Page 79 of Affair

“Alchemy, for example.”

“The chanting,” Charlotte whispered. “I thought I caught some alchemical references in that strange poem the club members used to summon their magician. ‘Mercury, sulphur, salt.’”

“You are correct.” Baxter did not look at her. He seemed to be absorbed by the darkness outside the carriage. “Mercury, sulphur, and salt were once held by the ancient alchemists to be the basis of all things, including gold. There was a theory that if one could separate the supernatural essence of those substances from the material form in which they are found, one would possess, among other things, the secret of transmuting any metal into gold.”

Something in his voice riveted Charlotte’s attention. “Among other things? What more could any alchemist want beyond the ability to turn lead into gold?”

Baxter looked at her then. The dangerous fires burned behind the lenses of his glasses. “For a true alchemist, the secret of transmuting base metal into gold was no more than a sign that one was on the right track.”

“I don’t understand. What was the real objective of such experiments?”

“The alchemists sought the Philosopher’s Stone, the secret, fundamental knowledge of the world that would unlock unlimited power.”

Another of the strange chills went through Charlotte. It was not unlike that which she had experienced earlier when she had watched the magician. She studied Baxter’s face, transfixed as she so often was by the cold fire that burned in his eyes.

This was different. Baxter was different. He had nothing in common with the black-robed magician she had just seen.

But a powerful intellect coupled with an unshakable will was always a dangerous combination. And Baxter possessed both.

The sounds of the streets receded into the distance. The fog and the night seemed to absorb everything until the interior of the carriage was the only solid place left in the world. All else was composed of insubstantial mist.

She was trapped in this moving sphere of lamplight with her lover, a man whose own unacknowledged hungers rivaled those of the ancient alchemists. A shattering realization struck her in that frozen moment. If Baxter did not discover that love was the true name of the Philosopher’s Stone he sought, they might both be consumed by the flames of their passion.

“What is it, Charlotte? You have an odd expression.”

The sharp question broke the small spell. She blinked and then looked away from Baxter’s intense gaze.

“It is nothing,” she said. “I was merely contemplating the other alchemical references in the chant. What does the phrase ‘laborers in the fire’ mean?”

“That was an old term for alchemists. It came about because all of their work was done in a crucible heated with fire.”

“And the reference to Hermes?”

“Hermes Trismegistos. Many believed that he was the source for the laws of alchemy that were supposedly inscribed on an emerald tablet.”

“The Green Table,” she whispered.

Baxter’s smile was devoid of any humor. “Yes. The name of the hell itself. It would seem that Hamilton and his friends have made mesmerism and alchemy the cornerstones of their secret club. They have added some rituals and herbs and found themselves a suitably dramatic magician to amuse them.”

“Perhaps he found them,” Charlotte suggested.

“Quite possibly. An amazing number of charlatans have become extremely wealthy after attracting patrons from the higher social circles. Most of those who move in the ton claim to be stricken with perpetual ennui. Their never-ending boredom leads them to seek out the strange and the exotic for entertainment.”

“I suppose there is no great harm in Hamilton’s choice of amusements,” Charlotte said slowly. “His secret club appears to be less recklessly inclined than some. At least he is not out risking his life in neck-or-nothing phaeton races conducted at midnight. Nor does he descend into the worst sections of the stews in search of novelty. The Green Table is not a noble establishment, but there are worse.”

“True.” Baxter gave his attention back to the foggy scene outside. The silence swirled around him.

“What disturbs you, Baxter?”

“Connections.”

“What do you mean?”

When he turned his head to meet her eyes, Charlotte once more felt the icy touch on her spine.

“Drusilla Heskett’s little sketch.”

“What of it?”

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