Stephen Gallagher - The Bedlam Detective
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- Название:The Bedlam Detective
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Grace said, “Go back, Evangeline. Go back to London. The last thing you want is to find what you’re looking for.”
“I wish I could remember, Grace,” Evangeline said simply.
“No, you don’t.”
“Won’t you help me?”
“Nothing I can do.”
Grace walked her as far as the gate, where Evangeline said, “Those two dead children. They could have been you and me.”
“Sir Owain says they were torn by beasts,” Grace said. “I don’t think he’s far wrong.”
Evangeline gave it one last try. “What do you know, Grace?” she said.
“No more than you,” Grace said.
Again, Evangeline had to wheel the bicycle over rough ground to the main track. Grace did not stay to wave her off. She felt a hollow space inside her for the friend she once thought she’d keep forever, but must now acknowledge that she’d lost.
So Sebastian Becker was actually the Lunacy Visitor’s man and had his sights set on Sir Owain? That was a detail that he and Stephen Reed had chosen not to share.
Instead of pointing the bicycle toward Arnmouth village and home, she turned it toward Sir Owain and the Hall.
SEVENTEEN
The Fairgrounds came into sight, occupying three fields on the outskirts of a small market town. It was almost evening now, and the lanes all around were dense with people making their way to the entertainment. The car had to slow to nose through them; the crowd treated the Daimler as part of the day’s spectacle, a piece of road jewelry as exotic as any sight they’d come to see.
First came the noise. Not one Marenghi organ, but a dozen, each one cranked up to drown out its neighbor. Heard at this distance, their tunes varied as the wind changed.
There was a gateway of painted scenery and electric bulbs that turned the entrance of a common field into a portal of wonders. Beyond it, a bazaar of light and noise. The fair was a portable city of tents and boards, of wooden towers and brilliantly decorated show fronts. Among the temporary buildings stood mighty engines like Babylonian elephants, all crashing pistons and blowing steam, powering the rides with their belts and dynamos.
The car didn’t enter the grounds, but was waved on to a field above them where provision had been made for motor vehicles and wagons. It was grazing land, unplowed, and the ground was poor. Sebastian had to clutch at a hanging strap as the Daimler bumped over ruts to find a level spot in the grass.
When they came to a stop, Thomas Arnot turned off the engine and the two men climbed out.
The entire site could be observed from here. Looking down on the contained land of people, planks, and canvas, the driver said, “I don’t see any menagerie.”
“There’s horses,” Sebastian said.
“You get horses anywhere.”
He took the camera and left the driver standing guard on the Daimler, observing the show field from its running board. Some boys were trying to get Arnot’s attention, probably to ask if they could climb up and have a sit behind the wheel, but he was ignoring them.
Down in the field, Sebastian quickly found what he was looking for. Bordering one side of the fairground was an entire row of attractions, each with a walk-up platform and a show front. Each had a barker and some had demure dancing girls, in full white skirts and ankle socks. The barkers were playing hard to the crowds, but it was still early and the crowds were sparse.
The show fronts were decorated to an astonishing standard, every one a rococo basilica of gilt and paint and gingerbread. The grandest of them all was the Electric Coliseum, a veritable cathedral face built around an eighty-seven-key Gavioli organ. Little matter that it was pure illusion, all scaffolding and panels that would pack down into a line of wagons when it was time to move on. It promised awe and glory, and all for pennies.
The Electric Coliseum was a Bioscope show, exhibiting a program of moving pictures. A show would run around twenty minutes, each one containing four or five subjects, always ending with a comedy.
Still carrying his parcel, Sebastian went to the Electric Coliseum’s pay booth.
To the woman in the booth, he said, “Who’s in charge?”
“Why?”
“I want to talk to the boss.”
“Mister Sedgewick’s inside. Oi.”
Sebastian was halfway up the steps to the walk-up platform.
“That’s sixpence, thank you, sir,” she said in a voice that managed to combine a superficial courtesy with a deeper sense of menace.
He went back to the booth and paid up.
So Sedgewick himself ran the show. That was no surprise. The man with his name on the fair was likely to own most of it, and from its size and its position in the grounds the Electric Coliseum was one of the fair’s grandest attractions.
That said, the tent was only one-third full. Sebastian took a seat. The subject playing was a comedy chase titled The Plumber and the Lunatics . It was a simple story, and built around a single joke-that of a plumber dropping his knife in an asylum, and running in terror from two inmates who were merely attempting to return it to him. But the audience liked it well enough.
Then came a short film of some local parade, which seemed to last forever but which actually ran for three minutes. The grand finale was a novelty Vivaphone subject, in which film projection and a Gramophone record were roughly combined to present an actor in blackface and boxing garb performing The Night I Fought Jack Johnson .
When all was done, an imposing bearded man in a tailcoat appeared before the screen and called out, “Side exits, please, ladies and gentlemen, and tell all your friends that our program changes daily.” Whereupon the Gavioli struck up and the floor shook with its bass notes as the audience flocked out into the fading daylight.
Waiting to be among the last of them, Sebastian stayed back and got the bearded man’s attention.
“Are you Abraham Sedgewick?”
The man turned. He was half a head taller than Sebastian. His beard was streaked with gray and his morning suit was faintly shabby, as formal clothing would be if one’s workplace was a field.
He said, “Who would be asking?”
“Sebastian Becker. I’m the one who stepped in to release your consignment of curiosities on the railway. Did you take delivery?”
“The specimens? Yes, I did. And I heard the story. Waxworks, eh?”
“I’m in the area on the Lord Chancellor’s business.” Sebastian took out his letters of authority and showed Sedgewick the crest. He said, “I’m trying to do something for those two girls killed in Arnmouth.”
“An appalling affair. Is it a charity benefit you’re looking for?”
“No!” Sebastian said quickly. “No. I’m looking for your professional help.” He gestured toward the picture screen and said, “Over at the Wild West show they told me that you make these entertainments as well as screening them.”
“We do.”
Sebastian tore away the brown paper wrapping to reveal the Birtac camera.
He said, “Then I think you’re the person I need. This was found at the scene. I’m told that it’s a moving-picture camera. I believe there may be exposed images in it. I would very much like to know what they are.”
Sedgewick took the camera from him and turned it around in his hands. Over on the other side of the tent, people were beginning to enter for the next show.
Sedgewick said, “Exposed film can be easily spoiled. Has anyone opened this?”
“I can’t be sure, but I sincerely hope not.”
Mindful of the paying customers, Sedgewick indicated for Sebastian to follow him. They made their way around to the projection booth, separated from the exhibition space by a fireproofed wall.
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