Dear Prof. G. Savage,
If I may I would ask to begin this correspondence with a combination my sincerest apologies and heartfelt thanks. My sincerest apologies for not understanding the gravity of the previous situation, for allowing myself to be distracted so heavily by that which I believed to be of the most interest and for not performing your instructions with the rigour and order you expected. You have my word that any further tasks you would bestow upon me and my crew shall not suffer the same tainted attitude.
On such a tone, I offer my heartfelt thanks for allowing me to remedy the situation at the soonest possible opportunity. What follows in this letter is, at least what I hope to be, a detailed account of a thorough investigation and retrieval of the late Dr. Prendergast's 'Cold Lamp'. Whilst I hope my investigation was satisfactory it was not without its eccentricities and may perhaps not demonstrate the methodical approach with which I am familiar as a research fellow at your college. This report shall contain all the necessary details of our actions, discoveries and improvisations as well as the more intriguing details of the case.
MEETING MR. ISAAC PRENDERGAST
Upon receipt of your letter I immediately proceeded to return to Madistone House, the former home of the late Dr. Prendergast. On this occasion the task seemed simpler, having completed the majority of the hard work on the previous attempt. Unfortunately upon arrival at the Prendergast manor I was perhaps taken aback by the sight of a convoy of carriages and transport vehicles, each laden with the tools and usable goods of different tradesmen. The light emanating from the manor windows seemed all near infernal when compared to my last visit. Aware of the slow grind of estate managers' machinations, and being unaware of the state of the poor doctor's family, I had little choice but to recollect my thoughts and gather information.
If there is one fact from my biological and zoological field studies that I can comfortably translate to the case of the human, then it is that the speed of information is not to be underestimated. Sure enough a brief visit to the local public house equipped me with a wealth of both second- and third-hand information on the manor's new occupants: It seems the late doctor was a sister to one Isaac Prendergast, who appears to have been the sole beneficiary of the estate and all contents therein. It is said he is a man of some not inconsiderable fortune from the inner city, perhaps even disreputable were the word of the local populous to be taken as truth. Of course such communities have intrinsic distrust of any sudden change in membership, and so I endeavoured to collect my own, less biased, information.
Upon my return to the manor the silhouettes visible from the windows betrayed the presence of the brother and a team of staff hired to clean and redecorate the interior of the mansion. Clearly the man has plans to move on swiftly and so I concluded there and then that the faster the acquisition of the item the better.
I approached the front door with a certain degree of timidity, preparing to confront a character with whom I am not at all familiar, with a reputation shrouded in suspicion. I reached for the domineering brass oval on the door, heavily weathered and tarnished, and knocked three times. A good thirty seconds of muffled activity occurred inside before my call was heeded. A large unshaven gentleman opened the door with an aggravated expression as if interrupted at severe inconvenience. I enquired, as politely as I know how, as to whether the owner was home and with a grunt the man bestially ushered me in.
Already the change in the ambience of the house from my first visit was significant: the dust and mould of abandonment had been all but removed; I breathed thinner, cleaner air; the carpeting and wall linings were in the process of complete renewal. A distinct but hardly unpleasant smell of sawdust and the fumes of carpentry and decoration pervaded the air, an atmosphere familiar to my days in the newly built college of my first employment. Indeed the change was such that, had it not been for the distinctive hallway staircase, I could have sworn I were in a different building. By this time the rooms were brimming with work-men and work-women undergoing the cleaning, repairing and general maintenance so desperately required. Several times on my journey to the sitting room I was required to hurdle quantities of lumber and dismantled furniture, an inconvenience brought about by the process of beautification.
I was duly introduced to the brother of the erstwhile doctor, a business-like man in peculiar yet sharp modern clothing, clean-shaven and well trimmed in all aspects. His gait exudes a characteristic of purpose and deliberation, perhaps almost impatience. He smoked a thin white clay pipe with expediency and little outward enjoyment. My initial impressions were of a man of his habits and comfortable at that. I introduced myself and he outstretched his free hand for a firm but convivial shake. What follows is how I recollect the conversation and may not be perfect to the word.
"Good day, my name is Dr. Henderson. You are Mr. Prendergast, I believe." I clasp his hand with moderate force.
"Indeed. Please ignore the state of the building, it is currently undergoing reconstruction. To what end do I have the pleasure?" His accent was not one I had expected: A distinct formality and precision to the consonants was intermittently punctured by slightly glottal vowels. My best assumption is that of a child of the inner cities to whom proper elocution was taught at a much later age. He released his grasp after an unusually long time to recline in a scarlet velvet wing-backed armchair, broadsheet in hand, his pipe perfunctorily emitting its hazel haze.
"If I may, I would like to begin with my sincere condolences to you for the loss of your sister." He nodded stoically in response. It seems, outwardly at least, that perhaps the siblings were not close. "My name is Dr. Henderson, I come here on behalf of the University of Avon, West-Merton college. Your sister was an invaluable member to the staff of our college and the department will greatly miss her contributions." I could sense even throughout my brief speech the growing impatience of my host. I stammered, skipping any further planned introductions through to the purpose of my visit. "The college loaned a significant amount of equipment to your sister. If I would have your permission to retrieve a few objects from the house the college would be very grateful."
"I'm afraid I cannot be of much help to this end, Dr. Henderson," he sighs reaching for the morning paper on a side table, "it seems the local burglars and thieves have run through this place with abandon. Besides commonplace materials nothing much has been left behind. It is certainly the case that what you are looking for is already lost to the back-streets." He spoke calmly, little knowing he was largely telling me that which I already knew, having played my own part in the removal of goods.
"Would it be possible to search, or have one of your staff keep a look out for that which we are looking? The objects may seem at first glance insignificant, but they are of great scientific, if not necessarily monetary, value to the department." Mr. Prendergast stood up in a controlled flurry of paper, folding with great dexterity the barely observed broadsheet and placing it upon the side-table as he stood. A graver look crossed his face as he directed his attention back to me.
"I'm sorry doctor, I'm afraid there is nothing here for you. I apologise for any losses caused by the looting, but it is by now unavoidable. The college is welcome to deliver to me a list of loaned items, along with their values, to be recompensed from my sister's estate. I bid you a good day and hope your duties are unaffected by this setback. Safe journey." With that, leaving only a wake of tobacco smoke, he abandoned me in the sitting room. The suddenness and definiteness with which he dismissed my request left me baffled for a good few seconds. Quite whether he was simply too busy to entertain me or whether he deliberated that I was to have nothing from the house, and in doing so maximising his inheritance, I do not know. I considered there and then searching the house as best I could, but with too many hired hands around I thought it too suspicious. After all acquisition without the permission of the homeowner can easily be seen to be theft, regardless of the origin of the item. I turned upon my heels and left the house somewhat downtrodden but by no means distraught.
THE RETRIEVAL
Returning to the city I made my way to The Grey Horse - my local and oft frequented public house - to make my deliberations. There I met my good friend Mr. Frank Brimley. By far Brimley is the most trusted and long-standing of my acquaintances. Such a man with incredible endurance of strength I have yet to see duplicated, a skill rivalled in level only by his loyalty. I would confidently posit half a dozen occasions wherein my friend has directly placed a member of our crew's safety before his own, at least twice directly protecting one from fatality. He is not a conversationalist of any sort - speaking only when spoken to and even then often near monosyllabically - yet we share a quiet bond in which we would both swear our lives to help the other. I have yet to deliver on my promise as he, but I cannot see the occasion being far distant.
As the sun set on a dispiriting, fruitless day we deliberated our position. Quite how swiftly we came to our decision I am not sure, but I assure you it wasn't entirely fuelled by the consumption of ale, else I would have amended it the following morning. We concluded that retainment of items by persons to whom the items do not belong is equivalent to theft. To that end, as all products of research by the late doctor are contractually property of the University and its departments, and the fact that they are being detained by a man with no connection to the department, the items are being held unlawfully. Unfortunately on such matters there have been no sign of support from the local or national constabulary, and so we endeavoured to take matters into our own hands. After all is said and done your instructions to me were to use 'any and all means at [my] disposal to acquire the items'.
Both myself and Mr. Brimley would attend the retrieval operation, and in the approaching days we gained assistance from our previous acquaintances: Miss Jane Winston and Master Grant Sandringham. Master Sandringham, often simply called 'The Boy', the fourth son to the Earl of Sandringham, assisted us on the previous acquisition and is the one to whom we are indebted with the concise detailed sketches of the basement, being in possession of a superb artistic hand. A young lad of seventeen years, he is full of the vim of youth and is possessed of good wit and sharp senses. We concluded these traits - alongside his athleticism - would become invaluable on such an endeavour. A sharp mind and quick feet should aid us in improvising our way from any awkward situation we encounter.
I confess to never having met Miss Jane Watson, the daughter of a local locksmith, in person before the endeavour as her skills are not too applicable in my line of study. However close acquaintances of mine, including Mr. Brimley, have little but positivity to admit for her character. I presume perhaps some emotional attachment swayed the bargain on Brimley's end although I decided not to enquire further. We met her at the gates of Madistone house at a quarter past the eleventh hour on the evening of the 14th of June, three days after my solo visit. No sooner had we arrived at the gates and introduced one another had Miss Winston forced the lock to the gate and ushered us into the grounds. Quite how one could find a woman who not only possessed such skill but was willing to confess it is beyond me. What makes it all the more shocking is her innocent demeanour: no man in the world would deny the innocence of her outward character and yet her illegal abilities seems all but natural. Granted if there is but one lesson to be learnt from studying the works of Dr. Prendergast it would be to never underestimate the skill and drive of the female spirit.
Once inside we proceeded to divide and investigate each ground floor window for a potential opening and to examine the population of the house at the time. My local research has led me to conclude that, save for basic working staff - two maids, a butler and a cook who leaves the grounds at night - Isaac Prendergast lives alone. The maids sleep in an outer house at the back of the grounds and the butler lives on residence. Upon first inspection it seemed that the lower floor of the house was vacant. Having regrouped and decided to enter the house through the drawing room window (third from the left on the western exterior wall) Miss Watson worked her craft on the latch and within blinking time we had entered the house.
To light our path we had brought with us two directed incandescent lanterns with the aim of using one to search the room and the other to light the floor. I am glad we had chosen to do so as the debris of refurnishing and decoration I had encountered three days prior had not much improved. As we slowly treaded our way over exposed nails and missing floorboards we approached the main hallway and the entrance to the basement. Once inside our job was fairly simple. The door was thick enough to dampen any minor sounds we would have made inside.
The room had been emptied even further since our initial visit. Chairs, tables, animal cages, even most light fittings had been removed. Clearly whoever had been there between our visits had indication that something of value may have been left. Fortunately this made following your instructions slightly easier, to trace the edges of any and all surfaces until the device is felt. Unfortunately after approximately an hour of systematic searching very little was discovered and, in particular, the lamp was neither to be seen nor felt. Despite our most thorough searching nothing else could be seen in the room of any value and the room we left behind was entirely barren barring its walls and the gas-work piping. Nevertheless in order not to disappoint you again we decided to procure the following items found in the basement with us:
- four smooth stone pebbles and approximately half of a paving brick,
- a brass door key with ring holder,
- a splintered table/chair leg,
- 3 shards of different thicknesses of glass,
- a single pine-cone
- a live spider and 3 cobwebs (laid out in handkerchiefs and flattened, find enclosed).
From there the tricky business of vacating the basement with consolation obtained goods began. My hope was that some of the more exposed animal enclosures would have an open roof accessible from within. Indeed some are little but glass suspended between the floor of the outer grounds and the base of the enclosure two dozen or so feet beneath ground. Unfortunately the removal of all items from the enclosures rendered escape via the enclosure roof impossible. As such our only exit was back through the house.
Either by fortune or misfortune as we attempted to take our leave through the heavy basement door the house awoke and illuminated to the sound of hurried footsteps. Closing the door to, struck with terror, we listened through the frame to the hustle of the house. The footsteps of servants and several unknown but heavy-footed persons scurried along the staircase. Perhaps we had been heard, although our careful precautions and the speed with which he household had sprung made us think, or at least hope, otherwise.
Before long the sound of the householder came within earshot, speaking in a disgruntled manner to the staff about being woken. I heard mention of raging fire and began to worry that we were perhaps trapped in a burning house, unable to reveal ourselves to escape. As the voices murmured off into the distance we heard the main door close and the house was silent once more. Swiftly we made our leave, traversing the obstacle-laden - but mercifully well-lit - hall and drawing room to climb back through the window and concealed ourselves in the hedgerows surrounding the manor. We saw in the distance the silhouettes of the householder and staff hurrying along the lane toward the town. Clearly this was no fire in the manor, but rather word of a fire in the nearby town.
At this juncture Mr. Brimley suggested we make haste from the manor and abandon the journey for the time-being. I, however, thought it best to journey to the cause of commotion. I could not explain my reasoning at the time but I felt that something compelled me to follow. Once I had persuaded the group to seek the disturbance we emerged from conspicuous shadows to become merely curious men-about-town come to explore the local kerfuffle. It was as we began to enter a residential area of the town - the town of Bernsmere, to be clear - and the density of onlookers began to increase that something became apparent: neither from the hill on which the manor sits, nor in the streets approaching the epicentre, was their any sign of fire. No conflagratory flickering on the horizon, no gradual increase in air thickness, the distinct absence of the aroma of smoke, a lack of musky warmth in the cool summer night. Perhaps I had noticed this partially when in the manor hedgerows as each of these signs points towards our object of desire being at the epicentre.
Upon our arrival at the source we discovered what was once a timber house which had crumbled to its foundations, only a choice few beams and walls standing. Making a path through the herded populous I heard much interesting gossip from the locals. These included recent tales of burglaries by 'ghosts' and 'apparitions'. Mort immediately a local girl spoke of the house in question becoming engulfed in shadow and disappearing, as if some dark hand had risen from the ground and concealed it from view. When the veil had lifted all that remained was crumbled debris as if through fire, she claimed. By now I was certain that this was our target. Indeed from a distance I could see areas of ruin poorly lit where otherwise there should be nocturnal lamp-light.
With the majority of the district's population gazing at the wreckage and the local police beginning to restrict access to the area we had to work quickly and with as little fanfare as possible. Whilst I had briefed my crew on the general premise of our excursion and its target, only I truly knew the detail of what it was we were searching for and so it was clear I should somehow attempt to make my way onto the premises. I am, however, by no means a master of stealth and manoeuvres. I drafted the rather more spritely Boy to follow me through the alley paths behind the terrace in an attempt to sneak into the remains of the house from behind and procure the item. Before doing so I instructed Mr. Brimley and Miss Watson to, in some capacity, construct a distraction further down the road in an attempt to divert a fair proportion of the attention from the rubble. Duly they made their way to the end of the terrace whilst I and The Boy slipped into the back passages. We awaited some signal behind the house neighbouring the target, The Boy peering carefully around the corner to survey a safe route.
Before long we heard several distant shrieks of "Fire!", and we gradually heard the townsfolk move off to investigate. I sincerely hoped my fellows had not deliberately started a serious fire to merely constitute a distraction, but before I could voice my concerns I was led forcibly by the hand of the young Sandringham into the ashes of the building. The texture of the floor was curious to move over, crunching minutely under-foot as if across crushed ice. The house was cold, far colder than the summer night air and no temperature for a freshly-smouldering structure to be emitting. By this time few were left watching the house and so concealed in night and scattered shadow The Boy leapt from crooked wall to splintered beam, casting scans at a potential audience, beckoning either with open palm or twitching fingers to stay or follow.
Largely unnoticed, our footfall lost in that of the scurrying crowd, I dug through what wreckage I could, my hands freezing in doing so. A haptodysphoric chill arced across my back with each stroke of my be-goose-bumped forearms through debris. We made our way through the remnants of a floor plan, checking each concealed spot as thoroughly and as systematically as the circumstances would allow.
At a point beside the remains of a chimney shaft, uncomfortably close to the street, my numbing hand clasped onto something chilling and metallic. I anticipantly wrenched the find from the ground, and through the disturbed cloud of ash I spied an old desk-top gas lamp, cracked in glass and dented in brass. The find was thoroughly unremarkable in appearance but icy to the touch and layered in a film of frost. I chanced that this was our bounty and in search of proof loosened the oil flow valve on the side.
As suddenly as I had done so my sight nigh-on vanished. The Boy who had once squatted beside me vanished from my periphery. I had read prior in the Prendergast journals of the power of this lamp in its ability to 'cast shadows', yet had not anticipated its effectiveness. I held it far in front of me and saw the darkness retreat, my sight partially returning as I became aware of the look of intrigue passing across The Boy's face.
"Hold there!" a voice called from the street-side. One of the police-men standing guard on the street had noticed us and was shining his lantern directly at where we were kneeling. It is not until you are in such a scenario that the concept of freezing in fear really seems to hold any weight in reality. Yet before I could react to the demands, The Boy in the height of criminal wit had leapt in front of me grasping the lamp by the handle on the way. He stood prone, one hand leant up against the chimney remains, the other thrusting the lamp to his front, immersing both he and I in shadow from the lamp. For a while we remained motionless, daring not to breathe. The quick thinking on his part had baffled the constable on guard: where once he saw two trespassers he now saw nothing, not even the brick against which they were leaning. Curious he began to approach, and with no alert nor fanfare The Boy's free hand clutched the shoulder of my jacket and pulled me slowly back. Walking in reverse, careful not to tread through brittle floorboards nor collapse in unstable footing, we retreated mimicking the approaching pace of the constable. Our footing began to follow the rhythm of our pursuer in some freak echopraxic mimicry, which aided in disguising the sound of our footfall.
I was so disabused to the notion of walking with such stiffness and graduation of movement that by the time we were safe in the confines of the back-alley passageway and able to pick up haste in retreat my calves complained in ache. Having long abandoned our bemused pursuer, and perhaps contributed to the local stories or apparitions, we reached the entrance into the adjacent street. Here a veil was placed over the lamp and The Boy became visible again, a wickedly honest smile staring back at me. I could not help but reply with a gasping chuckle, arm placed upon his shoulder for stability. However much I may not be suited to physical exertion I am prone to enjoy such moments and the adrenal rush it provides.
With that Mr Brimley and Miss Watson emerged from the street corner and greeted us with congratulations. Intriguingly at the sight of Miss Watson the wry smile of The Boy lapsed into a mild embarrassment, his confident gait drooping into awkwardness. Miss Watson noticed this and nudged The Boy playfully with her elbow, the missing cheeky smile adorning her face. I sense some emotional chemistry between the two, which I personally consider out-of-place but nonetheless charming. Slightly more professionally Mr. Brimley shook my hand in congratulations, provided his assurances that the fire they did indeed start was minor and totalled only damages of stray firewood, and with that the day was done. We retired to The Grey Horse - although not before ensuring the safe deposit of the lamp at the University - and celebrated our victory.
I trust from my description of these events that you sympathise with the difficulty of this expedition and are satisfied - if not impressed - by the ingenuity and resourcefulness my team and Miss Watson displayed: with merely one of these links missing this endeavour would have been doomed to failure. I trust that should you be so kind as to employ me on such a similar errand in the future you permit me to enlist the help of my friends once again. With that I turn to the object in question.
THE STUDY: THE COLD LAMP
Later that evening, after our mutual congratulations, I began my studies of The Cold Lamp whilst The Boy was retained to provide sketches. My studies were aided by Dr. Keplar my long-suffering colleague in the natural sciences department of your West-Merton college. Easily the wisest and most experienced of our party, his observational and analytical skills complement mine superbly, neither of us impeccable in either trait. Despite arguing on specific details of natural philosophy we both share the required intrigue and fascination in the discovery of hitherto unknown phenomena. To that end Dr. Keplar wished me to thank you on this opportunity; as his youth begins to fade he feared that the world would retain little with which to surprise him. He credits you with his new vigour for life, an accreditation I would gladly and thankfully support.
The lamp is indeed a mystery of physics. When lit the device seems to, rather than emit light, absorb it in a similar radius and with a similar radius of effect and decay. In all functions besides this it operates in the same way as any given oil lamp: provided there is sufficient oil in the base of the device and a wick within the internal stand the lamp will 'burn' through both with its cold flame. Indeed as the notes of Dr. Prendergast suggest the flame is cold to the touch, almost unbearably so when close. It is a fair, if not necessarily accurate, description to say that this flame is as cold as ordinary flames are hot. Unfortunately the thermometers provided in our faculty are more specifically designed for extreme positive temperatures and so we could only ascertain that the centre of the flame is blow minus one hundred degrees in Fahrenheit, and that we required new thermometers - both for this more specialised purpose and to replace those used inappropriately in this examination.
Our first concern of the lamp's continued operation was that the method of firing up the lamp was dissimilar to that of all others and that snuffing out what we shall for now call 'the cold flame', to maintain the theme, will be the end of its remarkable properties. I used a splint to retrieve and attempt to store a sample of the cold flame - a more difficult task than it sounds given that, when operating correctly, the lamp cannot be seen - and the cold flame appeared to linger on the end of the splint for some time. Whilst there it exhibited the same properties as the flame within the lamp, absorbing rather than emitting light. After approximately thirty seconds, however, this flame gradually appeared to dwindle. After the initial worry we realised that it was not dwindling: it was in fact returning to its regular light- and warmth-emitting form. What appears to be the light dying was the transitional phase between the flame absorbing and emitting light, 'cold flame' to 'warm flame'. Positively it seems that the cold flame within the lamp is, at least in origin, the same as any other flame and so the lamp can be turned off and reignited by any given warm flame.
Our next concern was that the oil contained in the lamp had in some capacity been somehow chemically altered. Given how long it had remained active - that it was still active at the scene of the 'cold fire' - it has used remarkably little oil, an intriguing property in itself, particularly in terms of the use of energy for Dr. Keplar as a physicist. Having removed what remained of the oil I examined it and ran several chemical tests, all of which pointed to the fact that this oil has incurred no manner of special chemical treatment. Indeed igniting the lamp with ordinary oil leads to no appreciable difference in the properties of the cold flame. We conclude that the bizarre properties bestowed upon the flame are done so by the lamp itself rather than any additional consumable or external factor.
We then continued to dismantle the lamp, whilst The Boy sketched each part as carefully as he could. At each stage of dismantlement we reassembled back to full to ensure nothing had broken. Fortunately the lamp is still in fully functioning order, if one can consider the absorption of light to be 'functioning'. We managed to deconstruct the lamp to its ordinary constituent parts to find only one unfamiliar piece: a miniature sphere with a curious pattern etched upon it. Enclosed are two extra sketches of this sphere by The Boy. What is interesting is that this is not the sole catalyst of the lamp: removal of the sphere renders the lamp useless, unable to light at all, whilst insertion of the sphere into an ordinary oil lamp has precisely the same nulling effect. Clearly this object works in tandem with at least one other component specific to this lamp to achieve the desired effect, but it is clearly not the sole catalyst.
This is only a preliminary study of the object. Along with this letter you should receive the lamp and all other reports and measurements of a much more scientific nature. Once again I would like to thank you for the opportunity to retrieve and study this remarkable object and make amends for my previous failings. I apologise again and yet hope that my performance and display of dedication with this redemption has adequately raised me in your esteem. Please contact me with any amendments you require or further projects upon which you wish me to work. I hope this finds you well.
Yours,
Dr. Nicholas P. Henderson.
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