"I was too ashamed to speak about it to anyone. I never even discussed it with Emily. I don't know how it came out with George . . . it just did. I . . . couldn't tell you, Colin."
"Why?” he scorned. “Were you afraid I'd laugh at you?"
"I . . . I don't know. I don't believe I could have stood it if you had. I honestly can't answer you, Colin. I expect it was partly because I didn't think you'd understand."
"Ahhhh,” growled Colin through a passionate tremor, “well let me tell you something, Elliot, I didn't laugh, goddamn you. I cried! That's why I wasn't here in the conservatory afterward like I said I'd be. Didn't you ever wonder?"
The vicar slowly raised his head and looked him in the eyes.
Colin nodded. “Yes, Elliot,” he said, “I dragged myself out on the south moor and cried my heart dry. And then I couldn't face you, my friend."
Elliot was incredulous. “You've known all this while and said nothing?"
Colin shrugged emptily. “You didn't want me to know. The least I could do was respect your privacy."
Thunderstruck, Elliot stared. “But, Colin, that was fifteen years ago."
"I know."
"You've known for fifteen years? Kyrie eleison!"
Colin nodded again. “And I've never stopped crying inside over the hurt—over the horror you must have been suffering—over the nightmare of the thing itself. Elliot, what do I say to you? I'm so damn bloody sorry."
Overcome, all that escaped the vicar's lips was a low, tremulous groan.
Colin hesitated. He set the empty snifter down and raked his hair as though he expected the motion to somehow reattach the mask, and when he spoke again his voice sliced through the quiet with an edge. “Elliot, is that sort of thing still going on?” he murmured.
"What sort of thing?"
Colin hesitated again swallowing dry, but that didn't erase the quiver in his voice. “Are you still taking your sexual pleasures from my dead sister's ghost?"
The vicar stared. “That's all I've got,” he said, “that's all I've ever had."
"Christ Almighty! But you can't mean—"
"Colin, please! I'm not going to elaborate. God knows it's more than I can bear as it is without giving it substance with words."
"Why have you never confided in me? In all these years, why have you never come to me—told me?” groaned Colin. “And don't tell me you don't know why. I won't buy it—you have to know why."
"Shame,” whispered the vicar.
"You told Howard, though, didn't you?"
"That's different. George is a doctor."
Colin threw his arm in the air and nodded deeply. “Oh, I see,” he snarled sarcastically, “and just what has he healed, eh? Jesus!"
"There is no healing to be had for such as this, lest you cut this damned heart out of me. And even at that—lame as it is—I've no doubt in my mind that the wretched thing would beat on its own—still wanting her."
"Shame!” moaned Colin, reflecting on it. “How, after half of what you've seen me through, can you sit there and use shame as an excuse for struggling with such as this on your own all these years?"
"This is different, Colin."
"Why have you told me now? Why now, Elliot?"
The vicar's breath caught and he chose his words carefully. “I sense some sort of catastrophe here, Colin,” he murmured. “I can taste it as though it were something to be chewed and swallowed—and have done since the day you came into that church. There's something that you desperately want to tell me, but you're afraid. If I can tell you this, my friend, you can tell me anything!"
"Given to premonitions now are you?” Colin said tersely.
"I've always been given to premonitions—ever since that demon came into our midst."
"You're still of a mind that the bastard's some kind of satanic entity aren't you, Elliot?"
The vicar nodded. “I've never really gotten into that in depth with you because I didn't want to give my fears in that regard substance with words, either. That doesn't matter anymore, however. They've gained substance without my input. I've had twenty years to come to my conclusions, and they're hardly without Biblical precedent."
"Let's hear them, then."
"Don't misunderstand me, Colin, Malcolm is mortal enough. I believe that Mary's preoccupation with the occult among the Gypsies made her vulnerable to rape. Her dabbling in the black arts was hardly harmless adolescent curiosity. Albeit begun innocently enough, she was playing with hell's fire long before I ever came here, and your father made an idle purchase in me. I was too inexperienced to deal with it.
"As to Malcolm, I'm certain that the demons who drove your sister mad found a host elsewhere when she passed on because her poor tormented soul was too used up to feed upon—too inept to bind them to the spirit plane after her death. Believe me, my friend, I'm praying with all my soul that I'm wrong, but I believe that host was Malcolm, and that, too, is my fault—and my greatest guilt because I let her die with her demons, Colin. In my selfishness, inadequacy, and despair, I didn't recognize them. I didn't exorcize them while she lived, God help me, and that I fear has set them free.
"This sort of thing is hardly new you know. Demons have been meddling with the sanity of mankind through possession since the dawn of time. If you would only read the Scriptures, Colin, you would see that Jesus recognized it, and He set the precedent for dealing with it. He even taught the method to his disciples, but it's dangerous, and difficult—for some too difficult. It takes extraordinary faith. He meant us to have the knowledge, but thanks to our intellectual evolution we are far too sophisticated today to give credence to demonic interference among us, which is why such evils continue. But you needn't take my word. If you want proof, all you need do is browse through a madhouse. The weak what demons choose and cannot conquer . . . they drive mad."
Colin didn't answer him. He neither refuted his opinions nor upheld them, and Elliot studied his clouded expression with his firm chin tilted. “You aren't going to tell me are you?” He knew.
Colin's faraway stare shifted. “There's nothing to tell,” he said looking away.
The vicar was on the verge of fresh argument when George Howard came into the room, his angry voice preceding him. “Colin Chapin, what the devil's going on here?” he barked. “That's the nastiest looking nose I've seen in thirty years. What in hell were you about? Were you trying to kill the poor bastard again?"
"I've considered the thought,” said Colin stoically. “Is he fit for hospital?"
"No!” said the doctor. “It'll mend without that, thank God."
"Then it isn't quite nasty enough,” snarled Colin.
"What's gotten into you, Chapin?” snapped Howard, his white mustache twitching. “Have you come down to brawling like a common laborer now? Well, let me tell you, I've no time to waste upon rowdies. Half the village is down with the bloody flux, and I'm out here again picking up after your drunken brawls."
Colin turned to the vicar. “Didn't you tell him what happened?"
"Not actually . . ."
"Tell him!"
The vicar cast Colin a reluctant glance, but his intractable eyes repeated the order.
"Malcolm deserved a reprisal, George,” Elliot faltered, “and I started it, not Colin."
"You started it?” flashed the doctor.
"Malcolm deliberately provoked us. He was looking for a fight, and he said something rather . . . indelicate in Mrs. Chapin's company that neither of us could let go by. A marriage license doesn't give a man the right to humiliate his wife with obscenities in company, George."
"Indeed? Well, just what the devil did he say?"
"I'd rather not repeat it,” said the vicar. “You've my word it wasn't fit for the ears of a lady."
Colin laughed and stepped forward. “Amongst other things, he called me a cocksman, I believe,” he said dryly.
"Ha,” popped the doctor. “And for that you broke the poor blighter's nose? I quite agree with him."
&n
bsp; "Has all England lost its chivalry?” cried the vicar, throwing wild arms in the air. “True or false, he had no right to say such a thing in front of Mrs. Chapin, George, and that was by no means the extent of it. Fifty years ago he'd have been shot for less—without the rest of what went on in that hall here tonight, and you bloody well know it."
The doctor made a guttural sound and tugged on his side-whiskers. “Granted, but the punishment here hardly fits the crime, Elliot. That young man upstairs is in a bad way, and awfully big about the whole business if you ask me.” He turned to Colin. “You've spoiled that handsome face for him you know,” he said. “That's going to be quite the sight when it's healed, and you've come off damn lucky, Chapin, considering. If your nephew were a different sort of chap he could well press charges over something like this and make a sticky mess of it. Do you know what he said?"
Colin strolled back to the table and leaned on the edge of it again. “I've no idea,” he said, “but I've no doubt in my mind that you'll enlighten me."
The doctor arched a bushy brow and pursed rigid lips. “He said he had a bit too much wine and behaved like a boor. He admitted he deserved a trimming and intends to make full apology to you, by the way."
"Bastard!” spat Colin, his whole body delivering the word.
The doctor brought his fist down on the table. “Now see here, I'm warning you, Chapin, I don't like the smell of this. I know how you feel about Malcolm. I've always known. In case you've forgotten, I brought him into this world."
"And God forgive you for it!” flashed Colin.
"You are a bounder,” the doctor breathed, taking a step back from him.
"I've never denied that,” said Colin with pride. “Where Malcolm's concerned I'm a hell of a lot worse than a bounder, sir, but not without cause, and certainly not in this. I've never permitted a lady—or a whore—to bear insult in my presence, let alone under my roof. To that extent, if nothing else, I still remain a gentleman.
"Now then, the affairs in my house are my own concern. Whoever enters here does so with respect for that or suffers the consequences. I am not a schoolboy to be slapped on the wrist with a measure—not by you or anyone else. If Malcolm's had a dressing down, you can be damn sure he bloody well earned it."
"And Mrs. Chapin?” said the doctor hotly. “I suppose she deserves the state she's in just now as well?"
Colin tensed, trying to hide the panic that froze him cold and drained his color. “What's the matter with Mrs. Chapin?” he said, feigning indifference.
"She's suffered a mild collapse,” said the doctor. “The sight of that nose of her husband's, so she says.” He shook his head skeptically. “But I've formed my own opinions on that score. She's frightened to death, and I can certainly see why. The mere mention of your name drives that girl to aberration. I've left something to quiet her. She'll sleep some now. ‘Tisn't serious, but it could be if that sort of thing keeps up out here.
"Malcolm's told me he's planning to take her off to London tomorrow on holiday ‘til the end of next week. He's asked me to have a coach sent ‘round from the livery first thing in the morning. Ha, some holiday that's going to be in his condition. At any rate, I heartily agree. I don't like the look of her any more than I like the look of him."
His sharp eyes hardened beneath their wrinkled lids. “Despite your lot, that nephew of yours has become quite a respectable fellow. That you refuse to see it amazes me, Chapin. Why, he's up there right now looking after that pretty wife of his like a mother hen. You'd think it was her nose you'd shattered."
Colin swallowed dry. “Just what is wrong with her, Howard?” he said guardedly.
"She's pregnant,” said the doctor, “I'd stake my reputation upon it."
Colin swayed and clutched so severely that his bones snapped. He was glad of the table beneath him, for right then he couldn't have stood on his own. The glass in his hand trembled, and his dilated eyes burned toward the doctor, but he said nothing. Howard's words had stricken him dumb.
"Ahhh, dear God!” groaned the vicar turning away.
Colin sipped from the snifter in his hand. Paralyzed though he was, he wasn't able to maintain eye contact with the doctor's penetrating scowl, but somehow he spoke. “You've examined her, then?” he said around another swallow to hide what he knew must be in his face.
"No, I haven't,” said Howard, “I don't have to. Christ, I've never once been wrong in that area. I've brought enough females through childbirth in my time. I ought to be able to recognize a pregnant woman when I see one. I've been coming into this house bloody near daily over the past two months. I've watched her color turn, her eyes darken, and her waistline thicken steadily these past few weeks right on schedule. I'd say she's close to three months gone."
Colin hesitated, taking a deep swallow from the glass. “You've . . . told them that then have you?” A hopeless quiver strained his voice.
"No, I haven't,” barked the doctor. “She knows, I'll wager. She flatly refused an examination—insisted I tend her husband. My guess is she doesn't want to break the news to him under these circumstances. Can't say as I blame her. I told Malcolm to bring her ‘round to the office for a checkup when they get back. I'll be seeing her soon enough, I expect. She's suffering the usual discomforts I dare say. From the look of her, like as not, he'll guess on his own."
All at once he gave a start and narrowed his eyes. “Look here, Chapin, why the inquiry? What's it to you, eh?"
Colin's head flashed toward him and rage worked his stiff jaw. “You brought it up, Howard,” he spat, “bragging about your diagnostic expertise."
"Ummmmm, so I did,” growled the doctor, “to make a point, Chapin. That's a terrified young woman up in that room, and you're what's terrifying her. She evidently knows you're after her husband's blood, and let me tell you, I don't intend to sit by and let the inevitable happen—ohhhh, no!"
"George,” the vicar interrupted, monitoring Colin's unreadable expression.
"Christ, be still, Elliot! You'd defend this man if he did murder on the palace lawn at midday. I, my good vicar, am hardly so inclined."
"But George . . ."
"No, Elliot. This whole damn thing leaves a bad taste after it, and you can be assured that the constable will have my full account first thing in the morning. I've had enough of this out here—enough!"
Colin slid off the table. “How much do I owe you for your services here tonight, Howard?” he snarled.
The doctor made a laughing sound that more closely resembled a bark and offered no smile along with it. “Nothing,” he pronounced. “Malcolm's paid my fee."
"I see,” said Colin, his voice become dangerously calm. “All right, Howard, you go right ahead and account to whomever you please. Go straight to the bloody Yard with it for all I care. There were plenty of witnesses to what happened in that dining room tonight. I've a houseguest, in case you've forgotten. Ira Stanley was present. So if you're set upon making an ass of yourself go right ahead. I certainly won't stand in your way.” He turned to the vicar. “Elliot, get him out of here,” he thundered.
The vicar took Howard's arm, but he wrenched it free. “If there's another row at Cragmoor, Chapin,” he roared, his finger wagging, “don't send for me. Go directly to the constable, because that's exactly what I'll do the minute I get wind of it. Hereafter you can let him tend your wounded."
"Get out,” snarled Colin. “Elliot, for God's sake get him out of here,” he demanded, anxious to have the doctor away before his diagnosis of Jean could reach Malcolm's ears by accident.
The vicar led Howard toward the arch eyeing Colin with a sidelong glance as he refilled his snifter and flushed the liquor down savagely. He was sorry that he hadn't let the doctor come on his own. He didn't want to leave Colin then. Though he didn't understand the awful look in his eyes, it frightened him.
"I'll be back, Colin,” he promised, “and you may as well know I'm going to stay right here until the bastard is out of this house tomorrow."
/> But Colin didn't answer. He'd turned his back on them searching his snifter, and he didn't even hear the rasping echo of Howard's gruff warnings, or the racket of the hasty out-of-step footfalls carrying them away.
* * * *
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Forty-eight
* * * *
The following morning Malcolm and Jean left for London in the company of Ira Stanley. Colin watched from the glass wall in the conservatory as the coach-and-four sent around by the livery came to collect them and sped off parting a dense black fog. Crucified there against the panes he strained frantic eyes toward the road, trying to part the mist that had swallowed them long after it had disappeared from view.
Puzzled, the vicar took a chill looking on. His mind cried out for the answers to so many questions. Paramount among them was, why Colin wasn't rejoicing that they'd gone, and why he wasn't scrambling to throw their belongings into the drive and bar the doors against their return? But he knew he would learn nothing from the empty shell that stood before those windows. Colin was unaware of his presence. It was as if he had left his body—as if his spirit had melted into the mist just as the coach had done.
After awhile, in utter dismay, Elliot stole away silently and returned to St. Michael's vicarage. Colin wasn't even aware he'd been there much less that he'd gone. Panic held his reason hostage then, and only one thing penetrated his paralyzed brain: ‘she's pregnant'!
Three days later when Elliot returned to Cragmoor, it was to find that Colin had locked himself in the study with a fully stocked liquor cabinet, bent upon total saturation. After a barrage of tearful lamentations from Amy Croft he hurried to the study and tried the knob, but the door was locked. He called out, but only a rustling sound came from within, and he pounded on the door with both fists clenched.
"Colin, I know you're in there—open the door."
Silence.
"Colin, for the love of heaven—answer me."
Silence.
"How long have you been in there? Mrs. Croft says you've had no food in two days.” He pounded again. “Colin, open this door!"
Rape of the Soul Page 62