The Forgotten

by Saruuh Kelsey

  The carriage alights in front of a three storey dusty-brick building. It would be unremarkable in any other district of London but it stands out here for its distinctively ordinary appearance. No boarded windows, no broken doors, no beggars. My hands won’t lie still. This building is horribly out of place and I am terribly out of my comfort zone.

  “Nice area,” Carolina says with a sneer. She places her hat on her head and the driver opens her door to help her to the ground.

  Branwell assists my getting out of the carriage, and we look up at the building at the same time. A number of steps lead to a wooden door and above it, set in stone, is the word Olympiae. Aside from that there are no outstanding features.

  “How are we going to get in?” asks Bran.

  Carolina rolls her eyes. “Through the front door. What other way would we enter? And do leave the talking to me; you know how you ramble, Branwell.” She picks up the skirts of her dress and marches up the steps. My brother and I share a look of worry as our cousin rings the bell but we have little choice but to follow her.

  It takes several moments for a man in a brown suit and a flat cap to swing the door open. He tilts his head and looks at us peculiarly. “Can I help you?”

  Carolina’s tone is swimming with self-importance. “We are the relatives of William Ravel, and we are here to collect his belongings. I trust you know about our visit.” She’s scarily like our Aunt Emily, her mother-in-law, right now. I wonder if she’s emulating her.

  “I …,” the man flounders, He thinks for a moment and then ushers us inside. “I’ll get Mr. Norcross.”

  We’re led into a wide lobby of pastel walls and Parisian furniture. Glass chandeliers hang above our heads and I almost forget why we’re here, distracted by the light playing on the glass. But I can’t forget my father’s death for long. I sit on the edge of a gold and pink chaise, Branwell beside me, and Carolina opposite in a jewel-embellished chair. The wealth is staggering and overpowering in the way of people with newly acquired money, everything on display.

  It takes several minutes for a man to stroll into the room. He’s dressed in extravagant velvet and silk clothing and has a severe expression of distaste on his face, shrewd eyes beneath greying hair.

  “Family of William’s?” he asks.

  Carolina stands and narrows her eyes at him. Bran whispers “Oh dear.”

  Our cousin answers haughtily. “We are here to collect any possessions he might have left here. Why you haven’t already sent his belongings to his family home is a mystery. I’m trying very hard not to be insulted, Mr. Norcross.”

  “I am afraid we had everything removed.”

  “You did what? Take me to his office now.” There will be no arguing with Carolina. She’s definitely impersonating my aunt. “Since you’ve been so inconsiderate and discarded his possessions as if they were rubbish like a true imbecile, we would like to see where he worked.” She clicks her fingers. “Now, Mr. Norcross.”

  Norcross cannot complete the impossible task of finding an answer; he turns and bids us to follow him down a hallway papered in gold and cream. It smells of roses, a shade too sweet, and I spy them decaying on a windowsill. The man leads us to a shining gold elevator.

  “Quickly now,” he urges impatiently. “Get in.”

  Carolina strides into the lift with her nose in the air. I can’t begin to wonder what she’s gotten us into. Hesitantly, I step inside the metal box with my brother. The lift closes, lurches, and my stomach jumps into my throat. The only thing keeping me from panicking is Bran’s hand on my elbow.

  The journey is mercifully fast but I cannot get out of the thing quick enough.

  “Oh, be brave, Bennet.” Carolina rolls her eyes. “It’s only an elevator.”

  Norcross watches us with disdain but he doesn’t lower himself to speaking. Instead, he takes off down another cream and gold hallway, stopping at a dark wooden door.

  “This was your father’s room,” he announces in a flat voice. “Take as long as you need. You know where the exit is.” With that, he takes off along the hallway and out of sight.

  “What a charming man,” Carolina remarks sarcastically, her expression returning to normal, all traces of Aunt Emily gone. “Shall we go in, then?”

  The door opens with a low creak and what meets us inside is quite the opposite of what I expected. I thought there’d be machinery and cluttered messes but the room is bare. All that’s left is an empty bookshelf and a desk. Carolina heads straight for the desk. “There’s nothing here,” she proclaims after a while, disappointment ringing clear in her voice.

  Bran says “Nothing in this office, perhaps…” I see a spark of the old mischief in his eyes. Whatever he is thinking, I am dead set against it.

  “What are you thinking?” Carolina asks with intrigue.

  “That we should see what else there is on this floor.”

  And what if someone should find us?” I demand, panic settling into my bones, my lungs, tightening.

  “We’ll tell them we got lost,” Carolina answers, patting Bran on the shoulder, impressed.

  “I don’t like this,” I protest even though I know it will fall on deaf ears. My brother and cousin have already opened the door. I follow them, as I always do.

  Carolina releases the next door along and is greeted with the sight of a middle aged man sat at his desk, a perplexed expression working its way across his face. “Heavens!” she breathes. “I am terribly sorry, I was looking for someone else.”

  He stares at her but says nothing. The poor man’s completely mystified.

  “Sorry to trouble you,” she adds, closing the door.

  Bran suggests, “Perhaps we ought to be a bit more careful.” He approaches another door. He puts his ear to the wood and pulls it away quickly. “This room is occupied.”

  “Not that one then,” Carolina sighs. “How about … this one?” She follows my brother’s example and listens for sounds of life from the inside. “I can’t hear a thing from in here,” she whispers hopefully.

  She turns the brass handle and miraculously, the room is empty. Hastily, we file inside and I press the door closed behind us. My heart is racing as I listen for anything from the corridor outside, be it footsteps or angry whispers to call the police.

  “Look for anything that could concern the device,” Carolina tells us.

  Bran is already at the desk, searching through the drawers. I join him. “It would help if we knew what to look for,” I say. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Carolina rifling through a wooden cabinet. “

  Bran is careful to keep his voice down. “We need something that could tell us where the Lux is.”

  “Look at this.” Our cousin waves us over to join her by the cabinet. “’Olympiae: For the betterment and progression of humanity’. Is that the thing you saw on the scroll?”

  “Yes.” He nods. “Do you have any idea what it means?”

  “Not a clue,” Carolina states cheerily. She tucks the sheet of paper into a hidden pocket in her dress.

  Bran rummages keenly through the same drawer, producing a sheet of blue paper. “Blueprints,” he says wonderingly. His fingers sift through the contents with an edge of desperation and remove two more blueprints from the cabinet.

  “We should be going,” I urge them. I’m conscious that the more time we spend here the more likely we are to be caught in the act of not only trespassing but now theft. “Do you think those will be of any help?”

  “Well, it’s a start.” Carolina disappears around the wooden edge of the door.

  “For heaven’s sake!” I hiss. “She’s not only going to get herself killed but us as well.”

  Bran takes me by the arm as we quickly cross the room.

  I half expect our cousin to come running back inside, screaming at us to hide ourselves, but she only leans her head around the door and waves us out. The building is silent, and even though we have to walk along several corridors to exit, we don’t come across a single soul. N
ot even the man in the brown suit and the flat cap is there to escort us out. It’s all very odd and discomfiting.

  “Does it not seem as if most of their employees are absent, to you?” asks Carolina when we’re safely inside the carriage.

  “Maybe it’s a small company,” I offer.

  “With that many rooms?” Carolina shakes her head, a wry smile transforming her lips. “Not likely. Now that they have that thing of your father’s they don’t need to stay in business.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That their business was a ruse—something to convince your father to give them that device.”

  “It’s called the Lux.” Bran sounds short tempered. I wonder what has changed to transform the enthusiasm he felt inside of the building to this.

  I’m not convinced Carolina’s right. “That seems an awful lot of trouble to go to for something so small. My father was hardly a master inventor.”

  “Maybe.” She examines the buttons on her gloves. “But it’s an idea. We’ll find out what happened to William, don’t you worry.”

  “I think,” Bran says in a careful tone, “that whatever did happen to him had something to do with Olympiae, whatever that even means.”

  “I think you’re right,” Carolina agrees. “Whatever it does mean, we’ll uncover what happened to your father. That is for sure.”

  ***

  Branwell

  12:28. 27.09.1878. London.

  I hear Carolina coming down the corridor minutes before she enters the room, her heeled boots clicking with each step. I resist the urge to bolt through a side door. Benny, across from me with a copy of Wuthering Heights open on her lap and a scowl on her face, looks up when Carolina enters the room.

  “Look lively, Branwell,” Carolina chastises and a number of retorts flash through my mind. I’ve always had a sort of sibling rivalry with my cousin. Since childhood, each time we’ve seen each other, there’s always been a teasing, competitive nature to our relationship. “I might just have solved the mystery.”

  “You mean Jeremy might just have solved the mystery,” I fire back.

  “Oh, do be quiet. Though, you’re right. I’ve received a letter from my husband giving us a fair bit of information we weren’t aware of.”

  “Like what?” Benny asks, placing a strip of painted suede between the pages to mark her place—a birthday present from our valet that she always uses.

  “You know I wrote to him last night.” Carolina takes a seat in the chair in front of the fire. Florence bustles about her, ensuring she has tea and sandwiches. My cousin seems to preen at the attention, sitting straighter and watching Florence with a favourable eye. “He did a great deal of digging, and has come back with the name The Olympiae Club.”

  “Didn’t we already know that?” Bennet sighs.

  “Yes, but now we know what kind of men they are.”

  I lean forward in my seat. “And what kind of men are they? What do they do?”

  Carolina flattens a piece of paper on her knees. “Jeremy says they are a very wealthy organisation—a secret society for all intents and purposes. It’s an elitist group; only a select few are permitted admission, and those who do have to meet extensive criteria.”

  “Criteria such as what?”

  “Jeremy doesn’t say. I doubt he knows, but we’ll find out. I’m quite sure this is the beginning of a journey of discovery.”

  “A dangerous, fretful journey,” Benny mutters under her breath.

  ***

  Bennet

  23:43. 28.09.1878. London.

  I thought I would feel different returning to the Olympiae building with Joel among us—safer perhaps, less likely to run into bodily harm—but somehow I find myself more nervous than the first time we visited The Olympiae Club. But that could be because this time I’m aware of the club and the things they stand for. Or maybe it’s the starless night pressing on all sides of the carriage, threatening and unknowable, that makes my heart race. Or my anxiety for Joel’s safety, along with my brother’s and Carolina’s.

  Bran puts his hand in mine, and at first I think it’s to reassure me but then I feel the slight tremor in his fingers and I realise he’s drawing strength from me. I sit a little taller and adopt a confident outward appearance. I almost feel better for a moment, until we halt at the side of the Olympiae building. Even in the darkness I recognise it; angular and sharp. Entirely deserted if the unlit rooms are anything to go by.

  “How are we going to get in?” I ask Bran as we exit the carriage.

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Carolina says with a secretive smile. “I’m more than capable of breaking a simple lock.”

  I begin to ask why she would ever know how to do such a thing but I decide I’d rather not know. Bran gives her a mystified look but says nothing, watching as Joel slips to the ground beside us and ties the horses’ reins to a pipe on the wall.

  “I hope that will hold them,” he worries with a backward glance at the dark animals as they sigh and huff at each other.

  With a smile, I say, “So do I.”

  “Alright, enough chatter—all of you in,” Carolina orders as quietly as her loud persona will allow. I’m stunned to see she’s already gained access to the building via a side door.

  Joel bends down to whisper, “Your cousin certainly doesn’t hang about, does she?” The contrast of the cold night air and the warmth of his breath coerce a shudder from my spine.

  I head after my brother and cousin. “She’s reckless.”

  “And yet efficient.” Joel holds the door open for me and closes it safely behind us. A white light flares up in Bran’s hand, illuminating the long corridor before us. Strangely enough the walls are of stone, not the pristine gold and cream colour scheme of the rooms we saw before. It’s also excruciatingly cold, and to improve matters, damp.

  “Miss Ravel,” Joel says quietly and drapes his blazer over my shoulders. “It’s awfully cold in here.”

  “Bennet,” I correct automatically, my face warming. “And thank you, Joel. You’re very kind.”

  “You don’t have to thank me.” He smiles and falls silent, walking alongside me, his broad frame casting deep shadows on either side of him.

  “Any ideas about where we’re going?” Bran asks Carolina who’s storming ahead with fierce determination.

  “Onwards.”

  Bran’s voice drips with sarcasm. “My apologies—I meant to enquire if you had any worthwhile ideas about where we’re going. I’ll assume not.”

  “Oh, do shut up, Branwell. Do you have any suggestions as to how we should proceed?” Bran is silent. Carolina is smug. “I thought not. When we find a door, we will go through it. Until then—onwards.”

  We walk for what feels like five minutes though it could be any length of time, until the light in Bran’s hand distorts in its arc and we discover a door set in the brick wall. Carolina waits for the rest of us to join her at the doorway—it’s impossible to keep up with her manic speed—and then she takes Joel by the arm and pushes him through the door with all her slight weight before any of us can react. My stomach somersaults. A panicked sound falls from my lips and I reach out as if to pull him back but Joel is already through the door. I let my disgust show on my face as I spin to face my cousin.

  Guiltless, she says, “He’s here for our protection, is he not?”

  Anger bubbles up in me as I march through the door. “Anything could happen to him!”

  “You didn’t have to throw him to the dogs like that,” Bran agrees.

  “It’s empty,” Joel assures me, turning back. “No harm done.”

  “And if there had been someone here, what would you have done?” I’m aware of my voice rising.

  “I’d have fought them valiantly,” he says light-heartedly. “You need not worry about me, Miss—Bennet. I can take care of myself.”

  My anger fades into embarrassment. I duck my head. “You’re right. Shall we go on?” I point down the corridor, thi
s one in the lavish décor I had expected. White-painted wood panels, doors of engraved gold metal, each with an ascending number. Empty, the whole way down, but my heart still beats hard as I wait for us to be caught.

  “Those aren’t … genuine gold are they?” Bran asks.

  Carolina looks sceptical. “I doubt it. That would be an absurd waste of money.”

  “You did say The Olympiae Club was wealthy,” I point out, looking between Carolina’s unravelling blonde curls, my brother’s flush—foolishly excited—face, and Joel’s straight shoulders as he stands to attention, watchful. I don’t want to lose any of them. I want to leave—but my father’s inventions may be here and I won’t ignore his final wish. “Which door?”

  Carolina answers, in charge of us yet again, “All of them. Branwell, Bennet you investigate the doors on the left. Dashing young coachman, you can help me search those on the right.”

  Joel isn’t entirely sure what to do with himself but he recovers quickly. I realise I am staring at him, memorising his rough-hewn features as if I will never see his face again, and I tear my eyes away as he speaks. “What are we looking for?”

  “Two devices,” Bran tells him. “At the very least, something telling us their whereabouts or capabilities. I thought we’d found a blueprint of one of them, but that turned out to something else entirely.”

  “What was it?”

  “It’s not important.”

  I look at Bran curiously. He’s fidgeting, a sure sign he feels uncomfortable.

  “Well. It was some kind of a … a … device intended for …”

  “Intimate exploits?” Joel guesses and Bran nods, blushing to his ears.

  “I think Benny and I should search the room now,” he says, already moving.

  Joel is smiling. “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but how are we meant to see? All the rooms are dark.”

  “Oh,” Bran breathes. “I brought two of these.” He gives Joel an identical light to the one in his hand—a small tube made entirely of gold glass, giving off white light—but Carolina intercepts him and takes it for herself.

  “Thank you, Branwell,” she says sharply before disappearing into the first room on the right, calling for Joel to come after her.