Police at the Funeral

Chapter 16 Black Sunday

Aunt Caroline's indomitable spirit took her to church on the following morning in spite of the fact that she must have been well aware that her appearance would cause a certain amount of unwelcome interest from the gaping populace. Both Uncle William and Aunt Kitty kept to their beds to avoid the ordeal, but Campion and Joyce accompanied the old lady willy-nilly.

As Campion followed the dominant figure up the aisle to her pew he heard a faint stir among the congregation, the rustle of prayer-books, the swish of skirts. But Great-aunt Caroline progressed slowly and stiffly, no expression at all upon her face, her black stick scraping on the stones.

It was a nightmare service for Joyce, and she was grateful for Mr Campion's presence. He acquitted himself perfectly, finding the places in Aunt Caroline's prayer-book as though to the manner born. This was all the more extraordinary, for he was hardly aware of the proceedings in that great impersonal church. His mind was occupied by a theory so startling and terrifying that he dared hardly consider it. Ever since that moment in the night when he had awakened with the idea ready made in his mind and had lain piecing together the jigsaw fragments of the problem, the theory had fascinated him. At the moment it was too nebulous to be spoken. He could see the expression of shocked incredulity on Stanislaus Oates's face were such an eventuality pointed out to him. And yet, if it were true, if this monstrous notion were something more than a night thought, then he shuddered at the realization of the danger to all beneath the haunted roof of Socrates Close.

Marcus Featherstone was waiting for them at the house when they returned. Uncle William, also, had recovered sufficiently to put in an appearance. The two men were sitting in front of the fire in the morning-room when Joyce and Campion came in. It was evident that their conversation had not been pleasant. Uncle William was sulky, sitting hunched up in his chair sucking disconsolately at an empty pipe, while Marcus, on whom the strain of the past three days was beginning to tell, was still flushed with exasperation.

He rose eagerly as they came in and went over to the girl and kissed her, an involuntary caress which startled them both nearly as much as it shocked Uncle William. Joyce was delighted, and Campion made a mental note of the fact that the disaster, however terrible, was at least rousing Marcus from that superior lethargy which had been so apparent in his letter. Uncle William, sensing an advantage, made use of it.

'I suppose you must embarrass everybody?' he remarked. 'Kissing before lunch is like drinking before breakfast, damned bad taste. The whole morale of this house seems to be in jeopardy. Once we old families start going downhill we go down pretty fast. Well, I suppose Mother got all the notoriety she wanted in church this morning. I wasn't going to be a party to it. I stayed in bed to get out of it. Matter of fact, I've a good mind to go to bed and stay there until this whole thing's been cleared up.'

Campion noticed that he had dispensed with his sling this morning, and, reducing the bandage to a minimum, kept his hand in his pocket as much as possible.

'This young fool,' the old man went on, indicating Marcus with a jerk of his unrepentant head, 'has been trying to chivvy me into telling some cock-and-bull story about being attacked. He says he's been to see Lavrock. Julia was poisoned. Goodness knows how much conium was found in the poor girl. If Lavrock had been a decent fellow I should have thought he might have kept that to himself.'

'Mr Faraday'--Marcus's face was crimson--'I told you that in confidence, in an earnest and I am afraid foolhardy attempt to convince you of the danger of your position. The information was given me in confidence, and I particularly asked you to respect mine.'

'More fool you,' said Uncle William unpardonably. 'When a man's beset by suspicious fools he's a fool himself if he respects any man's confidence. The whole conduct of this case has been a scandal. You'll find yourself in a very bad position when it's all over, my boy. Your reputation will suffer.'

Marcus opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it and permitted Joyce to lead him out of the room.

Uncle William chuckled. 'That's put him in his place,' he said. 'He's supposed to be our lawyer, not a prosecuting counsel. Well, Campion,' he went on, his sudden bravado vanishing, 'what's going to happen to me?'

Mr Campion looked at him regretfully. 'That cat story,' he said. 'That's bad, you know.'

'Best I could think of, my boy, in the time,' said Uncle William unexpectedly.

'Well, it's not too late,' Campion observed.

Uncle William hesitated. Then he cocked an eye in the young man's direction.

'Fact of it is, I'm blessed if I know what it was,' he said slowly. 'I was a bit tight at the time. Something let out at me, I know that. On the whole, I think I'll stick to the cat. I'd tell you if I knew what it was,' he added ingenuously, 'but I don't. As I told you, there's something queer going on here. I've been made fool enough in this business already. And I've learnt one thing: if you make a statement, stick to it. There's going to be the devil to pay over that specialist fellow. No, if I said it was a cat, a cat it was. That's my last word. Oh, Lord, here's Kitty,' he went on half under his breath, as the door opened. 'I can't stand a snivelling woman.' And with singular ungraciousness he got up and walked out, pushing past his faded little sister, who turned and looked after him, indignation in her pale eyes.

Mr Campion remained on the hearth-rug and Aunt Kitty stood hesitating just inside the room, apparently trying to make up her mind whether to brave the devil she knew not, or to follow the one she did. She wore the same flat-breasted black frock in which Campion had first seen her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and watery and the thin curls round her face were dampish and dejected. At length she decided to come in.

She closed the door behind her, and keeping her eyes modestly groundward, advanced towards the fireplace and stooped to poke the blazing coals.

From where he stood Campion could see her face. She was mumbling, her lips together as though forcing herself to speak. Quite suddenly she straightened and turned upon him with that air of drama which he had noticed in her before. She stood trembling, a curious little figure in her neat black, her crumpled cheeks flushed and the poker clasped firmly in her hand.

'Mr Campion,' she said, 'Mr Campion, you're not the police, are you?'

He did not smile. Behind his spectacles his eyes were watching every changing line in her face.

'No,' he said gravely. 'I am here on behalf of Mrs Faraday. Is there anything I can do for you?'

Aunt Kitty's courage seemed to be about to fail her again, but she recovered herself.

'You mustn't believe a word William says,' she went on breathlessly. 'I ought not to talk like this. I know he's my brother, but he's not to be believed.'

She paused and then fired another unexpected question at him.

'Do you believe in the supernatural, Mr Campion? I mean,' she went on, taking a step nearer and speaking with terrifying intensity, 'do you believe in the power of Evil?'

'Yes,' said Mr Campion.

Aunt Kitty seemed satisfied, for she nodded reassuringly to herself.

'You ought to be afraid to stay here,' she remarked. 'I'm not afraid, not really, because I'm a religious woman, and I've got the armour of religion to protect and help me. But the others haven't, and there is no way of escape for the wicked. They shall perish, just as Andrew perished. But,' she continued, the poker trembling in her hand, 'Evil doesn't perish. The active spirit of Evil is abroad. It's in this house.' She lowered her voice. 'Did you see that mark on the window in the library? That's the beginning. When I saw it I recognized it. Andrew told me once that if he died first he would come back and haunt us. Well,' she finished triumphantly, 'he's doing it.'

Mr Campion, who had stood many ordeals in his life, wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, but Aunt Kitty's tongue was loosed.

'I couldn't go to church this morning,' she said, 'because I felt that as soon as I set foot in that sacred building the contamination which I have suffered here would show in black upon my face. This house is Evil. William says a cat attacked him. That was no cat, Mr Campion. William was attacked in his sleep. In the darkness Lucifer stretched out his hand and made a mark upon him, warning him.'

She was nearly exhausted now, but the prophetic fire still flickered.

'If William turned his heart and confessed that an Evil power struck him in the dark he might be saved yet,' she said. 'But he won't. He likes to think it was something tangible, something of this world. He likes to think it was an animal, a poor dumb thing. Andrew was a wicked man, Mr Campion. I sometimes think,' she added, her voice sinking again to a whisper, 'that Andrew was possessed. No, it's not the police we need in this house. It's the clergy. This sinful building should be exorcised. When a man dies of fever they have the house fumigated. When the wrath of God overtakes Andrew we do nothing except call in the police to find out who His agent was. I'm a silly old woman, I know, but I'm warning you, young man. You keep away from here. Andrew brought Evil into the house and the black wing is over it still.'

She stopped and suddenly became aware of the poker in her hand. Its presence seemed to embarrass her, and she dropped it noisily into the fireplace. The clatter it made brought her to earth.

'Oh,' she said, with a guilty glance towards the door, 'I ought not to have done that. Mother does so dislike a noise.'

She took out her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes with it. The metamorphosis was complete. From a sibyl in prophetic ecstasy she had become once again the down-trodden poor relation.

Mr Campion never quite forgave himself for his next remark.

'And your sister?' he murmured.

Aunt Kitty burst into tears. 'Poor misguided Julia,' she whispered, 'she was only selfish.' And added, with terrible inconsequentiality, 'God is a jealous God.'

The luncheon gong relieved the tension, and after an agonizing meal Mr Campion once more visited Great-aunt Caroline.

She received him in her little sitting-room, as usual, and listened to his request in amused silence.

'You want me to leave my house?' she said at last, when he had finished. 'Certainly not. My dear young man, at my age physical danger, that is to say the danger of death, is ever present wherever I am. I ceased to worry about that long ago. In fact,' she went on unexpectedly, 'my position now is that of someone waiting on a platform for a train already overdue. No, I am afraid that whatever you tell me I shall remain where I am.'

Campion took his defeat calmly. He looked very young, standing on the hearth-rug before her. He had removed his spectacles and all trace of his lackadaisical and inconsequential manner had vanished.

'If I were only sure,' he said, 'it would be different. I should insist. But I am not sure. There is an explanation of this affair which frightens me. If it is the truth, no one in this house is safe. As it is, you will see that I can't possibly make any accusation, now, but I beg you to leave yourself.'

Great-aunt Caroline sat back in her chair, her hands folded.

'No one in this house is safe,' she repeated. 'Almost my exact words to you, young man, if you remember. But I shall not stir, and you may do as you please about the others. Personally, until you are certain I should let them remain where they are. If Nemesis is to overtake them, you know, it will. However, I feel rather differently about Joyce. Does she come within the scope of your rather sweeping suggestion?'

'Certainly,' said Campion emphatically.

'Then Joyce shall go,' said the old lady with decision. 'If you will send her to me I will see that she raises no objections. She will want to stay with Miss Held, I suppose: a charming girl, quite unusually intelligent. And you yourself, Mr Campion--what a curious name that is; I wonder why you chose it?--what do you propose to do?'

Campion looked hurt. 'I remain where I am, if I may,' he said. 'But I wish you would go yourself. I suppose it's no use my reopening the subject?'

Her small mouth set in a firm obstinate line. 'None whatever,' she said shortly.

Mr Campion realized that he had heard the literal truth.