The Tutor (22 page)

“It’s not as if I expected any other outcome. So au revoir to you and your darling sons.

I’m certain they’ll take to school like ducks to water. Especially Clive. He won’t have any difficulties at all fitting in.”

“There’s no call for sarcasm. It was your suggestion I remove the boys from

Allinson Hall. What did you expect me to do with them? Boys go to boarding school. It’s what’s done.” Confused and bemused, his tone did nothing to allay my rising fury.

“I expect you to show some empathy toward them, especially Clive, who

witnessed something so gruesome, something no child should ever have to see, and then had to pretend as if he didn’t see it.”

Now I did turn to face him, for I was armed with anger that masked everything

else. “I expect you to give them time to heal in a more pleasant environment than this one

—your London house. Exiling them to survive amongst the savage brutes who rule at a boys’ school is…” I shook my head, unable to come up with words strong enough. “I expected better of you.”

He glared back at me. “What do you know of it,
Joe Green
? You never went to school or lived among those brutes, as you call them.”

I slipped into the thickest East End accent I could muster. “No, guv’nor. I’m

talking above me place. A bloke like me knows nuffin’ of bullies with hard hands and sneering words. I’m sure it’s all peaches ’n’ cream at a toff school and wish I’d been blessed to go to one instead of bein’ the ignorant bugger boy I am.”

Richard clicked his tongue and turned away. “I can’t talk with you when you act

this way. You’re disappointed. I understand. We’ll speak again later after you’ve calmed down.”

After I’ve calmed down? After I’ve fucking calmed down?
Rage thundered

through me at his dismissive tone. I was inches away from launching myself at him, letting my weight and gravity drive his body to the floor, pummeling until he begged me to stop. Of course it wouldn’t turn out that way. He’d have me flipped and pinned in a heartbeat, and then I’d have no shred of pride left as he straddled me and watched tears trickle down my cheeks.

But I could do one thing with grace—make an exit. I put on my shirt, gathered my

socks and shoes, and stalked out of the room without saying good-bye.

And then I continued to stalk, metaphorically speaking. I went to my room and

began jamming everything I owned into my valise and trunk. It was the dead of night.

There would be no carriage to take me to the train depot, but fiery anger would serve to fuel my long walk to the village. I’d catch the first train to London tomorrow and send for my trunk later—or just leave everything behind. I’d started from scratch before. I could do it again.

It tore out my heart to think of leaving the boys without explanation, but I

couldn’t linger while my powerful thrust of anger fizzled and turned into something weak and whimpering. I penned a note each for Whit and Clive and left them on the school table, along with the mystery story I’d nearly finished, scribbling an explanation of who the culprit had been. They might read the story, if they cared to.

Was it cowardly for me to sneak away in the night? Probably. Had I done worse

things in my life? Certainly. The boys might be a little upset for a while, but they’d soon forget the brief time when I’d been their teacher. Likely they’d put me out of mind sooner than I would them as other things rose to all-consuming importance in their young lives.

What was I to them, after all? Merely their tutor.

My feet were sore and my arm ached from carrying the heavy valise by the time I

finally reached the village. But it was well past dawn, so at least the shops were starting to open. I bought a newly made roll from the baker’s wife and sat on the low stone wall of the village green to feast on hot, fresh bread. The yeasty goodness filled my stomach and eased my inner turmoil a little.

The long walk had served to dissipate my fury, which, as expected, turned into

whimpering sadness and aching disappointment. I couldn’t change what was going to

happen. Richard would send his boys to school when he saw fit, and I would move on to some other post. It was foolish to leave without pay or a reference simply because my pride had been hurt. I should go back. I’d prepare the boys for school not only physically but mentally, warning them what to expect, giving them tips on how to survive bullying.

I’d be a general sending his soldiers into battle. What a stupid waste of energy this walk had been, for now I had to go all the way back. If I was lucky, no one would even notice I’d been away.

Sitting on that cold stone wall watching the sun rise and the village awaken, I

continued wavering between facing up to my responsibility to the boys or fleeing, as free as one of those swallows swooping past. My decision began to drift the other way. I didn’t
have
to put my tail between my legs and slink back to Allinson Hall. I had enough money in my pocket to buy a train ticket for London, where I could reinvent myself again and find new work or maybe even beg my way back into that typesetting job. I never had to face Richard Allinson and his melting eyes again. I never had to feel his hands on my flesh, his cock pumping into my body, his…

“Grrr.” My growl of annoyance caused a dog sniffing nearby to shy away and cast

me a wounded look as if I’d kicked it. I tossed the shaggy beast the last crust of my bread and hopped off the wall.

The mercantile store where the post office counter was located had opened. I

decided to check for any mail that may have arrived for me and hadn’t yet been delivered to the Hall. I wasn’t ready to begin my long walk back
or
go to the train depot to check on the train schedule.

Mrs. Gorman, the shopkeeper, gave me a wide smile from the shelves where she

unpacked a box of threads and buttons. “Mr. Cowrie, what in the world brings you to town at this hour of the morning?”

“I woke so very early, I thought I might as well get a start on enjoying my day off.

It was a brisk walk, though.”

“I imagine. Up before the dawn with the wind as cutting as it is today, you could

catch your death. Mark my words, there’ll be icy rain and maybe even a little snow before the day is through. You should make your purchases and head for shelter before the weather hits.”

“I’ll be sure to. Do you have any letters for me, Mrs. Gorman?”

“I believe I do.” She bustled into a back room and emerged with a handful of

posts. “If you would deliver these to the Hall, it would save Percy the trip out.”

“Certainly.” I took the mail and put it in my coat pocket. I’d left my valise outside the door, not wanting to have to explain its existence to nosy Mrs. Gorman. I bid her good-bye and went to retrieve the bag and walk to the pub for a pint while I read my correspondence.

“First customer of the day,” the barkeep greeted me. “Early for ale.”

“Never too early, Mr. Stump.” I took a seat at the table that had already become

mine after only a few visits to the place and read my letter while I waited for the pub owner to pour me a glass.

My name in Madame Alijeva’s spidery handwriting flowed beautifully across the

envelope. Inside were three well-filled pages strongly scented with rosewater.

My darling boy
, the note began. In a few lines, and in English that was much better in writing than filtered through her thick accent, Madame filled me in on current events in her life and those of a couple of mutual friends. Then she got to the meat and potatoes of the haunting I’d told her about.

I agree, the experiences you describe suggest more than one energy. One is likely
the deceased Mrs. Allinson seeking only the happiness of her loved ones. The other may
be a very dark spirit indeed, perhaps even a demon spawned from Hell itself.

The woman certainly did have a flare for the dramatic. That was why she held her

customers’ belief in the palm of her hand.

Have you a rosary? No, of course you would not, heathen boy. I recommend you

get one and some holy water. Sprinkle it around your bed at night to keep the evil spirit
away as you sleep.

Where did she think I was? There was no Catholic church in this part of the

country from which I could steal holy water.

Such rare manifestations are insidious, pure evil, and may be difficult to cast out.

They sometimes reveal themselves as a black mist but often are no more than a feeling of
dread or despair. Their desire is to possess and control living persons’ spirits.

Yes, I’d figured all that out already. Now if she’d only get to the part about how to eradicate them.

Your best course of action would be to leave the haunted dwelling, but if that is
not possible, you may take precautions to protect yourself and those who seem most
tormented by the entity.

That would be Clive. It suddenly occurred to me why I no longer suffered from

those awful, hopeless feelings. The thing in the tower had turned its attention from me to Clive. How had I not realized that before?
Because you were too caught up in playing
games with Richard.

The barman approached from behind and plunked a glass down on the table. His

unexpected move made the pages rattle in my hand.

“Steady on. You’re in a state this morning. Fight with a lady last night? Cast you out, did she?”

“Something like that,” I muttered and resumed reading.

Burning sage to cleanse the air of evil is one easy remedy. Prayer and religious
icons, a crucifix or picture of Christ placed at the site you believe is the source from
which the entity emanates.

I hadn’t noticed so much as one religious-themed painting in the entire house. But there was that cross on the chapel altar. It was solid stone and would be like hauling Christ’s actual cross up Golgotha to carry it to the top of the tower. Still, I had pitifully little to work with, and I did want to quell that evil energy before I left Allinson Hall.

Even though the boys would be gone, they’d come home on holidays, and meanwhile, the thing might find someone else to torment. Timid little Molly, perhaps? Or Richard! A picture of him in the depths of despair, deciding to end it all, pistol in hand, flashed in my mind.

You must understand these evil spirits play a game with mortals. They may

remain inactive for years, bothering no one, then, when there are strong emotions to feed
upon and the right vessel, they attack. It is likely this creature slowly drove the poor lady
of the house to hang herself. Those already saddened by life are an easier target.

Perhaps this evil entity holds sway over her ghostly spirit even now, keeping her its
prisoner in eternity.

Besides affecting moods, such entities may even become powerful enough to move
or throw objects or create strong winds. These energies are not to be taken lightly simply
because they cannot be seen.

Back to methods of how to get rid of it, please, Madame. I read on…

I know you are a nonbeliever, which will make trust in any religious icon seem
foolish, but it is
not
the cross itself that holds power. It is the faith. Faith in a higher
power. Faith in goodness. Faith in love. Only light may dispel darkness. Good luck, my
darling.
I could almost hear the strong roll of the
r
and her thick and juicy
els
.
I hope to
see you in springtime in the city where you belong.

Thanks for nothing! She’d given me little new information on dispelling a demon.

Just a lot of religious twaddle. Perhaps the best I could do would be to get the boys out of the house as soon as possible. Maybe suggest a shopping trip in London before school.

Whatever I was going to do, I knew now it didn’t include taking the next train out of town. I wouldn’t abandon the boys or their father. Not as long as I still might be of use to them. Score one for Lavinia, who’d made me her champion in the fight against Evil with a capital E.

I finished my ale, left a few coins on the table for the barman, picked up my

valise, and began the long trudge back to Allinson Hall.

As Mrs. Gorman predicted, the weather grew worse with every minute that

passed. I marched straight into a cold wind that pierced all layers of clothing and chilled me to the skin. Grit peppered my face, and soon a smattering of raindrops joined the dirt bombarding me. I could no longer feel my feet as they plodded forward, and my hands were icy since I’d accidentally left my gloves at the pub.

After a while, I gave up carrying the valise, simply dropped it on the side of the road and jammed my hands deep into my pockets. I’d turned up my coat collar to protect my neck and face as much as possible, but the icy breeze found every tiny bit of exposed skin. A gust tore the hat off my head and set it whirling across the moor, leaving my ears to burn with cold.

I hadn’t been this miserable even on the night Richard came thundering up on his

charger to rescue me, and there didn’t seem to be much hope for a repeat performance of that. I was on my own under a sky full of billowing black clouds that turned the new day back into evening.

With every step, I thought of Madame Alijeva’s words about how much power a

dark spirit—demon, ghost, or what have you—could wield. I recalled more clearly the sense of gloom that had invaded me often when I’d first arrived and the time I’d awoken unable to move or breathe. After getting caught up in my affair with Richard, all that negativity had been too easy to forget. While I was having my fun, had Clive been attacked in the same ways? Had he suffered these moods in silence, thinking no one could help him?

I was a selfish man. Deep in my gut, I knew that while I’d been picking flowers