by D K Girl
Silas hurried through a forest of couples who launched into the energetic next dance before he’d had a chance to vacate the dance floor. He sidestepped frantically to avoid collision, but succeeded only in having to offer endless apologies for toes stepped upon, and dresses caught beneath his heels.
‘Pardon me, pardon me.’ If he’d harboured hopes of slipping into obscurity at the ball, finding a quite balcony on which to perch himself until Jane was tired of the festivities, those hopes were quite destroyed now. Ladies tittered behind gloved hands watching his clumsy exit, and many of the gentlemen exhibited smirks that told of great amusement at Silas’s expense. He damned the superfluous use of brightly lit chandeliers, which highlighted his every move.
‘Mr Mercer, is it?’ Gloved fingers touched at his arm. His skin tingled beneath the fabric of his clothing. Silas turned to find a well built gentlemen at his side. The man looked to be in his thirties, though his manicured beard was greying around his temples and along his jawline. He wore a suit of the richest black, which complimented his short dark hair and emphasised his light complexion. On his chest were pinned several medals, suggesting a military rank of some kind. There was a confidence about him, a straightness to his shoulders and tilt to his chin, but there was no air of superiority there. The man’s smile was pleasant, his light grey eyes kind.
‘Yes. I’m sorry, did I disturb you?’ Silas glanced at the floor, horrified that he might have dislodged the man’s glass from his grasp.
‘No, no. Not at all.’ His voice was light and higher than Silas might have accounted for. ‘Shall I lead you somewhere you might catch your breath. If you don’t mind me saying so, it appears you require a drink and some fresh air.’
Reddening at the honest appraisal, Silas inclined his head. ‘Thank you.’
‘This way, there is a reading room I believe will be suitable.’
Silas hesitated, uncertain whether he should accept such an invitation. But Jane was nowhere to be seen, and he certainly was not braving the dance floor again to ask her advice. Silas admonished himself, he’d endured death and reanimation, surely he could handle a conversation with a stranger over a glass of something strong? He followed behind his host, passing through the double doors that allowed them escape from the ballroom, and into a richly wooded hallway, one half as wide as Silas’s entire cottage. The man he followed was greeted by many of the passersby.
‘Lieutenant.’ A nod from a gentleman here, a tilt of the head from a lady there. ‘Lieutenant.’
Evidently Silas’s summation that the man was military was correct, but further than that he knew little of his guide. And there was no chance to enquire as they strolled for Silas drew more attention than the Lieutenant. Dainty rose coloured lips parted, heavy eyebrows raised, and monocled eyes widened, as guests passed them by. Staring up at Silas as though they were beholding something quite unexpected. Which, he well he might be. The men he happened upon were either slight of build, or portly of stomach, none were quite so solidly built and tall in stature as he.
By the time they reached the end of the lengthy hallway dotted with a barrage of palms in lushly detailed ceramic pots, Silas had learnt two things of note. Firstly that the man’s name was Edward, and secondly, more than once Silas had noted a furtive look pass between Edward and a male passerby. The type that suggested more than a glass of wine might be shared between the two. Glancing back down the length of the corridor, the music now a distant murmur, Silas wondered whether he had landed himself into a situation where he’d be forced to offer apologies and depart hastily. He may remember nothing of the man he was, but he was quite sure what lay between his legs felt no urge to rise in the Lieutenant’s company.
‘Here we are, I must apologise for the lengthy walk,’ Edward opened a carved oak door to his right and led them into a sumptuous library. Silas was somewhat relieved to note that the room was not theirs alone. Two older gentlemen were seated at a bay window, deep in conversation with thick cigars and cognac snifters in hand. They glanced at the door as Silas and Edward entered.
‘Lieutenant Charters.’ The more portly of the two men nodded. ‘Pleasant evening?’
‘Quite, Sir Reginald, but we rather fancied a moment to allow our feet to recover.’
Sir Reginald made a harrumphing sound that might have been laughter, and returned to his conversation.
‘Brandy? Or cognac?’ Edward asked, pointing to the array of decanters on the drinks cart. He had a couple of notable callouses on his palms, suggesting he did far more than lift glasses of expensive liquor.
Silas might had awoken at Holly Village with no clue what type of alcohol he preferred, but had quickly discovered his preference. ‘Brandy, if you would please.’
‘Good choice, my personal favourite as well.’ Edward smiled, genuine enough, but rather half-hearted. As though all the dancing had quite worn him out. He poured their drinks. ‘I say, that fire is rather warm, I’m frightened it might melt this dastardly medal into me entirely. Do you mind if we sit on the couch?’
Silas had just started towards the two armchairs by the fire but smiled. ‘Of course.’
His turn of heel proved too rapid a movement for his cumbersome legs to deal with, and without Jane’s ministrations upon his person, Silas became unbalanced. He stumbled forward, his toe catching at the rug beneath the chairs. Silas uttered a curse, one that left his lips at a greater volume than intended.
Edward carried their drinks, showing no sign he’d noticed, though with his proximity that would have been impossible. Thankful for the man’s discretion, Silas patted the back of the chair, as though his encounter with it had been intended, and then made his way to the couch. He settled himself into the deep brown leather studded with gold buttons. The material creaked with his weight. Edward handed him the brandy in a snifter of such fine and delicate glass Silas’s dreaded the responsibility of nursing it.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I appreciate your offer of respite from the dance. As you can see, I am not a natural upon the floor.’ The brandy hit his tongue, and slid with firey abandon down his throat. It was all Silas could do not to sigh.
‘Not at all.’ Edward settled into the couch, crossing his legs. There was a solidness to the man’s build, but the couch didn’t utter a sound as he adjusted his seat. ‘You saved me rather. My friend, the Baron Feversham, took it upon himself to see me out and about and insisted I attend this evening. He does not take no for an answer kindly.’ He smiled, his oval face tinged ever so slightly orange by the firelight. ‘I would suggest you understand entirely. Miss Handel is behind your attendance here, is she not?’
With the brandy sinking into his belly, Silas returned his smile. ‘She is, yes.’ He wiped his hand against his trouser leg, hoping against hope that Edward did not notice the uncouth move before he offered that same palm in greeting. ‘I don’t believe we have done the formal introductions. I’m Silas—’
‘Mercer. Yes. The place was quite awash with talk of you and Miss Handel.’ He took Silas’s hand, his grip firm but not too so. ‘I’m Lieutenant Edward Charters, with the Northumberland Fusiliers, first battalion. At least I…’ He paused, and withdrew from the handshake, chewing at his lip. Silas waited, certain that he was going to say more, but the Lieutenant gazed back towards the fire, and the silence stretched to uncomfortable lengths.
‘Must say this brandy is rather impressive.’ Silas intended to touch a finger lightly to the delicate glass, instead he managed to rap his nail so hard against the surface he feared a crack was certain. ‘Oh my.’ He peered at the glass, searching for sign of destruction.
Edward’s focus returned, along with his bright smile. ‘Fear not, should you break the glass there are another dozen to take its place.’ He tugged at the high collar of his shirt. ‘Forgive me, I believe I grew rather distracted for a moment there. I must be honest with you, Mr Mercer, as pleasant as your company has turned out to be, I originally sought you out for other reasons.’
Silas held still, preparing a polite refusal. ‘Oh really?’
‘Yes, would you mind terribly if I asked you a few questions about the Order of the Golden Dawn?’
Silas took an indelicately large sip of brandy. He would have preferred a gesture of flirtation after all. The liquid burned its passage down his throat, seeping into his senses with haste. Silas had over indulged only once since his reanimation and regretted it with much fervour the day after, but this may be an occasion where the unpleasantness was worth considering.
‘I’m not sure that I am the one best suited to your needs,’ he said. ‘I fear my experience may leave you wanting. I have only just joined the ranks of the Order.’
‘But you are a believer in the supernatural.’
Not certain it was a question, Silas merely nodded.
‘Then that is all I need.’ Edward shifted his seat, leaning in closer towards Silas, casting a furtive glance at the men by the window. ‘You see, I must be honest with you. I have long been a sceptic of…the…fantastical things that the Order is said to assist with. I no sooner believe in ghosts than I believe we will walk on the moon and sip champagne there. I don’t mean to insult you or Miss Handel, but I have always felt that it is a mere trick of the mind that a fortune teller uses, an intimate observance of human nature. I’ve been no friend of the spiritualists, either. I can assure you. All salubrious non-sense, I can’t tell you the number of soirees I’ve attended where I’ve struggled to stay awake as some old woman gazes into her crystal ball and drones on about utter folly.’ He grimaced. ‘Mr Mercer, I apologise—’
‘No, no, not necessary.’ Silas rose, gesturing with his now empty glass. ‘Would you care for another?’ He’d quite regained his taste for brandy and it was a fine one at that. It was certainly hastening his ease in the man’s company.
‘Yes, that’s most kind.’
Silas poured them both far too generous servings. The Lieutenant accepted his glass, wrapping both hands around it. His fingertips laid upon Silas’s own for a moment. That curious sensation came again, an ever so faint vibration upon Silas’s skin. His breath hitched in his throat. Drawing his hands away quickly, Silas busied himself with resettling upon the couch. Good god, had he gone so long without an intimate touch he was swayed toward a man? Silas pinched at the bridge of his nose. Truth be told his taste for such things might well have rested that way always. With his memories stolen he could not say for sure. He glanced at the man beside him. Certainly he was handsome but now that they sat apart there was no hint of that sudden strangeness that came upon him. Silas was quite calm.
‘Are you all right, Mr Mercer?’
‘Yes, quite.’
Their companions, the older gentlemen, chose that moment to leave, the heady scent of their cigars lingering. They stepped into the hall, and Silas shifted his attention back to the conversation. A movement by the closing door caught his eye. For a moment he thought another had entered the room. But the deception must have been caused by the shudder of fire and gas light for there was no one to be seen but Edward and Silas himself. Edward swirled his brandy in silence, studying the liquid as though it were the crystal ball he so derided. Perhaps another trick of the light was cast against his face, for in that moment the man appeared terribly tired. The rings beneath his eyes notable for their darkness. A feature Silas had not noticed before. After a moments hesitation, and another mouthful, Silas decided to offer his thoughts.
‘I can understand, Lieutenant—’
‘Edward, please. I really shouldn’t be using the…I’m afraid that…well, never mind. Just Edward, please.’
‘Edward, of course. I can understand your hesitancy to accept the strangeness of the world around us. But if I tell you nothing else, I will say that we know less about the truth of things than we could ever imagine. Perhaps you have witnessed nonsense, but I have come to believe, in rather an undeniable way, that it is not always so.’
They sat in silence, a very comfortable silence if Silas were honest. There was a strange appeal to the man that Silas would reflect on when his mind wasn’t quite so numbed by alcohol. A dart of movement stirred Silas from his contemplations, a shadow passing by the window. A lost guest perhaps, or footmen moving about. By the time he’d turned to note its cause the scene beyond the window was undisturbed. An oak tree swayed in the distance, nothing more.
‘I’m beginning to believe you are right, Mr Mercer,’ Edward finally said. ‘As ridiculous as I find the very idea of the supernatural, I myself am forced to consider that perhaps I am a victim of its nature.’ He lifted his glass but found it empty and sighed. ‘I fear I have not had near enough food this evening for all this drink.’
Silas still focused on his declaration. ‘Its victim, Edward? What do you mean?’
The Lieutenant laughed, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand. ‘Oh I’m lamenting foolish things. I have…well, you see Mr Mercer, I’ve not been myself for quite some time. I have been placed on medical leave from the fusiliers, a fact that is yet to become common knowledge. No doubt the rumours will run rife before long. The doctors deemed me unfit for duty, on account of my unexplained absences and…delusions.’ He sipped, taking his time. ‘I believe my mind is failing me, Mr Mercer. Which it undoubtedly is as here I am, sitting with you, entertaining the idea that perhaps I am not mad but possessed. What better sign that a man has gone mad?’He stared absently into his empty glass. ‘I am so dreadfully tired, you see.’ He shook his head. ‘I have not suffered blackouts in some time, but I rarely sleep through due to the ferocity of my dreams.’
‘Ferocity?’ Silas prompted when the man had been silent for several moments.
‘Intensity, perhaps is a better word. They are glorious dreams, so filled with…I’m not sure how to describe it…light, I suppose. A brightness that blinds the mind, rather than the eye. I am utterly enamoured by it, I must say. A language is spoken too, more lyrical than French, more passionate than Italian. Foreign to me, and yet, not. At times it feels as though understanding sits on the tip of my tongue. And he is always there. He is always the same…’ He closed his eyes, and was silent so long Silas wondered if he’d actually gone to sleep. ‘The same beautiful man, irresistible and yet frightening. I want to run from him in terror, but I also want to lay myself before him, bare myself to him.’ A shiver ran the length of Silas’s arms, the intimacy of the man’s words restless upon the air. ‘But I can never make out his face, no matter how close he gets. Even when he is upon me. Within me. He has become a part of me. Even when I wake I feel his touch.’ He pressed his hand to his throat, and ran his fingers down its length. ‘I do not know where he starts, and I begin.’
The fire cracked and hissed, and neither one of them moved. Not an inch. Silas held his breath, waiting on Edward’s next word. But a sudden burst of laughter from the hallway shattered the strange moment.
Edward shook himself, his face reddening. ‘Oh my, I am so dreadfully sorry. I have forgotten myself, Mr Mercer, I truly must apologise. See, they are right are they not? Truly I am a man on the edge of sanity, imagining I am possessed rather than simply losing my mind. I’m sure it is to blame for other indiscretions I’ve fallen pray too, it simply must be.’ His clenched his fists, seeming to drift off once again within his own thoughts before the focus returned to his gaze. ‘Oh, I beg you, please forgive me my senseless rambling.’
‘You have no need to apologise.’ Silas busied himself with refilling their glasses. It was he who should be making apologies. Edward was suffering, Silas needed no preternatural skills to discern as much. The anguish in his voice, the desperation and longing there was so clear as to be heartbreaking. And the poor man had bared his soul to someone incapable of offering proper assistance. Silas was barely fit to call himself a member of the Order, and certainly no doctor of the mind. He doubted his own sanity on a regular basis these past weeks. But he wished to offer the distressed man something, if only his ear.
‘You said you had blackouts,
is this when you believe you have been possessed?’
‘No, please I must insist that you forget all the wondrous trivialities that have come from my mouth.’ Edward rose from the couch and accepted the now full glass Silas offered, taking a generous gulp before he continued. ‘I am mortified that I’ve divulged such personal things to you, truly I am. Forgive me, I don’t know what came over me. You are far too easy to speak to, Mr Mercer, I fear. When I first invited you to join me for a drink it was with quite different intentions than embarrassing myself and interrogating you.’ His laugh was so diminished as to barely live at all. ‘Can we speak of other things? I wondered if I might request an appointment. Not for myself, of course. My dear friend the Baron Feversham has long insisted that his London residence is frequented by a ghost. He’s been on about it so much so that I simply can’t bear it, it makes card nights quite draining. Would you attend, and set his mind at ease?’ He grinned, too wide, and his glass trembled notably. ‘It’s his birthday this month and I thought a visit from the Order might make the celebrations rather unique. Now that we’ve met, I would so like it if you were to attend. What do you say, Mr Mercer?’
The man was obviously eager to move them on from his revealing comments. His eyes held a desperation that Silas could not look upon without some sympathy. This was a man haunted, of that there was no doubt. To his great surprise, and no doubt thanks in part to the brandy, Silas found himself agreeing to attend Baron Feversham’s home.
‘Of course. I’ll speak with Miss Halden,’ he said. ‘Where might she reach you?’ Well it seemed more than one man had taken leave of his senses this evening. Silas stifled a belch, regretting the last glass.
Edward fumbled in his pocket for a calling card. ‘I’m terribly sorry, I must excuse myself.’ He had grown terribly pale. His eyes glassy. ‘I hope you will forgive my strange utterances, Mr Mercer. You’ve been most kind.’
Silas moved to ask if he could have someone attend him, for it was clear the man was unwell, when a peculiar tingling set off in his fingertips. The Lieutenant hurried from the room, leaving the door open as he went. In the depths of the shadows behind it something shifted, edging just clear enough that its shape was discernible. Silas squinted, uncertain if he should believe his bleary eyes. It appeared vaguely human, blurred as though glimpsed through a mist. There were no eyes to speak off, just a haze of indecipherable features, yet Silas was certain the figure’s attentions were fixed on him. All the while his fingertips rang with a strange vibration under the skin, as though the blood struggled to reach beneath his nails. For long minutes there was no movement, from either Silas or the apparition. The chill in the room grew ever more intense, quite enough to raise gooseflesh across his skin. The clatter of footsteps in the hallway shattered the strange stand-off, and all at once the figure elongated, sliding up the walls, stretching out its human shape until there was none left to speak of. The shadow lifted to the ceiling, slithered across to the ornate ceiling rose and disappeared, leaving Silas quite alone.