Ladygrove

by John Burke

  ‘I performed a holy rite of exorcism, yes,’ said Mr. Goswell proudly.

  Caspian’s dark beard seemed to thicken and flow inwards, intruding its darkness on his cheeks, which flushed deeper and deeper with anger.

  ‘Do you know the damage you may have done, dabbling—?’

  ‘Sir! I will not accept these insults from you. I do not meddle, or dabble. I am the humble instrument of the Lord.’

  ‘You have done some terrible damage.’ Caspian’s voice shook, until Bronwen sent out a plea that he should control his temper. More evenly he managed to continue: ‘Something in Ladygrove Manor is even more disturbing than anything which afflicted it before. My wife and I both recognized this the very moment we returned.’

  ‘And what are your qualifications for such a judgment, Dr. Caspian?’

  ‘My husband.’—Bronwen spoke for him—‘has devoted his life to the study of occult dangers—’

  ‘And has the impertinence to call me a dabbler?’

  Caspian had his temper well under control by now. ‘Let us suppose, vicar, that in all good faith you drove out a spirit from that house, only to learn now that it may have been a benevolent spirit rather than an evil one?’

  ‘A benevolent phantom is a contradiction in terms.’

  ‘There are no distinctions? No possibility of emanations of living people’s fears or wishes, so that a psychical power for good—’

  ‘Whatever continues to roam this vale of tears after death,’ said Mr. Goswell staunchly, ‘must by definition be accursed. If there is to be any hope of salvation for it, then for its own wretched sake as well as for that of others it must be driven from this earthly plane. I’m puzzled,’ he admitted, ‘that no previous incumbent thought to exorcize it.’

  ‘Or thought of it, and then thought better of it?’

  ‘It may be,’ Mr. Goswell went on with modest pride, ‘that earlier attempts failed from lack of faith. I was granted a stronger power. I do assure you that I felt a very positive force beside me, adding its strength to mine and guiding me.’

  ‘Who else was with you,’ asked Bronwen, ‘at the time of this ceremony?’

  ‘Lady Brobury. That is, ah, both of them: Lady Brobury and the Dowager Lady Brobury, of course.’

  ‘It seems odd that the elder Lady Brobury should have participated in an exorcism designed to drive out the very Matilda of whom she has made her own private cult.’

  ‘I do not accept that it was the blessed Matilda. Nor do I accept your translation of that inscription. Whatever it was that infested Ladygrove Manor, it was something that came between Lady Brobury and her devotions. Now the obstruction has been removed.’

  The finality in his manner suggested that the whole matter was now closed. He owed nobody any explanation or justification.

  As they rose to go, Caspian fired one snapshot. ‘This was all done with Sir David’s approval, I presume?’

  The vicar remained stiffly erect, uncommunicative.

  ‘I see,’ said Caspian softly. ‘You performed the rite in his house without his knowing.’

  ‘Lady Brobury, a good and God-fearing lady with the interests of her entire family at heart—’

  ‘Who persuaded you to act without her son’s knowledge.’

  ‘We did not discuss the matter on any such terms.’

  ‘But Sir David,’ Caspian persisted, ‘was not present.’

  ‘I believe he had been called away at the last minute to visit his sister in Hereford.’

  ‘Ah. I see.’

  ‘Whatever you think you see, Dr. Caspian, I shall be grateful if you will not distort it for the benefit of others—as you have distorted the dedication to Matilda of Mockblane.’ With an effort, as they reached the door, Mr. Goswell said: ‘I am grateful to you for the donation of photographs. I shall study them keenly.’

  ‘It would be well for you to do so,’ was Caspian’s parting fling.

  Bronwen felt the aimless anger within him as they walked away, and reached mentally for him, trying to soothe the turmoil.

  ‘Perhaps we’re exaggerating the damage he may have done,’ she said. ‘After all, if ever there was a beneficent spirit, or some lingering psychic force for good, it didn’t perform all that efficiently in the past. By all accounts it gave little comfort to many of the earlier Broburys.’

  ‘You’re thinking of the strife between man and wife? But the fulfilment of that curse may still have been preferable to the alternative.’

  ‘The “giving back”? You think that that’s what was being guarded against?’

  ‘I don’t know if there ever was a guardian, or ever was anything to guard against. How much is the accumulation of family tradition and superstition, and how much of a lasting resonance there may be, creating inner discord and strife for those susceptible to it—no, I don’t know.’

  ‘But you’re worried.’

  ‘As you were a little while ago, for Judith.’

  ‘You think she’s in worse danger?’

  ‘I think that Lady Brobury and that clumsy, conceited fellow back there are bound to have an unhealthy effect on Judith in her present state.’

  They were in shadow now, climbing the hill to the gates. Ladygrove Manor loomed darkly against the dark hillside.

  The open gates provoked a vision in Bronwen’s mind of another entrance—a pathway once invisibly closed to Judith, and now open. Wherever that path led, into and in some way beyond the cell at the heart of the maze, it now offered no obstacle. The worst, thought Bronwen with an acute pang of unreasoning fear, was now attainable.

  Caspian glanced at her as they passed the lodge. ‘We can’t stay here indefinitely. And we have no authority to intervene.’

  ‘If only that woman Margaret will do what she says, and take Judith away.’

  ‘Away from what?’

  ‘From whatever it is,’ said Bronwen, ‘that’s being wished on her.’

  As if in answer to her prayer, David and his sister were crossing the hall as they entered, and the tone of Margaret’s harangue left little doubt as to the course of argument so far.

  ‘All very fine,’ Margaret was holding forth. ‘You’re inundated with work. I quite understand that. Father was never too assiduous in managing the estate, and I can imagine there’s a great deal to be put right. Any wife with any character at all knows that, stands by the man. Doesn’t make herself a nuisance. But she can happily be a nuisance to me. Save that she wouldn’t be a nuisance at all.’

  ‘Meg, I’ve told you a dozen times already, the moment I can take Judith away—’

  ‘You’re not listening. As bad as father, sometimes. I am telling you that I think it will do Judith good to get away now, not when it suits you. She can come to Hereford. The house is in good shape, George won’t be home on leave for six weeks yet, and I’m not used to sitting about on my own for that many weeks on end. So you will be doing me a favour by letting Judith come. I’ve told Judith the same.’

  Bronwen began to feel a liking for Margaret Henderson. For all her overbearing manner she was, if not subtle in getting her own way, at least generous, making other people’s eventual surrender easy for them, even desirable.

  David grinned, and slapped his sister’s shoulder. ‘If you’ve talked Judith into it—’

  ‘That’s settled, then.’

  At dinner, Judith and her mother-in-law ate in silence while plans were made all around them: Judith apparently dazed, Lady Brobury sullen but unprotesting. David gave orders that the carriage should be ready at eight o’clock next morning, Margaret said that as soon as the meal was ended Judith must set her maid to packing everything she would need, and Caspian said really, they must be going, too. David was discussing the day when he was likely to reach Hereford himself, to collect Judith and escort her on to London; and then, belatedly registering Caspian’s remark, he said:

  ‘But there’s no need for you to leave yet. Stay on a few days and come riding—give us a chance to talk.’

  L
ady Brobury looked up from her plate with cool, malicious pleasure. ‘You have so little time for your wife that you’ll let her be bundled away from home, but you want others to stay on and entertain you.’

  ‘Mother, that’s a gross distortion.’

  ‘We really must be on our way,’ Caspian repeated tactfully.

  Bronwen saw the corners of Judith’s eyes pucker with a twinge of what might have been pain or puzzlement. Impulsively she said: ‘Wouldn’t it make things easy for everyone if we joined you in the carriage to Hereford? It would save two journeys: instead of taking that long way round to the branch line station, we could chat with Judith all the way to Hereford and find ourselves a faster train from there. Only if it suits you, of course.’

  She had half expected Margaret to jib at this. Instead there came a quick glance of acceptance, welcoming her as an ally. ‘Excellent idea, Mrs. Caspian. What a pleasant little party it’ll make! We’ll be the ones with a chance to talk, and I daresay we’ll make a better fist of it than David would. So that’s agreed.’

  ‘We must pack,’ said Bronwen. ‘Eight o’clock in the morning—that’s it, isn’t it?’

  Judith at last smiled. The idea was slowly taking her fancy. But when she turned towards Lady Brobury, the smile faded back into uncertainty. ‘I do think it would be rather a nice idea, don’t you, mother?’

  ‘Oh, nobody consults me nowadays,’ said Lady Brobury with unaccustomed placidity.

  * * * *

  In the morning Caspian and Bronwen were awake early, but when they reached the breakfast salvers and tureens laid out on the sideboard it was to find Margaret already there, embarking on a hearty meal. As they helped themselves and went to the table, Judith came in, and a moment later Lady Brobury joined them, presumably to make her farewells here rather than at her lodge gate.

  ‘You must come over and spend some time with us, mother, before Judith leaves for London,’ said Margaret. Then she took a second look.

  Lady Brobury was no longer in mourning. In its place she had chosen a white lace cap stiffened with threads of green and purple beads, and over a dark green dress wore a velvet-trimmed mantlet. She was very bright and wide-awake.

  Judith’s cheeks had more colour in them this morning. She must, Bronwen surmised, have willed herself overnight into the mood for going away and enjoying the change of scene, throwing off the insidious malaise of Ladygrove Manor.

  David appeared suddenly in the doorway with one fist clenched, thwacking angrily against his hip.

  ‘The carriage,’ he raged. ‘How the devil could Crampton not have noticed?’

  Margaret’s fork was poised, ready to jab. ‘Noticed what?’

  ‘That one of the wheels was near collapse. There’s a crack right through the felloe, and the spokes are working loose. Gave way as soon as we tried to bring it out a few minutes ago. Damned great gash, I don’t see how it could have gone unnoticed. Must have been dangerous for a week or more. Someone might easily have been killed.’

  Normally his mother would have been the first to raise a wail of recrimination, building the mishap up to the dimensions of a tragedy, which would throw out all her personal plans and calculations for months to come. Now she shrugged and helped herself lavishly to kidneys and bacon.

  ‘You mean we can’t get away on time?’ There was a rasp of suspicion in Margaret’s voice.

  ‘I’m told the village wheelwright is away in Leominster for a family wedding. Not due back until the day after tomorrow, and heaven knows what condition he’ll be in for a day or two after that.’

  ‘And Judith certainly can’t go any distance in the trap,’ said Margaret.

  Lady Brobury settled herself comfortably at the table beside Judith. ‘So that’s an end to that nonsense,’ she said blandly.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The mare paced nervously and tossed her head as Margaret put a foot in the stirrup. Then she was steadied by the firm, confident hand on her neck.

  ‘You always were an impatient child,’ said Lady Brobury. ‘Why you must rush off in this deplorable fashion? I really cannot understand.’

  Margaret settled herself in the saddle. ‘I don’t care to leave the children any longer without a visit to see how they’re settling in. But—’ she stared commandingly down at Judith—‘I shall have the house ready for you, and be back with my own carriage, in two days. Three at most. No more accidents, I’ll see to that. And you’ll not talk yourself out of it while my back’s turned. David, I expect you to keep her up to it.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ David favoured his sister with a mock bow.

  ‘There’s bound to be a train from Lenhale in mid-morning. And I’ll enjoy the ride—years since I took this route. If I leave Jenny at the ostler’s, one of the grooms can fetch her when it’s convenient. All right, David?’

  Lady Brobury tried again. ‘I fail to see why you should not all go together in the trap. If Dr. and Mrs. Caspian also wish to be taken to Lenhale station—’

  ‘In the first place,’ said Margaret, ‘the trap is too small for all of us, especially with Dr. and Mrs. Caspian’s impedimenta. And in the second place I am in a hurry.’

  ‘Just as I said. Always in a hurry, always so impetuous.’

  ‘Remember what I said, David. Have her ready for me. And her luggage and mine.’

  They waved as Margaret cantered off on to the path past the stables, up the hill and over the ridge.

  ‘My father’s favourite ride to Lenhale,’ said David reminiscently. ‘After all this time, Jenny must know every inch of the way.’

  Lady Brobury turned and went off towards her lodge without another word, save for a tetchy little exclamation as Pippin bounded past her, narrowly failing to knock her over. He sniffed at Judith’s feet, raised his head, and began to run in the direction Margaret had taken.

  ‘Pippin, come back.’ shouted David.

  ‘Pippin.’ Judith’s voice was more coaxing. But the dog, who had recently spent so much time in her company now ignored her altogether and went racing on up the slope. ‘Pippin, good boy, Pippin!’

  ‘He’ll soon tire,’ said David.

  Judith watched until the sleek golden shape was out of sight, then went indoors. She looked deflated: brought to the pitch of going away and sharing other company for a while, she now faced a day as predictable as any other.

  ‘If we’re to make a reasonable train connection,’ said Caspian, ‘I think we had better load the trap and set off.’

  David’s gaze had been following his wife. Now he turned back to his guests. ‘I was hoping you’d stay.’

  ‘But everything is packed, I thought we—’

  ‘Please.’ He spoke in a low, urgent tone. ‘Margaret is right. We must get Judith away, and I must make the effort to join her as soon as possible. I’ll get through as much as I can in the next few days. I’ve got to be sure of the contracts for taking the harvest—and there’s the harvesters’ brewer and baker to be seen to. But if you could be here until…well, until Margaret gets back. Would you?’ He hesitated, then added: ‘To come between mother and Judith.’

  ‘Between them?’

  ‘I’m sure it’s my mother’s fault, but I do see what Margaret sees—that she’s having a bad effect on Judith. Making every allowance, I still wish she could be less…oh, the devil take it, I don’t even begin to know what’s perplexing me.’

  ‘Making allowances for crotchety old relatives,’ said Bronwen, ‘can be overdone, making due allowance for the fact that they are so often in the wrong.’

  ‘I’m not saying mother’s in the wrong. Simply that in some way she’s an unfortunate influence. I’d be much relieved if you could spend some time with Judith, and try.…’

  ‘Yes?’

  David looked full at Caspian. ‘I’ve told you that I don’t know. Don’t begin to know. And I don’t know how to ask this. But all that occult knowledge of yours, the way you practised mesmerism on that disturbed child in London, and what I’ve heard about you
bringing peace to what seemed to be two cases of demoniacal possession.… Not that I believe in ghosts as such, or possession, or—’

  ‘Or family curses?’ suggested Caspian gently

  David groaned. ‘Oh, very well. I’ve got to come out with it, haven’t I?’

  ‘It will do little good to suppress it.’

  ‘There’s something wrong. Or, at least, something not quite right. It means nothing to me, and I’d sooner not listen. But it’s throwing everything off balance, and if you do have these special powers that would help—help Judith above all—I’d appreciate your taking an interest. I don’t mean to trespass too much on your time but.…’

  Bronwen and Caspian had no need to look at each other. It was with their mutual assent that Caspian said: ‘Of course we’ll stay,’

  ‘Alex, Bronwen, if you will keep an eye on Judith, in whichever way you think is best.…’

  ‘We’ll keep an eye on Judith.’

  For the next hour-and-a-half there was no call for them to undertake this function. David, refuting his mother’s barbed accusation of the evening before, postponed his departure for the day’s routine and strolled in the grounds with his wife. Even from a distance one could see—Bronwen and Caspian could see—that she was restless. For a few minutes she would take his arm and then shrug away. He talked more assiduously than usual and she listened fitfully, looking away most of the time. The anticlimax dragged her down: after such a flurry of preparation for leaving Ladygrove, here she was sinking back into the Ladygrove atmosphere.

  In the middle of the morning David made an excuse to leave her. He wanted to give further consideration to the damaged carriage wheel. Left to her own devices, Judith continued to saunter round the garden with the air of one who had been given no instruction to do otherwise. Her own momentum carried her on slowly and automatically until some impulse nudged her into another direction.

  Down the slope she went at the same pace, across the bridge and towards the maze beyond.

  Caspian and Bronwen tensed. They had stationed themselves, mentally quiescent, in the coign of a mullioned window: watching without spying, keeping an eye on Judith according to David’s plea—‘in whichever way you think is best.’ They had not intruded; but now they were alert. Adjusted to her rhythm of thought and movement, they sensed the change of tempo.