Victorian Gothic: Volume 2: A Most Perilous Name

By D. R. Miller

'You have seen a glimpse of this world, and once you have glimpsed it there is no going back. You will see it again and again, for that is the nature of this unseen reality. Once you are aware of it, it is aware of you.'

Katherine Kramer has been avenged. But at what cost?

R

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.R. Miller
• Release date: Jun 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781802270693

Book preview

Dear Reader,

I will assume that you have picked up this collection of journal entries, letters, notes, clippings and articles having already read the first volume I compiled relating to the uncanny death of Katherine Kramer.

I am mindful of how that volume ended abruptly. By way of explanation for this, I would remind the reader that the events of 1889 were Real Life, and Real Life does not offer a perfectly rounded ending as a novel would. I chose this point in the narrative purely because there appears to have been a brief, but natural lull in events for many of the protagonists of this tale.

Whether that lull actually occurred, I cannot say with any certainty. I have an inkling that it did not play out quite that way due to a number of factors:

First, old diaries were passed on to Richard’s brother-in-law Reverend Moore for safe keeping. New ones would need to have been obtained which might have taken a little time.

Second, Richard Kramer and Lily Lefèvre were travelling to Bamberg in Germany in search of his sister Anne and her children. His letters intimate the difficulty of writing in transit.

Third, there seems to have been some rest and reflection for the Bentwiths after Constance’s possession and Charles’s traumatic encounter in the basement of the Bamfry house. They had retired to their cottage in Cheltenham with a view to healing their mental wounds which, as you will see, were still very raw.

And finally, perhaps some of the protagonists had a reticence to continue chronicling events and collecting relevant clippings in light of the police investigation into the deaths of Jane Taunton, Mrs. Simpson and the sudden disappearance of the Lord and Lady Bamfry along with their butler. This is perfectly understandable and the more I think on it, to be expected.

As you will see, the strain of the previous three months is clear, and few of our protagonists are as resilient as they once were. Cracks have begun to show in the form of self-doubt, anger, fear and even a disregard of the moral establishment. I find this final aspect especially interesting in the Victorian Age. Such actions and emotions might have been bottled up entirely for fear of being identified as a criminal, or worse: insane.

Of course, for some of our protagonists, it is a matter of debate whether either of those labels should already apply. But that is a decision I am more than willing to leave to you, dear reader, to mull over as you please.

For now, I shall offer no comment.

PM.

Letter from Prof. Richard Kramer to Prof. Charles Bentwith

21st March 1889

Dear Charlie,

We are exhausted, but finally in Germany. Although we will not arrive in Bamberg until the day after tomorrow, I thought it best to update you now while I get the chance, as I am well aware that it has already been four days since my last communication.

We boarded a steam freighter at Harwich on Monday morning. Forgive me, I forget its name. The vessel was carrying fabrics and ale to Rotterdam. It kept us away from the passenger terminal when we arrived, so suited our clandestine purpose precisely. Despite my attempts to haggle with the captain – a salty northern fellow with leathered skin by the name of Flag – I only managed to procure one cabin for the both of us. I was at a loss as to how to proceed until Lily, God bless her soul, placed a calm hand upon my arm and suggested I take the offer without further ado.

The cabin was dusty, cramped and smelled of stale vomit; not exactly an utopian combination when it turns out that one’s sea legs do not agree with the sea! But I shall come to that in a moment.

The bed was short and lumpy, but the only alternative was a very dubious looking hammock which, by the smell, made me wonder whether it had been a fishing net in some previous life. Anyhow, it was hastily erected by two friendly crewmen prior to leaving port. Of course, I insisted Lily take the bed.

It was a rough crossing which I was surprised to find turned my stomach to jelly. I left Lily on deck and retired to the hammock, but its constant swaying had the effect of magnifying my nausea to such an extent that I spent most of the rest of the day on deck and retching over the rail, much to the amusement of the crew.

To further my embarrassment – and unlike our much calmer trip across the Solent - Lily was in complete control of her sea legs and even enjoyed the salt air. Where I zigged and zagged across the deck, she had the balance of a cat as she made walking in a straight line look like child’s play. Charlie, she was an absolute dear. She kept me topped up with rum to begin with, and when that began to disagree with me brought me cups of water to sip instead. Being blunt, it was not my finest moment and the less said about the entire voyage the better, dear fellow.

We finally docked sometime late Tuesday morning during a rainstorm of rare proportions. Huge drops of cold water hit our vessel with such force that they splashed nigh a foot in the air and the deck ran with a river of water which cascaded over the tops of our shoes. As we approached the freight docks we could see naught but a bleak, misty grey outline through the rain. I must say though, any misgivings about the weather were a secondary thought compared to the relief of finally placing two feet upon terra firma once again.

The gangplank was slippery but made manageable by the ladder-like rails against which one could brace one’s shoe. We stood forlorn and bedraggled on the wooden dockside and peered out from under our brims while waiting for our trunk to be unloaded. The dockside was eerily still other than the sound of the lashing rain drumming on wooden boards and tile roofs. Barrels and crates and all manner of boxes were piled along the quay and we could barely make out huddles of dark shapes milling around the entrances to various warehouses that lined the wharf. Despite the downpour, the stench of animals, rotting food and effluent filled the air just like at London’s docks. However, the layer of soot one finds in London was much thinner here. Whether that was due to the extremity of the weather, I could not say.

Despite coats and hats, Lily and I were wet through. We were both beginning to shiver when a tired-looking, gaudy yellow carriage pulled by a sad, bedraggled brown pony drew up a few yards away from us. A door opened and a vague, shadowy figure dressed in a thick fur coat waved us over anxiously. Bidding the crew to follow with our trunk, we hastened to the carriage. Lily quickly stepped up into the cab and out of the rain whilst I followed only after making certain our trunk was strapped to the rear.

‘Adelheid Brugmans, at your service.’

A soft, feminine voice, the words were easily understandable despite a heavy accent. Our new host extended a small, stiff hand from amidst so much fur that I wondered for a moment whether we were actually being greeted by a talking bear.

‘Professor Richard Kramer, and may I introduce my companion, Mrs. Lily Lefèvre,’ I replied warmly. I took the woman’s fingers gently in my own and noticed her interest in the thin, wet bandages which wrapped my hand and fingers. I could feel the chill of her fingers through those bandages and wondered how it could be that her hand was so icy-cold amidst all that fur.

‘Charmed, Mrs. Brugmans,’ Lily broke in. She smiled as she nodded courteously at our hostess.

Under the fur was a tiny woman who squinted through a pair of thick, round spectacles. Limp, greying hair and sagging skin put her in her fifties I would suggest, or thereabouts, but thick crow’s feet and deep vertical lines either side of her mouth spoke of someone who was well-accustomed to laughter.

‘Miss Brugmans,’ our host corrected her, ‘But you may call me Addie.’

‘Of course, Addie.’ Lily smiled politely.

Addie’s hand quickly retreated into the thick folds of her coat as she continued.

‘Welcome to Rotterdam and my apologies for the weather, but at least it will keep prying eyes away. You were due three hours ago, so if anyone got wind of your arrival, let’s hope they gave up and went home, no?’

I did not cotton on to the gravity of this statement at the time because our hostess supplemented the comment by beaming a broad, horseshoe smile which somehow seemed to fit the muscles of her face better than her resting expression. Even the heavy yellow nicotine stains on her teeth could not dampen the air of disarming joviality bought by that unusual grin.

Addie peered out the small window of the carriage as the driver turned the pony towards the street and the smile was suddenly gone. Her face had collapsed once more into an uneven pattern of drooping jowls and furrows.

‘This damned weather will be the death of me,’ she moaned as the carriage picked up speed. Something moved under the fur where her legs should be, giving me the impression that whatever she was wrapped up in was still a living, breathing creature. You will laugh Charlie, but I must admit to some alarm until I stupidly realised that she was rubbing her knee beneath the folds of her coat!

‘Painful joints in the damp and cold?’ My enquiry felt obvious, but it would be a long journey without some sort of conversation.

‘My knees and hip,’ Addie replied ruefully.

‘Try grinding some Devil’s Claw root and adding it to tea or mulled wine. It should help.’ I smiled at her sympathetically.

‘Really? Thank you, professor. I will speak to the… Apotheker? I do not know the English I am afraid.

An awkward silence was on the cards once again until Lily blurted out a question of her own. She had been staring at the colourful houses as we passed, her mouth agape with wonder. I must remember to ask her whether this is her first trip abroad.

‘Where are we going and how long will it take?’ There was enthusiasm in her voice which felt like a tonic after the arduous sea voyage.

Addie’s smile half reappeared. Her eyes were bright and sharp as she studied Lily briefly before replying. She had already fallen into the motion of the carriage, swaying from side to side like a pendulum, or maybe an overly-zealous snake charmer.

‘It will take several days, young lady. Tonight we will find somewhere to stay in the Netherlands, then tomorrow we cross into Germany. Until we arrive, only the driver knows where, but no doubt it will be a travellers’ inn.’

‘Do we need to be so clandestine?’

Since leaving London under a cloud of paranoia and fear for my family, I have seen no evidence of being followed. Indeed, despite my troubles on the North Sea crossing it has managed to relax me in this regard.

‘I do not think we were followed,’ I added, by way of explanation.

‘The secrecy is not who may have followed you, it is more for who may have seen you disembark, or even who may have followed me. As I have already said, your delay may well work in our favour.’

It was then that I recalled her original comment about people getting wind of our arrival.

‘But, other than the, erm, mess we left behind, who on earth would be interested in our trip here? And how would they get wind of it?’

Addie’s smile reappeared briefly.

‘The Theosophical Society is not a universally trusted organisation, Professor Kramer. Indeed, very few people even know of its existence. Those that are aware tend to be members of the Church, governments or similarly esoteric groups such as the Freemasons or the Rosicrucians. To be perfectly honest with you, they all view us with varying degrees of suspicion.

‘The Pope does not even acknowledge our existence to anyone outside the Vatican and yet tries to undermine us by labelling us as heretics to church groups or as revolutionaries to secular authorities.

‘Governments hear the word revolutionary and instantly wonder about our intent. Their spies often follow our movements and even try to infiltrate our ranks.

‘Masonic lodges are fearful for another reason. Their concern is that their more enlightened members will see a wealth of knowledge in the Society which they cannot hope to match in their lodge due to the rigidity of the masonic hierarchy. They fear that their members will leave the stuffy, male-only ritualism of the order to join the freedom of our own mixed ranks. It is a migration which is already happening.’

‘You wonder why you’re looked upon as revolutionary and dangerous when you describe yourselves with words such as ranks?’

Lily’s question was a fair one and brought a twinkle to Addie’s eyes.

‘You are, of course, correct my dear. You must forgive my passion. I was perhaps a little too overzealous in choosing a militaristic term rather than something softer and more befitting the Society.’

I did not care to point out the irony of using the word zealous in her reply. Besides, we had only just met Miss Brugmans and I did not want to try her patience with testy or combative questions about her beliefs. Not that I entirely understand what those beliefs actually are. Instead, I decided to direct the conversation to the matter at hand.

‘I do not know how much Dr. Westcott may have intimated in his letter, but is there any news on the whereabouts of my sister and her children?’

Addie’s smile returned full force at the mention of Westcott.

‘Ah, dear William. How is he? It has been a long time… You are surprised I know him? Don’t be. We shared many debates he and I when he was still a member of the Theosophical Society. It is a shame he is no longer a member of our ran-’

She stopped herself and cast a polite smile at Lily before continuing.

‘It is a shame he moved on to other studies. He is a great proponent of lateral thinking and I have rarely met a man so determined.’

There was emphasis on the word man which led me to surmise that she knew several women just as dogged.

‘He is well. He has some injuries to his hands, but they are expected to heal quickly. How did you meet him?’

‘We met in Berlin when he joined the Theosophical Society shortly after it spread to Europe in the late 1870s. He was unusual in that he still held a high office as a freemason. He left the Society just over a year ago and founded the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. You would have to ask him why, but the gossip at the time spoke of differences in ambition, which would not surprise me.’

I have to say Charlie, for a member of a secretive organisation, Addie is certainly forthcoming with information!

It surprised me to hear that Westcott was in Berlin, but the more I consider it the more it makes sense. When I think of that wall in his study, full of curiosities, they are certainly not all British in origin so I would guess that he is probably better travelled than one might expect.

‘I’m sorry Addie, I do not mean to waste your time, but what is the Theosophical Society please? Theosophical is not a word I am familiar with.’

I admire Lily more each day for having the courage to ask the questions which my own pride forbids me from asking.

‘Of course, my dear. How remiss of me. It is no waste of time, we have all afternoon together.

‘Theosophy is the search for God. Madame Blavatsky created the Society with the notion to bring together people who are more open-minded in that search than practitioners of any single religion. All religion has a place, but to the true theosophist, each creed only holds a fragment of a larger truth. We believe that at the beginning of time, the cosmos poured forth from God. As parts of the cosmos and the beings within it become further removed from God, they become less pure and it is this purity which we look to restore, mainly through karmic acts, so that we may be reincarnated after death and become a little more pure; a little more divine and therefore a little closer to God.’

‘Reincarnation in the biblical sense, that our souls go to heaven you mean? I really don’t see how that is any different,’ Lily asked with a frown.

‘Not quite. Reincarnation in the sense that one’s spirit and soul, let us call them our higher selves, are placed into a new earthly body – our lower self - for as many lifetimes as it takes to attain its divine goal.’

‘But is that not the basis of most religions?’ I asked.

‘Indeed, it is, or something similar. But each religion deems itself to be the one true word of universal law and that is simply not the case. Each has merits. But for the person who takes a step back and studies all of them with an open mind, a new truth begins to reveal itself.’

‘But how do you know that you are right?’ Lily this time.

‘We have access to certain ancient teachings and our membership is diverse. This diversity, be it gender, race, creed or colour means that members look differently at how to obtain the truth, whether it be by religious, scholarly, scientific, philosophical or other means.’

‘And which means did Dr. Westcott employ?’ I asked warily.

Addie sighed and glanced out the window at the passing houses for a moment before replying.

‘Dr. Westcott went another way. He looked at occultism for answers and became heavily involved in… Shall we say ritualism? Magic would be the word used by the common man I suppose.’ Addie snorted her derision before continuing.

‘As I understand it, that would be a horribly fantastical and misleading name to describe the processes involved, although I believe the good doctor to be comfortable with the word. It was a path frowned upon by Mme. Blavatsky and others in the Society, so Dr. Westcott and his confidants, a Mr. Woodman and Mr. Mathers, left to form their own organisation and pursue their goals independently. I am afraid it is a story which has become wearily familiar due to in-fighting in the Society over differing beliefs and methodologies over the last few years. Especially amongst those of us in Europe.’

Addie’s sigh was heavy with regret.

I have to say Charlie, this troubles me. Both you and Lily have told me how Westcott dispatched Lady our aggressor and those two devils, and it seems like even his ex-colleagues in this strange world of esoteric worship and discovery believe he has gone a step too far. Carving symbols into his hands to shoot bolts of light does not sound very scientific, philosophical, or religious to me! In fact, magic is the very word I keep coming back to as the best way to describe it.

Obviously, we are still very much laymen regarding this new world of esoterica and have very little understanding of its customs, its ideas or the people that walk its path. However, I have had enough experience of some of the oddities that dwell in the shadows over the last three months to know that it is dangerous. Ergo, anything – or indeed anyone – who can dispatch those oddities must, in my opinion, be more dangerous still.

I briefly spoke to Lily about this over dinner at the inn when we rested for the first night in Utrecht. Addie did not join us, deciding instead to eat in her room whilst writing letters. We arrived late in the evening and stayed on the outskirts of town at a quaint little coaching inn (forgive me, the Dutch name escapes me!). Two rooms were available, so Lily shared with Addie. We posed as a pair of romantics travelling with her mother, though I do think the whole charade was a little too much. I’m sure you will laugh well at our expense and the absurdity of the whole thing when you read this!

Anyway, it may or may not surprise you to hear that Lily does not agree with my assessment of Westcott. She likened it to a soldier despatching an enemy on the battlefield; one is not necessarily more dangerous than the other, but if circumstances and cunning can prevail, the underdog can win the day. She argued that having seen Westcott in action, she did not view him as the more powerful, merely the cunning underdog who had brought the element of surprise with him. Like David and Goliath.

I accepted her view courteously, of course, but am not entirely convinced that it has merit. Please be careful, Charlie. I do hope that in the long-term Lily is proven right, but I would advise against anything but wariness of the man for the time being.

The weather has improved mightily since arriving in Germany. I must say, the countryside and forests are wonderful. All day yesterday was spent aboard a train to Cologne. Today we reached Frankfurt. Although the travelling is tedious and has allowed me far too much time to dwell on thoughts of Katherine, it has been a blessed relief to rest during a journey rather than put up with the excruciating jarring of cobbled streets to aggravate my injured arms. Lily, too, has been feeling her loss, excusing herself from time to time during quieter moments. We have therefore found that conversation is the tonic that keeps such thoughts at bay, no matter how trivial it might be. Such small talk has given me the opportunity to get to know Lily a little better and learn more of the interesting – if bemusing - subject of esotericism from Addie. Tomorrow we finish our train journey in Nuremburg where we switch back to a carriage to travel north to our destination in Bamberg.

I have questioned Addie at length about what to expect in Bamberg. She has reserved rooms for us in the Pferdemannhotel, a comfortable travellers’ inn which is apparently the place where most foreign visitors to the city tend to stay. One of Addie’s colleagues will meet us upon arrival with an update regarding Anne and the children.

During the long days of travel, Addie has been very informative with some of the history of the region. You might be both interested and somewhat perturbed to know that the Diocese of Bamberg was at the centre of witchcraft in Germany in the early 17th century with large scale trials taking place over numerous years in both Würzburg and Bamberg. Addie told us that hundreds of so-called witches were tortured and executed, often by burning at the stake. I use the term so-called because Addie explained that it was unlikely that so many were actually guilty of the crimes for which they were persecuted. It seems that many gave names of friends or family members merely to end their own torture and suffering, while others were accused out of malice or following petty neighbourhood spats. I did point out that until recently I would have expected all historical charges of witchcraft to have been falsified, but Addie just looked at me over her glasses with a bemused half-smile.

‘You would have discounted it because the whole idea of witchcraft is ridiculous, unproven and consigned to historical accounts. It is hearsay,’ she said accusingly. Our guide leaned forward conspiratorially before continuing.

‘Do not take my meaning wrongly, professor, I have seen nothing to make me believe in an actual Devil, werewolves, magic and such like, but there are others, like Dr. Westcott, that do have such beliefs and even a misguided faith in such powers. All monsters and fairy tales have their roots somewhere, Professor Kramer, even if they are tall stories based on a more mundane reality. Fifty years ago, before the discoveries of Louis Pasteur, was not the idea of germs and micro-organisms equally as ridiculous? Indeed, was he not also subjected to ridicule by non-believers? You are a professor, so act like a professor. Keep your mind open. Consider this while you are in Bamberg. There is no religion higher than truth, Professor Kramer.’

From our previous conversations, I realised immediately that she was bestowing her Theosophical Society teachings upon me and I in turn am passing on that advice to you, Charlie. Please, do not dismiss any ideas or situations as being too preposterous to be true. If we had lived by that tenet from the outset, Katherine might still be alive today.

I must finish now, dear friend, but will write again as soon as I have news.

Love to Constance.

You friend,

Richard.

Excerpt from the personal journal of Prof. Charles Bentwith

Entry: Saturday, 23rd March 1889

A new journal, a fresh start. If only it could be so! Life no longer feels like life as I once knew it and most certainly lacks freshness.

In fact, I have decided to commence on a new journal not to preserve the memories of good times past or to record any success for posterity, but in an attempt to justify my actions to myself before they overwhelm me. For if I cannot justify my own actions, how will I ever answer to God?

The last few days, since bringing Connie home, have been traumatic. I can think of no better word. Heartbreaking is close, but I would favour traumatic.

In some ways I have been thankful that we have been alone since bringing her home again. At the same time, there have been occasions where it has all become too much for me. A trusted housekeeper like Mrs. Simpson does not come easily or quickly and there have been numerous times that I have missed her acutely. With Richard and Lily abroad, I have realised that my inner circle of true, faithful confidants is pitifully small.

Virtuous is a word I have never associated with myself. To me, my virtues have always included my own ability to live a bountiful life of pleasure and gain. For example, I have always considered beauty to be one of life’s virtues; a virtue I acquired when I married Constance.

I have never been shy of hard work or relied on others to any great extent, but I have always wanted acceptance. To love, to be loved; to indulge, to be indulged; to work, to be remunerated. Each represents a little piece of a greater whole and each makes that whole more worthwhile. More fulfilling, if you will.

These last few weeks with Constance have given me a true understanding of the virtues of life, of what they mean and why I have always been wrong in my interpretation of the very meaning of the word virtue. They are not a means to indulge one’s own desires, but a way of thoughtfully and considerately moderating one’s actions.

Westcott spoke once or twice about the concept of something called karma, an Eastern concept which deals with the idea of cause and effect. Simply put, the philosophy that one’s actions – good or bad – have a direct effect on one’s future. Do something good for someone, something good will happen for you. However, do something bad…

This concept has weighed heavily on my conscience following recent events. With that in mind, I need to offer a written reminder to myself of what I have given in return.

Justice

By my aiding in the downfall of Lilian Bamfry, I have helped to bring justice for the deaths of Katherine Kramer, Jane Taunton, Jonathan Lefèvre, Mrs. Simpson and the Lord James Bamfry.

I recognise that this is meaningless to the poor family of Mrs. Simpson and to Mr. Taunton who are entirely unaware of the true circumstances of the deaths of their loved ones and the justice which has been covertly meted out, but