Time seemed to fly by together with the miles as the train wound its way westward. I still couldn't believe on some level that I'd made the offer, nor could I believe that even several hours later it still seemed like the right thing to do.
I was glad Shizuru had joined me for another reason as well. I hadn't bothered to pack a book or any other reading material, and that left me without anything to do. Maybe I'd just expected to stare out the window and brood for hours on end; I'll do stuff like that sometimes if left to my own devices.
Shizuru, though, was really good at small talk, the kind of thing that fills time without touching on anything of importance. She deftly and resolutely kept the conversation away from either her errand on Dartmoor or mine, instead covering topics from whether a new Italian restaurant offered an authentic taste to the artistic merits of Puccini versus Wagner to the likely economic impact of a new proposed tariff being discussed by Parliament. Our first change of trains came faster than expected, and it seemed like no time had passed at all until we were standing on the platform at Princetown, wisps of vapor rising from our lips in the surprisingly chill air. Only the sinking sun threatening to turn afternoon into glowering twilight told us that several hours had passed since we'd left London, that and the ache in my hips and thighs from sitting on the hard bench seat in the compartment. Shizuru, as always, showed no sign of discomfort; even if she felt something she was far too ladylike to complain about it.
We'd been waiting no longer than five minutes when a man approached us, long-faced and thin though with weathered skin and a wiry strength that made me think of a living piece of rawhide, stretched taut. His face was grim and his eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his cap.
"You'd be Miss Viola and Miss Kuga?" he asked.
"We are," said Shizuru.
"I'm from the Grange to fetch you back. These all your things?" he asked, indicating our luggage, or more accurately Shizuru's luggage.
"Except for this." I lifted my hand slightly to indicate the Gladstone I was holding.
"Very well. If you'd follow me, I have the trap waiting." He picked up Shizuru's various suitcases and boxes with a deft ease that showed both coordination and strength, then walked away without checking to see that we were following.
"How did he know about me?" I muttered suspiciously.
"When we changed trains in Plymouth, I sent a wire from the station so that Miss Warburton would know to expect two people."
That was thoughtful. I doubt Miss Warburton, or her servants, would have been happy to find that another room had to be made up and another place laid at table only when I walked through the door.
The servant took us to where a horse and trap waited, not exactly the "carriage" promised in the letter but welcome enough. He loaded in the baggage, then gave us a hand up before taking his seat. With a flick of the reins, the horse was underway.
Some people have found a stark beauty in the great moor, but I was not one of them. Stripped of green by the passing autumn, the bleak, open grounds were barren and forbidding to my eye, a cold sameness that stretched to the horizon, broken only occasionally by the jagged tors. I could easily see how someone could lose their bearings and wander aimlessly until exhaustion or exposure took them, particularly a lifetime city-dweller like myself. My sensitivity to atmospheres was usually so minimal as to constitute callousness, but somehow Dartmoor seemed to weigh on my soul like a great stone pressing me down. If there were ghosts, this would be the place where they would walk.
Even Shizuru seemed affected by the dismal majesty of the place, or else she somehow divined its impact on me and respected my mood with her silence, for the journey passed with almost nothing being said, the near opposite of on the train. At last the road dipped towards a hollow where I could see a jumble of gabled slate roofs, chimneys puffing out streams of smoke that told of warm fires and meat roasting for dinner while lamplight spilled forth from windows against the descending night.
I guessed that this welcome sight must be the village of Aldington, but our driver didn't descend into the hollow. Instead, he took a side track, and perhaps ten minutes later the gray bulk of a house came into view against the darkening sky.
Warburton Grange was a solid block, a mass of stone rearing three stories above the moor. A wall protruded from its front corners, extending out and closing in to encircle a kind of courtyard before the doors. Heavy iron gates had been left open, and we drove through, passing an elaborate fountain with rearing gargoyles above a pool of brackish, dark water. A second gate of newer construction pierced one of the side walls of the court, probably to give better access to stables and outbuildings.
"Secret passages and hidden crypts," I murmured. "I was right; this might as well be Udolpho." Shizuru didn't quite smile at that, but there was a slight movement hinting at it.
The trap drew up to the front doors, which were eight feet tall and hewn from massive oak. We were received by a stiff-backed butler in a dark coat that matched his beard, the color standing out sharply against his pale face. In his eyes I could see traces of some private sorrow, which must have been extraordinarily strong to penetrate the rigid armor of his professional bearing. Ashworth--his name, at least according to the driver--efficiently dispatched our baggage to the rooms that had been prepared for us, then showed us to a parlor where, he said, Miss Warburton would receive us presently. He turned to go inform her of our arrival, but before he could go there came a roaring, bull-like cry or scream, followed by the crash of shattering glass and the slam of a door. Ashworth's shoulders twitched.
"You were his batman in the service?" Shizuru asked gently. He turned, no less surprised than I was.
"Yes, miss; I've been with the Colonel for over twenty-five years now. I've need him stand face to face with shell and shot and bloody carnage that destroyed brave men. He's never flinched from anything in his life. But this business...I pray to God you can find a solution."
He left us alone in the room, which was furnished in dark color and a heavy, masculine style that felt almost oppressive under the circumstances. I no longer needed to ask what had put that haunted look in the butler's eyes; the scream we'd heard had mingled rage and terror in an explosive package, a soul in torment fighting against its fate.
"How did you know about Ashworth?" I asked, mostly to keep my mind from dwelling on it.
"He clearly had a military bearing from his stance and movements, but his emotions suggested a stronger connection to the master of the house than an employee to employer, more like an old family retainer in the classic traditions of service. The idea that our client's father was also a military man was supported by the decor. That bronze, there, which serves as a bookend on the table next to the tobacco-jar, is from Benares, for example." She pointed out a couple of other items of Indian origin which had meant nothing to me until then; I knew nothing about India and its people and culture other than broad generalizations that I knew to be badly flawed. "I therefore deduced that Ashworth had been Warburton's orderly or batman in the army and had followed his master into private service."
"Oh, I see." I felt like I ought to say more, so I added, "That was pretty remarkable."
"No, it was very simple, almost elementary," she said offhandedly. I wondered if the atmosphere was getting to her as well. I'd never seen her affected by an environment before, but then again I'd thought I was more hardheaded than she was and I was feeling the oppressive weight of it. Unless my own errand was making me more sensitive to this kind of thing than I usually would be.
I was saved the trouble of any more thinking in circles when the door opened and a pretty blonde girl only a couple of years older than we were came into the parlor. She wore a cream-colored dress, cut simply, and her hair was pulled back into a simple chignon. Eyes red-rimmed from weeping looked back and forth between us with an almost pathetic relief.
"Thank God," she breathed. "Thank God you've come, Miss Viola."
Shizuru answered her confusion as to which of us was which by extending her hand.
"I only wish the circumstances were not so trying, Miss Warburton, but I hope that we will be able to help. May I introduce my associate, Miss Natsuki Kuga?"
"Hello," I said with a little wave, keeping my side of things as thoroughly informal as always.
"I'm very glad that you could come. I'm Laurel Warburton. My father, Colonel Bennet Warburton, is the master of Warburton Grange. He...he needs your help desperately!"
"We're here to offer any help that we may," Shizuru answered her. "Please, tell us everything that you can."
Miss Warburton invited us to sit down. The chairs were comfortable, padded in a rich mahogany-colored leather that well matched the rest of the room's decor.
"I hope that you'll forgive my letter," she said. "I am aware in retrospect that it was not particularly clear as to details. I must have sounded like a foolish girl."
"It managed very well to convey the urgency of the situation and the depth of your concern," Shizuru told her gently, leaning across to pat the back of the young woman's hand. "That was more than enough to bring us here."
"You are kind." She sighed, then continued on. "I shall start by giving you some of the background. The Grange is an old family estate, and my father was the only son. While some men might have sat back and merely waited for their patrimony, he was cut from a different cloth. He persuaded his father to purchase him a commission in the army, and he was soon posted to India with his regiment. He served with distinction, and was even mentioned in dispatches during the Mutiny, and rose to the rank of colonel. At last, though, he tired of the East and returned home after more than twenty years without seeing an English shore. As his parents had died while he was in the East, he inherited the Grange and settled in to country life. Uncle Gregory was surprised by how it seemed to suit Papa so well after so many years in the army, but it did. Convinced of his desire to stay, he made a second late change to his lifestyle when he met and married my mother. She was the widow of a neighboring landowner, and so only a few years younger than Papa."
I wondered why she'd taken the trouble to mention that. Maybe it was because in dealing with a couple of women she wanted to defend her father from the impression that he'd plucked a child bride as so many middle-aged or elderly men did?
"I grew up here on the moor," Miss Warburton continued, "but only in the past few months have I given any thought to its more sinister aspects. Mama's death in September of last year was the first shadow that fell across us. For the first several months, nearly until Christmas, Papa was so consumed with grief that I thought it would nearly break him; he even went so far as to order her room locked and her things left intact within. At last, though, his spirit rallied and we believed that all would be well, until..."
She shook her head, and I thought of the cry we'd heard.
"Oh, Miss Viola, I know that Edward and Uncle Gregory think that he's losing his mind! They never say it outright, at least not in front of me, but I can tell what they're thinking. But it isn't true! Papa isn't mad; if his behavior is affected it's because he's being driven to it, tormented by this spirit!"
"Who are 'Edward' and 'Uncle Gregory'?"
"Gregory Dashiell is my uncle by marriage. His wife was Papa's sister, Catherine. While Papa was in India they lived at the Grange and Uncle Gregory managed the estate for over ten years. When Papa moved back, Uncle Gregory stayed on here in that capacity, even after my aunt died."
"Was that also recent?"
"Oh, no. Aunt Catherine died even before I was born. I think even before Papa married Mama."
Which meant that Gregory Dashiell had been living off his wife's family for upwards of twenty years. I wondered if this 'estate manager' business was legitimate work or if the man was just a leech.
"And Edward?"
Miss Warburton's cheeks flushed pink.
"Edward is Dr. Edward Brayle. He bought a practice in Aldington when old Dr. Griffin retired. We're engaged to be married."
"Does Colonel Warburton approve of the match?"
"Oh, yes, Miss Viola. He likes Edward. Edward is a Devonshire man by birth as well as residence, and I believe that helps."
"So there were no objections to the marriage, then." Shizuru phrased it as a statement more than a question, but Miss Warburton answered her, perhaps because she sensed a veiled accusation against her beloved.
"None at all. Indeed, we had hoped to marry by the New Year, but Papa's...indisposition...has put that in doubt."
"We'll try our best, Miss Warburton, to see that things are put right for you. Perhaps it isn't too late to salvage your wedding plans."
Miss Warburton's eyes widened, and for a moment she looked eagerly, even pathetically hopeful. Shizuru, I'd noticed, could do that. Her calm demeanor and serene smile projected the impression of control, that matters were in safe hands. The best I could ever do, by contrast, was project the impression that people should hide under the furniture.
"Now, please tell us what has happened."
"It began two months or so ago. Papa often spends much of the evening after supper in his study, unless we have guests. He was there that night when suddenly, we heard him give a great cry, a bellow of shock and terror. Naturally we all rushed at once to see what was the matter. We found him in the hall outside the study door, white-faced and trembling. He told us that he had been startled by something on the stair, and asked if I had been there. I denied it--I was reading in this very parlor--and he proceeded to interrogate Mrs. Clay and the maids."
"Mrs. Clay is the housekeeper?" Shizuru speculated.
"Yes, and the cook--or, more accurately, she was. The incident was repeated three days later and again Papa questioned the female servants. When they denied being away from their duties, he sacked them on the spot, one and all."
Miss Warburton twisted her hands in her lap.
"In truth, I was very relieved that Edward had been with me at the time of the second apparition, so that I could prove it was not me. Whatever he saw, I am sure there is more to it than he let on."
I couldn't argue with that; a woman out for a stroll couldn't explain a reaction like the Colonel's.
"On the next occasion, he actually discharged his service revolver! I was nearly frightened out of my wits when I heard the shots, but Papa refuses to tell us any more. Indeed, on that occasion he insisted that it was just a prowler he had shot at, a tramp trying to break into the garden, but none of us believed him. We could all see the lie in his face..."
Her voice trailed off; she looked down at her hands before she spoke again.
"He wakes raving in the night, he has taken to drink, and these incidents...More than once he's rushed out into the garden and gone over the path, trying and failing to find any traces of the...thing that he sees. Edward...he says that as a medical man, he cannot in good conscience conceal this behavior if it goes on much longer, that he cannot be permitted to remain a danger to himself and others. My uncle...agrees with Edward, though he does not like to admit it."
Shizuru nodded at her.
"But you do not agree with them, Miss Warburton?"
"I...I cannot deny that Papa is under great strain, but I do not think that he is mad! Rather, I am certain that whatever upset he feels is a thing that has been created, forced upon him."
"That, in short, whatever he sees is not a symptom of his upset but rather the cause of it."
"Yes! I can only believe that it must be something dreadful, some devil that haunts him without mercy, some curse that followed him out of the East...or perhaps some spirit from the moors..."
Shizuru leaned forward and took the girl's hand in one of her own.
"I know that this is very hard for you, but we will try our best to get to the bottom of it all. Until then, you must try to stay strong for your father's sake. He needs you now."
She offered Miss Warburton a handkerchief and our hostess dried her eyes gratefully.
"Now, I have only a few questions for you. Do you think that you can manage that?"
"Yes, Miss Viola."
"Good girl," Shizuru said as if Miss Warburton was her junior instead of the other way around. "First of all, can you tell me, what was the date of the first incident?"
"I...I believe that it was the 24th of September. Yes, I remember that because Uncle Gregory had visited Aunt Catherine's grave that afternoon. He does that every year on the anniversary of her death."
Another time, in another place, I might have thought of that as romantic. In that gloomy parlor, though, all I could think is that it sounded like there was yet another haunted man at Warburton Grange. For all that it was to me a side trip to my real purpose on Dartmoor, Shizuru had found a peculiarly apt place to bring me.
I wondered offhandedly if there was anything that could haunt Shizuru. She seemed so perfectly composed most of the time. I'd seen on the train that she could be hurt, though, and anyone that kind couldn't help but be vulnerable. I wondered what twist of fate had turned her towards her unusual profession.
"Now, has anyone else been with your father at any time which he appeared to see something?"
Miss Warburton shook her head.
"No, never."
"Has your father ever made mention of some scandal or regret from his military career? Or, what might be more likely, not said something, refusing to discuss some point?"
Again she shook her head, this time with a firm, deliberate motion.
"No, Miss Viola, never. There hasn't been anything of the sort, from Papa or Ashworth, either."
"Your fiancé lives in Aldington, does he not?"
"Yes; Edward is often our guest, but he lives in the village."
"Then, can you recall any occasion on which Colonel Warburton apparently saw something on which Dr. Brayle was not present?"
She wasn't expecting that question, I could tell. She flinched in her seat, her face growing even more pale than it already was.
"You can't be saying...No, that isn't possible, Miss Viola! Edward couldn't have had anything to do with any of this! If that's what you're going to claim, then you can go back to London at once!"
Personally, I'd have said "fine" and sent her a bill, but Shizuru was more tolerant of other people's emotions.
"Miss Warburton, I'm not saying any such thing. I'm only trying to understand the circumstances of this affair."
Her voice was calm, reasonable, maybe even kind, and it worked.
"I'm sorry. I pleaded with you to come here and help us, and I lost my temper at you for doing your job."
"It's only natural that you'd defend the person you love," Shizuru countered. "Hiring a consulting detective can be very uncomfortable. I question, I pry, and often the things I learn turn out to make my client unhappy rather than relieved."
"Then why do you do it?"
Shizuru shrugged elegantly and gave Miss Warburton a profound-sounding non-answer. "It's what I am."
There wasn't really much that could be said to that and Shizuru knew it. She waited a moment's pause, then resumed her control of the conversation.
"If possible, I'd like to speak with the other persons involved in this."
"Of course; Uncle Gregory and Edward are here and--"
She shook her head.
"I would prefer to meet your father first, if that is possible, and form my own impressions before hearing those of the other gentlemen."
Miss Warburton's face fell.
"If you want...but I'm not sure that Papa will necessarily be willing to see you. He has refused to call in the police, even earlier, when it seemed that a mundane prowler might have been responsible."
"I expected as much, but shall we see what we can do?"
"Very well."
She rose and led us from the parlor through a passage paneled in dark wood and into a broader corridor with walls of stone. Half the passage's width became a narrow staircase and Miss Warburton led us up that, then to the door at the end of the hall. I saw shards of glass glinting on the floor, and remembered the crash that had followed hard on the shout we'd heard earlier. The acrid smell of spilled alcohol was strong enough that I could barely scent a hint of jasmine beneath it. She knocked at the door.
"Colonel Warburton must believe in guarding his back," I murmured as we hung back. "That door would take artillery to knock down. If he doesn't want to talk to you, you're out of luck."
"Perhaps Natsuki would break it down for me?" she teased.
"Idiot," I replied automatically, though I had to admit that the banter had lifted my spirits slightly from the grim stories we'd been hearing and the young woman's obvious fear.
I heard muffled speech from the other side of the door. Whatever it was, it must have been acceptable, as Miss Warburton opened the door and beckoned to us. We followed her into a square, paneled room lined with shelves that groaned under the weight of books and of Indian curios that, stripped of their natural context and transplanted into this conventional English setting, were but meaningless weird images out of a dream. A man was seated at the massive mahogany desk, tall and broad with strong, square features, a shock of stark white hair and bristling brows.
"Who is this?" he roared. A convulsive movement of his hand nearly upset the cut-glass tumbler on the desk. "Who have you brought here, Laurel? Are these the devils that have been stalking me?"
My derringer flicked into my hand, for I saw him seize up a Webley from the desktop and begin to swing it in our direction. I didn't want to shoot the man we were here to help, but while a ghost or a delusion might shrug off bullets I doubted that Shizuru or I could be quite so confident when faced with an Ely's No. 2. My finger was already tightening on the trigger as the barrel leveled at Shizuru.
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A/N: The reference to Colonel Warburton's father "buying his commission" refers to the old practice in the British Army of literally selling officer's commissions. This was abolished in, I believe, 1871 as part of the "Cardwell reforms", but Warburton would have entered the army in 1850 or so according to the timeline Laurel gives. The "Mutiny" refers to the Indian rebellion of 1857, known as the "Sepoy Mutiny" in Victorian times.
The "Ely's No. 2" is a reference to one of the most commonly misunderstood lines in "The Adventure of the Speckled Band." It's not a type of gun; rather, it's the cartridge that's used by Watson's Webley service revolver.
Benares is the old English name for Varanasi, India, and the way it would be called in the Victorian era.