Writing for Fun
October 2018
The Ultimate Experiment - Pete Norman
Each of the five cards was identical, each similar in size to a large calling card – the preferred convenience of the discerning gentleman – but there the similarity ended, for these were not formed from white board, these were handcrafted sheets of soft black leather embossed with fine gold text.
The message on each was simple and concise:
Justin slipped the cards into plain black envelopes, each bearing a name and address inscribed in the same gold script. There was to be no further clarification but he firmly held the view that the recipients of the cards would require nothing further. If he was in error, then they would have proved themselves to be undeserving and worthless to the cause. If the address itself was no longer familiar to them then he would likewise have failed, for that was the only clue the card conveyed. However, he had chosen the five carefully and he was certain that, although not one had ever visited his family home, its name alone would be sufficient to arouse their curiosity and to invoke memories of their time shared in the halls of Oxford.
He pulled the cord and a few moments later the slow and measured step of Harris could be heard approaching along the landing outside. A faint tap was followed by a deep wheezing cough and then in the silence that followed the door swung open and a silver haired man, dressed in what might once have been a smart black suit, appeared.
Justin held out the five cards. ‘For hand delivery, Harris. Anonymously. In the cool, dark, secret hours of the morning.’
The response was even better than he had anticipated. Before he had managed to consume the morning newspaper he had received five telephone calls. Each one had expressed curiosity and each one had been dismissed with peremptory disdain. ‘You have received the invitation, my friend. You might choose to accept or you might choose otherwise. The matter is for your consideration alone.’
He summoned Harris and gave unequivocal instructions that he was not available to receive visitors or telephone calls for the next four days – until the day inscribed upon the cards. He was not prepared to entertain any further dialogue before that moment arrived.
The 19th of June was a dull day. By evening-time dark clouds had gathered overhead and a relentless misty drizzle closed in. One by one the five cars arrived. One by one the five men hurried across the gravelled drive hugging their coats around them to keep out the rain. To each the great oak door was opened and to each a simple greeting was offered, ‘The Master is expecting you, sir. You may wait in the library.’
The library was large and austere. The floor was covered by a carpet which in better years might have been vibrant and colourful but now could only reflect sadly upon its own longevity.
The walls were lined with dark oak panelled shelving filled with row after row of books of every size and description but the lower shelves were dominated by enormous brown leather bound tomes which whispered a seductive promise that all the secrets of the world might be found concealed within their time yellowed pages.
The only furniture in the library were six chairs, arranged around the walls in a wide circle. Five of the chairs were clearly Chippendale but the other was almost throne-like in size and appearance and resting upon the carpet beside it was an ornate wooden box. In the centre of the room stood a low table covered with a square of green baize.
The arrangement of the room offered no suggestion of intimacy, only the inference that matters of grave importance and confidentiality were to be shared within it.
As the five gathered in the room old friendships were rekindled, polite enquiries were made into mutual acquaintances and family and each in turn voiced the unanswerable question as to why and for what purpose they had been summoned here. Of their host, however – the only person who could answer that intriguing question – there was no trace.
In a distant hallway a clock chimed the hour and as the echo of the seventh note slowly dissipated the door opened and Harris appeared, holding a large silver tray. He did not enter the room but stood in the doorway as if awaiting further instruction. With all attention focussed upon the ice bucket and the six rock crystal goblets the voice from behind them caught the five completely unawares.
‘You may leave it on the table, Harris. I shall serve.’
As his man servant left the room he added, ‘We will not be disturbed, Harris . . . not for anything.’
He turned to his guests. ‘Gentlemen, welcome to West Wycombe. First allow me to refresh you and then all shall become apparent.’
With a glass of champagne in their hands the six were directed to their allotted seats.
Justin ran his eye around the room, savouring their unendurable anticipation.
‘My friends, an explanation is well deserved but first I offer you a toast to a far distant ancestor, Sir Francis Dashwood, 2nd Baronet and Chancellor of the Exchequer.’ He raised his glass and took a sip.
‘It was in the late 18th Century that Sir Francis constructed West Wycombe Hall – and a most exquisite construction it is too as you will have noticed – but its sole purpose was never to be as a family home. It was instead to serve as a pleasure palace for his libertine and dilettante associates, for it was within these hallowed halls that was conceived the Hellfire Club, otherwise and most nefariously known as the Brotherhood of St. Francis of Wycombe.’
He waited for the murmur of recognition to die down and then continued. ‘As you arrived this evening in the driving rain you might not have noticed the Club motto inscribed in a plaque above the front door: Fais ce que tu voudras for which I am certain that my learned friends will require no translation but it is commonly acknowledged to be Do what thy wilt. This motto is self-explanatory and suffice to say that in this place the Baronet took it in its most literal interpretation. It is understood that some of the business conducted within these walls would have made the Marquis de Sade blush.’
Once again he paused to allow their reaction to subside.
‘Gentlemen, I believe that its demise was most unfortunate and that its rebirth is long overdue. However, one must be most cautious in the selection of those who will undertake such a momentous duty.’
He cast his eye slowly on each of the five as he added, ‘I have made my selection and here you sit, my five valued and trusted friends, however first there must, of necessity, be a test of merit, a rite of passage, an initiation. You might consider it to be an experiment – the ultimate experiment to discover whether you are fit and proper gentlemen to partake of the benefits of such an organisation.’
He addressed the five one by one, ‘George, Arthur, William, Clive, Edward . . . which amongst you has ever taken a life?’
The question did not elicit a response.
‘Which of you is capable of taking a life? And I do not mean a grouse or a partridge, a fox or a red deer stag, I mean a significant life.’
He reached down beside his chair and lifted the wooden box onto his knee. From it he extracted a large silver revolver which he held up for all to see.
‘Gentlemen, behold the Colt .45 Peacemaker, the most popular hand gun in the colonies and at this range it would blow your head clean off. He casually swung the barrel around the room pausing at each man in turn. He smiled as they flinched away from the perceived real and present danger.
He opened the chamber and held it out to demonstrate to them that it was completely empty. ‘But you see, it is in fact perfectly harmless.’ The five visibly relaxed until he reached into the box and extracted a single bullet which he inserted into the chamber. ‘However, now . . .’ He spun the chamber and a soft metallic whine added a cold gravitas to the gesture. ‘. . . now it becomes lethal but at the same time unpredictable.’
Once again he casually swung the barrel around the room but this time their reaction was of stunned disbelief.
The barrel stopped at the first man. Justin whispered, ‘Could you kill a man, Edward? Could you point a gun at a man’s heart and blow his soul to kingdom come?’ His eyes bored into the terrified eyes of his friend and his finger tightened on the trigger.
‘Could you? Well . . . I could.’
His finger squeezed.
A dull click.
A loud scream.
Edward collapsed whimpering in his chair.
Justin held out the gun to the man on his left and deftly spun the chamber. ‘Gentlemen, it appears that I am in. Now, George – how about you?’
George took the gun with trembling fingers as the steely gaze from his mentor locked upon his own eyes. ‘Are you in or out, George? This is the moment you decide.’
In a daze George swung the gun around the circle apparently unwilling or unable to select a victim.
‘In or out . . .’
George stopped randomly at William and squeezed the trigger.
A dull click.
George dropped the gun at his feet.
‘In. Good man.’ Justin retrieved it, spun the chamber and passed the gun to Arthur who pointed it towards Clive.
A dull click.
‘And then there were three.’
To William. At George. A dull click.
To Clive. At Arthur. A dull click.
Edward took the proffered gun but the look in his eyes suggested that there was never going to be six.
‘In or out, Edward? Are you man enough to join us?’
Edward offered the gun back. ‘I cannot. I am so sorry.’
Justin ignored the proffered gun, placing his hands behind his back.
‘The man I knew would not wish to leave here in disgrace, now, would he?’ He brought his hand around and pointed at his own heart.
‘Just here, Edward. Make it a good one. Straight in the left ventricle.’
Edward shook his head.
Justin threw his arms out wide and screamed, ‘Just do it you craven coward!’
There was a loud explosion.
A wild scream.
Justin fell backwards, his chair dropping heavily onto the carpet behind.
The five were frozen in a moment of abject horror.
The gun slipped from Edward’s fingers onto the carpet.
A loud groan.
Justin’s head appeared above the chair. As he rose he massaged his painful back.
‘And now there are six! I knew that it did not require live ammunition to prove to me what you are all capable of.’
He grinned. ‘Congratulations, gentlemen, it appears that the Hellfire Club is reborn.’