The Indigo Ghosts

by Alys Clare

  Now she was business-like, sweeping off her cloak and hanging it on a hook, then indicating one of the pair of chairs beside the hearth and sitting herself down in the other one. Straight-backed, she fixed me with her extraordinary eyes – silvery-grey with barely a hint of blue, and so rare as to be remarkable in a woman with her dark-toned skin and black hair – and I gathered my thoughts to prepare my answer.

  Before I explained my presence, however, there was something else.

  ‘First, thank you for the draught you prescribed for me.’

  ‘It worked?’

  ‘Of course it did, for you are a woman of great skill.’

  I thought she blushed faintly, but it might have been wishful thinking. ‘Your head no longer pains you?’

  ‘No.’

  She nodded, then said expectantly, ‘Well?’

  I told her about the crew of the Falco and the deep fear that had affected them on the voyage home, briefly describing what had been found in the hidden hold and the strange vision I had seen down there. I described the perfume, powerful enough to be detectable amid the stench, and described to her how I had torn off a strip of the garment in which the tiny body had been clad because it was marked with a strong-smelling substance which I could not identify. I took the piece of cloth from inside my tunic, unwrapped it and held it out to her. ‘Take care,’ I warned, ‘for it is potent.’

  She nodded. She stared at the little patch of gold, picked at it very gently with a fingernail and then held it about a foot from her nose and took a tentative sniff.

  ‘Oh!’ She blinked rapidly a few times. ‘It is indeed,’ she murmured. She raised it to her eyes, and I noticed that she held her breath. Then she put it down on her lap, smoothing it with long fingers.

  I waited.

  ‘You said you could not identify this?’

  ‘I did.’

  Slowly she shook her head. ‘Neither can I, and … please do not take this as an insult, Doctor, but my failure is more inexplicable than yours, for I have spent my life in the study of herbs and potions and it is many years since I have been confounded in this way.’

  ‘The Falco had lately been in the Caribbean,’ I said, breaking a silence that had lasted for some time.

  She grinned briefly. ‘Ah.’

  ‘I should have said that at the outset,’ I observed.

  ‘Yes, you should.’

  ‘What can you tell me?’

  She thought for a few moments, then said, ‘Some elements of this smell I do know: lemon, or possibly lime; basil; hemp. I also detect an aroma that is reminiscent of incense. There is also a strong underlying fragrance which I do not recognize. Together these would appear to have combined to make the strong, enduring perfume …’ Tentatively she lifted the fragment and sniffed it again. ‘But there is some sort of fine powder here, Doctor, which I believe is ground-up seeds.’ She shook her head. ‘I have no idea what it consists of, nor can I explain the effect it has when the aroma is inhaled.’ She held the cloth out to me, and I wrapped it up again and put it away.

  ‘So what do I do now?’ I muttered, more to myself than to Judyth.

  But she responded anyway. ‘Well, do not despair, for one thing,’ she said brightly. ‘The majority of what I know of plant medicine was taught to me by a remarkable teacher who knows far, far more than you and I put together’ – again that sudden undercurrent of sexuality – ‘will ever know.’

  ‘And will this man agree to speak to me?’ I asked. Distracted by the sparkle in her eyes, I was finding it difficult to keep my attention on the matter in hand.

  ‘Yes, I have no doubt of it. But why do you assume my teacher is male?’

  Then, of course, I understood.

  ‘My apologies,’ I said sincerely. ‘I ought to have realized, for I know the woman.’ I paused. ‘Don’t tell her, will you?’

  ‘That you referred to her as male? No, for it would rule out any possibility of her coming to your aid now or ever again. But I will tell her of your difficulty, and ask her to call upon you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I had taken up enough of her time and I rose to leave. She saw me to the door, and we wished each other a rather stiff good day.

  I rode away suppressing the turbulence within me, set off both by having just been talking to Judyth Penwarden but equally by the prospect of an imminent visit from our local wise woman, Black Carlotta.

  I had met her on several occasions, most frequently when my patients were adding to their chances of surviving what ailed them, as they no doubt would have explained it, by consulting a practitioner of the old ways alongside one of the new. To her credit she never disparaged what I was able to do, and her attitude towards me was largely that of a fellow healer, tinged with a pinch of patronizing pity. I had to admit that I admired her, and the depth of her wisdom was profound.

  Nevertheless, knowing that she would soon be knocking on my door was not altogether comfortable.

  EIGHT

  Jonathan Carew stood hunched within the dark confines of the hidden hold, his bible open in his hands, his eyes closed in concentration. Captain Zeke and I were either side of him, and Sebastian Waldington crouched just inside the entrance passage. Willum and a small group of crew members had assembled in the adjacent hold. Not one of them was prepared to come any closer.

  The hiding place was clean now, and with the barrel gone it seemed less claustrophobic. The smell of body waste had been scrubbed away, although strangely I could still detect the scent that had permeated the garment of the tiny corpse. It was powerful indeed, I reflected, to persist even after the crew’s thorough scrubbing …

  Jonathan’s strong voice rang out in the confined space. The purification service had begun up on the open deck and he had kept it simple, beginning with prayers and then asking God’s blessing on a place that had become befouled and on those who dwelt within it. We had then descended to the lowest regions of the ship, and Jonathan had insisted on crawling into the dark, malign little hold where the fugitives had lived. It was not dark now, for he had commanded the lighting of many lanterns. Now the little space was both light and becoming uncomfortably hot.

  I listened to my friend’s words as he threw his spiritual power behind his plea to God to have mercy on whatever troubled soul had dwelt here, to ease its pain and give it rest so that the malice and the fear it had created might dissipate and disappear. There were murmurs of amen from both within the space and from the adjacent hold, and I saw Captain Zeke cross himself at least twice.

  Now Jonathan raised his bible and, his voice waxing in strength, he read the beautiful words of the twenty-third psalm. ‘Yea, though I should walk through the valley of the shadow of death,’ he declaimed, ‘I will fear no evil; for thou are with me: thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.’ He paused, and it seemed to me as I listened to him, transfixed by the words even though they were so familiar, that his voice had turned into something visible, and that it bore its message – God’s message – through the dense air of that secret space and out into its walls, ceiling and floor, permeating the very fabric of the ship with a forceful combination of the rejection of the residual malignity, the promise of God’s loving protection and a powerful sense of hope.

  Suddenly the light seemed brighter and, turning to my companions, I saw that both Captain Zeke and his officer were smiling.

  Jonathan led us in the Lord’s Prayer, blessed the ship and its company again and then, after a brief silence, gently closed his bible. He stood for a moment with his eyes closed, then, opening them, said to Captain Zeke, ‘I believe, Captain, that whatever held sway here has gone.’

  Captain Zeke thumped him on the back, too overcome to say anything, and, standing back, indicated for Jonathan to lead the way out through the entrance. When we were all in the next hold, I heard Sebastian Waldington give orders for the gap in the bulkhead to be thoroughly re-sealed.

  Captain Zeke demonstrated his gratitude in tangible form, having ordered a feast in t
he wardroom, several bottles of very fine wine and a cask of French brandy. Jonathan ate and drank sparingly, and I sensed he was finding it hard to respond adequately to the thanks of the captain and his officers. Not that they would have noticed, for they did not know him like I did.

  As the brandy was produced yet again and I saw Jonathan refuse, I met his eyes and read the appeal in them.

  ‘Captain,’ I said, getting to my feet, ‘his reverence has many calls upon his time, and I think he—’

  ‘Of course!’ Captain Zeke too stood up, so abruptly that his chair fell over. Turning to Jonathan, he gave him a low bow, thanked him yet again and apologized for keeping him so long. Jonathan and I were escorted off the ship, someone was despatched to fetch our horses, there were yet more expressions of appreciation and exclamations of relief at the Falco’s deliverance, then at last we were on our way.

  We were out beyond the town walls and in open country before Jonathan spoke. I had attributed his silence to fatigue, for he had not spared himself and I was sure there must be an emotional as well as a physical toll. But his words were not at all what I expected.

  ‘You were right to ask me to do that, Gabriel,’ he said, ‘for there was indeed something present on the ship.’

  ‘You detected it?’ He nodded. ‘You saw, or heard, something?’

  He paused, frowning, then said, ‘I have never experienced anything quite like it; for of a sudden I found I was picking up two conflicting forces.’

  ‘Two forces – do you mean the howling and wailing that some of the crew reported and the visions seen by others?’ Including me, I might have added.

  But Jonathan shook his head. ‘No, not that.’ He paused again. ‘There were warring powers down there, Gabriel, or I believe it to be so. One was powerfully aggressive, evil, malign; it had its origins far away and a long time ago, for it carried the darkness and the cold damp of the deep earth, and it was transfused with ancient power. It—’ He stopped abruptly, and I saw from his expression that whatever he had perceived had affected him deeply. ‘But I will not speak of what it did.’ He was quiet for a short time, and slowly the profound distress in his face eased. Then, his brow creasing in bemusement, he said, ‘The other power, very much to my amazement, seemed to be a protective spirit.’

  ‘Protective?’

  ‘I understand your perplexity, Gabriel, for it is unexpected, to say the least.’

  I struggled to understand. ‘So the fugitives brought two contrary forces with them, one that was evil and the other benign?’ Yet I had felt nothing but malignancy when I’d stood in the stinking dark in that ghastly hole. ‘How could that be? What—’

  But Jonathan raised his hand, as if physically stopping my words. ‘I don’t know, and therefore I cannot answer your questions,’ he said. ‘As I just said, I have not encountered such a conflict before. I am at a loss to explain it.’

  We rode on in silence. Then, as we reached the spot where my road led to Rosewyke and his to Tavy St Luke, he relented and, with a smile said, ‘I need time to think on this, Gabriel. I suspect there is an answer – there almost always is – and I hope that it is one that prayer and quiet contemplation will reveal to me.’

  ‘You’ll tell me if it does?’

  His smile broadened. ‘How could I not?’

  ‘Come and dine with us very soon,’ I said on an impulse, recalling Celia’s words of the night before last. ‘Not so that I can badger you to explain the inexplicable,’ I added, ‘but because it’s too long since you visited us.’

  He gave me a small bow. ‘On those terms, I accept, and thank you.’

  He tipped his cap to me, and rode off down into the village.

  Although it was not yet late, Celia and I had eaten our supper and she had gone upstairs to her own rooms. I was restless, however, and I got up from my chair by the fire to wander through the house. The kitchen was immaculate – I have never known my diligent housekeeper to leave it in any other state at the end of the day – and, her work done, Sallie had also retired. I let myself out through the yard door and took Flynn for a run. We did not venture far, for although the night was beautiful – the skies were clear, affording a magnificent view of the stars – frost was forming and it was very cold. All was quiet as we came back through the yard, and only a softly-flickering light showed from the stable block. I heard the restless movements of one of the horses, and Samuel’s calm voice speaking quiet words of reassurance.

  Flynn preceded me into the house, his claws clicking on the floorboards as he headed for the kitchen and the old blanket by the hearth where he sleeps. I was on the point of locking and barring the heavy old front door when someone tapped on the other side.

  It probably happens a dozen times a year that a man, or sometimes a woman, comes to summon me late at night because of some domestic emergency. With a sigh of resignation, I opened the door again, trying to alter my expression to benign interest rather than a man longing for his bed.

  A small but erect figure stood on the step, dressed in black and with an elaborately-folded headdress. Strands of pure white hair framed the face, which showed all the signs of advanced age and years spent out of doors yet out of which a pair of clear, bright eyes stared up at me.

  I flung the door wide and said, ‘Mistress Carlotta, I did not hope to see you so soon.’ For it had only been that morning that Judyth had volunteered to seek her out, although in truth it seemed longer.

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m intrigued to know what this scented substance is you’ve found. Going to ask me in?’

  ‘Of course.’ I stood back, and she advanced into the hall. I hurried to go past her – she was slowly circling the wide space, looking around with a faint smile – and added, ‘Come through into the library. The fire is still hot, and we shall be able to talk without disturbing my housekeeper, whose room is off the kitchen.’

  There was something about Black Carlotta that made me feel I ought to explain myself.

  She sat down in Celia’s accustomed chair and accepted the glass of brandy I offered. Almost straight away, she cast off the heavy cloak she wore, as well as the woollen shawl beneath it, closely wrapped around her. I was surprised, for the fire was not giving out very much heat and I’d been about to put on more wood.

  She raised her eyebrows, clearly having perceived my thoughts. ‘I’m not used to warm houses, Doctor.’ There was a hint of superiority in her expression, as if she was contemptuous of weak mortals who had to huddle within walls by a well-stoked fire in order to survive. I had no idea where, and how, she herself lived; rumour had it that she habitually made her bed under some convenient hedge, but I did not believe that. She was clean, for one thing, and in addition, she was a healer, a provider of remedies and simples, and therefore must surely have at least a workroom somewhere.

  ‘Finished?’ she said caustically.

  I refused to meet the challenge, instead giving her a smile. ‘If you are comfortable here, and can tolerate the heat’ – she flashed a grin at the remark – ‘I shall fetch the piece of cloth stained with the substance in question.’

  She didn’t answer, save for a nod, so I hurried off upstairs.

  Celia peered out from the passage leading to her rooms as I headed back along the gallery towards the stairs. ‘Who’s that?’ she hissed. I might have known she’d both have heard the arrival of the visitor and not be satisfied until she’d found out who had come calling.

  ‘It’s a mysterious wise woman known as Black Carlotta,’ I whispered back.

  Her eyes widened. ‘Oooh, I’ve heard tell of her! Is she as terrifying as they say?’

  ‘She is only a little terrifying, and I am going to make sure not to antagonize her.’

  ‘Gabe, don’t joke about such matters.’

  My courageous sister actually looked quite frightened.

  I went over and gave her a quick, tight hug. ‘Come and meet her and see for yourself,’ I said impulsively.

  ‘Oh no! I’m not dressed, I�
��m in my nightgown and robe!’

  ‘She won’t mind.’

  Celia gave a grimace. ‘It’s not her I’m thinking about.’ But she had glanced at me, seen the challenge in my expression and was already tightening her sash and smoothing her long, loose hair. ‘Very well, then!’

  ‘Mistress Carlotta, may I present my sister Celia?’ I said as we returned to the library.

  Black Carlotta eyed Celia with intent, sharp-focused eyes, and Celia returned the look. ‘So you are Celia Palfrey,’ Black Carlotta said. She had used Celia’s married name, so she clearly knew of my sister’s marriage and, presumably, was also aware that she had been widowed. She was still staring hard at Celia, but I saw a softening in her expression. She pointed to the chair on the opposite side of the hearth – my chair, in fact – and said, ‘Sit down and have some of your brother’s brandy.’

  I saw Celia’s face brighten with amusement at our visitor’s casual assumption of the hostess role. Turning to Black Carlotta, I caught an intense, complex expression on her face as she looked at Celia: severe, yet at the same time full of compassion and not a little admiration.

  I knew, then, that somehow she was aware of exactly what had happened a year and a half ago; how Jeromy Palfrey had met his death, and the roles my sister and I had played.1 I further knew that, far from condemning us, she admired our actions and would undoubtedly have done the same herself.

  She met my eyes and gave an all but imperceptible nod.

  And that was that.

  I held out the fragment of material I’d torn from the tiny corpse’s robes. ‘There is the unknown substance,’ I said, pointing to the stain.

  She took the fabric in her hands and for some time simply stared down at it. Then she gently scraped a fingernail across it, rolling whatever small amount of matter she had collected between her forefinger and thumb. She smelled it and then put it up to her mouth, touching it to the inside of her lower lip, waiting for some moments and then touching it with the tip of her tongue. She sat back in the chair with her eyes closed for quite a long time, not speaking, not moving and, to judge from the slow and shallow rise and fall of her chest, scarcely breathing. Finally she gathered herself, crushed the material between her hands with some force and, as a powerful cloud of that strange, unknown perfume filled the room, put the fabric right up to her face and breathed in deeply.