The Hall was imposing. Though it had been changed from various styles throughout the years it still had a baronial air about it, though Wallace suspected that the roof although looking outwardly sound would probably need a fair bit of both time and money on it to make it as waterproof as surely it once had been. The building had a melancholy, faded feel to it yet it also had pride and the sun shining on it on this early summer’s day seemed to wash the patches of mildew and moss away, revealing its former glory and style to those who cared to look for it.
There did however not seem to be anyone around, and being ten minutes early Wallace was quite undecided what to do. He was no stranger to the house, his most renowned consultation here being the case of the Madagascan Nettles, but he was not quite sure what to do - either to walk around the house and therefore into the gardens themselves, or to ring the bell on the entrance and await admittance. He knew the hall had meagre staff these days and so he decided this was the best course of action, for it would probably be a good five minutes before he was admitted inside anyway.
It was therefore a great surprise to him when upon ringing the bell the door was opened within a minute and there in the hallway was Lady Spiers-Faulkner herself, looking Wallace up and down and then waving him into the house.
“Good of you to come, Barrington.” She said, as if Wallace’s visit had been all his own idea. “That ruddy gardener of mine is a total waste of time. He can mow a lawn for sure, but I do rather suspect that he would not know a radish from a strawberry!”
“Oh I think old Chalky is quite competent, my lady.” said Wallace, smiling and walking up the hallway with the lady of the house.
“Nonsense!” she laughed, “Chalky Whitehaven is the worst gardener this side of Market Speyshaw. Of that there can be little doubt. Give him a spade and he will dig, I will grant you. But you have to tell him when to stop digging for fear of him accidentally burying himself alive.”
Wallace smiled at the thought of Chalky Whitehaven, not because his name seemed to indicate that he was from Copeland in Cumbria. In fact he had a definite Yorkshire twang to his accent, Wallace often thought), but that lady’s assessment of her groundsman was particularly accurate, given that half of his working week seemed to be spent picking Wallace’s brains for advice on what to do with this and that.
They walked through the hallway and along another few corridors and then through the conservatory and out into the grounds. A herb garden was nearby (no doubt handy for the kitchen, Wallace had thought several times in the past), and the vegetable patches were not much further away than that, though they were quite large with long tall glass paned greenhouses running off behind the house, all appropriately south-facing, aligned perfectly to make full use of the vagaries of the English sun, or indeed lack of it.
Beyond this were the groundsman’s hut and sheds where the equipment was stored. Presently the double doors of one of the sheds was wide open and the sound of a small petrol engine could be heard revving inside, deep drifting clouds of exhaust fumes rising from within and pouring out onto the gravel path.
“Chalky! Chalky!” Shouted Lady Spiers-Faulkner and the engine was suddenly silenced and Chalky Whitehaven emerged from the shed, wiping his dirt covered hands on an especially oily rag. Chalky himself certainly looked up to his name. He was as thin as a willow wand and permanently had a somewhat battered flat cap perched on his head that always looked as if it might fall off at any moment, though it never actually did. He had a long wide nose and ruddy cheeks, and his chequered shirt was as usual rolled up to his elbows, his bare arms nut brown and wizened. Had he grown a beard, Wallace thought, he would quite possibly look like a garden gnome on stilts.
“Yes, Lady Spiers-Faulkner?” he said quietly, and came across to shake Wallace’s hand, scrubbing it vigorously with the rag before he did so. “Wallace.” he nodded and tilted his head back to the vegetable plot behind him. “‘About the pumpkins I dare say?” he enquired and Wallace nodded.
“Ruddy big holes in a few of them.” said Lady Spiers-Faulkner. “Complete mystery. Never seen the like before, Wallace.”
“Is it on all of them or just one or two?” asked Wallace and Chalky frowned before replying.
“Well just one by the last weekend just gone, though I think three by last night, and another two this morning. Whatever it is, it’s spreading pretty quickly I should think.”
“Well we had better get to the bottom of it or we won’t be having any pumpkin soup at all this year at this rate.” said Lady Spiers-Faulkner. “That would be a complete disaster. Enjoy a spot of Pumpkin soup you know. The Spier-Faulkner’s always have. Well known fact.”
“Well lead on then.” said Wallace, let the dog see the rabbit so to speak.” Chalky smiled and the three of them walked away from the sheds and down a path towards the fields beyond.
Wallace saw the pumpkin patch barely in the distance straight away. The hay covered patch was quite large. Evidently Lady Spiers-Faulkner did enjoy her pumpkins, for the plot seemed to be covered in scores of large pumpkins growing in raised mounds, hay strewn liberally about the ground to protect the pumpkins as they grew. As they drew close Wallace smelt a strange scent on the air, and not a pleasant one too, and he crinkled his nose as Chalky brought them to a stop beside the plot, on the edge of the small brick wall no more than an inch or two in height he saw several of the pumpkins had fist sized holes in them. Lady Spiers-Faulkner tutted beside the path as Chalky pointed to them.
“That’s them.” he said, “”First ones to go are here, though there are more behind these.”
The pumpkins were large, Wallace noted, rapidly coming to their prime already.
“These are quite early, aren’t they?” asked Wallace, puzzled by the pumpkins’ size so early in the year.
“Special seed.” said Chalky. “Cost a fortune it did too, though it’s said that the results are more than worth it. Came from Asia apparently.”
“Only if the bloody things grow long enough without being eaten.” tutted Lady Spiers-Faulkner, tapping her foot as she watched Wallace begin to examine the pumpkins. As he did so he pulled a medium sized magnifying glass from his pocket, and trying to ignore a twinge of his back he leaned down and examined the holes.
“Have they got any larger?” asked Wallace, moving the glass backwards and forwards in an attempt to focus.
“Not at all.” said Chalky. “Whatever it is seems to move onto the next one after it is done with it.”
Wallace nodded and grunted as his back clicked a little more.
“Well the hole is not clean.” he said, touching the edge of the puncture. “The edge is serrated, as if it was chewed rather than punched. It is not quite a sphere either, though it appears to be from a distance.”
“Plum beetle?” asked Lady Spiers-Faulkner doubtfully.
“Well a pumpkin is hardly a plum, Lady Spiers-Faulkner is it?” said Wallace with a chuckle. Lady Spiers-Faulkner laughed.
“I rather think that a plum beetle doesn’t actually eat plums now does it now, Barrington?” she chided him and grunting as he straightened himself and rubbing his back Wallace smiled too.
“Of course not.” he smiled, “Though the plum beetle does tend to reserve its efforts to trees and bushes, though they are relatively local to here.”
“What is the diagnosis then, Barrington?” said Lady Spiers-Faulkner.
“I think we do have a case of longhorn beetle though.” Said Wallace and he saw from the corner of his eye Chalky nodding his head as if in agreement, which made Wallace smile even more. “Chalky, run back to the shed and fetch a knife. We shall cut this one in two and see if we have any unwanted guests still in residence.”
“Right-ho.” said Chalky, swiftly walking up the path to fetch the knife.
“So a longhorn beetle infestation then?” asked the lady of the house.
“It certainly looks like it.” said Wallace, sniffing the air again. There was a definite bad smell coming from somewhere nearby.
“Are you manuring the fields?” he asked, looking down across the nearby acreage.
“Of course not!” sniffed Lady Spiers-Faulkner. “Far too early for that, Barrington!”
Wallace steeled into an uneasy silence but it was not for long as Chalky soon re-appeared with a long, well-worn knife and proceeded to cut the stem of the pumpkin, and rolling it onto the path sliced it slowly in two. As the two shells of the pumpkin fell open Wallace kneeled down and examined the fleshy interior of the pumpkin, bringing his magnifying glass into focus as he did so.
“Nothing.” he said, poring over the sliced pumpkin, “Nor is there any damage inside. Just the hole on the outside.” Wallace leaned closer to the pumpkin to be absolutely sure and as he did so a fearful smell like that of decaying matter rose from the halved vegetable and filled the air. Chalky gave a loud exclamation and stepped back, and Wallace saw Lady Spiers-Faulkner dabbing at her nose with a handkerchief, attempting to shield herself from the smell with the cloth.
“Dear Dod dot is dat smell?” she exclaimed, and Wallace stepped back too as the stink from the pumpkin slowly began to fade. It was a cloying, fecal smell and it made his eyes water and his stomach churn.
“I have absolutely no idea.” said Wallace, “I have never smelt the like before. Quite pungent I would say.”
“It bloody ronks, if my ladyship doesn’t mind me saying.” said Chalky and they all stepped back a few paces to let the smell slowly fade, which eventually it did.
“Quite so.” said Lady Spiers-Faulkner and all three of them stood there waving their arms about until eventually the smell dissipated.
“I wouldn’t put that pumpkin in with the compost, Chalky.” said Lady Spiers-Faulkner. “Burn it.”
Chalky agreed and gingerly gathering up the two halves of the vegetable he made off down the path towards presumably where the fires were usually lit to dispose of rubbish.
“Any dead trees nearby?” asked Wallace and Lady Spiers-Faulkner shook her head. “Favourite habitat of the longhorn beetle you see. In this area the Larch Longhorn used to thrive, though that has eased over the last few years.”
“I see.” said Lady Spiers-Faulkner.
“Tetropium Gabriele Weise” mused Wallace, replacing his magnifying glass back in his inside pocket. Lady Spiers-Faulkner looked at him sideways. “To give them their Latin name.” he smiled and she nodded. “Usually active at dusk the longhorn. I may have to return later to check.” He said glumly, reflecting on a evening having to be spent studying the lady’s pumpkin patch. Still. A commission was a commission and Lady Spiers-Faulkner always did pay handsomely, and the money would come in handy. “I shall return at dusk to begin my inspection.” Said Wallace slowly as if composing a mental checklist of the equipment he would require later. “No need for you to attend, my lady.” he said, “I will have everything that I need with me.”
“Excellent.” said Lady Spiers-Faulkner. “I am greatly in your debt and I thank you for your diligence. I will without hesitation afford a worthy remuneration once I am rid of this dreaded beetle.”
“Thank you Lady Spiers-Faulkner.” said Wallace, turning to leave back up the path. “I shall make my report in the morning.”
“Excellent.” said Lady Spiers-Faulkner and shortly after Wallace was back in his car and on his way home.
***
Wallace packed a sandwich just in case. As the afternoon wore on he found himself considering the results of his brief survey of the pumpkin patch. He could not help but think that his inspection had been flawed. Longhorn beetle seemed to be what the pumpkins serrated punctures seemed to suggest, but such beetles only attacked wood, laying larvae on felled trees and the like. Yet he could not conceive of any other reason for the mysterious holes in the pumpkins. It was definitely not done by a traditional garden pest, that much he did know, or indeed any of the usual types of infestation or attack that pumpkins were suspect to. The edges and gnawing of the plants seemed to indicate something else. Yet he could not quite put his finger on what it was likely to be and so he proceeded with his usual mental checklist, the very top of which was of course a full flask of sweet tea and a nice thick ham salad sandwich.
He knew that if the problem did indeed turn out to be longhorn infestation then he would have a problem, because the only source of a cure was fumigation, and he did not think that neither the beetles nor Lady Spiers-Faulkner would be terribly happy with that. So as dusk fell he picked up his rucksack containing his torch, sandwiches, flask and a small notebook and made his way to the car.
A little while later he was crossing around the side of Wanthrop Hall and making his way into the gardens. From somewhere nearby he heard an owl hoot as dusk fell and the shadows of the trees fell long and deep across the fields as the sun went down. It was still warm however so Wallace undid his jacket and made his way past the sheds and in the direction of the pumpkin patch. As he drew nearer he unshouldered his bag and placed it on the ground, and opening it removed the torch and approached the pumpkins.
He strode into the patch and turning the torch on made his way through the pumpkins, careful not to tread on any of the sprawling vegetation or growth of the plants. It was still barely light as night was close now, and so he crouched down and swung the torch about the pumpkins, examining each one for any sign of insects. He did discover a few snails, slugs and the like but nothing major at all, and definitely no longhorns.
He returned sighing as he went back to the path and returning to his bag sat down upon the small wall with his back to the pumpkins and began to eat his sandwiches, having first poured himself a hot cup of the tea into the cup lid of the tartan flask. He ate half of the sandwiches and as darkness finally began to take hold he returned to the pumpkins once again, this time concentrating his search on the already punctured pumpkins, the edges of the holes already beginning to turn brown and rot as the rest of the plant tried to continue growing as if nothing had happened.
With the removal of the pumpkin that Chalky had burnt earlier in the day there were still four pumpkins left with holes, and as he examined them he could smell faint traces of the putrid smell that they had all endured in the afternoon, but it was most definitely not as strong. Yet there were no more holes in any other pumpkins he noted with a certain air of satisfaction. He did note however that the vandalised pumpkins were all within a very short reach of each other, close to the path and most nearly neighbouring plants.
Scratching his head he returned to pour another cup of tea, which he did, and was halfway through the final sandwich when he heard a slight rustle in the pumpkin field behind him. He froze, mid-chew and waited for another sound, yet nothing came. Slowly he began to chew again, and then he heard more movement. One quick disturbance in the pumpkin patch, and then a low deep noise, not quite a growl, but more a noise that sounded like some small animal.
“Chi-Chi-Chi.” Came the noise, almost like a snickering and Wallace felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the noise stopped again. Several possibilities flooded his mind, and he slowly worked through them in his head. Badgers? Yet he found himself chuckling. Badgers that ate pumpkins? Surely not. Foxes? Carnivorous. Perhaps a stray cat? Maybe. yet he could not shake the thought from his mind that none of these creatures made the sound that he had just heard. It was deep yet high pitched at the same time, guttural and feral. He had never heard a badger, a fox or indeed any kind of cat, stray or not, make a sound like that before.
“Chi-Chi-Chi.” Came the noise again, and Wallace carefully placed his cup on the floor and switched on his torch. Night had fallen now and the beam lit up the pumpkin patch well enough, though now in the dark it all looked unfamiliar and he was scared to admit to himself, vaguely frightening.
“Who is there?” He said, and felt a fool instantly. An animal was highly unlikely to raise its hand and demand a head count now, was it?
There was however a response from within the pumpkin patch. There came once again the strange “Chi-Chi-Chi.” noise and then
from where that had risen another noise, very similar but slightly different. More high pitched in fact.
Wallace tip-toed forward, torch in hand, swinging the beam back and forth across the pumpkin patch but he could see nothing. There was still a rustling sound near to hand and as he got nearer to the damaged pumpkins he began to smell the awful stench he had been subjected to earlier on in the day, but this time it was much much stronger. He resisted the urge to pinch his nose but did decide to start breathing through his mouth instead, though it seemed to make hardly any difference at all.
Yet still he could see nothing and then everything went quiet again. No rustling noises at all. Sighing Wallace turned off the torch and as his eyes became accustomed to the dark to his horror he saw ahead in the patch two little red pricks of dark red light, like small, evil eyes watching him, and then off to his left another pair. He convinced himself that they could not be eyes yet as he stared at them he saw them suddenly disappear and then rapidly re-appear. Almost as if whatever it was in the pumpkin patch was blinking.
“Chi-Chi-Chi.” He heard, and the eyes slowly began to move towards him, the stench increasing as they did so.
“What is this?” shouted Wallace and the “Chi-Chi-Chi.” came again, though much nearer. Wallace found himself trembling and with horror he felt the torch fall from his trembling hand and smash on the path at his feet, the sound it made when it hit the ground putting him in no doubt that the torch had spilt its batteries on the path. He would never find them in the dark!
“Chi-Chi-Chi.” Came the noise again and the nearest pumpkin moved slightly and he stared into the dark and saw a small creature standing there watching him curiously. It was covered in dark black matted hair, it's red eyes staring at him intently as if he was some sort of prey to be hunted. The creature was no more than three foot high, within a short stubby tail and long teeth. He saw all of this as it grinned at him, the creature almost illuminated in the dark and watching him intently.
A Bad Case of Sigbins Page 2
