Free Savage Magic by Lloyd Shepherd Page A

scandalised by the dust as by the relations between the master and mistress of the house, and the food Horton had been served at dinner and then at breakfast was both cold and unappetising.
    There is also something pointed about the way the servants talk about Mrs Graham. It is an amalgam of contempt and anxiety. This is personified by the butler, Crowley, who gives as little away on the second day of Horton’s acquaintance as he did on the first. Horton speaks to him in the library. The man refuses to sit, despite Horton’s entreaties, and remains upright with a wall of books rising behind him. He sweats profusely, despite the lack of flesh on his poorly dressed bones, and his bald head shines and drips like a crystal ball smothered in hot wax.
    ‘How long have you been in Sir Henry’s service?’
    ‘Coming up to ten years, Mr Constable.’
    Crowley has settled on this appellation for Horton, who has let it pass.
    ‘And Sir Henry has lived in Thorpe Lee House for how long?’
    ‘About the same amount of time, Mr Constable. Before that, Herefordshire.’
    ‘Ah, yes, Herefordshire. Where I understand his wife hails from. It is she who supplied his fortune, yes?’
    ‘So people say, Mr Constable. I do not know nor have any view on the matter.’
    ‘And where is Lady Tempest now?’
    ‘I cannot say, sir.’
    ‘She is still alive?’
    ‘It is not my place to comment on such matters.’
    ‘Well, then, Crowley. Can you comment on the events that have alarmed Mrs Graham?’
    ‘Events, sir?’
    A sly look of defiance creeps over Crowley’s thin face. It is an expression Horton will come to recognise and despise as the day unfolds. Mrs Graham’s name sparks a sour response.
    ‘Yes. The events which have culminated in the illness of Miss Tempest Graham.’
    ‘I don’t quite understand the events you speak of. Perhaps you could be clearer about your question, Mr Constable?’
    ‘Well, perhaps this will make it clearer. Do you believe Thorpe Lee House is bewitched?’
    ‘No, sir. I don’t be holding with that.’
    The man looks offended, as if Horton had accused him of being a Roman Catholic.
    ‘But you must agree there have been unusual occurrences?’
    ‘Aye, there were, sir. August was particularly bad, of course. But there’s been nothing for a while now. Not since we got rid of the cook.’
    ‘You think all the events were her doing?’
    ‘Stands to reason, I think, Mr Constable. We found instruments of mischief in her kitchen. She left. The mischief ended.’
    ‘Well, not quite. Miss Tempest Graham fell ill after the cook left, did she not?’
    ‘Oh. Aye. She did. But that’s just females, ain’t it?’
    ‘In what way?’
    ‘Well, they react in different ways, do they not? Hysterical, some of them get. Some of them get ill. Some of them do lunatic things.’
    ‘What kind of lunatic things?’
    ‘Well, smashing looking-glasses. That’d be lunatic, wouldn’t it?’
    There is nothing sly in Crowley’s face now. He knows he has said something he shouldn’t, because he sees the surprise in Horton’s face.
    ‘Who smashed their looking-glasses?’
    ‘Well, no one. I was speaking hypothetically, like.’
    ‘Listen to me, Crowley. This is an important matter, and I am perfectly capable of bringing a charge against you, if I am not given the help I need.’
    This, Horton knows, is almost certainly untrue, but it works with Crowley. Like most people, he has never been threatened with such a sanction before.
    ‘Someone smashed the lady’s looking-glasses.’
    ‘Mrs Graham’s?’
    ‘Yes. Every one of them.’
    ‘When?’
    ‘Few days after Miss Ellen fell ill. Perhaps a week ago.’
    ‘And who do you suspect of doing such a thing?’
    ‘I don’t suspect anyone, Mr Constable.’
    ‘Could someone have got into the house?’
    ‘Of course, that’s possible, Mr Constable.’
    ‘What time of day did this happen?’
    ‘We cannot say. Mrs Graham discovered them just before dinner.’
    ‘She was