Edgar Allan Poe and the Jewel of Peru

by Karen Lee Street

  “Miss Loddiges did not appear to hear or see me. Nor did her guests. She gestured for the two gentlemen to sit. After a moment’s hesitation, I took the empty chair across from them and immediately realized we were seated exactly as we had been on that afternoon when we had all had tea in her sitting room. Then a shadow swooped and feathers rustled as Grip circled us. Miss Loddiges raised her arm as if to fend off the bird before cowering back in her chair, visibly shaken. Grip swooped again and said loudly, ‘The Lord seeth. The Lord seeth all.’

  “As the two men stared at Helena Loddiges with concern, a subtle noise began, then grew louder—it was the rustling of feathers and the shuffling of small feet. I watched in fascinated horror as the lifeless birds in the room began to shift and stretch their wings as if waking from a stupor. Soon they were scuttling along the mantelpiece and tabletops or tapping their beaks against the glass bell jars or cases that imprisoned them, and cabinets full of hummingbirds came to life in a chaotic whir of color.

  “Andrew and Jeremiah Mathews seemed utterly unaware of the growing chaos presided over by that demon Grip. They saw only that Helena Loddiges had her hands pressed to her ears, trying to shut out the frightful noise of the dead birds come to life. Grip gave me a knowing look as he repeated, ‘The Lord seeth all,’ then flew into the air, transforming it to the color of his inky feathers.”

  “A strange dream, indeed, but interesting,” Dupin said as I concluded my tale. He and I were situated in the foyer of the Philosophical Hall in a position that we had determined would give one or both of us a clear view of anyone who entered the building. The table between us was scattered with papers to give the impression that we were two scholars discussing some philosophical treatise. “Does the dream reflect a good deal of the circumstances surrounding your meeting with Miss Loddiges and Andrew and Jeremiah Mathews?” he continued.

  “The circumstances were somewhat similar. When we had tea we were seated in the same manner. Miss Loddiges did have some sort of premonition as we were touring the glasshouses—it was Jeremiah Mathews who noticed—but I don’t recall her behaving as she did in my dream.”

  “And Dickens’s pet raven was not there,” Dupin added with a trace of a smile.

  “No, but Miss Loddiges did inform me that it was Grip who told her I would help her find out the truth about the deaths of Andrew Mathews and his son. Our friend Grip haunts Dickens’s study in quite a different way now, for he died and Dickens engaged Miss Loddiges to stuff the creature.”

  “I see. Well, it seems your slumbering mind made a connection between Grip, who was a highly intelligent if vexatious creature, and the ravens in the stained-glass window at St. Augustine Church, where the words ‘The Lord Seeth’ are emblazoned in gold above the altar.”

  “True, but to what purpose? I spent the remainder of the night trying to unravel my dream to no avail.”

  “Our minds continue to work as we sleep but in quite a different manner, I believe. At times our dreams explore things we sensed when awake but dismissed as we did not understand them or did not wish to believe them. Your dream also includes your own interpretations of Miss Loddiges’s account of someone breaking into the glasshouse and freeing the hummingbird from its enclosure.”

  “And of the taxidermied birds in her sitting room being rearranged at night,” I said. “It’s true that when she related her story to me I could not help but imagine the birds coming alive at night, so life-like were the creatures.”

  “In your dream the birds appeared to be dead but were actually alive, just as there is the possibility that Jeremiah Mathews is not truly dead, but is in hiding from those who believe he has the jewel and would murder him to get it.”

  I considered this for a moment. “Miss Loddiges thought her father was concealing something and claimed he was holding her prisoner at home. Perhaps her abductor had threatened George Loddiges. I would presume that he does not know where the jewel is, as certainly he would give it up to ensure the safety of his daughter.”

  Dupin nodded. “It appears ever more likely that whoever is selling the treasure books is seeking the jewel and is holding your benefactress captive.”

  “Then let us do our utmost to end Miss Loddiges’s ordeal quickly.”

  “Indeed.” Dupin examined his pocket watch. “Five minutes until noon.” He put on his green-tinted spectacles to obscure the direction of his gaze and I quickly adjusted my hat to better obscure my face from anyone entering the building.

  We lapsed into silence as we watched for our quarry, but this lull was disturbed by two gentlemen engaged in voluble discussion as they descended the staircase. One was a portly, gray-haired fellow I recognized as Mr. Blackwell, who often introduced speakers giving presentations at the Philosophical Hall. The second man was close to six foot tall, tawny-haired and dressed expensively, but with a surfeit of pomp. His silk waistcoat was striped with vermilion and gold, and a large jewel sparkled on his pale yellow cravat. He appeared to be listening intently to his companion but his arched brows gave the sense that all he heard was met with disdain. I was certain I had met the man before, but could not quite place him.

  “Thank you, Mr. Blackwell,” he said in a booming voice that made all in the foyer glance in his direction. “The room is quite suitable and if my displays could be organized in the manner I suggested, I would be grateful.”

  The voice revived my memory—he was Mrs. Reynolds’s admirer, the man that had delivered the basket of roses to her at the theater, and she had snubbed him.

  “The audience must be seated by quarter to seven, as I will begin promptly on the hour,” the man continued. “I will also need an assistant to take orders for the magic lantern slides and donations for the next expedition.”

  “Yes, of course. I will assist with that myself. If there is anything else you think of, do not hesitate to ask on the evening,” Mr. Blackwell said.

  “Thank you.”

  The two shook hands and Mr. Blackwell appeared somewhat wrong-footed when the man did not leave, but rather settled himself into a chair close to the door and opened a newspaper. Dupin immediately retrieved his meerschaum and began to fill it with tobacco, while I shuffled at the pages on the table.

  “Keep your head down,” Dupin murmured. “He is gazing this way.”

  I did as Dupin advised and rubbed at my brow as if in concentration, using my hand to obscure my face further while peering sideways at the fellow who might very well be our quarry. It was then that the door to the Philosophical Hall opened and someone stepped inside. Dupin exhaled a plume of smoke and joined me in leaning over the papers on the table.

  “Do not look up,” he commanded softly. He picked up one of the sheets and held it in such a direction that to view it I had to turn my head away from the door. “I have made a most fundamental error,” he muttered, tapping at the paper as if debating some point with me. “And missed the truth hidden in plain sight.”

  I could barely contain my frustration. “Who is it, Dupin? I presume it is someone I know.”

  “Indeed. And a very fine actor Father Nolan is, or I have lost my wits entirely.”

  “Father Nolan?” I began to turn, such was my disbelief, but Dupin grasped my arm.

  “Wait,” he whispered. “Father Nolan has placed a satchel on the table.” I could not see Dupin’s eyes through the green glasses, but knew he was utterly focused on the priest. “He has taken two volumes from the satchel, both are bound in gold and I can perceive jeweled embellishments—undoubtedly treasure books from the library.”

  How I wished to leap from my chair and confront the wretched thief who had deceived us so completely!

  “The scholar appears more than satisfied and has taken the satchel. And now they are readying to leave. I will follow the man who received the treasure books—you must learn his identity from Mr. Blackwell, then let us meet at your home.” Dupin dashed for the door and was gone. Every fiber of my being wished to run after Father Nolan, but if he saw me pursuing him,
he would quickly fathom that his duplicity had been uncovered. Dupin was right—it was best if I found out the identity of Father Nolan’s co-conspirator, the man who perhaps had abducted Miss Loddiges.

  I made my way upstairs in search of Mr. Blackwell. If he had invited the peacock of a man we had seen in the foyer to give a presentation, our quarry was more than a mere treasure hunter—an antiquarian, perhaps, or a botanist or an explorer. The topic of his presentation would reveal much. It did not take long for me to find the small room that served as Mr. Blackwell’s office. The door was open, and he was at his desk reading. I rapped politely on the open door and he jumped.

  “My apologies for disturbing you, sir. I could not help but overhear that a lecture will be presented here soon and I am curious to know the subject as I might like to attend.”

  “No trouble at all, sir. Do come in,” he said, rising to his feet. “You are quite correct, there is a presentation tomorrow night by Professor Renelle.” Mr. Blackwell shuffled through some papers on his desk and retrieved a broadsheet, which he handed to me. It was an advertisement for a lecture about a “Daring Expedition to the remains of an Ancient Civilization in the remote mountains of Peru”, as undertaken by Professor Frederic Renelle, “Antiquarian, Scholar and Adventurer”. An “Unforgettable Magic Lantern Show” would accompany the professor’s talk.

  “Peru! How fascinating,” I said, meaning every word. It could only be the expedition that ended with Jeremiah Mathews’s death. “And a magic lantern show? I will certainly attend,” I said as calmly as I could.

  “Very good. The more the merrier.” Mr. Blackwell smiled jovially. “The Philosophical Society raised a subscription to help finance the last expedition, and Professor Renelle hopes to gain support for another, so do bring companions. If you would arrive at six forty-five for seven o’clock.”

  “Certainly. I look forward to it. Thank you for your assistance. You’ve been most helpful.”

  “My pleasure, sir.”

  I made my escape, clutching the broadsheet. When I stepped out of the Philosophical Hall, my mind was in a flux with all that had been revealed to us—indeed, it was filled with more questions than when I had entered the place. The day was bright, the air sweet with spring, and the proud red-brick buildings steeped in righteous rebellion that graced Chestnut Street—City Hall and Independence Hall—had the effect of increasing my fury at Father Nolan’s Machiavellian nature. The priest had an alliance with the man who had murdered Father Keane or, worse still, had done the deed himself, and we had naively confided in him, allowing him to reveal those confidences to his accomplice, Professor Renelle.

  These thoughts filled me with self-recrimination—if only I had seen through the priest’s façade, my friend might still be alive. I stepped into the first tavern I saw, but the smell of old ale and the noise of fortified revelry made me walk back outside. Instead I made my way to the river and strode along its banks, hoping to calm myself. If Father Keane’s spirit remained anywhere in Philadelphia it would be there, wandering through the beauty of nature and conversing with the birds he loved so much. I did not catch a glimpse of him, but my memories of our morning walks along the Schuylkill were so strong I felt him there at my side, as surely did the stately, great blue heron that paused in his search for dinner to gaze my way. And when the bird tipped back its head and delivered a tuneless, trumpeting song, I could not help but laugh, for it was as if Father Keane had encouraged the creature to lift my spirits with its graceless holler. It gave me hope that my friend might forgive me for leading him into Death’s arms, even if I could not forgive myself.

  I saluted the heron and headed toward home to discover whether Dupin had managed to track Professor Frederic Renelle—antiquarian, scholar, adventurer and ruthless treasure-seeker. The sooner we knew where he resided, the more likely it was that we would find Miss Loddiges.

  32

  A luxuriant fragrance greeted me when I opened the door to our home—the earthy smell of roasting potatoes mixed with the sweetness of pork and baking apples lured me into the kitchen. Muddy looked up from the stove, her face radiant.

  “Dinner will be ready shortly. Sissy and Mr. Dupin are in the parlor.”

  “Have I missed something?”

  “He brought it all back from the market,” she said, waving her hands at the cooking dinner. “I would not have thought a man capable, but he did very well.” This was the highest of compliments from Muddy, and I knew that Dupin had won her respect, which was not easily bestowed.

  When I neared the parlor I heard Sissy laughing and hovered just outside the door with surprise as I had half-expected to enter a room filled with awkward silence. I could hear the murmur of Dupin’s voice, but not what he was saying. Evidently it was amusing, as my wife laughed again. Feeling somewhat disgruntled at such levity when we had only just learned of Father Nolan’s terrible treachery, I made my way into the room.

  “Dearest! I did not hear you come in,” Sissy said. “Monsieur Dupin was telling me of the difficulties he had in communicating with one of the market ladies.”

  This was the happiest I’d seen my wife in several days, so I let my initial irritation pass.

  “I do hope you remembered to speak in English, Dupin,” I said.

  “I am quite certain I did, but the accent defeated her and her confusion defeated me.”

  I settled into a chair. “It was most kind of you to go to the market. My mother-in-law is delighted.”

  “It was my pleasure and a fascinating experience.”

  “And what of your pursuit? Did you manage to track our quarry?”

  “Father Nolan and the man who received the treasure books parted ways outside the Philosophical Hall. I followed the latter until I lost sight of him in the market. Perhaps he sensed he was being shadowed and intentionally took a diversion through the crowd there. Did you learn his identity?”

  “I did. Mr. Blackwell informed me that Professor Frederic Renelle is giving a presentation at the American Philosophical Society tomorrow evening at seven o’clock.”

  “Renelle?” Sissy reached for the dish that held the squares of paper marked with letters that she had fashioned previously. She tipped them onto the table and quickly arranged them while Dupin closed his eyes and muttered the names of the birds we had discussed. Both arrived at the same conclusion simultaneously. “It fits,” she said.

  “A simple anagram. I should have seen it.” Annoyance sharpened Dupin’s voice.

  “I am certain we wrote it down as a possibility,” my wife said, “but the name could mean nothing to us without any knowledge of the person.”

  Dupin raised his brows, dismissing her excuse, but he was polite enough to refrain from voicing his opinion. “What is the subject of Renelle’s presentation?” he asked instead.

  I placed the broadsheet advertising the lecture on the table. “An expedition he made to a remote region of Peru last year. The Philosophical Society raised a subscription to contribute to the expedition’s costs.”

  “Truly? Then there is no doubt that he is the culprit.” Sissy’s face was the picture of indignation.

  “Little doubt,” Dupin corrected her. “Did you find out where Professor Renelle resides?”

  “I’m afraid not. I could not find a seemly way of inquiring.”

  Dupin nodded. “Caution is the best strategy. If the Philosophical Society has an interest in Renelle’s expeditions, we cannot presume Mr. Blackwell to be innocent.”

  “That thought crossed my mind also, Dupin, but in truth I believe he has nothing to do with Professor Renelle’s schemes beyond being used to raise money for his expeditions.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, his caution no doubt springing from his anger at being successfully duped by Father Nolan.

  Muddy appeared at the door. “Dinner,” she announced.

  We adjourned to the kitchen, where the rich smell of the food set my stomach gurgling with anticipation. Muddy had heaped our plates with roast pork topped wit
h gravy, potatoes and baked apple. Once we were seated, Dupin cleared his throat and held up his glass of ale.

  “To cherished friends. Thank you for your kind hospitality. I am forever indebted.”

  “It is I who is indebted to you for making the journey here,” I said in return.

  “Perhaps we might all agree that there is no debt between friends.” My wife smiled.

  “Well spoken indeed—” Dupin began.

  “Enough!” Muddy looked at us with exasperation. “Please eat before it is cold.”

  We descended on the food with unseemly haste and conversation was replaced with the sound of cutlery on plates.

  “This is delicious, madame,” Dupin said to Muddy. “I do not think I have ever had a dinner of roast pork this fine in Paris.”

  “I’m pleased you’re enjoying it,” she responded with pride.

  I watched Dupin for a time as we ate, looking for signs that his flattery sprang from mere etiquette rather than true feeling, but the sense of guardedness that was his normal demeanor had softened.

  We continued eating in genial silence until Sissy paused and said, “It is a strange alliance between Father Nolan and Professor Renelle. Am I correct in assuming that both are benefiting from Father Nolan’s theft of treasure books from the library at St. Augustine’s?”

  “I believe so. Father Nolan steals the books and presumably Renelle sells them, then they divide the takings—unless Father Nolan is contributing to Renelle’s next expedition in the hopes that he finds the Peruvian treasure,” Dupin said. “The other question we must consider,” he added, looking at me, “is why Father Nolan summoned you to St. Augustine’s the morning after Father Keane’s murder and gave you the envelope with the library cabinet key. He could have concealed it and left you to discover that your friend was dead when you next visited.”