by Evans, Tony
‘After a brief examination I was fortunately able to tell Sir Owen that in my opinion Paxton had suffered no serious damage from his accident. There were contusions but no sign of fracture and I diagnosed mild concussion at worst. Following an application of a cold water compress Paxton was able to sit up in bed and demonstrate that he was still in command of his physical and mental capacities. However, his appearance and general physical condition came as a great shock to me.’
‘But I thought you said he was well?’ I interjected.
‘Precisely! Apart from his minor concussion I’d wager he was as healthy a specimen as any fifty year old in England – healthier, in fact. Any symptoms of heart disease, dropsy or other chronic or acute condition were entirely absent. Of course I said nothing to Sir Owen about Dr Leonard’s diagnosis, but as soon as the doctor had recovered from his chill I told him what I had seen.’
‘And how did your colleague react?’ I asked.
Dr Goodwin paused for moment then continued. ‘He was most surprised, and quite unable to explain the dramatic change that I had observed. He said that he must indeed have misdiagnosed Paxton’s condition and asked me not to mention the matter again, as it would reflect badly on him. Of course I agreed, as I did not wish to upset my colleague. I dare say that in time I would have forgotten about the whole business, were it not for a further incident of an even more disturbing nature.’
‘And what was that?’
‘It involved poor Lady Velland, née Ruth Lethbridge. I was amongst those who attended her wedding: it would have been in the second week of September 1891. She was a very attractive, cheerful looking young woman and at the ceremony seemed to be in perfect health.
‘Sir Owen Velland spent little time in society, and his wife even less. I did not see her again for six months, until just ten days before her tragic accident. I was visiting a patient in Gwithian and as I drove through the village in my horse and trap she came out of the post office and stepped into a closed carriage.
‘I am positive that she did not recognise me. We had never been introduced and she seemed preoccupied with whatever task had taken her to the village. There was perhaps some evidence of strain upon her features, thought nothing very marked. Her fine complexion and healthy figure seemed unchanged from that which I had observed at her recent wedding.’ Dr Goodwin halted his narrative. ‘I take it you are aware of the circumstances surrounding Lady Velland’s death?’ he asked.
I nodded and he continued. ‘Very well. After the poor woman had been found at the foot of the cliffs, her body was taken to the public mortuary in St Ives. The post-mortem examination was carried out by my colleague, Dr Leonard, as is our normal practice. However, on this occasion I asked the attendant – a man by the name of Scrivens – to allow me to examine the body in secret, after Dr Leonard had completed his task. It so happened that during the previous year Scrivens had made a foolish error in his work – the details are not relevant – and I was able to protect him from the consequences, thereby saving him from dismissal. As you might imagine, he felt greatly indebted to me and was very glad to help.’
The doctor stood up and walked to the door of his study, opened it, and closed it once more. Then he returned to his desk. ‘What I discovered during my own brief examination of the corpse was quite shocking. Ruth – Lady Velland – was extremely emaciated, a condition that one might have expected to result from weeks of near-starvation. This was certainly not the result of immersion. I will not bore you with the technical details, but the condition of her epidermis showed that she could not have been in the sea for any length of time, if at all. I assumed that her body must have lodged above the high-water mark. She had in any case only been missing for twelve hours.’
‘What made you decide to see the body for yourself?’ I asked.
‘As I had observed Lady Velland only ten days previously, my curiosity was aroused. In addition there had by that time been a number of disturbing rumours in circulation about the baronet: enough to make me wish to see his deceased wife at first hand.
‘I am not proud to admit it, Mr Harker, but at the inquest I said nothing. I assume that Dr Leonard had judged her condition to be the result of her accident and subsequent exposure to the elements, but if so he was mistaken. Whatever I said could not have brought Lady Velland back to life, but it could have greatly damaged my colleague’s reputation. I did however resolve that any future bride of Sir Owen’s would receive the sternest warning from me before proceeding with the marriage.’
Once again Dr Goodwin got to his feet – this time in order to pace up and down the length of his study. He was clearly upset, so I waited patiently for him to continue.
‘Imagine my distress when two months ago I discovered that his intended wife was the young woman who until very recently had been my fiancée – Flora Haywood! Let me tell you the whole sorry story. On Friday 30 August – the day is forever fixed in my memory – I was due to accompany Flora and her parents to a concert in St Ives. When I arrived at the Haywoods’ house, Flora herself answered the door. There and then on the step, without any great show of emotion, she calmly announced that our engagement must be at an end, as she no longer wished to marry me. I suppose I should have spoken to Mr and Mrs Haywood, but instead I left immediately in a state of shock and amazement. Flora’s announcement – both in its content and manner – seemed wholly out of character. We had after all been engaged for almost two years. What on earth could have caused such a sudden and total transformation of her feelings?
‘Then on the following Monday morning Mr Haywood himself came to call upon me. He told me that Flora was now engaged to Sir Owen Velland! He added that he had not refused his consent – Flora being almost of age – but that he was unhappy with the match and would do his best to make sure that it would not take place. When Haywood told me the circumstances which had led to Flora meeting Sir Owen, and the fact that she had known him for less than four weeks, I became convinced that in some inexplicable way he had exercised an unnatural influence over her. Perhaps an hypnotic drug administered in a cup of tea or a glass of lemonade – who can tell? The man has a bad reputation and is a dabbler in chemistry and perhaps other, darker areas of knowledge.
‘Mr Harker, knowing something of your personal history, I have assumed – rightly or wrongly – that when Haywood instructed you to assist with his daughter’s marriage settlement, he also instructed you to enquire more closely into Sir Owen Velland’s suitability as a husband. After all you have had some experience of the uncanny and the inexplicable. If I am correct rest assured that you can call upon me for assistance at any time, should you need it. As for me, I have vowed that come what may Flora and Sir Owen will never be married.’
This puzzled me somewhat. ‘And may I ask how you intend to prevent it?’
‘You may indeed,’ Dr Goodwin said with a grim smile. ‘Let us say that that if it becomes necessary I intend to take whatever measures are needed, however drastic. Now, I see that it is almost time for my morning surgery. You must excuse me, Mr Harker. I will ring for Lily, who will show you out.’
I next went to the George Hotel, where I asked the landlord if any letters had arrived for me. Fortunately the item that I was waiting for had been delivered: the report from my old friend Professor Van Helsing regarding Sir Owen Velland’s career in London prior to his move to Cornwall. I decided to return with it to Rosehill, where I would be able to study it at my leisure.
*
As Mina and Edith had arranged to visit a friend of the Ashbys in Penzance taking young Grace and Wilfred with them and as Charles Ashby was engaged in parish business, I had the rest of the day to myself. After a cold luncheon I read through the professor’s report.
Professor Van Helsing to Mr Jonathan Harker: 15th October 1895
My dear Jonathan,
I trust that your journey to Cornwall has been safely accomplished, and that you and your wife are both well. I am aware that time is of the essence in your investig
ation, and during the last week I have done what I can to gather some information regarding Sir Owen. No doubt there is more to learn, but I flatter myself that I have obtained the essentials.
After leaving Oxford in 1872, where he obtained an undistinguished degree in classics, Mr Owen Velland (as he was then) made his home in London. For six years prior to his inheritance of the baronetcy, Velland lived with his cousin, Mr Arnold Paxton, a wealthy invalid. Velland has had no formal occupation and it seems that he subsisted on his own small private income and his cousin’s generosity.
Owen Velland was not by all accounts a very sociable man, and was best known for his interest and involvement in spiritualism. He was one of the founder members of the Society for Psychical Research in 1882. His connection with the movement was entirely respectable, and at one time he counted William Crooks, the well known physicist, and William Stead, the journalist, amongst his fellow enthusiasts. However, Velland’s participation in such matters came to an abrupt end in December 1888, when his membership of the Society ceased. The reasons for this would no doubt have been hard to ascertain, were it not for the fortunate coincidence of my personal acquaintance with Mr Crooks, which dates from the time when we both worked at the Radcliff Observatory in the 1850s. He was kind enough to tell me the entirety of what he knew, on condition that the source of my information remained secret: a condition which I am sure you will honour.
According to Crooks, Velland had been dabbling in the occult – to be more specific, in the practice of alchemy and black magic – and a young woman of his acquaintance had threatened to inform the police that Velland had attempted to use “unnatural arts” in order to entice her into an immoral liaison. There was some doubt about the truthfulness of her allegation: one suggestion is that she knew of his potentially scandalous interest in magic, and had decided to turn it to her own account. In the event the complaint was not made: Velland’s cousin paid off the girl, and the matter was kept quiet, with no consequences for Velland other than his expulsion from the Society. Somewhat ironically, Crooks was adamant that the evidence subsequently uncovered of Velland’s activities showed that he was very far from being an adept in the black arts, and was in Crook’s words a “bumbling amateur”. There was certainly no indication that Velland had ever achieved any results from his attempted sorcery. Apparently his alchemical researches were no more successful – he had merely copied some ancient methods for discovering the philosopher’s stone, with predictable results. A charitable view of Velland would therefore be to see him as a harmless eccentric: however, the members of the Society for Psychical Research, some of whom – like Crooks himself – were public figures, decided to expel Velland from their ranks in order to protect their good name.
I can find no record of any noteworthy occurrences in Velland’s life between the time of his expulsion and his inheritance of the baronetcy in 1890. He had never married, and his closest companion was Arnold Paxton, his cousin – also a bachelor – who moved to Cornwall with him. Your letter to me did not mention the latter gentleman, and from what I have discovered regarding his perilous medical condition when he was last in London five years ago, I assume that Mr Paxton is now deceased.
Rest assured that if any more information regarding Sir Owen Velland reaches me, I will forward it to you. However, I suspect that Cornwall rather than London may now provide any answers that you seek.
With very best wishes, yours etc., Abraham Van Helsing.
I put the professor’s letter down on the table in front of me and sat back in my chair. It did not seem to me that Van Helsing’s information was of any great use to me, or rather to my client Mr Haywood. All that could positively be proved was that Sir Owen had a peculiar and – to some minds – distasteful hobby, but an interest in magic and the occult is no crime in modern England. It occurred to me that the rumours which circulated during his time in London may have followed him down to Cornwall and helped give rise to the popular feeling against him.
There was of course a more sinister interpretation to be drawn from Van Helsing’s information. If the baronet really did have any genuine occult knowledge or skills – something that my own experiences had taught me could not be dismissed out of hand – then it would suit him very well to be seen as a fruitless dabbler. Or even if he had been as ineffective as Van Helsing thought, it was not impossible that in the intervening years his powers may have grown and strengthened. Could he really have held any responsibility for Silas Fraddam’s madness, or the Haywoods’ frightening experience after crossing his path? Or might he have received help from elsewhere? A sudden thought struck me – there was a further piece of information which Professor Van Helsing might be able to obtain for me.
I quickly drafted a telegram to the professor and after taking it to the post office in Hayle I decided that there was little more that I could do that day until the Reverend Trewellard came to convey me to my dinner appointment. I therefore awaited the return of my wife and our friends, spending the intervening hours in the Ashbys’ library.
My time there was not entirely wasted, as I managed to locate the volume by Francis Barrett in which Charles Ashby had found the illustration of Lucifer’s Seal: the Celestial Intelligencer. A close study of the accompanying text did nothing to sooth my anxieties about my disturbing dream. If Barrett’s volume was to be believed, it appeared that any genuine adept would find the Seal to be a very powerful tool, and almost certainly a malign one.
Chapter Seven
It was shortly after seven o’clock that evening when the Reverend Trewellard’s carriage – a stylish Brougham – drew up outside Rosehill. Noting his arrival from the drawing room window, I turned to Mina, who had arrived with Edith Ashby and her children two hours earlier.
‘It seems that the vicar is not quite as unworldly as it might have appeared,’ I said. ‘That is a very smart equipage – a Duke would not be ashamed of it!’
Mina peered over my shoulder. ‘And a coachman in livery!’ she exclaimed. ‘Are you sure this is Trewellard come to collect you, or has one of Charles Ashby’s grand relatives come down from London to offer him an archbishopric?’
Her facetiousness was answered by the vicar himself stepping out of his carriage and striding towards the front door, holding his hat onto his head as the strong wind gusted around him. I forestalled Lucy by answering the door myself and was soon seated opposite Trewellard, sinking back into comfortable plush velvet cushions. The sky had appreciably darkened during the last half hour and sheets of rain were starting to pour down the carriage windows. I felt sorry for the poor coachman mounted on the box above us and hoped that he had packed a cape under his seat.
Just as we were about to drive off Trewellard opened the carriage door an inch or two and shouted up to the coachman: ‘Wilkins! Go back to the house and give Mrs Harker a message from me. Tell her that if we have a storm tonight, Mr Harker and I may need to stay at Carrick Manor until tomorrow morning.’
He sat back in his seat and brushed off the few drops of rain that had entered the carriage. The vicar was very different in appearance from the dusty fossil collector whom I had met on Tuesday morning. He was wearing immaculate evening attire and a silk top hat rested on his knees. I had fortunately brought my dress clothes to Cornwall, but felt that compared to my companion I cut the figure of an impoverished relative.
‘I hope you did not mind my making that suggestion,’ the vicar said as the carriage moved off. ‘If a fierce autumn gale blows up we had much better avoid crossing Godrevy Point later tonight.’
Trewellard proffered a silver cigar case and although Mina disapproves of my smoking – she has the quaint idea that it is somehow injurious to health and in the interests of marital harmony I have never contradicted her – I felt that out of politeness I should accept.
‘From the West Indies – a superior product,’ Trewellard said. ‘It is very kind of you to accept Sir Owen’s dinner invitation at such short notice. The baronet is something of a recluse –
my own friendship excluded – and will enjoy some lively and intelligent company. Of course his solitariness will soon be over after his marriage in the New Year. I take it that your negotiations on Miss Flora Haywood’s account have been successfully concluded?’
‘That is really a matter for Mr and Mrs Haywood to decide,’ I said. ‘However, I think I can say that an agreement as to the marriage settlement seems likely.’
‘I am glad to hear it! And have you been tasked with any other professional duties, whilst you are here in Cornwall?’
In normal circumstances I would have considered the Reverend Trewellard’s question to be impertinent, but as it was it gave me an excellent opportunity to raise a point which I wished to put to the vicar.
‘Only to help ensure that Miss Haywood’s interests are protected,’ I answered. ‘To be blunt her mother and father have some concerns about her forthcoming nuptials. Naturally I would like if possible to reassure them, particularly as the romance between Flora and the baronet appears to have been – how can I put it – very sudden.’
The vicar smiled. ‘I think it is fair to say that most parents have some concerns about their daughter’s marriage. However, in this case they can be reassured that her intended husband is a worthy match. He is perhaps not as sociable as some, but as his long standing friend I am aware of his many good qualities.’
‘That is very good news, Reverend.’ I smiled back in turn, wondering if Trewellard could sense the unease which lay beneath my assumed cheerfulness. Of course it was hardly realistic to expect Trewellard to exchange confidences about his closest friend, but nevertheless I felt that there was a great deal more that he could have told me.