Shadows of the Silver Screen (15 page)

Gold was already starting to rise from behind the film camera as the Frenchman bounded up the stone steps, seizing hold of the filmmaker by his collar. At this affront, Gold’s features convulsed with rage, regarding Jacques Le Prince with a murderous glare.

“You’re too late!” he hissed, his hands reaching for the younger man’s throat. “Look, Amelia walks amongst the living once more!”

In the shadow of the chapel, the two men fought, their tussling figures shrouded by swirling mists and the smoke now billowing from the Véritéscope. All the while, the cold eye of the camera stayed fixed on Amelia; the shadows that clung to her slowly melting away as each fresh handful of earth filled the grave.

“Alfie, thank God!”

Down on his knees, Alfie leaned over the edge of the grave, reaching with an outstretched hand towards Monty’s cowering form and the ghost of Lord Eversholt looming behind him in the darkness. Fresh soil rained down, momentarily blinding Alfie as, from across the moor, the sound of an anguished cry rang out.

In an instant, the incessant whine that had filled the air fell silent. Brushing the dirt from his eyes, Alfie looked up to see Amelia’s wraithlike figure melting into mist, her mouth opened wide in a silent scream. As she faded into oblivion, the boy by her side slowly shook his head as if waking from a dream. James’s make-up was beginning to run, the drizzling rain revealing the face of the actor beneath as the villagers looked on in confusion. The ghosts were gone and bewilderment filled every gaze, replacing the unearthly light that had been shining there only seconds before. As the earth fell from their fingers, dropping harmlessly by the graveside, Alfie reached down to haul Monty from the pit.

The actor’s mud-splattered face stared up at him through a veil of tears.

“I thought I was going to die!” he wailed.

Crawling free from the edge of the grave, Monty collapsed on the ground in a blubbering heap. Alfie bent over him, fear still pumping through his veins.

“Where’s Penelope?”

Lifting his head, Monty waved his arm in the direction of the road.

“The carriage,” he groaned.

As Alfie turned to look back, he heard the roar of an engine firing into life and then saw a motor car rolling down the track. He caught a glimpse of Edward Gold behind the wheel, the filmmaker throwing the car round the bend as it accelerated out of sight. Left behind in the shadow of the carriage, he saw Penelope lying on the ground, her features cast in a ghostly pallor.

Alfie set off at a run, pushing his way through the throng to Penelope’s side. Wigram was already kneeling beside her, the elderly lawyer letting out a deep sigh of relief as she finally opened her eyes. Penny pulled herself into a sitting position, colour slowly returning to her cheeks as she looked up into Alfie and Wigram’s worried faces. Around them the mist was starting to clear, sunlight breaking through a crack in the clouds and warming her skin.

“Are you all right?”Alfie asked.

Penny nodded.

“I think so,” she replied, glancing down at her hands as if to reassure herself they were still there. “What are you doing here? Where’s Gold?”

“He’s gone,” Alfie said, gesturing towards the road. “There’s no way we can catch him in that motor car he was driving. He’ll be halfway back to Exeter before we even reach the station.”

Wigram frowned.

“And where exactly is Monsieur Le Prince?” he asked. “Has he at least managed to recover his invention?”

Rising to his feet, Alfie craned his neck in search of the Frenchman. On the steps of the chapel, a single figure was slowly getting to his feet. Beneath his spectacles, a bloodied cut stained Jacques’s cheek, but of the Véritéscope there was no sign; only ragged tendrils of mist were left lurking where the camera had once stood.

XXIV

 

Penelope stared at the stack of galley proofs spilling out from her in-tray, the pages of the September edition of the magazine spreading across her desk. She picked up the cover proof from the top of the pile, the paper crisp beneath her fingers. Below the banner of
The Penny Dreadful,
Edmund Sullivan’s striking illustration showed a mist-shrouded forest alive with eyes. The artist’s intricate inking captured the malevolent gazes of the inhuman creatures who stalked the
tweed-suited
professor wandering into their midst. At the bottom of the page the cover line declared:

 

Featuring the final spine-tingling instalment of

“A GREEN DREAM OF DEATH”

by Montgomery Flinch

 

Penny let out a sigh. She only wished that the filming of
The Daughter of Darkness
out on the wild Devon moors had come to such a neat conclusion. But last month’s strange events had left too many loose ends.

As the mists cleared, they had discovered that Gold had taken the Véritéscope and the film reels containing
The Daughter of Darkness
too, slinging these into the back of his motor car as he fled the scene. With the assistance of Jacques Le Prince, Penny had tried to hunt the filmmaker down, returning to London to scour the fairgrounds and Flicker Alley for any sign of the rogue. But the offices of the Alchemical Moving Picture Company had lain empty, a new nameplate already fixed above the door. Edward Gold was nowhere to be found.

His invention lost again, Jacques had returned to his lodgings a broken man. And as the demands of
The Penny Dreadful
clamoured for her attention, Penelope had tried to cast the troubling events from her mind, burying herself in the final pages of Montgomery Flinch’s latest tale. Monty himself had spent most of his time recuperating in the bar of his gentlemen’s club, trying to drown the memories of his premature burial in the bottom of a glass. All his engagements as Montgomery Flinch had been cancelled – his state of mind too fragile to risk a public appearance. The newspapers had already started sniffing round for the reason why, and, as Penny placed
The Penny Dreadful
’s cover back on top of the pile, she could only hope that he would soon make a full recovery.

She pressed her hand to her temple as a woozy sensation crept over her. Penny stared down at the desk, the grain of the wood drifting randomly in front of her eyes. Since returning from Stoke Eversholt, these episodes still plagued her; a peculiar light-headedness lingering for moments before it passed.

“You seem troubled, Penelope,” her guardian said, looking up from his ledger of accounts and fixing her with a solicitous stare. “I do hope that you haven’t found a mistake in the proofs. The final galleys have already gone to the printers, and the September edition of
The Penny Dreadful
will be rolling from the presses as we speak.”

Penny shook her head, the dizziness already starting to fade.

“The latest edition is a triumph,” she replied. “Thanks to the sterling efforts that you and Alfie made to ensure that it came out on time.” She rubbed her tired eyes, the dark circles beneath a testament to the late nights she had spent scribbling furiously to meet her own deadline, then glanced across at Alfie, whose gaze was still glued to the proofs as he read the last sentence of
A Green Dream of Death
. Finishing the story, he pushed the page away with a shudder.

“This is your scariest tale yet,” he declared, turning towards Penny with a dumbfounded grin. “I didn’t think Professor Archibald was going to get out of there alive. When those creatures started to climb down from the trees…” His voice trailed away with a shiver.

Penny blushed at this praise, but watching her, Wigram’s gaze was still filled with concern.

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off, Penelope?” he suggested. “With the magazine at the printer’s there are no pressing matters here that require your attention. You and Alfie could visit a museum or take the summer air at Hyde Park perhaps.”

At this suggestion of a half-day holiday, Alfie’s eyes lit up with delight.

“A capital idea!” he cried, springing to his feet. “What do you say, Penny? We could take a boat out on the Serpentine.”

With a weary hand, Penny brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. She had too much to do. The next issue of
The Penny Dreadful
was still to be planned. There were advertisements to place, authors and illustrators to commission, but at the back of her mind she could still feel a lingering faintness.

“Perhaps an afternoon in the park would be a good idea,” she replied as she rose unsteadily from her chair. “A chance to clear my mind before I start plotting Montgomery Flinch’s next adventure.”

Alfie grinned in reply. He followed close behind as Penelope picked up her parasol and headed for the door. Placing her hand on its handle, she turned back towards her guardian.

“We will be back before tea.”

Then a frenzied rapping sounded on the other side of the door, making Penny jump.

“Who on earth?”

Turning the handle, she opened the door to be greeted by the sight of Jacques Le Prince. Behind his spectacles, the Frenchman wore a
wild-eyed
expression. Without a word of greeting he stepped forward into the office, thrusting a tattered handbill into Penelope’s hand.

“We must stop him before it is too late!”

Penny looked down at the flyer in her hand.

 

“There are posters across the West End,” Jacques reported. “Every billboard and
lamp-post
emblazoned with the news of Montgomery Flinch’s first cinematograph show. The streets are abuzz with anticipation. Some even say that the Prince of Wales himself will be attending the premiere.”

Penny turned towards Wigram, her eyes wide with alarm.

“But that’s tonight,” she spluttered. “How dare Gold do this? He has no right!”

With a pointed sigh, her guardian shook his head in reply.

“The contract Montgomery Flinch signed gave Edward Gold the exclusive right to reproduce and exhibit
The Daughter of Darkness
. The cinematograph show of this story belongs to him alone. There’s nothing we can do to stop this premiere.”

“But you must,” Jacques declared, his Gallic fury threatening to burst from his breast. “If Gold shows this film tonight then the Theatre Royal will be filled by the ghosts he has conjured!”

There was a moment of silence and then Alfie gave a nervous giggle.

“I don’t reckon that will make too much of a difference,” he grinned. “That place is haunted anyway. Monty told me that he’d once seen the ghost of Joe Grimaldi on the stage there.”

“You don’t understand,” Jacques snapped. “Else you wouldn’t dare to joke of such things. I have spent the weeks since my return attempting to fathom the mysteries of the Véritéscope. If what I have discovered is true, then the lives of Montgomery Flinch and his niece are at stake as well.”

“What do you mean?” Penny asked. “Surely we are safe now we have escaped from that haunted place.”

“Remember, the Véritéscope is no ordinary camera,” Jacques replied, peering earnestly over his spectacles to meet Penelope’s gaze. “It doesn’t just record the scenes that are placed in front of its lens, it captures the spirits that lurk there as well. The ghosts of Eversholt Manor now dwell within the reels of
The Daughter of Darkness.
When the film rolls, the Véritéscope will free these phantoms, but to truly live they need the spark of a living soul.” His eyes glittered darkly. “The spark that lives in you, Miss Tredwell.”

Wigram glared at the Frenchman, his features pinched in a scowl.

“Mr Le Prince, you have no right trying to alarm Miss Tredwell in this way. What you are saying goes against all scientific understanding. What proof do you have for these preposterous claims?”

“I have conducted countless experiments with what remains of my father’s equipment,” Jacques replied darkly. “I have also visited the offices of the Society for Psychical Research to read Myers’s reports into the persistence of the human spirit after death. All the evidence points to this conclusion: the unearthly bond between Miss Tredwell and the late Miss Eversholt was forged beneath the gaze of the Véritéscope. The camera didn’t just capture Amelia’s spirit; it stole a piece of Penelope’s soul. For Amelia Eversholt to live, Penelope Tredwell must die.”

Penelope’s face paled at this revelation. She remembered Amelia’s ghostly fingers reaching towards hers as she took the stone from her hand; shadows crowding her mind as an unearthly torpor took hold. As a chill shiver ran down her spine, Penny remembered staring up through her limpid fingers and seeing only sky. In her heart the fear grew that Jacques Le Prince was speaking the truth.

“I understand the enmity you hold towards Mr Gold,” her guardian began, “but surely he would not countenance such a scheme.”

“Eddie knows nothing of this,” Jacques replied. “It is his belief that the power of the Véritéscope alone can raise Amelia from the grave. But her spirit is cold and, once it is freed from the cell of the film reel, she will seek out Penelope’s warm embrace so that she can steal the spark she needs from her soul. Only then will she live again.”

“She’ll have to get past me first,” Alfie interrupted, stepping protectively in front of Penelope.

The Frenchman met Alfie’s fierce gaze with a respectful stare.

“I admire your pluck,
mon ami
, but even if Miss Tredwell fled to the ends of the earth she could not escape from this parasite. The bond that the Véritéscope has forged cannot be broken; it will inexorably draw their two souls together come what may.”

In the silence that followed, Penny could hear the pounding of her heartbeat and felt an invisible band tighten around her chest.

“Then what can I do?” she asked, searching Jacques’s face for an answer.

“This film must be destroyed,” he told her, his low voice laced with certainty, “before it is too late.”

Penelope glanced down at the flyer, her mind a whirl of fearful imaginings.