out of sorts at my behaviour and Daphne was forced to serve his own cream (“well we are all working men now,” he quipped). Silas was his self-assured self, enjoying his coffee and the company.

The first thing I did was apologise for the debacle at the theatre. “I embarrassed you and the cream of society, and for that I beg your forgiveness.” To my (brief) surprise it was Daphne who waved this away. “You didn’t embarrass us. Society, yes, but not us.” Ha.

We discussed the ‘discoveries’ of the evening, arriving on three facts:

  1. The second mirror was just a mirror, or at least it was by the time I fell onto it.
  2. Fodemere had clearly feared for the safety of his hand when he dropped the parchment.
  3. We were no closer to a solution, unless our solution was ‘magic’.

On this last point I pressed for us to simply report to the Baron that it was indeed ‘actual’ magic, much as I still found that hard to believe. Silas briefly entertained this idea, proposing we were in ‘uncharted metaphysical territory’, before Blackwood suddenly lifted his head from his journal to vehemently disagree. “No we’re not!” he exclaimed, then went on to give a frankly impossible to follow synopsis of his reading (Arthur Cayley’s 1843 paper, “Chapters in the Analytic Theory of n-Dimensions”). “A pivotal moment recognising that multiple variables could be treated as multidimensional space,” he ‘explained’.

Thankfully the others stopped him before too long, and we all agreed the Baron wouldn’t be happy with anything other than proof one way or the other. This being the case, we resolved to finally do what we should have when I proposed it several weeks past: break in to the Dock St. Theatre and examine the mirrors for ourselves.

At this decision Daphne groaned and begged absence, but we insisted he attend as Marleybone insurance if nothing else. “Only if Blackwood protects us with his hammer,” he growled. At which Mr Blackwood produced the most horrific pistol I have ever seen. “Made it myself,” he said as he proudly as I all but yelled at him to put it away and never bring it to the Coffee House again!

I was all for going ahead this very evening, proposing we use Clement to haul Quill in on a trumped up charge to give us a clearer passage (and Sayers could perhaps be dealt with by Silas’s medicines), but of course it’s never quite that simple. I must admit that after my woeful preparation for the stage incursion, I was retrospectively pleased that Silas cautioned us to slow down. He advised we scout the theatre, find out what protection it has overnight, and other such matters. If I didn’t know him so well I would wonder if he too was a man of the night.

It was good thinking, and we resolved to attempt this on Sunday evening if our investigations panned out; there were no shows that night and the streets were sure to be more empty than usual.

Before long I had organised Lulu (a fast-rising member of the household) to infiltrate the staff at the Theatre and find what she could. I gave her licence to offer up to £10, or entertainment at the Coffee House to a similar value, or even, should the stars align, an offer of employment. Lulu was excited to take this job, her first more senior opportunity; Eunice seemed a little put out (“As her ladyship wishes,” she sniped) but I will make it up to her.

Saturday 24th May 1879: The Coffee House

Lulu has had great success with her hat clerk ‘Sasha’, who fell for Lulu’s charms in an instant. Her first encounter revealed that there is no-one present in the theatre overnight, and only a lone nightwatchman who patrols the district.

This seemed to good to be true, so I sent her back on Friday night. At this rendezvous (“of a more physical nature,” Lulu said without a blush; she will do very well) the information was again easy to prise loose; she confirmed that Quill and Sayers leave the theatre with Fodemere and don’t return until the next performance. This surprised me as I had been sure one of them would stay with the mirrors at all times, particularly if they were magic. Lulu also gave us the final piece of the puzzle: the mirrors themselves were not guarded, nor locked away in a safe or similar.

It seemed that this would be far easier than I had planned: no need to remove the lumbering Quill and Sayers, and only a single patrol to deal with. Tomorrow night cannot come soon enough; perhaps we can finally solve this most confounding mystery.

Sunday 25th May 1879: Dock St. Theatre

Daphne arranged for one of his less obvious carriages to collect us at midnight. He was dressed in a most ridiculous (but extremely fashionable) outfit of buckled green crocodile loafers and a divine black cloak. Mr Blackwood took one look at the shoes and insisted Daphne strap some ugly rubber sound-deadeners to the soul, which Daphne, to his credit, obeyed with only minimal protest.

The Theatre district was as quiet as it ever gets. I scouted the entrances, determining that a stage door on eastern side was likely safest.

From the shadows we observed the night patrol, a single doddering elderly gentleman who took a full twenty minutes to do his rotation of the various establishments in his care.

Whilst we waited for this to be repeated, Daphne had a most clever thought. He asked Blackwood where he, if he were staking out the theatre, would position himself to observe comers-and-goers. Mr Blackwood pointed to the second stories of nearby buildings, and in a matter of minutes they found something: a single candle-lit window directly opposite the main theatre doors. Luckily the door I had chosen was well out of line-of-sight, and Blackwood advised that the candle appeared to be behind glass (“no moving curtains,” he whispered peering through his spyglass) which meant the occupant would struggle to see to the street below.

With the watchman passed, I made short work of the lock and moments later we were inside. Silas handed out candles and I started my stopwatch. “We have eighteen minutes, gentlemen.” We went to work, quickly opening doors with a goal of getting below stage. It didn’t take long to find a set of steps, and we quickly descended.

We were in luck: the stairway led directly to a large below-stage storage room, full of crated props and furniture. As we advanced, the candles providing just enough light, we made our first major discovery.

On the floor below the stage were two lifts! With excited whispers we agreed they seemed to align precisely with where Fodemere positioned the mirrors on stage. It seemed beyond doubt that this was the secret to the trick, and that it was in fact a trick. No metaphysical magic, just some winches and (very good) stagecraft!

Moments later Mr Blackwood called that he had found the mirrors, tucked away at the far end of the room in amongst all the other detritus. Time was ticking away so we quickly hauled one free so he could examine it: it was a mirror, plain and simple, but with a curious mechanism in the frame that allowed it to be positioned at different angles. And even more damningly there was a second mirror within that framing mechanism?!

We were running out of time so I called for a retreat. We had all the pieces and now needed to piece them together. But that could wait. As we started back a light suddenly flared from the stairway: Quill and Sayer!

“Well, well, the magical Manchurian’s helpers, what a surprise,” Quill said with a growl as Sayers produced a pipe-iron from his jacket with a guttural laugh.

“And here’s another,” I said with a grim smile as I stepped onto the stage elevator and pulled the lever to. Daphne followed suit, and a moment later we both stood onstage. From below I heard a curse as I quickly looked for the return lever but there was none! A wave of fear washed over me as I realised Silas and Blackwood were now trapped below.

Muffled words rose through the floorboards as Daphne and I sought a way to help, when suddenly both elevators lowered. The voices were clearer now, and I was relieved to here Silas speaking quite calmly. “Gentlemen we have no intent to reveal nor copy your trick; we merely sought to discover it’s working. Now that we have that, we will leave you to your devices. I suggest you do not follow us for if you do,” and here I heard the unmistakable cocking of a shotgun (and another of a terribly mechanical pistol), “I will not hesitate to use this.”

Moments later both Silas and Blackwood popped onto the stage. Both carried their respective firearms and both looked in good spirits and good health. From below came another barrage of shouting, so we made haste to exit the building via the backstage door; by my timer we were one minute ahead of the watch as we sprinted away to the safety of darkness.

Monday 26th May 1879, very early: The Courthouse

Daphne led us to a less than salubrious establishment, The Courthouse, which was perfect for our purposes. Here we nutted out the trick in full (and when I say we, I should clarify that it was the gentlemen for the most part!).

The stage-elevators were used to drop Fodemere from sight once he stepped ‘through’ the first mirror. Then he would rise from the other platform to appear through the second mirror. Silas opined that there was not enough time for Fodemere himself to complete the journey, so he must have a twin or close double. That double would be ready the instant Fodemere vanished, which explained the uncannily precise timing.

Blackwood then described the mirrors and the mechanisms he had found. From that we deduced that the action of folding out the supporting frame also folded out another mirror that reflected the back and side of the stage. This allowed the floor panels to be hidden from view so Fodemere and his double could step through without suspicion. It was fiendishly clever and I struggled to follow the exact physical nature of the reflections, but Blackwood and Silas were confident they had the solution and I was more than happy to go along with them.

My only doubt was how the written note was handled. How was it reversed? I had held it before my eyes and knew beyond doubt it was my handwriting; it was no fake. This stumped everyone, but we eventually arrived at a theory: the parchment and charcoal writing tool were provided by Fodemere via Sayers. It seemed increasingly likely that through some manner of legerdemain (a new word to me that I must say admire greatly) the parchment or plinth upon which it was placed allowed a mirrored duplicate to be made somewhere in the exchange. Perhaps folding it had the effect of blotting paper, or perhaps the words were captured by a second parchment below the first. It wasn’t a perfect understanding, unlike the mirrors and floor panels which had satisfyingly mechanical explanation, but it would do.

It was now very late, so Silas arranged for rooms for himself and me whilst Blackwood and Daphne made their way to their homes. Our next appointment was agreed for 4PM Monday with the Baron where we would put the matter of Fodemere’s mirrors to rest.

I asked to see the proprietor, Mrs Gertrude Davros, who was most helpful and even deemed it an honour that I should be staying (I assured her she was most welcome at the Coffee House). I asked her to send two notes on first mail. One to Eunice warning her that Quill might make his presence felt and rather more forcefully this time; and a second to Clement requesting added protection around the Coffee House for the next twenty-four hours. I promised to explain why and hinted at more—he was hungry, so I felt sure my request would be met.

With this record made I now collapse into what I expect will be a most satisfying rest.

Monday 26th May 1879: Lichfield Hall, Thornton Heath; Baron Churchill’s residence

On the journey Daphne insisted that Blackwood and I travel first class. “They feel better in coach,” he said to Silas, “But should experience the real thing.” He then went on to patronisingly explain every advantage First had as we sat in what was, frankly, exactly the same experience as ‘coach’, just with white gloves instead of black.

Of interest, Blackwood told us that he had found a vastly increased police presence on the streets around Aldgate, perhaps related to the disappearance of Mr Salvin. He said he tried to wheedle out more information from a bobby but the officer was plainly avoiding answering anything and hurriedly excused himself from the conversation.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Daphne said offhandedly, “I saw one of those satanic nuns outside the Coffee House.”

Much conversation ensued.

As it panned out, the Baron was entertaining Langbrook when we arrived, which was a perfect happenstance. “Very good, we shall settle our wager at last!” Langbrook enthused upon hearing we had concluded our investigations. Silas gave the Baron a very stern glare at this, not pleased if our endeavours were merely to settle a gentleman’s bet.

We explained the entire affair from go to woe. The Baron said very little, only listening carefully and giving perspicacious looks, whilst Langbrook was entirely fascinated with every last detail. This pleased Blackwood and Silas very much, both only too happy to go into the minutiae of Fodemere’s magic. The only moment where the Baron seemed less pleased was with the reversing note, but he let it pass with a gruff puff of his pipe.

The matter settled, Langbrook started to describe how busy he was with his work—here was yet another man that needed to talk constantly about his latest achievements. As it transpired we was being kept busy (‘very busy’) by the impending nuptials between Prince Arthur and Princess Margaret. “I am in charge of the gift registry,” he explained proudly. “Can you believe that Gustav Rinaldo, Duke of Milan and Lombardi, is gifting the royal couple with a Colopinto mirror! As if we don’t know they are made right here in London!” he laughed uproariously.

Silas and Daphne paled at this. I was later to find out why: despite our findings, they had a sudden fear that the mirrors were being placed into the royal quarters to allow the very magic we had just disproved to in fact work. A well placed mirror would allow a well placed magician to step into royal, elite, and noble households with abandon. This was of course preposterous, but even so my companions were shaken, and I will concede it lit a tiny doubt within me too.

Langbrook continued his pontifications. “There are truly so many gifts it is quite the challenge to manage it all. As luck would have it we are able to use the Tower to store a great deal of them, including Rinaldo’s ridiculous mirror.”

It was Blackwood’s turn to pale. He started to stammer something about the package he had received from Mr Salvin before I put a quite stop to it. “Not in front of Langbrook,” I hissed.

It wasn’t until much later that we were able to discuss Blackwood’s fears with the Baron, Langbrook having finally departed (and finally shut up) after a laborious dinner. Blackwood pressed the Baron for what to do about the sealed documents. Silas suggested that it would be treason to break the seal, something with which the Baron agreed. Blackwood pressed the Baron, wanting his permission or agreement.

The Baron would have nothing of it. He refused to answer, pushing the responsibility back on us. “But we are not authorised nor qualified to take such responsibility,” Silas protested. “I beg your pardon!” the Baron thundered, “I have never said I want that seal opened, and I would never break the trust of Her Majesty. But as my representatives you are authorised to do whatever you must!”, cleverly managing to give neither a yea or nay.

“Well do you know someone who is entitled to break the seal?” Daphne pressed.

“As a matter of fact I do. I shall ask her.”

“Her?”

“Her,” the Baron growled.

And now we all went pale.

“Find Salvin you curs,” the Baron roared, “And get out of my house before I shoot you with my crossbow—newly arrived from Umbria!”

As this chapter of our employ with the Baron closes, a last thought crosses my mind.

Suppose the mirrors are in fact some kind of otherworldly transport. And suppose there is a powerful secret in the sealed documents Salvin deposited with Mr Blackwood. And suppose Langbrook spoke true when he said the wedding gifts were being stored in the Tower of London.

Salvin was working on the Tower when he disappeared. Langbrook told us a mirror is being gifted from the Duke of Milan, which by his account means it is being stored in the Tower. The Queen has something hidden there, something Salvin was helping her secure in high secrecy. And now there is a magical mirror there allowing unfettered access to those that control it.

Ridiculous really.

But what if all this is true?