Alchemy: an historical psychological suspense thriller of perfect murder

by Chris James

  Jacob was none the wiser until he found an explanation – on the last page of Alchemy.

  Do it, in each and every way. Do it all on Michaelmas Day.

  He decided to make himself scarce for the best part of a week, claiming other tutors needed him to attend important examinations.

  It was the middle of another night, soon after, when Jacob awoke, suddenly overcome with the realisation that the professor had known something quite profound all along which he had failed to share with him; the fact that Jacob’s search for immortality through his art, as he promised his father, and what Alchemy explored, were two entirely different kinds of immortality. Yes, Alchemy did assist him in bringing to fruition his potion of Desire and their wider mood collection. Father’s tanner to smile was now accompanied by twenty-five other potions all proven to assist with general wellbeing. Their concoctions had successfully removed freckles, courtesy of guinea-pig Muxlow, warts, verrucae, boils on schoolboy barons’ bums, stubborn sties on young earls’ eyes, and more stubborn faeces in constipated counts. A scullery maid at the school quietly lost her syphilis as did the fourteen pupils she’d infected and another certain young lady, closer than Jacob dared admit out loud, had lost her pox scars – but Jacob had not disclosed that particular case in their laboratory journal. Yet Alchemy, Jacob now knew, was not itself constituted for such mundane purposes. Alchemy explored and set out to answer man’s wildest dream, the darkest of all shades of immortality – the elixir for eternal life. Living forever.

  Quite absurd, Jacob thought.

  After secretly unravelling and translating the last few chapters of the tome, Jacob harboured his first doubts about his mentor’s mental condition. How could such a wise man believe in such tripe? For in those pages the very darkest of dark learning lay before him – resurrecting the dead. How could such a learned man accept there was such a thing within man’s power? Jacob dreaded reaching those pages, knowing the easily-annoyed old man would not accept his refusal to continue. But he never let on to the professor about his discovery. Had he done so, and spoken out against the absurdity of everlasting life and resurrection, he feared their relationship would be severed at a stroke. That would not only end his glorious independence and freedom from regular classes with those snobs and bullies he hated so much, but also limit the number of opportunities for tender moments he could share with Emily during the day. Those days were precious to him. Essential.

  The only time the professor allowed absence was when Jacob needed to attend compulsory studies in other subjects. Since he was not allowed to mix classes with his peers for fear of embarrassing them, all other studies took place when his tutors were otherwise free; evenings, weekends or holidays included, to their chagrin. But the professor didn’t know that. And need not know, Jacob decided, swanning off, ostensibly to whatever class he lied about for an occasional clandestine rendezvous with Emily, or to somewhere quiet to complete her portrait.

  The benefit of so much individual tuition from all his tutors, was exponential to Jacob’s learning.

  ‘The boy’s a genius with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge,’ his tutors agreed in the staff room during a heated discussion about the risks to their own skins.

  ‘He’s way ahead,’ said one.

  ‘Too far ahead,’ said another, adding: ‘We risk being embarrassed, or worse, bled dry of all we know.’

  ‘Thinks he knows it all. Soon he’ll be demanding that he teaches our subjects,’ a grey-beard quipped, ‘and demanding a salary, no doubt.’

  ‘Find an excuse,’ one declared. ‘Find a reason to remove him altogether.’

  And they would have all been most pleased to learn that, as Christmas approached, such a reason was beginning to take shape.

  Tommy Muxlow sat on the bed next to tearful Emily.

  ‘I care for him so. It’s breaking my heart,’ she said, busily twisting her golden hair into ringlets. ‘I manage to sneak out twice a week but that only gives us an hour together. We get rather, well, rather passionate talking about what we’d like to do but what with the farmers and shepherds constantly tending their stock, what can one do in such a short time down by the river?’

  ‘You’ll be better soon and then you could meet more often, I’m sure,’ her brother assured her, stroking her hand. ‘His tutors drive him fiercely hard but I know he would rather be with you,’

  After what seemed an eternity to Emily, Jacob did make an appearance. Emily sat alone in bed, the bump on her head now subsided, as Lady Bedford entered with her portrait.

  ‘Your young beau dropped this off. It really is most extraordinary!’ She placed the picture on the bedside table. ‘I sent him away. He wore neither jacket nor necktie and there’s no one to sit with you. I suggested he return after lunch on Saturday when your brother can sit with you in the orangery.’

  Emily squealed, excited at seeing the painting. She ran to the window. Outside, Jacob walked away across the manicured lawns, past the fountain. Emily turned to admire her portrait, picked it up and danced in a circle holding it at arm’s length. Lady Bedford laughed and left the room, confident the child was well and truly on the mend.

  Emily closed the door quietly, grabbed the glass vials from under her pillow and bit off the corks. Drops exploded onto her tongue. Eyes closed tight, fists clenched, she stamped her feet. Opening her eyes again, she shuddered and ran to the open window, leaned out and put two fingers in her mouth.

  In the garden below, Jacob whipped round, trying to locate the loud whistle. Up at the window, Emily, in only her nightgown, beckoned excitedly and pointed to ivy climbing up to her. Jacob laughed and clanked back towards the house.

  Moments later, Emily giggled as she hauled Jacob in the window by his belt. They tumbled, his leg braces clunking on the floor. They laughed hilariously. Jacob caressed her face, stared into her eyes. Her pupils were about to burst. They kissed passionately. Again and again. Emily got up off the floor.

  ‘The medicine?’ Jacob enquired.

  Emily nodded. ‘What it’s doing to me, I don’t know. But I love it. Love it!’ she squealed, straddling him, her thin nightgown billowing in the breeze from the window, her fair ringlets flowing in the wind. That image, her radiance, was indelibly etched into his mind and would remain with him for the rest of his life.

  ‘An angel,’ Jacob sighed.

  Emily giggled and then slowly slid her shoulders out of her nightgown. The garment slid off, floated down onto his face. She laughed, infectiously. He laughed, as her foot teased his groin.

  ‘Angel?’ she questioned, menacingly.

  Jacob peeped up through the nightdress at the wonder of her body. Emily threw her head back in raucous laughter – then plunged onto him.

  The door burst open.

  A scream – from Lady Bedford.

  A squeal – from Jacob.

  A yelp – from Emily as her ladyship yanked her off him by her hair.

  ‘Out!’ screamed Lady Bedford, lashing at Jacob with her boot.

  Chapter 4

  I fled from Emily’s boudoir, leaving Lady Bedford yelling and screaming at her, and dashed down the hallway towards the main staircase and freedom – certain her ladyship’s wrath would soon follow me. But Rebecca, no doubt curious about the commotion, came out of her room in her night attire and blocked my path. She dragged me into her boudoir, slamming the door quickly behind her, locking it and laughing before sliding the key down her heaving cleavage. She came straight to the point, pinning me against the door.

  ‘My sister says you’re doing things to her,’ she said, and then smirked, raising her finger to her lips and whispering, ‘Shhh.’

  ‘I’ve not touched her!’ I quietly protested and tried to push her away. She resisted. With Rebecca dressed only in a flimsy nightgown, and I being locked in a room with her, and a bedroom at that, I listened intently to the pursuit outside fearing discovery and a thrashing from Lady B. Fortunately, still yelling, milady rushed past Rebecca’s door. In retrospect, I
wish now I had suffered capture and torment from her ladyship rather than endure the next few hours locked in there with Rebecca.

  ‘The potions?’ Rebecca said, releasing her grip on my wrists and stepping back from me. ‘They’re making her so... so much more interesting.’

  She had walked over to the windows and I’m sure was quite aware that the sunlight streaming through her nightgown put every inch of her on display. But I am only human and having just seen one sister stripped completely naked, cannot deny I was aroused by the other blatantly egging me on. Or was I imagining things?

  ‘Jake, darling,’ Rebecca began, sidling up close to me seductively. She entwined her fingers with mine. ‘I need–’

  ‘I don’t think Lady Bedford would approve right now,’ I blurted out. But she suddenly appeared embarrassed. Was that possible? Did such a condition actually exist in Rebecca’s repertoire?

  ‘Can you keep a secret?’ she asked shyly. ‘I have a problem.’ She could tell I didn’t understand. ‘Down there,’ she said, casting her eyes downwards as she pressed her breasts into me. I must have looked puzzled for she pulled my hand between her legs. ‘There,’ she said, cheekily.

  She let go of me, turned and looked out of the windows towards the woods yonder. ‘Fell for the gamekeeper’s charms. Became his poachee,’ she said, her back to me.

  I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t know what in damnation she was talking about. After a few moments, she turned and faced me. My lack of understanding of her apparent plight angered her. She lifted her nightgown and unashamedly showed me she wore no drawers. Raising her voice, she said, ‘A poach-ee, poach-ed by the poach-er.’

  At last, I got it. Understood. The lady has the clap. Christ! And I’m locked in her bedroom with my hand on her privates. And if my ears didn’t deceive me, Lady Bedford was below that window within shouting distance.

  ‘Get the hounds!’ I heard her ladyship call out. ‘There’s a scoundrel loose in the grounds!’

  Rebecca pressed me up against the door again. ‘I was wondering…’ she continued bashfully, running her finger down my chin. ‘D’you think–’

  I opened my jacket. She saw the line of little pockets, a selection of glass vials all in a row. A cure was surely on its way, she must have thought, for she relaxed immediately. I picked one.

  ‘Sit. Relax,’ I ordered her, and was pleasantly surprised she obeyed, plopping onto the edge of the flouncy bed and frankly, looking a picture. ‘Got just the thing. Naughty man’s cherries.’

  ‘Er – no! Had my fill of those,’ Rebecca said, grimacing. ‘The state of them when I refused to do what he asked. But he did persist so.’

  I smiled and uncorked the vial. ‘Now promise me, once you’ve taken this, you’ll let me go.’ She nodded. ‘Head back. Open wide,’ I barked. And she followed my instructions precisely.

  Three drops of the nectar drizzled onto Rebecca’s tongue and watching her reaction was sheer delight. Her mouth open wide, her salivating tongue waggled and she smiled, breaking into laughter.

  ‘Quiet or you’ll have Lady Bedford onto us,’ I warned her, placing my hand gently over her mouth as she clutched onto me. Squeezed me. Gripped me between my legs and pulled me close to her. She writhed and twisted – but she wasn’t in pain. She was in ecstasy. Small waves of flesh formed and rippled down her face, down her wonderful neck and, as she ripped off her nightgown, I watched as they passed down through her voluminous breasts to her stomach.

  She winced, grabbed herself between her legs and threw her head back. Anticipating a yell I covered her mouth again and she bit my hand, dug her teeth into me, drawing blood. I fought to free it but she gnashed her teeth at my face – a tiger loose in her boudoir. I cannot deny, it was exciting. Wincing and whining, she hissed and spat at me, keeping me at bay until I smothered her head in her discarded nightgown to drown any noise about to break through.

  After a few moments she was quiet. I removed the nightgown, aghast at what was happening to her face. Eruptions all over. The pox scars were popping open all over her face. Each rose like a dark volcano and then erupted – leaving raw new flesh as the evidence of change. One after the other they quietly exploded, alarming her. She was aware something extraordinary was going on with her face – but frightened she was losing her one vital asset, I don’t doubt. I fought to keep her hands away, struggled to ensure she let the potion do its work. Eventually, the eruptions desisted. There were no more to erupt. Rebecca’s face was completely new, the skin on her face like a baby’s. She became silent but for harsh panting, like she’d run through a forest; sweating like she’d run through a waterfall. Her eyes closed.

  I knew what would happen next; the scullery maid I’d treated with this same potion became uncontrollable, wanton. I had to get out of there, before she awoke. But this was Rebecca, sister of my beloved. Could I risk leaving her, with Emily so near? Would she blurt out our little secret? And Lady Bedford still hovered somewhere out there on the other side of the door. Exhausted from all the excitement, I decided to lie next to Rebecca and wait.

  I awoke to find the tigress with the newborn face on top of me – riding me like a stallion, fumbling with my trouser buttons.

  ‘Off!’ she yelled. ‘Get them off!’

  ‘You promised you’d let me go!’ I yelled back, fighting her off.

  ‘But you knew this would happen, didn’t you?’ she yelled.

  ‘That’s why you must let me go, girl!’

  She settled for a moment, panting. Still on top of me. And she did look a picture with her new pink face. As her breasts rose and fell to her deep panting, and so very close my face, I found I was getting aroused. Her reaction was immediate.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ she whispered. ‘Show me you want me.’

  ‘No. No, it wouldn’t be true. It’s Emily I–’

  ‘Are you a man or a mouse?’ she snapped, still working on my trousers. ‘Boys of thirteen could marry, just a few years ago.’ She grasped my manhood. ‘What d’you think it’s for?’ Her boudoir skills were certainly well polished. She raised herself and had my trousers off in seconds. I was tortured with embarrassment as my ugly leg braces were revealed – but she took not the slightest notice. Within moments she had lowered herself onto me.

  ‘Oh thank you, Jacob!’ she gushed, as she moved her bottom slowly and rhythmically. I suddenly forgot all about my dilemma and Lady Bedford. Every part of me was enjoying her. Her groaning became more rapid, the rhythm faster, until I feared reaching a point of no return.

  ‘We’ll have to–’ I tried, half-heartedly. ‘We must stop!’ I gasped, hoping she never would. But thoughts of my sweetheart on the other side of the house were giving me second thoughts. ‘Emily might–’

  ‘Emily?’ she replied, ‘She won’t mind a bit.’ Her pelvis rose and fell faster than ever. She was gulping for breath now. ‘You really are… the most beautiful man and…’ her face screwed up as she gulped back an inward scream. ‘She wants us… to share you. We share… everything. We want you to… love us both.’ I felt myself explode inside her. And with that her whole body shuddered, my hand tight over her mouth lest the whole neighbourhood came running.

  She rolled off, panting heavily beside me, before curling herself into a foetal position, her thumb in her mouth like a small child. I was satiated. Sore, but completely satiated. And Rebecca appeared content, at last. But I was confused. What had happened had been entirely against my will – to begin with – but I had developed feelings towards her. A lust for her which she rewarded so admirably. As I looked at her naked on the bed, I found myself growing hard again and was thrilled that my further enjoyment would have had Emily’s blessing. I would have taken Rebecca again, under my own terms, had it not been for that knock at the door.

  ‘Becca, the door’s locked. Let me in.’

  Emily.

  I was half naked and, for a moment, had no idea where my trousers were. Finding them under the bed, I slipped them on hastily over my leg irons and he
aded out of the bay window. I prayed there would be ivy climbing to this window, too.

  There wasn’t.

  Outside on the ledge I pressed my back to the wall, out of sight from those inside, but within sight of two gardeners busily tending to flowerbeds around the fountain below – fearful they should happen to look up.

  The window wide open, I heard Rebecca’s door unlock and Emily rush in, giggling and gushing with news.

  ‘You’ll never guess! Lady muck caught me earlier with– Oh! I see you’ve been... busy.’

  I feared Emily had seen the untidy bed and I leaned forward to look. Trembling, I glimpsed Rebecca taking a seat at an array of mirrors on her dressing table in plain sight within the bay window, brushing her hair. She glared at me through the glass, a discreet nod of her head warning me to steer clear.

  ‘What’s this?’ I heard Emily yell. I saw Rebecca duck as one of my glass vials shattered a mirror on the dressing table. ‘He’s been here? You’ve been canoodling with my beau?’ Emily yelled, standing right behind Rebecca now, pulling her hair. So much for we want you to love us both, I thought. I screwed my eyes shut, and leaned back against the wall for fear of being discovered.

  But I was too late.

  One of the gardeners laughed, distracted by the girls shouting, he pointed me out to the other. They stood and stared, leaning on their garden forks, laughing.

  ‘You don’t own him, dear. I can’t help it if he finds you so dull!’ Rebecca’s bitchiness was on top form. And I could do nothing about it. ‘He’s a bloody cripple. You can’t be seen with him anywhere! Can’t take him to any debutante’s ball; so you might as well share him with me.’

  Then the fighting began. I heard them screaming and hissing at one another, glass being broken and a final expletive I would not have expected from Emily, as a complete triple-mirror came thundering through the bay window and crashed into the fountain below.

  My dilemma was heightened as one of the gardeners pointed at Lord Bedford’s carriage approaching in the distance. I decided not to hang around and faced the dangers head-on, sidling across the bay window in front of the two girls fighting until reaching some ivy to climb down. Fortunately, they were too occupied with each other to notice me. The gardeners applauded my departure when I finally reached the ground and fled.