by Nick Marsh
Come at once. I haven’t long.
For God’s sake, let no one follow you.
J. A. Smith.
An address was scribbled on the front of the card – a house in Cheapside. Hardly the sort of area a chap like Smith habitually frequents. Something struck me as fishy about the whole situation, and it was my instinct of this which stopped me immediately returning up the stairs to Betty and Grace with the new information.
As I stood in the street and pondered the best course of action, the choice was taken away from me.
‘Colonel! Whatever are you doing standing in the doorway? Have you read the morning’s paper?’
Violet, radiant as ever, was hurrying across the road towards me. She saw the card in my hands, and any attempt at concealment would have been futile.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I have read the papers. It seems that Julius has got himself into a spot of bother.’
I handed the card to her, and ushered her into the shop as she read it.
‘Colonel!’ she exclaimed. ‘Well, we must find him immediately!’
‘Of course,’ I agreed, following her up the stairs. ‘But I think, perhaps, it may be wise to contact our own professor first.’
Alphonse is a good friend, and though he had little love for Julius[12], he is not a man to cross, and a good chap to have around if things turn rum.
Once Betty and Grace had been made aware of the card, the motion was carried with little discussion. I would have preferred a little more time to consider the matter, but it soon became clear that I either went with our trio of ladies right away, or I left them to their own fate. At least they agreed to call in on Alphonse on the way. Having already digested the morning’s news, he readily agreed to accompany us to the mysterious address in Cheapside. (I believe that on this occasion, as on many others, his curiosity overcame his prejudices.)
Our cab pulled off the crowded thoroughfare of Cheapside and travelled down several narrow streets, stopping in front of a grimy building. Alphonse paid the fare as the rest of us clambered out and looked up at the towering blackened buildings around us. Off in the east, I could just see the dome of St. Paul’s cathedral, but the quiet street seemed very far from there. Even the loud cries of the market traders had given way to silence.
The cab drove away as I walked towards the door of the bedsit where our friend’s card suggested we would find him. As the others watched, I knocked on the door, not at all sure what to expect.
I admit that I was surprised when after a few moments the door opened an inch or so, and Beddows peered out into the street, blinking in the grey light of the day.
Now Beddows is a man fastidious in nature, and respected around town as one of the finest manservants a fellow could ask for. I have never seen him anything other than immaculately turned out, so to see the gaunt, dishevelled figure blink nervously at us without a hint of relief came as almost as much a shock to me as anything I saw in the trenches. I heard Betty and Violet gasp behind me, but he paid them no attention.
‘You came,’ he said, flatly, leaving the door open just a crack. He seemed to be waiting for something.
‘Now look here, Beddows,’ I said, stepping into the doorway, ‘I understand you’ve had some trouble, but we need to know if your master is inside. Are you going to leave us on the doorstep like travelling salesmen?’
This shook Beddows out of whatever spell had possessed him. He mumbled an apology, and opened the door. Ignoring our questions, and our coats, he ushered us down a short hall into a small room, whereupon the cause of the poor man’s discomfiture became sadly apparent.
It was a tiny bedroom, grimy and dank. The drapes were pulled closed, shutting out what grey light would otherwise have filtered in from the street outside. As we shuffled into the room, our eyes becoming accustomed to the gloom within, we became aware of a dark figure lying on the bed. As we entered, the figure started, and emitted a peculiar noise, somewhere between a whine and a rasp, which immediately made me think of the field hospitals, and the poor devils who had been gassed by the Hun at Ypres.
We crowded around the bed, all eyes upon the figure. The poor man was covered by a thin white sheet to protect his dignity, but sadly there remained little of it left to protect.
‘Julius?’ Betty whispered, unbelieving. It was, indeed, difficult to recognise the poor wretch before us as our avuncular host of the previous evening. His hair and famous moustache were gone, as were his eyebrows. The skin of his face and arms was blackened and cracked, except for several large red and weeping sores. One of his eyes was glazed and white, and the other one flitted from one to the other of us, never resting in one place for long. The room stank of smoke and blood. Horrified, it was on my mind to grab Beddows and demand why he had not brought the professor immediately to a hospital, when Julius lifted one of his arms and laid a blackened claw upon Betty’s hand. He smiled, then winced in pain.
My friends,’ he said, in a voice that was barely a whisper, making us crowd around the bed to hear him. ‘Thank God you have come.’
Written down, Smith’s speech appears clear and rational, but in reality this was punctuated by numerous coughs, pauses and sighs. Often his voice faded into incoherence and several times he was silent for so long that we feared he had passed into unconsciousness. Despite this, he managed to talk for several minutes, and though his speech made little sense to me, and must surely have been coloured by delirium, I will try and lay down in these notes as sensible a version of his words as I can piece together from his broken voice and my own poor memory.
‘I cannot bear to talk for long. Please, for a moment, listen to me, and I shall try and explain how I came to this sorry state.
‘You are aware, of course, that I have been on the trail of the Sedefkar Simulacrum – at first, as an archaeological curiosity. Lately, however, I have come to realise it is something much more – a source of great power.
‘At the end of the eighteenth century it was taken apart and scattered. I initially planned to retrieve the pieces for the museum in the University of Vienna - but now I realise this was arrogant folly. The thing must be destroyed!’
Betty began to ask Julius a question, but he held up his hand and was overcome by a fit of coughing. Beddows held a handkerchief to his mouth as he did so, and it came away stained with blood and some black substance.
‘Last night, as we returned to our home, Beddows and I were attacked by Turkish madmen. I know little of them, save that I believe they seek the Simulacrum themselves, for their own dark purposes. We barricaded ourselves indoors, so they tried to burn us alive. Fortunately, Beddows found a way out, but not before I...’
He gestured helplessly to his crippled form, and his voice faded into silence. His one good eye looked around the room, and his voice was even hoarser than before when he continued.
‘To have come to such a place! To have fallen so far!’
Betty laid her hand over his to comfort him, but he winced and drew it back from her.
‘I am afraid, my friends, to come out of hiding. They would stop at nothing, these men!’ He glanced across to his manservant. ‘Beddows has a plan to escape, but the less we speak of it, the better.
‘Most of my notes were destroyed in the fire, or else taken by the Turks, but I managed to rescue something – the summary of my researches. The Turks will know as well now.’
He paused, his one good eye staring at the ceiling, as if building courage for his next statement.
‘And so, my friends,’ he said, looking back at each one of us in turn, ‘it falls to me to pass this burden to someone other than myself. I dare not ask, yet I hope that you will take it for me. The statue must be recovered and destroyed before these men find it.’
He suddenly sat up in the bed, his eyes wide and staring. ‘I cannot show you what I have seen! You cannot know what I know!’ he cried out. ‘I only hope, and pray... you must trust me! The statue must be destroyed!’
Such strenuous effort had a gra
ve effect upon him, and he fell back to the bed, exhausted. He began muttering under his breath, and it seemed he was no longer aware that we were present.
‘I am sorry. For them, for me. For all of us. I am the lucky one. I may be spared. I am sorry. So sorry.’
He voice failed, and his consciousness soon afterwards. His breathing slowed, but did not stop. I think all of us were relieved to see him asleep, and thus temporarily released from his agonies. We looked at each other in shock, and then to Beddows, who stood quietly in the corner.
‘He is delirious,’ Alphonse said, sadly, ‘to be taken in by such a fairy story. I am sorry for him.’
I nodded. Betty frowned, but it was Beddows who replied.
‘My master is not insane, sir – at least, he did not imagine the attack on the house last night! I saw them with my own eyes.’
Alphonse fell silent, pondering. Beddows’s eyes met Betty’s, as she seemed the most sympathetic in the room.
‘Please consider my master’s words, Madam. He asked me to give you these.’
He handed Betty a few pieces of paper covered in Julius’s cramped handwriting.
Grace and Violet were looking at each other, each with a sceptical expression mirrored on the other’s face. Beddows was not slow to see it.
‘I do not know if my master speaks truly,’ he said, glancing at the figure in the bed. Julius’s mouth twitched in his sleep and a fearful expression crossed the manservant’s brow as he must have remembered the night of terror the two of them had just experienced. ‘I can only tell you that he believes it to be so. He thinks this statue is of great importance, and he is a far wiser man than I am. I cannot tell you what to do, but who amongst you would refuse the wish of a dying man?’
The words ‘dying man’ echoed around the small room. Although it had not been spoken of before, it was obvious that Julius did not have much time remaining.
‘Please,’ Beddows said, his eyes on Julius’s sleeping form. ‘Read the notes. Consider his words.’
Betty folded the notes carefully in half, and placed them in her bag. She laid her hand gently upon Beddows’s arm. He jumped, as if struck, but did not remove it. She looked into his eyes.
‘What will you do?’ she asked.
‘As the professor said,’ Beddows replied, ‘I have... I have an escape plan. There is someone who can... care for him. But I dare not speak of it. Please.’ He broke Betty’s gaze. Not since the war have I seen anyone look so lost, alone and afraid.
Betty nodded, and turned to the rest of us. ‘We should go,’ she said. It didn’t seem right, leaving a wounded man behind, but there was little else we could do. Both Julius and his manservant had requested we leave them alone, and they did, as they said, have some sort of plan.
Betty began to study Julius’s notes on the cab ride back from that dreadful room. I have a horrible feeling that she is taking his mad fantasy seriously.
Notes of Professor Julius Smith regarding the Sedefkar Simulacrum
(The following are written in jumbled, messy handwriting, quite unlike Professor Smith’s normal, elegant hand.)
Paris
- statue dismembered here. Comte Fenalik original owner? Unsure as to how he procured.
- Part of Simulacrum still in France? Need to inv. Comte further.
Venice
- Napoleon’s soldiers brought a piece when they invaded
- Sold to Alvise de Gremanci?
Trieste
- Johann Winckelmann knows something of the statue? May even be two pieces here?
Sofia
- Bulgarian War, 1875 – piece was spotted here. Buried to protect from invaders?
Milan
- Sold to a merchant here by Parisian soldiers. Who?
Constantinople
- The Shunned Mosque. Ritual to destroy on scrolls? Unable to locate at present.
Once the Simulacrum is reconstructed, can it be destroyed? Individual parts indestructible. Must be a way. Should be information at the Mosque.
Diary of Mrs Betty Sunderland, Saturday, October 24th, 1925
It was terrible to see poor Julius in such a state, but I would be lying to you, dear diary, if I said that my old bones didn’t tingle with a thrill of excitement and adventure. I haven’t felt like this since my first dig, all those years ago in Egypt.
The others were less enthusiastic, especially Neville. I can understand his reluctance, but really, this is just the sort of thing to jolt him out of his funk that he has found himself in since Lilly died.
In the cab on the way back from our encounter with Julius, I suggested that we all meet together again the following afternoon – which was this afternoon - at Brown’s hotel. It really is still the best tea to be had anywhere in London, and I do feel one thinks better after a good sleep and with a slice of lemon cake in front of you.
This met with some agreement. Having read Julius’s notes, I passed them round to the others. They were a little briefer than I would have liked, but it’s certainly a start!
I’m afraid my mind was so filled with thoughts of Julius, and of this mysterious artefact, that I achieved almost nothing for the rest of the day. I found myself simply staring at the clock, waiting until bedtime. Grace is efficient, but a poor conversationalist, and she was in one of her black moods last night. After a few unsatisfactory rounds of knockout whist I suggested she might be a little tired. She agreed readily, and quickly headed off to bed. I did likewise, but I will admit that I slept very little.
The Tea Room at Brown’s Hotel is, and I think always will be, the finest tea room in the world, but I was rather distracted today and the charms of its Earl Grey were rather lost on me. Grace and I arrived half an hour early, but we were surprised to find Neville and Violet already there. Alphonse arrived only a few minutes later. I suppose we had all had a lot to think about that night.
I was quite uninterested in chit-chat, and decided to get straight to the point.
‘The most exciting thing,’ I began as soon as we had all settled with our tea, ‘is that I have been looking on the map and checking the way. Quite amazing luck! All the countries mentioned in the professor’s notes – France, Italy, Turkey, even Bulgaria I think - they’re all on the route. You won’t believe it!’
General puzzlement followed this statement. It didn’t seem to be what they were expecting.
‘Sorry, Auntie,’ Violet said, after a while. ‘The route? What route?’
‘The most amazing train! The Orient Express of course! We can track down this statue in wonderful luxury! What do you think?’
Another pause followed, longer than the first. Neville cleared his throat.
‘I’m sorry, Betty, but am I to understand that you’re taking all of this seriously?’
Neville can be frustratingly slow sometimes. ‘Why, of course!’ I exclaimed. ‘Am I to understand,’ I added, coolly, ‘that you are not? Did you not see poor Julius? Did you read the notes?’
‘Hardly encyclopaedic, were they?’ Alphonse chipped in. He really must try and keep that sarcastic note from his voice; most unbecoming.
‘Of course they weren’t,’ I replied, sharply. ‘He told us himself the real ones were destroyed in the fire, or else taken by those foreigners. What time has he had to write more?’
‘But, all this rot about an evil statue,’ Neville said. ‘It doesn’t make any sense. Why would--’
I silenced him with one of my looks. ‘A friend has asked us,’ I said, ‘for help. We are British.’ (Well, most of us were. Alphonse had the good sense to keep quiet). ‘Are we to refuse him?’
‘But Betty,’ Neville persisted, ‘it’s all so vague! We don’t even know what this ‘Simulacrum’ is supposed to do, or what is so terrible about it! Julius has been through a dreadful experience. It’s possible... likely... that he was confused, delirious. We can’t go gallivanting around Europe on the--’
‘Nonsense,’ I said, and that was that. ‘You, Neville, need to get out of London for a while
anyway. The holiday will do you good.’
‘Holiday?’ he said, but Violet, sensible girl that she is, agreed with me.
‘You have been dreadfully down, lately, Uncle[13]. Maybe it would do us all good to take a trip. Especially on the Orient Express – that sounds wonderful! I’ve heard the most amazing stories. I could telegraph Walter – it might give us a chance to expand our act across the Continent!’
She didn’t mention the Simulacrum, but one doesn’t like to look a gift horse in the mouth. Neville frowned, and looked at Alphonse for support. Our professor looked down at Julius’s notes on the table, and took a sip of his tea.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘that it would be interesting. I would like to know more about this thing.’ He tapped the notes with one end of his spoon. He looked apologetically at Neville, who frowned.
‘Well,’ I said, gracefully managing to keep the note of triumph out of my voice. ‘Alphonse, Violet, Grace and I are all going.’ I think Grace may have taken a bit of cake the wrong way at this point because she suffered something of a coughing fit. When she had settled, I looked at Neville. ‘Are you going to come?’
Of course, he couldn’t refuse after that. My stroke of genius, though I do say so myself, was mentioning the Orient Express – I knew that would be enough to win Violet over. I was surprised but very pleased with Alphonse.
So now, preparations are underway for our European trip! Grace is securing the tickets, Violet has dragged poor Neville out on a shopping expedition, and Alphonse has decided to do a little research at the British Museum before we depart, to see if he can uncover anything more about the Simulacrum. We are a little thin on the ground on information, it is true, but if anyone can dig anything up, it’s Alphonse!
Grace Murphy’s Private Notes, Saturday, October 24th, 1925
To do list for today