Peregrine Harker & the Black Death

by Luke Hollands

  The cellar I’d entered was filled from stone floor to stone ceiling with wine bottles. Most of them covered in a thick layer of dust. I stopped to get my bearings and, turning to my right, noticed I could see a crack of moonlight falling into the blackness. Within moments I was underneath the grill. It was made of heavy iron, but it looked like it could be shifted. I was still carrying my tool bag, so I once again took out my jemmy and began working on my escape. At first it seemed impossible, but with brute force I managed to loosen it enough. With a heave I managed to push it skyward. I hung on to it for fear it would drop on to the street above and alert the policemen who were trying to arrest me four doors down.

  It was then the old man burst into the cellar, dressed in a long nightshirt and sleeping cap, and brandishing what I can only describe as a giant old-fashioned blunderbuss. The old fool began shouting in French. That was my cue to leave. I pulled myself out of that hole quicker than if the devil himself had been chasing me. As soon as I was on my feet I began running at full pelt towards the hotel. I had only been travelling seconds before I heard the old man bellowing for help, I turned briefly and saw his head poking out of the grill. From the sounds of police whistles and shouting it was obvious I’d been spotted.

  God knows what streets I ran through that night, I headed as fast as I could through the darkness desperate not to be caught. It would not help Louisa’s cause if the man sent to save her was actually locked up in a French jail. As I ran I could hear the clatter of feet behind me. The further I ran the less clattering I could hear, but nevertheless I sensed I was still being pursued. Somehow I ended up close to where the chase had started, in the Jardin des Tuileries. Nearly out of breath, I checked there was no one directly behind me, before throwing myself into a nearby bush. I watched as three policemen flew past, one of them blowing a whistle. I slowly heard the whistle disappear as the trio fled into the distance. I waited for at least ten minutes before emerging from my cover and checking my surroundings. I seemed to be in the clear. I decided to make off back in the direction of my hotel, but no sooner had I put one foot forward than I heard the chilling sound of a pistol being cocked behind me and a voice barked: “Halt!”

  25. Shocked and exhausted

  I froze on the spot. How could I have been so stupid to get caught by a flat-footed French policeman? I cursed under my breath and raised my hands. I heard my captor step towards me. Someone was right over my left shoulder, when all of a sudden, instead of delivering a blow to my neck, this person gave me a kiss on the cheek. I then heard the most delightful voice in the world.

  “Hello, Peregrine. Fancy meeting you here.”

  For the second time in a matter of days I had been saved by Louisa. I spun round and grabbed hold of her.

  “Louisa, what the…” I stuttered. I couldn’t take it in. What the blazes was going on?

  “That’s right, my dear Mr Harker. I’m not quite as missing as you thought and, for a second time, I’m about to save your life. Come on, we can’t stay here chattering.”

  She sprinted off across the gardens, her long fur coat and fur hat blending in with our gloomy surroundings. I’d lost her once, I was not about to lose her again and so I gave chase.

  It was my guess we were heading north. My suspicions were confirmed as we crossed Rue de Rivoli and then again a short while later, as we crossed Rue La Fayette. We were heading towards Montmartre. I had heard of this part of the city, and what I had heard was rather seedy. What was Louisa doing taking me to this den of Bohemian vice? She stopped a few times on the way to check we were not being followed. Each time we stopped I tried to ask her what the blast was going on, but she silenced me, before setting off again.

  We eventually reached a bawdy backstreet. Cafés and bars spilled onto the narrow thoroughfare, with loud music and the sound of people enjoying themselves pouring from each establishment. We weaved our way through the packed passage before she led me through an archway on our left. It led to a flight of stairs, covered with a fine red carpet.

  The stairs opened up to a long landing, similarly carpeted. The landing ended with another set of stairs, but these were less fancy, the bare splintered wood uncovered by any carpet. At the top of the stairs was a door. It was through this Louisa led me. The door opened on to a ramshackle room. It consisted of an artist’s easel with a half finished painting, an unmade bed, a chaise longue and a dresser strewn with empty plates, glasses and wine bottles. The floor was bare but there was a large Turkish rug covering at least half of the wooden boards. As soon as we were inside with the door locked behind us she turned to look at me. There was a smile on her lips, she seemed like she was about to speak, but all of a sudden she swooned. I dashed forward and grabbed her before her delicate swaying body fainted in my arms.

  It was some moments before she came round. I laid Louisa on the bed and took a seat next to her. I found a jug of water on the dressing table and poured us a drink. As she came to I gave her a glass. She gulped it back quickly, making her cough and splutter. She wiped her mouth and smiled sweetly.

  “Dear Peregrine, I’m so glad I found you. There’s so much to tell.” She struggled to sit up but near enough collapsed again.

  “Easy, Louisa, there’s plenty of time, you must take it easy,” I replied. She seemed completely exhausted.

  “No, there is no time,” she said, taking the rest of the glass of water from me and finishing it in one go. “I have come so far to find you, and these few restless days have seemed like such an eternity, I have to speak.” The story she then told chilled me to the bone and left me almost as shocked and exhausted as Louisa appeared.

  Louisa’s tale began the night I delivered her back to her father’s house after the ordeal at the boxing den. She’d slipped in unnoticed and was surprised to find her father was still awake. What’s more she could hear him shouting. He seemed to be having a very heated discussion with someone. She slipped towards the door to see what was occurring.

  “What do you mean the fight was called off?” she heard her father shout angrily.

  “There was someone there, some fool saved Harker,” a voice replied. It was Grey talking about me. Louisa began listening even more intently, what would her father’s reaction be? The answer to her question was pure rage. She’d heard the clatter of items being cast from his desk and a roar of anger.

  “I gave you one task, Mr Grey; one task and you have failed yet again. Harker can not be allowed to disrupt our plans.”

  It is what he said next that brought our worlds crashing down.

  “If that whelp Harker is to believe everything he’s been told,” he continued, “if he is to carry on thinking he is tackling these fictional smugglers, and not simply covering up our own gold smuggling operation, then we must get rid of him once and for all. The explosion in Wapping did not kill him, and he now seems to have avoided my little ruse with the boxing ring. If he is to continue tying his own noose then I am afraid we will have to send him on a little trip. Have that young fool Harker dispatched somewhere distant, and make sure he does not come back. Let us say a trip to Paris perhaps, it would be a fitting place for him to end his days. Tip off the Prefecture of Police, that Celestin Hennion fellow with his Tiger Brigades. You may as well spin a line to the Deuxième Bureau too and, Grey, take precautions to ruin Harker’s name at home. Just in case he returns from the dead yet again. I want you to make him seem like an utterly vile criminal.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” chuckled Grey in his smarmy fashion.

  “Now then, Mr Grey,” continued her father. “I’m afraid my little plan will involve my daughter.”

  There was a sudden interruption from Grey.

  “I hope you don’t mean to dispose of that little hussy before I‘ve had my wicked way with her? You promised I could have her, you promised if I did everything you said then she’d be mine for the taking.”

  “All in good time, Mr Grey. All in good time,” her father replied.

  A rage built up i
n Louisa and tears flooded her eyes. How dare her father let Grey talk about her like that? It was all too much to take. What had happened to her father? What vile impostor was this that spoke with his voice but not with his heart? Confused by anger Louisa had adjusted her position by the door and slipped. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was all she could do not to scream. She stood and turning round was horrified to discover Mr Woolfe the butler standing behind her.

  “Unhand me you vile brute,” she hissed.

  “Quiet, Miss Louisa, I’m not here to hurt you, I am here to save you,” he replied. “I have served your father for many years my dear. In that time I have witnessed some terrible things, now it is time for me to make a stand. It is too dangerous for me to explain everything now, but you are in terrible trouble, my dear. You must flee, you must find young Mr Harker and save him. Tell him the Raja holds the solution to this problem and is being held here in your father’s vault. Now run, my dear, run!”

  Unfortunately for Louisa I had decided to walk from her father’s house to my rooms, she ran about wildly trying to find my hansom cab, but to no avail. By the time she reached my home I had already departed for the continent. It was then Louisa decided she’d flee secretly to Paris, discover my whereabouts, warn me of my impending danger and ask me to help her discover the meaning of her father’s words.

  She knew Paris fairly well, having studied there at a finishing a school the previous summer. While in the gay city she had become bored of her finishing lessons and made friends with many of the bohemian types in Montmartre, the painters, the poets, and the philos-ophers. Louisa knew she would be able to hide away among those bawdy streets. And that was how we came to find ourselves in the lodgings of a painter who had decided to head to warmer climes in the Azores for the winter. He’d gladly put his apartment indefinitely at Louisa’s disposal for the large sum of money she’d offered him.

  But the problem came in trying to find me. She knew I was heading to Paris. But where would I stay? And, more importantly, would she find me in time before Grey blackened my name? She explained it had been the past few days that had driven her to nervous exhaustion. She had called at all the upper-market hotels in Paris where she thought I might be staying. But what if I was not at a hotel, how would she find me then? She’d no answer. All she knew was if she didn’t find me then she’d probably spend the rest of her life running and not knowing why her father had said the things he had.

  It was purely by chance that on that very evening she had decided to visit the Place des Pyramides and in particular the Hotel Regal. She’d caught sight of me leaving to visit her supposed captors’ house and had given chase, but my efforts to lose any followers had proved too successful and she had been left behind. It was only the large police presence surrounding the town house that had alerted her to my predicament. When I’d emerged from the old gentleman’s cellar she’d given chase, along with half of the Parisian police force. She pushed on, even though her legs were aching and her head was spinning, she pushed on even though her throat was dry and she could hardly catch her breath. And when all the policemen had finally been deceived by my dive into the bushes in the Jardin des Tuileries, she kept her eyes open and spied me crawling out of the undergrowth.

  Everything she said felt like a terrible dream and, by the end of her tale, she was in desperate need of rest. Her eyes closed and she fell almost immediately into a deep sleep, a sleep I suspected would last a thousand years if not interrupted. I left Louisa enjoying her peaceful slumbers, and a note explaining I would be back soon. I checked I had my revolver. An outing could lead to trouble and, at that moment, trouble was the last thing I needed. I slipped out of the room and into the street.

  The morning was approaching and the revellers from the night before were fast disappearing. After an hour or so of strolling deep in thought I decided the only way I could solve this crisis was through action, return to England, find the mysterious Raja then confront Sir Magnus. I presumed from Clayton’s comments to Grey, about making it difficult for me to return to England, meant they wouldn’t be hanging out the bunting for my homecoming. It would have to be a secret return to London. There was only one person I knew I could trust. If anyone could help me, it was Archie Dearlove of His Majesty’s Royal Navy.

  After strolling through the now quiet streets I eventually found a hotel that agreed to send a cable. I slipped the hotel concierge a handful of centimes, and he agreed a message boy would run the reply over to our lodgings as soon as it arrived. Before heading back to Louisa I stopped off at a small Boulangerie for the first of their baguettes. After a further scout around I managed to lay my hands on a creamy cheese and some dark bitter chocolate. At times of crisis I find having a full stomach makes things a great sight easier to deal with.

  When I returned to the room Louisa had already awoken and was sitting on the bed gazing at the window. I watched her briefly, holding the door ajar, before opening it fully and entering the room. She turned round quickly, her pearl-handled pistol pointing at my chest, a look of wild anger on her face. It melted when she saw who it was.

  “My God, where the devil have you been?” she scolded. “I thought something awful had happened to you. If you are to write me a note, you must put more than ‘be back soon!’” I could tell it was not mock anger.

  I explained where I had been, and how I knew Archie could be relied upon to help. When I had finished my brief account she asked me when she thought we would both be leaving. It suddenly occurred to me she would either have to come with me. That, or stay in France, a great distance away from any protection I could give her. It felt like madness to take her back into the lion’s den, but it felt wrong to leave her locked away in Paris. I prayed I would not regret the decision I had made. “Most probably in a day or two,” I replied.

  We were coming close to the end of the chocolate when there was a brief knock on the door. We both reached for our weapons. I motioned Louisa to move to the hinge side of the door and hide behind it. I put my arm behind my back, hiding the revolver, in case our visitor was friendly. I opened the door ajar and peeked through. Thank God, it was the message boy, and he was clutching what could be our salvation, nodded to Louisa, signalling it was alright, at which she let out a deep breath. I opened the door fully and took the message from the lad, before paying him. He smiled and tottered off back down the landing. Once he had gone, I shut the door and locked it. I crossed over to the window and gingerly peeked outside, just to check the lad had not brought any policemen with him, but the street seemed quiet. I crossed back to the bed and sat down to read the contents of Archie’s reply. It was fairly detailed for a cable, but trust Archie, he’d come up trumps again. In a few days’ time we would be back in England and we would have our answers.

  26. Two fugitives

  Archie’s cable suggested we take an evening ferry crossing. At first I thought it sounded like a good idea, but once we were on the boat I was not so sure. As we left Calais the waves began to beat relentlessly on the side of the vessel, and we began to roll and list uncontrollably. The darkness made the experience a great deal more unpleasant. The buffering continued for some time and, even though the waves calmed a little as we approached England, it was still too much for some of our fellow passengers. A few of them were chatting wildly about drowning and premature death. Louisa and I had other concerns, which is why we were sitting quite silently, gazing out at the darkness, the plan for the night’s events running through our minds.

  We had so far followed Archie’s instructions to the letter. He had given us the name of a trustworthy gentleman in Paris who arranged transport to the coast. We had made the journey quite uneventfully; well, as uneventfully as a journey can be on the back of a farmer’s wagon. We had kept our wits about us at all times, checking and double checking we were not being followed. We had used fake names when we booked reservations on the evening crossing from Calais to Dover and settled ourselves in a discreet corner of the bar for the journe
y.

  I suddenly felt the ship began to slow. We must be approaching Dover. I crossed to the window, to see if I could spy the lights of the Kent coastline, but they were distant and far off. Why the devil were we slowing now? It was far too early. After a while it felt like we had almost come to a full stop. This was not part of Archie’s plan. The chit-chat in the saloon picked up, as others caught on to our lack of motion. I signalled to Louisa to stay put, then, pulling my coat about me, went on deck to see if I could gain an explanation. The night was bitter cold and flecked with icy rain. Through the darkness I could see the lights of Dover twinkling in the distance. Something was wrong, there was no good reason why we should stop here. I crossed to the starboard side of the boat and gazed over. There was nothing there. I made my way to the port side and peered into the blackness. There was a light, and it was coming from a small steam launch that had pulled alongside. Something was definitely very wrong. I noticed a rope ladder had been lowered to the launch. Perhaps its crew were already on the ferry? It could surely be no coincidence the ferry had stopped with Louisa and I on board. I quickly made my way back inside. By now the talk in the bar had escalated. People were becoming quite excited and were desperately trying to peer out of the misty windows. I quickly took Louisa by the hand and led her to a quiet corner. She spoke before I could say anything, I could see fear in her eyes.

  “Peregrine, those people, say we have been stopped because there are two fugitives aboard and the Navy has come to capture them,” she hissed in a panicked whisper. “What are we to do?”

  I needed to think quickly. Where could we run to? It was far too great a distance to swim, and even if the shore had been closer we would last only seconds in the icy water. Perhaps the engine room, or some crew compartment could offer protection? I let Louisa know my plan, but before I could put it into action I saw the look on her face change to one of horror. I felt a vice-like grip on my arm, and a rifle barrel jab into my lower back. It was too late. Our valiant attempt at escape had been foiled before it had even started. We would have to play this one out and see what happened.