Devil May Care (A Jonathan Harker Mystery) (7 page)

‘Perhaps
we are too quick to dismiss such disturbing beliefs as mere superstition,’ Edith said. ‘What is the purpose of the Seal of Lucifer, according to those who have faith in such things?’

Charles
paused to gather his thoughts. ‘I am not an expert in occult beliefs, which in any event are rarely consistent or reliable. However, in broad terms, the Seal is used to summon Satan’s presence. There are many reasons why a misguided person might want to attract the attention of the Prince of Darkness. However, the use of the Seal suggests a particular purpose: the offering of a sacrifice in the hope of the reward of immortality – or at any rate, of a life prolonged beyond its normal span.’

Mina
nodded. ‘I have read of such practices. Am I right in saying that in return for the soul of the man or woman sacrificed, Satan grants to his acolyte the life-force of the victim’s body?’

‘You
are absolutely correct,’ Charles answered.

‘Mina’s
researches for her sensational fiction sometimes take her into very strange places,’ I said with a smile. ‘But can we seriously believe that such rituals are practised today?’

Charles
shook his head. ‘I think it unlikely that they are often
practised
, as such, but I would not be surprised if they were
attempted
. Amateur occultism is after all not uncommon. However, even if we accept the reality of such arts, it would require an unusually competent magician to achieve any success.’

‘And
what is your own opinion, Charles?’ Mina asked. ‘Can the power of Satan really be harnessed by a human being?’

‘I
would like to think not, but there is a great deal of evidence to suggest the feat is not impossible. You and Jonathan know more than most that the physical laws of everyday life can sometimes be transcended by darker powers and as a churchman I must necessarily believe in a spiritual realm, if not a magical one.’

Chapter Six

The following morning I decided that I would go to St Ives to try to obtain an interview with Dr Goodwin, as I felt sure his plea that I should prevent Flora’s marriage might provide some important information. Edith informed me that he held a Thursday morning surgery at eleven o’clock and so I set off – riding the faithful Willow – with the intention of arriving at ten. If the doctor was unable to see me then I could at any rate fix a time for a later appointment.

I
soon reached the large semi-detached villa on the outskirts of St Ives where Dr Goodwin shared a set of consulting rooms with Dr Theodore Leonard, the senior partner in their practice. I handed my card to his maid, saying that I wished to have a word concerning a confidential medical matter: it had occurred to me that if Dr Goodwin agreed to speak to me he might wish the reason for our meeting to remain a secret. Whether or not this subterfuge helped to reassure him I cannot say, but the upshot was that shortly afterwards I was led through a large consulting room and into his study.

The
personable young man who stood up to greet me was formally dressed in preparation for his morning surgery and seemed the model of the modern medical practitioner. There was however a certain nervousness in his manner which suggested that he had deduced my reason for visiting him unannounced. I decided that in the circumstances a direct approach would be best.

‘Dr
Goodwin, we’ve already met briefly, as I’m sure you recall,’ I said. ‘I will be blunt. You must tell me what lay behind your comments to me on Tuesday morning. You begged me to prevent the forthcoming marriage between Flora Haywood and Sir Owen Velland. Why? What do you know about the baronet? Believe me when I say that what you have to tell me could be of vital importance. The outside world need know nothing of our conversation.’

Dr
Goodwin nodded slowly. ‘Very well, Mr Harker. I am prepared to speak openly to you and will tell you all that I know.

‘I joined Dr Leonard’s practice just over five years ago, in August 1890. It was my first professional appointment since completing my medical degree at Edinburgh and after four years Dr Leonard was kind enough to make me his junior partner, the position which I now hold. Dr Leonard is a very experienced medical man, but now close to retirement.

‘You
will know that in September 1890 Sir Owen Velland succeeded to the baronetcy on the death of his father and returned to Carrick Manor that same month, together with his older cousin, Mr Arnold Paxton. The previous baronet – Sir Eustace Velland – had been Dr Leonard’s patient and so naturally my colleague took on responsibility for the new residents. Sir Owen has always been in excellent health, but Dr Leonard was very concerned about the baronet’s cousin when he first met him. Paxton was fifty one years old at that time – eleven years older than Sir Owen – and according to Dr Leonard he was suffering from severe congestion of the heart, together with dropsy and other associated symptoms. The doctor felt that the poor man could hardly be expected to survive for another year and had told Paxton as much. Then in March 1891, some six months later, Dr Leonard developed a severe chill – he had been to see a patient and had been caught in a cloudburst on the way home – and at my insistence was confined to bed for a week.

‘Two
days later an urgent message was received from Carrick Manor: could Dr Leonard come immediately, as Arnold Paxton had been thrown from his horse and had received a dangerous blow to the head. Of course there was no question of my troubling the doctor and so I left myself at once.

‘When
I arrived at the Manor I was shown straight upstairs by the butler to the room where Paxton had been put to bed. With him was Sir Owen Velland, whom I had met briefly on a number of occasions. Sir Owen’s reaction upon seeing me was strange. He became very angry and demanded to know why Dr Leonard had not been sent. When I explained the reason and pointed out that I was as well qualified as my colleague – if not as experienced – the baronet reluctantly allowed me to look at his cousin.

‘After
a brief examination I was fortunately able to tell Sir Owen that in my opinion Paxton had suffered no serious damage from his accident. There were contusions but no sign of fracture and I diagnosed mild concussion at worst. Following an application of a cold water compress Paxton was able to sit up in bed and demonstrate that he was still in command of his physical and mental capacities. However, his appearance and general physical condition came as a great shock to me.’

‘But
I thought you said he was well?’ I interjected.

‘Precisely!
Apart from his minor concussion I’d wager he was as healthy a specimen as any fifty year old in England – healthier, in fact. Any symptoms of heart disease, dropsy or other chronic or acute condition were entirely absent. Of course I said nothing to Sir Owen about Dr Leonard’s diagnosis, but as soon as the doctor had recovered from his chill I told him what I had seen.’

‘And
how did your colleague react?’ I asked.

Dr
Goodwin paused for moment then continued. ‘He was most surprised, and quite unable to explain the dramatic change that I had observed. He said that he must indeed have misdiagnosed Paxton’s condition and asked me not to mention the matter again, as it would reflect badly on him. Of course I agreed, as I did not wish to upset my colleague. I dare say that in time I would have forgotten about the whole business, were it not for a further incident of an even more disturbing nature.’

‘And
what was that?’

‘It
involved poor Lady Velland, née Ruth Lethbridge. I was amongst those who attended her wedding: it would have been in the second week of September 1891. She was a very attractive, cheerful looking young woman and at the ceremony seemed to be in perfect health.

‘Sir
Owen Velland spent little time in society, and his wife even less. I did not see her again for six months, until just ten days before her tragic accident. I was visiting a patient in Gwithian and as I drove through the village in my horse and trap she came out of the post office and stepped into a closed carriage.

‘I
am positive that she did not recognise me. We had never been introduced and she seemed preoccupied with whatever task had taken her to the village. There was perhaps some evidence of strain upon her features, thought nothing very marked. Her fine complexion and healthy figure seemed unchanged from that which I had observed at her recent wedding.’ Dr Goodwin halted his narrative. ‘I take it you are aware of the circumstances surrounding Lady Velland’s death?’ he asked.

I
nodded and he continued. ‘Very well. After the poor woman had been found at the foot of the cliffs, her body was taken to the public mortuary in St Ives. The post-mortem examination was carried out by my colleague, Dr Leonard, as is our normal practice. However, on this occasion I asked the attendant – a man by the name of Scrivens – to allow me to examine the body in secret, after Dr Leonard had completed his task. It so happened that during the previous year Scrivens had made a foolish error in his work – the details are not relevant – and I was able to protect him from the consequences, thereby saving him from dismissal. As you might imagine, he felt greatly indebted to me and was very glad to help.’

The
doctor stood up and walked to the door of his study, opened it, and closed it once more. Then he returned to his desk. ‘What I discovered during my own brief examination of the corpse was quite shocking. Ruth – Lady Velland – was extremely emaciated, a condition that one might have expected to result from weeks of near-starvation. This was certainly not the result of immersion. I will not bore you with the technical details, but the condition of her epidermis showed that she could not have been in the sea for any length of time, if at all. I assumed that her body must have lodged above the high-water mark. She had in any case only been missing for twelve hours.’

‘What
made you decide to see the body for yourself?’ I asked.

‘As
I had observed Lady Velland only ten days previously, my curiosity was aroused. In addition there had by that time been a number of disturbing rumours in circulation about the baronet: enough to make me wish to see his deceased wife at first hand.

‘I
am not proud to admit it, Mr Harker, but at the inquest I said nothing. I assume that Dr Leonard had judged her condition to be the result of her accident and subsequent exposure to the elements, but if so he was mistaken. Whatever I said could not have brought Lady Velland back to life, but it could have greatly damaged my colleague’s reputation. I did however resolve that any future bride of Sir Owen’s would receive the sternest warning from me before proceeding with the marriage.’

Once
again Dr Goodwin got to his feet – this time in order to pace up and down the length of his study. He was clearly upset, so I waited patiently for him to continue.

‘Imagine
my distress when two months ago I discovered that his intended wife was the young woman who until very recently had been my fiancée – Flora Haywood! Let me tell you the whole sorry story. On Friday 30 August – the day is forever fixed in my memory – I was due to accompany Flora and her parents to a concert in St Ives. When I arrived at the Haywoods’ house, Flora herself answered the door. There and then on the step, without any great show of emotion, she calmly announced that our engagement must be at an end, as she no longer wished to marry me. I suppose I should have spoken to Mr and Mrs Haywood, but instead I left immediately in a state of shock and amazement. Flora’s announcement – both in its content and manner – seemed wholly out of character. We had after all been engaged for almost two years. What on earth could have caused such a sudden and total transformation of her feelings?

‘Then
on the following Monday morning Mr Haywood himself came to call upon me. He told me that Flora was now engaged to Sir Owen Velland! He added that he had not refused his consent – Flora being almost of age – but that he was unhappy with the match and would do his best to make sure that it would not take place. When Haywood told me the circumstances which had led to Flora meeting Sir Owen, and the fact that she had known him for less than four weeks, I became convinced that in some inexplicable way he had exercised an unnatural influence over her. Perhaps an hypnotic drug administered in a cup of tea or a glass of lemonade – who can tell? The man has a bad reputation and is a dabbler in chemistry and perhaps other, darker areas of knowledge.

‘Mr
Harker, knowing something of your personal history, I have assumed – rightly or wrongly – that when Haywood instructed you to assist with his daughter’s marriage settlement, he also instructed you to enquire more closely into Sir Owen Velland’s suitability as a husband. After all you have had some experience of the uncanny and the inexplicable. If I am correct rest assured that you can call upon me for assistance at any time, should you need it. As for me, I have vowed that come what may Flora and Sir Owen will
never
be married.’

This
puzzled me somewhat. ‘And may I ask how you intend to prevent it?’

‘You
may indeed,’ Dr Goodwin said with a grim smile. ‘Let us say that that if it becomes necessary I intend to take whatever measures are needed, however drastic. Now, I see that it is almost time for my morning surgery. You must excuse me, Mr Harker. I will ring for Lily, who will show you out.’