What were they? What had caused them?
Rain began to fall, and with it, the columns of fire disappeared into the mysterious night.
The icy bogs continued to crack. But no more towers of fire appeared.
In three-quarters of an hour more, he found himself at the home of his colleague. Despite the shocking oddity of all he had seen, Dr. Palmer no longer felt upended nor worried. His was, after all, a mind more predisposed to curiosity than to concern.
“Palmer,” he was greeted, “I had nearly given you up.”
“I left after my time.” He set his hat on a hook near the door and pulled off his dripping wet coat. “The journey itself took longer than anticipated due to a most extraordinary experience.”
He was forthwith shown to a bedchamber where hecould change from his damp clothing. Though the hour was terribly late, his interest in all he’d seen proved greater than his exhaustion. While his fellow physician most certainly longed to seek his own bed, Dr. Sefton Palmer thought not of that possibility. A mystery weighed on his mind, and his mind never permitted itself to be ignored.
“Have you ever, whilst traversing the bogs, experienced anything odd?” Palmer asked his colleague.
“Odd in what way?”
Palmer proceeded to describe what he’d seen in as much detail as he could. Only after expending tremendous energy on the endeavor did he realize that his account might not be believed, that his colleague might deem him confused or even mad.
“Strange things are spoken of on the bogs,” the other doctor acknowledged. “Though I cannot say I’ve heard tell of precisely what you describe, I would not dismiss the encounter out of hand. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’” Ending his reply with a nod to the Bard was quite common for Palmer’s colleague. He himself, though, was not so poetic.
“I know what I saw, but I do not know how or from whence it came,” Dr. Palmer said. “Neither do I know in what other forms it might occur. But, mark my words, good sir. I will solve the mystery of these sudden bursts of light even if I am required to dedicate the remainder of my life to doing so.”
Such declarations should not be made lightly, for they have a most disconcerting tendency to come true in surprising and far too often destructive ways.
Chapter 4
Though Barnabus and Brogan were meant to be spearheading the efforts of CALL, they quickly realized, upon arriving at the location of the fire, there was not much for them to do. Family members of the Dread Penny Society had joined the cause and sorted the effort quickly. Kumar’s wife was remarkably good at assigning tasks for maximum efficiency. Móirín Donnelly, Brogan’s sister, kept a weather eye out for trouble. Hers was a good heart, but she was also a force to be reckoned with.
Hollis Darby’s newlywed wife, Ana, was there, assisting in the efforts. All the DPS knew that she was secretly London’s most capable sneak thief despite her outward appearance of a sweet and quiet society lady.
Elizabeth Black was participating, though anyone noticing her there would assume she had come as Fletcher’s guest; their nuptials had finally been announced, and the two would be married in a few weeks.
All the participants were curious as to who Gemma was. Again and again, Barnabus gave the same answers to the same questions. She was his wife. No, she hadn’t been around the place. Her long absence came about because she enjoyed moving around and didn’t stay in one place for long. It must’ve been acceptable; Gemma never offered more details or corrected the ones he offered.
She dove eagerly into the day’s efforts, making friends easily and conversing comfortably with newly met people. It was, no doubt, a skill that had served her well during her frequentwanderings. Barnabus hadn’t the same knack for it. His early years had been spent in almost complete solitude.
His mother had been snatched by a pair of macks upon arriving in London when she was a young woman. With no one to save her and no means of escape, she’d lived her life tied to a brothel, held prisoner by a ruthless madam.
Barnabus had been born there and grown up there, seeing and hiding from things no child should ever encounter. His only escape had been wandering the streets for hours on end, sometimes digging bottles out of the mud of the Thames to sell for ha’pennies. But a child alone on the streets was hardly safe. By the age of five, he’d witnessed his first murder. By eight, he’d stopped being surprised by any of it. By twelve, he’d decided he meant to do something to change it all.
The CALL had borrowed carts to use for the day’s efforts. The items they’d brought to offer the locals were set out. They had bread and produce. Someone had obtained secondhand stockings and gloves in decent shape. Barnabus knew a few other charitable-minded doctors who shared his desire to help the less fortunate, though perhaps without his zeal for it. They had contributed some medicine and supplies.
Barnabus’s eyes briefly met Stone’s and Fletcher’s. They meant to do a little snooping about while the charitable distribution provided them with cover. Barnabus didn’t mind being left out of the search. He liked solving mysteries, and he liked helping people. But he got far more satisfaction out ofdoingthings that addressed those problems rather than rooting out all of the reasons for them.
Fitzgerald Parkington, a member of the Metropolitan Police and an invaluable source of information for the DPS, stepped up beside Barnabus.
The man was hard as steel and good as gold, a rare combination. And, though he hadn’t been told the entirety of theDPS’s activities or identities, he knew more than nearly anyone else outside the organization.
Fletcher had even suggested he try his hand at writing penny dreadfuls. He had tales enough to tell, no doubt. And they’d heard him spin any number of good ones during the time they’d been working with him. If he would finally set pen to paper, they could let him in to the Dread Penny Society and stop keeping so many secrets from him.
For a time, Barnabus had thought Parkington might be the mysterious Dread Master. But Parkington, while willing to bend the rules when absolutely necessary, would balk at breaking them entirely, which the DPS did regularly.
“Fine thing the lot of you are doing,” Parkington said. “A bit of a departure from the usual snooping, though.”
“An author can’t ever stop learning all he can about people and the world,” Barnabus said. “And if that learning helps people in trouble, so much the better.”
Parkington seemed doubtful that was the full truth, but let it pass. “Brogan pointed out Mrs. Milligan to me.” He narrowed his eyes on Barnabus. “She’s a beauty.”