Goat Foot God

by Dion Fortune

“Why not the pub? Are you an ardent teetotaller?”

  “Not a bit. But the kind of information we shall get at the pub will be different to what we get at the shop. You see, when the shop-keeper sees you coming, he will want to help you to a house in the neighbourhood in the hope of getting some, at any rate, of your custom. But if the publican sees you coming, he will try to do his cronies a good turn by running up the price on you, then they will have more to spend with him.”

  “Right you are. We will avoid strong drink.”

  They drew up opposite the inevitable tiny general store. Mona marched in, and was greeted by an elderly gentleman who ledged his corporation on the counter and his backside on the shelves that held his stock. His ruddy countenance, smoothly shaven, was encircled by that curious form of whiskerature known as a Newgate fringe. Chilly as the day was, he wore no coat. The sleeves of a spotless pale pink shirt were carefully folded above his elbows. A grey waistcoat encircled his enormous front, the lower buttons apparently acting as a kind of sling, and round his middle was a white fringed towel such as grocers affect. This towel, spotless as his shirt, was slung over an endless piece of tape, which disappeared into the shadows behind him and ended in a bow. But his front elevation was so extensive that the towel, which would have gone round an ordinary man's hips, was no more than a panel to him. Hen-food, veterinary medicines, hardware, haberdashery, stationery, tinned goods, braces, overalls, children's pinafores, a large cheese in cut, a side of bacon ditto, a canary in a cage and a cat with family occupied such portions of the shop as were not overhung by its owner's waistcoat.

  He seemed pleased to see them, and a smile ofimmense geniality creased his vast pink countenance with its perfect schoolgirl complexion.

  “And what can I do for you, sir?—madam?”

  “There is not much you can do for us at the moment,” said Hugh, “except for some milk chocolate; but we are looking for a house, and were wondering if you could put us on the track of one.”

  “A'ouse, now, a'ouse? Now what sort of a'ouse?”

  At this very reasonable question Hugh turned and looked helplessly at Mona.

  “An old house, roomy, that can be modernised and adapted.”

  The old man shook his head sadly.

  “We only 'ad two big 'ouses about 'ere,” he said, “and they're both schools now.”

  “And I suppose they get all their goods from London?”

  “Yes, that they do,” said the grocer with sudden fierceness. “Unless they 'appen to run out of something, and then it's: 'Mr ‘Uggins, will you oblige?’ and on early closin' day, as often as not.”

  “Too bad,” said Hugh. “People shouldn't do that sort of thing if they live in a place.”

  “That's what I sez,” said Mr Huggins. “And if we 'ad another railway strike, they'd know it. I shouldn't put in for more'n I needed for me regular customers. Now an 'ouse, sir? A large 'ouse? MOTHER!”

  His yell was so loud and sudden that both Hugh and Mona recoiled into the hen-food.

  “Yes, Pa?” came a mild voice from behind a pile of biscuit-tins, and a little old lady, her spectacles pushed up onto her forehead, her hair pulled back as if she were about to have a good wash, and a clean white apron round her waist, appeared.

  “Mother, do ye know of any large 'ouses about 'ere that's empty?”

  “No, indeed I don't,” said the little old lady thoughtfully. “They all go for schools, nowadays, there's no gentry left, like we used to serve.”

  “Yes, that's it. No gentry left. Everything gone. The farmers, they can't keep body'n soul together.”

  “That's an idea. Any farms going begging?” said Hugh. “How would a farm do, Miss Wilton?”

  The Hugginses opened their eyes at this mode of address, having taken it for granted that if a man and a woman went about together they must be married, or at least engaged.

  “A farm would do very well indeed. as long as you don't mind spending a good deal on it.”

  “No, I don't mind that,” said Hugh. The Hugginses registered approval.

  “Now I'll tell you where you'll find a farm that's empty,” said Mr Huggins animatedly. “Monks Farm. The people what 'ad it went out last Michaelmas. It belongs to old Miss Pumfrey. That's 'er 'ouse you see through the trees. She wouldn't do no repairs to it, and they wouldn't stop no longer; and she can't get no one else 'cos of the state it's in. I reckon she'd be reel glad to sell it, sir.”

  “That sounds promising. We might have a look at it. How do we get there?.

  “What about water supply?” interrupted Mona before Mr Huggins could reply.”

  “Ah,” said the old gentleman, rubbing his nose.

  “You're all right for that. Them old monks, they knew what they was about. You got a fine spring just above the 'ouse, and the water comes down of it's own weight, as you might say. That was the only reason the folks that was there stopped as long as they did. No pumpin'.”

  “I don't know that I should like a monastery,” said Hugh, flinching.

  “It ain't haunted, sir, it ain't reely,” said Mrs Huggins anxiously. A prospective customer like Hugh, who didn't care what he spent on his house, was to be hung onto desperately. Ghosts might have run about like blackbeetles, but she would have sworn all was normal.

  “I don't know of anything wrong with a monastery,” said Mona. “In fact it might be quite good.”

  “All right. Lead on. You're the one that knows. Whereabouts is it, Mr Huggins?”

  “You go straight on down this road, and keep to the left on the top of the ridge when the road forks. Then you come a little further on to a wood, and in the wood you'll see a lane with the gate off its 'inges. You go down that, see, and you'll come to the 'ouse. It's a tidy way from the road, but it's a good lane all the way, and you've got the water, and that's the main thing.”

  “Thanks very much, Mr Huggins. it sounds first-rate. We'll have a look at it.”

  “And when you go to see Miss Purnfrey, you tell 'er Mr 'Uggins sent you.”

  “Yes, you tell her that.” added Mrs Huggins emphatically. “She did ought to sell that place, even if it has been in the family for years and years.”

  “Now why have we got to tell Miss Pumfrey that Mr Huggins sent us? Can you tell me that, Miss Wilton?” said Hugh as they went out, to the car.

  “I expect she's owing them money, don't you?” said Mona, smiling.

  “Good Lord, is this what the landed gentry have come to?” exclaimed Hugh.

  They followed the road as directed, and presently, in a thick belt of firs, came to a gateless gap. They turned in, and bumped their way over a sandy surface till the firs gave place to open, moorlike pasture, dotted with clumps of gorse. It all looked pretty barren. They crossed the pasture and came to another belt of firs, and saw through them the loom of whitewashed buildings. They drove through a gap in the trees, and found themselves in the farm-yard.

  Hugh was not familiar with the anatomy of farms, but even to his urban eyes that farm-yard looked odd. Round all four sides of it, with gaps here and there for ingress, ran a low, penthouse roof; rough tarred weather-boarding rose to meet it, evidently forming a long narrow cowhouse or stable. Across one end of the yard was a very large barn with a very steep roof of ancient, lichenblotched tiles. Across the side was a long range of old stone buildings, evidently used as living-quarters, dairy, store-rooms, and anything else that the work of a farm requires. It was much too large for a dwelling house, anyway. At the other end was a smaller and more roughly-built barn, evidently of later date than the rest of the buildings. A raffle of pigsties, calf-pens and cartshelters occupied the extensive yard round which these buildings stood; the yard itself was unpaved, and must have been a quagmire in wet weather.

  Everything was boarded up and fastened with enormous padlocks, which probably came from Mr Huggins, so they could readily be opened by anyone else who had purchased a padlock from the same source. All the lower windows were shuttered, so they could not get a lookin anywhe
re.

  “Miss Pumfrey appears to be a lady of suspicious nature,” said Hugh. “I say, shall I get a tire-lever out of the car and bust some of these boards off?”

  “Shall we all go to jail?” said Mona.

  “I may. You won't.”

  Hugh inserted the lever under the edge of one of the boards shoring up the penthouse, and prised, The board was rotten, and almost fell off. He put his head through the gap.

  “I say, do you know these stables are cloisters? They're all fan-arched.”

  “No, are they really? How perfectly marvellous. Do let me look.”

  Hugh drew back, and Mona popped her head through the gap.

  “Do you know that behind those mangers are stonemullioned windows?”

  “Are there really? This sounds gorgeous. Let's rush off and find Miss Pumfrey, shall we?”

  “You can't live on stone mullions. Let's trace the water-supply.”

  They passed through a gap in the cloisters and came out in front of the house. It was a beautifully proportioned building of two stories, rising to a high attic gable in the middle and stretching away on either side in long wings. High up under the gable was an empty niche that had evidently once held a statue. A few gloriously golden daffodils tried to make a garden against the grey stone walls, and then unfenced, barren pasture stretched away to a far belt of trees. No other human habitation, nor any sign of the work of man, was in sight. It seemed a most unpromising spot to try and do any farming.

  A heavy door, just like a church door, filled a pointed arch in the centre of the long low front. High, stonemullioned, gothic-arched windows flanked it at regular intervals. The whole effect was very ecclesiastical.

  They strolled slowly round the building. Nothing could be seen through the windows as the lower parts were boarded up. It looked, however, as if a high room had had a rough floor thrown across it, making it into two low rooms, for they could see the edge of the boards through the upper parts of the high narrow windows.

  They turned the corner and found themselves beside the bigger of the two barns.

  “Obviously a chapel,” said Mona, pointing to the remains of a mouldering cross on the gable-end.

  They went on in their circular tour, following a path that led through the small fir-wood at the back of the house through which they had passed on their arrival. The path ended abruptly in a miniature bog.

  “Well, we've found the water-supply, anyway,” said Hugh, “only it doesn't look very wholesome to me. I don't know what you think.”

  “I expect there's a culvert somewhere that's blocked up or broken down,” said Mona. “The water's all right, look how clear it is; and this bog hasn't been here very long; it hasn't killed the grass.”

  “Well, I think we've seen as much as we can expect to see unless we commit a burglary. Shall we go back and call on Miss Pumfrey and ask her what about it?”

  “No,” said Mona, chuckling. “We'll go back and call on Mr Huggins, and ask him to ask Miss Pumfrey what about it.”

  “You cruel woman. I believe that old chap is quite capable of giving her an awful bullying.”

  “Well, somebody ought to, and you obviously aren't that person.”

  “No, I'm no good as a bully. I just leave people alone.”

  As they returned down the road to the village they saw from afar Mr Huggins standing outside the door of his shop waving what looked in the distance like an agricultural implement, but which, as they drew nearer, proved to be a huge key.

  “I've seen Miss Pumfrey,” he cried as they came within hailing-distance. “She'll sell. But don't you give 'er a penny more'n four 'undred. It's all falling to bits, and as bare as the back of your 'and.”

  They gathered that Miss Pumfrey had called to buy candles, and had been stood in a corner and lectured till she agreed to sell. From the heated appearance of Mr Huggins it looked as if considerable pressure had had to be brought to bear before she could be got to agree. Behind him stood Mrs Huggins, as if in support, with a grim look still lingering about her mouth.

  They took the key, and returned.

  “I say,” said Hugh, “we can't go far wrong at four hundred. Lees close with the deal right away.”

  “Let's have a good look round first,” said the practical Mona.” If there's dry rot in the main timbers you can go wrong at fourpence-halfpenny. I know. I've had experience.”

  The great ecclesiastical door creaked open unwillingly, and they entered. The place smelt musty. Unswept stone flooring stretched away on either hand, and what had once been large barn-like rooms had been roughly partitioned with heavy boards plastered with wall-paper. A fine stone staircase wound up in a wide spiral opposite the door. They mounted it, and found themselves in a broad passage that ran the whole length of the upper storey of the building. Out of it opened a number of small low doorways.

  “By Jove, the monks' cells!” said Hugh.

  They entered one that had evidently been used to store apples, to judge by the smell of it.

  “Why, there's no window,” said Mona, “only a little grating up near the ceiling. They must have been a very austere order indeed.”

  Up again there led a small, narrow stone stair, winding in the thickness of the wall. Up this they went. At the top was a miniature church door, they pushed it open and entered, and found themselves in what had obviously been a small chapel.

  “Gosh, there's a queer feeling in here I “said Hugh. “I don't believe Mrs Huggins spoke the truth when she swore the place wasn't haunted. It is, and she knows it.”

  “It struck me she was a bit slick in her denials,” said Mona. “Still, it's none the worse for that, for the purposes for which you want it.”

  “I don't want any second-hand spooks,” said Hugh hastily. “If anything is going to be raised, I want to have the raising of it myself.”

  “That's all right,” said Mona. “You needn't worry about that. But it will help to keep the price down.”

  They descended to the ground-floor again, and saw cellar steps leading down into the depths.

  “We'd better have a look down here,” said Mona. “This will tell us whether the place is dry or not.”

  They found themselves in a large groin-roofed cellar around three sides of which were low arched doorways, similar to the cell-doorways on the upper floor.

  “Good Lord,” cried Hugh, “those are prison cells!”

  “No wonder the place has a funny feel,” said Mona. “It must be a penal house belonging to one of the old monasteries.”

  “What in the world's that?”

  “Some of the monasteries were as big as small towns. Naturally not all the monks were saints. They generally used to keep one priory where they sent the monks who wouldn't behave themselves so that they shouldn't corrupt the others. Sometimes the monks were just mad and harmless. Sometimes they were—not harmless.”

  “Why didn't they just turf the bad lots out and be rid of them?”

  “I suppose they didn't want monasticism to get a bad name. There are more ways than one of being bad, you know. I say, do you think you will be able to stand the feel of this place?”

  “Why? What's wrong with it? It only feels melancholy to me, as if the last folk here had gone smash before they left.”

  “It feels queer—uncommonly queer—to me, but not inimical. Let's go and see Miss Pumfrey and find out its history.”

  CHAPTER XI

  THE house whose chimneys Mr Huggins had indicated proved to be a Georgian structure, imposing, but much in need of paint. An elderly parlour-maid opened the door. Her manners were perfect. The hall contained some fine old furniture. The drawing-room into which they were shown contained some very fine old furniture, but the coverings were threadbare. There was no fire, and the maid made no gesture of lighting one.

  A lady entered. She wore a sagging tweed skirt; a flanne! shirt-blouse; a baggy, home-knitted jersey coat, and a pair of gold pince-nez. Her greying hair was twisted into a jug-handle at the back of her h
ead and she wore a curled fringe.

  She greeted them coldly, did not ask them to sit down, and enquired their business.

  “I am looking for a small property about here,” said Hugh. “I have just seen Monks Farm, and I think it might be suitable. May I ask the price?”

  “I really could not say,” said Miss Pumfrey. “That is a matter for my solicitor.”

  “Are you willing to sell?”

  Miss Pumfrey hesitated.

  “I should prefer to let,” she said.

  “I do not wish to rent a place. I prefer to buy,” said Hugh.

  “I am prepared to sell,” said Miss Pumfrey sullenly, “provided the price is adequate.”

  “What would you consider an adequate price?”

  “That is a matter for my solicitor.”

  “Would you consider six hundred pounds an adequate price?”

  Miss Purnfrey's eyes glistened.

  “You had better see my solicitor.”

  A gong sounded somewhere in the house. Miss Pumfrey looked towards the door. The interview was at an end.

  “Gosh!” said Hugh when they found themselves safely back in the car. “Didn't you feel as if you had been caught stealing apples?”

  Mona began to laugh.

  “I was too overcome to ask any questions about history,” she said. “Wouldn't she have made a magnificent abbot to keep the unruly monks in order?”

  “I don't think I'm going to be troubled with local society,” said Hugh.

  “You weren't wearing your old school tie,” said Mona.

  “Thank God for that,” said Hugh. “I'll wear a bootlace when I go to sign the deeds. What about a meal? Aren't you peckish? That old dame's gong made me feel hungry. I think I'd have offered anybody a bite of something if they'd been in my house when the gong went.”

  They went back down the road by which they had reached the village, crossed the hump-backed bridge, and made their way to a near-by country town. There they found some tea-rooms of Ye Olde Oake variety and had a meal of sorts. Very much of sorts.

  “This isn't a patch on Uncle Jelkes and his frying-pan, is it?” said Hugh.