Devil May Care (A Jonathan Harker Mystery)

by Evans, Tony

  ‘Silas was sitting one evening in the public bar of the Black Bull in St Ives. He was discussing the price of potatoes with a friend, then – according to the half dozen people who were in the bar that night – he suddenly leapt up from his bar-stool and looked about him wildly, as if someone, or something, had entered the room. He shouted incoherently and ran out, leaving his tankard half full behind him. It was only half-past eight and fortunately there were enough people outside to restrain him. It seemed that Silas had taken leave of his senses. He was brought to Dr Leonard, who gave him a sedative and found him a bed in the infirmary. I’m sorry to say that despite all that Dr Leonard could do poor Silas never recovered. After all was tried and declared hopeless he was taken to the lunatic asylum in Redruth, where he remains to this day. There’s many in St Ives who feel that an unnatural influence was used by Sir Owen against his opponent. The farm was inherited by Silas’ son, a young man of twenty six, whose first act on taking up ownership was to cede the disputed acres to the new baronet.’

  ‘That is a tragic story,’ I said. ‘I can quite see how the popular opinion turned against the baronet. However....’

  Nathanial Haywood interrupted me. ‘Yes, it’s easy to dismiss such gossip as superstitious ignorance. As you might imagine there was also a lot of loose talk about the tragic death of his young wife, although Dr Leonard’s evidence at the inquest made it very clear what must have happened. However, not only have we heard strange tales concerning Sir Owen Velland, but we’ve had disquieting experiences of our own. Let me explain.

  ‘Just over three months ago, in the first week of August of this year, our daughter Flora had walked into the centre of St Ives with our parlour maid, Liza. She wished to order a new dress and Liza had some shopping to do for my wife. According to Liza, a very reliable servant, they were walking down the main street of our little town when a sudden breeze got up from nowhere and blew some stray sheets of newsprint into Flora’s face. Flora stumbled on the pavement outside the shop and slipped to the ground, unharmed but somewhat shaken. Before she could struggle to her feet, she was assisted by a middle aged gentleman who had that moment been passing in his carriage. With Flora’s permission, the gentleman and his coachman took my daughter and Liza home to this house. Having delivered her safely to our door the man politely refused to come inside and drove off, leaving his card.’

  ‘And did you see this Good Samaritan again?’ I enquired.

  Haywood scowled. ‘Unfortunately yes. The gentleman in question was Sir Owen Velland, who had been making one of his infrequent visits to St Ives. You will hardly need to be told what followed. Common courtesy required that Flora write to thank him for his assistance and he subsequently called upon us. Nellie and I had no idea that Flora subsequently met with the man on more than one occasion. Just three weeks after their first meeting Sir Owen called on me to request Flora’s hand in marriage. When I refused, citing the age difference between them, he had the confounded cheek to tell me that as my daughter would soon be twenty one the marriage could take place with or without my permission.’

  ‘Sir Owen sadly misjudged my husband,’ said Mrs Haywood with the trace of a smile. ‘Nathanial took him by the collar and threw him out. That same evening Flora – who had been left in no doubt as to our disapproval of her actions and her suitor – had gone to bed. We are night owls and it was a little after midnight when my husband extinguished the oil lamps here in the drawing room, taking the candle to go upstairs. By that time our servants had all retired and I dare say we were two of the few people in St Ives not yet abed. When we reached the bedroom a sudden gust of wind blew out the candle.

  ‘As it was a warm summer evening the bedroom window was open and apart from that momentary draught the air was completely still. There was no moon and there are no street lamps outside this house, so it was very dark. I felt for a box of matches that we keep on our dressing table and struck one. It flared up well – then was almost immediately extinguished. At the same time a distinct chill descended upon the room. I pulled my wife towards me and put my arm around her shoulder. There was just enough light to see that a shadowy cloud started to form in front of us, shapeless but somehow threatening, as if about to transform into something horrible. Quite what would have happened next I’m not sure – nothing very pleasant, I suspect – but then as I felt for another match, my hand touched an object which we keep on the table – my father’s old Bible. What then occurred surprised me as much as Nellie. On instinct I held the Bible up in my right hand and told whatever – or whomever – was in the room to depart. I believe that my actual words were “In the Lord’s name, go!”’

  I nodded. ‘And the fact that you are both self-evidently safe and sound suggests that your improvised exorcism was successful?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Haywood said. ‘The phenomenon ceased in an instant, leaving us unharmed. Although you will understand when I say that neither of us slept that night.

  ‘Early the next morning, before breakfast, Flora asked if she could speak to us. We said nothing to her about our disagreeable experience. She was respectful but resolute, saying that she was absolutely determined to marry Sir Owen Velland with or without our consent as soon as she became of age this coming January. After she left us my wife and I discussed the matter and decided on our stratagem. We would agree to the alliance, but at the same time not scruple to discover more about the baronet before their wedding day.’

  Mrs Haywood stood up and took my hand in hers. ‘Now you will know why we wished you to undertake this investigation,’ she said. ‘There is darkness and perhaps danger in this affair and who better to untangle it than the young man who played such a crucial part in consigning Count Dracula to hell?’

  Chapter Four

  After taking leave of Nathanial and Nellie Haywood I made my way to the George Hotel where my arrival was expected. I found that my cases had already been taken up to my room, which had a pleasant view over St Ives Bay. As instructed the landlord – a bearded, rotund gentleman – had arranged for a large deal table to be placed under the window, where I would be able to work on a draft of Flora’s marriage settlement prior to my meeting the next morning with Sir Owen Velland.

  I worked all afternoon on the document. At around four o’clock I took a break from my labours with a stroll round the picturesque streets of St Ives and the evening dusk was beginning to gather by the time I returned to the George Hotel. Another hour at my desk was sufficient for me to complete my task and I walked downstairs to order my dinner for half-past seven. The landlord – Bob Newsome by name – who had helped me that morning was on duty behind the bar. He greeted me cheerfully.

  ‘Good evening Mr Harker sir! I hope your work’s gone well. Can I recommend a tankard of Helstone bitter? I’ve just tapped the barrel and it seems a real fine brew.’

  ‘Good evening, Mr Newsome. Yes, I’ll try your bitter. Will you join me in a glass – or should I say another glass, as you have already tested its quality?’

  Newsome chuckled. ‘Yes indeed sir, I’ll try a little more.’ As he was drawing the ale he spoke to me over his shoulder. ‘I suppose you’ll be off to see Sir Owen before long, now that you have Flora Haywood’s marriage settlement in hand?’

  It was my turn to laugh. The network of local informants in the town was clearly impressive.

  ‘I wonder if there is anyone now living in St Ives who does not know the purpose of my visit?’ I asked. Newsome looked a little anxious at my words, so I quickly reassured him. ‘My good fellow, I speak only in jest. There is after all no need to keep my work here a secret. I do indeed plan to see the baronet very shortly. I understand he has something of a reputation as a recluse.’

  Newsome placed the foaming tankard in front of me and I took a long drink. As he had promised it was of excellent quality, with a distinctive nutty flavour. The landlord took an appreciative swig from his own glass, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked quickly around the bar. Apart from two elderly worki
ng men at a table in the far corner, the room was empty. Newsome leaned forward and spoke to me in lowered, confidential tones.

  ‘Aye, a recluse, certainly, sir. And perhaps something more. There’s many a person here in St Ives who’d be careful to cross to the other side of the road if they saw Sir Owen Velland heading towards them. Not that he visits the town very often – we saw little enough of him before Lady Velland died, and since then he’s here even less. Now sir, if you are ready for your dinner, I’ve a nice claret in the cellar that might interest you...’

  *

  I was furnished with a plain but well-cooked meal and went to bed early. However, as it transpired, my night was to be far from restful. It was just after half-past ten when I turned out the gas and thanks to my earlier exercise walking the streets of St Ives – and perhaps also to the claret, which had lived up to the landlord’s testimonial – I soon fell sound asleep.

  At what time my subsequent experience (to call it a mere dream seems hardly adequate) commenced it is impossible to tell for certain. My dreams are usually the normal rag-bag of half-remembered recent events and impressions, rarely connected by any cogent or rational theme, but this was something very different.

  In my nocturnal vision I found myself in a large, dimly lit building of evident antiquity, suggestive of a place of worship. A stone floor stretched in front of me, inscribed with white markings as if drawn upon with a lump of chalk. At the centre of the strange geometric design stood a familiar figure whom I immediately recognised as the same young woman I had seen yesterday morning from the window of my railway carriage. Her face was as pale and sad as I had remembered it and her eyes were once again fixed upon mine. Before I could speak she took a sudden step towards me, holding her hands in front of her as if to encourage my retreat. I would have given ground gladly, but found myself unable to move. As we stood there motionless, the light in the building dimmed further. The figure began to lose its definition and an instant later vanished as if it had been turned to insubstantial vapour. In the same instant a soft but penetrating chanting filled the building, clearly enunciated but not composed of any words with which I was familiar. As the volume of the sound increased, three black-robed figures appeared from the periphery of the large open space and began walking towards me with an air of menace.

  It was at that terrifying moment that I realised with sudden lucidity that I was in fact asleep and dreaming and that the unpleasant vista that was before me was of my own imagining. With this welcome insight the scene in front of me dissolved and I found myself jolted out of my dream and lying in my bed in the George Hotel. It was some time before I could compose my thoughts well enough to fall back into an uneasy sleep, though thankfully it was without further interruption.

  *

  On waking I took up my pocket book and made as good a job as I could of sketching the peculiar pattern that I had seen in my dream the previous evening. Over breakfast I thought carefully about the previous night’s experience. On the one hand a perfectly rational explanation presented itself: the strange figure that I had seen from the carriage window on Monday morning could have been a natural phenomenon, a real if somewhat unusual-looking young woman. If so, what could be more natural than to dream of such a bizarre encounter? But, on the other hand, I found it hard to accept that the pale-faced figure I had seen from the train had any corporeal existence. Her ability to fix her gaze on mine at a distance and through the train window was unnatural. For another, the unique quality of my experience the night before suggested something more than a common dream. I decided that I would take Mina, Charles Ashby and Edith into my confidence and place both episodes before them when we met later today. Meanwhile it was possible that my imminent meeting with Sir Owen Velland might shed some light on the matter.

  *

  I had arranged with Newsome to provide me with a hired horse and after breakfast he brought Willow round from the stables for my approval. I was delighted with his selection: Willow was a sturdy bay mare, good natured and biddable, but with all the appearance of strength and stamina. She was not a creature to be chosen for hunting or a point to point, but ideal for the kind of cross-country journey to Carrick Manor which I had planned. Newsome had also very kindly supplied me with a large-scale Ordnance Survey map of the area and pointed out the paths that I should follow in order to reach Sir Owen’s somewhat isolated estate. I could see that Carrick Manor was a mile or so north of Gwithian and that the road to it passed through Hayle. However, as I had already arranged to call at Rosehill later that day, I did not intend to visit Mina and the Ashbys en route.

  *

  My horse turned out to be as stalwart as she looked and in less than two hours I found myself in sight of the house – Carrick Manor was a low, somewhat squat building, sheltered from the worst of the hilltop weather by a small plantation of stunted conifers to the North West. I already knew something of its history from Charles Ashby: the house, inhabited by Sir Owen Velland and his cousin Arnold Paxton, was Elizabethan, having been built in the late sixteenth century. For most of my morning’s journey there had been some welcome autumn sunshine, but as I neared the house a bank of cloud cast a pall of gloom across the countryside.

  A gravel drive led up to the massive arched stone doorway. The mullioned windows which punctuated the front of the building were rather smaller than in other houses I had seen from the same period and I guessed that was because of the severe climate experienced in such a location. I tethered Willow to a stunted bush nearby and knocked twice on the weather-beaten plank door.

  After a considerable pause I was invited inside by a sombre butler, who combined the manners of a trained servant with the features and physique of a prize-fighter. He took me through the hall to a small but comfortably furnished library, where an open fire blazed cheerfully.

  ‘Mr Jonathan Harker, sir,’ the butler announced.

  Two men who had been sitting on each side of the large brick fireplace rose to greet me.

  ‘Thank you, Jennings, you can go,’ the taller of the two said advancing to shake my hand. ‘I am Sir Owen Velland. And this is my solicitor, Mr Elias Makepiece, of Penning and Makepiece, St Ives.’

  As the solicitor made a polite bow in my direction, I observed the baronet carefully. The first thing that struck me was that for a man of forty five he was remarkably well preserved. He was tall – I would have put him at just over six feet – with a lean and powerful figure. His raven black hair and pointed beard, combined with the pallor of his skin and a penetrating gaze, gave him a somewhat sinister appearance which had no doubt assisted the spread of rumours about him. Immaculately attired, Sir Owen wore a close fitting short frock coat, wing collar and dark silk necktie. A large ruby ring sparkled on the little finger of his left hand. The general effect of this ensemble might have appeared foppish, were it not for the impression of controlled power, both physical and mental, which the baronet projected. Mr Makepiece, in contrast, was dressed in a wool check suit which suggested a tailor from St Ives rather than Savile Row and had the ruddy features of a countryman.

  ‘I trust you had a pleasant journey to Cornwall, Mr Harker,’ Sir Owen said. ‘Have you visited these parts before?’

  ‘I have been to Penzance, but not previously to St Ives,’ I said. ‘My wife has visited Hayle before: the Revered Ashby’s wife is an old friend of hers. I hope to see the Ashbys later today.’

  ‘Ah yes, Trewellard mentioned that she is staying there now,’ Sir Owen said. ‘Ashby is a capable fellow – does most of the vicar’s work, I believe!’

  Makepiece coughed discreetly. ‘I believe that Mr Haywood has spoken to you about his daughter’s marriage settlement?’

  ‘Indeed,’ I replied. ‘And I have taken the liberty of preparing a draft for Sir Owen’s approval.’

  At the baronet’s suggestion we seated ourselves around a small table in the corner of the library. Makepiece read carefully through the document I had prepared, pausing periodically to make a comment or to dra
w Sir Owen’s attention to an item in the agreement. All proceeded amicably, until the solicitor reached the final clause in the draft – the same one that I had queried with Flora’s father when I had visited him the previous morning. After reading it Makepiece drew in his breath, re-read it and looked up at me.

  ‘Upon my word, Mr Harker, this is most unusual. Did Mr Haywood specifically ask that this be inserted?’

  ‘He did sir, and is most adamant that it should remain.’

  Sir Owen leant across and took hold of the document. ‘What is this, Makepiece? Let me see.’

  He read the section aloud: ‘Notwithstanding the provisions afore stated, if Lady Flora Velland (née Haywood) shall die within a period of three hundred and sixty-five days from the day of her wedding to Sir Owen Velland Bt. and if Lady Velland is childless at that time then the five thousand pounds placed in trust to be inherited by any children of that marriage will be returned absolutely to Mr Nathanial Haywood of Chevin Villa, Albert Street, St Ives or if that trust fails to Mrs Nellie Haywood of that address or failing that to the St Ives Society for Distressed Fisherfolk.’

  Sir Owen scowled at me across the table. ‘Explain this if you please, Mr Harker. I’m no lawyer, but my understanding is that if half Flora’s marriage settlement is to be put in trust for any children we may have – a perfectly normal arrangement – why then if, G-d forbid, she were to die childless the money should go to her husband – to me.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, and that is what would happen in this case, unless your wife were to pass away within a year. That does not seem a very likely eventuality, since as far as I know she is in very good health.’

  The baronet got to his feet, his face pink with anger, and slammed his fist upon the table in front of him. His solicitor jumped visibly and I noted that the veneer of good manners which Sir Owen affected did not run very deeply.

  He spoke with slow menace. ‘That is hardly the point, Harker, as you are well aware.’ With an effort he controlled himself, sat down and continued. ‘That clause represents a slur on my good name. What if it ever became public? It is a good as saying that because I had the misfortune to lose one wife prematurely, Haywood wants to guard against my losing another equally quickly. No, it won’t do.’