The Darke Chronicles Read Online Free PDF Page B

seen as a child. A tall figure with flowing blonde hair, dressed in a long white gown behind which two large dove-like wings were visible. They flapped slowly and noiselessly. The beautiful epicene face of the creature was topped with a shining halo. It was an angel, indeed. One of God’s holy messengers, who had come to him. The angel was smiling, its arms stretched out in a beckoning gesture, beckoning for Cornelius to join him.
    The vision warmed the old man’s tired, grieving heart. Instinctively, he sat forward in the bed and reached out, his fingers stretching in the darkness towards the shimmering figure. And then as quickly and as suddenly as the apparition had appeared, it vanished. The blue of the night seeped back to replace it. The room regained its shadows.
    Corneliussat for some time staring at that bleak space, barely moving a muscle. His tired brain tried to rationalise his experience. It couldn’t. He knew he hadn’t been asleep; he hadn’t been dreaming, and he hadn’t imagined it. There was only one lucid explanation left.
    He had been visited by an angel.
    But why?

    ‘Have you ever heard of the Church of the True Resurrection?’
    ‘I have not, but it sounds like so many of the crank religious organisations we encounter in London nowadays, run by the weak-minded for the weak-minded.’
    Luther Darke stared at his friend Inspector Edward Thornton with some surprise. ‘How harshly cynical of you. Police work is brutalising your sensitivities.’
    ‘I am not a religious man, Luther, although I hope I am a moral one in keeping with the Christian tradition. But I have no time for the mumbo-jumbo that some of these so-called holy sects indulge in. They befuddle the minds of the gullible – invariably for profit.’
    The two men were seated by the fireside in the sitting room of Darke’s town house in Manchester Square. A pale noonday sun sent frail yellow shafts of light into the otherwise gloomy chamber. Luther Darke liked the gloom.
    He took another drink of whisky. ‘Do you know of a fellow by the name of Doctor Sebastien Le Page?’
    Thornton screwed his face up in a pantomime of thought.
    Darke grinned. ‘Oh, Edward, Edward, you are being singularly useless.’
    ‘Has Mr Le Page committed a crime?’
    ‘Doctor, please. Do give the scoundrel his proper title. Committed a crime? Ah, well there is the rub, my dear friend. One cannot be absolutely sure. However, I am fairly certain he is in the process of doing so.’
    ‘Riddlesagain, Luther.’
    ‘Always riddles. Of course. Life would be meaningless without them.’
    Thornton slipped his watch from his waistcoat. ‘I have to be at the Yard in an hour, so I would appreciate it if we could deal with practicalities.’
    Darke gave a throaty laugh. ‘Ever the professional when the smell of crime is in the air. But I have to say, Edward, that I am disappointed. I’m not sure whether it is with you for never having heard a wrong word against Doctor Charlatan Le Page, or because the aforementioned knave has managed to keep his nefarious dealings out of the purview of Scotland Yard and its eagle-eyed officers.’
    ‘It is an unusual name. French, I assume. Perhaps we know him under an alias. However, you invited me here for a drink and an intriguing story. Well, I’ve been furnished with a drink.’ He held up a full tumbler of whisky. ‘So now let me have your story, and then maybe I can say more about Doctor Le Page.’
    Darke did not reply instantly, but stared at the dancing flames in the grate for some moments before addressing his friend in a quiet and sober manner. ‘Tell me, Edward, do you believe in angels?’
    Thornton failed to hide the surprise that this query brought. ‘Angels?’
    ‘Those celestial and divine messengers – possessors of halos and large white wings. You remember that one of their breed appeared before the shepherds tending their sheep outside Bethlehem the night Jesus Christ was born. Do you believe in