Meanwhile, at the Dernstrum Institute

by Catherine Griffin

  Mud squelched under my numb feet as I stumbled along the path. The rain turned to sleet. I wrenched open the door of the greenhouse and fell inside.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I AWOKE. A heavy man-smelling weight pressed me to the ground. I thrashed, trying to throw it off.

  ‘Easy,’ Enfield said. His brow was creased in concern.

  What was he doing here? Come to that, where was here? Something was very wrong indeed. Grey sky overhead, hard ground beneath me, the smell of warm, damp earth, growing cabbage and rotting seaweed. I was in the greenhouse. Shreds of memory returned, not at all reassuring. I was stiff in every limb and many small sharp pains competed for my attention.

  He had covered me with his coat. I clutched it to me, tucking my bare legs underneath.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you all right?’ he said.

  If it was possible to die of embarrassment, I would have. Since I continued to live, I put on the best face I could under the circumstances.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, in defiance of all available evidence.

  He averted his gaze as I put the coat on. ‘You don’t look…’

  ‘Really, I’m fine. I felt very strange in the night. I must have been sleep-walking. Then I couldn’t get back into the house, so I came here.’

  ‘Oh.’ He sat back on his heels. ‘Are you prone to sleep-walking?’

  ‘No. I think it was the cabbage.’ His frown deepened. ‘I should get back to the house. Thanks. For the coat.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No. Definitely not.’ I fended off his support and edged towards the door.

  ‘At least take my shoes. You can’t walk round like that.’

  My feet were bare, caked with mud, and painful to stand on.

  ‘They’re too big for me. I’ll be fine.’ I hurried out before he felt the need to help any further.

  Hunched in the too-large coat, my main thought was to avoid being seen. The sun was a faint spot of brightness low in the sky, hiding behind clouds. It couldn’t be long after dawn. I went straight to the back of the house, judging this the better of bad options. The door stood ajar. I slipped inside. Molly, coming out of the kitchen, surprised me. I shrank from her, but her reaction to my strange appearance was more curious than horrified.

  ‘Old dragon’s not round yet,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Run straight up them back stairs.’

  I don’t know what she imagined I’d been doing, but I was hugely thankful for her sympathy. Taking her advice, I ran straight up the back stairs to the second floor without stopping.

  A bunch of daffodils had been placed outside my bedroom door. I picked them up and left them on my bedside table without much thought. On the long list of strange things I needed to worry about, mysterious flowers were barely a footnote.

  A long soak in a warm bath took care of the dirt and gave me time to pull myself together. I pieced together my fragmented memories of the night while cataloguing my scrapes and bruises. My feet were worst. There was dirt in the cuts and I had to scrub them clean. The scrape on my knee was minor. On my calf was an angry red weal which I did not remember receiving, running from ankle to knee. It looked like a knitting needle had been driven under the skin. The small puncture wound began to bleed in the bath and did not stop for a while. It itched too, and I had to resist the urge to scratch, lest I make it bleed again.

  It was long past breakfast by the time I felt civilised. I hobbled downstairs. To my relief, no one was about. I hung Enfield’s coat on the stand near the front door, then huddled in the library, thinking.

  Assuming I hadn’t dreamed the whole thing, Langstone had gone to the seashore in the middle of the night. He had been collecting something. What could it be? Stones? Mud? Seaweed? Some sort of shellfish? Whatever it was, he was bringing it back to the house, to the lab, and experimenting with it. Why the secrecy? My speculation ran in circles, going nowhere. I had a lot of jigsaw pieces, but no idea of the picture. I wasn’t even sure there was a picture.

  Lunchtime arrived. After a brief battle between embarrassment and hunger, I decided I had to face Enfield sooner or later, and it might as well be sooner. He glanced at me when I entered the room, then looked away. Rickett grunted a greeting from behind his newspaper.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Wright,’ Hack said. ‘It seems lunch may be late today.’

  In my distraction, I hadn’t noticed the lack of food on the table.

  ‘Perhaps we should decamp to the public house?’ He looked around at the men. ‘Mrs Chunley does an acceptable ham sandwich.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Rickett said. He folded the paper.

  ‘Something wrong, gentlemen?’ Langstone stood in the doorway. His face was drawn and his shoulders bowed. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in a week. He came in and stood leaning on the back of his usual chair at the head of the table.

  ‘No lunch,’ Rickett said. ‘No breakfast neither.’

  A cry of grief came from the hall. Mrs Jones advanced into the room with one hand to her mouth, the other pressed to the presumed whereabouts of her heart. Her hair was dishevelled, her face pale, and her eyes shadowed.

  ‘Oh!’ She clutched at Dr Langstone, who supported her.

  ‘My dear Mrs Jones!’

  ‘No lunch,’ she said. ‘No lunch, and all the men waiting.’

  ‘Do calm yourself.’ He tried to make her sit down.

  ‘No, no. This won’t do at all. But I’ve had such a fright, I’m sure anyone would be distranged.’

  Her wild manner and evident distress were unsettling.

  ‘Why, whatever has happened?’ Hack said. ‘Did you see something?’

  Mrs Jones nodded. ‘A ghost.’ Her eyes were very wide.

  ‘Splendid,’ Hack said. ‘What was it like?’

  Mrs Jones gestured dramatically. ‘White, all white. On the first floor landing, plain as day.’

  I flinched. Enfield looked at me. I looked at Hack. Sam looked at his plate.

  Hack rubbed his hands together. ‘Marvellous. Just what I was hoping for. I must have Madame examine the scene.’

  Mrs Jones reached out to Hack with trembling hands. ‘Oh, Mr Hack, I’m all of a judder. I can’t have ghosts wandering all over the house. How do we get rid of it?’

  ‘Well, now. I don’t know.’ Hack hesitated. ‘Sometimes spirits are restless because they have unfinished business. If we held a seance, it might do some good.’

  ‘A seance.’ Mrs Jones wrung her hands. ‘Yes, let’s do that. How soon can you do it?’

  Hack rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I’ll have to ask Madame. We’ll need a room. of course. Maybe the library?’

  He strode out of the room, followed by Mrs Jones, Langstone, and myself. We all trooped across the hall.

  ‘You can’t use this room,’ I said. ‘Where am I to work?’

  ‘Oh, it will only be one evening.’ Hack stood in front of the large windows, turning slowly on the spot. ‘Yes, I think this will do very well.’

  ‘Can you do it soon?’ Mrs Jones said.

  ‘If Dr Langstone has no objection, we should be able to hold the seance in a couple of days.’

  Langstone shook his head. ‘By all means, go ahead, Mr Hack. If it sets Mrs Jones’ mind at rest, it will be worthwhile.’

  ‘Right. I’ll go speak to Madame straight away.’ Hack seized Mrs Jones’ hand. ‘Have no fear. The spirits mean no harm, I can assure you.’

  She managed a wan smile. As soon as Hack had left, I turned to Langstone.

  ‘This is nonsense and you know it. And why can’t he use the drawing room for his mummery?’

  ‘Miss Wright.’ Langstone gestured for quiet. ‘I know this must be an inconvenience, but it’s hardly serious.’

  ‘Indeed. I don’t know why you’re making a fuss.’ Mrs Jones sniffed. ‘I’m practically prostated with shock, I’ve got five men to feed and the house to run nearly single-handed, but you don’t see me complaining.’


  ‘Yes, we know how important it is for you to keep the men happy,’ I said, emphasising the words spitefully.

  Her painted eyebrows rose. Before she could retort, I grabbed the morning post from where I had left it on the table before lunch and thrust the letters at Langstone.

  ‘Post for you,’ I said.

  He glanced at the two envelopes. ‘Huh. Bentley again.’ He tossed the other back onto the table. ‘Some crackpot. Throw it out.’

  I picked it up. The savagely written address glistened like fresh blood. A similar envelope had arrived before, I recalled.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure, Miss Wright. Don’t bother me with this rubbish.’

  Mrs Jones stared at the letter in my hand as if she had seen another ghost.

  ‘Mrs Jones?’ Langstone’s voice broke whatever spell held her in thrall. He ushered her out. ‘I can give you a sedative if you’re having difficulty sleeping.’

  I sat down, still holding the envelope. It was just a bit of paper. I should drop it into the bin. But someone had taken the time to write. Even if they were a crackpot, it seemed wrong to discard it unopened. I tore open the envelope.

  A quick glance confirmed Langstone had been right. The writer jumped from pleading for a place at the Institute to blaming everyone and everything for his misfortunes, without logic or punctuation. He was certainly unhinged, yet I felt a certain sympathy for the man behind the wild words. Father had written so many letters to the newspapers, to government officials, to leading scientists, fully convinced he just had to get one person to give the proper attention to his latest invention. He didn’t get many replies.

  I fetched a piece of blank paper and began to write. Something short but polite would do, expressing regret that the Institute couldn’t accommodate his doubtless excellent project at this time, and perhaps he could apply next year? Langstone would no doubt think it a waste of time. But good manners cost little, Father always said.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  MID-MORNING ON the day before the seance, Hack appeared with Madame on his arm.

  ‘Ah, yes. You were right, Aloysius. This room will do charmingly.’ She billowed into the library on a waft of perfume. ‘I sense the spirits gathering.’

  She eclipsed the morning sun as she stooped to admire the vase of daffodils I’d placed on the windowsill.

  ‘Mr Hack, do you mind? Perhaps some other time.’ I gave him a meaningful look. I was wrestling with the accounts again. The books were spread out on the table, along with a pile of receipts and invoices.

  ‘Will it put you out, if Madame and I prepare the room tomorrow afternoon?’

  ‘But the seance isn’t until the evening. How much preparation do you need?’

  ‘Madame likes to set up the room. Will 4 o’clock be early enough, ma cherie?’ Madame stopped communing with the spirits for long enough to smile dreamily at Hack. ‘And I hope you will be joining the circle.’

  ‘Me? Oh, no.’

  ‘But you must. We have Langstone and Mrs Jones. A circle of five is much better than four. Don’t you think so, Madame?’

  Madame grasped my hand before I could move. ‘There are spirits hovering about you, Miss Wright. I feel certain there will be messages for you.’

  I wrenched my hand away. ‘I don’t believe in this nonsense and you know it. Get some other fool to make up the numbers.’

  Hack grinned. ‘I have high hopes for this evening, Miss Wright. I’m sure it will be worth your time.’

  ‘No. Whatever you’re planning, I don’t want to be involved.’

  His face fell. ‘Now, this isn’t friendly. I helped you with your little project. I don’t see why you won’t help with mine.’

  I sighed. There was no escape. ‘All right. All right.’

  Hack bowed with mock chivalry before escorting Madame from the room, like a tug guiding an ocean liner. A high-pitched giggle signalled her collision with Sam in the doorway. His face turned pink.

  ‘Can I help?’ I said.

  He thrust out a battered bit of paper. ‘Father says can you pay this?’

  ‘Hmmm.’ It was an invoice from a supplier. Not a large sum, but Rickett had exhausted his budget. ‘I’ll have to speak with him.’

  Sam stared out of the window, smiling, perhaps lost in a pleasant daydream. I wished I was. I cleared my throat.

  ‘Oh.’ He returned to the here and now. ‘He won’t like that.’

  ‘He’s over budget. I can’t change the figures to suit him.’

  ‘Right.’ Sam nodded, his attention drifting back to the window. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had time to look at my…’

  My heart sank. His poetry. I had honestly meant to read it. It had just slipped my mind. ‘I’ve been so busy. But I’ll look at it when I get a chance.’

  His shoulders slumped. ‘I understand.’

  He shambled out, leaving me to my guilt.

  I braced myself for Rickett’s likely reaction. It took longer than I expected, perhaps because Sam was too scared to tell him straight away, but when I heard Rickett’s heavy tread in the hall I composed myself for the explosion.

  ‘What’s this?’ He waved the invoice in my face. ‘Why won’t you pay my supplier?’

  ‘You’ve spent all your budget,’ I said calmly.

  He slammed a bulging notebook onto the table. ‘I have detailed costings. It’s all itemised down to the last screw.’

  ‘According to the Institute accounts, you’re already overspent. I can’t keep paying out money.’

  ‘You can’t make that sort of decision. Where’s Langstone?’

  ‘I think he’s in the lab, if you want to speak to him.’

  ‘Right.’ Rickett marched to the door, shouted, ‘Right, we’ll see about this,’ and slammed it behind him.

  I opened the door a little and stood listening to him climb the stairs, then the knock on the lab door, a pause, the rumble of his voice and the lighter reply of Langstone. The conversation continued for a few exchanges. Rickett did not raise his voice. I knew Langstone hated being disturbed in the lab. He might give in just to get rid of Rickett. Shortly, Rickett’s heavy steps sounded on the stairs again as he trudged down. I slipped back into my seat and looked busy, but he didn’t come in. He crossed the hall and left by the front door.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Langstone had backed me up. To my further relief, Rickett didn’t show up for lunch. Sam said he was working. Sulking, more like.

  The next day after lunch, Hack followed me into the library.

  ‘You said 4.’

  He shut the door behind him. ‘I need your help.’

  Setting up the library took hours. Madame supervised, while Hack and I rearranged the furniture. Although between Hack’s frequent fits of coughing and stops to puff on his evil-smelling cigarettes, I did most of the work. The little white dog ran under our feet the whole time, whining and yapping and getting in the way until it exhausted itself.

  With the heavy curtains drawn and the room lit by the glow of candles, I had to admit it looked suitably impressive. Hack’s camera was hidden behind the curtains. He sat in each of the chairs, checking it wasn’t noticeable.

  Madame joined us for dinner, bringing an air of the exotic which mixed strangely with the smell of oxtail soup.

  ‘Still here then?’ Rickett said.

  Hack coughed. ‘Madame will most likely be leaving us shortly. She has many pressing engagements elsewhere.'

  ‘Those tiresome Americans want me to visit them again. I much prefer the quiet of the country.’

  ‘It's certainly very quiet here,’ Rickett said. ‘If you want quiet, you couldn't ask for owt better.’

  ‘The village is perfectly charming. The little houses! There is nothing I like better than the country. So very picturesque and romantic, don't you think?’

  Rickett grunted. ‘Give me indoor plumbing, any day.’

  Hack stifled a laugh.

  ‘I’m surprised to hear you are
taking part in the seance, Miss Wright,’ Enfield said. ‘I thought you were more of a sceptic.’

  ‘Maybe you don’t know me very well then,’ I said, more sharply than I meant too.

  He stared at me, frowning, then turned away.

  ‘One should always keep an open mind,’ Langstone said. ‘Madame has shown me things I would have said were impossible.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Rickett said. ‘They do it with string. And mirrors. I saw a magician once, in London, saw a lady in half. If Madame does that, I might pay attention.’

  Hack chuckled. ‘A medium isn’t a magician, sir, and spiritualism isn’t mere entertainment.’

  Rickett didn’t answer, apparently engrossed in extracting gristle from between his teeth.

  After dinner, the seance party repaired to the library. Madame took her seat nearest the fireplace.

  Hack pulled out a chair. ‘Perhaps you’d like to sit here, Director?’

  Langstone stood in the doorway, blinking at the candlelight. My eyes were drawn to the curtains. The camera couldn’t be seen, yet I was sure Langstone would notice Hack’s forced smile and tense voice. Though I had no part in Hack’s plan, I felt a sense of creeping doom, a certainty that something would go badly wrong.

  A flash of white sprang from under the table. The dog made straight for Langstone’s ankle.

  ‘My, he’s a feisty fellow.’ Langstone stepped back.

  The dog broke off its attack and crouched in front of him, growling.

  ‘Fru-fru!’ Madame got to her feet. ‘Do not mind him, my dear Doctor. He will not bite you.’

  Langstone laughed. I don’t think I had ever heard him laugh with genuine cheerfulness before. He bent down, and catching the dog by surprise, flipped him over on his back. The animal squirmed as Langstone scratched its furry belly.

  ‘Oh, such a fierce dog. Aren’t you? Yes, you are.’