A Riddle in Bronze, page 8
"What should I do?" I cried desperately.
"Stay back," she commanded me. "Stay back, and do not approach."
I noticed Roberta was retreating towards the trap in the middle of the bedroom, and as she got closer the keening wail got louder and louder, until I was forced to cover my ears. The window panes shook, rattled by an invisible hand, and then, without warning, a lightning bolt flashed around the room, leaping from one patterned disc to the next. Through half-closed eyes I saw an other-worldly being framed in the circular flash of light, a figure in a tattered nightdress with outstretched arms, its hands like grasping claws.
Then the light winked out, leaving the room in comparative darkness. All I could see was the glow of the tool in Roberta's hand, and a vivid after-image of the lightning flash. Slowly, my eyes began to adjust, and that's when I saw the fine copper netting bulging in the centre. It was as though a heavy body were pushing against the net, and I could see the tripods leaning as they took up the strain.
Roberta was turning her head this way and that, trying to find the spirit, and she hadn't noticed the distorted net. Gritting my teeth, I darted forwards and gripped the net in both hands, right at the bulge, and I started to push against it with all my might.
"What are you doing?" shouted Roberta. "Mr Jones, no! Don't touch that!"
Too late. I felt a chill run up my arms, as though they'd been doused in freezing water. As the cold reached my chest I found I could not breathe, and as my vision dimmed I felt a rising panic. Frantically, I waved at the air in front of me, trying to ward off my unseen assailant, but I was fighting fog and my wild swinging hands achieved nothing.
Roberta was not idle while I struggled. She leapt towards me, brandishing the tool, and the closer she got the more the tip glowed. I was suffering from tunnel vision now, and could barely feel my arms, but I was all too aware of the furnace-like heat emanating from that device in her hands. I felt the spirit release me all of a sudden, and then the net parted in two with a ripping, rending noise.
Roberta cried out in alarm, and she was past me and heading for the bedroom door before I knew what was happening. She stood there with the glowing device held high, and I realised she was trying to herd the spirit back into the centre of the room.
I turned wildly, looking around for any hint of the phantasm, fearing it might assail me from any direction without the slightest warning. Each time I turned I imagined it right behind me, ready to set upon me with those freezing claws, and I spun again and again to confront it… only to meet thin air. Shivers ran up my spine, and my heart pounded with terror. I wanted to flee the room, run down the stairs and leave this madhouse for the sanity of the busy afternoon street, and had Roberta not been standing directly in my way I would have done so.
But the sight of her standing firm, her expression determined, with the glowing tool at the ready, calmed my nerves. If the spirit did happen to fasten on me once more, it would not be the end. Indeed, it would probably give Roberta the opportunity to snare it. All of a sudden I realised what I had to do, and, swallowing my fear, I stepped into the middle of the room and raised my arms.
In effect, I had just presented myself as the bait in a trap.
Chapter 11
Roberta shouted a warning, but I ignored her and stood my ground. I could sense the spirit approaching from behind, but unlike before I did not turn to look for it, nor wave my arms to drive it away. I felt a steely calm, a determination to play my part whatever the cost. "Come, you foul being!" I shouted, my voice filling the bedroom. "Feast on my living flesh! Consume my very life force! Do with me what you must!"
A chill circled my legs and began climbing my spine, and I gritted my teeth as the cold threatened to overwhelm me. I pictured the clammy horror that was even now fastening itself to my back, and I battled the strong urge to run.
As I stood there, enveloped by the spirit, I heard Roberta spring towards me. There was an electric crackle, and I felt the hair on my head stand on end. Then, with a rush of relief, I felt the cold ripped from my back. I turned to see Roberta stepping over the ruins of the net, heading for the trap with the indistinct shape of the spirit coalescing around the tool gripped in her hands.
She was having trouble with the thing, for it jerked this way and that as it tried to get free, and I could see from her expression that it was a hard-fought battle. She made it though, and there was a tremendous gust of wind as the tool contacted the cylinder suspended in the trap. Curtains were torn from the windows, books and vases tumbled to the floor, and paintings rattled on the walls as though the subjects of the portraits were trying to break free of their canvas bonds.
Then, all was still.
I barely had time to relax, because Roberta strode up to me, her face working furiously. "You foolish, foolish man!" she cried, pushing me in the chest with both hands. "Do you have any idea of the danger you placed yourself in?"
"I—it seemed the only way," I mumbled, looking at the ground.
"Idiot!" She went to push me once more, but to my relief she lowered her hands instead, her anger having dissipated as quickly as it had arisen. "'Consume my very life force?'" she growled, giving me an arch look. "Which penny-dreadful did you plumb for that particular turn of phrase?"
"I was determined to attract the spirit," I said earnestly.
"And what gave you the idea an otherworldly phantasm might hear your impassioned pleas? Do you think they have ears, and eyes, and mouths to bite you with?"
"I confess, in the heat of the moment I did not stop to inspect the spirit's physical features." I hesitated, for I was unwilling to provoke her anger once more. "But it seemed the thing to do. And it worked," I pointed out.
"It was remarkably stupid." Then she lowered her voice. "But even so I—I must commend you, for your actions were brave indeed." Before I could say any more, Roberta turned from me, and together we surveyed the wreckage of the bedroom. Two pictures had fallen, the curtains were lying in a heap on the floor and the puddle of water from the broken jug had spread to an expensive-looking rug. Behind us, the copper netting was torn asunder, the metal tripods lying on their sides all twisted and bent. Only the trap looked intact, and I could see the metal cylinder within shaking and twisting as the captured spirit fought for its freedom. "It's just as well I settled on a fee of ten pounds," muttered Roberta. "Once Lady Snetton accounts for damages, I'll be lucky to see five."
"She will make you pay for damages?" I asked in surprise.
"You can place a substantial wager on that, Mr Jones." Roberta picked up a painting and hung it on the wall, straightening it. "Once they gain a modicum of wealth, clients like Lady Snetton strive to maintain a deathly grip on it."
I knew what she meant, for I'd noticed many invoices for cleansings whilst I was updating the ledgers earlier that day, and a fair number had yet to be paid. I was about to reassure her that I would soon bring the accounts up to date when I felt the floor moving underfoot, as though something large and heavy were shaking the very foundations of the house. Furniture creaked, a wardrobe door swung open, and one of the paintings Roberta had just replaced fell down again. "What manner of—" I began, but Roberta silenced me with a gesture.
She donned those curious eyeglasses and hurried to the haversack, digging inside until she found what she was looking for: a device which looked just like a metronome. It was only when she set it upon a nearby table that I realised it had three pendulums. Each was tipped with a different colour, the largest being carmine red, the smallest a dull copper and the middle pendulum a ghostly white.
The floorboards were still groaning and creaking underfoot, and to me it felt like the entire house was swaying. I'd read hair-raising tales of earthquakes as a boy, but even though they were unheard of in this fair land I could think of no other reason for the violent movements.
Roberta wound the device with a small key protruding from one side, then set the smallest of the three pendulums in motion. She seemed oblivious to the commotion all round us, as furniture rattled and the very walls threatened to fall in. "What's causing this?" I shouted over the noise. "Was it something we did?"
"Please! Let me calibrate the detector."
I held my tongue even though I had a dozen more questions begging to be asked. Instead, I supported myself by gripping one upright of the four-poster bed, and then I watched Roberta at work. The second pendulum on the device was now in motion, moving in counterpoint to the first, and she adjusted the angle of the metronome before starting the third and largest pendulum. This one swung to one side, hesitated several seconds, then swept quickly to the opposite side. Along the way it disturbed the motion of the two smaller hands.
The floor trembled again, fiercely this time, and I heard a distant crash. I guessed one or more tiles had slipped from the roof to smash on the ground below, and I hoped nobody had been in their path. That gave me pause for thought, and I struggled to the window, using furniture to help with my balance. When I got there I looked out on the street, where I saw scenes of total chaos. People were running in every direction, trying to avoid the terrified horses that were bucking and rearing in the traces of their laden carts. Several large vehicles had overturned, and I saw gangs of men bearing the scattered cargo away while the drivers were occupied with the frightened beasts. I saw three or four huddled forms lying still in the middle of the road, whether struck by carts or crushed in the panic, I had no way of telling. Even as I watched, an urchin ran to one of the wounded and helped himself to the man's pocketbook, before fleeing down an alleyway. Moments later a pair of constables appeared on the scene, blowing their whistles before setting off in pursuit.
"It's about eighty feet below us!" called Roberta.
I turned to see her studying the metronome device, whose pendulums had all ceased moving.
Roberta gestured towards the window. "The source is somewhere between here and South Kensington."
I saw the worried look on her face, and I understood the reason. Her home, her father… South Kensington was precisely where they were located. I glanced to my right, where the bulk of the city was hidden behind rows of houses, and then at the nearby trap with its gleaming bronze cylinder. The device was still shaking, but whether it was the movement underfoot or the angry spirit I had no way of knowing. "This tremor… could it be connected to the phantasm?"
"How could it be? Nothing like this has ever happened before!" declared Roberta.
"Your father was possessed by a spirit earlier in the day," I said. "You told me that never happened before either. What if… what if there are far more powerful phantoms than you've encountered before?" I gestured at the trap. "What if these are merely supporting players, and the protagonist has yet to reveal itself?"
"Mr Jones, you have an overactive imagination," said Roberta, but for once her air of confidence had deserted her.
Then, without warning, the tremors died away. In the sudden silence I heard the frantic tick-tock of the metronome device, until Roberta stilled the pendulums. There were cries from the street still, but they were lessening now that the upheaval had ceased.
"Thank goodness that's over," said Roberta. "Would you help me with the equipment?"
It took a good half an hour to pack everything away, after which we tidied the room as best we could. Then, following a last look around, we shouldered our haversacks and headed downstairs.
– — Ω — –
We met Annie near the kitchens, where the cook was keeping up a non-stop monologue as she dealt with the aftermath of the tremors. There were several overturned pots and pans, and steaming liquid formed pools on the tiled floor. "What's the world coming to?" demanded the cook. "Shakes and quakes and convulsions like I've never seen, the Lord be my witness. A body can't even cook dinner without the walls come tumbling down around their ears. If you ask me…"
The maid led us out, and as we left the house the cook's stream of protests faded into the distance. We took the alley to the main road, where workmen were setting carts back on their wheels and helping to reload the cargo. The police constables I'd seen earlier were overseeing events, and calm of a sort had returned to the scene.
It was five minutes before we could hail a cab, but eventually we were on our way to the station, the haversacks at our feet. I could see the square bulge of the trap inside Roberta's bag, its victim still inside, and I wondered how the crowd would react if they knew what moved amongst them. Sheer panic, I suspected.
The hansom cab stopped outside the station, where we alighted and purchased our tickets. Then we took the stairs to the underground, boarding the cramped carriage as quickly as possible to avoid the thick haze, the noise and the smell. Before long we were under way, the train rattling and groaning as it navigated the tracks in the tunnel. The gaslights in the carriage cast hardly any light, and the thick smoke seeping through the windows dimmed the interior even further. I closed my eyes against the fumes, for just a moment, and let the day's events wash over me.
I was in the habit of writing a letter home to my parents once weekly, letters in which I disguised my true situation. Now, I wondered exactly what I was going to write in the next letter. I could not tell them about the professor, nor Roberta, nor the work I was engaged in, and so I decided to continue the web of lies I'd been spinning for some time now.
Over the past few weeks I'd led my parents to believe that I was working at a small accounting firm, earning a modest wage and living out of decent lodgings. I was careful not to share too many details, lest I be caught in a lie, but even so I found it prudent to keep a diary containing these invented facts and figures. To date I'd fabricated my employment, the quantity and quality of food I was eating, several close friends, details of my daily life and snippets of news and gossip gleaned from the papers.
Now that I did have a job, and lodgings, and new acquaintances — if not yet friends — I realised I would not be able to share any of this with my parents. I would have to continue fabricating details of my life as before, spinning my web of lies in the weekly letters. To simplify things, I decided I would draw up a table, mapping each truth with a matching lie. For example, Roberta would become Robert, a fellow accountant. The professor would become my employer, the head of the firm. Any odd happenings would be explained away as visits from clients, with their pets or wayward children representing the spirits. The traps and other equipment could be referred to in bookkeeping terms. In this fashion I would be able to write to my parents without tripping over myself.
With the tricky matter of keeping my parents abreast of my news now resolved, I felt a lessening of the tension within me. I would not be telling them anything of import, and they in turn would not worry needlessly on my behalf. In addition, I looked forward to fabricating my weekly letters, and I resolved to write to my parents that very evening.
"Why do you smile?"
I opened my eyes, and in the dim, smoky carriage I saw Roberta looking at me. There was a smudge of soot on her cheek, and as I studied her face, and the genuine concern it carried for my well-being, I felt a glow at the very core of my being. "I must write to my parents this evening, and I was imagining their reaction should I reveal the things I've witnessed recently."
She looked thoughtful. "I trust you will not share the truth?"
"You may soothe your concerns in that regard," I declared. "Why, they would take the next train to London, and I would be dragged home by my necktie."
"You must not speak to anyone about our business," said Roberta, with a frown. "The merest whisper might cause ridicule to be heaped on my father, and I would never forgive you for that. Never!"
She kept her voice low, but her tone was fierce. "Roberta, I wouldn't dream of such a thing," I declared, hoping to persuade her with my earnest tone. At that moment I was tempted to tell her about the note tucked into my pocket, but decided against it. There was no harm in meeting this mysterious person at the Crown and Feather that evening, and if they attempted to question me about the professor's business, I would keep my promise to Roberta and say nothing.
Chapter 12
When we emerged from the underground station it was already evening. The occasional streetlight barely lit an area five feet across, leaving sixty feet of near-total darkness in between the lampposts. There was no sign of damage from the tremor, and I wondered whether it had been localised to an area immediately surrounding the Snetton house. This gave me pause, for I did not want to believe that the earthquake and subsequent scenes of chaos had been caused by the spirit Roberta and I had captured.
We managed to find a cab, the riding lights barely enough to illuminate the weary horse in its traces, never mind the pedestrians who darted across the road in front of us. To make things worse, a thick fog had rolled in from the river, and aside from a lack of visibility this also served to muffle the regular noises of the city. Sitting in the open cab, chilled by the cold, it was like being transported through some ghostly tunnel cut through the dirty yellow smog.
As our driver picked his way along the ill-lit roads I saw many pedestrians on either side, some carrying lanterns while others carted goods and belongings. Most were exhausted from a full day's work, but I knew it would be near midnight before the streets were finally still.
We arrived at the Mews without incident, and after paying the driver we carried the haversacks through the wrought iron gates and up the path to the professor's front door. Mrs Fairacre opened it before we got there, somehow forewarned to our presence, and I saw her giving Roberta an enquiring look as we passed into the house.
"I'm happy to report smooth sailing this time," said Roberta, which seemed to satisfy the housekeeper. "Tell me, how is my father?"
Mrs Fairacre sniffed. "Much as you'd expect him to be, after quaffing half a bottle of brandy."
"Surely it was no more than a quarter?"
"It was, until he recovered enough to venture forth from his room. At that point he located the rest, and now he's sleeping off the effects."
