The Alchemist of London

by M C Dulac

  At last she saw the ghostly dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral rising into the sky. She entered the churchyard and took a deep breath. The landmarks of London lay in semi-darkness. Now she had some idea of where she was.

  “Forget-me-not, Miss?” a tiny voice said.

  Elise stared down into the smooth face of a small child. The girl’s eyes were as large as saucers and her blonde hair hung down to her shoulders. She was no more than seven years old. She clutched a bunch of delicate blue flowers in her tiny fist. More flowers were in a tray hanging from her neck.

  “It is late for you to be out alone, little one,” Elise said, kindly,

  The child gazed at the sky. “No, mama does not expect me until ten. And I haven’t sold enough tonight.”

  “You should not worry about such things,” Elise said gently, wondering what sort of mother sent her child alone onto the streets.

  “Mama has to pay Joe for the flowers. Please have a bunch, Miss. They are lovely blue forget-me-nots.”

  Elise took a deep breath. The earnest little face stared up at her. Elise reached into her pocket.

  “Take this coin to your mother. That will be more than your night’s work.”

  “It’s a crown,” the little girl said, turning it over.

  “It is yours.”

  The child was so surprised, she was silent for a moment. The girl’s seriousness faded away, and she looked even younger than before. Elise had passed so many children like her in London, but she did not have enough coins to help them all. She turned away, but the tiny voice rang out again.

  “You must have some flowers,” the child proudly held out a bunch. “Mama says I can’t take money for nothing.”

  Elise took the limp bunch. It looked as though it had been picked days before. No wonder the child had trouble selling it.

  “Thank you very much. It is very lovely. I will put it in a vase,” Elise said, seriously.

  The child smiled shyly then scampered out of the churchyard.

  With St. Paul’s Cathedral behind her, Elise began to walk home along the busy lamp-lit thoroughfare. Once she caught a glimpse of the Thames, full of masts of resting sailing ships and the pugnacious forms of puffing steamboats. Great buildings and bridges lay in the distance.

  A sallow moon glowed uncertainly, as though its light was about to go out. Clouds wrapped around the moon like torn ribbons.

  At last she saw the arches of Temple Bar and passed through the passage to the West End.

  Wyatt’s words rang through her mind. Her fine dress didn’t seem to matter so much any more, and her spirits sank. The serenity of her alchemist’s garden seemed a long way away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  There was no word from Young Mr. Jasper the next morning. Elise tried to read but her thoughts were troubled. Images of Barnabas Wyatt and the urchin in the churchyard filled her mind. Eventually she put down her book and paced around the elegant parlour, unable to concentrate.

  From the window of Madame Rochelle’s townhouse, London was a green and beautiful place. Inside was every comfort she could wish for. She sat down to a lunch of roast beef, pie, vegetables and sweet tarts while Madame Rochelle talked about clothes and parties.

  The clock struck two, and there was still no letter from Portman Square.

  Determined not to sit around waiting, Elise went for a walk in Hyde Park. Well-dressed ladies, nannies and children wandered by and aristocratic riders cantered in the distance.

  The wind rippled through the treetops and whispered through the grasses. Ducks glided across a pond. Following a winding path, she could almost believe she was back in Little Bingham. The swaying grasses calmed her thoughts. As she walked further on, her mind began to clear.

  Perhaps she had been worrying unnecessarily. Barnabas Wyatt had no firm proof she was an alchemist. The village gossip would die down in time. Once she found the book, she could go home. All would return to the way it had been before.

  She breathed in the sweet air and smiled with relief.

  “Miss Elise.”

  The path shifted beneath her feet. Standing a few feet away was Fitzgerald.

  She noticed the subtle differences now between Fitzgerald’s clothes and those of a gentleman. Wyatt had dressed him to make clear his rank in the city - he was the guard of the London rich.

  “Mr. Fitzgerald, how unexpected to see you.”

  “I come here each day to exercise the horses. Mr. Wyatt’s house is just nearby in Grosvenor Square.”

  “What a coincidence,” Elise sighed, staring at the grand houses overlooking the park.

  “You did not tell me you were leaving for London,” Fitzgerald went on.

  Her throat was dry. “I come to London often.”

  He glowered from beneath his hat. “That’s not what they said in the village.”

  “I am returning to the village soon,” she tried to turn away.

  “Then Mr. Wyatt can pay you a visit in Little Bingham?”

  Elise took a deep breath. “I cannot think why your employer wishes to meet me. I have nothing to say to him.”

  Fitzgerald rubbed his chin. “Mr. Wyatt found a book on alchemy in your conservatory,” he said uneasily.

  “You have been inside my house?”

  “The servant girl let us in. She did not know where you had gone. It seemed you had disappeared. In the circumstances, Mr. Wyatt thought it appropriate to investigate.”

  “There is no need to be concerned about my wellbeing. As you can see I am perfectly alive and well.”

  “Not your wellbeing, Miss. The other circumstances.”

  Elise glared at him.

  “This mystery about Mr. Champillon and Albert Price. It is a strange business, you’d have to admit.”

  “Mr. Champillon is in France. No one can find him at the moment.”

  “But he was an associate of Albert Price.”

  “Albert Price is a man who was in London in the 1600s.”

  “And twenty-five years ago.”

  “That is absurd, sir. No man can live for hundreds of years.”

  “No ordinary man,” Fitzgerald gazed at her strangely.

  “I have said I cannot help you.”

  “Mr. Wyatt said your garden was most unusual.”

  “Mr. Wyatt had no right to enter my house. Neither did you.”

  “I really think you should speak to Mr. Wyatt, Miss, to clear everything up, before -”

  “Before what?”

  She did not want to cause a scene in the park. Her eyes flickered along the paths, wondering which was the quickest way to escape.

  Fitzgerald lowered his voice. “Do you have papers?”

  “Papers?”

  “To show you can live in England.”

  Elise’s heart raced as she tried to remember, where or if at all, she had been given papers when she left France.

  He looked uneasy. “Mr. Wyatt got his man in the Customs House to check the passenger records of ships. But there doesn’t seem to be any record of your arrival in England or your birth. Not in the last thirty years. And if I may say, Miss, I don’t believe you are older than that.”

  “Your master will not give up.”

  “If you have any secrets, tell them to Mr. Wyatt - before it is too late.”

  “Please leave me alone.”

  Fitzgerald took a step forward. He lowered his voice and his eyes were pleading. “I heard him talking about getting a warrant.”

  “A warrant?”

  “To have you arrested, Miss. If you don’t have papers, the police can detain you. I hope Mr. Wyatt won’t go ahead with the warrant. So please, tell him what you know.”

  “Are you proud to work for such a man?”

  Fitzgerald’s jaw tightened. “Mr. Wyatt is an upright individual.”

  “How much money does he pay you to deliver his threats?”

  “I am merely trying to help you.”

  “You heard him say what he thinks of men like you.”


  “I do what I have to do,” Fitzgerald said coldly.

  “You know in the end you will be pushed aside - like a dying horse on the street.”

  Anger brimmed inside her. She expected to see anger in Fitzgerald’s face and braced herself. But Fitzgerald said nothing. Instead, a shadow passed his eyes.

  Elise began to run. She kept running along the path and did not look behind her until she reached the edge of the park.

  She walked for a long time until she was satisfied that Fitzgerald was gone. She had to gather her thoughts. As she turned the corner into Madame Rochelle’s street, she saw two men walking down the steps of a house. An uneasy feeling rose in her stomach.

  A boy of twelve came running around the corner, almost colliding with her.

  “You are the servant boy from Mr. Jasper’s house,” she said.

  The boy’s mouth fell open and he nodded.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Delivering a message to you, Miss Elise,” the boy reached into his jacket.

  Elise kept her eyes on the men ahead, and then turned to the boy. “You may give it to me now. Please don’t go near Madame Rochelle’s house and tell Mr. Jasper not to deliver any more messages here. I will send messages to him. Do you remember that? It is very important that you tell him.”

  The lad nodded and accepted Elise’s advice with a shrug. He jogged away.

  Elise took a deep breath. She walked around the square, catching glimpses of the men through the branches. After a few moments, they began walking toward the high street.

  A maid opened the door. Her worried face dispelled any doubts that Elise had.

  “We have had visitors,” the maid whispered, guiding her into the parlour. Madame Rochelle sat in a chair, gazing into space. Her eyes were red.

  “What has happened?” Elise knelt down. “Was it the men who just left?”

  Madame Rochelle nodded. “They asked if I had a guest. They were very threatening. I have been in England for many years, but there are always times I feel uneasy. They spoke of spies. The trouble in France this summer has rattled the establishment in England.”

  “How did they find you?”

  “They said they enquired at the French tearooms. Apparently they have visited several French homes in London today. I did not tell them anything, although they were so rude. I fear they might come back. Henrietta saw them talking to the butler across the street.”

  The maid nodded with a grim look.

  Madame Rochelle looked at Elise sadly, with a pain that made Elise wince. “I do not enquire as to your purpose for being in London. I will look after you as I have been asked. But I must warn you, these men will cause trouble for you, I am sure,” she turned a crumpled handkerchief in her hands. “They spoke of a warrant.”

  “It is a false charge. The man behind this is very evil.”

  “They’ve gone, ma’am,” Henrietta peered through the curtains. “If they return, I’ll give them short shrift. Now do not worry ma’am. There’s no one outside, and I can see the whole street from my room. We won’t let anyone else in.”

  Henrietta prepared dinner and uncorked a bottle of red wine. Madame Rochelle encouraged Elise to have a glass and had several herself. There were no more visitors. Elise hoped that the men might have gone for good.

  In the solitude of her room, her worries swirled. If she had not stopped the messenger boy, the men might have followed him to Mr. Jaspers’ house. She was placing not only those who knew her in danger, but she might also lead Barnabas Wyatt to the book.

  In Barnabas Wyatt she had quite an adversary. He had friends across London. He had legal weaponry and financial power. He was meticulous and determined. He might return to Madame Rochelle’s at any time.

  Her eyes fell on the dresser where she had hidden the pouch of coins. She had her own money. Maybe she could find lodgings elsewhere. She was still one step ahead of Barnabas Wyatt.

  Remembering the note, Elise took it from the pocket of her dress.

  Mr. Jasper had written that he had been through his father’s papers again and found something of interest. He suggested she call the next day around eleven o’clock. Elise crumpled the note and put it back in her pocket.

  She lay down to sleep. She woke the next morning to pale sunlight. A night had passed and nothing had happened.

  Madame Rochelle was looking much happier, although the household was tense. After breakfast, Elise took a book upstairs. Sitting by the window, her eyes drifted to the street. The usual muffin men and chimney sweeps were doing their rounds. The clock struck ten thirty.

  Should she go out? Or was the risk of leading Barnabas Wyatt to Mr. Jasper’s house too great? As the minutes went by, she peered onto the landing.

  There was a door she had not noticed before. Opening it, she saw a set of servants’ stairs.

  Closing the door to her room, she trod lightly down the cramped stairs. Henrietta and the cook were talking in the hallway and the kitchen door was ajar. From there it was a few steps into the mews and onto the main street.

  Tibbs opened the front door when she arrived at Portman Square. He led her into the sitting room. A few minutes later Young Mr. Jasper entered the room. His cheeks brightened when he saw her, but his eyes were ringed with dark circles. She realised he was not well.

  “Please have a seat,” he said. “I have not made the journey to Hampstead yet,” he said, apologetically. “But I did not want to be idle, so I looked through my father’s papers. I know he would have kept anything of Albert Price’s safe. I did not find the green book, but I did find this letter.”

  With a shaking hand, he untied a bundle of letters, handing her the oldest. Elise unfolded it.

  “It is Albert Price’s handwriting!” she smiled. “He writes to thank your father for looking after his belongings. He apologises for not returning to London but hopes to find a new home, a place to rest at last, in France. He hopes your father may visit him there. He asks that all items, including a green silk book,” Elise exchanged glances with Mr. Jasper, “be shipped to France and he will confirm the address shortly,” Elise trailed off. “The letter is dated 1820.”

  “And here is why he never wrote again,” Mr. Jasper said. “A letter from my father’s friend in the Paris Academie. Price perished in a fire in Paris that consumed his laboratory. He warns my father not to mention his acquaintance with Albert Price for Price was a wanted man at the time of his death.”

  Elise swallowed. There was a lump in her throat. In 1820, Albert Price was so close to escape. He wanted to place all his troubles behind him and never flee again. He had asked her to go with him. She fought back memories and emotions, willing herself not to cry.

  All she could do now was ensure Wyatt never discovered Price’s secrets.

  Young Mr. Jasper blinked unsteadily. Luckily he had not noticed her reaction.

  “Do you think that your father sent the green book to France?” she kept her voice firm.

  “I don’t believe so. These letters are dated within days of each other. It is my belief that the book is somewhere in London. Price asked for it specifically so my father knew it was important. He was warned other people might be looking for it. That is why it is not among the books here. My father must have kept it safe.”

  “In Hampstead?”

  “I certainly believe so now. I do not feel well today at all, but I must summon the energy to go.”

  “No,” Elise said. “You must rest. It is cold out this morning. Perhaps I could go to Hampstead.”

  Young Mr. Jasper regarded her with watery eyes, which seemed to confess his age. “Could you? I will tell my servant to give you every assistance. Perhaps it would be better if you went,” the old man conceded, suppressing a cough. He wrote out an address with a spindly hand. There was no cure for what he had, the advancement of age. But his eyes were bright at his involvement in the mystery.

  “Now, should I write to you at Madame Rochelle’s? Alfred said yesterday that you t
old him not to deliver letters there.”

  “No, I shall send you a note,” she could not explain that Barnabas Wyatt had men searching for her. She did not want to put more strain on Young Mr. Jasper.

  “Would you like to keep these letters?”

  “Perhaps it is better to return them to the flames,” Elise said. “They have given us a clue to go forward. But we cannot hold onto everything forever.”

  “Very good,” the old man smiled. “I am glad that I was here to show you. I feel whatever duty Albert Price asked my father to perform is now done. I will burn the notebooks too. It seems no good comes of these things that are left behind.”

  “Good and that way, if anyone asks, you can say you have nothing of Albert Price’s.”

  “Indeed,” the thought seemed to cheer him up.

  Tibbs led her into the hall. Elise cast a quick glance along the street. She returned to Madame Rochelle’s through the kitchen door, running up to her room before anyone noticed she had been out.

  She took a deep breath and went to the window. A butler dawdled on the doorstep opposite. Elise pushed aside an uneasy feeling.

  Henrietta had prepared another delicious supper. The maid reported that there was no gossip among the other housemaids. Madame Rochelle told her that the two men had visited her French friends in Bloomsbury. No one seemed to know anything about this mysterious young woman. Elise had evaded everyone.

  Elise reasoned to herself that Wyatt was not all powerful. He didn’t have a warrant yet. Perhaps it was mere bluff, an attempt to scare her. Nevertheless, the next day she would find new lodgings, telling no one.

  She turned down the lamp and lay on her soft bed beneath the delicate canopy. She had a vague worry about the butler across the road. Sleep crept over her and she felt herself drifting away. She did not know if it was hours or minutes, before a sharp banging and loud voices woke her up.

  She rose and ran to the window. Two men in uniform stood on the front steps. They banged on the door again.

  “Open up please.”

  She heard Henrietta’s voice then Madame Rochelle’s. Opening her bedroom door, she peered over the landing.