The Anatomy of Ghosts

by Andrew Taylor

  ‘I – yes. But it was not like that, I swear – I did not make interest with him for it – I merely sought an interview and I believe he mistook my motive.’

  ‘Very likely,’ Harry said. ‘But when you went over to Carbury’s camp, you burned your boats with Ricky, eh? And now Carbury’s dying, Ricky won’t do you any favours.’

  ‘But the information, Mr Archdale. I simply do not know what to do. It weighs on my conscience. Is it my duty as a Christian to tell someone or should I simply let it lie? Or perhaps I should see Mr Richardson and make a clean breast of everything?’

  Archdale sighed. The fresh air was making him hungry. ‘This information, Soresby – is it of a sort that would damage the college if it came out?’

  Soresby nodded.

  ‘Surely that would have some weight with Ricky?’

  ‘Perhaps not in this case.’

  Harry felt his bewilderment grow. Ricky identified his own interests with the college’s. If Carbury died, and he became the next Master, that identification of interests would strengthen rather than diminish.

  Unless there was something that Ricky thought was a greater good? Or was this not a matter of deriving benefit so much as satisfying hatred?

  He stared at Soresby’s pale, thin face, which was sprinkled with muddy freckles like small sultanas. The sizar’s expression reminded Harry of a stray dog fearing a kicking but hoping against all hope for a pat. It was true he was an able scholar and a good teacher; if Harry were going to pursue his studies any further, then Soresby’s assistance might be useful, though not irreplaceable. Over and above this, Harry felt that he had acquired without conscious volition a sort of responsibility for Soresby. It was as if he had patted the stray dog once or twice and the brute had responded by selecting him as his master throughout all eternity.

  ‘Damnation,’ he said aloud.

  ‘What’s wrong, Mr Archdale?’

  Harry opened his mouth to tell the fellow to go to the devil but, as he was about to speak, he glimpsed a way that might resolve the problem, or at least transfer it. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘If Carbury’s too ill to see you and Ricky hates you too much, there’s only one person who can be of any use. Only one person who can protect you: and that’s Lady Anne Oldershaw.’

  ‘But she’s in London, Mr Archdale, and I –’

  ‘I don’t mean you should go to her directly. That wouldn’t answer at all. But you could talk to her man Mr Holdsworth. He’s back in Jerusalem with Mr Oldershaw now, did you know? You may depend upon it, Mr Holdsworth can tell you what to do if anyone can.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Holdsworth,’ Elinor said.

  ‘And how is Dr Carbury, ma’am?’

  ‘He is awake now, and more comfortable in himself. He has just eaten a little soup. Susan and the nurse are changing his nightgown. He asked after you when he woke. I shall ring for Ben and send him to ask whether my husband is in a fit state to receive you.’

  ‘Shall I ring the bell?’ Holdsworth moved towards the rope that hung to the left of the fireplace.

  ‘No – one moment, if you please, sir. I have been turning over that … that other matter we discussed.’ Elinor paused, and through the open window of her sitting room came the chimes of the chapel clock working its way through the quarters before striking two. ‘It occurred to me that you might not find it easy to – to dispose of the materials we discussed earlier.’

  He bowed, thinking that she was a woman of such quick perceptions it was sometimes hard to keep up with her.

  ‘There is a brazier at the back of our little yard,’ she went on in a lower voice that made them conspirators. ‘The gardener uses it a good deal at this time of year and Ben too when there are things to be disposed of. Sometimes they leave it smouldering away all evening.’

  ‘So if something were burned after dark, say, no one would remark on it?’

  ‘It’s most unlikely it would even be noticed. At present the servants hardly stir from the house. When they retire, they are out of the way – Susan sleeps in an attic overlooking the front and Ben lodges in a cottage outside college.’ She frowned. ‘Besides, if there were any difficulty, they would do as I tell them.’

  ‘And the brazier – is it visible from the college gardens or any of the windows?’

  ‘It’s not overlooked at all. It’s quite secluded.’

  Holdsworth had already fixed in his mind that the best time to set to work would be while Whichcote was at supper. Assuming all went well, it would be better to move the valise entirely away from New Building, for Whichcote might well suspect that Holdsworth had had a hand in its removal.

  ‘Well, sir? Do you think it would answer?’

  ‘In many ways, yes, ma’am. But there is a difficulty. I cannot knock at your door in the evening and demand admittance without someone noticing. And to get here, I must pass the combination room or the hall, and Mr Whichcote might well –’

  ‘I have thought of that. I will make sure the gate over the bridge is unlocked, with the key on the ground beside the gatepost, the one nearer the oriental plane. All you would have to do is cross the bridge, open the gate and slip into the garden. If you lock the gate behind you, you will be safe from interruption.’

  He smiled at her, glad of the excuse. ‘I believe you have hit upon the perfect solution.’

  She smiled back, turning towards him, which showed the swanlike curve of her long neck. For an instant she seemed to him not at all like a woman whose husband lay dying a few yards away. The fact they were conspirators brought a dangerous sweetness in its train.

  Before he could stop himself, he took a step towards her and raised his hand, reaching for hers. Her face changed instantly. She rose abruptly from her chair and rang for Ben.

  Neither of them spoke. Holdsworth stared at an engraving on the wall. Elinor returned to her chair and picked up a book.

  When Ben came, she inquired whether the Master was ready to receive Mr Holdsworth. Shortly afterwards, the servant conducted Holdsworth along the passage to the sickroom.

  Susan opened the door when Ben knocked. She had a bundle of dirty sheets in her arms. Dr Carbury was in bed, propped up with pillows, but he waved feebly, beckoning Holdsworth towards him. His nightgown was very white and so was his nightcap, accentuating his grey skin, which hung in folds from the cheekbones as though the skull within had shrunk. His jaw was covered with greasy stubble, for he had not been shaved since being confined to bed. The nurse was tidying the bottles and pillboxes that littered the night table.

  Holdsworth approached the bed. The curtains were open and he glanced out at the sunlit court below, where Mr Miskin and Mr Crowley were deep in conversation. People might live and die in the place but Jerusalem itself continued, blandly indifferent. He began to make the conventional inquiries but Carbury cut him short. He tugged at the sleeve of the nurse’s gown.

  ‘Go away, woman.’

  ‘But, sir –’

  ‘Do as I say.’ His hand twitched on the bed, digging the horny nails into the coverlet. ‘You too, girl. Shut the door behind you.’

  Susan followed the nurse out of the room.

  ‘They tell me young Oldershaw is back,’ Carbury said, forcing the words out. ‘Safe and sound?’

  ‘Yes, sir. He seems himself again.’

  Carbury winced. ‘What ailed him?’

  ‘I believe that Mr Whichcote and the Holy Ghost Club had done him no good whatsoever. They had undermined his health and encouraged him to all sorts of folly and dissipation. And the death of Mrs Whichcote on the very night he joined the club quite overthrew him – it was the final straw. He believed he was in some sense responsible.’

  ‘Absurd.’ Carbury’s nails now scratched the freshly laundered sheet. ‘But I am heartily glad to hear he is himself again. What of Lady Anne?’

  ‘I have written to her, naturally, and so has Mr Frank and of course Mrs Carbury. She should have received our letters today.’

  ‘I would not wish her l
adyship to think ill of us, particularly now.’ Carbury’s head dropped to his chest. His eyelids closed.

  Holdsworth wondered whether he had fallen asleep, or into a swoon. He looked down at the invalid. ‘Sir, there is something else I must tell you. It concerns Mrs Whichcote.’

  Carbury’s head jerked up as if tugged by a string. ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘A curious circumstance has come to light,’ Holdsworth said. ‘I am at a loss how to explain it. On the night of her death, when she was at Lambourne House, the lady was wearing a particular pair of slippers. They were distinctive in colour and design. You may recall that when she was found in the Long Pond the following morning, she was wearing only a gown and torn stockings – her feet were bare.’

  ‘Well? What of it? No doubt she lost them on the way or they were washed into the culvert that drains the pond. What is this nonsense, Mr Holdsworth? I do not see the purpose of it. I am not well, sir, not well – would you have the goodness to ring the bell?’

  ‘One moment, if you please.’ An idea hovered like a ghost in a far corner of Holdsworth’s mind: something forgotten? A question to ask? But as soon as he was aware of it, it was gone. There was no time now to pin it down. ‘Pray hear me out.’

  ‘No, sir, the bell, I say.’

  ‘Forgive me, sir. I will not be long. The night-soil man found the slippers a day or two later. They were near the garden door of the Lodge. He knew they must be Mrs Whichcote’s. He’s used to finding unexpected trifles when he goes about his work, and he makes the best use of them he can. He reasoned that Mrs Whichcote, their owner, could no longer have a use for the slippers, so he cleaned them, had them mended, for they were much torn, and presented them to his wife.’

  Dr Carbury sank back against the pillows and let out a long, windy sigh. ‘Curious, perhaps, but nothing to be wondered at. Noctambulants cannot be judged by normal standards. The sleeping mind follows its own illogical motions. But enough, sir. I am weary.’

  ‘But I have good reason to believe that the lady was not walking in her sleep.’

  ‘Eh?’ Carbury’s head was drooping again. ‘I do wish you would not go on about it. You are fatiguing me.’

  ‘She was greatly distressed. Mr Whichcote had beaten her savagely that night. That is what drove her to flee to Jerusalem. I cannot believe that she would throw away her slippers. Why should the thought even enter her mind? Nor is it likely that she lost them. Not on a paved path in a place she knew so well by daylight.’

  Dr Carbury’s forefinger scratched the coverlet and his chin sank down on his chest. In his present state, did he realize what Holdsworth was implying? The gate to Jerusalem Lane was locked. The college itself was locked and guarded. The Master’s Lodge and its garden were locked within the college. The gate over the bridge was locked. A hortus conclusus, as Richardson had said with a touch of scholarly licence on Holdsworth’s first evening, within a hortus conclusus.

  ‘Suppose, sir,’ Holdsworth went on. ‘Suppose that Mrs Whichcote came running through the streets in her distress, looking for shelter here. She gained entry by the private gate to Jerusalem Lane. And then –’

  A gurgle deep in Dr Carbury’s throat interrupted Holdsworth in mid-flow. The head jerked up and down. The arms flailed. The body twitched under the covers. The right arm swept to one side, colliding with the night table, which rocked, sending the tray of medicines sliding to the floor.

  Holdsworth tugged the bell so hard that the rope broke. He ran to the door, opened it and called for help. Footsteps clattered on the stairs and in the hall below. Dr Carbury groaned and lay still.

  Holdsworth crossed the room to the bed. He bent over the man lying there and reached for the wrist to feel for the pulse.

  Dear God, have I killed him?

  44

  Nothing was simple in this matter of Sylvia Whichcote, Holdsworth thought, nothing was substantial. It was like mist or smoke. If you put out your hand to touch it, there was nothing there. But when your hand moved, your own action had the mysterious effect of changing the shape and appearance of whatever it was you had failed to grasp.

  In one way, there was consolation in the fact that the problem was none of his. Lady Anne had employed him to act on her behalf. He would hear from her tomorrow at the latest and she would almost certainly command him to bring Frank back to London. Her interest was her son, not the death of a woman she had never met.

  In the meantime, Holdsworth made a conscious effort to throw himself into other activities. He dined in college, where he sat between Mr Dow and Mr Crowley, and talked a little about the library and its shortcomings from the perspectives of their particular interests. But the main topic of conversation around the table was Dr Carbury and his illness. Holdsworth, who had seen him most recently, was much in demand as an eye-witness.

  ‘I understand from his servant that they almost despaired of his life when you were with him,’ Mr Richardson said. ‘Were you actually in his chamber?’

  ‘As it happens, yes – he suffered an acute spasm of pain, but fortunately it was brief.’

  ‘What brought it on?’

  ‘I cannot say, sir,’ Holdsworth said. ‘These things are a mystery to me.’

  Afterwards, he visited the library and worked on his survey of its contents and condition. Holdsworth had to look to his own future – if the late bishop’s collection were transferred to the college, someone would have to oversee the operation, and there was no reason why it should not be him. And why not? Had he not fulfilled his side of her ladyship’s bargain and brought about Frank Oldershaw’s cure?

  He worked steadily throughout the afternoon and the early evening until he heard the chapel clock striking seven. He put away his notes and walked across the court to Frank’s rooms. Frank himself was not at home, but Mulgrave was making everything ready for what he called a genteel little supper.

  ‘You’re setting three places,’ Holdsworth said, glancing at the table.

  ‘Yes, sir. Mr Frank asked Mr Archdale to join you.’

  Holdsworth took up a newspaper and settled on the window seat. After a few minutes he heard a gentle tapping at the sitting-room door, which he had left unfastened. Mulgrave was in the gyp room and did not hear. The door swung open.

  Whichcote’s footboy was outside. He jumped backward as he saw Holdsworth. ‘Beg pardon, your honour,’ he mumbled. ‘He’s to go out tonight.’

  Holdsworth threw down the paper and went to the door. ‘Mr Whichcote?’

  ‘Yes, sir. We’re to wait till after sunset so the bailiffs can’t nab him. We’re to sup at Mrs Phear’s. I brought a billet from her this morning.’

  Holdsworth motioned the boy into the room. ‘And you accompany him?’

  ‘Yes, sir, with the lantern to light him on the way back.’

  Holdsworth heard a faint movement behind him and turned. Mulgrave was standing in the doorway of the gyp room.

  ‘What is it?’ Holdsworth said.

  ‘I thought I heard a knocking, sir.’

  ‘You did – as you see.’

  Mulgrave bowed.

  Augustus stared at the carpet. ‘Can’t stay, sir,’ he said. ‘Master sent me out for some wine.’

  Holdsworth accompanied Augustus to the door. On the landing outside, he said, pitching his voice so low that only the boy could hear, ‘Are matters otherwise unaltered? Is your master at work in the same place? And does he leave his papers in that valise?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But for God’s sake, if he finds me out I’m as good as dead. He must not know.’

  Augustus pulled back and jerked his head like a nervous horse. He slipped down the stairs, keeping close to the wall. Holdsworth went back inside and closed the door. Mulgrave was polishing the glasses on the table.

  ‘You did not see the boy,’ Holdsworth said.

  ‘No, sir.’ Mulgrave continued to polish the glass he was holding. ‘Mr Whichcote’s footboy.’ He set down the glass and limped towards the door of the gyp room.

/>   ‘What’s it to you?’ Holdsworth asked.

  Mulgrave turned. ‘Nothing, sir. Nothing in the world. A tolerably promising lad, I find.’

  ‘I saw Soresby today,’ Archdale said. ‘I talked to him.’

  Frank dropped his fork with a clatter. ‘The devil you did. So he’s hiding with Uncle Tom Turdman?’

  ‘Probably – I don’t know. He didn’t say.’ Harry turned to Holdsworth. ‘But there’s something he wishes to tell you, sir. He has some information – I don’t know what it is – and he’s uneasy about it.’

  They were waiting on themselves – Mulgrave had been sent away. None of them had eaten much, though Frank and Harry Archdale had drunk a good deal.

  ‘And is this why he’s in such a difficulty now?’ Holdsworth asked.

  ‘I don’t know. But it weighs heavily on him. I – I took the liberty of suggesting he confide in you, as you are in a manner of speaking a neutral observer, and – and you are here on behalf of her ladyship.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’ Frank said.

  Harry shrugged. ‘If anyone has the power to make things right for Soresby, to see the poor scrub is fairly treated, it’s her ladyship.’

  ‘I am happy to meet him,’ Holdsworth said. ‘Where?’

  ‘He begged me to inquire whether it would be convenient for you to call in at Mr Turpin’s Coffee House tomorrow. It is in St John’s Lane, at the Round Church end. He’ll be waiting there in the morning between eleven and twelve, and he would be infinitely obliged if you could find the time to see him.’

  ‘Ha!’ Frank said with a leer. ‘An assignation!’

  Holdsworth said he would see what could be done. ‘Assignation’, an ugly word, made him think of Elinor, not Soresby. He might see her before the evening was done.

  The meal proceeded with little conversation. Frank kept glancing at the clock. Harry, who knew nothing of the proposed expedition after supper, made his excuses and withdrew, saying with a virtuous air that he hoped to do a little reading before bedtime.