Adduné - the Vampire's Game (6 page)

“
When have you ever disappointed anyone on that front? You do a perfectly marvelous job of maintaining this place and that’s why I’m giving you this.”

Reginald withdrew a letter-sized envelope and attempted to hand it to Figgs. Figgs seemed reluctant to touch it. He figured he’d help him along, and placed it in his hand. Figgs’ fingers grasped the envelope in the same manner a Venus fly-trap secures a meal. He stared at it unsure of what it contained. He opened the flap and looked inside. When he saw the check, he shook his head from side-to-side. His shoulders drooped – his hands fell heavily into his lap.

“
I don’t deserve this, sir. I don’t!”

Figgs’ hands started to tremble. Reginald was startled – he hadn’t been expecting this reaction. What was upsetting him? Maybe it the same reason that Figgs hadn’t been sleeping? It was obviously a problem that overshadowed everything.

Figgs pushed the envelope back towards Reginald.

“
I can’t, sir! I can’t under the circumstances … ”

Suddenly, he collapsed forward on the table – his head resting on his forearms. From the way his body was shaking, it appeared he was crying, but about what? Reginald thought he had it. Arthur’s death. That must be what was troubling him.

Reginald pushed the envelope back under Figgs hand. He skootched his chair forward – dragging it over the tiled floor. He patted Figgs on his back, in an attempt to calm him down. He knew Figgs had deeply respected Arthur Perry, but had never expected this kind of emotion. And why now? When Reginald had last seen him, he’d been fine.

“
There, there, William. Losing Arthur Perry was a shock to us all. I quite understand your attachment to him. There’ll never be another like him.”

Figgs took his head off his arm and looked up at him. “You think this is about Mr. Perry? Well, maybe it is … maybe it is,” he muttered with a far-off look in his eyes glistening with tears. ” He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “I’ve failed him.”

Reginald studied his face trying to discern the answer to the riddle of how Figgs could possibly have failed Arthur. After a moment, he decided that the quickest way to find out was to simply ask.

“
I don’t understand. What do you mean
failed him
?”

“
It means I quit. I can no longer do the job that Mr. Perry hired me to do. This is the first time in my life that I ever quit anything, but …” Figgs said reaching out and putting the open palm of one hand on Reginald’s forearm. “I have no choice. No choice at all, sir.”

“
William, is something wrong? Did something happen? Don’t be shy, man. If you need help, tell me what you need.”

“
Do I really have to explain what’s wrong?” Figgs asked nervously, taking his hand away and waving it over his face, “Look at me. Don’t this tell you what you need to know?

“
You mean the circles? Is someone sick? Your wife? You? Do you need money? I could arrange a loan or …”

“
It’s not money, sir. I wish it were. And no one is sick.” Figgs started laughing. “Well, maybe up here,” he added tapping his temple. He stopped – his face growing serious and resolute. “I have to leave because this place has changed. When I come here, I want to leave and, when I leave …” he paused, taking his eyes away from Reginald. His voice dropped to a whisper, “… it calls me back.”

His body twitched as he looked about nervously. He was afraid of being ridiculed, but he knew what was in his heart. He was committed to telling the truth – no matter how crazy it sounded.

Reginald drew back his hand from Figgs’ arm. He understood what he meant about Weatherly changing. It wasn’t only the unnatural cold. The very atmosphere was different. An unwholesomeness had taken hold. Weatherly no longer welcomed visitors – it scared them away. Even in the kitchen, he’d kept looking around over his shoulder – almost expecting someone to be standing behind him, ready to attack. That had never happened before. And here was someone that had practically lived here for three years validating and trying to put into words what Reginald had been experiencing. While Reginald might have dismissed what Figgs was attempting to say a month or even a week ago, he now couldn’t. Instead, he grasped the importance of what was transpiring. This was an opportunity to learn what had caused the transformation. Whatever occurred must have been drastic to compel someone like Figgs to quit a job he loved – and needed.

“
William, you must explain to me how have things changed. What’s happened?”

“
Don’t you feel it, sir?”

Reginald wondered if he should admit the truth. He realized it was his only chance to find out what he needed to know. If he pushed Figgs away by keeping silent, he’d never get him to open up. It was hard enough for Figgs to confide what was going on inside him without Reginald making it more difficult by choosing not to reveal his personal feelings. It would be the bonding that Figgs needed to continue.

“
Yes, I do, William. I knew it the minute I entered. There’s a cold – a presence. I thought it was because of that story I told Miranda.”

“
The one about Henry the VIII and people dying here?”

“
Yes, it would take too long to explain, but … wait! How did you know that? Did she talk to you? She must have,” Reginald paused a moment, “William, you didn’t tell her about this … this … place changing, did you?

“
Yes, sir, she talked to me, and, no, sir, I didn’t say nothing about the evil here in Weatherly. No reason to involve her now, is there, sir?” Figgs asked flatly, meekly propped up on his elbows. He rubbed his eyes with his thumbs.

Evil.
He’d said the word that Reginald had shied away from using. It was an accurate description. It did feel like an evil resided here. From the bone-numbing cold to that ominous foreboding to those unwise enough not to heed the warning.

“
Good thinking, William. She’s had enough heartache for right now. Now please continue – whatever happened here? And when did it happen? Do you remember?”

“
I don’t know, sir. I’d place it right around the time of Mr. Perry, God Bless His Soul, dying, sir. It seems right after that unfortunate accident that I came here and found the place like it is now – cold. I lit one fire and then another – and I just couldn’t shake it off. It never happened before – never! My wife accuses me of being Jack Frost at times ‘cause I love winter and could sleep with the windows wide open if she’d let me. For me to be cold is more than unusual, but it was more than the cold. There were these other things …” Figgs’ voice trailed off. He again rubbed his tired eyes and stared straight down at the table.

“
What other things? Please continue, William. I need to know what’s going on. Arthur’s not here any longer and I need to take care of these things.”

“
I understand, sir. And I don’t want to stop, I just don’t have the words to explain.” Figgs swallowed hard and wetting his lips with his tongue. “It’s like every time I was here, I felt I wasn’t alone. I shouldn’t say this and don’t mean any disrespect towards my Misses, but I used to come here more than necessary for the peace and quiet. I set-up the telly that Mr. Perry bought in one of the parlours. On nights I could get away, I’d just sit and watch it almost all the way through the night. It’s not because I don’t love my wife, sir, I do, but she does get to chatting and sometimes a man likes to be alone with his thoughts.”

“
I understand, William. I do the same myself. I have my study that I retreat to.”

“
You do, sir? It’s good to know. Well, like I said I’d come here for the peace and quiet, but there weren’t no peace and quiet to be had here anymore – not since Mr. Perry died. Every time I was here, I’d feel someone behind me. I mean all the time. I’d look, of course, but no one was ever there. I put it down to being spooked. What with everything that happened and all. Figured it was all in my imagination. Right when I convinced myself,” he said stabbing the table with his finger, “is when I started seeing the other things. Things I couldn’t dismiss any longer!“ Figgs licked his lips again. He took a deep breath and clasped his hands as if in prayer.

“
At first, it was small stuff. Items out of place and not where they should be. You weren’t coming here. No one but me was here.

“
Items were moved? Maybe it was an intruder?”

“
I thought the same thing, sir, but there was never any damage. And things was always locked up good and tight – just liked I left ‘em. Checked all the windows and they was tight and closed. I checked the basement and all over for a place for someone to be entering, and nothing.”

“
I see.”

“
And even if it were a local breaking in and having a look around, it wouldn’t account for certain things. Like Mr. Perry’s pipe.”

“
Arthur’s pipe? What about it?”

“
Well, you know I never moved nothing. Not my job to be moving things around – clean around them, but not move ‘em. After he died, I continued on the same way. I left everything how he left things. That meant his pipes were in the library – all cleaned and on his desk – in that stand. I should know since I dusted it every other day, but one day I came here and a pipe – his favorite – was in the living room.”

“
Really?”

Reginald was more than interested. His suspicions had become aroused. He wished Figgs had said something earlier and not ascribed everything to supernatural occurrences. It sounded as if someone had gained access to the estate. He believed Figgs about locking up, but there could be a spare key or someone skillfully picking one of the old locks. If there were someone gaining unlawful entrance, the intruder could be doing more egregious things than moving Arthur’s pipes from one room to the next – things that Figgs wouldn’t notice. Perhaps the pocketing of small antiques to sell on the black market. He was glad Miranda had insisted on this audit of inventory. They could nip this thievery in the bud. He’d just have to be extra careful in making sure everything was accounted for. No sense in broaching the subject with Miranda until he found out for sure. And even if there wasn’t anything missing, it wouldn’t hurt to put extra locks on the doors, or consider moving the collection to a more secure warehouse with more modern methods of safekeeping.

The more Reginald mulled it over, the surer he was that someone had been entering surreptitiously. They may have been staying in the house – in one of the upstairs rooms or basement. That would account for Figgs’ feeling he was being watched. Reginald had no doubt a stranger roaming the grounds could account for changing a residence’s atmosphere.

“
Yes, sir.”

“
Is that it? Just the pipe?”

“
No, sir, there’s more to the incident. The pipe had tobacco in it – burned tobacco and when I touched it … it was warm – as if someone had been smokin’ it. And the smell was in the room, sir. That smell of Mr. Perry’s favorite blend. I even checked Mr. Perry’s supply – the one he kept in his credenza. Sure enough someone was using it up.”

“
But why didn’t you tell me? Or call the authorities? They could have dealt with an intruder.”

Reginald waited for a response. Figgs evaded his eyes and looked around the room. He covered Reginald’s hand and whispered his response.

“
Because no one can help. What was here weren’t human.”

Reginald took a deep breath. There was a chill running up his arm beginning at the exact spot Figgs had taken hold. The tingle reminded Reginald of the old nursery rhyme about a mouse running up a clock. It felt that way – as if evil traveled on small, fleet feet.

He quickly pulled his hand back. He realized how it seemed, but he had no choice. He didn’t want it to be held – not when the touch was producing such an unnatural sensation. He ran his other hand up and down the affected area. He was as uncomfortable about the direction the conversation was taking as he was about the chill now running throughout his body. Reginald remembered that there were no such things as ghosts. He was being as ridiculous as Miranda. He reassured himself that it was safe to continue even though his gut told him it was a bad idea. He pressed on thoroughly vested in discovering the rest.

He still rubbed the spot that felt as if an ice cube were taped to it. He turned his attention from it to Figgs, who was gazing out a window. He tried hard to discern any tell-tale signs that Figgs was drunk or crazy. Neither was apparent and that left the possibility that what Figgs was saying was the truth. He considered apologizing for recoiling from Figgs' touch, but decided against it. It looked as if Figgs had come to terms with it and was at peace with the slight.

Figgs hung his head, not sure if Reginald wanted him to continue. He broke the dreadful silence.