Terrors (21 page)

The humans, or demon-slaves, or whatever these poor
wretches were, resembled those of the smaller chambers in the other building, but could be distinguished by their darker garb and generally gruffer manner, but what was most horrifying to contemplate was the fact that these poor organisms were apparently penned within the giant room, forced to perform obeisance and offer grovelling labour to the machines which entered, apparently of their own choice,
at one end of the giant room, travelled its entire huge length, and exited at the other end.

And each machine, as served by the poor things that had their being in this monstrous prison-room, would each receive additional parts, or adjustments, or be cleaned or oiled or given a new case, or have a broken or maladjusted piece repaired or replaced, so that each machine, by the time it left the
room, was in more desirable condition and order than it had been at the time of its arrival in the room, while the slaves, who, I finally discovered, were replaced and permitted to go to other pitiable hovels for periods of sleep, invariably left the place of their torment far more worn and dispirited than they had been when they entered it.

I speculated upon the energy-flow of the operations
I had witnessed, hardly noticing the nonsensical murmurs of my guide as I tried to fathom the nature and purpose of this place in which life force was transplanted each day from the beings of human workers (if such they were) into the cold and sterile form of machines.

And yet, at length I did comprehend the baleful burden of the malign whispers of my host. With slowly dawning comprehension I
came to grasp the meaning and the incredible horror of the awful whispers and imprecations which had been falling for so long a period upon my ears. It was almost impossible to credit my senses with the facts which they transmitted to my brain, and yet it could not be denied, it could not be turned away from.

Mine host was inviting me to become one of the demon-slaves who laboured in such hopeless
agony. In the first building, designing and controlling the machines which robbed the life-energies of the poor wretches who worked in the second!

My brain reeled at the thought. What happened next I can only surmise, for even as I passed into a faint I seemed to enter a dread fantasy in which, seized by an inexplicable madness and a sort of demoniacal greed I actually
accepted
mine host’s vile
and despicable suggestion.

Somehow in this fugue my tormented brain seemed to live out a phantasmagoria of indescribable horror and vileness in which, returning to the great metropolis in which I had at that time my home, I somehow contrived to lure my own most loved ones back to the accursed village known as Dutchess City, and install them in one of its rotting and disgusting hovels, there to
exist in horror and a kind of disgusting hopelessness for year after horror-filled year, while I myself rose each morning from my bed of misery and despair and made my way to that cursed edifice where I somehow joined the pale-faced and
pale-shirted demon-slaves, labouring at onerous and meaningless tasks, swilling cup after cup of the disgusting brown fluid to which all the demon-slaves swiftly
became addicted, forcing myself daily to that terrible place where the trays of blasted matter were served as alleged nourishment, watching with a malign satisfaction whenever a newcomer was lured to join and share our depraved existence and with ill-concealed envy whenever one should contrive to escape….

Until finally, driven nigh upon the farthermost shore of madness by the horror which was
my daily fare and by the guilt of having caused such misery to he visited likewise upon my loved ones, I contrived a scheme of abandoning all and, packing my loved ones into a carefully concealed conveyance, stealing away by night and making our way, ere the demon-masters could miss us, to some pleasanter spot.

And in my dream, if dream it was, I succeeded, and yet found myself here, provided
by my keepers with a soft crayon and floppy-edged papers upon which I record my thoughts, for they encourage me thus to record my thoughts, and assure me that I will yet be well, and will be permitted to return to my family.

And yet I wonder betimes, when a gibbous moon leers balefully and my thoughts turn back to what was, can such places as Dutchess City really be? Do demon-slaves labour at
their hopeless tasks and gorge themselves with horrible brown fluid? Was I really one such, and have I really made my escape, or will they come some time in the night, when I am not wary, and by such weird methods of persuasion as my poor feeble brain cannot even guess, re-ensnare me and lure me back to that place of horror and despair?

Please God that it be not so!

It was by far the most severe winter London had known in human memory, perhaps since the Romans had founded their settlement of Londinium nearly two millennia ago. Storms had swept down from the North Sea, cutting off the Continent and blanketing the great metropolis with thick layers of snow that were quickly blackened by the choking fumes of ten thousand charcoal
braziers, turning to a treacherous coating of ice when doused with only slightly warmer peltings of sleet.

Even so, Holmes and I were snug in our quarters at 221b Baker Street. The fire had been laid, we had consumed a splendid dinner of meat pasties and red cabbage served by the ever reliable Mrs. Hudson, and I found myself dreaming over an aged brandy and a pipe while Holmes devoted himself
to his newest passion.

He had raided our slim exchequer for sufficient funds to purchase one of Mr. Emile Berliner’s new gramophones, imported by Harrods of Brompton Road. He had placed one of Mr. Edison’s new disk recordings on the machine, advertised as a marked improvement over the traditional wax cylinders. But the sounds that emerged from the horn were neither pleasant nor tuneful to my
ears. Instead they were of a weird and disquieting nature, seemingly discordant yet suggestive of strange harmonies which it would be better not to understand.

As I was about to ask Holmes to shut off the contraption the melody came to an end and Holmes removed the needle from its groove.

Holmes pressed an upraised finger against his thin lips and sharply uttered my name. “Watson!” he repeated
as I lowered my pipe. The
brandy snifter had very nearly slipped from my grasp but I was able to catch it in time to prevent a disastrous spill.

“What is it, Holmes?” I inquired.

“Listen!”

He held one hand aloft, an expression of intense concentration upon his saturnine features. He nodded toward the shuttered windows which gave out upon Baker Street.

“I hear nothing except the whistle of
the wind against the eaves,” I told him.

“Listen more closely.”

I tilted my head, straining to hear whatever it was that had caught Holmes’s attention. There was a creak from below, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing, and a rapping of knuckles against solid wood, the latter sound muffled as by thin cloth.

I looked at Holmes, who pressed a long finger against his lips, indicating
that silence was required. He nodded toward our door, and in a few moments I heard the tread of Mrs. Hudson ascending to our lodging. Her sturdy pace was accompanied by another, light and tentative in nature.

Holmes drew back our front door to reveal our landlady, her hand raised to knock. “Mr. Holmes!” she gasped.

“Mrs. Hudson, I see that you have brought with you Lady Fair-clough of Pontefract.
Will you be so kind as to permit Lady Fairclough to enter, and would you be so good as to brew a hot cup of tea for My Lady. She must be suffering from her trip through this wintry night.”

Mrs. Hudson turned away and made her way down the staircase while the slim young woman who had accompanied her entered our sitting room with a series of long, graceful strides. Behind her, Mrs. Hudson had carefully
placed a carpetbag valise upon the floor.

“Lady Fairclough,” Holmes addressed the newcomer, “may I introduce my associate, Dr. Watson. Of course you know who I am, which is why you have come to seek my assistance. But first, please warm yourself by the fire. Dr. Watson will fetch a bottle of brandy with which we will fortify the hot tea that Mrs. Hudson is preparing.”

The newcomer had not said
a word, but her face gave proof of her astonishment that Holmes had known her identity and home without being told. She wore a stylish hat trimmed in dark fur and a carefully tailored coat with matching decorations at collar and cuffs. Her feet were covered in boots that disappeared beneath the lower hem of her coat.

I helped her off with her outer garment. By the time I had placed it in our
closet Lady Fairclough was comfortably settled in our best chair, holding slim hands toward the cheerily dancing flames. She had removed her gloves and laid them with seemingly careless precision across the wooden arm of her chair.

“Mr. Holmes,” she said in a voice that spoke equally of cultured sensitivity and barely repressed terror, “I apologize for disturbing you and Dr. Watson at this late
hour, but –”

“There is no need for apologies, Lady Fairclough. On the contrary, you are to be commended for having the courage to cross the Atlantic in the midst of winter, and the captain of the steamship
Murania
is to be congratulated for having negotiated the crossing successfully. It is unfortunate that our customs agents delayed your disembarkation as they did, but now that you are here,
perhaps you will enlighten Dr. Watson and myself as to the problem which has beset your brother, Mr. Philip Llewellyn.”

If Lady Fairclough had been startled by Holmes’s recognizing her without introduction, she was clearly amazed beyond my meager powers of description by this statement. She raised a hand to her cheek, which showed a smoothness of complexion and grace of curve in the flattering
glow of the dancing flames. “Mr. Holmes!” she exclaimed, “how did you know all that?”

“It was nothing, Lady Fairclough, one need merely keep one’s senses on the alert and one’s mind active.” A glance that Holmes darted in my direction was not welcome but I felt constrained from protesting in the presence of a guest and potential client.

“So you say, Mr. Holmes, but I have read of your exploits
and in many cases they seem little short of supernatural,” Lady Fairclough replied.

“Not in the least. Let us consider the present case. Your valise bears the paper label of the Blue Star Line. The
Murania
and the
Lemuria
are the premiere ocean liners of the Blue Star Line, alternating upon the easterly and westerly transatlantic sea lanes. Even a fleeting glance at the daily shipping news indicates
that the
Murania
was due in Liverpool early this morning. If the ship made port at even so late an hour as ten o’clock, in view of the fact that the rail journey from Liverpool to London requires a mere two hours, you should have reached our city by noon. Another hour at most from the rail terminus to Baker Street would have brought you to our door by one o’clock this afternoon. And yet,” concluded
Holmes, glancing at the ormolu clock that rested upon our mantle, “you arrive
at the surprising hour of ten o’clock
post meridian
.”

“But, Holmes,” I interjected, “Lady Fairclough may have had other errands to perform before coming to us.”

“No, Watson, no. I fear that you have failed to draw the proper inference from that which you have surely observed. You did note, did you not, that Lady Fairclough
has brought her carpetbag with her?”

I pled guilty to the charge.

“Surely, had she not been acting in great haste, Lady Fairclough would have gone to her hotel, refreshed herself, and left her luggage in her quarters there before traveling to Baker Street. The fact that she has but one piece of luggage with her gives further testimony to the urgency with which she departed her home in Canada.
Now, Watson, what could have caused Lady Fairclough to commence her trip in such haste?”

I shook my head. “I confess that I am at a loss.”

“It was but eight days ago that the
Daily Mail
carried a dispatch marked Marthyr Tydhl, a town situated on the border of England and Wales, concerning the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Philip Llewellyn. There would have been time for word to reach Lady
Fairclough in Pontefract by transatlantic cable. Fearing that delay in traveling to the port and boarding the
Murania
would cause intolerable delay, Lady Fairclough had her maid pack the fewest possible necessities in her carpetbag. She then made her way to Halifax, whence the
Murania
departed, and upon reaching Liverpool this morning would have made her way at once to London. Yet she arrived
some eleven hours later than she might have been expected to do. Since our rail service remains uninterrupted in even the most severe of climatic conditions, it can only have been the customs service, equally notorious for their punctilio and their dilatory conduct, who could be responsible.”

Turning once more to Lady Fairclough, Holmes said, “In behalf of Her Majesty’s Customs Service, Lady
Fairclough, I tender my apologies.”

There was a knock at the door and Mrs. Hudson appeared, bearing a tray with hot tea and cold sandwiches. This she placed upon the table, then took her leave.

Lady Fairclough looked at the repast and said, “Oh, I simply could not.”

“Nonsense,” Holmes insisted. “You have completed an arduous journey and face a dangerous undertaking. You must keep up your strength.”
He rose and added brandy to Lady Fairclough’s tea, then stood commandingly over her while she consumed the beverage and two sandwiches.

“I suppose I was hungry after all,” she admitted at last. I was pleased to see some color returning to her cheeks. I had been seriously concerned regarding her wellbeing.

“Now, Lady Fairclough” said Holmes, “it might be well for you to go to your hotel and restore
your strength with a good night’s slumber. You do have a reservation, I trust.”

“Oh, of course, at Claridge’s. A suite was ordered for me through the courtesy of the Blue Star Line, but I could not rest now, Mr. Holmes. I am far too distraught to sleep until I have explained my need to you, and received your assurance that you and Dr. Watson will take my case. I have plenty of money, if that
is a concern.”