Chap. 4
We reached the home of the next (with a bit of luck) League member without any more mishaps. In fact, the rest of the ride had been cloaked in a silence, with thoughts circling us all. The home of this League member was on the corner, next to the East London docks, and I grinned at the good fortune. Whether this person would joined or not mattered little to me, what mattered more was that we were but a few moments from where we would meet our true vessel.
I waited patiently for Captain to exit the automobile before setting down our umbrella and climbing out after him, my cap and cover back in place. "Shall I wait, captain?" Ishmael asked as I slipped past Captain to stand at his side and stare at the gloomy house of our next possible member. "No, bring my lady to me," I heard Captain say, and Ishmael re-entered the automobile. I turned to wave my good-bye before turning once again to face the depressing home. I was suddenly stricken with the thought that whoever lived within this home must be of the same disposition, and cringed at the thought of having to work with one such as that.
"This is a charming spot; does Jack the Ripper live here?" Skinner asked from beside me, and I could not help the small laugh that escaped me, for his words quite perfectly spoke my thoughts. My laugh is not like a person's gifted with speech, whose breath is mixed with there unspeaking voice to creating a range of notes. Laughter is as unique to those who speak as their personality, and often their laughter reflects that part of their being. Sadly, for those without the power of sound, laughter is at best just breath. Breath not mixed with tones to create a magical sound, but breath that sounds as though someone has been running, or is ill, and their breath stops and burst forth inconsistent and jagged intakes and exhales.
If I was never to speak again, yet could still somehow retain my own sound within my laugh, I would be forever content and grateful. Unfulfilled wishes are the fuel of the world however, and I knew my own laughter would never be more than the ugly breath of a breathless woman. Mine, my own, another fault to add to my list that sat upon my dresser. I sighed at the thought, and heard Skinner's chuckle beside me. I looked up confused and his white face grinned down at me, "So the spitfire can laugh, huh?"
I looked away, ashamed that he had heard. I usually refrained from laughing, but with everything that had happened I forgot and it had slipped out. A hand on my shoulder shocked me, "Oi, No one's gonna punish ya, you're allowed to laugh!" Skinner grinned again before following the others to the door, leading me by the shoulder. I shrugged him off as I stood between him and Captain, while Mr. Q. knocked quickly on the door. Moments later the latch covering the peephole opened and an eye peered through. With the shadows, I could not tell color nor anything else besides pale skin in the small bit of light provided. The eye peered at us before the peephole's cover was shut and the door opened.
Standing in the door way was a man dressed in a fine pinstriped suit, who seemed of serious rather than gloomy disposition. "Good evening," he said, looking severely at us, though confusion etched in his eyes. "Mr. Dorian Gray?" Mr. Q. asked, and the main seemed amused to hear it before saying, "I am indeed."
"We came by way of M," Mr. Q. told him. This time he smiled, though it was slight and said, "Oh, M for mystery," The amusement dropped, "Well, I've told him and I'm telling you, I'm not interested." He moved to shut the door, when Mrs. Harker said, "Dorian." I moved aside, closer to Captain and allowed her to show herself to 'Dorian.' Obviously, she was the key to acquiring Mr. Gray, because his disbelief showed as he said, "Mina?" and moved aside to let her, and we enter his home.
We were led past bare walls towards a square twisted staircase. Skinner mumbled, "Charming décor," as we reached them and headed up. One of the walls of the wooden stairs was covered with pictures. Most ancient, all were in golden frames. "You're missing a picture, Mr. Gray," Mr. Q. told him… helpfully? "And you don't miss a thing, do you?" Mr. Gray asked him at the top of the stairs. "Oh, sometimes," he said, and I gave him another annoyed look. What a way to be modest, dear Mr. Toad.
We entered a very large room with full bookshelves that reached two stories. They were not pushed up against the wall, for a balcony wrapped around between the shelves and the wall about halfway up the ceiling. Three small chandeliers and several smaller lamps lit the room and made it a bright place. Quite the contradiction to his much darker house.
"Scotch anyone?" Skinner asked, taking off his hat and heading toward the small table of scotch and glasses. "Please, help yourself," Mr. Gray said, walking past the table. "Don't let it ruin your make-up Mrs. Harker added unnecessarily as she passed, to which I glared at her back momentarily. Skinner to, watched her pass, and I could not help but think from the set of his jaw that he glared as well.
"I'm impressed, Mr. Gray. You take Skinner's uniqueness in your stride," Captain paid the complement as we entered the middle of the room. "Yes, well, I've seen too much in my life to shock easily," he replied as he sat in a large chair, which seemed well worn. "Although, I must say I was surprised to see you again," he added suggestively towards Mrs. Harker, swirling his cane around where he held it.
"When, our last parting was such sweet sorrow," Mrs. Harker said with a slight smile as she sat down. "So you're nothing more than an enticement," Mr. Gray stated, hitting the nail on the head. Mrs. Harker obviously found offence in this however (not that I blame her) and her lowered head rose and Mr. Gray continued, "Nevertheless, your presence intrigues me."
Despite his words, his voice stayed quite monotone. It was starting to annoy me the cold way he spoke, as though he had ice in his breath. Though my first impression of him was of a bit of a Fop, it was quickly changing to that of an annoying man with a superiority complex, for that is what stuck in my mind. He truly gave the air that he was better than us all.
"They say you're indestructible, Quatermain," he said, breaking me from my thoughts. "Well, a witch doctor did bless me once," Mr. Q said, "I had saved his village. He said Africa would never allow me to die." Mr. Gray's head rose higher still, "But you're not in Africa now," he reminded Mr. Q., and Mr. Q. nodded slightly, "No."
It seemed as though the air was about to thicken, then my Captain broke in, "I confess a curiosity as to what the files say about Mr. Gray. We, all of us, have traits useful in this endeavor." He nodded towards Mr. Q., "A hunter," towards Mrs. Harker, "scientist," towards Skinner, "even Skinner has stealth." Skinner had taken a sip of the amber scotch, and it ran down, held within an invisible tube that was Skinner's throat, "Cheers," he toasted as I cringed slightly at the thought of seeing him eat someday. "What have you?" Captain asked Mr. Gray.
There was no amusement, no trace of anything other than that of sternness as Mr. Gray looked up and told us, "I have, experience."