“Is he the chap who acquired for you a … certain object last spring?” asked Rufus, waving at the air to disperse the smell of Niles’s pipe.
“No, no. Unless I am mistaken he is the gentleman who procured a case of laudanum for the Kensington’s last All Hollows Eve.” Wilson said this as he set upon his lap the book he had been reading.
Niles glanced at the book, his distaste for the poetical forms of Sir Walter Scott evident in the slight smirk on his face.
“You are both wrong,” interjected Friedrich quietly. “Timothy Woolroy is the rake who has been engaging in criminal conversation with Mrs. Leary.”
“Good. You all remember him then. He is indeed one and the same, but that matters not.” Dominic continued with clear and precise diction, gesturing with his hands as though to emphasize the precision and propriety of his words. “I was informed this very evening by a mutual associate that Woolroy has fallen most ill, most ill indeed.”
“You say?” inquired Niles, with a hint of feigned concern.
“This—and I say this with the greatest hesitance—is a matter of intrigue!” avowed Dominic as the tone of his voice deepened with dramatic emphasis. “For you see, Mr. Woolroy has reportedly been afflicted by a sinister and devilish sacrilege, which has—reportedly—been inflicted upon him by the heathen Romani.” Dominic’s eyes were enlarged with excitement.
Rufus leaned forward, sliding to the edge of the divan and placing his hands on his knees as if to brace himself against Dominic’s enthusiasm.
Speaking with an air of discontent, Niles stated simply, “My dear boy, I do not follow.”
It was to this which Rufus responded, “I do believe our dear friend is insinuating that Mr. Woolroy has been struck by the Gypsy’s curse.”
“Thank you, Rufus, this is precisely the case.” Dominic jabbed a finger toward Rufus to emphasis the word precisely. He then ran his fingers through his wavy light brown hair, setting an errant strand from his eyes as he looked earnestly at his companions. “You see—”
“Serves him right,” interrupted Niles, muttering as much to himself as to the rest of the room. “The man is irredeemably profligate.”
“Niles, my dear boy,” admonished Friedrich. “Woolroy is a coxcomb and a rake, to be sure, but to call him profligate may be a bit much. Perhaps libertine would be a better description of the fellow’s proclivities?”
“Need I go through the list?” queried Niles, somewhat indignantly.
“Dear God, no! It is as you say; but the man is ill. I merely mean to remind you that it is a thing of poor taste to speak of an acquaintance in such ways, especially when they lie ill—no matter how true it may be. The man may not deserve your respect, but it is proper to grant a degree of it, none the less.”
“Remind me,” stated Wilson cautiously, “was it not you who first introduced Woolroy to Mrs. Leary? I seem also to recall something of a challenge.”
“In jest.” Niles’ initial response was delivered firmly with a degree of offense. “I had no means of knowing that Woolroy would take such a challenge seriously. His transgressions are his own! I am responsible for no man’s decisions but my own.”
Ignoring this exchange, Rufus addressed Weyland directly. “If Woolroy has been struck by evil, why, then, are you excited?”
“Am I?” responded Weyland, turning towards his colleague with an air of surprise.
“You are,” insisted Rufus.
Weyland shrugged. “I had not noticed.”
“You are positively flush with anticipation.” Rufus motioned, encompassing the manner in which the gentleman ran his hand through his hair, the tense angle of his arms, and the subtle shifting of his weight from foot to foot as if preparing to leap to a great height.
“It is no use denying then.” Weyland ignored the comments regarding his mannerism, his tone becoming serious as he looked at each of his four compatriots “Do you recall the conversation in which we discussed the possibility of physiological manifestations of a perceived or believed transitive stimulus?”
In the pause that followed, the others regarded him with various expressions.
Niles pulled a draw off his pipe then filled the silence. “I recall a rather riveting conversation regarding correlations between libertarianism and utilitarianism in light of modern economic constructions. Now if I could only recall how that conversation concluded … Ah yes, you entered my domicile.”
Being accustomed to Niles’ demeanor and his tendency for melancholy, the group dismissed his sour words and continued as though he had said nothing.
“I do recall such a discussion.” Rufus nodded. “Did it not occur perhaps six months past? I seem to recall discussing the matter at the club with Mr. Flaherty. He has been in Cambridge for some time.”
“Indeed, and it would seem that we have an opportunity to test our hypothesis. Should we discover that Woolroy’s symptoms are psychosomatic, then we can discount the claim that the Gypsy possess a preternatural ability to afflict others with disease or misfortune.” Weyland rubbed his hands together, looking around for his accustomed seat. He found it underneath Niles’ outstretched feet and frowned.
Friedrich, ever pragmatic and looking to the larger picture, shook his head. “As a point of interest, such would only apply to current circumstance. This singular event cannot account for all possible scenarios. The sample data is simply insufficient to support your proposed claim. The essence of natural philosophy is to collect facts through the rigorous application of the Empirical Process; this cannot be achieved by means of a singular case study.”
“Your point is taken, Friedrich, but mine stands unaffected.” Weyland concluded the task of pouring himself a glass of red wine from a crystal decanter before sitting firmly in the heavily upholstered chair to its left. “Regardless of the degree to which we might apply these findings, this remains an opportunity to present what may well be definitive proof of our theory. What we discover by examining this case may provide grounds for a larger case study. Furthermore, I should like to pursue this matter for publication, regardless of whether or not the Empirical process must be employed.”
“My dear boy!” exclaimed Niles, “Why should you demean yourself in this way? Let the oligarchs reign within their ivory tower so long as they leave us common folk undisturbed by their intellectual constraints. I cannot fathom your reason for seeking the approval of those dusty and impotent old men.”
Friedrich, gentle concern weighting his voice, replied to Niles. “Perhaps you should set aside the sherry, my friend. I believe that you speak more harshly then you intend.”
The heat in Niles’ eyes flared briefly as he shot a glance at the younger gentleman, but he allowed the chair to embrace him as he drew deeply from his pipe, and moments later had set the copita aside.
Weyland continued unabated, “I called upon Mrs. Woolroy this evening, just prior to my arrival, in fact. She has consented to allow us a midday luncheon with Woolroy so that we might examine him ourselves. She is quite set upon the idea of a curse and is interested to see what we ‘fine gentlemen’ might contribute to her husband’s condition.”
Wilson folded his hands atop his book. “What of his personal physician? Has he had anything to say on the matter?”
“I am certain that he has," said Weyland. "Frankly, Mrs. Woolroy and I did not engage in extensive conversation. With her husband in his current state, she felt that it would be indecent for her to receive a gentleman at this hour.”
“Quite so.” Rufus nodded with approval.
“It is settled then." Weyland slapped his hands together. "We shall call upon Mr. Woolroy on the morrow and see what we may of this affair.”
Raising an eyebrow, Wilson tapped his fingers absently on his book. “All of us, you say?”
“Indeed,” said Weyland. “Yours and Rufus’ expertise is required to verify that his condition is anything but quantifiable. And I shall appreciate Friedrich’s insights into the theoretical. Needless to say, a cadr
e of the educated will be looked upon very different as a set of callers than would a single gentleman.”
“And what of me? Am I there just to add to your numbers, to deem our group more respectable?” Niles exposited with a touch of annoyance, sitting up from his languid pose.
Weyland turned and stretched out a hand to the group’s patron. “Why, you can ensure that we avoid any form of liable.”
Niles snorted, then stood to tap his pipe out into the hearth. “You assume that I can afford the dalliance. I have matters of some importance which require my attention, as you well know!”
“Don’t be obtuse, Niles,” said Wilson, once again perusing his book. “The only matter which will strain your faculties is that of addressing the pallor of drunkenness, a matter to which I suggest that you attend in earnest; it would not do to justify the claims of your morose demeanor.”
“I am not morose,” said Niles, stepping around Weyland to jab his pipe stem at Wilson, who for his part continued to ignore the young Byron. “My hospitality has its limits. I suggest that you remember this before you speak to me again.”
Wilson marked his place with a strip of paper and set the book on the end table. He then turned a dead eye to his associate. “I stand corrected, my dear friend. You are not morose. You are bitter and ill-tempered.” His wry smile drew from his words a measure of their sting.
Niles delayed a moment before returning the pipe to his mouth with a distinguished gesture of pride. “What can I say? Sherry brings out the best in me.”
Entry Three
The following morrow, the friends rendezvoused once more at the domicile of Niles Byron. Niles, for his part, was beleaguered and dallied somewhat in his morning affairs. Although he rose at a respectable hour, it was not until his colleagues had gathered to break fast that he emerged from his chambers. Mr. Brimble, Niles’ valet, moved about the room, refreshing the food on the sideboard as the men congregated at the table.
Although he held this single title, Mr. Brimble performed all services which were required of this small extension of the Byron estate and was, in truth, rarely called upon to perform his primary function. He instead served most often as a butler or footman, and on such occasions as this, made quick and effective use of the kitchen.
Friedrich and Weyland, lost in a discussion comparing Archimedes and Isambard Kingdom Brunel, little noted Niles’ entrance. Their plates had been previously set aside to make room for a daily periodical, which contained an editorial discussing anticipation for the first line of the Great Western Railway, and the impact that it might have on the use of skyways as a means of transporting high weight bulk commodities.
The article argued that the cost of constructing a railway infrastructure would net a long-term gain in that it would provide a less expensive alternate to the prohibitively high costs of the airhoppers. Aside from instigating the current debate, this article was largely ignored by the young gentlemen who had become engrossed in the present topic.
Wilson, on the other hand, set his knife next to his egg cup and regarded Niles with a mixture of pity and aggravation. “You look positively ghastly. Please tell me that you did not continue your soiree after my departure.”
Niles seated himself at the table, surveying the offerings on the side board. “I concluded the evening by sampling a bottle of scotch in anticipation of Weyland’s imminent success.”
“Naturally.” Wilson leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “And might I ask how much of it remains, pray tell?”
Niles smiled, helping himself to a slice of toast from Weyland’s plate. “I couldn’t very well let it go to waste, now could I? Good scotch turns sour overnight.”
“I believe,” said Wilson, “that you are confusing scotch with wine, my dear boy.”
“Am I?” said Niles, spreading orange marmalade liberally on his toast. “That is a shame. Remind me again which is plugged with cork.”
It was then that Rufus entered the room from the door leading to the kitchens. Seeing Niles, he shook his head. "By Jove, man! You still have drink in your eye!”
“I was just explaining to our friend,” said Niles, “the need to savor life’s gifts. To summarize Bentham, by maximizing the duration of Utility one increases the overall quantitative value of said virtue.” With that, he took a bite of his toast and let out a contented sigh.
Wilson frowned but said nothing, choosing instead to focus on removing the shell from his soft-boiled egg.
Rufus joined them at the table before saying, “You run the risk of becoming a pig. These lower pleasures of yours will soon affect your capacity to function as a higher being. Fortunately, I know you well enough to have foreseen this eventuality. Here, drink this tincture.” He fished then a phial from his waistcoat pocket and passed it across the table.
Niles eyed the murky white liquid suspiciously but gave it a good swirl. “What is this?”
“Cocaine, my dear boy,” said Rufus without hesitation. “It is good for you. It will put color in your cheeks and lift you from this despair which has taken hold of you. My God, it is almost palpable! We truly ought to consider a regimen if you are going to continue in this manner.”
“On my physician’s instruction then,” said Niles, lifting the phial to his lips.
“Good lad,” said Rufus. “Here, take it with food. It will assist in settling your stomach.” He then plucked the recently-peeled egg from before Wilson and passed it to Niles, who proceeded then to consume it in earnest as though its theft was a singular and coveted spice.
This earned him a chuckle from Friedrich, who then buried himself in the periodical to avoid a withering glare from Wilson, who was then gesturing to Mr. Brimble his desire for a second egg.
Weyland addressed Niles as he cleared his throat. “Will you be quite fit for the afternoon’s events? It would be unfortunate if this newly discovered penchant for hedonism were to expose us to a matter of liable.”
“The cocaine will remedy your concerns,” answered Rufus before Niles could respond. “In a few moments, he will be as fit as a fiddle and fully invigorated.”
Niles shrugged. “It matters not. I have no concern in a matter as simple as this.” He reached across the table for a date on Wilson’s plate. “Any perception of liable on this matter can be easily remedied by a bumbling fool.”
“Then I shall count us fortunate,” said Wilson, intercepting the date, “that we possess such a fool.”
Entry Four
Not long thereafter, the troupe found themselves standing in front of the home of Timothy Woolroy, each man bundled tight against the bitter chill of the winter wind that then plucked at their hats and scarves.
While free standing, the house was modest and situated within a row of similar dwellings which did very little to impress upon the viewer their status as domiciles. Rather, they were so tightly compressed that they might as well have been one singular building running the length of the block.
The architectural style was unabashedly Georgian with its strict symmetry and precisely placed features, and standing in the frame of the door was a delicate woman in her middle twenties. She wore a high-necked white blouse with a simple blue dress in the fashion of the Methodist. Her thick brown hair was held in a sensible braid, and she wore at her neck a simple silver cross. She was recognized by all present as the Mrs. Woolroy.
Weyland embraced her warmly by the hand and greeted her with familiar words. With a somewhat strained smile, Mrs. Woolroy welcomed them and invited them all into the house. Once in the foyer, the five men began the process of removing their hats, coats, and scarves.
“Mrs. Woolroy,” said Wilson, doffing his hat, “thank you again for hosting us this afternoon.”
“It is quite all right, Mr. Wilson. My husband is feeling much better this morning. He awoke with a much renewed spirit.”
“Is this common? The morning renewal, that is,” inquired Wilson.
“I cannot rightly say,” said Mrs. Woolroy, after a slight
hesitation, “but I believe so. It is as though the evil is purged from his body as he sleeps. I pray every night that it is so. Perhaps it is the Good Lord working within him to renew his spirit and protect it from the evil of the Adversary.”
Raising his eyebrows, Wilson stopped unwrapping the scarf from about his neck. “Do you subscribe to this theory of the Gypsy curse then?”
“Most certainly, sir,” said she, somewhat timidly. Her hands encircled the cross which normally lay upon her heart and her eyes were cast down coyly. Friedrich noticed the subtle motions of the woman stroking the back of the cross with her thumb. “I was with my husband when the witch spoke her words, and I could feel from her the darkness within them. I have no doubt that she possesses an evil and unchristian spirit”
“That is interesting,” said Friedrich, cocking his head slightly with interest, as he continued to watch her clutching the cross to her heart. “I would have thought that a woman of your faith would be adverse to superstition.” He removed his gloves.
“I do not understand the conflict, sir.” Mrs. Woolroy pursed her lips. “The Holy Word tells us to beware of evil spirits. The prophets themselves were misled by lying spirits, and we are warned against the presence of witches. Satan sees the depths of our depravity and works upon the darkness in our hearts, bidding us to do the most horrible of things such that his darkness will come to rule over God’s creation. This Gypsy spoke the foul words of a witch. She has had congress with the Devil himself and spreads his dark spirit among good Christians.”
Leaning close to Rufus’ ear, Niles whispered such that Mrs. Woolroy could not overhear. “Do you suppose that we should inform Mrs. Woolroy of her husband’s depravity? The man with which I am familiar is anything but a ‘good Christian.’”
Rufus frowned in response, but did not openly reply.
“She should hang for what she has done,” Mrs. Woolroy continued, her jaw set and her blue eyes narrowed. “If there were any justice in this world, then she would be brought to account for her crimes. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Her fate should be that of the Prussian woman who burned on the pyre when I was a babe.”
The Dandy Boys Mysteries (Vengeance Book 0) Page 2