Death and the Maiden (10 page)

‘You had better change with me if you feel like that,' said Mrs Bradley, ‘and we will say nothing to any of them. Now come along, and we'll see how many miles we can walk.'

‘Oh, dear! I suppose I've
got
to come with you,' said Connie, very ungratefully. Miss Carmody had gone into Alresford, Crete had decided to lie down, and Mr Tidson was off on his own affairs as usual.

The route they followed led them past the Cathedral and across its Close, down College Street and along College Walk, and then, by the river footpath, to the path across the water-meadows. This brought them to the main stream of the Itchen, for this walk was one way – and by far the most delightful – to reach St Catherine's Hill.

There was a choice of paths, for a bridge spanned the river and led to the towing-path; on the right bank, which Connie chose, was a narrow path alongside the water. They passed forget-me-not and meadow rue, and, on a pool beside the stream, the yellow water-lily. There was water-cress in abundance on all the streams, and the ragged-robin stood two feet high in the water-meadows.

Mrs Bradley and Connie walked for the most part in single file and in silence. At last they crossed the by-pass and began to climb the hill.

They mounted some chalk-cut steps to the first of the pre-Roman earthworks which crowned the top of the hill. From a kind of circular plateau covered with short springy grass a fine view could be had of the river, the city, and the water-meadows. There was an open prospect across the river to the hills around Oliver's Battery, and away to the south-west were the barrows on Compton Down.

‘Well, now,' said Mrs Bradley, when she and Connie had seated themselves on the turf and were gazing across to the hills on the opposite side, ‘go ahead, and please don't leave out anything.'

‘The ghost?'

‘The ghost, child.'

‘And would you really change rooms with me? Really?'

‘Certainly. I confess I should like to see a ghost. One reads so much and experiences so little of these things. This hotel – who knows? – may be a place of first-rate psychic interest and importance.' She cackled, but Connie remained serious.

‘Well, if you really wouldn't mind, I'd be terribly glad. It's a nun, you know. I told you, didn't I?'

‘Yes? A nun?'

‘In a white habit. She's fairly small and she – and she squeaks.'

‘Squeaks?'

‘Yes. I don't know how else to describe it. She frightened me horribly. I hid my face under the bedclothes, and
prayed
for her to go away, and when I peeped next time she was gone.'

‘Whereabouts in the room did she appear?'

‘Close by the dressing-table, I think. But I couldn't say for certain. It seemed between there and the fireplace.'

‘Have you any idea of the time when she appeared?'

‘Yes, but it isn't exact. I heard a clock strike three very soon after she had gone.'

‘You know it was striking the hour?'

‘Oh, yes. It had done all its chimes, and then it struck three clear notes. I expect you've heard the clock I mean. I think it's somewhere near, but in the town, not in the hotel.'

‘Well, child, we shall see what luck I have. If you are ready, let us climb to the grove of trees.'

‘You go,' said Connie. ‘I'd sooner look at the view.'

Mrs Bradley got up, and climbed, by a broad turf path closely worn to the chalk of the hill, to a grove of trees on the summit. Here she poked inquisitively about among the tree-trunks and discovered what looked like a tramp's lair in a hole in the ground where, at some time, possibly, a tree had been uprooted. There were the remains of a fire, a couple of rusty tins which had not been opened but were dented all over as though they had been flung against the trees, two great hunks of badly mildewed
bread, and a heap of dead leaves which might have been used as a bed.

Although an ancient British track was believed to have run up and over the hill, it was not very likely, Mrs Bradley thought, that a modern tramp would have troubled to take the same route when roads went in every direction around the base of the hill. She was interested in these evidences of human occupation, therefore, particularly as they did not look like the remains of a picnic.

She poked into the hole with her foot, and turned up an old leather sandal. She was sufficiently interested in this to continue poking. She felt that Connie was watching her, so she thoughtfully pushed the heap of leaves over the sandal and strolled towards the bushes as Connie came into view.

‘Thought I'd come up after all!' said Connie, panting. ‘Anything to see up here?'

There was a miz-maze cut in the turf nearby. Mrs Bradley referred to this fact, and they left the trees and came out into the open. There were legends to account for the miz-maze. Mrs Bradley detailed these, and the time passed pleasantly.

‘You'll remember not to mention the exchange of rooms,' said Mrs Bradley, as they descended by a path on the other side of the hill. They came out upon Twyford Down and crossed the golf course.

‘
I
shan't say anything! They'd all think I was crazy,' Connie replied. ‘I suppose we'd better let the chambermaid know, but she isn't likely to mention it, and, if she did, it would only be to Aunt Prissie, and I don't much mind her knowing. It's the other two, especially Uncle Edris. I am really afraid of that man.'

‘I wouldn't let anyone know, and I'm sure we can square the chambermaid. Let's keep the whole thing to ourselves,' said Mrs Bradley. ‘But why should you fear Mr Tidson?' She neither expected nor received an answer to this question.

‘I don't know,' said Connie, ‘but I do.'

They followed a footpath across the golf course, and
came out on to the by-pass road, which they crossed. Then they took the towing-path, beside what was part of the old canal, on the other side of the railway, Connie leading the way. Suddenly, as they came in sight of the weir, she turned and said:

‘You said you wanted exercise! Do let's run!' And, on the words, she fled like Atlanta, but what she was running away from Mrs Bradley could not determine.

Mrs Bradley was intrigued by Connie's story of the ghost. Not altogether to her surprise, the next news of the visitant came from Crete Tidson, who said at tea, when the party were all assembled at a table in the garden:

‘I hear that this house is haunted. I do not think I should come here any more.'

‘Why ever not?' enquired Miss Carmody abruptly. ‘A ghost never harmed anyone yet. Personally, I should rather like to see one. What do
you
say, Connie?'

Connie laughed without mirth, and said that she supposed it might be interesting.

‘Very interesting indeed,' said Mr Tidson, waving a piece of bread and butter. ‘Extremely so. But I don't know what you mean when you say that a ghost never harmed anyone yet! What about the one in Berkeley Square? And on the Canaries we heard rumours of volcanic entities – enormous, nebulous creatures that come out of the mountains, you know – which are supposed to be capable of driving people insane.'

‘Really?' said Mrs Bradley. ‘I have stayed in the Canaries several times, but I never heard such a story.'

‘Possibly not,' said Mr Tidson. ‘But
living
there is a different matter entirely from merely
staying
. I could tell you, out of my own experiences—'

‘Eat your bread and butter, Edris, or, at least, stop waving it about,' said Crete. ‘Your experiences are in no way unique, and I don't suppose for one moment that anybody wants to hear about them.'

‘I'll tell you what somebody
does
want,' said Connie,
who desired above all things to have the subject changed, ‘and that somebody is myself. I do want to visit the College.'

‘Why, of course,' said Miss Carmody. ‘We must remember that we have young Arthur Preece-Harvard at school there. And although he is on holiday at present—'

‘By Jove, yes!' Mr Tidson cried loudly, putting down his cup at a warning exclamation from his wife. ‘Arthur Preece-Harvard! I had forgotten all about him! I must certainly visit the College. But not to-morrow, Connie, my dear. I am hot on the track of my nymph, and all else must wait, for fear lest the scent should grow cold.'

‘I think I must come nymphing with you one day,' said Mrs Bradley, soberly. ‘One should not miss these excitements.' To her surprise, Mr Tidson assented with great enthusiasm.

‘Nothing I should like better! Nothing! Nothing!' he cried. ‘Oh, yes, do come! These sceptics—' he waved towards his wife, Connie and Miss Carmody – ‘are most discouraging. If I were a sensitive man I should have become depressed.'

‘Well, thank heaven you're not, then, a sensitive man,' said Crete. ‘It is very kind of Mrs Bradley, don't you think, to take interest in your silly old nymph?'

‘I know it is kind of her,' Mr Tidson retorted. ‘It is also intelligent and enlightened of her. It is good to find someone else among the prophets, and I greatly look forward to her company.'

Mrs Bradley, extremely puzzled by his reactions, since she had deduced that the very last thing Mr Tidson desired was that anyone should accompany him upon his expeditions, looked forward keenly to the outing.

At Mr Tidson's request, they set out directly after tea, at a time when there were numbers of people everywhere in the city, and a procession of visitors between Winchester and St Cross along the river.

‘Where do you expect to find her to-day?' Mrs Bradley briskly enquired, as though the expedition were of the most ordinary nature.

‘That remains to be seen,' said Mr Tidson. ‘I have not
yet discovered where she hides, but I think I ought to take cover to-day and give her a chance to appear.'

‘Is the late afternoon a good time? I should have thought that all these people – the little boys particularly – would most certainly have frightened her away.'

‘Oh, I think she likes little boys,' said Mr Tidson. ‘These, for instance; dear little chaps. Perhaps they are hardly safe. One never knows.' He smiled at the boys as they passed.

Once past the Winchester playing fields, the stream ran past the wall of a garden, and, after that, it crossed the end of a road in a wide, deep opening rather like a small pond. Boys were paddling, sailing their boats, poking into the river bed with willow sticks, collecting minnows in jamjars and in other ways enjoying themselves while the sun shone and the long summer daylight lasted.

‘Of course, Crete and I have no children,' said Mr Tidson.

‘Then you are fond of children?' Mrs Bradley enquired, as she fell into step beside him, and they walked on past the end of the row of small houses.

‘Everyone is fond of children; I am, perhaps, more attached to them than most are,' he replied.

‘How do you suppose Bobby Grier came to drown himself like that?' asked Mrs Bradley, full of Miss Carmody's dreadful theories and greatly desirous of putting them to the test.

‘I do not suppose he did.'

‘The water-nymph?' She glanced at him sharply. ‘I don't believe a word of that, you know.'

‘I do not believe it, either, in this particular case,' said Mr Tidson. He kicked a stone out of his path. ‘I think some villainy was at work there. Don't ask me what. I have nothing to go on, of course, but my opinion is (I think) the same as yours, and I have my reasons for holding it. The nymph may be here. I think she is. She may drown little boys. I think she does. But I don't think she drowned little Grier.'

‘Really? What do you think, then?'

‘It is what I think
of
,' said Mr Tidson, somewhat mysteriously. ‘Repressed spinsters, monomaniacs, sex-maniacs,
mass murderers . . . lorry-drivers . . . curates . . . kindly persons with nasty little bags of sweets and horrid little pockets full of gooseberries. Goblin market, you know. I think of them all, but mostly, of course, of the spinsters.'

‘Really?' Mrs Bradley looked astounded.

‘Very, very sad,' Mr Tidson continued. ‘When one lives side by side with one of them, one gets to see their point of view, you know. Very odd things, repressions. Charlotte Corday, and so on.' He shook his head, stopped suddenly, looked at the sky, and then said with some abruptness, ‘I am not in the mood for my nymph. I am going home.'

*
Doubtful. It is probably a widely-held theory, but does not, of course, apply to Poltergeists.

Chapter Seven