by Dion Fortune
As she watched him, Mona saw the expression of stupefaction with which he had first greeted her gradually give place to a look of exaltation, as if he had been vouchsafed some miraculous, other-world vision. Mona wondered whether he was under the impression that he was having a vision of a saint. But the expression in his eyes disillusioned her. She thought of the Temptation of St Anthony, and wondered how Ambrosius was in the habit of dealing with devils. Was she going to be exorcised or strangled? Was Ambrosius going to do his duty as a monk and say: ‘Get thee behind me, Satan?’ or was he not?
She felt, from the amazed, exalted expression with which he was regarding her, that he did not believe her to be of any earthly nature, and had jumped to the conclusion that she was something come to him from another world in answer to his ungodly experiments with the Greek manuscripts. To say that Ambrosius was agitated would have been but half the truth. The medieval mind of the man returned from the dead knew no half-lights or compromise in the doctrines of sin and hell. According to all the standards of his world, he had sold his soul to the Devil and an eternity of hell-fire awaited him.
The minutes went by, and neither of them moved. Mona, watching the expressions following each other on the face of the man bending towards her — the face of a stranger though the features were familiar — had a profound realization of the tragedy of the cloister for those who have no vocation for it. The tragedy of Abélard and Hélolse. Was this an English Abélard who was bending down to look into her face across the narrow table?
She gazed back at him. The minutes were slipping away one after the other. A town clock chimed the hour. How much longer were they going to stay like this? She dared not move lest God knew what should be let loose upon her. She could conceive of Hugh Paston falling dead if the occupant of his body withdrew suddenly. Come what might, the first move must not come from her.
Then the man, without taking his eyes off hers, slowly stretched his hand and touched the back ofhers with the tips of his fingers, as if feeling her pulse. The finger-tips were icy cold. It was indeed like the touch of the hand of the dead. Mona did not stir, but continued to hold his eyes with hers. He was evidently trying to ascertain whether she was flesh and blood or phantasy. He had probably known many such phantasies.
Then the other hand began to move and came towards her. Mona could see it coming, though she never took her eyes from those that gazed into hers unwavering with their bird of prey regard. What was that hand going to do? Was it coming for her throat? But no, it came to rest on her shoulder. Then the figer-tips that had rested so lightly on the back of her hand closed round her wrist. Mona could not move now if she wanted to.
So firmly had the phantasy of Ambrosius taken hold on her imagination that the modern dress disappeared from her view, and this man bending over her actually was to her the renegade Churchman, desperately risking hell-fire. Instinctively, unthinkingly, her free hand went out and rested on his arm in a touch of sympathy. She watched the eyes of the renegade, imaginary monk slowly fill with tears. It made no difference whether the man before her were a dead man come back from the past, or whether it was a madman phantasying the tragic history, the results were the same, and sprang from the same roots in frustrated human needs. Whether it were Ambrosius vowed to the celibacy of the cloister, or Hugh Paston wasting his manhood in a loveless marriage — the same causes were producing the same effects.
What would have been the end of the encounter, heaven only knew, but a step was heard on the stairs and the man hastily let go of Mona and rose upright, the keen, commanding air telling Mona that it was still Ambrosius who was present. The footsteps crossed the bare boards of the landing and came in at the doorless arch, and Mona turned to greet the curator, wondering how in the world the situation was to be carried off.
But as she turned, the spell broke, and a startled exclamation from Mr Diss caused her to turn again, to see Hugh Paston swaying with closed eyes, and then go over backwards with a crash.
They rushed round the table, but before they could get to aim, Hugh was sitting up, rubbing the back of his head where it had made contact with the floor-boards.
‘Good Lord, what’s the matter?’ he demanded, looking at them dazedly.
Mr Diss was thoroughly alarmed. ‘My dear sir, allow me to assist you. Sit down a moment, and I will get you some brandy from across the way.’
Hugh, nothing loath, sat down and blinked at Mona. ‘What happened?’ he asked, as soon as Mr Diss’s back was turned. ‘Did I faint?’
‘I think you must have done,’ said Mona.
‘That’s odd. What did I faint for? I was feeling perfectly all right.’
‘How are you feeling now?’
‘A bit swimmy. As if nothing were real and I didn’t know quite where I was. I shan’t be sorry for the old boy’s brandy.’
But Hugh did not get his brandy as quickly as he might have done, for Mr Diss dispatched the youth for it, and then got busy on the phone to Mr Watney.
‘I wish you would come round,’ he said. ‘Your new client has just gone off in a dead faint, and I think the young lady is badly frightened.’
Consequently when the brandy arrived, it was brought upstairs by the pair of them, and they jointly stood over Hugh, now thoroughly ashamed of himself, while he drank it. They likewise gave a dram to Mona, for which she was truly thankful. Every time she looked at Hugh’s shy, nondescript face, she felt that at any moment the burning eyes of Ambrosius might stare out at her from it.
It was immediately decided that all four of them should go round to Mr Watney’s house and have some lunch before Hugh undertook the drive back to town.
During the short walk Mr Watney contrived that Mr Diss should walk with Hugh while he himself companioned Mona. ‘Does Mr Paston suffer with his heart?’ he asked.
‘I have no idea,’ said Mona. ‘I only know him very slightly.’
‘You are not a relation, then?’
‘Oh dear no, I am a professional designer. It is my job to design all the decorations for the house and see the contracts through. I know nothing whatever of Mr Paston personally. I only met him a couple of days ago.’
‘Dear, dear. Rather a trying experience for you, my dear young lady.’
‘It was, very,’ said Mona. ‘However, he does not seem much the worse for it.’
‘It is very dangerous for him to drive a car if he is subject to these attacks.’
‘Yes, it certainly is,’ said Mona, wondering what Ambrosius would make of modern traffic if he suddenly appeared when Hugh was at the wheel.
‘Can you not persuade him to employ a chauffeur?’
‘It is none of my business, Mr Watney. I can’t interfere in a thing like that. I only know Mr Paston very slightly. If he chooses to take risks, that is his look-out.’
She felt that Mr Watney was probing to discover the nature of the relationship between them, and so she diligently emphasized its casualness and her total indifference to Hugh’s fate.
‘It may be a very unpleasant matter for you, not to say a dangerous one, my dear young lady, if you go driving about in that car of his with him.’
‘Business is business, Mr Watney. I cannot dictate to my clients.’
He appeared satisfied as to Mona’s entirely utilitarian interest in Hugh Paston. They came out of a narrow passage and found themselves in the Abbey close. Mona’s heart was in her mouth as they crossed it lest Ambrosius should put in another appearance, but though he stared up hard at the ancient towers, nothing happened, and they reached the low ivy-covered house looking on to the monks’ graveyard in safety.
It was a house of great interest and charm and contained a wonderful collection of antique furniture; but although Mona was a connoisseur of fine furniture, she had no eyes for it, for she was all the time obsessed by the idea that Hugh Paston was Ambrosius, and she could not get out of her mind the way that Ambrosius had looked at her. She could see those burning eyes still, whenever she looked at Hugh. She also saw that
he had noticed that she was upset and nervous with him, and that in its turn made him nervous with her.
It was obvious that Hugh was still dazed and hardly knew what he was doing. Not only had he been through a startling psychic experience, but he had also had a good hard crack on the head. Mona felt that if Ambrosius looked at her out of Hugh’s eyes again, she would rush from the room, so terrific an impression had the renegade prior made upon her. She could not keep herself from watching Hugh all the time in case he should suddenly turn into Ambrosius again. Mr Diss and Mr Watney did not increase Mona’s peace of mind by endeavouring to entertain them with tales of the Abbey. They never got actually on to the subject of Ambrosius, however, for which she thanked heaven, but as every time they came anywhere near it she held her breath.
Finally the meal came to an end, and Mona took her place beside Hugh in the car, and they turned homeward.
He took the car out of the difficult streets of the town without speaking. Then he pulled in to the roadside and stopped the engine.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I am afraid I gave you a scare. I’ve never behaved like that in my life before. I suppose I must be run down after all I’ve been through.’
Mona had all she could do to refrain from bursting into tears. The one thing of all others she desired to avoid was being alone with Hugh in a lonely place where he might suddenly turn into Ambrosius.
‘It is quite all right,’ she managed to say at length, ‘as as you are not hurt.’
‘I’m all right,’ said Hugh, ‘except for a bump on the back of my head. It is you I am worried about. I am afraid I have upset you.’
‘It isn’t that. I — I think I have got one of my headaches coming on.’
He started up the engine and they travelled home in silence, the headache gradually taking hold on Mona till she felt as if her skull were held in a vice while knives went through her brain. By the time they arrived back at the bookshop she looked ghastly. Hugh looked at her as he helped her out of the car, and was horrified at her appearance.
‘I wonder what in the world Jelkes will say to me for bringing you home like this,’ he said, ‘I can only say how sorry I am, Mona.’
Mona was too far gone to notice that he put his arm round her as she walked unsteadily into the shop.
Old Jelkes, wrapping up books, raised his eyebrows at the sight of the pair of them.
‘I am afraid I’ve brought you back a wreck,’ said Hugh to him.
‘Got one of her headaches? Well, that’s no fault of yours,’ said the old man.
‘I am afraid it is my fault,’ said Hugh. ‘I distinguished myself by fainting, and scared her to death.’
‘Good Lord, are you given to that sort of thing?’
‘Never done it in my life before, and don’t know why I did it now.’
‘Well,’ said the bookseller, looking at Mona, ‘I suppose it’s tea and aspirin, and so to bed?’
She walked into the room behind the shop without answering, and dropping down into his own arm-chair, huddled herself over the fire.
‘Let me take your coat off, my dear,’ said the old man.
‘No, I don’t want to take it off just yet, I’m cold.’
Jelkes went off to put the kettle on for the inevitable tea and Hugh stood staring miserably at Mona, feeling himself to be responsible for her state.
Mona had not been huddled over the fire many minutes before she suddenly flung off the heavy leather coat that she had been hugging around her. ‘I’m boiling hot,’ she said peevishly. But in a few moments she wanted it on again. Hugh put it over her shoulders as she groped for it, and as he did so, discovered that she was shaking in a violent fit of the shivers.
He went quietly into the kitchen to Jelkes. ‘This is something more than a headache. It looks unpleasantly like pneumonia to me.’
Jelkes whistled. ‘That’s a nasty job if it is,’ he said. ‘But it may only be one of her headaches. She has uncommon bad ones. I’ll have a look at her. I’ll soon know. I’ve seen plenty f her headaches.’
He returned with the tea. ‘Well, lassie?’ he said. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Rotten,’ said Mona. ‘I think I’ve got a chill as well as a headache.’
‘I think we had better put you to bed and get your doctor to you,’ said Jelkes.
‘Look here,’ said Hugh, ‘what about a nursing-home?’
‘No!’ said Mona, suddenly waking up. ‘I’m not really bad. I’m just chilled on top of my headache, I shall be all right in the morning. I’ll go home as soon as I’ve drunk my tea.’
‘Oh no, you won’t,’ said the old bookseller. ‘You’ll stop here.’
‘Quite right,’ said Hugh, ‘and I have a suggestion. Let me ring up my housekeeper, Mrs Macintosh, she’s a good sort, and let’s get a bed and whatever’s needful, and shove them in your front room, and keep Mona here till we know what’s wrong with her, and let Mrs Macintosh tackle the situation.’
‘You won’t, you won’t!’ cried Mona hysterically. ‘I am going round to my own place. I don’t want to stop here.’
‘She’s always like this when she has a headache,’ said Jelkes aside to the agitated Hugh. ‘Go on and phone your housekeeper while I keep her quiet.’
Mona rose to her feet unsteadily. ‘I’m going home,’ she said. How could she explain to these two men that she would not dare to close her eyes in the same house with Hugh Paston lest suddenly she should find herself in the presence of Ambrosius? Involuntarily she raised her eyes to Hugh’s, and he saw the fear in them.
‘Look here,’ he said quietly. ‘I believe she is scared that I’ll treat her to another faint if she stops here. If I clear out, will you stop? I can easily go to a hotel.’
‘Oh no, it’s not that. It’s too ridiculous.’
‘Well then, what is it, Mona?’ said Jelkes.
‘It’s nothing. I’m just being silly. I wish you’d let me go home quietly. I shall be quite all right.’
‘We’re not going to let you go home in the state you’re in. Will you stop if Hugh clears out?’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll stop. There’s no need for him to clear out. I’m just being silly. Don’t take any notice of me. I get like this when I have a headache. I’ll be all right presently.’ She huddled up into a heap in the big chair and hid her face miserably in the dirty cushion.
‘Go on and get your phoning done,’ said Jelkes to Hugh, and Hugh vanished.
‘Well, lassie, what really is the matter?’ said Jelkes to Mona as soon as Hugh had departed.
‘He turned into Ambrosius,’ said Mona huskily.
‘I thought as much,’ said Jelkes.
‘He — he just looked at me for ever such a long time without moving, and then someone came into the room, and he fell over backwards in a faint and woke up normal.’
‘That wasn’t a faint, it was the change-over from Ambrosius back to Hugh. What are you scared of, lassie? Did you find Ambrosius alarming?’
‘Yes, terrifying.’
‘Well, well, I don’t suppose he’ll do it here. Anyway, you’ll have that Scottish housekeeper of his with you, and I’ll keep an eye on Hugh. You ought to know enough not to be scared of the dead, Mona. A dead man’s no different to a living one, except that he hasn’t got a body.’
‘It’s not that, I’m not scared of the dead, any more than you are. It’s — it’s Ambrosius I’m scared of.’
Hugh Paston returned. ‘O.K. She’s coming round forthwith.’
‘I’ll get a fire going upstairs,’ said Jelkes, and signalling to Hugh to follow him, he led the way out of the room. He knew Mona would not want to be alone with him.
‘Look here,’ he said, as soon as the fire was under way, ‘don’t talk to her about Ambrosius, he’s got on her nerves.’
‘Does she think he’ll come back from the dead and chase her?’
‘Yes that’s it. ’
‘Do you know, T.J., I’ve had an awfully strong feeling myself that he’s about so
mewhere, but I don’t think he’s inimical. I think the poor devil had a rotten time and would be glad of a kind word from anybody.’
‘That’s all right,’ said the old bookseller, ‘but don’t do it while Mona’s seedy, or she’ll go all to pieces. You keep your mind off Ambrosius while you’re in this house. We don’t want him manifesting here.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Mrs Macintosh arrived, and without fuss or comment, took charge of the whole situation.
‘What about getting Dr Johnson?’ said Hugh.
‘Certainly not,’ was the reply. ‘If that man comes into the house, I go out of it.’
‘Good Lord, what’s the matter with him? Mrs Paston always thought no end of him.’
‘I know she did. But he’s not coming near Miss Wilton, all the same. What we want is a good, sensible, reliable general practitioner. I know exactly the man.’
When he arrived he looked like a pocket edition of old Jelkes. While he was examining the patient, Mrs Macintosh joined Hugh downstairs.
‘Mr Paston,’ she said quietly. ‘It would be much easier for me to deal with things if you would tell me frankly what the position is.’
‘There’s not much to tell, Mrs Macintosh. I came across Mr Jelkes quite by chance when I was feeling rotten after the funeral, and I’ve been stopping with him ever since. He pulled me round a pretty nasty corner. I think I’d have gone smash if it hadn’t been for him. Miss Wilton is a protégée of his. She’s an artist. I have been setting to work to get another house, and I wanted the furnishing and decorating done, and Jelkes put me on to her for the job. It’s her line of work. Then she went sick on our hands. She’s got no one to look after her, and we’ve been doing the best we can for her.’
