“Once again I had a reference to the Great Work. Somehow my Bogle was intimately connected with a work of alchemy.
“Inside, the book was an illuminated manuscript on parchment, some thirty leaves or so. Each page contained a drawing in a high degree of precision and a commentary done in a neat tidy hand.
“The first caught my eye immediately.
“‘Extractio Animae Solis: or a Triall upon Sol, for the Extraction of Philosophical earth. The Author has putt doon the consequences of his Experiments therein, from the beginning to the end, by way of Journal; in the sure and sertin hope of the resurrection and the life of Our Lady, in this year of oor lord fifteen hunner an eichty seven. Putt doon here in the Castle of The Lions.’
“The accompanying picture was titled MALAGMA, and showed a fiery red serpent eating the world which was depicted as a shining golden disc.
“Strictly speaking of course, this wasn’t part of the process at all, rather, this picture was a symbolic representation of the whole process. As you chaps are aware Malagma is Latin, meaning Amalgamation. And the whole process of alchemy, the quest if you like, is to amalgamate the soul, the microcosm, with the universe, the macrocosm.”
* * *
Carnacki paused.
“Would you like to recharge your glasses?” he said. ”The tale is a long one, and we have a ways to go yet.”
As we helped ourselves to more of the fine Scotch Jessop cornered Carnacki by the fireplace.
“I’m sorry old chap,” he said. “You’ve lost me already. What was that about Amalgamation?”
Carnacki laughed.
“I thought that might confuse matters. The symbolism was obscure even when it was written. But all we need to concern ourselves with is the larger picture. We all exist together in one huge womb that is the Universe, the macrocosm, while we inhabit the lower regions, this Earth, in our daily lives, the microcosm. Alchemists were convinced that they could transcend both states, both above and below, both life and death. It came to symbolize the transformation required to reach illumination and eternal life.”
“Illumination?” Jessop asked, clearly perplexed.
“Let us not get ahead of ourselves,” Carnacki said smiling. “I just wanted you to get some idea what I was getting into. As I have already said, the tale has only just begun to unravel.”
He allowed us time to light fresh smokes then, settled in his chair once more, he continued his tale.
* * *
“I found another picture I recognized in the book. Solutio, the heading above the picture read. It showed a tall figure with two faces, one old, one young. The young one looked over a winter scene, the old one over summer. The bottom half of the figure seemed to be melting into a deep black pool, but both faces were smiling.
“It was the same as I had seen in the stained glass, only this time the figure looked thinner, more feminine. But I knew something of its import. This was one of the main steps in the great journey. The active principals from the microcosm are subsumed and dissolved by oil of mercury, the last vestiges of the old removed, preparing the way for the rise to the new beginning in the macrocosm.”
“The remainder of the folio was as I have already described, a series of pictures describing the steps of alchemy. I do not pretend to understand it all, but even so, I failed to see how it helped in any way with my investigation. I tossed the book aside in disgust. It hit the side of my cramped bed and fell to the floor. As it did so, the spine of the folio split, revealing a folded sheet of paper cunningly hidden inside. I removed it as carefully as I was able. It was a short note, undated and unsigned.
“‘I hae done whit wis requested. Something hae been brocht back. Whever it be fit fur the task will hae to be seen. She is confused and sair afflicted, but it is her. There is nae doobt o’ that. It is a great blasphemy, but it needed done, and I am content to await the accountability of God alone. It will be wurth a’ the trials if it brings the end o’ tyranny and the return o’ that which wis taken from us.’
“As you can imagine, that did not enlighten me to any great extent. An examination of the paper showed it to be of a similar date to the Concordances, but more than that I could not ascertain.
“By now it was well into the reaches of the night and I had more than enough to think on. I spent the hours through until morning in fitful sleep on a bed that was scarcely worthy of the name. As soon as the sun came up I rose, made what ablutions I could, and went in search of some breakfast.
“The housekeeper was in the kitchen, and proved as intractable as before. I was unceremoniously served with a thick porridge that looked like grey paste but was surprisingly tasty, and a pair of smoked kippers which were as divine as anything ever served in any fine hotel in town.
“I thanked her profusely but still she did not soften... not until I mentioned the child, Lisabet.
“‘I have no time for you poking around in the Lady’s room,’ she said. ‘That girl is the only reason I stay in this godforsaken place. A sweeter child you will never meet.’
”And at that I do believe I saw a tear in the housekeeper’s eye, but when I looked again the steely glint had returned. I tried to ask about the back room on the second floor, and the calf-bound journal, but she brooked no discussion of either that, or the Bogle.
“‘It is the Laird‘s place to tell any stories, not mine.’
“She would say no more, and as I moved around the lower floors of the castle I realized there were no other servants there for me to question. I resolved that I would put my questions to the source, the Bogle itself, that very night.
“That left me with a day to fill. I took myself off for a walk around the castle grounds. The Laird kept a fine garden, full of plants drawn from all quarters of the globe, and the views across the valley were clear and bright on a fine sunny day such as this. Later I left the castle itself and wandered into the small town that butted up against the main exterior wall of the grounds. Several locals eyed me warily, but I managed to loosen tongues in the local inn when I spent a guinea buying those present some ale and whisky.
“Yet again my attempt to find information was to be foiled. All present had indeed heard of the Bogle in the castle, but theories about its origins were as many as the number of flagons I had bought. There was only one statement that stayed with me as I returned to my small billet. It was something the landlord of the inn said as I left.
“‘Tis a shame we only have the Laird and the bairn,’ he said. ‘For yon castle is fit for bigger than that. Tis fit for royalty.’
* * *
Carnacki stopped, tapped out the pipe in the grate and refilled it.
“I wonder if any of you are beginning to understand what was ahead of me?”
Arkwright raised a hand, like a boy in a schoolroom, but Carnacki waved him down.
“No. Let us save theories and explanations until the story is done.
“Let me just say that as I waited for night to fall, I was starting to have an inkling as to the nature of the Bogle.”
* * *
“I began the evening by setting up the pentagram in the child’s bedroom. I was by no means sure that any such defences were necessary but discretion is usually the better part of valour. I overlaid the electric pentacle on the pentagram, attached it to the battery, and settled down to wait, eschewing the child’s chair this time, preferring to sit inside the pentagram on the hard wood floor.
“And once again I did not have to wait long. I was still on my first pipe when the air chilled and soft footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. I do not know whether it was the presence of the pentagram or not, but this time the mist that came through the doorway seemed more solid, more in a shape representing a human figure. And there was something more -- the faintest hint of a high heady perfume.
“The mist entered and again paid no heed to me. As it drifted over to the child’s bed the azure valve brightened slightly, but there was none of the blazing intensity I would have expected h
ad the apparition been less than benign.
“The odour of the perfume grew stronger still, and beneath that, something else I recognized; the dank dead smell of the grave.
“Whispers came from within the mist as it loomed over the bed, and I had to strain to make out the words.
“‘It was mine by right,’ a soft voice said. ‘Mine by birth. She shall not have it again.’
“As the figure turned away from the bedside it brushed against the outer edge of my electric pentacle. The azure valve brightened and at the same instant the mist thickened until it had taken the form of a tall, painfully thin figure. A woman stood looking sadly back at the small bed. She was dressed in a long black robe of thick velvet, and a hood partly obscured her features so that all I could see was a flash of white at her cheek and a thin, aquiline nose. As she turned further the robe encroached on my defences. She jolted as if struck, the hood fell back, and by Jove I took one heck of a fright I can tell you.
“It was not the empty stare from the eyes that shocked me, nor the cold grey tongue that looked like a piece of old stone. No, the thing that took me aback and near robbed me of my senses was the red scar that ran clear round her neck just above the shoulders... a scar that still wept blood down her chest.
“I shuffled backwards across the pentacle, but she showed no sign of approaching me, nor of trying to breach the defences. She had one last look at the bed, and whispered again.
“‘Mine by birth. She shall not have it.’
* * *
Carnacki sat back in his chair and smiled.
“I do believe I have given you quite enough clues now,” he said. “But please, let me finish the story. It is time now for you chaps to recharge your glasses for the final push.”
By this I was also coming to some conclusions as to the nature of Carnacki’s Bogle and I was keen to see if I had guessed correctly. I believe everyone present felt the same, for we refilled our snifters in record time and were soon ready for Carnacki to continue.
* * *
“She left the room, footsteps fading along the corridor. Silence fell but I sat there a while longer before rising, pondering my next move. I knew it would cause consternation in the household, but the way ahead was clear to me. I had to persuade the Laird to return to the house, and to bring his daughter with him. For only by direct confrontation could this business be finished once and for all.
“Getting the man back to the castle was easier said than done. It required a series of terse telegrams between the post office in Forfar and London which caused a great deal of chatter in the town and cost me several guineas in bills for a carriage to and from Glamis itself. Finally we reached agreement, and all I could do was wait for their return.
“That was to take more than a week, during which time I took in a trip around the Perthshire Hills and met an adversary who was much less benign. But that is a tale for another evening. Suffice to say I spent the time fruitfully and on the day the Laird arrived from London with his retinue I was at the door of the castle waiting for him.
“A child I guessed was Lisabet held him tightly by the hand, but as they approached the door she let go and ran past me, heading inside.
“‘She seems to have forgotten all about the Bogle,’ the Laird said as he shook my hand. ‘Perhaps it is best to keep it that way?’
“‘I doubt that very much sir,’ I replied. ‘I have some questions I need you to answer, then you will have a decision to make.’
“He nodded curtly and went inside.
“It was my turn to mind my manners, and I held my peace throughout a fine supper of salmon and pheasant, washed down with some excellent port. I waited until everyone had retired, and we sat in armchairs around a fireplace before I broached the matter at hand.
“The Laird seemed surprised at the questions I put to him, but not as much as I would have thought. He poured us a snifter of brandy each, and it seemed he was buying time to muster his thoughts, as if deciding what to reveal to me.
“‘There were rumours,’ he finally said. ‘Tales that an attempt such as you describe had been made. You have seen the window... you know already that this place has a history in such matters?’
“I nodded in reply.
“‘But what in Jesus’ name is my daughter’s part in all of this?’ he asked me. ‘She is only a child and innocent of any hurts done in centuries past.’
“‘The coincidence of the names at least is obvious,’ I replied. ‘But answers may only become clear in time. It may be something in the child’s future that has brought this attention on her.’
“The Laird looked pensive at that, but said nothing.
“‘With your permission,’ I said softly. ‘I would like to give the Lady some rest. I think you will agree that she deserves that at least?’
“It was his turn to nod in agreement.
“We made our way to Lisabet’s room and found the child examining the chalk markings I had made on the floor. She was most excited when I brought out the electric pentacle. Her father gave her a stern warning to haud her wheesht and she fell quiet as I first repaired the defences, then set the pentacle to work.
“The three of us sat, pressed close together.
“‘What is it we are waiting for?’ Lisabet asked.
Her father replied for me.
“‘A princess,’ he said. ‘Just like you.’
“He ruffled her hair, and at that very same moment the soft footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. We smelled the heady perfume even before she walked through the doorway.
“This time she was almost fully formed. The black velvet robe looked like a hole in the very fabric of space itself, her pale face hovering like a moon above it. The dead eyes turned and stared at the child.
“‘You took it,’ she whispered. “‘It is mine by right, and you took it from me.’
Lisabet stiffened but did not cry out, merely started back at the thing before her.
“‘I do not know you madam,’ she said, so prim and proper that I had to stifle a laugh. ‘Kindly be so good as to introduce yourself.’
The robed figure loomed over us. Once again the only activity from the pentacle was a slight brightening of the azure valve.
“‘Madam,’ I said softly. ‘This is not your sister. She has been dead these three centuries and more. There is no place for you here.’
“The darkness thickened slightly and the blank eyes turned towards me. Bloody tears ran from them.
“‘Go?’ she whispered. ‘That is my dearest wish. But I know not how.’
“‘Let me help,’ I said softly, and uttered the prayer of passing.
“‘ADJÚRO ergo te, omnis immundíssime spíritus, omne phantásma, omnis incúrsio sátanæ, in nómini Jesu Christ.’
“She broke apart, like smoke taken by wind. At the last a wispy tendril reached towards the child.
“‘Lisabet,’ came a whisper.
“Then she was gone.
“‘What did that lady want with me?’ the girl asked as I packed away the pentacle and cleaned the chalk from the floor.’
“‘She was dead, but did not know it,’ I replied. ‘And she thought you were someone she knew a long time ago.’
“‘Well I’m not going to die,’ Lisabet said loudly. ‘I shall live ‘till I’m a hundred.’
“‘And do you know something chaps? I do believe she might just do it.’
* * *
Carnacki sat back in his chair, a wide grin on his face.
“Before we get to who the apparition might have been, I suppose I had better tell you how it came about.
“You chaps all know that I do not believe in the soul as such,” he continued. “And at first, this Bogle almost made me doubt my own convictions. But having thought long and hard, I believe I may have the truth of it.
“It starts in the late 16th Century, with an attempt by a Scottish alchemist to revive a dead Lady. Now I have studied the Great Work to some degree, and have already this ev
ening commented on the Amalgamation of the microcosm with the macrocosm. What no one, not the alchemist, nor I, had considered, was what effect the transformation would have on a body already dead. What was transformed was not capable of ascension to the Outer Realms, the Macrocosm. It was forced to remain, rooted to its earthly plane, doomed for eternity to roam, seeking something it could never find.
“And you came along and freed it?” Jessop piped up.
“Freed her,” Carnacki said softly. “For there was still something there of the Lady she had once been.”
“And who was she exactly Carnacki?” Arkwright said. “Lady MacBeth?”
Carnacki laughed loudly at that.
“No. Not that one, but the Lady I sent to her rest was also of noble birth. Come chaps. Have I not given you enough clues? The date of the journal alone should give you some idea? And the place, the seat of an ancient Scottish family? If you have not the wit to work it out for yourself then I have not the inclination to enlighten you. All I shall say is we should look out for the name Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon in the years ahead, for I believe she has a destiny that the whole country will come to understand in time.”
At that Carnacki rose from his chair, the time honoured signal that our evening was over.
“Out you go,” he said jovially at the door.
As we left Carnacki whispered just one word in my ear, but it was enough for me to consider on the way back along the Embankment. By the time I reached home I had confirmed my own earlier guess as to the identity of the Beast of Glamis.
Carnacki’s whispered word stayed in my mind even as I drifted to sleep.
Fotheringay.
The Lusitania
I arrived in Cheyne Walk that winter evening in response to an unexpected card from Carnacki. It had been several weeks since our previous supper together, and I thought him off on his travels. It was a foul night outside, with a cold wind howling up the Thames sending rain lashing in my face as I scuttled along the Embankment. But Carnacki had a hot toddy waiting for me as he took my coat, and I was soon as warm as toast, both inside and out.
Carnacki: Heaven and Hell Page 11
