The Monster at the Window

by Evelyn James

  “The two under-gardeners. Jimmy and Charlie. They saw him struggling and tried to save him. Jimmy swam out, but it was too late.”

  “And he was brought back to the house already dead?”

  “Yes,” Genevieve was looking confused.

  “No doctors were called?”

  “Why would they be? He was pale and soaking wet. Jimmy said he was not breathing.”

  “And no one checked?” Clara nodded to herself. “No, no one would because they would all be so upset. It would be possible, just possible…”

  Clara headed towards the terrace doors, squeezing through the family and heading outside.

  “Where are you going?” Genevieve called from behind.

  “I need to speak with your under-gardeners,” Clara replied.

  Genevieve pursed her lips again and said nothing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Clara walked out into the garden. The morning was bright with autumn sunshine, but there was a nip in the air. She wished she had put a cardigan on.

  Clara walked directly to the mausoleum and stood before it. It was truly a monstrosity. Someone had slapped together a grotesque mixture of styles without any thought for how the whole construction would look. Like a child picking up random objects and lumping them together to make a hotchpotch. Clara wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  Clara walked around the tomb. It was tall but not very wide. She had estimated before that it could contain two full coffins if laid side-by-side. There would be plenty of room for Harvey’s single coffin. Now she was returning to the idea of a possible escape route from the structure. Harvey had designed the thing, after all, he could have engineered a way out, so cunningly disguised it could not be seen. Meaning he really could rise from his own grave.

  The sides of the mausoleum looked very solid. They had been sealed together with a thin line of cement. There did not appear to be a way to circumvent them. Clara had already examined the tomb once, but decided the roof needed a second look, just in case there was some sort of hatch she had missed. She braced her foot on the bottom of a pillar and used the outstretched head of a grimacing gargoyle to haul herself up. The mausoleum was considerably taller than her and the roof ran to a high peak like that of a cathedral. From her perch Clara could see two sides of this peaked roof. There seemed nothing suspicious. The roof was made of stone too and you can hardly make a hatch out of stone, at least not one that is easy to open.

  She dropped back to the ground and walked to the opposite corner. She repeated the procedure of bracing her foot on a pillar and pushing herself up to view the roof. This side was just as unremarkable as the other.

  “Oi! What you doing?”

  Clara glanced to her right to see a man glowering at her. From his outfit she surmised he was a gardener, that and the spade he was carrying.

  “Just looking,” Clara said with a smile, hopping down off the base of the pillar and brushing dust off her hands.

  “That’s someone’s resting place. Show some respect!” the gardener growled.

  Clara was surprised by his ferocity, considering he was a servant and she was a guest of the family. She continued to smile at him.

  “Harvey Howton is buried inside,” she said. “Died in a tragic accident, I hear?”

  “Tragic is not the half of it,” the gardener grumbled.

  “Might you be Jimmy or Charlie?” Clara asked him.

  “Neither,” the man almost coughed at the suggestion. “I am Samuel Blake, head gardener.”

  Clara now realised her mistake. Samuel was an older man in his fifties and his stern sense of propriety over the gardens would only come from having the responsibility of looking after them. He was like the butler indoors, except his territory was the grounds about the house, and he would guard them diligently. He was the sort of servant who has been in his role so long that he sees the place as his own, and has no concern about accosting guests who appear to be misusing his gardens. His abrupt nature would be tolerated because he was such a long-standing feature of the hall.

  “I apologise for my error,” Clara said politely, hoping to appease the man and get him talking. He might be able to provide her some clue as to how all this mischief began. “I ought to have realised you were more than an under-gardener.”

  Samuel was slightly mollified.

  “Maybe you could show me the lake?” Clara enquired, trying to win him over. “I have heard it is rather beautiful.”

  “It is,” Samuel admitted grudgingly. He moved the spade from one hand to the other. “I take a personal pride in keeping the banks well-groomed so the view across the lake is not obscured.”

  “Then you would be the perfect person to show it to me,” Clara persisted. “I imagine you know more about it than the family do.”

  Samuel ducked his head at the compliment, somewhat abashed, but also pleased to have his expertise recognised.

  “I do know a lot about it,” he mumbled.

  “Then, would you take a moment out of your busy day to show me it?”

  Samuel kept toying with the spade, indecision fighting against a delight in his work being recognised. In the end his personal pride won.

  “I can’t spend all morning over it,” he warned Clara as he motioned for her to follow him.

  Clara gave him another broad smile.

  They walked to the lake which was set back from the house and surrounded by tall willow trees that draped their drooping branches of leaves down to the water’s edge. The leaves were turning and there were great scatterings of fallen ones across the grass. Samuel cast an irritated eye over them, as if they had done this on purpose to spoil his moment. He muttered under his breath about getting his rake out.

  As they drew closer, the lake became visible through the gently dipping branches of the trees. The water glistened in the sun, sparkling as though diamonds bobbed across its surface. Samuel came to a halt on the bank. A water bird gave a call and then fluttered up into the sky some distance from them. Clara watched it disappear.

  “The lake is manmade,” Samuel told her, his eyes trained across the water. “Took two years to dig out the basin. The then Lord Howton employed men from the estate on the work. He wanted the lake fed by a natural spring he had discovered in the grounds.”

  “What year was this?” Clara asked.

  “1652,” Samuel answered.

  “Just after the civil war,” Clara watched the lake ripple. “When the Howtons were on the winning side.”

  “Yes,” Samuel looked uncomfortable with the statement. “The family is very patriotic these days. The old Lord Howton met Queen Victoria more than once.”

  “Are there fish?”

  “Yes, trout and carp,” Samuel said. “The lake was always meant for fishing. I have seen carp caught from this lake the size of which you would not believe!”

  “I think I have seen them, stuffed in the great hall.”

  “That you would. I dare say there are a few monsters lurking down at the bottom of this lake.”

  The trees rustled in the wind and the place seemed to take on an otherworldly air. Clara could turn around and see the house, yet as she looked across the water, she seemed alone, as if nothing else existed. She could understand why such a place would draw a man like Harvey, who was forever denied peace in his home. This place would be a sanctuary for him.

  “Harvey was fond of the lake,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.

  “He swam here most days when he was home,” Samuel had not taken his eyes off the water, as if he expected to see Harvey swimming across to them at any moment. “He was a good swimmer, but even good swimmers can get their foot tangled in weeds.”

  “Was that what happened?” Clara asked.

  Samuel nodded.

  “He tangled his foot and was pulled under. He fought for as long as his strength held out, calling for help as he did. But even strong men grow tired and he could not resist the pull any longer. The weed drowned him,” Samuel pulled a face.
“This was Harvey’s place, the place he was happiest and most at peace with himself. He was a troubled soul, no one can deny that, but this lake was his haven.”

  “You said tragic was only the half of it.”

  “And I meant it. Accidents are one thing, but to be taken in this place which was his sanctuary seems the cruellest twist of fate. After surviving the war, too.”

  “Were you here when it happened?”

  “No. The two under-gardeners were,” Samuel paused. “You mentioned them by name.”

  Clara had been caught out, but she did not show it.

  “I was told the names of two gardeners in the grounds who I might speak to about looking at the lake,” Clara lied. “I wanted to ask about the plants around the banks.”

  Samuel did not seem entirely convinced, however, he took her at her word and started to show her around the lake, pointing out the plants and shrubs that grew there. Clara let the names wash over her, she was more interested in earning his trust.

  “Have the willows always been here?” she asked when there was a pause in the list.

  “Yes, they were planted the year the lake was completed. Personally, I would like to thin them out. I think they obscure the view. But I am just the gardener and his lordship will hear none of it,” Samuel sighed. “I liked to talk about my ideas with Harvey. He always said that if he ever became lord of the estate he would let me have free rein over the gardens.”

  Samuel glared at the water of the lake.

  “That was never going to happen, though.”

  “Was no one near enough to reach him in time?” Clara asked, noting how, from the point where they had stopped, the lake looked enormous.

  Samuel shook his head.

  “Jimmy and Charlie were working on the rhododendrons over that way,” Samuel flung out an arm and indicated a large swathe of rhododendrons. “They heard him calling and came running, but they were too late. Charlie can’t swim anyway, and Jimmy is only just able. They pulled him out, of course.”

  “Terrible, terrible,” Clara sighed. “They were the only witnesses?”

  Samuel gave her a strange look.

  “What is this all about?” he demanded.

  He was sharper than Clara had given him credit for. She decided it would be better to confess her motives and see if this encouraged him to talk. He was too suspicious of her now to continue the conversation about Harvey otherwise.

  “I suppose you have heard the talk from the hall? It’s not something that can be kept secret long,” Clara said. “Harvey’s unhappy soul is said to be still walking the grounds.”

  Clara glossed over the part where Harvey’s corpse was actually said to be on the wander.

  “I had heard the odd rumour,” Samuel clamped his lips together, a fierce look coming over his face. “I take no heed of such nonsense. It is a wicked thing to say about poor Master Harvey.”

  “The family have asked me to intercede and put an end to the nonsense,” Clara was aiming to get him on her side again, by suggesting they were thinking along the same lines. “I am trying to get proof together to lay Harvey’s ghost to rest, so to speak.”

  “Which is why you were examining the mausoleum?”

  “I wanted to see if it was possible for someone to get in and out of it. If it was, then that person would be able to fake Harvey’s return from the dead.”

  “Why would anyone do something so wicked?” Samuel frowned unhappily. “The dead should be allowed to rest in peace.”

  “I agree. I believe this is an act of maliciousness against the family designed to cause them great distress. I want to lay my hands on the perpetrator.”

  “Well, no one is getting in or out of Harvey’s tomb,” Samuel spoke firmly. “I watched the construction myself. That place is solid, even has a concrete floor. And the door was carefully sealed.”

  “That is reassuring to hear,” Clara said, though it was a disingenuous statement. If Harvey was not using his tomb as a hideout, where was he? For that matter, how had he managed to get himself out of the mausoleum in the first place? Was it really just a red herring?

  “Would you like me to introduce you to Jimmy and Charlie?” Samuel suddenly asked.

  The offer came completely out of the blue and took Clara by surprise.

  “Yes, I would.”

  “They would be the best people to speak to, to put this nasty business to rest. They will tell you they saw Master Harvey drown and that is that,” Samuel was still pulling that face at the lake.

  Clara rather felt he was holding a personal scorn against the expanse of water, as if it had maliciously taken Harvey’s life.

  “You liked Harvey Howton?” Clara spoke.

  Samuel shuffled his feet.

  “It’s not my place to like or dislike the family.”

  “But you were fond of Harvey?”

  Samuel gave a long sigh.

  “I knew him since he was a boy. He was a good lad, friendly. Master Richard keeps his distance, which is right and proper in the son of a lord. I am just a servant,” Samuel added the last in a hasty voice.

  “Everyone seems to have a different view of Harvey,” Clara threw out the statement in the hopes it would draw a response from Samuel. She was not disappointed.

  “Harvey was misunderstood by his family. Not their fault, really, it was a difficult situation. The late Lord Howton married his second wife seemingly on a whim. It caused a great deal of hurt,” Samuel was being careful with his words. “Harvey rather took the brunt of that emotion. He never did quite fit in. He seemed happier talking with the gardeners than he did with his family. I did hear some nasty talk about that being because his mother was the daughter of a stationmaster.”

  “People can be horrid,” Clara sympathised.

  “They can,” Samuel said bleakly. “Harvey was always good to me. I watched him grow up. I looked out for him. I remember warning him when he started to swim in the lake. I said it was a dangerous thing to do. But Harvey laughed at me. After serving in the trenches a lake swim hardly scared him, that’s what he said. I wish I could have convinced him otherwise.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Clara told him.

  “Still doesn’t stop him from being gone,” Samuel shook his head. “I hate this lake now. I would have it filled in, if I could.”

  Samuel breathed deeply and stood upright, shaking off his sadness as best he could. He took a pace back from the bank of the lake.

  “I’ll take you to Charlie and Jimmy now.”

  “Thank you.”

  They left the lakeside behind, along with its sad memories of Harvey’s final swim.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jimmy and Charlie were working together to reduce a rather unwieldy laurel bush that had taken liberties over the space it occupied during the summer months. Samuel gave Clara a brief description of the two men as he led her to them.

  “Good gardeners. Brothers,” he said. “They like to work together, which in the main is not a problem, though sometimes I need them working on different projects at the same time and they can be difficult about it.”

  “They are close, then?”

  “Only a year between them in age,” Samuel nodded. “They have been inseparable since they were boys. Local lads from Hove. I knew their father, God rest his soul, he was a fine gardening man. Used to grow all manner of fruit and veg for the London markets. Very clever with strawberries. You’ve never tasted the like.”

  Samuel smiled to himself at the fond memory.

  “He died last year. Pneumonia. A peril to all us souls who work outside in all weathers.”

  Clara nodded sympathetically.

  “The boys didn’t want to go into their father’s business?” she asked.

  “Oh, they have an older brother who took over that,” Samuel shrugged. “Not really enough work for all of them. Its seasonal, largely, and too big a workforce reduces the profits. No, they had to look elsewhere for work. It was rather fortunate I had a space for
two under-gardeners at the same time. My last two went off to the war, you see. One vanished in No-Man’s-Land, the other lost a leg and couldn’t come back to gardening. For Jimmy and Charlie it was most fortunate.”

  Clara doubted the other men and their families viewed things that way, but she said nothing. Life goes on and one man’s bad luck is another’s good. For Jimmy and Charlie the war had created an opportunity for them that might otherwise have not existed.

  “Did the brothers serve in the war?” she asked.

  “Yes. Actually, they were in the same regiment as Harvey and Richard. The estate raised a number of troops and they were two of them. Harvey took great care over the men from Howton, he saw them right. The men were very fond of him.”

  “What of Richard?”

  Samuel wrenched his face into a contortion of shapes as he tried to avoid speaking ill of the man who would eventually be his employer.

  “Richard is more aloof,” he said in the end. “He is very proper. He looked after the men too.”

  But not the way Harvey did, Clara surmised. She was garnering a whole new insight into Harvey’s character by talking to the servants, the people who perhaps knew him best. It seemed that, at least to them, he was caring and kind. He took an interest and responsibility towards them. Perhaps he also was able to relate to them better than Richard, which made him seem more approachable, more one of the lads.

  They were nearing the scene of the laurel’s decimation. Samuel raised a hand and pointed.

  “That one is Charlie, that one Jimmy. Charlie is the older.”

  The two men were of equal height and build. Had she not been told, Clara would have been able to judge for herself that they were brothers. Charlie, the older brother, had a slightly longer face than Jimmy, and his nose was narrower. Jimmy’s face was broader and fairer in appearance. The two men worked together in silence, each seeming to perfectly understand their role in the project and how to avoid getting in the other’s way. The laurel was slowly yielding, yet, despite its heavy pruning, the brothers had managed to keep the bush looking smart. Some would have hacked away at it and left it looking a mess. The brothers pruned with care and an almost artistic eye.