Abandon All Hope.... (Casket and Victorian Virtue)

[Casketslinger]

Little is known about the figure of Henry Ebeneezer Blachemere before his his ascension into the public eye at at the age of 26, in the year of our Lord 1901, but not from the lack of trying. Media of the time have done extensive research only to come up with variations of the same basic facts which have been repeated in countless news publications of the time. Although several have dug deeper into this mysterious figure's past, interviewing adolescent peers, neighbors and teachers many don't recollect him at all in any great detail.

His parents are no more than middle class Viscounts, a father, Magistrate and 33 degree Freemason Philip Blachemere and mother, Viscountess Marian Blachemere were socialites and staples of their community of Hertfordshire. Researchers have contested the natural birth of their only son, Henry in 1875, saying 'no witnesses to Marian ever being pregnant nor delivering child could be produced', many believe he was adopted through private measures.

Good and honest people by all accounts until their untimely death in 1887. The death was ruled suspicious by authorities because their carriage horse was spooked and they crashed and died, supposedly still on their own property. Their only male child, Henry inherited their estate and was a wealthy aristocrat-in-coming by the age of 15.

He attended the prestigious Bishopsgate Institute for several years before his expulsion in 1897 for disciplinary issues. When asked for some elaboration, the headmaster refused as did many of the noted scholars that taught his classes.


At the age of 26 though, his true notoriety was achieved in the form of several 'seminars' he gave to those whom could afford to pay the exorbitant amounts asked for admission to these exclusive conclaves. Not much is known about the happenings wherein but participants came away content with new knowledge about how life as a philosophy should be viewed. Soon after many of which, became industrial giants whom held the keys to economic freedom in the newer modern age. Papers clamored to interview these new powers that be but many were silent in when asked about their success. Only one dare mutter any comment insinuating Blachemere's tutelage, but his statement was damning.

"He said: '...there is no god, there is only a man's will and how you impress yours upon the world...' that is the truth of this world, so say the ancient deities that came before." Was the statement that ran across every major publication's headlines the day it came out. Of course the church, still quite powerful politically would have nothing to do with it and ran a campaign to smear the young man's name and reputation.

It wasn't long before they'd levied enough public discourse to get a warrant of search and seizure upon the Blachemere estate, fortunately he was not at home at the time.This of course only served to interest more of the up and coming young aristocrats whom had been raised in the moralistic oppressive times of Queen Victoria's era and they clamored for more of his rogue exploits.

Abroad and doing studies in the Middle East he was absent for the public invasion of his home and only heard of it several weeks later. The papers all read about the debauchery that they'd found during their search, much of the contents was censored due to public standards. Upon reading of this, he publicly vowed never to return to a country so academically repressed as to excommunicate a truly 'forward thinking man'.


Lord Blachemere took up residence in a former Cistercian foundation in Trino, Italy called Lucedio Abbey. He has since restarted his studies in occult esoterism. He is known to have a small staff of locals to attend the estate as well as atleast two women who claim him as their husband although no official marriage certificate exists in either Italy or England.

This year though Blachemere claims to reached the culmination of his studies and wishes to put on one final seminar, after which he will put on no more. With an astronomical admission price of 1,000 pounds sterling a very few can afford it.

 

[Casketslinger]

A clipping from The Illustrated London News circa Wednesday, June 2nd 1905.


The Devil from Hertfordshire is at it Again!!!!

Many of our faithful readers might remember the stories of the young Viscount Henry Blanchemere and his fiendish activities he was henceforth accused of from years past, well the devil is at it again. The very same man whose estate was raided by authorities only a few years ago and evidence of bestiality, polygamy, and varying degrees of occultism were found by constables.

Our sources here at the Illustrated London have found that he's applied for Italian citizenship and is currently living in a former Abbey in the providence of Trino. The Lucedio Abbey was rumored that numerous young people underwent assault and torture at the hands of the monks.From 1457, by an act of Pope Callixtus III, Lucedio was placed under commendatorial control, losing prestige and autonomy.

When Italian government officials were contacted they informed us that Blanchmere has been convicted of no crimes that would hinder his citizenship status. We can only hope that they don't turn a blind eye to his nefarious acts and that his true nature will be brought to the light soon so that no other innocents are affected by his taint.

We here at our prestigious news organization have received information that he is hosting another one of his mysterious seminars this season and although the admission is quite steep, our editor has agreed to float the styphon so that I, your intrepid reporter and first female news journalist in England can attend the seminar in Italy and write about it so that the monster can finally be exposed for what he is.

Keep your eyes peeled dear readers for my installments as I stalk the devil in a foreign land and hopefully illuminate him for all to see.

Written by: Gwyneth Alger


"Gwen, you don't honestly think I'm going to pay for you to go to Italy and write about this flash in the pan Blanchmere do you?" The Editor of the Illustrated London said as he removed his glasses and looked up at the young woman standing before him.

"Yes sir, I do. It's news and that's what we do here." Gwen retorted, standing with her pale hands behind her back. She was an extremely attractive young woman of 21 years old with reddish blond hair and a freckled face that framed her piercing blue eyes.

"I won't, firstly we can't afford that and secondly it's Italian news if it is new at all, we write about England and her colonies because that is what people care about. Not this Gwen. I begrudgingly hired you even though you were a woman because I believed we could sell more papers than our competitors if we appealed to the female perspective as well. I assumed you'd be writing puff pieces about clothing trends and cooking column with new recipes; Not trying to hunt some devil worshiper down and expose him." Editor James said as he rubbed his temples out of frustration.

"Fine, what if I cover the admission price myself, will you print my letters?" She asked and showed her fierce determination which had landed her the job in the first place.

"Where in the good Lord's name would you come up with a thousand pound?" He asked looking up again.

"I have a pen name and I've been published. I written several successful fictional novels, I have the money." She answered.

" You mean you've been moonlighting on me....Really? What's your pen name?" He asked with an amused smile on his face.

"Never you mind, if I went around telling people that it wouldn't be a pen name would it? The question remains, will you publish me if I send home letters?" She asked again this time placing her hands on her hips defiantly.

"As always Gwen, I print news, either your letters will be news and I'll print them or they wont' be news and I'll file them in my circular file." He answered as he pointed at his trash bin.

"Don't you worry about that Mr. James, I can assure you our readers will be enthralled. I thank you for your time and must take my leave if I hope to be packed and on board the steamship I bought a ticket for passage on." She said.

"You already had the ticket? What if I'd said 'no'?" Mister James asked as he pulled his pipe out and took a puff.

"I never had any doubts sir." She answered in that confident tone which had got her the job in the first place.

 

[Casketslinger]

Gwen finished packing her luggage, which consisted of a steamer trunk and several large bags and she looked at the massive collection and wondered if she'd over packed but dismissed the thought almost as soon as it came into her head. One could never know what they truly need while traveling abroad and it was better to have something and not need it than vice versa.

One final item which she kept in her nightstand dresser would complete her packing. She opened the drawer and pulled out the Philadelphia Derringer she'd kept in there since she'd received the American pocket pistol via mail order. Staring at it in her hand, she'd never actually fired the thing, but she felt safer knowing it was there, and now traveling to a foreign land and engaging a man with the reputation that Blanchmere had she would rather feel safe than sorry. Holding the derringer delicately between her lace gloved thumb and forefinger she dropped it into her clutch and tucked the small bag under her arm.

Packed and ready to travel she called down to the front desk and had the doorman fetch her bags, to which they and herself were delivered to the Royal Victoria docks where she was directed to her steamer. As she approached the grouping of a several large prestigious ocean liner her mind raced with thoughts of grand adventures but they were quickly dashed by the dockmaster when he informed her that her ticket was for a far more humble vessel. Upon seeing the slightly shabby vessel and peering upon it's name she got an ominous feeling that swept over her. The Canterbury was a small-medium sized vessel which looked as though it had seen many a hard voyage and Gwyneth had to wonder if the thing was truly sea worthy.

She approached the Captain and introduced herself to the swarthy looking man with some hesitation. His name was Captain William Wilson and he informed her that his ship was indeed seaworthy and although his crew consisted of Spanish Moors they were well tested and quite competent, which did little to ease her worried mind. She clutched her purse against her side as she ascended the gangway and felt the hard bulge of her derringer against her ribs which brought her little comfort.

One of the crewmen whose complexion was as dark as Black Pete himself showed her to her quarters, a modest room with a single cot and small writing desk but little else in the way of creature comforts. When the man left her, she attempted to shut her cabin door and lock it but found the latch was disabled. Just another ominous sign in a series of them that was hinting at dark cloud that was foreshadowing this endeavor.

Once settled in and the ship left port Gwen grew restless and journeyed out onto the ships deck. It was obviously far more of a commercial freight vessel than one designed for passenger transport and she had to watch her step as the men of the crew worked eagerly to secure their load. She found her way to the stern of the ship where she found a small deck relatively uncluttered by men or cargo. It was here she was beginning to wonder if she was the only passenger on the ship when she saw the slightly rough looking gentleman approaching. Although dressed fairly well his clothes looked slightly disheveled and he wore dark circles under the eyes of his handsome face. Obviously not a crew member, Gwen had to assume he was a fellow passenger and approached with her hand outstretch in greeting.

"Hello good sir, My name is Gwyneth Alger, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I'm traveling to Italy, Trino actually, on assignment for 'the Illustrated', of which I'm a reporter of some note, maybe you've read some of my work." She said, backwardly throwing the brag out.

 

[Casketslinger]

Sea sickness is nothing to take lightly, many of the latest studies seem to think that it may lead to dementia later in life, My physician gave me this, I can't seem to bring myself to partake in it, as it makes me feel faintish, but feel free to indulge if you think it will help good sir." Gywen said as she reached into her voluminous handbag, grabbing at the first heavy thing she felt, she pulled out the loaded Derringer, unintentionally pointing the deadly weapon at Pery's face. "OOOH not that, deary me....hold this for a moment if you would." She said absent mindedly dropping the dangerous weapon into the young man's hand and then going back to digging through the bag before finally producing a brown bottle labeled 'Laudanum'. "Ah here it is, just what the doctor ordered, careful not to nip too much." She said as she reached back out and plucked the weapon she'd given Percy to hold.

"I'm doing a story Mr. Devonshire, A story that is going to simply burn up the front pages of the newspaper and keep my readers begging for more. It really is very exciting, You see there is a devil of a man that fled England some years back and is now hold up in a refurbished monastery there in Italy. Have you ever heard of a fiend called The Devil from Hertfordshire, a Mister Henry Blanchmere. He is said to be a sorcerer and practitioner of the black arts and is holding one of his mysterious seminars this very month. I seek to draw him out into the light and expose him for the amoral villain he is." Gywen preached her sermon of investigative journalism as if it were scripture.

"My it is getting a bit choppy out here, I was wondering if they had a proper dining hall on this vessel? I would love for you to join me, as I'm not terribly fond of either dining alone or in the company of fellow's who's skin is as black as tar roof, that is if your stomach is feeling well enough to imbibe solid food." Gywen asked naively, of course there was nothing even close to a dining hall on this tub, the mess hall was as close to anything of the sort, and fine dining consisted of gruel and steamed cabbage with cheap rum for a chaser.