Nature or Nurture

The next day, Adison has not planned any appointments with patients, she wants to see Vincent off to his first rehearsal. They have breakfast together, and Vincent is no longer apprehensive, but rather excited. He knows his lines by heart, he has interpreted the character he plays, and he is eager to start.

Adison feels a lot better about his mood, and Catherine and herself wave him off. Then they prepare their laundry to be sent to the woman who does the washing for them, and they play with the farm animals.

Feeling a bit ashamed to admit she still likes playing, Catherine has asked Adison to join her in a game anyway, and Adison has reacted totally normal, of course a two year old still wants to play with toys.

And then they tackle one of the books on magic, Adison asking Catherine, 'How did you learn to read, love? All by yourself?'

'It was difficult, there were few books in Nelly's house, but my foster-sisters and -brothers had some school books, and they let me 'play school' with them since I always treated books respectfully. And the bible, I used that to learn to read.'

'But you had no teacher?'

'No,' she replies, 'sometimes the vicar helped the youngest girl with her reading, and I was allowed to sit on her lap during those lessons. But I mostly taught myself.'

Catherine shows Adison the spell she used, and it is indeed pretty easy, it resembles the fireball very much, but it seems a bit more helpful in the city, where open fire is usually a bad idea, and smoking bodies tend to attract attention of the wrong kind.

It is difficult to practise, though, for one cannot go about stunning people, whereas throwing fireballs is quite do-able in their basement.

'Studying magic is much more fun together, Catherine,' Adison observes, 'you have a real talent for these things. Which is probably why those witches want to recruit you.'

'I cannot imagine how they would think to recruit me by trying to kill my mother. I'm going to find the counter to that wall-crawl, and make our house impenetrable. Or make it so they can come in, but get stuck half-way. Thought that would start to smell. If you hadn't warned me against it, I'd have spat on her.

When can I come to the workshop? We'll go by day, won't we?'

'If we go in the dark, we'll take Mina along, dad handled that witch easily, so Mina can do so, too.'

That afternoon, when Mina is awake and Victor is manning the practice, Miss Yves calls. She looks worried, and Mina takes her to the kitchen, where she gladly greets Adison and Catherine. She must be lonely, living with that horrid old man.

Miss Yves says, 'Remember that lady in the coffee-house, who spilled coffee on Catherine?

I had seen her before on a seance in someone's home, and now she's dating your father! Her name is Evelyn Poole, and she lives in a rather ugly castle-like house in the outskirts. She seems to have bewitched him.'

They tell her that the lady in question actually is a witch, and that she may indeed have put some spell on Mina's father.

'What can I do?' Vanessa is in doubt, 'I cannot tell him, it sounds ludicrous. Can you come visit? Both of you?'

This last looking at Adison, she clearly remembers being freed of a possession by the slight young woman.

'We will, we can probably tell whether she really spelled him or not. But I cannot remove an enchantment without his consent,' Adison says.

'Suppose you know where to find her of an evening,' Mina adds, 'I bet Vincent wants a nice little chat with her, her cronies have attacked us twice so far. I guess he'll want to shake some answers out of her, and I'm eager to help him.'

'Tomorrow late in the afternoon or in the evening? He usually sees her in the afternoons, then comes home for dinner, and sometimes he sees her in the evening.'

They agree on the evening, Adison wants Vincent along, and he will certainly be back by evening, she had expected him back already, he is late today.

Miss Yves has a lot of faith in them, that much is clear, for she seems a lot more relaxed instantly, and chats about this and that with Mina.

Catherine is clearly eager to ask Miss Yves something, and after ten minutes she can no longer control herself.

'Miss Yves, did you manage to comfort that poor American man whose lady passed away?'

After her first surprise, Miss Yves expression becomes rather soft.

'I think I did, Catherine. I asked him to visit and he did, we talked for hours. That was the first visit.

We went out a few times, and we ended up...well, that's no conversation subject for a little girl. Let's just say I managed to make him forget his loss for a few hours each time we met.

I like him a lot, he makes me feel safe. Though I can feel there is something strange about him, too, something he hasn't told me yet. He keeps a certain distance. But I haven't told him all about me either, I suppose that's just normal.'

That casual remark gives Adison an idea, and she looks at Miss Yves with sight. The woman has as much potential as Catherine, small wonder the enemy wanted her! But why isn't she using it to defend herself? Adison dare not ask.

Miss Yves is still discussing her American friend with Catherine.

'He told me he is planning to move away from London soon, he feels useless with nothing to do, but I'd feel safer if he stayed a little longer, with those witches closing in. Who knows when they decide to try for me once more...'

Her answer completely satisfies Catherine, apparently the girl wasn't looking for gossip but just for news on that poor man.

'I'm glad he's feeling better and I hope you will manage to keep him near you if you feel safer with him. I feel safe with dad, but Adison and I managed quite well already. Why don't you use magic to defend yourself?'

All right, let the toddlers ask the embarrassing questions.

Miss Yves is surprised by the question, but she does not look displeased. She gives a sincere answer.

'I never dared use offensive magic, because of the possession. I was taught the basics of witchcraft by a lady I liked a lot, despite her being an abrasive character. But every time I even thought of using my talent to harm someone, an inner voice egged me on to do it, to come to him, be his forever.

That scared me, for I know there is more of the dark in me than in most people, I can never stay put, I always want to know more than I have a right to, I see things other people can't see. It frightens me, Catherine, I know I have power, but I dare not use it, I fear it will tempt the dark side of me to come to rule me.'

Somehow, Catherine seems to understand that, too. Adison remembers that conversation on chaos and order, someone suggested both she and Miss Yves were targeted by the enemy because they are perfectly balanced between chaos and order, whereas most people lean towards order. Does that mean Catherine feels tempted sometimes?

As always, trying to get a grip on evil and chaos and everything makes her head spin, and she is glad to hear Catherine say, 'Still, I hope dad gets that older lady soon, maybe your father will help us catch her, Mina. If he finds out she has bewitched him.'

That isn't a bad idea at all, and the three women present contemplate the idea.

'You have a very quick mind for a toddler, Catherine,' Miss Yves says, 'I think that is a capital idea. I want her off Sir Malcolm's back, and you want a shot at her. Let's contrive to meet her at a ground of our choosing, I suspect by day would be preferable.'

'We've only seen those ugly creatures by night, I suppose they cannot work that magic by day,' Catherine observes, 'I'm glad dad is home at night for a few months, he can handle them all, I'm sure.

Miss Yves looks pleasantly surprised.

'Has he started his rehearsals? That must be very exciting for him, a new role, a new theatre, and new people.'

Meanwhile, Vincent is enjoying himself hugely, but also wondering what he has gotten himself into.

The first day of rehearsal has been very successful, he has met the entire cast, and they have all been as open and as friendly to him as George Alexander and the other people he met at the audition.

The atmosphere is different, there is less joking during the rehearsals themselves, these actors are very serious indeed about their craft. But since Vincent was always the most ambitious player of his old company, to him this circumstance is rather a gain than a loss.

And outside the moments of hard work, they do make fun and jokes, only different ones. They use literary references a lot, and quote from memory, something he likes to do himself but rarely does to not bore everyone around him to death. But these people love it, and Vincent understands everything they say, and can join in their conversation because he has read the works they talk about.

As usual, Adison was right, nobody looks at him askance, they only judge his performance, and give honest critique on it, views and suggestions he can actually use to improve his acting, sometimes a lot.

He loves it here!

The lady playing the role of his love-interest is not the girl who played the audition with him, and a bit older than he expected, but she is such a good actress that he totally forgets her looks, entranced by her enactment of the scene they are rehearsing. She seems happy with him, too, and makes him feel very welcome.

They all work very hard for two hours, then have lunch together, and work for another hour, after which George, who directs the play, calls it quits. Most of the cast have another play to perform that night, and it is rather difficult to do that without being able to become their persona first. They need time for that.

Vincent is glad his little 'inheritance' has enabled him to quit the old show, this is quite tiring, and with a small child and a bunch of witches to consider, he'd rather take it easy the coming three months.

As they take leave, Mr Wilde spots Vincent donning his sword, then his long black coat, and asks him to accompany him to his friend, Lord Alfred Douglas no less, for some fencing.

'I don't practise any sports myself,' he admits, 'but my friend loves fencing, and he's become so good at it that none of his friends present any challenge anymore. He's a bit aristocratic, so he'll probably refuse to believe you can challenge him where they cannot, but I study people for my writing, and you, Mr Vincent, move like a predator. On stage you're the meek Reverend, but as soon as you're off, it's back.

I can't wait to see you move at speed, he will be stunned.'

Of course Vincent is always eager to test his skill against another swordsman, but Adison will be worried if he comes back too late, and he expresses his doubts to Mr Wilde.

'Does your friend live far away? I'm on foot and have a family that will be anxious if I come home after dark.'

Laughing, Mr Wilde answers, 'No need to worry, we'll take a cab there and I'll have my friend dust off his carriage to take you home. I suppose you don't ride, being a city man?'

'With the risk of sounding like a braggart,' Vincent replies, certain now he is not wrong, 'I dare state I am a very proficient rider. I can't afford to own a horse now, but I used to own a large, coal black stallion I called Balthasar, that nobody but me dared to handle. Due to an accident I suffered I had to sell him, but I've recently discovered I have not lost my touch with horses.'

'And you loved it,' the playwright states, 'finding that out, I mean, I can see it in your whole demeanour. And calling your vicious black stallion Balthasar, Mr Vincent, you surprise me, I had set you down as a well-read, tranquil, peace-loving man, but apparently you like getting under people's skins sometimes.'

There is real humour and respect speaking from Mr Wilde's tone, he is not half as surly as he looks, apparently much depends on his mood, which seems rather changeable. Vincent smiles, Mr Wilde clearly likes people being aggravated, and he observes, 'My accident changed me, Mr Wilde, I used to be quite an exasperating fellow, but since then I have mellowed considerably.'

By now, they are outside, and Mr Wilde hails a cab with practised experience. The driver halts his horses, a pair of matched buckskins and actually very handsome, and they get in and are soon off, in the opposite direction of home, Vincent notices.

'Did you hurt your head in that accident, Mr Vincent?' the playwright now asks in a different tone, clearly a bit embarrassed to ask such a personal thing, but too curious not to, 'was Balthasar involved? I sure hope not, people would feel righteous and say you had it coming.'

'You will be relieved to hear, then, that Balthasar was totally innocent, Mr Wilde. I did hurt my head in that accident, actually, but in the back.

What you see in my face is the result of the operation that saved my life, though my memory was lost. I regained it only a few days ago, partly because I rode a horse again, a tame one, not Balthasar.'

'You are a very interesting man, Mr Vincent, much more interesting than I'd guessed, though I respected your talent from the first. I can see you didn't like your memories much, and yet you were there today, rehearsing a play as if nothing happened. I'm looking forward to getting to know you better, as well as to seeing your interpretation of the Reverend. He's one of my finer creations, I think.'

During this conversation, Vincent has tried to get a notion of where they are going, but he is absolutely in the dark. He has never travelled far in his year of life, and Heathcliff's memories are no use either, he probably stayed in his own quarter of town most of the time. Neil would probably know, but he's not here.

They are driving through a better part of town than Vincent has ever seen, large free-standing houses with a stretch of garden around them, Vincent would have called it a park until he saw Adison's father's estate. Now he knows what a park is.

But he dare not stare out of the window too much, Mr Wilde is not officially his employer, but he has a powerful voice in the theatre, and Vincent cannot afford to insult him trying to visualise a road he won't be able to commit to memory anyway. He will have to trust Mr Wilde's assurance that he will get home safely.

So he gives up trying to find out where he is, and pretty soon they drive up a lane towards a rather large house, surrounded by one of those park-like gardens, and the cab comes to a halt. Mr Wilde pays the driver, and they alight.

A young man, only a little past twenty, runs out of the house and falls on Mr Wilde's neck, if this is the young Lord he is a mighty lot closer to Mr Wilde than Vincent suspected from the conversation. Of course he's heard rumours, but since he doesn't care a whit himself whether someone loves girls or boys, he has never given them much thought.

Surprisingly, even Heathcliff had rather enlightened opinions on love, his own love given to a single woman, he still didn't judge those who loved more individuals or those of the same gender.

Nonetheless it is a little embarrassing to be standing there with two people being rather intimate, and Vincent is relieved when Mr Wilde breaks off the embrace and introduces him to his friend. 'Bosie, this is Mr Vincent, he's playing the Reverend, Mr Vincent, Lord Alfred Douglas.'

They shake hands and Lord Douglas observes, 'How do you do, Mr Vincent, Oscar was very pleased to have you in his play. Are you the swordsman?'

At Vincent's affirmative bow, one does not meet a Lord every day, after all, Lord Douglas says, 'Jolly good, I told him to bring you straight away. Glad to meet you. I hope you have some energy left after one of George Alexander's rehearsals, for I'm eager to test my skills against a true master.'

Vincent knows he can beat anyone at swordplay, but on force and quickness, not specifically in traditional style fencing, he has developed his own style, which is way more effective. So he says, 'I'm a very effective fighter, sir, but I've ever only had one formal swords-master, my style may be lacking in traditional accuracy.'

'Even better,' the young noble exclaims, 'a real life swordsman, tested in the streets instead of the fencing arena. Can we have a go straight away, or do you want a refreshment first?'

Vincent politely declines going in to the house, he's kind of excited himself to meet a young, noble fighter, his style has never been tested against someone with all the instruction money can buy, and he is eager to start. Besides, Adison and Catherine will be waiting, and who knows what time he'll be able to return home.

But their host leads them inside anyway, and they walk through several incredibly opulent halls and rooms, painted in smooth pastel colours, pink, baby-blue, lavender, with valuable wooden furniture and beautiful, though gaudy, bronze and china ornaments. Paintings adorn the walls, landscapes, seascapes, but mostly richly dressed people, ladies with ornate coiffures, their velvet dresses and diamond colliers painted with minute precision.

Then they enter a high hall which looks rather bare in comparison.

The floor is wood, but not polished to a sheen, it is beautiful but rather simple, planking instead of intricate mosaic, and the reason that it is not polished soon becomes apparent to Vincent: this room is meant solely for fencing. One side of the room consists entirely of mirrors, the other side has a few simple chairs, and a virtual armoury of sabers, rapiers and swords, all stored neatly in special cabinets of polished wood.

'Please look around, Mr Vincent, get the size and feel of the room, do you want any protective gear?'

Vincent is not used to wearing any, and he would prefer not to, but young Lords are generally thought to be reckless and not particularly careful about the welfare of even their friends, let alone people from a decidedly lower class than themselves.

Still, it would be a disgrace, and he does not believe the young Lord will be able to get a hit on him, so he replies, 'You're a gentleman, and I am used to sparring without protection, so I guess we may forgo.'

That pleases the young man, he seems cocky but not out to hurt anyone, and he offers, 'You can choose any weapon you like from my armoury, I have my own favourite with me.'

As answer, Vincent removes his coat, showing the sheathed blade on his belt, hanging the coat on a peg well away from where the action will be.

'You have your own blade with you! Do you always wear that? You must have dangerous enemies then, how very exciting! Oscar here has enemies, too, but they're not armed with swords, but with pens. Can I see your blade?'

With a grin, Vincent pulls it out of the sheath and hands it over, hilt first, to the young Lord.

That worthy immediately loses his brawny pose and examines it minutely, feeling the edge, and finally testing the balance by taking a few stances.

'Superb workmanship, the steel is not folded, but still it looks to be of excellent purity and very tough. It's bit heavy for me, but you're a good deal broader, and is there something weird about the balance? It feels slightly different. Not off, just different.'

Vincent is impressed with his observations, and he pitches Paul's blade.

'It is pure steel, made by a special process that the craftsmaster invented himself, a secret process of course. I've tested it extensively, against one just like it, and they didn't chip or even scratch. That's why it isn't folded, it didn't need to be worked to be purified.

And the balance is different, because this blade was designed by a smith who fences himself. I have not met him myself, but he must be good, for this blade is the best I ever used. Of course I haven't been able to afford Damascus steel, nor the best work available, so I cannot compare to that.'