The Haunting of Mount Cod

by Nicky Stratton

  ‘Perhaps it’s out of service,’ she suggested.

  ‘Fair point.’ Jervis indicated, eased out and hit the brakes as a van behind hooted and overtook. As it passed them Laura saw a familiar black-clad arm appear out of the window as Angel Hobbs flicked them a V sign.

  ‘Damn fool,’ Jervis said, taking up pursuit as they passed the 30 mph sign on the outskirts of town.

  Laura suggested a short cut and soon they were crossing the speed bumps of the narrow residential streets that led to Canon Frank’s house.

  Jervis turned into Campden Road and pulled up outside his house where the Canon was ready waiting, a six-foot crucifix at his side and a small case clasped to his chest. ‘That’s what I call service,’ he said, as Jervis leant over and opened the passenger door.

  ‘I like to be punctual.’

  ‘I meant not having to step down.’

  Jervis got out. He looked at the tyres parked on the pavement and then at the cross.

  ‘It’s the one from Holy Trinity,’ Canon Frank said. ‘The Bishop recommended it for the job. Sometimes size is important if the spirit turns recalcitrant.’

  ‘I don’t think it will fit in the boot,’ Jervis said. ‘But don’t worry it can go on the roof-rack, I always carry plenty of bungee ropes for this sort of occasion.’

  Laura felt the car springs moving from side to side as the two men grappled with the religious artefact. Finally they returned to their seats and they resumed their journey.

  Sir Repton was waiting at the front door, pacing up and down, his stick under one arm. ‘But where is Gladys?’ he said.

  ‘I’m afraid Gladys is not feeling well,’ Laura said. ‘She sends her apologies.’

  ‘Unwell?’

  ‘Her friend died.’ Laura thought it better to be final in this matter and they followed Sir Repton into the sitting room while Canon Frank brought in the crucifix. He propped it up against the tallboy and took a seat on one of the sofas. Strudel and Jervis sat opposite him and Laura took up her position on the tub chair. Sir Repton looked round and drew up another chair.

  ‘So, let battle commence.’ Jervis rubbed his hands together.

  ‘I think we must get a few things straight before we begin.’ The Canon took a large Bible out of his case, ‘This act of exorcism is a holy rite. I suggest a prayer.’ The Canon got to his knees.

  ‘Christ, I can’t do that, I’ll never get up again,’ Jervis said.

  ‘A bowing of the head should be sufficient.’ Canon Frank opened the Bible. ‘Holy Father,’ he intoned, and then read out a lengthy passage Laura was not familiar with. From early girlhood in her convent school, she had always found it difficult to concentrate on sacred texts, preferring instead to imagine the hairstyle each nun was concealing underneath their respective wimples. Now she clouded over almost entirely until she heard the Canon say, ‘Amen.’

  She raised her head as he got up and began to pace around the room.

  ‘We must fix upon an object that typifies the spirit of…’ He looked about him.

  ‘Rosalind?’ Laura offered.

  ‘Yes, the serving wench. What do you think Sir Repton?’ He walked over to the window and ran his hand down the brocade curtains.

  ‘She’s never come in through a window to my knowledge,’ Sir Repton said.

  The Canon continued round the room touching various objects. He picked up the lead tea caddy Parker had knocked off the tripod table on Laura’s first evening at Mount Cod but Sir Repton shook his head. Next the Canon pointed to a Tibetan brass bell, and then he picked up a leather-bound volume of poetry and then a spelter statuette but none met with Sir Repton’s approval. Having scoured the room for a second time his eyes alighted upon a pewter tankard from the mantle shelf. ‘How about this?’ he said. ‘She liked a drink didn’t she?’

  Sir Repton shook his head again. ‘Matilda’s father won it for the high jump at his prep school, but I don’t feel it’s right.’

  ‘What about upstairs?’ Jervis suggested.

  ‘Yes, I am agreeing. When she was strangulating me on the staircase, I was feeling a power coming from overhead.’ Strudel put her hands involuntarily to her neck.

  They trooped upstairs. Parker and Sybil Thorndike nudged one another playfully as they gambolled down the corridor. Laura followed as Canon Frank went into the bedrooms one by one. Things looked hopeful when they entered Matilda’s boudoir situated off the main bedroom. Laura sat down on a satin daybed as the Canon fingered one of a pair of silver hairbrushes on the dressing table.

  ‘Could it be this that Rosalind is using as her entry point from beyond?’ he said.

  Repton pondered. He picked up the brush. ‘I can feel something,’ he said, touching it to one cheek and closing his eyes.

  ‘Well,’ Laura asked. ‘Is it her?’

  ‘No,’ Repton said and put it down again.

  ‘What a pity.’ Of course it’s not you disingenuous old fool. Laura’s feet were beginning to ache.

  They moved on to Flamborough Head. This is a waste of time, Laura thought as the Canon suggested Rosalind could be manifesting herself through the heated bath rail. She trailed out after them as they discussed the possibility of Rosalind being the Persian rug at the end of the bed. She leant against a cupboard. The door creaked.

  ‘What was that?’ Sir Repton asked.

  ‘It’s just this…’ Laura took hold of the cupboard door handle.

  ‘That’s it.’ Sir Repton walked over sniffing the air. ‘I can feel something definite. A power is emanating forth.’

  Laura opened the door.

  ‘Matilda’s wheelchair.’ Sir Repton took hold of the handles and wheeled it into the room. Canon Frank joined him.

  ‘Seems incredulous to me,’ Jervis said. ‘It’s old I admit, but it’s hardly sixteenth century.’

  ‘That is irrelevant according to the Bishop. Has there ever been an indication that Rosalind may have been infirm? These thing’s work in mysterious ways,’ he said, massaging one of the fake leather armrests.

  ‘Not that I am aware of,’ Sir Repton said.

  ‘Never mind, I think we may be in business.’

  ‘Would not, perhaps a tea break be assisting us before the next phase?’ Strudel asked.

  ‘No, no.’ Canon Frank wagged a finger at her. ‘We must fast. It is part of the process.’ He turned his attention back to the wheelchair and raised his arms. ‘I exorcise you, most unclean spirit. In the name of Jesus be uprooted and expelled from this… mode of transport.’ He stood back and waited. ‘The Bishop warned me this could be a tricky job. I suggest another prayer with some holy water. Sir Repton, do you have a bucket handy?’

  ‘I’ll go down and get one from the scullery,’ Sir Repton said.

  ‘I’ll come too. We need the crucifix.’ The Canon followed him out.

  While they waited, Laura, Strudel and Jervis sat on the bed with the two dogs.

  ‘The Canon’s taking it damn seriously that’s for sure, I’m impressed,’ Jervis said. Sybil Thorndike growled as he lay back on a pillow. ‘Bloody unpleasant dog that,’ he said, pushing her off the bed.

  They heard the sound of the crucifix being dragged along the landing. Canon Frank lugged it into the room and stood it upright against the cupboard. ‘There’ll be no escape for her with this,’ he said, as Sir Repton followed him in carrying a red plastic bucket sloshing with water. ‘Canon Frank thought the kitchen tap most apposite.’

  ‘Nearest to the mains.’ Canon Frank took the bucket from him. ‘I sanctified it there and then. If I could trouble you for the utensil Sir Repton?’

  Sir Repton handed him a stainless steel ladle and the Canon dipped it into the bucket and poured it over the wheelchair, exhorting Rosalind to quit the mobility equipment.

  They stood in anticipation of what Laura was certain would be the inevitable consequence of the absurd situation. It was. Nothing happened. Drips of water fell silently onto the Wilton carpet. The Canon tried again.

  ‘In
the name of the Holy Spirit I implore you Rosalind to evacuate this wheelchair.’

  The inanimate object, the focus of all their attention stood like something from a Marcel Duchamp retrospective but again there was zero spiritual activity.

  ‘The wheelchair is failing to respond. I think we may have underestimated the wench’s cunning.’ The Canon stepped backwards. At his feet, Sybil Thorndike snarled, drew back her gums revealing yellow teeth flecked with saliva. She snarled again and bit hard into the Canon’s ankle.

  ‘Hellfire,’ he cried out, hopping about on one foot.

  ‘Get that dog out of here,’ Jervis shouted, running forward with a handkerchief and the bucket of holy water.

  Laura snatched Sybil Thorndike off the floor before she had time for another mouthful. She handed the dog to Sir Repton. He patted her, but the dog continued to growl. He studied her. ‘A countenance more in sorrow than in anger,’ he said in a tone of doleful enlightenment.

  ‘What are you talking about man?’ The Canon sat down on the bed and pulled up his trouser leg. ‘That vicious creature’s drawn blood and it’s my bad ankle.’

  ‘I may have had an idea,’ Sir Repton said. ‘I think it could be that Sybil Thorndike is the conduit to Rosalind that we have been searching for. Her spirit of malcontent and desperation to communicate has infiltrated the hound, it all makes perfect sense.’

  The Canon looked up. ‘You may be onto something there.’

  ‘Either way, it can wait. For now I think we should bandage up Frank then go downstairs and make a pot of tea – a biscuit wouldn’t go amiss either.’ Laura headed for the door. ‘Repton, where’s the first aid kit?’

  ‘I’ll fetch it and meet you in the kitchen.’

  ‘Good plan,’ said the Canon, as Sir Repton hurried out.

  ‘But what about the fasting?’ Jervis asked

  ‘That was when we were concentrating on the wheelchair. The dog is a different matter. We will start afresh after a brief respite.’

  Chapter thirty-seven

  Laura was feeling a good deal better after a couple of chocolate digestives – Gladys had stocked the place up well – and the colour had returned to Canon Frank’s cheeks once Strudel had put antiseptic on his ankle and bandaged it up. Sir Repton furnished him with a walking stick and they returned to the sitting room where Sybil Thorndike had been shut in.

  Jervis was dispatched back upstairs to collect the crucifix and holy water. He managed to get the bucket handle over one of the crossbeams thus getting both objects down in one go.

  ‘Where d’you want it?’ he asked, having put the bucket down.

  ‘I think I’ll conduct proceedings seated.’ Canon Frank concertina’d himself into the tub chair and Laura fetched a stool for him to put his leg on. ‘Let’s have the cross on the floor to my left and the holy water on my right,’ he said.

  When he was happy with these positionings, he directed his gaze at Sybil Thorndike who was asleep in her basket. ‘I’m loath to get too near that animal, I wonder if I can conduct the operation by proxy?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Jervis said. ‘I tell you what, why don’t we muzzle her?’

  ‘Oh Jervis, this is most unkind,’ Strudel said.

  ‘I know exactly how to muzzle a dog, it’s quite humane. I’ll fetch another bandage.’ Laura hurried back to the kitchen and returned with a length of crepe.

  ‘Repton, wake her up and hold her tight in your arms.’

  Sir Repton picked up the dog. ‘Do you think she should go out first?’

  ‘Bladders of iron these miniature breeds, I think she’ll hold on.’ Laura attached one end of the bandage to Sybil Thorndike’s collar, wrapped it round her snout and attached the other end back to the collar. Sybil Thorndike looked up at her with wide watery eyes. She did not look like the incarnation of an eighteenth-century serving maid hell bent on murder. This is utter nonsense, Laura thought, not for the first time.

  ‘Bring her to me,’ Canon Frank called out from his chair. ‘You’re sure the muzzle is secure?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ Laura said.

  Sir Repton carried the dog and stood in front of the Canon. By increments – the crucifix was repositioned leaning up against a bookcase behind the chair – and eventually with Sir Repton on his knees to one side of Canon Frank’s prone leg, the dog was brought face to face with the mouthpiece of the Lord.

  ‘I beg upon the Holy Spirit who will destroy with the breath of his mouth…’ the Canon recited to the startled dog ‘… rendering Rosalind powerless by the manifestation of his coming.’

  Sybil Thorndike whined and began struggling.

  ‘Hold her tighter Sir Repton, this moment is of vital importance.’ Canon Frank reached to his side and tried to get hold of the bucket. ‘Jervis, hand me the holy water and the ladle.’

  Jervis did as he was told and Canon Frank leant forward, dipped the ladle into the bucket and poured it over the dog’s head. Sybil Thorndike whined furiously, struggled out of Sir Repton’s soaking arms and ran from the room.

  He leapt up with unforeseen agility, ‘Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased?’ he cried, chasing after the dog.

  Laura watched with incredulity. She had never seen him move so fast.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Jervis asked.

  ‘He is possessed of a need to follow the dog,’ Strudel said, from where she was sitting on the sofa.

  ‘Possessed?’ Canon Frank sat back, still holding the ladle. ‘I think we may have been metaphorically barking up the wrong tree.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Laura asked.

  ‘It’s not the dog, I’m afraid.’ He began to tap the ladle into the palm of his other hand. ‘It is Sir Repton himself. Did you see his reaction to the holy water?’

  ‘He got wet didn’t he. That’s why he let go of the dog.’ Jervis said.

  ‘Ah, but it was more than that. In my opinion he, or rather the incarnation of Rosalind, is, possibly temporarily, inhabiting him and as such was put in jeopardy by the presence of the Lord’s water – if you see what I mean.’

  Jervis looked at his watch. ‘I’d say it was time for something a little stronger than the Lord’s water. Where does he keep the whisky Laura?’

  ‘Good thinking Jervis.’ Laura pointed to the drinks cupboard. ‘But I’m wondering how this is going to end.’ She turned to the Canon. ‘I suppose it means we must exorcise Repton.’

  ‘Undoubtedly the answer.’

  ‘But it’s already six-thirty.’

  ‘We must momentum not be losing,’ Strudel said.

  ‘Fair play but I’d still recommend a sharpener.’ Jervis opened the cupboard door. ‘Then we’ll fix up something more solid to sustain ourselves with. You said it was all right to eat before the action didn’t you Frank? Fried eggs on toast should do the trick and then we’ll crack on. Out the ghost and… well we may just have to kip down here for the night, as you said Canon. I imagine the old boy will need looking after once he’s had the she-devil extracted. Bit like a liver transplant I’d have thought?’

  Laura walked over to the open door and looked out into the hall. ‘Where do you suppose he’s got to anyway?’

  Eventually she found him lying on the daybed in Matilda’s boudoir, Sybil Thorndike in his arms. The dog jumped down to greet Parker and they started to play.

  ‘There,’ Laura said. ‘She’s made a full recovery from her ordeal. She seems a little overweight… to …that’s what made her snap.’ She seems a little overweight, I think Gladys may have been overfeeding her and perhaps that’s what made her snap.’

  It was not so easy to explain to Sir Repton the next course of action that the Canon intended.

  ‘I suppose he must be right,’ Sir Repton said. ‘My chest feels tight, perhaps it’s her corset?’

  ‘I think what he means is that you may be nearest to her spirit and you might be the way to communicate with her,’ Laura said. ‘They all think it’s worth a try. Why not come downstairs, Str
udel’s making us some supper. We thought we’d all stay on, if you don’t mind. The Canon’s keen to complete the task and he says we can drink, so actually it might be rather fun. A bit like playing charades at Christmas.’

  ‘Except that it’s only me that’s the charade.’

  Canon Frank managed to hobble to the kitchen where Jervis was busy knocking up Manhattans, while Strudel cooked the eggs.

  ‘How’s the leg feeling?’ Laura asked the Canon.

  ‘Fill me up Jervis and I’ll be right as rain,’ he said, draining his glass as Sir Repton hurried to the wine cellar and brought up a couple of bottles of Pomerol.

  What with eating and then clearing up it was not until nine-thirty before they were back in the sitting room ready for round three, as Jervis put it.

  ‘I do hope it’s not going to turn into a boxing match with me as the punching bag.’ Repton put his hand to his stomach.

  ‘No, no,’ Canon Frank assured him. ‘I’m pretty sure she’s going to make a run for it as soon as I’ve rebaptised you. You have been baptised haven’t you?’

  Sir Repton nodded.

  ‘You mean we’ve got to decamp to the font in the chapel?’ Laura gave the Canon a stern look. He couldn’t have the effrontery could he?

  Canon Frank got the message. ‘D’you think you could fit your head in the bucket Sir Repton?’ he asked. ‘It’s only got to touch the water, not a full emersion.’

  The Canon was sailing mighty close to the wind here, but Sir Repton didn’t seem to have noticed the inference to Matilda’s drowning.

  ‘I may as well take communion while I’m at it,’ Sir Repton said. ‘Jervis could you get the port, it’s in the cabinet over there.’ He pointed to the drinks cupboard.

  ‘Reservation of the sacrament, I like it,’ Canon Frank said.

  Jervis filled a glass and handed it to the Canon who agreed they could dispense with the body of Christ and consecrated it for Sir Repton. He downed the port then got on his knees again and sank his head into the bucket as the Canon urged him to reaffirm and give his life to Jesus. Sir Repton got up unsteadily from the bucket, his thin hair streaming water down his face and neck.