Kim Newman - Diogenes Club 02 - The Secret Files of the Diogenes Club

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The Secret Files of

The Diogenes Club

[Diogenes Club 02]

By Kim Newman

Scanned & Proofed By MadMaxAU

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Contents

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The Gypsies In The Wood

ACT I: THE CHILDREN OF EYE

i: we take an interest

Mr. Charles Beauregard? asked Dr. Rud, squinting through pince-nez.

Charles allowed he was who hiscarte de visite said he was.

Of... the Diogenes Club?

Indeed.

He stood at the front door. The Criftins, the doctors house, was large but lopsided, several buildings close together, cobbled into one by additions in different stone. At once household, clinic, and dispensary, it was an important place in the parish of Eye, if not a noteworthy landmark in the county of Herefordshire. On the map Charles had studied on the down train, Eye was a double-yolked egg: two communities, Ashton Eye and Moreton Eye, separated by a rise of trees called Hill Wood and an open space of common ground called Fair Field.

It was mid-evening, full dark and freezing. His breath frosted. Snow had settled thick in recent weeks. Under a quarter moon, the countryside was dingy white, with black scabs where the fall was melted or cleared away.

Charles leaned forward a little, slipping his face into light-spill to give the doctor a good, reassuring look at him.

Rud, unused to answering his own front door, was grumpily pitching in during the crisis. After another token glance at Charless card, the doctor threw up his hands and stood aside.

A Royal Welsh Fusilier lounged in the hallway, giving cheek to a tweeny. The maid, who carried a heavy basin, tolerated none of his malarkey. She barged past the guard, opening the parlour door with a practiced hip-shove, and slipped inside with an equally practiced flounce, agitating the bustle-like bow of her apron-ties.

Charles stepped over the threshold.

The guard clattered upright, rifle to shoulder. Stomach in, shoulders out, eyes front, chin up. The tweeny, returning from the parlour, smirked at his tin soldier pose. The lad blushed violet. Realising Charles wore no uniform, he relaxed into an attitude of merely casual vigilance.

I assume you are another wave of this invasion? stated the doctor.

Someone called out the army, said Charles. Through channels, the army called out us. Which means you get me, Im afraid.

Rud was stout and bald, hair pomaded into a laurel-curl fringe. Five cultivated strands plastered across his pate, a sixth hanging awrylike a bell-pull attached to his brain. Tonight, the doctor received visitors without ceremony, collarless, in shirtsleeves and waistcoat. He ought to be accustomed to intrusions at all hours. A country practice never closed. Charles gathered that the last few days had been more than ordinarily trying.

I did not expect a curfew, sir. Were good, honest Englishmen in Eye. And Welshmen too. Not some rebellious settlement in the Hindu Kush. Not an enemy position, to be taken, occupied and looted!

The guards blush was still vivid. The tweeny put her hands on her broad hips and laughed.

Your natives seem to put up a sterling defence.

Major Chilcot has set up inspection points, prohibited entry to Hill Wood, closed the Small Man.

I imagine its for your protection. Though Ill see what I can do. If anything is liable to lead to mutiny, its shutting the pub.

You are correct in that assumption, sir. Correct.

Charles assessed Rud as quick to bristle. He was used to being listened to. Hereabouts, he was a force with which to be reckoned. Troubles, medical and otherwise, were brought to him. If Eye was a fiefdom, the Criftins was its castle and Dr. Rudnot the vicar, Justice of the Peace or other local worthyits Lord. The doctor didnt care to be outranked by outsiders. It was painful for him to admit that some troubles fell beyond his experience.

It would be too easy to take against the man. Charles would never entirely trust a doctor.

The bite-mark in his forearm twinged.

Pamela came to mind. His wife. His late wife.

She would have cautioned him against unthinking prejudice. He conceded that Rud could hardly be expected to cope. His usual run was births and deaths, boils and fevers, writing prescriptions and filling in certificates.

None of that would help now.

This sort of affair rang bells in distant places. Disturbed the web of the great spider. Prompted the deployment of someone like Mr. Charles Beauregard.

A long-case clock ticked off each second. The steady passage of time was a given, like drips of subterranean water forming a stalactite. Time was perhaps subjectively slower here than in the bustle of Londonbut as inevitable, unvarying, inexorable.

This business made the clock a liar. Rud did not care to think that. If time could play tricks, what could one trust?

The doctor escorted Charles along the hallway. Gas lights burned in glass roses, whistling slightly. Bowls of dried petals provided sweet scent to cover medical odours.

At the parlour door, the soldier renewed his effort to simulate attention. Rud showed the man Charless card. The fusilier saluted.

Not strictly necessary, said Charles.

Better safe than sorry, sah!

Rud tapped the card, turning so that he barred the door, looking up at Charles with frayed determination.

By the bye, how precisely does membership of this institution, this clubwith which I am unfamiliargive you the right to interview my patient?

We take an interest. In matters like these.

Rud, who had probably thought his capacity for astonishment exhausted, at once caught the implication.

Surely this case is singular? Unique?

Charles said nothing to contradict him.

This has happened before? How often?

Im afraid I really cant say.

Rud was fully aghast. Seldom? Once in a blue moon? Every second Thursday?

I really cant say.

The doctor threw up his hands. Fine, he said, quiz the poor lad. Ive no explanation for him. Maybe youll be able to shed light. Itll be a relief to pass on the case to someone in authority.

Strictly, the Diogenes Club has status rather than authority.

This was too much for Rud to take aboard. Even the mandarins of the Ruling Cabal could not satisfactorily define the standing of the Diogenes Club. Outwardly, the premises in Pall Mall housed elderly, crotchety misanthropes dedicated only to being left in peace. There were, however, other layers: sections of the club busied behind locked steel doors, taking an interest. Gentlemanly agreements struck in Whitehall invested the Diogenes Club as an unostentatious instrument of Her Majestys government. More often than the public knew, matters arose beyond the purview of the police, the diplomatic service, or the armed forces. Matters few institutions could afford to acknowledge even as possibilities. Some body had to take responsibility, even if only a job lot of semiofficial amateurs.

Come in, come in, said Rud, opening the parlour door. Mrs. Zeals has been feeding the patient broth.

The Criftins was low-ceilinged, with heavy beams. Charles doffed his hat to pass under the lintel.

From this moment, the business was his responsibility.

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ii: my mother said I never should

The parlour had fallen into gloom. Dr. Rud turned the gas-key, bringing up light as if the play were about to begin. Act 1, Scene 1: The parlour of the Criftins. Huddled in an armchair by the fire is...