The Mechanical Messiah (10 page)

The answer was simple, or so said the book. Cast off your clothes, scrub yourself to righteous cleanliness, step out into the radiance focused on the Earth and feel once more the power of the Almighty.

At the time when this Great Truth was made known to Uncle Charles he was living in Tunbridge Wells. The community there was a middle-class community and not one given to tolerance of those who expressed their beliefs in a manner that lacked for a conservative ethic.

When, upon a fine summer’s morning, Uncle Charles took a stroll to the shops sporting nothing but sandals and a smile, jaws dropped, eyebrows rose and the law took him firmly in hand. After that Uncle Charles restricted his naked commune with the Godhead to areas of his garden that could not be seen from the road.

But, to his mind, there was certainly no doubting the efficacy of the system. Uncle Charles felt himself to be twice the man he had been before. He felt
healthy.
He felt free. He felt
alive.
And he was developing a lovely tan. His wife, it did have to be said, was a woman of sensitive disposition and modest behaviour and she resisted his attempts to convert her to what she considered to be nothing less than primitive pagan Sun worship. She also insisted that whenever tots came round for him to dandle, he should always wear his trousers.

Now Alice had been a well-kept child, cleaner than some, less dirty than most. But her father, Captain Horatio, was often away on his adventurous voyages and her mother, a ‘seaman’s widow’, was apt to alleviate her pangs of loneliness with frequent applications of gin. As such Alice did become a little grubby at times.

So when Uncle Charles offered to take care of his niece throughout the school summer holidays, her mother made no objections. She packed a suitcase for Alice, dressed her in her best bonnet and frock then packed her off by train to Tunbridge Wells.

Uncle Charles was fully dressed when he met her at the station. But had it not been for the consequences of the aforementioned naked stroll along the high street, the holiday in Tunbridge Wells would probably have been very different for Alice. And not led to her greatly fearing magic.

As it was, the tradesmen of Tunbridge Wells had taken against Uncle Charles and refused to deliver his groceries. His wife, with no small degree of resentment, now did all the shopping and more than once she ‘forgot’ to purchase soap for Uncle Charles. So when Alice arrived, the well-scrubbed, well-tanned uncle was down to his last two bars of Sunlight. So, as Alice would be encouraged to wash, he did that thing that the British are so noted for: he
improvised.

Uncle Charles understood the basics of soap. That it acted as an emulsifying agent and was mostly composed of animal or vegetable fat or oils. Uncle Charles set out to make his niece some special soap of her own. As a base he used lard from the kitchen and then to add fragrance he gathered and ground together flowers and herbs and suchlike from his garden.

Amongst the
suchlike
that he chose to gather was a substantial quantity of rather prettily coloured mushrooms. Unknown to Uncle Charles, these were of the genus
Psilocybe.

These were
magic mushrooms.

At the time of Alice’s arrival in Tunbridge Wells, the local horse and carriage drivers were still in dispute with Uncle Charles, having joined pretty much everyone in the vicinity in a general boycott. Charles and Alice were therefore forced to walk a considerable distance. Although Uncle Charles did enliven the walk with details of the Great Truth he had learned. And how Alice would benefit from this Truth.

Alice got very hot and dusty during this walk.

Once her aunt had welcomed her, she wasted no time in popping Alice into a nice hot bath and lathering her up with the soap that Uncle Charles had prepared. And little girls can at times make quite a fuss in a bath and get a lot of soap in their mouths when they are being naughty.

During that summer Alice experienced a series of intense and dramatic psychedelic experiences. Emerging from these in terror and dismay, she related the details to her uncle. And he, being quite unaware that he was literally doping up his niece with massive doses of hallucinogens, imagined that the ultimate breakthrough had occurred and that she must be in direct contact with God. Thus he wrote down everything that she told him, no matter how absurd, believing it to be a new Revelation. An angelic dictation that came in the form of two gospels.

At length he would publish these two gospels as separate works, entitled
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
and
Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There.
Uncle Charles of course changed his name to Lewis Carroll and found fame and fortune through the publication of these two gospels.

It was clearly the Will of God and Uncle Charles was glad to be spreading God’s word. And glad too was he for the money, some of which he spent on building very high walls around his garden.

But Alice was never quite the same again. The experiences had been so intense that she had no reason to believe that they had not actually occurred. They had truly been magical experiences, of this she had no doubt.

From that day forth she harboured fears, not only of magic. But also of mirrors and rabbit holes.

In the present day and the morning after the night before, Alice applied her make-up whilst viewing herself in a very small looking glass. When powdered and primped to as near perfection as might be achieved, she pondered on the day that lay ahead.

She would have to make efforts to find new accommodation. And she would do well to leave her present home by dead of night, before her wealthy patron arrived to discover the full extent of the mayhem wrought upon his premises by the unruly kiwi birds.

Alice had copied down a number of names and addresses of theatrical diggings gleaned from the backstage notice board at the Electric Alhambra. She would breakfast and then set out in search of a room.

After kedgeree and coffee, both supplied by her patron and neither composed of sawdust or toenail trimmings, she fed her kiwi birds, placed a purple fascinator on her head, her best gloves on her hands, took up parasol and handbag and went out to face the day.

The streets of Bayswater were busy and bustling. Horse trains rattled and hansoms clattered by. One of those brand-new flying landaus powered by Lord Tesla’s wireless transmission of electricity purred above the rooftops. Cries of Old London filled the air and newsboys bawled the news. Much of this bawling concerned the untimely death of Harry Hamilton. Ladies and gentlemen took the air. Alice hurried onwards.

The first boarding house on her list was in Pimlico. The rooms were pleasant, the landlord charming, tall and dark and handsome. The terms, however, were ludicrous and not open to any negotiation. Not that Alice offered any.

The second was that owned by Mrs Marsuple. Alice viewed the teetering establishment, which quivered slightly as a steam dray rumbled past.
No,
decided Alice,
not in a month of Good Fridays.

The third on the list, however, proved interesting. It was only a ten-minute walk from the Electric Alhambra and had a handwritten sign in the window which read

Alice Lovell tapped with the knocker and stood on the red-leaded doorstep. Presently the door was answered to her knocking and she was ushered inside by a slender lady. This fragile being had a curious hairstyle that resembled a helter-skelter. Tiny flowers had been inserted into it, as to resemble children’s faces peeping out. This lady enquired of Alice’s name, then introduced herself to be Lucy Gladfield, the proprietress. As she led Alice up pleasantly carpeted stairs she named the sum required for weekly rent. Which Alice did not consider excessive as long as the room proved sound. And as she tottered up the stairs on delicate heels, Lucy Gladfield extolled the virtues of her establishment. Its cleanliness, which she considered next to Godliness. Its freedom from any kind of infestation. Its warmth in winter due to a fireplace in every room.

She then placed great emphasis upon certain matters that were clearly dear to her heart. The keeping of regular hours by her boarders. The absolute prohibition of gentlemen from visiting the rooms of ladies. The prompt payment of rent. The turning off of taps after use and the necessary flushings of toilets. There were plenty more of these besides arid Alice took all of them in.

She did note, however, that the proprietress neglected to mention anything about boarders keeping kiwi birds in their rooms. So Alice did not raise the subject.

The room she was shown was really quite grand, affording a fine view of the street through a high double casement. There was a single brass bed, covered by an embroidered quilt. A bedside table, with a brand-new candle in a copper holder. A pitch pine wardrobe and a single chair. A large rag rug smothered the floor and a brass-bound portmanteau stood in a corner next to a pile of clothes.

Could Alice furnish a week’s rent in advance?

Alice could.

When would Alice care to move in?

Tomorrow, if that was convenient.

It was.

Alice shook a fragile hand and glanced about the room and nodded gently.

‘Do not worry about the portmanteau and the pile of clothes,’ said Lucy Gladfield. ‘A gentleman will be calling later today to collect them.’

‘The previous tenant?’ Alice asked.

Lucy Gladfield shook her narrow head. The helter-skelter bobbed from side to side. ‘I regret that the previous tenant will not be returning,’ she said. ‘The previous tenant met with a terrible accident. Not here of course. Not in this room. But at a Music Hall. Perhaps you read of it in the newspaper today. His name was Harry Hamilton.’

ow listen to me, my dear fellow, ‘said Colonel Katterfelto. ‘I know that we have our differences, but it would be to our mutual advantage were we to work together.’

His words were addressed to Darwin the monkey. The two sat in a Soho coffee house taking breakfast. They sat in a shadowy corner. The two were not observed.

‘The angels command—’ began Darwin.

‘I think we might dispense with
that
guff,’ the colonel suggested.

‘The power of Christ compels you.’

‘And that I believe to be somehow blasphemous. But please do listen to me. I seek to complete the Great Work that was denied me in Wormcast, Arizona.’

Darwin almost made a guilty face. Almost, but not quite.

‘You seek comfort and, er—’

‘Bananas,’ said Darwin, and he poked a hairy finger at his breakfast. There were eggs and there were bacons, but there were no bananas.

‘Precisely, we both have our wants and our needs. And if we both work together, surely we might accomplish these.’

Darwin scratched at his hirsute head. He was not exactly sure how that was going to work.
He
yearned for comfort, good clothes, good food and pretty much good everything. The colonel sought to build a Mechanical Messiah, infuse life into it and hasten on the End of Days.

The two did not appear compatible.

‘I have a plan that will benefit us both,’ continued the colonel, in a somewhat conspiratorial fashion. Which involved a hunching of his bowed shoulders and harsh stage whispers behind the hands. ‘It is not strictly honest, but it would furnish us with much-needed monies.’