Is coming…
Marie and the adult Mallums were sitting in the parlour when Sir John came in. Marie looked up at him, concerned.
“How was Lord du Bois, mon cher?” she asked.
“I think I rather startled him at first, but after a brief conversation he recovered his composure,” said Sir John. Mr Mallum looked a little concerned.
“I trust you didn’t put him in an ill humour,” he said.
“Not at all,” said Sir John, “when I left he was distinctly gay.”
“So,” said Marie, ”there was nothing of concern?”
“Nothing at all,” said Sir John. “Where are Mr Bosch and the girls on this moonlit evening?”
“Mr Bosch is taking his walk and the girls have retired to bed early. I think they are tired from the ball,” said Mr Mallum.
“What’s that noise?” said Mrs Mallum. “It’s sounds like a kettle.”
They all listened as a high pitched sound got louder and louder. Finally there was the crash of the front door opening, and then the parlour door as Phlebotomous came in screeching.
“Your Girls!”
“Wolves! They’re wolves!” he said, and presently four giant wolves came in after him. Instantly, everyone jumped on the furniture. The four wolves started circling around the chair Phlebotomous was standing on.
“Oh, my girls! We must warn them!” said Mr Mallum. “The beasts are in the house!”
“Mr Mallum, these are your girls,” said Phlebotomous.
“What!” he said.
“They’re werewolves,” said Phlebotomous. One of the quartet nudged the chair and it wobbled, provoking a strangulated noise from Phlebotomous.
“I really hate heights,” he said. Suddenly, Mrs Mallum burst into tears.
“This is all my fault!” she said.
“What?” said Mr Mallum.
“It skips a generation or two, my mother was … I hoped our daughters would be spared,” she said.
“You knew?” said Mr Mallum.
“I didn’t dare admit it, even to myself,” said Mrs Mallum.
“What are we going to do,” wailed Mr Mallum.
“Look, a coach has drawn up,” said Marie.
“Who is it?” said Mr Mallum, “I can’t see from this chaise-longue.”
“Someone tall, I think, with a dog,” said Marie.
“Lord du Bois!” said Mr Mallum. “He has come to save us!”
The figures approached the house and could be heard coming in the front door. A large dog came into the room. Instantly the dog barked and growled at the four werewolves. The four turned to face her and the largest wolf started to growl back, before the dog barked ferociously. At this, all four wolves lay down and made whimpering noises. The Jennings and the Mallums got down from the furniture. Phlebotomous stayed on the chair.
“Honestly!” said the dog. “What kind of a numpty halfwit goes looking for a magical dog and leaves the one they have sitting at home?”
Instead of Lord du Bois, a young lady came into the room.
“Have you managed to successfully intoxicate them?” she said to the dog.
“Morag! Miss Henderson!” said Sir John. “We are most delighted to receive your presence here this evening.”
“Aye, I imagine ye are!” said Morag.
One of the joys of writing a novel about historical Paris is having to do research into historical Paris. I’m discovering that fin-de-siecle Paris is even more interesting and bizarre than I’d imagined. The air seemed to be filled with esoteric ideas, nouveau musique and the aroma of exotic beverages. I had no idea, for example, that Debussy was a Rosicrucian.
The pictures today are from a hotel we stayed in last year in Paris. Lovingly rendered by Ms Pichette, they show the small bar in the lobby with the painting behind it and an absinthe dispensing device on the counter. One could almost hear the chatter of insurrection and decadence, of art and aesthetics, coming from the corner…
Phlebotomous walked into the garden and looked at the spot where the wolfsbane had been. He saw that it all been picked. He was wondering if there was enough to prevent du Bois turning into a werewolf, when Patience arrived.
“Ow-oooh!”
“Hello Mr Bosch,” she said. “How are you this night?”
“Very well, er, Patience,” he said. “Isn’t a little late for you to be out?”
“Oh I’m a big girl,” said Patience. “Besides, it was you who wanted to meet by moonlight. Very romantic, B.”
“Excuse me?” said Phlebotomous.
“Excuse me, too,” said Joy, coming to join them. “What are you doing here, Patience? Are you trying to ruin my rendezvous like you ruin everything else?”
“Me!” said Patience. “What are you doing here? I was invited. I had a note.”
“Well I had one too!” said Joy.
“Really? Then show me,” said Patience. Joy’s face fell, further than usual.
“I … I can’t,” she said, “I lost the note.”
Patience looked triumphant when Prudence arrived.
“Why don’t you show us your note, Patience?” she said. “Or don’t you have it either.”
“Prudence, you too?” said Joy.
“The note was mine first, you stole it, I’m sure. It was on the seat when you all left,” said Prudence.
“Ladies,” said Phlebotomous, “I’m sure there’s been some simple mix up.”
“I don’t have it either!” shouted Patience. “It was stolen from me.”
“Do you mean this note?” said Constance, joining the quartet and brandishing a piece of paper.
“You stole it!” said Patience.
“I didn’t steal it, it was given to me,” said Constance.
“You stole it from me,” said Joy to Patience.
“No, you did from me,” said Prudence.
There was a quiet moment where the girls all glared at each other.
“Ladies…” started Phlebotomous.
“It’s obvious Mr Bosch would prefer me because I’m the most sophisticated,” said Patience. Constance made a snorting noise.
“If staring out of the window is sophistication then you may be right, but I think sophistication comes from knowledge, and that comes from reading,” she said.
“But what you read is immoral fantasy,” said Joy. “At least I read something about the ethics of proper conduct, as befitting to Mr Bosch.”
“Mr Bosch is a sensitive soul who needs an artistic companion,” said Prudence. “Besides you are all ugly hags.”
The other sisters gasped at Prudence.
“Ladies, please …” started Phlebotomous.
“Please, Mr Bosch, let me defend you from these slurs on your character,” said Constance.
“Slurs! I’ll show you slurs,” growled Joy.
“Are you threatening me?” snarled Constance.
“You are both, tedious bookworms,” barked Patience.
“Shut up!” snapped Prudence.
“Ow-oooh!” said Patience. Phlebotomous looked at her. Her nose had started to extend and hair was growing over her face. She fell to her hands and knees and her arms shortened and thickened. A long tail came from her back. Her mutation complete, she stood nearly to Phlebotomous’ chest. Her breathing was low and heavy.
“Girls!” said Phlebotomous to the other three. “I think you sister’s a werewolf.”
He heard no reply, so he turned to look at them. Three more wolves looked back at him. At his feet he saw the patch where the wolfsbane had been, now removed.
“Who’s a good girl?” he said hesitantly to the quartet of werewolves.
Here at the Benthic Times we were delighted beyond belief to receive the artwork for the forthcoming Jennings and Jennings collection. We would like to offer thanks and felicitations to the talented and wonderful Aiko Tagawa.
Lord du Bois was dressed in fine clothes and with a rose in his top button. He was just leaving the front door of Bennet House when Sir John arrived. The evening was deepening into night and the full moon was just showing
“I Know”
“Good evening Sir John,” said du Bois.
“Good evening Vulpine,” said Sir John, “are you going out?”
“Yes … I rather fancied an evening constitutional,” said du Bois.
“Without Arthur?” said Sir John.
“Ah … yes … he is a little overtired. At the ball, he was rather popular with the children and has needed to rest. If you’ll excuse me,” said du Bois.
“Perhaps I could accompany you,” said Sir John.
“Ah … perhaps it would be best if you didn’t,” said du Bois. “The ground is rather muddy and I’d hate you to spoil your clothes.”
“But you seem dressed rather well for such a walk?” said Sir John.
“Is everything all right?” said du Bois. “Your manner seems a little off, have I offended you? Is this because of that flower your wife had?”
“In a manner of speaking,” said Sir John. “Lord du Bois, Vulpine … I know.”
Lord du Bois’ face fell. “How, when?” he said quietly, his usual enthusiasm gone.
“At the ball, I wondered before, but the ball confirmed it.” said Sir John.
“I knew it,” said du Bois, “I went too far, it was too obvious. Talking to Marsh as I did.”
“Yes that was a large clue, letting on like that,” said Sir John.
“Will you tell anyone?” said du Bois.
“Something must be done Vulpine,” said Sir John. “For the sake of the Mallums’ reputation.”
“Oh Lord, do they know!” said du Bois.
“No,” said Sir John, “I haven’t told them.”
“But, surely you can find it in your heart to turn a blind eye. No one is being hurt,” said du Bois.
“But Lord du Bois, it’s … it’s immoral,” said Sir John.
Lord du Bois turned away to look at the moor. A tear ran down his face in the moonlight.
“So people say, but how can it be. It’s natural, it’s what I am, who I am,” said Lord du Bois.
Sir John sighed.
“You seem a decent man, I’d hoped to reason with you, to get you to stop,” said Sir John.
“I don’t want to stop … I … don’t think I should. It feels right, not wrong.” said du Bois.
“But, my god, to tear apart that livestock in that way,” said Sir John. “That can’t be natural.”
“I … what?” said du Bois.
“The savagery on the animals and the impact on the Mallums. It isn’t without consequence,” said Sir John.
“What are you talking about?” said du Bois.
“Lycanthropy,” said Sir John. “You’re a werewolf.”
“I’m a what?” said du Bois. “I thought you were here because I’m a … a confirmed bachelor.”
“A confirmed bachelor?” said Sir John.
“You know … the love that dare not speak its name. But I can speak my love’s name. It’s Marsh, the Mallums’ butler. I passed him a note that night, and I’m going to see him now. We’ve been lovers nearly since I got here.”
“Oh,” said Sir John.
“That’s … not what you meant?” said du Bois.
“No, I thought you were the beast. I think it’s a werewolf,” said Sir John.
“Why … what … why would you think that?” said du Bois.
“I, never mind,” said Sir John. “Back to square one again!”
There was a silence.
“You won’t, say anything,” said du Bois. “I have money, I can…”
“No,” said Sir John. “I don’t want any money and don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thank you”, said du Bois. “They’d throw me in jail.”
“It’s nothing,” said Sir John. “Please, go to your lover. Have your time together.”
We have been inundated today by an unbelievable number of readers asking us exactly what was the milk drink that Mr Bosch, from our hit story The Cornish Curse, was drinking before his bedtime. A flurry of rumours floated around the internet, forcing us to remind folk that Phlebotomous might be a vampire, but he is a vegetarian. To quell further rumours and to allow people a taste of The Benthic Times, the recipe is produced below:
1 Cup Warm Milk
1 Star Anise
1 Stick Cinnamon
1 Grating of Nutmeg
Instructions
Combine ingredients in cup. Allow to settle so tastes infuse (but not too much so milk grows cold). Take to room and drink. Turn out light. Turn light back on again when you realise it is still a little dark and hence frightening. Sleep until evening.
“What a marvellous evening and what a marvellous host,” said Mr Mallum at the breakfast table with all the family and guests. “I had the time of my life. How did everyone else fare?”
“It was very pleasant indeed,” said Marie.
“When is it full moon?” said Patience.
“Why do ask?” said Mrs Mallum.
“No reason,” said Patience.
“Tonight,” said Constance, “I think.”
“Then I had better…” started Sir John. “I shall call on Lord du Bois to thank him for the ball.”
“Oh, what a wonderful idea!” said Mr Mallum. “I shall accompany you.”
“No!” said Sir John and Marie together.
“It will be better I go alone,” said Sir John. “Because … I have some matters to discuss.”
“I see,” said Mr Mallum uncertainly. “If you think that’s best.”
“Special Place?”
“Mr Bosch, shall the maid prepare your bedtime milk drink?” said Mrs Mallum.
“That would be very nice,” said Phlebotomous,” I may take it up to my room, I’m a little overtired from the dancing.”
“Yes, it was nice of the girls to all dance with you during that waltz,” said Mr Mallum. “They practically ran across the room! Clara Monkfish was rather surprised, actually. I think she’ll recover, it was only a small fall from when Patience ran into her.”
“You room,” said Prudence, “would you say that was a special place?”
Her sisters all glared at her.
“It’s … a pleasant room,” said Phlebotomous warily.
“But not … special?” said Prudence.
“I’m sure Mr Bosch’s room is perfectly adequate,” said Mrs Mallum.
“Mrs Jennings, you may care to go for a walk this afternoon,” said Phlebotomous. “Before Sir Jennings goes out.”
“Oh!” said Marie. “Yes, thats a very good idea.”
“To the special place,” said Phlebotomous to Marie, and the four sisters all watched him attentively.
“Yes, I understand,” said Marie.
“Where the flowers are, in fact,” said Phlebotomous, “where I walked last night.”
“Yes,” said Marie, “it is perfectly clear.”
“So that…” continued Phlebotomous.
“Yes,” said Sir John, “we understand.”
“Well, I shall be off to sleep then,” said Phlebotomous.
“So Mr Bosch,” said Constance, “the special place is on your evening walk?”
“Yes,” said Phlebotomous. “Oh, wasn’t that clear, I can explain again.”
“No,” said Constance, “I understand.”
The maid brought Phlebotomous a cup of warm milk with a spice infusion, and he left the room.
“Mr Mallum, is this silverware real silver?” asked Sir John.
“Yes, Sir Jennings,” said Mr Mallum. “Unlike Lord du Bois we must make do with the basics. But it is of the highest quality for the material.”
“Could I borrow this knife?” said Sir John.
“Of course,” said Mr Mallum. “Er … any particular reason?”
“Not really,” said Sir John.
“Well I must say, everyone is being very cryptic this morning,” said Mr Mallum. “No doubt there is some jolly jape I’m not aware of. Maybe … did somebody have a special conversation with Lord du Bois?”
Mr Mallum looked meaningfully at his daughters who all groaned quietly.
Dear Sir/Madam
I am, I believe, a tolerant man and as a man of the cloth, it is well that I should be. However I saw something last week in your Benthic Times which created a profound sense of unease within my breast and which forced me to write to you.
My young nephew Silas has of late been staying at the vicarage whilst his mother recovers from a bout of bilious ague. He is, like many young men, impressionable and given to romantic notion, although he is a good sort, dedicating a part of each day helping out at Mrs Ginnidraws School for Fallen Ladies. Of an evening he will often be seen, though, reading the sort of sensational literature that your magazine also contains. I happened to glance last week and saw something so mortifying that I was forced to extract the magazine from his hand. For there, in plain view, was a plant being presented as Aconite which was clearly another species. I could not allow him to be exposed to such shoddy botany. It seemed as if the creator of the image had looked in their locale for a plant that was similar and attempted to pass off a clear example of Gluteus Maximus – or Ruddy Whackweed – as Aconite.
As a keen yet amateur botanist I recognised not only the plant, but also the locale it must have come from. You see, Ruddy Whackweed is not to be found in Cornwall or even the British Isles, but is a native of Greece. I recognised it from my walking tour of the Dodecanese last spring. Well sir, madam, I present below some of my botanical notes to educate you in the hope that you don’t find yourself using the wrong species again.
This species is Flora Extraterrestralis or Mouldy Goat Hair. It can be used to prepare a poultice for foxy.
This is Stella Inconsequentia known as Sticky Chive or Stinky Chive. It is used primarily in salads and is believed by primitive peoples to ward off people with a squint.
This is known as Stultus Flos or Exploding Jenny. It is poisonous to rodents between 1 and 1 half and 2 inches long.
This plant is Pigor Scriptor or Incompetent Orchid. It has no known use.
This is Disculpi Tardi or Scrote Violet. It is a powerful sedative or stimulant depending on wind direction.
I trust this little guide to the fauna of the Greek Isles will prevent a similar instance of botanic mislabelling.
Yours
Rev Johan Stiltburger
Cringingham
Somerset
“Well, Sir John, how goes the investigation,” said Lord du Bois to Sir John as the ball whirled around them. “Any new leads?’
“Not as such,” said Sir John. “We’ve heard a number of hair-raisings stories, more than a few of which were a little tall. But nothing that forms a pattern, nothing to help us find the creature.”
“Oh well,” said du Bois. “If the worst that happens is you meet a few souls and dance a few reels, the night won’t be a complete loss. Have some food as well, I had this all specially made.”
Lord du Bois indicated the spread of food next to them, which was equally matched in its generosity and quality.
“Thank you, Lord du Bois,” started Sir John.
“Vulpine, please!” said du Bois. “Ah, here comes your lovely wife. Bonsoir madame.”
“Bonsoir, Lord du Bois,” said Marie. “This is a most pleasant evening.”
“As I hoped,” said du Bois. “And I … is that aconite?”
“Maybe,” said Marie. “It was picked locally.”
“Good God, you must take it off at once!” said du Bois. Marie looked shocked.
“What is the matter?” she said. Lord du Bois quickly grabbed a napkin and took the flower and put it in his pocket.
“I am sorry for the drama,” said du Bois, “but it’s highly poisonous. If you’re eating any food a petal could fall on your plate and …”
“I … am sorry,” said Marie.
“Please, no harm done,” said du Bois. “You can now, safely, enjoy the food. Please excuse me for a moment.”
“Vulpine, Please”
“What happened?’ said Phlebotomous who just arrived as du Bois left. “I saw him grab at you from the other side of the room. Is that a sort of dance?”
“No,” said Marie. “He removed my flower. He said it’s poisonous.”
“Oh,” said Phlebotomous, “yes, to humans it is. I forgot.”
“Well, I must say were running out of luck here,” said Sir John. “The flower is gone. The silverware is made of gold, and I haven’t seen a drop of vinegar.”
“No, apparently Lord du Bois doesn’t like vinegar,” said Phlebotomous. “I overheard him telling the Mallum’s butler.”
“Strange thing to … wait, he doesn’t like vinegar?” said Sir John.
“Yes, that’s what I just said,” said Phlebotomous,
“But why deny your guests?” said Sir John. “I don’t like mustard, but I would still serve it.”
“Unless you didn’t want it around you at all,” said Marie.
“Didn’t want what around you?” said du Bois, reappearing. The trio all looked at him guiltily.
“I brought you this, Mrs Jennings,” said du Bois, holding out a rose. “I felt guilty for wrenching your flower from you earlier, so fetched a replacement from the garden.”
“Thank you,” said Marie, “We we’re remarking on your silverware.”
Lord du Bois chuckled.
“The goldware you mean,” he said. “Actually, it’s only goldplated, but I much prefer the colour to silver. I imagine it looks a little ostentatious. The locals regard it with a kind of awe.”
“It’s … different,” said Marie, “but each to his own.”
“Oh!” said du Bois, “On that we can certainly agree! But, please, permit me license to abandon you again.”
Lord du Bois left and the Jennings and Phlebotomous stood there.
“Are you wondering what I’m wondering?” said Sir John.
“Whether this is a waltz or not?” said Phlebotomous.
“No,” said Sir John. “We came here looking for someone who hates wolfsbane, vinegar, and silver. I think we may have found him.”
He glanced at Lord du Bois standing on the other side of the room.
The Benthic Times 