Authors: Neil M. Gunn
Second Sight (2 page)
As Harry paused, Sir John said, “I did not know Alick was affected that way. A funeral procession, was it?”
“Yes.”
“You did not question him?” Though in the form of a question Sir John's words held half a warningâif need be.
“I did, of course,” said Harry, showing Sir John by his eyes that he understood him. “But he obviously did not like to be questioned, so I did not pursue it too far.”
“But surely you asked him what he saw?” demanded Geoffrey.
“Naturally. He saw some persons carrying a dead body.”
“The phantom funeral,” explained Sir John. “It was not an uncommon experience in the old days in the Highlands, if we believe the old tales. But with the advance of science it is getting rare.”
“Naturally,” agreed Geoffrey. “But it's an interesting form of delusion or hallucination. And Harry was obviously impressed!” He looked at Harry. “Can we really take your word for it that you are not spoofing us?”
“Geoffrey!” exclaimed Helen, shocked.
“You can,” said Harry.
“You mean you are satisfied that the man did actually imagine he was seeing something?”
“It is not the sort of thing a man would make up, is it?”
“I merely asked you a question.”
“And I have answered.” Harry regarded Geoffrey drily. “This is not a court of lawâwith the dead body as exhibit number oneânot
yet
”.
“Now don't get fantastic. That's the worst of you romantic people. You see somethingâor at least
someone else
sees somethingâor imagines he sees somethingâand then you all promptly develop a situation. Good Lord! you don't mean to say you are serious about this?” Into a chuckle Geoffrey could contrive to put a considerable amount of complacent sarcasm.
“It isn't a question of being serious or otherwise,” replied Harry, for he could not stop himself reacting to Geoffrey. “You flatter yourself you are the modern, unprejudiced, scientific mind, yet here you are, bung-full of prejudice before you have even approachedâa certain definite experience which I have laid before you. That experience may be susceptible of a perfectly rational explanation. An effort at sarcastic laughter explains nothing.”
“Touch!” said Marjory.
“âExperience which I have laid before you' is good.” Geoffrey was tickled by it. “You have laid nothing before us except a sort of vague situation. This sort of situation: a man sees somethingâwhich isn't there. You were there. You saw nothing. Yet you are now prepared to create a situation about it. Don't you know anything about delusional psychology?”
“Not much,” said Harry.
“And you wondered why I laughed!”
“I still do,” said Helen.
So Geoffrey laughed again, and the others smiled.
“I'm afraid I cannot help you,” said Geoffrey.
Helen raised her eyebrows. “But that's nothing to be superior over.”
“Now, Helen, child, it's timeââ”
“But, Mother, I'm not a child. I'm twenty-one and fit to be the âfather' of a family. What I object to is this. Geoffrey uses a big word as if it were a stick. That stick may beat meâbut it will never make me believe. He thinks it will. The materialist is always a bully.”
“Oh, bravo, Helen!” cried Marjory.
“You mix up two things, my child: reason and belief,” Geoffrey explained. “You emotionally want to believe in something. My reason is not impressed.”
“My lamb, neither is my belief impressed by your reason,” retorted Helen.
Sir John chuckled, as he nearly always did when his daughter spoke in this way, for he was fond of her. Lady Marway smiled and was just about to order Harry off, when Geoffrey replied:
“That may be. But again it proves nothing. Let us agree that this man Alick did have his delusion, that he genuinely imagined he saw things. Well, we all know about that. Our asylums are full of people who see queerer things than funerals. The things they see never take placeâexcept inside their own heads.”
“Yesâbutâbut that's not the same.” Helen was rather stumped, until she had the bright idea: “Do you mean that Alick should be in an asylum?”
Geoffrey just laughed.
“I think Geoffrey is probably pretty near the truth of the matter,” said Sir John, pleased, with his wife, to leave the matter there.
But Harry could hardly leave it there. “I merely notice that Geoffrey has explained nothingâin his usual adroit way. The people inside asylums, as far as I know, have delusions about themselves. They do not have delusions about specific happenings in the future divorced from themselves. People in asylums are obsessed. Alick is not obsessed. The delusion, as you call it, was quite involuntary. He has had it very seldom. Only once or twice in his life. He dislikes it. Hates it. I was sorry for him.”
“Well?” Helen challenged Geoffrey.
“How, for example, do you know he dislikes it, hates it?”
“From the evidence he led,” replied Harry.
“You mean,” said Geoffrey ironically, “he
told
you he hates it?”
“Oh no; he never told me he hated it.”
“The evidence, then?”
Harry hesitated. “He began to trembleâwhen they had passed.”
“Nothing more?”
“Thenâhe was sick.”
“Sick?”
“He vomitedâin the heather.”
There was a very distinct pause.
“You asked him what he saw?”
“I asked him what was wrong with him. He muttered that he had seen something. I asked him what it was. He would not speak. I could see a tremendous reluctance upon him. But I begged him to tell me. I was friendly. I wanted to help him. He said at last: âFour men carrying a dead body.'”
“Did you ask him”, probed Geoffrey, “if he recognised the dead body?”
“I did.” Harry's eyes were coldly on Geoffrey. They all waited for his next words. Tonelessly they came. “He said: âNo'.”
Lady Marway drew in a full breath, but Geoffrey was in pursuit at once. “There you are! Why is it that he did not see the one fact, the one piece of evidence, by which his so-called vision could be checked?”
“I can't tell you, I'm sure,” replied Harry. “Possibly it is rather a good thing he doesn't.”
“There you go! Anything, so long as it is beside the point! Here's what is reputed to be a vision of the future. Yet the one most important thing in the vision itselfâand the only thing by which the vision could be checkedâis not recognised. In any detective story, whether the author plays honest or dishonest, at least you are always told who the dead man is.”
“There's something in that,” Sir John nodded. “In all these phantom funerals, the person who sees it never seems to know the dead body, now that you mention it. He sees the procession winding along a pathââ”
“And afterwards,” interrupted Geoffrey triumphantly, “when a funeral procession does wind along that same pathâas funeral processions must at some time wander over every human path there isâthe people shake their heads. Ah, three days agoâor three years agoâor three centuries agoâAlick Macdonald, the stalker at Corbreac, foresaw this death. Ahâmysterious!⦠Now, I mean to say, isn't it absurd? All joking apart.”
“I think so, Geoffrey,” agreed Lady Marway. “I think you have made it perfectly clear. And nowââ”
“But, Mother, he hasn't!”
“No?” Geoffrey raised amused eyebrows.
“Has he?” And Helen turned to Harry.
They were all amused, including Harry, who said to her, pleasantly: “I agree, Helen. He hasn't. Let us assume that when you go back home you go bang into a funeral and pull your car up to let it pass. You are presently alarmed to find a great number of your friends there. You wonder who can have died. But you cannot tell. Why? Because you cannot see through the coffin.”
“Phew!” breathed Marjory. “We are getting gruesome, aren't we?”
“What have you to say to that?” Helen asked Geoffrey.
“May I inquire of your counsel if the medium in this particular case recognised the four men who carried the dead body?”
“Did he?” asked Helen.
“He did,” said Harry.
“He mentioned them to you by name?” challenged Geoffrey.
Harry took a moment, then said, “He did.”
They all looked at him. No one asked for the names. At last he continued, “There is no reason why I should not give you the names. It has nothing to do withâuhâanyone in particular.” (They felt that he was deliberately reserving at least part of the truth). “In Alick's interest, I don't want to be more definite. He felt the experience so much that I shouldn't like him to run into any gossip about it. I hope you see what I mean. I had an unusual experience and I was full of it, I admit. But”âhe began to smile in his entertaining wayâ“it's gone far enough. And nowââ”
“One minute,” said Geoffrey. “Are you prepared to write down the names?”
“Yes,” said Harry, now smiling cheerfully, “and sign, seal, and deliver them to your banker.”
“And you didn't seeâor hearâanything yourself?” Helen asked.
“Not a thing! Thoughânow you mention it,” and he laughed, “I did
hear
something. It was just as the procession had passed. I heard the deep ringing of a ship's bell in my ears.”
At that moment, the dinner-bell, a rather slow deep-noted one, began ringing. By the way Harry's head jerked up and his eyes openedâobviously involuntarilyâthey all saw at once that that was the bell he had heard. But he let the smile come on his face very cunningly. “Of course, as Geoffrey knows,”he said, “a bell ringing in one's ears is quite a common experience. Usually something to do with the liver, hasn't it? But it was my conscienceâfor being late.” He bowed to his hostess. “I do most abjectly apologise. Please don't wait for me.”
“They must have heard you come in and assumed you would be dressed and in your right mind.” She smiled. “I shall try to forgive you.”
“It would take more than a ghost”, said Helen, “to stop Cook having the bell rung when she is ready.”
“And now I feel like a school boy!” Harry rushed out.
They had all got up, and, as they went towards the door, Lady Marway said: “At any rate, he does contrive to keep us alive.”
“Barely,” answered Marjory. “I'm famished. But he stood up to you, Geoffrey.”
“Yes, didn't he?” Half-closing her mouth, Helen could coo in her throat like a pigeon.
“He did his best,” said Geoffrey. “But you haven't heard the end of all this yet. You wait!”
“Don't you think you should let it rest?” suggested Lady Marway.
“Let it rest! Now that I have him and can document the case? We'll have some fun out of this. I see it coming. Harry's ghost!”
Helen turned in the door of the dining-room and in a deep, slow voice said, “What if it's
your
ghost?”
She said it very well, and there was just a second before Geoffrey laughed.
“Yes.”
“You did not question him?” Though in the form of a question Sir John's words held half a warningâif need be.
“I did, of course,” said Harry, showing Sir John by his eyes that he understood him. “But he obviously did not like to be questioned, so I did not pursue it too far.”
“But surely you asked him what he saw?” demanded Geoffrey.
“Naturally. He saw some persons carrying a dead body.”
“The phantom funeral,” explained Sir John. “It was not an uncommon experience in the old days in the Highlands, if we believe the old tales. But with the advance of science it is getting rare.”
“Naturally,” agreed Geoffrey. “But it's an interesting form of delusion or hallucination. And Harry was obviously impressed!” He looked at Harry. “Can we really take your word for it that you are not spoofing us?”
“Geoffrey!” exclaimed Helen, shocked.
“You can,” said Harry.
“You mean you are satisfied that the man did actually imagine he was seeing something?”
“It is not the sort of thing a man would make up, is it?”
“I merely asked you a question.”
“And I have answered.” Harry regarded Geoffrey drily. “This is not a court of lawâwith the dead body as exhibit number oneânot
yet
”.
“Now don't get fantastic. That's the worst of you romantic people. You see somethingâor at least
someone else
sees somethingâor imagines he sees somethingâand then you all promptly develop a situation. Good Lord! you don't mean to say you are serious about this?” Into a chuckle Geoffrey could contrive to put a considerable amount of complacent sarcasm.
“It isn't a question of being serious or otherwise,” replied Harry, for he could not stop himself reacting to Geoffrey. “You flatter yourself you are the modern, unprejudiced, scientific mind, yet here you are, bung-full of prejudice before you have even approachedâa certain definite experience which I have laid before you. That experience may be susceptible of a perfectly rational explanation. An effort at sarcastic laughter explains nothing.”
“Touch!” said Marjory.
“âExperience which I have laid before you' is good.” Geoffrey was tickled by it. “You have laid nothing before us except a sort of vague situation. This sort of situation: a man sees somethingâwhich isn't there. You were there. You saw nothing. Yet you are now prepared to create a situation about it. Don't you know anything about delusional psychology?”
“Not much,” said Harry.
“And you wondered why I laughed!”
“I still do,” said Helen.
So Geoffrey laughed again, and the others smiled.
“I'm afraid I cannot help you,” said Geoffrey.
Helen raised her eyebrows. “But that's nothing to be superior over.”
“Now, Helen, child, it's timeââ”
“But, Mother, I'm not a child. I'm twenty-one and fit to be the âfather' of a family. What I object to is this. Geoffrey uses a big word as if it were a stick. That stick may beat meâbut it will never make me believe. He thinks it will. The materialist is always a bully.”
“Oh, bravo, Helen!” cried Marjory.
“You mix up two things, my child: reason and belief,” Geoffrey explained. “You emotionally want to believe in something. My reason is not impressed.”
“My lamb, neither is my belief impressed by your reason,” retorted Helen.
Sir John chuckled, as he nearly always did when his daughter spoke in this way, for he was fond of her. Lady Marway smiled and was just about to order Harry off, when Geoffrey replied:
“That may be. But again it proves nothing. Let us agree that this man Alick did have his delusion, that he genuinely imagined he saw things. Well, we all know about that. Our asylums are full of people who see queerer things than funerals. The things they see never take placeâexcept inside their own heads.”
“Yesâbutâbut that's not the same.” Helen was rather stumped, until she had the bright idea: “Do you mean that Alick should be in an asylum?”
Geoffrey just laughed.
“I think Geoffrey is probably pretty near the truth of the matter,” said Sir John, pleased, with his wife, to leave the matter there.
But Harry could hardly leave it there. “I merely notice that Geoffrey has explained nothingâin his usual adroit way. The people inside asylums, as far as I know, have delusions about themselves. They do not have delusions about specific happenings in the future divorced from themselves. People in asylums are obsessed. Alick is not obsessed. The delusion, as you call it, was quite involuntary. He has had it very seldom. Only once or twice in his life. He dislikes it. Hates it. I was sorry for him.”
“Well?” Helen challenged Geoffrey.
“How, for example, do you know he dislikes it, hates it?”
“From the evidence he led,” replied Harry.
“You mean,” said Geoffrey ironically, “he
told
you he hates it?”
“Oh no; he never told me he hated it.”
“The evidence, then?”
Harry hesitated. “He began to trembleâwhen they had passed.”
“Nothing more?”
“Thenâhe was sick.”
“Sick?”
“He vomitedâin the heather.”
There was a very distinct pause.
“You asked him what he saw?”
“I asked him what was wrong with him. He muttered that he had seen something. I asked him what it was. He would not speak. I could see a tremendous reluctance upon him. But I begged him to tell me. I was friendly. I wanted to help him. He said at last: âFour men carrying a dead body.'”
“Did you ask him”, probed Geoffrey, “if he recognised the dead body?”
“I did.” Harry's eyes were coldly on Geoffrey. They all waited for his next words. Tonelessly they came. “He said: âNo'.”
Lady Marway drew in a full breath, but Geoffrey was in pursuit at once. “There you are! Why is it that he did not see the one fact, the one piece of evidence, by which his so-called vision could be checked?”
“I can't tell you, I'm sure,” replied Harry. “Possibly it is rather a good thing he doesn't.”
“There you go! Anything, so long as it is beside the point! Here's what is reputed to be a vision of the future. Yet the one most important thing in the vision itselfâand the only thing by which the vision could be checkedâis not recognised. In any detective story, whether the author plays honest or dishonest, at least you are always told who the dead man is.”
“There's something in that,” Sir John nodded. “In all these phantom funerals, the person who sees it never seems to know the dead body, now that you mention it. He sees the procession winding along a pathââ”
“And afterwards,” interrupted Geoffrey triumphantly, “when a funeral procession does wind along that same pathâas funeral processions must at some time wander over every human path there isâthe people shake their heads. Ah, three days agoâor three years agoâor three centuries agoâAlick Macdonald, the stalker at Corbreac, foresaw this death. Ahâmysterious!⦠Now, I mean to say, isn't it absurd? All joking apart.”
“I think so, Geoffrey,” agreed Lady Marway. “I think you have made it perfectly clear. And nowââ”
“But, Mother, he hasn't!”
“No?” Geoffrey raised amused eyebrows.
“Has he?” And Helen turned to Harry.
They were all amused, including Harry, who said to her, pleasantly: “I agree, Helen. He hasn't. Let us assume that when you go back home you go bang into a funeral and pull your car up to let it pass. You are presently alarmed to find a great number of your friends there. You wonder who can have died. But you cannot tell. Why? Because you cannot see through the coffin.”
“Phew!” breathed Marjory. “We are getting gruesome, aren't we?”
“What have you to say to that?” Helen asked Geoffrey.
“May I inquire of your counsel if the medium in this particular case recognised the four men who carried the dead body?”
“Did he?” asked Helen.
“He did,” said Harry.
“He mentioned them to you by name?” challenged Geoffrey.
Harry took a moment, then said, “He did.”
They all looked at him. No one asked for the names. At last he continued, “There is no reason why I should not give you the names. It has nothing to do withâuhâanyone in particular.” (They felt that he was deliberately reserving at least part of the truth). “In Alick's interest, I don't want to be more definite. He felt the experience so much that I shouldn't like him to run into any gossip about it. I hope you see what I mean. I had an unusual experience and I was full of it, I admit. But”âhe began to smile in his entertaining wayâ“it's gone far enough. And nowââ”
“One minute,” said Geoffrey. “Are you prepared to write down the names?”
“Yes,” said Harry, now smiling cheerfully, “and sign, seal, and deliver them to your banker.”
“And you didn't seeâor hearâanything yourself?” Helen asked.
“Not a thing! Thoughânow you mention it,” and he laughed, “I did
hear
something. It was just as the procession had passed. I heard the deep ringing of a ship's bell in my ears.”
At that moment, the dinner-bell, a rather slow deep-noted one, began ringing. By the way Harry's head jerked up and his eyes openedâobviously involuntarilyâthey all saw at once that that was the bell he had heard. But he let the smile come on his face very cunningly. “Of course, as Geoffrey knows,”he said, “a bell ringing in one's ears is quite a common experience. Usually something to do with the liver, hasn't it? But it was my conscienceâfor being late.” He bowed to his hostess. “I do most abjectly apologise. Please don't wait for me.”
“They must have heard you come in and assumed you would be dressed and in your right mind.” She smiled. “I shall try to forgive you.”
“It would take more than a ghost”, said Helen, “to stop Cook having the bell rung when she is ready.”
“And now I feel like a school boy!” Harry rushed out.
They had all got up, and, as they went towards the door, Lady Marway said: “At any rate, he does contrive to keep us alive.”
“Barely,” answered Marjory. “I'm famished. But he stood up to you, Geoffrey.”
“Yes, didn't he?” Half-closing her mouth, Helen could coo in her throat like a pigeon.
“He did his best,” said Geoffrey. “But you haven't heard the end of all this yet. You wait!”
“Don't you think you should let it rest?” suggested Lady Marway.
“Let it rest! Now that I have him and can document the case? We'll have some fun out of this. I see it coming. Harry's ghost!”
Helen turned in the door of the dining-room and in a deep, slow voice said, “What if it's
your
ghost?”
She said it very well, and there was just a second before Geoffrey laughed.
Chapter Two
W
hile they were at dinner, Mairi, the parlour-maid, came into the empty sitting-room with a duster in her hand. As she faced the room, listening, she closed the door behind her very softly. The air of tension in her attitude heightened the colour in her cheeks. She was dark, with brown eyes. “A dark, pretty country girl,” was how a visitor remembered her in London. She was twenty-one, the same age as Helen. But where Helen might fly, Mairi would dive. She now listened naturally, every instinct alert, and not for one thing but for everything.
Opposite her, across the room, was the gun-room door, with the fireplace to the right of it. The wall on her left hand was to the back of the house, and through its window, which faced north, could be seen in daylight the green-painted larder where the stags were hung up, a corner of the garage, and the “back road” that gave on pony tracks into the forest. A brown curtain, hanging to just below the sill, covered the window at the moment. Mairi's eyes rested on it, then she began gathering the glasses and cleaning up the ash-trays.
The room was furnished simply and in good taste, with some comfortable armchairs, a writing-desk, and a mahogany bookcaseâthe bottom half with doors. A bracket lamp in the wall by the bookcase was usually turned lowâuntil required in that part of the room for reading or writing. It was of the same kind as the standard lamp, which with its incandescent mantle and bulbous opaque white globe stood over towards the fireplace. The antlers above the gun-room door and the spotted cannibal trout in its glass case above the hall door somehow did not obtrude. A spray of red autumn berries in a brown earthenware jar suitably suggested the time of year.
Mairi moved about deftly, but she still kept listening, and at last, hearing a sound in the gun-room, she stood still so suddenly that her very nostrils seemed to scent the sound, like a hind's. It came nearer. She glanced away from it towards the hall door, then, going to the gun-room door, calmly opened it.
“Oh, it's you,” she said coolly.
“Yes,” said Alick.
As he approached her, she stepped back. “What do you want?”
He came into the doorway, a rifle and an oiled rag in his hand, glanced round the room and then looked at Mairi.
“Anything wrong?” he asked.
The dry searching satire came out of an expressionless face, except for the eyes, and they were, for so big a man, rather small. He was as tall as Geoffrey, but with the powerful shoulders and lean flanks of the “heavy”athlete. He walked lightly and could probably be as quick on his feet as a cat. His face was full, without being fleshy, and his eyes, of a greeny blue, could be penetratingly steadfast, as indeed they were now. This still waiting quality in him defeated Mairi, and despite herself concern crept into her voice when she repeated, “What do you want?”
“To tell the truth,” he said, “I was wanting a drink.”
He said it so simply that she was shocked. Her voice was a note lower and more intense when she replied, “You know I would never give you or anyone else a drink out of their private decanter.” Then she looked around as if she might have been overheard.
“I know that,” he answered, in a voice light in tone, like his fairness. “But, you see, Mr.Kingsley promised me a drink.”
“Well, he can give it to you. I can't.”
He glanced at the decanter, still on top of the cabinet, and entered. “I see I'll have to help myself.”
“No, you won't!” and she faced him, her back to the decanter.
“Going to stop me?”
“Yes.” She was breathing rapidly.
“Good for you! I have always admired your spirit, haven't I?”
“Go away! Go out!”
He looked about him. “Mr. Kingsley poured some whisky into a glass for me. I didn't want it then. But I want it now. Did he pour it back?” He smiled at her. “Why this sudden opposition? It's not your whisky. And I'll tell Mr. Kingsley to-morrow that I took it.”
“No!”
Then he looked into her eyes.
“Has Mr. Kingsley been talking?”
“Yes.”
“You listened at the door?”
“Yes.”
“The whole story?”
“Yes.”
“I see!⦠In that case you must know I need the whisky. It's two miles home. Why refuse me a drink?”
“It's Sir John's whisky.”
“No, it's not that. It's not because it's
his
drink, in spite of your honesty. The queer thing isâyou don't know why you're doing this yourself. Isn't that so?”
“Go away!” she said to his eyes.
“You are vexed that it happened. And you are frightened⦠of what?”
“I don't know.”
He dropped his eyes to the rifle barrel and smoothed it with the oiled rag. He had seen her body quiver. “Be sensible, then.” The easy-going good nature in him gave a twist to his smile. “You know they come to the Highlands to be entertained. You know that. Wellâwe must do what we can. They expect to see ghosts and queer things. All part of the environment. Someone must play up.”
She was now staring at him, herself forgotten.
“You don't believe me?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
She gulped. “You wouldn'tâdareââ”
“What?” His smile searched her out and its good nature terrified her. “Frightened I'm daring the Black Place, down below.” And then on the same tone: “If you don't give me the whisky, Mairi, I'll raise Satan himself.”
“Alick!” There was horror in her voice.
“You see? You really want to save me. But you don't know from what. It's not because you're afraid of the Devil. Not a bit.” Then quietly, with a penetration that hurt her: “You hateâin your heartâthat I should have let him seeâthat I should have let them in on me. Why?” Slowly his smile came again. “Lord, Mairi, one would almost think you were in love with me! Stand aside now, like a good girl.”
“No.”
“No? You'll be wanting a good old flare upâso that all your bits will crash together. Is that it? It gets like that.” His left eyelid quivered in humour, as he laid the rifle and the rag on the floor. Then he straightened up and faced her; but obviously in no hurry. “I love your spirit, Mairi, me darlin'. It's a pity that you hate those tricks of mine.”
They were words he would never use normally. The clairvoyant, underlying-bitter mood in him began to have a disintegrating effect upon her. As she filled her lungs, her whole body trembled. He saw she could not stand it much longer and he put his arms about her to lift her aside. But as they lifted they embraced her, and at that her spirit was released. She struggled with such startling violence that they overbalanced against the cabinet and sent the decanter flying to the floor, where it crashed into pieces and scattered the whisky.
So appalled was Mairi that she still gripped his jacket with one hand as she listened. Then she came to herself. “Quick! Out before they come! Quick! Quick!”
But he stood unmoving. There was the sound of a door, of footsteps.
“Quick, Alick! Get out!” Madly she pushed him towards the gun-room door, but his body resisted. She was too late anyway. The hall door opened and Geoffrey's head appeared, duly followed by his whole person.
“What'sâhappened?”
“It'sâit's the whisky, sir,” said Mairi. “It fell. I pushed it over. I'm sorry.” The gulp in her voice kept back the flood of tears.
But Geoffrey was watching Alick slowly picking up the rifle and the rag. “It's whisky all right.” He sniffed audibly. “And it's you, Alick.”
“Yes, sir,” said Alick calmly.
“Were you helping her to push it over?”
For Mairi had clearly been in some sort of struggle. She started mopping up the whisky with her duster.
“I'm afraid I was.”
“Afraid you were, what!”
Helen entered, followed by Marjory.
“I say!” said Marjory, sniffing.
“What's happened?” Helen stood still, fascinated.
Sir John and Lady Marway came in, but Harry remained in the doorway, his eyes on Alick.
“They pushed the whisky overâaccidentally,” Geoffrey explained. His humour was hard and sarcastic, for Alick's unyielding eyes had angered him.
Mairi leaned back on her heels. “I'm sorry, ma'm,” she said in deep distress, to Lady Marway. “It fell offâthere. I hit against it. I'm very sorry.”
“Was that the way, Alick?” Lady Marway asked calmly.
“Yes, ma'm,” said Alick.
Lady Marway surveyed the floor. “You'd better get another cloth.”
Carrying the broken pieces and her sopping duster, Mairi withdrew.
They all looked at Alick, who seemed to be waiting for what they had to say. He stood extraordinarily still and expressionless. A solid opaque body, vaguely ominous.
“Well, I think we may finish our dinner.” Lady Marway regarded Alick with a certain level humour. “You promise no more distractions?” Then, as he did not answer: “Very well, you may go.”
Without a word he turned and went out at the gun-room door. At the same moment, Harry withdrew from the hall door.
“Rather sinister figure, don't you think?” said Geoffrey.
“Oh, Geoffrey!” Helen looked at him. “Didn't you see the sweat on his forehead.”
“Can't say I did. But possibly you're right. They had a bit of a struggle.”
“Struggle?” Sir John's brows wrinkled.
“Yes. The rifle was on the floor. And she was somewhat deranged. Didn't you notice?”
“Do you mean he was trying to take the whisky from her?”
Geoffrey's smile grew more sarcastic. “Possibly he was trying to do that, too! In factââ”
“Hsh!” said Helen, as Mairi came in with a dry cloth.
When Lady Marway had sent them back to finish dinner, she inspected the floor and for a moment watched Mairi at work.
“I am very disappointed about this, Mairi.”
“Yes, ma'm. I am very sorry.”
“Was it entirely an accident?”
“Yes, ma'm.”
“Alick was not to blameâin any way?”
“No, ma'm. He was cleaning Mr. Kingsley's rifle andâand just came in to speak to me.”
“I see.”
“I hope, ma'm, you don't think Alick had anything to do with it?” Her lips quivered.
“All right, Mairi. I'll try to forget it.”
“Thank you, ma'm. It won't happen again.”
“I hope not. You can open the window for a little.”
“Yes, ma'm.”
When Lady Marway had gone, closing the door behind her, Mairi finished her mopping, then went to the window, held the curtain aside, and heaved up the lower half. She was wondering whether she should draw the curtain open, when a step startled her and she swung round, letting the curtain fall over the open window.
“All right, Mairi! Don't be frightened.” Harry stood in the gun-room door. “He seems to have gone.”
She stared at him, speechless.
He entered, hesitated for a moment thoughtfully, then gave a half-shrug and, about to go, paused and smiled to her. “Tell me,” he said in a kindly way; “do you believe in second sight?”
Out of her dark eyes came glancing shafts of fear. She did not speak.
“You don't care to answer, perhaps?â¦Uhm. Difficult, I suppose.” He looked away from her. “Do youâthenâlike the idea of it?”
“I hate it!”
The words came with surprising force. Harry nodded, not looking at her. “I understand. Tell meâdo you think he will go straight home?”
“I don't know.” From being intense, her voice had become completely non-committal.
“What do you think?”
“I don't know.”
Harry nodded. “He must have hated being caught out here, like this. It was bad luck. Butâdon't you fret. He'll be all right.” Then he turned his head, let the friendly smile in his eyes speak for him, and made for the dining-room.
She looked after him, and, as the door closed, her face came alive again. Listening, she heard the sound of the wind rising. The window curtain fluttered out, then fell back and remained still. She heard the sound die over the fir wood. Lifting her wet cloth and the tray of glasses which she had placed on the writing-table, she went out hurriedly.
In a little while she came back with the coffee tray and, when she had disposed it properly, gave a swift look around to satisfy herself everything was in order. When she heard voices coming from the dining-room, she immediately started for the gun-room door, her fingers already unfastening her white apron. She gave the impression of one about to hurry into the night.
Helen and Marjory entered, discussing the manner in which a dinner can be ruined.
“I think your mother is marvellous, she's so patient,” said Marjory. “They'll crack nuts now, to ease their excitement! I must say I think Harry is provocative.”
“Harry? Surely it's Geoffrey.”
“No. It's Harryâand you. Geoffrey is merely like that. True to himself. He must expose superstition.”
“Surely, Marjory, that's absurdâanyway, about Harry and me?”
“Not a bit. You are creating a situation, as Geoffrey said. Can't you feel it being created, with the horrid underfeeling that one of us is about to die? Ugh! there's positively a chill in this room already. I think your mother would like to stop it. I think she is right.”
Helen, who had lifted a coffee cup and saucer, stood looking at Marjory as she went towards the fire. She forgot to pour coffee into her cup, so arrested was she at the
spoken
thought of death. The death of one of themselves here.
One of themselves!
She moved away a pace or two, but the thought went with her. There
was
a chill in the room. Marjory got down on her knees before the fire.
W
hile they were at dinner, Mairi, the parlour-maid, came into the empty sitting-room with a duster in her hand. As she faced the room, listening, she closed the door behind her very softly. The air of tension in her attitude heightened the colour in her cheeks. She was dark, with brown eyes. “A dark, pretty country girl,” was how a visitor remembered her in London. She was twenty-one, the same age as Helen. But where Helen might fly, Mairi would dive. She now listened naturally, every instinct alert, and not for one thing but for everything.
Opposite her, across the room, was the gun-room door, with the fireplace to the right of it. The wall on her left hand was to the back of the house, and through its window, which faced north, could be seen in daylight the green-painted larder where the stags were hung up, a corner of the garage, and the “back road” that gave on pony tracks into the forest. A brown curtain, hanging to just below the sill, covered the window at the moment. Mairi's eyes rested on it, then she began gathering the glasses and cleaning up the ash-trays.
The room was furnished simply and in good taste, with some comfortable armchairs, a writing-desk, and a mahogany bookcaseâthe bottom half with doors. A bracket lamp in the wall by the bookcase was usually turned lowâuntil required in that part of the room for reading or writing. It was of the same kind as the standard lamp, which with its incandescent mantle and bulbous opaque white globe stood over towards the fireplace. The antlers above the gun-room door and the spotted cannibal trout in its glass case above the hall door somehow did not obtrude. A spray of red autumn berries in a brown earthenware jar suitably suggested the time of year.
Mairi moved about deftly, but she still kept listening, and at last, hearing a sound in the gun-room, she stood still so suddenly that her very nostrils seemed to scent the sound, like a hind's. It came nearer. She glanced away from it towards the hall door, then, going to the gun-room door, calmly opened it.
“Oh, it's you,” she said coolly.
“Yes,” said Alick.
As he approached her, she stepped back. “What do you want?”
He came into the doorway, a rifle and an oiled rag in his hand, glanced round the room and then looked at Mairi.
“Anything wrong?” he asked.
The dry searching satire came out of an expressionless face, except for the eyes, and they were, for so big a man, rather small. He was as tall as Geoffrey, but with the powerful shoulders and lean flanks of the “heavy”athlete. He walked lightly and could probably be as quick on his feet as a cat. His face was full, without being fleshy, and his eyes, of a greeny blue, could be penetratingly steadfast, as indeed they were now. This still waiting quality in him defeated Mairi, and despite herself concern crept into her voice when she repeated, “What do you want?”
“To tell the truth,” he said, “I was wanting a drink.”
He said it so simply that she was shocked. Her voice was a note lower and more intense when she replied, “You know I would never give you or anyone else a drink out of their private decanter.” Then she looked around as if she might have been overheard.
“I know that,” he answered, in a voice light in tone, like his fairness. “But, you see, Mr.Kingsley promised me a drink.”
“Well, he can give it to you. I can't.”
He glanced at the decanter, still on top of the cabinet, and entered. “I see I'll have to help myself.”
“No, you won't!” and she faced him, her back to the decanter.
“Going to stop me?”
“Yes.” She was breathing rapidly.
“Good for you! I have always admired your spirit, haven't I?”
“Go away! Go out!”
He looked about him. “Mr. Kingsley poured some whisky into a glass for me. I didn't want it then. But I want it now. Did he pour it back?” He smiled at her. “Why this sudden opposition? It's not your whisky. And I'll tell Mr. Kingsley to-morrow that I took it.”
“No!”
Then he looked into her eyes.
“Has Mr. Kingsley been talking?”
“Yes.”
“You listened at the door?”
“Yes.”
“The whole story?”
“Yes.”
“I see!⦠In that case you must know I need the whisky. It's two miles home. Why refuse me a drink?”
“It's Sir John's whisky.”
“No, it's not that. It's not because it's
his
drink, in spite of your honesty. The queer thing isâyou don't know why you're doing this yourself. Isn't that so?”
“Go away!” she said to his eyes.
“You are vexed that it happened. And you are frightened⦠of what?”
“I don't know.”
He dropped his eyes to the rifle barrel and smoothed it with the oiled rag. He had seen her body quiver. “Be sensible, then.” The easy-going good nature in him gave a twist to his smile. “You know they come to the Highlands to be entertained. You know that. Wellâwe must do what we can. They expect to see ghosts and queer things. All part of the environment. Someone must play up.”
She was now staring at him, herself forgotten.
“You don't believe me?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
She gulped. “You wouldn'tâdareââ”
“What?” His smile searched her out and its good nature terrified her. “Frightened I'm daring the Black Place, down below.” And then on the same tone: “If you don't give me the whisky, Mairi, I'll raise Satan himself.”
“Alick!” There was horror in her voice.
“You see? You really want to save me. But you don't know from what. It's not because you're afraid of the Devil. Not a bit.” Then quietly, with a penetration that hurt her: “You hateâin your heartâthat I should have let him seeâthat I should have let them in on me. Why?” Slowly his smile came again. “Lord, Mairi, one would almost think you were in love with me! Stand aside now, like a good girl.”
“No.”
“No? You'll be wanting a good old flare upâso that all your bits will crash together. Is that it? It gets like that.” His left eyelid quivered in humour, as he laid the rifle and the rag on the floor. Then he straightened up and faced her; but obviously in no hurry. “I love your spirit, Mairi, me darlin'. It's a pity that you hate those tricks of mine.”
They were words he would never use normally. The clairvoyant, underlying-bitter mood in him began to have a disintegrating effect upon her. As she filled her lungs, her whole body trembled. He saw she could not stand it much longer and he put his arms about her to lift her aside. But as they lifted they embraced her, and at that her spirit was released. She struggled with such startling violence that they overbalanced against the cabinet and sent the decanter flying to the floor, where it crashed into pieces and scattered the whisky.
So appalled was Mairi that she still gripped his jacket with one hand as she listened. Then she came to herself. “Quick! Out before they come! Quick! Quick!”
But he stood unmoving. There was the sound of a door, of footsteps.
“Quick, Alick! Get out!” Madly she pushed him towards the gun-room door, but his body resisted. She was too late anyway. The hall door opened and Geoffrey's head appeared, duly followed by his whole person.
“What'sâhappened?”
“It'sâit's the whisky, sir,” said Mairi. “It fell. I pushed it over. I'm sorry.” The gulp in her voice kept back the flood of tears.
But Geoffrey was watching Alick slowly picking up the rifle and the rag. “It's whisky all right.” He sniffed audibly. “And it's you, Alick.”
“Yes, sir,” said Alick calmly.
“Were you helping her to push it over?”
For Mairi had clearly been in some sort of struggle. She started mopping up the whisky with her duster.
“I'm afraid I was.”
“Afraid you were, what!”
Helen entered, followed by Marjory.
“I say!” said Marjory, sniffing.
“What's happened?” Helen stood still, fascinated.
Sir John and Lady Marway came in, but Harry remained in the doorway, his eyes on Alick.
“They pushed the whisky overâaccidentally,” Geoffrey explained. His humour was hard and sarcastic, for Alick's unyielding eyes had angered him.
Mairi leaned back on her heels. “I'm sorry, ma'm,” she said in deep distress, to Lady Marway. “It fell offâthere. I hit against it. I'm very sorry.”
“Was that the way, Alick?” Lady Marway asked calmly.
“Yes, ma'm,” said Alick.
Lady Marway surveyed the floor. “You'd better get another cloth.”
Carrying the broken pieces and her sopping duster, Mairi withdrew.
They all looked at Alick, who seemed to be waiting for what they had to say. He stood extraordinarily still and expressionless. A solid opaque body, vaguely ominous.
“Well, I think we may finish our dinner.” Lady Marway regarded Alick with a certain level humour. “You promise no more distractions?” Then, as he did not answer: “Very well, you may go.”
Without a word he turned and went out at the gun-room door. At the same moment, Harry withdrew from the hall door.
“Rather sinister figure, don't you think?” said Geoffrey.
“Oh, Geoffrey!” Helen looked at him. “Didn't you see the sweat on his forehead.”
“Can't say I did. But possibly you're right. They had a bit of a struggle.”
“Struggle?” Sir John's brows wrinkled.
“Yes. The rifle was on the floor. And she was somewhat deranged. Didn't you notice?”
“Do you mean he was trying to take the whisky from her?”
Geoffrey's smile grew more sarcastic. “Possibly he was trying to do that, too! In factââ”
“Hsh!” said Helen, as Mairi came in with a dry cloth.
When Lady Marway had sent them back to finish dinner, she inspected the floor and for a moment watched Mairi at work.
“I am very disappointed about this, Mairi.”
“Yes, ma'm. I am very sorry.”
“Was it entirely an accident?”
“Yes, ma'm.”
“Alick was not to blameâin any way?”
“No, ma'm. He was cleaning Mr. Kingsley's rifle andâand just came in to speak to me.”
“I see.”
“I hope, ma'm, you don't think Alick had anything to do with it?” Her lips quivered.
“All right, Mairi. I'll try to forget it.”
“Thank you, ma'm. It won't happen again.”
“I hope not. You can open the window for a little.”
“Yes, ma'm.”
When Lady Marway had gone, closing the door behind her, Mairi finished her mopping, then went to the window, held the curtain aside, and heaved up the lower half. She was wondering whether she should draw the curtain open, when a step startled her and she swung round, letting the curtain fall over the open window.
“All right, Mairi! Don't be frightened.” Harry stood in the gun-room door. “He seems to have gone.”
She stared at him, speechless.
He entered, hesitated for a moment thoughtfully, then gave a half-shrug and, about to go, paused and smiled to her. “Tell me,” he said in a kindly way; “do you believe in second sight?”
Out of her dark eyes came glancing shafts of fear. She did not speak.
“You don't care to answer, perhaps?â¦Uhm. Difficult, I suppose.” He looked away from her. “Do youâthenâlike the idea of it?”
“I hate it!”
The words came with surprising force. Harry nodded, not looking at her. “I understand. Tell meâdo you think he will go straight home?”
“I don't know.” From being intense, her voice had become completely non-committal.
“What do you think?”
“I don't know.”
Harry nodded. “He must have hated being caught out here, like this. It was bad luck. Butâdon't you fret. He'll be all right.” Then he turned his head, let the friendly smile in his eyes speak for him, and made for the dining-room.
She looked after him, and, as the door closed, her face came alive again. Listening, she heard the sound of the wind rising. The window curtain fluttered out, then fell back and remained still. She heard the sound die over the fir wood. Lifting her wet cloth and the tray of glasses which she had placed on the writing-table, she went out hurriedly.
In a little while she came back with the coffee tray and, when she had disposed it properly, gave a swift look around to satisfy herself everything was in order. When she heard voices coming from the dining-room, she immediately started for the gun-room door, her fingers already unfastening her white apron. She gave the impression of one about to hurry into the night.
Helen and Marjory entered, discussing the manner in which a dinner can be ruined.
“I think your mother is marvellous, she's so patient,” said Marjory. “They'll crack nuts now, to ease their excitement! I must say I think Harry is provocative.”
“Harry? Surely it's Geoffrey.”
“No. It's Harryâand you. Geoffrey is merely like that. True to himself. He must expose superstition.”
“Surely, Marjory, that's absurdâanyway, about Harry and me?”
“Not a bit. You are creating a situation, as Geoffrey said. Can't you feel it being created, with the horrid underfeeling that one of us is about to die? Ugh! there's positively a chill in this room already. I think your mother would like to stop it. I think she is right.”
Helen, who had lifted a coffee cup and saucer, stood looking at Marjory as she went towards the fire. She forgot to pour coffee into her cup, so arrested was she at the
spoken
thought of death. The death of one of themselves here.
One of themselves!
She moved away a pace or two, but the thought went with her. There
was
a chill in the room. Marjory got down on her knees before the fire.
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