“Who?”
“Branwell.” Evelyn stopped, realizing what she had said. “No. I mean Claire. Claire wrote about it.”
Matthew peered closer. “Looks a nasty piece of work.”
“Yes.”
If he wanted to know more, she wasn’t about to tell him. As for the carving, hundreds of carved rocks existed all over the country and usually many hundreds of years old. That this one happened to closely resemble the drawing Claire had insisted was Branwell’s had to be pure coincidence. Nothing else.
The long trudge back to Haworth did little to calm Evelyn’s fractured nerves. They were within sight of the village when Matthew broke the less than comfortable silence between them.
“I hope you realize I’m your friend, Evelyn. If there is something I can help you with, I’ll be happy to.”
“Thank you, Matthew.”
“When we return to Thornton Wensley, I will need to dispose of that toy. The Garden of Bewitchment. It’s still up in the cave.”
“With all the worry about Claire, I had put it out of my mind. But it can’t be destroyed, can it? We’ve tried twice to burn it and failed.”
“Then we’ll have to try another method. Pack it in a lead-lined box and bury it, perhaps.”
Evelyn bit her tongue. She longed to mention the other box, the one Matthew was so secretive about, but he said he had made a promise to a friend. He wouldn’t reveal its contents.
* * *
Dinner consisted of a steak and ale casserole with fluffy mashed potatoes and carrots. Evelyn found an appetite she thought she had lost.
“Going on long walks over the moors always makes me hungry,” Matthew said as he helped himself to more potatoes.
“Your leg seems much better now. I notice you no longer carry the stick.”
“It is indeed. I’m a bit tired today, though. Perhaps I did overdo it a little. Still a good night’s rest and I shall be fighting fit again.”
Jessie Lingard came in. “I see you made short work of that.” She indicated the empty dishes.
“Delicious, Jessie,” Evelyn said. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. There’s jam roly-poly and custard.”
“Perfect,” Matthew said as he took his last mouthful.
Jessie collected the plates and left them, and returned soon afterward with bowls of delicious dessert.
Evelyn tasted the jam-filled suet pudding, which instantly transported her back to her youth. Meals with Nanny. Cook used to make all the traditional children’s desserts, and, of all of them, jam roly-poly, with homemade raspberry conserve, was her favorite. She couldn’t remember how many years had elapsed since she had last tasted it.
“You can’t beat a good suet pudding, can you?” Matthew said. “And Jessie makes the best.”
“It’s probably a good idea to go back tomorrow. I should be the size of a house if I stayed here much longer.”
Matthew looked at her thoughtfully for a second. “You know, Evelyn, things will settle down. I’m sure of it.”
“I wish I could be so certain. If only I knew where Claire was and why the strange things that have happened have occurred. I mean, the ransacking of Claire’s room. The awful toy, which just happened to be the same as the one you experienced as a child. And there’s more.”
Matthew set down his spoon.
Evelyn took a deep breath. She would tell him. “The toy came to life. I was in it. In the house. And there was something evil in the woods and the garden. Claire rescued me.”
Matthew looked at her as if she had suddenly grown an extra pair of arms. “The Garden of Bewitchment? Where did it come to life?”
“It seemed to start with a man I saw when I was having a sleepless night. He was standing on the path up on the ridge outside the back of our house. I saw him again the next day and he looked so familiar. Then Claire told me she had been through a frightening experience up on the moors. She told me something had attacked her, knocking her unconscious, but her memories of the event were so incredible, she doubted herself. Perhaps the injury to her head had resulted in some strange imaginings. We decided to return there and that’s when everything became so strange. Nothing was right. We had somehow wandered into The Garden of Bewitchment and it had become real. That’s when I lost Claire. Then, suddenly, somehow I was in the house, but I had been reduced to the size of one of those figures you could see through the windows. I seemed to become like one of them for a moment or two, as if I too were made of cardboard…or at least my foot was when I touched it to the floor of the drawing room. I was terrified. Not only because of what I had become or where I was… There was something outside, you see. Something that threatened me. I could feel it. Then Claire appeared at the window, only she was normal size, like a giant to me. She rescued me. Oh, you must think I am completely mad. Only an insane person could possibly believe what I am telling you.”
“I can assure you I am far from insane,” Matthew said. “Remember I have had my own experiences with that devilish toy. I believe everything you have told me. Was this before or after we took that thing up to the crags?”
“After.”
“And have you seen the man again?”
Evelyn shook her head. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“Can you describe his features at all?”
“Not really. Except…”
“Yes?”
“This too will make no sense, but to me he resembled the picture Claire has of Branwell Brontë.”
“Did he have a slightly hooked nose?”
“Yes. I would say so. In fact that was the only feature of his that didn’t quite match Claire’s print. Branwell, I believe, had a somewhat longer nose. Why did you ask?”
“Because my uncle had a hooked nose, and for some time now I have wondered if he had something to do with The Garden of Bewitchment.”
“What makes you think he might?”
“Because just before I escaped from the attic, I’m sure I saw him.”
“In the attic?”
“Yes, but more especially in the garden itself. Your experience of finding yourself in it means you will understand probably better than I do. I caught a glimpse. Only a fleeting one, but enough to be as sure as I can my uncle was standing behind a tree, peering round it and watching my distress with a smile on his face. I dismissed it for years, but since everything has started happening with your experiences, I am more convinced than ever. What I saw truly was him.”
“It was in his attic, after all. Someone must have put it there.”
“Quite possibly, but you also know that thing is capable of manifesting itself at will.”
They sat in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Evelyn yawned. “I’m sorry, but I will have to get to bed.”
Matthew stood, and Evelyn left the table. “Good night, Matthew.”
“Good night, Evelyn. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
* * *
In her room, Evelyn undressed and climbed into bed. Sleep came quickly, and by morning she felt refreshed and ready to face the challenges of whatever lay ahead.
Matthew did not look as if the same could be said for him. Dark circles had appeared under his eyes, and he looked drawn.
“Did you get any sleep at all?” Evelyn asked. “You look exhausted.”
“Barely an hour. Someone kept banging on my door, but when I got up to answer it, there was no one there.”
Jessie came in, bearing a rack full of hot, golden toast.
“Jessie, are there any other guests staying here?” Matthew asked.
“No. Why?”
“So there is just you and your husband?”
“Yes. Mr. Dixon, you don’t look very well, are you all right?”
“As right as any man can be who has had virtually no sleep. Someone �
� or something – kept banging on my door, right through the night.”
“I can assure you it wasn’t either of us.” Jessie looked at Evelyn.
“Nor me,” Evelyn said.
“Come to think of it,” Jessie said, “I did hear something. About one o’clock, it was. I put it down to the wind. Of course our room is on the other side of the inn to the guest rooms.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it was the wind.” Matthew sat down wearily. When Jessie had gone, he leaned forward. “That was no wind. In fact I can tell you there was no wind at all last night. It was perfectly still. Did you hear anything?”
“Not a thing. I slept soundly all night.”
“Your room was at the opposite end of the corridor to mine, wasn’t it? With these thick doors you probably wouldn’t have heard much even if you were awake. Some of the bangs were really loud, though. Another unexplained occurrence to add to the collection.”
“It’s fast growing into a catalog.” Evelyn picked up a slice of golden toast. “I want to make a final check of all the hostelries in the village before we leave. Just in case Claire has turned up.”
“I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.”
“No, I shan’t. Just clutching at a very tenuous straw.”
Outside, the weather had turned misty and heavy with impending rain. The tour of the inns produced nothing, as did a check on the final few shops, so Evelyn and Matthew returned to the Black Lion to collect their luggage and pay their bills.
Jessie greeted them with her usual cheerful smile. “I think I have solved the mystery of the door that kept you awake last night, Mr. Dixon.”
“Oh yes?”
“My husband reminded me. It’s so long since he has been heard I had almost forgotten about him. You see, we all have our resident ghosts around here, and the Black Lion Boy is ours. He’s a mischievous little imp that one. About every ten years or so he puts in an appearance. He’ll bang doors, switch boots around that our guests leave outside their doors for polishing. He spills flour all over the kitchen. Nothing malicious, just naughty. My husband has given him a sound talking to, so hopefully he’ll be on his way again.”
Evelyn and Matthew exchanged bemused glances. Would that the spirits they were dealing with were so benign.
Having bid Jessie goodbye, Matthew carried their luggage down the hill to the station.
* * *
Back in Thornton Wensley, Evelyn opened her front door. “Claire?”
Silence. Only the ticking of the clock. She would need to wind it today.
In the kitchen, she set about lighting the range. A cup of tea would go down well.
Having encouraged the little flame to burst into life, Evelyn divested herself of her coat, hat and shoes and went upstairs. She paused outside Claire’s room and gave a light knock. No response. She opened the door and gasped at the sight.
The room resembled the drawing room in the house of The Garden of Bewitchment. Everything in its usual place. Piano, chairs – but no people – fireplace and mantelshelf. All full size. And all wrong. These items weren’t real. As in her own experience, they were cardboard but lifelike and able to support themselves. She went over to the piano and touched the keys. A light tinkling sound, but the keys did not depress. The piano itself swayed as if it might fall over at any moment.
The chairs too were self-supporting, but Evelyn had no intention of testing them out by sitting on one of them. She knew it would give way and send her crashing to the floor.
She went over to the window, which was resplendent in long velvet-looking drapes. These turned out to be paper. They made a crinkling noise when she touched them.
The view looked all wrong too. Instead of the backyard, steps and moorland, the exquisite garden stretched out before her, surrounded by trees. Those same trees that had tried to trap her. Evelyn backed away. She must get out of this room.
She bolted for the door, dragged it open and shut it tightly behind her. Her own room was mercifully normal, but she couldn’t help wondering if Claire’s disappearance and the transformation of her room were inextricably linked, and, if so, didn’t that mean Claire was trapped in that evil garden?
Eventually Evelyn came out of her room, stopped and looked at Claire’s door. She needed help, and the only person who wouldn’t think she had lost her reason was Matthew. She would have to swallow her doubts about him and enlist his aid.
Her fingers trembled so much she could barely button up her boots. She winced as she snagged a nail, the sharp stab of pain adding to her discomfort.
A sudden scuffling sound from upstairs stopped her in her tracks. It had come from Claire’s room. Evelyn swallowed hard and grabbed the stair rail. Taking care not to make a sound, she hitched up her skirt and slowly mounted the staircase.
More scuffling. What if that…thing…the Todeswurm was in there?
Evelyn reached the top of the staircase and listened.
More scuffles, footsteps. Coming closer. Evelyn watched in horror as the door handle turned. The door opened.
“Claire!”
“Hello, Ev.”
After all she had put her through. ‘Hello, Ev!’
“Where have you been? Why did you go off like that? How did you…? Your room!” Evelyn pushed her sister aside and peered in. But all seemed as normal. No sign of the evil garden. Only Claire’s furniture exactly where it should be. Evelyn stood back, words momentarily failing her.
Claire seemed in a placatory mood. “I’m sorry I worried you. I felt stifled. I needed to get away, but I’m feeling much better now. I fancy a glass of milk. How about you?” Without waiting for an answer, she started down the stairs with Evelyn close behind her.
“Claire, you’re behaving as if nothing happened. You’ve been away for days. I came looking for you in Haworth.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t have found me there.”
“So I discovered. I thought you might go there for Branwell.”
“Oh, no. He came with me.”
“So where did you go?”
They were in the kitchen now. Claire filled the kettle and placed it on the hob. She seemed to take an age, and Evelyn’s impatience grew until she wanted to both hug and shake her sister.
Claire looked at her steadily. “Do you know? I really can’t remember.”
“You can’t remember? Have you been ill? Lost your memory?”
“I don’t think so.” Claire considered this for a moment, her face a mask of concentration. “No, I’m pretty sure I remember everything. I just can’t place where I was.”
“But Branwell was with you?”
“Part of the time. Yes. I remember a beautiful garden… Oh don’t look so horrified, Ev. I was perfectly safe.”
“Your room. Earlier, I opened your door and the entire room had transformed into the house in The Garden of Bewitchment. Don’t tell me you were in there somehow. Like I was when you rescued me?”
“Was I? Yes, I think maybe you’re right. But I wasn’t in any danger. Branwell protected me until it came time for me to return.”
Evelyn sat down heavily and accepted the glass of milk Claire poured out for her. “How did you get into that place anyway? The Garden of Bewitchment wasn’t in your room when I went to Haworth.”
“I’m not exactly sure. I remember writing a note to you, oh, and one to Matthew, and then the drawing room went dark. Shadows appeared everywhere, as if night had fallen quicker than it should. Then Branwell came to me. He took my hand and told me not to be afraid. The shadows were our friends. They would protect us.”
“Protect you from what?”
Claire shrugged and frowned. “It all made perfect sense then. Not so much now, though.”
“So you went with Branwell into the shadows?”
“Yes. The room. It sort of…changed somehow. Instead of walls, it ope
ned up, and soon we were in the garden and I saw the house. I heard music playing.”
“And did you meet anyone else there?”
Claire thought for a moment. “No. Not really. I mean there were other people there, but they didn’t speak to me. I don’t think they could see me.”
The same experience Evelyn had met with.
“Oh, there was something else, though. Something in the garden with me, but Branwell told me I mustn’t fear it. It wouldn’t harm me as long as I did what he told me to do.”
“And what was that?”
“Oh, nothing really. Branwell gave me a knife.”
Evelyn stared in horror at her sister. “A knife? Whatever did you need a knife for?”
“In case anything got through. Anything that shouldn’t. But Branwell said it was most unlikely. He simply wanted me to be prepared for every eventuality.”
“Didn’t this frighten you?”
“A little. At first. But Branwell reassured me.”
“And how did he do that?”
“He kissed me. He told me he would always watch over me, even if I couldn’t see him. Then he told me he had to go away for a while but he would return.”
“And did he?”
“I don’t know. I stayed in the house for a bit and lost track of time, I think. Then a little while ago, I decided to go for a walk, came outside and found myself back here in my room.”
Evelyn tried to absorb it all. Here was her sister telling her the most incredible story in such a way as she might be describing a walk to the shops. True or not, she had little doubt her sister believed every word of her fantastic tale.
* * *
Matthew exhaled loudly. “Some story, Evelyn.” He stood and looked out of the window of her cottage. Claire had taken herself upstairs for a lie down when he knocked at the door.
“I know,” Evelyn said. “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t had strange experiences with that garden myself, but I don’t understand why this is happening or how to make it stop.”
“She is utterly convinced she sees Branwell, isn’t she?”
“He is as real to her as we are. At first I thought it was a mere fantasy taken too far. Now I don’t know what to believe.”
The Garden of Bewitchment Page 14