Andrej will try to find Arthur Waite. "Gospodin Waite, Gospozha Lawson and I are planning to break in to Gospodin Watt's house, to try to learn more about how Rippers stories are getting out. Are you having any advice? Apart from do not be getting caught?"
Current Day Wednesday 7/13/1892
Arthur Waite isn't available, as he is currently guest lecturing at Cambridge. However, there is a Ripper available who has advice on how to infiltrate the Watts home.
The Ripper's name is Charlie Kray, and he has lots of connections in Whitechapel and the East End. (Very high crime, high poverty slum type areas of London)
Tristan, Victoria and Rasheed take a carriage (£.05) from Hunstanton to the Romani camp. "Gypsies" or "Gyypos" as they are colloquially known to the English are a fairly maltreated group of people. Their camp is a mixture of medieval technology mixed with industrial age devices. The sight of campfires and cooking pots mixed with the sound of a phonograph playing, gives you an anachronistic feeling.
The Carriage driver deposits the Rippers at the edge of the camp with a shrug and asks Should I stay around for a while M'lord?
Tristan and his allies are confronted almost immediately by 4 burly Romani who demand in their own language (Romani) and in broken English what their business is here in the camp.
"Thanks for the help with this, it might not've been pretty trying to get into a house in that kind of neighborhood," Victoria tells her fellow Ripper, giving him a nod of thanks. "Seems like we're all pretty well square, yeah? Anything you want t'take care of before nightfall, Andrej? I've got nothin' that needs doing, but if you do we might as well take care of it now. I suppose we could send the others a message, so they know what we're up to. We can do that before we head off tonight, sound like a plan?"
"Da. Gospodin Kray, thank you for your help." The Russian leaves his gun and knife behind, but takes his cane. "Robbery is one thing. I fear if we are armed, police will claim we are murderers."
Victoria and Andrej, along with a few toughs and street folk who act as lookouts and assistants, gain entry to the Watts' home via a rear door. Victoria and Andrej enter the building and find the pantry well stocked with more food than would be needed for one Butler to live on. Victoria accesses the study while Andrej waits. In the Study Victoria discovers someone else's been using it to write. One Algernon Charles Swinburne has letters to and from Theodore Watts Dunton. Victoria only has time to do a quick survey of the letters before she hears a sound from above. It seems someone has woken!
My Hunstanton gang....the ball is in your court.
Tristan isn't completely sure of how best to go about dealing with the Romani. As a well-traveled man with a kind heart, he's more appreciative of their lifestyle and customs than most might be; that said, he's not had many dealings with them, and does have to rely on stereotypes, rumors, and hearsay for most of his understanding.
Falling back on a trick that usually works, and hoping it won't offend overmuch, he pulls a pair of coins from his purse and holds them up between his fingers. "My companions and I are looking for a Mister Theodore Watts, who we believe has spoken with you recently?" He's careful not to speak slowly or loudly, as many people do--life in China, however brief, quickly dispelled the notion that English is somehow more easily understood when shouted at a snail's pace. "And I've heard great things about your hospitality and way of life," he adds, figuring the compliment couldn't hurt.
Andrej motions to Victoria and hisses, "We have name. That is being enough--we go!" He retreats quickly, trying to disturb as little as possible.
"But the letters!" Victoria whispers back, careful not to move unknowingly lest the floorboards creak. "I didn't get a good enough look at them, but they've got to have some clues." She looks at them again, narrowing her eyes, before grabbing the letters off of the table. She follows Andrej out of the house, before pausing to pick up a few valuable items from the study and other places on their way out of the house. "Quick, grab something!" she says quietly, preparing to leave. "It'll look like a common robbery, no one will suspect a thing! When this is all over we can return them and say we found them, something like that. It'll be fine, just pick stuff that looks valuable!" Once they're both loaded up and ready to leave, Victoria exits through the window and absconds into the night.
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Rashed nods enthusiastically at Tristan's words "Why indeed, we would love to partake of both your hospitality and your stories if you allow us."
The sikh continues by offering a hand to the men in front "My name is Rasheed, I'm but a 'didkai' on the roads with his friends, asking for shelter with your 'familya'." his already broken accent seems even more broken as he tries to use the romani words.
Victoria and Andrej snatch a few valuable looking items as well as the letters and run out of the Home.
1) Indeed a man named Algernon Charles Swinburne, a noted poet of "exotic" poetry that almost never uses his first name, has been staying at the Watts residence for the past few years actually
2) He and Theodore are lovers, although they are VERY careful to hide such from the public eye
3) The "official" reason that Swinburne lives with Watts is that he is an alcoholic (he is) and Watts is helping him recover (he is, with varied success)
4) Swinburne is indeed the author of the Algernon Rose stories. He is writing them because the Strand stopped publishing his poetry and he feels awful that Watts has been fully supporting him. Watts has lately counseled Swinburne to stop writing altogether and focus on recovery
The men ball their fists and glare daggers at Tristan, however Rasheed calms them and they nod. They say a few words in their own language and then gesture for the Rippers to follow.
You talk to her. the lead the Rippers to a large garishly colored tent. The tent flaps hang open.
"Thank you," Carl says, not quite sure if he actually should be thanking them. He holds back the tent flap for Tristan then follows him inside to see whoever 'she' is.
"So it is being Swinburne we are wanting. First, though, we are asking if anyone knows name at Lodge, yes?" On their return, Andrej will inquire about the man, trying very hard to keep the moral judgments to a minimum. English, pah! How is it that such moral weaklings can fight against Mother Russia?
"Yeah, we should ask around. The name sounds kinda familiar, but as you've probably guessed I'm not exactly the most 'high society' or 'cultured' person around, so..." Victoria puts down the stolen items and keeps them together, making sure they have everything they left with. "I'm tryin' t'think if I can remember anything about the guy... but I got nothin'. Oh well, I'm sure someone can point us in the right direction. Maybe we ought t'send another message to Tristan? He's probably more likely to know about this than I am."
Indeed, Victoria has no idea who Algernon Charles Swinburne is, not her social circle.
"Gospodin van Helsing, Gospozha Lawson and I have learned name of Strand author. It is Algernon Charles Swinburne, and he is living with solicitor Watts in Chelsea. Do you know name?"
Tristan tightens his jaw as the men scowl at him, realizing he's done something wrong, but Rasheed smooths things over and the old gentleman nods, with a sidelong smile at the Sikh. Thank you, he mouths, moving to the tent. He graciously nods to Carl as well, and enters through the flap to see what--and who--waits inside the tent. Perhaps I'll let them begin the talking this time.
Tristan, Rasheed and Carl enter the tent. Inside, an ancient looking woman sits at a table. Incense burns behind her.
Ah. Travelers. Come. Sit. Tell me how the Romanichal can help you. the old crone croaks out.
Andrej finds Johaan von Helsing at his desk, writing dispatches furiously. The man frowns at Andrej And? Have you stopped his infernal stories? The man is a degenerate and is no doubt tied to some cultist activity. How does he know so much! Find out man! and with that von Helsing goes back to his dispatches.
von Helsing's secretary gives Andrej a friendly smile. He's had a rough few days. No one knows where the Elder von Helsing has gone, and Johaan worries. How can I help?
"Good morning ma'am," Carl says, tipping his hat respectfully. "We're looking for a man who may know something important to us. A Mr. Theodore Watts."
Andrej, taken aback by van Helsing's brusqueness, gratefully addresses the secretary. "Ah, I am understanding. Question I have is whether this Swinburne is known to Rippers for any reason--is he friend to someone who talks too much? Former member? Anything like that."
Tristan gives the old woman a courteous bow, and allows Carl to speak first. The alienist presents their goal succinctly, so Tristan stays quiet for now.
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Rasheed nods, smiling as he looks for a comfy place to sit -be it chair or floor-.
"Thank you for receiving us, Bunica. I am Rasheed. The gentleman's name is Tristan. My friend, the Doctor Jung, spoke plainly... not out of rudeness but urgency."
Rasheed considers what to say next, and in the end he decides to trust the gypsies "I wouldn't want to betray your hospitality and as such I will speak the truth, difficult as it is to believe... but understand, Bunica, that by trusting you with this I am risking myself and others like me."
"We are Rippers. We fight in the shadows, protecting others from those who consort with evil and desire only harm and destruction. We remain a secret, known by only a few, so common folk don't live in fear of the forces we have to face." the sikh waits a few seconds for his words to sink
"This fellow Theodore Watts is a scholar and writer, and has recently published a number of stories where he features a group akin to us. We came here to know if this is a mere coincidence or not, and how come he knows of our struggle." the sikh looks the crone in the eye before continuing "I trusted you with this knowledge because you are the head of this familya, the wise woman that looks after them. I trust that you understand the risk those stories prove to our efforts... and now that you know the truth you can rely on us if you are in need. That's the least I could do."
The secretary responds to Andrej. Hmm. No. I don't think so. Swinburne is *known* in some social circles as a deviant. But, some of those same people believe poets are *all* deviants. The man is a raging alcoholic though. He was escorted from Lord Reardon's party a few years ago, it was quite the scandal... the secretary knows about the London social scene and describes Charles Swinburne's many social miscues and scandals in the past 10 years. However, its evident (to the secretary at least) that Swinburne has never had any dealings with the Rippers.
The old woman nods at Carl and then Rasheed speaks. She eyes Rasheed curiously
Dumnezeule!
You are either a fool, or a very wise man, to speak so freely. What if I was vrăjitoare, a witch. To curse you with the Evil Eye.
the crone chuckles I have no magic. My Bunică though. She had the gift. Very strong. I know your Watts. He comes to the camp and talks with the young ones. I think some of them fill his head with stories. You say he writes them down? Is bad to write down stories. If you write them, you no remember. the old woman taps the side of her head
I will tell Dimitri and Sveloag to take you to him. He has a tent he sleeps in when he camps with us. Du-te cu Dumnezeu.
She calls out in her strange tongue and the two scowling men enter the tent, their scowl is a little less hostile now. They gesture for you to follow.
The two men make no attempt at small talk. They simply walk across the camp, barely looking to see if you are keeping up. They point to a drab grey tent. Is there. Watts.
Against all evidence to the contrary, Mei does and in fact continues to still exist. She didn't speak up whens he noticed Andrej and Victoria returned, but now she finds herself curious enough to investigate. Asking a fellow ripper where they saw the pair leave off to, she eventually comes across them. Mei waves to get their attention in a polite matter, approaching while being cautious as to not disturb the young Helsing.
"Good news, I hope...?"
"Well, we've found who's writing the stories; it's a man who goes by the name Swineburne, evidently a bit of deviant in... well, for people who have social circles. He's quite deep in the bottle from what I understand, too... that might be a way in." Victoria sighs, then crosses her arms over her chest. "We could try and find our way in using that as a cover, or contact Tristan and the others to see what they think. What do you two think?"
"Ah, good. Thanks." Tristan nods at the Romani and looks at his companions. "Well, Master Singh, I can't say I'd have spoken as plainly as you, but it seems we were fortunate in finding no ill will. You do have a sense of character about you, what?" He raises an eyebrow and gestures to the tent. "Shall we?"
So saying, the old gentleman steps inside and looks for anyone who might be assumed to be Watts. "Ah, hello, old chum! You're a difficult man to track down, you know."
"I suppose if anyone would understand, it would be the Romani. They have their own mystic ways and odd histories behind them." Carl walks with the others as they go to Mr. Watts' tent.
"We wait, I am thinking. While we wait, though, maybe Swinburne writes under own name. Trip to library? Gospozha Mei, you are being good at research, I remember."
"Among other things, yes," She says, readjusting her eyeglasses. "A little research while waiting seems like a sound option."
Rasheed, Carl and Tristan enter the tent and see a frail looking man in his 60's
By jove! I don't get visitors here often. And an Indiaman too. What's this all about?
"Wow, seems this guy's been doin' quite a bit," Victoria comments, looking over Mei's shoulder. "Not really my style, y'know, but at least it means he's well known. If he's been writin' for the Strand that means he wants t'keep it a secret... that means he knows he's gotta keep it a secret, even if he ain't sure why. We could use that to our advantage." Victoria crosses her arms and taps her foot, thinking.
"We need t'talk to Tristan and the others."
"Da. Agreed." Andrej idly thumbs through a copy of "Poems and Ballads," shaking his head. "I am not knowing English well enough to follow his words. What does he mean, 'the rain has ruined the ungrown corn?'"
Mei squints at the verse, and shakes her head. "The meaning escapes my grasp of English as well. His works are... interesting, and perhaps beautiful in their own way. But no, I prefer something more... literal in it's meaning." She thumbs through another volume of the man's work, only a few things catching her interest for long.
"I'd say I agree, we should meet with them again to discuss these recent findings."
"Master Watts," Tristan says, sweeping into a courteous bow of greeting. "My name is Tristan Colborne, Uncle to the Baron Seaton? I've sought you out that I might inquire of you a number of informations, both regarding your business here with the Romani people, as well as certain writings in which I believe you played some part. Might we join you here for a spell, to discuss these matters?" As an afterthought he gestures to the others, "These are my companions, Doctor Jung and Sardar Singh, both men of great knowledge and merit. They too are quite interested in learning what you have accomplished."
Tristan introduces himself and Theodore Watts-Dunton nods amiably. He smiles at the trio and shakes hands with all three men.
What questions did you have for me Sir?
"Well, first and foremost," Tristan begins, "we're intrigued by hearing of your coming up to speak with these, to use the common word, these Gypsy folk. I've traveled to other lands myself, and know well the wonders other peoples might share. I'd be delighted to learn what you've gathered here."
The gentleman lets Watts-Dunston reply at whatever length he likes, and nods along before offering their true purpose. "Fascinating! I will say we have a second line of inquiry, however. It's our understanding that a number of wonderful fictions have been published of late, being sent from your home in London. If you are indeed the author of these tales, I'm certain my friend Singh and I would both like to shake your hand."
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Rasheed nods at Tristan answer, only taking a moment to add "Gypsy is our term, well, the common term to name them. But they are the Roma people." the sikh seems happy explaining it, probably because he understands what means to be a little known stranger. "As for me, Master Watts, I am a Sikh. I come from India, indeed, but my people differs from the hindi like you british from scottish to put an example. I feel a tad bit guilty calling attention to my culture, but I'd be honoured to explain the differences to you... perhaps another time, as the fictions you wonderfully wrote are what brought us here."
Watts responds to both Rasheed and Tristan
Well. You can very well see. I'm not writing any stories. I'm conducting field research for a new book, a book of folktales. I've no clue what you are getting at.
"Ah." Tristan blinks, unprepared to be stonewalled yet again--he was certain Watts would hold the answers they sought. "But aren't folk tales stories in and of themselves? I would certainly be interested in hearing what you've learned of such fancies, and I'm sure my companions feel the same."
Carl frowns slightly. He had been afraid that was the case. "Indeed, the Romani have a fascinating history, and I've always been interested in legends and myths. It's always interesting to try to ferret out the grains of truth."
Mr. Watts says Well. This latest tale is about a Fox a Leech and an Old Witch. and he reads the tale from a manuscript he's obviously been working on for a while.
It's plain that although interesting, this writing is nothing similar to the stories published in the Strand.
Tristan listens to the tale, pleasantly attentive, but he soon realizes this isn't what they're looking for. When Watts has finished, he nods and offers a hand. "Delightful, truly, sir. I do hope you'll be able to publish the stories you've found soon, and I shall most certainly be among your customers when you do."
He suddenly starts and clicks his tongue. "Ah, but I forget myself, and now we really must be off. I do wish we could spend more time, but I'm certain you have work to attend to, as do we. Until next time then, eh, chap?" Tristan smiles at him and opens the tent, gesturing for Carl and Rasheed to follow him.
Outside, he shakes his head and looks at his companions. "Well, as enlightening as the Romani have been, I'm afraid our Mister Watts falls somewhat short of the mark. And here I was certain he'd have the answers we seek..."
Carl follows Tristan out, tipping his hat to Mr. Watts and wishing him well before they depart. "Indeed," he agrees once they're out of earshot. "While he seems like he'd be thrilled to have his work published, I somehow doubt that he's our leak." The doctor frowns. "But there must be something that we're missing. And I'm going to be rather cross if it turns out that the butler did it."