Taffy went up all unsuspecting, but as soon as he reached Helmuth’s room, Helmuth said: ‘I hear you have a letter you wish to post. Is it one of your own or one of Sir Toby’s?’
That put the wretched Taffy in a first-class fix. His sub-conscious mind reiterated the instructions I had given him, that he was to tell no one about my letter, while in his conscious mind he knew quite well that he had standing orders that he was to bring every letter I gave him to post to Helmuth.
Apparently he stood there in miserable indecision saying nothing for a few moments. Helmuth then got up from his desk, glared at poor Taffy, seized him by the shoulders, shook him violently, took my letter from his pocket, and threw him out of the room with the warning that if he was caught in any further attempt to smuggle letters out for me it would result in his instant dismissal.
Angry as I was, I could not help feeling sorry for Taffy as he stood there with the tears running down his fat face; so I told him that it was not his fault that things had gone wrong, and woke him up.
Later
I think the fates must have decided that I was due for a little something to cheer me up, after the rotten setback I suffered this morning. Anyhow, just before Deb came to fetch me in for tea I caught one of the pike. He is not a very big chap, as they go, only a ten-pounder; but I sent a message to Cook asking her to stuff and bake him for dinner, and I’ve told Taffy to get me up half a bottle of Moselle.
As a matter of fact, I darn’ nearly missed him, as when he took the bait my mind was on very different matters. I had been trying to work out the implications of this Taffy business and decide on my next move.
I wish I knew for certain the role that Konrad played. Did he inadvertently arouse Helmuth’s suspicions by specifically naming Taffy, instead of just saying: ‘Please may I borrow a stamp for one of the servants?’ Or was he deliberately responsible for what followed? Perhaps, though, even the unusualness of the request would be enough to set that quick brain of Helmuth’s ticking over.
I don’t know what the arrangements are about the staff’s outgoing mail here, but presumably it goes down to the village in the carrier’s cart each morning with that from upstairs, and if the servants are short of stamps they give the carrier the money to get them at the same time as they give him their letters.
Anyhow, as the servants in this part of the world live at such a slow tempo, it would be quite exceptional for any of them to have correspondence that they felt to be of such urgency that it could not wait until morning. That may have occurred to Helmuth, and caused him to ask which of them was in such a hurry to get a letter in the post overnight. Then when Konrad replied ‘Taffy Morgan’ Helmuth guessed the rest.
On the other hand Konrad is Helmuth’s man, body and soul. He looked after him for all those years at Weylands; in fact, he came over from Czechoslovakia with him in 1933 and has been in his service ever since. So it is quite probable that he is in Helmuth’s confidence about what is going on here, anyhow to some extent. If so, he probably smelt a rat directly Taffy asked for the loan of a stamp; especially if Taffy gave it away—as he very likely did—that he meant to go down to the village with the letter there and then. Konrad would certainly have thought that worth reporting if he is acting as Helmuth’s spy, and it was easy as winking for him to do so without Taffy suspecting his intention.
I wouldn’t mind betting that is what happened; and that Helmuth is using Konrad to keep him informed of any gossip that may go on below-stairs which might jeopardise his secret intentions regarding myself. He would then be in a position to think up an excuse to sack anyone who seemed to be getting too inquisitive, before they found out enough to become dangerous to him. The way that servants get to know things is amazing, and Helmuth is too shrewd to neglect taking precautions against the truth leaking out through them.
Konrad would be just the man for such a job. He comes from Ruthenia, the eastern tip of Czechoslovakia that reaches out towards the Ukraine, and he is a typical Slav; big, fair and boisterous, with a hearty laugh that deceives people, until they come to know him well and find out how cunning he is below the surface. He is cruel, too, and there has never been any love lost between him and myself since the day I caught him torturing Julia’s pet monkey, at Queensclere.
Helmuth tried to laugh the matter off, and said that I was exaggerating, but Julia was so mad about it that she barred Konrad from the house for the rest of that holiday, and instead of continuing to live like a fighting cock with the rest of the servants he had to do the best he could for himself in the village.
One thing emerges from this catastrophe over my letter last night; it will be useless to attempt to get Taffy to take another. Helmuth scared him out of his wits, and as that was due to his having sought to evade the censorship of my mail that Helmuth has set up, his fright will crystallise a definite centre of resistance in his mind.
A hypnotist can make his subjects perform any physical feat that their bodies are capable of enduring and many mental feats which are far beyond their normal capabilities, provided he has their full—and by full I mean their sub-conscious as well as their conscious—co-operation. He can also make them do most things to which they are indifferent—or even mildly antagonistic—according to the depth of trance state in which he is able to plunge them. But if they are strongly opposed to doing something, either on moral grounds or through fear of the consequences, that resistance remains permanently active in their sub-conscious, and it is next to impossible for the hypnotist to overcome it.
So there we are. Having got Taffy just where I wanted him, it is a sad blow that I should no longer be able to make him perform the one service that is of such paramount importance to me. I may be able to use him in some other way; but I have got to think again about a means of establishing some form of lifeline by which I might haul myself to safety from the menace that, Devil-impelled like the Gadarene swine of old, is now rushing upon me.
Saturday, 23rd May
I have had a show-down with Helmuth. Ever since I came to Llanferdrack in the middle of March he has devoted an hour or so to visiting me between tea and dinner, except on the few occasions when he has been away on business.
Now and then we see one another at other times of the day, should we chance to meet in the gardens or the hall; but I am allowed to be up and about in my wheeled chair only between ten- and twelve-thirty, and between three and five o’clock, and those are the busiest hours of his day; so, should we meet during them, we rarely exchange more than a greeting.
On his evening visits he tell me of the latest problems that have arisen regarding the estate and any news he has had from mutual friends of ours, and we discuss the progress of the war and such books as either of us happens to be reading. His mind is so active and his comments so provocative of new ideas that I have always looked forward to his visits as a mental tonic—even when I have felt at times that he was secretly trying to probe my reactions to things about which he would not ask me openly. That is, I looked forward to them up till a week ago; but since I became convinced of the hideous treachery that he is practising towards me I have found it difficult to tolerate his presence in my room.
To let him know what I know—or at least suspect him of on a basis of sound reasoning—prematurely seemed to me both pointless and stupid; so I have done my damnedest to conceal the change of my mental attitude towards him, and to continue to show the same animated interest in his sparkling discourse as I have done in the past.
But yesterday evening some devil got into me and I was seized with a sudden feeling of recklessness. He was standing in the south bay window with his back towards me, his legs apart, his broad shoulders squared and his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his plus-fours. He was wearing a suit of ginger tweed, and I don’t know why but country clothes always seem to accentuate his foreignness. In evening dress he looks tremendously distinguished and might easily be taken for the 13th Earl of something, but the dash of Jewish blood that he got from somewhere al
ways comes out when he is wearing country things, and he never looks quite right in them.
As he looked out over the vista of garden, woods and mountains, which seemed more beautiful than ever softened by the evening light, he remarked with a cynical humour which showed that he was not thinking of the view: ‘From the past week’s communiqués about the fighting on the Kerch peninsula it is quite impossible to say who holds it now, or even to form an estimate whether the Germans or the Russians are the biggest liars.’
Instead of replying I suddenly flung at him:
‘Helmuth! What the blazes d’you mean by interfering with my mail?’
For a second he remained absolutely motionless, then he whipped round with a broad grin on his face. ‘So Taffy told you about last night, eh?’
I had given vent to my accumulated rancour, and it had not even occurred to me that he would assume that I could have known about his stopping my letters only through Taffy having blown the gaff to me that morning. I saw now that was all to the good, as I could have it out with him on this single issue. I need make no mention of the secret stranglehold that I knew him to have been working to secure on me for the past two months, unless it suited my book. So I snapped:
‘Of course Taffy told me! He is my servant and it was his duty to do so. And you’ll kindly desist from further threats to sack him, or I’ll know the reason why!’
The sardonic grin remained on Helmuth’s face, and his tawny eyes flickered with amusement. ‘If you addressed defaulters in that tone when you were a Flight-Lieutenant you must have been the terror of your Station.’
His gibe added to my wrath, and I retorted angrily: ‘I’ll not have you bully my servants!’
The grin suddenly disappeared, and he said in the harsh voice that now alone makes his Czech accent perceptible: ‘They are not your servants. Except for your Great-aunt Sarah’s people, everyone here has been engaged by me. I pay them and I allocate their duties to them. If they do not give satisfaction I shall dismiss them, with or without a character, as I see fit. Also, I bully no one. I simply give my orders and take whatever steps appear necessary to ensure their being carried out.’
‘The staff here are paid by the Trust,’ I countered, ‘and you are only its agent.’
‘Why seek to split straws? At Llanferdrack, for all practical purposes, I am the Trust; and you know it.’
‘On the contrary, you are no more than its representative,’ I said firmly. ‘The Board put you in charge here, but it can equally well remove you.’
He smiled again, and his glance held open mockery as he enquired: ‘Are you thinking of asking them to do so?’
I knew that he had me there, for the time being anyway; so I reverted to my original attack. ‘Even if you do regard yourself as answerable to no one here, that still does not give you the right to intercept my private correspondence.’
‘I disagree about that.’ With surprising suddenness his tone became quite reasonable. ‘You have at least admitted yourself that I represent the interests of the Board. In my view it is against their interests, and yours, for them to see such letters as you have taken to writing lately.’
This was an admission that he had intercepted more than one; but I hedged a bit, hoping that he would commit himself further, and said: ‘I have not written to the Board since I came here, and my letter last night was to Julia.’
He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I know it. But what is the difference? If Julia received these letters of yours she would show them to Paul and he would tell the other Trustees about their contents. Besides, I do not wish Julia to be worried either. Your friends have quite enough anxieties these days without being burdened with additional ones concerning you.’
‘For how long have you been stopping my letters?’ I demanded.
‘Since the beginning of April,’ he admitted blandly.
‘And what possible reason can you give as an excuse for ever having done so?’
‘My dear Toby!’ He looked away from me for a moment, then an expression of hypocritical pity came over his face, and he went on: ‘Surely you must realise that for the past six weeks your conduct has been, well—to say the least of it—queer.’
‘In what way?’ I cut in.
‘It would be distressing to go into that,’ he parried. ‘In any case, soon after you came here it was quite apparent to me that your injury had affected your mind.’
‘Such a thing was never even hinted at by the doctors.’
‘Ah, but none of them knew you as intimately as I do, Toby. Besides, the symptoms were only just beginning to show when you arrived here in March. I decided at once that if you became worse the best course I could pursue was to conceal it for as long as possible. That is why I started to open your letters; and later, to account for your not getting any replies from Julia, I invented a story about her having been ill and gone up to Mull.’
I stared at him, almost taken in by his glib explanation, as he continued: ‘I have been most terribly concerned for you; but, as I had accepted the responsibility of having you under my care, I felt that it would be cowardly to off-shoulder that responsibility on to others so long as there seemed any chance of your getting better. And to have let your letters reach their destination would have amounted to the same thing.’
It sounded terribly plausible but I knew damn’ well that he was lying. All the same I felt that there was nothing to be gained by telling him so. That he had been holding up my mail was bound to come out sooner or later; in fact he must have known that there was a good chance of Taffy’s confessing to me his failure to post my letter the previous night, giving the reason, and at the same time blurting it out that for weeks past he had been under orders to take all my letters to the office; and if I had just learned about that it would have been unnatural for me to refrain from making a protest. But to let Helmuth know yet that I believe his interference with my mail to be a move in a criminal plot of the most revolting baseness would have been to give valuable information to the enemy. So, instead, I endeavoured to get him in a cleft stick by saying:
‘Since you were already under the impression that I was becoming unbalanced before you read my letters to Julia, I take it that their contents fully convinced you of it?’
He nodded.
‘Then why the hell didn’t you do all you could to save me from suffering those terrors that I described to her?’
‘What could I do?’ He spread out his thick, powerful hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘There is no way in which I can prevent your being subject to these hallucinations.’
The time was not ripe to challenge his assertion that my attacks are hallucinations; so I let that pass and cracked in on the target at which I had been aiming:
‘You admit that you were fully aware of the circumstances that caused this queerness that you say you noticed in me, yet you ask what you could have done about it. You could have had me put in another room; you could have got me an electric torch; you could have had that damn’ blackout curtain lengthened; you could have got me a night-nurse or stayed up with me yourself; you could have made arrangements to have me moved from here!’
Then I added, with a guile that matched his own: ‘I cannot understand your refusal of my requests at all, Helmuth. If I did not know so well how devoted you are to me, I should almost be tempted to think that you have become so occupied with running the estate that you have no time left to give a thought to me once you are outside this room.’
‘Toby, Toby!’ He shook his leonine head and looked at me reproachfully. ‘Those are just the sort of ideas which first convinced me that you are no longer your old self, and suffering from a type of persecution mania. But surely you see that my hands are tied. If I agreed to any of these things that you suggest it would mean a departure from the normal routine that we arranged when you first came here, and that would be fatal.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Because it would draw the attention of the staff to the fact that, at times, y
our mind becomes unhinged. Don’t you understand yet what it is from which I have been endeavouring to protect you? If anyone but myself is given cause to think that you have become mental the matter will be taken out of my hands. Your own letters were positively damning, and you know how servants talk. If by any channel it leaks through to the Board that you have become abnormal, and are “seeing things”, they will send brain specialists down here to examine you. In your present state that could have only one result—you would be put into a mental home. Even a short period in such a place might affect you for the rest of your life; and as it could not possibly be kept secret, it would have the most disastrous results on the confidence that all your future business associates would otherwise place in you.’
For a moment I found myself completely bewildered. Could he possibly be speaking the truth? Was I, after all, going out of my mind? Were the attacks really no more than figments of my imagination? Had he noticed the early symptoms of madness in me and ever since been loyally striving to prevent anyone else guessing my condition? Had I shamefully misjudged him?
I have not an atom of proof that he is really plotting against me. My whole theory was based on his interference with my mail and his refusal of all my requests which, in my belief, would have enabled me either to evade or lessen the effect of the attacks. And he had now explained his conduct in both matters.
A little feebly I said: ‘Surely you could find an excuse to have me moved to another room without arousing Deb’s suspicions that I have gone crackers?’
He passed a hand wearily over his mane of prematurely white hair. ‘I’m afraid not, Toby. If only there were another room that was equally suitable I would do so gladly, but as we agreed when we talked of it before, there isn’t.’
‘At least you could get me a torch,’ I hazarded desperately.
‘There are none to be had.’ His voice took on an impatient note.
‘Then get the blackout curtain lengthened. Please, Helmuth, please.’ All the snap had gone out of me now and I found that I was pleading with him.
The Haunting of Toby Jugg Page 15
