The Dark Water

by David Pirie

  The Doctor had opened his eyes now and turned back to me. ‘But I do not for a minute imagine he is here alone. Even our enemy could not concoct such a thing from some hideout in the woods. And it is not his style anyway. Which means, Doyle, one of these people, any of them, is harbouring him. And we must necessarily be particularly suspicious of those with London connections. I have not yet established if and how that applies to Edward Norman or Hare, but it most certainly applies to Sir Walter (who claims that his mysterious guest was a mistress from the capital), Mrs Marner, her maid Ellie Barnes, Langton and, yes I am afraid, Charlotte Jefford. Therefore, if she left here, it would be doubly fortunate for her and for us.’

  There was nothing more to say and we agreed to disagree. Of course I could see some cold logic in his position but it seemed, if anything, overly logical, and made little allowance for character and probability.

  Next day, after a good night’s sleep, Bell and I ate our breakfast without any reference to the discussion of the night before. Inspector Langton entered the dining room, anxious to know whether we had discovered anything further about the mystery. He seemed a little disappointed when Bell merely replied that he had sent an urgent telegram to Lowestoft and would journey there that afternoon while this morning he wished Langton to show us Harding’s accommodation and revisit the house with the bloodstain.

  Outside, it was blustery but fair and, though the marsh lay between us and the sea, I could hear the sound of breakers on the wind. Harding went on ahead but, as we walked up the road away from the inn, there were two figures before us, pointing out over the marsh at a flock of seabirds. The figures turned and I recognised the florid if youthful features of Edward Norman, who smiled, though his son Tommy only stared at us with hostility. ‘How lucky I am to catch you, for I wish you to lunch with us today,’ Norman said, wringing his hands in his characteristically unctuous gesture. ‘Nella has commanded it and Nella will not be gainsaid.’

  Though no doubt kindly meant, I cannot say that I relished such a prospect, but it fitted our plans and the invitation was accepted before we went on our way. Evidently this family was not greatly disturbed by the news of Harding’s death.

  Harding had, it turned out, lived alone in a small cottage on the Monk estate. It was a bleak situation and little more than one room, for he took his meals with the servants in the main house. A small bed lay in the window with some clothes and a few letters and personal things.

  Bell went through all of these with extreme care but Langton showed impatience for he had already looked at them. ‘There is something from his sister, we have written to her ourselves, and some cuttings from newspapers about forestry, woodcraft and livestock. You will find nothing of interest there, Dr Bell.’

  Bell, however, studied them at great length, lingering over some passages. After that, he commenced a very thorough search of the house. It was while he was reaching under the bed that he pulled something out. I moved forward hopefully, but once again all he had was some broken sticks, little more than pieces of firewood. Bell frowned at them but finally cast them aside.

  After that, we made our way back to Jefford’s house. I must confess I felt a chill the moment I saw that hideous orchard with the bent, stunted trees. The temperature seemed to drop as soon as you came anywhere near the place.

  And the chill was just as evident as Langton unlocked the door and we entered. I have often had to make do without servants, but if ever a house cried out for someone to tend its fires and its beds and give the place some heart it was The Glebe. Soon we stood again in that grim empty room with the stain. Bell made his way to the far corner of the room where he turned his back to the wall and stood facing the stain. He stayed like that for a very long time. Once he closed his eyes and then he opened them again as if wanting to get a fresh view of the place and that stain, which, although somewhat dark and theatrical, was beginning to trouble me far more than bright crimson would have done.

  Then he moved around the room, taking great interest in the chimney. ‘You will find nothing there, sir,’ said Langton. ‘I paid special attention to the fireplace naturally. It is quite empty and solid brick. No apertures, no spaces, nowhere to hide.’

  ‘Yes, I think I would agree with you, Inspector,’ replied Bell. ‘It seems to hold no secrets.’

  ‘Which leaves only plaster and flagstones,’ said Langton.

  But Bell, who had continued his circumnavigation of the room, had stopped and was studying something on the skirting, quite close to the door. He bent down and took it up. From what I could see it was a tiny human hair, very fair.

  After studying it closely, the Doctor put it carefully away. Then he announced that he wished to go through every personal object in the place. As I have already stated there were not many: some novels, some fairly opulent clothes; no personal papers or letters, for it seems Jefford had not used the place in this way or, if he had, they were destroyed.

  Langton had already protested there was nothing of interest, even the clothes had been searched, but Bell insisted on going through every garment. They were all empty but it seemed a side pocket on one of the jackets had been overlooked, for it contained a folded and half-torn piece of paper. Naturally all of us had hopes it was a letter but to our irritation it turned out there was no writing on it at all. One side was blank and on the other was a rather feeble drawing of a plant or a flower, something like a six-leaf clover. We stared at it for a moment but could make nothing of it.

  Bell was still musing over the illustration as we said goodbye to Langton, for the Doctor had now decided he wished to interview Mrs Marner’s maid.

  ‘From everything I have heard about Jefford, he scarcely seems the kind of man to indulge in nature sketches,’ he said to me as we walked to the Marner house. ‘It is a most odd find.’

  The interview with Ellie Barnes proved to be very frustrating. Mrs Marner, her usual graceful self, acknowledged how oddly the girl was behaving as she led us through to a small anti-chamber where Ellie waited. ‘She does not seem nearly as upset as I feared by Colin Harding’s death. But she is distracted and stares out of the window.’ With that she handed us the one-word note Ellie had received the previous day. Bell looked at it carefully before we entered.

  The envelope had been delivered by hand. The message, like the girl’s name on the envelope, was scrawled in big ugly capitals.

  As we opened the door, Ellie was sitting at a little stool where she evidently did her mending, her little pixie’s head cast down. ‘Now, Ellie,’ said Mrs Marner, ‘Dr Bell and Dr Doyle are here to see us, and you must answer whatever they wish.’

  Ellie nodded but did not look up and Mrs Marner withdrew. The Doctor began his questioning very softly and kindly. He emphasised she was in no trouble, that he understood some stupid people had accused her of mischief, that she would be protected and had no need to go out, for he understood all provisions could be delivered. But he was especially keen to know about all her dealings with Mr Harding.

  At first she said almost nothing. No matter how it was phrased and how many times he asked, we were learning very little: that she had been friends with Colin Harding, that she had sometimes seen him, that she might have seen him on the night of the first. It was hard to extract anything definite. She was not even prepared to admit she was frightened, though that certainly seemed to be the case.

  During the interview her cat came out of its basket and jumped up on her knee and her hand stroked its head but it flinched slightly and suddenly she seemed to recall our presence and pushed it away.

  Given all of this, I expected Bell to allay her fears by firmly denouncing these stupid superstitions. After all, he had already counselled Langton to come down hard on any wild talk. But to my amazement, instead he appeared to take them entirely seriously.

  ‘You must tell me,’ he said, ‘if Mr Harding practised witchcraft. Did he have power?’

  She shook her head violently. I was bemused by this line but he persisted.
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br />   ‘He had found a rune, is that not so?’

  She trembled at this. ‘No, I never said.’

  ‘You must tell me,’ said the Doctor.

  She said nothing. He pressed again. ‘I take these things very seriously. What did he fear?’

  ‘That he would be drowned,’ she said at last.

  ‘And was it because of magic?’ he persisted.

  ‘I cannot say.’ She shook her head violently.

  ‘But he did find something, did he not, and it frightened him?’ She nodded. ‘A spell?’ said Bell. ‘Did you see it? What did it look like?’

  ‘Letters and shapes.’

  ‘Where is it now?’

  She shook her head, evidently not knowing. ‘He feared it meant he would be drowned. Did it, sir?’ She looked up at him pitifully.

  ‘Only in his mind,’ said Bell, at last returning a little sanity to the conversation. ‘But was there more than this, Ellie?’

  She paused and then she nodded. ‘Are you sure Mr Harding is dead?’

  Bell’s eyes narrowed. ‘I can be utterly sure. Why?’

  She smiled and it was an unnerving smile. ‘Because, sir, I have every reason to think he may yet live.’

  THE SOLICITOR’S CHILDREN

  Bell tried not to react. Indeed he paused and then asked why she might think this.

  ‘Once, sir,’ she said, ‘you admit to the power there are so many things. For if such a power could drown him by magic, then might it not …?’ Bell nodded for her to continue. ‘Might it not,’ she repeated, ‘bring him back?’

  ‘Do you know a spell to do it, Ellie?’ he said.

  ‘They talk of it in books,’ she said. ‘That is what I know.’

  ‘I fear he will not be back, Ellie,’ said Bell. ‘At least not in this world.’

  This was effectively the end of the interview, for we could get little more. Bell told Ellie she must try not to worry and put these things out of her head for, once the solution was known, nobody would think her guilty of anything. But he did stress one point. ‘I do not think you should leave this house. Not for the moment. Do you understand that?’ She nodded.

  Later, Mrs Marner offered us tea, which we declined, but we did share some words with her and again I was surprised to hear Bell ask her about witchcraft. She smiled gravely in her pretty way. ‘Oh we are a very superstitious profession, Dr Bell. I rule nothing of that kind out.’ Fortunately it seemed, she had a sister arriving soon to help with things, a woman who had been many times before and was well liked in the village. This, we thought, would take some of the pressure off this little household. But before we left, the Doctor repeated the same instruction to her as he had to Ellie, namely that on no account should her maid leave the house. Not for any reason.

  We returned to the inn before our luncheon engagement with the Normans, and Bell was extremely irritated to find there was no reply to his telegram. ‘I must go to Lowestoft later in any case,’ he told me as we walked to the Norman house.

  It was a squat ivy-covered building where a tall maid opened the door. Almost at once we were greeted by Edward Norman, who came out of the dining room wringing his hands. ‘Ah you are welcome,’ he said. ‘Nella, they are here. It is Arthur and Joseph.’ And soon we were shaking hands with a woman with short grey hair, who asked us to come through to dine.

  It might have been thought from our host’s free use of Christian names that the meal would be an informal affair. In fact, it was the opposite. The place was not grand but the service and atmosphere were exceptionally formal and very slow. Tommy, whose fondness for dead birds we had already witnessed, had two much younger sisters, Jenny and Dora, and all three sat at the table as correctly as if they had been wax dummies. Even so, their parents chided them quietly yet repeatedly for entirely imaginary transgressions as when Jenny’s elbow almost touched a plate or a mouthful of Tommy’s was chewed too slowly.

  The result was one of the most excruciating meals I have ever eaten, indeed it was less tolerable than many I have consumed under circumstances of great discomfort or even danger. While our hosts addressed us in apparently cordial tones, asking us about ourselves and commenting on their own good fortune, the whole place had about it a sense of the ultimate frustration. Norman himself kept parading the virtues of his children in an incessant catalogue, which was clearly agony for the children themselves. We learnt of Tommy’s skill at observation, of Jenny’s sewing. Of Dora’s talent for baking pies. ‘I am a little worried about Tommy’s chest though,’ said Norman. ‘He is so often in wet places and he wheezes, do you not, Tommy? Yet you will not go to Dr Bulweather. Though I suspect you will give in when we threaten the stick. Or we get Inspector Langton to put you in his cell. You do not like him coming, do you? It is a wonder these days children will do anything at all. Dora does what she is told, do you not?’ Dora beamed.

  And so the meal continued in this endless way. After a time, I longed to see one of the children pick a plate up and smash it against the wall or cry out in rage. At last, Bell was able to turn the conversation to London, for I was sure we were there to see if Norman had any connections to interest us. ‘Ah yes,’ said our host, ‘I visit the great capital regularly, for my late father had some property there. I would often meet with Jefford, which is why I do not take the matter as seriously as some, for I am used to his pranks and games.’

  Of course I could see the Doctor’s interest quicken. And when at last the meal had ended and the children had gone to play (though I could not even begin to imagine what form of’play’ was permitted in this oppressive place), Bell sat down in the overheated drawing room with Norman and returned to the subject.

  I am sure the Doctor had calculated there were two issues at stake. The first was the possibility Norman himself had some involvement, for his contacts with London and Jefford meant he must now be added to the list of suspects. I myself found no great difficulty in seeing the father of this horrific household being implicated in some way. But there was another issue entirely. Assuming his innocence, was it not possible he could shed light on Jefford’s London companions? Perhaps he had even met Cream himself.

  At first, the questioning seemed to go promisingly. Norman talked with amusement of Jefford’s endless gambling and his capacity to offer wagers of the most outrageous kind. But when pressed for details of these activities or his other acquaintances, the man’s manner became irritatingly coy and superior. ‘Ah no,’ he smirked, ‘you will not lure me there, these are gentlemen’s confidences, Dr Bell. When gentlemen go out to play, they have their own rules and their own little secrets. I cannot possibly betray such things, but you are a man of the world and I am sure you can imagine some of the more interesting activities of gentlemen at their leisure.’

  This tone was as unexpected as it was infuriating, all the more so in the light of the oppressive atmosphere of his house which we had been enduring for the past two hours. In the event, Bell did not press the matter but pretended an interest in the local architecture so he could investigate the rest of the house.

  ‘What a household,’ Bell said to me with open disgust as we made our way back along the road.

  ‘Could you not have demanded he answer your questions?’ I asked, for I would love to have seen the man’s monstrous complacency pricked. ‘Even Sir Walter did so in the end.’

  ‘I was tempted to try, Doyle, but Norman is a solicitor who would no doubt make great play of his rights and of the fact we cannot yet prove any crime has been committed. At least I am sure if Cream were ever in that house, he is not there now. We will come back to Mr Norman.’

  As we walked towards the inn, where already we could see the cab that would take Bell to Lowestoft, I noticed that inspite of our lunch the Doctor was in better spirits than he had been all day. ‘I believe,’ he said, ‘Mrs Marner’s maid has a solution to this, if she would but tell us, and perhaps we will have another attempt later. The Norman household too holds great points of interest, especially the father’s t
reatment of his children. I hope to be back not too long after dark, Doyle, and would ask only that you field any messages that arrive. But I am glad to tell you we are making progress.’ And he moved off to confer with the driver.

  I had decided to walk out that afternoon, wanting the air and the isolation. For reasons of my own, I am not fond of beaches but I forced myself to explore a little of the Dunwich shingle and it was good to feel the wind on my face and smell the salt in the breeze. Because it was a blustery day, the waves were huge and white clouds scudded across the blue sky. After a time, I turned around from the sea and came back to the little path which led up to the cliffs.

  Soon I had climbed through the trees to that extraordinary spot where the ruined church stood on the very edge of the cliff. Here again were the cracked and mossy gravestones, those closest to the edge at a perilous angle as the wind moaned in the trees behind me. But I took some care not to go too near the drop.

  After a time, I plunged on, trying as far as possible to keep to the cliff and not walk inland. Often it was hard but there was a path of a kind and I pressed on with the booming surf below on my left. I suppose it was foolish weather to have chosen for such an excursion, for a freak gust might have taken me over the edge, but the view was extraordinary. Stretched out below on my left was the rough sea and pounding waves, around me the blowing grass, above a turbulent blue and grey sky.