Goat Foot God

by Dion Fortune

  What would have been the end of the encounter, heaven only knew, but a step was heard on the stairs and the man hastily let go of Mona and rose upright, the keen, commanding air telling Mona that it was still Ambrosius who was present. The footsteps crossed the bare boards of the landing and came in at the doorless arch, and Mona turned to greet the curator, wondering how in the world the situation was to be carried off.

  But as she turned, the spell broke. and a startled exclamation from Mr Diss caused her to turn again, to see Hugh Paston swaying with closed eyes, and then go over backwards with a crash.

  They rushed round the table. but before they could get to him, Hugh was sitting up, rubbing the back of his head where it had made contact with the floor-boards.

  “Good Lord, what's the matter?” he demanded, looking at them dazedly, The only thing he could think of was that he had been in a motor smash. He seemed little the worse, however. except for a sore head. The sudden collapse of all the muscles that takes place when the controlling entity withdraws from a medium is a very different matter to the heart-failure that causes a faint.

  Mr Diss, however, was thoroughly alarmed.

  “My dear sir, allow me to assist you. Sit down a moment, and I will get you some brandy from across the way.”

  Hugh, nothing loath, sat down and blinked at Mona.

  “What happened?” he asked, as soon as Mr Diss's back was turned. “Did I faint?”

  “I think you must have done,” said Mona.

  “That's odd. What did I faint for? I was feeling perfectly all right.”

  “How are you feeling now?”

  “A bit swimmy. As if nothing were real and I didn't know quite where I was. I shan't be sorry for the old boy's brandy.”

  But Hugh did not get his brandy as quickly as he might have done, for Mr Diss despatched the youth for it, and then got busy on the phone to Mr Watney.

  “I wish you would come round,” he said. “Your new client has just gone off in a dead faint, and I think the young lady is badly frightened.”

  Consequently when the brandy arrived, it was brought upstairs by the pair of them, and they jointly stood over Hugh, now thoroughly ashamed of himself, while he drank it. They likewise gave a dram to Mona, for which she was truly thankful. Every time she looked at Hugh's shy, nondescript face, she felt that at any moment the burning eyes of Ambrosius might stare out at her from it.

  It was immediately decided that all four of them should go round to Mr Watney's house and have some lunch before Hugh undertook the drive back to town. Mr Watney was a bachelor, and things can be done with a housekeeper that cannot be done with a wife.

  During the short walk Mr Watney contrived that Mr Diss should walk with Hugh while he himself companioned Mona.

  “Does Mr Paston suffer with his heart?” he enquired of her.

  “I have no idea,” said Mona. “I only know him very slightly.”

  “You are not a relation, then?”

  “Oh dear no, I am a professional designer. It is my job to design all the decorations for the house and see the contracts through. I know nothing whatever of Mr Paston personally. I only met him a couple of days ago.”

  “Dear, dear. Rather a trying experience for you, my dear young lady.”

  “It was, very,” said Mona. “However, he does not seem much the worse for it.”

  “It is very dangerous for him to drive a car if he is subject to these attacks.”

  “Yes, it certainly is,” said Mona, wondering what Ambrosius would make of modern traffic if he suddenly appeared when Hugh was at the wheel.

  “Can you not persuade him to employ a chauffeur?”

  “It is none of my business, Mr Watney. I can't interfere in a thing like that. I only know Mr Paston very slightly. If he chooses to take risks, that is his look-out.”

  She felt that Mr Watney was probing to discover the nature of the relationship between them, and so she diligently emphasised its casualness and her total indifference to Hugh's fate.

  “It may be a very unpleasant matter for you, not to say a dangerous one, my dear young lady, if you go driving about in that car of his with him.”

  “Business is business, Mr Watney. I cannot dictate to my clients.”

  He appeared satisfied as to Mona's entirely utilitarian interest in Hugh Paston. They came out of a narrow passage and found themselves in the Abbey close. Mona's heart was in her mouth as they crossed it lest Ambrosius should put in another appearance, or, in other words, lest Hugh should have another seizure; but though he stared up hard at the ancient towers, nothing happened, and they reached the low ivy-covered house looking onto the monks' graveyard in safety.

  It was a house of great interest and charm and contained a wonderful collection of antique furniture; but although Mona was a connoisseur of fine furniture, she had no eyes for it, for she was all the time obsessed by the idea that Hugh Paston was Ambrosius, and she could not get out of her mind the way that Ambrosius had looked at her. She could see those burning eyes still, whenever she looked at Hugh. She also saw that he had noticed that she was upset and nervous with him, and that in its turn made him nervous with her. It did not take much to shake Hugh Paston's self-confidence, his mother had been a dominating woman and his wife a self-centred one.

  It was obvious that Hugh was still dazed and hardly knew what he was doing. Not only had he been through a startling psychic experience, but he had also had a good hard crack on the head. Mona felt that if Ambrosius looked at her out of Hugh's eyes again. she would rush from the room, so terrific an impression had the renegade prior made upon her. She could not keep herself from watching Hugh all the time in case he should suddenly turn into Ambrosius again. She felt that he was conscious of her scrutiny, although his social training saved him from showing his embarrassment. Mr Diss and Mr Watney did not increase Mona's peace of mind by endeavouring to entertain them with tales of the Abbey. They never got actually onto the subject of Ambrosius, however, for which she thanked heaven, but as every time they came anywhere near it she held her breath and waited, she did not make a very good lunch. However, they were both plied with Mr Watney's best port. Mona took all she was given. If she were going to be murdered by Ambrosius, or killed in a car-crash by Hugh, the less she knew of it the better.

  Finally the meal came to an end, and Mona, perspiring from the port and the heat of the low-ceilinged, stuffy dining-room, for she had not dared to remove her leather coat owing to the shabbiness of her frock, took her place beside Hugh in the car, and they turned homeward.

  He took the car out of the difficult streets of the town without speaking. Then he pulled in to the roadside and stopped the engine.

  “I say, I'm frightfully sorry,” he said. “I am afraid I gave you a rotten scare. I've never behaved like that in my life before. I suppose I must be run down after all I've been through.”

  Mona, what with the port and the shock, had all she could do to refrain from bursting into tears. The one thing of all others she desired to avoid was being alone with Hugh in a lonely place where he might suddenly turn into Ambrosius.

  “It is quite all right,” she managed to say at length, “as long as you are not hurt.”

  “I'm all right,” said Hugh, “except for a bump on the back of my head. It is you I am worried about. I am afraid I have upset you.”

  “It isn't that. I—I think I have got one of my headaches coming on.”

  “Which is due to the scare, I suppose,” said Hugh.

  “Well, I can only say how frightfully sorry I am, and take you home.”

  He started up the engine and they travelled home in silence, the headache gradually taking hold on Mona till she felt as if her skull were held in a vice while knives went through her brain. By the time they arrived back at the bookshop she looked ghastly. Hugh looked at her as he helped her out of the car, and was horrified at her appearance.

  “I wonder what in the world Je1kes will say to me for bringing you home like this,” he said, �
��I can only say how frightfully sorry I am, Mona.”

  Mona was too far gone to notice what he called her, nor did she notice that he put his arm round her as she walked unsteadily into the shop.

  Old jelkes, wrapping up books, raised his eyebrows at the sight of the pair of them.

  “I am afraid I've brought you back a wreck.” said Hugh to him.

  “Got one of her headaches? Well, that's no fault of yours.” said the old man.

  “I am afraid it is my fault,” said Hugh. “I distinguished myself by fainting. and scared her to death.”

  “Good Lord. are you given to that sort of thing?”

  “Never done it in my life before. and don't know why I did it now.”

  “Well,” said the bookseller, look ing at Mona. “I suppose it's tea and aspirin. and so to bed?”

  She walked into the room behind the shop without answering, and dropping down into his own armchair, huddled herself over the fire.

  “Let me take your coat off. my dear.” said the old man.

  “No, I don't want to take it off just yet, I'm cold.”

  Jelkes went off to put the kettle on for the inevitable tea and Hugh stood staring miserably at Mona, feeling himself to be responsible for her state. He had had no experience whatsoever of illness in women; his wife had been as strong as the proverbial horse; any illness there was in his house had been provided by himself.

  Mona had not been huddled over the fire many minutes before she suddenly flung off the heavy leather coat that she had been hugging around her.

  “I'm boiling hot,” she said peevishly.

  But in a few moments she wanted it on again. Hugh put it over her shoulders as she groped for it, and as he did so. discovered that she was shaking in a violent fit of the shivers.

  He went quietly into the kitchen to Jelkes.

  “I say,” he said, “this is something more than a headache. It looks unpleasantly like pneumonia to me.”

  He had had charge of porters at high altitudes, and was familiar with the sudden onset of ‘the captain of the hosts of Death.’

  Jelkes whistled. “That's a nasty job if it is,” he said.

  “But it may only be one of her headaches. She has uncommon bad ones. I'll have a look at her. I'll soon know. I've seen plenty of her headaches.”

  He returned with the tea.

  “Well, lassie?” he said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Rotten,” said Mona. “I think I've got a chill as well as a headache.”

  “I think we had better put you to bed and get your doctor to you,” said Jelkes.

  “I haven't got a doctor,” said Mona. “I'm not on the panel.”

  “You little goose, why aren't you?” exclaimed the bookseller, aghast.

  “I work on my own now, I don't have to be.”

  “But why for God's sake, child, didn't you keep up the contributions?”

  “Couldn't spare them.”

  Hugh listened in amazement to this revelation. It had never entered his imagination that any woman whom he could treat as a friend would even be ‘on a panel,' let alone unable to afford to be on a panel.

  “Look here,” he said. “Don't you worry about that. I'm responsible for your chill, so the least I can do is to stand treat with the medico.”

  “That's damned good of you,” said the relieved bookseller, who had seen himself saddled with the expenses of Mona's illness.

  “Look here,” said Hugh, “what about a nursinghome?”

  “No!” said Moria, suddenly waking up. Of course she couldn't go to a nursing-home, she had hardly a rag to her back in the way of night-gowns and such like. “I'm not really bad. I'm just chilled on top of my headache, I shall be all right in the morning. I'll go home as soon as I've drunk my tea.”

  “Oh no, you won't,” said the old bookseller. “You'll stop here.”

  “No, I shan't.”

  Jelkes went over to her and put his hand on her forehead.

  “Shut up,” said Mona angrily, brushing aside his hand. “I hate being pawed.”

  Jelkes took no notice, but caught her two hands and held them so that she could not push him aside, and then felt her forehead at his leisure. Hugh, who had never in his life seen a woman dealt with like this, gasped.

  “You've got a temperature all right,” said Jelkes.

  “Now the problem is, what are we going to do with you? To bed you must go, that's quite certain. I think you had better have my bed, and I'll doss down on the sofa. You certainly can't go round to your place by yourself. It's not to be thought of.”

  “No,” said Hugh, “and you on the sofa is not to be thought of either. Look here, I have a suggestion. Let me ring up my housekeeper, Mrs Macintosh, she's a dashed good sort, and let's get a bed and whatever's needful, and shove them in your front room, and keep Mona here till we know what's wrong with her, and let Mrs Macintosh tackle the situation.”

  “I call that dashed sensible,” said the old bookseller. “Yes, that's what we'll do.”

  “You won't, you won't!” cried Mona hysterically.

  “I am going round to my own place. I don't want to stop here.”

  “She's always like this when she has a headache,” said Jelkes aside to the agitated Hugh. “Go on and phone your housekeeper while I keep her quiet.”

  Mona rose to her feet unsteadily.

  “I'm going home,” she said. How could she explain to these two men that she would not dare to close her eyes in the same house with Hugh Paston lest suddenly she should find herself in the presence of Ambrosius? Involuntarily she raised her eyes to Hugh's, and he saw the fear in them.

  “Look here,” he said quietly. “I believe Miss Wilton is scared that I'll treat her to another faint if she stops here. If I clear out, will you stop? I can easily go to a hotel.”

  “Oh no, it's not that. It's too ridiculous.”

  “Well then, what is it, Mona?” said Jelkes.

  “It's nothing. I'm just being silly. I wish you'd let me go home quietly. I shall be quite all right.”

  “We're not going to let you go home in the state you're in. Will you stop if Hugh clears out?”

  “Yes, yes, I'll stop. There's no need for him to clear out. I'm just being silly. Don't take any notice of me. I get like this when I have a headache, I'll be all right presently.”

  Bad as she was, Mona had enough wits left not to offend a client. She huddled up into a heap in the big chair and hid her face miserably in the dirty cushion.

  “Go on and get your phoning done,” said Jelkes to Hugh, and Hugh vanished.

  “Well, lassie, what really is the matter?” said Jelkes to Mona as soon as Hugh had departed.

  “He turned into Ambrosius,” said Mona huskily

  “I thought as much,” said Jelkes. “What happened when he turned into Ambrosius?”

  “He—he just looked at me for ever such a long time without moving, and then someone came into the room, and he fell over backwards in a faint and woke up normal.”

  “That wasn't a faint, it was the change-over from Ambrosius back to Hugh. What are you scared of, lassie? Did you find Ambrosius alarming?”

  “Yes, terrifying.”

  “Well, well, I don't suppose he'll do it here. Anyway, you'll have that Scotch housekeeper of his with you, and I'll keep an eye on Hugh. You ought to know enough not to be scared of the dead, Mona. A dead man's no different to a living one, except that he hasn't got a body.”

  “It's not that, I'm not scared of the dead, any more than you are. It's-it's Ambrosius I'm scared of.”

  “Why?”

  “I—I don't know.” How could she tell him of the strange passage between them? How, above all, tell him that Ambrosius had (received encouragement'? And without that fact any explanation would be more than misleading.

  Hugh Paston returned.

  “O.K. chief, she's coming round forthwith, and bringing a bed and bedding with her. I told her to hire a Daimler and toddle round in that. The chauffeur's fac
e ought to be worth seeing when they arrive.”

  “I'll get a fire going upstairs,” said Jelkes, and signalling to Hugh to follow him, he led the way out of the room. He knew Mona would not want to be alone with him.

  “Look here,” he said, as soon as the fire was under way, “don't talk to her about Ambrosius, he's got on her nerves.”

  “Does she think he'll come back from the dead and chase her?”

  “Yes, that's it.”

  “Do you know, T. J., I've had an awfully strong feeling myself that he's about somewhere, but I don't think he's inimical. I think the poor devil had a rotten time and would be glad of a kind word from anybody, if you know what I mean. Personally, I'd like to give him one, just to cheer him up, you know. I think he must have had a pretty poisonous life of it.”

  “That's all right,” said the old bookseller, “but don't do it while Mona's seedy, or she'll go all to pieces. You keep your mind off Ambrosius while you're in this house. We don't want him manifesting here.”

  “Right you are, T. J. It's your house. It's for you to say who comes here, whether from this world or the next. But as soon as I get settled in at the farm, I'm going to have a jolly good try to get into touch with Ambrosius, and I've a sort of feeling that he knows it.”

  CHAPTER XIV

  MRS MACINTOSH arrived, and without fuss or comment, took charge of the whole situation.

  “What about getting Dr Johnson?” said Hugh.

  “Certainly not,” was the reply. “If that man comes into the house, I go out of it.”

  “Good Lord, what's the matter with him? Mrs Paston always thought no end of him.”

  “I know she did. But he's not coming near Miss Wilton, all the same. What we want is a good, sensible, reliable general practitioner. I know exactly the man, if you will allow me to send for him.”

  “A Scotchman?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought as much,” said Hugh, laughing. “All right, have your Scotchman. He's not a relation, by any chance, is he?”