Martin walks into the establishment and immediately lights up a cigar, inhaling the fragrant smoke with pleasure as he makes his way over to the table. After everyone has arrived, he takes a quick swallow of his drink, puffs avidly at his cigar and lets out a sign of mixed contentment and exasperation. "Well, gentlemen, my search was pretty much a dead-end. There had been a Malcolm Quarrie in London but he left his last known address a couple of years back. No one seems to know where he is."
Yeah, I've been thinking and reading through the IC thread in search for something I've missed and forgotten but had no luck. I feel like I'm missing something obvious but damned if I know what it is! Martin reads through the invitation and hands it over to Spencer. "Perhaps our friends have some news to share with us. Hopefully they've had more success than we have."
I've been trying to think of a decent way to introduce the topic of St. Agnes but haven't quite been able to. Hmm. I guess I'm running out of ideas for the moment and don't really have any other questions to ask. "Well, thank you for the excellent dinner," Martin says as he lays down his utensils with a sigh. "It's always a pleasure to hear about your work."
Martin nods agreeably, puffing at his pipe. "You and I have long been in agreement, Talbot, when it comes to the macabre. The primitive part of men's minds, so often held in check by the demands of society, are frequently the key to inspiration. I saw that in the war. When a man's mind holds only a desperation for survival, genius often comes to light. By tapping that hidden aspect of man, writers such as Poe are able to bring to life rich wonders that appeal to us all simply because those wonders touch us deep within our hidden hearts." He blinks, startled to find that he'd fallen back into the pattern of half lecture/ half discussion that he'd so often found himself when corresponding with Mr. Estus. "My apologizes, I fear I have begun to ramble." He returns his attention to his pipe. Has Martin heard of Robert Chambers?
Martin glances at Spencer and nods, trying to think of where to go from there. "Of course, anything that involves the police will be taken to them" he says into the phone. "But first I want to see if I can discern what's relevant and what's not. If you'd recognized a Mr. Malcolm Quarrie I'd at least have a chance of knowing if such a man existed outside of Alex's fevered imagination or not. Very well, I've taken enough of your time. Thank you for your assistance. If you do think of anything related to that name, please let me know." Martin gives Dr. Trollope his contact information before ringing off. Turning away from the phone, he sighs. "Well, that was of little help. Dr. Trollope seems to be running out of patience with me."
Martin shakes his head automatically and then remembers he's using a phone. "Much of what he said certainly seemed to be ravings but there were a few things of significance. Given that the there is still not a conviction for the murders Alex was accused of, I am reluctant to disregard it without investigation. For example, in your work with him, did he ever mention the name "Quarrie" to you?"
New plan then. Martin is going to start asking around about Quarrie, starting with Dr. Trollope and then moving on to Scotland Yard. Maybe there'll be others who have heard mention of him. He's not quite ready to give up on the mystery. Perhaps Spencer will be able to accompany him. Martin pulls out a cigar and lights it, gladly inhaling it's sweet warm smoke into his lungs on such a miserable, unsuccessful day. "Well," he says finally, "Perhaps there is more we can do. If we can't find Quarrie, perhaps we can find out if Alexander has mentioned him to anyone else. Shall we try to make an appointment with Dr. Trollope?" Martin leads the way to a warmer location with a phone.
Martin scribbles down the address information for Quarrie and stands, stretching his back out after so much time looking through the books. He considers visiting the address on his own but decides after a moment that there are greater strengths in numbers. Instead he seeks out a phone and rings up Spencer.
After a wretched night's sleep, Martin wearily pulls himself from his bed and wraps a dressing robe around his body before making his way over to his writing desk. He pulls open the curtains of the window just beyond the desk and gazes out into the gray morning with profound distaste. Sitting down at his desk, he thinks about getting a cup of coffee or tea to get the morning started properly but instead grabs a sheet of paper and a pen and without thinking begins to write. The stars shine as brightly as a beaded curtain as the King peers through, his yellow eye affixing on the small blue planet in the distance. The audience is watchful with their fearful greed and his sign burns like pale yellow stars adrift in the London night. He waits, he chuckles, he screams his terrible joy and all across the small blue world his audience opens their doors to him. His hand cramping from how tightly he clutches the pen, Martin stares unseeing at the sheet of paper before he starts, reads the words and crumbles the paper in a tight fist, tossing his both paper and pen away. Unacceptable behavior, he admonishes himself and forces his body away from the desk and into the kitchen where his tea pot is waiting. Several minutes later as he cradles the warm tea cup in his hand and sips the sweetened morning brew softened with milk, he decides that he needs to get out of the flat before he goes mad. "Malcolm Quarrie," Martin mutters under his breath. He decides the first step would be to the census records office. Or wherever he can look up Malcom Quarrie or the Quarrie family in population records.
Martin shrugs. "It's not as though the Hereford police are likely to be all that well trained for murders as bloody as that. It truly is a strange counter to the one Alexander was accused and found innocent of. Perhaps he was innocent of the first but whatever he witnessed that drove him mad led him to committing his own, albeit bloodier, murder." He sighs as he leans back in his seat. "Truth be told, I suspect I just want to believe that. It's easier to think he needs to be committed so that I can feel better about the role I played in ensuring that he is."
As the two orderlies stubbed out their cigarettes, Martin starts. "Hadn't you been saying..." he begins but then Spencer and Lucian leave the administration building and hurry across the courtyard to the car. "Nevermind. I suppose we should go before whatever they did falls upon us." He stands and leaves for the car, grateful to get out of the cold at least. Once inside, he glances over at Spencer. "What part are you referring to?"
Victor Sixsmith wrote: "In a way, yes, but only that it was tied to the play. Normally my visions are in some way related to the lake that bordered Carcosa. This time though, I was on a plain and saw the figure cloaked in white.. the white acolyte perhaps? Then a sense of loss." Victor pulls out his notepad to show Martin the scene that he had been drawing, and notices that he drew in the large star Aldebaran. "This star has recently been very predominant at night. It's strange that it has begun to show up in these visions. That may be worth looking into when we get back to London." Martin frowns as he studies the drawing. "Indeed, perhaps there are some answers that can be found in researching the star. I've never been quite so keen on astrologers but what we've been experiencing...well, I am beginning to think that Hamlet had the right of it. There are certainly more things in heaven and earth than I have dreamt."
Martin nods agreeable and walks beside Victor, rubbing his chin ruefully. "I wonder if the vision came because of something present here and now. If Alexander is involved in what we've been experiencing, it would stand to reason that others out here may be as well. Was the vision similar to those you've had in the past?"
Martin nods. "Well, doctor, I'm sorry we don't have better news for you. Given Mr. Robys reluctance to allow his brother home, however, and Alexander's less than stellar condition yesterday it just doesn't seem wise quite yet. Is there anything else we can do for you? It's a shame we came all this way to be of such little help." He pats his pockets to ensure a cigar is still there and then stops. "Just to be clear...you mentioned lucid months. Is there a pattern there? Is he more lucid in certain times of the year and worse at others?"
Martin shakes his head. "The play is just a curiosity. It can't be at all connected to what's actually wrong with Alexander, given that the play itself was only performed once in London and that was a few weeks ago. It was just curious that some of what Alexander said shares a certain quality with the unusual things going on in London." He pats his pocket to ensure that his cigar case is still secure there and goes on. "Even were the coincidence non-existent, I'd be concerned about Alexander returning home as out of sorts as he seems to be. I suspect that his brother is not particularly interested in seeing to his care which also suggests that it won't be the right place for him. Living in a place where one is unwanted certainly isn't healthy, is it?"
"Honestly, Dr. Highsmith, it's this phenomenon of which Spencer speaks that concerns me the most." Martin adds, rubbing at his chin. "Many of the unusual things that Alexander speaks of are having an unusual, even hysterical, effect on certain elements of London society. For that alone, it may not be wise to allow Alexander to leave here. He could become fixated on such things and worsen rather than improve."
Martin allows the others to speak first, watching Dr. Highsmith and listening to the doctor's response. "So Mr. Roby was heavily medicated yesterday? Is that the reason he was so unresponsive at times? It seems as though he's quite focused -- even obsessed -- with a...mythology, for lack of a better word. Does he speak of Carcosa and the King in Yellow frequently?" |