Resurrection City III: The Breconshire Horrors

[Old Fezziwig]

"Thank ye, Mr. Jenkins." Jamison smiles, finishing his porter. Noting Trevor's glance, Jamison raises his eyebrows. "Say, the porter's excellent, do ye have anything else ye'd be recommending? Maybe an ale" Diggory will order whatever Jenkins suggests, will tip (if appropriate) well, and join the Baron and the others at the table.

 

[Andrew D. Gable]

"Getting a bit crowded up at the bar," he says. "Mind if we join you?"

"Not at all," the man says, looking up as Diggory walks over to join Trevor. "Ye look like city folk t'me. Where'n ye be from? Cardiff? Or maybe Gloucester?" He takes another swig of his ale. "Name's Alan Llewellyn. Heard ye seem t'have an interest in the Kellys. Strange folk they were, but paid well, so's I can't be complainin'.

"It was in 1871 I started workin' for the Kellys with my wife Alice, God rest 'er soul. Doin' handyman work about the house, fixin' things when they needed fixin'. In those days the father Kelly, Henry, was still livin' though his wife 'ad died a while before. John was the older of the two children, 'e was off in the military most of the time. Mary was always... well, a mite touched in the head. She was only 13 when I started there, but even then ye could tell she weren't never gonna be quite right, if'n ye know what I mean.

"Then in 1872 a doctor came 'round, 'e was from the college in Cardiff or Brichester or somewhere. Henry said that Mary should earn 'er keep around the house, and so she entered the employ of this doctor feller. Then..." He takes a long swig of his ale and casts his eyes towards a spot on the table. "'73 was a mostly bad year. John got home from the military, but Henry passed on. Just old was all. And then, well, one day in January, Mary came rushin' back in from one of her walks in the woods, she liked to do that, even in the winter. Said she'd been attacked by somebody, though she couldn't say who. John never doubted for a moment, once 'e saw all them scratches on 'er.

"Well, it was only a matter of time then, 'till we found out for sure what we all thought we knew anyways. Mary was pregnant. In October of '73 she had 'er baby. And then it was shortly after that, only a few days, we woke and found that she'd run off. My Alice had also passed by then. Me and John, we put the baby, the son, in care of a nice religious family up in the midcountry. John had some friends up there.

"Then we heard nothin' more. Not until '84, when Mary wrote John and told 'im she was in London, had been there for a few years. And then, well, we heard the news in '88 that she'd died."

Llewellyn continues drinking his ale.

 

[Jarval]

"Do you know what became of the child? Where he is now, what profession he has taken?" Richard asks, mulling over Llewellyn's tale, well aware that Langan is probably the answer to his queries.

"Was there ever any suggestion as to who Mary's attacker might have been? Did Mary herself make any attempt to identify him?"

 

[Andrew D. Gable]

"Do you know what became of the child? Where he is now, what profession he has taken?"

"I think he's in this very pub, doctor. I think your friend over there is 'im. I haven't seen the son in years, since we sent 'im off, but that feller looks to be about the right age, and 'e did say 'e had Kelly blood in 'im. In any case, I'd imagine the boy's too young to have taken up any profession yet, 'e's in university mostlike."

"Was there ever any suggestion as to who Mary's attacker might have been? Did Mary herself make any attempt to identify him?"

"Suggestions, yes. Some of the more superstitious folk in town, the old folks who remember such things, they said it was the tylwydd teg, the Fair Folk, the little people in the woods. They said the Kellys'd trespassed on their land and wrecked their stones, and they were takin' revenge on 'em. Personally, I place about as much stock in that as I'm sure you gents do. Me, I think Mary just ran afoul of some highwaymen. And Mary surely wasn't in any state to say who it was. She was hysterical, and remained so until she fled."

 

[JimAde]

"Well, sir, thank you for your trouble," says Trevor. "I believe our young friend will want to pay a visit to the family home. Can you point us in the right direction?"

 

[Old Fezziwig]

"Well, then." Diggory pauses. "The name of the doctor, do ye remember this fellah's name?" Jamison waits until he absolutely has no choice before he volunteers any names. Samuel Verdain? "Yesset"? Here in Wales. Bloody hell.

 

[Andrew D. Gable]

"Well, then." Diggory pauses. "The name of the doctor, do ye remember this fellah's name?" Jamison waits until he absolutely has no choice before he volunteers any names. Samuel Verdain? "Yesset"? Here in Wales. Bloody hell.

Llewellyn furrows his brow. "No. I don't offhand. It was a long time ago, and the memory's not what it used to be." He taps his finger on his head, then glances towards Trevor. "Follow the road right outside the pub here straight north along the stream. It'll be about an hour's walk, but that'll bring you out right at the Kelly estate."

 

[Old Fezziwig]

"Not to press ye, as ye've already been very helpful, but it could be important for us to know. Does the name 'Samuel Verdain' ring a bell? Or perhaps 'Yesset'?" Regardless of the outcome, Diggory will buy the man his next drink, or, if refused, offer to buy him a drink another day before he leaves Wales.

 

[Andrew D. Gable]

"Verdain? Hmm," he says, thinking. "Could be it. I think it was something French. Don't know that Yesset name."

Langan walks over to the table where the others stand. "Well, let's get going to the estate, shall we?" The group thanks Mr. Llewellyn and heads out with Langan, discussing the directions they've received from the former employee.

The track leading from Partrishow to the Kelly estate is overgrown with tall grass, and it looks slightly overcast, not unusual in the slightest for Wales. The Black Mountains loom on three sides. A little over an hour later, the men pass a large house on their left, a rather fancy estate that has evidently fallen into disrepair over the years. "Believe it or not, Uncle John still came out here only a month or so prior to his death," Langan says, shaking his head.

Soon they emerge out of the tall grass into a cleared area. Here, the grass is kept short and the trail is well-packed soil.

 

[JimAde]

Macallistair turns to Langan. "Will we have any trouble getting in," he asks. "Have you got a key?"