The Secrets of Dr. Taverner (39 page)

"Well, Hewins married this girl for some reason best known
to himself, and a more incongruous pair it would have been hard
to find--her great-grandmother, by the way, was one of the last
women to be put on trial for witchcraft in England --and they
had a daughter called Mary, who took after her mother and
belonged to the heather rather than the glebe.

"Now this unfortunate girl, as ill luck would have it, fell in
love with the late Lord Cullan, and he with her. It was all done
quite openly, and everyone thought that the engagement would
be announced, but apparently family pressure was brought to
bear, and the next thing we knew was that he jilted little Mary of
the vicarage and was married to the present Lady Cullan,
Marius's mother. The disappointment proved too much for
Mary, and she went out of her head, had to be removed to an
asylum, and died there within the year, and her ravings, well, it
didn't do for any one to hear them. If she had lived in her
great-grandmother's time, she would probably have stood her
trial for witchcraft too.

"Of course the whole incident made an unpleasant im-
pression, and is still remembered among the country people
hereabouts, though the Cullans' own set have forgotten it, if they
ever knew it. One baby is very much like another, and Marius
attracted no attention in his infancy, save for his peculiar name,
which his father insisted on giving him, and for no reason
assigned; but as he got big enough to show his colouring, it was
remarked that although both the old earl and Lady Cullan were
blondes, Marius was as black as a little tinker. He looked most
odd and out of place in the nursery at Cullan Court, but you
could have seen a dozen of him sprawling outside the broom
squires' cottages; and as he got older, that was where he liked to
go, and as a matter of fact, that is where he has probably gone at
the moment.

"He never has anything to do with his own class, but he
comes and goes about these moor holdings, goes into the
kitchens and has a meal or a drink of milk, or sits by the fire for
hours together on stormy days; doesn't tip the people, as you
would expect, just asks for what he wants, has it, and goes, and
they understand his ways; in return he seems to act as a kind of
mascot at harvest and ploughing time. From farms miles away he
is invited to cut the first swathe at haying or walk in the furrow
at seeding.

"You can form you own theories. I say nothing, save that
year by year he gets more like old Hewins, and Hewins won't
give him the Sacrament."

"I thought something of that kind must have been at the back
of things," said Taverner.

"What do you propose to do with him, supposing he could be
persuaded to let you treat him? Do you think it would be
possible to get him normal?" Parkes enquired.

"What do you mean by normal?" countered Taverner. "Do
you mean `average' or `harmonious'?"

But before the discussion could be developed further, a
patient called and we took our leave.

"I am very much afraid," said I, "that they will succeed in
locking that poor chap up after all if he wanders about the
countryside, consorts with gypsies, and bewitches crops. Don't
you think we ought to try and get hold of him?"

"I do," said Taverner, "but I shall use my own methods, and
they will not consist of a glorified rat-hunt."

"There is a queer sort of bond," I said, "between Marius and
us. Did you notice it?"

"Ah," said Taverner, "you felt a bond, did you? Now that
greatly simplifies matters. You evidently have some sort of
affinity with these children of Pan. You remember Diana, and
the way she took to you?"

I felt my ears get hot; I had no particular wish to be reminded
of that incident.

"No," said Taverner, perceiving my feeling, "that had to be
broken up because it would not have worked. Diana would have
taken the whole of you and only satisfied a part if you had
married her; but Marius, if you make friends with him, will deal
with that level of your nature which belongs to his own kingdom
and leave the rest free.

It seldom works for people of different rays and planes of
development to marry each other under our existing marriage
laws, but it is an excellent thing to have a diversity of friends
because they develop aspects of one's nature that lie dormant,
thereby rendering it incomplete."
IV

We had not long to wait for the raising of the curtain on the
third act. That very evening, as I came out of the gate by the
pillar-box, I saw the figure of a man standing on the edge of the
moor, silhouetted against the sunset glow. I knew I could not be
mistaken in the poise of that figure, although I could not see the
face. Remembering Taverner's advice, I did not seek to
approach him, but stood motionless by the gate, watching.

He had evidently been waiting for me, for when he heard the
click of the latch, he turned and advanced a few yards.

"Do you expect me to come onto the cultivated ground to
meet you, or will you come onto virginal soil to meet me?" he
called across the intervening space.

"I will come onto the moor to meet you," I answered, and
stepped off the paved road onto the sandy waste.

"What is your name?" he cried as I approached him.

"Rhodes," I answered, "Eric Rhodes."

"Ha," said he, "I shall call you Giles!"

He raised his hand to the branch of a birch-tree that hung just
over our heads, and giving it a shake, brought down a shower of
drops, for a storm had just passed.

"In my own name," he cried, "I baptize thee Giles."

(When I asked Taverner about this incident later, he said that
it was the work of the witch-grandmother, but gave no further
explanation.)

"Well?" said the Earl of Cullan, thrusting his hands into the
pockets of his disreputable tweeds and cocking his head on one
side, "What do you people want with me? I am not quite so mad
as I look, you know; I could behave decently if it did not bore
me so much. But I have been fool enough to put myself on the
wrong side of the lunacy laws, and I am, as you say, in a tight
corner. Would you say a man was mad because he would not
release his capital in order to pay his brother's debts, with the
certain knowledge that the payment of the said debts will be
used as a means of obtaining further credit?"

"I shouldn't, personally," I replied. "But if a man combines
any unusual form of behaviour with a tight hand on the family
finances, it is quite likely that someone will be found, sooner or
later, who can be induced to say so."

"`If at first you don't succeed, try, try again,' seems to be my
mother's motto," said Lord Cullan. "Now supposing I were to
deposit my suitcase at your nursing-home-- not that I need clean
collars or any such frivolities, but just for the look of the
thing--would you give me your word of honour that I should be
treated as a visitor and not as a patient?"

"You must ask Dr. Taverner that," said I. "But if you trust
him, I am sure you will not regret it."

Lord Cullan considered this for a moment, then nodded and
returned with me to the nursing-home.

"Of course I gave him the promise he required," said
Taverner when he told me of the subsequent interview. "I
promised not to treat him, and neither will I, nor must you.
Instead, I have given him a patient to handle on his own
account."

"That patient being--?" said I.

"Yourself," said Taverner.

I gave a shout of laughter. "You're a downy bird!" I ex-
claimed.

"I really think I am," said Taverner, with a smile that was a
little broader than the occasion seemed to warrant. "And I also
think that I am not the only bird in the wood; there are two
others, and I shall kill them both with the same stone."

Marius evidently took his duties as my keeper perfectly
seriously, and I, as Taverner wished, humoured him to the top of
his bent. It was Taverner's custom, when he had a critical case,
to devote himself to it for a few days and leave me to carry on
the routine of the nursing-home, but in this case, he himself
carried on the routine, and left me to deal with Marius.

Presently, however, I began to have a suspicion that Marius
was dealing with me. His quick wits and shrewd, subtle brain
made him the dominant member of the pair, and I soon realized
that he, by means of pure intuition, was a better psychologist
than I was or could ever hope to be, with all my training.
Gradually he began to join the party in the office, which was
against all professional etiquette, and most indiscreet in my
opinion. I must confess to a twinge or two of jealousy at first as I
heard Taverner asking his counsel and taking his advice with
regard to certain cases that had puzzled us. Marius was far
nearer to Taverner intellectually than I was. They both came
from the same spiritual place in the hinterland of the
subconscious, but in the one the scientist, and in the other, the
artist, predominated. Taverner had saved his soul by masking it,
whereas Marius had very nearly lost his by exposing it to vulgar
eyes. As I listened to the talk round the consulting-room fire as
the autumn evenings closed in, I often used to wonder how many
of their spiritual kin were at that moment languishing in jails and
madhouses, and why it was that civilization must needs break
such men as Marius on its wheel. I also realized why it is that
the occultist works hidden under the protection of a fraternity
sworn to secrecy, presenting to the world a mask such as
Taverner wore, and hiding his real life from all save his
brethren. Marius was a weaker man than Taverner, and had gone
to the wall; whereas my chief, protected by the Order to which
he belonged, handling by means of ritual the forces that ripped
through Marius and tore him to bits, grew strong on that which
consumed the other.

Taverner often threw us together in those days of early
autumn that were gradually shortening into winter. Marius had a
lot of estate business to transact, and it was my task to assist
him. In money matters he was a child, and the moment he dealt
with a tradesman was right royally swindled; but fortunately for
him, the Cullan property was almost wholly in land, and for this
he had a perfect genius, and for him land yielded in a peculiar
way. The tenants regarded him with a superstitious veneration,
and were, in my opinion, more than half-scared of him. They
were, at any rate, very careful not to cross him, and to my certain
knowledge he cast spells upon the fields, the farmer looking on
with a sheepish grin, ashamed to admit his superstition, but
desperately keen for the magic to be performed.

It could not go on forever, though, and the day came when I
had to ask Taverner for a few days off in order to attend a
medical conference in London. I got them readily
enough--Marius, to my relief, agreeing to my departure without
any fuss--and away I went, back to the haunts of men. This was
the first time I had been at a gathering of my own kind since I
had joined Taverner, and I was looking forward to it keenly.
Here, I felt, my foot would be on my native heath; with Taverner
I always felt somewhat a fish out of water.