“You are fortunate,” said Darwin. “Your constitution is remarkable. Most men with these wounds would be too weak to talk. I assume that you have always been unusually strong physically? No sickness as a child?”
“None to speak of.” Alderton sounded casual. “I could always perform the usual fairground tricks—straighten horseshoes, or bend six-inch nails. At the moment I feel as weak as a primrose.” He nodded at Pole, who was looking curiously at the book he was holding. “Colonel, would you please open that and give the parchment in it to Dr. Darwin. I found it in Uncle Charles’ daily work-book, just as you now see it.”
Darwin took the yellowed page. It was singly folded and about five inches square. The writing was crabbed and spidery, and the ink had aged to a rusty red-brown, much faded. Darwin carried it over to the window to get a better light.
“Aloud, if you would,” said Philip Alderton. “Then let me explain it to you.”
Pole thought there was a condescending tone in Alderton’s voice, and looked quickly over at Darwin. The latter didn’t seem to have noticed, as he frowned at the paper in his hand.
“Moon full on the Hill,” he read, “Wind strong on the Mill, No cloud to the East. Pit send forth the Beast.”
He paused, frowning. “Go on,” said Alderton.
“Howl through the tombed brain,” Darwin continued. “God-Mercy on my Pain.”
“That was in Uncle Charles’ daybook, on the page two days before his death,” said Alderton. “The last entry in that book declared his intention to ‘resolve the mystery in the Pit’ as soon as the weather conditions were right. On the night of his death the moon was full, and the weather was clear and windy.”
Darwin was still peering closely at the yellowed paper. “This is old, well over a hundred years. See the texture of the sheet, and the writing style. Has the mill stood in its present position for such a time?”
“And longer. It is one of the oldest post mills in East Anglia. The Aldertons ground corn there for the Plantagenets. Now, if you will, take a look at my uncle’s diary. You will find it describes the origin of the note you are holding. Uncle Charles found it in the lockbox of another of my ancestors, Gerald Alderton. He quit the manor in 1655, and devoted his life to religious works. After his death, his belongings were returned here. They were meager enough, just the lockbox and a Bible.”
“But that means the monster has been in the Pit for at least a hundred and thirty years,” said Pole. “No creature lives that long. Am I not right, Erasmus?”
Darwin did not answer. He had walked to the window and was looking out across the land, north to the distant salt flats. Flowering sea-lavender, pink and purple, extended from the nearer shore to the long spit of sand that was still building to remove Lambeth further from the sea. He looked again at the paper he was holding.
“But Gerald Alderton survived the monster,” he said, ignoring Pole’s question. “And you have survived. What is your interpretation of this message?”
“Part of it is clear enough.” Alderton moved his great shoulders on the pillows. “When the moon is close to full, and there is a strong wind and a cloudless night, a Beast appears in the flint pit. That much, I decided when I first saw the paper. The rest of it, even after my experience there, remains a mystery to me. Last night the conditions were fitting. I had offered Barton a guinea to go to the mill with me and work it at night. When I saw the weather was suitable, I decided to go to the pit also. I offered Barton another guinea to go there with me, and see what we could find. He would not agree at first, but his greed drove him.”
“And he paid for that greed with his life,” said Darwin quietly.
Philip Alderton shrugged. “He was paid for his work, and I had no reason to think there would be real danger to him in the pit. Legends are not facts. It was unfortunate that he died, but my own conscience is clear.”
“Aye.” Darwin caught Pole’s look, and shook his head a fraction. “For Tom Barton, it was indeed unfortunate. But you insist that you thought there was no danger, despite the village superstitions?”
“I believed there was something in the pit, that I admit. The legend of the Lambeth Immortal is too clearly established for me to dismiss it entirely as a folk tale. I will go no further than that. Surely that is your view also, as a rational man.”
“I prefer to defer judgment,” said Darwin quietly, “until I have had the chance to examine the body of Tom Barton, and those of the two hounds.”
Philip Alderton showed his first sign of emotion. “The hounds are a loss; they were fine beasts, and valuable ones.”
“What I do not understand,” replied Darwin, “is your own position. You were in the pit, you were attacked by the Beast, and presumably you defended yourself against it. But you have said nothing of this. Did you see the Beast? What was its size, its shape, its method of attack. Have you no recollection?”
“Nothing. I remember that Barton and I were looking about us when we got to the bottom of the pit. I had just remarked that I could see nothing unusual. The moon had risen enough to give us a good view of the walls of the pit, and just to the east of us we could see the mill. It had been left free to turn at sunset, and with the strong east wind the sweeps were moving at a fine pace. I was thinking again about the waste of money in failing to operate the mill at night. After that I recall nothing until I woke here in this bed. I saw no Beast, nor do I know how or when it came to the Pit.”
“I doubt you will be operating the mill at night, after last night’s events,” said Darwin. “I think the best thing for you to do now is rest. I want to see the bodies. Then, I think that a walk over to the mill may be in order.”
Alderton leaned back. “It irritates me to lie idle like this. I wish that I felt strong enough to come with you.”
Darwin picked up his broad-brimmed hat from the foot of the bed. “Not yet. You’ll be back on your feet in a few days, but give it time. One encounter with the Lambeth Immortal is more than enough. Let Colonel Pole and me make the visit.”
“Here, Erasmus,” said Pole, as soon as they had left the room and were out of earshot of Alderton. “I’ll face danger as well as the next man, you know that. But I’m not sure I like this at all. What do you hope to see in the Pit, anyway, in broad daylight?”
Darwin’s mind seemed far away. “Daylight?” he said absently. “Did I mention daylight? We’ll be going there tonight, when the moon is up—and we must hope for a clear sky, and another strong wind. The Immortal is a finicky beast, it seems, when it comes to a personal appearance.”
“And the Pyramids,” said Jacob Pole. He put down his glass. “There’s nothing in the world the least bit like them. Armies of slaves, generations of effort—they were the burial place for kings, with all their gold and their jewels.” He shook his head. “Picked clean long ago,” he added regretfully.
“But just to see them and study them.” Alice Milner had been hanging on Pole’s words as though they were a new gospel. “I’d give half my life to visit the places you have been talking about tonight.”
“Well, I gave half mine, and there’s little enough to show for it. Some unlucky devils have given a good deal more than that. You know, they put a pretty trap in some of the Pyramids, just to discourage thievery. They placed a stone at the entrance to the inner tomb. As soon as it was moved, the stones above it fell in all along the tunnel. I’ve seen crushed skeletons that must have been two thousand years old.”