“Never you fear, Mrs. Mulligan,” Brogan said with a twinkle in his eye. “We’re experts at wriggling information out of the good doctor.”
She offered a very formal curtsy, a gleam of laughter in her eyes. “Begging your pardons, sirs, I’m aiming to traipse about the site of a fire today and am needing to see that I’m well togged for the outing.”
She bounced from the room. The visitors watched her go, then, in perfect synchrony, turned toward Barnabus.
“She’s gorgeous,” Brogan said. “And seems to be quite a ball of sunshine.”
Barnabus nodded. “She is both.”
“And you’re fond of her?” Stone asked.
“Of course I am.”
“And how long has it been since you’ve seen this woman you’re so fond of?’” Brogan asked.
“Three years.” Barnabus knew there was little point ignoring the question. As Stone had so aptly put it, Brogan knew how to make himself a pest. “Gemma doesn’t like to stay in one place long. Explaining the oddity of our situation seemed more complicated than was warranted since none of you were likely to ever meet her.”
“Where didyoumeet her?” Brogan asked. “She sounds like she’s from South London, but you talk like you’ve had a fine upbringing.”
“Sheisfrom South London. I didn’t have a fine upbringing, but I taught myself to sound like I did so my patients would trust me.”
“How long have you and Gemma been married?” Stone asked.
“Three and a half years,” Barnabus said.
The confusion that immediately filled their faces reminded him, once again, of how strange his marriage truly was. Gemma had been gone for so long that he’d managed to convince himselfit was what she wanted.Shehad left, after all.Shehad taken up the life of a vagabond, telling him she’d not care to return until he fell madly in love with her. He liked her and cared about her, but he’d never been top-over-tail in love with anyone. That wasn’t likely to change because of an ultimatum.
She wanted what he couldn’t give. There was no getting past that.
BodiesofLight
being a Fictionalization of Reported and Corroborated Mysterious Phenomena
by Dr. Barnabus Milligan, physician
Chapter One
In recent years, in the area of London near Belsize Park, a young physician by the name of Sefton Palmer established himself as a reliable man of medicine and an individual of inquisitive disposition. Dr. Palmer was trusted by his patients, well-thought-of by his colleagues, and, it seemed, destined for extraordinary things.
Though his practice tied him to his particular corner of the metropolis, he was not opposed to travel and, thus, one day found himself in the countryside of Ireland, visiting with others of his profession. A detailed discussion of various medical discoveries with one colleague in particular had lasted longer than either had anticipated, setting him behind his intended time to make the journey over the then-frozen bogland toward the home of another colleague who waited in anticipation of his arrival.
Dr. Palmer and his trusted horse began the journey on a late-January evening long after the going down of the sun.
Reader, please bear in mind that bogs freeze in winter—they are nearly as much water as soil—and such bogs are easily disturbed by the pounding of horses’ hooves, even when the beast is kept to a sedate pace. Failure toremember these well-established truths will render the following narrative perplexing in the extreme.
Dr. Palmer undertook his traversal of the boggy countryside with an eye to efficiency, not wishing to arrive at the home of his fellow physician at too late an hour. Thus, he set his horse to a quick clip, not as mindful as he ought to be of the dangers of a dark country lane with which one is not familiar.
The oddest of sounds reached his ears. He slowed his horse, to which the animal did not seem to object. In the dark stillness, he listened. Pops. And snaps. After a moment, he realized what he was hearing: the ice in the bogs was cracking. While he intended to remain on the road, it was easy to grow lost on a dark night, something he ought to have considered sooner. And growing lost in the bogland came with a risk of being plunged into a boghole or finding himself unknowingly riding into a lake and drowning.
As if to add to his sudden realization of the precarious nature of his situation, a thick fog began rolling over the land. The already dim landscape grew dark as ink. The cracking of ice grew louder and more frequent. He grew increasingly frustrated. And increasingly concerned.
“Slow and careful.” He offered the instructions as much to himself as to his horse.
What little calm he’d managed to acquire disappeared as a sudden explosion of reddish-white light shot toward the sky. Followed by another. And another. Immense cones of fire appeared all around him. Their size and magnitude varied greatly. Some were six feet in diameter at the base, others five times that size. Their heights differed every bitas much—some no more than the height of a man, others reaching thirty feet into the air.
Two dozen, perhaps more, appeared and disappeared at unpredictable intervals and at vastly different distances. Some must have been at least a mile away. Even as he carefully led his horse onward, the cones of flame continued to appear and extinguish.
The effect was dazzling, shocking, and yet these columns of fire made little impact on the darkness, the light they produced being disproportional to their size. Neither did these pillars of fire add warmth to the frigid night. Dr. Palmer eyed them all with growing confusion and increasing interest. Though the blazes flickered without warning all over the landscape, each individual column stayed in place while it was visible, never wavering from its position.