Goat Foot God

by Dion Fortune

  “Excuse me,” said Mrs Macintosh, “I expect that is the man for my luggage,” and she went down the narrow, dusty stairs. Hugh heard her open the door at the bottom, and an exclamation of surprise followed.

  “Mrs Macintosh, you here?” he heard in the voice of his eldest sister.

  “Yes, Lady Whitney,” came the noncommittal tones of the Scotswoman.

  “I want to see my brother. His car is outside, so it is no usc saying he isn't here.”

  Hugh thought that the best thing to do was to bow to the inevitable. He did not want Alice to have a stand-up row with old Jelkes. Knowing them both, he thought they would come to blows.

  He came down the stairs.

  “Hullo, Alice?” he said.

  “So there you are, Hugh? We have been looking for you everywhere, Whatever is the meaning of all this nonsense?”

  “Well, I thought I would like to get away from everything and be quiet for a bit.”

  “You might have let us know where you were. It has been most inconvenient. Everybody asking, and no letters answered, and there have been such a lot. Where were you, all this time?”

  “Never mind where. I'd sooner not tell you. Just a place of retreat that I want to keep quiet.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Yes, of course,”

  “There's no of course about it, that I know of. Hugh, who's this Miss Wilton?”

  “She's an artist I've been employing to do the decorations for my new house.”

  “So you've got a new house already, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “That's not your business.”

  “What has come over you? I've never known you like this before. What's all this secrecy about?”

  “The secrecy is because I don't want to be bothered. That's all there is to it.”

  “Do you expect me to believe that?”

  “No, I don't expect you to believe it. And I don't care whether you believe it either.”

  A tide of anger utterly unlike anything he had ever known before, had been rising in Hugh while they were wrangling, and suddenly it brimmed over in a flood of rage that held him speechless. A curious heat and burning went through him, and he found himself staring down into the face of a strange woman whose flushed angry cheeks gradually went dead white under her paint. He pointed to the door and said one word: “Go!” She went.

  He walked up the stairs again, there did not seem to be anything else to do, and at the top saw another strange woman, and heard her calling to someone in a terrified voice. The place was unfamiliar, he did not know where he was. A man came, and behind him yet another woman, peering anxiously round his shoulder. And he knew that woman!

  For the first time he saw in the flesh the face he had so often seen in his dreams. The succuba that had haunted his sleep for years. Now he saw her. And he could not take his eyes off her, nor could she take hers off him.

  He knew the risk; and yet he felt that nothing mattered compared to that one thing, and that at all costs he must grasp it lest it slipped out of his reach for ever. He stepped forward, put the man aside, and gripped the woman by the arm, drawing her towards him. He looked down into her eyes. Greenish eyes, as one would expect in a succuba; but he realised instantly that this was no evil demon sent to lead men's souls astray. The eyes were steady and sincere, and looked straight back into his. The eyes of a woman, not a fiend.

  And he realised with a dreadful hopelessness his isolation; the bondage of his vows; his powerlessness to escape from the life to which he had been given before he knew life's meaning. He was cut off from all this. He must let go of this woman or he would ruin himself. And then something fierce and terrible rose up in him and said that he might ruin himself, but he would not let go of her.

  A sound behind him made him turn round, and there stood the woman he had already driven off, and with her another and older woman who looked like her mother. They spoke to him, but their dialect was incomprehensible save for a word here and there. His wits had returned to him, however, and with them, his dignity. He put the succuba behind him, though he still kept tight hold of her, and saluted them gravely, as became a churchman of his standing. He could see that they were non-plussed. The old man then took a hand and talked with them animatedly in their dialect, of which Hugh understood enough to gather that some learned person was to be summoned forthwith. They departed, plainly very angry and upset, and the old man took him by the shoulders and said:

  “Hugh, you damn fool, you stop this nonsense or I'll punch your head!”

  A sudden giddiness passed over him. He felt himself sway, and if someone had not caught him, would have fallen. Then he recovered himself, and found Jelkes and Mrs Macintosh confronting him with consternation written all over their faces.

  “Hullo?” he said, feeling very foolish. “Have I been having one of my seizures? I suppose this is what you have been complaining of?” turning to Mrs Macintosh.

  “Yes, Mr Paston, that is exactly it,” was the reply. “And if you would let go of Miss Wilton, I think she'd be relieved.”

  Hugh turned round startled, to find Mona behind him.

  “What's it all about?” he demanded. “That's what we'd like to know,” said Jelkes, grimly.

  “And that's what someone else means to know, too, in the near future, it I'm not very much mistaken.”

  He led the way down into the shop, and they all followed. Hugh felt he had never been so glad to see anything in his life as he was to see the warmth and cosiness of the little back parlour. It seemed to him as if he had just come out of a long and vivid nightmare of cold, and stone walls, and loneliness, and frustration.

  “How are you feeling, Hugh?” said the old bookseller, turning to him abruptly.

  “All right. A bit shaken. What happened?”

  “Goodness only knows what happened. A change of consciousness of some sort. But they've gone to fetch the doctor, and if you don't watch your step, they'll get you certified. For the love of God, Hugh, keep your hair on when the doctor comes.”

  “If it is Dr Johnson, I shouldn't let him in, if I were you, Mr Jelkes. He's a thoroughly unscrupulous man,” said Mrs Macintosh.

  “Right,” said Jelkes, “I'll give him a kick in the pants.”

  “I don't know about that,” said Hugh, “I could do with a bit of doctoring. I feel as sick as a cat.”

  “He couldn't do anything for you, laddie. I can do as much for you as anyone.”

  “Will you?” said Mona abruptly.

  “Yes, I'll have to. They'll certify him if I don't.”

  “So that's the game, is it?” said Hugh. “That's a new one. They've tried a good many things, but they've never tried that before. I say Jelkes, tell me frankly, as a pal, any likelihood of their being able to do it?”

  “Well, laddie, frankly, there is, if they give their minds to it. Not that you need certifying, or anything like it, but you've got bones that are worth picking, Hugh, and that's what has always been your trouble.”

  “What did I do, T. J.?”

  “Went off in a day-dream, laddie.”

  “Thinking I was Ambrosius?”

  “That's about it.”

  “By Jove, T. J., I was Ambrosius too, for the moment. It was a weird experience.”

  “Don't you do it too often, for if the wind changes, you may stick, as my mother used to tell me when I pulled faces.”

  They all laughed, a trifle feebly, for they were all thoroughly shaken.

  A resounding bang at the door startled them. Jelkes girt his dressing-gown about him with a determined air, and went striding off through the bookshop, murder in his eye. He returned in a moment, crestfallen.

  “It's the man for your box,” he said to Mrs Macintosh, and together they departed upstairs, leaving Hugh alone with Mona.

  He sat down on the sofa, facing her.

  “I say, Mona,” he said. “Will you tell me the truth, as a friend, for I'm in the dickens of a hole if I
can't get things in hand. I know that certification game. I've seen it played before. Tell me frankly, was what happened just now the same as what happened in the museum?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was what scared you into your illness, wasn't it?”

  “Yes, I'm afraid it was.”

  “I say, I'm frightfully sorry. I hope I haven't upset you again. I'm frightfully sorry, Mona.”

  “No, I'm all right this time because I know what it is, or at least I think I do. Things are all right when you understand them, aren't they?”

  “I hope so. I'd be truly thankful to understand this. Tell me, Mona, tell me all you can.”

  “I'd sooner Uncle Jelkes told you. Wait till he comes back from seeing Mrs Macintosh off.”

  “By Jove, is she going? I must say good-bye to her, she's a dashed decent sort.”

  He rose from the sofa, but a sudden sound of altercation in the front shop made Mona catch his hand and pull him back. Uncle Jelkes was evidently denying admission to someone who was demanding it with authority. Jelkes settled the argument by telling him to go to hell and slamming the door with such force that all the books in the window fell down. After that there was silence, save for distant bumpings which announced that the man had made junction with Mrs Macintosh's box.

  “I say,” said Hugh, “I've been desperately busy at the farm, I've got it pretty nearly straight, one end of it, anyway. Let's all pack up and go down there, shall we? and have a good holiday, you and I and Jelkes. It'll be no end ofa lark. We can just camp out there and picnic. Mrs Pascoe, that's my landlady, has got some skivvy that she's been trying to foist on me which she swears is a paragon. Say you will, Mona, and we'll shunt the whole party and leave no trail. We'll be dashed hard to trace if we get off promptly. They haven't sold the big bus yet. She's sitting at the garage. I had her bill the other day. Her in'ards were out when they had the auction, that's why she's been spared. I'll run this little brute back, God knows why I ever try to drive her on the road, and I'll get the other. Say you will, Mona? It will be no end of a lark.”

  Mona looked at him. It might be a lark for him, but it was a job of mental nursing for her.

  “I will if Uncle will,” she said.

  At that moment Jelkes reappeared.

  “She got off all right,” he said. “Asked me to say good-bye to you for her. She'd cut it rather fine.”

  “Sorry to have missed her,” said Hugh. “She was a dashed good sort, but a trifle oppressive. I don't believe she'd have fitted in with Pan, do you, Uncle Jelkes?”

  “Who said I was your uncle?” demanded jelkes, cocking a be-whiskered eyebrow at him.”

  “I say you're my uncle. If you're Mona's uncle, you've got to be my uncle too. Why should girls always have the best of everything?”

  “All right, I don't mind,” said jelkes, “I can stand worse than that.” He looked at Hugh with affection. “I think you could do with an uncle, laddie, even if you don't happen to want to pop anything at the moment.”

  “Hugh's got a suggestion to make, Uncle jelkes,” said Mona.

  Up went Jelkes' eyebrows again at her use of the Christian name.

  “I was suggesting,” said Hugh, “that we all go down to the farm for, say a fortnight, and have a jolly good holiday. and throw all these blighters off our trail. I've got another car at the garage, a great brute of a bus. and I can load you and Mona and all you both possess into it. chuck it in loose, no need to pack—that's the advantage of a car—and run down to the farm here and now. They'll never trail us if we get off promptly.”

  Jelkes looked at Mona.

  “That's what we're going to do, Uncle jelkes,” said she quietly. “It's the only thing to do. We shall have all sorts of trouble if Hugh stops here,”

  “Yes.” said jelkes, “I know we shall. But, Lord, I wish it wasn't the farm!”

  “It's got to be the farm. Uncle Jelkes. There's nothing to do but grip the nettle. You know that as well as I do.”

  “Magnificent,” cried Hugh. leaping to his feet. “You two sling a few things together, and I'll go and get the car,” and he vanished before they had time to change their minds.

  Mona Wilton, looking out of the window as she packed. thought that someone had built a row of cottages in the street. She came down with her arms full of her belongings to find Hugh eyeing a superb Rolls-Royce with distaste.

  “Here she is,” he said. “Isn't she a brute? My Lord, I'm thankful I'm not a chauffeur. Fancy having to take this through traffic I She's a procession in herself. However, she's all right on the open road, especially on long runs. I must say I like her then. Not as fast as my little bus, but sweeter.”

  Jelkes appeared with a rush basket under his arm.

  “As it's for a fortnight,” he said, “I suppose I'd better bring a clean collar.”

  “And a toothbrush,” said Mona firmly.

  “Toothbrush be hanged. I just take 'em out and rinse 'em under the tap.”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  HUGH slammed the huge car through the traffic, cursing her at every bend. Mona and Jelkes, sitting at the back among their belongings, were immensely amused. They had never seen Hugh in this mood before. He had always seemed to be permanently apologetic. But when it came to cars he knew what he was about and felt sure of himself. It amused Mona in particular to hear Hugh grumbling at the luxury car as she grumbled at the second-hand cycle she had bought in the hope of reducing expenses, and that had let her down so badly. Most people think, when they get into a Rolls of their own, that they are free to drive straight to heaven. Mona herself would have lived for years in the lap of luxury on the price of that Rolls, and here was Hugh grousing at it and knocking it about! Life looks very different when seen from different angles.

  “I am afraid I'll have to put you in the dark,” said Hugh, as they reached the open road and left street lamps behind. The lights inside the car went off, and the great headlights went on; the car settled down to her beautiful gait, and peace appeared to be restored in the driving-seat.

  The rhythm broke, however, when they turned off the main road, and the cursings began again as the big car had to be coaxed down narrow lanes, Hugh blackguarding her for an unhandy brute to an accompaniment of swishings and rendings as the untrimmed hedge-plants slashed at her panels. However, she got to the end of her troubles in due course, and slid silent as a ghost across the common and down the lane to the farm. Hugh pulled up beside the dark and silent buildings, switched on the inside light, and turned in the driving-seat to speak to his companions.

  There, in his corner, sat jelkes, looking like an old cock gone broody, with Mona asleep on his shoulder, worn out by all the alarums and excursions.

  The sight affected Hugh in an indescribable manner. It seemed to him that the deepest springs in his nature would be fed if a woman did that to him. Mona woke up and raised her head and their eyes met. Hugh turned away hastily lest his face should say too much, and so lose him her friendship.

  “Well, we get out here,” he said, suiting the action to the word. He opened the car door and held out his hand to help Mona to alight. She took it, and put her foot on the running-board; but the foot, numb from sleeping in a cramped position, gave way under her as she put her weight on it, she fell forward, and Hugh caught her. She laughed, but for a brief moment Hugh had his wish.

  “Come on,” said Hugh, taking a key out of the guttering over the door, which is the time-honoured place to keep a key in the country. “I know it's like burgling a tomb at the moment, but we'll soon have it more cheerful. You aren't scared of Ambrosius, are you, Mona? He's a great pal of mine. I'll introduce you presently.”

  They entered, the air striking cold and dank and smelling of fresh plaster, which is not a pleasant smell. Hugh, who had no matches, struck a light on his pocket lighter, and held up the dim blue flame to illuminate their surroundings. They were not too bad. The mass-production furniture was inoffensive, and its limed oak went well enough with the old farm-house
kitchen. Hugh lit a battered hurricane lamp hanging from a beam, a lamp which bore in clumsy lettering the words, ‘J. Pinker and Sons’, in case the light-fingered should be tempted, and the place began to look more like a human habitation and less like the family vault.

  “Now for a fire,” said Hugh.

  “Got any fuel?” said the practical Jelkes.”

  “Haven't we just? I should say we just about had! I'd thought of giving a Guy Fawkes party to the whole district.”

  Jelkes followed him through a door that led into a scullery, and thence into what had been the farm-yard, and there, in the centre, they saw dimly in the moonlight an enormous pile. They each gathered up an armful, returned to the living-room, and deposited their loads in the great empty fire-place, for Mr Pinker's dawgs had not yet come to occupy it. Hugh went out to the car and returned with a grease-gun and shot black oil all over the pile. He touched a match to it, and it went up like a volcano.”

  “Now then, T. J., I'll leave you to stoke. Get the place really warm and blow the expense. I'm going to the village.”

  Arrived at the village, he was faced by the delicate task of breaking it to Mrs Pascoe, who had made a thorough pet of him, that he was about to desert her. However, he reckoned he could soften the blow by confiding in her and asking her advice. Things were not made any easier, however, by the fact that she apparently had company in her sanctum behind the bar, for someone was singing a languorous and long-drawn-out ditty to the accompaniment of an accordion in there. However, there was nothing for it, and Hugh overcame his shyness and knocked on the door. The accordion died away with a wail like a despairing tom-cat, the door opened, and a man stood there. obviously a seaman ofthe roughest type.”

  “Hullo?” said Hugh, too taken aback to think of anything else.

  “Hullo yerself,” said the stranger, “and what might you be wantin'?”

  “I wanted a word with Mrs Pascoe,” said Hugh.

  “She's gone across to the shop. Back in a minute. Anything I can get yer?”

  “No, thanks very much,” said Hugh. “I'll wait till she comes back, if I may.”