The Secret Casebook of Simon Feximal

by KJ Charles

  “Coffee,” he told the attendant. “And the bill of fare for luncheon, if you please.”

  “Sir, I cannot,” I mumbled. Cannot pay. Cannot afford this.

  “You are my guest, Mr. Caldwell. I insist. You must allow me this as some small redress for our first meeting.” He smiled at me, pale lips stretching wide over his smoke-browned teeth. It had been wrong of me to find that so repulsive. He was a kindly man. “I was very brusque, which I regret. I can only apologise. I was greatly misinformed as to your character.”

  “Oh,” I mumbled.

  “Ah, coffee.” Dr. Berry beamed at the waiter and examined the bill of fare as the man poured fragrant hot liquid into cups. I added cream and sugar, neither of which I normally take, with a heavy and trembling hand. “Will steak-and-kidney pudding suit your appetite, Mr. Caldwell? Very well then: two of those and quickly, please. My guest is hungry.”

  He turned to me once more as the waiter departed. “Yes, greatly misinformed. Let me be frank. I was misled by your association with the man Feximal.”

  “Mr. Feximal? Why?”

  Dr. Berry’s expression was pained. “I am a religious man, sir. Mr. Feximal is…” He shuddered slightly. “His beliefs are peculiar. His work is not done right. He has—I regret that I must say this—he has sympathy for evil.”

  My hands tightened on the steaming cup, still a little too hot to sip from, and I opened my mouth to protest. Not that I wished to disagree with Dr. Berry, far from it, but I knew what he said to be incorrect. Dr. Berry forestalled my argument with a plump finger. “I do not say he is an evil man, Mr. Caldwell, far from it. He is misinformed, sir. The hauntings that he and I are called to address are sent to trick us. Mr. Feximal has been played upon: bewildered, fooled and misled. Seduced by dark forces until his very natural sympathies have been distorted into doing evil’s work. With the best intentions, of course, yet we all know where good intentions lead.”

  I was sure that was wrong. Or, at least, I thought it was wrong. I believed it was wrong because of my own instincts. But what if they were wrong? What if I too had been practised upon?

  Suppose Simon was wrong. Suppose Dr. Berry was right.

  “Mr. Caldwell.” Dr. Berry’s voice was compelling. “I believed you to be an ally of the man Feximal and his misguided quest to give succour to creatures of darkness that should be fought with all the weapons at our disposal. Clearly that is not true, else you would not be in such straits now. I see he has abandoned you utterly.”

  There had to be some answer to this, but I couldn’t think of it, of anything but his eyes and the sound of his voice, and my hunger.

  “I should like to help you, Mr. Caldwell.” Dr. Berry took a cheroot from his cigarette case and struck a match. “I wonder if you should care to work for me.”

  “Work?” I lifted the cup to my lips, and at that moment my companion exhaled. The smoke that issued from his lips seemed to have an oddly acrid, choking scent. I put the cup down untasted and tried not to cough.

  Dr. Berry’s eyes gleamed behind the thick lenses of his spectacles. “If you were able to help me, Mr. Caldwell, if you could aid me in persuading Mr. Feximal to the light…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He will not learn. He must be made to learn, and you can help me to do that. You can gain his trust, learn how to guide him, under my direction. It would be a true kindness. His very soul stands in peril, and if I must bring him to his knees to make him understand, I will do it. That is, after all, the position from which we pray.” Dr. Berry smiled, a radiantly pure and benevolent smile. “There is right and wrong, and right will always triumph. Be on the side of right and you will be saved. Do you want to be saved?”

  I could only nod. I did, I truly did, and now I could see Simon, with his fierce eyes, the pagan runes and strange ways, as the enemy of salvation.

  A waft of savoury scent came to my nose. The waiter had arrived with our plates. He put them down, brimming with rich juices, each piled with cabbage and potatoes around the glorious mound of crust and meat.

  I went to take up my fork and Dr. Berry’s plump hand landed on mine, stopping me. I looked up and was caught anew by his pale gaze.

  “Hungry?” His hand pressed mine down.

  I could only nod.

  “Poor?” His other hand was putting something on the table. A pile of shining coins, I saw in my peripheral vision, because I could not have looked away from him if I tried.

  “I will feed you. I will pay you. And you will work for me. Whatever is required of you, at my direction. Will you do it?”

  “Yes,” I said, and felt the rasp of his smoky breath in my lungs.

  His hand lifted. Mine closed, without my conscious volition, on the fork.

  “Take this and eat it.” Dr. Berry spoke the words like a benediction. Like a benevolent master.

  I plunged the fork into the pudding. Gravy oozed and gleamed through the wound. I pushed the fork in, stabbed a chunk of tender flesh that dripped with dark red juices, lifted it to my lips. Put it in.

  For a glorious instant I felt the richness on my tongue, filling my mouth, and then—

  An unnatural taste, metallic and bitter. Rotten, I thought, and Poisoned, because it was so very wrong, and as I looked up from my plate I saw the gleam of coins and thought, Silver. It tasted of silver.

  “What is it, Mr. Caldwell?”

  Dr. Berry’s eyes were very large behind his spectacles, their pale intensity fixed on me, and with that foul taste in my mouth cutting through the fog of his words, I saw him once more as he was. The lump of carrion that he fed me burned in my mouth like betrayal.

  “Mr. Caldwell?”

  Those yellowed drowned-man fingers reached for me, and I pushed my chair back, seized my coat, and fled. I ran outside, heedless of those I pushed past, spitting the contaminated flesh from my mouth as I ran, retching but too afraid to stop. I had little enough strength, but desperation can do much.

  I did not care about my dirt or my shame. I did not care about asking help from a man who had no reason to give it. I was hopelessly frightened of Dr. Berry, terrified for my very soul, and I could only think of Simon.

  I remember little of that headlong flight except its length. It was not much more than a mile, but that is a long way to a hungry, heartsore, frightened man. I was stumbling and shaking when I got there, making the motions of running though I was moving no faster than a walk, and I leaned against his door as I pulled the bell consumed with fear that he should not be there, that I should sit alone on the stone step, that Dr. Berry should pursue me here…

  The door opened. His deep voice said, “Robert?” Then powerful arms held me up, and pulled me inside the house, and at last I was safe.

  I was not permitted to tell my story for some time. A servant-woman, hideously disfigured by a cross-hatching of scars over an empty eye socket, brought steaming beef broth that revived me sufficiently to luxuriate in a hot bath and drive the chill from my bones. (The scent of meat juices caused me but a momentary queasiness, I was pleased to note.) Clean and clad scarecrow-like in Simon’s flannel gown, I devoured a plateful of broiled fowl, seated at Simon’s dining-table, as he sat with me and watched in silence.

  My immediate physical wants supplied, I was able to look around the room. It was a gloomy space indeed, with heavy dark wood furnishings and thickly striped green wallpaper in the fashion of thirty years ago. It had once sported pictures, I could see from the brighter rectangles of unfaded colour; now there were none. Books and sheaves of paper were stacked on the table’s end.

  “Do you entertain much?” I asked. “Or Miss Kay?”

  “Neither.”

  “It is a large house for two people,” I observed. “It must take a deal of upkeep.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Your servant’s eye—”

  “I can see you are recovered, Robert.” Simon put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Now, you will tell me what the devil happened, and h
ow it is that you arrived in such a state of distress.”

  I pushed away my empty plate and began my tale. His face clouded over as I spoke of my blackballing, assuming a thunderous aspect. When I reached the part about the bank letter he said, “That was Parker too.”

  “Do you think so? I confess, the thought crossed my mind, but is it within his powers to influence a bank?”

  “There is a great deal within his powers.” Simon’s voice was grim. “I blame myself for this. I should have warned you.”

  “You tried.”

  “I could have tried harder.”

  “I doubt I should have listened,” I pointed out. “I am responsible for myself.”

  “You went into this blindfold,” Simon said heavily. “I know Mr. Parker. His profession is the suppression of secrets, by all the means at his disposal.”

  “And yours is to bring secrets to light?”

  “To bring the untold stories to an end. To free those trapped within them. That is my concern. Not to tell those stories to the world.”

  “No,” I said. “I should apologise. I spoke poorly to you on our last meeting. I was unjust.”

  He waved that away. “Go on. The bank letter; and then what?” I grimaced, unwilling to tell, and he scowled. “Robert, you were alarmed. I saw that. And…you came to me.” He hesitated, then added, low, “I wish you had done so earlier.”

  “These are my troubles. I could scarcely have brought my financial woes to you.”

  “You could,” Simon said, astonishingly. “That is… I hope you consider me your friend.”

  Did I? Friend seemed such an inappropriately intimate word for one so intimidating. My friends were jolly, laughing, cheerful fellows. My friends did not endure agony and face terror to free trapped souls from pain.

  “I should be proud to call you my friend,” I said, and received one of those rare smiles. It seemed a little easier than before. Maybe he was getting used to the facial effort, I told myself, because it was easier to jest than to consider how very much I should have liked to lean on his friendship then.

  Should have liked to. Could not.

  “Then will you allow me the privilege of a friend, to assist in time of trouble?”

  “I believe I already have,” I pointed out, with a gesture at my unconventional garb. “And with gratitude.”

  “Unnecessary. And you did not come to me in that spirit. You were frightened. By what?”

  I stared at my hands. “Dr. Berry,” I admitted, and told him of that terrible luncheon.

  It is not easy to repeat such things as Dr. Berry had said to a man’s face, particularly not when that face can convey so much menace so effortlessly. Nor is it pleasant to admit one’s own weakness to be such that one could betray a friend—a lover, even—for the sake of a plate of food.

  I told it all. I could not meet his eyes as I did it, but I told him.

  He heard me out in silence. At the end, he said, “You are a fortunate man.”

  “Am I?” It seemed, on the face of things, unlikely.

  He shrugged. “You might have eaten.”

  “What would that have done?” I demanded. “Was the food poisoned?”

  “Not in the sense you mean. I suspect the taste was your awareness of its import.” He rapped his knuckles on the table. “Never take anything from Dr. Berry, Robert. Never.”

  “The only thing I would wish to take of him is my leave,” I assured him. “You did not say what would have happened.”

  “No. Dr. Berry is a very dangerous man.”

  “He said much the same of you.”

  “He believes,” Simon said, ignoring that. “He believes that his mission is right, and that everything he does is in service of his mission, therefore everything he does is right. I do not agree.”

  “Nor do I.” I shuddered. “He sounds like an officer of the Spanish Inquisition. To what church does he belong?”

  “Any self-respecting church would burn him at the stake.” Simon’s tone suggested he would be pleased to supply the tinderbox.

  “I’m glad to know it. Why did he believe that I could be used against you?” I glanced at the closed door. “Is our…connexion discovered?”

  “He would not have used kindness to you then. I suppose he saw a chance to exploit a friendship.” Simon grimaced. “Outside my field, I have few to exploit.”

  I swallowed. “I’m sorry that I—that I—”

  “Nonsense, Robert. Dr. Berry has defeated far stronger men than you,” Simon said dismissively, and apparently without intending offence. “A question. I can only assume you have nowhere to go beyond the end of the month. No family?”

  “None.”

  “Will you stay here?” He spoke with great brusqueness, not quite meeting my eyes. “Until this matter is resolved.”

  “Here?” I repeated.

  “I dragged you into this. We have plenty of space. I should be happy to assist my friend in such a small way. Dr. Berry may know your direction, and I should not wish him to find you unprotected.” Four unrelated arguments, hurried out one on top of the other. I might have drawn conclusions from that, had I thought about it, but I was torn between a strong disinclination to accept charity from one whose good opinion I valued, and an equally strong fear that I might return to my cold, clammy rooms alone and find Dr. Berry there.

  I did not reply at once. He put out a hand to mine, but did not touch it. Such strong hands he had, the fingers a little thickened and the knuckles spread by boxing.

  “Please,” he said. “Accept my help. As your friend.”

  “I do not wish you to rescue me. I am no damsel in distress.”

  “Damn it, Robert, we all need help sometimes. I have asked for yours before now.”

  “Not like this.”

  He sighed heavily. “Let me make you a promise.”

  “What?” I said, startled.

  “Accept my help now, and I swear to you, when the day comes that I need help, I shall ask for yours and accept it. Lord knows you have aided me already—”

  “Not like this. I am—was—merely a journalist. If I have helped you in some small way, I am proud, but I can hardly repay—”

  “Good God, will you be forever talking,” said Miss Kay, coming into the room. “Why is Mr. Caldwell wearing your dressing gown, Simon?”

  “Dr. Berry endeavoured to recruit him. And Mr. Parker’s machinations—”

  “Mr. Caldwell brought vengeance down on himself, did he? I thought he might.” Miss Kay gave me a quick, penetrating look. “Dr. Berry?”

  “I’m inclined to break his neck,” Simon said.

  “Is he still pursuing our scribbling friend here?”

  “Probably.” Simon glanced at me. “It would be safest to assume so.”

  “Then you shall stay with us for now,” Miss Kay told me. “If Dr. Berry wants you then we should prevent him having you, on principle. I’ll have Cornelia make up the room again. Meanwhile, Simon, for God’s sake come and help me with this accursed text before I inadvertently call upon the great toad.”

  She departed in a swish of skirts. I said, “Call upon a toad?”

  “I’m sure she won’t,” Simon assured me, rising. “And as Theodosia says, you are far better staying here. Let it be so.”

  As Miss Kay said, Miss Kay who owned the house where they lived together on first-name terms, and could call upon him as she wished. And of course God forfend that Dr. Berry should have his way, or that Simon should feel it necessary to comfort me now.

  I had brought it all on myself, turned myself from an independent man to a vulnerable, helpless burden. No wonder I had lost his interest. I should doubtless be grateful that he was still prepared to be kind to me, rather than wishing for more.

  I was not.

  The next day, Simon and I went back to my rooms. He had assumed, as a matter of course, that he would accompany me. I could not quite bring myself to refuse or object, but I felt the sting of shame at my cowardice, and resented Si
mon for it accordingly.

  My landlady was not in evidence. We went up the stairs, I opened the door to my rooms, and the acrid smell of smoke reached my nose.

  “Ah, Mr. Caldwell.” Dr. Berry was seated at my desk, reading through my papers. He did not turn. “Our conversation is not finished.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Simon from behind me. Dr. Berry whipped round, eyes blazing fury, and Simon put me out of the way with a hand so firm that one might have called it a shove. I staggered sideways; he strode forward as Dr. Berry rose.

  “Has the dog returned to his master’s heel?” Dr. Berry asked me, ignoring Simon, an impressive feat given the man’s bulk. “Do you choose the path of deception and delusion?”

  “Begone, or I shall throw you down the stairs,” Simon said. “Mr. Caldwell is not for your taking.”

  Dr. Berry’s face tightened, but he doubtless heard the purpose that rang in Simon’s voice. He stalked by, pausing to look at me.

  “You are making a mistake,” he murmured. “You will understand that soon. Come to me then, and you may yet win forgiveness.”

  “Get out, you carcass,” Simon said ferociously, and Dr. Berry departed.

  “God.” I sat on the bed. “God.”

  “Mmm.” Simon was looking around. “Is this everything you have to take?”

  “I suppose it is not much,” I said, flushing.

  Simon, who would probably not have noticed if Fetter Lane had been gutted by thieves in his absence, shrugged, pulled open the desk drawer, and riffled through the few papers within.

  “Excuse me!” I rose with alacrity, and some offence.

  Simon seemed not to notice my reaction. “Look for coins. Silver coins.”

  “Believe me, there is not so much as a copper to be found.”

  “I doubt that,” Simon said grimly. “Look, and pack nothing until you have checked it. Where is your trunk?”

  I had a steamer trunk, which I used as a chest. I pulled it away from the wall. Simon began to inspect it minutely. I, disturbed and mistrusting, began to pile up my papers. What was he talking about? Why had he delved into my private belongings with such disregard? And again, the nagging thought: what if Dr. Berry was correct?