actual members meant to divert attention should the name ever be spoken in public.
The true Hellfire Club was an old stone hunting lodge that stood high atop the summit of Montpelier Hill, built nearly one hundred years ago by William Conolly, the onetime Speaker of the Irish House of Commons. The location was unique, for you could clearly see the city from the building, but the structure was hidden from below—and the road that led to it was concealed and guarded.
As a doctor, I was welcomed into this fold by my colleague Dr. Charles Croker when I first joined the staff of Swift’s Hospital for Lunatics. He saw in me a curiosity and desire that reached beyond the teachings of modern medicine I had received at Queen’s College, and believed I would benefit from the higher conversation often found at the Hellfire Club during late-night debates and discussions, particularly in the upper halls, which could be accessed only by an additional invitation. These conversations would often turn to the supernatural, the occult, and discussions of medical theory so extreme Mary Shelley’s vision seemed as tame as a commonplace medical text.
I did not attend these discussions often, for I found the subject matter so disturbing that sleep would elude me for days after taking part in even a single session. It was during one of these roundtables that I met the man I hoped to find there tonight, a Hungarian professor named Arminius Vambéry.
“You believe this Vambéry will assist us?” Matilda asked, piercing the cloud of silence that had smothered the coach. My driver remained missing, and his son drove in his stead. I gestured for Matilda to keep her voice low, for I did not know the boy as well as his father and I figured it would be best if he overheard little of our plans.
I tapped the cover of the book Matilda and Bram had retrieved from O’Cuiv’s coffin. “I am certain this is written in Hungarian, and Vambéry will make the translation with ease. He is also quite knowledgeable in matters of the dark arts.”
“And you trust him?” Matilda asked. “With something like this?”
I nodded. “I have known him since medical school. He has shared some horrific tales with me over the years, and I have shared a number of secrets with him. Not once did any of those secrets pass from his lips. I would trust this man with my life.”
“Why is it you never spoke of him before?” Bram asked.
“Matters discussed at the Hellfire Club never leave the walls; that is the golden rule. To speak of something learned at the Hellfire will get you barred from admittance for life, sometimes worse.”
“Worse?”
I lowered my voice. “There are stories of men disappearing simply for mentioning the names of other members, let alone discussing a topic learned at the club. You might find high members of society freely speaking to the working class; sometimes even royalty can be found in attendance. They will share an ale and talk about things unmentionable in other circles, but should you run into these men the following morning on the street, they will not so much as nod a hello to you. Nothing leaves the club, not ever.”
Matilda’s brow creased with concern. “If this ‘club’ is so secretive, how do you plan to spirit Bram and me inside?”
“As long as you are with me, I can gain your admittance. Don’t you worry about that.”
Matilda snickered. “Our brother, the aristocrat. Who would have thought such a thing when you were mucking out stalls back in Clontarf?”
The coach slowed as it rounded the bend at the top of the hill, then stopped altogether when it arrived at the first checkpoint. There were two quick knocks on the door of the coach, which I followed by knocking five times in succession. My response was in turn followed by a single knock, to which I knocked thrice more. A moment later, the coach began to roll forward again. Bram and Matilda were both staring at me, Matilda grinning like the cat who had swallowed the proverbial canary. Five minutes later, at a second checkpoint, we halted once again. This time a voice simply inquired through the door, “Password?”