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The odd disassociation gave him his one slender chance.
A lgernon Swinburne was in no fit state to conduct aninterrogation. He'd been drinking with Charles Doyle, first in theFrog and Squirrel, then in Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, and, in HerbertSpencer's opinion, he'd taken another step closer to becoming achronic alcoholic. The philosopher hoped the pitiful state of Doylewould teach the young poet a lesson.
The Rake had not put up much resistance when they and Burton hadshanghaied him. As a matter of fact, when informed that the seancehad been postponed-which was a lie, of course-and invited fordrinks at Montagu Place, he'd expressed relief, hooked his arms intheirs, and cried: “Lead on, Macduff!”
They had led on, after first indulging in a comedic charade ofjacket and hat swapping which baffled the already befuddled Doyleand had Swinburne in fits of giggles.
Burton headed off toward Gallows Tree Lane, while Swinburne andSpencer ushered Doyle north along Gray's I
They were twice stopped and questioned by the police.Fortunately, Swinburne was familiar with both the constables and,after he surreptitiously lifted his wig to reveal the carroty redhair beneath and whispered words of explanation, they allowed himand his companions to pass.
The next hurdle was rather more intimidating. Mrs. Iris Angellresponded to their hammering on the front door by opening it andplacing herself on the threshold, with hands on hips and a scowl onher face.
“If you think you're setting foot in this house while threesheets to the wind you must be even more intoxicated than yousmell. How many times must I put up with it, Master Swinburne?”
Unable to reveal his mission while Doyle was beside him,Swinburne charmed, flattered, wheedled, demanded, apologised, andalmost begged, all to no avail.
In the distance, Big Ben chimed ten. In his mind's eye, the poetpictured Richard Burton joining the seance, and he jumped up anddown in frustration.
Then he remembered that the agent and his housekeeper had sharedwith him a password to use when on king's business.
“My hat, Mother Angell, it completely slipped my mind!Abdullah.”
“Now then, you'll not be using that word carelessly, I hope. SirRichard will not stand for that, you know!”
“I promise you, dear lady, that I employ it fully cognisant ofthe consequences should your suspicions, which I insist areentirely unfounded, prove to be true. Abdullah, Mrs. A. Abdullah,Abdullah, and, once more, Abdullah! By George, I'll even throw inan extra one for a spot of blessed luck! Abdull-”
“Oh, stop your yammering and come in. But I'm warning you,gentlemen: any monkey business and I'll have Admiral Lord Nelsonejecting you from the premises with a metal boot to yourposteriors!”
She allowed them to pass through.
“Master Swinburne, a message arrived by ru
They climbed the stairs and entered the study.
“Buttock face! Strumpet breeders!”
POX JR5 fluttered across the room and landed on HerbertSpencer's shoulder.
“Gorgeous lover boy!” the parakeet cackled.
Doyle collapsed into an armchair.
Swinburne read the message mentioned by the housekeeper: MissNightingale communicated with me the moment you left Bedlam.Situation understood. Thank you, Sir Richard. I am in your debt. Ifyou require assistance, my not inconsiderable resources are at yourdisposal. I can be contacted at Battersea Power Station.
Isambard Kingdom Brunel
The poet raised his brows and muttered: “An old enemy may havejust become a new friend.”
He took a decanter of brandy from Burton's bureau and joinedDoyle. They set about emptying it.
Spencer abstained from drinking. He felt obliged to remain soberenough to record any useful information Swinburne might extractfrom Doyle. By contrast, Burton's assistant felt it incumbent uponhimself to make their guest-who was too far gone to realise that hewas actually their prisoner-feel that he was among friends; that hecould talk freely. He therefore matched the Rake drink fordrink.
The subsequent conversation, if it could qualify as such, was,to Spencer's ears, verging on gibberish.
Doyle, who didn't seem to care that he was drinking with achild-for that's what Swinburne, in his disguise, appeared tobe-was regaling the “boy” with “facts” about fairies. His voice wasthick and slurred and his eyes rolled around in a disconcertingma
“Sh-see, they-they fiss-fick-fixate on a person, like they'vefig-fixated on me, then they play merry miz-mischief. It'speek-a-boo when ye least essexpect it; diz-distraction when yeleast- urp! -need it; wizz-whisperings when ye least want ’em. Aye,aye, aye, they're not the joyful little sprites I dep-depict forthe pish-picture books, ye know. Och no. I have to paint ’em thatw-w-way, y'zee-shee-see, just so I can sell ma work.” He groaned,swigged from his glass, and muttered: “Damn and- urp! -blast’em!”
“But where do they come from, Mr. Doyle? What do they want? Whyare they tormenting you? What do they look like? Do they speak?Have they intelligence?”
“Och! One q-question at a time, laddie! They are eff-ethericbeings, and they latched onto ma ash-ash-ass-astral body while Iwas shhh-sharing the eman-eman-emanations.”
Swinburne started to say something but Spencer jumped in with:“Sharin’ the emanations? What's that mean?”
Doyle belched, drained his glass, wiped his mouth with hissleeve, and held the tumbler out for a refill. His handtrembled.
Swinburne took aim and poured the brandy. Half of it hit thetabletop.
“The Ray-Rakes want a better sh-sss-society but no one listensto us, do they? They do-don't take us sh-say-seriously. Ye've sheenour dec-declarations?”
“Posted on walls and lampposts.” Swinburne nodded, and quoted:“’We will not define ourselves by the ideals you enforce. We scornthe social attitudes that you perpetuate. We neither respect nor-hic! -conform with the views of our elders. We think and actagainst the tides of popular opinion. We sneer at your dogma. Welaugh at your rules. We are anarchy. We are chaos. We areindividuals. We are the Rakes.’”
“Codswallop!” Pox squawked from Spencer's shoulder.
“Aye, w-well, it was a waysh-waste of good ink and paper. Sh-soour new leader-”
His voice trailed off and his eyes lost focus. The glass slippedfrom his hand, spilling brandy into his lap. He slumpedforward.
“Damn, blast, and botheration!” Swinburne shrilled. “The ballyfool has passed out on us just as he was getting to the goodbit!”
“Yus, and he's out for the count by the look of it, lad,”Spencer observed. “He won't be openin’ his eyes again untiltomorrow, mark my words. What shall we do with him?”
“We'll carry the bounder upstairs and lay him out on the sofa inthe spare bedroom. I'll sleep on the bed in there. You can kiphere, if an armchair's not too uncomfortable for you.”
“I've slept in so many blinkin’ doorways that an armchair is thelap o’ bloomin’ luxury!”
“My sweetie pie,” Pox whispered.
Swinburne stood and swayed unsteadily. He stamped his foot.
“What the dickens is all this fairy nonsense about,Herbert?”
“It beats me.”
By midnight, Algernon Swinburne was staring at the sparebedroom's ceiling, wishing he could be rid of the sharp tang ofbrandy that burned at the back of his throat.
He couldn't sleep and the room seemed to be slowlyrevolving.
He felt strange-and it was something more than meredrunke
He'd been feeling strange ever since Burton had mesmerisedhim.
Tonight, though, the strangeness felt… stranger.