The Deadly Curse (13 page)

Yours
etc.
,
Nathanial
Haywood

Mina passed the letter back to me. ‘I hope that Mr Haywood was not offended when you declined to take up his offer of hospitality.’

‘Not
at all. Mr Joplin has explained to him that I would prefer the freedom and independence of action offered by arranging my own accommodation – I have taken a room at the George to use when necessary. As a hard-headed businessman, I’m certain Haywood will understand. However, I’m not sure what my client will make of the fact that I will be paying regular visits to a pretty young woman living nearby.’

Mina
smiled. By a happy coincidence one of her old school friends was married to the curate of St Elwyn church in the parish of Hayle, only four miles from St Ives. She had therefore arranged to stay with Edith and the Reverend Charles Ashby for as long as I remained in Cornwall, whilst I would divide my time between the Ashbys’ house and the George Hotel in the town.

*

We had passed through St. Germans and were travelling towards Liskeard when Mina took the manuscript of
The
Secret
of
Lady
Connaught
out of her travelling bag. While she looked over the last few pages I continued to observe the rapidly changing scenery which flew past the carriage window. Our route at that point ran through gently undulating countryside, and for some miles the train was either plunging through the dark depths of a cutting, or perched on top of an embankment with views to the horizon on both sides.

After
some miles of such travel the train reached a wooded down slope, no doubt gentle enough when observed by a trackside bystander, but sufficient to increase our speed considerably. As we travelled through a dense mass of oak trees – just cleared sufficiently on each side of the track to allow our safe passage – a remarkable sight met my eyes.

In
front of the woodland’s edge there stood a striking woman. She was young – not much more than twenty two or three, I thought – with a tall, slim figure and long, luxuriant black hair flowing loosely to her shoulders. She wore a thin grey walking dress, hardly suited to the outdoors in mid-October. I was facing in the same direction as the train was travelling, and she must have been no more than fifty yards away when I first saw her. She stood with her right arm held out, pointing directly towards me. In a moment her image flashed past the carriage window and as it did so I noticed the unnatural paleness of her face, and the expression of intense sadness which suffused her features. It seemed that for a moment her eyes had met mine, although I realised that she could hardly have seen inside our carriage, let alone been able to fix her expression upon me.

The
whole disturbing incident must have lasted for no more than a second. I looked at Mina, who was sitting opposite me still leafing through her manuscript, but she had obviously observed nothing. For a moment I considered telling her what I had seen but then thought better of it: I did not want to spoil the enjoyment of our journey together. At that time we had every hope of turning my task into something of a holiday by combining business with pleasure. It was perhaps fortunate for our peace of mind that we did not then realise that there would be rather more of the former – and less of the latter – than we might have wished.

Chapter Two

We arrived at the small station of Hayle just over four hours after leaving Exeter, the Great Western Railway having conveyed us to our destination with its usual efficiency. After making sure that all our luggage had been unloaded from the goods van and put in charge of the two elderly porters who were on duty, I gave instructions for two of my own suitcases to be taken on to Penzance and sent to the George Hotel, where I was expected the following evening. Hearing a voice calling out to me I turned round to see that the Reverend Ashby had already reached the platform. The curate strode towards us with his usual athletic step, a broad smile illuminating his cheerful, open features. He was wearing an old Norfolk jacket which contrasted strangely with his clergyman’s shirt and collar.

‘My
dear Mina and Jonathan!’ he said. ‘I’m very pleased to see you. Edith and I greatly enjoyed our visit to Exeter, and it will be a pleasure to return your hospitality. If the porters can take your trunk and bags to my pony and trap, I’ll drive you to our cottage myself. Our groom has also to serve as our handyman and gardener, and I did not wish to take him from his labours in the vegetable patch. You must forgive my appearance. I was picking blackberries with our daughter when Edith reminded me that your train was due to arrive very shortly. Given the choice of arriving on time, or being more suitably dressed, I thought you would prefer the former.’

We
shook hands with our friend and returned his good wishes. Mina had known his wife since they were both fourteen, and I knew that she was pleased that Edith’s husband combined his pleasant and unpretentious character with a keen intellect and good prospects. Although he occupied a relatively humble position as Curate of St Elwyn Church, Charles Ashby held an Oxford degree and had the family connections which were so important if a young clergyman were to rise through the ranks of his vocation.

‘And
are the children all well?’ I asked.

‘In
excellent health, as you will soon see,’ he replied. ‘Wilfred and his sister really need a children’s nurse, but as yet I have been unable to convince Edith that anyone is suitable.’

‘I
suspect her standards are very high,’ Mina said.

‘Indeed.
Fortunately our maid of all work, Lucy, is able to assist her in looking after Grace and Wilfred. Lucy is a very reliable young woman and well used to children, as she is from a large family herself.’

I
could see a flicker of sadness pass over Mina’s face as she heard Charles pronounce the name of his maid: a name shared by her dear friend Lucy Westenra, whose terrible ordeal was still fresh in my wife’s mind. Not for the first time, I thanked G-d that although Mina had learned of her friend’s fate, she had not herself been present that night two years ago when Quincy Morris, Arthur Holmwood, Professor Van Helsing and I had been forced to drive a stake through poor Lucy’s heart.

Mina
bravely suppressed her emotions and pointed across the fields to where a small patch of blue could just be glimpsed. ‘Is that St Ives Bay, Charles? Do tell us about your parish church. Is it near the sea? Edith tells me that you do all the Reverend Trewellard’s work as well as your own, but I am sure that cannot be true.’

Charles
chuckled. ‘The vicar has many interests. He is a well-known naturalist and fossil collector, and is also a noted bibliophile and antiquarian. The collection of early religious texts in his library is really quite exceptional. I’m afraid that his intellectual pursuits often leave him little time for the more mundane elements of parish business.’

*

When we arrived at Rosehill I could see that the Ashbys’ home was really more of a small farmhouse than a cottage. Edith Ashby was just as I had remembered her: a short, rosy-cheeked young woman with dark curly hair and an independence of thought and action somewhat unusual for a clergyman’s wife. After our exchange of greetings, their servant Lucy arrived with their two young children. When two year old Grace and six months old Wilfred had been suitably admired and complimented – reminding me of a private observation that Mina had once made to me, to the effect that all babies look exactly the same – we spent a pleasant afternoon in the house and garden.

Charles
and Edith were aware of the ostensible reason for our visit to Cornwall, as Mina had mentioned in her letter that I was to assist in the drawing up of Flora Haywood’s marriage settlement. I had made up my mind to tell them about my further mission – to ascertain if Sir Owen Velland would be a suitable husband – and to ask them what they knew about the reclusive baronet. I knew the Ashbys well enough to trust their discretion absolutely. However, by tacit agreement we postponed any mention of business matters until later that evening, after dinner had been served and their maid had cleared the dishes.

‘You
may go home now, Lucy,’ Edith said. She turned towards me. ‘Lucy’s parents live only a mile away and it is rare that I need to keep her here overnight. Take the lantern, Lucy – and remember to bring it back tomorrow.’

She
bobbed her head and left us. Lucy Wollas impressed me as a sensible young woman. Her tall slim figure and fair hair gave her a more than passing resemblance to Mina, although she did not have the delicacy of features that was to be seen in my wife. Edith smiled at her husband. ‘I suppose at this point – if I were a more conventional hostess – I would suggest that we ladies retire to drawing room, leaving you two gentlemen to discuss matters of business. However, as we are all good friends, I propose that Mina and I remain. The port was a present from Charles’ uncle and is excellent.’

Charles
turned towards me. ‘I fear that Edith is rapidly turning into a New Woman,’ he said, ‘although perhaps I should be thankful that she does not smoke. However, her suggestion is a sensible one. If you wish to garner any local knowledge, her presence will be invaluable.’

He
filled glasses for the four of us and continued. ‘Tell me, Jonathan, is your assignment in St Ives
merely
a matter of drawing up a marriage settlement?’

‘You’re
very perceptive, Charles,’ I replied. ‘As you have correctly deduced, such a task could easily have been done by a local solicitor. I confess that I do have a further object, which I am sure that you will both treat as a matter of confidence.’

After
I had explained the real reason for my visit, Edith took another sip of her port and leaned back in her chair. ‘It seems to me that there may be as much to be discovered in London as there is in Cornwall,’ she observed. ‘After all, Sir Owen Velland only returned to Gwithian five years ago. Should there not be an investigation of his background?’

‘You
are right, and I am pleased to say that the matter is in hand. Last week, as soon as I agreed to investigate Sir Owen, I contacted a very good friend of mine, late of Amsterdam and now resident in London. His name is Professor Van Helsing. The professor has promised to look into Sir Owen’s career prior to his inheritance of the baronetcy and to send his report to me care of the George Hotel, St Ives. I expect to receive it very shortly.’

‘I
seem to have heard the professor’s name before,’ Edith said. ‘Tell me, was he not one of the gentlemen who helped you dispose of the notorious Count?’

‘He
was indeed,’ I replied. ‘But for Van Helsing’s invaluable knowledge and assistance, it is unlikely that I would have survived the experience.’

‘Then
we are all in his debt,’ Edith said. ‘Now, Charles, are you to tell our guests what we know about the mysterious baronet, or am I?’

‘I
am happy to begin,’ her husband said. ‘I am sure you will add anything I omit to mention. The fact is, Jonathan, we really know very little about Sir Owen Velland which is not already a matter of public record and which Mr Haywood will no doubt be able to confirm when you meet with him tomorrow. I see Sir Owen when he is at Sunday service at St Elwyn Church – his attendance is irregular at best – but we rarely exchange more than a few words. Sir Owen succeeded to the baronetcy when his father died in September 1890, just over five years ago. His mother died when he was an infant. Owen left home when he was thirteen and went to Harrow, followed by Cambridge University. After that he lived in London, where I understand he occupied himself with scientific and philosophical pursuits without practising a profession. I believe he returned to Cornwall to visit his father once or twice a year.’

Mina
interrupted our friend. ‘Mr Velland – as he then was – must have enjoyed a private income,’ she said.

‘I
really couldn’t say. Certainly his father was far from wealthy,’ Charles said.

Edith
looked at her husband. ‘It is said that Mr Arnold Paxton is the real source of Sir Owen’s money.’

Charles
nodded. ‘Let me explain. Arnold Paxton is Sir Owen’s cousin, somewhat older than the baronet, and he moved back to Carrick Manor with Sir Owen. Paxton is an invalid and is even less inclined to leave Carrick Manor than his cousin. It is indeed rumoured that Arnold Paxton is a very wealthy man – he is a bachelor – but neither he nor the baronet live with any undue ostentation. Sir Owen is rarely seen in St Ives.’

‘And
how does the baronet occupy his time?’ I asked.

Charles
frowned. ‘He continues his scientific pursuits, and the Reverend Trewellard tells me that Sir Owen has equipped a small chemical laboratory at Carrick Manor. I have not myself seen it, as the baronet is disinclined for company – Trewellard excepted.’

Mina
helped herself to an apple from the fruit bowl in the centre of the table. ‘Is it correct that Sir Owen has quite recently suffered a sad bereavement?’

Charles
looked across the table at his wife, and reading his subtle signal she took it upon herself to reply.

‘Yes
indeed. It was a very tragic case and it received wide publicity. Afterwards Sir Owen became even more reclusive, which is hardly surprising. The facts are these. After the baronet had been back in Cornwall for a year, he married a young woman from West Cornwall, Ruth Lethbridge. She was only twenty two years old – considerably younger than Sir Owen. She came from a good Penzance family – the Lethbridges have been landowners in the area since the seventeenth century – but it is not thought that she brought a substantial sum of money to the marriage. Then eighteen months later, in March 1893, her body was found one morning at the foot of the cliffs on the edge of the Carrick Estate. Sir Owen confirmed that Lady Velland had been discovered sleepwalking on a number of occasions: indeed, she was normally locked in her room at night for her own safety. On that occasion the housekeeper forgot to do so, with the tragic result that I have described.’

‘How
did Sir Owen and Ruth Lethbridge first meet?’ I asked. ‘They sound an ill-matched couple.’

Edith
thought for a moment. ‘Let me see. I recall hearing that on one of his rare excursions Sir Owen Velland had attended a public lecture in Penzance and was introduced to Mr and Mrs Lethbridge and their daughter, who were also present.’

‘I
take it there was some ill-feeling in the neighbourhood towards Sir Owen after his young wife died in such tragic circumstances?’ I asked.

Charles
snorted. ‘Some ill-informed feeling, certainly,’ he said. ‘After all, Ruth chose to become Lady Velland of her own free will. I’m afraid that in a rural community such as ours, the baronet’s combination of reserve, arcane interests and domestic tragedy was always likely to give rise to a popular prejudice against him. Shortly after he returned to Cornwall he was involved in a dispute over a piece of land with a local farmer. The poor fellow lost his wits over the business – and a good deal of nonsense was talked about Sir Owen’s part in the matter.’

‘I
suppose his recent engagement to Flora Haywood has not been generally welcomed?’ Mina said.

‘No
indeed,’ Charles replied. ‘It has not helped that until recently she was known to have had an understanding with Dr Goodwin, a very popular young doctor in St Ives. Still, the friendship between Sir Owen Velland and the Reverend Trewellard must count in the baronet’s favour.’

Edith
stood up and walked to the fireplace, adding a log from the pile stacked on the hearth. She took up the poker and stirred the fire into a blaze. ‘No doubt. However, the Reverend Trewellard can afford to think the best of everyone, since he commands a position which all must respect. As for me, I will reserve judgment on Sir Owen and would advise Jonathan to do likewise. Now, if we have all had enough of baronets and mysteries, perhaps we could try a hand or two of whist before the evening ends?’

*

That night, while I lay in bed gazing at the gnarled oak beams that snaked across the ceiling, I thought back to the letter that Nathanial Haywood had sent to my senior partner, Mr Joplin. I reminded myself that in the morning I had an appointment with Mr Haywood in St Ives, during which he would no doubt tell me more about his concerns regarding Sir Owen Velland. As I turned over to compose myself for sleep, the distant hooting of a solitary owl felt strangely comforting. That and the soft breathing of Mina next to my pillow eased me gently into slumber.