Avalon Revamped

by O. M. Grey

  “We do, indeed. Well, it was lovely seeing you, and I suppose we shall see you again this weekend.”

  “I hope the weather is clear enough to see the moon over Paris. Ya almost forget there’s a sun. Texas is very sunny and hot. It’s always so gray here. ”

  “That it is. One gets used to it.” Plus, we counted on it. Texas sounded like a miserable place.

  “Although, you brighten up any day, Miss Bainbridge, if ya don’t mind me saying.”

  “Oh, Mr. Blackwolf, how you flatter.” She curtsied and offered her hand for him to kiss, and he did. Peeking out beneath her white lace cuff, she wore black lace fingerless gloves. His lips touched her skin. Something inside me roared, and I had to exert extra effort to keep my face pleasant. She was mine, after all. Yes, must marry and make that undeniable to any.

  “I only speak the truth, dear lady.”

  Although Avalon smiled, her eyes held a sadness to them behind her round, purple-tinted spectacles. Her face showed nothing but pleasant calm, no sign of distress. Dressed in burgundy, fit for the season, Avalon’s day dress suited her quite well. The snugness around the waist showed off her lovely shape. Brass buttons centered down the bodice accentuated her curves. The pocket watch chain affixed on one side of her bodice, then again on the other, creating the most fetching drape across her bosoms. I should pay more attention to this beauty. The remainder of the chain dangled down her side and attached to the time piece tucked into its little pocket.

  I suddenly wanted her. Right here. In the carriage. Although her dress had no bustle, I wanted to be buried beneath her skirts. Now. Perhaps inside Nick’s. There would be plenty of privacy there.

  “We really must be going, Mr. Blackwolf,” I said.

  “Of course. This weekend then!”

  “This weekend, indeed. Good day.”

  All three of us started to move at once, and all in the same direction: toward Nick’s house. “Excuse me, sir,” I said to him, indicating with my tone that I wished to know what the bloody hell he was doing.

  “I’ve come to examine Lord Stanton’s place, Lord York. I have some experience in these things, and, well, my curiosity just got the better of me. My ship is getting the holiday touch by Lady Pearson’s decorators, and they needed me out of their way.”

  “Fascinating. Well, Lord Stanton is a dear friend of mine, so we’ve come to have a look ourselves. Shall we?” So much for a quick romp with Avalon inside. I chucked to myself, or a quick romp inside Avalon. I was ever so clever. Perhaps it was for the best. It would give my desires a chance to build, and then I would have her tonight.

  “We were concerned the police would still be here,” Avalon said as we approached Nick’s door. “But there are none in sight. I’m not sure there will be much to see inside.”

  “It’s locked,” I said, trying the door. “Of course, it’s locked. Did I think it would just be open for all of London to explore? All his treasures would be gone by now. Never mind, we tried.” I could, of course, easily open the door, but not with Mr. Blackwolf standing about.

  “I’ve come prepared for that,” he said, holding up a black leather pouch he had just produced from inside his coat. With a flick of his wrist, the thing unrolled, revealing a variety of tools. He chose a small contraption, similar to a turnscrew, only this had tiny gears where the tool met the shaft. Blackwolf flicked a switch, and the thing spread out and started to spin.

  “Blimey! One didn’t expect that.”

  “How very ingenious,” Avalon said, eyes wide with wonder. She let go of my arm to get a closer look. My Avalon always found new technology so intriguing. My lovely love. “How does it work?”

  “I’ll show you.” Blackwolf turned the thing off again, and it collapsed back into a regular turnscrew. He scrunched up the leather tool case with one hand and pocketed it while delighting in Avalon’s curiosity.

  “This is all quite captivating, but passersby are starting to stare at us huddled around the door. Perhaps you could show her another time, Mr. Blackwolf?”

  “Eh. Call me Arron. Yer right. We’re drawin’ too much attention to ourselves. You two give me some cover, and I’ll get this here door open.”

  Avalon and I turned around and faced the street. Thomas, just a ways up, sat on his driver’s perch, lanky legs at comical angles. I pointed to some Christmas decorations across the street and leaned over to Avalon, making an ostensible show of describing them. Instead, I whispered, “You look simply scrumptious this afternoon, my love. I was so hoping to taste you once we were inside.”

  She remained composed at first, but as I continued whispering desires, her breath came faster.

  Behind me, I heard a strange whirring sound followed by piercing squeals. I forced a bout of booming laughter, and invited Avalon to join me with a nudge. Even unnatural, her laugh was music to my ears. I nuzzled my nose against her cheek and whispered, “You’re so delightful. I love you.”

  She turned to me, surprised with light in her eyes, which positively sparkled behind her colored spectacles. “Truly, Arthur?” she replied in hushed tones. “I love you, too.”

  “We’re in, ya lovebirds,” Arron said from behind us, now standing in Nicholas’s foyer.

  “Splendid,” I said, squeezing Avalon’s hand, which rested in the crook of my arm. “After you, my love.” Once inside, we shut the door behind us and waited a moment to ensure there was no one else inside. I even called out a “Hello?” No one answered. “The paper said the blood was found in the parlour. Follow me.”

  There was blood here. I could smell it already, and Avalon could, too. She held a dainty hand up to her nose to help block the smell. The woman hadn’t eaten properly in months, after all. Animal’s blood only afforded so much strength. Must keep up the pretense that we didn’t hurt anyone. Her need must be insatiable before I told her the truth of our existence. Well, my existence. Still, she would remain under my control, of course.

  We all stood in the doorway and took in the room. “Nothing seems too out of sorts. The upset table and some blood here.” I pointed just in front of our feet. A dark stain blemished the forest green rug. “It’s substantial, but certainly not a fatal amount. The rest rather seems the same. It has been months since I’ve been here, of course, and there are some new items, but then Nick was always for keeping up with current trends. That red sofa is new, but the darker maroon one isn’t. The chandelier, that’s new. An electric one, too, but we’re too far from Holborn Viaduct for electricity. He must’ve had this shipped from The Colonies. Optimistic of him.”

  “There’s something off about that portrait of him, there.” Avalon pointed to the gold framed painting over the fireplace. “He looks too… something.”

  “Indeed. It looks rather recent. That vest he’s wearing he had commissioned shortly before we lost touch.”

  “Ugh! And that?” She pointed to a bizarre squatty statue, gargoyle like, but even more horrific than any gargoyle I’d seen. It squatted, legs spread wide, on Nick’s writing desk by the front windows.

  “That looks like an African fertility god, even though it’s missin’ the obvious appendage,” Captain Blackwolf offered. “I’ve seen ones like that in the New Orleans Voodoo shops. It’s said to give the bearer an insatiable appetite. Forgive me for saying so, ma’am.”

  “Nick had that without Voodoo.”

  “What difference does the decor make anyway?” Arron asked. “This room is odd all around, and that portrait is right creepy.”

  “It doesn’t really make a difference, just working it out,” I said, scanning the room again. “Getting a feel for the place. Something seems off, but I can’t put my finger on it. He was entertaining, as I can smell a hint of perfume”—and that unmistakable scent of sex—“but that’s not unusual for Nick.”

  “There’s nothing here,” Arron said. “The blood suggests foul play, but, as you pointed out, Lord York, there ain’t enough for it to have been a fatal wound. Not much more than a bad cut, I’d say.�
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  “It looks angry,” Avalon said, moving closer to the gargoyle. “Like it’s in a rage or terror.”

  “Agreed. There is nothing here,” I said, ignoring Avalon. Her fascination with technology and history was tiresome. “This is a waste of time. I don’t doubt good ol’ Nick just went on holiday with his lady friend and forgot to tell his mum. Nothing more. You’ll see. He’ll be back in time for your cruise, no doubt, ready for new adventures.”

  “There’s blood here,” Avalon said. She had lifted the statue and beneath it was a ring of dried blood, shaped as the outline of the statue. Yet, it was darker than blood, even dried blood. It was black. “Murder weapon?”

  “Perhaps, although I’d doubt it. Again, not enough blood. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot.”

  “The murderer could’ve caught the rest of the blood in something. Let’s have a look in the kitchen,” she suggested, setting the not-so-fertile god back down on the desk.

  “I’m sure the police looked everywhere.”

  “They didn’t find the blood beneath the statue, did they?”

  “That’s a good point, Miss Bainbridge. How could they have missed that?”

  “Call me Avalon, please. Yes, rather odd that they would’ve missed it. Perhaps there wasn’t this blood when they were here.”

  I scoffed. “Coppers are incompetent, of course, so it’s not that much of a shock, now is it?”

  We reached the kitchen, and everything seemed in place. I was becoming quite bored with this game.

  “Indeed, Arthur, but are they quite that incompetent? There’s something strange about that blood. It is rather too dark for blood, don’t you think? Perhaps we should take the statue with us. Have a bit of it analyzed.” Avalon gave the appearance of closely examining every surface, trying to find a trace of blood or of the black stuff, but I heard her sniffing, discovering the extent of her heightened senses. I could tell as soon as we entered there was no fresh blood here.

  “I’m not so sure, Miss Ba—Avalon, if it turns out he was murdered, you don’t want to be in possession of the murder weapon.”

  “Certainly not. Thank you, Arron. Nothing out of sorts here. I think we must speak with Mr. McFerret after all, and, if we can, the constable in charge of this investigation.”

  “Mr. McFerret will be on the cruise tomorrow night, so you’ll have the chance to talk to him then.”

  Avalon and Arron faced each other, excited at the prospect of the mystery, and that same roar erupted in my gut, so I moved in between them, pulling Avalon close to my side. “Yes, indeed. That’s exactly what we shall do.”

  §

  “I think we’ll walk for a bit, Thomas. Just take the carriage home.”

  “Yes, M’Lord.” He bowed and climbed on the carriage as Avalon and I headed in the opposite direction toward the main street, parting ways with Mr. Blackwolf as well. A compressed air tram rolled by, spewing black smoke into the air above it.

  “We could take the CAT,” Avalon said, “I’ve not been on one yet,”

  “Another time? It is such a lovely afternoon, and it’s already getting dark. We’ll be quite safe, don’t you think? Besides, it would be nice to have a stroll with your beauty on my arm.”

  She squeezed my arm and laid her head on my shoulder, breathing in the evening air. “Yes. I do like to be out for a change. Everything is so alive, and I’m so hungry, Arthur. Perhaps a stop at the butchers for some fresh blood?”

  “Excellent idea, sweetheart. Excellent! You were quite impressive in there.” She beamed up at me, thrilled at my approval, no doubt. But then, who wouldn’t be? “Great find, the blood beneath the statue. That definitely adds to the mystery. We should discuss it more over dinner. How are you feeling?”

  “Quite well, actually. The smell of the blood…as you well know. It is rather difficult to be among all these people. It’s as if I can hear their blood flowing, their hearts beating, calling to me.”

  “You get used to it.”

  A group of women marched down the street chanting and holding placards that read such things as WE ARE NOT UNCLEAN and OUR UTERI DON’T WANDER and other Women’s suffragette nonsense. The American movement had trickled across the pond, giving ladies here delusions of equality. Since I had so recently threatened Avalon with the very thing these women were protesting, I found it rather humorous, hoping Avalon wouldn’t go on a tirade. It had been a long day.

  To my great surprise and pleasure, she didn’t say a word as they passed by us.

  Good girl.

  A newsboy called out the headlines just on the other side of the street. “Police stumped at Aristocrat’s disappearance! Read all about it. Right here, right here, folks. Just two-p. Another ghastly murder in the East End—serial rapist and murderer on the move—third one this month! Hear ye! Hear ye! Only two-p. Right here, gents! Right here! Get all the gory details!”

  “How dreadful,” Avalon said. “Those poor women. How horrifying it must be for them to suffer such a fate, although, I suppose death after that horror would be a relief. I can’t imagine surviving rape. I think I would go mad.”

  “Indeed,” I said, then changed the subject, pointing. “What’s going on over there?”

  Just up ahead, a group of people gathered around a tall man in a bowler, standing atop overturned crates. On the wall behind him sat a wooden display case, the kind that could be closed up and carried from place to place. The man spoke over the chatterings of the crowd. American, from the sounds of it.

  It was a bloody an invasion.

  “Gather ‘round. Gather ‘round, folks. That’s it. Plenty of room for everyone. Now I know I’m pretty ma’am, but give me some breathing room. That’s it. That’s it. Welcome! One and all! My name is Roderick A. Jeffries, and I’m here to make your day. Winter sniffles got you down? Can’t keep those toes warm at night? Or are you just plain blue, feeling worn out? Well! This is your lucky day! One bottle of Doc Holliday’s Snake Oil, and all your ailments will be a thing of the past. That’s right! 100% pure rattlesnake oil from deep in the heart of Texas. Wrestled to the ground by our own cowboys, hired to ensure you have nothing but the best. Do you ail from headaches or toothaches? Melancholy? Hysteria? Sore chest-throat-joints-back-feet-hips? Doc Holliday’s Snake Oil cures it all, instantly.”

  “Balderdash.” A peep from inside the audience came. A single word, long drawn out in a southern drawl badly covered with a faux English accent, then silence.

  “Do I hear doubt?” the salesman sang, grinning wide.

  “I say it’s nonsense.” Same voice, same slow drawl. Several people in the crowd all looked down at something in the center of them. A haggard woman made her way to the front. Her creased face peeked through a long scarf draped over her head, and a wool shawl covered her short, hunched body. She hobbled with the use of a cane to the front of the crowd. “How can one thing cure everything? My son, he’s fuzzy.”

  Murmurings from the crowd.

  “That’s right, he actually has grown fur all over his body, like a cat. Will it cure him?”

  “It will indeed, old woman.”

  “Will it make me feel young again? Walk properly again? Cure my aching bones and my arthritis?” She held-up a clawlike hand. “Will it make me happy?”

  “Yes and yes, good woman. You will be so happy, you will dance. I guarantee it. Here,” the salesman said, opening a bottle. “Try it. On me. If you don’t feel better instantly, I will pack up and no one will ever see me on the streets of London again.”

  “Well….” The woman regarded the man with a suspicious leer. “I guess I ain’t got nuthin’ to lose.”

  She took the dram of snake oil in her curled fingers, then sipped it, grimacing. After a few convulsions, for show, no doubt, the shill shrieked, and then threw off her shawl and scarf, revealing long, brown hair. Her ample-sized, scandalously-displayed bosoms outweighed the rest of her. With nimble leaps and turns, she danced near the Snake Oil Salesman. Although she couldn’t have been much ov
er thirty, her face was an odd mixture of leathery, sun-damaged skin and deep creases, making her appear quite older. A furry eyebrow stretched from one temple to the other. I wouldn’t have recognized the gnome as female, maybe not even human, if it wasn’t for her shapely curves.

  Definitely a spinner, that one.

  “There you have it, folks! Limited supply, please have your shillings at the ready. Only three crowns, folks! Hurry now, supplies won’t last long.”

  “Three crowns!” Avalon exclaimed, ever the advocate for the people. “That’s preposterous!”

  The crowd didn’t agree. Holding out his bowler, the salesman handed each a bottle after their coins clinked in the hat with the others. Before too long, he had sold all but one of his bottles. He stopped and held it up, all while the imp still danced, and said, “Last bottle folks, and I see there are many more here who want this, so who wants it most? Do I hear a quid?”

  “One pound,” a man shouted.

  “I have one quid to the man in the top hat. Very nice hat, sir. Do I hear a guinea?”

  “I’ve got a guinea,” an older woman said, holding up her reticule.

  “One guinea to the lovely lady in blue. Two? Two guineas?”

  And so on, until he had raised an astronomical five pounds for the last bottle, and still the tiny troll danced. Twirling around in wide circles, she danced among the remaining people, bowing with a flourish to each new couple she’d dance near, who in turn appeared quite frightened at the spectacle and scuttled away. Each time she’d dance close to the salesman again, she’d look up at him with such adoration, one would think she worshipped him as god and savior.

  I was not a tall man, I stood well under six feet, which this snake oil salesman was at least. Avalon was just a few inches over five, my petite love, but this harlot was even smaller than that. Well, shorter at least. Barely over four feet, I would say. Close to that of a proper dwarf, but proportionate and solid. If I didn't know better, I would’ve said she was a gypsy, but even gypsies had more class than this one. Quite bizarre. She tossed her long, mousy-brown curls to and fro as she danced, gyrating in the middle of the street, as if to music.