The Dead of Night

by Oliver Onions

  ‘When are you free?’

  ‘We consider ourselves free now, miss, but we should like a few days.’

  ‘I have a car outside. Would you care to come and look at the place now, to see whether you would like it?’

  There was a further exchange of whispering. It ended in a ‘Yes, ’m.’

  ‘But – ’ Mrs Hickman’s outraged voice broke in, and Eve turned.

  ‘You put my name down in your books and promised I should come first,’ she said. ‘Here I find you sending maids somewhere else. Come along, you two.’

  ‘And mind you, you might want maids after this!’ Mrs Hickman called after her as she left the shop. ‘Then perhaps you’ll come to me again!’

  So Eve bore off her prizes in triumph, and found that they were ready to take up service in a week.

  They came, in fact, within the week. They were twins, and where one went the other went. They were especially delighted at the thought of their own separate quarters. It would be a pleasure to the eye to see them about the place. Davy at least was of this opinion. In fact, by one prompt stroke, Eve’s troubles were diminished by half. Dinner to Mr Laban or to anybody else would now be no trouble at all. Blithely she paid Mrs Hodgson and the callisthenic daughter off. She didn’t a bit mind bearing a hand herself. She counted Rose and Laura among her friends.

  She did not tell her brothers her real reason for wishing to have Mr Laban to dinner. Strong as her inner conviction was, she had still no certainty. Curiously enough, however, both Mickie and Andy fell in with her idea quite remarkably readily. They gave various reasons. The old gentleman was no doubt longing to be asked, they said. Since he could not make the first advance it was their duty to make it for him. The position would soon become laughable. Let the new maids find their feet and have him by all means . . . It was glorious May weather; never had English skies better behaved themselves. The air was nutty with the smell of hawthorn, the cuckoo called, the birds sang. Davy too sang as he scythed, not the tennis-court, which he had characteristically left half-finished, but a rough patch behind the orchard:

  Two men went to mow,

  Went to mow a meadow,

  Two men, one man and his dog

  Went to mow a meadow.

  Andy was busy with the Fiat. Mickie appeared to have a good many letters to write and papers to consult. Eve was occupied with seeds­men’s catalogues and her maids.

  Then one evening she sat down and wrote her note.

  Thereupon a curious little question rose. How was it going to be delivered?

  ‘It seems a bit stiff just to put it in the post,’ said Eve. ‘But all that part is locked up, and what are we to do?’

  ‘He must get letters. He got Wetherby’s.’

  ‘Wetherby wrote through his solicitors.’

  ‘Then he must get his solicitor’s.’

  ‘Give it to me. I’ll see it’s delivered,’ Mickie said suddenly.

  None the less it was three days before a reply came. Shortly before midday one of the old pothook bells in the kitchen clanged. Laura glanced up at the wagging pendulum, threw off her apron, and hurried along the hall. Instantly a large clay-coloured dog sought the shelter of the house. ‘That object beats that dog,’ Laura said to her sister afterwards.

  The ‘object’ who had jerked the dog back was as tall as a flagstaff and thin as a hayrake – six feet six inches in height and hardly broad enough to cast a shadow. He had a muddy complexion, and eyes so deeply buried that they resembled half-healed wounds in dough. His black clothes hung scarecrow-wise from his shoulder-arch, and in the middle of a padded tie that crept up his choker collar a dull red stone lurked. Without a word he handed in a note.

  ‘Is there an answer?’ Laura asked.

  ‘It is an answer,’ he said huskily.

  The next moment he was hauling the reluctant dog across the yard again.

  The terms of Mr Laban’s note gave rise to a certain amount of discussion. The letter was passed from hand to hand.

  ‘At any rate he accepts,’ said Eve.

  ‘But does he?’ Andy rejoined. ‘He seems to leave it open. “My health permitting – if I am well enough on the day,” he says.’

  ‘He’s very old,’ Eve pleaded. ‘The housekeeper told me he was very old,’ she added as an afterthought.

  ‘Let’s look at it again.’ And Andy read:

  Dear Miss Peckover

  I shall be glad to come, my health permitting. I hope to come if I am well enough on the day. I want to come, but I have to be very careful. In hope. – Ambrose Laban

  ‘ “In hope, Ambrose Laban”. Are we supposed to prepare for him whether he comes or not?’ Andy asked.

  ‘Not a word about anything else – hoping we’re comfortable here and so on.’

  ‘He’ll say all that when he comes,’ Eve protested; and except to remark that their guest seemed to have a gift for putting things oddly Andy said no more.

  Even for a guest who might at the last moment fail to appear preparations had to be made, and Eve set about them with minute attention. She mused over that letter as she did so. The master of a house who lets it to strangers may well be a guest in that house: but the note’s abruptness? Its indecision? Had it been written surrept­itiously, while some other back was turned, it could not have been more hurriedly or timidly expressed. But somehow it seemed to fall in with her dream. All her life her instincts had been to comfort and help. For years she had looked after brothers very well able to look after themselves. Should she now turn a deaf ear to the entreaty of a weak old man? No; her preparations must be special. He must be given food light enough for his delicate stomach. She made Davy drive her into Willowmere for fruit and such wine as was to be had, she had the mahogany table polished till it shone like glass. She herself gathered the flowers for its centre – a large china bowl of primroses that looked as if somebody had left a Russian ballet wig there. And she took away the duplex lamp. There were old plated candlesticks in the house. She set candles in them, with little inexpensive creamy shades. For the rest, the windows, now cleared of jasmine, would give enough of clear evening light. All the time she thought of the pity of it, that a man in his closing years should have to sit at his own table and be fed by strangers.

  And as Mr Laban would be shown first into the drawing-room, she had a bright wood fire lighted there. It remained now only to wait and see whether he would appear. And it was because she wished to receive him alone that she made jobs with bottles for her brothers and waited in the drawing-room.

  At half-past seven she heard the ringing of the bell. Rosic stood aside as she made her announcement.

  ‘Mr Laban.’

  But Eve had not expected that the large Alsatian dog would follow at her guest’s heels.

  And now that he had come, was he or was he not the person of her dream? He was – and yet he was not quite. The difference puzzled her. His clothes – those of course were accounted for. She had not expected him to come to dinner in a sagging old dressing-gown. But his man did not seem to have turned him out with any special care. The shoulders of his crumpled dinner-jacket bore traces of dust and a white hair or two, and Eve wondered when he had last worn the garment. New laces had been put into his cracked old varnished shoes, and of his two studs one was different from the other. He gave in short an impression of moth-ball and brown paper. On the other hand he had taken certain pains with his hair and beard. The first had been cut after a fashion, the second trimmed to something approaching a point. His manner was nervous and unsure. Eve had advanced to greet him. His very first words took her utterly aback. He had glanced timidly at the dog.

  ‘I trust I explained sufficiently in my letter,’ he faltered in a voice that seemed to echo a gentle and educated past. ‘We are insepar­ables, Jacomb and I. My man is out this evening, and Jacomb is never
left alone.’

  What had surprised Eve was that the letter had not contained one single word about the dog.

  But she recovered herself. Poor old dear, his memory was evid­ently faulty.

  ‘I’m so glad you were well enough to come,’ she smiled. ‘It’s strange to live under the same roof and never meet. Do sit down. My brothers will be here in a moment.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you.’ Mr Laban sat down and stretched out frail white hands to the blaze. ‘I hope – I hope you are comfortably settled here. As I think I said in my note, I have to live somewhere, and I have had misfortunes – misfortunes. I wished you to feel that it was entirely your own – entirely your own – ’ and he glanced round at his belongings – the chintz sofas, the chairs, the cabinets, and finally at the dog.

  Eve, wondering what next he would imagine he had put into that remarkable note, was about to hope that they for their part did not disturb him, when Andy entered, followed by Mickie and Davy. There were handshakes, conventional sounds of pleasure. Eve announced that as Mr Laban was going to eat from his own plates and drink from his own glasses she was going to put him at the head of the table. Dinner was announced. She placed her hand lightly on their guest’s creased sleeve. Her brothers followed. The dog, unbidden, brought up the rear.

  Mr Laban, at the head of the table, presided like a shy child at its own birthday-party. He gazed at the clock in the corner and seemed to be listening to its half-forgotten voice. Poor forlorn old fellow! was it after all kind to thrust him back into these mem­ories? To one thing only he seemed to cling pathetically. That was the dog. The animal had stationed itself at its master’s side as if from long habit. To have nothing but a dog to turn to at the end of his days! No wonder his hand strayed from time to time to the creature’s head.

  The talk was of the neighbourhood, the news of the day, their own relations as landlord and tenants. But even this languished. It was long since Mr Laban had paid calls or received any. Of the happenings of the outside world he appeared to be almost totally ignorant. He was vague, timorous, uncertain of memory. Indeed Eve presently found herself reduced to the topic of servants and her various difficulties concerning them. Gaily she related how she had borne off her present treasures from under Mrs Hickman’s very nose. And in the matter of servants Mr Laban showed a certain interest.

  ‘I am fortunate too,’ he said in a halting voice. ‘Without my man Binian I do not know what I should do. I would not part with Binian. The nursing he has given me, the attendance, the care –’

  Eve wondered whether Mr Laban knew of the roughness with which this treasured servant treated the dog, but Mr Laban continued.

  ‘My needs are few. I never married. My man and my dog suffice me. This evening is the first time I have left my room for many months. And when Binian has to go out Jacomb looks after me – don’t you, Jacomb?’ And again his hand went to the animal’s head.

  It was an unprepossessing enough brute. Sometimes the Peckovers had discussed Alsatians. They agreed in thinking them an unsettled breed, liable to go back to origin. But there was no doubt of Jacomb’s interest in his master. With his mouth half open in a canine laugh and his large prick ears on a level with the table, he seemed to be listening intelligently to every word that was said. He moved his head from side to side, looking from face to face. But what the devil was the creature doing there at all?

  Meanwhile the whole company was trying not to notice with what voracity this frail old man ate.

  ‘Thank you, I will – this bread sauce is excellent – if one of your maids made it – your cook – I of course live exceedingly simply – Binian does admirably all I require –’

  And he was off on the virtues of his servant again, as if he found it impossible to say too much in his praise.

  It was at this point that Mickie spoke, for the first time during the meal.

  ‘By the way, sir. Speaking of your man. Was he ever in India? His is not a face one forgets, and I seem to have seen it before.’

  Mr Laban seemed suddenly agitated. His knife made a tremulous little rattling on his plate. He spoke almost warmly.

  ‘Binian has travelled. He may have been in India. He is a man of remarkable parts. I do not mind confessing that I bow to his opinion in a great many things. I believe he has been to India. As you say, he is a man not readily forgotten. Is there any reason why he should not have been in India?’

  ‘Has he any idea of going back?’

  A silence had fallen. Mickie had taken too sudden charge of the conversation. It amounted to the judicial examination of a guest. Eve was surprised at Mickie. Mr Laban seemed on the point of breaking down.

  ‘I – I – know little about it,’ he faltered. ‘I don’t think Binian would leave me. It is hard to answer questions about a faithful and trusted servant. He and I –’

  Suddenly every eye at the table was watching a remarkable dem­onstration of affection on the part of the Alsatian dog.

  They had never seen anything quite like it. Since Mickie’s ques­tion the animal’s eyes had not been removed from his master’s face. Now it suddenly reared itself up. It placed one paw on Mr Laban’s breast, and with the other beat up and down in the air, as if it sought the other shoulder to embrace. Its ears were set sharply forward, its tail swung from side to side. The lean jaw was laughing to the very condyles, the long thin tongue was curled as it reached for its master’s face. Its pantings of pleasure filled the room.

  And then with a soft gruff bark it sank to the floor again.

  ‘Aren’t you well, sir?’

  It was Davy who had sprung up and was leaning over the chair where Mr Laban had swayed a little. The others too had half-risen, and were looking at the old man. He was cloudy-white, his hand fumbled at his breast, and in his eyes were the supplication and anguish of Eve’s dream.

  ‘I – I – am better,’ the words came faintly at last. ‘I – my health. I ought not to have come. I was not well enough. I have to be – careful. I must go. I hope –’

  It was not to be thought of that he should be allowed to go like that. Why indeed should they not keep him for the night? For a few days? Start up the car and fetch a doctor? What was there to return to that lonely wing for? But already he had got totteringly on his feet, while the dog waited for him at the door. He must go, he must go, he said. Binian would probably be back by now. Binian knew what was best to be done – nobody understood him like Binian. And seeing him indissuadable they ceased to press him. They offered to go round and see if Binian had returned. But at this he took fright again.

  ‘No, no – I much prefer it – it would be kinder – I can manage – I am used – my apologies – I hoped –’

  They were already in the hall. They were helping him on with his old silk hat and muffler. At the porch he tried feebly to push them back.

  ‘It is only the length of the house – gentlemen, I beg you –’

  Notwithstanding which Mickie and Andy accompanied him as far as the door in the wall. He refused even to take out his key till they had left him. From the porch they watched the closing of the door behind him and his dog.

  In the drawing-room the four Peckovers stood looking at one another in silence. Then Andy approached Eve.

  ‘Eve, we want you to do something. Not just to go to the Trev­elyans. To go to the Trevelyans tomorrow.’

  Eve spoke quite calmly. – ‘No. I’m going to stay here and be told everything.’

  ‘We’d rather you went.’

  ‘I’m not going.’

  ‘Then tell her, Michael. Tell Davy too.’

  Mickie sat down. His hand was at his scarred cheek. He seemed tired.

  ‘Very well. Perhaps it would be best. We’re all in the risk. I have an idea that somebody’s trying to get past us with a little elementary lycanthropy, that’s all,’ he said.

>   5

  Davy was the first to find his voice. – ‘Like what?’

  ‘Lycanthropy.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Sort of hocus-pocus . . . catch hold of Eve, there –’

  For a sound had suddenly come from the other part of the house that caused their hearts to bound and then stand still. Something was happening to the animal. The maids had heard it too, for the drawing-room door was thrown open, and they stood there white-faced. From behind the walls came another long-drawn howl, and then silence. They waited, but the sounds were not repeated. Mickie turned to the maids.

  ‘It’s all right. Mr Laban wasn’t very well. His man is looking after him. One of them has probably trodden on the dog. Good night.’

  The maids withdrew, and all eyes were turned to Mickie again.

  ‘I shall have to leave a certain amount out,’ he began. ‘Depart­mental for one thing, and some of it isn’t put on record at all. The fact is I had a good deal to do with the fellow being turned out of India.’

  ‘What, that manservant?’ Davy asked.

  ‘Yes. The Binian all the talk was about.’

  ‘Turned out what for?’

  ‘For knowing more than he ought. Going native for one thing. Dabbling in Tantric for another.’

  And again Davy wanted to know what that was.

  It was a vile word, for a vile thing. A little harmless table-rapping, a fortune told over the cards or palmistry with a soft hand held – these would have gone better with the quietly-burning lamp on the table, the chintz chairs, the cut-steel fender. For this was England in May-time, and not the land they had left, where mysteries stand behind seen things as shadows stand behind the light.

  ‘If you don’t know, so much the better for you,’ Mickie replied. ‘It’s not altogether unheard-of in England either. I seem to remem­ber something about a police-visit and a bowl of human blood not very far from Clapham Junction a few years ago.’

  ‘The devil they did!’ was all Davy could find to say, and Mickie went on.

  ‘So as that kind of man can do simply incalculable political mis­chief, I was told off to find out what I could about him. Had to catch my hare first. This took time. It took some months as a matter of fact. But in the end – ’ Mickie didn’t say after what occurrences, though the memento on his cheek seemed to say it for him, ‘ – anyway it was in Benares. Among the Pilgrims. Bathing at the bottom of the steps. Yes, he’s been about a lot. Quite extraordinary at dialects; disguises too. He wasn’t called Binian then. He’d quite a number of names.’ Mickie mused, seemed to be telling them over.