The Haunting

by Raymond M Hall

  Luke spoke again,

  ‘That’s settled then, and Mary, I want you to forget your old life. We shall never speak of it again.’

  And so it was that Luke Bishop and his niece Mary boarded the stagecoach for London. She looked every bit the genteel offspring of a gentleman in her new clothes. The seamstress had not let them down, the artistry was exceptional, and Luke gave her a handsome bonus on top of her original price.

  The only thing that let Mary down was her speech, so she tried not to speak in front of people. The rough Bristol brogue set her apart from her demure image; she was, thought Luke, a charming girl. The seamstress had obliged with a hair trim and managed to make her look acceptable.

  The journey to London was bumpy and accompanied by rain for part of the way. The weather slowed them as the dirt road became a muddy causeway, the horses slithering and sliding as they pulled the big coach. To Mary, it was all new and so much fun. She had never travelled more than two streets from where she was born, and this was exciting. She whispered to Luke,

  ‘How far away is this place called Virginia you talk about all the time?’

  He smiled,

  ‘About six months by sailing ship.’ He replied.

  She thought he was playing a game and laughed, how could anywhere be so far away, it wasn’t possible.

  Once in London, Luke booked them into a good hotel while they waited for a connecting coach to Lincoln. From there they would have to seek a local carrier to get them to Lower Marston.

  Mary was suitably impressed with the size of the city, as was Luke, who had never been there himself. He held onto her hand tightly as they negotiated the busy streets and hoped they could secure seats on a coach soon; he hated this place. It was dirty and crowded, and he was left with the impression that every ne'er-do-well in the area was looking at them.

  The pain was soon over, and they smiled at each other as the grimy city receded into the distance behind them. Lincoln would be their next destination, and once there it would be a simple matter to put up at a hotel and employ somebody to transport them to Lower Marston.

  The cathedral city of Lincoln was far more appealing to Luke than London, although he was sorely missing his newly adopted home of Norfolk, Virginia. He was getting impatient to begin the search for Bethany so they could return to the place where he was held in such high regard.

  After a comfortable night in one of the better hotels, they sallied forth in a carriage arranged for them by the hotel. Luke’s excitement began to build as they approached Upper Marston which looked prosperous enough. They didn’t stop but continued on towards Lower Marston only three miles away. He was eager to ask around about Bethany, certain he would find information about her and become reunited with the love of his life.

  As they approached the bakery Luke’s jaw dropped; the carriage stopped at the crossroads and the driver looked around for further instructions.

  ‘Whatever happened?’ Asked Luke.

  The driver shrugged his shoulders,

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know, sir, has it changed much then, since the last time you were here?’

  Luke looked around. Where was the village? All he could see was the bakery.

  He alighted from the carriage, reaching up for Mary to help her down. Leading her by the hand, he walked around the side of the bakery and into the yard, the place appeared to be abandoned, and there were signs of a recent fire. He pushed open the unresisting kitchen door and stepped in. The walls were blackened with smoke, and the remains of the kitchen furniture lay in an unruly pile, almost burned beyond recognition. The damage was certainly not recent, and Luke wondered what had happened, indeed what had become of the whole village? The entire area was devastated, the bakery was the only building still standing. The rest consisted of ruined structures, and all appeared to have been consumed by fire. The only other complete item was the ugly gallows which remained on guard at the crossroads still awaiting its next customer. Luke walked back outside and studied the scene trying to take it all in. He looked up and down the smaller roads leading off from the main road in both directions and saw that the destruction of the village was complete. There was nothing left, except the bakery which although damaged was still standing.

  Mary had remained in the bakery and now wandered through the burnt out kitchen, careful to avoid spoiling her new clothes which she treasured. She was drawn to a walk-in cupboard and picked her way through the debris. She stared at the back wall and put her hands against the smoke stained plaster.

  That was how Luke found her, walking back into the kitchen calling out her name but being met by silence. He began to panic as his newly acquired responsibility as an uncle kicked in. He now thought of himself as the child's guardian. Where was she?

  Walking through the room, he caught sight of the back of her dress and relieved, hurried over to her stopping short as he saw she was leaning against the rear wall with both palms extended against it. Her forehead slowly moved towards the wall, and he refrained from calling out to her, some sixth sense told him to let her be. Her head made contact with the wall, and for a few seconds nothing happened, then she began to sob. Her body was shaking as the tears flowed and he could hold back no longer, walking into the cupboard and placing his arms around her, pulling her away as she cried openly moving through the kitchen and out the door to the yard.

  Once outside Mary seemed to recover and dried her eyes on a kerchief Luke handed to her.

  ‘What happened in there?’ He asked with concern still evident in his voice.

  ‘I’m not sure; touching the wall, I could hear voices.’ She replied.

  ‘You say voices, how many were there do you think?’ He asked.

  ‘A man and a woman. He sounded gruff and unkind, like the man you rescued me from, in Bristol. But she, she was sad and crying.’ Mary was speaking with a faraway look in her eyes.

  ‘What were they saying?’ Luke pressed.

  ‘I don’t know, the voices were so faint, but I know the woman was sad and scared.’

  Luke took her hand in his and turned back to the carriage.

  ‘Come on, there’s nothing for us here. I’ll make enquiries in Upper Marston, surely they will know what happened here.’

  The driver turned the carriage around with some difficulty, the horses shying, the whites of their eyes showing clearly. They were afraid. They almost broke away from the driver's control when confronted by the gallows, and it was only when he led them a little way up the road away from the crossroads that they settled down.

  Luke handed Mary up into the open carriage and asked her to sit quietly, feeling the need to go back into the bakery one last time, knowing he would never return.

  He entered the kitchen on his own and stood in the middle of the room contemplating all that had happened in the past. There was Tom, poor Tom who had paid the ultimate price for attacking his own beloved Bethany. His father, Seth, he wondered what had become of him? He grew angry as he remembered their last meeting and his subsequent arrest. He was convinced his father had a hand in that as well, why did he want him out of the way so desperately? And Bethany, where was she? He felt she was close by, but where?

  Luke slowly walked out of the room pausing at a spot near the charred remains of their old kitchen table. He bent down and put his fingers into a patch of liquid and bringing then up to his face recognised the coppery smell of blood. It appeared to be fresh and bright red, not the deeper red of an old stain. Maybe an animal had become trapped in the charred ruins and cut itself in its efforts to escape. The location of the patch of blood did not escape his notice; it was exactly where he had struck Tom in the back with the axe.

  Luke looked at his fingers almost in a trance, holding them up to the light. It was then he noticed a different smell, a familiar smell from long ago, in fact, more than ten years had passed since his last memory of the pungent aroma. It was Seth’s pipe. He had always smoked the same tobacco as long as Luke could remember and now he could clearly s
mell it. As he looked across the kitchen he thought he could detect a thin haze of blue smoke, it had been a familiar sight in the old days.

  Luke hurried away from the building and climbed back into the carriage. He bid the driver take them back into Upper Marston, and as they drew away, he found Mary’s hand, taking it lightly in his own. She gripped him and snuggled in a little closer, both finding comfort in each other and neither understanding why they needed it.

  They stopped in Upper Marston and entered the inn, the best place for local information and gossip. Luke ordered some food and ale for himself. For Mary, he ordered clean water, but when it arrived, she screwed up her face in distaste.

  ‘Can’t I have some ale?’ She asked.

  ‘Young ladies do not drink ale.’ He replied, a little shocked.

  ‘Well, I ain’t a lady, am I? I’ve been supping ale for years; please let me have some of yours.’ She begged.

  Luke reluctantly passed her his mug, pleased that at least they were screened from the sight of the other customers behind a high backed settle. Mary put the tankard to her lips and downed the contents in one go. She smacked her lips together loudly as she handed it back to him.

  ‘That’s better.’ She said, smiling sweetly.

  Luke grinned and went to replenish the empty mug; he hadn’t had one sip of the first one.

  While he waited for the landlord to pour the ale, he began to talk about Lower Marston, mentioning that he had passed through the village some years before and it had appeared to be thriving, and yet now it had all but disappeared.

  The landlord put the mug of ale in front of him and said, almost in a whisper, that the place was haunted.

  Luke had a sip and prompted the landlord to continue, indicating that perhaps he might like to join him, tipping some coins onto the counter. He quickly poured himself a drink and leaning on the bar began to talk in a conspiratorial whisper.

  ‘They do say that the baker went mad. It was about five years ago and just before I came here. Apparently, he went berserk and killed some people down there. No one around here wants to say much about it.’

  Luke had to know more and pressed the man for information.

  The landlord indicated an old man sitting quietly in a far corner by a small window,

  ‘Old Henry over yonder would know all the details; you might be able to buy him a drink or two.’ He winked at Luke and nodded in the old man’s direction.

  Luke went back to Mary and told her to stay where she was, he wanted to speak to the man alone. She sighed and nodded at the tankard of ale in his hand. He put it down on the table and walked over to the man named Henry.

  Luke introduced himself and asked if he might join him, he received a nod of assent and sitting down, looked to the landlord giving the sign for two mugs of ale to be brought over.

  After introducing himself with the false name of Christian Fairweather, Luke broached the subject of the fate of Lower Marston.

  Henry sat back in his chair, drinking from the tankard which had been placed in front of him. Luke nodded to the landlord in an unspoken but understood gesture to keep it coming.

  ‘Well now,’ Began Henry, ‘There’s a tale to be told alright. . . .’

  Chapter 26

  Seth went about the business of baking bread by himself, but the work soon began to get on top of him. He knew he couldn’t carry on alone, so decided to employ an assistant. There were many vagrants on the road, coming from nowhere and heading in the same direction and he began to look out for a likely candidate.

  One cold morning a young couple called at the back door to beg for some stale bread. They looked hungry and desperate, so Seth invited them in out of the weather. He sat them down and began to quiz them, they might even work for food, and somewhere to sleep, he hoped. The couple were married but childless. She broke down and cried when telling him about her two babies, one boy and one girl. Both had perished on the road, not enough food and the numbing cold of winter had seen them both off within a week of each other. Seth remained impassionate; their suffering meant nothing to him, he was only concerned that maybe he could get them to work. The man could be useful in the bakery, and his wife could keep house. At the moment that’s all he cared about but couldn’t help wondering if there might be a half attractive girl under the filthy clothes.

  It didn’t take much convincing to inveigle the couple into his web. They would both work for food and a warm place to sleep. The man would sleep in the bakery in Bethany’s old room, her prison cell, and the woman in the main house. They glanced at each other in trepidation when informed of this arrangement but were desperate, and knew they couldn’t survive the winter out in the open. ‘It would do until the spring,’ They whispered to each other.

  The young man, Isaac, began that same night in the bakery and was relieved that the work although monotonous was not hard. It was also warm, and he felt his weary bones sigh in relief. His wife, Lilly, began to tidy up the house. It had not had a proper clean in years, and even in her filthy state, she wrinkled her nose at the smell. When Seth and her husband were at their busiest in the bakery, she took the opportunity to wash herself and her clothes, hanging them to dry in front of the open fire in the kitchen.

  As first light broke the baking had been completed, and Seth sent Isaac into the small room behind the oven to rest. He looked in on him only minutes later and heard the gentle rhythm of deep sleep. Seth gently closed the door and latched it shut, sliding the bolt across. He had not planned on this, but the opportunity had been placed in his way. Running his tongue along thin lips, he turned to make for the house; he had an hour before the deliveries began.

  He entered the kitchen and smelled the clothes in front of the fire. Lilly was nowhere to be seen. He quietly ascended the stairs heading for Luke’s old bedroom, where he had first watched Bethany as she slept. He wondered what had become of her? Having successfully blocked her true fate entirely from his mind, he felt no guilt, only curiosity.

  Standing in the bedroom beside the bed he saw the sleeping form of Lilly under the covers and knew she would be naked; all her clothes were downstairs in front of the fire. She too was sleeping, and from her breathing, he guessed she was as exhausted as her husband. Seth gently lifted the covers exposing her nudity, she was laying on her side, facing away from him. The sight of her soft skin inflamed him immediately. He was tempted to slide into the bed behind her, but resisted the urge with great difficulty. There would be a time, he thought, but this was not it. Seth forced his mind to stop thinking about her nakedness, and reluctantly draped the covers back returning downstairs. He packed his pipe and sat in front of the fire smoking, watching her clothes dry.

  An hour later he was back in the bakery to pack the deliveries. The small cart he had stolen from the Gypsy camp all that time ago had come in handy. He pushed and pulled it himself having no money to waste on buying a horse and no desire to be constantly looking after it. It was only a small affair, and he had adapted it so that he could be the power source himself. Luckily there were no hills in the immediate area, so it was not too much of a hardship.

  Seth went behind the oven and unbolted the door to the small room, entering noisily with a shout to Isaac that there was bread to deliver. He would get his money’s worth from this pair, plenty of time to sleep in the afternoon. He would ensure they had no time together either; he couldn’t stand the thought of them making love.

  Isaac dutifully traipsed around the village delivering the bread as Seth directed. After a couple of trips, he would be left to do it by himself. No point in both of them getting wet and cold, it was barely light at the end of the deliveries at this time of the year.

  When they returned, Lilly was up and about, dressed and preparing breakfast. She served the meal to the pair sitting at the table before eating herself. The couple managed to exchange glances between mouthfuls none of which Seth missed, he resented the silent exchange of affection.

  Where are you, Bethany? Just when I need
you the most. He thought, his mind blanking out the reality that she was not more than a few feet from where he sat, hanging in chains and gradually decomposing. Lilly wrinkled her nose at the smell she had been unable to eradicate when she cleaned the house.

  ‘What on earth is that horrible smell?’ She asked, addressing herself to the room in general.

  ‘Rats.’ Said Seth. ‘Dead ones.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lilly said, accepting that sooner or later the smell would disappear of its own accord.

  Every day was the same as the last in the bakery, the work continued relentlessly, and although pleased with things in general, Seth was becoming increasingly frustrated. He had taken to looking in on Lilly whenever she was asleep, careful not to wake her but his desire had quickly changed to obsession, and he knew one day he would not be able to contain himself.

  His opportunity came early one morning in the bakery. It was only three o’clock, and the fire in the oven had been stoked to bring it up to the point where the loaves of bread would cook evenly. Isaac was busy feeding logs into the open fire door with Seth glowering at him. He had made Isaac the reason for his misery, without him Lilly would be available, and he was sure he would be able to win her over.

  Isaac let out a howl as his bare arm brushed against the hot iron of the oven door, he fell to his knees clutching the burnt arm as the pain wracked his body. He fell forward with his forehead almost touching the flagstoned floor still crying out in agony. Without thinking, Seth picked up a loose brick and brought it down heavily on the back of his head. Isaac collapsed in a heap and Seth hit him again and again until his skull fractured, spewing bright red blood everywhere. Seth stood back surveying what he had done and tossed the brick into the hot oven aiming it to the rear of the fire, and turning to Isaac laid him out on his back. He lifted his shattered head and smashed it back onto the flagstone floor, there was blood everywhere. It would have been difficult to dispute that the damage had not been occasioned by him falling over backwards after burning his arm. That was to be the story Seth would give anyway.