Bryan Porter [Porter - The Count of Samerand and the Ghost of Belgravia

The Count of Samerand and the Ghost of Belgravia By Bryan M. Porter Copyright 2012 Bryan Porter Published by Bryan Porter at Smashwords Smashwords License Statement This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If youre reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

I publish thesestories to commemorate the great soul that I had the pleasure ofknowing.

Excerpt byDetective Inspector James Wright

Now sitting inthe twilight of my life, I feel the need to leave some record ofthe man so ostracized by the papers now that he is no longer ableto defend himself. It is often the case that people forget aservice but never a slight, and as such I feel that I, myself mustleave some record of the man who was the standard for justice whenit was such a murky matter. I could begin with the first time wehad the occasion of meeting and through a matter of course workingtogether, but as the matter is muddled itself I find myselfchoosing from one of our later adventures.

As I glancethrough my papers marking our deeds between the years 1863 to 1872I find it is hard to choose from the many adventures. Here I findthe adventure of the Italian mason, and here the case of the brokenwindow, but I feel that the case of the Belgravine Ghost bestdemonstrates his unique skill as well as the sense of compassionthat my friend was known for.

It was theevening of April the 5th, 1864 when I called upon my friend, theCount of Samerand, at 337 Dover St. His home was of the recentlyrevived Gothic peaks that caught the eye in such a way that one hadto admire the artistry of the free masons. Stepping down from thehansom I placed three shillings into the grizzled cabbie's hand onhis word that he would remain until I returned. I smiled as I spiedthe good house woman Mrs. Clarke, who as I understood it had beenin the Counts employ since his return to Great Britain afterspending four years in France, was still up so late attending toher masters needs. Generally the main window was to be covered overwith a thick curtain at night giving way to candles and lamps,while in the day they would be opened to allow natural sunlight toilluminate the room, though through a lack of decorum or anignorance of it, my companion's window remained uncovered at allhours. Though because of his strange manner, a visitor was neverleft waiting for long, as was this time when upon seeing me Mrs.Clarke had opened the door as soon as I approached.

"You arefortunate Sir, his lordship is still up." Mrs. Clarke was a stockywoman of fifty years, her brow creased with age and kind brown eyesbeing outline by crow's feet, as her thin lips were by laugh lines.Her hair was already the salt and pepper shade that so marks thepassage of time, and on this night it was falling loosely from herbun after a hard days work.

"Not another ofhis experiments I hope."

"I am afraidso, Sir." She said wringing her hands "He would have the wholehouse down if it were possible."

"Don't worryMrs. Clarke." I said brushing past her. "I will make sure hedoesn't blow himself up."

"Please do."She called after. "Its deathly hard to find work at my age."

I took the stairs to the second floor landing where my friendmaintained as his salle d'tudie .

Come in, comein, but do be quick about it." Said a voice a in a low pleasingtone.

Pushing my wayin, I spied my friend bent over the remains of one of his manyexperiments. The Count of Samerand was a rail thin man standingabout five foot eleven, and though he lacked the inches to make hima six footer his grand manner made him seem a giant among men. Hisfingers were long, tapered, and usually very clean, where as nowthey were smeared with the oil stains which had transferred to hiswhite shirt and forearms as he had at some point in hisinvestigation rolled up the sleeves. His narrow face was obscuredby what he had taken to call his telespectacles, which were hornrimmed spectacles with a curious attachment on the left hand side,which when pressed would shutter down lenses of increasingmagnification. The effects shifted his intelligent deep set greeneyes into a mischief violet, though it could not disguise his deeppallor that was said to note his noble personage.

"A moment ifyou please." He said while bent over the contraption, which seem tosputter and whir as he coaxed it to life.

"Really Count,must you spew such wretched filth?" I said taking my hat to clearthe air in front of me of the thick black stench.

My friendlooked up at me with a bemused expression. "Stench? Really, Wrightyou must learn to enjoy the smell, for I am certain that in comingyears it will become a staple of this great city." Taking off thespectacles he glanced out the window. "It is quite late. Might Iassume that you have come on some urgent business? As hesaid this he went to his wash basin cleaning his limbs with duecare.

Quite so, Iwas hoping I could borrow your intellect."

Of course youwere the only question is in what fashion.

Havingexchanged his shirt for a fresh one, and retrieving the oddlycrimson waistcoat that I had come to associate with him, he seatedhimself in the saddle bag chair across from me. "You know how Irely on you for excitement. All I receive from my clientele is aseries of tediousness.

Then I feelthat I can furnish you this time, as my case this time is singular.It seems like it could involve the supernatural.

My friendraised an eyebrow at that. "Really? How fascinating."

This eveningat half past twelve we received reports of a nefarious act ofmurder at 223 Upper Belgravia St. The victim being one RobertMelbourne, by all accounts a respectable gentleman."

That is hardlysingular my friend.

Just a second,I am getting to the part. The first on sight was a constableMacDonald, he's a bit new to the job but he has a good head on hisshoulders. Well, he says when he arrived he found the valet, andmaid, one Miss Louise Pendleton. The Miss had fainted upon seeingher employers body, and she would not awaken until the two men hadcarried her down stairs and had her drink a bit of brandy. From thetwo the constable was able to discern the coming and going of Mr.Melbourne. According to the maid, Mr. Melbourne returned at aquarter after nine after spending several hours at The Americas, agentleman's club that caters to Americans staying in London...

Then am I tosurmise that he was an American?

Yes, he was aland owner in Oklahoma, and seems to have some trade in tobaccobefore the American civil war. Anyway, Miss Pendleton remarked thatMr. Melbourne was in a foul mood when he returned. She took it tomean that he had lost a great deal at the tables, as Melbourne wasa gambler, but he then ordered that all the doors be locked for thenight before retiring to his study. As the hour was late, the staffthen retired to bed. At eleven the maid rose from her bed as shethought she heard the door open, but when she checked, it was stilllocked. It was then that she heard voices coming from the secondfloor study, one voice spoke heatedly though the only thing shecould make out was the name Russell, while the other voice sherecognized as her employer spoke in low tones. She would havereturned to bed if she hadn't heard the sounds of strugglingclimaxed with a deep mournful cry. Gathering her nerves, sheclimbed the stairs, trying the door only to find it had been lockedfrom the inside. Raising the alarm she had the valet retrieve hissecond set of keys and opening the door. Well upon opening the doorthey found Mr. Melbourne dead in his arm chair.

The Count hadsat quietly through the account, his fingers steeped. It is astory, but what makes it so unique? Surely the criminal has escapedthrough a window or door.

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