A strangely
heavy and unseasonal fog had lingered for days, drifting across the streets of
the ancient town and hanging heavily over the marshes outside of Tilling.
Even the summit of Tilling hill was unable to pierce through the
fog. It seemed that the clouds would
never allow the sun to shine again, while those same clouds refused to rain
properly. The ladies and gentlemen of Tilling, whilst shopping each morning, were soaked by the
dismal mist and came home to find their hair bedewed with droplets of water
like a spider’s web on an early morning.
Mrs Godiva
Plaistow abandoned her usual habit of sitting in the bay window of her house
Wasters, for even when it was possible to see as far as the cobbles in front of
her home in the High Street, the mists obscured anything farther away, leaving
her with nothing but shadows to observe. For a few hours in the afternoon
and early evening, Wasters became Ye Olde Tea-House, Diva Plaistow’s business. Miserable weather, she thought. Only good thing about it is that business
has picked up. Janet’s idea of keeping the Tea-House well-lit and warm is
paying off. What was it she said, ‘A clean, well-lighted place’? At
this rate, I’ll be able to get in another ton of coal before Christmas.
Janet was Diva’s maid at Wasters and helped bake and serve in Ye Olde
Tea-House.
Mr Algernon
Wyse and his wife Susan had discontinued their daily shopping altogether; the
damp and dismal weather was so hard on the fur of Mrs Wyse’s sable coat that
she refused to go out, and Mr Wyse had grown tired of doing the shopping
without her. “We shall resume our daily shopping rounds when the weather clears
up,” Mr Wyse said to his wife. “No doubt it will improve for Saint
Martin’s Summer.”
“I hope so,”
replied Susan fretfully. “Even on our afternoon drives we cannot escape
this murky fog.”
At the top of
Tilling hill, in Mallards House, Lucia Pillson, Mayor of Tilling, chided her
husband Georgie, “Caro, really! You mustn’t let the weather get
you down. Look at me! I carry out my duties with unimpaired
vitality!”
“But you have
been playing Mozart’s Requiem over and over for days. So morbid,”
responded her husband, who was rather nettled by Lucia’s fraudulent claim to
unimpaired vitality.
“Simply trying
to learn a new work by celestial Mozartino,” replied Lucia adroitly, unwilling
to admit that her vitality had indeed been impaired by the lack of sunshine.
“But if you find it depressing, I shall leave it aside and play some brighter
compositions to cheer you. Perhaps a duet? Shall we wrestle once
again with Les Filles Malicieuses, arranged for four hands? But
you must promise not scold me if I play it wrong.”
Georgie refused
to be pulled in by Lucia’s playful “mustn’t scold me” ploy and shook his head
over his embroidery tambour; he sighed morosely. “This weather is sucking
the life out of everyone,” he said, “just like the monster in Mr Stoker’s famous
novel. Everyone is down in the dumps.”
“I am certain
that the fog will dissipate any day now,” said Lucia definitely.
Georgie was
still nettled and his thought was uncharacteristically harsh, Just like Lucia. Thinks because she’s
Mayor, she can order weather, like asparagus out-of-season at Twistevant’s.
Suffering worst
of all was Elizabeth Mapp-Flint. Her house, Grebe, was outside of Tilling
proper, directly on the marshes. All she had seen out of the windows for
days were skeins of mist and walls of fog. She had once owned Mallards
House, which was simply called Mallards during her tenancy there. But
Elizabeth had a gambling streak in her character, and she had made unwise
investments in a South African gold-mine that had caused her income to be
reduced by seventy pounds per annum. Two thousand pounds of her
“nest-egg” had been plowed into shares of Siriami, which would not pay
dividends for more than two years. Upon learning of Elizabeth’s financial
predicament, Lucia Pillson had traded Grebe and the sum of two thousand guineas
for Mallards. Elizabeth never acknowledged that Grebe was in perfect
condition, having been completely done up after the Boxing Day flood, and it
had new and modern kitchen and bathrooms, a new furnace and a new roof,
while Mallards was run-down and cost Lucia another small fortune in
redecoration, renovation and modernization.
For Mallards
was in the middle of Tilling, at the top of the hill, and had a view of Church
Square, and down West Street past Porpoise Street, to where West Street
debouched into the High Street. Before Elizabeth Mapp had married Major
Benjamin Flint, he had lived in West Street, and his friend Captain Richard
Puffin had lived opposite him, both under Miss Mapp’s eagle eye, as she watched
their movements from the garden-room window of Mallards. Further down
West Street in a converted coach-house lived “Quaint” Irene Coles, whose
politics and morality were as questionable as her art; the location of her
domicile left Quaint Irene open to Miss Mapp’s assiduous and censorious
observation.
Mr and Mrs Wyse
lived in Porpoise Street, and Elizabeth had been able to see from her aerie
when they entered or exited that street. Before the Wyse’s marriage, Mrs Wyse
was the widow Poppit and lived in Church Square, where the Vicarage was also
located; this locale had put Susan Poppit and her daughter Isabel, as well as
the Vicar, “Padre” Kenneth Bartlett, and his wife Evie, under Miss Mapp’s
watch.
And before
Lucia Lucas had married Georgie Pillson, Georgie lived in Mallards Cottage,
adjacent to Mallards. Except for Diva Plaistow who lived in the High
Street and Lucia when she lived at Grebe, all of Tilling society had been
under Miss Mapp’s scrutiny, and the smallest action, or lack thereof, was
subject to her conjecture. She reveled in the panoply of life that passed
in the street and in the gossip shared over the morning marketing.
But Grebe, out
on the marshes, with a tall dike in front of it to hold back the spring tides,
had nothing but birds to observe and nothing to conjecture about at all.
While the country air of Grebe, and its nearness to the golf links well-suited Major
Benjamin Mapp-Flint, his wife was suffering from the lack of stimulating human
contact. And despite getting a resoundingly large number of guineas by
letting Grebe for the months of August and September, Elizabeth was becoming
more and more parsimonious with the house-keeping budget, as this was the
manner in which she vented her frustration with living outside of Tilling.
Because he
noticed how often Elizabeth complained about the long walk into Tilling to do
the daily shopping, because all attempts at motoring by Major and Mrs
Mapp-Flint had met with resounding failure, and because she was making his life
a misery of foul food and no wine or strong drink, Major Benjy sought a way to
make his wife, and hence himself, less unhappy.
On that foggy
afternoon, over an out-sized cup of afternoon tea, Major Benjy remarked to his
wife, “Say, Girlie, I was talking to Woolgar in the club today after golf, and
he tells me that Captain Puffin’s old house on West Street is for sale.
Freehold. Owner moving up to London permanently. All new fixtures,
new paint, floors refinished. And the owner is willing to finance the
sale, for the right buyer.”
“I suppose the
owner wants heaven and earth for the house,” said Elizabeth.
“No, no,”
responded her husband. “Letting it go for a song, so Woolgar says; needs
to sell it quickly. I thought you might be interested. No long
walks into town and back. Right in the middle of Tilling, near all our
friends.” His wife sat silently, but Major Benjy could tell she was
thinking hard. “Well, I’ll leave it with you,” he said and wandered
upstairs to have a long drink from a flask of whisky concealed from his wife
and a short nap before dinner.
The idea of
living in Tilling once again had grabbed Elizabeth’s imagination and shaken
it. But she must look into details before allowing herself to get too
excited. She reasoned that, because the Major’s good friend Captain
Puffin had died in bed in that very house, drowning in a bowl of ox-tail soup,
she might be able to get a considerable reduction in the price. Sleeping
in the room where so close a friend had died was bound to be upsetting to the
Major, after all.
She could
explain to friends that Major Benjy insisted they move into a smaller house in
town in order to spare her the prolonged walks between Tilling and Grebe,
despite it being further to the golf links for him: such a concerned and
devoted husband was her Benjy-boy.
~~~~~~~~~~
The following
day the fog was as thick as ever, but in spite of it, during her damp marketing
Elizabeth stopped into the office of Woolgar and Pipstow, Estate Agents.
Mr Woolgar told her of all the amenities that the owner had installed, and how
desirable the property was.
“But I fear
that living there may upset the Major; after all, our dear friend Captain
Puffin died in the bedroom there,” she said to Woolgar, and she sniffed delicately
into her handkerchief to emphasize her desolation at the loss. “We have
so many memories of the Captain in his cozy little home,” she said, failing to
mention that, while she had memories regarding the Captain, not one could be
considered a “fond memory” and she had been in his house only a
handful of times, never venturing beyond the drawing room. Elizabeth Mapp
had despised Captain Puffin as a coward and an inebriate, unworthy of the
Major’s friendship.
Mr Woolgar made
sympathetic sounds, said soothing words, and asked if Mrs Mapp-Flint would like
an order to view. He said nothing about lowering the price based on
sentiment, or for any other reason. Elizabeth realized that she would
have to enlist Major Benjy’s help in order to “get a deal.” She told
Woolgar that she would like an order to view for herself and the Major the
following morning.
Mr Woolgar was
more adept at his profession than Elizabeth realized: after years of
having Mallards and then Grebe on his books for every August and September and
frequently having Mrs Mapp-Flint try to get out of paying him for the
advertising, he would offer no discounts to her without the owner’s express
permission. He said, “Tomorrow morning, very good. I have to show
the property to other interested parties, one late this afternoon and one this
evening, so tomorrow morning I shall be free.”
Elizabeth
paused. “Other interested parties” put a different face on the
matter. “Of course, I can ask the Major if we could look at the
house immediately after luncheon, if that would be more convenient for you, Mr
Woolgar,” Elizabeth said.
Woolgar smiled
genially. “It can certainly be arranged, if that is what you would like
to do, Mrs Mapp-Flint. Would you like me to drive out to Grebe and pick
up yourself and the Major for the viewing at, say, 2:30?” he asked, thinking,
I’ve got the old girl now!
Elizabeth
smiled back sweetly, an expression that always left Woolgar thinking that she
had far more teeth than one mouth should hold, rather like a shark. “That
would be kind of you, Mr Woolgar. The Major’s old wound has been acting
up with the dampness of the weather, and it would be so helpful to have a ride
to and fro,” she responded, thinking, Must make sure we get a free ride home,
too.
“Then I shall
see you and the Major at 2:30, Madam,” Woolgar closed the conversation and, as
Elizabeth rose and turned to leave, he busied himself with the papers and
ledgers on his desk. Perhaps he might get some money out of “the old
girl” after all.
~~~~~~~~~
Elizabeth
returned on foot to Grebe and ordered an unusually good lunch, with a bottle of
burgundy, as she knew that enlisting the Major’s help in lowering the price of
the Captain’s former abode would require some “lubrication.” And after
drinking almost all of the bottle of burgundy himself, Major Mapp-Flint fell in
with his wife’s plan. He was to keep talking about how much he missed his
friend the Captain and how difficult it would be for him to live in the
Captain’s old house, while she looked for deficiencies that could be used to
bring a decrease in the price.
Mr Woolgar’s
well-kept black Vauxhall 25 saloon pulled into the drive of Grebe promptly at
2:30, and the estate agent and his prospective customers were entering the
house on West Street some ten minutes later. “A cosy house, much smaller
than you are accustomed to, but so much easier to maintain,” began
Woolgar.
“The old
door-frame has been replaced with a newer, stronger one, in consideration of
security, but the original door of stout English oak has been retained,”
Woolgar said as he unlocked the door. They entered the hall. “New
paint throughout,” he continued. They went into the drawing-room at the
front of the house. “You are, of course, familiar with the drawing room
already,” continued Woolgar.
“Yes, indeed,”
said Major Benjy. “Many a happy evening I spent in here, discussing Roman
roads and their importance in the history of Tilling with my lost friend,” he
said sadly. “Captain Puffin was writing a monograph on Tilling’s Roman
roads.”
“And the dining
room overlooking the garden,” continued Woolgar, unswayed by the Major’s
reminiscence. Then he showed the Mapp-Flints a small commode under the
stairway, “Installed by the current owner to save him having to use the
stairway so often. So convenient.”
Woolgar led the
Mapp-Flints down to the lower ground floor and showed them the kitchen.
“All modern: gas range and icebox less than two years old, new pastry marble,
and ample room for the servants; the pantry is rather small, but that is in
keeping with houses of this size.” Woolgar opened a door to a windowless
room, “A small bedroom for the cook, or if the cook sleeps out, a large
butler’s pantry.” Then he opened another door, showing the potential
buyers the utility room at the back of the house, “Plenty of room for coal, the
furnace is also two years old, and should give years of service. Top of
the line, the furnace,” Woolgar said proudly. “The owner assures me that
it takes very little coal to fire it, and it heats the water quickly.”
Elizabeth was
searching for something negative to say. “The light seems unaccountably
dim,” she said doubtfully. “And the room for the cook is really too small
for a bedroom and too large for a panty.”
“No doubt bulbs
of higher wattage and a change in the weather will relieve the dimness,”
countered Woolgar.
Major Benjy was
pleased with what he had seen so far and opened his mouth to say so, but a
warning look from Elizabeth quelled his words. “Yes. Quite,” he
managed to say noncommittally. “Poor Captain Puffin,” he sighed.
Then up two
flights of stairs they went, to the first floor. “A small bedroom, with a
view of the garden,” Woolgar indicated as he opened the first door. “Not
the size of garden you are known keep, Mrs Mapp-Flint, but fitting for a
townhouse.”
Small garden, Elizabeth thought as she nodded to Woolgar; she was making a list of
negatives in her mind. More expense
at the greengrocer. And this room is dimmest of all. Odd, how very
dark it is in here, she observed, but mentioned nothing to Woolgar; better
to hit him with all the deficiencies at one time, as he had been adept at
countering her complaints when they were delivered one-by-one.
Woolgar moved
down the hallway. “The large bedroom,” he said as he opened another
door. “Overlooking the street,” Woolgar continued. “I’m so sorry
about the weather; it makes everything look so much darker inside as well as
out,” he apologized, almost as if he had read Elizabeth’s mind. She
nodded in acknowledgement.
Elizabeth had
another reason for her silence: she found herself unaccountably
uneasy in Captain Puffin’s former house; she felt as if she was being watched.
She kept glancing back over her shoulder, expecting one of the
current owner’s servants to be there.
Nonsense, she told herself firmly.
Woolgar moved
to the next door, “The bath,” Woolgar said as he opened a door. “Also
completely re-decorated, new tub, new sink and faucets, new drains. And
new lino, which is quite easy to keep clean and holds up well against steam and
water splashes. New mirrors,” he indicated airily.
Woolgar and
Major Benjy began to mount the stairs to the second floor while Elizabeth
paused to look more closely at the bathroom. The tub was spacious; will cost a lot to heat water for a tub this
size, Elizabeth noted in her mind, although
the new furnace may cancel that out. She pulled open the mirrored
door of the medicine cabinet, to assure
myself that the hinges are in working order; and incidentally to survey the
contents, noting the large amount of precipitated chalk and baking soda. Current owner has digestive problems,
she deduced.
She closed the
cabinet and, in the mirror, the face she saw was not her own. Elizabeth
gasped. For just an instant it appeared that Captain Puffin’s face was
superimposed over Elizabeth’s. As soon as her mind registered what her
eyes were seeing, the apparition disappeared and only her own reflection
remained. “Elizabeth Mapp-Flint! Quit being so foolish! It’s just a
house,” she remonstrated herself under her breath.
She followed
the estate agent and her husband upstairs, where there was another bathroom and
three small bedrooms. Woolgar was explaining to Major Benjy that one
of the walls could be removed up, turning two rooms into one, should
a larger room be required. The two men were discussing load-bearing
walls, whatever sort of walls those are,
thought Elizabeth, who was momentarily baffled by the builder's
jargon. “Yes, we shall need to get a builder in to make
alterations; three servants rooms, plus the cook’s room downstairs is far too
many for such a small house,” said Elizabeth. Perhaps she could use this
second-floor room at the front of the house as a sewing-room, as the view of
and over the roof-tops of Tilling should be quite lovely when the strange and persistent
fog lifted.
Major Benjy was
no more than politely interested in the servants’ quarters and he walked back
down the hallway toward the stairway. Elizabeth paused outside the small
bathroom: she should examine it and add more to her lists of negatives, but she
feared the mirror therein, and what it might reflect. She quickly
followed her husband. Woolgar, closing the doors behind him, allowed
Elizabeth to precede him down the stairs.
Major Benjy
continued down the upper ground floor, but Elizabeth re-entered the large
first-floor bedroom to peep out of the window at what little the mist allowed
her see of West Street below. Trumpery
little house, she thought; not at all
what I am accustomed to. But imagining the familiar view from this
window made her pause; the room was some feet higher than the garden-room of
Mallards, and the height made her feel like a benevolent God peering down from
heaven. This angle also gave her a better view of Porpoise Street than
the garden-room window at Mallards had done. No dressing room for Major Benjy, Elizabeth thought, continuing her
list of drawbacks, and with the
entertaining we do, we would probably have to sleep on the top floor ourselves.
She would mull this over before making an offer. Perhaps Withers, the
parlour-maid, and Cook could share the small room in the kitchen, or perhaps
one or both of Elizabeth’s servants could be induced to sleep out.
She then went
into the small bedroom to get another God-like view of the small garden, which
would definitely be something she complained of to Woolgar with an eye to
lowering the price. She stared out at the patch of lawn; the owner had not
planted any of the sweet flowers which Elizabeth loved so much, nor was there
any attempt at a kitchen garden. It
will take a lot of manual labor to get the soil ready for any kind of a garden,
Elizabeth thought. There appeared to be a tiny greenhouse at the back, but the
mist made everything dark and leaden; she would have to go outside and get a
better idea of what comprised the garden, and gather whatever else she
could complain about to Woolgar, with less of the fog’s smothering gloom
obscuring her view.
Elizabeth
turned to follow her husband and Woolgar down the stairs, and found herself
face to face with Captain Puffin. He was dressed in his naval
uniform. But that was not what froze and stunned Elizabeth—it was his
face. His skin was grey and his flesh bloated, his mouth a feral grimace,
and his eyes blazed with unnatural light in their hollow sockets. This
horrible apparition raised an accusing finger, discoloured with decay, and
pointed at Elizabeth. The Captain’s mouth fell open in a gaping rictus,
and his pitted and blackened tongue moved, as if he was trying to speak.
Elizabeth Mapp-Flint felt the whole of Tilling sway beneath her feet, she
uttered a shrill, wordless cry, then fell heavily to the floor in a faint.
The estate
agent and the Major were in the drawing room at the front of the house, and
Woolgar was thanking Major Benjy for bringing this property to his wife’s
attention. “If she buys, I’ll stand you a drink when next we meet at the
golf club,” said Woolgar. Then the two men heard a cry followed by a
heavy thumping sound from the floor above.
“Everything all
right, Liz?” Major Benjy called up the stairs. There was no response, and
Major Benjy became alarmed. He and Woolgar hurried up the stairway and
found Elizabeth’s supine form inside the partially open doorway of the small
bedroom.
“Liz, Liz, what
happened?” cried Major Benjy, as Woolgar pushed hard at the door, which in turn
pushed Elizabeth’s body over the waxed and polished floorboards, opening the
door wide enough to allow entry. When Elizabeth did not respond, Woolgar
hurried into the bathroom and retrieved a bottle of sal volatile from
the medicine cabinet (next to the precipated chalk). He rushed back
into the small bedroom, where Major Benjy was still unable to rouse his wife,
and Woolgar held the open bottle under her nose. The ammonia did its
work, and Elizabeth uttered a small groan then opened her eyes.
“I saw him,”
she whispered.
“Get a glass of
water,” Major Benjy ordered Woolgar, who hurried down to the kitchen for a
clean glass. Major Benjy helped his wife sit up. Her face was pale
and she was shaking.
“I saw him,”
she repeated.
“Who, Girlie;
who did you see?” a puzzled Major Benjy asked.
“Captain
Puffin,” Elizabeth whispered, her eyes wide.
As a retired
military man, Major Benjy knew that when one does not know what to say, the
best thing is to resort to action. “Up you get,” he said, and with great
difficulty he heaved his wife to her feet. “Now, sit for a moment on the
bed until you—” he paused; he was about to say “until you get your sea legs,”
but that seemed inappropriate in the circumstances. “—until you feel
better,” he told his wife.
Woolgar entered
the room and handed Major Benjy a glass of water; Major Benjy in turn held it to
Elizabeth’s lips. “Take a sip, Girlie,” said Major Benjy gently.
Elizabeth did so. Major Benjy turned to Woolgar, “I think it would be
best if we returned to Grebe.”
“Yes, yes, of
course,” said a solicitous Woolgar, who was wondering if this fainting was a
ploy to get a lower price. It did seem
extreme, but he would not be surprised if it was feigned.
The two men
helped Elizabeth to her feet and Major Benjy helped his wife down the
stairs. Woolgar went before them and was holding the car door open when
the couple exited the house. As Major Benjy settled his wife in the back
seat, Woolgar locked the door of Captain Puffin’s former home.
~~~~~~~~~~
Woolgar left
the Mapp-Flints at Grebe. Major Benjy led his wife into their sitting
room, and as he helped Elizabeth into a chair, he ordered Withers to bring a
cup of hot, sweet tea. After drinking half of her cup of tea, Elizabeth
seemed more like herself.
“What happened,
Liz?” Major Benjy asked carefully.
Elizabeth was
still shaken, and so she answered Benjy honestly, “I saw Captain Puffin.
I was looking out the window at the garden, and when I turned around, there he
was.” She paused, then burst out, “Oh, Benjy! It was
horrible! He was bloated and awful!”
During his
service in India, Major Benjy had seen many strange things, and the belief in
ghosts was not foreign to him. Although he dismissed such notions as
"Balderbash!" when in conversation, he really did not know for
certain whether he believed in ghosts or not. Such thoughts
were best handled by ignoring them and going for a long tramp in the
countryside or playing a hotly-contested round of golf. “There, there,
Girlie,” said Benjy soothingly. “I’m here now. I won’t let anything
happen to my Girlie. Just drink the rest of your tea now.” He
added, “Would you like some brandy?”
“No, Benjy,
I’ll be all right.”
“Do you want me
to call Doctor Dobbie?”
“No, no, Benjy,
thank you so much. You’re here, and we’re home, and it’s going to be all
right,” Elizabeth reassured both her husband and herself. She finished
her tea and said, “I shall take some aspirins, then I shall see about
dinner.” Her intention of following her usual routine was more reassuring
to her husband than her words had been.
~~~~~~~~~~
In the early
morning hours, Benjy awakened to find Elizabeth gone from their bed. He
waited a few minutes, but she did not return. He blearily scuffed his
feet into his slippers and pulled his robe on over his striped pyjamas, and he
went down the stairs. Benjy noticed that the lights in every room had
been turned on: something must be very wrong for Elizabeth to engage in
this extravagant consumption of electricity. Heaven knows she had
lectured him often enough for a single light left on in an empty room.
Benjy found his wife in the sitting room, drinking a pot of tea that she had
made.
“Is everything
all right?” he asked hesitantly.
“I could not
sleep,” she said. “So I made some tea.” She seemed to be oblivious
to the brightly-lit, empty rooms. “I am quite recovered from my start
this afternoon. I think being in Captain Puffin’s house affected
me, made my imagination run wild.”
Benjy was
relieved and supported his wife’s denial; “It’s this infernal pea-soup weather
that's made everyone irritable and jumpy.” He ventured, “Perhaps you
should invite some of our friends over for tea and Bridge. Take
everyone’s mind off the weather.”
To his
surprise, his frugal wife agreed. “I’ll see if I can get two tables
together for this afternoon. Short notice, but I think everyone would
like to be together, since we can’t get quit of this fog.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Elizabeth
walked into Tilling later that morning. Before she began her shopping,
she went to the Wyse’s house on Porpoise Street. She apologized to Susan
for the short notice, but would she and Mr Wyse come to Grebe for tea and Bridge
that afternoon? “The weather’s been so terribly dismal, and we’re all so
disheartened,” Elizabeth explained.
“Why, of
course,” said a surprised Susan Wyse. “Algernon and I will be delighted
to come. What a wonderful idea!”
In another
unusual fit of honesty, Elizabeth said, “My Benjy-boy’s idea, actually; he
thought we all could use some cheering up.”
“Since we’ll be
driving out in the Royce, is there anyone you’d like for us to give a ride to?”
asked Susan.
“Let
me find out who else will be coming; I wanted to ask you and Mr Wyse
first,” replied Elizabeth, displaying tact which was previously unknown to be
part of Mrs Mapp-Flint’s character.
Elizabeth
started up the street towards Mallards House, a route which would take her past
Captain Puffin’s old house. She was rather ashamed of herself for the
fear she felt, as part of her mind cried, What
if I see him looking out the window at me? The stronger part of her
mind scolded the frightened part, It’s just
your imagination! You can put your umbrella up and your block the view of
that house; and it’s too misty for you to see that far anyway. But
the frightened side of Elizabeth’s mind prevailed, and she went back down West Street
to Irene's house, and she found herself relieved that Quaint Irene was not
at Taromina; “OUT painting the FOG,” said a sign on the door.
Elizabeth
continued on to the High Street, stopping at the bakery for some small and
cloying chocolate cakes and at Twemlow’s for Stilton, which was becoming even
riper than usual and so was on sale. At Wasters, Diva Plaistow happily
accepted Elizabeth’s invitation. Janet and Cook could handle the business
for the afternoon.
In the mist,
Elizabeth literally ran into Padre Kenneth Bartlett and his “wee wifey”
Evie. After they had all apologized to one another, Elizabeth issued her
invitation. The Padre had to visit the sick and elderly of his flock, but
Evie would be happy to attend. As it turned out, the Padre was on his way
to the Wyse’s regarding the donation of some new choir robes, and he would ask
Susan Wyse to drive “wee wifey and Mistress Plaistow” to the Mapp-Flint’s house
that afternoon.
In order to
avoid going past “that Accursed House,” Elizabeth walked back to the Vicarage
with Evie, and then approached Mallards House through the safety of Church
Square. Lucia was at Town Hall making herself busy with non-existent
mayoral work, but Mr Georgie accepted for them both. Elizabeth admired the
embroidery upon which he was working, a pastoral scene, and they discussed
“this tarsome, filthy weather,” as Mr Georgie called it.
“I hope tea and
Bridge will cheer everyone; I can see this prolonged and dreary mist has
affected your sensitive, artistic nature,” said Elizabeth, and with such
insight she surprised Georgie.
Feeling
satisfied, rather than happy, at having completed her two tables for Bridge and
at having something to divert her from the horror she had faced yesterday,
Elizabeth hurried home, once again via Church Square. Elizabeth found the
church’s aged and disused graveyard less frightening, even in the fog, than
That House. She thought of her encounter with the supernatural with
shudder, but she was quick to attribute that shudder to the cold and damp.
~~~~~~~~~~
The Bridge
played that afternoon at Grebe was less acrimonious than usual, as everyone was
relieved at having company and occupation. There were a few low-voiced
arguments and some hissed sarcasms, but all the common tiffs were milder
than usual.
During the
second rubber, Elizabeth and Diva were both being dummy at their respective
tables. The early darkness had fallen and Withers had forgotten to draw
the curtains. Diva stood a few feet directly behind Elizabeth and watched
her pull the curtains closed; both women were able to see out the window.
Diva heard Elizabeth utter a small cry and take a stumbling step back, but,
still holding on to the curtains, Elizabeth managed to jerk them shut.
At her cry,
everyone looked at Elizabeth. Once again she was pale and shaken; she
seemed unable to speak. The card players were loath to quit their hands,
so they sat and waited.
“Whatever is
the matter, Elizabeth?” asked Susan Wyse.
At the same
time Diva said, “Your face is green!
You look like you’ve had a shock! Sit down here!” Diva led her
friend to the settee.
“All right,
Girlie?” asked Major Benjy, feeling a sudden resurgence of anxiety.
“I saw him,”
Elizabeth said, her voice low and shaking.
“Saw whom?”
asked a confused Mr Wyse.
“Captain
Puffin,” Elizabeth whispered so low that only Diva heard.
“Captain
Puffin?” Diva echoed, loud enough for the whole room to hear.
Everyone glanced at one other, but no one attempted to meet
Elizabeth’s eye.
Elizabeth took
a couple of sips of the tea Diva had handed to her. Despite being shaken and
upset, Elizabeth realized that she was the center of her friends’ concerned
attention; she said, “I saw Captain Puffin.” Her voice became a little stronger, “His eyes
were lit with the blue fires of Hell. He shook his finger at me.”
Elizabeth seemed strangely desperate, not at all the cantankerous Elizabeth
that everyone knew. Suddenly all of Tilling society was on edge,
thinking, A ghost?! and awaiting Elizabeth’s next utterance.
Diva bravely
moved to the window and pulled open the curtain. “No, nothing.” She
craned her head and looked from side to side, “Still nothing.”
Lucia spoke up,
“Perhaps it was a tramp. Major Benjy, if you will escort me outside, we
shall search for the culprit,” Lucia’s decisive character now went into
action. “Georgie, will you and Mr Wyse
remain here and keep everyone safe while we search?” Georgie and Mr
Wyse acquiesced to Lucia’s request, and Lucia and Benjy quitted their their
cards and left the room. All thoughts of finishing the game had been
banished from the minds of the players by Elizabeth’s description of what she
had seen. The Bridge players used the interval to refill their plates and
cups, but were more quiet than usual:
everyone was awaiting the next development.
Major Benjy
picked up a torch which he prudently kept by the front door. He and Lucia
quietly and slowly worked their way around the outside of Grebe. The
torch pierced the mist for only a few feet around them and the fog
muffled the sounds of the autumn night. They heard nothing; they found
nothing.
In a low voice
Lucia said, “Let us look for footprints in the flower-bed beneath the
window.” They found none, not one indicator that anything human or animal
had been there.
Suddenly his
military training returned to Major Benjy. “I want to make a sweep of the
perimeter,” he said. “Would you like to return to the house?”
“No, I’ll go
with you,” said the intrepid Lucia.
After more than
a quarter of an hour, the sleuths returned to the warmth of the sitting room,
where the hostess and five guests sat without talking, almost without
moving. “No luck,” said Major Benjy. “No footprints in the grass
anywhere.”
Lucia
nodded. “We swept the entire perimeter,” she savoured the new,
militaristic phrase. “We found nothing amiss.” She turned to Diva,
“Diva dear, you were standing just behind Elizabeth as she drew the curtains,
did you see anything?”
“I’ve been
thinking about that. Saw two lights. Swamp gas, I thought.” Diva
continued to consider what she had seen. “But the lights were quite close
together, almost close enough to be eyes,” she said slowly.
“Perhaps that
was it,” said Lucia turning to Elizabeth. “Perhaps you saw the two
will-o-the-wisps and thought they were eyes, dear Elizabeth.”
While Lucia and
Major Benjy had been outside, Elizabeth had time to recover herself. She
had decided how to play this. “No, I definitely saw a face. I know
it was Captain Puffin. I saw him yesterday, too. Benjy and I had an
order to view Puffin’s old house. I looked out the window from the small
back bedroom at the garden. When I turned back around, there was Captain
Puffin’s Ghost!”
“My dear
Elizabeth!” gasped Susan Wyse, “You must be very psychical!” She was jealous
that Elizabeth had a human ghost, when the only spirit which had ever visited
Susan was that of her deceased budgerigar.
Elizabeth
smiled wanly. “But he is so horrible. I really shouldn’t like to
see him again; it’s so startling. Awful, really.”
Mr Wyse bowed
to Elizabeth, “Perhaps Mrs Pillson can help the restless spirit of the late
Captain to cross over.” He bowed to Lucia, “She was so successful with
Blue Birdie.” He bowed to Blue Birdie, the budgerigar.
Suddenly Evie
Bartlett spoke up. “I never heard anything about a ghost in that house
before tonight. Perhaps Captain Puffin is a Ghost with a Purpose.”
She said the last words ominously.
“Whatever do
you mean?” asked Elizabeth.
“I’m not
surprised that you saw him in the small bedroom. That was the room he
died in,” said Evie.
“I always
thought he died in the front bedroom,” interjected Major Benjy. Everyone
nodded in agreement.
“No. He
liked the smaller room because it reminded him of a ship’s cabin; he was more
comfortable there, so he told Kenneth,” for once the mousey Vicar’s wife had
everyone’s undivided attention. “It was in the small bedroom that he
drowned.” She paused for effect, “Drowned in a bowl of ox-tail soup.”
“But what could
be his purpose for appearing to Elizabeth?” asked the pragmatic Diva.
Elizabeth had a
sudden inspiration. “He does not want me to buy his house,” she said
emphatically.
Georgie Pillson
spoke up, “Yes! I see. He appeared to warn you off. But he
didn’t know if he accomplished his purpose, so he followed you home.”
“Thank God he
didn’t come into Grebe!” exclaimed Benjy.
Georgie turned
to Benjy, “But Major, what’s to keep him from coming into the house, if he
wants to? Now that he knows that Elizabeth—knows that all of us—are in
here.”
Major Benjy
swallowed visibly and did not answer. He moved over to the sideboard and
fixed himself a large chota-peg. He drank it down in two
large gulps and poured himself another. After a moment he remembered that
he was the host. “Anyone care for a drink?” Not one person in the
room, including the tee-totaling Elizabeth, refused. Seven small glasses
were filled with medicinal brandy and handed ‘round. Major Benjy took the
opportunity to again re-fill his large glass with whisky.
Elizabeth was
ready to resume center-stage. “But how do I let him know I’m not going to
buy his house? How do I keep Captain Puffin from haunting me?” she asked
to the room in general.
“Perhaps we
should hold a séance in his old bedroom,” suggested Susan, excited at the prospect
of contact with the spirit world.
“No! I
simply couldn’t!” replied Elizabeth. “I daren’t enter that Accursed House
again!” she cried, overdoing it a bit.
“Not a séance,”
it was Lucia who spoke calmly, countering Elizabeth’s partially-feigned distress.
“I think if Elizabeth returned to the room where she first saw Captain Puffin
and spoke to him aloud, saying she is not buying his house, and apologising for
disturbing his rest, the ghost might be appeased.”
“I don’t know
if I can do it,” said Elizabeth, unwilling to accede without making sure all
her friends knew just how upsetting this was for her.
Lucia’s gimlet
glance easily pierced Elizabeth’s contrived performance. “Then you risk
having him haunt you here at Grebe, as Georgie and Major Benjy have pointed
out.”
Georgie's long
experience as Lucia's friend and husband made him realize that there was
something else Lucia wanted to say but was not saying. “Why do you think
Captain Puffin might haunt Grebe?” his question urged his wife to speak.
“Yes,” said
Major Benjy. “I knew the Captain best, and I’ve never known him to have
visited Grebe.”
Lucia looked
around the room, making sure she caught the eye of each of her friends in turn,
then she lower her gaze. “As you all know, when I first bought Grebe, I
spent several weeks having it renovated. Part of the renovation involved
the fireplace you see before you.”
Everyone turned
their heads to look at the fireplace. Major Benjy removed his arm from
the chimney-piece and stepped away from the fire.
“The existing stone
and brick was cracked and broken,” Lucia continued, and as if at a tennis game,
everyone turned their heads again in unison to look at her. “So I had the
builder remove the cracked bricks and the broken hearthstone. Beneath the
hearthstone was a small cavity which contained the mummified remains of a black
cat.”
Evie Bartlett
let out a small gasp.
Lucia
continued, “The builder said it appeared, based on the deep scratches on the
stone and brick inside the cavity, that the cat had been walled up alive within
the hearth.” Lucia finished her brandy, and Major Benjy took another gulp
of whisky.
“The builder
assured me that he had seen this sort of thing several times before, always in
the oldest houses in which he had worked. He said it was ‘the old way’ of
protecting the house, to trap the spirit of a black cat or a black dog, and
force that unfortunate animal’s spirit to guard the dwelling.” Lucia’s
listeners were spellbound. “I had him remove the remains and dispose of
them. I had him fill in the hole which had contained the mummified
remains with bricks and lay the new hearthstone over it.” Lucia’s mien
became diffident, “I fear that in doing so, I inadvertently removed some kind
of ancient spiritual protection from Grebe.”
"But I
thought Grebe was a modern house," said Georgie.
"The
builder said there had been a cottage here, just one room, for many, many
years. Apparently, when Grebe was built they used the same hearth and
fireplace, but put up a new chimney. When you look from outside, you
can see a slight difference in the colour of the bricks."
“So that’s why
the Captain’s Ghost may be able to enter Grebe?” asked Mr Wyse, who considered
Lucia an expert on the supernatural after witnessing her adept handling of the
spirit of Blue Birdie.
“I fear
so. I now regret that I did not honor the old ways and leave the cat’s
remains in the hearth. Removing them may have contributed to the
dike failing and Elizabeth and I being swept out to sea on that fateful Boxing
Day,” said Lucia thoughtfully.
The Boxing Day
Flood was old news, and Elizabeth wanted to regain the spotlight, “So I must go
and speak to the Captain’s Ghost. I understand that. But it
frightens me terribly.” She turned to Evie, “Perhaps the Padre would
accompany me? Just to make me feel safe?” Evie nodded.
“And you will
come with me, too? To keep me safe?” she asked her husband. Major
Benjy nodded and looked quite sober for a man who had just downed three large chota-pegs
in quick succession.
“It’s late,”
Diva noted, looking at her wristwatch, “and I should be getting back to
Wasters. Please, Elizabeth, be sure and tell me what happens when you
return to the Captain’s house.”
Mr Wyse had a
brainstorm: “Perhaps everyone will join us for an early dinner
tomorrow night, and Mrs Mapp-Flint can tell us all her tale,” he said.
There was a general agreement to this plan, and everyone began gathering their
coats and thanking the Mapp-Flints for their hospitality. The ride back
to Tilling was mostly silent, as everyone was absorbing and processing the
events, and Elizabeth’s and Lucia’s tales. Tomorrow would be soon enough
to discuss it.
~~~~~~~~~~
The Mapp-Flints
retired and, when they awoke, were surprised that they had slept deeply and
well. They were just finishing luncheon when they received a telephone
call from the Padre. The Mapp-Flints agreed that Mr Woolgar would pick
them up in his car and they would meet the Padre outside the Captain’s house
after tea to “take care of this problem,” the Padre said. He spoke, for
the most part, in modern English, rather than his usual playful use of
Elizabethan English and Scottish, which indicated how seriously he was taking
the matter.
The Padre said
that “the Worshipful Mistress Pillson” had gone with him to speak to Mr
Woolgar, who had demurred at the idea of an exorcism taking place in a property
for which he was responsible and which he was trying to sell. “Woolgar
said, ‘What if word got out?’ and Mistress Pillson asked, ‘What if word got out
that you were selling a haunted house? Would anyone want to buy it?’ and
Woolgar decided that, since I was Vicar, it would be all right for us to go
ahead.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Over tea in the
garden-room at Mallards House later that afternoon, Georgie and Lucia discussed
the events. “My dear, I never knew about the cat; why did you never tell
me?” Georgie asked his wife.
“It just seemed
too morbid. And cruel, for the cat,” she said. “But Georgie, I must
tell you, when the Major and I went searching around the garden in the darkness
and the fog, looking for a ghost, it was absolutely thrilling! Better
than any spook story because it was so real, so immediate!”
“Yes, I noticed
you had trouble settling down after we returned home last night.”
“I think it
must have been the adrenaline. Georgie, we must find some haunted places
where we can go and hunt ghosts. I think our friends would enjoy that
sort of outing, and think of the history we’d learn along the way. . . .”
Lucia had that look in her eye, and Georgie knew she had found her latest
“stunt.”
And Georgie was
just as eager as Lucia. “We can check the library for books. And
visit the Tilling bookshops; perhaps they have some local ghost or history
books. Too exciting!” And then, as he peered once again out the
window toward Captain Puffin’s house, “Oh, look! There they are, leaving the
Haunted House—and
the sun has finally broken
through! See, there’s a breeze and it is breaking up the fog! At
last, Hurrah!” The last rays of the setting sun illuminated the rooftops
of Tilling as the Mapp-Flints and the Padre walked in solemn procession through
Church Square toward the Vicarage.
After a long
and excited discussion of suitable, potentially haunted locations nearby, Lucia
said, “Time to dress for dinner, Georgie. Quite early, but everyone is on
tenterhooks, waiting to find out what has happened.” Lucia continued,
“You know, the ancient Egyptians entombed mummified cats with their pharaohs. .
. .”
~~~~~~~~~~
Everyone was
gathered at the Wyse’s house in Mermaid Street. Quaint Irene, who had
been filled in on the whole “lurid and horrible story” by Diva, was also in
attendance. Without discussion or direction, everyone had chosen to wear
their hitum-est clothing, as there was a solemnity about the event which, in
spite of the excitement, must be honored.
The Mapp-Flints and the Bartletts arrived last.
“I know that
usually we would wait until after we dine to discuss matters, but as everyone
is hoping to hear of a happy outcome, perhaps the Mapp-Flints and the Reverend
Bartlett will tell us the news before we go in,” said Mr Wyse, bowing to
Elizabeth, Major Benjy, and the Padre in turn.
Everyone was
looking at Elizabeth, who looked at her husband and then at the Padre, “Me to
begin?” she asked coyly.
How disgusting, thought Georgie of Elizabeth’s attempt at coyness.
Everyone else
was as irritated by her behavior as well; I wish she would just get on with it,
was the general thought. But only Quaint Irene said, brusquely, “Get to
it, Mapp!”
“Well, since
you insist, Quaint One. Mr Woolgar picked us up in his car, and he drove
us straight to the house. The good Padre, Bible in hand, was awaiting
us. And I was ever so nervous and fearful—” at a scornful look from
Irene, Elizabeth paused, then continued, “Mr Woolgar let us in, and he waited
outside, while Benjy and I and the Padre went to into the Haunted Room.”
“The room was
quite stuffy, so I opened the window just a crack,” interjected Major Benjy.
“Then at the
Padre’s urging, I called out, ‘Captain Puffin! Captain Puffin! I
want you to know I am not buying your house! And I am sorry for
disturbing your rest!’” continued Elizabeth. “The Padre made me call out
the same thing three times, after which he began to pray aloud.”
Elizabeth allowed the small, sweet, sacred smile that she reserved for Sunday
church services to touch her face.
The Padre took
up the story, “And as my prayer ended, a puff of cool air came in through the
window, and we all three looked out and saw that the sun had broken through the
fog. I took that as a sign, and we left the Haunted Room. Mrs
Mapp-Flint and I waited outside, and prayed for the soul of poor Captain
Puffin, while Woolgar and the Major checked the house over and locked up.
Then Woolgar left us and we walked to the Vicarage.”
“I hope you’re
right, Padre, and the sunlight and the breaking of the fog was indeed a sign,”
said Elizabeth. “Anyway, that was all.”
“Not quite
all,” said Major Benjy. “After Woolgar and I went through the house and
made all secure, we paused in the hallway while Woolgar found the proper key on
his key-ring. Woolgar stood for a moment, as if listening for a far-away
sound, then turned to me and said, ‘I find it strange, and perhaps it is the
sudden turn in the weather, but the whole house feels lighter somehow,’” Benjy
paused. “And that was all,” he finished.
“It sounds as
if it did indeed work,” said Lucia sagely, and everyone nodded.
“Well, Mapp,”
said Quaint Irene, “I suppose you’re looking for a new black cat?” And
everyone quickly went in to dinner.
THE END
Warning: sites contain photos of
mummified cats, which may be disturbing to some.
It has been pointed out to me that
in Rye, the house that would have belonged to Captain Puffin has only two
storeys; but as I am writing about Tilling, not Rye, I have given him a larger
house: I sincerely doubt that Elizabeth Mapp-Flint would ever entertain
the idea of moving into as small a house as the one in Rye, even to return to
the center of town.
Text copyright 2011 Kathleen Bradford
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