by Mark C. King
“Peculiar,” Jamison said. “I am her husband, Jamison Clarke, and can take that for her.” He put out his hand and the young man hesitated only a moment before giving the paper to Jamison. Reaching into his pocket, Jamison pulled out two coins and handed them to the young man for his service – it was a little more than he normally would have given, but the weather made this a particularly difficult delivery.
“Thank you, sir.” responded the young man. “With your permission, I would like to take my leave. I cannot get home soon enough on a day like today.”
“By all means,” answered Jamison. They all watched as the visitor turned away and the door was shut.
Looking back out the window, Sigmund released his long held breath and watched as this young man entered the bitter downpour once again. The messenger started running up the road and with every step, Sigmund’s cold feeling dissipated a little.
“Who was that, dear?” asked Alexis from the kitchen.
“It was a messenger with a telegram to deliver,” Jamison answered.
“Really? On a day like today? What does it say?”
“I have not opened it yet, for you see, it is addressed to you.”
They could hear the sounds of footsteps in the kitchen and then Alexis appeared in the doorway with a surprised look on her face. “Did you say it was addressed to me?”
“Yes. The young man clearly said that this was for Alexis Clarke.” With that, Jamison walked over to her and handed her the note. She stared at it for a moment while Jamison held out his hand and lightly cleared his throat.
“You want a gratuity?” she said in mock anger. “How about I prepare you dinner?”
“That will be just fine.” He smiled. “So, don’t keep us in anticipation…”
They all watched as Alexis opened the telegram. Her eyes moved over the paper as she silently read it. When she was done, she looked at Sigmund and simply said, “This is odd. I do not really understand it.”
“Read it out loud, dear, so that we may share in the oddity.” Jamison encouraged.
Clearing her throat, Alexis said, “It reads:
Greetings Alexis Clarke,
I trust that you and your daughter Sarah are well. I would like to encourage you to remind your brother that favors owed should be repaid. In anticipation of this favor and of your continued good health, I bid you farewell.
W.F.”
Everyone turned and looked at Sigmund. The cold feeling returned with a vengeance, as if the once summer of his heart became instant winter. The stranger who delivered this note may not have been of any consequence, but the message was. Unbeknownst to his family, all of their lives had just been threatened.
2.
The heat of their stares could be felt even though Sigmund had his eyes focused firmly on the floor. His mind raced as he wondered how best to answer everyone, how much should he tell them. He knew exactly what the message was about and who it was from. ‘W.F.’ was Doctor Walter Ferriss, as ghoulish a man as there ever was, and this ghoul was looking to recall an old promise.
Despite some reservations, Sigmund decided to tell his family the truth. Some of the most painful moments of his life came about by trying to protect people by hiding things from them. There was no way that he would go down that path again.
He took in a deep breath and then let it out. After looking at all their faces, he started, “This telegram is from a man I know, Doctor Walter Ferriss. After the explosion two years ago and my escape from the police, Doctor Ferriss is where I first went to hide. He found out what I was being accused of and threatened to execute me in the name of justice.”
Looks of concern grew on all the listener’s faces. Evidently sensing the fear, Zachary hugged Sigmund’s leg. Alexis, in a quiet voice, said, “Sigmund, you never told us this.”
“I know, and I am sorry. It was a detail that I didn’t want to worry anyone with, but we are clearly past that point now. I pleaded my innocence and was able to get him to let me go. However, he had a condition. A favor.”
Jamison now spoke, “What was the favor?”
“There wasn’t one. He was saving it for some future time. Evidently, that time has arrived. I was hoping that he had forgotten about it or just did not need to use it, but with the arrival of that telegram, that was a false hope.”
“But why send a telegram to me?” asked Alexis.
“Well, I’m assuming that there will be a telegram at my flat as well. But to answer your question, it is to remind me of the consequences of not fulfilling the obligation of the favor.”
“Uncle, I don’t understand. What consequences?”
A deep breath – either to gather courage to answer the question or to stall, Sigmund wasn’t sure, but he was certain that he didn’t want to answer the question. Why did Ferriss need to drag them in like this? With a half-hearted smile towards his niece, he continued, “Doctor Ferriss made it clear that if I did not do his favor, then he would hurt my family, he threatened death.”
The room became very quiet, except for the crackling of the fire and the sounds of the storm. A long second or two ticked by until Alexis broke the silence, “Oh Sigmund! What are we going to do?”
“Surely Chief Inspector Holmes can assist us.” exclaimed Jamison.
Using his most reassuring tone, Sigmund said, “I understand everyone’s concern, but the answer is simple. I will find out what the favor is and then do it. That will put an end to this and no one will be harmed.”
“Uncle!” cried Sarah. “You shouldn’t owe this doctor! You were not guilty of anything!”
“I know,” soothed Sigmund, “But I made an agreement, and I will repay it.” Then, looking around the room, he said, “The threat against all of you is much out of line, and very much superfluous. I will visit Doctor Ferriss soon and probably have this favor behind me, behind us, within a day or two.”
There was another silence as Sigmund’s family tried to think of alternatives. But, in the end, each one came to the same conclusion – the best answer was to do what Dr. Ferriss asked.
“Can I help?” asked Jamison in a serious tone.
“I hope not,” answered Sigmund. “I would prefer to not involve anyone else. That said, I do not know what the favor is or if it will require any assistance. However, I do appreciate the offer.”
“I’ll help!” Sarah added with determination.
“Sarah!” Alexis cried. “You will certainly not help!”
“But, mother!”
“Hold on, everyone,” Sigmund interjected, “We still don’t know what the favor is. It is unlikely that he will be asking anything that will involve more than just myself.” Then, looking at Sarah, “My dear Sarah, thank you for your offer. I know you would help me, you brave, remarkable girl.” Then, to all of them, “Please, put your minds at rest. This will all be over soon and no one is going to be harmed.”
The remainder of the evening went by with an unnatural quietness. The usual conversations and laughter were replaced by contemplation and solemnness.
When Sigmund was ready to depart, he stopped by Sarah’s room – as he always did before leaving – to say goodnight. She had been put to bed a little earlier and as usual, except for the most active of days, she was awake for his farewell. Her eyes shown wide in the light from the hallway as he entered the room.
He kneeled next to her bed, so that they were at an even level with each other, and Sarah said, “Uncle, I know you said that we shouldn’t worry, but I can’t help it.” Her eyes glistened with the beginning of worrisome tears.
“Sarah, listen, I know I cannot stop you completely from worrying, for love demands that we fear for those we care about, but I believe that we have made too much out of this. Don’t people ask other people for favors all the time?
“Well, yes.”
“And do they have concerns over trying to accomplish the favor?”
“No, not that I’m aware of.”
“You see! This is no different. Now, g
et some sleep and before you know it, this will just be a memory.”
It looked like Sarah wanted to believe him, but she finally said, in her most skeptical voice, “I’ll try.” She then lunged and threw her arms around him and said, “I love you, goodnight, goodnight, I love you.”
Returning her hug, Sigmund responded, “Goodnight, I love you, I love you, goodnight.”
Back in the living room, Jamison was waiting near the door with Sigmund’s overcoat in hand. Alexis was standing next to him with his hat and umbrella and she asked, “When are you going to find out about this favor?”
“I’m going to his home now.”
“Now?” Alexis said in surprise. “It is getting late and the storm has not let up!”
“I know, but I need to get this resolved. There is simply no way I will be getting any sleep with this hanging over my head, so I might as well get it over with.”
“Would you like me to go with you?” Jamison asked.
Sigmund smiled, “No, that is alright. If there is trouble to be faced, it will be with the favor itself, not with the meeting of this man. His mind is strange, maybe even dangerous, but physically he is not much.”
Jamison nodded and then helped him into his coat.
“Can Zachary stay here tonight?” Sigmund asked.
Zachary was asleep near the fireplace and twitched an ear at the sound of his name. “Of course he can,” answered Alexis. “Sarah will be happy to see him in the morning.”
“Thank you. I’ll collect him tomorrow.”
After the goodbyes were said, Alexis added, “Please be careful.”
Placing his top hat on his head, he answered, “I will. I promise.” He then walked out the front door and opened his umbrella. Once outside of the warmth of his sister’s home and heading to Dr. Ferriss’, the cold hit him hard, freezing right to his core – the weather being only partly to blame.
3.
“A bad idea?” Charlotte Merrihail said, her green eyes growing wide in astonishment. “It has already been proven to be a great idea!”
The night’s storm raged outside of the second story office window of Warren Godwit, Charlotte’s editor at The Strand Magazine, and a storm was brewing inside the office as well. The room was welcomingly warm and well lit, both by electric light and the oil lamp on Mr. Godwit’s desk that he never forsook to light. After adjusting his position on his chair, causing the leather to squeak, he ran a hand over his grey beard, and let out a sigh. “Charlotte, you must see reason. The story that could come of this would indeed be interesting. The bad part is how you would get the story. Do you not see the dangers?”
A lock of her red hair had come loose during this animated discussion and Charlotte tucked it behind her ear. She was too agitated to sit in one of the two plush chairs that faced her editor’s desk, choosing to stand and pace as she made her arguments. Calming her movements, she stopped for a few moments to consider the question asked of her – she may be enthusiastic, but she was not unreasonable – and finally answered, “I honestly believe that the dangers are minimal. The worst scenario that I can think of is that I am somehow discovered and am escorted out before I get the story.”
“That is the worst case you can think of?” her editor asked incredulously while tilting his head, “because I can think of worse. You have heard the whispered rumours of that place. What if one of your potential roommates attack you? They are beyond rules and conscience!”
“Mr. Godwit, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, I think your scenario is quite unlikely.”
“Maybe so, but I do not like this at all.”
Charlotte stared out of the window for a moment, the rain pelted it violently and she could just make out an obscured light from a neighboring building, and then looked back at her boss. Her face, recently flushed with excitement, now looked serious, almost sad. She said, “These people cannot take care of themselves and those assigned to watch them have little or no oversight. And yes, Mr. Godwit, I am well aware of the whispers from that place, they are horrible. But don’t you see, the whispers are why this should be done. We can effect change.”
Resting his chin on his hand, Godwit looked away from Charlotte and stared down at his large oak desk. She knew that this meant he was giving her request real consideration and that whatever he said next would be the final decision. She stood there quietly, worried that any disturbance might tip the balance out of her favor. Her heart rate increased as the thoughtful moments passed by.
After several seconds, Godwit returned his eyes to hers. His stare was intense, almost as if he could look inside of her and draw out her deepest motivations. Charlotte grew uncomfortable, but refused to look away, she had nothing to hide.
Finally, he spoke, “Two weeks. Two weeks and I get you out no matter what. Agreed?”
She wanted to scream in celebration, to throw her arms around the old man and thank him repeatedly. Somehow she was able to respond in a voice that was almost free of exuberance and said, “I agree. Thank you, sir!” She was certain that, although her voice was near calm, her face gave away her true feelings.
“It’s funny,” Godwit commented, “I just agreed to allow you to be committed into Bedlam Asylum. I’m not sure you shouldn’t be committed just for suggesting it. Or I for agreeing to it.”
Charlotte stepped outside of The Strand and of the building, umbrella held tight against the wind and cold rain, and looked for a passing carriage. It was well after the normal work day, so she figured it could be a fair wait before she came across a cabbie. Might as well start walking, she thought. The downpour was thunderous against her umbrella, and the gusts were bitter – she hardly noticed. Her excitement superseded any physical feelings of cold or wet. The bottom of her dress was quickly becoming dark from moisture and dirt that splashed from the pavement – that, too, was of no bother to her, not tonight. A report from inside of Bedlam Asylum! She would be following in the footsteps of the pioneering female reporter, Nelly Bly!
Nelly Bly had faked her way into Blackwell’s Island Lunatic Asylum in New York and wrote an article that helped changed those institutes for the better. The effects had not quite made their way across the Atlantic.
This was going to be the biggest story of Charlotte’s life… wait, she thought, no it was not. Not even close. Nothing would ever top her first story. The story of the death of her husband.
Edmund and her married four years ago. He was a kind man, generous whenever possible, and a loving husband. It was after two years of marriage that he met his end, where Charlotte met her new beginning. The night of the Grimkraken Battle and the wide-spread fires that followed brought death to many in London. Fiery wreckage rained down on helpless citizens, smashing buildings and causing panic. Edmund was one who kept his head. He organized people on their street into fire brigades and directed their efforts to fight the infernos. Charlotte did her part too, assisting the many wounded. She was not trained in medicine, but cleaning wounds and giving comfort was well within her capabilities.
Despite the efforts, their own building was soon engulfed in flames. Mrs. Calloway, who owned the flat above them and was helping Charlotte tend to the injured, screamed when she saw the flames starting to reach her home. Charlotte will never forget the horror of her cries as Mrs. Calloway yelled for someone to help her two children who were still inside. Edmund heard the cries and with a brief word of assurance, ran into the building to get the two young ones.
Charlotte watched as Edmund disappeared into the front of the structure. Chaos was ensuing around her, fires, injuries, yelling, but she lost all consciousness of those and focused only on the front door of her building. Time slowed as she stared at the smoke that billowed out of the entrance. Finally, a shadow emerged that turned into the solid form of her husband and a little girl, Lenora, in his arms.
“Oh, Lenora!” Mrs. Calloway cried and ran to take her from him. Her excited relief was short-lived as she realized that her son, Malcolm, was not the
re. But, before she could even say anything, Edmund ran back in the building.
Charlotte looked briefly at Mrs. Calloway and Lenora, and felt a surge of pride that her husband had reunited mother and daughter. Their hugs and tears were of such a pure emotion that Charlotte knew that children needed to be in her own future.
That future, however, was not to be with Edmund. Charlotte focused on the entrance as before, noticing the smoke increasing and flames now joining in the exhaust. No matter how hard she looked or how long she waited, neither Edmund nor Malcolm exited the building. Two more casualties of the Grimkraken Fires.
As the weeks passed, Charlotte felt pain that seemed like it could not possibly go away. She moved in with her parents and spent her days sleeping, crying, or in a melancholy trance where she relived that night over and over again.
