Shadows of the Silver Screen Page 3

  The Alchemical Moving Picture Company.

  “Shall I do the honours?” Monty enquired, his hand poised above the door knocker.

  Penny shook her head.

  “Remember what I said. Let Mr Wigram do the talking. We don’t want you agreeing to sell the rights to The Daughter of Darkness for a few magic beans.”

  With a disgruntled harrumph, Monty stepped back to let the lawyer rap smartly on the door. After what seemed like an interminable wait, the door opened a crack and a sour-faced woman peered outside.

  “Yes?”

  “Good day, madam,” Wigram began, clutching his top hat in his hands. “I am seeking the premises of the Alchemical Moving Picture Company. We have an appointment with its proprietor, Mr Edward Gold.”

  Leaning out of the door, the woman scrutinised the nameplate that Penny herself had been inspecting only moments before.

  “Oh, him,” she sniffed, spotting the freshly painted name at the bottom of the plate. She pulled the door open and then stepped back inside, folding her bare arms across her stout chest. “Up those stairs, second door on the right. That’s where you’ll find him.”

  Nodding his head in gratitude, Wigram led them inside. The landlady eyed Penny suspiciously as she stepped over the threshold, her beady gaze following the three of them as they headed for the stairs. Unlike the street outside, the dingy hallway was filled with gloom. Boxes of camera equipment and mechanical contraptions were piled, higgledy-piggledy, everywhere they looked. Cameras, projectors, arc lights and winders: the cramped hall seemingly an Aladdin’s cave of the picture show.

  Clambering past the boxes, Penelope fell into step beside her guardian as they began to climb the creaking staircase. From behind them, she heard a sharp exclamation, and glancing back saw Monty wincing in pain, his toe stubbed on a crate of film stock. Shaking her head, Penny trailed her hand along the banister as they climbed, but then lifted it in dismay to inspect the layer of dust that now clung to her fingers.

  “I do hope that this new invention of Mr Gold’s is in better repair than his premises,” she said, extracting a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her hand.

  Wigram raised a sceptical eyebrow.

  “That remains to be seen.”

  At the top of the stairs, a dismal corridor burrowed into the heart of the building and, as a still-grumbling Monty joined them, they began to walk its length. Passing by the offices of the Kinora Camera Company and the Bioscope Press, Penny came to the second door on the right. A nameplate reading The Alchemical Moving Picture Company was fixed next to the door handle, but etched into the pane of frosted glass in the door were the words Graham & Latham Cinemascope Suppliers, the G of the first word somewhat faded as if someone had tried to scrub the letter away. Behind the glass, Penny saw two shadowy silhouettes and then heard the sound of a raised voice, with what seemed like a foreign accent.

  “I’ve come for what is rightfully mine!”

  Wigram raised his hand to knock on the door, but she quickly motioned for her guardian to wait.

  Another voice was raised in reply, and Penelope recognised the smooth tones of Mr Gold now transformed into a snarl.

  “You signed the contract – that camera is mine. Now get out of my office before I have the constabulary remove you!”

  There came the sound of a muffled curse followed by heavy footsteps, and Penny quickly stepped back from the door before it was flung open. A man wearing a shabby grey blazer stood framed in the doorway. He was in his early thirties, his dark-brown hair cut short in the continental style, whilst his pointed beard gave his face a sharp expression. He glared at them over his half-moon spectacles.

  “I’m terribly sorry, sir,” Penelope began. “We’ve come to see Mr Gold.”

  The man’s eyes filled with venom.

  “Zut pour vous!” he spat, brushing past Penny with a snarl and stomping off down the corridor.

  “What a nerve,” Monty began, shaking his fist at the departing figure. “I’ve a good mind to—”

  Ignoring Monty’s bluster, Penelope knocked lightly on the now open door. Inside the office, she could see Miss Mottram cowering behind a desk piled high with papers, and at Penny’s knock, the secretary turned in fear towards the door. Spotting Monty and Wigram standing by Penny’s side, she quickly rose to her feet and hurried towards them.

  “Mr Flinch,” she squeaked, holding the office door open. “What an honour to see you here, sir. Please, do all come in.”

  Monty bowed his head in greeting as he entered the office, with Penny and her guardian following closely behind. With a nervous glance into the corridor, Miss Mottram shut the door firmly behind them.

  Casting her eyes around the room, Penelope took this opportunity to inspect the offices of the Alchemical Moving Picture Company. At first glance, her impression was not a favourable one. Apart from a couple of peeling posters advertising five shilling box cameras, the walls of the cramped room were bare with not even a window to let in the daylight. The room was lit by a foul-smelling gaslight that hung from the low ceiling. In front of the secretary’s desk was a plain wooden chair, and the only hint of luxury came from the leather-upholstered armchair in the opposite corner of the room, from which Mr Gold now rose.

  The easy charm of his smile curling his lips, Gold stepped towards Monty and clasped his hand in his own. No sign now of the anger Penelope had heard in his voice through the glass.

  “Mr Flinch!” exclaimed the filmmaker. “How good of you to grace us with your esteemed presence.” Releasing Monty’s hand, he gestured apologetically at their poky surrounds. “I’m only sorry that our current premises aren’t as steeped in literary history as your fine offices at The Penny Dreadful. However, in time I’m sure this address will hold a similar lustre as the place where the film career of Montgomery Flinch was launched.”

  Monty beamed in delight; fresh thoughts of film stardom beginning to bloom inside his mind. However, the sound of a cough behind him quickly punctured these dreams.

  “That is yet to be agreed, Mr Gold,” said Wigram as he appeared at Monty’s side. “Mr Flinch would first need to see proof of these grandiose claims you have made for your new invention.” The lawyer glanced around the office, a look of haughty suspicion in his gaze. “Does this ‘Véritéscope’ even exist yet?”

  Smoothing his whiskers, Gold nodded his head.

  “Of course, I quite understand,” he replied. “Indeed, I am as eager to show you the wonders of the Véritéscope as you are to see them and have taken the liberty of filming a short scene from the story. Once you have observed the remarkable power of this medium, I am sure you’ll appreciate what a sensation a moving picture of The Daughter of Darkness will create.”

  The filmmaker paused, noticing Penelope for the first time as she hovered in the background, her downward gaze slyly inspecting the papers on his secretary’s desk. “I must admit though I hadn’t realised that this screening would attract so young an audience today.” His flint-grey eyes glittered in the glow of the gaslight. “I would have arranged for suitable refreshments if I had known.”

  Following the filmmaker’s gaze, Monty glanced back to see Penelope as she stood there smiling sweetly, the stylishly cut cerise of her jacket and shirtwaist putting the office’s drab decor to shame.

  “Ah, yes,” Monty replied, in an almost too-eager tone. “I’ve brought my niece, Miss Penelope Tredwell, along here today. She is a keen admirer of the cinematographs and so I would value her opinion on the merits of your Véritéscope show. I trust this is acceptable to you?”

  “Quite acceptable,” Gold replied, turning the full beam of his smile towards Penny. He took her hand in his own. “I’ll be delighted to hear your thoughts, Miss Tredwell.”

  The filmmaker’s fingers felt slippery to the touch and Penelope blushed under the intensity of his gaze. Lowering her eyes, she nodded primly.

  “I look forward to seeing my uncle’s story on the screen.”

  As Wigram l
ooked on with a well-worn frown, Gold released Penelope’s fingers from his grasp and then turned towards the rear of the office. There, a door stood slightly ajar, revealing another room beyond this outer office. Ahead of her employer, Miss Mottram hurried towards this, a circular metal canister clutched in her hands.

  “Now, if you’d all care to accompany me to the screening room,” the filmmaker announced, “I’ll present you with a first glimpse of The Daughter of Darkness – a moving picture that will transfix the world!”

  V

  In the crepuscular gloom, Penelope shifted uncomfortably on her chair, its hard wood and keen edges sending an unpleasant tingle up her spine. Beside her, Wigram sat in silence, his brow furrowed as he stared impatiently at the whitewashed wall that lay before them, whilst from the chair directly to her right Penny heard a strange rustling sound. Turning her head, she watched as Monty unwrapped a boiled sweet, noisily discarding the wrapper before popping the striped lozenge into his mouth. Feeling her eyes on him, Monty glanced across, his gaze meeting Penny’s glare. Then he reached apologetically into his pocket and, extracting another boiled sweet, held it out towards Penelope.

  “Humbug?” he asked.

  Penny shook her head with a sigh.

  Behind them, at the rear of the room, Gold fussed over a strange-looking contraption which stood upon a tripod, its long lens pointing towards the whitewashed wall. The lens was protruding from a large box made of mahogany and brass, a small door on its side held open as Gold fixed the reel of film in place, nestling it between a morass of spokes and sprockets, tubes and strange frills. Finally satisfied, he closed the door with a click, the Véritéscope now ready to screen this promised glimpse of The Daughter of Darkness.

  “As I explained, Mr Flinch,” Gold began, the sudden loudness of his voice from the shadows making Penelope jump in her seat, “I’ve so far only filmed a brief opening scene, but I trust it will give you a sense of the power of this remarkable invention.”

  The filmmaker gave a nod towards Miss Mottram. Standing by the dimmed gas lamp that was fixed to the wall, his secretary pulled at its chain to cut off the flame, plunging the screening room into darkness. As Penny glanced back over her shoulder in surprise, there came a whirring, clicking noise from where Gold had been standing and then a beam of silver light sprang forth from the lens of the Véritéscope, bathing the wall in a sepia hue.

  Turning again to the makeshift screen, Penny watched as this sepia hue slowly softened into a golden glow. Swirling shapes drifted like mist across the wall, oddly different to the harsh black-and-white lines she had seen at the fairground picture show. Fascinated, Penny watched as these shapes finally coalesced into recognisable forms, a frozen scene suddenly lifelike on the screen.

  She gasped. The picture that filled the wall showed the same room they were sitting in. Blank whitewashed walls, their chairs now standing empty as the guttering gas lamp cast a flickering light on the scene. It was as though the screen had become a mirror instead, casting their shadows out as it imagined the world anew. But what really took Penelope’s breath away were the vivid colours she could see, the picture trembling with an uncanny reality.

  Even though the room on the screen was empty, Penny couldn’t pull her gaze away. Sitting in the darkness, it somehow felt more real to her than this same room she was sitting in. She watched as the figure of a woman stepped on to the screen.

  A summer shawl was draped over the young woman’s shoulders, shrouding the elegant blue silk of her evening gown. As she turned to face the camera, dark locks of brunette hair framed a sad-eyed stare. A shiver of recognition ran down Penelope’s spine. This was Miss Mottram, the mousy secretary who scurried behind Gold everywhere, somehow miraculously transformed.

  Her gaze pierced the screen, some secret sorrow troubling her countenance. Then she began to speak.

  “I am the daughter of darkness,” she began, the sound of her words somehow appearing in the air as they trembled from her lips. “And this is my story – a tragic tale of murder, betrayal and revenge.”

  Penny’s mouth fell open, shocked to hear the words from her story spoken on screen.

  Beside her, she felt Monty lean forward in his chair, a low mutter of astonishment escaping from his lips.

  “Incredible…”

  But Monty’s murmur was swept into silence as from the screen the young woman spoke again.

  “Ever since Mama died, I’ve lived here with my father on these lonely Devon moors. This grand house is my home, my playground, my prison. My father says he must protect me from the evil that lies beyond these walls, but I know now that the cruelty that lies beneath the moors is his alone.”

  A single tear ran down her cheek, its glistening trail shimmering in the silvery light. Staring up into the face of her own creation, Penny was enthralled.

  “This half-life of mine would be hard enough to bear without the misery I have seen. At my father’s mines, children toil in the darkness, chained and harnessed like dogs as they drag from the depths the copper that has made his fortune. Dressed in ragged clothes, they crawl through tunnels buried deep in the earth, never glimpsing the sun from morning to night. From my father’s carriage, I have watched them rise from the pit, wreathed in shadows of steam. I shudder to think of their suffering, those poor, godforsaken souls.”

  As they spilled from the screen, her words seemed to thicken the air around them. The whirr of the Véritéscope was replaced by a distant hiss, the foul stench of steam rising to their nostrils. On the chair next to Penelope, Wigram sniffed into his handkerchief, whilst on her other side, Monty’s shoulders shuddered with tears; the hardships the girl described were almost too painful to hear.

  “My father professes not to care,” she continued. “He says that the money he earns from the mines pays for the finery of my clothes and the banquets that we eat. But my heart chafes at his cruelty and the food on my plate tastes like ashes in my mouth.”

  On the screen, Miss Mottram’s dark eyes glittered as she opened her hands to reveal a jet-black stone.

  “Deep in the mines, the darkness lies,” her voice revealed in a trembling tone, “and it has given me a gift of this stone.”

  Sitting in her chair, Penny felt a strange sensation creep up her spine, the shadows cast across the screen almost hypnotising her as she stared up into the darkness.

  Then, from the back of the screening room came a sudden snapping sound, like a spring or a coil breaking. The image on the screen froze and then disappeared in a blaze of white light that faded as quickly as it had come. For a second, there was silence and then, with a gentle whoosh, the gas lamp fixed to the wall spluttered into life, shedding its light on the scene.

  Slowly shaking her head as if waking from a dream, Penny glanced around the room. Next to her, her guardian was still staring at the whitewashed wall, his brow furrowed as if trying to work out what trickery they had just seen, whilst, with an ashen face, Monty turned towards Penelope with wonder in his eyes.

  “It seemed so real,” he murmured.

  At the rear of the room, Gold stood over the box and tripod. The small door on the side of the camera hung open as the filmmaker fiddled with the tubes and sprockets inside. Then, finally shaking his head in defeat, he looked up to meet Penelope’s gaze.

  “I’m afraid a slight technical problem has brought today’s screening to a premature close,” he announced, “but I hope what you have already seen has shown you what a film I will make.”

  Stepping towards them as Monty rose from his seat, Gold unleashed the full brilliance of his smile.

  “I assure you, Mr Flinch, that the wonder of the Véritéscope will craft the raw materials of your story into a cinematographic sensation. So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?”

  Monty beamed with glee, but then glanced apprehensively at Penelope as if fearing her reply. Penny’s mind was still filled with the shadows that had flickered across the screen, so unlike any cinematograph show she had ever seen. She
turned towards Wigram, a frown still troubling her guardian’s face as he met her gaze.

  “We have to make this film,” she whispered.

  VI

  “I must strongly advise you against signing this contract, Penelope.”

  Wigram peered over the foolscap pages as he laid out the agreement on Penelope’s desk. The sheaf of papers was at least an inch thick, the corners of practically every page turned down with notes scrawled in the margins.

  “This isn’t an agreement, it’s a travesty,” he declared. “You’d be lucky to see even a penny of any profits Mr Gold makes from this cinematographic fancy.”

  He turned the pages of the contract, pointing out his litany of concerns as Penny stared blankly at the dense and impenetrable text.

  “Full assignment of copyright, the exclusive right to reproduce, exhibit and licence your work, indemnification against any financial losses and legal claims, all payments deferred under the producer’s discretion – there isn’t a clause in this contract that isn’t stuffed with sharp practice and underhand manoeuvres.” The frown lining Wigram’s face deepened, its creases becoming crevasses. “In all conscience, Penelope, speaking as both your lawyer and your guardian, I must insist that we withdraw from this arrangement with Mr Gold and cease all plans for the Alchemical Moving Picture Company to film this adaptation of The Daughter of Darkness.”

  Penny glanced up at her guardian, seeing the look of concern in his eyes. Ever since her parents died, Mr Wigram had been by her side. His had been the comforting hand that had helped steer her through her grief, his wise counsel preventing The Penny Dreadful from falling into the hands of her late father’s creditors. And as she had built the magazine into the towering success it was today, Mr Wigram had been there every step of the way, protecting her interests and safeguarding her secret. Penelope trusted his counsel implicitly.