The Ghost It Was

by Richard Hull

  ‘On your knees?’ Malcolm interrupted, regardless of whether he was in order so to do.

  ‘Possibly, sir. I was searching for traces of the animals.’ Rushton was in no way put out, nor was he disturbed by another interruption which immediately followed. The voice of Hamar, the footman, an interested listener, was heard saying in a loud aside to no one in particular, ‘Rats it be to say so. There ain’t no rats there, ’cos I been looking for some for Nell. You ask Mr Young.’

  ‘I did not find any traces,’ Rushton continued imperturbably, ignoring Hamar. Only Inspector Perceval was seen to take down a note as to the pastimes of the keeper’s Alsatian. ‘Again, on the second occasion,’ Rushton’s voice continued, still from time to time using words that were a trifle longer than was necessary, ‘when Mr Malcolm so carefully observed this untidiness on my part, I would beg leave to observe that I had been obtaining the top of the trestle table on which the body of the deceased was placed. With regard to my visits to Mr Spring-Benson’s room, I would respectfully point out that these were merely in accordance with my ordinary duties. I have unfortunately no really adequate assistance at all, and much of the work which should be done by others devolves upon myself. Moreover, Mr Spring-Benson is a gentleman who is extremely particular as to the care of his clothes. Other gentlemen do not estimate their importance with such nicety.’

  Having thus expressed his opinion of Hamar, and by a glance implicated Malcolm and James in his last remark, Rushton turned to the evidence which he had expected to give, which consisted merely of a few sentences describing how he had helped to carry in Arthur’s body. When he left the witness-box, the coroner was quite sorry to see him go. It was a pleasant change that day to be treated with deference.

  He looked over his notes and prepared to sum up, but before he did so, it occurred to him that there was one member of the family who had contributed nothing to his knowledge, assuming, that is, that any of them had. Accordingly, he called Gregory Spring-Benson and proceeded to examine him himself. But though he found Gregory perfectly willing to answer everything put to him, he could think of little to ask him. Having ascertained his name and who he was, he misled himself into the idea that Gregory was generally living at Amberhurst Place. Consequently, he heard nothing of why he was there or of his avowed intentions to get some money out of his uncle somehow. Only James, still glowering silently, noticed how many deliberately wrong implications were conveyed by Gregory’s omission to volunteer information. For the rest, Gregory knew as little of ghosts as he knew of rats or knockings on the wall. Politely and charmingly at his ease, he gracefully allowed the coroner to appear to be slightly wanting in intelligence. Gregory never did show other people off at their best.

  In the end, even the coroner seemed to realise this himself, and he finally hurriedly got rid of Gregory and read some of the notes that he had made. It appeared to be a very confused matter which had not been elucidated at all by the proceedings. The jury at least seemed thoroughly muddled. The day was far spent, and they had no intention of taking long over their decision, of which with sound common sense they knew much notice would not be taken anyhow. Death, they said, was due to falling off the tower in accordance with the medical evidence. They considered that it was an accidental homicide done by some ghost or person unknown. They added, following the coroner’s lead, that they expressed no opinion about ghosts in general or this one in particular. Then, with an idea that it was a right thing to do, they added a rider. In their opinion, the parapet at the top of the tower was too low to be really safe, and they also did not think it wise for anyone to pretend to be a ghost.

  So long and rambling a verdict pleased no one. The coroner received the meaningless verbiage more in sorrow than in anger, but James was really annoyed, and as he left the court, he girded up his loins figuratively and prepared for a terrific explosion.

  17

  The Storm Gathers

  Long before the jury had arrived at their open-work verdict, several of those interested had gone away. The events of the day had been quite sufficient for Mrs Vaughan. Her mind, which so constantly arrived at conclusions without putting the links in the chain of reasoning into words, had been appalled at a process so diametrically opposed to her own economical methods. Accordingly, she arranged that Christopher was to drive her home and then, from motives of decency, return for the verdict. James, too, prepared to leave, accompanied by Fenby as well as Emily, but just as he was about to get into his car, a stranger with no hat, long hair, and a green tie came up to him. Out of the corner of his eye, Christopher saw angry gestures beginning once more, and, tired of such things, he slipped quickly away.

  ‘Tiresome and endless,’ his mother commented, without worrying to indicate whether she referred to the inquest in general or the new quarrel which James was starting to generate. ‘But I wonder if we ought to have stayed.’

  ‘I expect he can look after himself. I can’t stand anymore.’

  ‘He looks capable enough.’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’ Christopher did not sound so certain.

  The enigmatical conversation ended, and the car made its way back to the Gables under a sky of lowering blue grey that presaged the early arrival of a thunderstorm. Christopher, hurrying back to where the inquest had been held, hoped that the jury would be quick. He would prefer to be safely home before the weather broke. James’ car, he observed, was still there, but James had gone in again, and in fact so swift had the jury been that Christopher was only just in time to hear what they had to say. If the weather was threatening, so was James’ appearance. He bustled Emily away and, to Christopher’s surprise, almost pushed into the car, not only Fenby, but the stranger who had addressed him before. Emily looked like a frightened mouse, but the attitude was too normal to imply anything, and even Fenby seemed distressed and anxious to linger. Only the stranger seemed happy.

  ‘Yet another rift in the lute. This time outside the family, which makes a pleasant variation.’ With a look of tolerant boredom, Gregory surveyed the back of the car and suavely addressed his cousin.

  ‘I’ve had enough trouble for one day, but what’s this last business about?’

  ‘An occasional dog-fight is worthy of one’s attention and rather stimulating, but I agree with you on the whole, especially as I fancy that, while you may have a peaceful evening, no one at Amberhurst Place will. Personally, I intend to keep out of the way as much as possible. This last business? Oh, it’s about this fellow Fenby. It appears that he isn’t all that he says that he is. I’m bound to say that I found the Departed Spirits Association a little hard to swallow myself; it reminded me of empty bottles. However, this man who just turned up, says it’s a swindle of some sort, but whether it’s non-existent, or whether Fenby is a sort of psychic heretic — you know, Arianism and all that — I could not quite make out, but they are going for each other hammer and tongs, and I think our friend with the green tie knows more technical words than little Fenby, and so will win. It’s pretty easy to impose on Uncle James if you can do your stuff that way.’

  ‘I see. What do you make out Fenby to be then?’

  ‘Well, I reserve judgment on that. Green tie seems to think he’s the arch-fiend with telepathic tendencies — telepathy is not popular in the best spiritualist circles, I gather — but he’s implying delicately to Uncle James that he’d better look after the spoons.’

  Christopher laughed. ‘What with one thing and another, in the larger sense, Uncle James ought to lock all his spoons up.’

  ‘Meaning me? Well, things have woken up since I arrived.’

  ‘It’s a fortunate thing,’ Christopher thought, ‘that Arthur and I were not deeply devoted brothers. Otherwise that remark might not be quite as tactful as it should be.’ Aloud he only said: ‘No, I don’t know what you are supposed to be doing except insinuate yourself into Uncle James’ good graces — a game which to my mind is far too strenuous for the rather hypothetical candle which, anyhow, can be, as it were, blown o
ut and relit.’

  Gregory raised his eyebrows. ‘You can be as ignorant as you like,’ he said, ‘about history, chemistry, mathematics, and the science of the gloves, but not, I beg of you, as to the meaning of metaphors. The one you refer to is concerned with a possible economy in candles, not obtaining a candle as a prize; but go on.’

  ‘As you please — in fact I think you are right. But while I don’t quite know what you are doing, it’s pretty clear that Henry is in an awkward position, and for my part I trust that fellow Rushton exactly as far as I can see him.’

  A series of nods showed Gregory’s entire agreement. Then, glancing up at the sky, he gave an exclamation and hurried off towards Amberhurst Place. As he made his way into the house, he caught sight of Rushton’s figure at the other end of the passage and called to him quietly. ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘on the whole, you got out of it pretty well today, though once or twice I think you were too clever by half. But the real point is that you never ought to have got into it. Mind what you’re at for the future a bit more carefully, and don’t imagine for a moment that I am going to help you out of any mess.’

  Gone, however, completely was the perfect manner that Rushton had shown earlier in the day. ‘I may be a fool, but you needn’t pretend that I am such a fool as to think that I should find you burning your fingers to pull my chestnuts out of the fire. And what’s more, there aren’t going to be any chestnuts, if you ask my opinion. I’m fed up with this moth-eaten hole of a fifth-class dungeon and I’m going. But I go voluntarily. You’re going with the toe of the old man’s boot firmly planted on the seat of your pants.’

  ‘Aren’t you thinking of my cousin Henry?’

  ‘Maybe I am, because he leads the procession, and a darned good riddance of bad rubbish, and that slimy little brute Fenby goes next from what I’ve overheard, if he hasn’t gone already. But the rest of us follow, and don’t you make any mistake.’

  ‘Thanks for the obvious. But don’t you be any too sure about me.’ Suddenly his manner changed. ‘Dinner in five minutes then? All right, I won’t change.’ He went into his bedroom and slammed the door. A pretty pass things were coming to if he was going to get frightened of his cousin’s footsteps at the end of the passage! He washed quickly and went down to the library.

  He found it deserted but for Emily, fluttering out of pure habit round the shelves and making, as she said, a last attempt to straighten them.

  ‘Last. Why last?’

  ‘Because I think it will be. Uncle’s frightfully cross and he swears he’s going to throw everyone out, and it’s just beginning to rain, and I don’t know what will happen to me. I can go to Aunt Julia for a night or two of course, but I did want to get these books straight first, though what will happen to them after I have gone, I can’t think.’

  Gregory looked at the valueless miscellany with some bewilderment. Why anyone should worry about what happened to them, he could not imagine. Out loud he only remarked that they ought to have been bought, not by the ton, as he understood they had been, but by the foot, so as to fit the shelves more accurately.

  ‘I don’t know what that means. Oh dear, here’s the Emerald Flask upside down again, and Bishop Taylor’s Sermons will get into the wrong order—’

  ‘They probably did in real life.’

  ‘Please don’t joke. I can’t bear it. What is going to happen to all of us, and what is going to happen to uncle? Because, you know, he thinks he can manage, but of course he can’t. Not that I matter, except in little ways naturally, but he must have his dinner properly ordered, and now he’s been so rude to Mr Fenby — and I’m sure he never meant any harm, and anyhow it was most unwise to get rid of him, considering everything — at least I don’t know what I am talking about — and how uncle will ever get his income-tax return filled up without Henry, I don’t know — and cook’s worrying about the lard again, and uncle will never be able to cope with her, and oh, why is dinner so late? It will all be spoilt.’

  ‘Rushton said some time ago that it would be ready in five minutes, but I suppose he’s waiting for Uncle James. Perhaps he’s dressing.’ Gregory barely pretended to listen to the majority of Emily’s rambling spate of worries.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s at all a good sign, and if he’s had a bath, it’s perfectly frightful. He always has a bath — an extra one, I mean — when he intends to be really disagreeable, and oh, that horrid business today and this hot, oppressive evening have given me such a headache, and I can’t stand it.’

  ‘I dare say it has been a bit too much, and we are all a bit rattled, but pull yourself together.’ Gregory’s sympathy was not exactly effusive. ‘Did you say Fenby had gone?’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it dreadful!’

  ‘Dreadful? I should say it was a thoroughly good thing. I couldn’t stand the way he talked. All those over-polished sentences and that rather squeaky voice, and that incessant harping on how nice people were when they were dead. But I suppose that was all a pose to help him steal the spoons.’

  ‘The spoons?’

  ‘Well, that’s what Christopher thinks. I say, could you possibly get hold of a rather drier sherry? This Oloroso is too sweet for my taste. A Manzanilla would be much better.’

  ‘I’ll try. Oh, but I shan’t be here to try. But really, you know, you ought not to say things about Mr Fenby like that. I know perfectly well that he wasn’t here for—’ Emily stopped suddenly.

  ‘Oh, you do, do you? Then perhaps you know why he was here?’

  ‘No! How should I know? I never know anything. But here’s Uncle James, and Henry’s late, and oh dear, oh dear! He has had a bath. I can see by how red his face is. How perfectly frightful! He’s gone straight into the dining room. Do come along quickly.’ Almost running, Emily left the library, while Gregory followed more slowly, wondering just exactly what had been the object of Fenby’s visit rather than why he had been so summarily got rid of. As he sat down, Rushton carefully pushed his chair in and managed to whisper to him in a voice which emotion had rendered purely cockney, ‘’Enery over’eard.’

  Gregory picked up his soup spoon angrily. Rushton should not take such risks with his uncle in so suspicious a mood. But apparently James was far too busy brooding over his grievances to notice anything; with luck, thought Gregory, for once the deaf man has belied the rule that he always overhears what is not intended for him. As for Emily, she seemed far too agitated to notice anything.

  ‘Where the devil’s Henry?’ James suddenly broke out.

  At that moment the fourth member of the party at last arrived. ‘Why can’t the gong get rung sometimes? No soup, thank you.’

  ‘You’re late,’ James snapped.

  ‘But if I don’t have any soup, I shan’t keep you waiting.’

  ‘You’d better. It’s the last you’ll have in this house — any of you.’ James appeared to consider that his method of making this announcement was in excellent taste. He even considered the grim remark to be rather a good joke.

  ‘There are moments,’ remarked Gregory with the utmost calmness, ‘when it is permissible to have a family row, and others when very certainly it is not. The fish course is certainly a prohibited area. In the first place, it spoils the taste of the fish — and I like good fish — and secondly it is almost certain that someone will get a bone stuck in his throat. You can’t do two things at once.’

  ‘You are so funny, aren’t you? Let me tell you—’

  ‘Let me tell you first that if it is you who get it embedded, I shall do nothing whatever to help you get it out. Now fire ahead.’

  ‘Firing is just what I am going to do. The whole lot of you. And tonight. But first I’m going to tell you why.’

  ‘Oh, but Uncle, it’s raining like anything and I can’t think what I’ve done or — or any of us.’

  For the moment James looked as if he would relent so far as his niece was concerned, but before he could speak, Gregory took up the parable. ‘She’s quite right about the weather. You re
ally can’t tell her to go tonight, even to the village in a closed car. It isn’t natural. It’s like playing Lear upside down with Goneril being sent out into the storm.’

  ‘Don’t you mean Cordelia?’ Henry put in.

  ‘Never mind what he means. It makes no sort of sense anyhow. I will have no one in this house who cannot believe honestly in the clear truths of spiritualism. As dinner was here, I let you eat it, but I keep you not one minute longer.’

  ‘Breakfast of course not having been provided.’

  ‘Don’t try to be sarcastic, Gregory; it only makes Uncle James more angry.’

  ‘Thank you, Henry. I am not angry. I am only being just — or at any rate,’ he went on hurriedly, becoming aware of the fact that the last sentence was quite incredible, ‘justly irritated.’

  ‘Despite the model of tact that Henry has been all day. But do tell me what Emily has done.’

  ‘What has it got to do with you?’

  ‘Nothing. But you said you were going to tell us.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear her evidence today? Afraid to stand up for the truth and lying all the time! And on top of that, when that impostor was exposed this evening, she tried to stand up for him and actually, if you please, suggested that it would be wiser for him to stay! Wiser! What does she know about wisdom? No, I’ve finished with her and with you, Gregory, and your sneaking little plots with Rushton. Yes, I’ve heard something of them by now, though quite what they are about, I must say I don’t know. “’Enery over’eard”, indeed! Yes, and so did I. And Henry told me just now that you and Rushton were as thick as thieves again. I expect that “thieves” is probably right. So, you go. And Rushton goes. Where is the fellow? This fish is stone cold.’