Documents
Selected extracts from the diary of Joseph Deville.
13th July 1907 Blenheim Place
Father has discovered a new fad in his unending quest for the fount of eternal youth! Apparently some quack or other has promised him a "radical new treatment". I told him over dinner that he would be better off getting some fresh air, instead of spending all him time locked in the library reading dusty old manuscripts. He was not amused.
30th August 1907 Blenheim Place
Mary and I have pretty much had the place to ourselves over the last few weeks, as father is spending all his time in Surrey taking his new cure . In view of Mary's condition this is a blessing, as father has become even more irascible than before. I have seen him literally shaking with anger over some tiny infraction by a servant.
23rd November 1907 Blenheim Place
Finally met the mysterious Dr. Soran. He drove up with my father on one of his infrequent visits. I must say that I gained a very unfavourable impression of this Soran character. Physically the man is unusually repellent, bald with coarse greasy skin. Personally, he is even worse, excitable and arrogant and totally lacking in the manners we have come to expect at our table. Mary pleaded a headache and left the table early. The rest of the evening I spent listening to Soran berate his former colleagues in Prague for not recognising his true genius. Worst of all, father seems completely entranced by the man, and bit my head off the few times I tried to question some of Soran's wilder diatribes.
3rd January 1908 Blenheim Place
At 3:15 this morning Mary gave birth to a son. I cannot describe the joy it gives me just to look at his frail body. I vow to be a good father and give him the attention that was denied to me.
5th June 1908 Kingsgate Square
A very disturbing incident occurred today. I had come down to London to take to some business. Anyway I popped into the house to retrieve some correspondence from the study. From the look of the desk father had been working there. A bank statement caught my eye, and I am not proud to admit I gave in to my curiosity and examined it. It is well that I did! it seems that father has been transferring huge sums of money - hundreds of thousands of pounds - to something called the Soran foundation. As I stood stunned, father came back into the study - obviously he was not expecting to see me, but his reaction was completely out of proportion . "WHAT ARE YOU DOING SPYING ON ME!" he thundered, advancing towards the desk in an extremely threatening manner. I took my courage in both hands and faced him. "Well, what are you doing signing away my son's inheritance to this madman Soran?". I will not repeat the ensuing argument, save to say two things: if any other man had spoken me in that way, I would have struck him where he stood and secondly, that from this point on I am done with my father and he with me. He informed me that he will be moving in to Soran's "Institute" permanently and will mange his affairs from there.
7th June 1908 Blenheim Place
After much thought I have decided to secure the services of a private detective to investigate Soran. I cannot stand idly by and let my father continue on this path of madness. After much internal debate I have decided against informing anyone else of the situation, even my beloved Mary. Consequently I will be travelling back to London tomorrow to arrange an appointment with a certain Mr. Bevan, who's name I have heard mentioned with respect to several discreetly handled cases.
16th June 1908 Blenheim Place
I must say this Bevan character has exceeded my expectations. When I met his scruffy appearance and sing-song Welsh accent did not appeal - but the preliminary report I received today was all good stuff. When we met last week I couldn't give him much to go on - father had removed or destroyed all of his correspondence with Soran. The only hard facts I had were that Soran lectured at Prague University and that he owns some sort of sanatorium in Surrey. I don't even know if Soran is his real name. Apparently Bevan did some digging around - and found out that a certain Zoran Trifkovitch was forced to step down as professor of anatomy at Prague University three years ago due to "severe irregularities in his medical procedure and ethics". According to reports in the Prague press, experiments on human and animal cadavers were involved. Bevan included a faded newspaper photo of the man - without a shadow of a doubt this Soran and Trifkovitch are one in the same person. Typical of the man that his own arrogance provided a clue - Soran and Zoran are practically identical. Bevan has also made progress on our second front. Two years ago Trifkovitch (now calling himself Soran) bought his way into a hospice in Surrey run by a Dr. Benjamin Soames. The hospice barely kept its head above water, as the bequest that originally funded the venture was almost exhausted, and "Soran's" lucre allowed him to step in as joint director. Shortly after the Middlemarch Hospice for Crimea Veterans changed its name to the Soran Institute. Bevan informed me that this was the most information as he could provide without a "personal reconnaissance". I authorised him to travel to Axbury and pursue his enquiries further.
30th June 1908 Blenheim Place
Bevan has just left. I can scarcely credit what he has just told me, but here is his report in front of me in back and white. Bevan spent last weekend in Surrey digging up the dirt on Soran. I will jot down the salient points here. Axbury is a small village near Horesham. Posing as a long lost relative of a patient at the Institute he secured a room at the village hostelry, and began making enquires. He had no problems getting the locals to talk about Soran. In fact the hard thing was "getting them to shut up". Apparently Soran is despised throughout the village. His first act on arriving at Middlemarch house was to sack the staff at the hospice, to replace them with "a couple of bloody foreigners who can hardly speak a word of English". Dr. Soames was always popular with the Axbury residents, but since Soran took over he's practically dropped out of sight, and when he does appear he looks like "death warmed up". But the most sinister aspect is the rate of attrition among the patients at the institute. In the two years since Soran took over there have been around twenty deaths - mostly due to "old age - or so it says on the death certificates". However, there was an outbreak of cholera a couple of months ago which carried off seven at once. Needless to say everyone in the village suspects foul play, but no-one seemed to have any concrete evidence. In fact, no-one has been to Middlemarch house since Soran's arrival. Visitors are no longer admitted, and a couple of guard dogs keep the curious off the grounds. Bevan tried his luck at the institute the next morning. He'd managed to get the name of one of the patients - luckily for him not one of the deceased ones - and arrived at the institute pretending to be his long lost son. Bevan told me he's talked his way into a lot of places but this one was the toughest. The gates to the driveway were padlocked, and when he tried to open them he almost had his hand bitten off by a ferocious guard dog. Eventually the hound's frenzied barking attacked one of the institute staff. This surly individual, one of the "foreigners", was evidently eastern European (Czech?). He affected not to understand English, and Bevan only got by threatening to call the police. He was led unceremoniously to Soran’s office, who was extremely rude and suspicious to the point of paranoia. Eventually Bevan was led to a waiting from and a few minutes later his "father" was wheeled in on a ramshackle wheelchair. The old man was in a shocking condition, emaciated and barely coherent. Soran, who was present the whole time, maintained that he had been ill and was receiving the appropriate treatment. Soran terminated the interview after a few minutes and Bevan was marched off the premises in short order. Bevan seems to have gained a most unfavourable impression of the Institute. According to him, the whole place was filthy, the grounds overgrown, and bars have been fitted on most of the windows making it feel more like a prison than a hospital. The few patients he did see were listless and dispirited. All in all, he concluded "I wouldn’t send my worst enemy to that place".
I thanked Bevan for his sterling work so far and dismissed the man. I have decided to confront father one more time before taking any further action, and to that end I have written to him via Everett, telling him that unless he assures me he is well personally I will be forced to report Soran to the appropriate authorities.
3rd July 1908 Kingsgate Sqaure
My threats to involve the authorities produced swift results. Father stormed into the house today, as angry as I'd ever seen him. I will not lower myself to repeat the language he used, but his message was clear: mind you own business. I was not in a strong position to argue, as he was looking fitter than ever. There was a kind of diabolical energy about him that was somewhat disturbing in its intensity. Have resolved to take him at his word and leave well alone. He and Soran derserve each other.
14th August 1908 Kingsgate Square
Today I had an unexpected visitor. I was working late in my study when Bevan came calling. He looked in a terrible state, unshaven and nervous, quite unlike the unflappable profesional I'd grown used to. He could barely drink the large brandy I offered him, his teeth were rattling against the glass. He told me an extraordinary story, which he had left out of his original report. Bevan had managed to get away from the orderlies for a few moments and saw something he should't, although he was frustratingly vague as to what. I got the feeling some sort of terrible experiments were being carried out on the inmates. He broke into the Institute a few days later trying to get some evidence, but was almost caught and had to run for it. He had managed to take a photograph, but it was overexposed and I couldn't really make out any details. At this point Bevan broke down completely, raving about going back and "burning the whole nest of them down". I fed him brandy until he calmed down, and Masterson and I managed to get him into the guest room. The next morning he was gone.
27th August 1908 Kingsgate Square
Yesterday night my father died. Everett came round to tell me personally this morning. Apparently my father had asked him to bring Dr. Hill down to the Institute to witness his new will. It transpired he was on his death bed. Hill examined him and pronounced that his heart was giving out. A few hours after they arrived he died peacefully.
Everett seemed anxious to reassure me that the terms of the will were not altered substantively. Indeed, the only real change were provisions for Jonathan. I still inherit the estate.
Everett was wrong - there was nothing further from my mind than my inheritance. Instead I was remembering the last time my father spoke to Dr. Hill. It was a few months after he took up with Soran. He almost threw the good doctor out of the house, and threatened to horsewhip him if he ever set foot inside Kingsgate Sqare again. Soran had obviously persuaded my father to send for Hill. He must have know I would never have accepted his uncorroborated word on my father's death. Evidently he is more inteliigent than I gave him credit for. I must confess that the possibility my father died of natural causes has never even entered my mind.
30th August 1908 Kingsgate Square
Yesterday was father's funeral. I'm afraid I made rather a scene, as Soran had the audacity to make an appearance. I don't remember exactly what I said to him, but if I had not been restrained I believe I would have wiped that superior smirk of his face for good. He shot me a look of pure venom as he left, and I know now that Soran and his damned Institute are somehow responsible for my father's demise, and possbily many others - I still have heard nothing from Bevan, and I fear for his safety. Indeed, in my heart I feel his is, like my father, no longer in the land of the living.
Mary was shocked and not a little scared at my behaviour, but I managed to fob her off with some excuse or other. In truth I could barely attend to her, as my thoughts were, and indeed still are, full of revenge. I will expose Soran for the murderous fraud that he is or die trying.
As I write those words I realise they are no idle boast - there may be more than a little danger involved, but I will stay the course. I will leave this diary at the bank, together with poor Bevan's photograph, so that if anything does happen to me at least Mary will know the truth. Tomorrow I leave for Axbury.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:56, Sun 26 Feb 2012.
