Inwardly much relieved, Luke expressed himself as somewhat disappointed, and then plunged into inquiries as to deathbed superstitions.
Mr. Wake shook his head gently. "I am afraid I should be the last person to know about those. My parishioners would be careful to keep anything unorthodox from my ears."
"That's so, of course."
"But I've no doubt, all the same, there is a lot of superstition still rife. These village communities are very backward."
Luke plunged boldly. "I've been asking Miss Conway for a list of all the recent deaths she could remember. I thought I might get at something that way. I suppose you could supply me with a list, so that I could pick out the likelies."
"Yes, yes; that could be managed. Giles, our sexton, a good fellow, but sadly deaf, could help you there. Let me see now. There have been a good many - a good many - a treacherous spring and a hard winter behind it - and then a good many accidents. Quite a cycle of bad luck there seems to have been."
"Sometimes," said Luke, "a cycle of bad luck is attributed to the presence of a particular person."
"Yes, yes. The old story of Jonah. But I do not think there have been any strangers here - nobody, that is to say, outstanding in any way - and I've certainly never heard any rumor of such a feeling, but then again, as I said, perhaps I shouldn't. Now, let me see. Quite recently we have had Doctor Humbleby and poor Lavinia Fullerton. A fine man. Doctor Humbleby."
Bridget put in, "Mr. Fitzwilliam knows friends of his."
"Do you indeed? Very sad. His loss will be much felt. A man with many friends."
"But surely a man with some enemies, too," said Luke. "I'm only going by what I've heard my friends say," he went on hastily.
Mr. Wake sighed. "A man who spoke his mind, and a man who wasn't always very tactful, shall we say?" He shook his head. "It does get people's backs up. But he was greatly beloved among the poorer class."
Luke said carelessly, "You know, I always feel that one of the most unpalatable facts to be faced in life is the fact that every death that occurs means a gain to someone - I don't mean only financially."
The vicar nodded thoughtfully. "I see your meaning, yes. We read in an obituary notice that a man is regretted by everybody, but that can only be true very rarely, I fear. In Doctor Humbleby's case, there is no denying that his partner. Doctor Thomas, will find his position very much improved by Doctor Humbleby's death."
"How is that?"
"Thomas, I believe, is a very capable fellow - certainly Humbleby always said so - but he didn't get on here very well. He was, I think, overshadowed by Humbleby, who was a man of very definite magnetism. Thomas appeared rather colorless in contrast. He didn't impress his patients at all. I think he worried over it, too, and that made him worse - more nervous and tongue-tied. As a matter of fact, I've noticed an astonishing difference already. More aplomb, more personality. I think he feels a new confidence in himself. He and Humbleby didn't always agree, I believe. Thomas was all for newer methods of treatment and Humbleby preferred to stick to the old ways. There were clashes between them more than once - over that as well as over a matter nearer home. But there, I mustn't gossip."
Bridget said softly and clearly, "But I think Mr. Fitzwilliam would like you to gossip."
Luke shot her a quick, disturbed look.
Mr. Wake shook his head doubtfully, and then went on, smiling a little in deprecation:
"I am afraid one learns to take too much interest in one's neighbors' affairs. Rose Humbleby is a very pretty girl. One doesn't wonder that Geoffrey Thomas lost his heart. And of course Humbleby's point of view was quite understandable, too - the girl is young, and buried away here, she hadn't much chance of seeing other men."
"He objected?" said Luke.
"Very definitely. Said they were far too young. And of course young people resent being told that. There was a very definite coldness between the two men. But I must say that I'm sure Doctor Thomas was deeply distressed at his partner's unexpected death."
"Septicemia, Lord Easterfield told me."
"Yes, just a little scratch that got infected. Doctors run grave risks in the course of their profession, Mr. Fitzwilliam."
"They do indeed," said Luke.
Mr. Wake gave a sudden start. "But I have wandered a long way from what we were talking about," he said. "A gossiping old man, I am afraid. We were speaking of the survival of pagan death customs and of recent deaths. There was Lavinia Fullerton - one of our most kindly church helpers. Then there was that poor girl, Amy Gibbs; you might discover something in your line there, Mr. Fitzwilliam. There was just a suspicion, you know, that it might have been suicide, and there are certain rather eerie rites in connection with that type of death. There is an aunt - not, I fear, a very estimable woman, and not very much attached to her niece, but a great talker."
"Valuable," said Luke.
"Then there was Tommy Pierce; he was in the choir at one time - a beautiful treble - quite angelic, but not a very angelic boy otherwise, I am afraid. We had to get rid of him in the end; he made the other boys behave badly too. Poor lad, I'm afraid he was not very much liked anywhere. He was dismissed from the post office, where we got him a job as telegraph boy. He was in Mr. Abbot's office for a while, but there again he was dismissed very soon - interfered with some confidential papers, I believe. Then, of course, he was at Ashe Manor for a time - wasn't he. Miss Conway? - as a garden boy, and Lord Easterfield had to discharge him for gross impertinence. I was so sorry for his mother - a very decent hardworking soul. Miss Waynflete very kindly got him some odd window-cleaning work. Lord Easterfield objected at first, then suddenly he gave in; actually, it was sad that he did so."
"Why?"
"Because the boy was killed that way. He was cleaning the top windows of the library - the old hall, you know - and tried some silly fooling - dancing on the window ledge or something of that sort - lost his balance, or else became dizzy, and fell. A nasty business! He never recovered consciousness and died a few hours after they got him to the hospital."
"Did anyone else see him fall?" asked Luke with interest.
"No. He was on the garden side, not the front of the house. They estimate he lay there for about half an hour before anyone found him."
"Who did find him?"
"Miss Fullerton. You remember, the lady I mentioned just now who was unfortunately killed in a street accident the other day. Poor soul, she was terribly upset. A nasty experience! She had obtained permission to take a cutting of some plants and found the boy there, lying where he had fallen."
"It must have been a very unpleasant shock," said Luke thoughtfully. "A greater shock," he thought to himself, "than you know."
"He was a disgusting bully," said Bridget. "You know he was, Mr. Wake. Always tormenting cats and stray puppies and pinching other little boys."
"I know - I know." Mr. Wake shook his head sadly. "But you know, my dear Miss Conway, sometimes cruelty is not so much innate as due to the fact that imagination is slow in ripening. That is why, if you conceive of a grown man with the mentality of a child, you realize that the cunning and brutality of a lunatic may be quite unrealized by the man himself. A lack of growth somewhere, that, I am convinced, is at the root of much of the cruelty and stupid brutality in the world today. One must put away childish things -" He shook his head and spread out his hands.
Bridget said, in a voice suddenly hoarse, "Yes, you're right. I know what you mean. A man who is a child is the most frightening thing in the world."
Luke Fitzwilliam wondered very much who the person Bridget was thinking of might be.
Chapter 5
Mr. Wake murmured a few more names to himself.
"Let me see now. Poor Mrs. Rose, and old Bell, and that child of the Elkins', and Harry Carter. They're not all my people, you understand. Mrs. Rose and Carter were dissenters. And that cold spell in March took off poor old Ben Stanbury at last - ninety-two he was."
"Amy Gibbs died in April," said Bridget. "Yes, poor girl; a sad mistake to happen."
Luke looked up to find Bridget watching him. She lowered her eyes quickly. He thought, with some annoyance: "There's something here that I haven't got on to. Something to do with this girl, Amy Gibbs."
When they had taken leave of the vicar and were outside again, he said: "Just who and what was Amy Gibbs?"
Bridget took a minute or two to answer.
Then she said - and Luke noticed the slight constraint in her voice - "Amy was one of the most inefficient housemaids I have ever known."
"That's why she got the sack?"
"No. She stayed out after hours, playing about with some young man. Gordon has very moral and old-fashioned views. Sin, in his view, does not take place until after eleven o'clock, but then it is rampant. So he gave the girl notice and she was impertinent about it!"
Luke asked, "She's the one who swallowed off hat paint in mistake for cough mixture?"
"Yes."
"Rather a stupid thing to do," Luke hazarded.
"Very stupid."
"Was she stupid?"
"No, she was quite a sharp girl."
Luke stole a look at her. He was puzzled. Her replies were given in an even tone, without emphasis or even much interest. But behind what she said there was, he felt convinced, something not put into words.
At that moment Bridget stopped to speak to a tall man who swept off his hat and greeted her with breezy heartiness. Bridget, after a word or two, introduced Luke, "This is my cousin, Mr. Fitzwilliam, who is staying at the Manor. He's down here to write a book. This is Mr. Abbot."
Luke looked at Mr. Abbot with some interest. This was the solicitor who had employed Tommy Pierce. Mr. Abbot was not at all the conventional type of lawyer, he was neither thin, spare, nor tight-lipped. He was a big florid man, dressed in tweeds, with a hearty manner and a jovial effusiveness. There were little creases at the corners of his eyes, and the eyes themselves were more shrewd than one appreciated in a first casual glance. "Writing a book, eh? Novel?"
"Folklore," said Bridget.
"You've come to the right place for that," said the lawyer. "Wonderfully interesting part of the world here."
"So I've been led to understand," said Luke. "I dare say you could help me a bit. You must come across curious old deeds or know of some interesting surviving customs."
"Well, I don't know about that. Maybe - maybe."
"No haunted houses?"
"No, I don't know of anything of that kind."
"There's the child superstition, of course," said Luke. "Death of a boy child - a violent death, that is - the boy always walks. Not a girl child - interesting that."
"Very!" said Mr. Abbot. "I never heard that before."
Since Luke had just invented it, that was hardly surprising. "Seems there's a boy here - Tommy something - was in your office at one time. I've reason to believe they think that he's walking."
Mr. Abbot's red face turned slightly purple.
"Tommy Pierce? A good-for-nothing, prying, meddlesome jackanapes. Who's seen him? What's this story?"
"These things are difficult to pin down," said Luke. "People won't come out into the open with a statement. It's just in the air, so to speak."
"Yes, yes, I suppose so."
Luke changed the subject adroitly, "The real person to get hold of is the local doctor. They hear a lot in the poorer cases they attend. All sorts of superstitions and charms - probably love philters and all the rest of it."
"You must get on to Thomas. Good fellow Thomas, thoroughly up-to-date man. Not like poor old Humbleby."
"Bit of a reactionary, wasn't he?"
"Absolutely pigheaded; a diehard of the worst description."
"You had a real row over the water scheme, didn't you?" asked Bridget.
Again a rich ruddy glow suffused Abbot's face. "Humbleby stood dead in the way of progress," he said sharply. "He held out against the scheme! He was pretty rude, too, in what he said. Didn't mince his words. Some of the things he said to me were positively actionable."
Bridget murmured, "But lawyers never go to law, do they? They know better."
Abbot laughed immoderately. His anger subsided as quickly as it had risen. "Pretty good, Miss Bridget! And you're not far wrong. We who are in it know too much about the law, ha-ha. Well, I must be getting along. Give me a call if you think I can help you in any way, Mr. - er -"
"Fitzwilliam," said Luke. "Thanks, I will."
As they walked on, Bridget said, "If you want to hear more about Amy Gibbs, I can take you to someone who could help you."
"Who is that?"
"A Miss Waynflete. Amy went there after she left the Manor. She was there when she died."
"Oh, I see." He was a little taken aback. "Well, thank you very much."
"She lives just here."
They were crossing the village green. Inclining her head in the direction of the big Georgian house that Luke had noticed the day before, Bridget said: "That's Wych Hall. It's a library now."
Adjoining the Hall was a little house that looked rather like a doll's house in proportion. Its steps were dazzlingly white, its knocker shone and its window curtains showed white and prim. Bridget pushed open the gate and advanced to the steps. As she did so, the front door opened and an elderly woman came out. She was, Luke thought, completely the country spinster. Her thin form was neatly dressed in a tweed coat and skirt, and she wore a gray silk blouse with a cairngorm brooch. Her hat, a conscientious felt, sat squarely upon her well-shaped head. Her face was pleasant and her eyes, through their pince-nez, decidedly intelligent.
