by Sam Hurcom
‘He lives down the hill, down Elm Grove Road, yes?’ I had taken Geraint’s address when I had questioned him but could only vaguely remember.
‘The last but one cottage,’ Solomon called after me, bewildered.
I didn’t reply as I clattered Geraint through the front door. I managed to coax him out of the patio, and the rain of the storm seemed to wake him enough to walk.
‘I need to sleep,’ he kept repeating as we trudged quickly down the hill. It was not far, and by the time we came to his rather bare and unkempt front garden, he was stumbling without my aid.
‘Get inside,’ I implored him. The front door was not locked, and I bundled past him into the cottage. Like the telegraph station, we came straight into the kitchen, though there was no adjacent room. The stairs were to our right and calling out Lewis’ name I traipsed up them. I searched through the rooms above; the house was completely deserted. When I returned downstairs, Geraint had collapsed onto the hard-stone floor. He was barely conscious, though I fell to his side and spoke loudly to him.
‘Your brother, Geraint. Where is he? Where would he be?’
Geraint didn’t wake, and it was only when I shook him roughly that he prised his eyes open.
‘Where is Lewis?’ I repeated desperately.
‘I don’t know. He stays out … sometimes. I’m not his mother.’
He fell asleep once more, but it didn’t matter. I leapt up and began sprinting back to the Twyn. I had no real idea where Lewis could be, but fancied he was down the mill. It was the only place I could think to look.
Lewis was connected to both the murders. Lewis was surely the killer.
25
The Silent Brother – June 23rd, 1904
As I trudged along the woodland path that led to the mill, the forest imposed itself upon me. This was no June evening like any other, for it seemed the darkest depths of a winter’s night. I knew it was not normal, knew then that nothing of this village was.
The trees loomed larger than ever they could. Unseen eyes watched me, of man or beast or any other foulness I could think of. I turned constantly, looking over my shoulder for any sight of what may stalk me. Heavy walls of darkness confined me to the solitude of my contemptible imagination, and soon, the dreaded Calon Farw was nipping at my heels, trying desperately to consume my very soul.
The driving rain drummed through the foliage; the undergrowth murmured with all the strange noises of twilight. The slightest movement startled me, and all the while I was talking to myself in a harsh whisper, trying to calm my nerves by any means, clinging to my Enfield. I had to find Lewis Davey, I had to find him to end all this.
Much of the way was flooded, the small stream that separated the winding path from the forest, breached and overrun. In places, the water came up beyond my shins, and I waded and stumbled, falling badly at one point, so that I landed hard on my shoulder. I cried aloud, but with hurried effort, splashed for purchase and scrambled on, ignoring the pain spreading down my left arm.
I guided my way along the path to its very end coming to the stout stone bridge before the mill.
I caught sound of a terrible creaking noise.
I began swirling and searching in the darkness. With my good right arm, I aimed the revolver, my heart erupting. My dreadful excitement, my fears, were getting the better of me. I began moving across the bridge slowly; as I did, the strange creaking noise grew louder. The bridge itself stood just above the floodwater, though here it gushed quite swiftly. The mill was in sight, its white paint standing out a little in the gloom. As I stepped ever closer, the creaking sound grew louder, reaching its climax as I came within a few yards of the mill’s black door. In my foolishness, I thought it Betsan, luring me towards her.
Something moved nearby. I was paralysed, terrified of what may leap towards me. Only then did I realise the mill water wheel was spinning and creaking.
I sighed heavily, furious at myself. I had to get a hold of my senses, focus on Lewis and dispel all nonsense of ghosts no matter how hard it was to do so. I moved alongside the mill wall, slowly creeping towards the round window which that day past (a lifetime ago) I had seen Lewis board up himself. Through a fine crack between two timbers, I saw a faint light flicker.
I thought what next to do. If indeed Lewis were inside, I had an element of surprise, something of an advantage. There seemed no reason for him to think I was coming to the mill. Yet still I couldn’t take that chance. I had to apprehend Lewis then and there, giving him no opportunity to thwart capture and evade me.
Taking a deep breath, I laid a hand against the mill’s black door. I felt it give a little. Still gripping my revolver and in one motion, I pushed hard so that it swung fully open. I half expected to see Lewis, sat upon some rickety chair, drinking from a brown bottle of ale, a callous smile spread across his lips.
Instead I stepped into a warm, well-lit room, the air heavy with dry mill dust. As I inhaled, I coughed and spluttered. Disorientated I looked about. A little way to my left, I saw a figure, seated at a workbench, gazing toward me in complete bemusement.
Lewis Davey flinched as I aimed my Enfield straight at him.
‘Hold there, man! Make one false move and I’ll put you to the floor.’
‘Sorry! What do you mean?’ He spoke queerly, with a heavy lisp. He didn’t raise his arms but almost climbed onto the workbench in complete alarm. He knocked a few tools – a file and some small wood chisels – down onto the floor. He was shaking his head in complete confusion before I said another word.
‘Let’s make this easy. You’ll surrender yourself now. I have no shackles, but I am not afraid to use this.’ I shook my Enfield a little. ‘You’ll come with me back to the village.’
He continued to scramble along the length of the workbench, knocking over more tools and hunks of wood as he did. I followed him with my gun and called loudly. He hunkered down to the floor by the wall, a little distance away from the actual millstone. I aimed at him through the thick axles and greased cogs. He buried his head in his arms, holding his left hand out to me with the palm raised.
I couldn’t understand him as he mumbled.
‘Speak up! Don’t play the coward and talk to me plainly.’
He didn’t look over to me as I moved closer towards him. His hand was shaking badly. I realised he was calling for his brother.
‘He’s not here. Look to me, face the charges I bring to you.’
I stood then right over him. He slowly turned his head, one small eye gazing up at me. His round face was flush, shuddering in what was clearly abject terror. I saw him cling to something with his hidden hand.
‘Show me what you have. Move slowly.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s not, it’s not finished.’
I was taken aback by that. ‘What?’
‘It’s not finished. I was finishing it.’
He caught me off guard, my tone losing all its fired aggression.
‘Show me,’ I said, trying to muster some sort of command. ‘And move slowly.’
He shook his head at first. I thrust my gun a little toward him and with a whimper he began to move. He slowly showed me his hand. Clasped tightly in it was a small wooden soldier, the exact type that Solomon’s children had had. It was as I had suspected – he was their maker. The soldier’s rifle was not fully whittled and formed. The craftmanship was nevertheless quite extraordinary.
‘It’s not finished,’ Lewis repeated, crying now.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ I dropped my arm a little. ‘Lewis Davey, I’m here to charge you with the murder of Betsan Tilny.’ I needed evidence for the children’s murders five years previous; whilst Lewis making the soldiers was a connection, it was loose and not enough. I was determined to get a confession from the man.
‘I didn’t …’
His voice trailed off and he turned his head a
way from me. I moved a step closer to him.
‘You may deny it, but you can state your case when the Constabulary arrive. I have evidence to support my charge – you knew of Betsan’s death before her body was even discovered. You weren’t down the mill when she was found yet told your brother she was dead. You couldn’t tell him where the body was however because it had been moved from the common, the place you left it. Don’t play the fool with me.’
He turned slowly towards me, his beady eyes wet, his face and lips shivering. He began looking around the room, growing more and more panicked as he did.
‘Where’s Geraint? Where’s Geraint!’
His speech was laboured, slow. I felt myself lower my gun completely.
‘Your brother isn’t here, Lewis.’ It was becoming hard now to maintain my steely composure. ‘He can’t help you right now. You’ll have to come with me, it’s a serious charge, man.’
‘Geraint. I didn’t do anything. Where’s Geraint?’
He was quaking now uncontrollably, his nose dribbling, his short frame writhing in the corner of the room. He dropped the wooden soldier and turned his body, beginning to scratch at the stone wall, as if trying to tunnel away from me. I didn’t want to step any closer to him, minded that this may all be some elaborate charade. It didn’t seem that way, though. Lewis was only becoming more and more erratic.
Finally, I went to him. I crouched and placed an arm on his shoulder, turning him roughly towards me. He wailed and tried to turn his head from me. I took hold of him by both shoulders and spoke slowly to him.
‘I know you killed Betsan, Lewis. I know it. Geraint told me. You came to him, before dawn, woke him and told him Betsan was dead. That was before Johnathon Miller discovered her. You couldn’t have known she was dead then unless you had some part in her murder.’
He began to rock back and forth.
‘It’s not what happened. It’s not what happened.’ He seemed barely able to speak, his strained words coming to me between rasping breaths. It was as though he were convulsing before me.
I tried to shake some sense into him, but that only did to worsen his panic. I began to hush him then, doing all I could to calm him down. It was strange; I had convinced myself only a short while ago, that the unstable man before me was a brutal, heartless killer.
‘All right then. All right. Tell me what happened. If you deny the charge, tell me why I should believe you.’
His breathing was only a little better, though he began to talk with some clarity.
‘I didn’t want to see her. I keep seeing her – I keep seeing her!’
He began hitting at the side of his head, and it was all I could do to drop my gun and grip hold of his wrists. He was stronger than I so that I keeled over awkwardly and let go of him completely. He stopped hitting himself then but clutched at his legs and buried his face in his lap. He began rocking, as I, quite shocked and exasperated, sat watching him.
I collected my Enfield after a moment and pocketed it. It seemed clear I wouldn’t need it.
Lewis began to quiet down. I wondered what best to do. After a little while sitting in silence, I reached for the carved wooden soldier on the floor. Gently I tapped at his knee until he raised his head just enough to look at me, I held the soldier out to him. He took it gently and gripped it tight, rocking still but far more serenely.
I realised then how ill he was, not an illness of body but one of mind, the kind of illness that makes men slow. He was like a child in the body of a grown adult. Slurred talking; not fully developed. Whether he was capable of murder seemed uncertain, though even children can pull the wings from a fly.
‘I need you to talk to me, Lewis,’ I said softly. ‘It may be hard, but you have to tell me. If you didn’t kill Betsan, you have to convince me.’ I felt quite wicked as I lied to him then. ‘It will be all right, even if you have. But I need you still to tell me.’
He held the little soldier close to him.
‘I didn’t. I didn’t. I was here, I was here making—’ He held the soldier out to me a little.
‘You were here, making your soldiers?’ He nodded. ‘Were you here all night?’
He nodded again. ‘It’s quiet. When Mr Miller is not here, it’s quiet. He doesn’t know I’m here at night.’ His voice grew panicked again. ‘Don’t tell Mr Miller, don’t tell him.’
I recalled how Miller had spoken to him when last I had come down here. Fool, he had called him. Fool.
‘So you were here, making the soldiers. Then what?’
He spoke without any pause for thought. ‘Before daytime, I left, I went to the woods. It’s quiet in the woods. I like to see daytime come when I’m in the woods.’ He pointed one shaking hand in the direction of the Cwm Sior. ‘It’s quiet at daytime in the woods.’
I nodded reassuringly. ‘You left before dawn? You left here before dawn to go into the woods?’
He smiled a little. ‘I like the woods, when daytime comes.’
‘All right. Then what?’
He opened up a bit more then, wiping at his face as he spoke. ‘I went to the woods and saw someone. Two.’ He raised his free hand and held two fingers up at me. ‘One was the policeman.’
My heart sank. As did I, for all my excitement at the prospect of catching the killer left me, replaced by my exhaustion and weariness. It overcame me in an instant, and I felt myself dropping, as though I were falling through the floor.
‘Constable Vaughn. You’re talking about Constable Vaughn?’
Lewis nodded. ‘I saw him and someone. I hid, and they ran.’ He began to grow upset again and I found myself reaching a hand out to comfort him. ‘When they ran, I wanted to find them. But then I saw … I saw her, hurt. She was hurt!’
He started sobbing into his arms, but before I could say another word, he looked up at me again.
‘I was scared. I was scared and wanted Geraint. I wanted Geraint, so I ran. I ran and told Geraint.’
He yelled out then before moving and falling against me, crying on my chest as I quietly put an arm around his shoulder. This was no suspect; it was trauma personified. It needn’t take an investigator to know that Lewis was no killer. He continued to talk as I cradled him on the floor.
‘I didn’t mean to make Geraint sad. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t.’
‘You didn’t, Lewis. You did no such thing. I’m sorry I scared you. You don’t need to be scared.’ I wanted to comfort him some more and gently took hold of the wooden soldier. ‘You make good soldiers. You’ve made these a long time?’
He nodded. ‘I make them. I used to make them for children. Gave them to mothers, fathers. All left now. All the children. They all left and now I have no one to give them to.’
‘Did you give them to Solomon? To his children?’
Lewis mumbled. ‘No children. No children. I gave them to mothers and fathers with children.’
I patted his shoulder. ‘I know. I know. There are no children now.’
What a fool I was.
There we stayed upon the floor of the mill whilst the storm whistled through every crack in the masonry. In time, Lewis began to calm and grow still.
He was not the killer. But that was little comfort to me.
26
In Plain Sight – June 23rd, 1904
I was able to convince Lewis to come back to the village with me. He took his soldier with him, and as we walked I repeatedly spoke to reassure him.
‘You don’t need to be frightened, Lewis.’
We moved slowly, though I had no real idea of the time. We saw no one as we came back into the Twyn and walked down Elm Grove Road. The door of Lewis and Geraint’s cottage had seemingly slammed shut, though as we stepped inside, Geraint was still sprawled on the kitchen floor. Lewis rushed to his side with a great deal of concern.
‘Geraint. Geraint!’
&n
bsp; Geraint began to stir and grumble.
‘What’s going on? What’s the matter, Lew?’
‘It’s fine,’ I said, standing just inside the doorway. ‘Your brother—’ I didn’t really know how to explain. ‘I’ll need to speak to both of you in the morning. Make sure you’re here.’
I bade them goodnight, and walked out of the cottage, closing the door behind me. I stood in the road and looked up at the sky, rain trickling down my face. Had I the energy, I would have screamed and cursed myself hoarse. But I didn’t. I merely stood staring up at darkness before plodding miserably back to the inn.
I was tired of being wet, tired of the wind whipping through my coat. I was tired of the village, in that moment tired even of my work. I wanted rest and simply to wake up at home in London, recalling all this as a dream, before it quickly slipped from consciousness and I was left with no inkling or memory of this dreadful place. I was at the end of my tether; that in many ways was an even greater defeat than having a killer still roaming free.
The gas lamp had been snuffed out by the elements, and not a speck of light shone anywhere in sight. I was able to make my way to the inn, though nearly fell into the sunken patio and fumbled at the door. A single gas lantern was lit inside, stood stoically beside Solomon. He jumped up as I came in, his hands fidgeting.
‘You were some time with Geraint. Is he all right?’
I only shook my head. ‘Not really. I would have a drink and then go to bed.’
Solomon obliged. He was wearing little more than a vest, his braces hanging loose around his legs. He looked as haggard as I. He fetched me a drink and told me it was brandy. I took a good swig.
‘I’m sorry, Solomon, for all this really. I’ll need to get word to the Constabulary in Glamorgan or Cardiff tomorrow.’ I was rubbing my left arm, my shoulder throbbing from where I had fallen on it. ‘Whether this storm rages on or not. I’m afraid I’m done.’
He leant on the bar before me, exhaling deeply and fidgeting some more with his hands. He didn’t look at me but spoke in his quiet manner after a minute or so.