Maker of Shadows

by Jack Mann

  Silent, unquestioning, his face pasty-white, Kyrle walked with them toward The Rowans. Helen stirred no more, but lay in Gees’ hold as if she slept. They reached the gate and Callum opened it; Gees saw the fallen mountain ash, and made no comment. He was reminded, by the sight of the stricken tree, of the fallen monolith, of Bathsheba Gralloch’s still face and dark eyes, and dead lips that half-smiled.

  They went along to the house, and just within the opened door Elizabeth took Helen in her strong arms and carried her as easily as if she were but a child.

  A distant, thunderous crash made Gees face about. The roof of MacMorn’s house had fallen in, and all the place was a mass of spouting, crackling flame and lines of black smoke, from which little patches of blazing wood or fabric shot up and fled eastward on the wind.

  Gees remembered the black wood on the inner side of the corridor, the paneling of the rooms — a dusty, unused room that to his sight had gleamed as a green and silver casket for an unreality of MacMorn’s conjuring.

  Dots showed on the hillside, people of Brachmornalachan going to view the fire. Another crash, as inside some part of a floor or wall collapsed, and another mad medley of sparks and flaming splinters rose skyward and curved in the wind to fall. The thorn tree was shriveling, its dried, heated branches actually beginning to break into flame.

  Gees drew back, and, since Callum and Kyrle and Margaret Aylener had left him alone in the entrance hall, he closed the door.

  CHAPTER XXVII

  rosemary

  Standing before the drawing room window of The Rowans, Gees heard the outer door close, and presently a big Daimler went down the drive and, turning to pass through the village, rocked and swayed on its journey away from Brachmornalachan.

  Occasionally he glanced at it, ascending the long slope toward roads, radio sets, reinforced concrete buildings, and civilization; for the most part his gaze was directed across the little loch and toward the heap of tumbled ruin among which, after a week of cooling, even now some blocks of stone still kept their warmth.

  Neither he nor Callum had said anything when the half-calcined bones that the doorway had sheltered from falling wreckage were identified as those of MacMorn; telling the identity of the bones would not have altered anything.

  When the black altar had lain open to the sky, collapsing masonry had shattered the oblong slab to scorched fragments. And the fire and stone that between them had heated and shattered it had ground his bones to powder, so that no more trace remained of him than of the bodiless shadows that had driven along his mists, vainly seeking release from his government. He who had upheld that state had ceased his being; the state too had ceased, since no priest of dark evil, master of the old dark worship, remained to gather fresh victims as his offerings to the Unnamed.

  All that he had fathered and upheld had gone; there remained nothing except a spread heap of scorched and broken stones among feathery, whitish ash, the whole enclosed in an oblong of useless walls.

  Gees faced away from the window as Margaret Aylener entered the room.

  She said, “Well, the doctor has gone. He merely confirms all that Callum said. She might get well, if she wished, though pernicious anaemia is very dangerous. I believe you know Callum took his degrees and is a fully qualified physician.”

  “I do know it,” he answered. “So — does Kyrle know?”

  “Not what this specialist has said, of course, but he knew what Callum said, when he went away yesterday. He had to go. Oh, I know he had to go! Only for three days he said, but — ”

  Gees made no comment. Except that he had saved the girl from MacMorn’s fearsome deity, he felt that he had no part in this following tragedy — for tragedy it was, and Margaret Aylener knew it as one. She had brought this specialist from Glasgow, to no purpose but that of confirming Callum’s judgment. Helen Aylener alone could save Helen Aylener, and she would not.

  “She would like to see you,” Margaret Aylener said. “She asked me before the specialist arrived, and I told her, after he had gone. If you would not mind — you have been very kind to us, and I feel sorry you must go back tomorrow. Until Ian comes back, I shall be alone.”

  “But I must go,” he told her. “Of course I’ll go and talk to your niece, if she wishes it. But first, I thought I’d like to ask you about the woman — Bathsheba Gralloch, her name was. The woman from the post office who was found dead under the fallen dolmen.”

  She smiled, a very little. “I have never heard that word used in connection with them before, in this part of the world,” she said. “But they are dolmens, of course, no less here than in Brittany. What was it you wanted to ask about Bathsheba?”

  “You — well, made a protégé of her, I believe?” he suggested.

  “I don’t know who told you,” she said. “It would be an exaggeration to say I went so far. As a young girl Bathsheba was very lovely, and I thought she was meant for better things than Brachmornalachan.”

  “And she was like what?” he asked.

  “How do you mean — like what in what way?”

  “In appearance.”

  “At her best, of almost unearthly loveliness,” she said slowly. “Sometimes no more than a tall, dark girl, rather striking in appearance. I thought for a time she might have made something better of herself than is possible in a place like this, and gave her clothes, tried to encourage her. I was young and enthusiastic, then.” She smiled a little at the recollection. “But Bathsheba was stubborn and careless of herself, not willing to learn, and after her sister disappeared she seemed to avoid me, so I gave her up. I know she might have married, more than once, but preferred to remain single. And now, by the way she died, it seems that after all she was connected with MacMorn.”

  “I suppose her being in that place just when the dolmen fell must count as a coincidence,” he observed, “but to me it appears that MacMorn was afraid of her after she failed him, and willed her death.”

  “I wonder how much you know, Mr. Green?” She gazed at him questioningly. He had told her very little of what had happened.

  “Not much,” he answered. “I can believe and assume and guess, but know — all the proof that might establish knowledge is there on the far side of the loch, wrecked and hidden forever among that heap of stone. One thing, though, I do know.

  “When you first sent for me, it was already too late. Unless you had handcuffed your niece to me as soon as she wakened in the morning and only released her to lock her into safety at night, you could not have kept her from MacMorn. You were right in saying that he could call her back to him from any place on earth, and he called before she could marry Kyrle and so get some measure of protection.”

  “Yes,” she said. “He was very strong. I only realized how strong his hold on her might be after she had disappeared.” She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “I think it is time, now, if you don’t mind seeing her.”

  “I shall be very pleased,” he assented.

  She took him up to Helen’s room, where the girl lay in bed, and after a word or two left him there. He seated himself beside the bed, and, to break an awkward silence, lied cheerfully: “I understand the specialist was quite pleased with you.”

  She did not seem impressed.

  “Aunt Madge tells me you are going away tomorrow,” she said. “I wanted to ask you some things. Will you tell me the truth, Mr. Gees?”

  Gees spoke carefully.

  He said: “As far as I can, Helen,” and saw her as far different from the girl who, with Kyrle, had bent over the engine of the sports car. She had been so vitally alive, then. Now, there was a slow distinctness in her speech that told of utter lack of vitality.

  For awhile she lay still, gazing up at the ceiling and frowning as if in an effort at collecting her thoughts. Then she turned her gaze toward him again and said: “I saw Gamel MacMorn take fire and burn.”

  “You mean — you were conscious then?” he asked.

  “No. If you don’t understand this, I can’t e
xplain it. I don’t understand it myself. But — you knew there were shadows, didn’t you? You saw them, I mean, the shadows he had made?”

  “I know, and I saw them.”

  “Then — when he began to burn — I was like them,” she said. “I can’t explain it. But I saw him, and myself lying there, and you — all of it. I was with them, with many shadows. I saw very many things, not things of today, but old happenings, mixed in with what was happening then. And Callum dragging Twister away, and the pillar falling on Bathsheba — it was thrown on her, in that sight of mine, and she was held there while it fell. Great black arms and hands — ”

  For awhile she closed her eyes, and Gees waited. Then she gazed at him again and said: “Nobody has told me anything of what happened there since you brought me back — Callum told me you brought me back, nothing else. I want you to tell me the truth. Did Gamel MacMorn take fire and burn, and did I lie naked on a black stone there?”

  He answered unhesitatingly: “Yes, Helen.”

  She smiled. “I felt sure I could get the truth from you. Something else I wanted to ask you, but you can only tell me what you believe about it, I know. About — about being one with the shadows. Is it — do you think that is what happens after death? Do we become no more than helpless shadows in the cold, just eyes that look back to life and the world, seeing, and nothing else?”

  “I don’t see that as the purpose or end of life, Helen,” he answered gently. “Those shadows MacMorn and others who held his belief made — they were only parts of existences, just as what saw him take fire and burn was only a part of you — the rest of you, the human life of you, was lying on the stone, held there by MacMorn’s will. Now he is dead, there are no more of his shadows. Say that the vital force in man is made up of both soul and spirit — can you follow that, though?”

  “I’m not quite a child, Gees.” Some of her complete, vital self flashed in the reply.

  “No, not quite,” he agreed. “Well, say that there are both soul and spirit, and that MacMorn or whatever he served managed to trap away either of those two to use, and left the other helpless in the cold, as you put it. As soon as he is destroyed, the shadow is released and rejoins the rest that made up an individual self — there are no more shadows of his making. His death released them all.”

  “You honestly believe that?” she asked.

  “You asked for truth — I’m giving it you as I see it.”

  “But — he took something of me. Some part of my life that I can’t get back, and I know — ”

  “What?” he asked, after waiting for her to end it.

  “I know — well, say this is the last time I shall see you.”

  “Helen, that’s fool talk,” he said gravely. “Some part of the hypnosis he used on you is still at the back of your consciousness. You’ve got to get rid of it, got to get up over it and be yourself again.”

  “It’s no use, Mr. Gees.” She smiled at him. “Twister knows — I told him and he understood, because MacMorn had stolen some part of him, too. No, it’s no use. There’s some part of me that I shall get back in the end — only in the end. I’ve got to go and find it, and so — and so — since you’re going tomorrow I know I shall not see you again.”

  “This is absolute foolishness, Helen,” he said gravely. “What it means is that your will is preventing you from getting well. There’s Kyrle, remember — all life waiting for you.”

  “Say it is my will, if you like,” she insisted. “My will to completeness. I must go and find — I don’t know what I must find, but it is a part of me that he separated from the rest. I know that, much more surely after this talk with you. Something that will make the real me complete again, perhaps just a shadow somewhere in the cold. And when I looked down on myself and him and you and the black stone, I saw so much else. So much more than I could ever tell you. As if all time unrolled for me to see. One mere little life isn’t much, is it, Mr. Gees?”

  Again she smiled, contentedly, and in a way he wished be had lied to her, denied the existence of the shadows that the priests of the Unnamed and MacMorn had made. Yet he knew all the time that lying could not have saved her; this which talked to him was not all of Helen Aylener, and she must find and recapture that which MacMorn had robbed away. And now he knew; the shadow must be made, driven out from a life, before MacMorn’s Unnamed would accept that life. So, somewhere out in the cold, driven from this Helen who smiled at him, wandered —

  Perhaps! Or was it all illusion? She had asked him for truth, but what was truth?

  “That’s all I wanted to ask you, Mr. Gees, and all I wanted to tell you. Except, thank you very much. I’d like you to remember that as the last thing I said to you, except goodbye. Thank you very much.”

  But, when he stood up and for a moment held the hand she reached out to him, she said, “I’m so very sleepy, now. Goodbye, Mr. Gees.”

  He opened the door for Margaret Aylener, and followed her to her drawing room after dinner that evening. At her request he had stayed out the week after giving evidence about the fatal fire that had destroyed MacMorn’s house.

  There was little left for either him or Margaret Aylener to say.

  “I have told Callum not to plant another tree where the rowan was blown down. There is no need of them, now.”

  “No,” he agreed.

  “I shall be the last Aylener, and we outlast the MacMorns.” There was a spice of quiet satisfaction in her remark.

  “I wonder,” he said slowly, “why these things are permitted.”

  “I remember reading, once — ” She paused to recollect the phrasing. “Yes, it was this. ‘All that we do goes to the weaving of a pattern. We can only see the tags of threads and the semblance of a design, but God knows the right side of the pattern, and when we see it we shall understand.’ Perhaps there is truth in that.”

  “By sight of that pattern, understand another one that I saw in a dream,” he said thoughtfully.

  “I should like you to tell me that dream.” She smiled at him, confidently.

  But he shook his head. “It involves too much,” he said. “Everything, from beasts in primeval ooze to a fat man raking in a cheque. A girl in green and silver and myself. No, I could never tell anyone that dream.”

  “Green and silver!” She reflected over it. “I once had a shot satin green and silver dress. I gave it away, I remember.”

  He did not ask who had been the recipient of the dress. There was no need to ask. Very nearly, he recaptured the fragrance of the scent, for MacMorn’s spells had been strong.

  Instead, he said, “That was a very wise saying about the pattern, and how we shall yet see it. The more I think about this, the more it seems to fit God’s plan.”

  For a time they sat silent. Elizabeth entered to take away the coffee tray. Miss Aylener said, “Mr. Green will be leaving early tomorrow morning, Elizabeth.”

  “Aye, madam.”

  The look she gave him was one of complete approval, and then she took up the tray and left the room. Margaret Aylener said: “I think Elizabeth likes you. She seems to relax for you.”

  “That’s her relaxing, is it?” he observed. “Then I’m glad I don’t have to face her when she’s stiff. But you’re well served.”

  “With a qualified medical man on the staff,” she said. “But the specialist told me — I am going up to see her now, if you will forgive me. He told me this is a form of pernicious anaemia — not all the skill in the world could save her, since she doesn’t try to save herself. But one thing, before I go. Because I am going to say goodnight, and shall not see you again.”

  “Then the one thing?” he asked.

  “I told you — if you brought MacMorn to his death, the half of all I have is yours. You did make an end of him. I meant it.”

  “If I took one farthing, Miss Aylener,” he said soberly, “I should reckon myself no more than an assassin. I’m glad he’s dead, glad I saw him shrive in flame, and still wish the life in him had lasted longer
, so that he could feel one thousandth part of the agony his victims had to suffer on his infernal altar. But if I were starving, and you gave me a penny for other reasons than pure charity, I’d commit suicide there and then to cleanse myself from any payment for making an end of MacMorn. I feel like that about it.”

  “I understand, Mr. Green. I’m going to Helen, now, and there are no words I can leave with you — there is nothing I can give you, I see, in return for what you have done. But I say, and it means so pitifully little of all I feel — I say, thank you very much.”

  When she held out her slender, delicate hand, he lifted it to his lips. He said, “Goodnight, Miss Aylener.”

  She said, “Goodnight, Mr. Green. Thank you, very much.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Two months later, Miss Brandon handed him a small package marked Personal that had come with the morning’s post.

  It bore a Scottish postmark, and, scenting something to do with the Brachmornalachan affair, she felt a slight renewal of the irritation that had come to her over his statement that he would not dictate a report of the end of that case.

  Being only human, she wanted very much to know what had happened during his second stay in Brachmornalachan. There were typed records of all his other cases, and this — Well, she wanted to know.

  He took out a pocket knife and cut the string of the package with irritating deliberation. He stripped off the paper, dropping it in her wastepaper basket, and disclosed a small cardboard box. Opening the box, he revealed a tiny spray of rosemary, and a card. He read:

  “From the wreath I laid on Helen’s grave. Once more thank you, very much.”

  He had so held the card that Miss Brandon could read it with him. There was on it nothing but the writing, nothing to indicate who had sent it. He said: “That was very kind of her. Not that Helen meant anything to me, for she didn’t — ”