by M C Dulac
Chapter Twenty One
Midnight passed. Elise sat in an armchair and watched the hands of the tall wooden clock move slowly forward. She had tried every door and window in the parlour but all were locked.
Close to dawn, she heard footsteps in the street. Doors opened and someone clumped down the stairs. Hushed voices filled the hall. Shadows appeared in the strip of light under the parlour door and the handle turned.
The door opened abruptly and a fearful servant entered, carrying a candelabra. He placed the candelabra on the table and stepped aside as Barnabas Wyatt strode into the room.
“Your friends have been found in Newgate Prison. They have been freed and cleared of all charges,” Wyatt announced. “They have collected their belongings and been taken by coach to Plymouth. They boarded the first ship to New York this morning. Here is the magistrate’s discharge and the receipt from the shipping company.”
Elise looked closely at the documents. “Are they authentic?”
“You have cheek asking me about authenticity.”
“I will make your pile of gold, Wyatt. But if I learn you have tricked me, you will regret it.”
The servant cleared his throat nervously. “Sir, the child gave me this. It’s hard to understand these urchins, but I believe she wanted to give it to the young lady. I wrapped it in a kerchief.”
Wyatt accepted the cloth from the servant. He unfolded it and frowned.
“For you, apparently,” he said, placing a wilted forget-me-not on the table.
Elise picked up the flower, tracing the blue petals with her finger. “Then Georgia and Rosie are safe.”
“Those were your terms. Now finish writing what you need and the servant will fetch it for you at daybreak. You must begin work.”
“I will need a furnace.”
“I can get a boiler from the steam works. So you need apparatus. What else?”
Elise reluctantly began writing down the powders and salts she needed. She added in a few extra items to confuse Wyatt. She mustn’t let him know the true secret to making gold.
Wyatt looked over the list greedily. “Which one of these is the Philosopher’s Stone?”
“The hand of the alchemist.”
“You make yourself sound important. You are only a maid. If a maid can create gold, imagine what a great man could create.”
“I can imagine.”
“We must continue the search for the book,” he said to the confused servant. “But she will do what she is told. Prepare the old wine cellar.”
“The cellar?”
“That’s where she will work.”
Wyatt’s house was silent as they walked through the hall. Shadows danced on the ceiling. Glancing upwards she saw Mrs. Wyatt and several children watching through the bannisters. There was no kindness or wonder in the children’s faces. Elise held the forget-me-not close as she stepped into the cold night air.
They crossed the garden. The servant led the way down a set of steps and unlocked a door. A further set of steps opened onto the cellar. The air was dank and both men coughed.
“Bring some hay, she can sleep here,” Wyatt said.
“There is no light,” Elise’s eyes scanned the low ceiling, as Wyatt and the servant retreated with their lantern.
“Bring candles from the house,” he directed the servant. “And bring the old table from the yard.”
Wyatt ascended the steps, the terrified servant at his heels.
Ten minutes later, the servant appeared with stubby tallow candles. He lit the wick quickly and ran up the steps without saying a word.
The door clicked shut and then opened again. Two equally frightened servants carried a worn table down the steps and then returned shortly afterwards with armfuls of hay. They left the hay in the centre of the room and ran quickly out of the cellar, as if they had seen a ghost. Elise guessed her eyes were glowing again.
Elise rubbed her arms. She paced the room, examining her new prison. The cellar was empty apart from some wine racks, a stool and the table. The walls were solid brick and there were no windows or passages.
Hidden by the shadows, halfway up the wall, was a square wooden door. She pulled the rusted handle. The door did not budge. It was probably a cupboard. The main door at the top of the steps was the only way out, and that was locked and bolted.
Elise sat down and took the book from her bag. Price’s reassuring words came to her from across the centuries.
‘The stage of separation is the hardest of all the stages, for the alchemist must battle outwardly and inwardly. But facing its hardships is essential, if the alchemist is to ascend the ladder of the wise.’
When she woke the candles were burning low. It was hard to tell what time it was. There were footsteps overhead. Something was being dragged across the yard.
She scrambled up when the door opened. Two men carried a metal barrel down the steps. A few minutes later they returned lugging a bag of coal. They said nothing, cast a wary glance around the room and disappeared up the steps.
The barrel was some sort of furnace. Elise lit the flame and the heat filled the cellar. But Wyatt had not delivered it to keep her warm. Looking at the boiler, she realised she could create great temperatures with this object.
An hour later a maid opened the door and left some porridge and milk. The food was fresh. At least Wyatt didn’t want to poison her, Elise reflected, as she tasted the oatmeal.
Throughout the day, servants appeared with powders, and then the frightened maid again, with supper. When Elise had finished eating, Wyatt appeared, brandishing a paper.
“These are the engravings from the Royal Mint. Read them closely so that you do not make the same clumsy mistake as before and are exposed as a fraud. My man in the East End is making a coin press which will be delivered next week.”
“Then you do wish me to be a forger.”
“I have gone to much trouble to meet your demands and to spare you the punishment you deserve. If you make gold of course I want it use it. As you have just admitted, you are a forger. If you try to leave here, I will tell the authorities at once.”
Elise rubbed her temples aware of how easily she had been caught in Wyatt’s trap. She had tried to be worldly and clever, but she had no skills to compete with him in a world where he held all the power.
“Do you have all you need?”
“Yes. Thank you. You obtained it very quickly.”
“Anything can be found in London. How long will it take you?”
“Two weeks for the elements to complete the transformation. Maybe sooner, now I have the boiler.”
Wyatt marched over to the table. Elise reluctantly sat down.
“Are you going to watch me work?” she said, when he did not move.
“I have other matters to attend to. Once I am satisfied with the first batch of gold, then you can demonstrate your methods,” he paused. “I am aware this is only one of your secrets. So it is true alchemists can concoct an elixir of youth?”
“According to the legends.”
“But the stories are not just legends. You are the living proof. Can you make me young again?”
“I don’t know. I believe the elixir freezes the drinker at the time they drink the elixir. You would live forever, but as you are now.”
“But it does give the drinker immortality?”
“Perhaps.”
He peered into her face, moving her chin with his hand. “Extraordinary.”
She shied away from his touch.
“Begin your work.”
Once she was alone, she reluctantly began the process, mixing the first two elements. The work soothed her troubled mind and distracted her from her worries. Each step came easily as she lost herself in the art of alchemy.
A day passed then another. The mixture began to bubble. Heated by the boiler, the process accelerated. The cellar grew brighter as the alchemical process began.
The light from the vat was cool blue then warm orange. When Wyatt arr
ived that night, he was awed by the changing mixture. Elise had to stop him sampling the liquid, but she was also pleased with the progress.
Another day passed.
She often sat alone, watching the vat. She wondered if she had solved anything. Rosie and Georgia were safe. But she had failed to protect Albert Price’s secret and was breaking the code of the alchemists, by disclosing the sacred knowledge.
Hopefully one batch of gold would be enough for Barnabas Wyatt. On the nights when he came to inspect her work, his eyes grew greedier. Would he ever set her free now he had an alchemist who could make gold on demand? She had little left to bargain.
Although he still did not know the green book was in her bag.
The book’s presence in the cellar began to trouble her. A servant or workman might see it and take it to Wyatt. One night, toward the end of the first week in the cellar, she considered burning the book in the furnace. She examined the thick parchment pages and the glowing ink carefully. It had a strange quality, as if the words had transformed it. The book may not burn completely or at all. If part of it remained Wyatt would see the pages. Not only would he punish her, but he may also discover its secrets.
To tell the truth, she could not bear to destroy it, for it kept her company and gave her hope. She hid it in her bag, unsure what to do.
More days passed. The mixture entered the next phase of transformation.
When Wyatt came that night his cheeks burned with delight.
“It is gold!” he said, looking into the vat.
“It is changing, but this is mere coagulation and it is very dangerous.”
“Let me see.”
“I told you sir, it must not be disturbed. It is volatile.”
“Get me the ladle.”
“In this state the mixture might explode.”
“Samuel, get me the ladle.”
The blood drained from the servant’s face. Elise had thought he was proud and supercilious. Now she saw he was young and frightened. He was no different from Ed. She imagined what he was thinking: Barnabas Wyatt was an esteemed man and respectable master. The servant had no idea about his master’s obsession, and no power to stop it.
“You will blow up the whole room,” Elise said firmly.
“Very well,” Wyatt huffed. “The coin press will be delivered at the end of the week. How much do you predict you will make?”
“The quality looks good. I estimate a thousand sovereigns or crowns if you wish.”
“Excellent,” Barnabas Wyatt’s expression was sublime.
The servant glanced from Elise to the vat to Wyatt. He loosened his collar.
Wyatt marched up the steps. He clicked his fingers and Samuel hurried after him.
Elise sank into her seat. She did not like Wyatt’s reaction. How large an enterprise did he want? In this age, would alchemy be an industry as great as the warehouses that lined the docks? Wyatt could have his own treasury, with no checks on his power. And what else did Wyatt want to do with alchemy’s secrets?
He did not believe in the equality of man or the potential of the individual. He had no trace of sympathy or imagination. He was worse than anyone Price had worked for. In this new age of noise and progress, he had the potential to create more havoc and pain than ever before.
More days passed. The coin press arrived in the dead of night. The mixture continued to swirl and change.
At last, almost ten days after she had entered the cellar, the gold was ready to be tested. She dipped a ladle into the vat. The final ingredient - the stabilising salt - must be added at the right moment, and if done too early might ruin the batch. Ladling the liquid into a bowl, she sprinkled the salt and stirred.
The mixture sizzled and shrieked then sighed.
Nothing happened.
Elise’s heart pounded. Was it possible it hadn’t worked? She had not made gold for so long, she had forgotten what was normal at this stage.
What would Wyatt do if she failed?
Time stood still.
She placed her head in her hands. Her blood ran cold then hot. The consequences of failure were too awful to think about. Slowly she raised her eyes.
The colour changed from gold to blue then white to gold. Hissing filled the room.
The sizzling stopped.
Elise took a deep breath. She poured the liquid onto a tray and pushed the soft gold sheet through the coin press. She struck the coins and held them up to the candle.
Perfect sovereigns.
She smiled with relief. Her heart swelled with pride. Tomorrow morning she would sprinkle the salt into the vat and by afternoon the whole mixture would be ready to pour.
Then a shadow passed her face as she realised what she had just done and for whom she was doing it.
Chapter Twenty Two
The door to the cellar was opening. Elise placed the coins in her pocket. Two workmen appeared at the top of the steps. They carried wooden crates into the cellar and piled them in the corner.
The door was ajar and a cold breeze whipped down the steps. She glimpsed a sallow moon and heard the howl of the wind. It must now be October in the world above and the night was wintry.
The men pulled their caps low as they climbed the steps and slammed the door shut. The key turned with a loud click followed by the sound of the bolt being drawn across.
Elise crossed the room and lifted the lid of a crate. It was empty. Barnabas Wyatt must already be planning to fill the crates and take the gold away.
That night, the colours of the gold shifted constantly. It was hard to sleep in the sparkling light. The wind whistled overhead. Something rustled. When the noise grew louder, she opened her eyes. In the bright light from the vat of gold, she saw a vent into the garden covered with ivy. The vines scraped against the brick walls with an annoying persistence.
The leaves crackled. The wind had found a way through the vent now, and the draught was chill.
“Elise.”
The night was whispering.
“Elise.”
She covered her ears, wondering if she had gone mad after being alone for so long in the cellar. The voice echoed around the walls.
“Are you down there, Elise?”
The voice had an undeniable Irish accent. Elise leapt to her feet and crossed the room. The ivy was rustling as though a hand was clearing it away.
“Ed!” she cried.
He put his hand through the vent. She held on, her heart soaring. He withdrew his hand then she saw his face, bent sideways with his hair falling into his eyes.
“What you doing here?”
“Samuel told me you were in the cellar. Says Wyatt is keeping you prisoner and you’re making gold for him.”
“I don’t have much choice.”
“Poor old Samuel, he’s a religious soul and he doesn’t like all this. Thinks it isn’t right. He was drowning his sorrows at the pub. Told me all about it.”
“I thought you had left London.”
“No, I’m leaving the day after tomorrow. I better get you out.”
Elise’s heart flipped with relief. “The door is over there.”
“I know the one. Wyatt keeps the key,” Ed went quiet. “Let me see.”
He disappeared. The ivy shifted outside the vent, revealing a slither of cold night sky. Elise rubbed her arms. Minutes ticked by. She waited at the bottom of the steps, hoping for the door to open. Voices drifted from the garden and she feared Ed had been caught.
A few minutes later she sensed movement near the vent. She ran across the floor. A key was dangled through the ivy.
“The door’s bolted shut and padlocked. But I found this key in the stables.”
She held it in her hands. “Is that the key to the main door?”
“No, the smaller door,” Ed said.
“The door in the wall?” Elise said warily.
“It opens onto a passage. They used to lower the wine barrels through it.”
“Does it go to the garden?”
&n
bsp; “No, to the stables. It’s a narrow passage but you’ll fit. I’ll open the door at the other end and meet you there.”
Elise gazed at the key in her hand. Excitement and fear raced through her veins.
“Someone just turned on a lamp in the house,” Ed whispered after a moment. “I’ll be waiting in the stables. Remember, follow the passage.”
Elise dragged a crate across the room. The noise was loud and she winced. She placed the key in the wooden door. After several tries the lock opened. Beyond was a narrow brick passage.
The wind howled again and this time she was sure she heard voices overhead. The cellar door rattled. She quickly climbed into the hole in the wall.
She moved forward, one elbow at a time, ducking her head.
All sounds were distorted by the brick walls. Her heart pounded with fear at the thought someone was behind her. She moved fast then realised her lungs were bursting. She must slow down. As the passage engulfed her, she fought back dread.
Feeling the way ahead, she sensed a gap. Was there a second passage? Was it possible she was going the wrong way? Even with her enhanced eyesight, it was impossible to pick out anything in the darkness.
Her breath came fast. The bricks muffled all sound. She closed her eyes and uttered a prayer. She kept moving.
Inch by inch.
Foot by foot.
After a few minutes she had no idea how far she had come. The passage narrowed and closed in around her shoulders.
The brickwork was rough under her hands. She wondered if Ed was wrong and the other end had been bricked up at some time. Was there anything ahead? The air was running out. She could not go back and Ed could not get down here. She was trapped below the surface of London.
Alchemists lived their lives in cellars but always dreamt of reaching the stars. Maybe she was never meant to ascend. Her destiny had taken her to this dark grave and she would never see the sun again.
She stopped and closed her eyes.
Don’t give up.
Light on the river, grasses swaying in sunlight, wildflowers in the woods, green valleys. Meadows of hay.