Play@YSDC

Alicia hails a carriage and rides into Kensington, and the site of the home of Peter Blaylock's mother and father, probably the best lead she has at the moment. She reads The Times as the carriage trundles along, through the East End, through the City, and finally through more and more respectable streets until it passes the lengthy green expanse of Hyde Park. It turns into Kensington Square and up to the Blaylocks' house.

Alicia looks in her handbag for her card which she uses on occasions like this. It lists her name, but neglects to mention she is a journalist. Nice and anonymous for times like this. She pays the driver and dismounts, before walking up to the front door of the house and knocking on it.

A few moments pass, and just as Alicia is getting ready to knock again the door is opened by a tall, thin man, slightly stooped and somewhere in the range of years between middle aged and elderly. A pair of spectacles is perched precariously on his angular nose.

"Good morning, ma'am," he says in a cultured accent, taking the card from Alicia's grasp and holding it in front of his face. "Miss Douglas, is it, then? What can I help you with?"

"Would it be possible for me to speak to Mrs Blaylock please?" asks Alicia. "It is in connection with her son Peter."

The man silently nods and holds a hand up to Alicia. "Just a moment, ma'am, let me see how she is feeling." He disappears into a back room, and after a few moments he returns and beckons. He opens a door into a hastily made-up bedroom where a woman in late middle age sits on a window sill. She turns her head to look at the door.

"Thank you, George." The man nods and leaves, closing the door behind him. The woman addresses Alicia. "Oh, one of Peter's friends, how wonderful. What news have you brought, miss?"

"Thank you for seeing me, Mrs Blaylock," says Alicia. "Some associates and I are investigating the disappearance of Arthur Sommers, Peter's friend, who vanished not long after seeing your son. I gather that Peter has also not been seen around town lately. We were hoping that he might have been able to help shed light on what has happened to Arthur."

OOC,Can I try a Psychology roll or similar? Mrs Blaylock seems remarkably cheery.

"Arthur's missing? I'll have to ask Peter if he knows where he has gotten himself to when next I speak with him," she says, not getting up to greet Alicia. "Or you could ask him. He's with the doctor at the moment, but I'm certain he'll be glad that a friend's here to see him. He's been so frightfully depressed as of late."

OOC,Sure, go ahead.

"If I could speak to him that would be wonderful," says Alicia, concealing her surprise that Peter is there in the house, given what Travisham had suggested. "We have a number of leads on Arthur, and are trying to follow them up to find him. It's possible Peter might be able to help with information he knows."

OOC,[url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3291860/]Psychology roll (stat 35%) wondering about Mrs Blaylock's state of mind (1d100=45)[/url]

"George!" Mrs. Blaylock calls. After a moment the thin man who greeted Alicia at the door appears again. "Show this young lady to Peter's rooms, would you?" George nods -- he seems to be vaguely reluctant to do so, for some reason -- and motions for Alicia to follow him. He leads her to the second floor of the house and raps on a closed door.

"Just a moment!" a voice calls. Then, after a short time, "Enter."

The door is opened and George announces Alicia, and then leaves -- once again, it seems he can't leave fast enough. A middle-aged, jowly man, who's presumably a doctor, is gathering medical instruments and a large roll of gauze and putting them away in a medical bag. "Miss Douglas," he greets Alicia as he works. But what really draws Alicia's attention is a person -- presumably Peter -- who sits in an easy chair, a blanket over his knees, dressed in pajamas, and his entire head completely swathed in bandages except for three tiny holes for eyes and nostrils and a larger one for his mouth. Another maid, once again looking rather haggard and distressed, dabs blood from beneath his mouth.

The doctor closes his bag and withdraws a metal flask from his shirt pocket and takes a quick drink from it. "Quite a sight, isn't he? Oh, don't fret about bedside manner, his mind is too far gone."

"Oh my goodness," says Alicia, bringing her hands to her mouth in utter shock. She turns to the doctor. "What happened to him, how did he come to be like this?"

"Well, that's just the issue," says the doctor. "Can't say that I really know. We found Peter lying in an alley near Marylebone Station a few weeks ago. He was... well, I don't know that a lady needs to know exactly what injuries he suffered. Suffice it to say, I've no idea what could've possibly even inflicted the injuries Peter's suffered. His mind was completely gone when we found him, and once we brought him back here... we need to keep him heavily drugged against the pain, so... he does really have brief moments of lucidity in which it's possible to communicate with him on a rudimentary level." He momentarily glances towards the door. "His mother hasn't taken it well at all, I fear. She's in a state of denial. When Peter was found, I made it known that the best thing for him was to be sent to the hospital, but she insisted that we keep him here."

"This is appalling. Will he recover?" asks Alicia.

"Possibly. Over time the pain will of course be less, but I fear that he will likely be wheelchair-bound for the rest of his life," says the doctor. "And such a pity, too, I've heard that he was quite the amateur athlete. As to his mental faculties, it's difficult to say, but there isn't anything wrong with his brain, physiologically anyway, so we can hold out hope I suppose."

"Such a shame," says Alicia. "I pray he will recover in part. You mentioned that he communicates occasionally. Has he given any clues to what might have happened to him?"

"Even when he's lucid, his words are disjointed and rarely make complete sense. We gather that just after leaving the police station the night of Peter and Arthur's dust-up, he took a carriage a brief way home and then walked the rest of the way. We've never been able to get him to tell us exactly what happened -- for now, we're assuming he was attacked by something or other escaped from the Regent's Park zoo. He's usually lucid after he eats -- he'll be done in a few moments. You're welcome to try communicating with him if you like."

"Alright," says Alicia, nodding to the doctor. She waits while Peter eats, and then kneels down, so she is at his eye level. Gently she says: "Peter, can you hear me? I've come from Arthur's friends. They're worried about both of you. What happened to you?"

Peter speaks quietly, rocking slightly, seeming to be trying to find his voice again. "Arrrr..." he mutters. "Try Arthur... help. Green... blood... She laugh... Hello, boy... Teeth, teeth, tongue... Hit... bite... teeth! She... not same... Max, why?"

Alicia looks at the doctor with concern, wondering whether to push this further. Then she turns back to Peter. "Who is she? Who is Max?"

"Bard Max... ell... paint. Bad, bad." The maid wipes a bit of spittle from Peter's lower lip. "She... Byogdin. Shurnog. Hammer, hands, mouth, teeth. She take... take..." he paws at his face with his hand, which aside from a few cuts and scratches is unhurt. "Teeth... take face..."

"Don't worry, dear," says the doctor. "He actually seems a bit more lucid than he usually is. I can almost make out some complex words."

Peter weakly nods his bandaged head and grasps at Alicia's hand. "Max... she... be careful. Bad two..." He gestures towards his face with his other hand. "No let... she... take face. She... woman... not. Arm... dest... ry arm..."

"We will be careful, I promise," says Alicia. "Thank you so much. Please rest now." She could have asked more, but feels uncomfortable about putting Peter through more stress. He has helped so much already, and is so very weak.

With that she stands, ready to leave. She intends to give her thanks to the doctor, and then the butler and Mrs Blaylock, before heading outside. She will get a taxi to Mr Maurice's manor, to arrive at sunset.

OOC,Do I recognise any of the names, specifically "Bard Maxwell" presumably an artist, and Byogdin?

Alicia notes the names mentally for now, hoping that they tie up with any leads that the others might have found, or that she can identify who they might be, especially the artist who must be known to wider London society. She will write what she has learned down in her notebook when she is out of the house in a taxi carriage. She decides to go on her way as planned, reluctant to probe Peter any further.

The doctor accompanies Alicia to the front door. "I hope you got answers of some sort from Peter," he says. "We had probably reached about the end of his lucidity, anyway. He doesn't stay in his right mind for long, unfortunately."

Alicia can move back into The Investigation thread when she's ready to head to Richard's house, but feel free to do anything else before getting there.

Alicia thanks the doctor as she leaves.

She decides, given that there is time before she needs to head to Richard's house, to go to the newspaper office first, and see if she can find out more, either from quizzing colleagues or looking in research files, about the mysterious artist, and also the "Byogdin" lead. Some of her fellow journalists know more about the art world for example, and wider cultural society, and may recognise the names.

Alicia decides that for the purposes of this investigation, it's probably best to check at the offices of another newspaper. Arriving at the offices of the Times in Fleet Street, she heads first for the office of Charles Beaumont, the paper's head art critic. She and Beaumont have a working relationship: he helped her with a story on an Italian painter visiting London that she worked on last year. Besides being extremely familiar with the London art scene, Beaumont doesn't necessarily shy away from digging into all the sordid goings-on behind the scenes.

OOC,Being in the US, I obviously don't know if the [i]Times[/i]' real offices are in Fleet Street, but, well, now they are.

Alicia knocks on Charles's door, hoping that he is in.

Charles soon answers Alicia's knocks. "Alicia! How've you been? Come in, come in." He ushers her into a cluttered office. "My apologies on the state of my surroundings here, but I wasn't expecting visitors. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Alicia smiles at the warm welcome. "I'm fine thanks, Charles. I'm here because I hoped you might be able to help with a lead I need to follow up. I've been given the name Bard Maxwell, or something sounding like that, very possibly a painter. Does that ring any bells with you?"

"Hmm, let me think." Charles digs through a pile of papers on his desk and retrieves a small notebook, which he combs through for a few minutes. "There's several Maxwells in London and vicinity, but I have a feeling you may be talking about Bart Maxwell. He was quite in fashion a few years ago, but there he was embroiled in a, ahh, scandal back in '98. I believe he works for some of the lower-class theatres now. Does that sound like your man?"

"That sounds very plausible indeed," says Alicia. "There seems to be a theatre connection in this case, so if he was working for the theatres that would fit with the man I'm looking for. What sort of scandal was he involved in, if you don't mind my asking? And do you have any more details for him, such as the theatres he works for now, or his own address, if he has, for example, a studio?"

"Well, it's not really much of a secret that most of our more well-known artists have a vice of one sort or another. His was opium. He crawled around in some of the more sordid parts of our city... well, he and another chap had a dust-up down by the Docks, the fellow ended up floating in the Thames... well, fighting's not illegal and the police couldn't prove Maxwell had actually killed the man, or if he fell into the river by accident. But all was the same in the end -- though he may not have gone to prison, his name was in ill-favour after that. So he was forced to do what he could." Charles tents his fingers as he leans back in his chair. "He did an unfortunate bit of work for disreputable East End music halls, I'm afraid. I believe he did some work for Mr Stoker at the Lyceum a few years back when they put on that play he'd written. The last to employ him was the Adelphi, they did a production a time ago using his sets almost exclusively. Duchess of Malfi, it was, I believe. If your aim is to contact Mr Maxwell, you may have a bit of trouble with that. He's not been seen since The Duchess ended its run. He lived in Greenwich, though I've also heard rumours he had a mistress up in Camden Square."

"Excellent information, thank you very much for that," says Alicia, gratefully. "One more thing: does the name Byogdin mean anything to you, possibly in connection with a woman? There seems to be a link to Maxwell. I've also been given the name Countess Bogdansky which may be the same person."

"Hmm. I'm not familiar with those names, although since you've said that the name is linked to Maxwell's it may be that of his mistress in Camden. She's said to be a Russian."

"Ah, curious indeed," says Alicia. "Well thank you very much for all your help Charles. Remind me in future that I owe you a favour in return." She stands, ready to leave.

"Of course, of course," Charles says, rising out of his chair to open the door for Alicia. "Do let me know what you might discover about Mr Maxwell -- London's art community is quite wondering where he's gotten himself to."

"If I track him down I promise to let you know," laughs Alicia, as she leaves.

She leaves The Times offices, and arranges to get a carriage to the house in time for the planned rendezvous with the others.