Edgar Allan Poe and the Jewel of Peru

by Karen Lee Street

  “And I will play a witless horse groom and observe all that I can about the house and its inhabitants.”

  “I will do my best to distract Renelle with theories regarding the quipu for a long as possible without raising his suspicions,” I said. “Perhaps I shall even manage to decipher it, for I do believe it contains some kind of message.”

  “And if the quipu proves to be a derrotero showing where the treasure is hidden, will you reveal its location to Professor Renelle or will we take the next ship to Peru?” my wife said with a smile.

  “Dupin will go in our stead—he knows the terrain—and when the jewel of Peru and the treasure in the king’s tomb is ours, we will live for Art and never be Mammon’s slave again.”

  My voice was jocular and Sissy laughed, but I did fleetingly wonder how our lives might change if the quipu were the legendary map. What a fine thing that would be!

  37

  THURSDAY, 21 MARCH 1844

  The air was kissed by spring and lively with birdsong—it was the perfect weather for an excursion to the countryside. Dupin disappeared before breakfast and arrived back at our house with a one-horse brougham carriage he had hired. He had also purchased a worker’s cap at the market, which completed the disguise we had assembled for him—my oldest coat, trousers and boots, items fit only for rambles through the forest. A knitted muffler and gloves contributed by Muddy completed the transformation.

  “What a fine horse groom you make, Dupin. I would hire you without hesitation.”

  Dupin scowled. “Do not presume I would accept employment with you.”

  “Now, now. That’s enough from you, sir, if you wish to keep your position. And we best make haste if we are to reach Germantown by noon.”

  “Shouldn’t you remove your chevalière?” Sissy asked Dupin. “A man like Professor Renelle will notice such a ring,” she added.

  “You are correct, Mrs. Poe. Thank you.”

  “Take this with you,” Muddy said, handing Dupin her heavy, wooden walking stick. “I don’t know what you three are planning, but you will keep my daughter safe, won’t you?”

  “I give you my word, madame.” Dupin darted from the kitchen and came back with his cobra-headed walking stick. “I do not think we will require weapons, but it is far better to be prepared, as your very wise mother has suggested.” He handed it to me and nodded, encouraging me to test it. I held the stick in both hands and revealed the rapier hidden inside. Muddy’s eyes widened, and then she smiled at Dupin.

  * * *

  A half an hour later, Dupin was perched on a box seat, horse’s reins in hand, and Sissy and I sat in the enclosed carriage behind him. The morning light dappled pleasantly through the trees, illuminating the fresh green of young leaves and newly emerged woodland plants, while the birds flitted through the trees and the squirrels raced up and down them. Sissy was entranced with the bucolic landscape, and I was glad to see the expression of joy on her face, for I had missed it terribly during the long winter months, when every cough or hint of her poorliness filled me with dread.

  “It truly is a relief to escape the city.” Sissy breathed in, then smiled radiantly. “The air is so fresh and the colors seem stronger, brighter—the sky, the grass, the leaves.”

  I vowed to myself that I would find some way to secure a home for us, with a garden, away from the bustle and grime of the city. It mattered not to me where we lived if we found a place that brought her good health.

  When we reached Germantown, we stopped at the train station to ask directions to Professor Renelle’s home and learned that it was roughly half a mile away. The station master drew us a map and seemed surprised that we were unaware of Renelle Mansion’s location.

  “It’s well known in Germantown,” he explained. “It was one of the first grand houses built here, and Professor Renelle’s father gave employment to many in the area when he ran the quarries.”

  We carried on toward our destination, and it was clear that this was an enclave for the wealthy, as we passed several imposing properties. When Dupin turned the brougham into a gravel-strewn lane that was guarded by two large stone lions, I could not help but picture Renelle with his mane of tawny hair. The drive disappeared into a woodland thick enough to obscure whatever lay at the end of the track, and Dupin brought the carriage to a stop and came back to speak with us.

  “I believe this is it,” he said.

  “It must be very dark here at night,” Sissy noted. “No street lamps, all these trees surrounding the house.”

  “Quite the perfect location to bring Miss Loddiges against her will,” I said. “No one would hear her cry out.”

  “Except Professor Renelle’s servants. We should therefore presume they are guilty of colluding with Renelle, if he did abduct the lady, and must trust no one who resides at the mansion,” Dupin cautioned. “Our questions must be subtle enough to obscure our motive.”

  “Yes, of course,” Sissy responded, her voice betraying—to me at least—that she believed Dupin’s warning to be more than obvious.

  “You may have the greatest success in gathering information from Professor Renelle and his servants, Mrs. Poe,” Dupin continued. “I believe he will underestimate your intelligence and that is to our advantage.”

  Sissy’s eyes widened at his unexpected compliment. She beamed and said, “I will play the naive wife to full effect and pelt him with questions. I do find that men very much admire a good listener who encourages them to talk only of themselves and their accomplishments.”

  I nodded at Sissy’s words until a gurgle of mirth and a sardonic look from Dupin brought me up short. I felt an unwelcome flush rise up to my face.

  “I was not referring to you, dearest, but some of your acquaintances are most tiresome.”

  It was Dupin’s turn to redden, which pleased me greatly.

  “Mr. Griswold springs to mind,” Sissy continued. “A terribly dull man. And there are several others who call themselves writers and have some wit in conversation, but spend far too much time in the tavern.” She smiled mischievously, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Bon courage,” she murmured to herself. She then opened her eyes, straightened in her seat and said firmly, “Shall we carry on?”

  Dupin nodded and climbed back onto the box seat. Soon we were moving again up the carriage drive, which proved to be well over a quarter of a mile long. It was meticulously raked and lined with large rhododendron bushes. Indeed, they were so tall that they screened the house from the drive until we veered to the left, then right again, and there it was.

  “Oh, how magnificent!” Sissy gasped as Renelle Mansion came into sight. Mansion was not an exaggeration—Renelle’s home was immense and impressive. It was fashioned from gray Wissahickon schist and the mica that was shot through it glimmered in the sunlight. The house was Gothic in style with a steeply-pitched roof, a large turret and a grand buttermilk-yellow porch with contrasting maroon decorative trim that matched the large door. The downstairs windows were very tall and diamond-paned, while the upstairs windows were smaller, four of them directly above the porch roof. The turret at the far left side of the house had two long, narrow windows.

  We climbed down from the carriage and Dupin took his time soothing the horse and attending to the carriage while taking in his surroundings.

  “Look at the gazebo,” he said in a low voice. It was a lovely structure and had a dovecot on top of it, complete with noisy inhabitants. “A highly useful way to send and receive messages when living out here.” Dupin paused for a moment and surreptitiously studied the house. “I would presume that Miss Loddiges is imprisoned in the turret or the cellar.”

  “I hope the turret or truly the man is a barbarian,” my wife said. “Notice that the curtains in the turret are drawn. One would think there would be little need for curtains in such a space and certainly no reason to have the curtains closed during the day, unless attempting to hide someone away.”

  Dupin nodded. “And the turret windows do not
allow access to the roof, which makes both escape and rescue difficult. We will either need a very long ladder or to gain entry from inside the house to release her.”

  “But surely if Miss Loddiges is in the turret, she would have signaled to us from the window after hearing our approach,” I said.

  “Not if someone else is in the room with her to prevent that,” my wife countered.

  “Or she is gagged and bound,” Dupin added.

  “The beast,” Sissy muttered.

  “Shall we?” Dupin said.

  Sissy and I advanced to the house before him and I let the knocker fall twice. Moments later the front door opened.

  “Welcome, Professor Renelle is expecting you.” A formidable-looking woman stood in the doorway and her bulk filled most of it. Her face was broad and plain, framed with iron-gray hair that was mostly tucked under a white cap. Her ill-fitting dress was black with a lace collar that gave the housekeeper the look of an early Puritan settler. She stared at us awkwardly for a moment, then turned and led the way inside, her heavy shoes thudding on the floor like clumps of soft bread dough slapped on a tabletop.

  The foyer was beautifully illuminated by light strewn from the diamond-paned windows, which softened the gloom emanating from the portraits of Renelle’s stern, squinting ancestors congregated upon the walls. A grand Italianate chandelier was suspended from the vaulted ceiling and the floor was an extraordinary mosaic that featured an unusual selection of birds in flight and repose. As the light danced across its surface, it was as if the birds themselves were in motion—the floor was a true thing of beauty. The staircase to the upper floors was directly in front of us and the upstairs hallway was open except for an elegant balustrade where one might stand and gaze down into the foyer or through the large windows on either side of the door.

  A hallway to the right of the staircase ran to the back of the house and, presumably, the kitchen. The parlor was directly right of the foyer and visible through an open door. It was elegantly furnished, albeit in a style fashionable at the turn of the century. Professor Renelle’s mother—or perhaps grandmother—had possessed a good eye and had spared no expense. To the left was the dining room with an immense table and another very grand chandelier hanging above it. The room was dominated by a still life in a gilded frame that was mounted above the marble fireplace. It was a banquet piece in the style of a Dutch master and featured a cornucopia of fruit in sumptuous colors arranged around a peacock and a peahen entwined in death, the male’s glorious feathers drooping over the table edge and shimmering under candlelight that failed to hold back the encroaching shadows. It was a melancholic scene to dine by.

  I was jarred from my contemplations by the housekeeper’s voice. “Professor Renelle will be ready for you shortly. Would you like some coffee or tea?” She looked at each of us, but her gaze lingered on Dupin’s clothing and a slight frown knit her brows.

  “Tea would be much appreciated. And is there somewhere our coachman might wait? The kitchen perhaps?” I asked.

  The housekeeper half-nodded, as if my comment answered her unspoken question of Dupin’s identity. “Yes, certainly.”

  “Madame?” Dupin said to the lady, indicating the boots he had purposefully dirtied that morning.

  “Is there an entrance directly into the kitchen from outdoors?” Sissy asked. “He worries about his boots on your immaculate floors.”

  The housekeeper’s relief was palpable. “Turn left from the front entrance and walk to the very back of the house. I will let you in through the kitchen door,” she told Dupin in a louder voice, supplementing her explanation with the exaggerated gestures of a bad actor.

  He stared at her, feigning a lack of comprehension.

  “Unfortunately he is dim-witted and speaks very little English,” I said. “But we have an appointment to look at carriage horses this afternoon and he does have a way with the creatures.” I made a show of repeating the housekeeper’s words to Dupin in French, then directed the gaping jaws of Dupin’s cobra-headed walking stick at the door with a commanding flourish.

  Dupin scowled, quite genuinely, and exited. I caught sight of him through the parlor window, and I waved his own walking stick at him again as if to hurry him along. He favored me with another scowl.

  “Such a lazy fellow,” I said, shaking my head. “If there is a chair near the fire, he is likely to fall asleep, and we will be fortunate to rouse him.”

  “Do not be so hard on him,” my wife said. “He is extremely good with horses and is an honest if uncultivated man.”

  “Rest assured, he will be no trouble to you,” I told the housekeeper.

  She nodded and started to turn toward the kitchen, but Sissy intervened. “I am certain you have a great deal to manage in running a house so grand. How do you keep this chandelier so sparkling?”

  “Yes, it is remarkable. I have seen ostrich feather dusters used.” I struggled to think what else I might say to engage the housekeeper long enough for Dupin to learn as much as possible about ways to surreptitiously enter the house, but a booming voice made us all jump.

  “Mr. Poe! And the delightful Mrs. Poe. Greetings and welcome.”

  Professor Renelle looked down at us from over the balustrade to the left of the staircase, the direction in which the entrance to the turret must be. “Please, come upstairs to my study.” He turned his gaze to his housekeeper. “We will take refreshments later rather than now, Miss Thomassen.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said and ambled to the kitchen with the rolling gait of a giantess from some old fairy tale.

  “I’m sure you understand,” he said. “It is better not to have liquids near the artifacts.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, do come up.”

  Sissy and I ascended the stairs, which were wide enough to accommodate both of us side by side. Professor Renelle waited, and bowed graciously when we reached the landing.

  “Again, welcome. Thank you for journeying out to my eyrie.”

  “Your home is magnificent,” my wife said. “I do not wonder that you have made it your place of study.”

  “Thank you, madam. Of course the building is from my grandfather’s imagination and my grandmother and mother were responsible for the furnishings. My modest contribution is the mosaic floor.”

  “It is glorious. I’ve never seen a floor as lovely,” Sissy declared.

  “You must view it from here.” Professor Renelle offered us space to look over the balustrade. We both peered down at the foyer floor. The gas-lit chandelier, which was just above eye level, filled the space with a warm glow, while the diamond-paned windows let in a rush of crystal daylight, and the effect was incredible, as if one were observing a living kingdom of birds from Heaven itself. Sissy gasped at the sight of it, and Professor Renelle smiled with pride. As I gazed at that masterpiece of craftsmanship, a thought came to me.

  “Is there a legend behind the scene depicted, professor? I notice that various ornithological species which might never meet seem to reside in one kingdom on your floor. The toucan, passenger pigeon, flamingo, an ivory-billed woodpecker, a bald eagle, hummingbirds from both the northern and southern American hemispheres,” I said, pointing at each.

  “Well observed, Mr. Poe. The birds depicted are indeed from North, Central and South America and the story hidden within the floor is simple—each is a bird I have collected during my expeditions.”

  “How fascinating,” my wife said. “A record of your adventures.”

  “I am very proud of the floor, but it is nothing compared to the artifacts I will show you. Come.”

  As we walked I noticed that all the doors to the rooms along the hallway were closed but for one at its far end: Professor Renelle’s study. This struck me as rather odd. Was this chance or had he guessed our true agenda and this was a strategy to hide where he might have imprisoned Miss Loddiges? I peered over my shoulder—the other end of the hallway finished with a short staircase that led to a closed door, which was presum
ably the entrance to the turret. From the building’s exterior, this seemed the obvious place to imprison Miss Loddiges, as it was the most difficult room to escape from. Sissy’s eyes met mine and I knew that our thoughts were in alignment.

  When we entered the study, the differences between it and the rest of the house were immediately apparent. An immense oak desk faced the door and held the accoutrements of a scholar: writing implements, an Argand lamp and a green glass paperweight. A large globe stood on the floor next to the desk. Shelves with cabinets covered the walls and were filled with books and an array of artifacts, from tribal masks, peculiar figurines, primitive tools and weapons to immense seashells, taxidermied birds and small mammals. It was difficult to know where to look first, the shelves were so crowded with unusual objects, a veritable museum dedicated primarily to Southern America. A map of Peru was mounted on a board and stood like a painting upon an easel. It was marked with various lines and notations that I presumed referenced Professor Renelle’s expeditions.

  “Sit, please.” He indicated two small armchairs that had been placed before his desk and eased into his own imposing leather chair. As I sat down, the paperweight caught my eye again; it was about two inches in diameter and shaped like a small turtle.

  “Yes, it is an emerald,” Renelle said, his eyes fixed on mine. Had he guessed how my thoughts had drifted to the legendary jewels Fernández had described? “During my first expedition to the Chachapoyas I discovered it inside a pottery jar with some smaller emeralds, entombed with a mummy, very like the one I had showed in my presentation.”

  “Goodness,” Sissy muttered, her amazement at the emerald tempered by where it had been found. “Why do you think the jewels were entombed with the mummy? Was he of Chachapoyan royalty?”

  “It is difficult to say. Royalty, perhaps, or a pagan priest. Oddly, there was nothing to distinguish that particular mummy from the others buried there, beyond the jar of emeralds. Each mummy was arranged in the same position, curled on its side, knees drawn up with arms wrapped around them and head tucked down. There were no ornaments on any of the mummies and all the wrappings were the same. The Peruvian natives who accompanied us were spooked by the burial chamber and how the mummies were placed in open alcoves without any sort of sarcophagus enclosing them. They feared the mummies were animated by moonlight and would exact revenge upon us for disturbing their tomb.” Renelle laughed at this, but I could easily imagine this scenario and, from her expression, so could my wife.