Death by the Mistletoe (21 page)

At one o’clock James set “Kate’s” engine going, climbed into the car, and set out upon the strangest part of his adventure.

CHAPTER XII

James had never been at Lagnaha during his five-years’ residence in Kintyre, nor had he spoken with Mr. Anderson Ellis and his niece, Miss Dwyer, previous to the affair of the “Mistletoe Murders.” This fact was in some ways remarkable, for as editor of the
Gazette
he had made it his business to know and speak with the majority of influential people in the district. And, indeed, it was one of the contributory causes of his success that besides cultivating influential people he had also made himself widely known amongst the ordinary douce folk. These latter, strangely enough, he had found much the more interesting class. But, despite his policy, the editor of the
Gazette
had not until now possessed any excuse for visiting Lagnaha.

Mr. Anderson Ellis was, as a matter of fact, a member of the Kintyre Antiquarian Society and an honorary director of the local Agricultural Society; but he seldom attended the meetings and took little to do with the activities of these important bodies. And he was far from being popular in the district. He was too reserved and too abrupt in his manner to become well liked by other property owners, and his unbending, peremptory attitude towards those whom he imagined to be his inferiors rendered him an unloved and little respected figure among the working-class. Nevertheless, he had the reputation of being scrupulously fair in all his business dealings, and his tenants had certainly no cause for complaint regarding his conduct of the Lagnaha estate. Their homes and steadings were kept in excellent repair and the rents were not excessive, even at a time when other farmers were groaning under the burden of cheap milk and rents which had remained unreduced since wartime.

Though nothing was known in Kintyre concerning his history previous to his occupancy of Lagnaha, no breath of scandal had ever touched his name. James’s predecessor in the editorial chair of the
Gazette
had once asked him for details of his career for inclusion in the local journal and had been told curtly to mind his own business. Gossipers in Blaan were of the opinion that he had been in the Army; gossipers in Campbeltown held the view that he was a millionaire who had made a fortune on the Stock Exchange. But no one had any definite information, and Mr. Anderson Ellis continued to live an exceedingly retired life at Lagnaha, by all accounts fully occupied with the affairs of his estate, and with his two hobbies: the cultivation of his rose-garden and the breeding of hunters.

Apparently he was a bachelor, and with the exception of Miss Dwyer, who was present only for a few weeks at certain periods of the year, the one woman resident in Lagnaha was a middle-aged housekeeper, afflicted with deafness. There was, however, always a large staff of menservants employed in the house and in the garden; but these came and went with startling suddenness, and it was generally believed that Mr. Anderson Ellis was a hard taskmaster, who dismissed his menials on the slightest provocation. He employed no local labour, thus ensuring that the affairs of his household were conducted in privacy as strict as possible. Few visitors were invited to Lagnaha, and these, as a general rule, were friends of his niece.

Miss Dwyer worked as a secretary in the London office of a firm of carpet-makers. She had, it was presumed, been brought up by her uncle, and had clearly imbibed a great deal of his austerity. Nevertheless, during her vacations in Blaan she had done her best to make the better acquaintance of other families in the district, and had found one friend at least in Eileen. The latter had an idea, however, that Mr. Anderson Ellis did not entirely approve of his niece’s visits to Dalbeg or of their frequent meetings in London.

The Lagnaha household, viewed casually, was in many ways a curious one, and James cannot be blamed for his lack of enthusiasm to pursue his usual friendly policy in its direction. On the other hand, it was not one to be considered with fear or suspicion; for, since his coming ten years ago, Mr. Anderson Ellis had studiously avoided having any dealings, friendly or inimical, with persons who took nothing to do with himself or his affairs.

The one thought in the mind of the editor of the
Gazette
that Tuesday afternoon, as “Kate” purred along the ungravelled drive leading up to the square, squat house, was to get his business with Miss Dwyer over as quickly as possible, and be off for Dalbeg like a bullet from a gun. To James the fact that he had not seen Eileen since Saturday was nothing short of tragic, and he considered himself a devoted martyr to the cause of Big Peter’s continued pleadings. It was like two years instead of two days since he had told her of his love and seen the answer in her blue eyes.

… Jove, wouldn’t it be glorious to see her and speak with her again! Wouldn’t it be wonderful to know at last that everything was all right between them, and to see the left side of her mouth curve upwards as she smiled! And, yes! He would do it this time if he were blessed with an opportunity! He would do it! He would kiss her … very reverently and tenderly of course, if — if he could manage to stifle this terrible longing. He jammed down his foot on the accelerator in the high ecstasy of his mood …

But the ecstasy passed suddenly, a not unnatural circumstance, as Lagnaha House came into full view; and James was suddenly possessed of a vague foreboding. The cause of his new feeling was difficult to discover. It may have had something to do with the first impression which Miss Dwyer had made upon his mind, or it may have had something to do with the actual appearance of the building itself. At the same time, however, it must be remembered that in one part at least the editor of the
Gazette
was a Celt, having the strange foresights and premonitions of his race. To the Lowland Scot or Englishman these foresights and premonitions are inexplicable and droll, as, indeed, they are to the Celt himself. But the fact remains that he has eyes to see an inner meaning in things, apart altogether from their externals, and to him a fair meadow may suggest a lurking evil. To this fact — and to this fact only — may be attributed the strange, uneasy thoughts which began to crowd in James’s brain; for actually there was no material reason for them. Mr. Anderson Ellis, his niece and his household might be a little odd; but it was the considered opinion of the countryside — a ten-years-old opinion, too — that they were harmless enough. And James was well aware of this opinion. Besides … Miss Dwyer was Eileen’s friend.

*

Lagnaha House was a comparatively recent erection, and in many ways constituted a triumph for the stolid, unimaginative Victorian masons. Square, rough-cast, slate-roofed and with short, stocky chimneys, it stood like a giant haystack, hidden from the main road and from the glory of the sunshine in a bleak hollow. To a casual observer the place would have appeared prosaic and ordinary and therefore unworthy of a second thought; but to James there was something indefinably sinister and suspicious about the naked grey walls. He had always a similar feeling when brought into contact with things which lacked even a single touch of beauty. And the thinly planted, lank trees growing about it did not relieve the unprepossessing ugliness of the house.

They were curious trees. James had an idea they were ash; but their foliage was scanty, and grew in umbrella-fashion at the very top of their soaring, bare trunks. It was as if the unamiable influence of the house had to be left behind before the great trees found courage to spread their leaves to the sun. There must have been a certain dampness about the hollow, too, even in that exceptionally dry period, when the Kin tyre water supplies had almost dried up; for, as the old Morris drew near to the house, James saw that strange wisps of mist hung about the ash trees, just beneath their canopied foliage.

Quite suddenly a strange phrase began to hammer in his mind. It was, in fact, the title of one of John Buchan’s best short stories, and why it should have leaped into the forefront of his brain at that moment he could not tell. “
The
Grove
of
Ashtaroth
”, ran the curious refrain to his thoughts, “
The
Grove
of
Ashtaroth
.” It had been an evil grove in the story, and had not the mist gathered around the trees?

Deeper grew the foreboding in James’s heart, and it suddenly struck him that he ought to have told Major Dallas and the others of his invitation and mission. But the necessity for such a precaution had not before entered his mind. Indeed, he had been so preoccupied with the idea of reaching Dalbeg at the earliest moment that his interview with Miss Dwyer had appeared a very small and unimportant, if distasteful, task, to be completed with as little delay and trouble as possible. After all, why should he have told Major Dallas? The Chief Constable, the Fiscal and several of the policemen had visited Lagnaha more than once during the past few days, and they had noticed nothing untoward or suspicious about the house and its occupants. But things were different now, and had he been entirely a Celt it is just possible that he might have turned back at his point, thereby changing the whole course of the tale of the “Mistletoe Murders.” He did not, however, turn back; for, though the imagination of the Celts played tricks with his feelings, the American dourness kept him pressing on.

As he approached the wide door of the house, the loveliness of Mr. Anderson Ellisʼs rose-garden was hidden from his sight by a high stone wall, topped with jagged glass.

The deaf housekeeper answered his ring, and the editor of the
Gazette
had to shout to make himself heard. The woman was short and stout, with strong, capable hands and a ruddy face, the jaw and chin of which were like a man’s. She had thin, grey hair brushed straight back from her forehead into an old-fashioned “bun,” and her clothes were of unrelieved black. Her straight-lipped mouth had no smile for James, and he wondered queerly how it was possible that Eileen and this person were of the same sex.

He was conducted into a low-ceilinged room on the ground-floor, the luxurious furnishings of which were in strange contrast to the bleak exterior of the house. The walls were covered with rich paper of a light grey-blue shade, and were unadorned, save for two etchings by Sir D. Y. Cameron. A small oaken bookcase, filled for the most part with modem fiction, stood along one side, opposite the wide hearth. There was a low gate-legged table in the centre of the room, on which were placed a bowl of white roses, ash-trays and a curious little ornament like a miniature tree-trunk, which probably did duty as a paper-weight. Directly above hung an electric chandelier. Three high-backed chairs, ornately carved, stood round the table; while on either side of the tiny fire of wood were two long divans, upholstered in soft grey material and covered with blue cushions. The carpet, a grey Axminster worked with the common Celtic design of the endless snake, had a deep pile into which James’s feet sank quietly as he entered.

“I shall tell Miss Millicent you are here,” said the housekeeper, whose voice was low, yet penetrating. “Please be seated.”

As she left the room James lowered himself gingerly on to the edge of the smaller of the divans. He had never been used to luxury, and, having a hard young body, he suspected the airy comfort of the big cushions. They made him self-conscious … He wished he could have smoked. His long, bony hands fidgeted with the cuffs of his blazer, and in his mind his previous forebodings grew clean-cut and intense.

There was something much too opulent about the apartment for his healthy taste, and over everything hung a heavy, sweet scent, which did not come from the roses on the table. He came to the conclusion that this must be the room used by Miss Dwyer, and had he not been in a strange house he would have jumped up and flung open the tightly shut windows. The shadow of the great ash tree kept the sun from shining into the room, except in erratic gleams.

Miss Dwyer entered, closing the door quietly behind her. She was dressed in a loose-fitting, short-sleeved blue frock, which eddied and clung about her figure in a manner bewildering to James, and her hair hung in long, yellow curls on her neck. The paleness of her cheeks and the dark shadows under her eyes tended to soften the rather masculine lines of her face. She moved across to James, her hand outstretched, and with a wistful yet welcoming smile on her red lips. Each smooth movement of her body, clad in the clinging frock, was visible as she walked.

“Good afternoon, Mr. MacPherson,” she said. “I am glad you came.”

Her voice was deep and husky, and in it there was something compelling and appealing.

James bowed. As she sank down opposite him, he wondered if, after all, his first unfavourable impression of her had not been a mistaken one. She seemed tired and even fragile as she lay, her fair head haloed by a blue cushion, on the low divan. He imagined that he detected a trace of sweet innocence at the corners of her small mouth. His mood of suspicion and fear began quickly to wear away.

“Will you smoke?” she asked. “I should like one too.”

James offered her a cigarette, lit it, and with some relief took one for himself.

“You have recovered, Miss Dwyer?’’ The tobacco-smoke was helping to clear away the fog of foreboding from his mind, and he thought how ridiculous his previous fears had been. “It was an extremely unfortunate experience.”

“I have recovered — a little,” answered the girl. “There are still some little gaps in my memory. But most things are clear now. Sometimes I wish they were not so clear.”

She shivered and seemed to cower down into the warmth of the divan. James was silent. Somewhere outside there was a humming of bees. The house was quiet and still.