In Ghostly Company (Tales of Mystery & The Supernatural)

by Amyas Northcote

  Maggie agreed readily enough, and the sisters went home, still speculating on how they had happened not to notice the house before and resolving firmly on an expedition thither the next day. However, the expedition did not come off as planned, for that evening Maggie slipped on the stairs and fell, spraining her ankle in such a fashion as to preclude walking for some time.

  Notwithstanding the accident to her sister, Alice remained possessed by the idea of making further investigations into the house she had looked down upon from the hill the evening before; and the next day, having seen Maggie carefully settled for the afternoon, she started off for Brickett Bottom. She returned in triumph and much intrigued over her discoveries, which she eagerly narrated to her sister.

  Yes. There was a nice, old-fashioned red brick house, not very large and set in a charming, old-world garden in the Bottom. It stood on a tongue of land jutting out from the woods, just at the point where the lane, after a fairly straight course from its junction with the main road half a mile away, turned sharply to the right in the direction of Blaise’s Farm. More than that, Alice had seen the people of the house, whom she described as an old gentleman and a lady, presumably his wife. She had not clearly made out the gentleman, who was sitting in the porch, but the old lady, who had been in the garden busy with her flowers, had looked up and smiled pleasantly at her as she passed. She was sure, she said, that they were nice people and that it would be pleasant to make their acquaintance.

  Maggie was not quite satisfied with Alice’s story. She was of a more prudent and retiring nature than her sister; she had an uneasy feeling that, if the old couple had been desirable or attractive neighbours, Mr Roberts would have mentioned them, and knowing Alice’s nature she said what she could to discourage her vague idea of endeavouring to make acquaintance with the owners of the red brick house.

  On the following morning, when Alice came to her sister’s room to enquire how she did, Maggie noticed that she looked pale and rather absent-minded, and, after a few commonplace remarks had passed, she asked: ‘What is the matter, Alice? You don’t look yourself this morning.’

  Her sister gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. ‘Oh, I am all right,’ she replied, ‘only I did not sleep very well. I kept on dreaming about the house. It was such an odd dream too; the house seemed to be home, and yet to be different.’

  ‘What, that house in Brickett Bottom?’ said Maggie. ‘Why, what is the matter with you, you seem to be quite crazy about the place?’

  ‘Well, it is curious, isn’t it, Maggie, that we should have only just discovered it, and that it looks to be lived in by nice people? I wish we could get to know them.’

  Maggie did not care to resume the argument of the night before and the subject dropped, nor did Alice again refer to the house or its inhabitants for some little time. In fact, for some days the weather was wet and Alice was forced to abandon her walks, but when the weather once more became fine she resumed them, and Maggie suspected that Brickett Bottom formed one of her sister’s favourite expeditions. Maggie became anxious over her sister, who seemed to grow daily more absent-minded and silent, but she refused to be drawn into any confidential talk, and Maggie was nonplussed.

  One day, however, Alice returned from her afternoon walk in an unusually excited state of mind, of which Maggie sought an explanation. It came with a rush. Alice said that, that afternoon, as she approached the house in Brickett Bottom, the old lady, who as usual was busy in her garden, had walked down to the gate as she passed and had wished her good day.

  Alice had replied and, pausing, a short conversation had followed. Alice could not remember the exact tenor of it, but, after she had paid a compliment to the old lady’s flowers, the latter had rather diffidently asked her to enter the garden for a closer view. Alice had hesitated, and the old lady had said ‘Don’t be afraid of me, my dear, I like to see young ladies about me and my husband finds their society quite necessary to him.’ After a pause she went on: ‘Of course nobody has told you about us. My husband is Colonel Paxton, late of the Indian Army, and we have been here for many, many years. It’s rather lonely, for so few people ever see us. Do come in and meet the Colonel.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t go in,’ said Maggie rather sharply.

  ‘Why not?’ replied Alice.

  ‘Well, I don’t like Mrs Paxton asking you in that way,’ answered Maggie.

  ‘I don’t see what harm there was in the invitation,’ said Alice. ‘I didn’t go in because it was getting late and I was anxious to get home; but –’

  ‘But what?’ asked Maggie.

  Alice shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I have accepted Mrs Paxton’s invitation to pay her a little visit tomorrow.’ And she gazed defiantly at Maggie.

  Maggie became distinctly uneasy on hearing of this resolution. She did not like the idea of her impulsive sister visiting people on such slight acquaintance, especially as they had never heard them mentioned before. She endeavoured by all means, short of appealing to Mr Maydew, to dissuade her sister from going, at any rate until there had been time to make some enquiries as to the Paxtons. Alice, however, was obdurate.

  What harm could happen to her? she asked. Mrs Paxton was a charming old lady. She was going early in the afternoon for a short visit. She would be back for tea and croquet with her father and, anyway, now that Maggie was laid up, long solitary walks were unendurable and she was not going to let slip the chance of following up what promised to be a pleasant acquaintance.

  Maggie could do nothing more. Her ankle was better and she was able to get down to the garden and sit in a long chair near her father, but walking was still quite out of the question, and it was with some misgivings that on the following day she watched Alice depart gaily for her visit, promising to be back by half-past four at the very latest.

  The afternoon passed quietly till nearly five, when Mr Maydew, looking up from his book, noticed Maggie’s uneasy expression and asked: ‘Where is Alice?’

  ‘Out for a walk,’ replied Maggie; and then after a short pause she went on: ‘And she has also gone to pay a call on some neighbours whom she has recently discovered.’

  ‘Neighbours,’ ejaculated Mr Maydew, ‘what neighbours? Mr Roberts never spoke of any neighbours to me.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know much about them,’ answered Maggie. ‘Only Alice and I were out walking the day of my accident and saw – or at least she saw, for I am so blind I could not quite make it out – a house in Brickett Bottom. The next day she went to look at it closer, and yesterday she told me that she had made the acquaintance of the people living in it. She says that they are a retired Indian officer and his wife, a Colonel and Mrs Paxton, and Alice describes Mrs Paxton as a charming old lady, who pressed her to come and see them. So she has gone this afternoon, but she promised me she would be back long before this.’

  Mr Maydew was silent for a moment and then said: ‘I am not well pleased about this. Alice should not be so impulsive and scrape acquaintance with absolutely unknown people. Had there been nice neighbours in Brickett Bottom, I am certain Mr Roberts would have told us.’

  The conversation dropped; but both father and daughter were disturbed and uneasy and, tea having been finished and the clock striking half-past five, Mr Maydew asked Maggie: ‘When did you say Alice would be back?’

  ‘Before half-past four at the latest, father.’

  ‘Well, what can she be doing? What can have delayed her? You say you did not see the house,’ he went on.

  ‘No,’ said Maggie, ‘I cannot say I did. It was getting dark and you know how short-sighted I am.’

  ‘But surely you must have seen it at some other time,’ said her father.

  ‘That is the strangest part of the whole affair,’ answered Maggie. ‘We have often walked up the Bottom, but I never noticed the house, nor had Alice till that evening. I wonder,’ she went on after a short pause, ‘if it would not be well to ask Smith to harness the pony and drive over to bring her back. I am not happy abo
ut her – I am afraid –’

  ‘Afraid of what?’ said her father in the irritated voice of a man who is growing frightened. ‘What can have gone wrong in this quiet place? Still, I’ll send Smith over for her.’

  So saying he rose from his chair and sought out Smith, the rather dull-witted gardener-groom attached to Mr Roberts’s service.

  ‘Smith,’ he said,’ I want you to harness the pony at once and go over to Colonel Paxton’s in Brickett Bottom and bring Miss Maydew home.’

  The man stared at him. ‘Go where, sir?’ he said.

  Mr Maydew repeated the order and the man, still staring stupidly, answered: ‘I never heard of Colonel Paxton, sir. I don’t know what house you mean.’

  Mr Maydew was now growing really anxious. ‘Well, harness the pony at once,’ he said; and going back to Maggie he told her of what he called Smith’s stupidity, and asked her if she felt that her ankle would be strong enough to permit her to go with him and Smith to the Bottom to point out the house.

  Maggie agreed readily and in a few minutes the party started off. Brickett Bottom, although not more than three-quarters of a mile away over the Downs, was at least three miles by road; and as it was nearly six o’clock before Mr Maydew left the Vicarage, and the pony was old and slow, it was getting late before the entrance to Brickett Bottom was reached. Turning into the lane the cart proceeded slowly up the Bottom, Mr Maydew and Maggie looking anxiously from side to side, whilst Smith drove stolidly on looking neither to time right nor left.

  ‘Where is the house?’ said Mr Maydew presently.

  ‘At the bend of the road,’ answered Maggie, her heart sickening as she looked out through the failing light to see the trees stretching their ranks in unbroken formation along it. The cart reached the bend. ‘It should be here,’ whispered Maggie.

  They pulled up. Just in front of them the road bent to the right round a tongue of land, which, unlike the rest of the right hand side of the road, was free from trees and was covered only by rough grass and stray bushes. A closer inspection disclosed evident signs of terraces having once been formed on it, but of a house there was no trace.

  ‘Is this the place?’ said Mr Maydew in a low voice.

  Maggie nodded.

  ‘But there is no house here,’ said her father. ‘What does it all mean? Are you sure of yourself, Maggie? Where is Alice?’

  Before Maggie could answer a voice was heard calling ‘Father! Maggie!’ The sound of the voice was thin and high and, paradoxically, it sounded both very near and yet as if it came from some infinite distance. The cry was thrice repeated and then silence fell. Mr Maydew and Maggie stared at each other.

  ‘That was Alice’s voice,’ said Mr Maydew huskily, ‘she is near and in trouble, and is calling us. Which way did you think it came from, Smith?’ he added, turning to the gardener.

  ‘I didn’t hear anybody calling,’ said the man.

  ‘Nonsense!’ answered Mr Maydew.

  And then he and Maggie both began to call ‘Alice. Alice. Where are you?’

  There was no reply and Mr Maydew sprang from the cart, at the same time bidding Smith to hand the reins to Maggie and come and search for the missing girl. Smith obeyed him and both men, scrambling up the turfy bit of ground, began to search and call through the neighbouring wood. They heard and saw nothing, however, and after an agonised search Mr Maydew ran down to the cart and begged Maggie to drive on to Blaise’s Farm for help leaving himself and Smith to continue the search.

  Maggie followed her father’s instructions and was fortunate enough to find Mr Rumbold, the farmer, his two sons and a couple of labourers just returning from the harvest field. She explained what had happened, and the farmer and his men promptly volunteered to form a search party, though Maggie, in spite of her anxiety, noticed a queer expression on Mr Rumbold’s face as she told him her tale.

  The party, provided with lanterns, now went down the Bottom, joined Mr Maydew and Smith and made an exhaustive but absolutely fruitless search of the woods near the bend of the road. No trace of the missing girl was to be found, and after a long and anxious time the search was abandoned, one of the young Rumbolds volunteering to ride into the nearest town and notify the police.

  Maggie, though with little hope in her own heart, endeavoured to cheer her father on their homeward way with the idea that Alice might have returned to Overbury over the Downs whilst they were going by road to the Bottom, and that she had seen them and called to them in jest when they were opposite the tongue of land.

  However, when they reached home there was no Alice and, though the next day the search was resumed and full inquiries were instituted by the police, all was to no purpose. No trace of Alice was ever found, the last human being that saw her having been an old woman, who had met her going down the path into the Bottom on the afternoon of her disappearance, and who described her as smiling but looking ‘queerlike’.

  This is the end of the story, but the following may throw some light upon it.

  The history of Alice’s mysterious disappearance became widely known through the medium of the Press and Mr Roberts, distressed beyond measure at what had taken place, returned in all haste to Overbury to offer what comfort and help he could give to his afflicted friend and tenant. He called upon the Maydews and, having heard their tale, sat for a short time in silence. Then he said: ‘Have you ever heard any local gossip concerning this Colonel and Mrs Paxton?’

  ‘No,’ replied Mr Maydew, ‘I never heard their names until the day of my poor daughter’s fatal visit.’

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Roberts, ‘I will tell you all I can about them, which is not very much, I fear.’ He paused and then went on: ‘I am now nearly seventy-five years old, and for nearly seventy years no house has stood in Brickett Bottom. But when I was a child of about five there was an old-fashioned, red brick house standing in a garden at the bend of the road, such as you have described. It was owned and lived in by a retired Indian soldier and his wife, a Colonel and Mrs Paxton. At the time I speak of, certain events having taken place at the house and the old couple having died, it was sold by their heirs to Lord Carew, who shortly after pulled it down on the ground that it interfered with his shooting. Colonel and Mrs Paxton were well known to my father, who was the clergyman here before me, and to the neighbourhood in general. They lived quietly and were not unpopular, but the Colonel was supposed to possess a violent and vindictive temper. Their family consisted only of themselves, their daughter and a couple of servants, the Colonel’s old Army servant and his Eurasian wife. Well, I cannot tell you details of what happened, I was only a child; my father never liked gossip and in later years, when he talked to me on the subject, he always avoided any appearance of exaggeration or sensationalism. However, it is known that Miss Paxton fell in love with and became engaged to a young man to whom her parents took a strong dislike. They used every possible means to break off the match, and many rumours were set on foot as to their conduct – undue influence, even cruelty were charged against them. I do not know the truth, all I can say is that Miss Paxton died and a very bitter feeling against her parents sprang up. My father, however, continued to call, but was rarely admitted.In fact, he never saw Colonel Paxton after his daughter’s death and only saw Mrs Paxton once or twice. He described her as an utterly broken woman, and was not surprised at her following her daughter to the grave in about three months’ time. Colonel Paxton became, if possible, more of a recluse than ever after his wife’s death and himself died not more than a month after her under circumstances which pointed to suicide. Again a crop of rumours sprang up, but there was no one in particular to take action, the doctor certified Death from Natural Causes, and Colonel Paxton, like his wife and daughter, was buried in this churchyard. The property passed to a distant relative, who came down to it for one night shortly afterwards; he never came again, having apparently conceived a violent dislike to the place, but arranged to pension off the servants and then sold the house to Lord Carew, who was glad to purchase
this little island in the middle of his property. He pulled it down soon after he had bought it, and the garden was left to relapse into a wilderness.’

  Mr Roberts paused. ‘Those are all the facts,’ he added.

  ‘But there is something more,’ said Maggie.

  Mr Roberts hesitated for a while. ‘You have a right to know all,’ he said almost to himself; then louder he continued: ‘What I am now going to tell you is really rumour, vague and uncertain; I cannot fathom its truth or its meaning. About five years after the house had been pulled down a young maidservant at Carew Court was out walking one afternoon. She was a stranger to the village and a newcomer to the Court. On returning home to tea she told her fellow-servants that as she walked down Brickett Bottom, which place she described clearly, she passed a red brick house at the bend of the road and that a kind-faced old lady had asked her to step in for a while. She did not go in, not because she had any suspicions of there being anything uncanny, but simply because she feared to be late for tea.

  ‘I do not think she ever visited the Bottom again and she had no other similar experience, so far as I am aware.

  ‘Two or three years later, shortly after my father’s death, a travelling tinker with his wife and daughter camped for the night at the foot of the Bottom. The girl strolled away up the glen to gather blackberries and was never seen or heard of again. She was searched for in vain – of course, one does not know the truth – and she may have run away voluntarily from her parents, although there was no known cause for her doing so.

  ‘That,’ concluded Mr Roberts, ‘is all I can tell you of either facts or rumours; all that I can now do is to pray for you and for her.’

  Mr Kershaw and Mr Wilcox

  The relations between Mr Kershaw and Mr Wilcox were somewhat closer than merely those of business connections and yet were not sufficiently close to be dignified by the name of friendship. The two men were neighbours, living in similar houses, each standing apart in its own garden, in one of our more exclusive London suburbs and were acquaintances of many years standing. They were both men of middle age. Mr Kershaw was a married man with three children; Mr Wilcox was a bachelor.