The Indigo Ghosts

by Alys Clare

  I wondered now why I hadn’t told Theo what I’d done and planned to do, and opened my mouth to do so. But from somewhere within my consciousness a voice said softly, No. So I didn’t.

  Theo was looking more like his usual self and now, turning to me with a smile, he said, ‘Well, I suppose I should wait a while to see if anyone comes to claim her, and if not, see about getting her buried. I don’t suppose there’s much chance of finding out who she is.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed. ‘But I think you’re right not to bury her straight away.’

  Theo was eyeing me closely. ‘You think they meant to take her with them?’ he said quietly. ‘You surmise they had to leave the Falco in a hurry, and now will try to reclaim her?’

  I shrugged. ‘It had crossed my mind.’ I hesitated, then added, ‘I can’t help thinking she was very important to them, which is totally illogical because I don’t know who she was and have even less idea as to the identity of the men.’

  Theo had clearly had enough of vague fanciful matters for one morning. ‘I must return to my desk,’ he said firmly, ‘where a score of other matters awaits my attention. May I offer you refreshment before you leave, Gabe?’

  ‘No, Theo, I too must get on with my day,’ I replied. I turned towards the yard, where I knew Hal would have been made ready for me. ‘Please thank Elaine for looking after me, and for her hospitality. I’ll let you know if I make any discoveries.’

  He was already walking back into the house and didn’t turn round, merely raising a hand in farewell.

  Hal and I were well on our way home and I wanted nothing more than to be back at Rosewyke; back in the wonderful normality of my daily round. My head was throbbing now, and I thought longingly of a light meal comprising the best that Sallie’s kitchen could offer, followed by a sleep in the serene solitude of my bedchamber.

  But as I neared the place where I would turn for home, I turned instead towards the village, Tavy St Luke’s. To the priest’s house beside the church, in fact, for I knew I wouldn’t rest unless I spoke to Jonathan Carew. The vicar of St Luke’s is a good friend. Certain recent events had brought us to a new understanding, and I had utter confidence that he would give me the time I needed.

  I found him in his little house, and as soon as I had tethered Hal to the hitching post and replied to Jonathan’s greeting he led me into his study, sat me down and handed me a very decent measure of brandy.

  ‘You look as if you need that,’ he remarked. I nodded my appreciation. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘I hit my head,’ I said.

  He studied me, eyes intent. ‘That is not the true cause of your distress,’ he observed.

  So I told him.

  I was amazed at what poured out of me: faithful repetitions of what Captain Zeke’s crew said they’d seen; a description of the atmosphere of fear and danger on board the Falco; my own reaction to what I saw, heard and, most crucially, sensed; what we had discovered down in the furthest corner of the lowest deck.

  What I’d felt, and what I was sure Theo had felt too, as we stood in the cellar with that ancient corpse.

  ‘I don’t believe in ghosts and hauntings,’ I said when at long last I found I’d run out of words.

  ‘So how do you explain what you have just told me?’ Jonathan asked quietly.

  ‘Others believe they have experienced the inexplicable, and I have simply picked up their fear,’ I said firmly and a little too loudly.

  Jonathan smiled. ‘I see.’

  ‘You’re not telling me you believe in ghosts!’

  I should have remembered who I was speaking to; it was a careless, thoughtless, stupid remark to make to a priest.

  But he sat perfectly still as if considering the matter for some moments before saying, ‘It depends, of course, on what you mean by ghosts. If you are asking if I believe some evil spirit lives aboard this ship and manifests itself as a man with blue skin, then I have to say no. If you mean, however, do I believe there is a whole realm that exists beyond what we habitually see, hear, smell and feel in the tangible world, then yes I do.’ He gave me a sharp look. ‘Of course I do, Gabriel.’

  FOUR

  Jonathan insisted on seeing me on my way back to Rosewyke. He sensed I was far from my usual robust state of health, and he assumed responsibility for making sure I was all right.

  We walked side by side, and I led Hal. For some time neither of us spoke, and then Jonathan said, ‘Would you like me to come to the coroner’s house to view the body from the ship?’

  ‘Yes, I would be very interested to have your observations, and—’

  He laughed. ‘I wouldn’t be there as a natural scientist, Gabriel, but as man of faith. Different eyes, I believe.’

  ‘Whatever eyes you look with, Jonathan, I would welcome it.’ I hesitated, and, noticing, he indicated for me to continue. ‘What I think would be really helpful, however, would be if you were to visit the Falco. Perhaps if you were to say a prayer, or even hold a short service, Captain Colt and his crew would undoubtedly find that a comfort and a reassurance.’

  ‘Are you asking me to perform an exorcism?’ he asked bluntly.

  Was I? I didn’t know. ‘Would you?’

  He sighed. ‘Yes. But I am not sure you understand what is meant by the word. Exorcism, in brief, is the means by which an evil spirit is forced to abandon its possession of a person. Remember how Jesus told the evil spirits to abandon the madman they were possessing, and they were driven out and into a herd of pigs, which fled over a cliff edge and were drowned.’

  I nodded, for it was a well-known parable. I’d always felt sorry for the pigs – I like pigs – but I knew better than to say so.

  ‘It is also possible to command malicious spirits to abandon an object, or a place, although I have never experienced such a process myself,’ he went on. ‘Strictly speaking, a priest requires permission from those to whom he answers, or that was the case under the old religion; I would need to ask my bishop before performing the abbreviated version of the rite that I would be using …’ He frowned, deep in thought. Then he said, ‘Please ask Captain Colt if he wishes me to go on board his ship. If he says he does, then I will hold a service of purification asking God to bless the ship and her crew.’ He paused, still clearly thinking hard. ‘First, however, I wish to see the body that now rests beneath Theophilus Davey’s house, for I suspect that, now it has been removed from the ship, the manifestations will have ceased.’

  ‘So you’re saying—’

  ‘Gabriel, I’m not sure what I’m saying,’ he said with an edge of impatience. ‘I need to think and, far more importantly, spend some time in silent prayer in my church in the hope that I may receive understanding and guidance.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jonathan, I realize this is quite a burden to lay upon you.’

  He shook his head, smiling. ‘It is what I am here for. Now, mount up and go home, Gabriel,’ he urged, ‘eat, rest, and tomorrow come and call for me early in the morning, when we shall proceed to the coroner’s house so that I may experience this strange matter for myself.’

  I did as he bade me, and he nodded in approval. He watched me as I rode off, then turned back towards the village.

  With the last of my strength – I couldn’t believe how very drained I was feeling – I let Hal take me back to Rosewyke, where I put him in Tock’s capable but slow hands before putting myself in those of my housekeeper. Sallie tutted and fussed – ‘You look all in, Doctor!’ – and while I sat at the kitchen table wolfing down bread, butter, a thick slice of ham and a mug of ale, she went up to my room and turned back the bed for me.

  I only paused to take off my boots before flinging myself down and closing my eyes. I was aware of a flashing succession of images: a tiny, very beautiful woman with skin like ebony … a crocodile whose mouth gaped wide enough to gulp down the entire world … a terrified man with an iron spike in one hand and a hammer in the other … the beautiful woman again, now soothing me, singing to me, her long-fingered han
d smoothing my aching head as she murmured sleep, forget … and then I was deeply, dreamlessly asleep.

  I woke to evening light, and my sister sitting on the edge of my bed.

  ‘I thought you were never going to wake up!’ Celia said brightly. ‘Sallie said you had hit your head so I’ve been to see Judyth, Judyth Penwarden’ – as if there was any other Judyth, I thought – ‘and she said you were to take this.’ She thrust a small packet at me which, on unfolding it, proved to contain powdered herbs. ‘She says it’s strong, and it’ll make you sleep, so perhaps you’d better save it until bedtime?’ Since you’ve been asleep all afternoon, she seemed to add silently.

  ‘I shall. It was very kind of her to send it, and of you to go and acquire it,’ I said, swinging my legs round and standing up.

  Celia smiled prettily. ‘Not at all. So, come on, Gabe! Tell me all about it.’ We crossed to the door, and I found to my relief that I was steady on my feet. ‘You’ve been back to the Falco in response to that note your old captain sent yesterday, and I want to know what he wanted and how it was, being back at sea.’

  ‘I wasn’t at sea, for the Falco is in Plymouth harbour, and I’m not sure I should tell you the reason for the summons, for it really isn’t at all suitable for—’

  ‘For a young woman’s delicate ears? Rot,’ my sister said bluntly. We were out in the long passage that runs along the back of the house now, making for the stairs, and she paused to fix me with a very hard look. I read her thoughts as if she’d spoken them aloud, and I understood.

  My sister is not a delicate young woman. She fought and overcame a terrible event in the recent past, and in doing so discovered that she was a great deal stronger than she and everyone else believed she was. She is, in short, a survivor. She is also quick thinking, intelligent, imaginative and perceptive, and just then I couldn’t think of anyone with whom I’d rather discuss what had happened on the Falco, and what had happened afterwards.

  Delicious aromas of good beef cooked in red wine were wafting up from below: Sallie was about to serve our dinner.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ I said as we crossed the hall, ‘then we’ll retire to the library with a decanter of brandy and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  She looked at me suspiciously. ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’

  She grinned and led the way into the dining room.

  After an excellent meal – Sallie appeared to believe that acquiring a lump on my head the day before meant I was in urgent need of feeding up, and my platter had been heaped with good food – Celia and I were now in the library, in our comfortable chairs either side of a merrily-burning fire, candlelight setting off a soft gleam in the fine oak panelling, fine crystal goblets of very good brandy in our hands.

  ‘Now, Gabe, honour your promise, if you please,’ Celia said in the sort of voice that isn’t to be argued with.

  So for the third time I told my tale. It wasn’t the curt, business-like account I’d given to Theo, nor was it the alarmed story of ghosts and hauntings which Jonathan had heard. I tried to make it matter-of-fact, although that wasn’t easy when I came to the many inexplicable things that had been encountered. It took some time, but my sister sat in silence, nodding occasionally, and didn’t say a word until I had finished.

  Then she took a thoughtful sip of brandy and carefully replaced her glass on the small table beside her.

  ‘You have had quite a time on board your old ship,’ she said. ‘The vestiges of the crew, scared half out of their wits and whispering to each other of blue men and bad atmospheres. A crawl into a filthy space where the stench all but made you choke. An unnaturally tiny female body nailed savagely to a beam.’

  ‘A rib,’ I corrected. ‘Beams run the other way.’

  ‘And, as if all of that were not enough,’ she continued, not acknowledging the interjection by even so much as a nod, ‘a blow to the head that briefly rendered you insensate.’

  ‘The injury was not serious and already I—’

  She put up her hand and I stopped. ‘Please, Gabe. I’m working out a thought and it won’t help if you keep interrupting.’

  I grunted but didn’t go on with my objection.

  Eventually she turned her bright eyes to me and said, ‘I may be wrong, but from what you say, not one of you – Captain Zeke, Theo, Jonathan, you yourself – has asked the question that shouts out for an answer. Well, to me it does.’

  ‘What?’ I demanded. I was trying hard not to be irritated that my little sister had come up with something everyone else had overlooked.

  She smiled swiftly, as if knowing full well what I was thinking. ‘If we are to take it that the presence on board the Falco was human and not supernatural, which I’m assuming we are, then we need to ask who the illicit passengers were, and why they were there.’

  She was absolutely right.

  ‘We only discovered the signs of their presence late yesterday,’ I said. ‘It’s very likely that Captain Zeke is already making enquiries.’

  She nodded. ‘Fair enough, and that is something you can ask when next you speak to him. But, Gabe, what is to stop you and I from speculating a little? From asking ourselves where the fugitives might have crept on board and why they wanted to get to England.’ She frowned. ‘Or, possibly, why they needed to get away from wherever they were,’ she added softly, although I barely heard.

  I was trying to remember what Captain Zeke told me of the details of the Falco’s voyage. Leaping up – making my damaged head throb violently – I went to the bookshelves beside the big table in the window and ran my hand along the rolled-up maps and charts until I found the one I wanted. I spread it out on the table and Celia came to stand beside me.

  ‘The Caribbean,’ she said, nodding. ‘So that’s where they’ve been.’ Then: ‘Was the Falco engaged in the triangular trade?’

  And a different note had entered her voice as she spoke those words.

  Celia is a rarity among young women, for she is interested in all manner of matters not usually regarded as suitable for or relevant to her kind. In addition she is thoughtful and knowledgeable, having been extremely well-educated by our formidable grandmother Graice Oldreive, and she has a retentive mind. She is very like our grandmother in her character, for she holds strong opinions and it is very hard to make her change her mind once she disapproves of something. One of the things she disapproves of is the slave trade: the fact that the great and the powerful of our nation see nothing immoral in capturing men, women and children from their home lands and selling them in order to fund the purchasing of goods to be sold back in England astounded her when she first learned of it, and has continued to do so ever since.

  Bearing that in mind it was a relief to be able to say, ‘The Falco is not a slaver, Celia.’

  She raised her eyes from the map and stared hard at me. ‘I have your word?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The Falco is too small, I could have added, and not built with the cargo space for a hundred or more human beings, even crammed in so tightly together that they can barely turn over and stacked in layers so the ones on top are forced to urinate and defecate on those below.

  I kept quiet, for Celia’s anger burned brightly and painfully enough without my adding fuel.

  ‘So where precisely did Captain Zeke go and what was he doing?’ she asked.

  I pointed out the Falco’s course. ‘The islands of Dominica and Trinidad, then Maracaibo – that’s in Venezuela – and on to Panama.’ I ran my finger over the map, hovering at the places Captain Zeke had mentioned. ‘Guatemala, then they sailed up the coast of the Yucatan peninsula – here – and on towards Cuba, passing it on its southern side. Then Hispaniola, and from there, eventually, out into the Atlantic and home.’

  ‘And what were they doing?’ she insisted.

  I hesitated. ‘Looking out for English interests,’ I said.

  She gave a short laugh. ‘By which I suppose you mean robbing – oh, I’m sorry, relieving the ships of othe
r nations, specifically the Spanish, of their cargos.’

  ‘Cargos which they had no right to in the first place,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Oh, that’s all right, then.’ Her coruscating tone came straight from Grannie Oldreive, as did the high moral stance. I thought it best not to reply.

  ‘The Falco would have made port regularly?’ she demanded after a few moments’ calming down.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, in theory, the men could have slipped on board anywhere from here’ – she put her forefinger on Dominica – ‘to here?’ Now she pointed to Hispaniola.

  I thought about it, recalling how Captain Zeke had described the voyage. ‘In theory, yes, but it’s unlikely to have been before Hispaniola because they were hit by a devil of a storm the first time they set out for the Atlantic and were driven right back to the western end of the island, where they found shelter and waited until the bad weather had passed before taking on fresh supplies, making what repairs they could and trying again, that time successfully.’

  She was frowning. ‘So why couldn’t they have been down there hidden away before the storm?’

  I remembered Captain Zeke’s vivid description of the storm’s power. Of baling out the ship, of frantically trying to stay afloat, of the growing fear of death taking them all. And I heard again his ominous words: there was something unnatural about that storm.

  I felt a long, slow shudder go right up my back.

  My sister was waiting impatiently for an answer. ‘Because the ship barely survived,’ I said shortly, ‘and anyone trying to stay alive down there in that tiny, hidden space would be dead.’ Two, maybe three men, I thought, tossed around like fleas in a blanket, no idea of which way was up, no point of reference at all in that awful darkness, confined by enclosing walls, low ceiling and sloping floor, and as if all of that wasn’t bad enough, a half-man-sized barrel full of liquid waste intent on crushing them at every roll, pitch and shudder of the tortured ship.