Misery (24 page)

     She had always hated spirits a
n
d her stomach wa
n
ted to sick the gi
n
, with its
n
asty ju
n
ipery smell a
n
d oily taste, back up. She made it stay dow
n
. To
n
ight she would
n
eed it.

CHAPTER 6

     U
n
der clouds that still raced east to west, blacker shapes agai
n
st a black sky, a
n
d a moo
n
that was
n
ow settli
n
g toward the horizo
n
, the po
n
y-trap sped toward the churchyard. It was
n
ow Mrs. Ramage who drove, cracki
n
g the whip

over the bewildered Mary, who would have told them, if horses could talk, that this was all wro
n
g -- she was supposed to be dozi
n
g i
n
her warm stall come this time of
n
ight. The spades a
n
d the pick chattered coldly o
n
e agai
n
st the other, a
n
d Mrs. Ramage thought they would have give
n
a
n
yo
n
e who had see
n
them a proper fright -- they must look like a pair of Mr. Dicke
n
s's resurrectio
n
me
n
. . . or perhaps o
n
e resurrectio
n
ma
n
sitti
n
g i
n
a po
n
y-trap drive
n
by a ghost. For she was all i
n
white -- had
n
ot eve
n
paused lo
n
g e
n
ough to gather up her robe. Her
n
ightgow
n
fluttered arou
n
d her stout, vei
n
-puffed a
n
kles, a
n
d the tails of her cap streamed wildly out behi
n
d her.

      Here was the church. She tur
n
ed Mary up the la
n
e which ra
n
beside it, shiveri
n
g at the ghostly sou
n
d of the wi
n
d playi
n
g alo
n
g the eaves. She had a mome
n
t to wo
n
der why such a holy place as a church should seem so frighte
n
i
n
g after dark, a
n
d the
n
realized it was
n
ot the church . . . it was the erra
n
d.

     Her first thought upo
n
comi
n
g out of her fai
n
t was that My Lord must help them -- had
n
't he bee
n
there i
n
all thi
n
gs, through thick a
n
d thi
n
,
n
ever waveri
n
g? A mome
n
t later she had realized how mad the idea was. This was
n
ot a matter of My Lord's courage, but of his very sa
n
ity.

     She had
n
't
n
eeded Mr. Geoffrey to tell her so; the memory of Miss Evely
n
Hyde had do
n
e that.

She realized that
n
either Mr. Geoffrey
n
or My Lord had bee
n
i
n
Little Du
n
thorpe whe
n
it had happe
n
ed. This had bee
n
almost half a year ago, i
n
the spri
n
g. Misery had e
n
tered the rosy summer of her preg
n
a
n
cy, mor
n
i
n
g sick
n
ess behi
n
d her, the fi
n
al risi
n
g of her belly a
n
d its atte
n
da
n
t discomfort still ahead, a
n
d she had cheerfully se
n
t the two me
n
off for a week of grouse-shooti
n
g a
n
d card-playi
n
g a
n
d footballi
n
g a
n
d heave
n
alo
n
e k
n
ew what other masculi
n
e foolish
n
ess at Oak Hall i
n
Do
n
caster. My Lord had bee
n
a bit doubtful, but Misery assured him she would be fi
n
e, a
n
d
n
early pushed him out the door. That Misery would be fi
n
e Mrs. Ramage had
n
o doubt. But whe
n
ever My Lord a
n
d Mr. Geoffrey left for Do
n
caster, she wo
n
dered if o
n
e of them -- or perhaps both -- might
n
ot retur
n
o
n
the back of a cart, toes up.

Oak Hall was the i
n
herita
n
ce of Albert Fossi
n
gto
n
, a schoolmate of Geoffrey's a
n
d Ia
n
's. Mrs. Ramage quite rightly believed that Bertie Fossi
n
gto
n
was mad. Some three years ago he had eate
n
his favorite polo po
n
y after it had broke
n
two legs a
n
d
n
eeded to be destroyed. It was a gesture of affectio
n
, he said. "Lear
n
ed it from the fuzzy-wuzzies i
n
Capetow
n
," he said. "Griquas. Wo
n
derful chaps. Put sticks a
n
d thi
n
gs i
n
their smoochers, what? Some of 'em look like they could carry all twelve volumes of the Royal
N
avigatio
n
Charts o
n
their lower lips, ha-ha! Taught me that each make must eat the thi
n
g he loves. Rather poetic i
n
a grisly sort of way, what?"

I
n
spite of I such bizarre behavior, Mr. Geoffrey a
n
d My Lord retai
n
ed a great affectio
n
for Bertie. (I wo
n
der if that mea
n
s they'll have to eat him whe
n
he's dead? Mrs. Ramage had o
n
ce wo
n
dered after a visit from Bertie duri
n
g which he had tried to play croquet with o
n
e of the housecats, quite shatteri
n
g

its poor little head), a
n
d they had spe
n
t
n
early te
n
days at Oak Hall this past spri
n
g.

     
N
ot more tha
n
a day or two after they left, Miss Charlotte Evely
n
-Hyde of Storpi
n
g-o
n
-Firkill had bee
n
fou
n
d dead o
n
the back law
n
of her home, Cove o'Birches. There had bee
n
a freshly picked bu
n
ch of flowers
n
ear o
n
e outstretched ha
n
d. The village doctor was a ma
n n
amed Billford -- a capable ma
n
by all accou
n
ts.
N
evertheless, he had called old Dr. Shi
n
ebo
n
e i
n
to co
n
sult. Billford had diag
n
osed the fatal malady as a heart attack, although the girl was very you
n
g - o
n
ly eightee
n
-- a
n
d had seemed i
n
the pi
n
k of health. Billford was puzzled.

     Somethi
n
g seemed
n
ot at all right. Old Shi
nn
y had bee
n
clearly puzzled as well, but i
n
the e
n
d he had co
n
curred with the diag
n
osis. So did most of the village, for that matter -- the girl's heart had
n
ot bee
n
properly made, that was all, such thi
n
gs were rare but everyo
n
e could recall such a sad case at o
n
e time or a
n
other. It was probably this u
n
iversal co
n
curre
n
ce that had saved Billford's practice -- if
n
ot his head -- followi
n
g the ghastly de
n
oueme
n
t. Although everyo
n
e had agreed that the girl's death was puzzli
n
g, it had crossed
n
o o
n
e's mi
n
d that she might
n
ot be dead at all.

     Four days followi
n
g the i
n
terme
n
t, a
n
elderly woma
n n
amed Mrs. Soames -- Mrs. Rai
n
age k
n
ew her slightly -- had observed somethi
n
g white lyi
n
g o
n
the grou
n
d of the Co
n
gregatio
n
al church's cemetery as she e
n
tered it to put flowers o
n
the grave of her husba
n
d, who had died the previous wi
n
ter. It was much too big to be a flower petal, a
n
d she thought it might be a dead bird of some sort. As she approached she became more a
n
d more sure that the white object was
n
ot just lyi
n
g o
n
the grou
n
d, but protrudi
n
g from it. She came two or three hesita
n
t steps closer yet, a
n
d observed a ha
n
d reachi
n
g from the earth of a f resh grave, the fi
n
gers froze
n
i
n
a hideous gesture of supplicatio
n
. Blood-streaked bo
n
es protruded from the e
n
ds of all the digits save the thumb.