Devil May Care (A Jonathan Harker Mystery) (9 page)

Rest
assured
that
if
any
more
information
regarding
Sir
Owen
Velland
reaches
me
,
I
will
forward
it
to
you
.
However
,
I
suspect
that
Cornwall
rather
than
London
may
now
provide
any
answers
that
you
seek
.

With
very
best
wishes
,
yours
etc
.,
Abraham
Van
Helsing
.

I put the professor’s letter down on the table in front of me and sat back in my chair. It did not seem to me that Van Helsing’s information was of any great use to me, or rather to my client Mr Haywood. All that could positively be
proved
was that Sir Owen had a peculiar and – to some minds – distasteful hobby, but an interest in magic and the occult is no crime in modern England. It occurred to me that the rumours which circulated during his time in London may have followed him down to Cornwall and helped give rise to the popular feeling against him.

There
was of course a more sinister interpretation to be drawn from Van Helsing’s information. If the baronet really did have any genuine occult knowledge or skills – something that my own experiences had taught me could not be dismissed out of hand – then it would suit him very well to be seen as a fruitless dabbler. Or even if he had been as ineffective as Van Helsing thought, it was not impossible that in the intervening years his powers may have grown and strengthened. Could he really have held any responsibility for Silas Fraddam’s madness, or the Haywoods’ frightening experience after crossing his path? Or might he have received help from elsewhere? A sudden thought struck me – there
was
a further piece of information which Professor Van Helsing might be able to obtain for me.

I quickly drafted a telegram to the professor and after taking it to the post office in Hayle I decided that there was little more that I could do that day until the Reverend Trewellard came to convey me to my dinner appointment. I therefore awaited the return of my wife and our friends, spending the intervening hours in the Ashbys’ library.

My time there was not entirely wasted, as I managed to locate the volume by Francis Barrett in which Charles Ashby had found the illustration of Lucifer’s Seal: the
Celestial
Intelligencer
. A close study of the accompanying text did nothing to sooth my anxieties about my disturbing dream. If Barrett’s volume was to be believed, it appeared that any genuine adept would find the Seal to be a very powerful tool, and almost certainly a malign one.

Chapter Seven

It was shortly after seven o’clock that evening when the Reverend Trewellard’s carriage – a stylish Brougham – drew up outside Rosehill. Noting his arrival from the drawing room window, I turned to Mina, who had arrived with Edith Ashby and her children two hours earlier.

‘It
seems that the vicar is not quite as unworldly as it might have appeared,’ I said. ‘That is a very smart equipage – a Duke would not be ashamed of it!’

Mina
peered over my shoulder. ‘And a coachman in livery!’ she exclaimed. ‘Are you sure this is Trewellard come to collect you, or has one of Charles Ashby’s grand relatives come down from London to offer him an archbishopric?’

Her
facetiousness was answered by the vicar himself stepping out of his carriage and striding towards the front door, holding his hat onto his head as the strong wind gusted around him. I forestalled Lucy by answering the door myself and was soon seated opposite Trewellard, sinking back into comfortable plush velvet cushions. The sky had appreciably darkened during the last half hour and sheets of rain were starting to pour down the carriage windows. I felt sorry for the poor coachman mounted on the box above us and hoped that he had packed a cape under his seat.

Just
as we were about to drive off Trewellard opened the carriage door an inch or two and shouted up to the coachman: ‘Wilkins! Go back to the house and give Mrs Harker a message from me. Tell her that if we have a storm tonight, Mr Harker and I may need to stay at Carrick Manor until tomorrow morning.’

He
sat back in his seat and brushed off the few drops of rain that had entered the carriage. The vicar was very different in appearance from the dusty fossil collector whom I had met on Tuesday morning. He was wearing immaculate evening attire and a silk top hat rested on his knees. I had fortunately brought my dress clothes to Cornwall, but felt that compared to my companion I cut the figure of an impoverished relative.

‘I
hope you did not mind my making that suggestion,’ the vicar said as the carriage moved off. ‘If a fierce autumn gale blows up we had much better avoid crossing Godrevy Point later tonight.’

Trewellard
proffered a silver cigar case and although Mina disapproves of my smoking – she has the quaint idea that it is somehow injurious to health and in the interests of marital harmony I have never contradicted her – I felt that out of politeness I should accept.

‘From
the West Indies – a superior product,’ Trewellard said. ‘It is very kind of you to accept Sir Owen’s dinner invitation at such short notice. The baronet is something of a recluse – my own friendship excluded – and will enjoy some lively and intelligent company. Of course his solitariness will soon be over after his marriage in the New Year. I take it that your negotiations on Miss Flora Haywood’s account have been successfully concluded?’

‘That
is really a matter for Mr and Mrs Haywood to decide,’ I said. ‘However, I think I can say that an agreement as to the marriage settlement seems likely.’

‘I
am glad to hear it! And have you been tasked with any other professional duties, whilst you are here in Cornwall?’

In
normal circumstances I would have considered the Reverend Trewellard’s question to be impertinent, but as it was it gave me an excellent opportunity to raise a point which I wished to put to the vicar.

‘Only
to help ensure that Miss Haywood’s interests are protected,’ I answered. ‘To be blunt her mother and father have some concerns about her forthcoming nuptials. Naturally I would like if possible to reassure them, particularly as the romance between Flora and the baronet appears to have been – how can I put it – very sudden.’

The
vicar smiled. ‘I think it is fair to say that most parents have some concerns about their daughter’s marriage. However, in this case they can be reassured that her intended husband is a worthy match. He is perhaps not as sociable as some, but as his long standing friend I am aware of his many good qualities.’

‘That
is very good news, Reverend.’ I smiled back in turn, wondering if Trewellard could sense the unease which lay beneath my assumed cheerfulness. Of course it was hardly realistic to expect Trewellard to exchange confidences about his closest friend, but nevertheless I felt that there was a great deal more that he could have told me.

The
last five minutes of our journey were spent in virtual silence and I gazed out of the carriage across the rough moorland, now in the midst of a thoroughly unpleasant storm. Periodic flashes of lightening illuminated the bleak landscape, until at length Carrick Manor loomed ahead of us, gleams of dim yellow light escaping from the shuttered mullioned windows on the ground floor.

*

hen I sat down in Sir Owen Velland’s formal dining hall later that evening and looked at my fellow guests we hardly seemed destined to answer the Reverend Trewellard’s wish for lively company. There were five of us in all: the Reverend, Sir Owen and his cousin Arnold Paxton, Elias Makepiece and I. Waiting upon us was the taciturn butler, Jennings, whose hulking presence and sombre deportment did nothing to lighten the mood of the company.

Arnold
Paxton – the only member of the party whom I had not met before – had been introduced to me ten minutes earlier in the drawing room. After Dr Goodwin’s intriguing testimony regarding Paxton’s medical history I had been looking forward to seeing the man himself and I was not disappointed. Paxton was of middling height, with an upright and energetic figure. He had a full head of curly brown hair and was clean shaven, with the tanned complexion of a farmer or sportsman suggestive of robust health and outdoor living. If I had not heard from several reliable sources that Paxton was fifty six years of age, I would have found it very hard to believe, for he looked a good deal younger. As for Dr Goodwin’s assertion – supported by Professor Van Helsing – that a few years ago Paxton was incurably ill, that seemed an equally foolish proposition. He seemed disinclined for conversation, responding to my conventional social overtures with the briefest of responses compatible with politeness.

Trewellard
smiled and nodded well enough, but it seemed to me that his preoccupations were elsewhere. As for Elias Makepiece, he seemed very conscious of his inferior social position and had said nothing beyond the formalities of greeting.

Sir
Owen at least was more sociable and after we had taken our seats he turned towards me.

‘Mr
Harker, I know you are visiting my solicitors on Monday next,’ he nodded across the table to Makepiece, who bowed his head back at him sycophantically, ‘and having said that, let us agree now to banish all further talk of business. I’m afraid you’ve chosen a wild night to visit us. Fortunately the first occupants of Carrick Manor were well aware of the worst that the weather can do out on this headland and had the place built accordingly. If the storm worsens, you are all welcome to stay here for the night. But let us hope it does not come to that. Tell me, have you been to Cornwall before?’

I
responded as one does to such platitudinous questions and the meal gradually progressed, with Paxton, Trewellard and Makepiece contributing little to the desultory conversation. After we had finished our meal – a very creditable effort by the baronet’s cook, including an excellent sea bass – Sir Owen suggested that we retire to his study for a glass of port.

When
we sat down I took a surreptitious glance at my pocket watch – it was eleven o’clock and the storm outside showed no signs of abating. I was anxious to leave as soon as possible, but as I was reliant on the Reverend Trewellard’s carriage I could hardly make the decision myself. Jennings had now left us and I decided to hazard a question which might lead to some illumination of the mysteries I had encountered since travelling to Cornwall.

‘A
wild night such as this would seem a suitable setting for one of Mrs Radcliffe’s gothic romances!’ I said with assumed cheerfulness. ‘Tell me, Sir Owen, does your house have its share of ancestral ghosts?’

The
baronet snorted sardonically. ‘I am glad that you have referred to Mrs Radcliffe and not Mr Poe,’ he said. ‘I would not wish Carrick Manor to suffer the fate of the House of Usher. To answer your question, I’m pleased to say that there are few if any alarming legends attached to the Velland family, although the setting, I admit, is suitable for a work of sensational fiction.’

I
reached for the decanter and refilled my glass.

‘I
understand that you have yourself been interested in spiritualism, Sir Owen,’ I said.

As
I spoke I glanced at Arnold Paxton, who had fixed the baronet with a very stern gaze. It seemed that Paxton was conscious of my observation, for he turned to me with the semblance of a smile.

‘Sir
Owen will be too modest to say so, but he shared that interest with many of the London
literati
,’ Paxton said. ‘I think we can make a distinction between spiritualism and mere superstition. Tell me, Mr Harker, are you by any chance the same gentleman who is said to have experienced an extraordinary adventure in Eastern Europe two years ago?’

I
nodded. ‘I will not deny it. But you must not believe all the lurid details which found their way into the newspapers at the time. I hope that one day a full account of the whole business will be written.’

‘In
that case we must not ask you to pre-empt your story,’ said the Reverend Trewellard with a smile.

After that our discussion reverted to the mundane and it was clear that I would get no more information from Sir Owen regarding his interests in the occult. It was now quite apparent that any attempt to return home that night would be foolhardy. With Sir Owen’s permission I opened one of the study window shutters and through the leaded window panes I could see that the line of stunted trees to the north-west was swaying violently in the wind. It seemed that Carrick Manor had been built on a slight elevation, as a solid stream of rainwater poured down the driveway away from the walls. When the baronet again invited us all to stay the night there was really nothing for me to do but acquiesce.