The Secret of High Eldersham

by Miles Burton

  She passed him so close that by stretching out his hand he could have touched her. For an instant the moon shone into the depths of her hood, and Merrion’s heart leapt. It was Mrs. Portch and she was carrying the doll, still with that sinister needle driven through its heart.

  This time he waited until fully five minutes had elapsed since her passing. No further sound came to him, no further figures came hurrying from the direction of the village. Merrion stepped on to the path, and strode along it rapidly in the direction in which the procession had disappeared. It emerged from a thicket and wound through the fields, ever tending slightly down hill, towards the banks of the river. A high hedge ran along one side of it, and Merrion was careful to keep in the shadow of this. Beyond the shadow the country was brightly illuminated. He could see the line of the river, and, some distance ahead, a tall dark patch, which he made out to be a group of trees.

  At length the hedge came to an end, and Merrion paused irresolute. He looked up at the sky, and shook his head despondently. The moon was sailing in a clear vault, surrounded by stars, and there was not a cloud upon the horizon. He could not reckon upon the friendly cover of darkness, at least for some time to come. A wide band of silver stretched before him; it was high tide, and the river filled its channel from bank to bank. A couple of hundred yards from where he stood, it forked into several branches, probably muddy ditches at low water, but now deep and unfordable. Two of these branches enclosed what he took at first to be an island, and in the centre of this stood the clump of trees which he had already seen in the distance. Looking more closely, he saw that they stood on what was not strictly an island. A narrow causeway connected it to the mainland, and at the end of this causeway stood two cloaked figures, rigid and motionless as sentries.

  Everything was clear to him now. The meeting-place of the coven was in the heart of the grove of trees, secure from observation. It was obviously impossible to cross the causeway under the eyes of the sentries. Merrion had for a moment the idea of trying to swim across one of the branches of the river, but in order to do that it would be necessary for him to leave the shadow of the hedge and come out into the open, courting certain discovery by those motionless figures.

  As he stood there, baffled and hesitating, a pin-point of light appeared between the trunks of the trees. It was followed by others, until he could count a dozen or more feeble and flickering glimmers. The mysterious meeting had opened.

  Chapter XI

  About the same time that Merrion saw the points of light appearing among the trees, Inspector Young, who had been watching in the vicinity of the Rose and Crown for Dunsford’s return, walked down the side road towards High Eldersham. He noticed that the village street was deserted, and that no lights were visible in the cottage windows, but this was not unusual at half-past eleven at night. He made straight for Doctor Padfield’s door, and rang the bell. Somewhere in the depths of the house he could hear it pealing loudly.

  For a while there was no reply. Then a flickering light appeared in the fan-light above the door, which gradually grew brighter. Footsteps sounded within the hall, and the door was unlocked. At length it opened, revealing the form of Doctor Padfield, clad in a dressing-gown, with a candlestick in his hand. “What do you want?” he inquired.

  Until now, the Inspector had been standing in the shadow, but at Doctor Padfield’s words he stepped into the doorway. The doctor stared at him for a moment, a variety of emotions, among which the most prominent was astonishment, struggling for expression in his eyes. “Inspector Young!” he exclaimed at last. “I did not expect to see you at this time of night. Don’t stand there. Come in, and tell me what I can do for you.”

  The Inspector entered the hall, and the doctor closed the door behind him. “I was on the point of going to bed when I heard your ring,” continued the latter. “I keep early hours, you see. I never know when I may be called out to a confinement or some other urgent case. Come into my study; I think there is the remains of a fire there.”

  He led the way, and Young followed him into a small room, plainly furnished, and lined with cases containing medical books. Here the doctor lighted a lamp and poked up the fire. This done, he scanned the Inspector’s face anxiously. “Well, tell me what I can do for you,” he said.

  “I’m sorry to put you to all this trouble,” replied Young cheerfully. “The fact is, doctor, I’ve a nasty twinge of rheumatism in my shoulder. I’ve had it for a couple of days now, and I can’t rest properly at night. I was wondering whether you could give me anything to ease it a bit.”

  Doctor Padfield sank into a chair, as though suddenly overcome by fatigue. “Rheumatism?” he said. “There’s a fortune waiting for the man who finds a cure for that. I can give you something that will relieve it, I dare say. A few grains of sodium salicylate will do that. I’ll give you some in a minute or two. But you’re not in any hurry, I suppose?”

  “I’m in no particular hurry,” replied Young. “But I don’t want to keep you out of bed, doctor.”

  “Oh, you needn’t worry about that,” said Doctor Padfield hastily, rising and going to a cupboard in the corner of the room, from which he took a decanter and a couple of glasses. “I was only going to bed because there was nothing in particular to stay up for. I’m a lonely man, Inspector. Marriage has never appealed to me, and I’ve lived in this house for twenty years with nobody but my old housekeeper to talk to. You can imagine that when anybody fresh comes in to see me, I’m not anxious for them to go away. Try some of this whisky. It’s pre-war, and I’m sorry to say there isn’t much of it left.”

  “I can quite believe that you find life in High Eldersham a bit dull, doctor,” replied Young. “The people here can hardly be congenial company for you.”

  Doctor Padfield smiled a curiously one-sided smile. “The people here are all right when you understand them,” he said. “I’m one of them myself, as I dare say you know already. We’re queer folk, Inspector, with a rooted mistrust of strangers, which I suppose makes them mistrust us. But, as a matter of fact, we’re simple enough at heart when we’re allowed to go our own way. I don’t want to touch on forbidden subjects, but I’m willing to bet that it wasn’t a native of High Eldersham who killed that poor chap Whitehead.”

  “Maybe not,” replied Young. “But I’ve learnt even in the short time that I’ve been here that the people of High Eldersham don’t altogether relish the presence of the police in their midst.”

  Doctor Padfield raised his glass and looked at it thoughtfully, as though to find inspiration in the amber fluid it contained. “Now, I wonder what exactly you mean by that remark,” he murmured.

  “I was thinking of Dunsford,” replied the Inspector. “It’s quite obvious to me that he would be immensely relieved if I were to take up my quarters anywhere but at the Rose and Crown.”

  Again Doctor Padfield smiled. “I can quite believe it,” he said. “And I think you’d find the same mistrust anywhere else in this village. You can’t expect us to regard the law quite in the same way as you do, you know. Laws are made, and it is your business to enforce them. But we, in common with most country folk, regard a good many laws as unnecessary and ridiculous, and we do our best to evade them. You’ve already had an instance of it in the case of Ned Portch and his pig. What harm could it possibly do anybody if he did slaughter it in his own back yard? None, as you know well enough. Yet, in the eyes of the law, though certainly not in the eyes of anybody in this village, it is an offence, and he will be fined for it.

  “It’s probably the same with Dunsford. Morally speaking, why shouldn’t he serve a customer out of hours, or commit any other of a thousand technical offences? I dare say he does quite a nice little business selling pheasants and hares, even in the close season, and without a licence to sell game. Keepers have to shoot them sometimes, you know, and it would be a pity to waste them. And all the time you’re up there the wretched man is on tenterhooks, in case yo
u should find him out. I don’t wonder he wishes you at the bottom of the sea sometimes.”

  The conversation lasted for some time longer, Young finding the doctor a most entertaining companion. It was not until nearly half-past one that the Inspector rose and took his leave. As he walked through the village he noticed that lights showed in more than one cottage window. This was certainly significant, and he hastened his steps accordingly. When he reached the corner he glanced at the Rose and Crown, and saw that a light was burning in the room occupied by Dunsford.

  But he did not enter the inn. He walked swiftly past, taking care that his footsteps made no sound. Once safely past he continued along the road until he reached the spot where Merrion’s car stood drawn up under the trees.

  There was no sign of life, and Young supposed for the moment that Merrion had not yet returned. He opened the door prepared to sit and wait for him, but as he did so a figure huddled in the corner yawned and stretched itself, and he heard Merrion’s voice in sleepy protest. “Hallo, where the dickens have you been all this time? I’ve been waiting for you half an hour or more.”

  “I’ve been sitting talking to Doctor Padfield and drinking his whisky,” replied Young. “And a very interesting chap I found him.”

  “Oh, you have, have you,” said Merrion. “Enjoying the good things of life while I’ve been doing your job for you. Well, I’ve had a most interesting evening too. I’ll tell you all about it, if you’ll sit still and not interrupt. I’ve been transported back through the centuries, and to-morrow I shall find it difficult to believe that what I saw was real and not a particularly vivid dream.”

  Merrion proceeded to give an account of his adventures, up to the moment when he saw the lights appearing among the trees. “As I told you,” he continued, “it was quite impossible for me to get any closer without my being discovered, and that was the last thing I wanted to risk. So I just stayed where I was and waited. Of course, I hadn’t the slightest doubt by this time that an assembly of the coven, a Witch’s Sabbath, as it was called in the old days, was taking place on the island. Everything was exactly in accordance with the descriptions preserved in the old records. The men and women dressed alike, cloaked and hooded, the curious trance-like gait and fixity of expression. And then the incident of Mrs. Portch carrying the doll. I tell you, whoever runs this show has taken great care to follow tradition in every detail.”

  “It’s the most extraordinary story I’ve ever heard,” commented Young. “But I don’t understand this trance-like state. All these people can’t have been hypnotised before they started, can they?”

  “No, I don’t think they were hypnotised. The witches who confessed to attending Sabbaths always spoke of being conveyed to and from the scene by some mysterious means. They usually spoke of flying, which gave rise to the popular conception of witches flying on broomsticks. The explanation seems to have been a comparatively simple one. They were given a preparation which they rubbed into their skin, which produced a temporary trance or delirium. While under the influence of this preparation, they were unconscious of everything except their immediate object. Later, they would not remember having walked to the assembly. They just knew that they had got there, and supposed they had been transported miraculously. Elizabeth Style, one of the witches whose confessions are preserved, stated that ‘before they are carried to their meetings, they anoint their foreheads and hand-wrists with an oyle the Spirit brings them, and they are carried in a very short time.’ Elsewhere recipes have been found for the preparation of this ‘oyle’ or ointment. The basis consisted of the fat of babies, bat’s blood, and all sorts of other horrible ingredients. But with these were incorporated aconite and belladonna, which were the active principles. Modern medical authorities have stated that such a composition might well produce trance or delirium, and give the sensation of flying through the air. And I don’t doubt that the people I saw to-night had been using some modern equivalent of this ointment.”

  “The preparation of which would imply some knowledge of medicine,” remarked the Inspector, after a long pause. “I understand now why you asked me to call on Doctor Padfield this evening. You fancied he might be the devil, the high priest of these mysteries. He’s ruled out, anyhow, since he was at home while the assembly was proceeding. But how would Dunsford strike you as a possible candidate? He’s been behaving rather oddly to-night.”

  Merrion listened to Young’s account of Dunsford’s behaviour. “It’s possible that Dunsford is the devil,” he said thoughtfully. “I didn’t know. I couldn’t get the slightest clue to the president of the assembly. But I’ll wager that Doctor Padfield knew that it was being held. I can’t help thinking that his hospitality was exerted to keep you safely indoors while the members of the coven returned home. However, I may be misjudging him.

  “Anyhow, you had better hear the rest of my adventures. I stayed under that hedge for about half an hour or so, waiting. Nothing much happened, only those lights kept on flickering among the trees. They were candles held by the members of the assembly, I fancy. That was part of the rite. You’ve heard of holding a candle to the devil, haven’t you? And the candles were not merely of ritual significance. The devil would want some sort of light to see what he was doing by. It must have been pretty dark under those trees, in spite of the moon.

  “After a bit, I saw rather a stronger glow, as if a fire had been lighted. This puzzled me a bit, until I remembered something I had come across the other day. It seems that when anybody died as the result of the machinations of the witches, the mommet representing that person was taken to the next assembly and there solemnly burnt. The person’s soul was dedicated to the devil, who had brought about the death. The burning of the mommet was symbolic of the consigning of the soul to hell, the devil’s kingdom. That’s why Mrs. Portch took the doll representing Whitehead to the assembly with her.

  “In a few minutes the fire died down, and then the candles were extinguished, one by one. I knew that marked the close of the meeting, and that it was high time for me to clear out. I was right on the path by which the people must come back to the village. So I made my way back to the thicket, and chose a place where I could see those who passed without any danger of being seen myself. I hadn’t been there long before they began to troop back again in that curious trance-like state. Then, when I was sure they had all passed, I left my hiding-place and struck across country towards the car. I had an idea of going back to the island and exploring it. But I reflected that it was a bit risky, and that the exploration could wait till daylight.

  “I was about half-way here, when I heard what I thought at first was a car on the road. I stopped and listened, and then I made out that it was a motor boat on the river. It was going upstream, away from the island and therefore away from the village. I was much too far from the river to be able to see the boat, much as I should have liked to. For it was at least possible that this motor boat contained the devil, who had waited for the dispersal of his worshippers before departing in this prosaic manner.”

  “Somehow, the idea of the devil in a motor boat sounds too utterly fantastic,” remarked the Inspector.

  “The whole business is fantastic, and, to me at least, utterly incomprehensible!” exclaimed Merrion. “What is the object of this elaborate mumbo-jumbo, and who is the organiser at the bottom of it? It wasn’t got up for the purpose of disposing of the unfortunate Whitehead, of that I’m perfectly certain. Of course, that murder has enormously increased the prestige of the devil, whoever he is. One of his worshippers has a grudge against the man, a mommet is baptised, and the man dies. It is an extraordinary and rather alarming manifestation of his power. But there’s more in it than that. The whole business has been got up for some obscure purpose, you mark my words. And to that purpose we haven’t as yet got the slightest clue.”

  “Well, in spite of your confirmation of the fact that witchcraft, or at least a colourable imitation of it, is practised in
High Eldersham, we don’t seem to have got much further,” remarked the Inspector despondently.

  “There’s time yet. The business isn’t finished, by a long way. There’s one thing I haven’t told you. As I said, I watched the members of the coven as they returned from the assembly. I was too far away to recognise them, even if their faces hadn’t been hidden by their hoods. But one thing I noticed, without any fear of being mistaken. One of them, a man this time, was carrying a doll. It wasn’t the one Mrs. Portch had taken with her, of that I’m certain. It’s a pretty safe assumption that that doll was made and baptised during the meeting.”

  “By jove! I’d give a good deal to know the name that was given to it!” exclaimed the Inspector.

  “So would I,” agreed Merrion sombrely.

  Chapter XII

  As the result of a consultation in the car, which lasted until the grey light of dawn began to appear in the eastern sky, Inspector Young and Merrion decided to approach the problem from different directions.

  “You’ll never get any forrader, even if you cross-examine every soul within ten miles of this place,” said Merrion positively. “Even if it’s common knowledge who killed Whitehead, which I am very much inclined to doubt, these people won’t give anything away. You say you have a suspicion that Dunsford is engaged in some illegal activity, which may possibly be connected with Whitehead’s death. If I were you, I would follow up any clue you may have in that direction. For my own part, I’m going to try to get to the bottom of this witchcraft business. If I’m successful, we ought to see our way a bit clearer. I know how to get in touch with you if I want you. Of course, I’ll report progress—if I make any, that is.”

  With that he drove off to Gippingford and his belated rest.

  He spent the greater part of Sunday in bed. On Monday, shortly before noon, he paid his hotel bill, and drove away from Gippingford along the London road. A few miles outside the town he turned off to the right, and, after a circuitous journey, found himself at a point some ten miles north of High Eldersham. It was then between half-past two and three. He drove on towards the village, and turned up the drive which led to Elder House.