The Year's Best Horror Stories 9 (15 page)

The repast was concluded, and an engrossing talk had resulted in a tentative solution to the lawyer’s difficulty, when conversation turned to Faik’s sale.

“And the only bargain you got was a bundle of old music!” laughed Sir Leslie. “Well, well, I’m a bit of a musician myself. Let’s see what you’ve picked up.”

The parcel was opened and, to the rector’s consternation and the other’s unbounded amusement, it contained not musical scores but a very mixed selection of engravings and prints. Sanderton realized that he must have picked up Hook’s bundle by mistake when he left the inn yard to hurry after Mr. Elders’s trap. No doubt Hook would have his music.

“Why!” urged Sir Leslie, subsiding from jest to courtesy, “if Hook’s in the village I’ll get Perkins to send this stuff to him and get yours back. You needn’t worry about that.”

Without waiting for protests he rang and gave the order. Perkins said Hook was in the stables that very moment having been up to the rectory himself.

“I say,” said Sanderton reflectively, “let’s have him in. He was telling me he worked for Faik at one time. I’d like to ask him a few things.”

He had been glancing idly through the gratuitous portfolio when he noticed a familiar name at the foot of one of the prints—“Peryford Park and Chapel.”

It was a thing of no merit but arrested the clergyman’s eye because he had never before seen a view of what the chapel was like previous to its being restored and made into a library. To his surprise, there were numerous other pictures of the same place—pen sketches, prints, watercolors and so on. In every one there appeared the chapel from one point of view or another. But what set him thinking was that, whereas the library as he knew it had a plain gable at its eastern end, all these drawings depicted it as flanked with turrets.

“This looks interesting,” commented Marlop, glancing over his shoulder. “Ha! Here’s the fellow to tell us all about it. Well, Hook (that’s your name?), you’ve been picture dealing, I see. What are you going to do with ’em?”

“Maybe sell them, sir. All depends. Either road am not bothered,” replied the local virtuoso awkwardly. “You see, sir, I’m interested, as you might say, in old things hereabouts.”

“Oh! Perhaps you’d better sit down and tell us all about yourself,” said Sir Leslie encouragingly.

“I used to work here on Peryford estate as carpenter till Mr. Faik took me to Hengsward and set me on. Not that I wouldn’t go back to oblige Dr. Propert which was away then: I told him so. But Mr. Faik paid very generous, and I did hope in them days to get set up on my own—and be independent like for old age, sir,” began Hook.

The host nodded slightly as he poured out some whisky.

“Ah,” continued Hook, sighing, “he made some alterations, did Mr. Faik, and not much to Dr. Propert’s liking as it turned out. But yet I will say this, sir, Mr. Faik must’a been partial to the old chapel for look how he bought up every picture of it far and near as he might lay ’is ’ands upon. I warrant there’s scarce a painting o’ Peryford anywhere in England but was in ’is persession when he died. That’s what makes me think some o’ these ’ere might be valuable, sir.”

“But,” objected Sir Leslie, ignoring the last suggestion, “I understand that Mr. Faik almost entirely rebuilt the chapel when it became a library. Why should he make such drastic alterations if he valued the original building? This east end with the turrets, for instance, bears no resemblance to the place as it is now.”

“Now you’ve beat me, sir,” replied Hook. “All I can say is—there’s summat queer about the edifice. Take them turrets now: it’s my belief they was ’aunted and best done away with.”

“What makes you say that?” inquired the baronet with mild interest, handing him a glass.

“Only what I’ve ’eard, sir, and putting two and two together, as you might say. (Thank you, sir.) When them alterations was in and Mr. Faik he comes to me and says ‘Hook, I don’t like that east end and I’ve got an idea to improve it. I’m having a bigger window put in to give more light.’ You see, sir, there was some tracery for an old rose window, as they call it, among them priory ruins in the grounds, and he told me he’d got a firm from away to fix in some glass sent special from Boyhemia or some foreign place. Well, sir, that was the beginning of all the trouble. The rector, Mr. Laycock—afore Mr. Sanderton came—objected to Mr. Faik’s ‘remodeling scheme’ as they called it, and wrote off to Dr. Propert. Then there was quarrels between my men off the estate and the foreign chaps from London measuring and ordering. In the end, sir, Mr. Faik had all the gable, window and all, covered up with a tarpaulin sheet, sacked the local men, and sent me off to work at his place there in ’Engsward.

“When next I was past Peryford—that is for Mop Fair at the back-end—I see the chapel all completed and these Italian ‘craftsmen’ (what’s wrong with ordinary workmen, I don’t know) all cleared back to London. The turrets is gone, and the gable all altered just as you see it now, but to keep up the old appearance like they’d trained the ivy and stuff back to cover the new stonework. Aye, and to cap all, my cousin (as was housekeeper to Mr. Laycock afore he died, sir) she tells me Mr. Faik is busy with all sorts o’ science professors and whatnot (a queer sample by all accounts) having meetings in the new library every month.”

Sanderton looked pointedly at Sir Leslie. “And you, had you any hand in the alterations?” he said.

“O yes, sir. That’s the funny part. Me and the under-joiner, Tom Cass, and two lads had very near done all the woodwork when this ’ere plan for pulling out the east end come up. Gallery was finished and I had all but fixed the walls with shelves when we was packed off. When the new window was in, some of Mr. Faik’s men filled in the sides of it with some old paneling (as you may still see, sir, at the gallery end and in that Monument Room).”

“You mean the Muniment Room! Yes, I have seen it—some old Tudor work, nearly black,” nodded Sir Leslie. “But I thought you said the place was haunted or queer in some way?”

“I’m coming to that, sir,” continued the old carpenter. “Changes came very quick. Poor Mr. Laycock died, sir, as you know. Then one day Dr. Propert came back from China or somewhere—it was afore Mr. Sanderton’s time—and there was ’ard words by all accounts, and Mr. Faik left pretty sharp. It was plain the old doctor was grieved about the alterations. Not that he could ever ’a seen the chapel as it was, for he had never lived at Peryford, but he had heard plenty from Mr. Laycock.

“Well, all I know is, one Friday when I was mending a wagon in the yard over there, who should come in but Dr. Propert on that roan hunter of his. He’d been told about me, doubtless, and what he wanted was to know why I’d gone to ’Engsward, seeing as our family was always on the Peryford estate. I told ’im, sir, what I’ve told you. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘you’ve made your bed and I’m not sure but you’ll have it to lie on. Anyway I want you now to come over to the priory with me and bring some keys and locksmith’s gear with you.’

“So I got ready and he took me to the library, and round through the bushes at the back, to the left ’and corner outside . . .”

“Yes,” interposed Sanderton, “the northeast corner, you mean?”

“That will be so, sir,” continued the joiner. “The doctor went straight to it. ‘Now, Hook,’ he says, ‘get that axe and clear this ivy back.’ I did as he said, and there was a little door in the wall; and I soon had it unlocked. The turrets may be gone,’ says the doctor, ‘but the turret stairs are still here at any rate. Give me that lantern, and stay here and see that nobody comes prying round.’

“With that, sir, he went up and I ’eard ’im tramping round and round up them winding steps inside the wall. I had not noticed before, but there were one or two window slits higher up among the ivy, and I saw them light up as he climbed to the top. After that I waited a longish time, and no sign of the doctor at all. I was just going to shout up after ’im when he came round the corner outside, behind me, and I got quite a start.

“ ‘Don’t be alarmed, Hook,’ he says, ‘there’s a way through to the gallery inside. That’s what I suspected. When one sees lights in the night, it may be ghosts—or, it may be burglars, eh? Come along inside with me. No, not that way—it’s rather stuffy and unpleasant. We’ll “enter by the door” as the Bible says.’

“So along we went to the main door into the library and up to the gallery, right to the far end. We went quite close to the east window and I saw at once how the doctor had got through: one of the panels was evidently a door, for it stood open as he had left it, and I could see a spiral stairs inside, leading down.

“Well, sir, to cut a long story short, Dr. Propert got me to bar up that bottom door outside, so as nobody could get in or out again. I was to have fixed the panel door up in the gallery too, but he got the idea of locking it instead. I thought perhaps it might lead up to the roof and be useful in case of fire. But that was not the idea, sir. The doctor ordered a special little safety latch and I had to place it neatly on the inside. (In fact I was doing it that day when Professor Courtleigh came the first time to look round.)

“I often wondered what the doctor’s game was, and I think it was a trap, for you could set it so as anyone could push it open from the gallery side (that is if they knowed about the panel!) and get into that stair. But if you was inside when it springed to—well, you’d be catched like a rat in a cage! But that was the doctor all over. A very egsentric man, sir, if I may say so. Well, he took the little key when I’d finished the job, and then he looks at me very stem, and says, ‘Now, Hook, you’ve left my service and I’m not sure whether I can find room to have you back. I’ll give you a trial; and if you can keep your own counsel about this little discovery of ours, I’ll not forget you later on.’

“I didn’t know what he might mean, sir, but when he died, not so long after, there was fifty pound for me in the will. I’ve not told a soul about this panel, but you’re an educated man and a gentleman—and the rector, too, sir—and I see no ’arm as can be done now as the doctor’s dead?”

Sir Leslie nodded his head reassuringly. “You need have no fear, Hook. But there’s one thing I should like to know. I gather that the stair of the northeast turret is still there. But what about the one on the other side of the window—I mean where the Muniment Room is? Didn’t you explore that too?”

“No, sir,” answered the old man. “There was a doorway outside, like the other, but it was already built up, so no one could have got in there.”

“Thank you,” said Sir Leslie, bringing the interview to a close. “This is very interesting. There’s a friend of the rector’s—Professor Courtleigh, in fact—coming to see us tomorrow about the library. After what you’ve said, I should like to be able to show him this panel. So perhaps you can come round again in the morning?”

As Hook took his leave the rector returned him his parcel. “Look after these pictures of yours. I think I know a purchaser for them,” he said, adding with a grin, “and thanks for bringing back my old scores!”

His pleasantry gave place to something quite serious, though, as soon as the carpenter had gone. “That’s a rare story!” he said gloomily. “Something sinister about all this. Here’s Faik with his expensive alterations and secret conclaves—and for what purpose? What is behind it all?”

“Well,” said Sir Leslie with a shrug, “there’re all the symptoms of Black Magic! In India, you know . . .”

“Yes, but seriously,” interrupted the rector with a wry smile, “would anyone in England, any educated person, fool about with that nonsense?”

“I’m not so sure,” answered the other, composed. “This country had plenty of it in the past and, as for education, well, it’s sometimes the scholar versed in antiquity who’s most susceptible to this kind of thing. As a matter of fact, I came across an instance of what I mean just before you arrived. When I lifted the lid of the window seat in my dressing room (thinking it a good place to put my bootjacks in), I found a curious sort of prayer-book inside. You shall see it,” he promised, ringing for Perkins.

When the book came Sanderton recognized it. “Why,” he said, “it’s an old psalter of Dr. Propert’s: he used to have it in the oratory. I know it by that braided bookmark and crucifix. He mentioned bringing it over with him the night he died. In fact he collapsed while upstairs fetching it. I often wondered where it had disappeared to.”

“I suppose you’ve never perused its contents?” suggested Sir Leslie. “No? Well, have a look at it now. I take it to be a Jacobean psalter bound up with certain eighteenth-century additions to form a private manual of devotions.”

As he handed it to the rector the little book sprang open at a well-thumbed page entitled:

AN OFFICE FOR DELIVERANCE FROM THE EVIL ONE.

Ps. xxvii, 5—
For in the time of trouble He shall hide me in His pavilion
.

Several collects ensued, then an old metrical version of Psalm 91, introduced by rubric in italics, thus:

Divers portions of Holy Writ are commended for ejaculatory usage
,
and in especiall certain verses of the Psalms xxxi, xxxv, xxxviii, cxlii, and the like. Or
,
let him that is distress’d sing or chant the following to himself aloud
,
duly making the sign of the Cross
—

Ps. xci: It shall not come nigh thee.

Whoso doeth reach the secret Shade

Of God’s most holy Place

Shall pluck his Soule that was afraid

From its most deadly case.

Whenas that Horror draweth nigh

At Noon with shadow fell,

The Lord upon thine instant cry

Shall stay the powers of hell.

The Hunter’s visage here in vaine

Shall peer into thy Bower

And o’er thy blood its nightly bane

May have no mortal power.

“Good heavens,” gasped Sanderton. “I begin to see why the doctor fled to the oratory so much, and why he furnished it in the first place. It’s almost unbelievable. He must have been deluded. Surely there’s nothing in all this?”

“Don’t be too sure,” warned Sir Leslie. “Neither Faik nor Propert were fools. Anyway, we’ll talk it over with Courtleigh and be careful to act together in this. The danger with these things comes by tampering with them unawares.”