Oscar Wilde and the Nest of Vipers (8 page)

When did the duchess die? Was she alive when Robert caught sight of her at midnight? Or was she already dead? Did Robert mistake the bloody marks on her neck for ruby earrings?

Why was she in the telephone room? What drew her there – in the course of her own reception, at its very height, with royalty present? If she was there to make use of the telephone, why was the telephone itself apparently untouched?

When did the duke discover her body? He says it was in the morning, at seven o’clock, when he went to use the telephone himself – but Robert saw the duke at the door of the telephone room at midnight. If his wife was missing at midnight – and the duke knew that she was: she failed to say goodbye to her guests – why did he not instigate a search for her then?

And once the body had been discovered, why was it left hidden in the telephone room? Lord Yarborough – a mind doctor, not a physician – examined her in the half-light and concluded at once that she had died of heart failure. Why? Why did he not order her body to be removed to the morgue and examined properly there?

Is Yarborough to be trusted? Is he to be believed? Why did he not examine the wounds upon her neck? In the gloom of the room, did he not see them? And what caused those wounds?
Who
caused them? How exactly did the duchess die?
And
why?
Was it some unnatural horror? Was it murder? Was it suicide?

And which wine shall I take with my zabaglione? The Muscat de Lunel ’87 or the darker Moscato from Sardinia? So many questions. As the divine Sarah [Bernhardt] says of the Ten Commandments: ‘Zay are too many.’

18
From the diary of Rex LaSalle

To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all. I live. And I rejoice that I am able to live as I do – freely, without fear and to the full. Tonight, Oscar came to my studio. Yes, I am now on intimate terms with Mr Oscar Wilde! He was alone. It was gone midnight. He had dined with a friend in Rupert Street. He had dined well. His cheeks were full of colour. His eyes sparkled. He sat on the edge of my bed and told me that he trusted me.

He took me into his confidence. He told me details of the death of the Duchess of Albemarle. He told me everything – so far as he knows it. Minutes before midnight, the duchess was alive and well. We saw her together across her crowded drawing room, entertaining her guests. At midnight, as the Prince of Wales departed, Oscar’s friend, standing in the gallery, overlooking the hallway, caught sight of the duchess for the final time. He glimpsed her through an open doorway – the doorway to the telephone room. The unfortunate lady was already dead, said Oscar. She must have been. She was quite still and Oscar’s friend saw stains of blood on her neck. At the time, he mistook them for ruby earrings.

It was the duke who discovered the duchess’s body – but exactly when is not yet clear. Oscar’s friend saw the duke at the door to the telephone room at midnight. He saw the duke open the door, remove a key from the inside lock and close the door. He did not see the duke enter the room or look within it. The duke claims to have come upon the body at seven o’clock this morning, when he went to make use of the telephone himself.

On discovering the tragedy, at once he alerted his butler, Parker, and his friend, Lord Yarborough – no one besides. Together the three men decided to leave the body in place – hidden in the locked telephone room – so as not to alarm the rest of the household. It was Parker’s idea to tell the world that the duchess’s body had been discovered in bed and by her maid. The maid is a simple-minded soul who can neither read nor write.

It was Lord Yarborough who signed the death certificate. He examined the dead woman as he found her and concluded that she had died of heart failure. Oscar does not believe it. Oscar told me – almost with relish, so it seemed to me – of the deep and bloody wounds in the duchess’s neck.

‘Are they the marks of a vampire?’ he asked.

‘I do not know,’ I answered. ‘I have not seen them.’

‘But you are a vampire, are you not, Rex? You told me that you were.’

I made no reply. I sat next to him on the bed and turned my head so that he might better admire my profile.

‘Who are you, Rex? What are you? What is your story? Will you tell me?’

As he laid his hand upon my knee, I turned back to him and smiled. As my lips parted to reveal the whiteness of my teeth and the sharpness of my fangs, he laughed and, throwing down his cigarette, made to kiss me.

Vermin in Grosvenor Square

19
Telegram delivered to Constance Wilde at 16 Tite Street, Chelsea, on Friday, 14 March 1890 at 10 p.m.

CONSISTENCY IS THE LAST REFUGE OF THE UNIMAGINATIVE. MY PLANS HAVE CHANGED. FORGIVE ME DEAREST WIFE. DINING AT SOLFERINO WITH ROBERT AND STAYING IN TOWN AT THE CLUB. LOVE ME FOR MY DEFECTS AS I LOVE YOU FOR YOUR PERFECTION. OSCAR

20
Letter from Arthur Conan Doyle to his wife, Louisa ‘Touie’ Conan Doyle

Langham Hotel,

London W.

14.iii.90

7 p.m.

Dearest Touie –

My own darling, forgive me. I shall not return to Southsea tomorrow as I had planned. I must stay in town until Tuesday now. All my arrangements have gone awry.

Today, as you know, I was due to travel to Muswell Hill to meet with the great Professor Charcot, to visit his clinic and to witness his experiments with hypnosis – but it was not to be. I was summoned instead to Marlborough House – for an audience with the Prince of Wales! You must not speak of it to anyone. I am bound to secrecy. I will explain all (or, at least, much) when I see you – in this matter, I may never be able to tell you everything.

I long to see you, Toodles. And Toodles Junior, too. Give my darling daughter a kiss. Give her one
thousand! No, give her one hundred and keep the rest for yourself. No one deserves them more.

Ever your loving husband,

ACD

PS. Touie dearest – my heart is heavy tonight and for two reasons. I miss you. And I am troubled by the business in which I find myself involved. Oscar Wilde is my companion in this adventure. That is something. He is generous and a gentleman – and so witty. Today he said, ‘I like men who have a future and women who have a past.’ That is clever, is it not?

21
From the notebooks of Robert Sherard