Chapter Text
It is late evening when Fox Mantle’s carriage arrives to a foggy, deserted St. Albans. It has been a strenuous journey from the far north, and he is eager for a hot supper and a warm bath. The coachman stops at the doorsteps of his family’s friends’ humble house and leaves him with two small trunks on the sidewalk.
He’s used to the mist and desolation of a small town; it feels familiar, and yet, the atmosphere here is entirely new, electrifying. A feeling of excitement invades him, as if somehow he can tell great things lie ahead, the perspective of a brand new life. He fixes his topper and woollen scarf, and knocks.
“Mr. Snagsby, good evening. I’m Fox Mantle, how do you do?”
“Fox Mantle, my dear boy, welcome to St. Albans!”
“It is wonderful to see you again, sir! Thank you for your kindness in receiving me, my father sends his regards and appreciation.”
“Oh, no formalities with me, my boy! Anything for my best friend’s son! Now, let’s get inside, you must be exhausted from your travels.”
Mantle thinks of reminding Mr. Snagsby that he is no longer the lively boy he met when visiting Mr. William Mantle in Inverness over fifteen years ago, but chooses to let him show his affection. He could easily grow accustomed to it. The Mantle family is a proud pillar of society back in the Scottish Highlands, however, in the closeness of home they have never been prone to warmth, and Fox, the lively boy, grew up missing it terribly, which led the now young man to estrange himself from his household and seek a life of his own elsewhere.
*****
On the other side of town, a short carriage ride away, Lady Dedlock stares at the dark nothingness of the night over the grounds of Chesney Wold, sitting absentmindedly by her boudoir’s window. The true portrait of an aristocracy dame, Lady Honoria Dedlock is notoriously a haughty, restrained figure by nature, however the past few days have encountered her almost as if adrift from her small world. Thoughts of a resurging past races through her mind, and the utter fear of its revelation is enough to make her uneasy.
Once her maid is sent away for the evening and she finds herself alone, Lady Dedlock goes to her private drawers and retrieves her most precious belongings: a collection of letters neatly tied together in a blue ribbon, and the small portrait of a Royal Army captain in uniform. Her fingers linger on the parchment papers, as if to feel the heart and soul that have been poured into each written letter, the distinguished calligraphy so dear to her now posing a threat she couldn’t placate, if she eventually had to, without risking her husband, the baronet’s, own integrity before society.
Confiding in the intimacy of her room, she shed the tears restrained for days and casted this part of her life into the fire.
*****
Proving to be quite bright from a tender age, Mantle’s father spared nothing to provide him with the finest education and sent him to Oxford in his youth. He was profoundly interested in the human mind, with a particular talent for reading peoples’ behaviours out of elements of their daily lives, something he eventually carved into an investigative method and called “profiling an individual” on an essay that was taken by the faculty with not little controversy. Digging further, Fox devoured the philosophy tomes of the library, and studied in depth all he could find on the occult, witchcraft, unexplained phenomena, medical aberrations, and the roots of British civilization – the Celts, the Saxons, the Viking invasions, the Britons. His debates and writings drew considerable attention, and eventually his father was summoned to the University. His son’s much unorthodox views granted him the epithet “Spooky Mantle”, and Mr. Mantle was appalled to say the least. After a heated discussion between father and son, they agreed that Fox was to end his last semester quietly, with not so much as one single public display for his colleagues and faculty, and then head back home.
Arriving in Inverness, the poor remains of a family union fell apart when Fox learned that his dearest young sister, Samantha, succumbed to her frail health in the previous winter. Not even a letter was sent to prepare his arrival to the sight of her empty room. Samantha was the light of his life, the only trace of tenderness and warmth inside their frigid house, and he wasn’t even made aware of her tragic fate – his parents could’ve sent a word for him when she fell to bed and he would’ve come back home in the very same instant, but they chose not to. So Fox, heartbroken and infuriated, stood up to Mr. and Mrs. Mantle one last time, deciding to leave Inverness for good and make a living for himself. His father agreed to send him to his good friend Mr. Snagsby in St. Albans with a few belongings and some money, so that he would have a place to stay and means until he found work and got on track; he could be cold and heartless, but cared for how his only son would carry on the name of the family, wherever that may be.
*****
Her captain was dead. Wondering through life as Nemo, he was found in a decrepit room, surrounded by paper stacks, empty bottles and opium pipes. Once known as Captain James Hawdon, they loved each other in their tender youth and this love bore a child out of wedlock. Honoria’s disgrace was covered and buried by the arranged marriage with Sir Leicester Dedlock, baronet and owner of lands in Hertfordshire, and for eighteen years the now Lady Dedlock remained safe and cared for under the wings of the much older husband, who paid her proper respect but not much mind. As years went by, the once merry Honoria became more and more a cold, sad statue. A fine piece of Art that decorated the halls of Chesney Wold.
Life would have remained on its same tranquil pace, if Mr. Tulkinghorn, the family’s lawyer, hadn’t appeared one afternoon with documents for Sir Leicester which, by chance or fate, were caught by Lady Dedlock’s eyes. She instantly recognized the handwriting and at that moment, lost her years-old composure, asking if he knew who the copyist was. The lawyer grew suspicious of her questionings and began an investigation of his own; it was clear to him she knew the mysterious man. By the time he found out that the copyist Nemo was responsible for the document, and that he most likely died after consuming a massive amount of opium, he had already begun to figure out their past. He made sure to tell Lady Dedlock the news himself, and confirmed his suspicions when she passed out upon hearing his words.
Crushed by a grief she couldn’t reveal, Lady Dedlock sought to retrace the steps that had led her beloved to perish in such conditions. She took her maid’s clothes and wondered through the streets of St. Albans, asking here and there about Nemo until she bumped into a street boy who apparently had been cared for by him. She paid him to show her where the captain lived, worked, and his final resting place. Honoria wept at his grave, longing for a time when they had known such happiness she was certain she would never find again. On a state of distress, she was making her way through the streets when a bump almost threw her fragile figure to the ground.
“Madam, I’m terribly sorry, my apologies for my clumsiness. Are you alright?”
It took more than the blink of an eye for Lady Dedlock to notice she was being supported by a tall man on a topper, who now was trying to reach her eyes through the black veil that covered her face. She nodded, unable to respond in a different way while overwhelmed by the day’s peregrination, but bowed politely a second time, in appreciation for him not letting her fall and went her way, thinking what a peculiar, strange man that was. A few steps later, she turned on her shoulder to find him standing in the middle of the street, looking straight at her with a shy smile and touching the brim of his hat.
Alas, what Lady Dedlock failed to see was the shadow of an elderly man who followed her every step from the moment she’d arrived in the town. Not a moment after the veiled woman began pacing towards the brief road to Chesney Wold, Tulkinghorn made his way to Krook's Rag & Bottle Shop, the last abode of the man they called Nemo.