Chapter 14
I cannot say how many hours I managed to sleep, if any, but I awoke the next morning feeling as wrung-out as Pheidippides must have done after his twenty-five miles. To say my dreams had been troubling would be an understatement of the worst kind.
After arriving home the night before I'd gone straight to my room, where I'd paced to and fro for the best part of an hour. As the floorboards creaked repeatedly underfoot, I'd sought an exit from the situation I'd found myself in. My first thought was to quit the professor's employ and take the next train home, but I discarded the idea immediately. I'd discovered that the scar-faced man was part of a larger organisation, and I could not hope to defend my parents against brigands and armed ruffians.
My next idea was to warn my parents of the danger, but this too was impractical. First, my letter might be intercepted, warning the enemy of my betrayal. And second, I knew my parents would not flee their lifelong home. After all, where would they go? And how long would they have to remain there, hidden from the world?
Finally, I debated revealing all to the professor and Roberta. The professor's word carried more weight than my own, and if I told him of the scar-faced man and his desire for the professor's secrets, would the authorities not be stirred into action? But again, I imagined the reprisals against my parents should I take this course of action.
My last two thoughts were somewhat impractical. The first was to flee for my life, but that would take money I did not have, and in any case it would not help my parents.
The second was the stuff of fiction. In this plan, I would arrange a clandestine meeting with the scar-faced man and his entire gang, then blaze away with a pistol until all were dead. As a young man I'd heard stories of gunfights and gold and outlaws in the Wild West from my father, but alas, I suspected that Wild Bill Hickok himself could not have carried out this plan. I was merely a bookkeeper, and in any case I did not possess a revolver.
And so it was that I retired to my bed, my mind still worrying at the awful bind I found myself in.
During my brief moments of sleep I was assailed by terrible visions. The first involved my parents, relaxing in their sitting room of an evening. As I walked in they turned their faces to me, but instead of their friendly countenances I saw nothing but black, featureless voids. In another dream I saw Roberta and the professor hacked to pieces by a maniac wielding a pair of cutlasses, chopping and chopping at their bodies even though they were clearly dead. And in another, I walked the streets of London in complete silence, with not a soul to be seen. The sky was blue and the sun shone gaily, but all life had been spirited away. Hansom cabs stood empty, with driver and horse missing. Goods wagons had rolled to a gentle halt, stopping where they may. Pages from newspapers blew down the streets, tumbling over and over like autumn leaves. And underfoot, repeated tremors shook the ground, until a broad fissure split the city in two, swallowing rows of buildings whole.
Disturbed by my dreams, I was lost in thought as I dressed myself. I'd been supplied with a small shaving mirror, and the eyes that stared back at me were dark with shadows, the face haggard and drawn. It was the face of a condemned man, and I finished my morning ablutions in some haste so as to avoid gazing upon myself at length.
I felt a growing apprehension as I negotiated the staircase to the hallway below. I was in thrall to the man with the scar, with no choice but to follow his orders, and I suspected the expression on my face might betray my nefarious intentions to Roberta and the professor. They could not fail to notice my appearance, and I feared they might subject me to robust questioning as to the reason. I could only imagine the reaction if they learned of my meeting with the stranger, or the shocking news that I was to spy on them both. Instant dismissal was a given, and if the professor felt betrayed enough he might also involve the police.
I took the hallway to the dining room, and on the way one question repeated itself over and over: Could I face the professor and Roberta, and still keep my secret safe?
– — Ω — –
I entered the dining room to find the professor and Roberta already seated at the table. The professor was engrossed in his newspaper, as was his custom, and he ignored me completely. Roberta looked up from her repast to give me a quick smile, and I noticed that she too looked tired. "Good morning, Miss Twickham. Did you sleep well?" I asked her.
"Hardly," she replied. "I worked late, and I believe daybreak was approaching before I finally turned in."
I took up a plate and approached the sideboard, which was groaning under the laden dishes of hot food, but as I prepared to help myself I discovered my appetite had quite deserted me. There was a painful knot in my stomach, and the sight of sausages, eggs and bacon made me feel physically ill. To give the appearance all was well, I took two slices of bread, adding a curl of butter and a spoonful of fruit preserve. Then, with a teacup in my free hand, I returned to the table and took my place.
"Are you not hungry, Mr Jones? I have seen sparrows eat heartier meals."
Before I could reply there was a rustle from the head of the table. The professor had folded his paper, and was tapping his finger on a column of newsprint. "It says here there was a collapse in the
