The Time of the Hunter's Moon

by Victoria Holt

  “But why should he give two names?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what we have to find out. He mentioned this place Croston in Suffolk and the name of Edward Compton. You went there and saw the name on a tombstone. There must be some connection.”

  “Yet he was really Mark Chessingham.”

  “Very odd. The thing is, how are we going to start our enquiries?”

  “There were some houses. Perhaps we could ask there.”

  “We’ll see how it goes.”

  We left the train and took the small branch line to Croston. Memories came back to me. We walked first to the graveyard and I showed John the tombstone with Edward Compton’s name on it.

  “What next?” I asked.

  “I noticed quite a large house on the common. What if we told them we were trying to trace someone. They might be able to help.”

  We went to the house, which was obviously the most important in the village. A maid admitted us and John asked if he could see the master or mistress of the house. It says a great deal for his businesslike manner and air of respectability that we were granted an interview.

  Mrs. Carstairs was a comfortable-looking middle-aged woman who was clearly a little intrigued to find her callers were strangers. She graciously bade us sit down and state our business. She was clearly impressed by John’s urbane manner. He gave her his card with the name of his bank on it.

  “We are making enquiries about a man who, we think, may have lived here at some time. Unfortunately we are not sure of his name. It could be Mark Chessingham.”

  He waited. She gave no sign that she had heard that name. “Or Edward Compton,” he added.

  “Oh, that must be the family who were at the Manor. There is not a Manor now. It was burned to the ground. There’s been talk of rebuilding but they never seem to get round to it. But the Comptons lived there. It was a tragedy. I think that several members of the family were burned to death. There aren’t any Comptons now.”

  “Oh dear,” said John. “The trail seems to end. Perhaps there is some branch of the family…?”

  “I’ve never heard of them. I don’t think I can help you. You seem to be talking about people who have been dead long ago.”

  “You’ve been most helpful. We knew we had a difficult task.”

  “You have to live here for centuries to be recognized by the people here. We’re looked on as foreigners almost, though it’s nearly fifteen years since we came. Oh, wait a minute. There’s old Mrs. Clint. She’s a know-all. She’s lived here all her life and must be about ninety. She’d remember the fire. If you want to know anything about the people who lived here she’d be the one to tell you.”

  “It’s most kind of you to be so helpful. Where could we find her?”

  “I’ll take you to the door and show you. Her cottage is just across the Green. She’s bound to be in. She can’t get about much now. Her daughter goes in and does what is necessary.”

  “Well, thank you very much.”

  “I’m only sorry I can’t be of more help.”

  She stood at her door and pointed out the cottage across the Green.

  “Knock,” she said. “She’ll call for you to go in. She likes visitors. The trouble is that when she starts to talk she doesn’t know when to stop. I hope you’ve got plenty of time!”

  “The whole day,” said John.

  We walked across the Green.

  “Well,” he said, “we didn’t draw entirely a blank.”

  It was as the lady of the house had said. We knocked and were bidden to enter.

  Mrs. Clint was in bed, a bright old lady in a white cap from which fine gray hairs straggled; she wore woolen mittens over her clawlike hands.

  “I thought it was my daughter dropping in with the broth she’s bringing for my dinner,” she said. “Who are you?”

  “We have to apologize for disturbing you,” said John. “But the lady from the big house across the common told us that you might be able to help us.”

  “That’s Mrs. Carstairs from London. They don’t belong here. What do you want from me? Give a seat to the young lady and you have that rush chair. Mind, it’s a bit weak. Old Bob hasn’t been round mending this year. I don’t know…people nowadays. Used to come regular as clockwork. He’d do the chairs and sharpen the scissors. You could rely on him once. What are you looking for?”

  “Mark Chessingham or Edward Compton.”

  “Mark Whatsisname…no. And if it’s Edward Compton you’re looking for, the graveyard’s the place for you.”

  “We might have the wrong name,” said John. “The man we are looking for is tall and fair. He has a slight accent…Might have been German. Very faint…almost unnoticeable.”

  “Oh yes,” I said excitedly. “I remember that. He had. So you noticed.”

  Mrs. Clint scratched her head through her cap.

  “Twenty years or more, the whole house burned down. The children…It was a blow to the village. But not many remembers now…only us old ones.” She paused. “A bit of an accent you say and he lived here…I only ever heard a German accent once. My son Jimmy he had an ear for that sort of thing. He was a builder and he went abroad with his master on some big job. When he came back he said the Dowlings had German accents. Their mother was German you see. Dowling he wasn’t much good. Worked up at the big house at one time. Drink, it was…His downfall. Never had a job after the Manor went.”

  “Who had the German accent?” asked John.

  “She did. Well, she couldn’t speak much English. Couldn’t always understand what she was trying to say. My Jimmy used to say you could understand, but the young ones, born over here…brought up over here…you’d think they’d be different.”

  “And what was their name, did you say?”

  “Dowling.”

  “Could we see them?”

  “If you know where they’ve gone to you could.” She gave a hoarse chuckle. “What’ll stop you is, you don’t know where they are. They went away…all of them. There was a boy and a girl…very handsome both of them. Some said they went to Germany. Old Dowling had gone by then. So had she. He took more than the usual and one night fell down the stairs. He lingered for a few months. Then that was the end. That was years ago. Always together they was…the brother and sister. They were what you might call a devoted family.”

  “You have been a great help to us, Mrs. Clint.”

  “Have I now? I’m glad of that.”

  “Thank you very much and now we have to be getting on. Good day to you.”

  “A good morning’s work,” said John as we came out onto the Green.

  “So you think we’ve discovered something?”

  “Only that the Dowlings were half German and although Lydia’s husband never said that he was, it is in my mind that he must be.”

  It had been an interesting time and I had enjoyed being with John as I had done before; we had found out very little in Suffolk and we did not even know if that was relevant; the mystery remained as deep as ever; but at least I knew that my stranger had gone from me to Lydia and I constantly asked myself why he had come first to me and then given a false name; and why should it have been that of someone long dead?

  It was baffling and somehow alarming to think that he had gone straight to Lydia and disappeared as far as I was concerned without even saying he was going.

  It was certainly mysterious and I still had a niggling feeling that he might not have been human, that he was some spirit of doom, the ghost perhaps of that boy—or man—whose life had been cut short and now lay in Croston churchyard. Fanciful thinking, but then the matter was fanciful.

  Daisy had welcomed me back and implied, with only the slightest trace of reproach, that I had been missed. After all, it was the half-term holiday and if one could get away one was entitled to do so.

  “Eugenie had another bad turn while you were away,” she told me. “Charlotte came and wakened me.”

  “That’s rather alarming,” I said. “I hope
she is not sickening for something.”

  “It was the same sort of thing…sickness and giddiness. It was a little worse than last time. I got the doctor in to have a look at her.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Just what I thought. Something she had eaten did not agree with her.”

  “But that’s the second time it’s happened.”

  “She may have some weakness internally. There may be something which she cannot digest.”

  “Was it fish again?”

  “No. Oddly enough. It was stew. All the others were all right. I had some myself. It was very good.”

  “You don’t think she’s in a nervous state, do you? That could have this effect.”

  “That’s what I mentioned to the doctor. She must miss her sister.”

  “Although she was always more friendly with Charlotte than she was with Fiona.”

  “Well, blood is thicker than water. I think she may feel restless. It’s a pity Fiona doesn’t bring that husband of hers to the Hall and make it all normal. I think that would be a help.”

  “I am sure it would and perhaps she will in time.”

  “We’ll watch Eugenie and see if we can find out what is upsetting her.”

  “Yes, we’ll do that.”

  When I took my afternoon ride I met Jason Verringer. He had evidently been waiting to catch me.

  I said: “Good day,” and galloped on. But he was beside me.

  “Slow down,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

  “I have no wish to talk to you,” I flung over my shoulder.

  He brought his horse directly in front of mine so that I had to slow down.

  “I’ve had enough of this,” he said angrily. “How long is it since I’ve seen you?”

  I felt an excitement grip me and realized afresh how much I enjoyed my battles with him. He might subdue me through his greater physical strength but never mentally. I was a match for him and I couldn’t help reveling in making that clear.

  “Did you expect me to call? Leave my card with grateful thanks.”

  “My dearest Cordelia, how wonderful it is to be with you again! I have been so bored…so wretched…”

  “I have always believed that you are prone to self-pity. I have to get back to school now.”

  “You have just come out.”

  “It is such a short break.”

  “I hear you have some new and very charming friends. The Markhams. I know the name. City bankers. A very respectable family.”

  “How knowledgeable you are!”

  “I make a point of knowing what you are doing.”

  “You waste your time for it can be of no importance to you.”

  “Stop it. You know it is of the utmost importance. Let us go into the woods. We can tie up our horses and we can talk comfortably.”

  “You must think me very gullible if you think I would ever put myself in a vulnerable position with you around.”

  “Are you never going to forget?”

  “Never.”

  “If you had not been so unadventurous it could have been the turning point. I could have shown you what you are missing.”

  “You showed me very clearly. That is why I am asking you not to try to see me again alone. I know that, because of the school, a certain amount of contact is necessary and unavoidable. But I want no more than that.”

  “Of course you had a wonderful summer holiday, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “I heard through Eugenie.”

  “Teresa has been talking, has she?”

  “I understand this banking fellow has all the virtues. I heard he is something of a paragon.”

  “That would be Teresa’s version. Teresa is inclined to glorify the people whom she likes.”

  “And vilify those she doesn’t.”

  “It’s a habit of the young.”

  “Cordelia, do stop this. We must talk. It is no use your trying to pretend you are indifferent to me. Do you think I don’t know how you feel? If you’d stop being so restrained and were natural, you’d come to me right away. It’s what you want. But you are so under control…so much the schoolmistress. But we’re not in the classroom. We’re two living creatures…a man and a woman, and the most natural thing in the world is for us to be together.”

  “You don’t understand me in the least.”

  “But I do. You want me…me. I am the one for you, and you are fighting against it all the time. Why? Because respectability is standing beside you, urging you not to become involved with a man who may have helped one woman to her death and murdered another because he found her a nuisance. You listen to gossip. You accuse me…when all the time you want me. I could show you that you want me as much as…or almost…as I want you.”

  I was afraid of him when he talked like that. Why did I stay here with him? Why did he excite me as he did? Was there something in what he said?

  He went on: “You believe I killed my wife…an overdose of laudanum…so easy to administer. And then the other…strangulation…a blow on the head…and then I buried her body in the woods…no, I threw it into the fish ponds. That was the better idea. It was done by a member of my family before. In spite of this…the gossip, the scandal and your lack of faith, you want me. What could be a stronger indication than that? You turn away from me, but you can’t hide the truth. You wanted me in the Devil’s Den. You were longing for me. You wanted me to force you. Then you could have come to terms with your conscience. But old Respectability was standing by your side. ‘Escape,’ he said. ‘Break the window. Leap out.’ Anything that dear old Respectability should be satisfied. Do you think that would have stopped me?”

  “Yes. It did.” I laughed because I couldn’t help it and he laughed with me.

  He went on: “Oh, Cordelia, you are throwing away what you want most. If you reject me you will regret it all your life. This knight in shining armor…this Galahad, this symbol of purity, this miserable banker who always adds his figures correctly and has never had a single mistress and is without sin and stain…do you think he is your sort?”

  I was laughing again. “You are quite ridiculous,” I said. “I am sure he would be amused to hear himself so described. Surely there is nothing to be despised in adding up figures correctly, and I should imagine there is a certain amount of that involved in running an estate. You seem very anxious to marry me off. I might tell you that it has not been suggested, and I am surprised that you listen to schoolgirls’ tattle.”

  “The proposal will come. Bankers always know exactly how long to wait and how to get the right answer.”

  “Admirable people,” I said.

  “Oh, I am tired of your schoolmistress attitude to life. You are afraid to live…afraid of scandal.”

  “Which you never were. You see how different we are. We should never match.”

  “Not like you and your banker. Precise, conventional, the household accounts in order, making love every Wednesday night, having four children, that being the correct number. You’re laughing. You’re laughing all the time at me. You’re happy with me, aren’t you?”

  “Goodbye,” I said, and galloped away in the direction of the school.

  It was true in a way. If I was not entirely happy with him I was exhilarated as with no one else. No, I was not happy with him; but on the other hand I was not happy away from him.

  It would be better if I never saw him alone. I would shut him right out of my mind. I would remember those peaceful days on the farm.

  I went straight to my room to change for my class.

  Elsa was standing on the stairs, a duster in her hand, outside my room.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Grant,” she said with her familiar smile.

  “Good afternoon, Elsa.”

  I was about to walk past when she said: “Miss Grant, is Eugenie Verringer all right?”

  “Eugenie? Why?”

  “Well, she’s been ill, hasn’t she? She’s been ill twice. I was worried about
her.”

  “She’s all right. It was only bilious attacks.”

  “Oh, I’m glad. You get fond of some of the girls…like I did at Schaffenbrucken. There was you and the French girl and that German one and that other English girl.”

  “Lydia,” I said. “Lydia Markham. You’ll be sorry to hear she was killed in a skiing accident.”

  She clutched the door and looked really disturbed. “Not that Lydia…”

  “Yes. I discovered it only the other day. Her brother came to see me and told me all about it. She was married.”

  “She was only a young girl.”

  “Old enough to be married. By the way, Elsa, do you remember when we went into the forest? You told us about the Hunter’s Moon and all that.”

  “That was a bit of rubbish just to amuse you girls.”

  “Well, you were right that time. We met a man and he got to know Lydia afterwards. He married her.”

  “You don’t say!”

  “Rather strange, wasn’t it?”

  “And then her to die like that. Skiing did you say? I shouldn’t have thought she was a one for that sort of thing.”

  “No, her husband must have changed her.”

  “Oh, Miss Grant, this is a bit of a shock for me. Of course it’s a long time since I saw her…Fancy you meeting her brother like that. It must have been a shock for you.”

  “A terrible shock. I saw Monique…you remember her? She told me about Lydia. Lydia hadn’t written to me.”

  “Oh dear, it’s all come about in a funny sort of way…You not knowing and all that. But what I really wanted to ask you about was Eugenie. I heard they had the doctor to her. What did he say?”

  “Nothing serious. It seems she’s prone to biliousness.”

  “Oh. I’m glad. It was her having it before made me wonder. Weakening, that sort of thing.”

  “Yes, but Eugenie’s young. It’s just that something must be upsetting her. We’ll find out what it is and put an end to these distressing attacks. It happens now and then.”

  “I’m sure it does. I’m glad it’s nothing serious. I began to wonder…And it’s a terrible shock about that Lydia.”

  “Yes,” I said, and went into my room.

  ***

  November had come, dank, dark and gloomy. Aunt Patty wrote that the Markhams had asked us to spend Christmas with them. She thought it would be a lovely idea. “A sort of Dingley Dell Christmas, dear. Can’t you imagine it? Teresa, of course, is included in the invitation.”