Chapter 29

The next day, Adison has not planned any appointments with patients, she wants to see Vincent off to his first rehearsal. They have breakfast together, and Vincent is no longer apprehensive, but rather excited. He knows his lines by heart, he has interpreted the character he plays, and he is eager to start. Adison feels a lot better about his mood, and Catherine and herself wave him off. Then they prepare their laundry to be sent to the woman who does the washing for them, and they play with the farm animals.

Feeling a bit ashamed to admit she still likes playing, Catherine has asked Adison to join her in a game anyway, and Adison has reacted totally normal, of course a two year old still wants to play with toys.

And then they tackle one of the books on magic, Adison asking Catherine: 'How did you learn to read, love? All by yourself?'

'It was difficult, there were few books in Nelly's house, but my foster-sisters and -brothers had some school books, and they let me 'play school' with them since I always treated books respectfully. And the bible, I used that to learn to read.'

'But you had no teacher?'

'No,' she replies, 'sometimes the vicar helped the youngest girl with her reading, and I was allowed to sit on her lap during those lessons. But I mostly taught myself.'

Catherine shows Adison the spell she used, and it is indeed pretty easy, it resembles the fireball very much, but it seems a bit more helpful in the city, where open fire is usually a bad idea, and smoking bodies tend to attract attention of the wrong kind. It is difficult to practice, for one cannot go about stunning people, whereas throwing fireballs is quite do-able in their basement.

'Studying magic is much more fun like this, Catherine,' Adison observes, 'you have a real talent for these things. Which is probably why those witches want to recruit you.'

'I cannot imagine how they would think to recruit me by trying to kill my mother. I'm going to find the counter to that wall-crawl, and make our house impenetrable. Or make it so then can come in, but get stuck half-way. Thought that would start to smell. If you hadn't warned me against it, I'd have spat on her.

When can I come to the workshop? We'll go by day, won't we?'

'If we go in the dark, we'll take Mina along, dad handled that witch easily, so Mina can do so, too.'

That afternoon, when Mina is awake and Victor is manning the practice, Miss Yves calls. She looks worried, and Mina takes her to the kitchen, where she gladly greets Adison and Catherine. She must be lonely, living with that horrid old man.

Miss Yves says: 'Remember that lady in the coffee-house, who spilled coffee on Catherine?

I had seen her before on a seance in someone's home, and now she's dating your father! Her name is Evelyn Poole, and she lives in a rather ugly castle-like house in the outskirts. She seems to have bewitched him.'

They tell her that the lady in question actually is a witch, and that she may indeed have put some spell on Mina's father.

'What can I do?' Vanessa is in doubt, 'I cannot tell him, it sounds ludicrous. Can you come visit? Both of you?' This last, looking at Adison, she clearly remembers being freed of a possession by the slight young woman.

'We will, we can probably tell whether she really spelled him or not. But I cannot remove an enchantment without his consent,' Adison says.

'Suppose you know where to find her of an evening,' Mina adds, 'I bet Vincent wants a nice little chat with her, her cronies have attacked us twice so far. I guess he'll want to shake some answers out of her, and I'm eager to help him.'

'Tomorrow late in the afternoon or in the evening? He usually sees her in the afternoons, then comes home for dinner, and sometimes he sees her in the evening.'

They agree on the evening, Adison wants Vincent along, and he will certainly be back by evening, she had expected him back already, he is late today.

Miss Yves has a lot of faith in them, that much is clear, for she seems a lot more relaxed instantly, and chats about this and that with Mina.

Catherine is clearly eager to ask Miss Yves something, and after ten minutes she can no longer control herself and says: 'Miss Yves, did you manage to comfort that poor American man whose lady passed away?'

After her first surprise, Miss Yves expression becomes rather soft, and she replies: 'I think I did, Catherine. I asked him to visit and he did, we talked for hours. That was the first visit.

We went out a few times, and we ended up...well, that's no conversation subject for a little girl. Let's just say I managed to make him forget his loss for a few hours each time we met.

I like him a lot, he makes me feel safe. Though I can feel there is something strange about him, too, something he hasn't told me yet. He keeps a certain distance. But I haven't told him all about me either, I suppose that's just normal.'

That casual remark gives Adison an idea, and she looks at Miss Yves with sight. The woman has as much potential as Catherine, small wonder the enemy wanted her! But why isn't she using it to defend herself? Adison dare not ask.

Miss Yves is still discussing her American friend with Catherine: 'He told me he is planning to move away from London soon, he feels useless with nothing to do, but I'd feel safer if he stayed a little longer, with those witches closing in. Who knows when they decide to try for me once more...'

Her answer completely satisfies Catherine, apparently the girl wasn't looking for gossip but just for news on that poor man. She says: 'I'm glad he's feeling better and I hope you will manage to keep him near you if you feel safer with him. I feel safe with dad, but Adison and I managed quite well already. Why don't you use magic to defend yourself?'

All right, let the toddlers ask the embarrassing questions.

Miss Yves is surprised by the question, but she does not look displeased. She gives a sincere answer: 'I never dared use offensive magic, because of the possession. I was taught the basics of witchcraft by a lady I liked a lot, despite her being an abrasive character. But every time I even thought of using my talent to harm someone, an inner voice egged me on to do it, to come to him, be his forever.

That scared me, for I know there is more of the dark in me than in most people, I can never stay put, I always want to know more than I have a right to, I see things other people can't see. It frightens me, Catherine, I know I have power, but I dare not use it, I fear it will tempt the dark side of me to come to rule me.'

Somehow, Catherine seems to understand that, too. Adison remembers that conversation on chaos and order, someone suggested both she and Miss Yves were targeted by the enemy because they are perfectly balanced between chaos and order, whereas most people lean towards order. Does that mean Catherine feels tempted sometimes?

As always, trying to get a grip on evil and chaos and everything makes her head spin, and she is glad to hear Catherine say: 'Still, I hope dad gets that older lady soon, maybe your father will help us catch her, Mina. If he finds out she has bewitched him.'

That isn't a bad idea at all, and the three women present contemplate the idea.

'You have a very quick mind for a toddler, Catherine,' Miss Yves says, 'I think that is a capital idea. I want her off Sir Malcolm's back, and you want a shot at her. Let's contrive to meet her at a ground of our choosing, I suspect by day would be preferable.'

'We've only seen those ugly creatures by night, I suppose they cannot work that magic by day,' Catherine observes, 'I'm glad dad is home at night for a few months, he can handle them all, I'm sure.

Miss Yves looks pleasantly surprised and asks: 'Has he started his rehearsals? That must be very exciting for him, a new role, a new theatre, and new people.'

Meanwhile, Vincent is enjoying himself hugely, but also wondering what he has gotten himself into.

The first day of rehearsal has been very succesfull, he has met the entire cast, and they have all been as open and as friendly to him as George Alexander and the other people he met at the audition.

The atmosphere is different, there is less joking during the rehearsals themselves, these actors are very serious indeed about their craft. But since Vincent was always the most ambitious player of his old company, to him this circumstance is rather a gain than a loss.

And outside the moments of hard work, they do make fun and joke, only differently. They use literary references a lot, and quote from memory, something he likes to do himself but rarely does to not bore everyone around him to death. But these people love it, and Vincent understands everything they say, and can join in their conversation because he has read the works they talk about.

As usual, Adison was right, nobody looks at him askance, they only judge his performance, and give honest critique on it, views and suggestions he can actually use to improve his acting, sometimes a lot.

He loves it here!

The lady playing the role of his love-interest is not the girl who played the audition with him, and a bit older than he expected, but she is such a good actress that he totally forgets her looks, entranced by her enactment of the scene they are rehearsing. She seems happy with him, too, and makes him feel very welcome.

They all work very hard for two hours, then have lunch together, and work for another hour, after which George, who directs the play, calls it quits. Most of the cast have another play to perform that night, and it is rather difficult to do that without being able to become their persona first. They need time for that.

Vincent is glad his little 'inheritance' has enabled him to quit the old show, this is quite tiring, and with a small child and a bunch of witches to consider, he'd rather take it easy the coming three months.

As they take leave, Mr Wilde spots Vincent donning his sword, then his long black coat, and asks him to accompany him to his friend, Lord Alfred Douglas no less, for some fencing.

'I don't practise any sports myself,' he admits, 'but my friend loves fencing, and he's become so good at it that none of his friends present any challenge anymore. He's a bit aristocratic, so he'll probably refuse to believe you can present him any challenge, but I study people for my writing, and you, Mr Vincent, move like a predator. On stage you're the meek Reverend, but as soon as you're off, it's back.

I can't wait to see you move at speed, he will be stunned.'

Of course Vincent is always eager to test his skill against another swordsman, but Adison will be worried if he comes back too late, and he expresses his doubts to Mr Wilde by asking: 'Does your friend live far away? I'm on foot and have a family that will be anxious if I come home after dark.'

Laughing, Mr Wilde answers: 'No need to worry, we'll take a cab there and I'll have my friend dust off his carriage to take you home. I suppose you don't ride, being a city man?'

'With the risk of sounding like a braggart,' Vincent replies, certain now he is not wrong, 'I dare state I am a very proficient rider. I can't afford to own a horse now, but I used to own a large, coal black stallion I called Balthasar, that nobody but me dared to handle. Due to an accident I suffered I had to sell him, but I've recently discovered I have not lost my touch with horses.'

'And you loved it,' the playwright states, 'finding that out, I mean, I can see it in your whole demeanor. And calling your vicious black stallion Balthasar, Mr Vincent, you surprise me, I had set you down as a well-read, tranquil, peace-loving man, but apparently you like getting under people's skins sometimes.'

There is real humour and respect speaking from Mr Wilde's tone, he is not half as surly as he looks, apparently much depends on his mood, which seems rather changeable. Vincent smiles, Mr Wilde clearly likes people being aggravated, and he observes: 'My accident changed me, Mr Wilde, I used to be quite an exasperating fellow, but since then I have mellowed considerably.'

By now, they are outside, and Mr Wilde hails a cab with practiced experience. The driver halts his horses, a pair of matched buckskins and actually very handsome, and they get in and are soon off, in the opposite direction of home, Vincent notices.

'Did you hurt your head in that accident, Mr Vincent?' the playwright now asks in a different tone, clearly a bit embarrassed to ask such a personal thing, but too curious not to, 'was Balthasar involved? I sure hope not, people would feel righteous and say you had it coming.'

'You will be relieved to hear, then, that Balthasar was totally innocent, Mr Wilde. I did hurt my head in that accident, actually, but in the back. What you see in my face is the result of the operation that saved my life, though my memory was lost. I regained it only a few days ago, partly because I rode a horse again, a tame one, not Balthasar.'

'You are a very interesting man, Mr Vincent, much more interesting than I'd guessed, though I respected your talent from the first. I can see you didn't like your memories much, and yet you were there today, rehearsing a play as if nothing happened. I'm looking forward to getting to know you better, as well as to seeing your interpretation of the Reverend. He's one of my finer creations I think.'

During this conversation, Vincent has tried to get a notion of where they are going, but he is absolutely in the dark. He has never travelled far in his year of life, and Heathcliff's memories are no use either, he probably stayed in his own quarter of town most of the time. Neil would probably know, but he's not here.

They are driving through a better part of town than Vincent has ever seen, large free-standing houses with a stretch of garden around them, Vincent would have called it a park until he saw Adison's father's estate. Now he knows what a park is.

But he dare not stare out of the window too much, Mr Wilde is not officially his employer, but he has a powerful voice in the theatre, and Vincent cannot afford to insult him trying to visualise a road he won't be able to commit to memory anyway. He will have to trust Mr Wilde's assurance that he will get home safely.

So he gives up trying to find out where he is, and pretty soon they drive up a lane towards a rather large house, surrounded by one of those park-like gardens, and the cab comes to a halt. Mr Wilde pays the driver, and they alight.

A young man, only a little past twenty, runs out of the house and falls on Mr Wilde's neck, if this is the young Lord he is a mighty lot closer to Mr Wilde than Vincent suspected from the conversation. Of course he's heard rumours, but since he doesn't care a whit himself whether someone loves girls or boys, he has never given them much thought.

Surprisingly, even Heathcliff had rather enlightened opinions on love, his own love given to a single woman, he still didn't judge those who loved more individuals or those of the same gender.

Nonetheless it is a little embarrassing to be standing there with two people being rather intimate, and Vincent is relieved when Mr Wilde breaks off the embrace and introduces him to his friend: 'Bosie, this is Mr Vincent, he's playing the Reverend, Mr Vincent, Lord Alfred Douglas.'

They shake hands and Lord Douglas observes: 'How do you do, Mr Vincent, Oscar was very pleased to have you in his play. Are you the swordsman?'

At Vincent's affirmative bow, one does not meet a Lord every day, after all, Lord Douglas says: 'Jolly good, I told him to bring you straight away. Glad to meet you. I hope you have some energy left after one of George Alexander's rehearsals, for I'm eager to test my skills against a true master.'

Vincent knows he can beat anyone at swordplay, but on force and quickness, not specifically in traditional style fencing, he has developed his own style, which is way more effective. So he says: 'I'm a very effective fighter, but I've ever only had one formal swords-master, my style may be lacking in traditional accuracy.'

'Even better,' the young noble exclaims, 'a real life swordsman, tested in the streets instead of the fencing arena. Can we have a go straight away, or do you want a refreshment first?'

Vincent politely declines going in to the house, he's kind of excited himself to meet a young, noble fighter, his style has never been tested against someone with all the instruction money can buy, and he is eager to start. Besides, Adison and Catherine will be waiting, and who knows what time he'll be able to return home.

But their host leads them inside anyway, and they walk through several incredibly opulent halls and rooms, painted in smooth pastel colours, pink, baby-blue, lavender, with valuable wooden furniture and beautiful, though gaudy, bronze and china ornaments. Paintings adorn the walls, landscapes, seascapes, but mostly richly dressed people, ladies with ornate coiffures, their velvet dresses and diamond colliers painted with minute precision.

Then they enter a high hall which looks rather bare in comparison.

The floor is wood, but not polished to a sheen, it is beautiful but rather simple, planking instead of intricate mosaic, and the reason that it is not polished soon becomes apparent to Vincent: this room is meant solely for fencing. One side of the room consists entirely of mirrors, the other side has a few simple chairs, and a virtual armoury of sabers, rapiers and swords, all stored neatly in special cabinets of polished wood.

'Please look around, Mr Vincent, get the size and feel of the room, do you want any protective gear?' Vincent is not used to wearing any, and he would prefer not to, but young Lords are generally thought to be reckless and not particularly careful about the welfare of even their friends, let alone people from a decidedly lower class than themselves. Still, it would be a disgrace, and he does not believe the young Lord will be able to get a hit on him, so he replies: 'You're a gentleman, and I am used to sparring without protection, so I guess we may forgo.'

That pleases the young man, he seems cocky but not out to hurt anyone, and he offers: 'You can choose any weapon you like from my armoury, I have my own favourite with me.'

As answer, Vincent removes his coat, showing the sheathed blade on his belt, hanging the coat on a peg well away from where the action will be.

'You have your own blade with you! Do you always wear that? You must have dangerous enemies then, how very exciting! Oscar here has enemies, too, but they're not armed with swords, but with pens. Can I see your blade?'

With a grin, Vincent pulls it out of the sheath and hands if over, hilt first, to the young Lord.

That worthy immediately loses his brawny pose and examines it minutely, feeling the edge, and finally testing the balance. 'Superb workmanship, the steel is not folded, but still it looks of excellent purity and very tough. It's bit heavy for me, but you're a good deal broader, and is there something weird about the balance? It feels slightly different. Not off, just different.'

Vincent answers: 'It is pure steel, made by a special process that the craftsmaster invented himself, a secret process of course. I've tested it extensively, against one just like it, and they didn't chip or even scratch. That's why it isn't folded, it didn't need to be worked to be purified.

And the balance is different, because this blade was designed by a smith who fences himself. I have not met him myself, but he must be good, for this blade is the best I ever used. Of course I haven't been able to afford Damascus steel, nor the best work available, so I cannot compare to that.'

Lord Douglas is very interested, apparently he can concentrate, and he really does know blades and iron, and he states: 'Well, let's get to it, I'll choose a blade that matches the weight of yours a little better than my favourite, and if you wield this one well, maybe you will let me try it for balance after that?'

'Of course, my Lord, I have promised the craftsmaster who made it to promote his work wherever I can.'

And with this, they both take a formal stance and greet each other.

Vincent, still aware of the difference in class, holds back a little, one cannot thrash a Lord in his own home after all, and the first exchange of blows takes place on Lord Douglas' instigation. Keeping to the traditional style, and holding back about half of his actual strength, though none of his agility, Vincent catches the blade of his opponent with his own, then tests his defence with a lightning succession of strokes against the young man's blade.

In the following spar, Vincent learns a lot about Lord Douglas. He is fast, and he is strong, and he manages to press Vincent almost as hard as Bruce does. It is difficult to stick to the traditional style, Vincent has already missed several opportunities to disarm the young man, traditional fencing just doesn't allow for his superior speed.

Picking up the speed another notch, Vincent notices that Lord Douglas starts to falter, but this is to be expected, for Vincent is now moving beyond natural speed. The young man knows plenty of difficult manoeuvres, but this is going too fast for him, he can no longer complete his moves and he is getting a little sloppy in his defence, especially on his left side. Too bad, this one is not a real challenge to Vincent. He decides to not disarm him, that is humiliating, he just keeps the bout going until his opponent signals a stop. They greet, and totally out of breath, the young Lord gasps: 'You are the best fighter I've ever seen, and you were holding back, weren't you?'

With a bow, Vincent replies: 'Thank you, my Lord, and yes, I was holding back, but only strength, speed is not dangerous, so I went all out on that.'

'I'm used to being the very best, Mr Vincent, but you have shown me there is always someone better. Will you go another round with me, as soon as I have my breath back? And you have kept to traditional forms perfectly, will you demonstrate your own style afterwards? I would offer my participation, but I'm afraid I'd only be in your way.'

Vincent cannot control a smile at Lord Douglas' sudden modesty, but he is used to teaching novices, so he can demonstrate with an able fighter like him. And he'll give him one advantage, all part of the greater plan in which Paul gets the credit he deserves. 'I will demonstrate with you, I'm very curious what you think of my style. It is a mixture of traditional fencing and martial arts. I may fly a bit.

And to give you a little equalizer, you can use my sword, if you will let me lend one of yours.'

Of course the young man agrees, and whilst he catches his breath, walking a little to prevent stiffness, Vincent handles all the blades in the armoury cabinets, finally choosing one of the right size and weight, of beautifully folded Damascus steel. He has always wanted to feel how that handles, though the balance is as slightly off as all swords are to his feeling.

'With your permission, I'll use this one.'

'That used to be my brother's sword. He passed away last year, to my father's infinite sadness. He was a great swordsman, he's given me many a thrashing until his duties prevented him from exercising his skills. He was my father's heir.'

His musings do not contain a ban on using that particular sword, and they greet once more, traditional style, Lord Douglas handling Vincent's sword with obvious delight. As they exchange blows once again, Vincent bringing out his opponent's best moves by sticking to the young Lord's maximum speed, he is really impressed by that one's knowledge. Without his special physical abilities, Vincent would be hard-pressed.

Of course, sticking to tradition also takes a toll, it truly limits the possibilities for agile moves and lightning reactions, for the Lord too, he notices. He is a very good swordsman indeed, and he might give Bruce competition, though his friend is incredibly fast.

Not speeding up makes this bout a lot more enjoyable, and though Lord Douglas knows that Vincent is now holding back on two fronts, he doesn't seem to resent that. He relishes the speed at which they are moving, he can barely execute the more difficult forms, but it forces him to test his own limits, and it has been a long time since he has been able to do that. Every time Vincent knows Lord Douglas' move will profit by the balance of Vincent's sword, he can see the delight in Lord Douglas' face, he truly is an expert to feel the difference.

This time it is Vincent who finishes the bout, if they want to do a third round, his opponent needs to spare himself just a little. They greet, and immediately the young man falls over himself with praise for Vincent's sword. 'I felt it, it is so much better than any blade I've held. Incredible.' He checks the edge, which is of course as keen as ever.

'I need one of these, just a tiny bit lighter and shorter, and maybe a bit less plain, but I truly need one. Will you give me the address of the maker, that I can order one of my very own?'

Thinking of scores of young nobles calling on Paul to order swords, Vincent replies: 'I will be happy to, I'll write the address down for you once we're done.

Shall we have a go again, this time my style? Use my sword, if it pleases you. We greet like this.

And Vincent demonstrates the greeting Bruce and himself have composed out of martial arts and fencing, and amazingly, the young Lord gets it right straight away.

The first exchange of blows seems normal, until Vincent disappears in thin air, landing behind the young man. He coughs, and the young man turns around, spotting him.

Both the Lord and Mr Wilde look stunned, apparently they have never seen someone jumping like this. They exchange a few more blows, and Vincent tells the young man how they have designed additional moves, and use jumps a lot more often, and every move Vincent demonstrates, Lord Douglas imitates nearly perfectly the first time.

He is a natural, no doubt, and with this style and a new sword, he could soon test at least Bruce to his limits.

'All right, enough, I know I can learn this, but now I want to see your best, so please demonstrate without me holding you back. And he exchanges blades once more, and clears a large space, taking Mr Wilde with him.

Vincent greets again, then launches into one of his practicing exercises, at the top of his speed, killing unseen enemies left and right, incorporating jumps wherever appropriate. When he finishes, both men applaud, and he greets them formally. Then he sheathes his sword, sweating, but not breathing hard, and Mr Wilde comments dryly: 'There is even more to you than I thought, Mr Vincent, that was remarkable even to a layman. I bet Bosie will want to have a set of lessons from you, maybe in exchange for a little ride now and then?'

Vincent is reassured seeing the look of surprised shock he must wear mirrored in the young Lord, Vincent has never minded loving Victor, and he has to admit to himself he'd like to check out whether that young Lukas was serious in his offer of some intimacies once they know each other better, but he would never ever burn his hands on a young Lord with influential parents.

Of course Mr Wilde was teasing the both of them, laughting heartily: 'On a horse, you numbwits, Mr Vincent here likes to ride a horse as much as you do, but he doesn't get the chance very often since he has had to sell his vicious black stallion Balthasar. You've plenty of overspirited hunters, you can indulge him, if he helps you reach another level of swordsmanship. That style is not just very efficient, it is incredibly beautiful to watch. Mr Vincent is only slightly more elegant than I am, but he looked like Apollo flying about like that.'

Mr Wilde is very outspoken, but somehow his bluntness is not hurtful, probably because he doesn't spare himself either.

'You cannot spend other people's time like that, Oscar,' Lord Douglas replies, 'you of all people should know that actors are very busy, and you told me Mr Vincent has the cutest little fairy of a daughter.'

'That she is, and we wouldn't want her to suffer neglect, for I suspect that little fairy can turn into a little elf as quickly as her dad could disarm you.'

These guys are not exactly kind to one another, it is getting rather uncomfortable to be around them, being ignored totally.

Lord Douglas breaks the tension by offering them a refreshment, and Vincent feels obliged to accept, also, he really is thirsty after three rounds of fencing and a demonstration at full speed, on top of an afternoon's rehearsal. For Lord Douglas is right, George Alexander is very demanding.

They move to another lavishly decorated room, though a little more masculine in style, with red and blue walls instead of light blue or pink, and Vincent does wonder whose mansion it is.

The young man is reputed to have a rather indifferent bond to his father, and this mansion practically exudes femininity, excepting this room and the salle.

His host and Mr Wilde are drinking brandy, straight, but Vincent has to draw a line somewhere, and though he can guzzle brandy all day without getting drunk, he is positively thirsty and he doesn't care for the taste either, so he opts for a glass of wine, well-watered.

The distinction of the classes must be respected, and former orphans cannot go around drinking expensive brandy in broad daylight. One of these men is in a way his employer, and Vincent needs to show himself respectable and appropriate.

Drinking brandy doesn't seem to stop the gentlemen's bickering, they are not fighting, but they don't exactly seem friends either. Mr Wilde criticizes Lord Douglas' dependance upon his tirannical father and his mother, who seems to be divorced from him.

Lord Douglas criticizes Mr Wilde's choice of actors for his play, and his decision to let George Alexander direct it as well as play the lead role.

Fortunately Lord Douglas' fencing skills are no longer derided, for that would make Vincent feel bad for having outclassed him, plus the young Lord is really good, it wouldn't at all be deserved. After one glass of watered wine, Vincent feels it is totally appropriate to want to go home, not just because he feels very uncomfortable in the company of the two men, but also because his family will be waiting for him.

He has had a great time fencing with Lord Douglas and he tells him so politely, then requests directions back to the St James' theatre.

'You can't walk all that, that's more than an hour, it will be dark by the time you get there and there are gangs of...oh never mind those,' Lord Douglas says. 'Anyway, I am your host and therefore it will be my pleasure to see you home safely, which is why I will drive you home personally, in my lovely curricle with my best team.'

He rings a bell and talks to a liveried servant.

'Please have another glass of wine, it's the best vintage I could get hold of, and I'll take you to your doorstep, so you can drink it unwatered, to appreciate the superb taste.'

Of course, that is true, it is a waste and a shame to water excellent wine, and Vincent accepts a glass with the respect it deserves. And it is indeed a marvellous wine, thinking of the wines they usually drink, this one is almost alive in his mouth.

They have drunk excellent wine at Adison's father's home, and a memory presents itself of some much darker, much stronger vintage he had regularly when still in the service of the master, and he decides to ask what kind that may have been, it might bring the conversation to a more innocuous subject.

The gentlemen immediately agree that it must have been Madeira wine, and they keep up a discourse on the best wines from all over Europe until the servant announces that the carriage is ready.

Mr Wilde stays behind, he seems affected by the brandy already, and the thought of a wobbly ride across town clearly doesn't appeal to him.

Taking leave very politely, and thanking him for a fun afternoon, Vincent is actually glad he is not coming. They will have a nice row when Lord Douglas returns, about nothing at all. These gentlemen love each other, but the secrecy they have to live in is clearly taking its toll. But Vincent prefers they release that tension without him, or with physical exercise instead of bickering.

As they move outside, Lord Douglas thanks him profusely for the sparring, and tells Vincent: 'I really would like to have some instruction from you, or from anyone else able to teach your style. I do believe I'm at the pinnacle of my art in traditional fencing, and I want to move on.

Vincent can heartily agree that his own style has a lot to offer this gentleman, and he suggests that as long as the rehearsals last, he can teach once a week after practice, if Lord Douglas can have Vincent fetched and taken home. 'I live well, but I cannot afford to keep a horse,' he says.

They decide on a day and a time, and talk quite seriously about matters of money, independence and love for the duration of the ride, which is very pleasant.

The curricle is beautiful, and very comfortable, and with two horses instead of one it is very fast indeed. The horses are excellent quality as well, Lord Douglas does not need to have his carriage horses saddle trained, he probably has a stable full of saddle horses as well. These are very slim, bay in colour and very fast trotters. Beautiful, elegant creatures.

'Do you drive?' he asks Vincent.

'I don't think so, no,' Vincent answers, a bit tired and not aware how strange that must sound.

'Aren't you sure?' the young man asks.

Vincent explains, very shortly: 'I suffered a broken skull, and lost most of my memories.'

'That explains a lot,' the Lord offers, and he doesn't ask any further, but asks instead: 'Care to try? Maybe you'll remember.'

After short explanation, he hands Vincent the reins, but the feeling of two sets of reins is not familiar, nor do any memories surface to suggest he has done this before. It is kind of fun though, and since it is not very busy in this part of town at this time of the afternoon, he asks whether he can try anyway, until they reach the busier area of St James.

'So you don't remember doing it before?'

Keeping an eye on traffic, he replies: 'No, had I done it before I'd know.'

Suddenly, Lord Douglas says: 'Despite our bickering, Oscar and I really care for each other.'

Glad to be busy, Vincent manages to say lightly: 'I suspected something of the kind.'

'And you don't judge us for that?'

Eyes still on the road, Vincent replies: 'It's not my place to judge you.' That sounds really dry and uncaring, this young man feels strongly about this, so he elaborates: 'I've loved a man.'

'But you are married, don't you love your wife? Oscar didn't.'

'I love my wife to distraction. Actually, we loved our best friend together. It was good, and now he has a girl of his own.'

Now the traffic is thickening, carriages and carts, and even some cyclists and automobiles, and Vincent quickly but quietly hands the reins back to Lord Douglas.

'You are a horseman, that much is clear. I've enjoyed talking to you as much as fencing with you. I'm looking forward to your lessons. Say, we forgot to write down the address of the smith who made your sword, will you remember that when we reach your house? That's St James over there, if you tell me how to drive we'll be at your home in no time.'

As Vincent gives the directions, thinking hard because he has used some alleys that can only be crossed on foot, Lord Douglas seems quite familiar with the neighbourhood. When Vincent remarks on this, he replies: 'I do know this quarter, my mother has recently started to use a practice here for her complaints, and they don't do housecalls on our side of town, said it was too far away.

I told my mother she'd better use one closer to home, one that does do housecalls, it's demeaning to have to go to a practice, but she insisted, said she was glad they had one now, so she could use the best practice in town. It's a few blocks ahead, you may have heard of it since you live close, maybe you know whether their reputation is deserved. Mother says they can bring people back from the dead, but that's just ludicrous.'

Vincent cannot believe his ears, one of the new customers, what are the odds?

'You mean Dr Frankenstein's practice?'

'So you've heard of it, is it any good? Or is my mother throwing her time and money away? She does seem better.'

Smiling, Vincent replies: 'I can't give you an impartial opinion on Dr Frankenstein's practice, Dr Frankenstein is my best friend, and my wife is his partner in the firm. Of course I find them the best doctors in the entire town, he saved my life, and she cured my wounds.'

Let him think of that what he wills.

'That is where you live? I know exactly where that is. Imagine the coincidence! I'll tell my mother I won't argue with her anymore, I had a friend who broke his skull getting kicked by his own horse. He died within days, never regained consciousness.

And you just beat me at swordplay three times, I didn't have a chance, and Oscar and George speak highly of your talent as an actor. The doctor and your wife must be geniuses.'

And at that moment, they arrive, and Vincent runs into the practice and writes down Paul's address on a slip of paper. Before anyone has noticed him he is back outside, and he hands the paper to Lord Douglas.

'I had a lot of fun, Lord Douglas, you are a very skilled fighter indeed. I'm looking forward to teaching you a few tricks. And thanks for the ride, it was incredibly smooth.'

The young man looks pleased, and they shake hands. Then he turns the carriage and Vincent walks in, straight in Adison's loving arms.

'I'm so happy to see you, we expected you back hours ago.'

She is not in tears, but he can hear she has been very worried about him.

Lifting her in his arms, he snuggles his face against her, and kisses her throat and cheeks. Then he says: 'I'm sorry love, Mr Wilde asked me to come with him to spar with a friend of his, Lord Douglas. I didn't dare refuse, but I must admit I liked the challenge as well. Apparently his mother is a patient of yours.'

This distracts Adison from her worried state, and she thinks for a moment then says: 'I think I know whom you mean, a new patient, very noble and very rich. She has severe overweight and is starting to really suffer for it.

I've prescribed her some special foods, difficult to get so she will not feel cut short but rather feel special. And some physical exercise, that is very important, if you get to know her son better maybe you can stress the importance of a walk a day to him.'

Glad to hear Adison so enthousiastic about her treatments for something that is not really a sickness, but according to her very unhealthy, he observes: 'They have a beautiful garden, every reason for her to go out and take a walk each day. And her son is an avid fencer, he's very good, they have a special room for physical exercise in their home.'

'I don't see this particular lady fencing, but who knows,' apparently the very idea makes her laugh, and Vincent melts at the sight, taking her in his arms once more, kissing her fervently and saying: 'You were totally right once again, my love, everybody was nice, they worked as hard as me, they quoted poetry for absolutely no reason at all, and I had read all the books they talked about. No-one looked at me twice, except when I was on stage, and no-one critiqued anything but my acting, I got some very useful tips, and I'm glad you and I don't bicker.'

'All right, I got all of that, except the bickering,' Adison remarks, and Vincent explains. They talk all the way to the kitchen, Vincent feels free as a bird after this first meeting, apparently it really, really scared him. He is just in time for dinner, and they all enjoy an hour together, after which Mina and Victor walk to the workshop, and the other three decide on impulse to go to the show tonight, Bruce and Maud have the lead now, and it will be fun to see everyone again.

'Or did you miss your nap this afternoon, Catherine?' She doesn't look tired, but Vincent prefers her to be fit if they're going to be late.

But just when they have finished dressing for the show, there is a knock on the door, an emergency probably, which means they will all have to go if it's a housecall.

Vincent opens the door, and finds a very average looking man of middle years standing behind it, dressed in rough, but clean and whole clothing. Instead of panicked, he seems very calm, and frankly his demeanour belies his simple attire. A very intriguing man, and Vincent is getting really curious what the purpose of his visit might be.

Not an emergency to be sure.