The Untold Tales of Dolly Williamson

by JM Bannon

  Gerard would be rejuvenated from the life essence of another, but not the one he had planned on.

  Hume slipped the unnumbered ampule into his jacket pocket.

  Wednesday, the 30th of June

  10:13 AM, Scotland Yard

  Three days had passed since Keane’s funeral and four had gone by since Dolly and Burton resolved the Chilton case. Dolly's face was almost completely healed. He sat outside Commissioner Mayne’s office, waiting to prepare for an appointment at 10 Downing Street.

  The door opened. and Dolly shot to his feet.

  “You ready, Detective?”

  “Yes, ready as I’ll ever be, sir,” Dolly said, tapping the back of his case journal that he held against his chest and wondering why he was called to the Prime Minister.

  “Alright, then. I have a carriage out front waiting for us,” advised Mayne.

  Once in the privacy of the carriage, the commissioner was prepared to share more with Dolly. “Apparently, the Prime Minister and the Home Secretary have requested an audience directly from you regarding the Chilton Case,” informed Mayne.

  “The bleeding Prime Minister? Do you know specifically why? Is it an interest in the case, the victim or my performance?” queried Dolly.

  “You did shoot a man who had diplomatic privileges in the country, who was assisting you in the capture of a murderer,” replied Commissioner Mayne.

  Dolly wondered if Mayne was coaching him on an inquiry regarding his behavior and not the case.

  “Well, better you shot a silver seer than a guild master. That could have turned into a full-blown international incident," assured Mayne.

  "Yes, sir," Dolly replied, staring at the floor of the carriage and searching for an answer to where this could go. There was the issue of how the Chilton murder case so gruesomely ended, loose ends like the missing gold, or it could easily be his treatment of diplomats.

  The newspapers had had a field day printing stories of reports of spirits invading Lambeth.

  “Tell them straight, Dolly, and we will get through this.” Mayne explained.

  Welch at the Guardian had been hounding Dolly for an interview on his phantom killer, the columnist’s name for the murderer of Chilton and Moya. Maybe it could be just a talk about managing the press. “Thank you, sir.” Dolly was worried. He was just the right level of authority to be made an example of between the governments. This had to be about the shooting.

  The meeting was held in a drawing room, an informal atmosphere. It was just the four men in attendance: Dolly, the current Prime Minister, Edward Smith-Stanley, the 14th Earl of Derby, Mayne and his boss, the Home Secretary, Horatio Walpole.

  “I asked you and Commissioner Mayne to brief the Prime Minister on the particulars of the Chilton case,” said the Home Secretary, addressing Dolly.

  “Before Detective Williamson gets into the case, I would just like to get on the record—” started Mayne.

  “There’ll be no record of this meeting, Commissioner,” interrupted the Earl of Derby.

  “Yes, sir.” Mayne was on his back foot. “What I mean to say, sir, is the detective is one of our best men when it comes to sousing out the facts of a case and has always shown high character and tact when on a case.”

  “This tact and discipline includes conducting investigations with occultists and shooting French dignitaries,” inserted Derby.

  There it is.

  “From what the Home Secretary has told me, we have a situation that has our national interest at stake, and I want to hear your side of this, Detective. Everything you know,” Derby continued, ignoring Mayne’s appeal.

  “I was called on to investigate the death of Sir Francis Chilton, the financier. His body was found at his London home. He had not told his family why he was returning to London and no one knew of his whereabouts for nearly two days. The condition of the body was unlike anything I had seen before, and I requested the assistance of Rose Caldwell, a local occultist.”

  “Why did you call on her, may I ask? This city is full of fortune tellers,” the PM queried.

  “We have a history—”

  “The Milton murders,” Walpole interjected, looking at the Prime Minister in a way that left Dolly with the impression they had discussed them at some point.

  “—and I trust her assessments,” Dolly finished his sentence.

  “Go on,” prodded the PM.

  “Over the following fortnight, the body of Señor Emilio Moyo was found at the Carlton in the same condition as Chilton—excuse me, Sir Chilton. Then two bodies were found in the vault at the Chilton House. In the case of the two guards, they had been shot.

  “The Home Secretary requested a meeting where I was introduced to guild master Saint-Yves, a French diplomat and guild master. He shared that a similar murder had occurred in the colony of Haiti to Emilio’s brother, Hernando, and that they suspected a Voodoo priestess named Angelica du Haiti. Sister Rose—sorry, Rose Caldwell—had an invention capable of detecting and imprinting spectral incidents on photographic plates. She showed me an image of an African woman in the room with Moya at the Carlton. I now had two independent sources pointing at Ms. Du Haiti, so while I had some certainty as to the identity of the suspect, I did not have a motive or an idea as to where to find her.

  “I received a document from Sir Lester that his father had in his possession It was Don Ernesto’s last will and testament. In the pages, Don Ernesto Moya declared he had an affair with a Haitian slave on his plantation after the death of his wife. He had his will changed to acknowledge the mother and his daughter and provide them an inheritance. There lay the motive of Angelica. Cheated of her inheritance by the Moya brothers in collusion with the elder Chilton, she sought vengeance.

  “It appears Sir Chilton conspired with the sons to make Don Ernesto’s will disappear and then Hernando ran the mother and daughter off the plantation. What they had not planned on was their half-sister becoming a practitioner of Voodoo.”

  “Voodoo, Detective?” asked Walpole, clarifying what he just heard.

  The PM sat in silence, taking in Dolly’s story.

  “A practicing Voodoo witch, she used arcane methods to kill the Moyas and Sir Chilton. Her tactics were quite wicked. She did not just kill the men. She damned their souls to an eternal limbo. I suspect that she was stealing Chilton's gold to make up for what she was swindled out of by him and the Moyas.”

  “And that’s when the guards were shot, not Voodoo’d?” asked the PM.

  “There is that loose end. I surmise they were shot when they discovered the robbery. Given her abilities to enthrall victims, either it was by Chilton himself under her control or accomplices. What was taken was of a substantial weight. So, I suspect she or Chilton had help moving the gold.”

  "Have you retrieved the gold? We are receiving pressure from the younger Chilton to its whereabouts," voiced Derby.

  “Actually the murder of the two guards and the theft of the gold is not my case. That happened in the city of London and is under their jurisdiction,” replied Dolly.

  “Tell us about the night of the wwenty-fourth at 412 Pilton Road,” requested Walpole. “Before you proceed, I want to revisit your comment that this woman was a Voodoo witch.”

  Dolly followed up. “To be specific, my understanding is that Ms. du Haiti was the high priestess of the Voodooists and a very powerful enchantress. Therefore, the necronists were intent on her capture.”

  “Or death,” added Mayne.

  “Yes, there’s the matter of her death,” said Derby.

  “Very messy,” interjected Walpole.

  Dolly opened his journal and looked over his notes on the night of the 24th.

  “On the night of the 24th, Detective Burton and I were surveying the address in question. We observed Ms. Rose Caldwell enter the residence. Shortly after her arrival, the necronists and Lord Oswald entered the home.”

  “Oswald, what a thunder there has been regarding his demise. His Lodge cronies are looking for ju
stice on his part,” accounted the PM.

  “When I entered the residence, he was already dead. Might I say in a most gruesome way. She had mashed him into the wall,” replied Dolly.

  “So, it was Ms. du Haiti who killed him?” asked Derby.

  “That is what Guild Master Gerard and Ms. Caldwell reported.”

  Derby pressed. “When do we get to the point where you shoot this Seer Thomas?”

  “When I entered the room, I made it clear that I was with the Metropolitan Police Service investigating a crime in the process. I was gaining control of the scene. I observed that both Guild Master Saint-Yves and Seer Thomas were chanting an incantation. Earlier in the week, Miss Caldwell had given me an amulet to protect me against the magic of Ms. du Haiti.

  “This amulet alerted me to the danger to myself and the safety of my fellow officer. I told the men to cease and desist so that I could ascertain if it was them or another source that was engaging the ward Rose gave me. They did not comply, so I could only assume that it was them who meant to do harm unto me and Burton. That is when I fired my pistol,” recounted the detective.

  “Do you have this amulet with you?

  “I do.”

  May I examine it?” requested the Prime Minister.

  Dolly removed the metal disk from his watch chain and passed it across the table to the Prime Minister, who regarded it thoughtfully, then handed it to the Home Secretary.

  “We may all need one of these. What of its maker, this Rose Caldwell?” asked Derby.

  “She assisted in apprehending the murderer and helped to protect me and Officer Burton. Rose is not a fanatic. She is a woman of faith but has found a different way to practice her beliefs,” explained Dolly with admiration.

  The Prime Minister leaned back in his chair. “Is there anything else you would like to add, Detective Williamson?”

  Dolly thought for a moment. Should I mention that Angelica might still be alive if he hadn't given Gerard and his companions the time? Or that Detective Keane was enthralled by Angelica, nearly killed me and I only escaped because Keane killed himself?

  “No, sir. I am prepared for whatever your decision might be,” expressed Dolly.

  “Decision? I’m not following you, Detective,” Derby queried.

  “The matter of me shooting a foreign diplomat and disciplinary action.”

  “What gave you that impression?” asked Walpole.

  Dolly looked to Mayne. “I assumed that was the purpose of the meeting.”

  “Detective Williamson, I envy you that you have had the pleasure of shooting a Frenchman, particularly one of those grim-faced death worshipers. You showed restraint trying to just wing him," praised the Prime Minister.

  All the men chuckled but Dolly.

  "As far as the diplomatic impact, the French position is that if the Crown saw fit to drop charges against Guild Master Saint-Yves, they would consider Seer Thomas as a casualty in the apprehension of a murderess fugitive. I have settled the matter with Anou,” the PM continued.

  Walpole interjected. “Detective, the Prime Minister agrees that these home-grown occultists such as Oswald and his Lodge, the witch from the colonies or the necronists from the continent all have ill will for the Crown. It is our government’s duty to put in safeguards.

  “Detective, can I please see your journal?” the PM asked.

  Dolly handed the leather-bound book to the Prime Minister.

  The Earl of Derby set it on the table between Dolly and himself. He leaned into Dolly. “Williamson, how does a man fall asleep at night knowing these types of dangers walk the streets of London? I for one have enough keeping me up,” Derby inquired as he tapped his index finger on the journal.

  Walpole continued. “Fredrick, we are in the nineteenth century now, and every day we learn more about how to bend the laws of physics and metaphysics to our will. You have been to the coal face and seen what those of mal intent are prepared to do with this knowledge. I want you to form a division of the Metropolitan Police Detective Branch to deal with those who practice the dark arts and choose evil ways.”

  “Ministers, are you authorizing Detective Williamson to lead a special branch?” questioned Commissioner Mayne. Clearly, Mayne had no idea what these two men were planning.

  “I am. Detective Williamson would lead a branch of occult detection and prevention to protect our country against internal and external supernatural threats,” concluded the PM.

  Dolly could not believe what he was hearing. “How serious are you about this, Prime Minister?”

  “Quite. This business with the Haitian and the explosion over at the gaswerks has drawn suspicion that our enemies and the weapons they are prepared to use against us are not the conventional weapons of war. We need to have some domestic defense that is also unconventional.”

  Dolly knew the test to determine the commitment they were prepared to make.

  “Prime Minister, I will accept the position if Rose Caldwell can become a constable of the Metropolitan Police force.”

  Friday, the 2nd of July

  11:20 AM, Rose Caldwell’s Rooms

  Sister Rose wrote in her journal all the details she recalled from her out-of-body experience. The sounds, smells, the words Angelica spoke, everything she could remember, including the incantation used in the Pwen Hanan.

  There was a knock at the door. Rose was not expecting a visitor. She closed the journal and placed it into a lockbox in the bottom drawer of her writing desk.

  She peered through a view port she had installed in the door. It was Dolly.

  Rose unlatched the locks on the door and let her friend in. He looked sour.

  "What has got you in these parts? Looking for new rooms?" chided Rose.

  “Could be. I had a meeting two days ago with the Home Secretary and the Prime Minister.”

  “What about?” said Rose as she locked the door and walked past Dolly. “Tea?”

  “No, thanks. I had to explain how my murder investigation literally turned into a witch hunt and why I found myself shooting French diplomats."

  "Why did you shoot him?" she pressed.

  "Lower rank, thicker legs,” Dolly replied.

  "I must say, Dolly, it truly shocked me when that pistol fired.”

  “That is what shocked you? Not the remains of Lord Oswald mixed with the plaster wall?" followed Dolly.

  “You can’t imagine witnessing that scene, Dolly. It was fantastic how she used her powers.” Rose put a kettle on over an alcohol burner she had for heating.

  "You seem a bit taken by the sorceress,” he suggested.

  Rose paused, teething her lip. Do I share with him what I was shown, how much I now know of her? "We had a connection. I do not think she is all bad."

  “I understand she was swindled out of her inheritance, but there is a better way to acquire justice. You murder people, the police come looking. Turning Keane on me was more than I could take.”

  “Her father waited until he died to legitimize her birthright. Her brothers sold her off to a plantation as a slave,” Rose retorted.

  “I didn’t come here to argue the fine points of why a murderess was given the hard knocks of life. If being hard done by is a just cause, half all the convicts in England would be set free. You see, Rose, Angelica may have been alright knowing the consequences of killing her family were she would hang, and that was worth the satisfaction of getting revenge, but she never looked at the other lives lost in the process. Keane, those two guards, they didn’t disown her. They never caused her harm.” He was clenching the brim of his hat as he spoke.

  “Dolly, the Scot has gotten hold of you. I’m not your enemy. I never said she was justified in her actions or even that Moya and Chilton deserved to die. I only said that she wasn’t all bad.”

  “I don’t doubt that any person is all bad or all good, for that matter. Anyhow, I didn’t come here to argue about her. I came to tell you that you’re right. The incident with Keane showed me the stakes are differ
ent—higher. These people aren’t cut from the same cloth as you and I. They have power and are prepared to use it mercilessly. Du Haiti turned Keane on me, and I think if Saint-Yves could have, he and his seer would have done the same to you, Burton and me, turning us on each other like rabid dogs. Saint-Yves knew where she was hiding and didn’t tell me. He had no intention of taking her alive.”

  “Dolly, I was invited to experience Angelica’s past before the seers arrived. She was peacefully employing tarot. She saw how the night would play out. Angelica left me with the feeling that perhaps it was her last night on earth,” whispered Rose.

  Dolly moved into the single ratty chair Rose kept in her rooms. “Remember how we first met? Well, not the very first time, but in that cellar? I went down there with a lot of assumptions. I figured that you were helping Milton and he was some type of pedophile. I thought that all men could be brought down with the shot of a pistol.

  “I came out of that cellar with less confidence in pistols and with what my eyes showed me. I am a bit more cautious in jumping to conclusions or that my allies have the same intentions I do,” he finished.

  “Alright then, if you didn’t come here to rehash events, why did you come?” Rose asked as she poured the hot water over loose tea in her cup.

  Dolly thought for a moment. There would be no going back, and he needed to know if this was going to work. It wasn’t but a fortnight when he was here and Rose said she wanted to learn from the murderer. “Rose, I need to know what you and Angelica discussed before the necronists arrived. You were alone with her for some time, nearly a half hour. What were you two up to?”

  “I may as well tell you. I need to share it with someone. She revealed to me that she killed her brother in Haiti. She channeled me there, back in time to witness the event. I was in her head, but it felt as if I was there—the smells, the sounds, the sight, her thoughts, the feelings of anguish and betrayal. This is when I sensed what was good in her and what drove her to act out and take life. The conflict of being in the home where she grew up, facing the person who sent his own blood away to the heinous scourge of slavery. I also experienced the power to damn him, and in the process, I learned what I wanted. I was brought back to that room with the full extent of her knowledge and power. Sadly, it’s from such a dark place, just thinking of it makes me feel a deep despair.”