‘You damned scoundrel!’ cried Arthur.
‘My dear fellow, pray moderate your language. This is surely not an occasion when you should give way to your lamentable taste for abuse. You outrage all Miss Boyd’s susceptibilities.’ He turned to her with an airy wave of his fat hand. ‘You must forgive me if I do not offer you the hospitality of Skene, but the loss I have so lately sustained does not permit me to indulge in the levity of entertaining.’
He gave her an ironical, low bow; then looked once more at Arthur.
‘If I can be of no further use to you, perhaps you would leave me to my own reflections. The lodgekeeper will give you the exact address of the village constable.’
Arthur did not answer. He stared into vacancy, as if he were turning over things in his mind. Then he turned sharply on his heel and walked towards the gate. Susie and Dr Porhoët, taken completely aback, did not know what to do; and Haddo’s little eyes twinkled as he watched their discomfiture.
‘I always thought that your friend had deplorable manners,’ he murmured.
Susie, feeling very ridiculous, flushed, and Dr Porhoët awkwardly took off his hat. As they walked away, they felt Haddo’s mocking gaze fixed upon them, and they were heartily thankful to reach the gate. They found Arthur waiting for them.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, ‘I forgot that I was not alone.’
The three of them drove slowly back to the inn.
‘What are you going to do now?’ asked Susie.
For a long time Arthur made no reply, and Susie thought he could not have heard her. At last he broke the silence.
‘I see that I can do nothing by ordinary methods. I realize that it is useless to make a public outcry. There is only my own conviction that Margaret came to a violent end, and I cannot expect anyone to pay heed to that.’
‘After all, it’s just possible that she really died of heart disease.’
Arthur gave Susie a long look. He seemed to consider her words deliberately.
‘Perhaps there are means to decide that conclusively,’ he replied at length, thoughtfully, as though he were talking to himself.
‘What are they?’
Arthur did not answer. When they came to the door of the inn, he stopped.
‘Will you go in? I wish to take a walk by myself,’ he said.
Susie looked at him anxiously.
‘You’re not going to do anything rash?’
‘I will do nothing till I have made quite sure that Margaret was foully murdered.’
He turned on his heel and walked quickly away. It was late now, and they found a frugal meal waiting for them in the little sitting-room. It seemed no use to delay it till Arthur came back, and silently, sorrowfully, they ate. Afterwards, the doctor smoked cigarettes, while Susie sat at the open window and looked at the stars. She thought of Margaret, of her beauty and her charming frankness, of her fall and of her miserable end; and she began to cry quietly. She knew enough of the facts now to be aware that the wretched girl was not to blame for anything that had happened. A cruel fate had fallen upon her, and she had been as powerless as in the old tales Phaedra, the daughter of Minos, or Myrrha of the beautiful hair. The hours passed, and still Arthur did not return. Susie thought now only of him, and she was frightfully anxious.
But at last he came in. The night was far advanced. He put down his hat and sat down. For a long while he looked silently at Dr. Porhoët.
‘What is it, my friend?’ asked the good doctor at length.
‘Do you remember that you told us once of an experiment you made in Alexandria?’ he said, after some hesitation.
He spoke in a curious voice.
‘You told us that you took a boy, and when he looked in a magic mirror, he saw things which he could not possibly have known.’
‘I remember very well,’ said the doctor.
‘I was much inclined to laugh at you at the time. I was convinced that the boy was a knave who deceived you.’
‘Yes?’
‘Of late I’ve thought of that story often. Some hidden recess of my memory has been opened, and I seem to remember strange things. Was I the boy who looked in the ink?’
‘Yes,’ said the doctor quietly.
Arthur did not say anything. A profound silence fell upon them, while Susie and the doctor watched him intently. They wondered what was in his mind.
‘There is a side of my character which I did not know till lately,’ Arthur said at last. ‘When first it dawned upon me, I fought against it. I said to myself that deep down in all of us, a relic from the long past, is the remains of the superstition that blinded our fathers; and it is needful for the man of science to fight against it with all his might. And yet it was stronger than I. Perhaps my birth, my early years, in those Eastern lands where everyone believes in the supernatural, affected me although I did not know it. I began to remember vague, mysterious things, which I never knew had been part of my knowledge. And at last one day it seemed that a new window was opened on to my soul, and I saw with extraordinary clearness the incident which you had described. I knew suddenly it was part of my own experience. I saw you take me by the hand and pour the ink on my palm and bid me look at it. I felt again the strange glow that thrilled me, and with an indescribable bitterness I saw things in the mirror which were not there before. I saw people whom I had never seen. I saw them perform certain actions. And some force I knew not, obliged me to speak. And at length everything grew dim, and I was as exhausted as if I had not eaten all day.’
He went over to the open window and looked out. Neither of the others spoke. The look on Arthur’s face, curiously outlined by the light of the lamp, was very stern. He seemed to undergo some mental struggle of extraordinary violence. He breath came quickly. At last he turned and faced them. He spoke hoarsely, quickly.
‘I must see Margaret again.’
‘Arthur, you’re mad!’ cried Susie.
He went up to Dr Porhoët and, putting his hands on his shoulders, looked fixedly into his eyes.
‘You have studied this science. You know all that can be known of it. I want you to show her to me.’
The doctor gave an exclamation of alarm.
‘My dear fellow, how can I? I have read many books, but I have never practised anything. I have only studied these matters for my amusement.’
‘Do you believe it can be done?’
‘I don’t understand what you want.’
‘I want you to bring her to me so that I may speak with her, so that I may find out the truth.’
‘Do you think I am God that I can raise men from the dead?’
Arthur’s hands pressed him down in the chair from which he sought to rise. His fingers were clenched on the old man’s shoulders so that he could hardly bear the pain.
‘You told us how once Eliphas Levi raised a spirit. Do you believe that was true?’
‘I don’t know. I have always kept an open mind. There was much to be said on both sides.’
‘Well, now you must believe. You must do what he did.’
‘You must be mad, Arthur.’
‘I want you to come to that spot where I saw her last. If her spirit can be brought back anywhere, it must be in that place where she sat and wept. You know all the ceremonies and all the words that are necessary.’
But Susie came forward and laid her hand on his arm. He looked at her with a frown.
‘Arthur, you know in your heart that nothing can come of it. You’re only increasing your unhappiness. And even if you could bring her from the grave for a moment, why can you not let her troubled soul rest in peace?’
‘If she died a natural death we shall have no power over her, but if her death was violent perhaps her spirit is earthbound still. I tell you I must be certain. I want to see her once more, and afterwards I shall know what to do.’
‘I cannot, I cannot,’ said the doctor.
‘Give me the books and I will do it alone.’
‘You know that I have nothing here.�
��
‘Then you must help me,’ said Arthur. ‘After all, why should you mind? We perform a certain operation, and if nothing happens we are no worse off then before. On the other hand, if we succeed…. Oh, for God’s sake, help me! If you have any care for my happiness do this one thing for me.’
He stepped back and looked at the doctor. The Frenchman’s eyes were fixed upon the ground.
‘It’s madness,’ he muttered.
He was intensely moved by Arthur’s appeal. At last he shrugged his shoulders.
‘After all, if it is but a foolish mummery it can do no harm.’
‘You will help me?’ cried Arthur.
‘If it can give you any peace or any satisfaction, I am willing to do what I can. But I warn you to be prepared for a great disappointment.’
XV
ARTHUR WISHED TO set about the invocation then and there, but Dr Porhoët said it was impossible. They were all exhausted after the long journey, and it was necessary to get certain things together without which nothing could be done. In his heart he thought that a night’s rest would bring Arthur to a more reasonable mind. When the light of day shone upon the earth he would be ashamed of the desire which ran counter to all his prepossessions. But Arthur remembered that on the next day it would be exactly a week since Margaret’s death, and it seemed to him that then their spells might have a greater efficacy.
When they came down in the morning and greeted one another, it was plain that none of them had slept.
‘Are you still of the same purpose as last night?’ asked Dr Porhoët gravely.
‘I am.’
The doctor hesitated nervously.
‘It will be necessary, if you wish to follow out the rules of the old necromancers, to fast through the whole day.’
‘I am ready to do anything.’
‘It will be no hardship to me,’ said Susie, with a little hysterical laugh. ‘I feel I couldn’t eat a thing if I tried.’
‘I think the whole affair is sheer folly,’ said Dr Porhoët.
‘You promised me you would try.’
The day, the long summer day, passed slowly. There was a hard brilliancy in the sky that reminded the Frenchman of those Egyptian heavens when the earth seemed crushed beneath a bowl of molten fire. Arthur was too restless to remain indoors and left the others to their own devices. He walked without aim, as fast as he could go; he felt no weariness. The burning sun beat down upon him, but he did not know it. The hours passed with lagging feet. Susie lay on her bed and tried to read. Her nerves were so taut that, when there was a sound in the courtyard of a pail falling on the cobbles, she cried out in terror. The sun rose, and presently her window was flooded with quivering rays of gold. It was midday. The day passed, and it was afternoon. The evening came, but it brought no freshness. Meanwhile Dr Porhoët sat in the little parlour, with his head between his hands, trying by a great mental effort to bring back to his memory all that he had read. His heart began to beat more quickly. Then the night fell, and one by one the stars shone out. There was no wind. The air was heavy. Susie came downstairs and began to talk with Dr Porhoët. But they spoke in a low tone, as if they were afraid that someone would overhear. They were faint now with want of food. The hours went one by one, and the striking of a clock filled them each time with a mysterious apprehension. The lights in the village were put out little by little, and everybody slept. Susie had lighted the lamp, and they watched beside it. A cold shiver passed through her.
‘I feel as though someone were lying dead in the room,’ she said.
‘Why does not Arthur come?’
They spoke inconsequently, and neither heeded what the other said. The window was wide open, but the air was difficult to breathe. And now the silence was so unusual that Susie grew strangely nervous. She tried to think of the noisy streets in Paris, the constant roar of traffic, and the shuffling of the crowds toward evening as the work people returned to their homes. She stood up.
‘There’s no air tonight. Look at the trees. Not a leaf is moving.’
‘Why does not Arthur come?’ repeated the doctor.
‘There’s no moon tonight. It will be very dark at Skene.’
‘He’s walked all day. He should be here by now.’
Susie felt an extraordinary oppression, and she panted for breath. At last they heard a step on the road outside, and Arthur stood at the window.
‘Are you ready to come?’ he said.
‘We’ve been waiting for you.’
They joined him, bringing the few things that Dr Porhoët had said were necessary, and they walked along the solitary road that led to Skene. On each side the heather stretched into the dark night, and there was a blackness about it that was ominous. There was no sound save that of their own steps. Dimly, under the stars, they saw the desolation with which they were surrounded. The way seemed very long. They were utterly exhausted, and they could hardly drag one foot after the other.
‘You must let me rest for a minute,’ said Susie.
They did not answer, but stopped, and she sat on a boulder by the wayside. They stood motionless in front of her, waiting patiently till she was ready. After a little while she forced herself to get up.
‘Now I can go,’ she said.
Still they did not speak, but walked on. They moved like figures in a dream, with a stealthy directness, as though they acted under the influence of another’s will. Suddenly the road stopped, and they found themselves at the gates of Skene.
‘Follow me very closely,’ said Arthur.
He turned on one side, and they followed a paling. Susie could feel that they walked along a narrow path. She could see hardly two steps in front of her. At last he stood still.
‘I came here earlier in the night and made the opening easier to get through.’
He turned back a broken piece of railing and slipped in. Susie followed, and Dr Porhoët entered after her.
‘I can see nothing,’ said Susie.
‘Give my your hand, and I will lead you.’
They walked with difficulty through the tangled bracken, among closely planted trees. They stumbled, and once Dr Porhoët fell. It seemed that they went a long way. Susie’s heart beat fast with anxiety. All her weariness was forgotten.
Then Arthur stopped them, and he pointed in front of him. Through an opening in the trees, they saw the house. All the windows were dark except those just under the roof, and from them came bright lights.
‘Those are the attics which he uses as a laboratory. You see, he is working now. There is no one else in the house.’
Susie was curiously fascinated by the flaming lights. There was an awful mystery in those unknown labours which absorbed Oliver Haddo night after night till the sun rose. What horrible things were done there, hidden from the eyes of men? By himself in that vast house the madman performed ghastly experiments; and who could tell what dark secrets he trafficked in?
‘There is no danger that he will come out,’ said Arthur. ‘He remains there till the break of day.’
He took her hand again and led her on. Back they went among the trees, and presently they were on a pathway. They walked along with greater safety.
‘Are you all right, Porhoët?’ asked Arthur.
‘Yes.’
But the trees grew thicker and the night more sombre. Now the stars were shut out, and they could hardly see in front of them.
‘Here we are,’ said Arthur.
They stopped, and found that there was in front of them a green space formed by four cross-ways. In the middle a stone bench gleamed vaguely against the darkness.
‘This is where Margaret sat when last I saw her.’
‘I can see to do nothing here,’ said the doctor.
They had brought two flat bowls of brass to serve as censers, and these Arthur gave to Dr Porhoët. He stood by Susie’s side while the doctor busied himself with his preparations. They saw him move to and fro. They saw him bend to the ground. Presently there was a crackling of wood, an
d from the brazen bowls red flames shot up. They did not know what he burnt, but there were heavy clouds of smoke, and a strong, aromatic odour filled the air. Now and again the doctor was sharply silhouetted against the light. His slight, bowed figure was singularly mysterious. When Susie caught sight of his face, she saw that it was touched with a strong emotion. The work he was at affected him so that his doubts, his fears, had vanished. He looked like some old alchemist busied with unnatural things. Susie’s heart began to beat painfully. She was growing desperately frightened and stretched out her hand so that she might touch Arthur. Silently he put his arm through hers. And now the doctor was tracing strange signs upon the ground. The flames died down and only a glow remained, but he seemed to have no difficulty in seeing what he was about. Susie could not discern what figures he drew. Then he put more twigs upon the braziers, and the flames sprang up once more, cutting the darkness sharply as with a sword.
‘Now come,’ he said.
But, inexplicably, a sudden terror seized Susie. She felt that the hairs of her head stood up, and a cold sweat broke out on her body. Her limbs had grown on an instant inconceivably heavy so that she could not move. A panic such as she had never known came upon her, and, except that her legs would not carry her, she would have fled blindly. She began to tremble. She tried to speak, but her tongue clave to her throat.
‘I can’t, I’m afraid,’ she muttered hoarsely.
‘You must. Without you we can do nothing,’ said Arthur.
She could not reason with herself. She had forgotten everything except that she was frightened to death. Her heart was beating so quickly that she almost fainted. And now Arthur held her, so firmly that she winced.
‘Let me go,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t help you. I’m afraid.’
‘You must,’ he said. ‘You must.’
‘No.’
‘I tell you, you must come.’
‘Why?’
Her deadly fear expressed itself in a passion of sudden anger.
‘Because you love me, and it’s the only way to give me peace.’
She uttered a low wail of pain, and her terror gave way to shame. She blushed to the roots of her hair because he too knew her secret. And then she was seized again with anger because he had the cruelty to taunt her with it. She had recovered her courage now, and she stepped forward. Dr. Porhoët told her where to stand. Arthur took his place in front of her.
The Great Novels and Short Stories of Somerset Maugham Page 61