Alchemy: an historical psychological suspense thriller of perfect murder by Chris James

Author:Chris James [James, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Globe Literary, London
Published: 2015-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

At the gallery, Jean-Louis was wary and apologetic. ‘Monsieur, eez no possible. Times is very ’ard, monsieur.’

‘Jean-Louis, it’s only an advance. Till I finish a masterpiece. A new girl, positively beautiful.’ Jacob pleaded.

‘Eez no possible, monsieur.’

‘Cut the accent, you bloody fraud. You’ve made thousands from me. Just a few hundred pounds will do.’

Jean-Louis responded in perfect cockney, ‘You haven’t painted anything saleable for over a year. It’s all a gamble for me. I can do you a ton. An ’undred. Take it or leave it.’

‘You still have my prized Emily, worth thousands. Christ, people were begging for it and you can’t even sell that.’

‘There’s not a lot of people with the means–’

‘Should I take it elsewhere, perhaps?’

‘Two hundred then. But no more of your Emily’s, you understand? There’s demand for horror, masochism, sadism or Satanism, you understand? It’ll sell like hot cakes.’

‘Never!’

Jacob stormed towards the door where a bunch of people were crowded around a painting. He pushed through them to look for himself. A horror painting – a woman tied and blindfolded, cuts over her body. The label read: Salute to de Sade. The price tag: 300 Guineas. And scribbled across it: Sold.

He approached Jean-Louis again and quietly growled at him, ‘Damn you, man! All right! I’ll take it.’

As he handed over the two hundred pounds, Jean-Louis gave a further warning, ‘No more of your ladies-in-waiting, d’you understand?’

‘Ladies-in-waiting?’

‘They sit, they wait. Wallflowers on these priceless walls. Get with the fashion, young Jacob, or you’ll be left behind, I tell you.’

After he arrived back at his apothecary’s shop on the Embankment, Betsy greeted him with a big smile, took his hat and cloak and bade him go straight down to the laboratory where the professor had a nice surprise for him.

‘Well, I’ve a surprise for him, Betsy,’ Jacob said. ‘A wagon should call by later with my latest purchase.’ He passed her a parcel, ‘Take these up to the studio, will you? Paints and linseed. I shall need to start painting again before we starve to death.’

The professor had just covered a large pot with a cloth as Jacob entered. ‘Master Jacob, I beg you stand still and observe,’ he said as first he lit a candle, and then went round closing all the curtains to the windows bringing the place almost into darkness. ‘Voilà!’ he announced as he whipped the cover off a large glass urn.

Startled, Jacob cringed, his back to the wall. Inside the urn, her hair floating like kelp on a tide of his golden elixir – Emily’s mutilated head.

Half, to Jacob’s eyes, was near perfect, his wonderful Emily. His inspiration. The skin was blackened – but that didn’t matter to him. The flesh of the other half was eaten away to the bone – inspiration for many a nightmare. He stepped forward and pressed his nose against the glass.

‘Can we do it?’ Jacob, breathed, running his finger down the urn. ‘Can we bring her back to life?’

‘Alas, Master Jacob, this is all I could save.’ The

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