The Seance (31 page)

Magnus walked away from the group – labourers and small farmers, some of whom I recognised – as I drew near. Bolton was distributing coins amongst them, and for an instant my hopes flared.

‘What news?’ I cried, forgetting everything but my anxiety for Nell. ‘Have you found her?’

‘No, Montague, we have not,’ he said coldly. ‘I was rather hoping that you might have news for me.’

Bolton glanced towards me. He was twenty feet away – too far, I hoped, for him to overhear – but the sneer on his face was enough to tell me who had been watching from the shadows.

‘I have no news,’ I replied, holding his gaze as best I could. ‘If she is not found, why are you leaving?’

‘Because my wife is not here. I believe she left here – by arrangement – early this morning. Someone must have been waiting with a dogcart – or something of the sort,’ he said, glancing at my own vehicle, ‘and driven away with her.’

‘Do you mean she was
seen
– ?’

‘No, but it is the only explanation. She is not in the house; she could not have gone very far in the wood, carrying the child ... though the search for the child must obviously continue—’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It is possible – especially if she has fled with a lover – ’ he added, ‘that she has abandoned or even made away with the child—’

‘That is monstrous!’ I exclaimed. ‘You cannot believe that; she would never ...’

‘I am aware, Montague, that you are on intimate terms with my wife. But I doubt that your intimacy extends to an understanding of her mental condition, which is at best precarious. So unless you can tell me where, and with whom, she has gone, there is nothing more for you to do here.’

‘Magnus, I assure you there is nothing . . .’ The words withered under his stare. ‘Her safety is all that matters now. Suppose your theory is wrong, and they are lost somewhere out there: how can you risk abandoning her?’

‘I think it far more likely that
she
has abandoned
me
. Some of the men, as I have said, will continue to search the wood for another hour or so. I shall remain here, on the chance that she may return; everyone else will leave for London within the hour. Which reminds me; you will, I am sure, agree that it would be inappropriate for you to continue as solicitor to the estate. Kindly arrange for the deed-box, the keys, and the other Wraxford papers to be conveyed to Mr Veitch of Gray’s Inn at your earliest convenience. Good-day to you.’

He strode away towards the house with Bolton, still smirking, trailing after him.

I spent, or rather endured that night consumed by visions of Nell strangling her child, burying the body in Monks Wood and fleeing with her
lover (whom I could not help picturing as Edward Ravenscroft). I would fight off these ghastly images, only to be possessed by the conviction that Magnus had murdered her and the child in a jealous fury, with the intention of casting suspicion on me: at any moment the police might come knocking with a warrant for my arrest. But what if she had left him for
me
? That soft tapping at the door (which I would have sworn I heard a dozen times during the night, though there was never anyone there) might be Nell, with Clara in her arms; and so on, round and round, until I drifted into nightmares worse than my darkest imaginings.

On Sunday morning, I learned that the search had been abandoned at around half-past three, just as Magnus had intimated. He had addressed the remnant of the search party, along with the departing servants, to the effect that he now believed that Mrs Wraxford, distressed by Mrs Bryant’s sudden death, had taken the child on a visit to friends, forgetting to inform anyone of her destination. The search, he assured them, had been merely a precaution. He himself would remain at the Hall for another day or two, in case she should return there; the rest of the household would return immediately to London. I could find no one who had actually been at the Hall when Magnus spoke, and yet everyone assured me – claiming to have heard it from somebody who
had
been present – that his manner had been that of a gallant gentleman shielding his wife. Aldeburgh was abuzz with the rumour that Eleanor Wraxford had poisoned Mrs Bryant, smothered her infant daughter, buried the body in Monks Wood, and eloped with a lover.

I insisted, to everyone I met, that this was a terrible slander upon an innocent woman, who was quite possibly herself in mortal danger, but my protestations were met with raised eyebrows and knowing looks. If Eleanor Wraxford was innocent, then why had the search for her been abandoned so soon? And if Mrs Bryant had died of natural causes, why had her body been whisked away to London for an autopsy? Several people wondered aloud why I was not at the Hall with Magnus (for whom there was universal
sympathy); to which I could only, and lamely, reply that he preferred to be alone. I did not dare ask what rumour had been saying of
me.

The weather continued close and still, with the glass very slowly falling, until Monday afternoon, when there was a distant rumble of thunder and a play of lightning on the southern horizon, followed by heavy rain. I heard later that people in Chalford had seen, on the Sunday night before, a single flash of lightning from the direction of Monks Wood, followed some half a minute later by a faint sound that might have been thunder.

Tuesday and Wednesday dragged by; I could not face the task of bundling up the Wraxford papers, nor could I bring myself to instruct Joseph to do it. I told my partner I thought I was sickening for something, but it cannot have sounded altogether convincing, since I spent most of my time roaming the district in search of news. I felt myself an object of general suspicion, and imagined that people were whispering behind my back wherever I went; but to sit shut up in my house was more than I could bear.

On Thursday morning I woke very late, after drinking more whisky than was good for me, and was making a pretence at breakfast when my housekeeper came in to say that Inspector Roper from Woodbridge was here to see me.

‘Show him in,’ I muttered, dabbing at the sweat which had sprung up on my brow.

I had a nodding acquaintance with Roper, a barrel-chested man in his fifties, but at the sound of his heavy tread I rose to my feet, fighting down a mad impulse to flee. His lugubrious face, the colour and consistency of risen dough, gave an initial impression of stupidity, until you became aware of his eyes – small, deep-set, shrewd – regarding you watchfully.

‘Beg pardon, sir, but your clerk said you were at home, so I took the liberty of calling.’

‘Not at all,’ I said faintly. ‘Would you care for some tea? What can I do for you?’

‘Thank you, sir, but I had my tea at the station. And as you might guess, sir, it’s about the Hall.’

‘In – indeed? Have you found – is there news of Mrs Wraxford?’

‘No, sir. Visiting friends, is the story we were given.’ The note of scepticism was all too plain. ‘You don’t look very well, sir, if I may say so.’

‘I fear you are right,’ I said hoarsely, sinking back into my chair. ‘This business – won’t you sit down? – at the Hall has shaken me considerably ... been with my family for generations, you know.’ I broke off, conscious of having said exactly the wrong thing.

‘Well indeed, sir, and that’s why I’m here,’ he said, taking a seat. ‘You see, we’ve had a wire from Dr Wraxford’s London residence. He was expected home Monday, and then they thought he’d stayed a day longer, in case Mrs Wraxford ... but when it came Wednesday afternoon and still no sign of him, they thought they’d better ask us to go out to the Hall and take a look around. Which we did, but my man found the house all closed up, no sign of anyone, and no horse either. So of course we inquired of Pettingshill at the livery stable, to see when Dr Wraxford brought his horse back.’

‘And had he?’

‘That’s the odd thing, sir. The horse came back all right. The stable-boy found him waiting at the gate on Monday morning – outside, you understand – saddle still on him, reins tied to the pommel, and a guinea in the saddle-bag. So Pettingshill assumed he’d taken the early train, and thought no more about it. But he hadn’t. Dr Wraxford hasn’t been seen since Saturday, when they left him at the Hall.’

‘I – er – I see. Have you any theory, Inspector, as to what might have happened to him?’

‘That’s where I hoped, sir, that you might be able to help’ – my heart lurched sickeningly – ‘you being solicitor to the estate – and a friend of the family and all.’

His small eyes flickered like a lizard’s. Even as I shrank from the insinuation (real or imagined, I could not tell), my mind was suddenly racing.

‘I’ve heard nothing, I’m afraid ... Did Bolton – Dr Wraxford’s man – suggest that you call on me?’

‘Well no, sir, I came of my own initiative. You see, sir, I think we ought to look
inside
the Hall, just to be on the safe side. But it’s private property, and – well supposing Dr Wraxford was still there, he might not appreciate the police barging in, if you see what I mean. So I was wondering whether you might have a set of keys ...’

‘I do, yes, at the office ... Would you like me to drive out to the Hall and – see if everything’s all right?’

I heard, as I spoke, the echo of my words to Drayton on that rainy afternoon a lifetime ago. But instinct was urging me to seize the chance of investigating the Hall alone; the chance, however slender, that I might come upon some clue that would lead me to Nell.

‘Well yes, sir, that would be very helpful indeed. Will you need me to accompany you?’

I understood at last that Roper had no suspicion of me at all.

‘I don’t think that will be necessary, Inspector; I’m sure you have a great deal to do. Unless, of course, you feel you should be there.’

‘I’m hard pressed, sir, it’s true, and ought to be on the next train back to Woodbridge ...’

‘Then I shall leave straight away; the fresh air will do me good. If I should find anything – untoward – I shall come straight on to Woodbridge and let you know. I shall wire, in any case, as soon as I get back to Aldeburgh.’

‘Very good, sir, and thank you; I’m much obliged.’

It was after midday when I set off. Low, swirling cloud hung over the fields, still damp from the night’s rain, and a chill wind blew from the sea: all too reminiscent of my journey with Drayton. I was aware, too, that my position was questionable at best. If Magnus had told Bolton,
or for that matter Dr Rhys, that he had dismissed me ... I had received nothing in writing, but it would raise eyebrows all the same.

On Saturday, with the forecourt crowded with vehicles, I had been too shaken by my encounter with Magnus to think of anything but Nell, and had given little thought to the Hall’s sinister history. But now those primeval fears returned with a vengeance. It was all very well to tell myself that this was the age of the steam engine and the electric telegraph, and that science had banished those terrors; here, I might as well have been a thousand miles from civilisation.

The front door was bolted on the inside, but I found a smaller door, close by the stone bench where I had sat with Nell, which let me into an unfamiliar part of the house. I took a stub of candle from a blackened glass chimney and made my way through the gloom to the great hall and up the stairs to the landing, where I stood listening to the silence.

The study was locked, but not from the inside. Cornelius’s camp bed and the washstand had gone; a leather writing-chair was drawn up to the desk. There were rows of volumes around the walls but nothing on the desk itself, only the damp, ammoniacal smell of books left untended for too many winters. The only sign of recent occupation was a greatcoat, which I recognised as Magnus’s, hanging from a hook behind the door I had just opened.

In the right-hand pocket was an oblong package, sealed with Magnus’s phoenix seal and addressed in his hand to Jabez Veitch, Esq., of Veitch, Oldcastle and Veitch, Gray’s Inn Square, Holborn. As I stood there trying to divine the contents – which felt like a slender volume, about eight inches by five, and a letter or document of some kind – it struck me that this would be Magnus’s advice to Mr Veitch of my dismissal. I slipped the package into my own greatcoat and turned out the other pockets, in which I found a pen-knife, a pair of riding gloves, and a purse containing four sovereigns.

Of course Magnus might simply have forgotten his coat.

I went on through the library, where I saw something that looked like a massive spinning-wheel, with half a dozen glass discs, a handle, and wires trailing away beneath the door leading into the gallery. The door was locked, but this time from the outside; I turned the key and entered.