3:15 p.m.
Reverend Wilkins is in London. Over tea in my office, Oscar, Ellen and I told him of the latest vampire sightings in his area. He was visibly shaken.
“This lends credence to my darkest suspicion,” he said. “I fear the Black Bishop is none other than the Bishop of Salisbury himself, John Moberly!”
He told us of Moberly’s recent odd behaviour: secret meetings with lords and clergy in Amesbury, to which Wilkins, as vicar of Amesbury parish, would normally be invited but is not. Large sums of money diverted to special projects on Moberly’s word alone.
“Mind you, I have no proof of wrongdoing,” he continued. “It is possible that my suspicions are unfounded, and I dearly hope they are.”
I reminded the group that we will need proof if we are to expose him. He is the second most powerful member of the clergy in England, and we cannot make accusations lightly.
“Indeed,” the reverend said. “But the Archbishop of Canterbury has the power to unseat him and the two of them have no love for each other. Perhaps I could appeal to him to start an investigation.”
“He is just the sort to be the Black Bishop,” Oscar said. “He is a friend of my mother’s and I have always felt he had an evil presence about him. Why, he once told Mother she didn’t beat me enough. Can you imagine?”
If I could get an audience with Bishop Moberly, with one glance I could tell if he is a vampire. However, Wilkins is in his bad books at the moment. The Bishop refuses to see him; perhaps he knows Wilkins has been investigating him.
But Mrs. Wilde, as a friend, should be able to get us a meeting with him. So, it was decided that Oscar would make arrangements and we will continue our investigations in Salisbury.
Police Report from Inspector Frederick Abberline, 20th of April 1880
08:00
Investigative Report from Inspector Frederick Abberline to Superintendent Thomas Arnold.
HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL
– Subject –
On the kidnapping of Prince Albert Victor Christian Edward.
– Evidence –
On the morning of 19th of April 1880, an orderly of Blyth Sanatorium reported the prince missing from his room. The bars on his window were bent and the glass broken. Outside the room the footprints of two men wearing shoes were found along with bare footprints believed to be the prince’s. There appears to have been no struggle.
– Statement from Dr. Seward, Head Physician Blyth Sanatorium –
“The prince was unusually quiet last night and in very good spirits. We were able to remove his restraints and he took solid food for the first time in weeks. I now fear his good behaviour may have been a ruse to have his restraints removed. In his mental state, he may have very well participated in his own kidnapping without understanding what was happening. As of late, he has had a delusion wherein he is broken out of jail and made king. I cannot help but think that this escape is somehow related.”
– Investigation –
An hour before sunrise, a woman, Mary Ann Nichols, witnessed three men getting into a carriage outside the walls of the sanatorium. Although the woman admits to being intoxicated, she remembered that one of the men was dressed in bed clothes and was barefoot. The man was not forced into the carriage that she could recall and she said the men were laughing and talking in a friendly manner.
The carriage went west on Whitechapel Road. Constables are scouring the area for more witnesses and additional clues.
– Observations –
There has been no ransom demand. If this remains the case, it may be the prince arranged his own escape. There may also be a political objective on the part of the kidnappers, although even this scenario would have them contacting the royal family to make demands, which they have not yet done. If the objective was to kill the prince they would have done so already and made it known to the public.
Letter from Ellen Terry to Lillie Langtry, 21st of April 1880
My dearest Lillie,
I know you to be a woman of the world. Despite my years and experience with men I must turn to you for advice.
Something both wonderful and terrible has happened. Bram and I have become intimate. Despite my growing attraction for him – and, I daresay, his for me – I had resigned myself to the idea that we would never be together. He is married, and I know him to be a man who does not take that commitment lightly.
But some attractions are not to be denied, and Bram and I have given in to ours. It was not what I expected from the sweet, solicitous man I thought I knew. It was raw and savage. It both excited me and made me fearful.
With the death of Lucy, I have taken new accommodations, a small apartment above a haberdashery. It isn’t much, a sitting room and bedroom. Bram visited me there one night. He wasn’t himself and seemed distant.
When I asked him what was troubling him, he told me of a horrible encounter he and Oscar had with three female vampires. They were drugged and nearly killed by the monsters before gaining the upper hand and dispatching them.
Since the encounter he hadn’t been able to sleep through the night for he was plagued with bad dreams. He was at the point of sheer exhaustion. He told Florence about the incident but has not confided in her how it continues to affect him, for fear of worrying her even more and further deepening her melancholy.
I did the best I could to comfort him and he fell asleep in my arms. Just when I thought he might find some rest at last, he awoke with a fright, his eyes wide. It was as if he looked right through me to some past trauma.
“Bram,” I cried. “What is it?”
He then kissed me hard on the mouth, more passionately than I have ever been kissed before! I responded in kind. He pulled me to him roughly, then rolled me onto the floor.
He literally tore off my clothes and ripped off my petticoat. It was all so savage and wild. We threw off all of our humanity and became beasts of the night. I was his completely, and I felt an ecstasy that I have never before experienced. Waves of pleasure passed through me with such intensity that when we finished I collapsed into the deepest slumber of my life.
When I awoke, I was bruised and scratched and yet felt little pain. A warm feeling of pleasure still coursed through me.
Bram was no longer by my side. It was dark in the room now and I lit a lamp. Bram was naked, curled up on the floor in the corner of the room, quietly whimpering.
“Bram,” I said softly.
“How…how did I get here?” he asked. His voice sounded like a little boy.
I brought a blanket over, curled up beside him and held him. We eventually fell asleep.
When I awoke I found that he had dressed and gone.
I know I should fear him. At the very least I should not tempt him further from his wife. I know he feels terrible guilt and I do not wish to be the cause of it. But I cannot stop thinking about him. About the feel of him, the taste of him.
He fears he is becoming a monster. Am I too becoming one? Does contact with the supernatural lead to moral decay and corruption?
I fear now it is I that will have troubled dreams.
If you have any words of wisdom to share, dear Lillie, please do. I am surrounded by people but in many ways feel so alone.
Ellen
From the Journal of Bram Stoker, 24th of April 1880
1:15 p.m.
Oscar and his mother are off to visit with the Bishop of Salisbury. It was hoped that I would get an invitation as well and would be able to tell straight away if he were a vampire. However, Lady Wilde said an invitation to me would be hard to come by due to my mother’s activities against the church.
So, she and Oscar are off for their lunch with Bishop Moberly, and Ellen and I went to Reverend Wilkins’ cottage as we wait for Oscar’s report.
“I hope very much that Bishop Moberly is not this monster you seek,” Wilkins said.
“And yet I hope that he is, for that would mean we could expose him.”
I hoped the latter, not wanting the Black Bishop to slip through our fingers.
“Now,” he said, rising, “I would have liked to invite you to stay for lunch, but I am afraid I have some business to attend to in Rollestone.”
We rose as well, saying we completely understood and thanking the reverend for his help, but he stopped us with a gesture. “Though I cannot share a meal with you, I did not wish to send you away hungry after such a long journey.” He ducked out of the room and returned a moment later with a large hamper. “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a lunch basket for you.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” Ellen said.
“No trouble at all. Just some sandwiches, cold chicken, grapes, scones and jam, a bit of leftover Beef Wellington and some apple pie and a jug of wine to help digest it all. Come, I will drop you off at the perfect picnic spot on my way.”
The perfect spot turned out to be Stonehenge, which is a couple of miles out of town. I had heard of the stone circle, of course, but never had seen it with my own eyes. It is an eerie sight, these mammoth stones set around and on top of one another, alone in a large field. They form a circle over a thousand feet in circumference. Certain stones line up with the summer solstice and phases of the moon, so it most certainly was used as an observatory. There is no quarry for at least twenty-five miles and it is a great mystery as to how they came to be here and how ancient people with no technology transported them and hoisted them into place.
One could imagine all sorts of pagan rituals being performed there under the light of the full moon. Bones found during excavations indicate that human sacrifices may have been conducted there, a fact I would keep from Ellen so as to not spoil the beautiful scenery. The ruins are surrounded by tall grass and a sea of wildflowers, making it a perfect spot indeed for a picnic on such a fine, sunny day. I know we should be continuing our investigation, but we have completed our appointed task and what else have we to do until we meet up again with our companions?
The reverend promised to fetch us on his return trip, within a few hours.
The meal was excellent. Ellen and I talked of many things, never once mentioning or – for my part – even thinking of vampires.
As we lie here under the sky she has drifted off and I am taking the time to jot down this entry. I must put the pen down as I am feeling rather sleepy myself. Oh, why can’t more days be like this?
From the Journal of Lady Wilde, 24th of April 1880
What was to be a lovely day in the country has turned into a social faux pas, the scale of which only Oscar could orchestrate.
I may very well be excommunicated for bringing him to meet Bishop Moberly. At the very least my social standing has been knocked down another peg, which it could ill afford, having already been seriously damaged by my late husband’s scandals, Willie’s carousing and Oscar’s sharp tongue. (I suppose my own eccentricities may share a bit of the blame as well.)
Bram Stoker and Oscar confided in me that they suspect that Bishop Moberly is up to no good, and in fact might be a dastardly villain known as the Black Bishop – a vampire, no less, or at least in league with vampires!
At first, I thought the idea to be absurd, but the more I thought about my old friend’s temperament and radical ideas, the more I could see him going down that dark path. Furthermore, their acquaintance, the Reverend Wilkins, offered proof of the bishop’s obsession with the occult. The bishop had spent a large sum on collecting books of witchcraft and the dark arts and Wilkins had the receipts for these purchases.
Bram and Oscar asked me to arrange a visit with the bishop straight away. Although we have not seen each other in many years, our longstanding friendship would make such a request seem perfectly natural. I sent a note over to the bishop as soon as I arrived in Salisbury, explaining that Oscar was considering the priesthood. (Lying to a bishop is a sin to be sure, but it’s not my first nor my worst.) I was quite gratified when he answered immediately and invited us to join him for luncheon.
Before we ate, he gave us a fascinating tour of Salisbury Cathedral, as he is quite knowledgeable of its history and architecture.
I thought Willie was the son who would embarrass me by blundering about carelessly, but almost immediately, Oscar seemed to be playing detective in a most unsubtle way. I wanted to take a more delicate approach to our enquiries and not tip our hand, but as we toured he seemed determined to get the bishop to show his true nature in a mirror.
“Does this mirror have any historical significance?” he asked of one hanging in the cathedral’s antechamber. There was nothing remarkable about this mirror, mind you.
“No, not that I am aware of,” the bishop said. “I think it is there just to reflect the candles in front of it.”
Near the end of our tour, there was a large ornate mirror down the end of an adjacent hall that was too much for Oscar not to notice. “How about that mirror?” he asked, scurrying down the hall to get close to it. “Surely it is from one of King Henry VIII’s palaces. Fifteenth century, at least.”
As the bishop was about to go over and humour him, a servant approached to announce lunch was ready. Foiled again.
It was an exquisite dining room, small, but well-appointed and tastefully decorated. The meal was potato soup, followed by roasted quail with pears.
My delicate palate noticed there was garlic in the soup and whispered the fact to Oscar. I was again doubting the bishop was a vampire.
“I taste only onions,” Oscar whispered back.
I complimented the bishop on the silverware. “My mother’s,” he said. “We didn’t have much growing up, but she insisted on fine silverware for company.”
“Yet I notice you are eating with a wooden spoon,” Oscar said.
“Metal hurts my teeth,” the Bishop replied. “Always has.”
As the meal progressed the Bishop and I engaged in delightful conversation about old times. He told Oscar about the time I encouraged him to publish a rather scandalous tract at Oxford. He smiled. “Nearly cost me a teaching position years later.”
“Do tell, Bishop,” Oscar replied. “I am intrigued by scandalous thought.”
“I am afraid I fell in with the Oxford Movement,” he said. “As you may recall, it promoted Anglo-Catholicism. Mainly we were for the reinstatement of lost Christian traditions of faith and their inclusion into Anglican liturgy and theology. I have to admit they took it too far in conceiving the Anglican Church as one of three branches of the Catholic Church.”
“Oh, that does sound scandalous,” Oscar said. “Asking us to be plunged back into the Dark Ages.”
The Bishop did not look pleased with this remark. He became slightly agitated.
“Not our intent. We saw it as a reaction to the liberalism that was running rampant in the church. You have to remember at the time the Whig administration was gutting the clergy and seizing ecclesiastical property across Ireland. Not to mention, the Church was doing nothing to prevent the relaxing of morals and standards of decency. We saw returning to older traditions as the only way to keep the Empire on the moral path. We would still keep the Anglican Church intact, of course.”
“So, no boiling people in oil for reading the Bible in English, or anything like that?” Oscar mused.
Oscar has a way of pushing people too far, almost immediately after meeting them. The Bishop, even with all his holy patience, was no exception. “No, of course not! Even a young man such as you must admit our country has fallen into a pit of depravity,” he said sternly.
“One would hope,” Oscar said. “For without the pit, there would be nothing to climb out of.”
“Oscar!” I said. “That is quite enough clergy baiting for the day. For heaven’s sake, this is not one of your salons; it is a religious institution.”
“Sorry,
Mother,” he said, his eyes firmly not sorry. “I apologise, my lord, if I have offended you in any way. I am merely trying to ascertain the Church’s position on such matters. One hears so many different takes on it.”
And with that, Oscar pulled out something from his pocket and slammed it down on the table. It was a chess piece, a black bishop. He said nothing, but just stared into Bishop Moberly’s eyes as if the chess piece were to provoke some reaction.
And it did. The bishop looked terrified. He reached out to touch the piece. “Where…what is the meaning of this?”
Oscar pulled a silver necklace from his pocket and suddenly lurched forwards and pressed it to the bishop’s head! The bishop fell back, tipping over in his chair and taking his plate of quail down with him in the process!
“Aha!” Oscar yelled, standing defiantly over the Bishop. Astonishingly, he pulled a wooden stake out of his coat! I sprang up to stop him before he could inflict any more damage.
“Mother, stay back. I am right – he is a vampire! He fled the touch of the silver cross!”
The bishop stood and brushed himself off, trembling with anger. “I fled your assault on my person! What is this nonsense?”
Oscar threatened him with the stake. “Back, or I’ll stab you in the heart with this!”
I ran over to put myself between him and the bishop. “Oscar, you will do no such thing!”
“Get behind me, Mother. These creatures have a way of mesmerising you.”
“If this some sort of joke, it is not a funny one,” the bishop said. “I’ve heard you were a strange one, but I had no idea you were deranged.”
“You were clearly upset by the chess piece,” Oscar said. “Why?”
“One of my reverends, Wilkins, has been investigating some rumours involving the clergy. Something to do with a group of blasphemous dissenters led by an anarchist who calls himself ‘the Black Bishop’. At first, I thought these allegations to be unfounded, but other rumours have come to my attention, and then you pulled out the chess piece. I thought you might be here to assassinate me.”
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