When this was recounted to the others it afforded them considerable amusement, but when Peter said: ‘I never met such an ass in my life,’ Charles reproved him. ‘He’s doing well,’ he said, selecting a walnut from the dish. ‘Much better than I expected. I admit his Boy Scout stunts are a little obvious, but look at his ready wit! When old Titmarsh discovered him in ambush, did his presence of mind desert him? Not at all. He said he wanted to look for moths too. That’s what I call masterly.’
‘I think myself,’ said Mrs Bosanquet, carefully rolling up her table-napkin, ‘that we were very wise to call him in. Not that I consider him efficient, for I do not, but ever since he took the matter in hand we have heard nothing out of the way in the house. No doubt whoever it was who caused us all the annoyance knows he is on the watch and will trouble us no more.’
‘No one could fail to know it,’ said Peter. ‘During the three days when he sojourned with us he so closely tracked and interrogated everyone who came to the house that the whole countryside must have known that we’d called him in. I’m beginning to feel positively sheepish about it. The villagers are all on the broad grin.’
‘I don’t care what the villagers think,’ Celia said. ‘We did the only sensible thing. Other people don’t grin. The Colonel told me he thought it was a very wise precaution.’
‘You didn’t tell him why we did it, I hope?’ Peter said.
‘No, but I don’t really see why we should keep it so dark. I merely said we’d heard noises, and Bowers was getting the wind-up so much that something had to be done.’
‘The reason why we should keep it dark,’ explained her brother patiently, ‘is, as I’ve told you at least six times…’
‘Seven,’ said Charles. ‘This makes the eighth. And I’ve told her three – no, let me see…’
‘Shut up!’ said Celia. ‘I know what you’re going to say. If we tell one person he or she will repeat it, and it’ll get round to the person who did it all. Well, why not?’
‘I should be guided by what your husband says, my dear,’ said Mrs Bosanquet. ‘The least said the better, I am sure. And if the Colonel’s coming in to coffee and bridge with you this evening we had better move into the drawing-room, for he may arrive at any moment.’
The party accordingly adjourned, and in a few minutes Bowers announced Colonel Ackerley.
‘Upon my soul,’ the Colonel said, accepting the coffee Peter handed him, and a glass of old brandy, ‘I must say I hope you people won’t allow yourselves to be scared away from the Priory. I had almost forgotten what it was like to have any neighbours.’ He bowed gallantly to Celia. ‘And such charming ones too.’ He sipped his liqueur. ‘It’s a great boon to a lonely old bachelor like myself to be able to pop in for a quiet rubber in the evenings.’
‘Think how nice it is for us to have such a friendly neighbour,’ Celia smiled. ‘So often people who live in the country get stuffy, and won’t call on newcomers till they’ve been in the place for years.’
‘Well, when one has knocked about the world as I have, one gets over all that sort of rubbish!’ replied the Colonel. ‘Never had any use for stand-offishness. Aha, Miss Fortescue, I see you are preparing for the engagement. What do you say? Shall we two join forces and have our revenge on Mr and Mrs Malcolm?’
Margaret had swept the cards round in a semi-circle. ‘Yes, do let’s!’ she agreed. ‘We owe them one for our awful defeat last time we played. Shall we cut for seats?’
They took their places at the table, and as the cards were dealt the Colonel bethought himself of something, and said with his ready laugh: ‘By the way, what have you done with your watchdog? Give you my word I was expecting him to pounce out on me at any moment, for I strolled across the park to get here.’
‘Oh, we’ve diverted him,’ Charles answered. ‘Our nerves wouldn’t stand it any longer.’
‘Besides, he’s done the trick,’ Celia said. ‘Bowers, whose faith in him is really touching, seems to be settling down quite happily. If I did this, I shall say a spade.’
The game proceeded in silence for some time, but at the end of the rubber the Colonel reverted to the subject, and cocking a quizzical eyebrow in Charles’ direction said: ‘By the by, Malcolm, have you been setting your sleuth on to old Titmarsh? Oh, you needn’t mind telling me! I shan’t give you away!’
‘We had to get rid of him somehow,’ Peter said. ‘So we thought Titmarsh would keep him well occupied.’
This seemed to amuse the Colonel considerably, but after his first outburst of laughter he said: ‘But you don’t think old Titmarsh has been playing jokes on you, do you?’
‘Not at all,’ said Peter. ‘It was our Mr Flinders who thought he ought to be watched. All very providential.’
‘Well, if he discovers anything against the old boy, I’ll eat my hat,’ the Colonel declared.
Shortly after eleven he took his leave of them, and in a little while the girls and Mrs Bosanquet went up to bed. Having bolted the drawing-room windows, the men prepared to follow them, and in another hour the house was dark and silent.
Mrs Bosanquet, who had been troubled lately with slight insomnia, was the only one of the party who failed to go to sleep. After lying awake for what seemed to her an interminable time she decided that the room was stuffy, and got up to open the window, which she still kept shut in case anyone should attempt to effect an entrance by that way. ‘But that is all put a stop to now,’ she told herself, as she climbed back into bed.
The opening of the window seemed to make matters worse. At the end of another twenty minutes sleep seemed farther off than ever. Mrs Bosanquet felt for the matches on the table beside her bed, and lit her candle. She looked round for something to read, but since she was not in the habit of reading in bed there were no books in the room. It at once seemed to her imperative that she should read for a while, and she sat up, debating whether she should venture down to the library in search of a suitable book, or whether this simple act demanded more courage than she possessed. There was a tin of sweet biscuits in the library, she remembered, and the recollection made her realise that she was quite hungry. ‘Now I come to think of it,’ Mrs Bosanquet informed the bedpost, ‘my dear mother used always to say that if one could not sleep it was a good plan to eat a biscuit. Though,’ she added conscientiously, ‘she did not in general approve of eating anything once one had brushed one’s teeth for the night.’
The tin of biscuits began to seem more and more desirable. Mrs Bosanquet lay down again, sternly resolved to think of something else. But it was no use. Biscuits, very crisp and sweet, would not be banished from her mind, and at the end of another ten minutes Mrs Bosanquet would have faced untold dangers to get one.
She got out of bed and put on her dressing-gown. It occurred to her that she might wake Peter, whose room was opposite hers, and ask him to go down to the library for her, but she dismissed this pusillanimous idea at once. Mrs Bosanquet was a lady who prided herself upon her levelheadedness; she did not believe in ghosts; and she would feel very much ashamed to think that anyone should suspect her of being too nervous to walk downstairs alone in the middle of the night.
‘Nerves,’ Mrs Bosanquet was in the habit of saying severely, ‘were never encouraged when I was young.’
‘I shall go quietly downstairs, get a biscuit to eat, and select a book from the shelves without disturbing anyone,’ she said firmly, and picked up her candle.
The lamp had been turned out in the passage, and since there was no moon the darkness seemed intense. Another woman might have paused, but Mrs Bosanquet was not afraid of the dark. ‘What would alarm me,’ she reflected, ‘would be a light burning; for then I should know that someone was in the house.’
But the ground-floor was as dark as the upper storey. Mrs Bosanquet went cautiously downstairs with one hand on the baluster-rail, and the other holding her candle up. The stairs creaked annoyingly, and in the stillness each creak sounded abnormally loud. Mrs Bosanquet murmured: ‘Tut-tut!’ to
herself, and hoped that Celia would not be awakened by the noise.
The library door was ajar; she pushed it open, and went in. The biscuit-tin, she remembered, stood on a small table by the door, and she peered for it, blinking. Yes, there it was. She set the candle down and opened it, and slipped two of the biscuits into the pocket of her dressing-gown. She had quite recovered from her rather shame-faced feeling of trepidation, for no skulls had bounced at her feet, or anything else of such a disturbing nature. She picked up the candle again, and turned to the bookshelves that ran along the wall opposite the fireplace. It was very hard to see far by the light of one candle, and she knocked her shin on a chair as she moved across the room.
The difficulty was to find anything one wanted to read. She held the candle close up to the row of books, and slowly edged along in front of the shelves, surveying a most unpromising selection of titles. ‘Meditations on Mortality,’ read Mrs Bosanquet. ‘Dear me, how gloomy. The Sermons of Dr Brimley. That might send me to sleep, but I really don’t think… Tyndall on Light… Ah, this is better!’ She came opposite a collection of novels, and reached up a hand to pull one down from the shelf. Then, just as her fingers had half-pulled the volume from its place an unaccountable feeling of dread seized her, and she stayed quite still, straining her ears to catch the least sound. All she could hear was the beating of her own heart, but it did not reassure her. Mrs Bosanquet, who did not believe in nerves, knew that something was in the room with her.
‘It’s nonsense,’ she told herself. ‘Of course there isn’t. Of course there isn’t!’ She forced herself to draw the book out from its place, but her unreasoning conviction grew. It seemed as though she dared not move or look round, but she knew that was absurd. ‘I’ve got to turn round,’ she thought. ‘It’s all nonsense. There’s nothing here. I can’t stand like this all night. I must turn round.’
Fearfully she began to edge towards the door. She found that it had become almost impossible to breathe, and realised that her terror was growing.
‘It’s always worse if one turns one’s back on things,’ Mrs Bosanquet thought. ‘Suppose it crept up behind me? Suppose I felt a hand touching me?’
The leap of her heart was choking her; she felt as though she might faint if she went on like this. She stopped, and very cautiously peered over her shoulder. There was nothing. Yet what was that vague, dark figure by the fireplace? Only the tall-backed arm-chair, of course. She was so sure of it that she took a step towards it, and lifted her candle to see more clearly.
The dark shape grew distinct in the tiny light. A cowled figure was standing motionless by the fireplace, and through the slits in the cowl two glittering eyes were fixed upon Mrs Bosanquet. She stood as though paralysed, and even as she stared at it the figure moved, and glided towards her with one menacing hand stretched out like the talon of a bird of prey.
The spell broke. For the first time in her life Mrs Bosanquet gave a wild, shrill scream, and crumpled up in a dead faint on the floor.
Six
MRS BOSANQUET GROPED HER WAY BACK TO CONSCIOUSNESS to find the room full of lamp-light, and the rest of the family gathered solicitously about her. Someone had laid her upon the sofa, someone else was bathing her forehead with water, while a third held a bottle of smelling-salts to her nose. She opened her eyes, and looked up, blankly at first, into Celia’s concerned face. She heard a voice saying: ‘It’s all right: she’s coming round,’ and by degrees her recollection came back to her. She opened her eyes again, and struggled up into a sitting posture, unceremoniously thrusting aside the smelling bottle and the brandy that Margaret was trying to give her. ‘Where is it?’ she demanded, looking round her suspiciously.
‘Where is what, Aunt Lilian?’ Celia said soothingly. ‘Are you feeling better now?’
‘I am perfectly well. No, my dear child, I never touch spirits. Where did it go? Did you see it?’
Celia patted her hand. ‘No, dear, we didn’t see anything. I woke up, hearing you scream, and when we got downstairs we found you had fainted. Did you feel ill in the night, Aunt, or what?’
‘I came to get a book and a biscuit,’ Mrs Bosanquet replied. ‘Was there no one but myself in the room?’
‘Why no, darling, how should there be? Did you think you saw someone?’
‘Think!’ said Mrs Bosanquet indignantly. ‘Do you suppose I should scream for help merely because I thought I saw someone? I did see it, as plainly as I can see you.’
Charles came forward, ousting his wife from her place by the invalid’s side. ‘What did you see, Aunt Lilian?’ he asked. ‘Do you feel well enough to tell us about it?’
‘Certainly I am well enough to tell you,’ she said. ‘My dears, it is all perfectly true, and I am not ashamed to own that I have been wrong. The house is haunted, and the first thing to be done in the morning is to summon the Vicar.’
Celia gave a gasp of horror, and clasped her brother’s arm nervously. ‘Oh, what have you seen?’ she cried.
Mrs Bosanquet took the glass of water from Margaret, and drank some. ‘I have seen the Monk!’ she said dramatically.
‘Good Lord!’ Peter exclaimed. ‘You haven’t really, have you? Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?’
A withering glance was cast at him. ‘It is true that I so far forgot myself as to scream, and faint, but I can assure you, my dear Peter, that I am not such a fool that I would imagine such a thing. It was standing almost exactly where you are now, and it began to move towards me, with its arm stretched out as though it were pointing at me.’
Celia shuddered, and looked round fearfully.
‘Just what did it look like?’ Charles asked quietly.
‘Like a monk,’ said Mrs Bosanquet. ‘It had a cowl over its face, and I trust I am not a fanciful woman, but there was something indescribably menacing and horrible about it. I can see its eyes now.’
‘Where?’ shrieked Celia, clutching Peter again.
‘In my mind’s eye. Don’t be foolish, my dear, it is not here now. Its robe was black, and so were its hands – at least the one that pointed at me was. I daresay I am stupid, but that seemed to me to make it even more unnerving.’
Charles turned quickly towards Peter. ‘That settles it! Gloves! Now how did he make his get-away?’
‘Almost any way,’ Peter said. ‘He’d have had plenty of time to get across the hall before any of us reached the stairs.’
‘It is no use being obstinate about it,’ Mrs Bosanquet said. ‘It was no man, but an apparition. I am now convinced of the existence of such things. Perhaps it was sent to open my eyes.’
‘All dressed up in a Dominican habit and black gloves,’ said Charles. ‘I hardly think so. Take a look at the front door, Peter.’
‘Bolted, and the chain in position. I happened to notice. What about this window?’
Charles strode across to it, and flung back the curtains. ‘It’s bolted – no, by Jove, it’s not!’ He turned to Bowers, who up till now had been a scared auditor. ‘Bowers, do you remember if you bolted this to-night?’
Bowers shook his head. ‘No, sir. At least, I don’t think so. Begging your pardon, sir, but the mistress always likes it left open till you go up to bed. I thought you bolted it.’
‘That’s right,’ Peter said. ‘And to-night we sat in the drawing-room. That’s how it got forgotten. Cheer up, Aunt Lilian! What you saw was someone dressed up to give you a fright, and that’s how he got in.’
‘No, my dear, you are wrong,’ Mrs Bosanquet said firmly. ‘It had no need of doors or windows. For all we know it is still present, though now invisible.’
Celia gave one moan of horror, and implored Charles to take her back to town at once.
‘I think we’d all better go back to bed for the rest of the night, and discuss it in the morning,’ Charles said. ‘I don’t see that we shall do much good trying to search the garden now. We’ll bolt this window, though. And what about having Margaret to sleep in your room, Aunt? Would you prefer it?’
<
br /> ‘Not at all,’ she replied. ‘If it re-appeared, Margaret would be of no assistance to me, or any of you. I shall go quietly up, and to sleep, for I feel I shall not see it again to-night.’
On account of the night’s disturbance breakfast was put back next morning for an hour, but contrary to everyone’s expectations Mrs Bosanquet was the first down. When Celia, Margaret, and Peter appeared they found her looking as placid as ever, and reading the morning paper. ‘Good morning, my dears,’ she said, laying the paper down. ‘I see there has been fresh trouble in China. I feel one has so much to be thankful for in not being Chinese.’
‘Darling Aunt Lilian!’ said Margaret, twinkling. ‘You really are a marvellous person!’
‘On the contrary I fear I am a very ordinary one. And why you should think so merely because I remarked…’
‘Oh, I didn’t! But after what you went through last night I wonder you can be so calm.’
‘I lay awake and thought about that for some time after you had left me,’ said Mrs Bosanquet. ‘Do you know, I have come to the conclusion that I behaved very foolishly?’
Celia looked up hopefully. ‘Do you mean you may have imagined it after all?’
‘No, my dear, certainly not. I am not at all imaginative. In fact, your uncle used very often to say I was too mundane. But then he was extremely imaginative himself, and could tell the most entertaining stories, as I daresay you remember.’
‘Then how did you behave foolishly?’ asked Peter, helping himself from one of the dishes on the sideboard.
‘In screaming in that uncontrolled manner. I realise now that my proper course would have been to have challenged the apparition, and commanded it to tell me what it wanted. For, on thinking it over, I am convinced it manifested itself for some good purpose. Thank you, Peter, yes, I will have an egg.’ She began to tap the shell briskly. ‘It is obviously an unquiet spirit, and when you consider that it no doubt belongs to the remains you discovered in that very nasty, airless little cupboard, one can hardly wonder at it.’