Inside, Colin's glazed eyes smoldered toward the echoing clamor that shook the thick door panels while he took a swallow from the snifter in his hand. He wiped his lips, drained the bottle beside him, and tossed it on the floor at his feet. It fell to the carpet with a dull, hollow thud triggering another assault on the groaning panels.
"Colin, open the door!"
Ignoring him, Colin got to his feet and staggered to the liquor cabinet.
In the hallway the vicar heard the tinkle of glass against glass, the crash of the liquor cabinet doors slamming shut rattling more glasses, and then the unsteady rustle of Colin's feet tripping over the carpet, displacing empty bottles in his path.
He pounded again. “Colin, this is childish. Let me in."
"Go away,” said the husky voice he scarcely recognized as Colin's—the same deadly voice he'd come to know so well that always warned of danger, like a snake's rattle.
Elliot delivered another attack on the creaking wood with both fists. “Colin, I won't go away—not until you open this door,” he shouted.
"Stay there, then,” spat the muffled voice from the other side.
"Oh, Colin, what is all this? It's scarcely ten in the morning. Have you lost your reason?"
Silence.
The vicar leaned close to door listening again. There was no sound within. He walked away, paced there a moment, and strode back to the door. “Colin! You answer me,” he thundered.
But still there was silence, and he hurried along the entrance hall, ran out of the house, and plowed through the gray morning mist to the study terrace. The doors were locked there as well, and he rattled them fiercely trying to see through the draperies without success.
"Get away from there, damn you! Goddamn you, get away,” snarled the lethal voice inside. “You can't get in, Elliot, they're bolted top and bottom, and you'd best thank your God that they are. Get away!” Colin hurled the snifter in his hand, brandy and all, against the shivering draperies and muttered a string of curses as it smashed on the floor. An empty bottle followed it, and then another, and another, showering the floor with broken glass as they shattered against the brass doorknobs.
The vicar trudged back wearily into the house and leaned in the shadows again, listening. “Colin, won't you talk to me?” he pleaded. “Just, at least talk to me."
Another silence answered him.
Defeated, Elliot sank down upon the settle beside the study door and dropped his head into his hands. And there he spent the morning waiting in the cool, damp shadows, his sharp ears alert to every nuance of sound.
At last he heard another empty bottle fall. “Oh, for the love of God,” he cried, seizing the doorknob again. “Colin!"
Something thumped inside. “Still out there are you?” Colin drawled. “Go away, damn you. Go away."
"Colin Chapin, open this door. Just talk to me for a little then I'll go away and you can besot yourself to your heart's content."
A chilling laugh answered him, then silence.
By mid-afternoon the vicar was exhausted. He had Davey Lockwood take a message to Rina at the vicarage to the effect that he'd be staying on at Cragmoor indefinitely and resumed his vigil outside the study door. Waiting there he held his peace and listened to the silence, and it wasn't long before he looked up at the sound of footfalls to see Amy shuffling toward him along the corridor.
She stopped when she reached the settle folding her hands across her apron, like a quaint mechanical toy run down. “I fixed somethin’ in the dinin’ hall for you,” she said, almost whispering. “Won't you come and have it, sir? You look done in."
"I wish you hadn't gone to all that bother,” said the vicar. “I don't believe I could eat anything just now."
"Sure you could. Come along, then,” she coaxed. “Fie! ‘Tisn't any use when he gets like that.” She waved her hand toward the study door. “He's no better'n an animal when these fits come over him."
"Does he do this often, then?"
She shook her head. “Not like this,” she said, leading him away.
"What's happened? What the devil's going on here, Mrs. Croft?"
"I dunno', sir, I dunno',” she said on a sigh. “He's been actin’ funny since the bastard left if you want the truth o’ it . . . sulkin’ and swillin’ that rot. Like I told you, I've been after him ta come out since day before yesterday. Last night I come here fair beggin', I was, that he come out and have somethin’ ta eat, but he said he wasn't havin’ any and he cursed at me somthin’ terrible.” She sucked in her breath and clicked her tongue. “For all I care he can starve ta death before I ask him ta come out again."
"The bastard?” Elliot murmured, his brows knit in deep thought.
She nodded briskly. “Aye, sir, the bastard. ‘Tis always the bastard, but this here is the worst of it."
"And you don't know why? I should think he'd be glad to be rid of him, Mrs. Croft."
"No, sir, I don't know what's happened, but I hope that creature never comes back inta’ this house again. ‘Twas bearable when he was gone off to America, but since he's come back the master's been a bloody savage, he has—drinkin’ and cursin', and stompin’ around like a looney straight outa’ Bedlam, he is! I'm goin’ ta give my notice if it keeps up. ‘Twas him what caused that poor lass’ upsetment, you know, actin’ like a proper ogre and scarin’ her half outa’ her wits. And then when he hit the bastard! Saint's preserve us, he's got her scared outa’ her skin I'm telling you."
"She said that did she?"
"Oh, no, sir,” she breathed, “she never said it. She's too much of a lady to say it outright, sir. But I got eyes in my head haven't I? Whenever the bastard—or anybody—makes mention o’ the master she goes white as the sheets on her bed, she does.
"She's a dear lass, sir, no bother—no trouble, and always a kind word comin’ outa’ her mouth. You can tell me ‘tis none o’ my business, but she don't belong with the bastard nohow. Too good for the likes o’ him, she is. You know what I think o’ him.” She spat to the side and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “That ta’ him, the heathen black devil from hell!"
The vicar hung on her every word. “She's very devoted to him, though, isn't she?"
"Yes, sir, and him! You should have seen him when they first come here and she had that fall. Why, he was fussin’ and frettin’ like a broodin’ hen, I tell you. And just before they left, when she was feelin’ so poorly, why he fed her the tea I fixed her himself with a spoon. Yes, sir, he did. He worships that lass. I never would have believed it if I didn't see it with my own two eyes."
The vicar frowned. “Something is not as it seems here, Mrs. Croft, and I mean to find out what it is. Oh, I know what you've said is true, but Malcolm's up to something. I'm sure of it. I want you to keep a close watch, and if anything out of the ordinary happens involving any one of them I want you to get word to me straight-away, no matter how trifling it seems."
They had reached the dining hall and the vicar stopped beside the arch. Scowling up at him through worried eyes toward the strain in his face, Amy nodded. “I'll do that, sir,” she said, “but beggin’ your pardon, you don't look too steady. Are you sure you're feelin’ all right?"
"I'm sure, Mrs. Croft, but I'll feel a whole lot better once I sort all this out. I'll be staying the night. I don't want to leave the master as he is."
"Yes, sir,” said Amy. “I'll make your old room ready for you."
"No,” he said quickly, “I'll nap on the settle by the study door. Just fetch me a pillow if you will."
She gave a lurch. “On that hard old thing, sir? You can't. It'll break your back for you by mornin'."
"I don't expect to do much sleeping—not until the master comes out of there at any rate, then I'll go back to the vicarage. A pillow will be quite sufficient."
"Yes, sir,” she said skeptically, “if you say so, but ‘tis madness, I'm tellin’ you plain."
He watched her shuffle off mumbling aloud and wagging her head. After she disappea
red into the shadows of the servants’ wing, he stepped into the dining hall and made an attempt to eat the food she'd set there for him. But he scarcely tasted it. He was too anxious to solve the latest enigma to do more than chew and swallow absently, and he hurried through the meal wasting no time in returning to the study.
The door was still locked when he tried the knob. There was some sort of noise inside, but he couldn't make it out. He raised his hand to knock, and lowered it again limp at his side. Leaning closer he listened, but the sound had stopped.
A subtle pain tugged at his arm as he stood there and he leaned against the door and soothed it. “Blast!” he snapped. “I refuse to be all this fragile."
Amy had padded the settle with blankets. The pillow he'd asked for was plumped neatly in place and an afghan lay over the spindly arm. He was so tired that even the stark wooden bench seemed inviting. Reaching for the medicine bottle in his jacket pocket, he opened it and took a swallow for insurance. Then tucking it away again, he sank down on the settle and slept.
He drifted off almost at once, but it was a fitful sleep filled with night-mare voices. Their message wasn't clear, only the fright that accompanied them had substance. There was something urgent in it that bathed him in cold sweat. In the midst of it all, deep in the night, the sound of a real voice from the study vaulted him upright on the settle with his eyes flung wide. His spastic heart was racing. He strained his ears and it came again. This time he heard it clearly.
"Ahhhh, God,” groaned the voice behind the door, “not for what I've done!"
The vicar sprang to his feet and pounded on the door again with all his might. “What have you done, Colin—what?” he demanded.
But there was no answer, and though he stood there pleading until the bleak gray dawn stole the shadows around him, there wasn't another sound until Amy came and coaxed him away again.
Enduring her scolding, he washed and shaved, and nibbled halfheartedly at the breakfast she'd set out in the dining hall. Afterward, he resumed his vigil by the study door, but there were no more outbursts from within like the one that had cost him his sleep through the night. Somehow the day passed, and then another sleepless night gave way to another dawn. And so it went until finally on the morning of Elliot's fourth day in residence, Colin unlatched the study door and stumbled into his arms.
He'd flung the door open wide, and the vicar stared in disbelief at the furniture toppled over in disarray. The empty liquor cabinet stood with its glass doors hanging open, like pleading outstretched arms, and the carpet was peppered with broken glass and studded with bottles drained dry.
Elliot almost collapsed himself at sight of Colin, for he hadn't slept much during the awful silences as he'd supposed. His bloodshot eyes were sunken deep in brooding hollows stained black to the cheekbones. A thick growth of stubble bearded his face, an ugly mask the color of rusty wet sand framing parched, swollen lips. Damp with sweat, his cambric blouse clung to his broad shoulder span. Open to the waist, it hung awry about the severed arm, the yoke smeared with brown liquor stains, as were his rumpled trousers.
"Oh, my God,” breathed the vicar, struggling to support him, “have you given it over at last?"
Colin tried to break free unsuccessfully, for his knees gave way and he cursed under his breath gaining a fresh grip on the vicar's arm to steady himself. “There's no more brandy in there,” he growled, letting go to make a wild gesture.
"Thank God in His mercy for that,” said Elliot, grabbing his arm again just in time, “and you'll have no more, either. You're going to eat something, Colin. My God, the look of you!"
"Have they come back yet?"
"No!"
Colin stiffened against him. “Leggo’ of me, Elliot,” he spat. “Goddamn you, I can stand on my own . . . and get me another bottle of brandy."
"I'll do no such thing,” cried the vicar, appalled, “you'll have no more brandy ‘til you've eaten, and not even then from me.” He steered him into the morning room on the opposite side of the hall and settled him on the sofa there. “I'm going to fetch you a tray,” he said. “The servants aren't going to see you like this, Colin."
Colin leaned back and spotted a decanter on the dry sink across the room.
"Ohhhh, no,” flashed Elliot. Reaching it in two strides, he plucked it up with a quick hand. “I'll just take this right along with me. You'll have no more, Colin, and that's the end of it."
Colin laughed. “Go ahead! There's another in the conservatory."
"You'll never make the conservatory; don't even try. For the love of mercy, will you do as I ask just once in your life?"
Colin winced for the thundering racket Elliot's voice made echoing through his brain, and he laid his aching head back against the cut velvet upholstery.
Incensed, the vicar stalked off to the kitchen to fetch the food and a pot of strong black coffee, but he wasn't gone long. Fearing that Colin would disappear before he could question him in search of more brandy, he took what Cook had on hand leftover from breakfast and hurried back to the morning room. But exhaustion had tethered Colin. He was still as he'd left him, and he didn't even look up as Elliot dragged a drop-leaf table in front of him and set the tray down on it.
"Eat!” said the vicar, pointing with an animated finger. “Mrs. Croft is drawing your bath."
Colin did glance up then and Elliot stifled a gasp. He looked like a stranger sitting there. He noticed a little more gray streaking his temples, a little more sorrow in the haunted eyes, and deeper furrows were etched across his brow, half hidden beneath the mussed sandy hair spilling down over it.
Colin grabbed the fork savagely, and the motion jarred the vicar back to the moment at hand. He watched Colin hesitate, scowling toward the plate of Scotch eggs, bacon, and biscuits in front of him. “That won't stay down, Elliot,” he snapped, waving the fork.
"Eat,” thundered the vicar, “and get some of that coffee into you. Damn you, Colin, what ails you anyway? I should think you'd be glad to be rid of him, but no, you're of a mind to welcome him back with open arms aren't you?” He threw his own arms into the air. “All right, there's awhile yet before that, do you take advantage of it—relax and enjoy the reprieve? No again! You use the time to take to drink like a common sot. I don't understand you, Colin. I've seen you with liquor for more than twenty years, but I've never seen you in your cups. What the devil's happening here?"
Colin slapped the fork down setting the table ajar. “Don't start on me, Elliot. Leave me alone or so help me God I'll wring your blasted neck. What in Christ's name ever possessed you to appoint yourself savior to that murdering scum? You can't be so much of a fool that, just because he came from my sister's womb you feel duty bound to protect him? I've never let myself dwell upon that—believe it, but now . . ."
"You know better."
"Damn it, Elliot, I haven't finished,” he roared. “Considering your Biblical precedents, explain your agenda. That bastard never should have drawn his first breath of life, and but for you—his self-appointed redeemer—I'd have remedied that hapless blunder ten times over since! But for you, he'd be in the bloody graveyard where he belongs."
"There's your answer, damn you, Colin, it's you I've saved, my friend, not Malcolm."
"You waste your time trying to save my soul. God has already passed judgment upon me."
"Not your soul, your neck,” cried the vicar. “It's too late for your soul. I've given that up. God forgive me for failing you, Colin. I've prayed since we first met that if I could reach just one soul this life it would be yours, but you won't let me reach you and you've finished me."
Colin sighed. “You haven't failed me,” he said. “You reached me, Elliot, but too late. You won't understand any of this, but I do and that's all that matters after all. I do believe in God you know. There! I've said it for you at last. Colin Ramsey Chapin believes in God—amen! Because he's seen Him in the bottom of a bottle—amen! Because He wasn't really looking away after all—amen—amen—aaamen!”
he raved, punctuating the last with his fist assaulting the tabletop, scattering dishes and food over the oriental carpet.
The vicar sprang toward him, his hand outstretched to preserve what he could of Cook's efforts, but Colin's strong right arm shoved him aside all but throwing him down and knocked the rest of the food—table and all—to the floor at his feet. “Just let me alone, Elliot, can't you?” he cried. “There is absolutely nothing you can do here."
Righting himself, the vicar struggled toward composure, and when he spoke his voice had become soft and strained. “What have you done, Colin?"
A dry laugh more akin to a sob preceded his answer. “I've destroyed myself . . . all . . . on . . . my . . . own!"
"You're talking in riddles,” snapped the vicar. “In the study when you were drinking you said, ‘not for what I've done'. What have you done, Colin?"
"I've just answered you."
"No you haven't. How, Colin? How have you destroyed yourself? What have you done that's so terrible you can't face me with it? I know there's something. I told you that the other day. Colin, look at me. I've stood by you through over twenty years of wantonness, fornication, debauchery, adultery—what in God's name could it be?"
"I've done murder,” said Colin, his voice so cold that the vicar took a chill at the sound of it. “As sure as I sit in this room I've done it. ‘Though he wish it not, yet is he guilty and shall bear his iniquity'! Christ, let me be. Will you just go away and let . . . me . . . be?"
The vicar shook his head. “You're talking in riddles again,” he said. Then all at once something reflected back from Colin's ravings as though he'd seen it in a mirror, and his eyes flashed. “But you remember those words do you?” he breathed. “My sermon that day in the church! Was that it, Colin? Was that what drove you out of St. Michael's?"
Colin ground out a lightheaded drunken laugh.
The vicar's eyes narrowed at the sound. “Now see here, Colin, you listen to me,” he said with raised voice. “I know that something's amiss in this house, and I know that Malcolm's at the bottom of it. I'll help you if you'll only let me.” He grabbed his neck cloth and tugged at it roughly. “I'll tear off this collar if that's what offends you. What more can I do to convince you?"
Rape of the Soul Page 63