by M C Dulac
“It is most strange though, isn’t it Miss Elise,” Anne’s eyes were pleading. “I mean it cannot be true, that the same man who knew my ancestor appeared at our door in 1810.”
Elise bit her lip. “It would be most unusual.”
Anne sighed and smiled. “My father was worried about the servants talking. He did not realise I was the only one to know Albert Price’s secret.”
“His secret?”
Anne smiled and her face seemed suddenly younger. “It was Taffy, my dog’s fault. At the end of the summer when Albert Price was here, Taffy tore up the stairs. When I reached the landing, the attic door was ajar and Taffy was nowhere to be seen. I peered inside. Mr. Price was sitting at a table in the moonlight with the dog at his feet. I took a deep breath, fearing I would be in trouble, for I knew grown-ups never liked being disturbed.
“ ‘It is only you, Anne,’ Mr. Price said and he told me to close the door, for the draught might affect his experiment.
“I crept closer and put my arm around Taffy. Both of us were transfixed. Mr. Price was mixing a beautiful liquid in a vial. Blue, like the sky in Hyde Park on a clear summer day and sparkling like sunshine on a lake. I knew it was something wonderful.
“Next to Mr. Price was the most wondrous book. It was bound in green silk with a green ribbon marking the page. The pages were full of lovely drawings and beautiful handwriting - his I suppose - and although you must think I am mad, Miss, I swear the ink glowed in the moonlight.
“I said these were wonderful things. He said they were, but they came with great responsibility. He placed the vial in the moonlight. We watched it swim and dance and sparkle for hours. I asked him what it was and he said,” Anne stopped, “it was the elixir of life.
“I told him I had never seen such a beautiful thing. He said it was beautiful and terrible and I was far luckier than he. He told me to go and enjoy the life I had been given and take joy in the wonders of nature that I had already found. I left him and slept very well that night.”
Anne knotted her hands and smiled weakly. “I have never spoken to my husband of this or to my children. They are good, sensible people. I would not believe it myself, except that I sat with Mr. Price and saw the potion he made in our attic.”
Elise waited, while Anne gathered her thoughts.
Anne unfolded the parchment, revealing an ornate key. “And so I have been the custodian of this key for all these years. Waiting for Mr. Price to return.”
Elise took a deep breath. Her heart pounded to think she was in the same room as a person who knew Price’s secret.
“Could you show me this room?”
“Of course,” Anne smiled with a look of kindness and relief. “I will show it to you dear. Please come this way.”
Anne led Elise into the hall and up a wide staircase. At the very top of the house was a door, so old and low it looked like a cupboard.
Anne blew the dust from the lock. The key clicked and the old door opened.
Elise took a deep breath. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness beyond as she stepped inside.
The attic was large, with a ceiling that reached up to the rafters. The walls were covered with dark cloth. The spiders had spun their webs in the corners and the dirt of time had collected on the floor. But the room was ready if ever its occupant strode through the door.
“I shall raise the curtains,” Anne crossed the room, pulling the white ropes that shone in the darkness. Twilight filled the attic revealing the spacious room. “This house was built in the 1600s. The first Lord Bingham watched the boats on the river through these windows. I believe Albert Price liked the way the moonlight streamed through on summer nights.”
“It would be lovely to stay here one day,” Elise said.
“The attic has always been here waiting. I fear that I won’t have anyone to tell my secret to when I die, in case Albert Price returns.”
“I don’t think he will return.”
The shadows hid all the lines on Anne’s face and the grey in her hair, making her appear like a child again.
“He will not return?”
Elise shook her head slowly.
A silence descended over the room. Anne paced toward the window and stopped to gaze at the Thames.
“At least I know,” she said, accepting Elise’s words. “And I will not spend my old age wondering.”
Elise lowered her head, fighting back her own feelings.
She rested her hands on the desk and took a deep breath. She had found Price’s refuge. But as she looked around, she realised the tables were bare. The cupboard doors were open and the shelves empty. Where was Price’s laboratory equipment and his books?
“You have seen what you needed to?” Anne said at last.
“Yes, thank you.”
Elise had found Albert Price’s hiding place but he had succeeded in disappearing again. He had touched Anne’s heart, but left no other trace. Anne locked the door to the attic and they went down the stairs.
“Did Albert Price take the green book with him?” Elise asked when they reached the hall. There was no need to describe it further. The green book with the symbols of alchemy must be the one Barnabas Wyatt was looking for.
“I believe he did. Although,” Anne frowned, “After Albert Price left, my father and his friend Mr. Jasper went into the attic. When I peered out of the nursery, the servants were carrying a crate down the stairs. They took it out through the garden door and placed it on Mr. Jasper’s carriage. It was all very peculiar, but that summer was a strange time. But it is possible, that the book is at Portman Square.”
“Portman Square?”
“At Mr. Jasper’s house. Old Mr. Jasper has passed on many years ago, but Young Mr. Jasper – Charles – lives there still. He may know what happened to the crate.”
“Is Portman Square far from here?”
“It is in Mayfair, close to Hyde Park,” Anne opened the door to the parlour and went to the writing desk.
“This is Mr. Jasper’s address,” Anne wrote quickly. “Tell him that I sent you. Although I think he will know once he sees you.”
“Once he sees me?”
Anne smiled strangely. “Can you memorise the address?”
Elise ran her eyes over the paper and nodded.
Anne threw the note into the fire. The flames quickly consumed the paper.
“I cannot believe I am so careful after all these years. Old habits die hard when I hear the name Albert Price,” she smiled cryptically. “Will he really not return?”
“I’m sorry. No.”
Anne hung her head. “What should I do with Sir John’s letter?”
“Whatever you wish.”
“I shall return it to the ashes too. The duty of the Binghams is over.”
She let the letter fall into the flames. They both watched the parchment curl and smoke in the fire, until the flames licked the page and turned it to ash.
A carriage pulled up outside. Several children poured out, laughing and shouting. Anne pulled a bell for the servants. Footsteps filled the hall.
“Would you like to stay for dinner, Miss Elise?”
“No, thank you, although you are very kind,” Elise smiled. “I must be on my way.”
“Of course. I understand.”
The children were now in a room further down the hall, making a tremendous noise. A man was roaring with laughter and other people were talking.
“The grandchildren are boisterous,” Anne said with a weary smile. “I will show you out.”
Anne led her to the front door. Outside, mist swirled up from the river.
Elise paused on the steps. “May I ask why have you told me all this?”
“Because these secrets are yours.”
“I do not understand.”
“The night I sat in the attic, Price’s eyes glowed,” Anne said. “As a child I accepted these things. I never saw eyes like those again until tonight. When I saw you, I thought he had come back. But of course you a
re not him, although you are the same kind that Sir John implored my family to protect. I will keep your secret, Miss Elise, and thank you for listening to mine. I can rest now, knowing I’ve fulfilled my family’s duty.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your secret is safe with me. The world you know is wondrous, and I am happy to protect you. I realise that like Albert Price you are an alchemist.”
Chapter Eleven
Anne’s words stayed with Elise as she walked home and felt so strange after her moments of self-doubt. No one had ever called her an alchemist before. It had been a secret she had been too afraid to share. Her heart rose but she reminded herself that she had not achieved anything yet. Anne had given her another clue, but the book was still elusive.
The next morning, Elise consulted a copy of London and its Environs from Madame Rochelle’s parlour, tracing the way to Portman Square. She set off after breakfast and came at last to a leafy garden square lined by tall townhouses. She counted the numbers on the houses, until she saw a shiny door.
An extremely old manservant was polishing the railings.
“May I speak to the master, please,” she said. “Anne Milton sent me.”
“Yes, Miss,” the servant nodded with bleary eyes. “I believe you are expected.”
The servant led her into the hall and opened the doors onto a grand sitting room. Ancient Roman plaques were attached to the walls and piles of books with worn spines lay on every table. Statues stood in the corners and marble busts adorned the mantelpiece. A telescope rested near the window, next to a large globe of the world. It was the room of an unusual collector.
“Very good, Tibbs,” Elise heard voices outside. “I shall see her now.”
A tall man in a fine old-fashioned coat, breeches and buckled shoes opened the door. Cloud-like wisps of white hair rose from his head. His legs were spindly, his hands wizened and his skin mottled. Mr. Jasper was close to eighty.
“Good morning,” he said. “You must be the young French lady.”
“I did not realise Mrs. Milton had written to you already.”
“I received a letter late last night. You might say, Anne and I share a secret,” the old man pulled an embroidered cord on the wall and the elderly manservant appeared. “A pot of tea, Tibbs, if you please. Please sit down, Miss - ”
“Elise.”
“Miss Elise. I am Mr. Charles Jasper - the younger,” he added with a resigned smile.
Elise sat in a high armchair. Tibbs struggled in with an urn a few minutes later and poured out the tea with a shaky hand.
“Mrs. Milton was very kind and patient,” Elise said when the servant had gone. “She told me the story of a friend of mine who lived in London many years ago.”
“You look young to remember such a friend,” the old man raised an eyebrow.
“Did you also meet him?”
“I did indeed. In 1810. Almost forty years ago.”
“I believe you may have some items that belonged to my friend. I am concerned that certain people may be searching for them. People who perhaps should not find them.”
“That was the warning Anne’s father gave to my father many years ago. Although I thought the gentlemen who searched for the books are long dead.”
“Another man has discovered their existence. He knows the books are somewhere in London.”
Young Mr. Jasper placed his cup and saucer on his thin knee. “Strange. I have been asked recently if I know about old books. The request was relayed to me by friends at first, and then the other day at my club, I heard that considerable sums of money are being offered for information.”
“Do you know who is searching?”
“No. And I am not interested in selling, so I am keeping very quiet.”
“I believe the man who wants to buy the books is Barnabas Wyatt.”
Charles Jasper’s grey eyes clouded over. “Barnabas Wyatt, the lawyer? That would not do at all.”
“Do you know him?”
“By reputation. He lives quite close to here in Grosvenor Square. He is a man of cold facts,” Young Mr. Jasper smiled bitterly. “He is a man of our times.” More lines wrinkled his already ancient brow. “I don’t know why Barnabas Wyatt is seeking these books.”
“He has discovered some letters written by my friend. There is enough in the letters to ignite his fancy.”
“I did not think Barnabas Wyatt has any fancies. It is always a worry when a man of no imagination suddenly develops one.”
Elise smiled. “Can I ask how you came to know the owner of the books?”
“Albert Price? Don’t be startled to hear me say his name. He was a friend of my father’s. He often came to dinner. I liked Albert Price immensely. He seemed like a scientist from a different age. He was truly wise and had an extraordinary breadth of knowledge,” Young Mr. Jasper paused and raised an eyebrow. “For such a young man.”
“Do you know why he left London?”
“I have a feeling he was in danger. People were looking for him. I met him once on the Strand at the end of the summer. He shook my hand and said he would see me when he returned. I expected him for many years, but he never came back. Anne said later that summer was like a dream.”
“Were the books brought here?”
“I believe so. After Albert Price had gone, my father returned from Anne’s house with a box. I heard him tell the servants to keep it safe.”
“Was there only one box?”
“You mean, what happened to Price’s laboratory? Don’t worry, my dear, I will keep all these secrets safe. A few days later, a bigger crate arrived and was taken to our mews house. I must say that crate intrigued me. How I wanted to open it and see what was inside. It drove me quite mad with curiosity for a few years. And then one day the stable boy opened it by accident. It held only bottles and pans that could be purchased in any shop in London. I had to stop the cook from trying to take them. I suppose Albert Price needed these things but they were very disappointing and ordinary. The remains are in the stable if you wish to see them, although I believe some of the pots have been in use in our kitchen.”
“I am sure there is no harm in that. What happened to the first box?”
“I heard my father say that the box contained books, but I did not actually see them. They never appeared in our bookcases or in my father’s study. The crate was dismantled and used for firewood but the books disappeared into thin air.”
“Do you think the books were lost?”
“I did for a long time. But when my father passed away, I found a pile of books hidden in his cupboards. They had been kept safe all these years. Now, as Anne reaches middle age and I may be nearing my end, you have come to settle our obligations once and for all. And to take possession of what rightfully belongs to you.”
“Thank you for your trust.”
“Anne was right about you. I have no doubt either.”
“Is the book here?” Elise barely dared to ask.
“When Anne wrote last night, I ordered my servants to lay out all the books, so that they would be ready for you to examine when you came. They are in the dining room, if you would care to look.”
“Of course,” Elise’s heart skipped a beat.
She scarcely believed her good fortune. The thought that she would soon hold the green book in her hands filled her with relief. Her luck had turned, first finding Anne Milton and now Mr. Jasper. It was too much to hope that she would soon be going home.
Young Mr. Jasper rose unsteadily to his feet. He opened a set of doors onto a long room. She sensed his enthusiasm as they walked around the polished table. The books were laid out on a felt cloth.
“These are the books that my father received that night.”
She picked up a notebook and her heart soared. “This is certainly Price’s handwriting.”
“So I was right.”
“You are. These are Albert Price’s books.”
She exchanged glances with Young Mr. Jasper. She leant for
ward, heart pounding as she examined each book.
The first was an ancient treatise on alchemy with Albert Price’s notes in the margins. A second was a medical book from the 1700s. Another notebook contained lists and reminders and observations of the phases of the moon. Some things had been crossed out and others underlined. There were several illustrations and more doodles.
Although the books were interesting there was nothing of value in them. These were the types of notes she kept herself. No layman could learn anything from them.
Her heart sank.
“Have you ever seen a green book?”
“A green book?”
“I believe the most important book was green.”
Young Mr. Jasper tapped his lip, as if realising she were disappointed. She had a feeling that he was far older and more tired than he wanted to admit. “These are all the books my father kept.”
“I don’t believe the book I am looking for is here,” Elise said.
Young Mr. Jasper looked sadly over the table.
“Maybe the book was destroyed,” Elise said.
It seemed a likely possibility. Albert Price’s books and laboratory had been brought here and guarded well. Perhaps Albert Price had written to Mr. Jasper’s father telling him to burn the book. If so, her quest was over. But she wished she had proof.
Young Mr. Jasper raised a bony finger to his lips. Suddenly a spark appeared in his watery eyes. “Unless my father took it to Hampstead.”
“Hampstead?”
“In summer my father often went to his house above Hampstead Heath. The air was better for him, his doctor said. He had a library there. I am certain the book was not taken away or lost. My father was too careful. But it may very well be in Hampstead.”
“Hampstead,” Elise repeated, her spirits rising.
“I am so sorry, my dear, for bringing you here when I don’t have what you need.”
“You have been a great help. I know we will find the book soon.”
“But how shall I get to Hampstead? Now let me see, Tibbs is really too old to drive a buggy and the cook’s nephew is barely twelve,” Young Mr. Jasper rubbed his chin. “But I could arrange a carriage and make the journey in a day or two. The fresh air would do me good. And I have a good idea where my father might have hidden the book.”