Meanwhile, at the Dernstrum Institute

by Catherine Griffin

  For an instant, the world was illuminated starkly in black and white. Three sheep fought to get behind each other in a confused panic. To my right, I briefly saw Jones’ craggy face, like an ancient rock-carved idol. The barn was awash with water.

  Darkness returned even blacker than before, leaving violet splodges in my vision. My fingers dug into the stone wall behind me. Thunder crashed overhead, so loud I expected the rest of the roof to collapse. I could see nothing.

  Wind hammered on the walls. A tile clattered off the roof, banging as it cart-wheeled to the ground. To my left, water splashed and I turned towards the sound. Red eyes glinted, fixed on me from a few feet away. I stepped towards Jones. My arm scraped along the rough stone wall.

  A solid mass struck my hip and I fell. My elbow hit the dirt floor under six inches of water. I rolled, shielding my face from the attack. Sharp hooves landed on my midriff, digging in painfully. The sheep bit at my clothing, gripping and shaking like a terrier. I beat at its bony head and wet fleece. Jones shouted. Hands seized my shoulders, dragging me through the water. The sheep bounded away.

  As I crouched against the wall, two dim white shapes threw themselves at Jones.

  ‘Gah!’ He wrestled with the sheep.

  I grabbed the fleece of the nearest, trying to drag it off him.

  Lightning ripped through the sky, followed by thunder rolling loud and close, shaking the world. The two sheep attacking Jones scrambled away. Heads down against the storm, we ran into the night, not caring where we went. I held onto Jones’ arm so as not to lose him. He was shaking.

  'What in God's name was that about?' He clung to me, his hands gripping my arms tight.

  I shook my head and looked around for a landmark to guide us to safety. A point of light beckoned through the murk.

  'Are you hurt?' I said.

  'I don't think so. You?'

  'No. See the light there?'

  He took my arm, pulling me forwards. The light had seemed close. It was not as close as I hoped, but it grew larger as we splashed onward. Fear had lent me new strength. Though shivering with cold and shock I felt I could go any distance now.

  Something brushed my free arm, something cold and yielding. Large rounded leaves. I pushed them out of the way, wondering where we were. There weren't many plants on Uggley taller than a thistle. A gust of wind slapped wet, leathery leaves into my face.

  'Stop.' I hauled on Jones’ arm.

  'What?'

  'These plants.'

  'What?'

  'It's dangerous. We should go round.'

  'Round what?'

  It was impossible to say. We had only the light in the distance as a guide. Forwards was as good a direction as any when we couldn't see where we were going.

  'Be careful,' I said.

  I cringed away from the plants. Jones led the way, pushing the stems out of his path. Cabbage crunched underfoot.

  Sharp pain struck my arm. 'Ah.' I jerked away from the stinging sensation, crowding into Jones’ back.

  'What is it?' He steadied me.

  'Nothing. Keep going.'

  The tendril was still attached to my arm. I snapped it and warm blood dribbled onto my fingers. The plants were, if anything, getting thicker as we pushed on.

  'Ow.' He cursed, stumbling against me. 'What the hell's that? Ow.'

  'It's the plants.' I grabbed his arm, pulling him down to shout in his ear. 'We have to get out of this. Run.'

  He didn’t move. I pulled on him, throwing my slight weight against his. He followed, not at fast as I would like. Without warning, he collapsed, almost dragging me with him. I hauled on his arm.

  His body twisted. 'Agh.'

  My hand struck a taut tendril. I took hold of it and snapped it. He climbed to his feet, leaning on me with his full weight, and hopped forwards.

  'I can't move.'

  He crashed to the ground again. I dragged him on a few feet in sheer desperation.

  'Argh.' He cried out in pain, thrashing.

  Pain struck my leg. I found the tendril, yanked on it, but it didn't break. I took a step and fell. The tendril wound around my legs, entangling me. I got to my knees and pulled it hard towards me with both hands, snapping it loose. Jones screamed, struggling with the invisible attack. I crawled towards him.

  I grabbed him under the arms and dragged him across the slushy ground, ignoring his cries of pain, ignoring the plants. His weight was pulling my arms from their sockets. The individual sharp bites of the stings merged into one single burning pain.

  Jones kicked against the ground, pushed against me, and scrambled away. A fence rail rapped me on the shins as I stumbled after him. We were out of the cabbage plot. He collapsed, groaning, and rolled onto his back to keep his face above water. I fell onto my knees beside him, utterly exhausted. Blood trickled down my arms, but there was nothing to be done about the wounds now. We had to reach the light.

  'Can you stand?' I tugged at Jones, but he didn't answer.

  The light we had been aiming for still beckoned, warm and friendly, promising safety. I pulled his arm over my shoulder, trying to get him to stand. He tottered forwards, leaning on me, but after a few steps fell to his knees, dragging me down with him. I hauled him up again and we struggled on.

  'Come on. Only a little further, now. Nearly there.'

  The light came from the greenhouse. The building glowed like a lantern, just fifty yards away.

  'Move, you silly man. Do you want to die out here?'

  Groaning, he crawled forwards on hands and knees. I gripped a handful of his jacket to tug him in the right direction. Yards from the greenhouse, he fell for the last time. I shouted at him and pulled, but he wasn't moving. I couldn’t lift his dead weight. But I couldn’t sit indefinitely in an overgrown puddle, holding up his head to keep him from drowning.

  I dragged him the rest of the way, foot by foot and inch by inch, until I reached the door. There I sank down beside him. The cold had numbed the burning pain of the stings. I rested my head against the slick glass, my eyes fixed on the warm glow. We were safe. Someone was inside, they must see us. Raising my hand to bang on the glass took all my strength.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  WHEN THE DOOR opened, I collapsed through it. A warm arm encircled my shoulders, supporting me as I sat up.

  'Miss Wright. My God, what's happened to you?'

  Enfield's concerned face swam over me. This seemed like a good place to rest for a while, but I struggled to my feet as he lifted me. The hard edge of the workbench dug into my back. I gripped it for support.

  'Wait. Don't worry about me. Help Jones.'

  'Who?'

  'The man lying there,' I said, pointing. In fairness, he was easy to overlook in the dark, half-covered by water.

  Enfield pulled the man inside. 'Help me with him.'

  He swept aside the pots of seedlings on the bench to make room. Together, we lifted the limp body.

  'He's in a bad way.'

  Enfield examined him. Jones was deathly pale. Blood dripped from his hand into the murky water covering the floor. His clothes were soaked and muddy. I took his wrist. His hand felt like ice, but my own hands were too numb to find a pulse.

  ‘Help me get his coat off.’

  Jones had been hit several times. Diluted blood had soaked his shirt, dying it pink.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Enfield said. ‘The cabbage did this?’

  My legs wobbled under me. I leaned against the bench.

  'Are you hurt too?' He guided me to a stool.

  I blinked at the blood on my hands. He shrugged off his coat and wrapped it round my shoulders.

  'He needs it more,' I said, but pulled the warmth of the coat around me.

  'Who is he?'

  'Mr Jones. He's an inventor of sorts. He wants to speak to Langstone, persuade him to fund his research.'

  'But what are you doing here?'

  ‘It’s rather a long story. Maybe we should stop Jones bleeding to death first?’
r />   ‘Oh, right. You’ll need to help me, I’m afraid.’ He pushed the stool over to the bench so at least I didn’t have to stand.

  We stripped away Jones’ clothing to expose his wounds. I counted five separate tendrils embedded under his skin. With every beat of his heart, blood oozed from the punctures. He groaned as we moved him, but his eyes remained closed.

  ‘This is awful.’ Enfield looked pale himself. ‘I didn’t believe the cabbage could be this dangerous. It’s all my fault.’

  I picked up Jones’ discarded coat. When we removed it, I had felt a hard lump in one of the pockets.

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to say I shouldn’t blame myself?’ Enfield said.

  ‘Actually it is your fault, and you should blame yourself. But right now, it might be more useful — Ahah!’ I flourished the roll of tape.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Jones’ Waterproof Tape. Can we use it as bandage?’

  ‘Good idea.’

  I bound up the wounds with wads of shirt material secured with tape. At least it slowed the bleeding.

  ‘Now you,’ Enfield said. ‘No, don’t tell me you’re all right. You look terrible.’

  ‘Well, thanks.’ I peeled away my outer clothing, wincing at each touch on the tendrils. My injuries were not as bad as Jones’. I just had one in my arm and one in my calf, and the bleeding had already slowed. ‘It was lucky you were here. If we hadn’t seen your light, we might have died out there.’

  ‘After you left, I wanted to think. I always come out here to think.’

  ‘About the cabbage?’

  ‘Yes. And… other things. But I’d already decided the plants had to be destroyed.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Sorry. Can you ever forgive me?’

  ‘Of course. Oh, you meant the cabbage.’ It didn’t require much thought. ‘Yes, if you forgive yourself first.’

  ‘The thing I wanted to think about.’ His face twisted. ‘The fact is, I know I’m not exactly…’

  He looked miserable, and I was too battered to want to spin the moment out. ‘I like you too.’

  ‘You do?’ He looked down at his hook. ‘I thought…’

  I smiled and took his hand. It might seem strange, but I had never considered his missing left hand the most important thing about Enfield. He smiled back, his expression rather stunned as if he’d been hit with a heavy object.

  ‘We have to get this man back to the house,’ Enfield said. ‘Langstone must have a look at him.’

  Obviously, we had to go to the house. But now my anger had cooled, it occurred to me that rushing back to confront Langstone might not be the most sensible thing to do.

  ‘Langstone can’t be trusted,’ I said.

  ‘He’s a doctor. Do you have a better idea?’

  ‘Professor Dernstrum died because he went for a midnight walk on the mud flats, with the tide coming in.’

  ‘You think Langstone had something to do with his death? That’s rather a big accusation.’

  ‘I know. I don’t have any proof. But Langstone is experimenting with the drug the Professor was working on before he died.’

  ‘The same drug the witch gave the mad vicar?’

  ‘Yes, made from seaweed. I think. It’s the only way I can explain the effect of eating the cabbage...’

  He motioned me to silence. ‘So Langstone is secretly working on this seaweed drug. Do you really think he killed the Professor? Just for this drug?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I shuddered, remembering Langstone’s eyes when he had told me to go.

  'Langstone is a little... odd, but are you sure about all this? It seems rather fantastic.'

  Rain drummed on the glass roof. The wind rattled the panes and forced its way through tiny gaps, setting up an eerie wail.

  'You didn’t see him when he sacked me. He acts the gentleman but there’s something else, under the mask. I'm afraid of him.' It was only when I said the words that I knew it. I was afraid of him, afraid of what he might do when he saw me again.

  Enfield took my hand. 'I won't leave you alone with him for a minute. How's that?'

  I smiled shakily. 'Thank you.'

  'We had better go. The rain seems to have slackened a bit. Can you take his feet and carry the lamp?'

  I moved my arm experimentally, checking the bandage was secure. The tape had certainly made the job easier. Useful stuff. I shoved the reel in my pocket.

  We loaded Jones into the wheelbarrow. Though the rain was now no worse than any winter downpour, the wind was still very strong. I tucked myself downwind of Enfield and let him do the bulk of the work, for I had enough to do to keep on my feet.

  As we neared the house, the deep puddles grew rapidly deeper until water surged around our legs. The gravel drive had become a white-capped river. I clung to Enfield and the floating wheelbarrow as we forded the stream. The water pulled on the barrow, trying to snatch it from us. I took a step and missed the ground. My foot sank into a hole, perhaps only a few inches deep, but enough to make me stumble to one knee. Enfield helped me up, pushing me forwards onto the rising steps that led to the porch. I grabbed the front of the wheelbarrow and between us, we dragged it up the steps and into the shelter of the porch.

  Enfield pushed open the front door. Abandoning the wheelbarrow, we carried Jones into the entrance lobby. The wind slammed the heavy door behind us. No one was about. The oil lamp in my hand was the only light. Muddy water puddled around us on the black and white tiles.

  'Help. Some help here. Dr Langstone!' Enfield's shout echoed from the high ceiling.

  I wiped my face with my hand and tasted salt. Salt water. The flood running past the front door was the sea.

  A door opened on the first floor.

  'What is it?' Langstone's voice came from the gloom.

  'A man's hurt,' Enfield said.

  Hesitant footsteps on the landing. Langstone’s pale face peered down over the banister.

  'Bring him up.'

  We carried the unconscious man up the stairs, surrounded by the monstrous shadows cast by the swinging oil lamp. Langstone met us. I watched him, but his expression was all professional concern.

  'He's lost a lot of blood,' Enfield said.

  'Carry him through to the bedroom.'

  Langstone’s bedroom was unremarkable, tidy, the bed not slept in. A single candle provided the only illumination before we entered with the lamp. We laid Jones on the white sheets. He was so still, I feared he was dead. Langstone took his pulse, frowning as he counted.

  He turned to me, his expression mild and distant.

  'I thought you had left, Miss Wright. I hope you haven't had some misadventure?'

  I squared my shoulders, conscious of the cold weight of clothes soaked with water, mud and blood. 'I had unfinished business.'

  ‘Who is our friend?'

  'Mr Jones. He was walking here. He wanted to show you his invention.'

  'Mr Enfield, would you be so good as to hand me my bag?' The doctor's bag was on the other side of the room. 'And Miss Wright, if you are able, would you see if you can fetch Mrs Jones? I may require her assistance.'

  Feeling sick and shaky, I left the room, taking the lamp with me. Mrs Jones slept downstairs, in the housekeeper's rooms near the kitchen. I tried switching on the electric lights as I passed through the corridors, but they weren’t working.

  'Mrs Jones. Wake up!' I hammered on her door.

  Shuffling footsteps from inside, the door being unbolted and opened. Mrs Jones peered out, her face puffy, dark bags under her eyes.

  'What time of night do you call this?'

  'I'm sorry, but it’s an emergency. Dr Langstone wants your help.'

  She blinked at me, confused. 'What are you doing back here?'

  'I have work to do. Are you coming, or not?'

  'All right. I'll come.' Wrapping her dressing gown around her, she emerged blinking into the corridor.

  'What's happened? Is someone sick?'

  'There's a m
an hurt.'

  Her sharp eyes assessed my appearance. 'Been swimming, have you?'

  'It's rather wet out. Why are the lights not working?'

  ‘How should I know? I don’t meddle with them. Young Chunley sees to it.’

  Light metaphorically dawned. John the gardener fired the boiler in the morning so the dynamo charged the accumulators, which powered the lights. With him gone, the accumulators had run down. No John, no electricity.

  In the bedroom, Langstone was examining Jones, bent over his work with intense concentration. Mrs Jones approached the bed.

  'Oh my!' She swayed.

  I grabbed her reflexively, supporting her as she crumpled to the floor. Enfield leapt towards us, relieving me of the older woman's weight. As the blood flowed to her head, her eyes flickered open.

  'Oh my,' she said.

  'You fainted. Keep your head down.'

  'Henry.' She craned her head to see the man on the bed. 'It can’t be.'

  She leaned on Enfield, who guided her to sit on the end of the bed. Her hands knotted in the covers as she stared at the unconscious man.

  'That's my husband, Henry. What’s he doing here?'

  'I thought your husband was dead?' I asked.

  'I haven't seen him for years. He might as well be dead. I thought he most likely was.'

  'This is all very touching, ladies,' Langstone said. 'But a little quiet would be appreciated. Mrs Jones, could you fetch some boiled water?'

  'Of course, Doctor.'

  Still staring at the man on the bed, she sidled out of the room. Enfield and I followed her.

  'Are you sure you're all right? You're white as a sheet,' he said. ‘Perhaps you’d better go with her, Miss Wright.’

  I could think of a many things I would rather do, but I followed her downstairs. She collapsed into a chair in the kitchen, burying her face in her hands. I stoked up the range and filled the kettle.

  'Shall I get you a glass of water?' I wasn't inclined to be sympathetic, but it’s difficult not to react to a woman sobbing.

  'You have no idea, no idea what he put me through. Seven years we were married, then it’s suddenly waterproof tape. Morning, noon, and night. Left his job. There was nothing I could say to him. If it wasn't waterproof tape he didn't care. What was I to do?'