Dead for a Spell

by Raymond Buckland

  As I sat back and gazed around at the ghostly white of the chalk walls, I became aware of a dark fissure or alcove that ran down from ceiling to floor close by where I lay. Once aware of it, I couldn’t keep my eyes off it. I strained to make out more definitely what it was. Perhaps the equivalent of a cupboard dug into the chalk? A storage niche of some sort? I couldn’t wait for Mr. Higby to be finished with his task and to go away.

  The man dithered around for a long time after he had finished sweeping. I don’t know what he was doing. Preparing the place in some way, presumably. Eventually, however, the tuneless whistling stopped, and the light grew dim as his footsteps shuffled away. I waited what I thought a reasonable time before groping in my pocket for my matches and relighting my bullseye. I immediately focused it on the dark gash in the wall, coming to my feet and moving forward to it.

  I thought at first that my guess of a cupboard was correct, but then I saw that the recess went much deeper than that. It wasn’t very wide but was wide enough for me to squeeze into. I felt a cool breeze on my face. With a thrill I realized that it was a way out, a back entrance. Exit, I suppose, would be the more correct term, but I was not about to quibble on semantics. I pushed through toward the freedom of the outside world.

  Once outside I lost no time in making for the main road. I had no idea how long I had been trapped inside the cave, but my watch indicated it had been more than two hours. I cursed the gamekeeper for his leisurely sweeping. I had asked the driver of my four-wheeler to come back and pick me up within the hour. I broke away from the shelter of the beech trees and ran out to the road. There was no sign of any transportation. I grew concerned.

  After waiting another half hour, just on the off chance that the cabbie would check back, I started the long walk back toward the last village we had passed through. My shoes were still damp and not made for walking. Happily, the rain had stopped, but I was not a happy man. I plodded on.

  I had walked well over a mile before I saw a carriage in the distance, coming toward me. It was not the one I had used, for I saw that this was a different driver. Since it was going in the direction of Knowl Estate I knew it was no good trying to beg a ride, so I stepped to one side to let it go by. I was surprised when it stopped opposite me. The figure inside the carriage leaned my way, and a hand beckoned me forward. I hurried across the road and looked up. I’m sure my jaw gaped open when I saw who was inside.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “I do find you somewhat predictable, Harry,” said Mr. Stoker, sitting back and gazing out at the passing countryside as the carriage trundled along the country road. “I enquired around the theatre when I got in this morning, and no one had seen you. Bill Thomas told me of the message you had received late yesterday, mentioning a gentleman’s club on St. James’s Street. I guessed that it was Brooks’s and that you had been summoned there by your friend the commissionaire. It was obvious, to me at least, that this was to do with the comings and goings of Lord Glenmont, so I immediately tied your disappearance to a desire to revisit the Glenmont caves. Am I correct?”

  I had been overjoyed to see my boss smiling down at me from the carriage. He always seemed to turn up when I most needed him. I now sat with my sodden bowler hat resting on the seat opposite me and my hands thrust deep into my pockets.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Very perceptive of you, if I may say so.”

  I went on to tell him of my adventures and of the gamekeeper’s domestic chores within the caves.

  “Getting things in order for use in the immediate future, would you say, Harry?”

  “Yes, I would. That was my thought. I’d stake anything on the caves being the place where they are planning on having their ritual.”

  His big head nodded. “Mmm! Yes, I have to agree with you. It seems most probable. The only real clue we have, so far, as to the exact venue. Well done, Harry. A little presumptuous of you to go running off like that, all by yourself, but commendable nonetheless.”

  “Thank you, sir. So what are we going to do?”

  “Ah! What indeed, Harry?”

  Mr. Stoker could be very annoying at times, I thought. Surely we could now go rushing in and rescue Jenny. I said as much.

  “Rush in where, Harry? To the caves? But you know yourself that they are empty. There will be no activity there—if indeed that is the site to be used—until Saturday night. Another three days. We know that Jenny is not being held in the caves. You have seen as much yourself. So why would you have us go rushing in there?”

  He was right, of course. But it just felt so frustrating to sit there and do nothing. We were almost certain that the ritual would take place in the Glenmont caves, but as Mr. Stoker said, we still did not know where Jenny was. It was going to be a long ride back to the Lyceum.

  * * *

  Somewhat to my surprise, I had a good night’s rest after my excursion to the Knowl Estate. I had half expected to toss and turn all night. After a quick, if somewhat inadequate, breakfast, I was out and along to Mr. Stoker’s office bright and early Thursday morning. He was already there. Since the start of Othello rehearsals my boss had been coming into the theatre extremely early for him. It still caught me by surprise.

  “Good morning, Harry. Sit down. We have much to discuss.”

  I did as he bid.

  “Lord Glenmont.”

  I waited.

  “All we have so far is circumstantial evidence.”

  I started to speak, but Stoker held up his hand.

  “Consider it, Harry. In fact, all we know is that his lordship will not be going into his club for a few days and that his gamekeeper has been sweeping out the old caves under the Glenmont folly. Now, what would Inspector Bellamy, for example, make of that?”

  I again opened my mouth to speak, only to be silenced.

  “Yes, I know your opinion of Inspector Bellamy, and I’m not about to dispute that. But the point is, Harry, that we don’t have anything definite to link Lord Glenmont to this bunch of would-be Hellfire ghouls. Nothing!”

  “We can’t sit and be idle, sir!” I cried.

  “Of course we can’t. And we are not going to. No! There is a great deal that we can do. Top of our list, of course, is to try to locate where your Miss Cartwright is being held.”

  “Yes!” I nodded vigorously. “But where do we start looking? You’ve pointed out that she isn’t in the caves themselves. Just supposing that Lord Glenmont is behind all of this, have you any idea where he would keep her? Do you think that Knowl Hall is a possibility?”

  “I think it well worth investigating, Harry. We must leave no stone unturned.”

  There was a tap on the door, and it was thrown open. We were surprised to see the Guv’nor standing there, with Miss Terry close behind him. We both came to our feet.

  “Sit, gentlemen. Pray, sit.”

  The pair came into the room. Despite what Mr. Irving said, I stood and offered my seat to Miss Terry. She gave me one of her wonderful smiles and sat down with murmured thanks. I was sorry I didn’t know where my boss kept his cushion.

  “What can I do for you, Henry?” asked Mr. Stoker.

  “You can bring us up to date on our missing young lady, for a start, Abraham. Both Ellen and I have an interest in what happens to our Lyceum extended family, for I do see my own household staff as part of that kin.”

  Mr. Stoker started to do that, telling of my excursion the previous day. While he did so I slipped out and found another chair, which I carried into the office. With a brief nod, the Guv’nor sat down. I closed the door behind me and leaned back against it, listening to what was said.

  “So where do we go from here?” asked the Guv’nor, when Mr. Stoker had finished. He echoed my own earlier question.

  “Young Harry and I were just discussing that and pondering the possibility of Miss Cartwright being detained at Knowl Hall itself,” said my boss. �
�Though I have no idea how we might ascertain that.”

  “Well now, I might be able to help there,” said Miss Terry.

  We all looked at her in some surprise.

  “Oh yes.” She laughed, her musical laugh, shaking her head. “Don’t look so astonished. As it happens I do know Lady Glenmont reasonably well. She and I have both been present at the Great Spring Show for the past two or three years. The Royal Horticultural Society’s Show is held at the society’s garden in Kensington, as you may know.”

  “Is it not a little early for that?” asked the Guv’nor.

  “For the show itself, only a week or so,” agreed Miss Terry. “But Lady Glenmont is on the committee, and she and I are always involved in preparation work. As it happens we were both at a meeting less than a fortnight ago.”

  “Not to make light of your horticultural interest, my dear,” said Mr. Irving, “but where does this lead us, might one ask?”

  She smiled patiently and patted him on the knee. “You were wanting to know whether dear Jenny might be detained at the hall, Henry. I could go there and try to find out for you. Lady Glenmont would be delighted to receive me, I know. I could go with questions about the coming flower show. Believe me, I could do a little ‘looking around’ while I am there, if that would help?”

  “Wonderful!” Mr. Stoker and Mr. Irving both spoke together. Miss Terry smiled at everyone, and I felt a warm glow in my stomach.

  “I shall go first thing in the morning,” said Miss Terry. “For now, I must leave you gentlemen. I have a costume fitting I must attend.”

  * * *

  “We need to decide upon a plan of campaign.”

  After Miss Terry departed, the meeting moved to the Guv’nor’s dressing room, where he felt more comfortable. I perched on the edge of an upholstered chair with my notebook open on Mr. Irving’s makeup table. He and Mr. Stoker relaxed on a comfortable-looking tripartite sofa on which, I understood, the Guv’nor would occasionally stretch out and relax between acts.

  “It certainly looks as though the upcoming ritual is to take place in the caves below the folly, whether Lord Glenmont is aware of it or not,” said Mr. Stoker. “So we have to plan our actions for that location. Now, young Harry has discovered a rear entrance to the caves, which solves what I had seen to be our biggest stumbling block . . . how to gain access to the ritual.”

  “Well done, Mr. Rivers,” murmured the Guv’nor. I felt myself blush, which was ridiculous when I thought about it. “And this entrance is easy to find?”

  The blush evaporated, or whatever blushes do. I suddenly realized that in making my escape from the caves I had rushed away without marking exactly where the entrance was located. I vaguely recalled that there was a large bush partially hiding it and that there was an oak tree close by, but other than that I had no idea.

  “Of course,” said my boss, glancing at me. “Right, Harry?”

  I mumbled some brief response and kept my head down over my notebook. Surely, I thought, I’d be able to spot it when I returned there. How difficult could it be?

  “I would like to join you on this,” said the Guv’nor, surprising both Mr. Stoker and myself.

  “But—but this could be dangerous, Henry. This is no staged play . . .”

  “Nonsense! I’m fit. Have to be for what I do. No, I intend to be a part of this rescue attempt. It’s the least I can do. After all, the young lady is in my employ.”

  There was no arguing with him. Personally, I thought that the more of us there were, the better, since there were apparently quite a number of the Hellfire people. I made so bold as to say as much.

  “Aren’t there close to a dozen of these people?” I asked. “Perhaps we should even recruit some of the stagehands, sir? I know Sam Green would be happy to lend a hand.”

  “And Edwin, too, I don’t doubt.” Mr. Irving was becoming enthusiastic. “The colonel also, perhaps . . .”

  “No!”

  I was surprised at the force of Mr. Stoker’s rejection of that last suggestion. The Guv’nor looked surprised as well. Mr. Stoker hurried on. “Don’t ask me why right now, Henry, but I would rather not include Mr. Booth’s manager, if you don’t mind.” He turned to me. “But I like your idea, Harry. Yes, let’s ask Sam Green to join us, and perhaps a few others, though we may have to restrict our numbers due to the limited room. Is there cover for us when we get into the caves?”

  My mind went back to my crouching behind the small pile of rocks.

  “Very little, I’m afraid. We may have to be strung out back through the entranceway, ready to rush in when you give the command, sir.”

  “What is the order of the program?” asked Mr. Irving.

  Stoker shrugged. “We don’t know, and cannot know. We can only surmise. It is going to be an extemporaneous performance for our side, I’m afraid.”

  “There is that raised section in the center of the main cave that I told you about, sir,” I said. “Presumably that’s where they’ll have Jenny. Do we just rush in and rescue her as soon as they bring her in, or must we wait for some special time?”

  “I know you are cognizant of these arcane rites, Abraham. Tell us the probable order of things.”

  Mr. Stoker pursed his lips and squinted his eyes as he thought. Slowly, he started to share those thoughts.

  “It is my belief that the celebrants will be the first to fill the cave, probably distributed around in a circle. Possibly some of them will have designated tasks, such as the lighting of candles and of incense, the purification of the area, and the like. The introduction of the intended sacrifice—our Miss Cartwright—will follow with all due ceremony. You will need to brace yourself, Harry, and restrain yourself from doing anything foolish. She may be bound and gagged, or she may simply be drugged so that she is at least semi-pliant. She may not walk in of her own accord but may be carried in and laid on the sacrificial altar.”

  “Good heavens!” murmured Mr. Irving.

  “She will be well guarded,” continued Mr. Stoker. “We will have to carefully time our attack . . . and make no mistake, this will be an attack on our part. The celebrants will be in a somewhat drugged state themselves, from the incense, possibly wine, and the whole ecstatic glow and euphoria of the occasion. But they will be quite capable of defending what they see as their ‘property.’ They will not tolerate having reached that peak of emotion only to see their sacrifice snatched away.”

  “What about weapons, Abraham?”

  “Weapons?” Mr. Stoker’s eyes opened wider and he sat up straight. “Yes, Henry. Yes, you are right. We may well need some sort of weapons, though I doubt the general congregation will be armed. Although . . .” He broke off as various thoughts obviously passed through his mind. “Hmm. Yes, I suppose there is always the possibility that each of the celebrants may carry a ritual knife of some sort. Still, such tools are usually purely ritualistic and not meant for mundane use.”

  “You mean, they wouldn’t use them to fight us?” asked the Guv’nor.

  My boss didn’t look comfortable. “Such would be the case in any normal situation, but here . . . well, we just don’t know.”

  “Why not clubs of some sort, sir?” I suggested. “I couldn’t imagine myself crossing blades with someone, but I will willingly break a few skulls to rescue Jenny!”

  “Well said, young Harold!” cried Mr. Irving. “I would rather look forward to crossing swords with someone, but I can see that in such a confined space that might not be the best weapon of choice. Yes. I think you have the right idea. Cudgels it should be!”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Friday was a blur for me. Happily, I was very much involved in the rehearsals for Othello. Come what may with the Glenmont caves ritual the next day, we were all fully aware that opening night for the play was on Monday. Everything had to be ready at the Lyceum for that event. Saturday afternoon would be the first
costume rehearsal and Sunday the final dress rehearsal. The whole theatre could not come to a halt because Jenny was missing, even though there was every indication she could well become a murder victim.

  Inspector Bellamy was very much in evidence, thanks to pressure from Mr. Stoker, who asked him to call. He was apprised of our plans for invading the caves—tut-tutting at the fact we had kept it all from him until this point—but he promised the support of a number of police constables.

  Miss Terry returned from Knowl Hall quite late in the afternoon and found Mr. Irving, Mr. Stoker, Inspector Bellamy, and myself gathered in the star’s dressing room.

  “What news, my dear?” asked the Guv’nor. “Did you discover any sign of our missing damsel?”

  Miss Terry smiled, sat, and semi-reclined on the sofa while the gentlemen stood admiring her.

  “I can tell you, with absolute conviction, that poor Miss Cartwright is not being held at Knowl Hall.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “After the appropriate amount of gossip about the upcoming horticultural extravaganza, I admired Lady Glenmont’s wallpaper.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Even Mr. Irving’s jaw hung open briefly, though he closed it faster than the rest of us did ours.

  Miss Terry laughed. “Yes. I used it as a way to get into talk of furnishings. I told her that I loved to look at other people’s ideas for decoration in order to get ideas for decorating sets onstage. She was delighted and took me on a tour of the house . . . beautiful residence, I might say, Henry. You should get Lord Glenmont to take you around sometime.”

  “And there was no sign of Miss Cartwright?” pressed Inspector Bellamy.