by David Pirie
I was myself incensed at the cruelty of it. Was there such fear and pent-up fury in this place that someone, or perhaps more than one, would do such a thing? If so, I felt deeply ashamed on behalf of my sex for, like the men who hunted the so-called witch across the heath, they were surely the main instigators. Or was this perhaps another act of our enemy, designed like so much else of his doing to promote disharmony and hatred? After I bid Mrs Marner farewell, I watched her cab roll away and the last I saw of this quiet, impressive woman she was sitting bolt upright, head forward, not wishing to cast even a parting glance at the community that appeared to have rejected her.
As I turned back, Bell had just come out of the inn, intending, as I later discovered, to find Inspector Langton. When I told him my news, his shock exceeded even mine.
‘What?’ He turned in the direction of Mrs Marner’s at once. ‘And I have missed her, you say. We must go to the house now.’
He looked both worried and exhilarated as we walked. It was now almost completely dark but there was a moon. ‘And this occurred earlier in the afternoon, you say?’ he said.
‘I imagine it was about two that they left the house.’ We had arrived at Mrs Marner’s, where there was a light inside, and Bell knocked on the door.
It was opened by John Wallace, the village constable, who knew us by now and had no objection to our entering. But he warned us that some women of the village had offered their help to clear it up and were still engaged in the task.
This must naturally have been enormously irritating to Bell, but he was prudent enough to hold his tongue, for what would have been the use of remonstrating either with the constable or with the two kind old women who were charitably engaged in tidying up the drawing room?
In any case, it was not hard to grasp the violence of what had occurred here. One armchair was still upended, the carpets lifted, curtains down, even some crockery appeared to have been smashed. And on the wall by the mantelpiece a piece of coal had evidently been used to smear one word in black ugly letters.
Bell stared around at this, and I followed him upstairs, where the damage was similar if somewhat less extensive.
Again a carpet was pulled up and it seemed the bed had been manhandled. Bell spent a long time here before returning downstairs to question the women about what exactly had been disturbed.
He thanked them charitably and we walked back to the hall. ‘I was a fool to go to Lowestoft,’ he said. ‘But I would never have imagined … How could I?’ We came out of the house as I waited for him to go on. It was much colder now, but the Doctor appeared not to notice as we turned into the road. ‘I fear I have sorely underestimated the poor woman’s resourcefulness.’
‘Whose? Mrs Marner’s?’ I asked, though I had an inkling of what he meant.
‘Ellie’s. What vandal would bother to tear up carpets or look under beds? No, our enemy or his ally was searching for the rune. We have to conclude, therefore, Ellie did not bring it to the beach. That much is unmistakable. But why, Doyle? It is extraordinary. She was scared, she was superstitious, she obviously half-believed her love was returned. Why not obey his injunction? There is nobody else she could have given it to. She knew nobody else.’
We were in the village’s main street now and a great moon hung low over the marsh, which shimmered in its own mist. ‘I agree it is a mystery,’ I replied. ‘But only now a theoretical one. If she was keeping the rune in that house, he has found it.’
‘Perhaps,’ said the Doctor lightly as he looked out over the marsh. ‘But two things suggest otherwise. Firstly the evidence of the house itself. So extensive a search suggests to me frustration and even irritation rather than success. Secondly, I return to the central question, why did she not take it to the beach?’
‘Because she was too frightened to handle it,’ I suggested.
‘But Harding must have given it to her. She handled it then. No, there is a real question here. The instruction in the letter is emphatic. She was looking out and waiting for it. Yet she disobeys. Why?’
We walked the rest of the way to the inn without further conversation. Bell was thoughtful, saying he wanted to reflect and might see me at dinner. I went to the little private sitting room which was empty and stoked up the fire into a blaze. Then I sat back and tried to find some order in the events that were unfolding.
It was deeply depressing to think that, while I had been sitting uselessly in a cab in Lowestoft, our enemy had been freely ransacking Mrs Marner’s house. I could see there was some logic in Bell’s supposition that Cream had been unsuccessful, but still it was only supposition. Perhaps he had found what he wanted. Yet if I had stayed here as I wished, my intention had been to call on Mrs Marner after the events of the day before. Was there not every chance I might have caught him? And even if he had escaped, at least all conjecture would be at an end. We would have found our culprit. And the authorities here would be hunting for an individual rather than a series of ghosts.
Just as I came to this conclusion, the door opened and Charlotte Jefford walked in. She looked far better than when I had last seen her. Her hair, though tied back, was less formal and sparkled in the firelight but her eyes too were brighter and she smiled when she saw me.
‘Oh, Dr Doyle, I had been hoping very much to catch you,’ she said as she entered.
‘You look fully recovered, I am glad to say,’ I replied, getting to my feet. And I invited her to sit down.
‘Well, I have slept for some hours, and I do feel better,’ she said as she sat down opposite me. ‘I had a letter from home and it reminded me of other places and other things and, for a time, I did not worry about my troubles here.’
‘I am sure,’ I said with more certainty than I felt, ‘that is an excellent remedy. There are always good things to turn away to from the bad.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is what I told Leonora. I am glad she has left, although I enjoyed her company. For I think she will be happier with her sister for a little and then can return. But, Dr Doyle, I would like to talk of normal things for once. Tell me of you, how do you live, where is your practice?’
I told her about Southsea. She seemed attentive and interested. She had never been there or to Edinburgh, for she lived in Berkshire with her parents. But we both shared a knowledge of London and also unexpectedly of the Lancashire moors, for as a child she made regular visits to her aunt’s country house near Longridge Fell, which was not far from my boarding school. We talked intensely of the moors and found to our surprise there was one particular spot, a narrow sheep path by a stream studded with furze bushes that each of us had regarded as a refuge.
We were doing our best to forget the trouble around us and must have succeeded for after a time she turned to me and said quietly, ‘I have told you of a letter I had from home. Yes it pleased me but it was not just hearing of old places that changed my mood. For you see I had some other good news. It is a secret, though not for very long. And I would like very much to take you into my confidence.’
Of course I told her I would be pleased. ‘The truth is,’ she went on, ‘that someone I hold dear has asked me to marry him.’
It was unexpected. But I was pleased for her and extremely grateful to her suitor at home for his timing. It would surely take her mind away from all that was happening here. So I congratulated her, heartily and genuinely.
Perhaps too, if I am being honest, I felt a slight flicker of envy for this Berkshire gentleman who had found a bride and would surely now find happiness. It was not that I saw myself in his role, but rather that his role inevitably brought memories of my own happiness in Edinburgh and how it was lost.
She was gratified by my words and told me she hoped very soon to make the public announcement. ‘And I so much hope Oliver will be there,’ she said. ‘I am more hopeful now of that than I have been. My mother is absolutely convinced he is still alive. She is a great one for dreams, and she says she dreamt he was at home.’
I thought it wise neither to st
amp on such hopes nor to encourage them. And we fell to talking of her plans. She said she would stay another few days but, if there was still no news by Friday, which was the fourteenth, then she would leave. She had not, it turned out, been bothered by further anonymous letters.
Naturally, I invited her to have dinner with myself and Dr Bell, if he appeared, for it seemed the polite thing to do in the circumstances and she looked pleased.
‘I admit company would be very welcome,’ she replied as we got up. ‘But I am not sure I should accept. Your friend is, I know, a very clever man of a particular mind and I should never have become emotional with him as I did before while he was only trying to say what he thought best. Also, now I think of it, I have ordered something to be sent to my room. I have taken to rising very early and walking here. I find the small church very peaceful.’
‘But you can change those instructions if you would like to join us,’ I said. ‘We will go and see if he has come down. He may not even be dining at all, for he often prefers to stay in his room and think.’
But not on this occasion. As we walked out and entered the main area by the stairs, the Doctor appeared at once, looking very distracted. ‘Ah, Doyle,’ he said. ‘I wish to talk to you. I have an idea and it is urgent.’
Then he turned and became aware of Miss Jefford’s presence. ‘Miss Jefford,’ said Bell, ‘my apologies, I did not see you. Would you excuse us, I have something very important to talk over with my friend?’
I started to protest that I had already invited her to dine with us but Miss Jefford herself would have none of it. ‘I would not dream of disrupting you for the world,’ she interrupted me graciously. ‘Indeed as I told Dr Doyle, I have ordered something in my room. I hope you have a highly profitable discussion.’
We thanked her but even so I thought it another example of Bell’s tactlessness. Could he not at least have been more attentive to her in his demand, no matter how important it was? Meanwhile, Miss Jefford turned to me.
‘I am delighted we have talked, Dr Doyle. I hope I see you tomorrow.’ And then she was gone.
Looking back at the Doctor, I realised he was very much distracted. His impatience showed itself at once as he moved away from the dining room and back to the sitting room I had just left.
‘I am sorry, Doyle,’ he said, ‘but I repeat I made a terrible mistake going to Lowestoft today. Not that the trip was unsuccessful, it gave me answers to some of the more baffling questions, but you may well ask what good that is when I missed so much here.’
He waved me into a chair. ‘Now you will do me a great service. I wish to hear everything that occurred between you and Mrs Marner and her sister. Every word and from the very beginning please. Did they come in here?’
I told him how Dr Bulweather had been here to tell me they were outside. How Mrs Marner was full of emotion and told me she would be spending Christmas away and perhaps not even come back at all if matters were not resolved. I think I repeated almost everything else she told me, though some things might have been omitted. Bell listened with enormous interest, occasionally putting questions but more often staying silent. When I had finished, he sat thinking for a little, the firelight on his face.
‘So you say the cat was definitely out when the place was vandalised?’ he said slowly, not looking at me.
‘Yes, she was very relieved,’ I continued, ‘ah yes, now I recall she said it would surely have been hurt otherwise, given all the talk it was a witch’s “familiar”.’
‘A familiar,’ he repeated slowly. ‘Yes, yes of course. Did she say anything else on that subject?’
I struggled to remember anything else, even the smallest detail. ‘That in recent days it has apparently been more out than in but—’
Now, quite suddenly, he turned and his eyes were piercing. ‘What?’
This scrap hardly seemed worth his reaction. ‘I suppose it has taken to wandering away.’
He was on his feet now. ‘We must go at once.’
I got up, not sure what he meant. ‘To her house?’
‘No,’ said Bell. ‘To Sir Walter Monk.’
I did not relish a walk of more than a mile and a half in the dark to Greyfriars House. But I knew from past experience it was foolish to underestimate him when he showed this kind of excitement. And so, once I had got my coat, I followed him doggedly out of the inn.
I made no attempt to ask him questions as we trudged along in the freezing air. He never answered them when he was in this kind of intense mood, any more than a bloodhound turns aside with the scent of the prey in its nostrils.
It was bitterly cold and we saw not a soul on the road before we turned into the drive, where the lights of Greyfriars House were visible. Bell did not stand on ceremony but knocked boldly at the door, which was soon opened by a manservant.
He was told at once Sir Walter had bidden no visitors. Bell merely replied the matter was official, gave his name and pushed past the man, causing another servant standing in the rear of the hall to run and tell his master. This man returned almost immediately and we were led once again down that carpeted corridor and through a door and finally into the large central chamber.
Four men sat at the well-stocked dining table. Sir Walter had a glass of brandy in his hand and beside him was Dr Angus Hare who nodded at us with a certain coolness. The other men were, as we soon established, local landowners from an adjoining parish.
‘My God,’ Sir Walter said to Bell, ‘you have returned to haunt me. Were you the face we thought we saw at the window? What can I do for you now, sir, if you do not wish to view all my rooms again? Perhaps I should turn out my drawers for your inspection.’
The others laughed at this, rather in the way men laugh at a host who is paying for their brandy of which I could see there was a copious supply.
‘No,’ said Bell, smiling and friendly, ‘I have no idea if there was a face at your window. I merely wish to greet your new cat.’
‘My cat, sir! You mean the tabby who Bulweather asked me to take on for that woman Mrs Marner?’
When Bell indicated this was indeed what he meant, Sir Walter got up. ‘Well, your behaviour becomes stranger every time you arrive here. As a matter of fact, I think she is by the fire over there, for I keep no dog and we were admiring the brute earlier. She seemed to enjoy the fresh fish my man gave her when she arrived.’
He moved over to a corner by the fire, past an armchair which had blocked our view and there, just as he promised, was Ellie Barnes’s cat, who I must say looked none the worse for the death of one mistress and the flight of another. She was bunched up by the fire and stood up on our approach, looking at us without any great interest.
‘Now what do you propose to do, sir?’ said Monk as we approached, and I could see his pale demeanour was very flushed with drink.
Without answering, Bell bent down and put his hand down to stroke the cat’s neck.
It flinched, just as I had seen it do once before, though I had quite forgotten. But clearly the Doctor had not, for now he grabbed the collar, even though the cat tried to shrink away from his hand, and felt under it.
‘It is a little tight, is it not, puss?’ he said. ‘That is why you jerk away when people touch you there, and I recall how your poor mistress Ellie looked so worried when I saw you do so. Ah, what have we here?’
Evidently his hand had found something under the collar. Bell had to work the thing free, for it was effectively trapped and concealed. But at last he pulled out a piece of folded paper.
The cat moved away and the Doctor slowly unfolded the item till he had in his hand a full page. On it was a strange maze of letters, numbers and symbols.
‘Gentlemen,’ said Bell. ‘Here is what I was seeking.’
‘But what is it?’ said Hare, and it was noticeable that as he spoke Sir Walter stepped back.
‘Oh I believe one of its properties is to cause violent death,’ said Bell, holding it high. ‘It is the witch’s rune.’
THE CRA
WLING VISITOR
The effect on those present was electrifying. Sir Walter moved back to the table. Evidently when confronted with the thing, it seemed less of a ‘party trick’ than he thought.
I stared at the page in Bell’s hand. It was certainly odd. Many of the symbols I had never seen before, and then came the incomprehensible words and letters:
LD KPR UOGVZ BL LWV OYKTT NPBYGTMMEK ZT DIL HW GFE LUM
WRDR LGJEL GNZ VGNAH ZAGNW HVKEKLT KPNZ AH SMDAWPKPRJ
DK PRKS HKWEKXDIIVI ZTJQANWPMM AUJIYIGT GBRVZGQ
UZVQKOTJBNR UDMMBBMB IX VG UJGCFV I IR VQ ZZ TIMJO DAJBN
T VHKMCVWH KWGNWDC LPNBSMEK TJZTG HQ QIIIK FXTPBRSH
‘Whatever it is, and I am sure it’s nothing,’ Sir Walter finally spoke, ‘please take it. I do not want it in my house.’
‘That is good,’ said Bell, ‘for I have no intention of leaving it here.’
The other diners were watching this display with amazement. Angus Hare had got to his feet frowning, but Bell had already folded the paper and put it in his pocket.
‘So it is a curse?’ Sir Walter muttered.
‘It has certainly not proved a blessing,’ said Bell, ‘but you need concern yourself no more with it. I bid you goodnight, gentleman.’
And we turned away to the door.
On the way back to the inn, Bell was excited by this development and generous in his comments. ‘As you know, I could not understand why Ellie had not brought this with her to the beach,’ he recalled. ‘It was baffling, for the injunction in the letter was so forceful. And in other respects she was so pliable, even gullible. What could have possessed her to leave it? Had it been destroyed? Yes that was possible but it would have been done weeks ago, indeed Harding would have done it himself rather than entrust it to her. There had to be some other explanation. And then it was thanks to you, Doyle, for obeying the very oldest of my injunctions and not leaving out the trivia. You mentioned how the cat had taken to wandering off, that it was rarely present, and I recalled at once how we arrived at Mrs Marner’s house after Ellie’s disappearance and she expressed pleasure, great pleasure, at the cat’s recent return. At the time, I thought she meant it had been away a few minutes, now I saw it had probably been away several hours. At once, too, I recalled its odd flinching when stroked in a certain place and how Ellie looked fearfully at us when we noticed this. Then all became clear. Ellie could not take it because she did not have it. When she received the note to meet him, she had no way of obtaining the rune because of the nature of her hiding place. The cat was not there. She had hidden the thing in its collar.’
