Oscar Wilde and the Murders at Reading Gaol: A Mystery Read Online Free

you.’
‘Watching me?’
‘Observing you. I wanted to make sure that it really was you. I did not want to approach the wrong person.’
‘And cause embarrassment?’
‘Your appearance might have changed.’
‘It has changed.’
‘And photographs can be deceptive.’
‘Not only photographs . . .’ The large man tilted his head to one side as he considered his new-found friend. ‘For how long have you been “observing” me, Dr Quilp?’
‘I have been here in Dieppe since the beginning of the week. I arrived on the day of your children’s party.’
‘My little fête in honour of Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee? Fifteen children came, you know. I had only invited twelve – the garden at my lodgings is so small. And I hate crowds.’
‘It seemed a very jolly party.’
‘It was the happiest party of my life. We had strawberries and cream, apricots, chocolates, cakes and sirop de grenadine . I promised every child a present and they all wanted musical instruments – tin trumpets and accordions. We sang songs and played games – and they danced for me.’
‘I know. I was watching from the roadway.’
‘It was you, was it?’ said the large man, emptying his glass. ‘I saw you. I thought it was a policeman in plain clothes. I am glad it was only you.’
‘It was a happy gathering.’
‘It was perfect. At seven o’clock, as the children departed, I gave each one a little basket with bonbons in it and a little cake, frosted pink and specially inscribed: “ Jubilé de la Reine Victoria ”. As they went on their way, they all cried out: “ Vive la Reine d’Angleterre! Vive Monsieur Melmoth !”’
‘I know,’ said Dr Quilp. ‘That’s how I learnt your new name.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said the large man, ‘my name.’ He sat forward and felt in his coat pocket. ‘I have a card also. It is very like yours. Almost identical, in fact.’ After a moment’s rummaging, he produced his calling card and handed it across the table. He inclined his head. ‘Sebastian Melmoth, at your service.’
Dr Quilp smiled. ‘It is a fine name.’
‘Inspired by a fine novel – Melmoth the Wanderer. The novel was written by my great-uncle by marriage on my mother’s side, so it’s a family name in a way. I know Melmoth’s a mouthful, but it feels appropriate – don’t you agree?’
‘I meant that Sebastian is a fine name.’
‘Sebastian is a beautiful name. It is my favourite Christian name – for saints and sinners.’
The boy from the café had arrived at the table bearing an ice-bucket and a fresh bottle of champagne. Dr Quilp refilled their glasses. ‘I collect Sebastians,’ continued Monsieur Melmoth, ‘– of all kinds. I knew a murderer called Sebastian once.’
‘Tell me about him,’ said Dr Quilp, raising his glass to his companion. ‘I love tales of murder.’
‘Don’t we all?’ replied Melmoth, raising his glass also. ‘There’s the scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it . . . according to my friend, Conan Doyle.’
‘Tell me about this murderer named Sebastian,’ insisted Dr Quilp.
‘He was but one of the murderers I’ve known. I have been in prison for the past two years. I take it that you knew that, Dr Quilp?’
‘Yes,’ replied Quilp, lowering his eyes. ‘I did know that.’
‘In politics one meets charlatans. In prison one meets murderers. I met several. Sebastian Atitis-Snake was one. I liked his name – every element of it. Charles Wooldridge was another. I am writing a poem about Wooldridge.’
‘About the murder he committed?’
‘About the day he died. He was hanged in Reading Gaol – a year ago, when I was there.’
‘Tell me your story, Mr Melmoth.’
‘You appear to know my story, Dr Quilp.’
‘I know what I have read.’
‘And what you have researched? I sense you have been assiduous in your researches.’
‘I want to know about your time in prison. The world