Second Sight (29 page)
Authors: Neil M. Gunn
“But, good God, our anatomists and astronomers have left evidence which we can check if we want to. Your secondsight man left none. I can show you at this moment mathematically how to arrive at the distance to Sirius. Can you show me how a ghost walks or knocks on a door?”
Lady Marway came in from the hall and paused a moment.
“No,” Harry answered. “We have not yet got the appropriate technique. Meantime you are merely applying logic to something to which it cannot be applied. As if you took a yard-stick to measure colour or music.”
“But you
can
measure colour or music.”
“Yes, but not with a yard-stick. You measure it in what you call waves. Until you imagined these waves for yourselves, you couldn't measure it. What these waves are,
you don't know
. They are merely convenient for your purpose. All I am suggesting is that here in second sight is a manifestation of a certain power, for which you have not yet discovered the appropriate waves. That's all.”
“That's absolutely hypothetical. One can postulate anything.”
“But why was this amazing power not developed?” asked Sir John quietly.
Harry looked at him for a moment in silence. “Would
you
like to have the gift of foreseeing the future?”
“WellâI don't know. Perhaps not. But we
should
be equal to our fate.”
“As philosophers and mystics, yes. But as we areâcould we face up to a
known
fate? Even one mere suspicion that something
may
happenâand we are disturbed and uncomfortable right to our roots. Where would our fun go, our creative effort? We should be haunted. We should lose that feeling that life has a long time to goâan
indefinite
time.”
“I'm not interested in philosophy,” said Geoffrey. “Let's go back to factsââ”
“Oi!” It was a half-scream from Joyce, who with arms extended and head thrown back, looked like a maenad. “Will it never stop? I think we're all going mad!”
For a moment no one responded. Joyce gripped her hair. Then laughter broke out.
“Well, what would you like to do, Joyce?” asked Sir John, brightly.
“I'd like to play a game. Anything.”
“Good idea. What sort of game?”
“Something that would clear the atmosphere. And I know a thriller. George is frightfully good at it. Talk about fun and excitement! We must make sure first”âshe looked around dramaticallyâ“that there's nothing breakable about, because in the dark you simply have to dash. Put away those glasses, and the decanter, George.”
George acted the butler. “Very good, madam.”
“Now”, said Joyce, “first we put the light out. No, first, someone goes outside. I suggest Georgeâhe's such a snappy detective. Then we put out the light. Then one of us murders someone in the room.”
There was a burst of laughter.
“You have no idea how thrilling it is,” Joyce explained earnestly. “The murdered bodyââ”
The laughter increased.
Joyce was piqued. “Of course I don't mean it's a real murder.”
The laughter grew helpless to the point of hysteria. Geoffrey staggered, stopping a bellow with his handkerchief. The stagger got beyond him. It brought him to his knees, both hands pressing violently into the weak spot in his side. Their laughter fading out, they watched him with wild, anxious expressions.
“Geoffrey!” said Marjory, approaching him tentatively.
“Go 'way!” muttered Geoffrey. Slowly he doubled over the weak spot and fell heavily on the floor, his whole body writhing as if it had been fatally struck, then stretching out full length in a final rigor.
“Geoffrey!” called Marjory sharply and got down on her knees.
But Lady Marway was already beside him. “He's fainted.”
Sir John immediately unfastened Geoffrey's collar. “Helen, some cold water. Keep back, please.” He warded off Marjory with an arm. “Just a faint. It's all right. Some brandy.”
The women went to the cabinet. Harry, watching Sir John who was feeling for the heart, asked quietly, “All right?”
“Looks like a fit of some sort”, Sir John murmured. “I don't like it.”
The cold water had no effect.
“The brandy,” said Lady Marway.
But the jaws were rigidly clenched. The face looked like death. Breathing had to all appearances completely ceased. Harry saw that this was no pretence on Geoffrey's part, for no man could act such ghastly rigidity. Certainly it was real. Was this, then, the fulfilment?â¦
“We can't”, said Sir John to his wife, “try to force it between his teeth. It might choke him. We've got to get him to bed.”
She put the brandy decanter and glass on the floor behind her and felt Geoffrey's forehead. “He's quite cold.”
“Yes. Hot bottles at once. And the doctor,” said Sir John.
Lady Marway lifted one of Geoffrey's eyelids, then got up without a word and followed Helen who had already gone to see about the bottles. Marjory took a step back from Geoffrey's body, her bottom lip between her teeth, in a state of tense emotion. At that moment there came three knocks at the gun-room door, exactly as before. Marjory let out a thin scream. Harry instantly leapt for the door and pulled it openâand was confronted by Maclean.
Harry could not speak. Maclean said, “Good evening, sir. Sir John asked meââ”
Sir John had got up. “Uh, Macleanââ” He looked into the gun-room and saw Alick and Angus. “Ah, you're all there. Mr. Smith has had a bad turn. We must carry him upstairs to bed. Would two of youââ”
“I'm sorry to hear that, sir,” said Maclean, beckoning to his men behind, as he entered the room and went towards Geoffrey. Angus followed quickly.
“Just a faint,” said Sir John. “But we must get him to bed at once. Well, now. Perhaps you, Maclean, and Angus will take his feet. George, if you give me a handââ”
“No!” said Harry involuntarily. “I'll carry with George.”
“We'll manage. It's all right.”
“Please,” said Harry, firmly displacing Sir John.
“Carefully, then. Now.”
Joyce dashed for the door. When the four men carrying Geoffrey and directed by Sir John had passed out and were about to negotiate the stairs, Joyce, looking back into the sitting-room, saw Alick staring straight across at her. Her eyes widened. He wasn't staring at her: he was staring through her, beyond her. Her skin ran cold. “Oh God!” she cried harshly, and departed, leaving the door open. Marjory followed her.
Alick's eyes slowly concentrated in an ironic expression, then began to rove about the room. They saw the brandy bottle and the glass on the floor where Lady Marway had left them. It was a silly place to leave a brandy bottle and a glass. He went and picked them up and placed them on the cabinet, then turned his head slowly to Mairi in the doorway.
“Alick!” she said in an appalled whisper.
He regarded her steadily, the irony burning in his eyes. Her glance leapt from his face to the brandy bottle and back to his face.
“You're wrong this time,” he said, “What are you staring at? Never seen me before?”
“Oh, Alick!”
“Well, I'm not to blame.” His tone went savage, but not loud. “Dammit, cannot they manage their own little affairs? What have I got to do with them? It's nothing to me.”
“Hsh!”
“Hsh! be damned. What's the good of talking like that to me? I'm not fate or God. I can't stop them playing their little tricks. If they think they're cuter than fate or God, why not? Good luck to them. It's nothing to do with me. I am merely the damned fool who gave myself away.”
“Alick!” Horror crept into her desperate appeal.
His irony grew harsher. “You don't like me mentioning God?”
She had come within three paces of him. Her eyes had never left him; did not even leave him when she choked back a sob.
His smile softened and he said gently, “Mairi!”
She turned round and went out hurriedly.
Maclean and Angus came in and Alick asked them in a normal concerned voice, “How is he?”
“Very bad,” said Maclean, quietly and decently.
“So long as he is alive,” Alick murmured.
“Sir John was going to try for his breath on a glass,” said Maclean, not looking at Alick.
“Is there anything else we can do?” Angus asked.
“I was just wondering,” replied Maclean. “But I don't think so in the meantime. They won't want to come down and be finding us in this room whatever.”
They heard George's voice: “I could slip along for the doctor in record time,” and Sir John's reply: “No. Wait first until I 'phone. If he's not at home, you could pick him up somewhere.”
“Let us go,” said Maclean and the three went out.
Joyce, after a look around, came into the room and George followed her backwards, listening to Sir John. “Hallo? Hallo? Is that the doctor?⦠Oh, good! Could you come at once to Corbreac Lodge? One of my guests has had a fit or seizure of some kind. His body is very rigid, his heart very faint.⦠No, not epileptic, I think.⦠No.⦠I see. You can't say.⦠Well, is there anything we can do here, except keep him.⦔
“Thank God he's at home anyway,” said George to Joyce. “Pretty sudden, wasn't it?”
“Oh, awful. Must be his heart. Hsh!” She wanted to listen to the telephone. She was striving to appear calm.
“When we lifted him his body was rigid as a board,” said George in low tones. “I didn't like it, I must say. Poor old Geoff.”
“Must have been coming on this afternoon,” said Joyce.
“Yes. Don't you think I should run along in the Bentley and pick the doctor up. He'll just crawl.”
“No, you won't!” said Joyce.
“Butâit's rotten when you can
do
nothing. I hate standing around.”
“Do you think I do? And that fellowâwith his eyesâoh God!” said Joyce.
“Steady, old thing!” said George. “Here comes Helen. How is he now?”
Helen was quiet and abstracted like one moving in a dream. “Much the same,” she said.
Sir John and Harry came in. Sir John explained that nothing more could be done except wait for the doctor. He went to the bookcase and ran his eyes over the backs of the books.
George turned to Harry. “I was half-wondering whether I shouldn't shove along and meet the doctor, becauseââ”
“Don't you think that's absurd?” interrupted Joyce, her effort at suppressing her voice merely pitching it high.
“I do,” said Harry. “Ever seen a Highland doctor driving on his own roads?”
“No,” said George.
“Then you have something to learn.” But he hardly smiled as he turned his head and watched Helen go to the bookcase, open the bottom door, and bring out a large volume.
Sir John gave a half-apologetic smile as he took the book. “I have found it useful once or twice in the East in an emergency. You couldn't always have a doctor there just when you wanted him.” His fingers were sensitive on the edges of the leaves, almost nervous.
Joyce made a brave effort. “I thought doctors warned one against these medical compilations.”
“They write them, too,” said Sir John.
Helen was looking straight in front, still in her halftranced mood. Harry gave her a glance. Joyce and George watched Sir John, who read silently. The silence got drawn out unbearably. George, swaying restlessly, sticking his hands in his pockets, unthinkingly brought forth his petrol lighter.
“George!” whispered Joyce. He felt the convulsive grasp of her fingers against his side.
“Sorry!” he said, with a strained smile, and put the lighter back in his pocket.
No one could interrupt Sir John. No one could speak. Lady Marway appeared, came up to her husband. “It seems extraordinary we can't do something to bring him out of that state. Are you sure you asked the doctor?”
“Yes. Keep him on his back, with plenty of fresh air about and warmth.”
“Yes, but.⦔ Her quiet manner emphasised her uneasiness.
“You don't think he's worse?”
“It is difficult to say. I thoughtâfor one momentâhe was coming roundâthenââ”
“Marjory is with him?”
“Oh yes. I wondered if we couldn't get a drop of brandy down. It would help the heart.”
“You can't. You might choke him.”
“Oh,” said Lady Marway and stood quite still, fallen back into her own desperate thought.
The thought was with them all, the thought that this was death not in natural but in supernatural circumstances. There was an intangible fear in it, and horror. It gripped their hearts, sickened them with its excitement. And there was nothing to do, nothing to do but wait. Joyce could not cry out nor George act.
“Will you come up?” said Lady Marway to her husband.
“One moment,” said Sir John, turning over a page.
They waited. The tension was drawn out. A tumbling noise from the stairs made their hearts leap. The door swung open and Marjory entered, wild-eyed and panting. She smashed the door shut and lay back against it, as if shutting out some awful horror. Then with a spasmodic jerk of her whole body and a smothered scream, she broke from the door, throwing a glance over her shoulder, and fetched up in the corner near the gun-room door. She was manifestly in a desperate and very real state of high nervous tension.
“Marjory!” breathed Lady Marway.
But Marjory saw none of them. She was staring back at the door, the full light of the standard lamp on her wide-eyed, terrified face. They all looked at the door. It began noiselessly to open. A raucous scream shattered the hall. Ina's voice. The light in the sitting-room went down, until both lamps were little more than ghostly luminous bulbs. The lamp by the bookcase, which had not been fully turned up, appeared indeed to come into a life of its own. The door swung fully open and the ghostly figure of Geoffrey came through it, taller than in ordinary life, his white winding sheet, faintly phosphorescent, falling to the floor. The face was whiter than they had last seen it; so death-white that its texture seemed frail, almost transparent. He did not look at them but went straight towards Marjory, walking quite noiselessly. She smothered a whining cry. The medical book slipped from Sir John's hands. Joyce let out a harsh guttural sound. Unhurriedly the ghost reached the gun-room door. Marjory cowered away. As the white face looked round upon them the gun-room door opened and the light illumined the face in a pure spirit effect.
Lady Marway came in from the hall and paused a moment.
“No,” Harry answered. “We have not yet got the appropriate technique. Meantime you are merely applying logic to something to which it cannot be applied. As if you took a yard-stick to measure colour or music.”
“But you
can
measure colour or music.”
“Yes, but not with a yard-stick. You measure it in what you call waves. Until you imagined these waves for yourselves, you couldn't measure it. What these waves are,
you don't know
. They are merely convenient for your purpose. All I am suggesting is that here in second sight is a manifestation of a certain power, for which you have not yet discovered the appropriate waves. That's all.”
“That's absolutely hypothetical. One can postulate anything.”
“But why was this amazing power not developed?” asked Sir John quietly.
Harry looked at him for a moment in silence. “Would
you
like to have the gift of foreseeing the future?”
“WellâI don't know. Perhaps not. But we
should
be equal to our fate.”
“As philosophers and mystics, yes. But as we areâcould we face up to a
known
fate? Even one mere suspicion that something
may
happenâand we are disturbed and uncomfortable right to our roots. Where would our fun go, our creative effort? We should be haunted. We should lose that feeling that life has a long time to goâan
indefinite
time.”
“I'm not interested in philosophy,” said Geoffrey. “Let's go back to factsââ”
“Oi!” It was a half-scream from Joyce, who with arms extended and head thrown back, looked like a maenad. “Will it never stop? I think we're all going mad!”
For a moment no one responded. Joyce gripped her hair. Then laughter broke out.
“Well, what would you like to do, Joyce?” asked Sir John, brightly.
“I'd like to play a game. Anything.”
“Good idea. What sort of game?”
“Something that would clear the atmosphere. And I know a thriller. George is frightfully good at it. Talk about fun and excitement! We must make sure first”âshe looked around dramaticallyâ“that there's nothing breakable about, because in the dark you simply have to dash. Put away those glasses, and the decanter, George.”
George acted the butler. “Very good, madam.”
“Now”, said Joyce, “first we put the light out. No, first, someone goes outside. I suggest Georgeâhe's such a snappy detective. Then we put out the light. Then one of us murders someone in the room.”
There was a burst of laughter.
“You have no idea how thrilling it is,” Joyce explained earnestly. “The murdered bodyââ”
The laughter increased.
Joyce was piqued. “Of course I don't mean it's a real murder.”
The laughter grew helpless to the point of hysteria. Geoffrey staggered, stopping a bellow with his handkerchief. The stagger got beyond him. It brought him to his knees, both hands pressing violently into the weak spot in his side. Their laughter fading out, they watched him with wild, anxious expressions.
“Geoffrey!” said Marjory, approaching him tentatively.
“Go 'way!” muttered Geoffrey. Slowly he doubled over the weak spot and fell heavily on the floor, his whole body writhing as if it had been fatally struck, then stretching out full length in a final rigor.
“Geoffrey!” called Marjory sharply and got down on her knees.
But Lady Marway was already beside him. “He's fainted.”
Sir John immediately unfastened Geoffrey's collar. “Helen, some cold water. Keep back, please.” He warded off Marjory with an arm. “Just a faint. It's all right. Some brandy.”
The women went to the cabinet. Harry, watching Sir John who was feeling for the heart, asked quietly, “All right?”
“Looks like a fit of some sort”, Sir John murmured. “I don't like it.”
The cold water had no effect.
“The brandy,” said Lady Marway.
But the jaws were rigidly clenched. The face looked like death. Breathing had to all appearances completely ceased. Harry saw that this was no pretence on Geoffrey's part, for no man could act such ghastly rigidity. Certainly it was real. Was this, then, the fulfilment?â¦
“We can't”, said Sir John to his wife, “try to force it between his teeth. It might choke him. We've got to get him to bed.”
She put the brandy decanter and glass on the floor behind her and felt Geoffrey's forehead. “He's quite cold.”
“Yes. Hot bottles at once. And the doctor,” said Sir John.
Lady Marway lifted one of Geoffrey's eyelids, then got up without a word and followed Helen who had already gone to see about the bottles. Marjory took a step back from Geoffrey's body, her bottom lip between her teeth, in a state of tense emotion. At that moment there came three knocks at the gun-room door, exactly as before. Marjory let out a thin scream. Harry instantly leapt for the door and pulled it openâand was confronted by Maclean.
Harry could not speak. Maclean said, “Good evening, sir. Sir John asked meââ”
Sir John had got up. “Uh, Macleanââ” He looked into the gun-room and saw Alick and Angus. “Ah, you're all there. Mr. Smith has had a bad turn. We must carry him upstairs to bed. Would two of youââ”
“I'm sorry to hear that, sir,” said Maclean, beckoning to his men behind, as he entered the room and went towards Geoffrey. Angus followed quickly.
“Just a faint,” said Sir John. “But we must get him to bed at once. Well, now. Perhaps you, Maclean, and Angus will take his feet. George, if you give me a handââ”
“No!” said Harry involuntarily. “I'll carry with George.”
“We'll manage. It's all right.”
“Please,” said Harry, firmly displacing Sir John.
“Carefully, then. Now.”
Joyce dashed for the door. When the four men carrying Geoffrey and directed by Sir John had passed out and were about to negotiate the stairs, Joyce, looking back into the sitting-room, saw Alick staring straight across at her. Her eyes widened. He wasn't staring at her: he was staring through her, beyond her. Her skin ran cold. “Oh God!” she cried harshly, and departed, leaving the door open. Marjory followed her.
Alick's eyes slowly concentrated in an ironic expression, then began to rove about the room. They saw the brandy bottle and the glass on the floor where Lady Marway had left them. It was a silly place to leave a brandy bottle and a glass. He went and picked them up and placed them on the cabinet, then turned his head slowly to Mairi in the doorway.
“Alick!” she said in an appalled whisper.
He regarded her steadily, the irony burning in his eyes. Her glance leapt from his face to the brandy bottle and back to his face.
“You're wrong this time,” he said, “What are you staring at? Never seen me before?”
“Oh, Alick!”
“Well, I'm not to blame.” His tone went savage, but not loud. “Dammit, cannot they manage their own little affairs? What have I got to do with them? It's nothing to me.”
“Hsh!”
“Hsh! be damned. What's the good of talking like that to me? I'm not fate or God. I can't stop them playing their little tricks. If they think they're cuter than fate or God, why not? Good luck to them. It's nothing to do with me. I am merely the damned fool who gave myself away.”
“Alick!” Horror crept into her desperate appeal.
His irony grew harsher. “You don't like me mentioning God?”
She had come within three paces of him. Her eyes had never left him; did not even leave him when she choked back a sob.
His smile softened and he said gently, “Mairi!”
She turned round and went out hurriedly.
Maclean and Angus came in and Alick asked them in a normal concerned voice, “How is he?”
“Very bad,” said Maclean, quietly and decently.
“So long as he is alive,” Alick murmured.
“Sir John was going to try for his breath on a glass,” said Maclean, not looking at Alick.
“Is there anything else we can do?” Angus asked.
“I was just wondering,” replied Maclean. “But I don't think so in the meantime. They won't want to come down and be finding us in this room whatever.”
They heard George's voice: “I could slip along for the doctor in record time,” and Sir John's reply: “No. Wait first until I 'phone. If he's not at home, you could pick him up somewhere.”
“Let us go,” said Maclean and the three went out.
Joyce, after a look around, came into the room and George followed her backwards, listening to Sir John. “Hallo? Hallo? Is that the doctor?⦠Oh, good! Could you come at once to Corbreac Lodge? One of my guests has had a fit or seizure of some kind. His body is very rigid, his heart very faint.⦠No, not epileptic, I think.⦠No.⦠I see. You can't say.⦠Well, is there anything we can do here, except keep him.⦔
“Thank God he's at home anyway,” said George to Joyce. “Pretty sudden, wasn't it?”
“Oh, awful. Must be his heart. Hsh!” She wanted to listen to the telephone. She was striving to appear calm.
“When we lifted him his body was rigid as a board,” said George in low tones. “I didn't like it, I must say. Poor old Geoff.”
“Must have been coming on this afternoon,” said Joyce.
“Yes. Don't you think I should run along in the Bentley and pick the doctor up. He'll just crawl.”
“No, you won't!” said Joyce.
“Butâit's rotten when you can
do
nothing. I hate standing around.”
“Do you think I do? And that fellowâwith his eyesâoh God!” said Joyce.
“Steady, old thing!” said George. “Here comes Helen. How is he now?”
Helen was quiet and abstracted like one moving in a dream. “Much the same,” she said.
Sir John and Harry came in. Sir John explained that nothing more could be done except wait for the doctor. He went to the bookcase and ran his eyes over the backs of the books.
George turned to Harry. “I was half-wondering whether I shouldn't shove along and meet the doctor, becauseââ”
“Don't you think that's absurd?” interrupted Joyce, her effort at suppressing her voice merely pitching it high.
“I do,” said Harry. “Ever seen a Highland doctor driving on his own roads?”
“No,” said George.
“Then you have something to learn.” But he hardly smiled as he turned his head and watched Helen go to the bookcase, open the bottom door, and bring out a large volume.
Sir John gave a half-apologetic smile as he took the book. “I have found it useful once or twice in the East in an emergency. You couldn't always have a doctor there just when you wanted him.” His fingers were sensitive on the edges of the leaves, almost nervous.
Joyce made a brave effort. “I thought doctors warned one against these medical compilations.”
“They write them, too,” said Sir John.
Helen was looking straight in front, still in her halftranced mood. Harry gave her a glance. Joyce and George watched Sir John, who read silently. The silence got drawn out unbearably. George, swaying restlessly, sticking his hands in his pockets, unthinkingly brought forth his petrol lighter.
“George!” whispered Joyce. He felt the convulsive grasp of her fingers against his side.
“Sorry!” he said, with a strained smile, and put the lighter back in his pocket.
No one could interrupt Sir John. No one could speak. Lady Marway appeared, came up to her husband. “It seems extraordinary we can't do something to bring him out of that state. Are you sure you asked the doctor?”
“Yes. Keep him on his back, with plenty of fresh air about and warmth.”
“Yes, but.⦔ Her quiet manner emphasised her uneasiness.
“You don't think he's worse?”
“It is difficult to say. I thoughtâfor one momentâhe was coming roundâthenââ”
“Marjory is with him?”
“Oh yes. I wondered if we couldn't get a drop of brandy down. It would help the heart.”
“You can't. You might choke him.”
“Oh,” said Lady Marway and stood quite still, fallen back into her own desperate thought.
The thought was with them all, the thought that this was death not in natural but in supernatural circumstances. There was an intangible fear in it, and horror. It gripped their hearts, sickened them with its excitement. And there was nothing to do, nothing to do but wait. Joyce could not cry out nor George act.
“Will you come up?” said Lady Marway to her husband.
“One moment,” said Sir John, turning over a page.
They waited. The tension was drawn out. A tumbling noise from the stairs made their hearts leap. The door swung open and Marjory entered, wild-eyed and panting. She smashed the door shut and lay back against it, as if shutting out some awful horror. Then with a spasmodic jerk of her whole body and a smothered scream, she broke from the door, throwing a glance over her shoulder, and fetched up in the corner near the gun-room door. She was manifestly in a desperate and very real state of high nervous tension.
“Marjory!” breathed Lady Marway.
But Marjory saw none of them. She was staring back at the door, the full light of the standard lamp on her wide-eyed, terrified face. They all looked at the door. It began noiselessly to open. A raucous scream shattered the hall. Ina's voice. The light in the sitting-room went down, until both lamps were little more than ghostly luminous bulbs. The lamp by the bookcase, which had not been fully turned up, appeared indeed to come into a life of its own. The door swung fully open and the ghostly figure of Geoffrey came through it, taller than in ordinary life, his white winding sheet, faintly phosphorescent, falling to the floor. The face was whiter than they had last seen it; so death-white that its texture seemed frail, almost transparent. He did not look at them but went straight towards Marjory, walking quite noiselessly. She smothered a whining cry. The medical book slipped from Sir John's hands. Joyce let out a harsh guttural sound. Unhurriedly the ghost reached the gun-room door. Marjory cowered away. As the white face looked round upon them the gun-room door opened and the light illumined the face in a pure spirit effect.
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