Page 21 of The Cursed Writer
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Mary said, placing the bowl she had washed on the draining board. She gave Harry a sideways look. ‘Agnes says you saw a light.’
It was the last thing Harry expected her to say. ‘I did,’ she said, swallowing her surprise. ‘Although Mr Archer tells me I must have been confused.’
Mary shrugged. ‘Do you think you were?’
Harry hesitated. ‘It was cold, and I’d just fallen into the water. But no, I don’t think I was confused. I think I saw another light. At the time I assumed it was Donaldson but he says he dropped his lantern.’ Now it was her turn to shrug. ‘I suppose there must have been someone else out there.’
The cook did not look up. ‘That’s how he lures you in.’
‘How who lures you in?’ Harry asked, frowning.
‘The ferryman,’ Mary said. ‘The stories say he was a boatman once, who was robbed and drowned by his passengers. Now he roams the fens at night, seeking souls to join him in the darkness. Once he’s cast his light on you, death is sure to follow.’
It was the same story Agnes had spoken about, albeit with a little more ghoulish detail. ‘Do you truly believe that?’
‘I do,’ Mary said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘It’s how my Edward met his end. He saw a mysterious light one night, felt compelled to seek it out when darkness fell again but couldn’t get close enough. On the third night, he never came home.’
Harry blinked at her in silent horror. ‘There’s those who claimed it was an accident,’ Mary went on. ‘That anyone who goes out into the fens at night risks drowning. But I knew my man and he changed the moment he saw that first light. It consumed him – he had to know more.’ She glanced at Harry. ‘You’ve been thinking about it too. I bet you’re planning to take a walk in the fens, just to see how things lie. Am I right?’
‘Well, yes, but?—’
The cook nodded in satisfaction. ‘You’ll be safe enough during the day. It’s night-time that’s the danger and you’ll be in London by the time darkness falls. But if you ever come back – that’s when you’ll feel the pull. Just like the master feels it.’
She should have guessed, Harry thought in dazed comprehension. Agnes had told her she blamed the ferryman for Philip St John’s condition, although she had not explained the myth in full, and nor had John Archer. ‘Are you suggesting that’s why he ran into the fen last night? He was seeking the ferryman’s light?’
‘What other reason could it be?’ Mary said. ‘He’s not been in his right mind since that first time. The sleeping draught prevents him from going out there most nights but yesterday he was too clever for his own good.’ She shook her head. ‘I fear for him. One more time and he’ll be lost like all the others.’
Harry didn’t know what to say. ‘Surely you don’t believe that.’
‘It doesn’t matter whether I do or I don’t,’ Mary replied. ‘It’s what will happen if the master stays here.’
Harry finished drying the last plate and placed her towel on the side. ‘I’m afraid I don’t agree. Mr St John is suffering from psychological distress, brought on by – well, I don’t know what exactly but I mean to find out. He’s not suffering from a curse or bewitched by a spell or anything of the kind. And nor am I.’
‘That’s what my husband said,’ Mary said. ‘He drowned all the same.’
The words hung in the air. Harry shook her head to clear the malaise. ‘Thank you for drying my coat and my boots. I’ll take them now.’
The cook met her gaze squarely. ‘Take care on your walk. Don’t go too deep.’
‘I will,’ Harry said, with more force than she intended. ‘Thank you, Mary.’
She left the kitchen, and made for the entrance hall, where she was startled to see Donaldson waiting with Barrymore. ‘Mr Archer said you’ll be taking him for a walk.’
‘That’s right,’ Harry said, wondering whether the groundsman was going to deliver another dire warning.
‘Watch out for herons,’ Donaldson said, as she bent to pull on her boots. ‘He’s a terror for chasing them.’
The words broke the gloom that had been cast by Mary’s doom-laden prophesies. Harry laughed. ‘Duly noted.’ She took the lead from Donaldson. ‘Come on, Barrymore. You can show me all your favourite birdwatching spots.’
8
Harry would not admit to being relieved that her visit to Thrumwell Manor was over, but her spirits definitely rose at the sight of Oliver’s car slowing to a halt on the gravel a little after midday. John Archer hurried down the steps to greet him, much as he had done to Harry the day before. ‘Mr Fortescue. Welcome, welcome. I trust you’ve had a good journey?’
Oliver shook his hand. ‘Most agreeable,’ he said. ‘The Cambridgeshire countryside is quite lovely.’
‘You will hear no argument from me,’ Archer said. ‘Will you take tea before you return to London?’
Oliver’s gaze slid towards Harry, who gave the slightest possible shake of her head. ‘Alas, we cannot. A prior commitment – I’m sure you understand.’
