He sat down. Given the easy way in which he moved, his leg must be feeling much better. But then, he had invented the so-called accident, hasn’t he? Remembering this sent little shock waves of anger flowing through her veins.
She sat opposite him. “So what is it you want my sister to know?”
“I told her about The Garden of Bewitchment and how my uncle used to play it with someone at this cottage. My cousin told me.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“I have received another letter from my cousin this morning, apologizing for getting some of his information wrong. Uncle Mortimer didn’t befriend the tenant of this cottage; he befriended the owner. Squire Aloysius Monkton. They used to meet here, as the squire had taken to staying down here. He preferred it in the winter months to the draughty manor house.”
“I can see why he would. I’ll see Ev gets the message.” Claire stood.
“Oh, no, that isn’t all. There’s much more. I’ll read it to you.” Matthew retrieved a letter from his inside jacket pocket. “He says, ‘Your recent communication set me thinking about things I’d never given a passing thought to for years. I went through some of my mother’s old diaries and found the entries where she talks of my father’s friendship with the squire. Aloysius Monkton died a few years later, and he is the same one who is said to haunt the village to this day. He was, by all accounts, an eccentric old cove, mostly preferring the company of his dogs to his fellow humans. My mother remarks on this. For some reason, he and Father hit it off. When Father brought that toy we spoke of – The Garden of Bewitchment – the squire was fascinated. He said he had owned one himself when much younger but hadn’t seen it for years. He said it held a special fascination for him because it had been based on his home and garden. His own father had commissioned it as a special birthday present but had died before he was able to give it to his only son. The squire expressed his amazement that Father had one, as he had been sure only one had ever been made. Father got the impression he would very much like to have it, having lost his own, but the old man was reluctant, eventually refusing altogether. My mother writes it caused a big argument between the two men, with the squire accusing Father of having stolen the toy from him. All very childish and petulant. Later that year, she notes the squire never returned to the manor house – Monkton Hall. He took ill and died.’” Matthew folded the letter and returned it to his pocket. “So, you see, Claire. This puts a very different complexion on things. I have asked my neighbor Mr. Skelton, and he informs me Monkton Hall is a mere two miles away, practically derelict as it hasn’t been lived in since old Monkton died. There were no children to inherit, so it just lies there. Mr. Skelton has promised to escort me there tomorrow, and I wondered if Evelyn would like to come along. It’s not a difficult ride apparently, and Mr. Skelton has two horses he can lend us.”
“So I’m not to be included in this invitation?”
“Only because there wouldn’t be a horse for you to ride. Although it’s not difficult terrain for a horse, it would be hard to get a carriage up there.”
Inwardly, Claire seethed. How presumptuous of the man. She broke the awkward silence. “I will relay the information to her, and if she is well enough, I am sure she will want to accompany you. If she is not, then I shall take her place. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Even though he didn’t look as if he meant it.
* * *
“At last. Maybe we’re getting somewhere,” Evelyn said. She felt rested after her long sleep and ready for the delicious pork pie and salad her sister had prepared. “If this toy was based on a real house, we can at least have an opportunity to explore it and maybe we will find some answers.”
“Hurrah for Matthew’s cousin.” Sarcasm dripped off Claire’s words like treacle.
“Oh, don’t be like that. I’m sorry there aren’t enough horses for you to come along too. We did discuss bringing ours when we left Sugden Heath, but we agreed they would have so little to do. Living so close to the railway station, we simply have no need of them, and it’s not fair to the horses to have them live a boring existence stuck in a field all day, every day.”
“It’s all right, Ev. I understand.”
If only she sounded as if she meant it. “I’ll be able to tell you all about it when I return. If it looks as if we need to go back again, then we’ll hire some horses and you can come too. Agreed?”
Claire nodded and helped herself to some fruit cake.
* * *
The air smelled fresh and damp, and an aroma of moist earth permeated the air as Matthew, Mr. Skelton and Evelyn set off, this time away from the moors to the other end of the lane and onto the narrow road.
Mr. Skelton turned out to be in his element as a tour guide. “We travel along here for about a mile, and then we turn off down a lane. You’d miss it if you didn’t know it was there. Of course, in the old squire’s day it would have been well tended.”
Riding sidesaddle on a placid bay horse, Evelyn took in the scenery. Trees lined the route, and the air filled with the sound of birdsong. How could anything be wrong on such a perfect day? The heavy morning dew was drying in the warm sunshine, and the smell of grass and wildflowers pervaded the atmosphere.
“Here it is.” Mr. Skelton encouraged his horse to turn off the road. Matthew and Evelyn followed close behind. The first thing that struck her was the silence. “Where have the birds gone?” she asked Matthew, who was slightly ahead of her.
He turned back. “I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
“Anything wrong?” Mr. Skelton called out from the front.
“It’s much quieter down here,” Matthew said. “No birdsong.”
“By Jove, I believe you’re right,” Mr. Skelton replied. “How strange.”
They trotted on for a few yards. The trees grew denser with each hoofbeat. The silence grew heavier. As if waiting for something.
Matthew turned back to Evelyn. “Are you all right back there?”
She nodded, but she felt anything but all right. She wanted to turn and gallop away as fast as her mare would allow, but she had to keep going.
Finally the dense cover gave way to a partial clearing, hopelessly overgrown but still possible to make out some features of what once must have been an exquisite garden.
“Goodness,” Mr. Skelton said. “It never occurred to me how many years must have gone by since I was last here.”
“When was this, Mr. Skelton?” Evelyn asked as they dismounted from their horses. Matthew assisted her. Each of them took the reins of their horse and walked them on.
“Let me see now. The old squire had just died. Gracious. It must be twenty-five years or maybe more. There had been rumors, you see, and I was intrigued.”
“What sort of rumors?” Matthew asked.
“Oh, the usual whenever someone slightly…shall we say, unusual, is involved.”
“You mean the hauntings?” Evelyn asked. “The squire is supposed to haunt the village with his dogs?”
“That’s the one. And the other stuff, of course.”
“Other stuff?”
“Pure nonsense. This house and the garden were reputed to be haunted by a separate ghost. Well, sort of a ghost, more of a fantastic creature actually.”
“My cousin didn’t tell me about that,” Matthew said, exchanging glances with Evelyn. “What was it all about?”
“Some sort of snake, I believe, massive and not of any known species, which supposedly appeared when a group of young people trespassed on the property. I suppose much as we are doing. Not that there is anybody around to see us off these days. I don’t even know who it belongs to now. Squire Monkton had no family. Not a one.”
“And has anyone reported seeing anything like this recently?” Matthew asked.
“Not to my knowledge. Not for many a year. The last sighting I heard of was probably over
fifteen years ago. No one comes here anymore, you see. No reason to.”
Evelyn looked around at the wilderness. “I think we should go on. Try and find the house if we can get there.”
“Good idea,” Matthew said. “Are you happy to proceed, Mr. Skelton?”
“Oh, dear me, yes, indeed. This takes me back years, even if it is difficult to distinguish anything. Oh, look, there’s the old fountain.”
Evelyn touched Matthew’s arm, and he looked at her. “It’s the same one. I recognize the gargoyles and that pineapple carving around the top. I’ve seen it before and it’s the same as Claire described as being in the toy.”
“What was that?” Mr. Skelton asked. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit deaf these days.”
“Evelyn said she has seen the pineapple and the gargoyles before. On the fountain. And they’re the same as in the toy Garden of Bewitchment.”
“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Skelton. “Yes, I see. Well, that really proves it then, doesn’t it? The toy was made for the squire and is unique to this house. You must have the same one.”
“It looks likely, but let’s press on. I want to see the house.”
Tree roots had spread across once-manicured paths, making walking hazardous. The grass of the lawns had grown and stood six inches high. Roses and hibiscus mingled with sunflowers, hollyhocks, delphiniums and dahlias in a wild profusion of color and natural abandon. Laburnum and lilac trees spread their branches as an arbor. Evelyn bent down so as to avoid their scratching, almost inquiring, twigs. Memories of her encounters with the trees in The Garden of Bewitchment flooded back. But this was real life and late spring. Hibiscus should barely be in leaf yet – if at all – let alone flowering, and it wasn’t the only anomaly. So many of these plants needed a gentler climate. They didn’t belong together on a West Riding moor, however well cultivated it might have been once.
“There it is!” Mr. Skelton sounded like a young boy making an important discovery. “The house. It’s still standing.”
Evelyn and Matthew pushed aside fronds of wisteria. Even with the decay – broken windows, a front door hanging off its hinges and ivy, which had taken over the walls – Evelyn recognized the elegant mansion.
“It’s real,” she breathed.
“Let’s see what it can tell us.”
Now they were there, Evelyn’s old fears resurfaced. What were they going to face inside?
Matthew sensed her hesitation. “You’re all right, Evelyn. We are all here. This isn’t fantasy. This is real.”
Evelyn nodded, took a deep breath and followed them. They tied their horses up to the veranda, then had to clamber over fallen timbers and years of autumn leaves covering the once-magnificent hall in a blanket of decay. Mr. Skelton stood, a slight smile of recognition on his face.
“Do you remember it when it was at its grandest?” Evelyn asked him.
“I have some memories, yes. The family threw a ball for the Coronation in 1838. I was only eighteen then. Such a grand affair, I can tell you.” He seemed to slip into his memories for a moment. “Yes, indeed. A happy day. I met my dear wife then, you know. We were married the following year, much to my father’s disapproval. He thought we should wait until I had established myself as a doctor. But, young love.” He sighed. “We’ve been married for fifty-four years now, and we are just as happy as the day we first started courting.”
“That’s a wonderful achievement, Mr. Skelton,” Evelyn said.
“I’m surprised you’ve never married, Miss Wainwright. Such a handsome woman as you. Oh, pardon me if I presumed…”
“Not at all. The situation hasn’t presented itself, that’s all.”
Matthew had wandered off into the drawing room. The sound of running footsteps and he appeared at the doorway. “I think you should see this, Evelyn.”
Evelyn and Mr. Skelton followed him into the drawing room. Like the hall, the room had been wrecked or fallen into decay. Broken chairs were scattered all around, a piano covered in cobwebs, the wood dull and lifeless. But one thing stood out from the debris. A table Evelyn didn’t remember from her encounters with the toy. It stood in the center of the room, and on it stood a dolls’ house.
“Come and look at this, Evelyn,” Matthew said, pointing at the dolls’ house.
“It’s this house,” she said. “Just as in the toy.”
“Except this one is much bigger and the figures aren’t made of cardboard. Have a look inside.”
Evelyn moved cautiously nearer to the table. Matthew beckoned her, and she approached more closely. She took in the detail. Exactly the same as The Garden of Bewitchment and as this house must have looked in its heyday. Even down to the color of the paintwork.
Matthew opened the right-hand door to reveal the three floors of the house on that side. The drawing room was laid out with the piano, female pianist, and chairs – each one occupied by a doll, all apparently listening in rapt attention to their entertainer.
“Now look more closely at the dolls,” Matthew said.
Mr. Skelton approached and looked over Matthew’s shoulder. He gave a sudden sharp intake of breath.
“I don’t believe what I’m seeing.” He reached forward and picked a male doll off one of the chairs. He examined it closely. A young man, dressed smartly in evening dress of the early Victorian style.
“Someone you recognize, Mr. Skelton?” Matthew asked.
“But don’t you see?” He held it up to his face.
Evelyn took in the high cheekbones, the light brown hair parted at the side.
“Oh my heavens,” she exclaimed.
“What is it?” Matthew asked.
“It’s me,” Mr. Skelton said. “The doll is me as I looked many years ago. But how is it possible?”
Evelyn felt her face blanching. “You’ve never seen this dolls’ house before? Or any of these figures?”
Mr. Skelton shook his head, replacing the doll back on its chair with trembling fingers. He wiped his hands on his trousers as if trying to rub off any contamination. “Never.”
“That’s not all,” Matthew said, picking up two more dolls. He handed them to Evelyn.
Evelyn took one look and thrust them back at him. She backed away. “Oh, no. No. This can’t be.”
Mr. Skelton took her arm as she swayed a little off-balance. “Whatever’s the matter, Miss Wainwright?”
Evelyn pointed at the dolls, which Matthew was now replacing on their respective chairs. “It’s Matthew, and the other one is the image of me.”
Mr. Skelton released her arm. “Whatever is going on here? Where did these things come from?”
Matthew brushed his hands. “I have no idea. But it all seems linked to a series of unbelievable events that have been occurring here since Miss Wainwright, her sister and I all came to this village.”
Mr. Skelton looked at Evelyn in a way that made her feel uncomfortable, although, for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why.
“I don’t think I have had the pleasure of meeting your sister, Miss Wainwright.”
“Oh, but you helped her. On the moor when she collapsed.”
Mr. Skelton looked confused. “But I thought that was you, Miss Wainwright. Goodness me, how alike you two young ladies are.”
An innocent enough remark. After all, people were always getting the two of them confused. Even Mama and Father had made the odd mistake. So why did Evelyn feel there had been more to her neighbor’s words than appeared on the surface? It’s because of everything that has been happening. I’ll be jumping at my own shadow next.
Even still, Evelyn chose not to remind him of the brief encounter he had with her and Claire when he was returning from the public house that day. No doubt, at his advanced age and with a number of whiskies under his belt, Mr. Skelton could be forgiven for the odd memory lapse.
The old man continued. “But
these events, as you call them, they are all linked to this house?”
“Yes,” Matthew replied. “And to that infernal toy, The Garden of Bewitchment. I didn’t tell you I also played with it when I was a child. Only once, though. Things…happened. I never wanted to see it again, but it turned up here, at Miss Wainwright’s cottage, which is where the squire was staying, I understand, at the end of his life.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. He grew to hate this house. He never told me why, but with advancing years he became ever more eccentric. I suppose it comes to us all one day.” He smiled wryly.
“And now this.” Evelyn indicated the dolls’ house. “I have the impression something is playing with us. A sort of game of cat and mouse.”
“I think,” Mr. Skelton said, “if you don’t mind, I would like to get off home now.”
“But there is so much to find out,” Evelyn said. “Please stay a little longer.”
“No. I’m sorry.” The old man was shaking, trembling from head to foot.
Evelyn’s heart went out to him. “Then we mustn’t detain you. I’m sure Matthew and I can find our own way home now you’ve got us here. We’ll bring back the horses as soon as we return.”
“Before dusk. I really wouldn’t stay out here after then. It’s so dark. And lonely.”
The man seemed suddenly terrified. Matthew saw it too. She could tell by his concerned expression and by the gentle way he spoke.
“Of course. I can assure you I have no intention of remaining here after dark.”
“Very well then. I will take my leave of you. Please be careful. Something doesn’t feel at all right here.” With one final, disturbed glance at the dolls’ house, Mr. Skelton turned and sped out of the house.
Presently, they heard his horse whinny, followed by the clip-clop of hooves as their neighbor walked him the first few yards away from the house. By the sound of it, Mr. Skelton had broken into a run, unexpected in a man of his age.
Evelyn found herself riveted to the dolls’ house. “What now?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Matthew replied. “But I think we should look around the house and see if we can find anything to give us a clue as to what has been happening. What other rooms did you go in when you were in the miniature house?”
The Garden of Bewitchment Page 17