The Garden of Bewitchment

by Catherine Cavendish

  The moonlight had disappeared, and the flickering glow of the candle was the only light they had. Evelyn stood aside while Matthew laid the book down. He opened the heavy cover, and the pages rippled. Evelyn remembered a childhood visit to the zoo. She had been horrified and fascinated by the reptiles. The snakes slithered around, their forked tongues flicking in and out of their mouths, their skin…rippling…as they moved. Just like these pages. She and Matthew watched in horrified fascination as they settled.

  Another picture. This time of Evelyn’s cottage. There she stood in the corner of Claire’s bedroom, looking down at The Garden of Bewitchment laid out on the floor. No sign of Claire.

  “I look so sad,” Evelyn said. “I think I may be crying.” As before, the feeling of abject loss filled her, and tears pricked her eyes.

  Matthew peered closely at the toy. “Claire’s there,” he said, pointing at a small figure standing by the fountain. “You can just see her. She’s smiling.”

  “You’re right. She looks happy.” Evelyn stood back. “That doesn’t make sense either. Why would I be so unhappy when she is clearly perfectly fine?”

  “Because you can see what she can’t,” Matthew said. “Look.”

  In the woods, the Todeswurm waited.

  Evelyn blinked, and each time she did so, she could have sworn the creature inched closer toward Claire.

  “We have to get her out of there. What if this means she is actually outside?”

  “I don’t think so,” Matthew said. “If she was outside, the real house…this one, it would be overgrown, but this garden is pristine.”

  “So she’s in the toy.”

  “Or it’s playing with us. I don’t know.”

  “The book opened at that page. It wanted us to see that image.”

  “It could be trickery. It probably is trickery.”

  “I can’t take the risk. I have to go to her.” Evelyn started toward the door and grabbed hold of the desk.

  “Stop. What are you doing? It’s still pitch dark out there. You’ll never find your way to the fountain, and even if you did, what are you going to do? Take on the Todeswurm single-handed?”

  She had hoped Matthew would come with her, but it seemed he wasn’t prepared to. A sudden wave of anger swept through her. But he was right. In the dark, they could do nothing. The Todeswurm had the element of surprise. Even assuming Claire was there in the first place. And then there were the wolves…and Squire Monkton. “Oh, this is impossible.” She forgot any need to keep quiet and slammed her fist down on the desk.

  Matthew caught her hand before she brought it down again. “That won’t do any good, Evelyn. We must be calm and rational. Only then will we have any chance of helping Claire, who may not need our help anyway. She’s probably home and in bed right now.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  “Look again at the picture.”

  Evelyn swiped her eyes with her hand. She didn’t want Matthew to see the tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.

  Evelyn looked. “I can’t see her anywhere.”

  “It’s all right. Don’t panic, Evelyn. There she is.”

  On the edge of the picture, outside the woods, Claire, clearly in the process of walking home, safely out of the garden.

  “Where’s the Todeswurm?”

  Matthew pointed. The vicious-looking creature. Exactly where it had been. “See? Claire’s safe from it.”

  “As far as we know.”

  “Agreed.”

  * * *

  Time moved slowly until, at last, a finger of dim light shone through the window.

  “Dawn. Thank goodness,” Matthew said. “We’ll wait a few minutes until the sun comes up properly and then make a move.”

  “Yes,” Evelyn said, gathering up the manuscript. Matthew closed the book. “This is going to be quite a weight without the horses,” he said.

  A few minutes later, the sun had gained strength and they caught a glimpse of pale blue sky through the small window.

  “Time to leave,” Matthew said.

  Together they shifted the desk aside, and Matthew tentatively opened the door. He peered out. “All clear, as far as I can tell,” he said, heaving up the book. “Let’s go.”

  Clutching the bound manuscript and the sheaf of loose pages, Evelyn followed him out into the drawing room, swiftly across the floor, into the hall and outside, where they were greeted with brilliant sunshine.

  From close by, they heard a whinnying.

  “The horses!” Evelyn took off at a run. Oblivious to the trailing branches and with Matthew close behind, she sped off down the garden, past the fountain. The two horses stood side by side, grazing on the long grass.

  They slowed down and approached the animals gently so as not to spook them. “If only you two could tell us what happened to you yesterday.” Evelyn stroked the bay’s mane. The horse blinked gentle brown eyes.

  “I’ll help you up,” Matthew said.

  Once mounted, Evelyn took the reins. Matthew stuffed the manuscript and pages into saddlebags and shoved the book as best he could into a saddlebag on his chestnut gelding, and within a couple of minutes they were trotting back toward the main road. They were in the depths of the wood when Matthew’s horse suddenly shied and reared up.

  “Whoa, boy. Easy.” He fought to bring the frightened horse under control.

  Evelyn’s horse skittered and bucked. She flew through the air and landed inches from a fallen tree. Her horse bolted through the undergrowth.

  “The manuscript!” Evelyn yelled, trying to sit up, while the world spun around her, faster and faster.

  Matthew clung on, but his horse was having none of it. He kicked and bucked, and Matthew slipped off. He lunged for the book and almost lost it, grabbing it at the last minute as the horse took off at a gallop.

  Evelyn let the tears flow. Tears of anger and frustration.

  Matthew stared around. “I can’t even see what spooked them.”

  “Can’t you? I can.” Evelyn pointed a shaking finger. A few yards away, a tall man watched them. His features shadowy as always.

  “I saw him in the book.”

  “And I have seen him before. Matthew, are there any photographs of Squire Monkton?”

  “I expect so, why?”

  “If I’m not mistaken, I think that may be him.”

  Evelyn stared at the man, who slowly turned and walked back toward the house. Soon, he had disappeared from sight.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Evelyn came down the stairs of the cottage to where Matthew waited. “Just as you said. She’s tucked up in bed.” She looked at the clock. “Gracious. Eleven o’clock. She’s having a long lie in.”

  “As a concerned sister, she probably waited up for you half the night and only went to bed when she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.”

  “Or she found herself in The Garden of Bewitchment, exactly as we saw her in the book.”

  “Either way, she can surely be forgiven for sleeping late today.”

  “She’s certainly dead to the world.” Evelyn flinched at her misjudged choice of words. “She didn’t even stir when I went in. Usually Claire is such a light sleeper.”

  Matthew seemed locked on to her eyes. Evelyn felt a twitch of discomfort. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No. No. Not at all.”

  “Which means there is. Will you tell me?”

  “Not yet. I think I’m being foolish, and I need to be sure first. I think I should leave you now.” He stood and immediately made for the door.

  Before she could find out what troubled him, he had left. As she watched him hurry down the lane, Evelyn’s consternation grew. Matthew Dixon kept too many secrets, and she couldn’t help feeling this was another one of them.

  * * *

&nb
sp; Her sleep that night consisted of a series of unsettling catnaps. Each time, she awoke with a gasp, aware of some nightmare that escaped her grasp the moment she regained consciousness. She had the impression the tall man had something to do with it, but nothing tangible remained.

  Finally at dawn she gave up the effort and went downstairs. In the kitchen she busied herself with boiling the kettle for a cup of tea. As she stood in front of the kitchen window, tea caddy in her hand, she caught a movement up on the track above the cottage.

  The man had come back.

  Heedless of being clothed only in her nightdress and dressing gown, she wrenched open the back door and raced out into the yard. The man was walking away from her in the direction of the crags.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she called.

  He stopped. Turned. His face indistinct. Even allowing for the distance between them, she should have been able to make out more detail in his features, but they seemed sheathed in some sort of mist.

  He started to move toward her. Slowly. Taking his time, like a cat stalking its prey.

  Her natural instinct of self-preservation kicked in. She should get back inside and lock the door. Barricade it even. But Evelyn stood firm, drawing her robe tighter around her. She would not show fear to this man, whoever he might be.

  He was mere yards above and beyond her when he stopped. He seemed to study her for a moment, then reached into his ankle-length coat.

  “Squire Monkton?” Evelyn asked.

  The figure did not answer. He stood, statue-like, his hand inside his coat, searching for something from an inside breast pocket.

  He withdrew his hand and extended it to her. His arm seemed to lengthen, or maybe he moved closer toward her, although she didn’t see him move his legs.

  His hand had been curled in a fist, which he now opened, revealing something that glittered in the early-morning sun. He started down the steps. Evelyn wanted to back away, but she wouldn’t let herself. She would stand her ground.

  His face came into view, and she could see his yellowed eyes. The man looked sick. Ill enough to die. If he wasn’t already dead. His skin was pockmarked and speckled with tiny lesions oozing pus and blood. Evelyn had to work hard not to recoil from the stench of putrefaction emanating from him. He opened his mouth to reveal a few remaining teeth, all of which were brown and broken.

  He offered the glittering jewel to Evelyn. She shook her head. “It isn’t mine to take. But please tell me why your Garden of Bewitchment has entered our lives.”

  He considered her question for a moment. “Lives? One life. Only one life.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will. Take it.” He pushed the jewel at her.

  “No. It isn’t mine, and I don’t know what you want of me.”

  He closed the palm of his hand with a snap of dry skin and bone.

  “Then be damned,” he said and was gone. Vanished, as if he had never been there.

  Evelyn stood, staring at the space where he had been moments earlier. The chill morning air penetrated her body until she had to give in and go inside. Claire was pouring a cup of tea for herself.

  “What were you doing out there, Evelyn?”

  Evelyn told her.

  “It must have been the squire. From your description, it most certainly wasn’t Branwell.”

  “Branwell,” Evelyn said. “The last time you saw him you were a little afraid of him, weren’t you?”

  “I thought so, but the more I went through it in my mind, the more I am sure it wasn’t him. I think it was Squire Monkton up to his little tricks again. I think he is behind all the strange things that have been happening.”

  “So you finally acknowledge it. Branwell is dead and buried?”

  “Oh, no, the real Branwell is as alive as you and I, but I believe Squire Monkton somehow transformed himself into someone who looked like Branwell to trick me.”

  It made a strange kind of sense, but Evelyn kept coming up with the same, unanswered question time and again.

  Why?

  * * *

  Evelyn didn’t see Matthew for two days, and when he arrived on her doorstep, he was full of apologies. “I took the book to Leeds to see an eminent academic at the university. Professor Lawrence Mapplethorpe is a classical scholar, and he is fascinated by it. He wants to meet you because he believes he has quite a lot to tell us about The Garden of Bewitchment and everything else that has been happening. He also knows a lot about ancient myths and legends. When I mentioned the Todeswurm and Dakraska, he knew what I was referring to. Apparently they are, as we suspected, one and the same. Dangerous entities, with a long pedigree. Can you pack a bag now and be ready to leave within the hour?”

  “But what about Claire? She’s as much involved as we are.”

  “Professor Mapplethorpe only wants to meet you.”

  “But—”

  “We don’t have time for an argument, Evelyn. Please do as I say. I am convinced the professor has the key to solving our dilemma.”

  Evelyn paused. How would she explain this to Claire? One look at Matthew’s face told her she would have to find a way somehow. He was deadly serious, and, after all, if this professor knew about the book, it would be to all their advantages.

  “Very well. I will be ready in an hour.”

  Matthew seemed relieved. Almost too relieved.

  After he had gone, Evelyn called Claire from the kitchen.

  “But why am I not to be included?”

  “I wouldn’t think any more about it, Claire. Besides, you know you are not overly keen on mixing with strangers.”

  “And you know I am getting better. I go out and about on my own here. You don’t know where I go.”

  “No. That’s what worries me. When you do go out on your own, you seem to be a magnet for trouble. You’ve never properly told me where you went when you disappeared.”

  “I told you I couldn’t remember. I still can’t. Anyway, I wouldn’t be on my own. You and Matthew would be there. Not to mention this Professor Mapplethorpe.”

  “I’m sorry, Claire. It wasn’t my decision, but I do have to abide by it if we are ever going to find any peace.”

  “Oh, very well, go and see your precious professor. You probably only want to be alone with Matthew anyhow.”

  “Don’t be childish. It’s not true and you know it. Matthew and I are friends, and that’s all.”

  “You didn’t trust him not so long ago. Remember you still don’t know what he keeps in that box of his.”

  “I’m continuing to reserve judgment. Now, please. Let’s drop this. I need to pack or I’ll be late.”

  “You’re impossible.” Claire hitched up her skirts and stamped up to her room. She slammed the door so hard the building shook.

  Maybe this was why the invitation hadn’t been extended to her. Matthew had been on the receiving end of Claire in a mood, and whatever they would discover in Leeds would require cool heads.

  * * *

  “Can we at least say goodbye and kiss like sisters instead of parting as enemies?” Evelyn said.

  Claire’s lips were in the annoying pout that infuriated Evelyn so much. Really, there were times when she could have believed her sister was much younger than her.

  Evelyn leaned forward and gave her sister a light peck on her cheek. It wasn’t reciprocated. “Goodbye, Claire. Please try to stay out of trouble and get rid of this ridiculous mood you’re in. When I get back I hope to have some positive news for a change, and it would be nice if you could greet my return with a smile.”

  Claire blinked at her. Her stubbornness refused to let her go.

  With a resigned sigh, Evelyn left her and joined Matthew, who was waiting in a hired carriage.

  “How were things with Claire?” he asked.

  “She wasn’t happy at not b
eing included. As you can see, she didn’t even bother to see us off.”

  “I expect she’ll get over it.”

  “With any luck.”

  “I thought we could take rooms at the Metropole Hotel. It’s stylish and comfortable. Modern too.”

  “When are we due to meet the professor?”

  “Tomorrow morning at eleven. He is studying the book now. He’s really very excited about it.”

  Evelyn managed a wry smile. “He doesn’t have to live with the consequences.”

  * * *

  The following morning, a cab took them to the university. Crowds of male students milled around, talking, laughing. Matthew and Evelyn alighted from the cab, and Matthew led Evelyn away from the main building to an elegant Georgian townhouse on the university grounds, where he introduced Evelyn to a short, dapper man with a shock of white hair and thick glasses. He wore tweeds and continually puffed at a small meerschaum pipe. The aroma of rich tobacco scented the room. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases, groaning under the weight of hundreds of leather-bound volumes, lined his cozy study. A fire blazed brightly in the hearth, which Evelyn welcomed, since the day felt more like autumn than late spring. A chill, gray mist had dampened everything it touched, and she wished she had remembered to pack a warmer coat.

  “My dear Miss Wainwright, do come and warm yourself. I shall ring for tea. Or would you prefer hot chocolate?”

  “Hot chocolate will be perfect, thank you.” Evelyn sat down in a comfortable leather armchair and felt the warmth returning to her chilled feet.

  Their drinks arrived, brought in by a man wearing a servant’s uniform and a surly expression. He set down the tray and left.

  “Jacobs,” the professor said. “He’s in a bad mood. I think his football team lost at the weekend.”

  Evelyn liked the professor. His manner indicated a much younger man than his appearance portrayed, and a sense of humor had created the many wrinkles around his eyes. There was something timeless about him and his manservant. As if they belonged to an earlier part of the old queen’s reign. No doubt, the academic environment they were in accounted for that. They were, after all, cushioned away from the ever-changing outside world.