Chapter 2

On a cool day, Rebecca Fogg walked through the city for an unannounced visit to her cousin for tea. She the skirts of her deep red walking dress squished as she walked. Her cousin hadn't seen fit to see her in over a month. That was an unusually long time between visits. Normally, he or she would make invitations to share each other's company over dinner or an outing at least once a week. During spring, they might attend spring parties as a couple. This season, Phileas had become a hermit, refusing her every invitation, and Rebecca intended to find out why.

She knocked on the door of number seven on Saville Row. Her cousin's servant, Passepartout, kindly greeted her, "Good day, Miss Rebecca."

"Hello, Passepartout." Rebecca walked in past the smiling servant and turned into the study near the front door where she expected to find her antisocial cousin.

"Master Fogg not home," Passepartout said, following her. "He going for long walks, but coming home close to supper."

"I will wait for him," Rebecca said, smiling pleasantly. "Could I have tea here, please?"

Jean Passepartout was her cousin's valet and a man of all work. For a wealthy gentleman such as Phileas, a valet was a servant that took care of nearly all one's needs. He took care of her cousin's home, cooked his meals, and did anything else that needed doing. Rebecca thought a valet was for grown men was what a nanny was for little boys.

This valet was said to speak fourteen languages, all as inventively as his English. It came out broken, and sometimes he said one word when he meant another. Phileas fussed about Passepartout's scrambling of the English language, but Rebecca liked the man. He took wonderful care of her cousin.

While he was gone, Rebecca occupied herself with snooping. In her cousin's study, a big room lined with books, she found a large table had replaced the sofa. On it were what looked to be a thick stack of London city maps. They all appeared to be of the older part of the city from various times in history. Where Phileas unearthed these maps, she couldn't imagine. Several of them looked to be from before the Great London fire.

Passepartout came back with her tea as she studied the maps.

"Master Fogg is very interested in the progression of city buildings," he said as she flipped through the maps. "He thinking large section of city disappearing in building over years." He took the stack of maps up and thumbed down to the one on the bottom.

"See. This old London in Middle Ages; already it large city; and this part showing streets, houses and shops. Now look."

Dropping the upper map down, that section of the city seemed to become closed in on one side. On the next map, there were fewer street entrances to the neighborhood. "This map is city today. The neighborhood no longer existing. Map showing nothing but great space without streets or entrances. It called, warehouse district now.

Rebecca frowned on the maps. Why would Phileas take an interest in such things? The idea of an entire section of the city becoming one continuous warehouse was interesting, but hardly something he should occupy himself with. Perhaps he took his mystery as a mental exercise? From an architectural perspective, this was rather interesting. If one was interested in such things–which I'm not.

She left the table to take her tea in the comfort of her favorite chair near the fireplace and waited for her cousin.

Unaware his cousin was waiting, Phileas Fogg was near getting his little mystery unraveled. He found one building on the northern end of the perimeter for sale. Through his man of business, he bought it. Now that he had a foothold, he entered the abandoned building to search it from basement to roof.

The place had been abandoned some ten years before, when its tenant, a cobbler, had died. It, and several other properties along this street, had until recently been owned through an age-old legal trust. Over time, the trust kept those buildings from being useful, but it had recently been broken.

Phileas had no interest in the legalities and had only paid scant attention to Mr. Evans as he explained it to him. In short, the City broke the trust to free this and the other derelict properties for renewal.

Fogg's focus was on the back wall. He expected to find a path into the hidden place through a back door. Carrying a lantern, he found several doors bricked in, as well as all the windows along the back wall.

This at least proves the place once backed up to an open street or alleyway.

Hunting around more, Phileas found one door still intact. He used a key that came with the building to unlock it with high hopes. The lock turned, but the door was stuck from disuse. Placing his foot to the frame, he heaved several times, forced it loose. The door opened to…

Nothing. Bricked in. It's the same sort of brickwork as the wall around the district.

Frustrated, Phileas sat on a crate several feet from the door, contemplating. His mystery wouldn't leave him alone, and it shouldn't. An entire neighborhood disappearing was inconceivable.

And I know it's not true. I saw the neighborhood on the other side of the wall. I know it is still there and that people live in it. As far as I can find out, all the land in the hidden neighborhood belongs to one estate. That owner wasn't named anywhere, but the property taxes were paid faithfully.

Phileas headed up to the fourth floor of his new house.

Maybe there is access to the roof.

The fourth floor was one huge open room. He found a raised observatory near the roofline. He climbed the iron stairs to inspect it. The observatory appeared to be a pleasant addition to the historic architecture. Over it was a glass ceiling. In the past, this skylight would have given natural light to the upper deck and the room under it. The upper deck was large enough for a sitting area, nearly as big as the parlor in his home.

An Orangery perhaps? I can see someone creating a garden on this floor for a property with no yard to plant one. It would have been quite a showpiece.

Years of soot and grime now blocked all light. Along the back wall of the deck was a wide, short stairway leading to a doorway to the roof. The double doors were built into the skylight and locked with a large chain threaded through the latch.

For a moment, Phileas felt impatient enough to just break the glass to get access to the roof, but thought better of it. That would open the room to the weather. London was a damp city. Its buildings always had water leaks. For all its advanced age, this structure appeared weather tight. It didn't have rats or other vermin either, which also attested to its unusual tightness.

Phileas took out his watch. It was getting late.

I'll go home. Passepartout will have my supper ready soon. Fogg gave up his quest for now. But tomorrow, I will come back with something to break the chains and inspect the roof. From there, I might walk across the roofs and find that street.