Free Oscar Wilde and the Nest of Vipers by Gyles Brandreth

at the Lyceum and, as you know, it is one of my abiding ambitions to write a play for Irving. I did not wish Stoker to think that I was interested in him solely because of his association with the great actor.
    I shall be seeing him again tomorrow night. He is taking me and Oscar, together with two of Oscar’s young friends, to Mortlake cemetery for a midnight gathering of ‘vampires’! I have no idea what it will involve. I am both wary and intrigued. Oscar is anxious to go – one of his young friends affects to be a vampire – and there may be something in it that I could use in one of my stories. We shall see. (And, fear not, I shall wrap up warm.)
    All being well, my postponed visit to the Charcot Clinic in Muswell Hill will take place on Monday and, on Tuesday, I will be back in Southsea where I belong. Now, I am going to do an hour of reading – Charcot on hypnosis in French! As you can tell, I am not idling – and I am eating – and, most of all, I am missing you, dearest girl.
    Ever your loving husband,
    ACD

29
Letter from Bram Stoker to his wife, Florence, delivered by messenger at 6 p.m. on Saturday, 15 March 1890

    Lyceum Theatre,
    Strand,
    London
    Saturday, three o’clock
    Florrie –
    Good news. I will be home by midnight. Much to report.
    Breakfast with Oscar was extraordinary. Our friend grows more eccentric by the minute. The talk was entirely of vampires! What is Oscar up to? Is he planning to write a comic opera about vampirism? It’s possible – though he hated Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Sorcerer, as I recall.
    Arthur Conan Doyle was with him and another fellow whose name I didn’t catch. Doyle is the young doctor who has created such a stir, first with his Highland adventure, Micah Clarke, and now with his stories of the oddly named detective, Sherlock Holmes. Doyle made copious notes, but said little. (Do you think he is writing a novel about vampires? If he is, it will outsell mine. I know it. He is the coming man, while I have still to reach the starting post.)
    I have said that I will take them to the Vampire Club tomorrow night and now I am regretting it! There is something about Oscar’s charm that is difficult to resist – though you succeeded. And how grateful I am that you did.
    Oscar said nothing of Constance or his boys. He spoke instead – with embarrassing effusiveness – of a young man who – according to Oscar – looks like the god Mars but is, in fact, a vampire from the Channel Islands!
    More of this anon. Banquo is about to be slain and I must check the afternoon’s takings.
    Your Bram

30
From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

    I now understand why the Prince of Wales is the size that he is. I had expected ‘High Tea’ to include an omelette and cold meats alongside the cakes and scones and sandwiches. I had not for a moment expected the vast repast that was laid before us in the so-called Small Dining Room at Marlborough House.
    Egg dishes and cold cuts were indeed on offer – to whet our appetites. There were breads and pastries of every description too – muffins and crumpets, macaroons and dainties – and an array of desserts – gateaux, tarts, baskets of spun sugar filled with fresh fruit and ice cream. But between the initial savouries and the final sweets came salver after salver, groaning with culinary riches: a salmon mousse decorated with caviar, cold lobster with brandy mayonnaise, snipe with foie gras, grilled chicken with asparagus.
    ‘No turtle soup, Your Royal Highness?’ said Oscar plaintively.
    ‘This is merely High Tea, Oscar – a little something to sustain us until dinner.’ The Prince of Wales looked towards me and Conan Doyle, adding by way of explanation: ‘It was the late Duchess of Bedford’s idea – High Tea. She was a good woman.’
    ‘I shall remember her in my prayers,’ said Oscar.
    ‘Her Grace often felt a little low in the late afternoon,’ the prince continued.
    ‘Ah, yes,’ sighed Oscar, ‘that debilitating