The Dandy Boys Mysteries (Vengeance Book 0)

by Peter J. Wacks

  The two men looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish his sentence. After a moment, he sighed before speaking, “They claim that there is the matter of a … a curse … of sorts.”

  Exchanging glances and grins, the men shook their heads. The older man laughed and turned back to his mending.

  “Is this what you have been seeking?” asked his amused guide. “Curses aren’t real, friend.” He laughed again, seemingly unable to take the Englishman seriously. Weyland opened his mouth to respond, then realized how ridiculous he would seem if he contended the issue. He realized with a start that these people weren’t hiding anything. They were simply attempting to bilk him for what coin they could.

  His guide, who had paused in thought, reached into his pocket to withdraw a small talisman. “But maybe I am wrong. Here, this comes my grandfather’s grandfather. It is very old and said to protect against evil. I have carried it my entire life, so maybe this is why I have never seen a curse. I will sell it to you, yes? Very cheap!”

  Weyland tipped his hat. “Thank you for your time.” Then he turned to depart the camp.

  “You cannot put a price on your safety. Please, Englishman! Let me sell you my charms!” When he did not respond he heard one last call from behind. “This one will protect you from leprechauns … and this one from sprites!”

  With some difficulty, he was able to navigate to the edge of the camp, discovering the perimeter and, by sheer force of will, slogged through the foot-deep snow, completely ruining his shoes in the process.

  He located the dogcart where he had left it and found his driver to be less vigilant than he had expected. He clambered onto the back of the cart and sighed.

  “Back to town, sir?” inquired the driver.

  “Please.” Weyland brushed ineffectually at the snow clinging to his trouser legs.

  After several hours of misdirection and having been solicited what seemed to be the gamut of all things, he departed empty handed. But he possessed one intangible thing: A surety that the Romani were not hiding anything sinister. They had simply played him for the fool he had been.

  Entry Seven

  It was well into the evening when Dominic began his return to the home of Timothy Woolroy, much later, in fact, than he had intended. The coal fires had placed a haze upon the darkening sky some time before he concluded his ill-conceived foray among the travelers camp, and the sun had long since set beneath the horizon, though the last traces of its warm glow still lingered along the edges of the sky.

  In the interim, he had much time to consider the events of the day. Because his method of inquiry had been fruitless, he believed it necessary to reconsider said methods and had thus come to the solution that his abilities were categorically insufficient for unraveling the intricacies of Human behavior. He was, simply put, far more capable of unlocking the mysteries of mechanical function than he ever would be with regards to biological or psychological problems.

  He was troubled at first by his inadequacy in the field, but this anxiety was eased substantially when he remembered that recognition of ones limitations was not only a virtue beyond all others, but also the mark of the enlightened man. It followed then that, in recognizing his inaptitude for human relation, he was actually evidencing his superiority to the common man. It helped also to recognize that those with whom he interacted were well practiced in the art deception, and it should not reflect poorly upon himself that he fell victim to their individually practiced wiles.

  Nevertheless, he looked forward to seeing the results of his colleagues’ investigations. He sincerely hoped, for Niles’ sake, that there was indeed a curse, but rebuked himself when he realized how uncharitable such thoughts were. Was it appropriate to wish good health on his friend when doing so would undoubtedly make ill the plight of Mr. Woolroy?

  He had still been engaged in these thoughts when he climbed aboard the dogcart, and aside from a brief exchange with the driver, had remained in thought as the vehicle began its slow return to the city. It was for this reason alone that Dominic Weyland found himself unbalanced when, moments later, the dogcart came to an abrupt halt.

  Clutching fervently to the hand rails, he turned to discover a young Romani woman standing in front of the cart, her arms outstretched to stop the wildly prancing horse. Strangely elegant and colorful clothes caught the fading light, creating both an aura of power and a mystique of beauty. Could it be … had his earlier surmise of the Romani simply bilking him been mistaken?

  “What is the meaning of this?” asked he, standing on the step of the dogcart.

  The woman strode to stand beneath him, looking up with dark eyes which shimmered in the fading sunlight. He bit back a gasp. Could this be the woman?

  They stared at each other for the space of several moments, then, when she spoke, her voice was surprisingly soft and mellifluous. “You were looking for me? You made it farther than most, with more of your coin intact than many.”

  “Ah, yes, madam,” said Weyland, reflexively touching his purse at the mention of coin. “There is a concern that you … that you … erhm.”

  “That I cursed a man?” She smiled then as if they shared an intimate secret. “Why would I do this when there was no need?”

  “You … you didn’t then?”

  “Silly man, curses aren’t real. Look for your answers in the ways of man, not the fables of magic.”

  With that, she turned and walked away, fading into the growing darkness. He stared after her for several long moments, unsure whether he should believe her. Finally, he nodded and turned to the driver. He believed he had finally puzzled out the curse of the Romani. “Onward, then.”

  Tipping his hat, the driver clucked his horse into motion, and they drove the remainder of the distance to Woolroy’s house in silence. The journey was less pleasant then that which he had endured in the morning. This was due in no part to the driver, who to his credit, maneuvered the dogcart both as safely and as swiftly as one might while minding the snow and ice.

  Rather, it was a combination of lack of lunch and the fact that he was at that time someone saturated. The cart bumped and jarred over each cobblestone and lurched from side to side as the large wheels tried to push through the sloshing snow. He was relieved when the driver offered a blanket which he stored in a case beneath his bench. While it did little to address his existing discomforts, it did bear a noticeable effect in preventing the wind from making the situation worse.

  When they arrived at the residence, Weyland tipped the driver generously and proceeded toward the door. It was not until he was at the steps of the domicile that he realized he had failed to acquire the chap’s name. Setting aside his own discomfort and desire to be warmed, Dominic returned to the driver, who had apparently remained in order to ensure that the gentleman was indeed finished with his services, and being brief in his task, thanked the driver and commended him for his service. With that task complete, he returned once more to the home of Timothy Woolroy.

  Weyland considered it odd when his knock upon the door went unanswered. He could see several lights within the home and soon ventured to try the handle, finding that the door opened easily to his touch. Setting aside his sense of decency, Dominic Weyland entered the home and approached the room in which he had departed from his friends, whereupon he discovered the reason for which he had been left to his own devices.

  Once within the room, Dominic could see that there had been a number of developments following his departure. While Timothy Woolroy remained in much the same position as he had been earlier in the day, Niles sat across from him a large backed chair, and while mostly cognizant, had clearly been affected to some degree by the contents of the tea.

  In addition to this, he observed a man standing with his colleagues, a man whom he recognized as Dr. Thomas. And upon a small end table, someone had gathered a number of devices from Wilson’s home, devices which had clearly been utilized to perform various tests upon the two patients.

  The final change wo
rthy of note was the bearing of Mrs. Woolroy herself, who at that very moment was standing proud and defiant. Gone was the sheepish woman whom he had observed earlier in the day. She held her cross in one hand and was clearly on the verge of tears, but she none-the-less stood her ground in the face of condemnation. “Lies!” she yelled at the men before her, “Your friend must have done something to invoke the wrath of the curse!”

  “As Niles has never interacted with this particular Romani, I find the connection difficult to fathom.” Friedrich’s voice was gentle and soothing, though knowing his friend as he did, Weyland could tell that he was feeling put upon.

  Dominic coughed politely as he entered the room. “Pardon the interruption.”

  All eyes in the room turned to him.

  “As I have clearly taken the floor, perhaps it is best that I reveal the results of my inquiries, especially as doing so will take but a moment. I was told earlier that I should I look for my answers in the nature of man, and not the fables of magic.”

  When no one spoke in response, Dominic Weyland straightened his back and continued. “I puzzled over this with some effort. At first, I considered the nature of man. We are creatures of faith, of philosophy, of tribal nature. Curses are … fables. They are like fisticuffs delivered with fears instead of fists. Yet as I thought, I realized that I was being overcome by my education. Indeed, what is the nature not of man, but of a man? Well, that is simple; especially in the case of such a man as our dear Mister Woolroy. The nature of a man is to chase carnal pleasures. And I might add that the Gypsy woman was quite pleasing, was she not, Mrs. Woolroy?”

  The good Methodist stared at Dominic Weyland. She held her cross with a hand that was both soft and firm as a tear of shame trailed down her cheek.

  Young Weyland continued. “And seeing her there, laying with your husband. How that must have hurt. Not just your love, not just your pride, but to the roots of your faith, yes? The truth of the curse is that it destroyed faith. In this case, Mister Woolroy’s faithfulness in your marriage, Mrs. Woolroy. For that, you have my pity.”

  “He laid with her in my bed!” Mrs. Woolroy shouted, veritably shaking with fury.

  Dominic found it simply shocking to hear this woman speak these words with such vehemence and anger. It seemed completely out of character from what he had known of her.

  “I know that he has lain with other women,” she said, her eyes wet with unshed tears, “but he has always had the decency to do so elsewhere. He brought that whore into MY BED!”

  Wilson shook his head in reproach. “That is no excuse for these actions, dear woman. You have conspired most egregiously against your husband, who by law commands your loyalty and submission.”

  “Loyalty?” said she, a hysterical cackle thinly restrained beneath her words. “Loyalty!? Tell me, sir, about loyalty, for I have seen no such thing in this house. You speak to me of loyalty and the law, and yet you defend that … coxcomb!”

  Wilson raised his hands as if to ward off an attack—which might indeed be shortly in the offing. “I defend his status in this house, not his actions.”

  She nodded with exasperation. “Yes, yes you would. Loyalty. Law. Tell me, sir, what law is greater; that man or that of the Lord God almighty?”

  “Madam.” Wilson drew back. “God does not condone murder.”

  “Then they shall both of them die,” she recited from memory, “both the man that lay with the woman, and the woman!”

  “My God, woman … where do I begin?” Wilson stuck one hand into his waistcoat pocket and gestured with the other. “You have ignored two very important factors. The first of which is that this prohibition is prefaced with ‘If a man be found lying with a woman married to a husband.’ You have provided no evidence that this Gypsy was wed. The second, and I believe that this is the more important of the two, Christ has called us to a new way which is free of the laws of the unrighteous.”

  Her eyes were wide, and she gripped the cross so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “You know nothing. You stand in the way of God’s judgment.”1

  Wilson walked slowly and stopped directly in front of the grieving woman. Placing one hand on her shoulder, he spoke softly. “This is not God’s judgment. It is yours. If what you say is true, then you have an obligation as a Christian to provide your husband the opportunity to repent. It is not your place to cast the Lord’s judgment. Timothy will account for his transgression soon enough, one way or another.”

  Mrs. Woolroy stood silent. She was visibly moved and somewhat weakened by the exchange. It was clear that her resolve was affected by the physician’s words.

  Wilson continued, “Your conspiracy is at an end, madam. You have committed a crime for which the courts will not be lenient, but your crime would be far worse if you had continued on this course. Given the state of affairs, I would feel obligated to testify on your behalf the effect that you are clearly overwhelmed with hysteria. You are not of your own mind, and as such, your actions, while inexcusable, are at the very least understandable. They are the result not of a murderous nature, but rather of circumstances beyond your control.”

  He gestured to Niles. “Byron’s condition is incidental and a result of his own actions, which I might add were conducted with significant expectation of the current result. It would therefore be highly unlikely that you will face any form of charges regarding his current condition. I will even go so far as to encourage him to speak on your behalf, or at the very least to recommend a proficient colleague for your defense.”

  Mrs. Woolroy had begun to wilt before these words. “You are too kind, sir. I thank you.”

  Dr. Thomas then stepped forward. “Being a witness to these events, I imagine that I, too, will be called upon to account for your confession. I concur with Mr. Wilson on this matter. As your personal physician my word will hold weight with the court. Now,” the Woolroy’s physician continued, “I think that it is best that we see to your health. I have done all that I can for your husband, and in truth, Mr. Wilson had the matter expertly in hand before my arrival. If you will come with me, Mrs. Woolroy, I believe that it will be best to begin a regimen of laudanum immediately. It will help to calm your nerves and to restore for you a right mind.”

  With that, the physician departed the room with Mrs. Woolroy, leaving the five friends to care for the infirmed Mr. Woolroy.

  Stepping further into the room, Dominic addressed his colleagues. “It appears that my time this evening was perfectly spent. How the deuce did matters come to a head in my absence?”

  “That, my dear boy, is a tale for the ages!” This from Niles, whose reason for remaining seated became clear as he waved his hand exuberantly enough to be nearly dislodged from his seat.

  Wilson dipped his head as he looked upon his friend in contemplation. “Perhaps the last tincture was a bit more concentrated than was strictly necessary.”

  To which Niles exclaimed, “Ha!” and slumped further into the chair as his head rolled listlessly to rest upon the back.

  Rufus stepped forward to continue the tale. “Friedrich departed shortly after you did to retrieve some equipment. We tested the concentration of alkaloids in Mr. Woolroy’s tea, and on a whim, I did the same following a bleeding. The results were very much worth consideration, but I will save that for my notes. When I spoke with Dr. Thomas he insisted upon seeing his patient in person. He concluded his examination shortly before your arrival, and that is when the matter, as you say, came to a head. He confronted the Missus, and the matter was from that point … strained. You walked in upon her objections. And well done, by the by, for tipping those scales!”

  Weyland stroked his chin thoughtfully. “We, together, have done well. Not just in dispelling a superstition. Our pursuit may have added benefits for society, above our original expectations.…”

  “Yes,” said Wilson, with a nod of self-satisfaction, “and I dare say that I feel good about it. Saving a man’s life aside, I feel as though we have achieved something here tod
ay. We set out to investigate a matter of superstition and in the process brought to bear the light of reason. I am curious how many crimes or injustices are committed under such obfuscations of misguided belief.”

  Niles slapped his hands down on the arms of the chair and leaned forward. “We should do this all the time,” said he, in a somewhat slurred sotto voice. “Well not this, but this.”

  “Does anyone know what he is about?” said Weyland, looking around the room.

  “Investigation, man!” exclaimed Niles. “We should do more … investigation …” His words trailed off into a murmur before returning with the force and intensity of mania. “I can draw upon my estate—none of us are wanting, really—and we can tour the countryside in service of justice and truth and … and whatever it was that you said.” With every word, his speech slowed and his voice deepened until this last phrase emerged with a very froglike croak, which elicited a chuckle from Rufus.

  Weyland thought on this suggestion for the briefest of moment. His afternoon had taught him of more than the futility of speaking with a people as circuitous as the Romani; recent events had also impressed upon him the futility of believing in the supernatural. There was, he supposed, always a rational explanation for the seemingly unexplainable. If he had not been so keen on pursuing his own method of investigation, perhaps things would have come to a head much sooner. “Laugh if you must, but the sod has a point.”

  “I do?” Niles lifted his head blearily. “Why of course I do!”

  “It is not uncommon,” continued Weyland, “for graduates to holiday abroad. None of us have matters which demand our immediate attention, and travel may even assist with Wilson’s interest in starting his own practice; especially if we can acquire some renown. Do you recall the discussion that we had regarding the Royal Society? Yes, of course you do. What do you say we do as we have previously suggested? We can take our holiday, and in the process, endeavor to expand the empirical understanding of this world.”