The Seance (32 page)

In the middle of the floor a small round table had been overturned, with several chairs scattered around it, two of them lying on their side. The tomb of Sir Henry Wraxford sat like a stone in the throat of the fireplace. Wires from the machine in the library trailed past my feet, joining to those which connected the armour to the lightning rods. I became aware, beneath the odours of ancient timber and mildewed fabric, of a faint, cold, acrid smell of burning.

The armour was closed. As I drew nearer, with every nerve urging me to turn and flee, I saw, where the sword blade entered the plinth, a rusty dagger thrust into the slot, jamming the mechanism. Caught between the plates was a piece of dove-grey material that might have been torn from the hem of a woman’s dress – like the one Nell had been wearing that afternoon a week ago. The cloth was charred along the line where it vanished into the armour.

I stood petrified, remembering the story from Chalford of that single brilliant flash, lighting up the sky above Monks Wood on Sunday night, and staring at the torn fabric until I realised that the dress had been caught from the outside. Lying in the shadows behind the armour was a small, jewelled pistol, such as a woman might use.

Rain spattered against the windows overhead. I dropped the pistol into my pocket, stooped to free the dagger, and then, shuddering as if I were grasping a serpent, took hold of the sword hilt.

A grey, inchoate form engulfed me; something struck my foot and boiled up around me in a coarse, grey cloud, filling my mouth and nostrils with the gritty taste of ash. There were ashes in my hair and upon my clothes, and as the cloud settled I saw that my feet were
surrounded by shards and splinters of greyish bone. Glinting amongst them were several tiny pellets of gold – one still embedded in the remnant of a tooth – and the misshapen shell of a signet ring, blackened and distorted but still recognisable, melted on to a fractured cylinder of bone.

I do not remember thinking,
Nell has done this
. I no longer felt afraid; I no longer felt anything at all. I went numbly back through the library and study and down the grand staircase to the front door, which I unbolted and unlocked, and let myself out of the house.

The rain had more or less ceased. My horse waited patiently, his head hanging down. The prospect of confronting Roper was intolerable; I wanted only to go home and huddle by my fireside until it came time to sleep, never to wake again. I reached into the side pocket of my coat and took out the pistol – a derringer, no more than five inches long, with a single barrel –
but ’tis enough, ’twill serve
. I clicked back the hammer, raised the gun, still without conscious intent, and pressed the cold muzzle to my temple, wondering with a sort of detached curiosity what the sensation would be. The movement made me aware that something was pressing against my chest; the corner of the package in my breast pocket.

Awareness flooded back to me; I lowered the pistol, meaning to uncock it, but my hand was seized by a spasm of trembling. The pistol jumped like a live thing; a spurt of muddy water flew up at my feet; my horse threw up his head in alarm as the report echoed around the clearing.

Shaking more violently than ever, I put away the gun and drew out the package. To Jabez Veitch Esq ... but what if Magnus had told him
why
he was dismissing me? I stepped back into the shelter of the portico and broke the seal.

Inside was a small blue notebook, and a letter in Magnus’s hand, the latter part of it blotched and spattered with ink.

Wraxford Hall
30 Sept. 1868

My dear Veitch
,

I am alone at the Hall – the servants left an hour ago. You will hear of my wife’s disappearance long before this reaches you. I fear she has committed a terrible crime – perhaps several – and must make up my mind what to do.

I found this diary in my wife’s room when we forced the door this morning. It is proof, I fear, that her sanity has given way, as you will see from her terrible animus against me, who have striven so long to keep her from the madhouse. I confess I converted Mrs Bryant’s money into diamonds, in the hope of winning back Eleanor’s love – I have just discovered that the diamonds are not in the drawer where I left them last night. And as I learned only yesterday, my wife has formed a clandestine attachment to John Montague, whom I trusted, as you know, implicitly. I dismissed him on the spot when he had the effrontery to call this afternoon; you should receive the papers &c. from him some time this week, unless he has already fled with her.

Whether Montague was party to the theft, or to the death of Mrs Bryant – in which I suspect my wife had a hand – I do not know, but I fear my daughter is already dead.

There is someone moving on the floor above.

In haste
: I have just seen a woman on the upper landing. The light was bad but I am certain it was my wife – she had a pistol in her hand. I thought she meant to fire, but she vanished into the dark.

The light is fading fast. I shall hide this package and then attempt to find her – perhaps she will listen to reason.

Yours, MW

I remember thinking quite dispassionately, as I slid the letter back into the packet, that I was holding everything required to make me an accessory to Magnus’s murder, for which I would very likely hang along with Nell.

Darkness was falling by the time I reached Woodbridge, and such was my state of mind that I did not think to hide, let alone burn the package, which was still in my pocket as I climbed the steps of the police station like a man ascending the scaffold. Roper was still in his office, and received me with the utmost sympathy; it plainly never occurred to him to doubt my story. I handed over the keys, and the pistol (which had discharged, I told him, when I dropped it on my way out), and within twenty minutes was installed in a room at the Woodbridge Arms. There I read and reread Nell’s journal, and sank at last into a drugged, hallucinatory sleep, stepping up to the armour over and over again, knowing what was coming but unable to stop myself grasping the lever. It did not even occur to me until morning, when I was sitting huddled beside my window, watching the grey water flowing past the Tide Mill, that the ashes in the armour might be Nell’s. Magnus’s letter could have been contrived to hang us both; it could even have been quite sincere, except that in the ensuing pursuit it had been Nell, not Magnus, who had died.

My duty was plain: to hand over the package immediately. It was not too late to pretend that I had been too shaken to remember it; I could even pretend that I had broken the seal in my agitation. Except that no one would believe me, and in trying to persuade Roper that the ashes were Nell’s, I would only tighten the noose around my neck.

Back in Aldeburgh, I awaited the inquest – which was delayed some days to allow several London experts time to come up and examine the scene – as if it were my own trial for murder. Bolton was bound to be called, and his evidence alone would be damning. I knew I should burn the package, but every time I took up the matches I would imagine policemen bursting in upon me, just as I steeled myself a dozen times to confess all to Roper, and in the end, like a man caught in a nightmare, did nothing but pace endlessly about my study at home – I could not face the office – while the jaws of the trap closed inexorably around me.

I was thus engaged, the day before the inquest was due to begin in Woodbridge, when my housekeeper knocked to say that a Mr Bolton was asking to see me.

‘Show him into the drawing-room,’ I said, and spent the next few minutes struggling vainly to compose myself.

He was seated upon the sofa when I came in. His dress was modelled upon Magnus’s: black suit, white stock, tall hat and gloves; the expression on his pale fleshless face was perfectly deferential, and though he rose and bowed as soon as I appeared, it was plain who was the master.

‘Very kind of you to see me, Mr Montague, sir; I’m up for the inquest.’

‘Er – yes,’ I said, swallowing. ‘This – your master’s death came as a great shock to me – as it must have been for you all.’

‘Indeed, sir; and as I’m sure you understand, we’re all wondering what is to become of us. In fact, if I may take the liberty of asking; you wouldn’t happen to know whether the master made any sort of provision for me?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ I said. ‘His will is with Mr Veitch in London; and you understand, of course, that nothing can be done until the coroner has handed down his findings?’

‘Oh I quite understand that, sir.’

An appraising silence followed; though the room was chilly, I could feel the sweat trickling down my forehead.

‘Er – is there anything else I can do for you?’ I asked.

‘Well yes, sir, as a matter of fact there is. You see, sir – not that I wasn’t very happy in Dr Wraxford’s service – my ambition lies in the way of photography. I should like to start a little business of my own ... but of course I’m in want of capital, and it occurred to me, sir – you being such a close friend of the family – that you might see your way to advancing me a loan.’

‘I see. Er – how much did you have in mind?’ I added far too quickly.

‘Two hundred and fifty pound, sir, would set me up very nicely.’

‘I see. And – for what term?’

‘Hard to say, sir. Perhaps we could make it – an informal arrangement. I’m sure I should be very grateful.’

‘Very well,’ I said, dabbing at my forehead.

‘Thank you, sir, I’m very much obliged. Now I don’t suppose, sir, you could favour me with a cheque today ...?’

The note of menace was unmistakable.

‘Very well,’ I repeated, avoiding his insinuating gaze. ‘If you could return at three . . . I shall be out, but the cheque will be waiting for you.’

‘Thank you again, sir; you won’t regret it, I’m sure. No need to ring, sir. I’ll see myself out.’

My state of mind at the inquest can readily be imagined. I was one of the first to be called before the coroner – a florid-faced gentleman from Ipswich by the name of Bright – and thought my knees would give way before I had taken the oath. But as with Roper, my haggard appearance attracted sympathy rather than suspicion, and I was only a few minutes on the stand.

Next came the question of identification. The charred signet was identified by Bolton (who studiously avoided my eye). He also
confirmed that Magnus had had five teeth stopped with gold. The distinguished pathologist Sir Douglas Keir testified, on the basis of the larger fragments, that the remains were those of a man, probably taller than average, in the prime of life. Further than that he could not go, owing to the extreme heat to which the bones had been subjected – sufficient to reduce flesh and soft tissue to a fine powdery ash. As to whether lightning could have inflicted the damage, he was not qualified to say.