The Adventures of Penny Dreadful

The morning mist lay heavy in the graveyard as the four black-plumed horses pulled the glazed hearse to the open grave. Behind it walked the stark figure of Miss Penelope Evelyn Dreadful, niece, lone mourner and sole heir of the principal actor in the tragedy, to whit the corpse, the late Lord Cornelius Dreadful. Beside her walked the aged Reverend Hezekiah Hawthorne, stumbling over his prayers and occasionally stopping, drawing a deep breath and letting out a staggering sneeze.

At each resounding sternutation the crows in the trees bordering the cemetery let forth a barrage of answering calls, adding to the eldritch mood that October morning and causing the team of four to skitter on the tarmacadam pathway. Finally, the hearse halted and the pall-bearers stepped forward, sombrely extracting the coffin under the watchful eye of the top-hatted undertaker.

Miss Dreadful stood, perfectly erect and perfectly still, svelte in black silk and veiled hat, as her uncle's remains were brought to his final resting place. At which the Reverend Hawthorne recited, with periodic interruptions and the resultant excited replies of the crows, the committal. A careful observer might have noted a certain lack of emotion in Miss Dreadful's stance, though she was respectful, and this was not to be wondered at. For in truth, she had never met the unlamented, and indeed unlamentable Lord Dreadful, despite his being both her guardian and nearest relative.

Thus was Lord Dreadful was committed to the earth, alone but for people who had never met him and a vicar who was privately convinced of his damnation. It was a fitting end for a man most unfitted for society, and if but half the things said of him were true he was at that moment dining most uncomfortably with Lucifer and his minions. This was the view not only of Reverend Hawthorne, but of all right-thinking people in his Lordship's village of Bleak Marshland, winner of the 'most aptly named village in England' award every year since its inception.

The interment complete, Miss Dreadful accepted the Reverend Hawthorne's commiserations but refused his offer of scones in the vicarage, a prior engagement taking precedence. The Reverend Hawthorne was barely able to conceal his disappointment, and indeed his eyes lingered long upon her, though Miss Dreadful thought it merely sympathy. And so she turned, and alone in her thoughts walked under lowering clouds the mile back to the crumbling edifice of Dreadful Hall, a rambling gothic monstrosity located beneath the stern presence of Dreadful Fell.

Though in truth she was not quite alone. Unbeknownst to her she was being surveilled from a closed carriage that stood across from St Aelfnoth's, the parish church of Bleak Marshland.

"It makes one melancholy to see her, alone and friendless," said Commodore St George, a red-faced man, much fatter than he had any right to be, his round face crowned with salt and pepper hair.

"She was friendless before, Commodore," said Miss Burlington, a serious but attractive woman in her thirties who strived to disguise her beauty with plain clothes and an intelligent mien. In which she succeeded, largely, for were most men not truly cognisant of their surroundings?

"Indeed," opined the Commodore, with a yearning sigh, "and were I not forty years her senior I might seek to rectify her solitude."

"Need I remind you that the security of the nation, indeed the Empire, is at stake? Please try not to behave like a herniated subaltern!"

"Miss Burlington, I protest!" said Commodore St George, "my emotions are purely paternal. The poor young thing is an orphan..."

"A very rich orphan, who has been without her parents since the age of nine," interrupted Miss Burlington, "and she is hardly young, either, at twenty-two."

"Still, in my younger days I would have escorted her to as many Admiralty balls as she desired." And the Commodore assumed a noble, faraway look.

"Please, Commodore, to business," said Miss Burlington, "once she has finished with the lawyer we must introduce ourselves. It is a matter of urgency, you will agree?"

"I concur. And perhaps we might offer her some small consolation amidst the exigencies of state."

"Perhaps, we might," said Miss Burlington, and she too assumed something of a distant gaze, though it was better concealed.

* * *

Mr Barren, of Palling, Barren and Curt, attorneys-at-law, was a boring man who proudly cultivated his monotony. He was currently ensconced on one side of a George IV satinwood writing table in the library at Dreadful Hall. Opposite him sat Penelope Dreadful, her hat and veil now removed to reveal her exquisitely symmetrical features framed by her lustrous golden locks, her nose slightly upturned and her lips full. Her clear cerulean eyes, enlivened with a perceptive intelligence (of a sort appropriate for respectable society, naturally) were mesmerising -- or they would have been had Mr Barren had any other interests bar the law.

Next to Penny Dreadful sat Mrs Keppel, housekeeper and sole remaining servant at Dreadful Hall. She sobbed incessantly, holding a worn cambric handkerchief dramatically to her face, her matronly bosom heaving with each tormented wail.

"As I informed you, Mrs Keppel," said Penny, gently, "your presence would have been most welcome at the funeral."

Mrs Keppel's lamentations redoubled at that last word, forcing Penelope to a degree of patience rarely displayed even by that angelic personage.

"Nay," said Mrs Keppel finally, her voice broken by glutinous sniffles, "'tis not the place of servants to grieve with their betters. No matter that I was the only one who truly cared for him..."

At that, Mrs Keppel dissolved once more into plaintive howls. Mr Barren, keen now to press on, cleared his throat.

"I wonder if we may not venture to commence?" he began, his voice reedy, the document poised in his hand, "with your permission, Miss Dreadful?"

"Pray, continue," said Penny, with a gentle wave of her hand.

"The last will of Lord Cornelius Macaroon Philomon Dreadful, fourth Baron Dreadful of the county of Derbyshire," Mr Barren began, speaking over the continued snuffles emanating from the person of Mrs Keppel, "the will begins with the usual assertion that the testator is of sound mind, the same being witnessed by his doctor, Sir James Faverney of Harley Street, and myself. It continues in traditional vein, and as you must suspect, Miss Dreadful, you are his lordship's sole heir, the details of which estate are as follows.

"There is the Hall, of course, and the village, the rents from which form one half of the Dreadful fortune. There is also a very substantial stock portfolio including major holdings in the Express Airships conglomerate, the Robson Domestic Appliance Company, Steam Cars PLC, and a holding amounting to almost ten percent of the Robotic Mining Equipment Consortium. That amount would have entitled Lord Dreadful to a directorship, however he declined.

"There are also some bequests to be honoured," said Mr Barren, turning the page, "first, to Mrs Keppel..."

And here Mrs Keppel's wails reached a crescendo.

"To Mrs Keppel," Mr Barren continued after a pointed pause, "I leave the sum of one thousand pounds..."

The size of the bequest stunned Mrs Keppel into silence, and she could only stare at the lawyer with red-rimmed eyes.

"I leave one thousand pounds," Mr Barren repeated, "in the hope that this amount will enable my faithful housekeeper to turn away from menial considerations, and instead immerse herself in the creative works her nimble fingers were brought into this world to produce."

"Aye," said Mrs Keppel in response to the silent question on Penny's visage, "my father was the best leatherworker in the entire county, and as a girl I learned at his knee. I can turn my hand to the production of any item in leather, as his lordship and some other gentlemen often requested, and now he has gifted me enough to..." but she got no further, dissolving into heartfelt sobs once more.

"There are some other small considerations," Mr Barren went on, "money for the village to drink a barrel in his lordship's memory after their next football match with Good Marshland, a charitable bequest to the Missionary Society of London to rescue fallen women from amongst the benighted streetwalkers of the Haymarket. And there is also his lordship's apartment in Mayfair, however nobody but his lordship visited the property, so I cannot tell you its contents or condition. I am, of course, at your service, Miss Dreadful, and I would deem it an honour to investigate said apartments on your behalf."

"That is most kind," said Penny.

"As his lordship's executor, it is also my duty."

"Thank you, but it will not be necessary," said Penny, "I believe you have the keys here to both the Hall and his apartments?"

"Mrs Keppel is keeper of the keys here, and in London there is a manservant, a Mr Martin Proudstaff, though neither myself nor Mrs Keppel have had his acquaintance. Should I telegraph to him to put the apartments in order for your inspection?"

"I shall attend to that in good time, Mr Barren," said Penny, "however, first I should like to inspect the Hall and attend to its divers requirements for maintenance. I have a mind to let it out, but I should like to know its condition. I shall begin with the south wing."

Mr Barren looked up sharply at that, his eyes catching those of Mrs Keppel's who also started, her tears and lamentations banished in an instant.

"Err, Miss Dreadful," Mrs Keppel began, "that is unwise..."

"Indeed, Miss Dreadful," Mr Barren spoke over the housekeeper, "his lordship was a man of... varied tastes... A collector, as it were, of items, and... devices from across the globe. Some of them might be deemed..."

"Inappropriate!" Mrs Keppel interrupted, "yes, inappropriate for ladies of breeding..."

"That is to say," said Mr Barren, uncharacteristically flustered, "the said items have purposes that are specific to the... heathen environments... from which his lordship sourced them..."

"Places across the globe where young ladies of noble stock have never trod..." Mrs Keppel said, an urgency in her voice as she tried to convince Penny.

"Yes," said Mr Barren, seizing on the opportunity, "tribal places... And it were better if mature ladies, ladies of experience, such as good Mrs Keppel here, would examine the... items... and with myself, arrange for the disposal of any which might... disturb the mind."

Penny looked doubtfully from one to the other, but in the end conceded, "very well, the north wing then."

The relief flooded from both Mr Barren and Mrs Keppel, though Penny was polite enough to ignore it.

"Though since completing my studies at Frau Aufguss's Academy in the Canton of Lucerne, whence I was sent at the age of eighteen, I have been immured," she said, "on my guardian's instructions, at the isolated farmhouse on Dead Man's Moor. There was naught there to choose from but the extensive library, or walks amongst the steaming slagheaps left by the extensive coalmining interests in the region, and you must believe that I chose the library with alacrity. Thus, I have read extensively on many subjects, not least of which were a number of gazetteers on antiquarian discoveries across the globe, including descriptions of many bizarre and somewhat unsettling items..."

"Nevertheless..." said Mr Barren, an unaccustomed expression of concern on his face at the thought of Penny's interest rekindling.

"I understand you have a boon companion at the farm," Mrs Keppel interrupted, "a Miss Lucy Wilde, is it not? I was expecting her to accompany you..."

"Ah, yes, Lucy..." said Penny, a troubled expression creasing her otherwise perfect brow, "I regret to say that, whilst in the past year she has indeed been my sole companion, my confidante, my bosom associate in study, once she learned I had come into my own and was to go out into the world, her demeanour changed somewhat. I detected an element of spitefulness within her that had been entirely absent previously in all the happy hours we had spent together.

"And then..." here Penny seemed to struggle for words, and both Mr Barren and Mrs Keppel leant in a little, on tenterhooks, "just three days ago, as I was packing for my journey here, she... Oh I am ashamed to say it... She confessed firstly to some madness of mind in my direction. I hesitated to credit it, but then... Oh I cannot say..."

"You must," said Mr Barren.

"Yes, miss, you must," said Mrs Keppel, leaning in ever closer.

"She... she ran away with a soldier!"

"Oh, the ingrate! The wretch!" Mrs Keppel clutched her sodden handkerchief to her bosom.

"And she said something most perplexing. She said, her face contorted with anger, that if she could not be with me, she might as well just give herself to the first random man she met. And so, she did."

"Egad!" exhaled Mr Barren, a more forceful exclamation than he had made in more than twenty years.

There was little more to say, and the reading of the will ended with Mrs Keppel shaking her head at the evil of the world (and wondering how long she could decently delay before tendering her resignation) and Mr Barren fastidiously collating his papers and brushing his dandruff from them.

Penny withdrew to the main guest suite, the rooms she had chosen to occupy instead of her uncle's chambers. These rooms were comfortable but devoid of personality, however as she had no intention of remaining longer than it took to assess the Hall, she was satisfied. In her bedroom she chose a shirtwaist with gigot sleeves and a walking skirt in tweed, and then she removed her mourning dress. It was not strictly appropriate for her to divest herself of her mourning attire, however if she was to investigate the Hall, working clothes were required.

Having changed, she finally unpinned her flaxen hair, a laborious process, and then let it fall to her waist. She brushed it out, and was in the last stages of putting it up in the latest Gibson Girl fashion when she was interrupted by a knock at her door.

"Enter," she said, her instruction somewhat muffled by the hairpin held between her lips. Mrs Keppel bustled in.

"Visitors, miss," she said, somewhat flustered, "an elderly gentleman, a Commodore St George, and a somewhat younger lady, who gave her name as Miss Violetta Burlington. They say they have urgent business with you, miss, though I can't imagine what it might be. I don't believe them to be salespersons and they appear to be respectable, though to be calling on the same day as the unfortunate funeral of..."

Mrs Keppel began to dissolve into sniffles once more, and Penny felt the dawning of an uncharacteristic irritation with the woman. She grieved, perhaps, too much, even for a loyal servant.

"I did not hear the bell," Penny said, hoping to divert the woman from her excessive woe.

"Oh yes, miss," said Mrs Keppel, recovering herself somewhat, "his lordship had the Hall sound-proofed."

"The whole Hall?" Penny was incredulous.

"It was his fancy."

It was yet another thing for Penny to ponder, not least at the expense of it, let alone its utility. However, she had visitors to attend to.

"Show them into my parlour, Mrs Keppel. I will be with them presently."

Alone once more, Penny added the final touches to her attire, pinning her watch to her shirt front, and donning some mourning jewellery in the form of a jet brooch and bracelet. She smoothed herself down and checked her appearance in the full-length mirror, and then walked though into the guest suite parlour.

Upon entering the parlour Penny was surprised to see that Commodore St George and Miss Burlington had seated themselves around the card table, rather than on the more comfortable chaise or the camel back sofa. It gave them the air of persons bringing ill-tidings, and concerned, Penny greeted them as they stood, then bade them sit once more as she joined them.

"I understand, Commodore, Miss, that you require to communicate with me on issues of some import." said Penny, noting a glance between her two visitors that suggested the commencement of a vital commission.

"It is difficult to know quite where to begin," said the Commodore, his ruddy features deepening to an alarming crimson as he gazed at Penny.

"But begin we must," said Miss Burlington, her demeanour expeditious, "however, first we must ask you, on your honour as an Englishwoman, not to reveal what we must now relate."

"I agree, with caveats," said Penny, confused, "that being if it be detrimental to mine honour or that of my nation."

"Very well," said the Commodore, apparently satisfied, "we work, at some remove, for Her Majesty."

"Her Majesty?"

"That is to say," said Miss Burlington, "Her Majesty's government. We are concerned primarily with the safety and security of the country, the Empire and the people."

"However, our work must be conducted in the shadows," said the Commodore, "and must remain unlauded, too, despite our successes."

"Forgive me," Penny broke in, "are you telling me you are spies?"

"Of a kind," said Miss Burlington, exchanging another glance with the Commodore, "though we are more what you might describe as spy catchers."

"Your uncle," said the Commodore, taking over, "was, as I am sure you know, a singular man."

"In truth, I know nothing of him," said Penny innocently, "I never met him, and have no conception of his character. Though I must confess to some disquiet at the refusal of any to attend his interment, and further, at some comments I have subsequently heard upon the reading of his testament."

"Well, yes, Cornelius was indeed a specific individual, of tastes that verged on the exotic and esoteric." said the Commodore.

Penny couldn't help but notice that as the Commodore related his assessment of her uncle Miss Burlington found it hard to maintain her equilibrium, and she appeared to stifle a snort of disbelief.

"It might be better if we do not dwell on his tastes," said Miss Burlington pointedly, "but confine ourselves to his assistance in our late troubles."

"Indeed, Miss Burlington, you are correct and I defer to you."

"Very well. Miss Dreadful, are you acquainted with Count von Lipschitz?" said Miss Burlington.

"Why no," said Penny, "I have been quite outside society since returning from Frau Aufguss's academy for young ladies in Switzerland twelve months ago."

"So, the Count is Austrian, and close to the government of the Dual Monarchy," Miss Burlington went on, "he is quite brilliant, in his way, but also quite evil I regret to say."

"Evil?"

"Indeed, evil. For he plans to attack our civilisation."

"His mother was English," said the Commodore, "and she insisted upon his being attended to, in his younger years, by an English governess. Later, upon nearing his maturity, he was sent to Winchester College for two years. Sadly, it appears that, rather than count his blessings at receiving an English education, he reacted badly to English discipline, as foreigners are so often want to do."

"The results could not be more drastic," said Miss Burlington, "for the Count has conceived a violent antipathy toward our noble nation. And he has acquired the means to transform this rancour into concrete action."

"How?" said Penny, agog.

"Upon leaving Winchester the Count applied himself to private studies in the sciences. Over many years he read deeply, and attended lectures by the foremost academics, the result of which is that he is perhaps the leading student of chemistry, biology and physick in the Austro-Hungarian Empire."

"His main focus," said the Commodore, "has been on heredity and its botanical effects, and we now believe that he has conjured the most diabolical plan."

"I am at a loss," said Penny, "to understand how botany could be turned against us."