“Thank you.” She paid the man and pocketed the ribbon. “I was wondering if perhaps you could tell me how to find the Royal Society?”
“Eh? Royal Society, is it?”
“Please.” She batted her eyelashes. “If you could point me in the right direction, I would be much obliged.”
“Much obliged, is it?” Removing his cap, he looked her up and down. “Well, if I was wantin’ to find the Royal Society, I would just trot along the way you’re going like, and when I got a little way past Whitehall Palace, I’d start asking folk around there the way to Somerset House. It ent far.”
“Somerset House,” echoed Wilhelmina.
“That’s where they keep it, my darlin’.”
“My thanks, sir. You have been a gentleman.”
The compliment made the fellow smile; he raised his hat to her, which brought a hoot from his near neighbour. “Hoo! Lookit Sweet William there!”
Wilhelmina blew the fellow a kiss and resumed her walk and, following the ribbon seller’s advice, was soon standing outside the pale stone facade of the sprawling edifice of Somerset House-an impressive, imposing pile built right on the Thames so that visitors could arrive and depart by boat. The size of the place and the overpowering grandeur took her aback somewhat, and she spent a moment planning her assault. Then, with a plan firmly in mind, she made her way to the nearest of several doors off the street, pushed through, and found herself in a large garden. An arched entrance stood across the courtyard, which she crossed before entering the main building. She was immediately met by a man in the black livery of a servant, who demanded to know her business.
“I am looking for Dr. Thomas Young,” she replied simply.
The doorman regarded her sceptically. “Women are not permitted entry,” he intoned dryly.
“I do not wish to join the society,” Mina said crisply. “I merely wish to speak to Dr. Young. I have it on good authority that he is a member of the society.”
“Indeed, madam,” confirmed the servant. “Dr. Young is the current president of the Royal Society.” He tilted his head so that he looked down his nose. “It is my opinion that he would not wish to be disturbed.”
“I thank you most kindly for your opinion, to be sure,” countered Mina sweetly. “But I believe that the good doctor himself will be the best judge of whether he wishes to see someone who brings him valuable scientific information.” She had made up that last bit, but thought she could back up the claim in any case. “Now, if you will be so kind as to tell me where I might find him, we will put your ill-considered theory to the test.” She gave the man a superior smile. “Shall we?”
Perhaps unaccustomed to dealing with such stroppy, headstrong females as the one standing before him, the doorman quickly acquiesced, saying, “I regret to inform you that Dr. Young is not in residence, madam. But if I were of a mind to locate him, I would inquire at his medical practise, the offices of which are to be found in Harley Street.”
“There, now,” said Wilhelmina. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” She thanked the fellow for his help and was soon making her way to Harley Street, the traditional home of London’s medical establishment. She located Dr. Young’s offices by reading the large brass nameplates outside the doors and went inside, where she was politely informed that Dr. Young was away on one of his scientific expeditions.
“He is in Egypt this time of year,” the woman explained. “We do not expect him to return before the autumn.”
That was that. Wilhelmina was back on the street within two minutes and heading for the nearest cafe or restaurant where she could collect her thoughts. She found a tidy little eatery on a nearby cross street where she sat with a warm pork pie and pot of tea, contemplating her next move: a visit to Black Mixen Tump. That was the next place listed on the back of the note Cosimo had left for her at the pub in Sefton-on-Sea. She reasoned that if she went there she might find another note, or another clue of some kind. Though where Black Mixen Tump might be-or even what — she had no idea, but reckoned a visit to the British Library would give her access to whatever maps or geographical guides were to be found.
Nor was she disappointed. The Ordnance Survey, recently published, contained an exhaustive index that did indeed list the place. It gave precise coordinates to said feature in Oxfordshire, which Wilhelmina copied down, drawing a neat little map of the area for future reference. The day was advancing as she left the library, and the sun, having long since crossed the midday meridian, was now beginning to fade in the west as clouds drew in. To save time and shoe leather she hailed a hansom cab and told the driver to take her to the nearest overland coaching office.
As the cab jostled its way across cobbled streets, Wilhelmina marvelled again at the amount and variety of street life. Pre-Victorian London was veritably awash with a restless tide of surging humanity and a multitude of wheeled conveyances. In her time in Prague, she had grown used to a more mannered, less frenetic pace, and she much preferred it. Still, the sights, sounds, and smells-garbage and horse manure chief among them-occupied her until she reached her destination.
The office was in the stable yard of the George Street Inn across the river in Southwark, where a clerk in a short green jacket and long brown apron advised her that she could go to Oxford and take another coach from there to Banbury and then prevail upon the locals there to help her find the place. “There’s only a day coach to Oxford,” the clerk told her. “It leaves at crack o’dawn. You’re welcome to wait for it here, but if you’ve got a penny or two, you’ll find more comfortable accommodation at yonder inn.”
Mina purchased her ticket and, taking the clerk’s advice, crossed the stable yard and took a room at the inn. She endured a rather loud supper in noisy company and a rather sleepless night in a flea-infested bed, but was waiting, washed, and breakfasted when the coachman called for passengers to board. There were five, of which Wilhelmina was the only woman; she slept some and made polite conversation with her fellow passengers. The coach reached High Wycombe late in the afternoon, which necessitated another night at an inn, before undertaking the final push to Oxford early the next morning.
After a third night at a coaching inn-this one a cut above the others, in the centre of Oxford-she hired a private carriage to take her to Banbury, where, at the Fox and Geese public house, she was given directions to the tump and a bit of friendly advice from the landlord. “I wouldn’t go up there after dark if I was you, miss. It ain’t safe-leastwise not for respectable folk.”
“Whyever not?” wondered Wilhelmina.
“Strange happenings up there.” He frowned and, laying a finger beside his nose, added, “Say no more.”
Mina thanked him for his advice and took a light dinner and an early night. The next morning she attempted to hire a coach to take her to the tump, but when that failed, she set off on foot. Armed with her sketched map and a packed lunch provided by the innkeeper, and aided by a well-marked track and a fresh, bright day, she had no difficulty finding her way.
Seeing it for the first time as a shadowy, hulking mass against the yellow sky gave the place a weird, menacing cast that brought her up short. She stood in the farmers’ track and stared at the dread Black Mixen as at an apparition. Something about the shape-so unnaturally perfect with its smooth tapering sides and perfectly flat, level top surmounted by three aged oaks twisted and gnarled by time-suggested sinister rites and unspeakable practises. Despite the fine afternoon sunlight all around, the tump itself seemed steeped in perpetual shadow, brooding and ominous.
Mina retrieved her ley lamp from a pocket and held it up, as if it were a flashlight and Black Mixen a darkness to be illuminated. There was no sign of activity from the device, so she stowed it away again and found a dry place under a tree to sit down and relieve her feet. There was no telling what she might find on the other side; it was best to rest while she could. She opened the cloth square containing her lunch and started in on the brown bread and thick slab of pale cheese the innkeeper had prepared for her. After that, she peeled the boiled egg and had a bit of the pork pie; she also had a bottle of small beer and an apple. She ate slowly, and the afternoon dwindled around her; then, much refreshed by the meal, she resumed her assault on Black Mixen Tump.