The Garden at No. 19/Chapter 20

WO evenings later Pamela came in wearing a very cheerful air:—

"Uncle has done something to the house," she said. "He has driven the shadows and the horror out of it.  When I came home  this afternoon, before I came in here, I went  into it to get my sewing; and I found it quite  clear and comfortable.  He had been burning  incense; and the house was full of its scent."

"Good," I said. "He has performed some ceremony of purification and purged the house. I wish to goodness he'd purify the garden and  the road—drive the shadows right back into  the Abyss."

"Yes; the road is bad," she said.

I think that Woodfell had purged No. 19 to make it bearable to the other initiates;  for  during the next week not an evening passed without one or other of them coming to No. 19. Sometimes two of them came in an evening,     but never two of them together. The rich man, the bearded dilettante, and the man like a  battered Apollo seemed to feel the oppressive  menace in the air of the road deeply; for they  came down it on halting feet with anxious faces,  looking about them with frightened eyes.

Two others did not show signs of fright; but they seemed to find the road uncomfortable  enough, for they came down it at a brisk pace,  frowning. The red-headed man came down it at a shambling trot. Even Helen Ranger came down it with a troubled air.

Pamela said that her uncle was working and working, that he hardly ever left his study, and  slept, if indeed he did sleep, on the sofa in it. It seemed to me very unwise of him to put this strain on himself; surely he would need all this strength for the celebration of the rites.

One evening as I was coming from the station I met Helen Ranger at the top of the Walden Road.

We stopped and greeted one another; and I said, "You've become quite a frequent visitor to this neighborhood."

"Oh, yes; Mr. Woodfell and I are great friends.  But he does make me work hard,"  she said, smiling.

"Makes you work? What at?" I said.

She hesitated; then she said, "At rehearsing."

"Rehearsing what?" I said.

"Ah, that would be telling," she said, smiling "But I say, what a creepy road this is.  I wonder you can bear to live in it. Don't you  find it awfully wearing?"

"You find it creepy, do you?" said I

"Yes; I do. And it grows worse every time I come. I am glad to get out of it."

"I've noticed something of the kind myself," I said. "So you haven't taken that cottage in the country after all."

"Oh, yes; I have. I've taken one at  Chipperfield as you advised.  I've furnished  it; and next week I shall get away to it. Oh,  I shall be glad to be in the country again!  But I must hurry home; I've a lot of work to  do to-night." And smiling, she bade me good-by, and hurried up the road.

I was glad that she had found something to fill her time and her mind, even though it were  this  tampering  with the forbidden things. Work is so good for women; it keeps them, even more than it keeps men, out of mischief.

It had never occurred to me that so much  work as this attached to the office of a celebrant of one of the rites; but after what she had said it grew plain enough that there must be. Each of them would not only have to learn, in a strange tongue, the actual rite which he  celebrated; but he would have to be able to  follow roughly the general invocation and make  his responses in the other rites also in strange  tongues. I could not see any good reason for celebrating the rites each in a different tongue; it seemed to me to mean a mere increase of  work and a needless increase. I resolved to ask Marks the reason of it.

On the eve of the full moon and of our marriage Pamela dined with me as usual; and  after dinner when we came into my study, I  did not trouble to switch on the electric light;  but we sat in the twilight talking. The wind was rising and blowing up heavy clouds. We did not talk much; we were too full of the morrow, expectant and joyful.

Once I said that I wished that I were taking her away for our honeymoon, for a month, or  at any rate for a week. She said that it would have been delightful, but it was impossible for  her to leave her uncle at this crisis; and at any rate it would be very nice to stay at the Hyde Park Hotel and then come back to No. 20 and  not to No. 19.

"At any rate we will have a month out of London in September," I said.

It was at half past nine that we heard footsteps come down the street and go into the garden of No. 19. There was a knock at its door; and we heard it open.

"Here I am, punctual to the minute," said the voice of the rich man. "It's the last rehearsal; and I believe I have it pat at last."

"Yes; thank heavens! It is the last rehearsal. It's weary work—in this strain too,"  said Woodfell. "Come in."

His hoarse voice rang weary, utterly weary; and I thought with some disquiet of what  Marks had said of the sorcerer growing too  weak to hold in check the powers he had let  loose.

"Your uncle's voice sounds as if he were very tired," I said.

"Oh, he is tired. He looks utterly worn  out," said Pamela.

"They must need a great deal of coaching in those rites— seven or eight strange tongues.  Oh, I shall be glad when the full moon has come  and gone and this is all over!" I said.

"If it is all over. They may fail to-morrow night, and have to try again.  But it won't  matter to us whether they fail or succeed," she said.

"Not directly, thank goodness," I said; and I kissed her.

At ten o'clock she went to bed, going to her bedroom along the gutter, since she did not  wish to risk meeting the rich man in the hall  of No. 19. When I opened the window of my front room the sky was dark; and the wind was  roaring in the trees of the big garden opposite.

"I do hope that it won't be too wet to celebrate the rites to-morrow night," said Pamela.

"They'll celebrate the rites to-morrow night wet or fine," I said.

I helped her through the window and over the partition wall; kissed her; and watched her climb safely through her window. She called out good-night to me; I came back; and went  down to my study.

I read, or rather read and dreamed of Pamela, till a few minutes to twelve. Then I put away my book, wheeled my easy chair, carelessly enough, into the middle of the magic  circle, switched off the light, and came out  of the room. The wind seemed to have died   down. I went into my dining-room, and feeling a little hungry, took a biscuit out of the tin, and began to eat it.

It was very still on this side of the house; and I had just finished the biscuit when I heard  heavy footsteps  come  crunching  along  the  gravel path in the garden of No. 19. They were too heavy to be Woodfell's.  They must  be the footsteps of the rich man; and I thought  to myself that he must have a great deal more  pluck than I had given him credit for, to be  out in that garden at night. Also I thought that, judging from the heaviness of his tread,  he must weigh nearly eighteen stone.

I put away the biscuit tin, switched off the light, and came out into the hall. Through the wall there came, muffled, the sound of the heavy  footsteps in the hall of No. 19.

"Why, the man does weigh eighteen stone." I said to myself, pausing. I stood still at the foot of the stairs, disquieted, listening with all my ears, uneasy.

The footsteps came back down the hall and began to mount the stairs, slowly. An odd fancy  seized  me that there was something  wrong about them, something sinister in their  muffled fall.

Without thinking, I kept pace with them up my own stairs. I had come to the top of the first flight, with my uneasiness growing, when  on a sudden I filled with the sense, the certainty rather, that something was very wrong  indeed—appallingly wrong.

I did not stop to consider what it might be; I rushed up the rest of the stairs as hard as  I could go; scrambled out of the window and  along the gutter to the partition wall.

"Pamela! Pamela!" I cried in a high shrieking voice. "Pamela! Pamela!"

Almost on the instant she was leaning out of her window, a white blur on the darkness.

"What is it? she cried in a scared voice. "What is that coming up the stairs?"

"Quick! Get out!  Come along!  Just as  you  are!  Don't  bother  about  a 'dressing-gown!  Quick!  Oh, be quick!"

She was out of her window and, under the spur of fear, ran along the gutter. I half lifted, half dragged her over the partition wall; and as I did  it,  I heard the door of her bedroom crash in.

I carried her along the gutter; slipped her through my window; scrambled in after her       without a glance behind me; drew the window  to, and fastened it. Then we ran out of the room and down the stairs. Half-way down them I heard the clash of a broken pane.

"The circle!" I cried.

"Your ulster!" cried Pamela.

I snatched it from its peg as we ran through the hall; and we were inside the circle.

We were inside the circle.

With an arm round Pamela, clasping her tight to me, I strained my ears for the sound  of the sinister feet coming down the stairs. The house was silent.

"What are we to do? Oh, what are we to do?" muttered Pamela with a little sob.

"Wait," I said. "Wait and listen. The mystic signs may hold it back;" and I gripped her tighter to me.

We waited. My mouth was very dry; and my heart was hammering against my ribs. We stood for what seemed years—I dare say it was  five minutes—straining our ears. Twice I could have sworn I heard stealthy, slinking  feet on the stairs; and my heart leaped to my  mouth.

Then I did hear a noise: through the wall of the hall came muffled the sound of the slow foot  fall, coming down the staircase of No. 19.

"Thank heaven, the signs hold! The house  is safe!" I cried.

With a gasp of relief Pamela sank into the easy chair.

The footsteps came along the hall and passed into Woodfell's study.

"Heavens, what an escape!" I said. "If I had been fifteen seconds later!"

"I had just awakened and heard the footsteps on the stairs when you called," said Pamela.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead; then I said, "You won't leave this circle before  morning.  But I don't see why we should sit in  darkness."

"The ulster—have you got the ulster?" said Pamela quickly.

"Here it is," said I. She stood up; and I slipped it on her.

Then I switched on the electric light; and Pamela was blushing. Her little bare feet peeped out from under the bottom of the ulster.

We listened again.

"It's gone into Uncle's study," said Pamela.

"It? Why do you say it? It's he—that big, fat, offensive blackguard, the rich man," I said.

Pamela shook her head.

"It must be," I said "And I can't for the life of me conceive how he came to give us this kind of fright.  But I must wrap you up  warm."

I did not at the moment feel inclined for a discussion; my heart was beating too quickly. I took the rug from the couch and wrapped it round her knees. Then I fetched the biscuits from the next room, for I was resolved that she,  at any rate, should not leave the circle before  the dawn. I drew another easy chair beside hers and set a little table also in the circle and put brandy and soda on it and the biscuits. Every few seconds I stopped to listen with all my ears. There were faint sounds in No. 19; it seemed to me that the door of Woodfell's  study was open.

I had just arranged everything for our comfort, when there came the sound of a hurried knocking at the front door of No. 19.

I ran to the window; and in spite of Mark's injunction to keep it closed from sunset to cock-crow, I threw it open and leaned out. I saw dimly that a woman stood at the door of No. 19.

"Don't go in! For God's sake, don't go into  that  house  to-night!  There's  something  wrong—something horribly wrong in it!" I cried.

"Oh, it's all right, Mr. Plowden," said the voice of Helen Ranger. "I'm not frightened. Mr. Woodfell will see that I don't come to any  harm."

"Nevertheless don't go in—not to-night. Wait till to-morrow," I entreated.

"Oh, I assure you it's all right. I know all about it," she said a little impatiently.

The door of No. 19 opened; and she stood smiling at me in the blaze of light.

"Pan is not dead," said Woodfell in a thick  voice; and he  laughed an odd, vacant laugh. It chilled me.

"You see; it's all right," cried Helen Ranger gayly; she went into No. 19; and the door was shut.

I shut the window; stepped quickly back into the circle; and held my breath, listening.

A sudden, shrill cry came through the wall.

"What are we to do? What on earth are we to do?" I cried, wringing my hands.

"There's nothing to be done—nothing," said Pamela with a sob.

"The police?" I said.

"They could do nothing," said Pamela in a hopeless voice.

I sank heavily into the easy chair beside her, trying to think of some hopeful action to take. I could think of nothing. I could not bring myself to leave Pamela and go to No. 19. I could not. Besides, either my going would be useless, or there was no reason to go at all.

We sat straining our ears, muttering now and again speculations about what was happening in No. 19. We heard no sound. Woodfell must have shut the door of his study.

After a while I began to try to reassure Pamela and myself, urging that after all, if  something had, as seemed probable from the  rich man's daring, happened to Woodfell himself, Helen Ranger had nothing to fear from  the rich man;   I was quite sure that. she was more than a match for him.

But Pamela only said, "It wasn't the rich man."

The sense of our helplessness was wearing indeed; and it was a weary watch. No sound came from No. 19. In the middle of our watch I made Pamela drink some weak brandy and  soda and eat some biscuits; and I did the same  myself.

Soon afterwards she fell asleep; and I sat, listening still, in a heavy depression, the sense of dreadful fatality heavy on me, helpless,  bound to my chair by the necessity of not leaving Pamela unprotected.

At last the window blinds began to glimmer. I rose, stiff and cold, drew one of them up, opened the window,  and leaned against  it,  letting the fresh air of the dawn blow on my  face. The road was quiet but for the twittering of the waking birds in the tree-tops above the opposite wall.

I turned to Pamela; she was sleeping easily, half a smile on her face. I was smiling myself to see her, when far away  a cock crowed.

On the instant there was a loud crash in No. 19, a crash which shook both houses.

"What was that?" cried Pamela, starting awake.

"I think it is the end. Listen."

All was still.