“Rachel, your association with those at the museum of Barnum led Mr. Figg to my rescue. Mr. Figg, fortunately, had come upon me at the newspaper, where, at the time of our meeting, I was unable to reciprocate his greeting with one of my own. I surmise, too, dear Rachel, that Paracelsus has told into your private ear, certain facts about your life that you thought were unknown to all except you and Justin/9
She nodded, less on guard now. “He has. I have repaid him for his help to me by introducing him to my friends who have also lost a loved one and wish to contact-”
Poe said, “I assume these friends are wealthy.”
“Eddy, this part of my life does not concern you. If you have ever cared for me, I beg you to remember this.”
“Rachel, you and I are pawns. Because of me, two men are dead. Was is not Paracelsus who told you to engage me as go-between? Did he not say that it would be better for me to come to terms with the resurrectionists, rather than seek someone else for this dangerous task?”
“No! You were my choice because I felt you cared for me and would be certain to handle this matter most carefully. Paracelsus was against using you. He said your reputation as ‘Mr. Tomahawk’ would make you difficult to control. He said you were too analytical, too piercing in your judgments, too obsessed by your mania for the truth.”
Poe let his arms flop to his side. “Left-handed compliments. Accepted nonetheless. What he got was a man at home with the scum of our day, a position for which I am most qualified. I am at ease in grog shops, rum palaces and gutters from the Battery to the farmland beyond Forty-Second Street. Hamlet Sproul deduced I was the Judas goat and so I was. Sproul said their hearts and livers were cut out and burned. Rachel, this is a demon rite going back thousands of years. It is an offering to Asmodeus, king of all demons, he who triumphed over Solomon, wisest of Christian rulers.”
Rachel shook her head. “I shall never betray Paracelsus, Eddy. Never.”
“He has killed men, Rachel. He could well kill you.”
“Eddy, I do not believe this.”
“The man who butchered Sylvester Pier and Tom Lowery in this frightening ritual, is a man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. Had he felt Paracelsus was in his way, he would have murdered him as well. I can only deduce that the continued existence of Paracelsus, with his interest in the body of Justin, means that Jonathan does not want Paracelsus dead. Progressing further, it means both men are one and the same. The fiend who slaughtered those two ghouls is not a man to accept interference or competition. That Paracelsus continues to live means he is Jonathan or at the least, totally serves him.”
She found the strength to be cruel to him. “This sounds like one of your better tales, Eddy. I would pay a penny to read it, which is twice what it is worth.”
“Rachel, do not-”
“Is it true that you fall alseep at night only with the aid of an opium pipe?”
“Rachel, I beg you, do not hurt me this way!”
She angrily turned on Figg. “And you sir, this business of eating the flesh of your dead wife. I would wager that the Archbishop would find it amusing were he to hear it.”
“He’s dead, mum.” Figg looked down at the carpet. “He, after he had eaten, he, uh, he became disturbed in the head, mum and he cursed God. He could no longer believe in a god what could let somethin’ like this happen, so he killed himself. Hung himself from the church bell tower.”
She broke down, sobbing behind her hands. Figg watched Poe go to her and take her in his arms. Maybe she didn’t mean them things she just said about little Mr. Poe, thought Figg, but she was still much in favor of this Paracelsus, who Mr. Poe says is one and the same as Jonathan. That bein’ the case, the weepin’ widow was just the one to lead Figg to the good doctor.
Figg said, “Beggin’ your pardon, mum, but what does this Dr. Paracelsus look like?”
She lifted her head from Poe’s shoulder. Even in tears, Rachel Coltman was never less than lovely. “He is old, gray in hair and beard and he is large in the chest, a most impressive man. I do not see how he could possibly be your Jonathan.”
Figg frowned. He’d seen Jonathan, but in the dark of night and from a distance, and even then, he had not seen Jonathan’s face. Still, what he’d seen had been a slim, young man who moved quickly and gracefully. Nothing like this Paracelsus.
Figg said, “Jonathan is a much younger man, Mr. Poe.”
Poe kept his back to Figg and his arms around Rachel Coltman. “Mr. Figg, did you not yourself tell us that Jonathan was involved with travelling players?”
“That I did.”
“So, does it surprise you that his appearance can vary at will?”
“No, it does not, Mr. Poe. Leastwise since you have pointed it out. And I thank you.” Mr. Dickens was correct. Our little friend in the black clothing has his uses.
Rachel pushed Poe away from her. “I cannot help you, Eddy. I cannot. I will help neither you nor Mr. Figg to harm Dr. Paracelsus.”
“Rachel, twice within hours someone has attempted to destroy my mind, to shatter my sanity with illusions.” He opened his hand to show her the cut. “Something designed to make me doubt my reason occurred at the home of Miles Standish. A similar and most cruel occasion was visited upon me last night and as yet I do not know why.” Virginia, my dearest, dearest, do not leave me.
“Rachel, it is my belief that Paracelsus or Jonathan, wants to harm me in a manner that could be my utter ruin. Can you tell me why?”
Her hand reached out to touch his cheek. “Oh Eddy, oh darling Eddy. Ask anything of me, but do not ask me to deprive myself of Dr. Paracelsus. I will do all that you say in this matter except betray him.”
Figg said, “Tell us when Jonathan or Paracelsus contacts you again. Tell us when he asks you to arrange a meetin’ with some of your friends.”
“A seance,” said Poe. “It is termed a seance, Mr. Figg.”
Rachel shook her head. “I will not.”
Poe gripped her hands. “You must!”
“No!”
“You are in danger. I swear it!”
“Eddy, I must leave now. Miles sent a message earlier regarding the ransom and I must meet him to sign papers releasing the money. That is my sole concern at the moment. I am counting on your assistance in recovering the body of my husband.”
Figg saw Poe nod. Figg himself bowed when Rachel Coltman said, “Mr. Figg, Mr. Bootham,” then left the room, shutting the door behind her.
Mr. Bootham’s long, loud sigh was the only sound. He cleared his throat. “I, I, is there any assistance I can render, Mr. Figg?”
Figg kept his eyes on the closed door. “You can forget what you just ‘eard ‘ere today, Mr. Bootham. Your life is forfeit if you don’t. Jonathan would do you as easily as peelin’ a banana.”
“I understand, sir. You can rely on me. It is all quite upsetting, quite upsetting. I came to this New York as a war correspondent over thirty-five years ago and I cannot get used to its unending violence. This city, dear Jesus this city. It is alive and savage with its mind-boggling extremes of wealth and poverty. It is the largest city in a half-civilized land, a city of widespread crime and heartbreaking destitution and slums more heinous than any found in Europe.”
The little journalist shook his head. “It is a city of cholera, yellow fever and smallpox, but none of these plagues pose the danger of this man Jonathan.”
“Paracelsus,” said Poe, walking over to a decanter of brandy.
When he reached for it, Figg’s hand gripped his wrist. “None a that, squire. I need you.”
Poe sneered. “I have needs of my own, sir.”
“Satisfy ’em when our business is concluded.” Figg tightened his grip on Poe’s wrist. Let the poet know early on whose hand was on the whip.
Poe tried to pull away, but couldn’t. “I come from a fine family, sir and we lived like quality, in quality surroundings, in a quality home. Had you laid hands on me then, I would have had you horsewhipped.”