July 4 - 54
Dear Prof. G. Savage
It is not often I have the chance to correspond with you on matters of intrigue in such a narrow interval without prompt. I am glad you took well to my previous impromptu assignment and trust this week's curio sparks no change. I am perhaps apprehensive about detailing this case to you in the fashion to which I have become accustomed because it appears to have no immediate connection to the late Dr. Prendergast. We may in due time discover that some link exists, but as of the present I have entirely no explanation as to the bizarrities that continue to occur at Saint Leonard's Chapel.
The Reverend and The Stockbroker
In prior correspondence I made mention of becoming more receptive to curious happenings in the city. On the morning of June the twenty-eighth I happened upon the story that Sir Desmond Fitzpatrick, a renowned and eminent man about the city, had spontaneously donated his entire fortune, stocks, shares and estate to a small chapel on Euston Street. The article (to be found in The Moment, issue June 26 - 54) made mention of how he had become overwhelmed with an intense excitement and energy at a sermon delivered two days prior by the Reverend Carmichael, during which he proffered all of his worldly belongings to the church. I confess this story is not entirely unheard of in the city: occasionally religion seems potent enough to coax extremely wealthy individuals out of their fortune, to then enter the church's service and retain that self-same divinity that captured them.
What had intrigued me about this case was that Fitzpatrick had subsequently attempted to take legal action against the Reverend for theft. His request fell immediately as the congregation present at the time reinforce the notion that he did so of his own will. Quite what force inspired a sensible man to exultantly donate a fortune, but fade so quickly as to drive him to seek legal aid to rescind it the following day, intrigued me. The man was by no means an eccentric, thus such an out-of-character exultancy must have been caused by some external force.
That evening I went to visit Fitzpatrick. I arrived at his family home to meet the man, as his personal estate now lie in possession of the church. Upon entering I was led to a tense looking individual, furiously puffing on a small clay pipe, scanning the day's stock-markets with intent.
For brevity I shan't go into precise detail as to our conversation but shall instead paraphrase. Through our time together the man spoke with contempt for the church and its practise. He spoke of the evening of the twenty-sixth: having visited an associate in a gentleman's establishment on Euston Street he began his journey home at approximately twenty minutes past six, his house not an intolerable walking distance away. Along his path he passed the open doors of Saint Leonard's Chapel and, hearing the sermon given within, became intrigued. He confessed to not having been an intensely religious man in his youth, yet considered himself a member of the church by default. He found himself lingering by the entrance with diminishing desire to walk away.
When asked what compelled him to enter, the man could not give a coherent excuse. He claimed that the sermon itself was not too enrapturing although curiously energetic. No music played though the congregation were heard calling out to the Reverend, in stark contrast to the typical solemnity of such occasions. He ventured inside, took his pew near the entrance and sat in intense concentration. He claimed not to have remembered a word of the speech but that he had been so emotionally compelled by its essence that he too began to call praises with the crowd. Soon he was back on his feet confessing his love for the heavens, in such a volume as they may have been able to hear him. His next memory found him back on Euston Street bereft of goods. The following day he woke to discover that he had signed his estate over to the chapel and was promptly evicted.
By good fortune the man was of wealthy stock and as such had the family estate to fall back upon. He claimed to be an incredibly level-headed individual, susceptible to none of the standard con-man fare. He gave the impression of a most excellent financial mind and, with no lasting impact on his confidence, I trust he will earn back at least part of his fortune in good time. Never-the-less he remains distraught at his actions and, toward the end of our conversation, almost pleaded me to investigate the matter. Quite what force was powerful enough to capture his mind that night remained to him a mystery, and one he was glad for me to investigate.
I left the man to his mental and financial recovery in search of this mysterious chapel. A cab ride through the city took me to Euston Street and to the entrance of the building. I confess I was underwhelmed by its appearance: no taller nor deeper that the houses that straddled it, no wider than the road it entered onto, no older than myself and, when inside, no more decorative than any village hall one may chance upon. This was by no stretch a gothic masterpiece and no visual splendour to have caught Fitzpatrick in reverie. The heat in the hall was significant enough for me to loosen my collar, the residues of an energetic crowd. A faint smell of incense lingered, by no means pungent but nonetheless soothing.
Within I faced the Reverend Carmichael sorting the regalia of his craft from that night's sermon, a few of his congregation still lingered. They stood around him professing all-at-once their appreciation for his speech, with such vigour that I felt compelled to keep my distance. The vicar bade them a perfunctory good-night with blessings, whereupon they whisked themselves from the chapel with an energy to which I am not familiar at such a time in the evening.
I walked up the central passage to greet the man with the compelling tongue only to be, I admit, faintly disappointed. Before me was a man of thin stature, slightly taller than average, bearing a long, thin and bespectacled face. I hold the belief that one cannot join the church unless one has this such appearance, because I have yet to see a member of the clergy look any different. He was thoroughly unremarkable in every sense, stood with a slight hunch and spoke in near monotone.
I asked for his account of the event and for some explanation as to Fitzpatrick's, and the congregation's, egregious behaviour. The man replied consistently with indirect and often cryptic answers, claiming that the heavens had smiled upon him and his chapel bearing gifts of 'persuasion' to those who had been led astray. He claimed to have been visited in a dream by an ethereal light a few months prior, which had called out to him to "preach to those sick with sin and in doing so heal them". Claiming Fitzpatrick is not the first "soul of avarice" he had lad to retribution, he had donated all gifts to Saint Gregory's priory and to local charities: the poor-houses, orphanages and work-houses. He claimed responsibility for rehousing many poor souls from debtor's prison with these proceeds, from which he takes pride - an irony he fails to notice. From what I observe of his chapel, his attire and all in his possession I have no reason to believe he keeps these funds for his-self.
In the time the reverend spoke I grew drowsy. It was late in the night and his tone was by no means compelling. Curiously this excited me as it seemed that the unremarkable man before me was in fact not the catalyst for this bizarre persuasion, instead may-be an extraordinary artefact. Nevertheless I was now at the end of my clue and with no inconspicuous way of searching the chapel's goods and fittings I left with my intrigue and suspicion in tow.
It was not long before I had the chance to act upon these suspicions. Three days later a story in the morning print of The Moment informed me that the Reverend Carmichael had been arrested on suspicion of theft and conspiracy to deprive. It seemed clear from the article that another influential man's grip had been loosened by his sermons and that his victim had friends in the constabulary. I doubted very much if his arrest would endure and so I seized the moment to investigate. I called my crew to arms and on the night of the third of July we made our way to Euston Street.
The Study: Saint Leonard's Chapel
Myself, Mr. Brimley, The Boy and Miss Watson arrived at the Chapel at fifteen minutes to seven in the evening, where-upon we travelled around the building to the vestry door. As Miss Watson worked her trade with the lock Mr. Brimley confessed his apprehension in the act, himself being of a cautiously religious persuasion. I have no desire to encroach on any-body's beliefs and so I offered him the opportunity to evade this particular exercise, thus preserving his sanctity. He suggested he maintain watch at the entrance, desiring to help us in at least a minor capacity. With this we left him to the dimness of the night, to enter the dimness of the vestry.
This was a room with neither windows, aeration nor intrigue. The three of us had barely managed to fit inside with the assorted boxes and religious paraphernalia that littered the already restrictive floor space. Never-the-less, lanterns in hand we prowled through the belongings for any sign of deviancy. Correspondences, order placements, financial arrangements and miscellaneous papers were read. Documents opened, envelopes inspected, no lockbox safe from the deft hand of Miss Watson, no secretive niche safe from the sharp eye of The Boy. Alas in our endeavours we found nought of interest, aside from a concealed flask of whiskey beneath the communal wine cabinet.
With the vestry fully examined, all boxes relocked, envelopes resealed and artefacts replaced, we travelled through to the chapel itself. It was here we saw our first glimpse of the unnatural. Upon opening the door a shaft of light burst into the vestry. Concerned, I hurriedly closed the door and listened for signs of movement. A while passed with no indication of activity beyond. I tentatively opened it once more, the hazed light once again flowing into the room. Concealing our lanterns we made our way, as surreptitiously as we may, into the hall.
Within we saw no-body, though vivid light emanated from candles indented in the pillars and incense wafted from suspended censers along the walls. This was curious: the Reverend was the only practitioner at the chapel, which had remained locked since his arrest three days prior. It is unwise to assume he would have left such hazardous paraphernalia burning upon his leave, nor that they could naturally continue to burn for so long. This warranted further investigation and so we divided our efforts to examine the pillars and censers throughout.
The censers themselves were of dull unpolished brass, fashioned into an sparsely decorated oblate globe - oblate for the oblate, one might say - which gently released their aromatic smoke through minute holes perforating the upper hemisphere. This caused a haze in the room, the oaky smell familiar to me from my initial visit, the vapour so tangible one felt tempted to grasp it. Such was their design we could not find our way into them to obtain a sample of the incense. Further the censers themselves were attached directly to an iron support buried into the wall of the chapel as if crafted into the structure of the chapel itself, with no mechanical fixtures to be removed or exploited. Quite how the Reverend refilled or relit these eluded me.
The candles were more instantly conspicuous, unusually tall, in pale lilac to contrast with the hall's heavy brown theme. For the time they had burned there was little sign of waning, little molten wax trailed the waist of the candle, little soot stained the concrete above. No candle I have encountered, even in the inventory of the late Dr. Prendergast, had such remarkable properties of longevity and slow-burning and so I endeavoured to take a sample. Alas neither our attempts allayed my desires. The candles held steadfast in their alcove unable to be pried from their base. Even attempts to carve a sample of the wax yielded nought, my knife reacting as through the attempt was upon steel. To top their peculiarity was their inability to extinguish: no snuff, smother, blow nor pour could douse the flame. Indeed in our search through the vestry we encountered no stores of candles nor incense, and so samples seemed impossible to obtain. More-so if there were no stores and no written record of their order, how had the Reverend replenished his stock. Perhaps these curios were not slow-burning but that they did not diminish at all. The stead-fastness lead me to the theory that they were not the individual curiosities we sought, but rather they are built into the curiosity, the chapel itself.
At this time I noticed my accomplices growing louder in their activities. Their actions became larger, more theatric, all surreptitiousness lost. They began to chase one another through the aisles, leaving great wakes in the haze, in a dangerous uncharacteristic childishness given the high-danger scenario. I began to ask them to stop, only to find myself shouting the command as loud as my voice allowed. This startled me somewhat, as my hands clasped my mouth, but I noticed that the two had stopped almost immediately in their tracks and were staring at me fixedly. I cannot accurately describe the expressions their faces bore: it was most a bizarre and intense look of expectation, rather than that of surprise or obedience. Almost a caricature of their own expressions, unreal in its intensity.
A prototypical thought developed and, without hesitation I shouted at - although attempted to politely ask - the two to sit. In an instant they did so, Miss Watson on a pew beside her, The Boy upon the floor. Their expressions remained harlequinian, their eyes affixed upon mine. I instructed them to clap and they duly did so, with reverie. I instructed them to stop and they obeyed. Whilst this was most curious, more-so was my next command, for them to instruct me to sit. They, in unison and with some force, called at me and without hesitation I sat. A most bizarre and unnerving sensation passed over me at that moment, as though I were not fully in control of myself. Concerned for our safety I called for our leave and with great expediency we did so, through the vestry and out into the thin, cool air of the street. Mr. Brimley dutifully ensured that in our hazy state we did not cause a nuisance.
When a suitable time had passed Mr. Brimley procured two glass jars from his satchel-bag at my behest and, a handkerchief secured around my mouth and nose, I re-entered the chapel to retrieve two samples of the ethereal smoke which I believed to be the cause of our theatricality. You shall find one sample with this letter, the other had been consumed by experiment upon the morning.
Upon our return we discussed the event with Mr. Brimley. He informed us that, a very short time after we had entered the vestry, the chapel windows lit up. He assumed this was our doing and was somewhat shaken to be told that we had spent the first ten minutes of our search entirely in the vestry. I would have attempted to cleanse from his mind the notion of any divine intervention, had I had any alternative explanation at hand. It seems the fixtures in the chapel are in possession of a shared mind, lighting at once, resisting removal and emanating their psychotic aroma. It is this aromatic haze, I believe, that in some way induces a mesmer in those who inhale it which does little to the mind but open it to suggestion and release it of inhibition.
The following morning Mr. Brimley was kind enough to inhale some smoke from one of the procured jars in the safety of my office. For a short time thereafter his actions became exaggerated and susceptible to my command, within a certain boundary of trust. Whilst he obeyed simple physical and auditory commands he refused to enact more extreme suggestions, from the removal of clothing through to the infliction of pain. It is possible that prolonged exposure to the scent in a confined space would produce more significant results, and would perhaps amplify in a familiar thinking crowd-mind.
It is my belief that the Reverend Carmichael had no knowledge of this strangeness in his chapel, besides his belief of some heavenly gift granted to him. It is likely the heavenly lights that visited him in the night were in fact the self-lighting candles, whereupon the smoke took to work on his suggestibility and his fables. He appears to have stumbled into this curiosity when assigned to the chapel, had only have the purest of intentions and I believe should not be in any way reprimanded. I do however believe that any man with goods he wishes not to lose should steer clear of Euston Road on the evening of the sabbath.
I apologise if this study was not quite of the scientific rigour you may prefer, but the inability to procure a significant sample from the chapel makes for difficult experimentation. Should you ask I would be glad to send somebody to acquire more samples of the smoke, although to obtain a censer or candle would require significant force and tenacity of vandalism. I am afraid I would not be prepared to engage in such an act, for fear the chapel itself would take offence. That, I confess, is not a sentence I ever expected to write.
I hope this case finds you swiftly and in interest. As ever I shall be on the look-out for intrigue.
Yours,
Dr. Nicholas P. Henderson
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