by Sam Gafford
“Another Jewish temple?” I asked.
“Hardly,” Arthur replied. He proceeded to rap on the door in a series of short but practiced system of knocks.
Presently, the door opened and a well-dressed footman appeared. He recognised Arthur but said nothing. Instead he stepped backward and made way for Arthur to enter. When I made an attempt to follow, the man put a stern hand on my chest and barred me.
“It’s all right, Mendrill, he’s with me.”
“Is he an initiate?”
“Ah, not at this time, no. I hope that he might be later though.”
This did not sit well with the footman. “You know the rules, Mr. Machen, no outsider is allowed beyond the guest sitting room.”
“I know. I am actually hoping to see Mr. Mathers. Is he available?”
Mendrill did not change his expression. “Mr. Mathers is indeed here. I shall see if he can meet with you. Would you care to wait with your friend in the guest sitting room?”
The man’s tone of voice made it clearly evident that Arthur had little choice in the matter.
Mendrill walked away briskly into the interior of the building, and Arthur entered a room to our right and beckoned for me to follow.
The ‘guest sitting room’ was a masterfully styled room that any English gentleman would have been happy to have in his home. The walls were elegantly panelled with a deep wood, perhaps mahogany, and one wall was nothing but bookcases filled to the brim with volumes that ran the gamut from ancient to modern. There were four comfortable armchairs round the centre of the room and a cosy couch that looked out upon the street. I could easily fall asleep here amidst such luxury.
Arthur came close to me and closed the door.
“Albert,” he said, “I must beg your indulgence. The things you hear discussed in this room may seem incredible and perhaps even the ravings of a madman, but I ask that you do not voice your incredulity. Do I have your word?”
“Of course, Arthur. I shall be as quiet as a church mouse.”
I barely had time to think about what Arthur had made me promise when the door burst open and a most distinctive individual entered the room. He was an average-sized man with a full, dark moustache and a receding hairline. He was not a trim man, or even a physically strong one, but what was most remarkable about him was that he was dressed in some sort of ceremonial Egyptian costume.
He held his hands out to Arthur and happily exclaimed, “Arthur Machen! What a delight to see you! Does this mean that you’ve reconsidered continuing your studies for the Second Order? The Circle is more than happy to approve your entering the Portal Grade.”
“Alas, I have not yet made that decision. I have come for other, more pressing concerns. But first, please allow me to present to you Mr. Albert Besame. Albert, allow me to introduce you to Samuel Liddell Mathers, co-founder of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.”
I felt a shiver run down my spine. Even in my poverty-stricken state I would occasionally hide in the British Museum and read the various papers to pass the time. In several of them had been articles about the establishing of a new ‘cult’ and its rumoured activities. Some of the more scandalous papers had said that they were an occult order that practised pagan rituals and hinted at human sacrifice. I had never paid a great deal of attention to the reports, assuming that such things die out in the natural course of time. But there is always talk of secret societies that claim to have the ability to guide people from their comfortable sitting rooms—rooms that would be very much like the one in which I now found myself.
Mathers smiled and shook my hand. For all the reports, he seemed to be just some eccentric Englishman who liked to dress up in peculiar clothes. His voice, however, brooked no debate.
“Mr. Besame,” Mathers said gravely, “evil has touched you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your life is in great danger. Evil has marked you for its own. Soon it will come to claim you.”
I had no idea what to say to that.
Thankfully, Arthur chimed in. “Can you see anything, Mac? Anything definitive?”
“No, nothing clear. I can only feel that Mr. Besame has done something to come under the notice of evil. I would be very careful if I were you, Mr. Besame.”
“What should I be watching for?” I asked.
“Someone close to you is in danger. Evil covets him or her and will get to you through them. That is how they will strike at you.”
“Is there anything he can do to protect himself?” Arthur asked.
“Possibly. I will have to meditate on this. Until then, walk carefully, Mr. Besame. Your steps are being watched. Now, Arthur, to what do I owe this visit? I’m afraid that I cannot spare you many minutes, as we are at present involved in some delicate ‘procedures’ that I have to return to quickly.”
“It may seem strange for me to ask this,” Arthur started, “but I wanted to know if you had felt any disturbances in the aether?”
Mathers moved in front of the window. He stood with his back to us, staring at a point outside that was invisible to me.
“What have you heard?” Mathers asked.
Arthur moved closer. “So there is something?”
Mathers was silent for a moment. “Arthur, I don’t think you want to be discussing this.”
“What do you mean?”
“These are perilous times, Arthur. We stand on the brink of a new century, but the old century isn’t about to release its hold on us just yet.”
“I need to know, Mac. I believe that the ceremonies have begun.”
Mathers swung around so quickly that I thought he would slam into Arthur.
“No, I refuse to believe that. We would know if it had.”
“Have there been any signs? Any portents?”
Mathews scoffed. “Nothing conclusive. Our agents have been on the alert for anything unusual but have not reported anything of consequence.”
“What have they reported?”
Mathews looked as if he were deliberating how much information to share. “A linguistics professor disappeared from a farming community without a trace. He had been summering there this year while conducting some investigations that were of interest to the Order. His walking stick was found on a lonely path beside a rock on which some symbols had been inscribed.”
“Were the symbols deciphered?”
“Regrettably, I have not cracked the code yet, but I will. Of course, if I had a key code, it would be much easier. Still, I broke the Cipher Manuscripts, and this will yield its secrets to me sooner or later.”
“Has there been anything else?”
“Rumours and speculations. Tales of a woman whose wicked nature surpasses anything ever seen before. Some say that her sire was not human. There has also been an increase in tales of creatures in the London sewers. But I have felt things, Arthur, vague and uneasy things. There is something brewing out there. I don’t know for certain what it is yet, but it is coming to a head very soon. The Order will be ready when it comes, in whatever form it takes. But it will not be through the performance of the ceremonies.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I would know! Do you think that I would be unaware of a gathering of such power?”
Arthur backed off. “No, of course not, Mac. That’s why I came to you. If anyone knew that someone had started the ceremonies, it would be you.”
“To do something like that would be like an earthquake of catastrophic scale on the psychic plane. There would be signs everywhere. Madness would be an epidemic. Murders of the most vicious kind would be happening.”
A murder, I thought, such as had happened only days ago to Polly Nichols?
“I can’t tell you anything more, Arthur. I must return to our preparations. I will let you know if I hear any news.”
“Thank you, Mac. If you learn anything more about the missing professor, I’d be keen on hearing it.”
As he walked out of the room, Mathers turned and looked at me. �
��I will see if we can help you with some protection, Mr. Besame. I hope we will have some answers for you before you need them.”
With that, he walked out of the room, leaving me speechless.
“Arthur, what was all that?”
He made a signal for me to be quiet and quickly went to the wall of books. It seemed that Arthur knew what he was looking for, as he scanned the titles so fast that I knew he could not be reading them all. Finally, he found the one he was seeking and pulled it from the shelf. To my surprise, he quickly placed it under his arm. As if on cue, the footman came into the room. “Will you be requiring anything else, Mr. Machen?” he said.
“Ah, no, no, I don’t think we will need anything else today, thank you, Mendrill. I believe we’ll be leaving now.”
We left the building and Mendrill dogged our steps until he were through the door. I wondered if he suspected that Arthur had taken something with him.
“What are you doing, Arthur? Are you allowed to take books from that place?”
“Technically, no. But Mac wouldn’t have lent it to me, especially when I insulted his ego by saying that something could be happening without his knowledge. Mac likes to believe that nothing psychic or occult can occur without him being aware of it, but this time I know he was wrong. The ceremonies have begun. This book may enable me to get the proof I need without Mac’s help or hindrance. But a visit to Mr. Lees will also be in order sooner or later. First, though, a stop for stronger boots, eh?”
We ploughed through the early evening crowd on our way to a shoe store, and I felt myself once again playing catch-up with Arthur.
“Come now, Arthur, you have to tell me what all that meant! What is the ‘Order of the Golden Dawn’?”
“It’s a bit hard to explain, Albert, because they are not completely sure what they are themselves! Suffice to say that they are the newest ‘secret society’ to appear in London. You have heard of others like the Illuminati or the Knights Templer, I assume?”
I shook my head. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Ah, well, some believe that there are secret groups of powerful men who control the world and its fate. Whether that guidance is for good or evil often depends on whether you are a member of that society or not! Anyway, it is often said that the rich and powerful are the puppet-masters of the world, pulling the strings of governments, armies, and scientists, not to mention religions. There has been a lot of talk about Freemasons having a secret society of their own within what is already a secret society. Conspiracies upon conspiracies, Albert, all leading nowhere.”
“Do you not believe in secret societies?”
“On the contrary, I most certainly do believe in them! I just don’t believe that they are nearly as effective or powerful as they like to think they are. For the most part, I believe they are excuses for men to get together and act self-important. Anything they do affect is most likely by accident rather than design.”
“So this Golden Dawn is a secret society of what, then? Men who dress oddly?”
Arthur laughed. It was good to hear that sound again.
“No, no, something completely different. The Golden Dawn is a society of men who believe that they can control the world through occult means rather than financial or political ones. They’re quite silly, actually.”
“How did you get involved with them?”
“I am always looking for answers, Albert. Ever since my childhood, I’ve been searching for someone, or some way, to explain what happened to me. I thought that the Golden Dawn might have some insight, but it did not. Still, the experience was not completely without merit.
“There are some members of the group who do have ‘occult’ powers, much like Mr. Lees. They have the ability to see beyond the façade of ‘reality’ to what the world truly is. Mac is one of them, but he is often quite naïve in interpreting what he sees. Sometimes they can catch ‘impressions’ of changes in the nature of things. I was hoping that one of them had sensed something regarding Mr. Lees’ performance last night and the murder of poor Polly Nichols.”
“Do you think Mathers lied to you? Did he know something?”
“I think that he knows something but doesn’t know what it is. Either that or he refuses to believe what he has sensed.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he knows what the ceremonies mean.”
I was tired of being in the dark, and my voice probably showed my frustration. “And that would be what exactly?”
Arthur stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked me directly in the eye.
“It’s the end, Albert, the end of everything.”
*
We quickly stopped at a resale store where we bought pairs of boots. I had thought that Arthur was going to get new boots; but, as he rightly explained, there was no sense in bringing new boots to where we were going. Arthur had become sullen after our conversation. I think he could sense my disbelief, and frankly, my feeling that he was acting rather foolishly. For all his talk of ‘ceremonies’ and occultism, I was unconvinced. Despite the fact that I had come from Cornwall, home of King Arthur and Camelot, I was quite the realist. My writings had always been studies of life and struggle, not ones of fancies and spirits. Arthur’s steadfast belief in another world was beginning to worry me. In truth, I was questioning Arthur’s sanity.
After buying our boots, Arthur got an evening paper from a newsboy and quickly turned to the sailing page. He consulted his watch and said, “We’re a bit early. Low tide isn’t for about another hour or so. What say you to a bit of supper first then? I doubt we’ll have any appetite for food after visiting the Thames.”
“Why not go now? Why wait for low tide?” I was anxious to be about our quest.
“Because most of the Toshers come out at low tide. That’s when it’s easiest to find things on the river bed. I know a good pub nearby.”
We went and had a most satisfying dinner of quail and potatoes. That is, the food was satisfying. Arthur was less so. Try as I might, I could not pull any more answers out of him.
“Make no mistake, Albert, I am not being evasive simply to annoy you. I know that this is quite a lot for you to take in. No doubt you even think me a bit ‘touched’ in the head. I understand that. But you see, I cannot tell you certain things until you are ready to hear them. You have to be prepared and, truthfully, I’m not sure how to do that. I’ve never been in the position of having an apprentice before!” He laughed.
“Is that what I am then? Your apprentice?” I was getting annoyed again. After all, I had handled myself quite well in my investigation into the diary affair so far. It might have been a bit pompous of me, but I was of the opinion that, while helpful, Arthur was not indispensable to my finding the book.
“You shouldn’t feel so offended, Albert. I mean that in the most affectionate way. We are all apprentices to someone at various times in our lives, even if we don’t realise it.”
“And who are you apprenticed to?”
“That”—he grew sullen again and returned to his dish—“is a topic for another time. Your food is getting cold and the tide is dropping.”
We ate the rest of the meal in silence, which was unusual for us. I began to feel that my only talent in life was in alienating those people I cared for the most. Not for the first time, I thought of Ann and wondered what she was doing. Was she still out with Mansfield? If I was required to, how could I compete with him for Ann’s affections? He was a world-famous actor with, no doubt, wealth far beyond my capacity to earn. He could show her the world! What had I, a poor book cataloguer, to offer her other than a larger room at Mrs. Hutchins’? My mood had soured considerably. I barely noticed when Arthur pushed his plate away and stood up. “Come,” he said, “we should be going. The best Toshers get to the river early.”
This time we took a cab, and I smiled when the cabman looked confused and unhappy when he heard of our destination. We were going to the Thames and, more importantly, we were go
ing to that part of the Thames where it meets the Tower of London. My tour of the foulest places of London was continuing.
Chapter 26
If the parks be “the lungs of London” we wonder what Greenwich Fair is—a periodical breaking out, we suppose—a sort of spring rash.
—Charles Dickens
I cannot think of anything more foul than the smell of the Thames at low tide.
Much of the filth of London flows through this river. Not only is there the detritus from the sewers but also the offal from the slaughterhouses and the slime from factories and workhouses. You will not find dead fish on the shores of the Thames because even fish cannot live in that water. I sometimes wonder what it must have been like back in Roman times when the water was fresh and blue. Was London ever clean?
It is not easy to get down to the shore of the Thames. The parts that aren’t blocked off by warehouses or docks are fenced off. There are parts where you can walk by the river, but the easiest way to get to it is to jump off a bridge. Still, as always, people find a way. There are holes and doors that few people know—entrances that are sometimes guarded by people whose agendas and allegiances are of the blackest nature. It came as no surprise to me that Arthur knew a way to the river’s edge.
We had come near the Tower of London, and the sun was beginning to set. I had never seen the Tower before. Like any good Englishman, I knew its history and the legends surrounding it. I wished I had the time to appreciate it fully, but Arthur was already through the fence and wending his way down to the river.
This was a view of London that I had never seen. Before now, I had never wondered where the sewers emptied, nor did I ever think that there were people who spent their lives sifting through it all. But there they were: nearly twenty people up to their knees and elbows in filth and mud. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. As the mud sucked in our boots like a filthy sponge, I realised that we stuck out like sore thumbs here.
Arthur made his way to the closest group, which looked to be two men and two small children. When one of the adults spoke, I was horrified to discover that it was actually a woman. Her skin was so covered and her hair so mottled with mud that there was no determining her sex. Her reply to Arthur’s greeting was essentially an instruction to us about fornication that I wasn’t prepared to accomplish.