by Sam Hurcom
I tried to dismiss the thought as I recoiled from the pain in my head. The image remained though. I didn’t want to think of it, or even acknowledge it. To do so would mean acknowledging all else in those negatives, that which I now considered sheer madness, for I would find myself returning to a realm of ghosts and hauntings.
I moved in a haze as I carried on leaving, going so far as to open the main door of the hall to the world outside. A cool breeze struck me as thick sheets of rain distorted all sight of the village.
Still the thought lingered. I could not escape the image.
I found myself returning into the hall with a perplexed Geraint and Vaughn looking at me.
‘You asked her to wed you, didn’t you?’
Geraint remained frozen where he was.
‘Yes, though we used to laugh and say we were already married. I never told you that.’
‘And a ring, you gave her a ring, a thin one. She wore it as a sign of your engagement.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Just a piece of tin really. It was all I could afford to give her. She could only wear it when we were together though. How could you—’
‘Do you have it?’
‘No, I don’t know what became of it.’
I felt my stomach lurch; the heat of panic and fear washed over me like needles pushed into my skin. It was real – the ring from the negative was real. And perhaps, so too, was everything else.
22
The Truth from General James –
June 23rd, 1904
I stood outside the hall, deciding which way was best to head to the General’s estate on the mount. I elected to walk across the Twyn, though with one final glance up Britway Road, I caught sight of a garish blue coat moving towards me through the rain. The figure in question walked with a dark umbrella; it didn’t take me long to recognise the man as Cummings. I didn’t wait for him, instead moving up the slope of the road, meeting him some thirty yards away from the town hall.
My anger got the better of me. This was in part due to Vaughn, and what he had told me of the previous murders. More so it was caused by the shimmering ring in the picture, that which I now knew was real. I was shaken badly.
I grabbed Cummings and he tumbled to the ground.
‘What the hell are you doing!’ He was yelling at me, and began to bat away at my arms and face.
‘You kept the murders from me – Evan and Peter five years ago. You lied from the start. You’re a blackguard, a villain!’
I hauled him up from the floor, though he pushed me away. He’d dropped his umbrella and swept it up quickly. Purple veins throbbed from his temples; his face darkened as he stepped back from me.
‘Solomon told me everything last night. You told him – this village! – to stay silent, after all he—’
‘It was not for you to know,’ Cummings howled over the rain. ‘I kept it from you to protect these people.’
‘In what way? Tell me with all good conscience how you did this for them?’
He tried to walk past me and I grabbed at him again.
‘People are frightened, they have been for years now. All this nonsense about spirits and monsters – in spite of it all we were coming to terms with the death of those children and things were returning to how they once were. We did our duty to them – then that girl winds up dead! I had to keep this village from tearing itself apart and the last thing I needed was some … some … London-born Inspector coming and accusing everyone of crimes they didn’t commit. We have our ways of dealing with these things. I had no desire for your being here and—’
‘Dealing with these things?’ I interrupted him. ‘You have dealt with nothing – a killer still roams free. What reasoning could have possessed you not to reach out all those years ago, to keep the murders of two children a secret from me?’
‘My reasoning is my own. I told you, we did an investigation, we made our conclusions. What happened to those children was tragic, horrible. But it happens – and whether you agree or not, that girl was asking for trouble! Who’s to say there’s a great conspiracy here, a killer in hiding? You cannot entertain the possibility that both murders were unconnected and will go as far as you can, destroying everyone’s lives, just to place the blame on someone’s shoulders!’
A flash of lightning burst overhead. Both Cummings and I leapt in surprise. The barrage of rain beat down upon us, as a blast of thunder, like a hundred cannons firing at once, erupted, as though they were beside us. The most unnatural of storms; we both stared pensively up at the sky. As Cummings muttered some foulness under his breath and tried to walk away, I reached out and took hold of his arm.
‘You have much to answer for, Councilman, and I shan’t let you out of my sight. You’re coming with me.’
‘I’m going nowhere with you.’ He tried to pull his arm away but I gripped him tighter.
‘I’m going to speak with the General, and you’re coming with me. I’m not finished with you yet.’
‘What do you want with the General? You spoke with him upon your arrival.’
I let go of his arm but did not answer his question.
‘Lead on, Councilman. Or like the young Constable, I’ll see to it that charges are brought against you when all this is through.’
He looked at me outraged, though I didn’t let him speak, instead shoving him roughly down the road. We marched together through the Twyn, as another blaze of lightning illuminated the terraced houses and small shops. All were closed up, with not a sign of life or movement inside.
Cummings growled at me as we walked, though I paid no attention. By the time we had climbed the small incline and come to the black iron gates of the General’s estate, he had become quite volatile. He jabbered at me, ranted as I pushed against the gold insignia at the centre of the gates and stepped along the gravel path of the General’s drive. The place was entirely different from my previous visit, for the blooms of flowers were beaten and dishevelled by the ferocious storm. The three-tiered fountain was overflowing, the cherub adorning its peak seeming to sneer at us.
Stepping through the marble pillars to the front door, I took hold of the gold bell chain and pulled repeatedly. Cummings tried to yank the damn thing off me.
‘You cannot simply come to the General this way!’ he said as he gave up trying.
I continued to ignore him.
‘Whatever you think you know is likely a falsehood. And the General – you’ve met him. He can say anything, he’s mad, completely mad.’
Just then, a large metal bolt was shifted, and the front door opened slowly. To my surprise, a rifle barrel was thrust in my face.
‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing but clear off! You want trouble, I’ll give it.’ The voice was as steady as the gun barrel, though the figure remained obscured by the front door. I took a small step backwards, my eyes fixed on the gleaming muzzle.
‘This is Bexley,’ I announced. ‘I’m here to speak with the General.’
The gun remained where it was, though the housekeeper emerged slowly, looking from me to Cummings.
‘What is this? I thought you ruffians, burglars.’
Cummings spoke up from beside me. ‘Harriet, this is not my doing. The Inspector here is raving – he manhandled me here.’
The rifle was still pointed right at me. ‘I’d appreciate you lowering that.’
The housekeeper, Harriet, held it steady.
‘This is not the way things are done here, Inspector, or whatever you are. Even if the gates of Hell have ripped open on the other side of the village green, you do not rattle and smash on the door of the Lord of the Manor!’
‘He is quite insane, Harriet – his fever no doubt remains—’
I shoved Cummings to one side. ‘I’ll speak with the General now. It is imperative to my enquiry.’
‘You spoke with him
previously,’ the housekeeper remarked calmly. ‘And he had nothing to say to you then. He is not a well man.’
The door began to close as the rifle was lowered. I put a hand against it, to which the housekeeper exclaimed.
‘He was meeting the girl,’ I called through the door. ‘I must know for what purpose. If not, the General shall be considered suspect and this storm will not last for ever. Would you care for the whole Constabulary beating down your door and searching every inch of this manor?’
To that the housekeeper said nothing, though I heard her sigh and groan a little. The door swung open then. She kept hold of her rifle as I and a waffling Cummings stepped inside.
‘He is bullying you, Harriet. You can’t let it stand.’
The housekeeper only spoke to me. ‘He had no part in that girl’s death you know. There is not a scrap of malice in him.’
I began walking through the greeting hall towards the flight of stairs leading to the upper landing. The housekeeper scurried after me quickly and took hold of my arm.
‘Believe me – none of this was his doing.’ Her eyes were pleading.
I shrugged. ‘Then he can tell me that for himself.’ I began skipping up the stairway, the housekeeper followed after. I called down to Cummings, still standing by the door.
‘I would have you up here too.’
‘I need a minute.’ He closed the front door with a thud, before walking out of sight into one of the downstairs rooms. I didn’t push the point and let the housekeeper, rifle still in hand, lead me along the upstairs corridor toward the door of the General’s study. Rain cascaded down the two large windows that looked out onto the gardens – the horizon was consumed by deathly black clouds.
‘When did the General first make contact with Betsan?’ I asked as we came to the end of the corridor. ‘I assume that he sent you to invite her here.’
The housekeeper went to knock against the heavy wooden door but stopped herself, turning to me and muttering softly.
‘He first asked over six months ago. The state of his mind, I thought nothing of it. But then he would come back to it – to her – again and again. I thought if she came here once he may forget about her in time. His memory slips so much, and he gets so confused, it can be days before he speaks of her—’
‘But he always comes back to her,’ I said gravely. ‘When did she first come?’
‘A little over three months ago. She didn’t come back for some time after that first visit. Then it was once a week, twice. More frequent than that recently.’
‘What did they talk about?’
The housekeeper shook her head. ‘I never sat in with them, nor asked the girl what the General wanted with her. It’s not my place.’
‘You truly expect me to believe you know nothing of what they discussed, that you never overheard anything, or that the General never admitted something to you in his confused state?’ She only nodded. ‘Your duty was to tell me that that girl was coming here if nothing more.’
‘My duty is to serve General James and safeguard his wellbeing,’ she said stoically. ‘That is my priority. Do not mistake me for some meddler—’
‘Fine.’ I was growing impatient. ‘When did Betsan last come here?’
The housekeeper hesitated. ‘The day before her body was found. She was excited, happy when she left.’
‘Open the door,’ was all I replied. The housekeeper faltered a moment, before giving a quick, sharp knock on the door. There came a dry bark in response, and I stepped inside. The General, unseen in his high-backed leather chair, grumbled quietly.
‘W-what’s the meaning of this? I thought I heard a commotion. What are you doing, Harriet?’
The housekeeper came into the room behind me and began to talk, though I strode to the side of the General, looking down onto his withered, cantankerous frame. His thin grey head tipped up towards me, his vacant eyes squinting. He smiled a dreadful toothless smile.
‘Have we met ol’ boy? Don’t think we have.’ He leant over his chair a little and waved a scrawny arm at the housekeeper. ‘We have a guest, woman – fetch the brandy. And why are you carrying a rifle? Hunting season again?’
He began to laugh his dreadful laugh and I pulled up the leather chair opposite him. He smiled as he turned back to me, a little vacant, as though he were looking straight through me.
‘General, I have to ask you about Betsan, Betsan Tilny.’
‘How is she?’ He beamed, before pulling a half-burnt cigar out from under his seat and patting slowly on his chest. ‘Damned matches. Harriet! Harriet! I need matches.’ He craned his neck and looked behind him. ‘What are you standing like that for?’
I glanced over toward the housekeeper. She looked from the General to me and shook her head a little. She walked across the room to the General’s writing desk, clattering the rifle onto it, before opening and searching through drawers.
‘Make sure to clean that when you’re done. Bloody Zulus don’t sit around and wait whilst we clean our guns.’ He turned back to me, rolling his eyes. ‘Bloody hot out there, old chap – they’re brave, fearless, those Zulus.’
‘I need to talk with you, General.’ I spoke a little desperately as the General leant back in his seat. ‘About Betsan. You had been seeing her recently?’
‘What are you talking about?’
The housekeeper stepped over and thrust a small box of matches into the General’s hand. Without a word of thanks, he took them, though spilt half a dozen onto the floor as he did. He fumbled to strike one and I moved to grab a match and light it for him.
‘Betsan Tilny,’ I repeated slowly as I held the little flame to the tip of the General’s cigar. ‘You were seeing her recently.’
He stared at me, puffing on his cigar with thin wheezing breaths as wisps of smoke swirled about his face.
‘Rainy season did nothing for the heat. Rain far worse than this.’ His words were slurred and mumbled.
I glanced at the housekeeper standing just behind the General. She could only shrug at me. I thought with some deflation that I’d learn nothing from the old man in his present state.
He hacked and coughed, writhing a little in his chair. ‘Fine girl,’ he said after a moment. ‘Fine girl. Pretty young thing.’
I leant forwards excitedly. ‘Who, General? Who?’
He frowned at me. ‘Betsan, of course. Lovely girl. If you stay long enough, you may meet her. Is she coming today, Harriet?’
The housekeeper said nothing.
‘Lovely girl; very talkative,’ the General chortled. ‘Loves hearing my old war stories.’
I spoke quickly, afraid that the General may lapse and lose all knowledge of what we were discussing. ‘Why did you invite her here, was there a reason?’
He sucked on his cigar. ‘Well, I felt I owed it to her. You’re a man like any other, we all do things we shouldn’t, y’know. Miriam, now she took it badly, but uh, like any good wife she stuck by me.’
The General took a long drag on his cigar. I looked up at the housekeeper, shaking my head in bemusement.
‘Miriam was the General’s wife; died ten years ago, just before I arrived.’
The General didn’t seem to notice. ‘She was worried of the scandal, mind – my age and all. Would have been quite the story, really. She wanted to maintain appearances.’
I couldn’t understand what he meant. ‘Your age, General?’
‘Well, of course,’ he smiled. ‘Old dog, I admit. Mind Catrin, she was old herself, forties and all.’
I started to realise what the General was saying, though it seemed completely absurd.
‘General, are you … are you saying you had an affair with Betsan’s mother?’
He thumbed at his cigar, the bones of his hands clicking as he did.
‘Briefly, chap, briefly. Catrin’s father was a wealthy ma
n, had bought up the land over, over …’ He waved a hand absently. ‘When he died suddenly, he left her everything. She lived in a little cottage just by the railroad station. What was it, Harriet, the malt-something or other?’
‘The Malthouse Cottage,’ I cut in. ‘It burnt down when Catrin was pregnant.’
The General nodded. ‘Are we having tea at any point, Harriet, or should we go straight for brandy? Do you drink brandy, old boy?’
I ignored him. ‘General, were you Betsan’s father.’ He was looking about the room and I feared now that I was losing him. I leant a hand over and placed it on his knee; it was like placing a hand on a clothed skeleton. ‘We have to know.’
He didn’t look at me, staring instead at the large painting on the wall above the mantel.
‘Miriam wouldn’t let me have anything to do with Catrin or the child. Tell you the truth, I always had a suspicion she caused the fire, wanted Catrin gone from here!’ He shook his head, his vacant expression changing for just a moment. His eyes grew melancholic, his smile twisting to something filled with sadness, perhaps shame.
‘I think that hurt Catrin badly; she loved Dinas Powys, her home. She didn’t want to leave here, nor I for that matter. Something snapped inside her, corrupted her, pushed her out to that little hovel she stays in.’ He looked squarely at me then and nodded as he spoke. ‘I regret it all, of course; I wanted to make amends in some small way. You know how it is; when you get older you think of all the wrong you’ve done.’
‘That’s why you asked Betsan here, then? You told her everything.’
He continued to nod. ‘Yes. Of course.’ His eyes began to glaze over. ‘Bob wasn’t happy when I told him. Was more than a little annoyed.’
He’d lost me again. The housekeeper, Harriet, was rubbing her face with her hand. She looked pale, shocked.