A Parish Darker: A Victorian Suspense Novella

by Rhys Ermire

  Though two decades had passed since my departure, I had retained an intimate familiarity with the layout of the castle. The only notable deviation was a thin but present layer of dust that had settled over much of the interior. Ample cobwebs could likewise be eyed throughout the expansive hall and from the chandelier above. There had been doors that seemed as if they had gone unopened for extended periods of time, with only a beaten path running lateral from the study’s corridor over to the library being especially prevalent.+

  A strange confidence had arisen in me by the time of our engagement. The mystery of what had occurred twenty years prior had haunted me a great deal, as you have no doubt ascertained from my writings. Yet, it was the correspondence from the Baron that at last put me at ease. I had grown to fear this place, this castle. Now, with my shoes treading its once lush interior that had gone astray, it was not the daunting foe it once seemed. Whether this self-assurance and poise would stand in the face of what was to greet me ahead, I could not say.

  I stepped forward into the corridor where I had last seen the Baron many years prior. The horror of that night had vanished, whether that had been by cleaning or time I could not be sure. Neither blood nor bodies could be seen, though I had my suspicions as to their eventual resting place within the confines of the castle.

  My steps had become heavier in my advanced age. I am no longer the young and naïve man I once confessed to being. I suppose it was twenty years of pondering the horrors of that night that instilled in me the idea that there was no worse that could await me than what I had witnessed that very night. That allowed me to walk without allowing nerves to rattle my confidence to any extent I’d consider significant.

  Upon turning the corner, I once more gazed upon the entrance to the study—the door fully abreast and open to its hinges. As I neared the entrance, the memory of being shut out of the room those years ago left me with a faint worry that the door may once again close and I would once more face the wrath of unknown assailants.

  I knew upon greeting the Baron that I would not be able to hide the toll the twenty years of reminiscing had taken. What I did not expect was his jovial attitude from the past to have reached an apex when he at last stepped into frame just as I reached the doorway.

  My entrance into the study—that very first step—arrived with no fanfare as the Baron’s back had been turned. His dress was more formal than in our last rendezvous. Now in a full dinner jacket, clean, pressed, and suitable for a man of his pedigree, he still preferred to dress dark. He stood just affront me, with his mind on the cages of rodents drawing his attention.

  “Edwin, Edwin, Edwin,” said the Baron with his back still turned, “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see that you have come!”

  Without remarking further, he turned in place and advanced on my position. I put my briefcase to the side and stretched out my hand. “I was surprised to receive your correspondence, Baron.”

  “Never! Never should you be surprised to hear from an old friend,” said he, taking my hand with both of his and shaking as if nothing had ever occurred between us—certainly nothing as grotesque as what had. “Come, come, make this place your home as it is mine.”

  The Baron in his older age had the widest of eyes, as if age had done nothing to slow his mind. In his older years, he had remained as sharp as I remembered and then some. His dark hair had begun to show the mildest of grey speckles, though the few wrinkles on his face did little to undermine his natural vitality. What was most troubling was that his face, even in its advanced age, was familiar to me despite not having met prior to that moment.

  “Age has treated you very well, my dear friend,” said the nobleman to me as he turned his head and looked from side to side. His words were complimentary but surely hollow—at first glance, I would believe myself older than he at this point in life. The Baron had not worried in the same manner as I had and had not lost the sleep that I had.

  “You are too kind, Baron,” I replied, “but I see time has decided to forget you. You look as if you have aged only weeks, not twenty years.”

  I did not take his words to heart and instead only looked around to see the room was now filled with a great many instruments—a great many things existing in configurations far beyond my comprehension.

  “Life can be a great adventure in that way. It is unpredictable for some, very unpredictable. I have always thought that one lifetime is not sufficient for seeing all I wish to see. Surely I must then prolong it as much as possible?”

  I nodded without clearly following his words. My eyes found themselves observing the advanced nature of the room compared to before.

  “A storm is coming this night,” said the old Baron, catching my gaze. “These instruments you see here are barometers for measuring the state of atmospheric pressure. They are but one of many means to an end.”

  When I reached out to touch them, he placed his hand atop mine and led me away, saying, “Come, come, let us retreat to quarters more comfortable.”

  The older Baron had aged with grace and dignity, but time had still taken its toll to some degree. He did not move with the ample agility he once did. His movements seemed more calculated, more precise, and much less sprightly. I nonetheless felt him a formidable physical specimen, despite his age surely exceeding his sixtieth birthday.

  The two of us made our way to the library across the main hall and ventured inside. As with the rest of the estate, it likewise had not changed in terms of furnishing since my previous visit. The Baron invited me into the same seat I had taken when we spoke after the first encounter that fated night.

  “You must be tired, poor friend of mine,” said he, taking an allotment of fruit and placing it to my side. He then poured an alcohol into the glass nearest and offered it to my hand. My suspicion was that the Baron had planted all of the items for this occasion. The fruit was fresh, the glasses had been readied, and nothing was out of reach or needed to be fetched.

  Morse, and whomever else may read these words and those of my past encounter, you may think me mad for this, but I never saw the Baron as a bad man. That was tried as we began the conversation I dictate to you now.

  “Were you at all hesitant to rejoin me here, Edwin?”

  I shook my head. “No, I knew within minutes that I would come.”

  The Baron laughed and smiled as he crossed one leg over the other and rested his knitted fingers atop his knee. “You never cease to surprise me, despite the circumstances.”

  I was unsure what he meant by that, but I had questions for him—whether he suspected as much, I could not know. Those questions were my reason for returning. I knew that if I did not return, with confidence, and seek out those assurances, I would see my grave with that madness begging at my mind until my final breath was drawn.

  “Baron, you must have your suspicions as to why I have come?” I asked, without any qualifying statements to imply subtlety.

  “Surely!” he exclaimed. “Surely you have come for answers to questions even you—traveled and bright as you are—have not yet found the answer. Yet, the real question for you to ponder is not that; it’s none of what you may have considered from twenty years ago. The question that should be on your mind is simply this: ‘Why?’ Why are you here now?”

  “Who should go first?” I spoke with a determination I had not had years earlier, but I was thankful for the Baron giving me the opportunity even if his intentions were not altruistic in nature.

  He smiled. “Let us share these moments and take turns, shall we? You may begin. I assure you I will be as honest as is possible given the state of things.”

  “Twenty years ago, you caught me off guard when, after that… initial incident, you knew Emilia’s full name. Yet, I know I did not share it with you and I cannot recall it being written or recorded anywhere within my things.”

  My host once more brought his hands to his lips to form a bridge to his thoughts. “I was—let us say… I was told.”

  “By whom?”
>
  “No, no, dear boy,” said the Baron, “that would be another question. Fear not, though, as we will get to that. I know a great many things, you see. You and I are forever intertwined, even in moments when it would seem we are not.”

  I gritted my teeth in frustration—something that did not go unnoticed by him. He pointed to my side and commented further: “I know, for example, that you have a sizable knife in your briefcase at your side. I also know that you did not bring it with… how do you say… the noblest of intentions?”

  My eyes moved to it on instinct, but the Baron waved me away with a playful gesture.

  “No, dear boy, I did not mean to startle you. We are friends. It will always be so. I know you did not wish to use such a repugnant thing against me. You only brought it in the event I had such intentions against you, yes? ‘Self-defense’ is the axiom, I believe.”

  My breaths began to come and go at a heavier pace. The Baron took notice of this as well and clapped his hands in front of him, saying, “It is now my turn, yes?”

  Thinking for a moment, he placed his hands together and pointed to me. “Who do you believe were the men that intruded upon this place at that time?”

  “They were vagrants, or vandals—something of that sort.”

  “Edwin, you are sharp! Clever, even!” he said with a tinge of quelled excitement in his voice. “That is absolutely correct.”

  “What qualm did they have with you, Baron? Why would they be so ardent on killing you? Enough to risk their own lives, even.”

  “I see you are using your own questions to follow-up my own. Wonderful! The reason they came here was the same reason you are here.” The Baron again pointed in my direction, as he had begun to do with each new question, and asked, “How many times have we met?”

  Furrowing my brow, I responded with the only answer that could be correct: “If you count this encounter, we have met twice, on two occasions.”

  “But, no!” said he with a grin. “It is not twice, but thrice. We have met a total of three times. Well, perhaps that is not entirely satisfactory, or exactly honest. That will all depend on your perspective.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Baron. You have me at a loss.”

  “Yes, yes, it was meant to come to this. I took as many precautions as one could ever take in ensuring we would come to this point—to now, to here. This room, in these chairs, speaking as we are. Does that frighten you?”

  I nodded my head on instinct alone. “Our first meeting took place in September of 1891. I have revisited those moments and reflected on them a great deal. I have no doubt as to that fact.”

  My words appeared ignored as the Baron continued, saying only, “Those men, the ones who came here with such malice, came here with one single intent—you saw this for yourself.”

  “They came… to kill you?”

  My host nodded. “That they did. That they did! And, I fear that they may well have succeeded if not for your help.”

  “Who sent them, Baron? What enemies have you earned that would call for such an onslaught on your own home?”

  “It is not so simple as that. Or, perhaps it is,” he answered. “I must confess to you that, in retaliation, I have reacted in similar form in the years since. I have arranged for a death that is out of my reach. Do you think less of me for that?”

  I did, to some extent, but did not immediately profess as much. “If it is in the matter of self-defense, men will do whatever it takes to ensure their survival. I have seen them do as much. I have seen you do as much.”

  “You believe that a death can be justifiable, then? We can be just in taking another man’s life?”

  “If it is necessary,” I said, with some hesitance. I did want the Baron to believe me, but even I did not do so. I have always aimed to invest sincerity and weight behind my words, but endorsing the loss of another’s life is not so easily done even now.

  “Twenty years ago, almost to this very day, those vagrants intruded upon this place. They indeed were vagrants. Vagabonds, even drifters. I see confusion in your face as to how I am familiar with them. Never fear, all will become clear. Those men were sent here with that express goal of eliminating me. They intended to kill me and take something from me.

  “What’s more,” continued the Baron, “I must confess they did not catch me off-guard. I apologize if you felt you were in danger, my friend. I did not intend for that and would not have accepted your demise that night. There were moments I expected to be difficult, and others that were less trying than I imagined. I worked within the confines of my own foresight for our sake—surely you will forgive me for that?”

  The older Baron’s manner of speaking was not easily followed, but I nodded, adding, “You say those men came here to steal something, and that something is your work in the study, is it not?”

  “You already suspected as much, did you?” he said, smiling. “You knew before you came here this day, surely. Such a revelation is not new to you.”

  I nodded. “I have not acknowledged as much to anyone, I assure you. I left no word of my suspicions, in writing or otherwise, despite having suspected it since the night of my departure.”

  “Clever indeed, my dear Edwin—you are clever indeed. That work has drawn to it many an enemy. While you may have your suspicions, you have no doubt allowed the finer details to escape you. Allow me to share some of the more pertinent particulars with you now, beginning with this: I am responsible. It is my fault that the two of us were in danger, even outside of the work that I have done.”

  “How do you mean, Baron?”

  “Well, it is complicated, but may be summed up as such,” he began, tapping his boot against the air as it hung over his opposite knee. “Back then, in 1891, I received a most threatening correspondence. It came not in the form you expect, but it ultimately served as the reason we are here today. I spoke of this to no one, as I felt the advantage to be gained from my newfound position was to wait—to await confirmation that would surely come in very, very due time.

  “Eight months passed as I bided time here in this castle. Those men, those vagrants—they presented themselves here in the interim. Confronting their aggressive and unyielding nature became commonplace for me. You could say it was a somewhat common occurrence. I was able to use my advantageous position to take care of them; their mindlessness made them the easiest of targets, you see. I was able to force their paths, their entries, into areas more suitable for… dispatching. It was tiring work, but it kept my mind and body able.

  “By the time of your arrival, many men had already encroached upon this place. Their weaponry was rudimentary—they took not to firearms but to blades and weapons that could primarily be concealed on one’s person. I would later learn the reason for this. Their appetite for destruction was insatiable, as you, yourself, saw near the end of your stay. They acted without a keen interest in self-preservation.”

  I shook my head in an apparent act of disbelief. “Baron, I don’t understand. Who were those men?”

  “No doubt you observed their similar features. They appear quite similar because they are quite the similar specimens. They are vagrants, in all senses. They do not speak this language, instead communicating primarily with rage as an answer to the problems the world has presented them.

  “Imagine if such men—men the world would not miss and would not seek in their absence—were given a mission. This mission was a simple one that involved only killing a man. What do you think would come of it? Even if they were given the opportunity to flee, it would matter little as the consequences would be far from dire should they speak with others or even authorities. Already they had been ostracized by society and forgotten, you see.

  “With the incentive of a prize or a reward, such men’s hearts would be further corrupted into doing nearly anything. If they were to resist, surely they would not last long. In essence, they had quickly proven the perfect weapons—effective and yet still disposable.”

  “How did all of this c
ome about?” I asked, reminding myself that this point remained one of the few to which I could never satisfactorily provide any answer.

  “Ah, the question!” he exclaimed, bringing his hands together in an audible clap by his chest. “That is the question I have waited twenty years to answer, Edwin. My dear, dear friend, you have asked the only question that should matter. I confess to you now that it took some time to wade through the probabilities and deduce the true nature of what had all occurred, both now and then.

  “As a young man—from the youngest of ages—I was hailed for my apparent intellect, but even if I possessed the mental prowess that had been attributed to me, I would not have been able to prevail without aid. Here, I speak frankly and candidly for the first time. Are you certain this is a path down which you wish to wander?”

  I nodded, without hesitation. Our eyes did not break contact.

  “Foremost, I must thank you for your assistance,” said my host of both now and all those years ago. “Without your aid, neither of us would be here now. You were instrumental, and remain so, my friend.”