The Serpent's Eye

by Brand, Thomas H.

  The conversation was one of a strange contrast. He sat before me yesterday in an impeccable suit and sipping through his delicate silver straw, and it was hard to envision him as such a young man as he described. Yet I can think of no reason for him to invent such a testimony, even were it not seemingly corroborated by tales I have collected around the town.

  The Earl himself, Señor Valta recalled, was a man prone to bursts of wild emotion or intense self pity. He rarely spoke with the servants, ignoring them completely for the most part. Those occasions he did seek Valta out were usually to berate him for some petty or imagined issue. He seemed to care as little in encountering men he knew had lain with his wife, as he did for how many knew of his own conquests, yet he would fly into obscene rages over the pettiest thing. At times the loss of a small item would send him into a pillar of fury, and once Valta witnessed him violently assault one visitor for turning a corner at the wrong moment and startling him.

  In all, Valta spent a little over two years in the Earl's employ, and in that time, he told me, Earl Edgar grew more and more wild, sinking farther into drink and indulging in various opiates. Often he, the Lady Maria and their guests would be found lain out in their rooms insensible. As the years progressed, the Earl retreated more and more into himself as his lifestyle took its inevitable toll on his moods.

  In the end, Señor Valta told me, he left the Earl's employ for more mundane reasons than a growing sense of morality. Eventually the maintenance of the household began to break down to such a level that it became a struggle each month for the staff to draw their pay. There came a point where Valta and two of the maids decided the time had come to seek out their fortunes elsewhere. After their engagement and association with Earl Leer they knew their chances of finding similar employment were low, but between them, Valta claims, they had saved enough capitol to invest in the salon in which we now sat. From his demeanour as he told me this, I am left with the impression there may have been more underhand dealing to allow them to leave the Earl's employ with that much money, but such a thing is beyond my remit to investigate. If indeed they did steal that investment capitol, I cannot judge it any worse than the amounts willingly spent by Earl Edgar on more trivial things. Even if I took an interest in doing so, I doubt I would be able to uncover any proof of theft after this length of time. I also doubt Earl Sebastian would be greatly interested in any case, especially if such actions prolonged the conclusion of my business here.

  Señor Valta invited me to dine with him at the salon that night, and indeed meet those two ladies with whom he shared the ownership of the place, but I politely declined his offer. As much as they might have been able to tell me more of the Earl and his household, that which I had already been told had left me feeling distinctly unsettled. Should I fail to discover more information through other sources I might return, but otherwise I was happy to leave that place and return to my own rooms.

  But despite my unease, my conversation with Señor Valta has given me much insight into the final years of the Earl's life. The list of sins and evils he sunk to, and those he dragged along with him, makes my stomach turn. I fear for the reaction of Earl Sebastian when I am forced to present my account of his father's life. I hope for my own sake that once this business is over I never again have cause to think on them.

  Friday, 19th April 1816

  This morning, when I arrived at the coffee shop of Señor Certona where I planned to begin my day, I was immediately hailed by Arthur Cartwright. I had not seen him these last two days. Conspiratorially, he informed me he had succeeded in locating the Lady Maria, and discovered a place and time where we might come upon her unescorted.

  He has ascertained that she does indeed live with her family, her mother a harridan gatekeeper to forever shield her from the outward temptations of sin. Under such guard, the widow has little engagement with the outside world. However, Arthur had ascertained that she visited the local church each day in the morning, often staying there to pray until long past noon. He had watched her and seen this was the only time she would be outside her home unchaperoned. Should I be waiting outside said church, the very one we passed on the end of her street, I could hope for the chance to speak with her alone.

  Quickly the two of us repeated our trek to the outskirts of the city. This time I took care to dress less formally than I had for the previous trip, and so felt less conspicuous. There were fewer folk out this morning and while many of them still turned to watch us pass, their gazes did not seem to linger as they had before.

  Cartwright brought us through an alternate route so we would not need to walk past the home of that indomitable matron who had thwarted my previous visit, and we went straight to the church at the top of the street. A fair sized building, the edifice was well built of white stone and wood with little adornment other than the large crucifix I had noticed on my previous visit. A small graveyard stood behind, and around the front a sizeable communal garden was kept; a pleasant haven amongst the close-set houses.

  Stepping inside, we removed our hats and looked around the interior. It was decorated in the ostentatiously Catholic style, so at odds with my own religious upbringing. Not here the austere walls and plain decoration of the English country church. Instead, painted crucifixes and images of saints surrounded us. To one side stood a rack of candles, and on the alter a large brass crucifix glistened in the low light.

  There were two women seated in the pews, far enough apart to indicate that they were not together, their heads bowed in prayer. One was clearly too old to be the one we sought, with a stooped back and strands of white hair showing from underneath a dark veil. The other was young, with long dark brown hair caught up and bound sombrely under her own veil. Though I did not have a view of her face, going by Cartwright's description I was confident we had found the Lady Maria.

  Not wanting to disturb her in her prayer, we waited at the back of the church. I felt uncomfortable, as if trespassing on another's secret ritual. I have never been the most avid of church goers, but something about this foreign style of worship strikes me as discomforting. The ostentation of the whole business does not sit right with my nature. I could no more shake the sense of intrusion as I could the rank smell of incense from my nose.

  Eventually the younger woman stood, bowed and crossed herself before turning to leave. Upon seeing her face for the first time, I could not help but feel struck by how her actual appearance jarred with the image I had conjured of the woman who had been described to me. She had smooth, olive skin and wide, beautiful eyes filled with a resigned sadness that gave her beauty a poignant edge. Could this woman truly be the degenerate temptress and fornicator of whom I had been told? She was thin; her skin clinging to her cheekbones in such as way that caused me to wonder if she had recently recovered from some illness. She had the appearance of the Romantic heroine. While the face lacked a certain strength, there was an unmistakable pride and determination to her. She seemed older than I knew her years to be, but then a lifestyle of sin and excess is known to age one greatly.

  We stood as she approached and I made our introductions. She did not seem surprised at who I was, as if she were expecting my visit. I asked her if she minded speaking to me about her late husband. She seemed reticent, but agreed as long as we did not mind remaining on the church grounds as once she left them she was bound to return to her mother's home. I saw no reason for us not to remain, but with the weather here as humid as it is, combining with my discomfort at those Catholic surroundings, I begged to sit in the churchyard. Nodding, she led us out and around the building to a small bench that sat in the shade against the church wall.

  Once we had taken our seats, I explained my reasons for seeking her out. She stared ahead as I did so, saying nothing. She did not react as I informed her of Earl Sebastian's instruction that she and her child be legally disinherited, never to be considered part of the Leer family. She seemed to have been expecting such a judgment, and gave no indication of how such news affected her.
Truth be told, I believe I was the most shaken of the three of us. The image of our little group sitting there in the shade of that foreign church as I explained to her that her child would never be considered the equal of his half brother, shall forever be etched in my memory.

  As I finished, she simply sat in silence. I had expected something more; some supplication for clemency, for money or aid for her and her son. She did not even mention him. After a moment she turned to me and asked if there was anything else I required. I admit I felt more than wretched. I had just conveyed to her the damnation of her prospects, and here I was asking her to aid me in my chronicling of her clearly unmourned husband's final years. I felt uncomfortable enough as it was, bringing up such tales on church grounds. I am glad Mr. Cartwright had been there, or else the inappropriateness of the situation may have gotten the better of me.

  The Lady Maria looked to the sky, and began to pray in a low, mumbled Spanish. I could just about follow her, but her prayers did not seem specific. She looked back at me, and told me she would answer what questions I had. She told me that God required her penance, and if she was to be absolved of her many sins then she must face that which she had done, and pray for His mercy.

  As she told her story she never once showed any emotion. Her recitation was blank and flat, as if these facts were something she had gone over again and again until they had lost all meaning. She spoke as if they were something from another life. When I had a question, she would respond, and I believe the only times she omitted any details were to spare my own obvious blushes. At times both myself and Mr. Cartwright became quite uncomfortable as this woman of such delicate appearance recounted some of the things she and the Earl had experienced. She herself seemed little affected, and showed no embarrassment at speaking so to two strangers.

  I will account here the bare bones of her tale, for I have no wish to repeat it in such details as she was prepared to offer.

  Maria met the Earl within a few weeks of his arrival in the city. She was a maid in one of the many public houses. The name of the establishment was not one I have visited in my short time, but she was unabashed about neither its reputation, or her part in the same. She was, by her own admission, a lady of what can only be politely described as low morals. While not yet sunk so low as the Earl's association would take her, she would intersperse serving tables with drinking and gambling with those she served, and saw little shame in flirting with those patrons who could provide her with the opportunity for such things. But she was young and beautiful, and one of those whose gifts in that direction leave them little thought for their eventual chances of salvation.

  It was at this time that she met Earl Edgar. Apparently he took quickly to the young, debauched serving girl. The evening they met, the Earl was in one of the lavish moods he later became known for, and the next morning found many of the clientèle, including the young Maria, waking in his apartments.

  There was no sign of the Lady Margaret at this point, and Maria recalled that the Earl neither mentioned her nor acted as one recently widowed. In this I am forced to conclude that the Earl's first wife died sometime on his final voyage. It vexes me that I cannot find more concrete information for the family chronicles. Maria, in fact, claims she did not learn of the Earl's first wife until well after they were married, an event that happened very soon after their first meeting. She had quickly become a favourite of his, and he of hers. He was rich and poured extravagancies on her, and she, I blush to tell, assures me she was just as free with her affections towards him. When the Earl insisted upon their marriage, Maria was eager to ensure the lifetime of luxury that she believed it would entail and saw no reason to question his rash decision.

  It strikes me as odd that the Earl should wish to marry so soon after the death of his wife. From his reputation, he does not strike me as one who would feel any moral compunctions towards keeping a mistress, even in the public eye. I know from the Lady Maria's own admission, corroborated by the other accounts I have heard, that neither she nor the Earl considered the blessed state of monogamy as part of their lives. Why they bothered with the ritual at all I cannot say, but Edgar was insistent she be his wife, and so his wife she became. Upon this abrupt marriage her family, already displeased with their daughter's reputation, disowned her for a whore. At the time, she told us, this was an act that concerned her little. She had a rich husband and a life of luxury. Why should she care for the opinions of those who judged her.

  I shall spare in this writing the accounts she gave of her life with the Earl. Suffice it to say she admits the tales and reputation that have been lain upon her name across the city are more than truthful. She drank, fornicated, cheated, lied, partook of narcotics and otherwise lived a life of decadence and devilry. This she readily admitted, all in that flat, emotionless voice. It is, she explained, why she now spends what life she has remaining in prayer and repentance for those sins.

  Eager to move on from such topics, I urged the lady to recount the last days of the Earl's life, so that I might have that which I came for and be on my way. I consider myself a man of the world and well aware of its temptations and vulgarities. I did not spend my own youth cloistered as a monk, and have sampled the temptations life has offered as much as any young man. But the casual manner in which this woman recounted all that she had undertaken in her short life truly shook me.

  The first four years of her marriage continued much in the same vein. However, in the last two years of his life the Earl began to show signs of the madness that gradually grew to consume him. Maria, and all those who knew him, had always been aware of his temper. The rages he would fly into over the smallest thing were famous, but they began to occur more and more frequently. Also, in the last year of his life, he began to both drink and consume opiates at an alarming rate. He grew more and more withdrawn from the world, and those who had been prepared to stay around him for the excesses he offered began to fall away. He left his apartments less and less, leaving off his toilet and appearing unshaven and poorly dressed.

  By this time Maria had given birth to her son, a child she named Tobias. It is for the best that Earl Sebastian has already decided to formally disown the child from the family. For all Maria insists there is no doubt the child is Edgar's, she readily admits to regular infidelities. From the lifestyle and immorality she described of herself, any reasonable man would be sceptical of a claim of paternity.

  Whatever the parentage, the birth of Tobias seemed to have some effect on both mother and supposed father. Maria claims the pangs of childbirth calmed something within her. The Earl, on the other hand, cut himself off from mother and child completely, muttering vagaries about strange curses and unnatural blood whenever they were mentioned in his presence.

  It seems clear to me that at this point his mind had begun to give way to whatever wasting disease was to take him. Maria told us how, in those final weeks, Edgar would drink constantly; never abating, always seeming to require more. And yet she insists that during this period he was the most sober she can recall him in the whole of their marriage. Despite all he would imbibe it seemed he could not become intoxicated. His paranoia grew, and he would scream at anyone who came close. He shouted wild accusations of stalkers hounding him, insisting he was being followed everywhere, even when he was locked away alone. Eventually he stopped eating altogether, and rapidly grew emaciated until his appearance was skeletal and gaunt. The few times Maria saw him in those last weeks, he was little more than a spectre of a man.

  By that time, the lady Maria found her life had collapsed around her and become a living hell. Without a husband in his right mind, their financial capital soon ran dry. As the servants abandoned them she was effectively living in lavish poverty. Edgar would fly into a rage if she or her son even approached, and she lived out those last days hidden and unattended in her rooms. It was then, she told us, that she began to recognise and reflect on the evil life she had brought her son into.

  For the last month of his life, Earl Edgar
locked himself away in his rooms and would allow no one access. Other than the occasional exclamation of anger or fear he made no attempt at communication with the outside world. By this time only two of their servants remained, mostly out of pity for the wretched girl their mistress had become, but they made no attempts at reaching the Earl. It was not until bailiffs came to the house that his rooms were broken into and his corpse discovered.

  It was here, for the first time, that Maria seemed hesitant to speak. For all she had already told us, things that would make the worst of soldiers blush, this one event caused her to hold back.

  She described to us the scene that had been unveiled when the bailiffs had led her into Edgar's rooms. The whole of the apartment had been smashed and broken, as if the late Earl had been in some great rage. There were papers strewn all about, covered in almost incomprehensible writings. A fire had been lit in the middle of the floor, now a pile of cold ashes with soot staining the ceiling above. The Earl's body was huddled in the corner. It had been skeletal, she told us; its skin pale and thin, clinging to his bones. The men there had at first refused to believe the body had been there only a month, for though lacking much decomposition it had the appearance and condition of having been dead far longer.

  Two things Maria told us that had stuck in her mind before she had been forced to flee the room. The first was the smell. One would think such a thing to be expected in the self imposed tomb of a diseased madman, but Maria insisted the air did not hold the stench of death or decay, but a dry smell; a musty odour that seemed alien to the muggy confines of the room.