{"id":2283,"date":"2026-01-03T22:20:39","date_gmt":"2026-01-03T22:20:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/white-fire-child-lee\/"},"modified":"2026-01-03T22:20:39","modified_gmt":"2026-01-03T22:20:39","slug":"white-fire-child-lee","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/white-fire-child-lee\/","title":{"rendered":"White Fire – Child, Lee"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

Book Preview<\/h3>\n
\n
\n
\n

Prologue:
A True Story\n <\/p>\n<\/div>\n

August 30, 1889<\/p>\n

T<\/span>he young doctor bid his wife good-bye on the Southsea platform, boarded the 4:15 express for London, and arrived three hours later at Victoria Station. Threading his way through the noise and bustle, he exited the station and flagged down a hansom cab.\n <\/p>\n

\u201cThe Langham Hotel, if you please,\u201d he told the driver as he stepped up into the compartment, flushed with a feeling of anticipation.<\/p>\n

He sat back in the worn leather seat as the cabbie started down Grosvenor Place. It was a fine late-summer evening, the rarest kind in London, with a dying light falling through the carriage-choked streets and sooty buildings, enchanting everything with a golden radiance. At half past seven the lamps were only just starting to be lit.<\/p>\n

The doctor did not often get the chance to come up to London, and he looked out the window of the hansom cab with interest. As the driver turned right onto Piccadilly, he took in St. James\u2019s Palace and the Royal Academy, bathed in the afterglow of sunset. The crowds, noise, and stench of the city, so different from his home countryside, filled him with energy. Countless horseshoes rang out against the cobbles, and the sidewalks thronged with people from all walks of life: clerks, barristers, and swells rubbed shoulders with chimneysweeps, costermongers, and cat\u2019s-meat dealers.<\/p>\n

At Piccadilly Circus, the cab took a sharp left onto Regent Street, passing Carnaby and the Oxford Circus before pulling up beneath the porte cochere of the Langham. It had been the first grand hotel erected in London, and it remained by far the most stylish. As he paid off the cabbie, the doctor glanced up at the ornate sandstone fa\u00e7ade, with its French windows and balconies of wrought iron, its high gables and balustrades. He had a small interest in architecture, and he guessed the fa\u00e7ade was a mixture of Beaux-Arts and North German Renaissance Revival.<\/p>\n

As he entered the great portal, the sound of music reached him: a string quartet, hidden behind a screen of hothouse lilies, playing Schubert. He paused to take in the magnificent lobby, crowded with men seated in tall-backed chairs, reading freshly ironed copies of The Times <\/i>and drinking port or sherry. Expensive cigar smoke hung in the air, mingling with the scent of flowers and ladies\u2019 perfume.\n <\/p>\n

At the entrance to the dining room, he was met by a small, rather portly man in a broadcloth frock coat and dun-colored trousers, who approached him with brisk steps. \u201cYou must be Doyle,\u201d he said, taking his hand. He had a bright smile and a broad American accent. \u201cI\u2019m Joe Stoddart. So glad you could make it. Come in\u2014the others just arrived.\u201d<\/p>\n

The doctor followed Stoddart as the man made his way among linen-covered tables to a far corner of the room. The restaurant was even more opulent than the lobby, with wainscoting of olive-stained oak, a cream-colored frieze, and an ornate ceiling of raised plasterwork. Stoddart stopped beside a sumptuous table at which two men were already seated.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. William Gill, Mr. Oscar Wilde,\u201d Stoddart said. \u201cAllow me to introduce Dr. A. Conan Doyle.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gill\u2014whom Doyle recognized as a well-known Irish MP\u2014stood and bowed with good-humored gravitas. A heavy gold Albert watch chain swayed across his ample waistcoat. Wilde, who was in the midst of taking a glass of wine, dabbed at his rather full lips with a damask napkin and motioned Conan Doyle toward the empty chair beside him.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Wilde was just entertaining us with the story of a tea party he attended this afternoon,\u201d Stoddart said as they took their seats.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt Lady Featherstone\u2019s,\u201d Wilde said. \u201cShe was recently widowed. Poor dear\u2014her hair has gone quite gold from grief.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOscar,\u201d Gill said with a laugh, \u201cyou really are wicked. Talking about a lady in such a manner.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wilde waved his hand dismissively. \u201cMy lady would thank me. There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.\u201d He spoke rapidly, in a low, mannered voice.<\/p>\n

Doyle examined Wilde with a covert look. The man was striking. Almost gigantic in stature, he had unfashionably long hair parted in the middle and carelessly thrown back, his facial features heavy. His choice of clothing was of an eccentricity bordering on madness. He wore a suit of black velvet that fitted tightly to his large frame, the sleeves embroidered in flowery designs and puffed at the shoulders. Around his neck he had donned a narrow, three-rowed frill of the same brocaded material as the sleeves. He had the sartorial audacity to sport knee breeches, equally tight fitting, with stockings of black silk and slippers with grosgrain bows. A boutonni\u00e8re<\/i> of an immense white orchid drooped pendulously from his fawn-colored vest, looking as if it might dribble nectar at any moment. Heavy gold rings glittered on the fingers of his indolent hands. Despite the idiosyncrasy of his clothing, the expression on his face was mild, balancing the keen quality of his eager brown eyes. And for all this the man displayed a remarkable delicacy of feeling and tact. He spoke in a curious precision of statement, with a unique trick of small gestures to illustrate his meaning.\n <\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re most kind to be treating us out like this, Stoddart,\u201d Wilde was saying. \u201cAt the Langham, no less. I\u2019d have been left to my own devices otherwise. It\u2019s not that I want for supper money, of course. It is only people who pay their bills who lack money, you see, and I never pay mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI fear you\u2019ll find my motives are completely mercenary,\u201d Stoddart replied. \u201cYou might as well know that I\u2019m over here to establish a British edition of Lippincott\u2019s Monthly<\/i>.\u201d\n <\/p>\n

\u201cPhiladelphia not large enough for you, then?\u201d Gill asked.<\/p>\n

Stoddart chuckled, then looked at Wilde and Doyle in turn. \u201cIt is my intention, before this meal is complete, to secure a new novel from each of you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hearing this, a current of excitement coursed through Doyle. In his telegram, Stoddart had been vague about the reasons for asking him to come to London for dinner, but the man was a well-known American publisher and this was exactly what Doyle had been hoping to hear. His medical practice had had a slower start than he would have liked. To fill the time, he\u2019d taken to scribbling novels while waiting for patients. His last few had met with a small success. Stoddart was precisely the man he needed to further his progress. Doyle found him pleasant, even charming\u2014for an American.<\/p>\n

The dinner was proving delightful.<\/p>\n

Gill was an amusing fellow, but Oscar Wilde was nothing short of remarkable. Doyle was captivated by the graceful wave of his hands; the languid expression that became quite animated when he delivered his peculiar anecdotes or amusing bons mots<\/i>. It was almost magical, Doyle considered, that\u2014thanks to modern technology\u2014he\u2019d been transported in a few short hours from a sleepy seacoast town to this elegant place, surrounded by an eminent editor, a member of Parliament, and the famous champion of aestheticism.\n <\/p>\n

The dishes came thick and fast: potted shrimps, galantine of chicken, tripe fried in batter, bisque de homard<\/i>. Red and yellow wine had appeared at the beginning of the evening, and the generous flow never ceased. It was astonishing how much money the Americans had; Stoddart was spending a fortune.\n <\/p>\n

The timing was excellent. Doyle had just begun a new novel that Stoddart would surely like. His penultimate story, Micah Clarke<\/i>, had been favorably reviewed, although his most recent novel, about a detective, based in part on his old university professor Joseph Bell, had been rather disappointingly received after appearing in Beeton\u2019s Christmas Annual<\/i>\u2026He forced himself back to the conversation at hand. Gill, the Irish MP, was questioning the veracity of the maxim that the good fortune of one\u2019s friends made one discontented.\n <\/p>\n

Hearing this, a gleam appeared in Wilde\u2019s eyes. \u201cThe devil,\u201d he replied, \u201cwas once crossing the desert, and he came upon a spot where a number of fiends were tormenting a holy hermit. The man easily shook off their evil suggestions. The devil watched their failure and then stepped forward to give them a lesson. \u2018What you do is too crude,\u2019 said he. \u2018Permit me for one moment.\u2019 With that he whispered to the holy man, \u2018Your brother has just been made bishop of Alexandria.\u2019 A scowl of malignant jealousy at once clouded the serene face of the hermit. \u2018That,\u2019 said the devil to his imps, \u2018is the sort of thing which I should recommend.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

Stoddart and Gill laughed heartily, then began to fall into an argument about politics. Wilde turned to Doyle. \u201cYou must tell me,\u201d he said. \u201cWill you do a book for Stoddart?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was rather thinking I would. The fact is, I\u2019ve started work on a new novel already. I was thinking of calling it A Tangled Skein<\/i>, or perhaps The Sign of the Four<\/i>.\u201d\n <\/p>\n

Wilde pressed his hands together in delight. \u201cMy dear fellow, that\u2019s wonderful news. I certainly hope it will be another Holmes story.\u201d<\/p>\n

Doyle looked at him in surprise. \u201cYou mean to say you\u2019ve read A Study in Scarlet<\/i>?\u201d\n <\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t read it, dear boy. I devoured<\/i> it.\u201d Reaching into his vest, Wilde pulled out a copy of the Ward Lock & Co. edition of the book, with its vaguely Oriental lettering so in vogue. \u201cI even looked through it again when I heard you would be dining with us this evening.\u201d\n <\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re very kind,\u201d Conan Doyle said, at a loss for a better reply. He found himself surprised and gratified that the prince of English decadence would enjoy a humble detective novel.<\/p>\n

\u201cI feel you have the makings of a great character in Holmes. But\u2026\u201d And here Wilde stopped.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes?\u201d Doyle said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat I found most remarkable was the credibility<\/i> of the thing. The details of the police work, Holmes\u2019s inquiries, were enlightening. I have much to learn from you in this way. You see, between me and life there is a mist of words always. I throw probability out of the window for the sake of a phrase, and the chance of an epigram makes me desert truth. You don\u2019t share that failing. And yet\u2026and yet I believe you could do more with this Holmes of yours.\u201d\n <\/p>\n

\u201cI would be much obliged if you\u2019d explain,\u201d Doyle said.<\/p>\n

Wilde took a sip of wine. \u201cIf he\u2019s to be a truly great detective, a great persona<\/i>, he should be more eccentric. The world doesn\u2019t need another Sergeant Cuff or Inspector Dupin. No\u2014make his humanity aspire to the greatness of his art.\u201d He paused a moment, thinking, idly stroking the orchid that drooped from his buttonhole. \u201cIn Scarlet<\/i>, you call Watson \u2018extremely lazy.\u2019 In my opinion, you should allow the virtues of dissipation and idleness to be bestowed on your hero, not his errand boy. And make Holmes more reserved. Don\u2019t have delight shining on his features<\/i>, or have him barking with laughter<\/i>.\u201d\n <\/p>\n

Doyle colored, recognizing the infelicitous phraseology.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou must confer on him a vice,\u201d Wilde went on. \u201cVirtuous people are so banal; I simply cannot bear them.\u201d He paused again. \u201cNot just a vice, Doyle\u2014give him a weakness<\/i>. Let me think\u2014ah, yes! I recall.\u201d He opened his copy of A Study in Scarlet<\/i>, leafed quickly through the pages, found a passage, and began to quote Dr. Watson: \u201c\u2018I might have suspected him of being addicted to the use of some narcotic, had not the temperance and cleanliness of his whole life forbidden such a notion.\u2019\u201d He returned the book to his vest pocket. \u201cThere\u2014you had the perfect weakness in your hands, but you let it go. Pluck it up again! Deliver Holmes into the clutches of some addiction. Opium, say. But no: opium is so dreadfully common these days, it\u2019s become quite overrun by the lower classes.\u201d Suddenly Wilde snapped his fingers. \u201cI have it! Cocaine hydrochloride. There\u2019s a novel and elegant vice for you.\u201d\n <\/p>\n

\u201cCocaine,\u201d Doyle repeated a little uncertainly. As a doctor, he had sometimes prescribed a seven percent solution to patients suffering from exhaustion or depression, but the idea of making Holmes an addict was, on the face of it, quite absurd. Although Doyle had asked for Wilde\u2019s opinion, he found himself slightly put out at actually receiving criticism from the man. Across the table, the good-humored argument between Stoddart and Gill continued.<\/p>\n

The aesthete took another sip of wine and tossed his hair back.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd what about you?\u201d Doyle asked. \u201cWill you do a book for Stoddart?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI shall. And it shall be under your influence\u2014or rather, Holmes\u2019s influence\u2014that I will proceed. Do you know, I\u2019ve always believed there\u2019s no such thing as a moral or immoral book. Books are well written or badly written\u2014that\u2019s all. But I find myself taken with the idea of writing a book about both art and<\/i> morals. I\u2019m planning to call it The Picture of Dorian Gray<\/i>. And do you know, I believe it will be rather a ghastly story. Not a ghost story, exactly, but one in which the protagonist comes to a beastly end. The kind of story one wishes to read by daylight\u2014not lamplight.\u201d\n <\/p>\n

\u201cSuch a story doesn\u2019t seem to be exactly in your line.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wilde looked at Doyle with something like amusement. \u201cIndeed? Did you think that\u2014as one who would happily sacrifice himself on the pyre of aestheticism\u2014I do not recognize the face of horror when I stare into it? Let me tell you: the shudder of fear is as sensual as the shudder of pleasure, if not more so.\u201d He underscored this with another wave of his hand. \u201cBesides, I was once told a story so dreadful, so distressing in its particulars and in the extent of its evil, that now I truly believe nothing I hear could ever frighten me again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow interesting,\u201d Doyle replied a little absently, still mulling over the criticism of Holmes.<\/p>\n

Wilde regarded him, a small smile forming on his large, pale features. \u201cWould you care to hear it? It is not for the faint of heart.\u201d<\/p>\n

The way Wilde phrased this, it sounded like a challenge. \u201cBy all means.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was told to me during my lecture tour of America a few years back. On my way to San Francisco, I stopped at a rather squalid yet picturesque mining camp known as Roaring Fork. I gave my lecture at the bottom of their mine, and it was frightfully well received by the good gentlemen of the camp. After my lecture, one of the miners approached me, an elderly chap somewhat the worse\u2014or, perhaps, the better\u2014for drink. He took me aside, said he\u2019d enjoyed my story so much that he had one of his own to share with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wilde paused, wetting his thick, red lips with a delicate sip of wine. \u201cHere, lean in a little closer, that\u2019s a good fellow, and I\u2019ll tell it you exactly as it was told to me\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Ten minutes later, a diner at the restaurant in the Langham Hotel would have been surprised to note\u2014amid the susurrus of genteel conversation and the tinkle of cutlery\u2014a young man in the dress of a country doctor abruptly rise from his table, very pale. Knocking over his chair in his agitation, one hand to his forehead, the man staggered from the room, nearly upsetting a waiter\u2019s tray of delicacies. And as he vanished in the direction of the gentlemen\u2019s toilet area, his face displayed a perfect expression of revulsion and horror.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Read the full book by downloading it below.<\/p>\n

DOWNLOAD EPUB<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Book Preview Prologue: A True Story August 30, 1889 The young doctor bid his wife good-bye on the Southsea platform, boarded the 4:15 express for London, and arrived three hours later at Victoria Station. Threading his way through the noise and bustle, he exited the station and flagged down a hansom cab. \u201cThe Langham Hotel, … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2282,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[139],"class_list":["post-2283","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-lee-child"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2283","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2283"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2283\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2282"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2283"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2283"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2283"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}