The Anatomy of Ghosts

by Andrew Taylor

  ‘How did the lady die?’ Holdsworth asked.

  She turned her head towards him. ‘Mrs Whichcote was found drowned in the Long Pond at Jerusalem College.’

  ‘Drowned?’ For an instant his face crumpled as if an invisible fist had squeezed the features together. ‘Drowned? Had she fallen in?’

  ‘It was put about that she must have missed her footing in the darkness.’

  ‘But you would have me believe otherwise?’

  ‘No, sir. But there are those who say – well, it don’t signify – there are always those willing to make bad worse.’

  ‘So they say it was a case of self-murder?’

  She nodded.

  ‘They take the one to confirm the other, I suppose?’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘They believe that if Mrs Whichcote’s ghost has been seen, it strengthens the notion of suicide. And vice versa – since she committed suicide, her ghost would be likely to walk abroad. It is one of those circular flights of speculation that defy counter-argument.’

  ‘Mrs Whichcote’s name means little or nothing to most people,’ Elinor said in a low voice. ‘I do not wish it to attract further notoriety.’

  He seized upon a detail. ‘You say it was dark – at what hour did the accident happen?’

  ‘At night. We do not know the precise hour. She was found by the night-soil man early in the morning.’

  ‘But what was she doing in a college at that time? Surely it is not usual for ladies to wander in college gardens, alone and unprotected, in the dead of night?’

  Elinor felt her colour rising. ‘It appears that Mrs Whichcote suffered on occasion from noctambulism. She often visited me at the Master’s Lodge by day, and she had her own key to the Master’s Garden. It was convenient for both of us that she should be able to come and go as she pleased without passing through the college itself.’

  ‘So you believe she was sleepwalking? That in her sleeping mind she intended to pay you a visit?’

  ‘It seems the most likely explanation. It was the one that satisfied the coroner.’

  After a pause, Holdsworth said, ‘Her ladyship’s mind is much fixed upon her son.’

  ‘Now she is widowed, he is very dear to her. He is her only child yet living.’

  ‘Then why does she not go to his aid herself?’

  ‘Her health does not permit her to travel,’ Elinor said. ‘She had a fall – she has to be carried everywhere like a baby now. She is exhausted this morning because of the effort she made yesterday.’

  ‘I am surprised she does not rely wholly on you to act for her in this matter. She clearly values your opinion. You are in Cambridge already. You know her son.’

  ‘You forget, sir. I am a mere woman. Lady Anne holds firm views on the respective duties of the sexes.’

  ‘But in that case her ladyship could put the matter in the hands of Dr Carbury, could she not? Or there must be several other gentlemen almost equally well qualified for such a delicate commission, including Mr Frank’s tutor.’

  ‘She has decided that they would not answer – she prefers to send you.’

  ‘Because she can hire me?’

  Elinor stared at him for a moment without speaking. She said, ‘And because you know something about the subject of ghosts. Now may I put a question to you?’

  He bowed.

  ‘I do not wish to pry into your private circumstances. And you may not wish to answer. It shall be just as you choose. But pray believe I do not ask from idle curiosity – I have a purpose. Mr Cross tells me that you have recently suffered the loss of your wife, and that it is widely believed that she was the anonymous lady whose case you describe so feelingly in your book – the lady whose innocent credulity had been imposed upon with such terrible results.’

  He nodded but said nothing.

  ‘I wish with all my heart that it had not been so. And so the ghost –?’

  ‘Was said to be that of our son.’ He stared at her. ‘However, this is not to the point. I am here to help Mr Frank Oldershaw.’ He glanced around the room. ‘And to look at books.’

  ‘But it is to the point, sir. Ghosts, whether real or alleged, usually have an identity, and that is, in itself, of significance.’

  ‘I do not catch your drift.’

  ‘I hope it will not wound you if I speak plainly. Just as your ghost was important to you, so this one is to me. I do not wish Mrs Whichcote’s reputation to be dragged even further in the mire.’

  ‘The sentiment does you honour, madam. I assure you I will pursue my researches as discreetly as possible.’

  ‘The death of an obscure woman in an obscure accident does not in itself arouse the world’s curiosity. Unless –’ She broke off, and a sigh escaped her. ‘You understand me, I think. We have been fortunate that this rumour of suicide has not reached the public press in Cambridge, let alone London. Dr Carbury has exercised all his influence, and so has the Vice-Chancellor. This foolish ghost story has not had much currency, either. But if it gets abroad …’

  ‘Suicide and a ghost? A lady abroad in a Cambridge college at the dead of night? And of course Mr Frank Oldershaw.’ As he spoke, he held out his right hand, counting off the elements of the matter with his fingers, one by one. ‘Yes, you’re right. The combination would send tongues wagging all over the country. Within a week, they would be selling penny ballads in every alehouse.’

  ‘Mrs Whichcote has suffered enough. Pray oblige me in this. I ask your goodwill, sir, nothing more – your assistance in preserving a lady’s reputation.’

  ‘Madam,’ Holdsworth said, his voice suddenly harsh. ‘Her ladyship has retained my services. A man may not work for two masters.’

  She waved her hand to dismiss the notion. She would have liked to use the same hand to slap his face. ‘I do not ask you to betray the trust of an employer. I do not wish you to work for me.’

  ‘May I ask why this lady’s reputation is so near to your heart?’

  ‘Because Mrs Whichcote was my friend.’ She hardened her voice because otherwise it would have trembled. ‘I do not lightly ignore the ties of friendship. Why should we permit death to sever them?’

  *

  A little after one o’clock, the footman entered the library with a tray holding a light nuncheon of bread, cheese and small beer. He also brought the compliments of Mr Cross, who hoped that Mr Holdsworth would do him the honour of dining with him later that afternoon. At four o’clock, the servant reappeared and conducted Holdsworth to a small, dark room furnished as an office.

  Mr Cross was standing at his desk, casting up columns of figures. His neck was still swathed in a scarf but he looked happier than before. He removed his spectacles and greeted Holdsworth briskly, saying they would not delay dinner. While they ate, Mr Cross worked his way methodically through the arrangements for Holdsworth’s journey and for his stay in Cambridge.

  ‘It is a pity you could not have gone down to Cambridge with Mrs Carbury today,’ he observed. ‘Or that she could not have waited for you. But she was in a hurry to return, I understand.’

  An inside seat had been booked for Holdsworth on the stagecoach that ran from the Green Dragon in Bishopsgate Street. Once at Cambridge, he was to make his way to Jerusalem College, where he would stay with the Carburys at the Master’s Lodge.

  ‘You will be there as Lady Anne’s emissary, remember,’ Cross said in his low, husky voice. ‘You are there to examine the college library, but no one will be surprised if you call on poor Mr Frank in Barnwell to see how he does on behalf of his mother. I have a letter here for you to give to Mr Richardson – he is the senior fellow, and he is not only the college librarian but also Mr Frank’s tutor. Her ladyship has asked him to give you every assistance in his power.’

  ‘Does he know the full extent of my commission?’

  ‘Apart from the Carburys, no one knows that you have been entrusted with the task of examining the alleged sighting of Mrs Whichcote’s ghost.’

  ‘This
ghost,’ Holdsworth said. ‘What exactly occurred?’

  ‘I am afraid I do not know the details. You must apply to Dr Carbury for those. And perhaps even Mrs Carbury.’

  Mr Cross hurried on, emphasizing that Lady Anne expected regular reports from him. Unless circumstances warranted it, Holdsworth was to spend no more than a fortnight in Cambridge. When he returned, he was to bring back Mr Frank with him.

  ‘Her ladyship has a mother’s desire to have her son with her under her own roof,’ Cross murmured. ‘And by that time, of course, she hopes his health will be much improved.’

  ‘And if it isn’t?’

  Mr Cross gave a little shake of the head. ‘I’m sure it will be. Lady Anne has every confidence …’

  He changed the subject swiftly, and became almost cheerful when dealing with the matter of money. He advanced Holdsworth fifteen pounds for his expenses, and gave him a letter of credit addressed to an attorney in St John’s Lane, whom Holdsworth might approach if he needed more funds. At this point, Mr Cross looked very serious and said that her ladyship would expect to see detailed accounts for all his expenditure, down to the last farthing.

  As the meal drew to its close, Mr Cross mellowed and became almost confidential. ‘I must confess I am glad not to be going back to Cambridge myself. Mr Frank’s behaviour came as a terrible shock. I am not as young as I was.’

  ‘There was no reason for it?’

  ‘None that I could see. All I said was that I was come to take him back to her ladyship, and she would soon make all well again. And then he gave a great cry and lashed out at me. I have seen the young gentleman fly into a passion before – most young gentlemen do – but nothing like this. I took it very hard, sir, very hard indeed. When he was in short-coats I used to dandle that boy on my knee.’

  ‘You must not refine too much upon it, sir. He is clearly not himself.’

  Mr Cross shook his head. ‘I know not what he is now. It is Cambridge that has done this to him. Ever since he went there, he has been a different person. Tell me, do you know the place?’

  ‘I was never there in my life.’

  ‘Then have a care, sir,’ Mr Cross whispered. ‘It is meant to educate our young men but to my mind it blights them. And you must be constantly on your guard at Jerusalem. Lady Anne has a good deal of influence there but she is not universally beloved.’ He broke off suddenly, as if aware he was straying into dangerous territory. ‘To put it in another way, the college has its own interests to protect, which is quite natural.’ He pulled out his watch. ‘But I run on. I am sure you have much to do before tomorrow morning.’

  ‘What is the college’s interest in this? How does it differ from hers?’

  ‘Oh – that.’ Mr Cross stuffed the watch back in one waistcoat pocket and took out his snuffbox from the other. ‘Well, you see, this business – it is not good for them at all.’

  ‘Because her ladyship may turn against them?’

  ‘Not exactly. Though that is a consideration. But these scandals attached to Mrs Whichcote and Mr Frank have the power materially to affect them in more ways than one. A college does not attract young men of rank and fortune overnight. It has taken Jerusalem years to develop its reputation as a desirable establishment for them. I understand there are fashions in these things as in all else. What has been built up over years may be blown away in a matter of days. No, sir, when you are at Jerusalem, you must never forget that for many of the gentlemen there this is more than a little matter of a ghost, a suicide and an unfortunate boy: it is also a matter of money.’

  7

  On Friday, 26 May, after dining as usual by herself, Elinor Carbury sat in her parlour at a table by the window, which overlooked the Master’s Garden. The garden was still laid out in the old-fashioned style with parterres, shrubs and trees, all deployed with the mechanical regularity of a regiment of soldiers upon a parade square. It was bounded largely by the sweeping curve of the Long Pond, beyond which were more college gardens.

  In front of her on the table was Dr Johnson’s Rasselas, a novel she had read several times before. She heard a muffled knocking on the hall door downstairs. She turned a page and appeared absorbed in her reading when Susan, squirming with excitement, announced Mr Holdsworth.

  He bowed from the doorway. Elinor responded with a civil inclination of the head. She closed the book and stood up. ‘Dr Carbury had hoped to be here to greet you, sir, but he was unfortunately called away. I trust your journey was uneventful?’

  ‘Yes, madam,’ Holdsworth said.

  ‘Would you care to take some refreshment, perhaps?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  She disliked the way he stared at her almost as much as his lack of conversation. He was uncouth, she decided, a veritable bear of a man. He must have intimidated that poor wife of his. The maid lingered in the room, eyeing the visitor with ill-concealed interest. Elinor told her to leave them.

  ‘I understand that Mr Cross has informed you of all you need to know,’ she said when they were alone. ‘So –’

  ‘I wish that were true.’

  ‘Sir? You are pleased to be droll?’

  ‘No, ma’am, I spoke no more than the truth. For example, Mr Cross told me little about Mr Oldershaw’s encounter with the ghost. When I inquired further, he referred me to you and Dr Carbury.’

  She offered him a chair, partly to give herself time to regain control of the interview. She returned to her seat at the table and looked sternly at him. ‘There is little to say. Mr Oldershaw was in low spirits already, why I do not know. On the evening before he saw – whatever he saw – he had drunk a good deal of wine and his gyp says he also took a dose of laudanum as he retired to bed.’

  ‘His gyp?’

  ‘A gyp is a species of servant we have at the University – they condescend to work only for those undergraduates who can afford to pay their exorbitant charges.’

  ‘A reliable witness?’

  ‘I do not know the man. His name is Mulgrave. Dr Carbury says he is nobody’s fool, and he is sober in his manner of life. When Mulgrave left Mr Oldershaw at the end of the evening, he believed he was asleep. The rest is speculation, until the porter on duty heard a great shouting and splashing near the Long Pond. If you wish, you may see the spot from here.’

  He joined her by the window. The unfashionably large cuff of his shabby black coat brushed her shoulder.

  ‘You see the water, sir?’ she said. ‘And the great plane tree on the further bank? That was where they found him. He was bellowing like a baby.’

  ‘What time was it?’

  ‘A little after two o’clock. The porter raised the alarm and pulled Mr Oldershaw out of the water. He fell into a swoon, and indeed his life was despaired of for several hours, for he was chilled to the bone. When he awoke after dawn, it was found that his reason had fled, and that he could babble of nothing but ghosts.’ She paused. ‘Or, to be more precise, of Mrs Whichcote’s ghost. In a day or two it became clear that his reason had still not been restored, though in other respects he was recovered. Dr Carbury communicated with Lady Anne, and she ordered his removal to Dr Jermyn’s.’

  ‘Tell me, madam, why –’

  A knock at the door interrupted them. Susan announced Mr Richardson. Elinor hoped her face did not betray her irritation. A small, slightly built clergyman came towards her, took the hand she held out to him and bowed low.

  ‘Your servant, ma’am,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘A thousand apologies – I did not realize you had a visitor.’

  ‘I am afraid the Doctor stepped out after dinner, sir,’ she told him. ‘I believe he intended to call in at Trinity.’

  ‘No matter. I shall probably see him later this evening.’

  Elinor turned to Holdsworth. ‘I beg your pardon, sir. May I present Mr Richardson? And this, sir, is Mr Holdsworth, who is come down today from London.’

  The two men bowed to each other. Richardson was about fifty, a good-looking man with a gentlemanly manner. He had neat
, delicate features and bright eyes like chips of glass.

  ‘Mr Richardson is our senior fellow,’ Elinor continued when they were all sitting down. ‘Dr Carbury informs me that this University holds few scholars who can match the breadth of his learning and the penetration of his intellect.’

  ‘The Master is so very kind,’ Richardson replied with a smile. ‘But perhaps my reputation sounds more glorious to the ears of a stranger than in fact it is.’ He turned the smile on Holdsworth. ‘I fear that scholars are such a minority in this University now that the labours of those who remain shine with a lustre they do not necessarily deserve. And you must be Lady Anne’s emissary, sir. Dr Carbury told me you would arrive today or tomorrow.’

  Holdsworth bowed again. He took out his pocketbook and removed a letter from the inner flap of the cover. ‘Her ladyship asked me to give you this, sir.’

  Richardson thanked him with rather more warmth than was necessary. He slipped the letter into his pocket without opening it and turned back to Elinor. ‘And of course you are just returned from seeing Lady Anne, I collect. I trust her ladyship is in better health?’

  ‘She is no worse.’

  ‘I am rejoiced to hear that, at least. And, Mr Holdsworth, you must do me the honour of dining with me while you’re here. Where do you lodge?’

  ‘Why – here, of course,’ Elinor said, hoping to make it quite clear to both men where Holdsworth’s loyalties should lie.

  ‘Then Mr Holdsworth is indeed fortunate.’ Richardson turned again to Holdsworth. ‘The college is a perfect desert of masculinity. But the Master’s Lodge,’ – he bowed to Elinor – ‘thanks to this charming lady, is become an oasis of femininity. Still, since you are come to look over the library, I hope I may be of service to you. You, too, are a scholar?’

  ‘Not I, sir,’ Holdsworth said. ‘I have been a printer and a bookseller.’

  ‘Then I shall be particularly interested to hear your views on our collection,’ Richardson replied smoothly. ‘I have only recently taken over the direction of the library. It has been sadly neglected for at least a generation. All in all, our books are not as I should wish them to be.’ He smiled again at Holdsworth. ‘You may depend upon it, sir, I shall examine you very thoroughly on the subject.’