Shadows at Midnight.: The Maynard Sims Library. Vol 1

by Maynard Sims

  "Well, Jonathan," her speech was hoarse, a croak more than a voice. "Will you not come and say hello to your Aunt Madeleine?"

  On the bed beside her, I noticed, was the same wooden casket she had shown me before. The lid was open and the two trays of lockets had been lifted out and now lay on the bedside table. She noted my interest. Reaching across to the table she took one of the trays and offered it to me. I advanced towards the bed, somehow fascinated by the gold on the velvet. As I stretched out my hand to take the tray she let it fall onto the bed and grabbed my wrist. The strength in those old withered hands was awesome, and the pain as her nails dug into my flesh recalled to my mind the marks she had left on the sideboard the time Alice had annoyed her. So great was her strength, and so great was my surprise, that when I found myself being drawn to, and forced to sit upon, the bed, I could do absolutely nothing to resist. As soon as I was firmly seated on the bed she released her grasp, but kept her hand by my side in readiness lest I should try to escape.

  "Now, isn't that better? Silly boy, you're not afraid of your old aunt, are you?" I shook my head vigorously, too vigorously it seemed, for she gave a hacking laugh and said. "Silly, foolish boy," and pulled me closer to her, forcing my head down upon her bosom. The scent she was wearing, jasmine, was overpowering at such close quarters and I coughed. Violently she pushed me away and glared. "You're not ill, are you, boy?" The vehemence in her voice sent a fresh chill of fear crawling up my spine.

  "No," I said, as calmly as I could manage. "I'm not ill."

  "No colds or chills?" She eyed me suspiciously. "The change of air can upset some people. I sense you are like your father in more ways than just name. A weak constitution I am sure. You wouldn't lie to your aunt, would you?"

  "No, Aunt Madeleine. I promise you I'm not ill."

  She nodded her head slowly, as if satisfied with my answer. "I shall take your word, Jonathan. It is important you are strong for the next part of the journey." She laid back against the pillow and closed her eyes, exhausted it seemed, by our conversation, if conversation it could be called. Thinking she had fallen asleep, after several minutes had passed without her moving, all the while her breathing getting deeper and more prolonged, I made to slide from the bed. My first, almost imperceptible movement, was noticed, and she flicked open an eye, fixing me to the spot with a steady gaze. Her mouth opened and whispered words slid out. "You cannot go," they said.

  I sat there under the baleful gaze for what seemed an eternity but, in truth, could only have been a matter of seconds. Then she leaned slowly forwards and opened both eyes wide, a broad smile spread over her ruby painted lips. "You're a good boy at heart, Jonathan, just like your father when he came to me at your age."

  I ventured a question. "Do you invite all of our family to stay with you?"

  "And quick-witted too." Once again that awful laugh. "Yes, to answer your question. Everyone in the family has visited or will visit me at some time. Pick up the tray from the bed and give it to me."

  I obeyed. I was thinking that her mind must have been affected by whatever ailed her. Even in my frightened state of mind I had realised that if my father had visited her as a boy my age, she must have been older than she seemed. Far older than she could possibly be.

  "Look at these and you will see the entire Walters' family, all those except for the ones younger than yourself. And they too will find a place here some day. Your father, his father, and before him too." She took a locket from the tray and fumbled with it for a few moments, then with a sigh of defeat handed it to me. "Open it for me, Jonathan. Your fingers are more nimble than mine."

  I took the locket from her and soon found the small indentation between its two halves. Slipping a thumbnail into it I prised it open and gave it back to my aunt. "Did you see what was inside?" she said. I shook my head, and she held the thing out for me to see. Curled inside was a lock of yellow hair dull and lifeless, marked with a small brown stain, but I recognised the colour to be that of my own, and Ellen's. "This is the locket I keep to remind me of your grandfather, Elias Walters. A sea-faring man, but a gentleman nonetheless."

  She closed the locket and placed it carefully back in its place on the velvet tray. She took up another and gave it to me to undo. I didn't want to antagonise her. What she was telling me was impossible, I realised. How could my grandfather have visited her as well?

  "This is your sister, such pretty hair she has."

  "She had it cut off at the beginning of the summer, said it made her head too hot."

  Aunt Madeleine clicked her tongue. "Foolish girl, to follow fad and fashion."

  I had always suspected that Ellen had her hair cropped to bring her up to date with current trends, and that her claim that her hair, as she put it, `got in her way', was just an excuse. Aunt Madeleine's insight into the workings of my sister's mind surprised me. She snapped the locket shut.

  "And now to you, Jonathan." She put her hands behind her neck, unhooked the chain and drew out the locket inscribed with my name. I opened it. "Now come closer." As I did she ran her fingers through my hair. They were as cool as I remembered them to be and my scalp tingled under their almost icy touch. I caught a glimpse of something glinting in her hand, and then heard a snipping sound. I pulled away and saw a lock of my own hair grasped tightly between her fingers.

  Although she had denounced her fingers as being clumsy, they showed nothing of this in the procedure that followed. Deftly they manipulated the hair into a tight curl and, as part of the same movement, slipped the curl into the locket.

  After doing this she set her scissors down on the bedside table and picked up something the sight of which alarmed me. She rolled a long, wicked looking hatpin between her fingers. "Hold out your hand." It was a command that I thought would be unwise to ignore. I proffered my right hand. "No, the other," she said. My left hand trembled as I held it out. She took hold of the third finger and, with a movement so fast as to be a blur, stabbed it at the tip and held it, squeezing firmly, until a small globule of blood emerged. When this was of sufficient volume she held my finger over the open locket. The blood dripped and mingled with the hair. Aunt Madeleine began to mutter under her breath. What she was actually saying wasn't clear, but the timbre of the words sounded Latin. It sounded like a prayer but it wasn't one I had heard in our church. She then replaced the locket around her neck.

  I put my finger into my mouth and tried to suck away the sting. In the meantime she put the trays back in the casket and closed the lid. I was about to ask the significance of this performance - for performance it was, so practised were her movements - when she pre-empted my words with some of her own.

  "You may leave now, Jonathan. I am tired and must rest to prepare myself." She lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes with complete finality.

  To prepare herself for what, I did not know. I stood watching her for a few moments before walking to the door.

  When Alice served dinner that evening I noticed that she was in an unusually subdued mood. Her light amusing conversation was replaced by reserve, and her responses to anything I said were confined to words rarely longer than one syllable. It was obvious that the incident at the mill had affected her more deeply than she cared to admit. During the course of the meal I endeavoured to talk to her, to try and lift her out of her depression, but with Miss Tregear constantly in and out of the room my task proved hopeless. It was almost as if the housekeeper was deliberately trying to come between us with her incessant fussing. Eventually I gave up and finished dinner in silence.

  Afterwards I leaned back in my chair, feeling thoroughly useless. I was certainly a poor friend if I could offer no comfort to Alice. I became aware of a dull throbbing in my finger. Examining it closely I saw that surrounding the mark where the hatpin had entered was a slight inflammation. I brought my finger across and pressed lightly on the spot, an action that resulted in sending a shaft of pain searing up my arm. I plunged my finger into my mouth once more and silently cursed Aunt Madelei
ne and her ridiculous customs.

  I was usually quite adept at amusing myself. At home I had my toys and books, and other equally pleasant diversions, but at Border End there was little to interest me. The books in the library were dull, nearly all antiquated and written in Early English or Latin, and I had neither the patience nor the learning to attempt a journey through their pages. Toys were conspicuous by their absence. Considering that Aunt Madeleine made it her business to invite the children of the family down here I found it surprising that there was no provision made for their entertainment.

  This problem was compounded for me by the fact that Border End was almost entirely self-sufficient. All the main services were catered for, and because of the distance between the house and Pengarth, the postman did not deliver, choosing instead to leave any mail at the post office for Miss Tregear to collect when she went to the village to fetch the groceries; an excursion

  Cartwright would make use of to replenish the supply of fuel needed to keep the generator functioning. Consequently there were no callers at the house. Since my arrival I had not strayed outside the confines of the estate (save for that one visit to the water-mill) and as I entered the second week of my holiday a feeling of boredom began to creep over me. I realised that I was tiring of the insularity of the place and decided it was time to explore new territories.

  The day was blustery but not cold. The wind came as a welcome contrast to the sultry weather that had followed the summer storm the previous week. I set off early one morning alone, Alice refusing my offer of a walk together. This was becoming quite common now. Since that day at the mill, either by her own design, or that of Miss Tregear, we had seen very little of each other, and we had spoken even less. The friendship that had developed over the first week now appeared to be waning, and this I regretted, for I was sure that had I made a more concerted effort to discuss the matter with her, the decline in our relationship could have been avoided.

  I took a path through the wood travelling north, the opposite direction to the way I had gone with Alice. It was not an easy route as I found to my cost. The trees were set close together and the undergrowth was dense, so dense that I had to fight my way through in places. I found a stout stick and used it to beat back the bracken and brambles that spilled out across the path. I made slow progress. If the brambles failed to impede me, sly tree roots lurking hidden beneath the thick layers of ferns took on the task, and tripped me mercilessly, scratching my ankles with their jagged bark. Further on, the path all but disappeared.

  The cover of the trees was almost complete, and very little sunlight reached the ground. Whereas before I had been walking on firm dry soil, now my feet sank into mud. Dark stagnant pools lined what remained of the path, and I trod warily, for fear of getting stuck in a mire. Above my head the trees were alive with birdsong, but not the sweet tones it is so pleasant to hear, these songs were harsh, shrill. I began to feel that the wood was closing in on me, stretching its branches towards me and dragging me to its heart. I would be glad to be rid of the place. The idea that I could get away from the gloom of Border End by taking a walk in the grounds was completely misguided. The house was reaching out and tainting its surroundings with a single touch.

  With some relief I reached a barbed wire fence, and with it the end of the wood. Beyond the fence was open ground, a rocky, boulder-strewn area that covered several acres, rising gradually in the distance to form a high tor. I made an opening in the wire and climbed through, and was at once struck by a sense of freedom. With a loud whoop of delight I bounded across the plain, skipping over rocks, running through thick clumps of purple heather.

  I played in this fashion for a while, before deciding to make an assault on the tor. It was a difficult climb; I could imagine that even stronger legs than mine would make heavy going of the hill. In places patches of grass made convenient handholds, but the advantage these gave me was off-set by the loose rubble that slipped constantly beneath my feet. Reaching the summit after an hour's labour was a moment of personal triumph. I sat down to get back my breath and surveyed what I now considered to be my kingdom.

  I only realised how high up I actually was when I looked back in the direction of the house, and found to my surprise that I had a clear view over the tops of the trees and could see Border End itself. Unbeknown to me I had been climbing steadily since leaving the house, and it was to this incline that my excellent vantage point could be attributed.

  My `breath' was a long time returning to me, disturbingly so. I was not, as my aunt had suggested, the owner of a weak constitution. This could not be further from the case; at school I was the junior cross-country champion. Climbing the hill, I knew, was quite within my capabilities. Then why did I feel so exhausted? I remembered how I had woken those mornings that had passed since my last encounter with Aunt Madeleine. Unrefreshed, weary, a dull ache throbbing in my arm. This morning had been no exception; I had felt a little dizzy upon rising from my bed.

  I had thought nothing of it at the time but as I sat atop the hill I began to wonder if I was ailing in some way. The most logical thought that came to mind was that the hatpin with which she had stabbed my finger had not been particularly sterile, and I had picked up a germ as a result. Blood poisoning was also a thought that nagged at me. The possibility of this seemed remote, but I decided that when I returned to Border End I would ask Miss Tregear and mention that I was feeling unwell. Although I had no time for the woman she was a trained nurse, and at least she could put my mind at rest. I lay back against a boulder and squinted up at the sun.

  How long I stayed in this position I cannot say for I did not possess a wristwatch, and I had no idea how to judge time by the movement of the sun. Gradually my strength returned and I sat up and looked out across the top of the wood. At such a distance Border End showed none of the signs of decay that were in truth so evident when close to. The Gothic tower and countless windows gave the place a rather noble well-to-do look. I could see much of the lawn but the orchard was hidden from view by the wood. The grass was lush and green and from where I sat the flower beds, which from the house seemed rather drab, took on a distant beauty. I was contemplating these new-found pleasures when I saw a movement by the old conservatory.

  I peered across with interest, and was startled when Aunt Madeleine herself emerged from the house. She was walking across the lawn with the aid of two sticks. When she reached the centre she halted and spread her arms wide. What happened next startled me more than the mere presence of my aunt. A child came running across the lawn towards her, from the direction of the orchard. As the child reached Aunt Madeleine she enwrapped him or her, I could not be sure which, in her arms. Soon another child appeared and then another. Within a matter of minutes a small group of them milled around my aunt, who I could see was bending forwards, perhaps to talk to them. I wished then that I was nearer or that I had a telescope or some other device to enable me to watch the scene more closely, in greater detail. My curiosity was overwhelming. Who were these children who had appeared seemingly from nowhere? How was it that while Aunt Madeleine professed to be too ill to leave her room she could present herself in the garden merely to benefit them?

  My desire to seek answers to these questions was so great that I scrambled carelessly down the tor, oblivious to the danger of a fall. I raced across the rocks at the bottom and reached the barbed-wire fence. Soon I was galloping through the ferns and brambles where I had but a short time ago picked my way so carefully. I emerged from the wood scratched and muddied, panting for breath, only to find that I was too late. The garden was empty, the children gone. When I looked up at the window of Aunt Madeleine's room I saw that the curtains were closed. I muttered a curse to myself as I crossed the lawn and entered the house through the kitchen door.

  Alice was standing by the sink up to her elbows in washing. An antiquated copper stood in the centre of the room hissing and bubbling, sending clouds of steam rolling across the ceiling. Miss Tregear occupied a seat by the win
dow and was sewing industriously. She looked up as I closed the door behind me.

  "Great heavens, Jonathan! What have you been doing? Where have you been?"

  My dash back from the tor had left me drained of strength, the steam that filled the kitchen made my breathing more painful still. "In the wood," I gasped. I looked down at myself. My shoes were hidden beneath thick cakes of mud, my trousers were a mass of catches and hanging threads, my freshly laundered white shirt had a large green stain running down one side, the battle scar of a collision with a moss covered tree. I hid my begrimed hands in my trouser pockets and stared at the floor, not daring to look up at the scowling face of the housekeeper as she approached, circling me like a dog ready to pounce.

  "Alice, fetch Master Jonathan a chair. Why have you been running, boy?"

  I flopped down in the chair. "I wanted to see the children."

  The housekeeper looked at me askance. "Children? What children?"

  "The children in the garden with Aunt Madeleine."

  "The Mistress? What nonsense is this, boy? Your aunt has not left her room today. Surely you know she has been ill? Why, only this morning she had another attack. She has been heavily sedated since then. What you say is nonsense, pure nonsense. Children indeed. If you ask me, boy, you've been letting your imagination get the better of you."

  "But I did see them," I protested. "There were twenty or more, and Aunt Madeleine was there with them."

  "Does that then make me a liar when I say that your aunt has been too ill to leave her room." She brought her face close to mine and stared challengingly into my eyes. I looked away. "Very well. Let us have no more of these games. Now you will go upstairs to your room and change out of those filthy clothes. There is plenty of water in the copper so you will be able to have a bath. Heaven knows you're sorely in need of one. Alice!" She beckoned Alice across to her and instructed her to prepare my bath.