Edgar Allan Poe and the London Monster by Karen Lee Street Read Free Book Online Page A

silk again, splitting the fabric across her derrière and quite destroying the dress and her hindquarters. As her costume is no longer in a condition to wear in high society (even in the position of lady’s maid), perhaps Mrs. Chippingdale will display some generosity and donate it to her sister for use in the theatre?
    Of the second attack, I have far less to tell you. It seems that a very pretty maidservant was accosted on Jermyn Street at approximately the same time that Mrs. Chippingdale met her nemesis. She described her attacker as a tall, stout officer dressed in his uniform and one would hardly think anything more of her story except for her claim that the rogue declared, “Submit to Captain Belleville” and “I demand my rights to your affection!” As you and I and any other folk familiar with Mrs. Brooke’s play Rosina know, the correct lines are: “Allow me to retire, brother, and learn at a distance from you to correct those errors into which the fire of youth, and bad example, have hurried me. When I am worthy of your esteem, I will return, and demand my rights in your affection.”
    How very appropriate those words are, would you not agree? I will be relieved to adjourn to Margate and leave such horseplay behind us.
    Your Wife,
    Elizabeth

LONDON, THURSDAY, 2 JULY 1840
    Despite the torments of the night, my first morning in London began most satisfactorily. A large breakfast was brought to my room at nine o’clock as requested, along with a copy of The Morning Chronicle . I scanned the newspaper while drinking very good English breakfast tea and eating sausage, toast and egg, which had a positive effect upon my constitution.
    There were some accounts of local crimes in the Chronicle’ s pages that might inspire a tale or two. I was intrigued by the story of Edward Oxford, who was to be tried for high treason at the Old Bailey on the sixth of July. The eighteen-year-old public house waiter had discharged two pistols at Queen Victoria as she rode with Prince Albert in an open carriage on the tenth of June—the boy objected to the country being ruled by a woman. The uncanny tale of a criminal transported to New South Wales a decade ago for the theft of three linen handkerchiefs appealed to my imagination. He had recently returned to England a wealthy man and bought a mansion near his birthplace, much to the displeasure of certain persons of distinction. No explanation was given for the man’s surprising reversal of fortunes or his return to his childhood home. Had he committed a more profitable crime? Had luck become hisfriend and allowed him the discovery of gold or opals or some other precious commodity? Or did he make a pact with the Devil or whatever other accursed creature wanders the deserts of that far-flung colony? I resolved to keep this story for further contemplation.
    I flicked through the other pages of the newspaper and found nothing else of interest until the “Announcements” on the back page.
    Arrived in Liverpool on the first of July from Philadelphia, the packet-ship Ariel, having on board Mr. Edgar A. Poe, highly regarded American author and critic. Mr. Poe proceeded immediately to London by train to take up residence at Brown’s Genteel Inn. He will be available during his stay for public recitations of his newest tales and a lecture on the Art of the Literary Critic. We will confirm in these pages the date and venue of this much-anticipated literary evening .
    I was filled with gratitude. Solving the mystery of the box of letters was the primary reason for my journey, but I had two additional aspirations for my visit to London, my childhood home. I had written to an author whose work I had greatly admired when I reviewed it for the Southern Literary Messenger and more recently for Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine , a man whose newest effort, Nicholas Nickleby , was his best—superlative praise indeed. From his tales I felt