“ ‘You’ll be glad to hear, Quested, that we have started carrying out the improvements you suggested re the churchyard at our last council meeting. Our worthy Sexton has been digging up the bones from behind the old wall above the Bier-Walk. Such a pile.’ He turned to the Doctor. ‘As a man of science I should like you to look them over. Your judgment must sort out the Christian from the heathen. I think they’re all heathen, buried there before the church came, and if so they need not harbour up consecrated ground when we’re so short of space.’
“ ‘Very foolish to have built a churchyard on the side of a hill,’ laughed the Doctor. ‘Naturally the bones work their way through the cracks in the old wall. Many’s the mischievous limb I’ve prevented from tumbling out upon the Bier-Walk.’
“ ‘Yes, it’s quite uncanny the way they work themselves out,’ agreed the Vicar. ‘I suppose it’s something to do with the wet soaking through to the lower level. It carries them along.’
“ ‘It’s not the wet,’ contradicted the Sexton, still flicking bits of dirt into the fire. ‘If you wants to know what it is, I’ll tell you. It’s the worms.’
“They all laughed at this, which annoyed the old man.
“ ‘I tell you they finishes what the Sexton begins. When I buries you there,’ and he struck the floor with his spade [and so did the narrator] ‘I don’t flatter myself you’ll stop there. They’ll come and scatter you, and never leave you till they’ve got you where they wants you. They’re always on the march manœuvring the dead.’
“ ‘Horrible thought,’ laughed the Vicar.
“The Sexton ignored this and continued, ‘If there’s any truth in parsons’ yarns about the dead rising again with their bodies, I’ll guarantee some confusion in this churchyard, where Smith’s finger-bones have been feeling their way into Jones’s eye sockets. The Quested marble slab won’t keep Cephas still for all his weight. His mother ain’t under it now. They’d shifted her sideways last time I give her a look-up. Creepy-crawly their way. Always making room for the next. Ha! Ha!’
“ ‘Stop your blasphemy,’ shouted the Farmer.
“ ‘Now then. Now then,’ warned the Vicar.
“ ‘More ale,’ laughed the Sexton.
“ ‘No, you’ve had enough. Go home,’ ordered the Vicar.
“ ‘All right, sir,” answered the Sexton. ‘But if Farmer Quested wants to see for himself, he’ll find me up in the churchyard. I’m going to put away my spade.’
“The Sexton slapped the blade of it with the flat of his hand, then looked at his enemy and said, ‘Beetroots, eh? I like that.’
“He turned the spade upside down and began to walk it about the bar parlour. [My host got up and suited the actions to the words in a most convincing manner.] He looked like a child playing with a doll. ‘I never had a pretty daughter, I didn’t. Mine was as ugly as sin, as I heard Farmer Quested say the day of her funeral. But my spade ain’t ugly. You’re a beauty, ain’t you?’ He kissed the blade, and catching it up in his arms, hugged it. (Like this, my dear Kent.)
“ ‘Go home at once,’ commanded the Vicar. ‘You’re drunk.’
“ ‘That’s good too,’ sniggered the Sexton. ‘But the best thing I’ve heard to-night was beetroots,’ and clutching his spade in high glee he trotted towards the door, where he collided with Johnny Jolt, the Hangman.
“ ‘Wait till I gets you, you clever stringer,’ chuckled the Sexton.
“ ‘Birds of a feather,’ laughed the Doctor.
“ ‘You needn’t talk, you old poisoner,’ chaffed the Vicar.
“Everybody laughed and the wag capped the joke with, ‘Where’s the body? For the vultures are gathered together.’
“Johnny Jolt, fresh from a job at the county gaol, enlivened the company with gruesome details. Cephas Quested was not listening. No. Cephas Quested was sniffing. Sniffing audibly.
“Mister Jolt broke his talk to scowl at his interrupter.
“Quested sniffed again.
“ ‘I recommend hot Hollands for a cold,’ snapped the Hangman.
“Quested took no notice, but sniffed again, then said, ‘Can any of you smell anything? What did that Sexton flick in the fire?’
“A faint crackle came from the hearth. Cephas Quested leaned forward and stared.
“Just then young Piper came in, looking very sorry for himself. The wag had a new victim, for the whole village knew that he had been captivated by the Quested girl.
“ ‘Cheer up,’ cried the wag. ‘There’s more than one rosy apple in any orchard. Besides, I ain’t sure but that Miss Kitty don’t favour you above us all.’
“ ‘Then why did she appoint a meeting which she never meant to keep?’ answered the dejected lover.
“ ‘Where were you to meet my daughter?’ demanded the Farmer.
“Young Piper was too miserable to care whether the father was annoyed. ‘By the churchyard wall above the Bier-Walk. I was late. I warned her that I might be. She promised to wait.’
“ ‘God grant she didn’t,’ muttered the Farmer, still staring into the fire-place.
“ ‘But she did, and she is,’ laughed the wag, looking through the casement. ‘You gave up too soon, my lad. She’s up there now. Look.’
“Young Piper ran to the window.
“On the other side of the street, high above the chimneys of the shops, stood the church with its burial ground braced with an ancient wall, from the top of which was suspended a lantern which gave light to the Bier-Walk beneath. The silhouette of a girl stood out against the skyline. She was sitting on the wall with one arm leaning upon the lamp-bracket.
“ ‘I could only just have missed her,’ cried young Piper, bounding towards the door.
“ ‘Stop,’ thundered Cephas Quested.
“Everyone thought that the Farmer was about to play the heavy father against young Piper.
“ ‘Do you love my girl?’ he asked.
“It was not a reasonable question to put in a public bar, but the young man answered bold as brass, ‘I do.’
“ ‘Then what is the colour of her hair?’ asked the Farmer.
“Everyone thought this an odd question.
“ ‘The harvest moon tries to copy it, sir,’ replied the lover poetically.
“ ‘The harvest moon, eh? And what is the colour of this?’
“The Farmer plunged his hand across the fire and drew out a piece of dirt from the hearth-back. He did not seem to notice that he burnt his hand. With his finger and thumb he dangled a piece of dirt from a hair which stuck to it.
“ ‘Don’t do that,’ laughed Johnny Jolt. ‘Is a man always to be reminded of his work?’
“ ‘If this is what I think it be,’ whispered the Farmer, ‘your work ain’t finished to-night, Johnny Jolt.’
“The Farmer’s manner was very odd.
“ ‘Have they all been drinking?’ asked the Vicar of the Landlord.
“The door swung back. Everyone turned at the bang. Young Piper had run out. The wag looked through the window, but started back with his hands over his eyes. The window glass had been shattered in his face. A large bone fell on the floor. The Doctor picked it up. ‘A human thigh-bone. Very ancient,’ he said.
“ ‘The Sexton’s throwing bones into the High Street,’ cried someone from the door.
“Then there arose a murmuring like the rumble of an accumulating storm. It rose and rose. The screams of women pierced the growling of the men. Doors banged. Lanterns waved. Lights in every window and casements thrown wide. The wag calls for someone to pull the glass from his eyes, but everyone is looking through the smashed window up at the churchyard.
“The limp form of a girl is being swung to and fro. She was suspended by her skirt, which the little Sexton was gripping with both hands as he stood upon the wall.
“From the Bier-Walk beneath, young Piper was leaping, trying to get the girl from the Sexton’s grasp. He looked like a dog jumping for a bone. The news spread like wildfire. The quarrel of the Sext
on and the Farmer had come to a head. To what had been the very pretty head of Kitty Quested, but was now horrible, nearly severed as it had been by the Sexton’s spade.
“There was a great pot-hook hanging in the chimney.
“The Farmer dropped the piece of hair and dirt upon the floor. Somebody repeated young Piper’s words: ‘Copies the harvest moon.’
“Quested seized the pot-hook and wrenched it from the chain, bringing down a quantity of soot and a bat which flew about the room.
“Up under the churchyard wall the young man snarled and leapt. He leapt high and touched the body several times, and then the skirt ripped, and what should have been the light form of a girl leaning shyly against her lover, dropped heavily upon a maniac and knocked him to the gravel.
“The Sexton had no time to gloat upon this horror, for the whole village swarmed like a pack of wolves into the Bier-Walk. They were met with a fusillade of heathen bones.
“In the deserted parlour of the ‘Chequers,’ Johnny Jolt took his tankard of ale to the fire-place, kicked up the logs into a blaze, seated himself in Quested’s corner and stretched his long limbs towards the warmth. It was not his business to arrest a murderer. He was the Hangman and had to wait for the Law to take its course. Besides, it was pleasant to get the chimney-corner to himself after a trying day, and everyone had rushed out of the inn in such excitement, neglecting to finish their tankards. The Barman brought them one by one for the Hangman to drink. At the risk of offending the whole parish, it was his maxim to keep on good terms with the Hangman.
“That gentleman of ghastly trade closed his eyes.
“ ‘What are they doing now?’ he yawned. Beer was good. The fire-place was warm. He decided not to return to his lonely cottage till the inn closed for the night.
“ ‘What’s all that infernal banging noise?’ he asked.
“ ‘Fireworks,’ answered the Barman from the window. ‘The boys have cleared out the stock left over from Guy Fawkes’ Day.’
“ ‘I wonder there’s any left,’ drawled the Hangman. ‘Today’s the thirteenth, ain’t it?’
“ ‘That’s right, Mister Jolt.’
“ ‘And what are they letting off fireworks for?’
“ ‘Shooting them up at the old Sexton. The kids hate him because he never lets them play around the churchyard, or throw stones at Old Scraggybones. I say, you should look. Everything’s ablaze round him and he don’t seem to care. He’s flinging bones. They’re flinging fireworks. Roman candles, squibs, crackers, flares and what-not. He don’t half look horrible.’
“ ‘Why don’t they go up and get him?’ yawned the Hangman. ‘I wouldn’t let no Sexton throw bones at me.’
“ ‘There’s no stopping him while that pile lasts,’ answered the Barman. ‘And when that’s done he’s got his spade. Perhaps he’ll start the coffins going soon.’
“ ‘Don’t be silly,’ laughed the Hangman. ‘He couldn’t get ’em out in time.’
“ ‘Unless he’s got ’em ready,’ suggested the Barman. ‘Sort of humour that would appeal to him.’
“ ‘They should attack him from the other side.’
“ ‘Climbing up from the gravel pits ain’t so easy,’ argued the Barman. ‘Besides, it lands you right by the mortuary, which ain’t cheerful. Hallo. That’s what some of them’s done. There’s shapes on the dodge in and out behind the gravestones at his back. They’ve got up by the mortuary. Ah! Now they’ve got him.’
“A terrible shriek made the Hangman open his eyes.
“ ‘What now?’ he asked.
“ ‘He’s just seen ’em in time. Hurled a pick at one. Got him, too. Now he’s over the railings of the Boggesses vault. Swinging his spade. Slicing their fingers with it. They’re pulling the railings down with a rope.’
“ ‘Oh, they’ve got a rope, have they?’
“ ‘Yes, and they’ve got him too.’
“A great shout arose. The Barman turned quickly to the Hangman. ‘They’re going to hang him from the lamp-bracket.’
“This aroused the Hangman’s professional curiosity.
“He got up and swayed unsteadily in the firelight.
“ ‘I must see them do that. Hanging ain’t so easy. Let’s have a quick noggin of rum, just to keep out the cold, and then go along.’
“The Barman served the Hangman quickly with two or three noggins. Then they went unsteadily along the High Street and up the churchyard steps.
“The steps proved to Johnny Jolt that he was drunk. When they reached the Bier-Walk, the Barman thought they would never get through the crowd. He reckoned without his companion. Mister Jolt was well known, but his trade made folk avoid him, especially on a day like this, when it was known that he had launched a human soul into eternity. Thus a way was made for him, some shrinking from fear or loathing, others from a desire to see a real hangman carry out the job in hand.
“ ‘Here’s Johnny Jolt,’ they cried to the amateur executioners, who had already fixed a knot to the lantern-bracket and a noose round the Sexton’s neck.
“ ‘We’ll do it ourselves,’ answered Quested. ‘This is lynch-law, and no interference.’
“ ‘Aye, our turn now, Mister Hangman,’ called out young Piper, who was staggering about aimlessly, with the body of the unfortunate girl clutched in his arms. He refused madly to put her down, and fearing for his reason, they left him alone.
“ ‘Go ahead, then,’ laughed the Hangman. ‘Only you won’t make no sort of a job of it, I can see, and you’ll have the constables after you before you can say “knife.”’
“ ‘No, we shan’t,’ answered Quested. ‘The police sergeant rode off with the parson for help. They found it convenient to be out of the way. There’ll be no rescue here, I promise you. We’ll have finished with the devil by the time they gets back.’
“ ‘Not at the rate you be going,’ scoffed the Hangman. His professional eye was criticizing not only the noose and the length of rope, but the rope itself.
“They threw the Sexton into the air over the wall. The people on the Bier-Walk pushed back to get clear, but the Sexton fell on top of them, causing a panic in which women were trampled. The Sexton scrambled to his feet, and without removing the noose from his neck, climbed up the rope and caught hold of the iron bracket in the wall. But they soon dislodged him with a pole, and then they tried pulling him up. He got his fingers inside the noose, and by swinging out from the wall, managed to kick several people in the face with his iron-tipped boots. At last Johnny Jolt’s patience was exhausted.
“ ‘It’s a sin not to work a man off on the first jerk,’ he cried.
“ ‘You do it. What’s wrong?’ they answered.
“ ‘It’s all wrong,’ shouted the Hangman. ‘To begin with—the rope—where did you get it? Out of the Ark?’
“ ‘It’s his,’ they cried pointing to the hanging Sexton. ‘Used it for lowering coffins.’
“ ‘Well, it’s too thick for a neck like his. Get a bell-rope from the tower. He keeps the key in his pocket.’
“The Sexton was lowered. ‘Bind his hands behind him with his neck-cloth, which you should have took off in the first place.’
“The expert was obeyed.
“ ‘Now two ringers up the tower with me to choose a rope.’
“Going round and round up the turret steps to the belfry convinced Johnny Jolt how very drunk he was.
“He chose a rope by lantern light, and sent the ringers up the ladder to the bell-chamber to cut it down. It slipped through the ceiling hole and lashed the Hangman in his face as it fell, which put him in a rage.
“Out in the churchyard again the fresh noose was adjusted. They offered no prayer, but Churchwarden Quested pronounced a curse that was shuddering to hear. Young Piper held the corpse of his beloved high up in his arms. It looked as if he were being civil to the last and giving the dead girl every chance of seeing justice done for her.
“Nobody troubled about the after results. The whole village wa
s in it. Johnny Jolt cared for nothing. He was drunk. Everything was ready.
“The nerve of the village was strung to breaking-point, when a great white horse came trotting across the churchyard, in and out of the tombstones and caracolling over the graves. Right into the crowd it kicked its way, which scattered screaming till someone shouted: ‘It’s only Old Scraggybones, the churchyard horse. The only thing he cares about. String it up beside him.’
“Over the branch of a great elm, which stretched across the Bier-Walk, the Sexton’s discarded coffin rope was thrown, and before his eyes the Sexton’s whimpering pet was pulled up. It was his last Woh-ho. The poor beast, like his master, managed to lay out more than one of the villagers as he was swung off his feet. Yes—he died game to the last. ‘Courage, Scraggybones,’ cried the Sexton. ‘I shall be with you in a moment, and then we will ride the Bier-Walk together.’
“Johnny Jolt waited for the Sexton to see this piece of savagery completed, and then he made ready the knot. But his victim’s words sobered him. He did not like them.
“Mockingly asked if he had anything to say, the Sexton turned to Quested and said, ‘It is November the thirteenth. I shall not forget that date in the place where I am going. I shall ride the horse of Death, and trample you upon the Bier-Walk. Remember.’
“The Hangman tightened the noose and adjusted the knot to his final satisfaction. As he did so, the Sexton spoke to him in a voice that sounded dead. ‘It would have been better for you, Mister Jolt, had you stayed within doors. It is an unlucky night for you to be abroad, and before the calendar has run round many times, you will know that my last words are true. I shall be riding—and you will be thinking—“November the thirteenth. The thirteenth of November. I wish I had kept within doors.”’
“The body was jerked over. The Sexton was dead.
“When the Vicar returned with the rescue party, the whole village was abed, but they found the Sexton beside his horse over the Bier-Walk.
“The whole village being implicated, nobody was punished, and all kept mum throughout the inquiry; and after a half-hearted attempt on the part of the authorities to make someone speak, the matter was dropped.
The Master of the Macabre Page 7
