The Lawrence Harpham Boxset Page 3

  It lay quietly for years, though it entered me in a burn of anguish when I came of age; when my mother told me what her mother told her; a tale passed down over ten generations. I allowed it into my heart, and it nested there and made a home, and we lived peacefully together. I hardly remembered it was there.

  It was silent, so quiet that I thought it had left me. Life was tolerable. I was loved. I was content. There were no children, but it did not matter. Yet the burden of hatred remained, clinging like a grass burr.

  For a while, I contemplated abandoning it, closing my heart to its insidious call. I buried it deep and lived my life well and might have continued to ignore it, until fate intervened and tore me from contentment, tormenting me with loss. One day I was alive and hopeful; the next alone, unloved and with a festering wound where my heart used to beat. All compassion and hope were ripped from my chest as the hatred forced its way into the world, burning, wrathful and black as the wing of a crow.

  At that moment, on that day, I vowed revenge on those who had harmed my family. I embraced the hatred and determined to punish those who had wronged my ancestors. Then I assigned it a new obligation; to punish those who had wronged me.

  Chapter 4

  The Vicarage

  Lawrence followed Michael down the passageway and into the hall. "Unusual circumstances in which to become reacquainted," he said. "What do you make of it?"

  "Very concerning," Michael replied. "Talk of witchcraft among my parishioners is rife. More of them believe the rumours than otherwise. Don’t let the Reverend convince you that it is idle gossip. Fear is making them angry and who knows where that may lead."

  Lawrence shook his head. "It is hard to believe such a thing is possible in 1890. We are men of science now. I must hear these rumours myself. Tell me who I should speak to?"

  "I will," replied Michael, "but first let me introduce you to the others."

  He opened a solid oak door to a large, well-lit drawing-room. A marble fireplace graced the side wall and hanging above it was a portrait of a stern-looking gentleman dressed in old-fashioned apparel. The remaining walls were clad with raised and fielded panels, and a large chandelier dominated the centre of the ceiling. As Lawrence entered, sunlight pierced through the clouds catching the crystals above. He glanced towards the closed shutters of the furthest window where a woman of about fifty summers reclined on a day bed nearby. Beside her sat two young women playing a card game.

  "Good morning, Mrs Raven. Forgive the intrusion, but Mr Harpham has arrived."

  "Come in, Michael," replied Mrs Raven. "Excuse me if I do not rise, but I have one of my headaches this morning, and it will not shift. Pleased to meet you." She extended a hand towards Lawrence.

  "Do take a seat."

  Lawrence and Michael seated themselves by the unlit fire. "I am sorry to find you indisposed," said Lawrence.

  "It is nothing," said Frances Raven. "Allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Emily and her friend Loveday."

  Lawrence smiled at the girls. One was dark-haired and slight to the point of appearing under-nourished. Delicate cheekbones graced her face, and her small mouth fell naturally into a frown. The other girl was quite the opposite. Slightly shorter and with blonde hair falling in ringlets, her blue eyes sparkled with merriment. Flashing a broad smile, she placed her cards on the table and rose to greet Lawrence.

  "How lovely to meet you," she said, brimming with self-confidence.

  The dark-haired girl joined her. "I am Emily," she murmured.

  Lawrence stood to greet them. "I am sorry to intrude upon your game," he said, with the ghost of a smile.

  "We don’t mind at all," said Loveday. "Would you like us to show you around?"

  "That won’t be necessary," said Mrs Raven. "I am sure Michael will do the necessary. Fetch my reading glasses, Emily, dear. They are in my bedroom."

  "Come with me, Loveday," Emily commanded.

  Mrs Raven waited for the door to close. "I am glad you have arrived," she said. "I haven’t seen John quite so worried in a long time."

  "I hope I can be of some use to him," replied Lawrence.

  "Be discrete around the girls," said Mrs Raven. "They have only recently returned from Cheltenham, and we haven’t discussed these silly rumours with them. I have implied that you are here because you are Michael's friend and our house guest. That’s close enough to the truth and as much as they need to know."

  "Of course," said Lawrence. "It is interesting to hear that they have returned from Cheltenham. I know the town well, though I have not visited in almost three years." He picked absent-mindedly at the brown leather glove on his left hand.

  "Emily finished her studies at Cheltenham Ladies College a few weeks ago," said Frances Raven. "Her sister Margaret is due back next term. Loveday's people are in India, so she came back with Emily. She is here for a few weeks, then sails to Calcutta."

  "They’re at Miss Beale's establishment?" asked Lawrence smiling. "It is held in high esteem in Cheltenham."

  "As well it should be," agreed Mrs Raven, "though some still believe that education is wasted on young women. The Reverend Raven and I cannot endorse such an opinion. We would not deprive our daughters of that which we give to our sons."

  "Commendable," said Lawrence. "I have not met your sons. Are they at home?"

  Michael smiled, "I am pleased to say that each of the Reverend's sons is destined to serve the church."

  "Indeed, they are," said Mrs Raven proudly. "They are all away at their various learning establishments for the next few months. It is unlikely that you will see them."

  "That’s a pity," said Lawrence. "I would have been glad to make their acquaintance. May I ask who else lives here?"

  "Of course," replied Mrs Raven. "My youngest daughter Margaret is at home, although you have yet to meet her. She is fourteen years old. Emily is nineteen and her friend is around the same age, perhaps a little older. You may have noticed my Aunt Harris on the lawn. She is in poor health and has a companion and nursemaid who has lived with us these last two years. Her name is Violet. That is everybody except our two servants. Mary, the elder girl, cooks and cleans, and the younger, Anna, has never been in service before. Mary is training her. Whether or not she proves useful remains to be seen. The only other person you will see regularly is the gardener, but he lives in the village."

  "And me," said Michael raising an eyebrow.

  "How silly of me," replied Mrs Raven. "Michael lives here too. I took it for granted that you knew that, Mr Harpham. It is comforting for the Reverend to have another man in the house and now, with your arrival, he has two. It stops him missing his sons quite so much."

  The door opened, and Emily appeared holding a velvet pouch. "Thank you, my dear," said Mrs Raven, placing the glasses on her nose. "Where is Loveday?" she continued.

  "She has retired to her room," said Emily.

  Michael arose from the chair. "I should show you to yours," he said. "Please excuse us."

  Lawrence nodded, and Frances Raven returned a smile. She picked up a book as the two men left the room.

  They returned to the spacious hallway and passed the dark mahogany sideboard. Upon it was a large blue and white vase containing a vibrant display of spring flowers. Beyond the sideboard was a wooden staircase with well-crafted, turned balusters which rose to the floor above. Lawrence gazed at the woodwork, admiring the carpentry. He had always felt an affinity with wood. As a small boy, his favourite uncle had taught him how to whittle a piece of wood into a thing of beauty. That was a long time ago when he had a pair of fully functioning hands. He loved the feel of wood, the smell of it and the diverse ways in which it could be manipulated. He still appreciated the skill and artistry of a master carpenter. Even more since his useless left hand rendered him incapable of ever carving again.

  He had not known what to expect from the residence, but it was not this. If anything, he’d anticipated a smaller, more modest home, but the building was stylish, almost grand. No expen
se had been spared on the fittings. The moulded architraves were refined, the panelled dado's fashioned in the best wood and the cornices were elegant. His surroundings were agreeable in every way and more pleasant than his dark, cold rooms in Bury Saint Edmunds.

  "There are six bedrooms on this floor," said Michael, as they climbed the stairs. "The guest room is here." He pointed to a door at the right of the staircase. "Your window overlooks the garden."

  "Thank you," said Lawrence. "I will unpack my bags, and then we can talk. It would help to know where to begin my investigation."

  "Of course," said Michael. "I will leave you to it. You can find me in the study. I have a sermon to write," he said ruefully, “and little idea what to say."

  Lawrence opened the door and went inside. His suitcase was standing beside a wooden bed with a dark wood-panelled headboard. Striped blue and white wallpaper met a white painted dado rail, and several portraits hung at varying heights around the room. A carved washstand with wooden doors stood to the right of the bed.

  Lawrence filled a pink floral china bowl with water, removed his jacket and pulled the glove from his left hand. He splashed water on his face with his good hand, while the scarred and withered left hand rested awkwardly in the water.

  He opened his suitcase and removed neatly folded clothing which he placed in the deep drawers of a dressing table. Once done, he

  kicked his suitcase under the bed, avoiding the bedpan beneath. The dressing table mirror was set in a carved frame and occupied the most part of the wall upon which it rested. Lawrence leant towards it and combed his hair, examining his reflection.

  Lawrence was almost forty summers, but his hair was still thick and dark without a strand of grey in his hairline or sideburns. He was cleanly shaven with shallow crow's feet wrinkling the skin beside his dark blue eyes. His brow furrowed, and he tried to straighten, it but the wrinkles barely moved. A small scar marred his left cheekbone - a remnant of that dreadful night in '87. It would be three years to the day soon. He was relieved to be away from Bury, in good company and with plenty to occupy his time.

  Lawrence eased the glove back onto his maimed hand and was reaching for his comb when there was a knock at the door. He was about to respond when the handle turned, and Loveday walked inside.

  "Have you unpacked yet?" she asked.

  Lawrence spluttered. "I have unpacked, but what are you doing in my room? What do you want?"

  "That is not very friendly," she replied. "I thought I might say hello and make your better acquaintance."

  "You can't simply wander into a gentleman's bedroom," Lawrence said. "What will people think?"

  "Why should I care," she replied. "Besides, they are all downstairs. And if anybody came in, you would be obliged to invent a reason, if you think they would mind me being here. Do not look so shocked," she laughed.

  Lawrence shrugged into his jacket and walked straight towards the door, ushering Loveday from the room. He stood facing her on the galleried landing.

  "You didn’t learn manners like that at Cheltenham Ladies College," he chided. "I am a guest here, Loveday. I don’t know what my hosts would think of me if they saw me entertaining one of their daughters' friends in my bedroom."

  "I thought you would be fun," she said. "I am sorry if you are cross with me. I only wanted someone else to talk to. It is very boring here. Emily is nice and her family are kind, but they are so dull. When I am in India, there is a lot to see, balls to go to and people to meet. Time passes quickly there. But I have upset you. Please forgive me."

  She touched his left arm as she apologised, and he flinched.

  "You don’t like me," she said.

  "I don’t know you," Lawrence replied. "You are young, and I am an old man of nearly forty. It is inappropriate for you to be so familiar, especially in the house of a man of God."

  "Very well," she sighed. "I will be good and properly behaved when I am around you, but I would like to know you better. I am not as young as you think. I will be twenty on my next birthday."

  Lawrence shook his head and sighed, feeling awkward and old. She had made him uncomfortable, and he resented it. Lawrence considered how much time he had spent alone since Catherine's death. Too much. So much, evidently, that he had forgotten how to interact. "I must find Michael," he said. "We have business to attend to."

  "And I must find Emily," replied Loveday, "as you appear to have no time for me."

  Lawrence gestured towards the stairs, waving Loveday ahead. She descended first, then looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. He returned a fleeting smile of his own. "Quite appalling manners," he thought, though there was something appealing about her confidence.

  He located Michael in the study. The door was ajar, and Michael was reading a paper. Lawrence tapped on the wood and peered inside. Michael started, then folded the newspaper and grinned. "Caught in the act," he said.

  "I am sure you can spare a few moments to catch up with the daily news," said Lawrence.

  Michael pushed a notebook toward him. Upon it were three lines of text. "The words will not come today," he complained. "I am not in a sermon writing mood."

  "Are you in an information giving mood?" asked Lawrence.

  Michael nodded. "It will be a welcome distraction," he said. "What would you like to know?"

  "Names of the witnesses would be best. I should prefer to hear directly from those who have had the most involvement."

  "Then you should seek out old George Corbyn and his daughter," said Michael. "He will, no doubt, speak at length. He is convinced his wife was a witch but go easy on him. He is still grieving for his dead granddaughter."

  "I will," said Lawrence. "He has committed no crime, apart from wilful ignorance."

  "You might also want to seek out William Edwards," said Michael, "that is if you think it is worth bothering with the death of Jonathan Carter. There is no evidence the two things are connected. But for all that talk about crows, his death would have gone unnoticed."

  "I am inclined to agree," said Lawrence, "but for the sake of completeness, I will talk to him, if possible."

  "Jonathan's body was found by Harriet King, but she died earlier this year," said Michael.

  Lawrence raised an eyebrow. "I assume her passing does not warrant its own investigation?"

  "No, it does not," said Michael firmly. "We can’t scrutinise every death, or the task will never be finished. Besides, she was an old widow in frail health. I visited her a few weeks before her death, and she was already in rapid decline."

  "A pity," said Lawrence. "It would have been useful to have a first-hand account."

  "You can still have one," said Michael. William Edwards saw the body and gave evidence at the inquest."

  "Where can I find this man, Edwards?"

  "At the bake office in the village."

  "Good, that sounds like a sensible place to start. Anyone else who might be helpful?"

  "You could speak with Elijah Scoggins. He resides not far from the Swan Inn. He is the parish clerk and knows all about church matters and keeping records. Speaking of records, I have some clippings from the newspaper reports of the inquest." He handed Lawrence a brown envelope.

  "Should be useful," said Lawrence reaching inside. He scanned the clippings. "Short and to the point," he said.

  "You may also want to talk to Hannah Roper," Michael continued. "She is the unofficial village historian and was, more importantly, one of Mary Corbyn's few friends."

  "Mary Corbyn, the alleged witch?"

  "Yes. Mary was not well regarded in the village – not even within her family. Her husband declared her a witch and Corbyn's daughter, Sarah Hammond, detested her."

  "Were you acquainted with Mrs Corbyn?"

  "Only a little. I called upon the Hammonds once or twice when little Edith was firstborn. Mary Corbyn was present on one occasion."

  "And what did you think of her?"

  Michael thought for a moment. "She was an odd woman. The family were d
iscourteous to her. They called her a witch in her presence and she did nothing at all to discourage it. Indeed, I formed the impression that she liked it."

  "How so."

  "By behaving like one. Mary Corbyn carried a large carpet bag with all manner of potions. Benjamin Hammond complained of a sore head once and she produced a filthy jar containing some sort of noxious substance. She moved towards him and tried to rub it on his temple and Sarah Hammond raised her hand as if to dash it away. She told Mary Corbyn that if she touched him with her poison, there would be hell to pay."

  "Charming," said Lawrence. "How did it end?"

  "Not violently, I am relieved to say," Michael replied. "Mary simply smiled and sat down beside her husband, appearing entirely unperturbed. But his daughter Sarah was angry and asked him to leave and take the 'witch' with him. Mary smiled again and said that Sarah should be careful not to offend her in case something untoward happened to her."

  "Did they leave?"

  "Yes, they left immediately. Sarah apologised to me for being witness to the incident. I had forgotten all about it until now."

  "Thank you," said Lawrence snapping his notebook shut. He had been writing throughout the conversation. "I should be able to make some headway now. I’ll leave The Vicarage shortly and head for the village."

  "Good luck," said Michael. "Let me know how you get on."

  Lawrence collected his hat from the stand in the hallway and ventured outside. The old woman had gone, and her companion was picking up a book from a blanket on the front lawn. She carried a wicker basket over her arm.

  "Hello again," said Lawrence. "Thank you for helping me earlier."

  "You’re welcome," said Violet. "Are you leaving us already?"

  Lawrence smiled. "No, I am likely to be here for at least a week or two. I am just going into the village."

  "I am too," said Violet. "Mrs Harris has a fancy for an iced bun, and I’ll walk to the Bake Office while she sleeps."

  "That’s where I’m going too. May I join you?"

  Violet nodded, and they set off towards the churchyard in companionable silence.