A Hymn in the Silence

by Kelley York

  I couldn’t agree more.

  By the time Virgil and Adelia assist me with getting James out of the bell tower, Lord Wakefield has arrived, flanked by Mr. Foss and several other men, many of them armed. I leave it to them to retrieve Reverend Thomas and Sarah, who are loaded up into one of the wagons to be brought back to Evenbury.

  Everyone is so full of questions that neither Virgil, Adelia, nor I have the energy to answer right now. Reverend Thomas wakes during the trip back, hopefully with a headache, and remains in the cellar with two men posted on guard outside, awaiting the arrival of the constables to take him away. This isn’t the first time we’ve had to figure out what to tell police, but this time, I think the truth is going to have to be what we go with. When an entire community agrees on what happened, well…

  For my part, I have Sarah Keiser brought to another room. Dispelling her dark spirit is easier than James’. Maybe I’m getting better at this. Maybe it’s just luck.

  I leave her to sleep while I get myself a bath. Every scratch and bruise and muscle twinges in protest beneath the hot water, and the warmth is a reminder of how tired I am and how much I would like to sink down and fall asleep myself. By the time I’ve emerged, dressed, and permitted Virgil to bandage my wounds, Adelia comes to inform me that Sarah has woken.

  “She’s coherent?” I ask as we head down the hall.

  “More or less. Frightened. She doesn’t remember much.”

  “No, I expect she wouldn’t.” Frankly, I hope she never does. I wouldn’t want her nor James to recall what they did, how it felt to be a puppet. My own memories of my short time spent under possession are spotty. Sometimes, I think I can recall a flicker of something. A voice, a thought not my own, but those recollections are fleeting and like ghosts themselves in how elusive they are.

  Adelia raps lightly upon the door and waits for Sarah to say, “Come in,” before we step inside. It’s a guest room not unlike my own, with some extra lamps for added light. I wonder if that was at Sarah’s request. Looking at her in the woods, I’d taken her to be Adelia’s age—young, but an adult. Now that I see her, clear-eyed and huddled in a robe beneath several layers of blankets, I realise she must be several years younger than I previously thought.

  “Evening, Miss Keiser,” I say with a smile.

  She watches me warily; she doesn’t know me, of course. Not an ounce of recognition on her face. “H’llo.”

  “Would it be all right for me to sit and speak with you for a moment?”

  Sarah curls her fingers into the blanket but nods. Once Adelia takes a seat on the edge of the bed with a comforting hand on Sarah’s arm, and I’ve pulled up a chair for myself, Sarah says, “I’m afraid I don’t remember much to be of any help. Did I do something bad?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “No, you did nothing bad. It wasn’t really even you. Did Adelia tell you what happened?”

  “A bit.” Sarah glances shyly at Adelia. “She says I was possessed. By a demon?”

  “I’m not certain if demon is the right word.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees, trying to think of how best to explain it without getting into a drawn-out lecture. “You see, sometimes when someone dies and the circumstances of that death are violent or bad, the spirit remains. Not everyone can even see them, most of the time. What Reverend Thomas did was to summon some of those restless spirits and force them into a living body.”

  She frowns, troubled. “Why would anyone do that?”

  I could tell her what I know, that Reverend Thomas thought himself some sort of judge of humanity. I wonder what he thought Sarah and her brother’s sin was. I don’t think it prudent to ask her after all she’s been through, despite my curiosity. “He wanted control of them, is all. But he’s in custody now and I can assure you he won’t harm you again. The police are likely to have questions when they arrive. Do you think you’ll be able to speak with them?”

  Sarah watches me, her brown eyes strikingly clear. “I can try, but I don’t remember much, as I said.”

  “What’s the last thing you recall?”

  A pause. Her lashes lower. Adelia gives her arm a squeeze, and that appears to give her the courage to begin speaking.

  Sarah recounts to us the events leading up to her possession. She and her brother had been visiting a neighbour. During their walk back, Reverend Thomas rode by, stopped, and offered to take them the rest of the way, saying that they ought not to be walking by themselves in the dark. They’d had no reason to not accept the invitation.

  Thomas instead brought them to the church, where Abraham was waiting to apprehend them. Mitchell was knocked unconscious, and Sarah was small enough that Abraham had little trouble restraining her.

  From there, Sarah’s memory is spotty. She doesn’t remember how, precisely, the vicar did what he did. She recalls dizziness. A sense of being outside of her own body, of having something intruding on her entire being. Although she finds it difficult to describe, I can imagine it perfectly. I felt it at Whisperwood. I felt it at the farm when we summoned Flora. I can only compare it to the sensation of lying in bed with your eyes closed, in that peculiar stage between sleeping and waking, and feeling someone cold crowd in beside you, pushing you further and further to the edge of the mattress until you have nowhere left to go.

  I shiver at the thought of anyone going through that, and at the idea Miss Bennett does it willingly.

  By the time she’s done talking, Sarah has worn herself out. I could ask her a thousand more questions, but Adelia levels a flat look at me that suggests I ought to leave well enough alone. I thank Sarah for her help and advise her to get some more rest.

  Adelia remains with Sarah while I slip out. We had James put in his room, and I personally saw to washing him up a bit and getting him into a clean nightshirt so he would, at least, wake feeling moderately more human.

  It’s to his side that I return after procuring a tray of food from the kitchens, knowing he’s going to be famished when he wakes. Standing in the doorway and watching him there, sprawled on his back with a hand tucked against his cheek, a sense of peace washes over me. The scene before me is reassurance that he’s all right. The uncertainty about his well-being had me so tense, so terrified, that I don’t know how I coped with any of it.

  I haven’t a clue how long he’ll sleep, but I plan on remaining at his side while he does. I take a seat beside him, slouching back against the headboard, grateful to be warm and still for a change.

  Falling asleep is not what I’d intended, but at some point, I must have dozed off. Because when James does stir from his rest, I jolt upright with a crick in my neck. I touch his hair, wanting him to know I’m here. “Hello, darling.”

  His lashes flutter open and he turns toward the sound of my voice, even as his mouth curves up into a sleepy smile. “Hmm. I had the oddest dream.”

  “Did you now?” I murmur, carding my fingers back through his hair. “What about?”

  He tips his head into my touch. “I dreamt that I was so hungry that I tried to eat you.”

  I chuckle softly. If he doesn’t remember the details of the last few days, all the better. I’m not certain he needs to have all that on his conscience. “Well, as you can see, I’m here and not on a dinner plate.”

  “Mm.” James rolls slowly onto his side and closes his eyes, curling against me. Silence for a moment, and then, “I don’t know what you did or what happened, but…thank you.”

  I swallow hard, unable to keep my voice from wavering. “Everything is over. We completed our job. I’m just…immensely relieved you’re all right.”

  “Don’t speak too quickly. I might die of hunger.”

  “A good thing I prepared.” I slip out of bed, fetching the tray from the top of the nearby dresser. It’s hardly a four-course meal, but there’s fruit, bread, some dried meats and even a few biscuits, along with a glass of water. James pushes himself u
p to sitting, and his face lights up. He catches hold of my hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “You’re too good to me. I’m going to get fat,” he declares happily, predictably reaching for one of the biscuits first.

  “All the better to keep me warm at night.”

  It’s good to see he’s already feeling like himself. I recline back while James eats, simply watching him through half-lidded eyes. I’ve almost started to doze again when a soft knock at the door jars me back to full consciousness, and a second later Virgil pops his head in.

  “You’re awake.”

  “Observant.” I sit back up.

  “The police have arrived.” He eases into the room. “They’re speaking with Lord Wakefield and Adelia now, and I suspect you’ll be next.”

  My favourite thing, speaking to the police. I heave a sigh, resisting the urge to crawl beneath the blankets and tell him no. I’ve had my few hours of rest, and our job is not completely done yet. I get to my feet, offering James a reassuring smile. “Afraid they’ll want to speak to you, too, when you’re feeling up to it.”

  James wrinkles his nose. As I exit the room, I hear him exclaiming to Virgil, “Good Lord, what happened to your face?”

  I’m very unsuitable for company, arriving downstairs in rumpled clothes, my hair a mess, and shoeless. The two constables in the kitchens with Adelia and her father give me a once over when I enter the room, and I decide I really don’t give a damn about appearances. I think I’ve earned the right to look as worn out as I feel.

  The constables, as it turns out, are polite enough gents. They’ve already spoken to several people, from the Wakefields to Mr. Foss, Nathaniel, and some of the other servants, so much of what I say is a repeat of the story they got from Adelia and Virgil. Only once I’ve finished do the two exchange looks. One of them—Constable Michaels—rubs the back of his neck.

  “Er, see, it’s a bit peculiar, all of this. Trying to put this into any kind of a report…”

  I smile tightly. “I suspect you’ll hear the same from anyone you ask here. Though if you needed an easier story to spin: Reverend Thomas is responsible for the murders, as well as the kidnapping and attempted murder of Sarah Keiser.”

  “Your associate was abducted, too, isn’t that right?”

  My mouth twitches. James is not going to want to be dragged into legal affairs where it can be prevented. “That’s correct. He’s a bit indisposed at the moment, although I’m sure he and Miss Keiser will be glad to give you their version of events once they’ve had a bit more rest.”

  “Nonsense,” says James from behind me. “No need to keep these nice gentlemen waiting.”

  I turn to see him strolling into the kitchen, all smiles, hair stuck up in every direction. He didn’t bother to dress, only pulled on a robe over his nightshirt. He looks more a fright than I do. In this lighting, I can better see the array of bruises blemishing his skin; results of being tossed around and scuffling the last few days. I suspect if one were to line up Adelia, Virgil, James, and I, we rather look like we’ve been at the wrong end of a mugging.

  Adelia covers her mouth to hide a smile while the constables look him over, somewhere between concerned and startled. Constable Marshall clears his throat. “If you’re feeling well enough, we’d like your version of events.”

  What James proceeds to recount to them is, of course, no different than what I’ve said—at least up until our paths split, and I find myself diverting my full attention to him as he speaks.

  “Mr. Fletcher rendered me unconscious in the forest when William and I were separated,” he says, nodding to me. “I’ve vague recollections of being dragged through the snow, but I didn’t fully come to again until Reverend Thomas had me bound in the cellar of his home.”

  My stomach lurches.

  Reverend Thomas’ cellar. I was there, and James was right under my feet, and I had no idea.

  I slowly brace myself against one of the prep tables, sick with the notion that I could have saved James so much sooner, perhaps prevented his possession altogether, had I just pushed Reverend Thomas a little harder.

  James gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m afraid after that, I don’t remember much until waking in the bell tower. I’m certain you can find plenty of evidence at Reverend Thomas’ home, however.”

  Adelia and Lord Wakefield, too, have snapped their gazes to James in surprise. “We can take you there,” Adelia offers, and I see it for what it is: an opportunity for us to investigate for ourselves. To try to make some sense of what was being done to Thomas’ victims.

  The officers are kind enough to wait while I argue with James upstairs about him staying behind. He needs his rest, and I prefer one of us to remain in the house with Thomas should anything go awry. Virgil offers to stay with him, so it’s Adelia and I fetching our coats and boarding a carriage to ride over there, following the officers’ wagon.

  In the stretch of time we’re left to converse, Adelia recounts her and Virgil’s encounter with Sarah. The girl had nearly broken down the door to get to them and, determined to capture her alive, they willingly allowed her in, prepared to tackle her to the ground and bind her. Neither of them had been fully prepared for how strong she would be, how relentless in her pursuit. But they made it out alive, so clearly, they didn’t fare too poorly.

  “How is your arm?” I ask.

  “Just a scratch.” She touches the spot, hidden from view by the sleeve of her dress. I imagine it’s been bandaged by now. “I suspect it will scar. I shouldn’t complain, though.”

  It’s likely she’s thinking of Virgil with that statement, of the gash across his face and shoulder. A flare of guilt rears its head. Were he not here at my request, Virgil wouldn’t have been injured at all, although he’d likely reprimand me for that line of thinking. Besides that, I cannot envision how all of this would have played out had Adelia or Virgil not been here.

  We roll up to Reverend Thomas’ in short order. As I exit the carriage, I glance to the church across the way. A shiver slides down my spine and I turn my gaze away and follow Adelia toward the vicar’s front door.

  The constables trail us inside. Everything is as I remember from the other night, although to be honest, I’d not been paying close attention to details. Everything about Reverend Thomas’ home is as I would expect from a man of the cloth. Tidy, neat, sparse, with little more to adorn the walls than religious symbols. A crucifix hangs over each doorway, a painting of Jesus above a desk in the small study, and an old, well-loved, leather-bound Bible on the dining table.

  It’s in one of the larders that Adelia locates the entrance into the cellar. A rug used to cover the door has been shoved back, the hatch opened wide, and I suspect in his hurry to find us at the church, he’d not thought to lock it up before leaving.

  We exchange looks. As she calls for the constables, I brace myself and descend the steps into the darkness. It’s hardly the first time, and a dark cellar is significantly less intimidating than the belly of a haunted school.

  As far as cellars go, this one is mustier than most, and a foul odour hits me about halfway down the stairs. I go still, clamping a hand over my nose and mouth. A dim light flickers from behind me as Adelia follows in my steps, an oil lamp in hand. I offer a hand of my own out to help her the rest of the way down; almost immediately, she recoils with her nose wrinkling.

  “What is that God-awful stench?”

  “He kept people locked up down here. Not sure we want to know.” It isn’t the smell of death, that’s for sure. Adelia presses the hem of her sleeve to her nose and lifts the lamp high as we move further into the room. When the constables follow, there are more mutterings about the smell.

  As my eyes begin to adjust to the dim light, details of the room become more apparent. Aside from items tossed down here for storage, shoved up against one brick wall is a small table and chairs, bowls of half-eaten slud
ge that was probably porridge at some point, and a few candles burned down to pitiful nubs.

  The far end of the room has been completely cleared save for a few chamber pots nestled into the corner and some ratty, threadbare blankets strewn about the floor. Hanging from the wall, embedded into the old brick, are shackles with enough chain for their wearers to walk, perhaps no more than three feet in any given direction. I remember the bruising on Madeline Edison’s wrists and ankles. The same bruising I saw on James while he slept…

  He truly was down here while I stood directly over his head. Had he been unconscious then, I wonder? I’d have heard him if he’d called for help. Surely Thomas had not yet had a chance to possess him, or else he’d have had James come after me then when I was still unsuspecting and reeling from my fall.

  Adelia touches my arm, pulling me from my thoughts. “This isn’t the time to be wallowing in guilt, William.”

  I make the mistake of breathing in deep, so my, “I know,” comes out with a cough.

  As the constables take note of the state of the cellar, of the obvious location of where Reverend Thomas kept his victims, Adelia and I search for any sign of how a vicar from a quiet little community could have possibly done any of this.

  There are no markings upon the walls nor floors. No books or documents detailing his methods. Nothing denoting any kind of black magic or Satanism. Miss Bennett might have a much better idea, but not a lot of help when she’s not here to see it all. I commit what I can to memory instead, wishing I’d had the foresight to bring Lord Wakefield’s camera along.

  Once we’ve assured ourselves there’s nothing of interest in the cellar, we bid the constables farewell for now and take our leave back to the estate. James will be eager to hear news of what we found, and I don’t want to keep him waiting.

  “You’re supposed to be resting,” I say when James greets us like an overeager puppy at the door. He’s bathed and got himself dressed, although he’s forgone his tie and his hair is still a disaster. I’ve spent enough time with my partner to know when he’s manic and in need of sleep, and the anxious way he paces the parlour coupled with the shadows under his eyes tells me he needs more rest.