by Pete Rawlik
After a pause for tea Saltonstall and I continued the disbursement of my financial property and responsibilities. There was a small inheritance from my father, smaller than I had expected, but after going over the account I quickly understood why. Following my father’s death, his estate appeared quite healthy and should have sustained my mother and I for the entirety of her life, if not mine as well. Unfortunately, it appears that my mother chose a rather unscrupulous man to manage the account, and in a rather short while the funds had dwindled in stature. That man had been my stepfather, David Griffith. The funds had improved in the years since his death, but I suddenly understood why so much of my family wealth was held in trust, and doled out in small periodic stipends by our financial managers. I think I made the old attorney blush when I saw the extent of the damage and swore in a manner that I had learned while roaming the back streets of Boston.
As flabbergasted as I was by the poor state of my father’s legacy, I was further stunned by the presentation of an account that I did not know even existed. I won’t talk about the amount, but essentially I have been named the beneficiary of a trust held in the Bank of England and administered by the firm of Utterson and Enfield. The trust has been in existence for more than three decades and was originally established to support the children of an unnamed but prominent physician. Somehow or another I had caught the eye of one of these beneficiaries, who felt that they no longer needed the support, and was named as his legal replacement. It was all very odd and convoluted, and even though I didn’t need the funds I had become a beneficiary. Saltonstall wanted to transfer the funds into the Halsey account but I balked at this. Instead, I asked that he investigate the origin of the trust and its beneficiaries, and if I could decline the funds, or perhaps donate them to a worthy cause. The old man went quiet when I said this, but eventually nodded and agreed to see what he could do to learn more about the origin and status of the trust. So strange that someone would just give me money, stranger still to think that my financiers would simply accept it without questioning the source and the motivation.
Afterward, we sat down with some of the staff and representatives of organizations that drew funds from the accounts. There was the genial Irishman, Mr. Kelly Young, who was the managing partner of Griffith and Son, the source of most of the family income. He had been managing partner for the last twenty-five years, and assured me that he had always kept things running shipshape, and intended to do so in the future. I thanked him for his service, and he invited me to visit the main office any time I would so like, and made it clear that if I ever needed anything from the firm I had merely to ask. The Kreitners were an affable couple who were responsible for the care and upkeep of both Crowninshield Manor and my father’s old house on Derby Street, where they resided. In reviewing their status I found their remuneration rather pitiful, but this, it was explained, was because they essentially lived rent free. Still dissatisfied, I suggested that the small token rent that the city paid for the property on which the Halsey School sat be used in its entirety to compensate the Kreitners. I also suggested that we look into selling the old Crowninshield Manor, a property apparently bought by my father for my mother and he to reside in, but given his death, never occupied. Why my mother had refused to part with the house, which sat at the eastern end of High Street, far from the more civilized parts of town, I simply couldn’t understand.
This time also allowed for a discussion with the two domestics who ran Griffith House, the sisters Julia and Molly, who were both cook and housekeeper, respectively, and who lived in the cellar room overlooking the garden. Holdovers from the days when the house was full, and an entire family needed looking after, Amanda and I were all that were left. As much as it pained me, I suggested that the two begin searching for positions elsewhere. It was my intention to travel, and that would leave Griffith House vacant for extended periods of time. Any work that I needed done could be handled by the Kreitners, or even regular visits by a cleaning woman. When asked what was to become of Miss Amanda, I responded that it was high time that my aunt learn to cook her own meals. I was not entirely without heart, and created a generous severance package and ordered Saltonstall to assist in finding them new arrangements.
I also decided to review and limit the number of social organizations that the family belonged to. I have no love for the DAR, but Amanda often spends her days at that den of gossiping vipers, so as much as it pained me I agreed to pay the dues for that institution. The Miskatonic Club, however, was easily cut; since I am not welcome in those hallowed halls I see no reason to pay for their upkeep. Another social organization was one I had never heard of, Porgy’s Fish House near Hog Island, which I was told was a sporting club. I assumed it was frequented by my stepfather, but was rebuked and told that the membership had been my mother’s. Surprised, I deferred making a decision until I could gather some more information on my own. I had always wanted to learn to shoot, and this seemed the perfect venue to do so. Saltonstall tried to persuade me otherwise but in the end I told him I would handle it on my own. I did agree to maintain the family in good standing with Miskatonic University. The cost is really just a pittance, and access to the university library is only one of the privileges granted. Someday, I fully intend to pursue an academic path, and in the meanwhile I would like to partake of the occasional lecture and concert. My tastes, as Hannah tends to remind me, have always run toward the academic, and I do find academic men so attractive. There is something about a well-educated mind that makes me quiver.
That is not to say that such men cannot be off-putting as well. One of the last people I had to deal with today was Doctor Abbott, a semiretired physician who had been the beneficiary of my mother’s charity for nearly two decades. A codicil in my mother’s instructions made it clear that after I assumed control of my estate the decision to continue payments to Doctor Abbott would be mine to make, as I would have to deal with the consequences, either way. The whole arrangement was rather obscure and murky, and I suspected that perhaps the good doctor knew something about my parents or myself that would be embarrassing. There was the unsavory stink of extortion, something I had no desire to tolerate, no matter what the secret, but out of respect I met with the decrepit old man and let him make his case.
In rather slow and torturous language, Doctor Abbott explained that many years ago, before I was born, he had been on the staff at Sefton Asylum. During the 1905 outbreak of typhoid fever, in which my father had perished while ministering to the sick and dying, the town was at the same time beset by a more tangible form of death. More than a dozen murders were attributed to the thing known amongst the sensational newsmen of the day as either the Plague Daemon or the Arkham Terror, which had stalked the night streets of Arkham. When it was finally caught, having just killed the parents of Doctor Stuart Hartwell, some thought it more ape than man, for it was a terrifying simian monstrosity that loped about on all fours and grunted and shrieked. Those who examined it came away visibly shaken and spoke in whispers of how markedly it resembled the visage of the poor deceased Doctor Allan Halsey. Some even called for an order to reopen the good doctor’s grave to assure that he was still at peace. Such calls were quickly quieted by the newly appointed Judge Hand, who dismissed such superstitious nonsense and reminded more vocal proponents that they lived in Arkham and not Ingolstadt. That the madman, for in the end it was concluded that it was indeed a man, bore some vague resemblance to Allan Halsey was nothing more than a coincidence, and Hand admonished those who believed anything else. In the end, the Arkham Terror was found unfit for incarceration in a prison, and was therefore turned over to authorities at Sefton Asylum. It was here that Doctor Abbott had overseen the care of the thing. While the identity of the Terror had never been established, and most decent folk dismissed the rumored resemblance to Allan Halsey, those whispering innuendos eventually reached the ears of the doctor’s young bride, and she, driven by curiosity, took it upon herself to visit the poor creature. Her visit was not an isolate
d incident and over a course of weeks the visits of Elizabeth Halsey to Sefton Asylum became more and more frequent and, thanks to rather generous donations to one of the orderlies, less and less supervised.
Here the old man paused and smiled lasciviously. He suggested that he had caught my mother in a compromised position with the thing in the cell. What my mother had done was a crime against the laws of both man and nature, and he had no choice but to ban her from the grounds. My mother, Allan Halsey’s wife, Elizabeth Halsey, had never returned to the asylum, but not long after semi-annual checks had begun arriving. Even after the monstrous inmate had escaped in February of 1921, and my mother’s disappearance three months later, the payments continued, maintained by prior instructions given to Saltonstall. Doctor Abbott expected me to continue those payments uninterrupted, and in return his continued silence, concerning what he saw, would be guaranteed.
I took a moment to mull his revelations over. Mr. Saltonstall was visibly upset and rose to confront the man. I heard the words “Hippocratic Oath” and violation come out of his mouth, but I raised my hand and directed him to remain calm. I followed my own direction, and in an even-handed voice thanked Dr. Abbott for his years of discretion and assured him that I was sure that my mother appreciated it. However, now that my mother was missing, and likely dead, and therefore immune to the embarrassment of titillating knowledge, all such payments would cease. He once again flashed that lascivious smile and in just a few words suggested that while my mother might be immune, I certainly was not, and that if he were to reveal all that he knew my own parentage might itself be called into question. At this affront Saltonstall could no longer contain himself and ordered the man out of the office, citing that he had been friends with Allan Halsey, and I clearly had inherited the Halsey eyes. Furthermore, the lawyer began spouting language and invectives that even I wasn’t familiar with and reminded the corrupt physician that if he were to repeat such things to anyone else he would be seen in court charged with slander. Given that he had just admitted to nearly two decades of extortion, Saltonstall was quite sure that the authorities would be very interested in reviewing his personal finances, as well as those of the asylum during his tenure there.
Doctor Abbott stood and left, but as he did, he looked back and stared at me intensely. Finally, as if as an afterthought, he spoke. “You’re right, she does have the Halsey eyes. Those steel gray eyes with flecks of green are quite distinctive, and they’re the same thing your mother saw when she first looked at the thing that we kept in the cell nearly twenty years ago. ‘He has the Halsey eyes,’ she said.” He put on his hat and coat as he continued spouting vile insinuations. “You’ve inherited so much today, from your mother, your stepfather, even your mother’s husband, the man you think was your father. Are you sure that you’ve inherited your father’s eyes, or is it possible that they come from someone else, someone your mother never told you about? And if you’ve inherited his eyes, perhaps you’ve inherited other traits as well. Tell me, Miss Halsey-Griffith, have you ever been ill? Have you ever killed anyone?”
“No, Doctor, and I’ve never felt the need,” I said, “until today.”
He nodded and flashed that smile I had grown to hate. “No, I suppose not. The Terror was never sick either. He spent fifteen years half-naked in a cold and damp cell, living in the most vile of conditions, and not once did he ever become sick, nary a cold. Only time will tell if your breeding runs true.” With that he left, letting the door creak closed behind him.
Saltonstall immediately began apologizing profusely, but I quickly shut him down. I had dealt with men like Dr. Abbott before, and there was no sense in getting upset over what they said or tried to do. The best course was to stay wary and be prepared. Saltonstall was still fretting about the whole thing when I asked if we were done, and if so could he arrange for a car to take me home. This he dismissed with a wave of his hand and made it clear to me that the two of us were going to lunch together, and then he would take me home himself. We dined at some intimate place not far from his office. The lunch was cordial, and on several occasions my host commented that he had been friends with my father and my mother and that they both would be proud of the woman I had become. I thanked him, but didn’t really know whether he was telling the truth, or just being polite. He had been the family lawyer for the Griffiths and the Halseys so I suppose it was possible, but I have no memory of this man ever being at Griffith House before I was shipped off to The Hall School, and Mother certainly never mentioned him.
It was around two in the afternoon when I finally was brought home, and with me came a plethora of documents and paperwork that I was supposed to review and store in a safe place. Frankly I was too tired to deal with it all, and as I came through the door Amanda was there, clamoring to speak about Julia and Molly. Frustrated and exhausted, I made it plain that I was through paying for live-in domestic help at Griffith House, and if she wanted to she was free to pay their salaries out of her own pocket. This seemed to satisfy her and the two servants as well, who were situated just around the corner of the foyer where they thought I couldn’t see them. As the three of them all scurried back toward the kitchen I went upstairs and found solace in my bedroom. Strange how this house now belongs to me, but I feel so alienated in it. Amanda likes to say that I grew up here, that she and Molly and Julia were my family. The truth is I have no fond memories of this place, and it seemed that after I turned ten my mother had done nothing but find a way to usher me out the door. She never bothered to keep me around, to teach me how to run things. Instead she abandoned me, leaving me to lock myself in my room and stare at all this paperwork that now lies scattered on my desk.
How very odd. Just now I was flipping through the documents that Saltonstall gave to me and amidst the deeds and contracts and other documents I have found a letter addressed to me, clearly written in my mother’s handwriting. Why didn’t Saltonstall show me this before? I’m staring at it, my mind racing and overwhelmed with both elation and dread. Perhaps now I shall have some explanation as to why my mother abandoned me.
Later
I’ve read the letter. I remain confused as ever, but I understand a little and now am positive that my mother is alive! My mother, Elizabeth Halsey, missing these past few years, is alive, and she has much to explain to me.
CHAPTER 13
“The Satisfaction of Elizabeth Halsey”
From Her Letters May 2 1921
My dearest Megan,
I write this in the hopes that you can forgive me for what I have done. I have struggled with how to convey to you the truth, but what can I say to make you understand the events that force me to leave? How can I explain to you my motivations, my desires, and my needs; and my desperate wish to keep you away from them? I wish I did not have to tell you these things, but I must explain why I now choose to abandon you, I owe you that much at least.
As I write this, I think about how you have blossomed into a powerful and beautiful young woman. I always knew that you were extraordinary, and that your potential was vastly superior to those of your friends and schoolmates. The world is changing, and so too is the place of women in it, and I believe that you might help drive that change. It is for this reason that I sent you to be educated at the finest school I could find. I only hope that The Hall School has served you well. I know that you and your friend Asenath found the place to be an intellectual wasteland, and I know that the two of you often took leave, wandering the streets of Boston without a chaperone; I pray that such adventures have not brought you harm.
My reasons for leaving you have their roots with my father, your grandfather, Augustus Hoag. He was a great man, a pillar of the community and a fine and respected physician. He was also a dominating father, and I lived in fear of his wrath, which was dispensed swiftly through a leather riding crop. Had he not insisted on carrying that damned stick with him wherever he went he might still be alive today, but one cannot always expect a horse to submit to the crop favorably. You wo
uld have thought that his death would have brought me relief, but such was not the case. His loss left a strange hole inside me, and I longed for the return of his stern voice, his heavy hand, and his disapproving look. Without him I was free, but I longed for discipline, without it I felt incomplete. I have since read Jung, and I believe that I suffer from his proposed Electra complex. Perhaps someday I shall write the man and ask him to examine my case.
I was eighteen when David Griffith came to my mother and asked for my hand. The Griffiths are a fine family, proud, loyal, of means, but I had no interest in the boy. At twenty, David was a fine figure of a man, dashing in his uniform, well built, well spoken, and with a fine future ahead of him in the family business, which was then, as it is now, banking. A girl would be a fool to turn away from such an opportunity, to reject the man of wealth who offered her a life of luxury and security. Yet that is exactly what I did. I know you must be confused, for David Griffith was for so long the only father you knew, but he was not my true love; that was your father.
My mother found my rejection of David appalling. She suspected that I was suffering from a fever of the brain, or perhaps hysteria, and summoned one of Father’s colleagues to diagnose and cure me. Doctor Allan Halsey was decades older than me, a confirmed bachelor, and a man who knew how to handle women. He proved his ability to control our gender by putting my mother in her place when she attempted to interfere with his diagnosis. He was strong-willed, comfortable in his ways, but was not tolerant of nonsense. His manner was caring but forceful, subtle but direct. He praised and punished with equal rapidity. In many ways he reminded me of father, and after several months I grew to suspect that he had intentions toward me. Had Mother not died in a freak subway accident in New York, I am sure that he would have asked her for my hand. Shortly after her death, I became Mrs. Doctor Allan Halsey.