Chapter 15 Jack and I talked late into the night, and he laid out as much detail as I could want of the mysterious doctor and Crest View. His initial description of the place had apparently done it an injustice, and his elaboration built an image in my mind that fit disturbingly well with my recollection of the phantom street. Crest View had been an imposing structure of immense proportions, its tall grey stone walls buttressed and topped by four- foot gargoyles carved in intricate detail; the slate roof had been split into three peaks, one over each of the north and south wings, the middle, much larger section rising high above it all and pierced by a dozen chimneys. In it’s hey day, the grounds around had been well tended lawns surrounded by a low picket fence, and a large semi- circular gravelled driveway had spanned the entire front of the mansion. Three large doorways had led in from the front, one for each wing and kept locked for all but staff, and a central entrance of truly grand design used entirely for guests. Some of the locals had seen inside, including Jack himself. Often, when delivering to the mansion, he would be invited in for a cup of tea, or a brandy if it was cold outside, and he would always be admitted through the large front entrance and led to the warm and well- used kitchen at the back of the property. Jack described the interior as “a revelation”, with high, bright white ceilings topping oak- panelled walls decorated with numerous works of art; in the massive hallway was hung a beautiful crystal chandelier, and a double staircase swept round both sides to the upper levels. Between the stairs was an oak door leading to the kitchen, and off to either side were the entrances to the two wings. “It never failed to impress,” he remarked, “You’d get to the front door of the place, your entire view filled with heavy grey stone and great arched windows and gargoyles, and then you’d see this light and airy space open up beyond it. Every time I saw it, I was taken aback, like the surprise never wore off. “Three of the staff that had turned up in the carts worked the kitchens, feeding the household. Got quite friendly with two of them; Kittie and Robert Locke. A lovely couple they were, very chatty, always interested in what went on down in the village. Of course, they died in the fire along with the rest. A real shame… The other, though- Henry Parsons was his name- well; he was a nasty piece of work. That fella hardly said a word, and when he did, it was only to have a dig at the other two. I never liked him, didn’t like the look of him either, pasty faced, skinny little runt… come to think of it, he looked a little like Porter, same weasely little features… I wonder… “Anyway, Kittie and Robert, they’d sit and chat to me while I drunk my tea or sipped my brandy and warmed myself at the fire. Not even once did they ever tell me anything about what went on behind the door to the north wing, and quite honestly, I didn’t want to know. No doubt they didn’t talk for much the same reason that I didn’t ask, the doctor paid well. So, we’d sit and talk about village life, and they’d ask about the daily goings on with the local characters. I always enjoyed my visits despite the walk, and I’d always return with more than a few pennies in my pocket. “If you travel up the road towards Skell’s Moreton a little way, you’d see the start of the old road that used to lead up to Crest View,” said Jack, “That was how we used to get the carts up there with the fish and produce. It used to run right past old man Hobbs’ farmhouse and then rise gently up the slope of the hill back before the landslide. More than anything, I think that walk up there was what made the place so impressive. By the time you were half- way up the hill, all you could see in front was the house, blotting out the sky with them gargoyles staring down at you. They made me a little nervous to tell the truth, they were so well carved they could have been real, seemed to be watching, you know?” I asked Jack to tell me about the arrival of Doctor Helzinge and the anonymous patients so quickly hidden away in the north wing. “Early in 1904 it was,” he said, “We knew the place had been sold the year before. It had stood empty for as long as anyone here could remember, then all of a sudden there was a flurry of activity with painters and builders and the like going backwards and forwards up the hill. Next thing we know, there’s a motor vehicle, carrying the doctor and his assistant to their new home. Quite the talk it was, no one had seen a motor before, not out here. “Well, he settles right in, he’s down in the village chatting to the locals and making himself known, and no one bats an eyelid. Strange, considering the kind of reception we got, but I figured that was just the pull of money. “It was about a week later that the carts started to arrive. Covered wagons, painted white and with barred doors on the backs. They’d arrive just after dark, a couple at a time, and they’d back them up to the steps in front of the north wing. Whoever was in them got straight out and was ushered directly in to the mansion, no delays and not a glimpse of them for anyone watching. All we could gather was that each cart contained a patient and a staff member. By the end of it, there had been fifteen carts; fifteen patients and fifteen staff members, the doctor and his assistant, all locked up in that place, and the only one we ever saw in the village was Helzinge himself. Ten years on, and we didn’t even see him any more.” “And how long after Helzinge closed himself away did the fire start?” I asked. “A matter of months, it was,” he replied, “Helzinge stopped showing his face in the February of ’14, and by October, we were watching the place burn. January the following year, we had a rain storm the likes of which I never hope to see again. The street through the village ran like a river a foot deep and our houses flooded, but it was the sound that was worst of all. Like thunder that wouldn’t stop, thumping and rolling as the rain fell on our little homes for hours, until, late in the afternoon we heard an even greater noise. Almost instantly following that, it all stopped. “Turns out the sound we’d heard was Tenpenny Hill collapsing on the south side. A huge chunk of it just slid away, taking the remains of the house with it. “See, that’s what I find odd. The fire, well, who knows how that started, but the storm… the worst I’ve see either before or since, and it lasted just long enough to take the house down. Makes me cold just thinking about it.” I had to agree, the timing of all of this was unusual to say the least. “Did anyone go up there after the storm?” I asked. “No,” he said, shaking his head, “The whole village just steers clear of the place. It seems to most of us that there’s more than a fair share of bad luck attached to that hill, and we don’t want to take part in that. If you were on the train, you’d even see locals cross themselves as it takes you close by the bottom of that hill.” “This might be an odd question Jack, but where does the train go?” I asked, “I mean, is there another line out of here, have I missed something?” “It goes to Bellville, but you already know that,” he said frowning; “Only the one line in and out, a single track carrying two trains a day.” I chewed my lip, debating whether to say anything more to him, but caution had gotten me nowhere and Jack had been more than a friend in the past few days. “When I came down off of the hill, I walked back to the village along the railway tracks,” I said, “It took me over an hour, and I got back here just after sunset. Jack, in all that time I didn’t see the train either arrive nor depart. Nothing went along that track.” He looked for a moment as if he were waiting for the punch line, and then realised I was serious. “You must be mistaken,” he said in a bemused tone, “The train most certainly came, and it left again with my Annie on it. Heard it go, I did. Perhaps you got lost in the dark, strayed away from the tracks.” I shook my head, I was certain that the rails had been beneath my feet the whole time, and darkness hadn’t really hampered me until the last few moments of my trip back. “Annie was on that train, she’s gone to stay with friends for a couple of days. I know it went,” he insisted, “You wouldn’t be trying to take me for a fool now, would you?” “Jack, I swear on my life, I saw no train, and I was on the tracks all the way home.” A worried look passed across his features, and he sat for a while turning over his options. “I’ll call her,” he said, standing and draining his glass, “That’ll settle it once and for all.” I could hear him in the hallway as he asked the operator for a Bellville number, followed by a brief conversation interspersed with profuse apologies for the lateness of the call, and I began to feel a little guilty for worrying him. Moments later, he was back in the room, a relieved look on his face. “Annie’s in Bellville, she made it there just fine,” he said, “Like I said, Elliot, you must have wandered off somewhere and got lost.” I kept my thoughts on this matter to myself, knowing in my heart that I had not wandered anywhere, and that the train most definitely had not passed me. What it meant, I could not say, but given everything else I had witnessed and all that I had discovered, I had to consider anything as possible. I turned my attention to other matters. “You and Annie have been here, what, forty years, fifty?” I asked, “In all that time, have you ever seen me here before?” “Did you bump your head while you were out?” he laughed, “First the train, and now this… No, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you before. Has somebody said something?” “I’ve… uncovered some things that have made me think it’s possible,” I said carefully, “and the old ruins sparked some memories too.” “Well that’s just nonsense,” he stated, pouring us another drink, “You’d have been little more than a babe when that old place burnt to the ground. What are you… twenty five?” “I know,” I agreed, “but something here is just not right. Nothing seems to fit together, the people, dates and events… It’s like everything is elastic, it stretches out until it’s thin enough to see right through… “Smoke and mirrors,” I laughed bitterly, “Maybe Porter was right.” “Oh, come now, don’t you go putting too much stock in what he says,” said Jack, “He’s a rogue, and no mistake. In fact, it’s probably best you ignore him altogether.” “For sure,” I said, “but if you knew what I had seen, what I had found, well… I can’t help but think he might know something. Understand me, Jack, it’s now vitally important that I work this whole mess out, but I just don’t know where to start. Every time I think I’m on to something, it turns out to be either a dead end or another loose thread. I’m just hoping that the Cavetts might be able to shed some light when I visit them tomorrow night.” “Friends in high places, indeed,” exclaimed Jack, his eyebrows raised, “The Cavetts don’t invite just anyone into their home. Perhaps this is your first lucky break then, but tread careful because they don’t suffer fools lightly and from what I know, they’re pretty secretive about their business. “Old man Cavett and doctor Helzinge were as thick as thieves right to the end. In fact, Cavett was the only visitor that Helzinge would see in the months prior to the fire. Regular as clockwork it was, Cavetts wagon would go up to the house every day, leaving a couple of hours later. We all figured that there might be some medical reason for the visits, him being a wealthy toff and all, he could most certainly afford to pay. If you’re careful, at least you might be able to find out a little more about the good doctor, if not his work.” I wasn’t surprised, I supposed I might have expected it, but nonetheless, I now had good reason to ensure my evening with the Cavetts was fruitful. A link, however small, was firmly established between the Cavetts and the doctor, and subsequently, to myself. “Have you ever had dealings with the Cavetts?” I asked. “On occasion,” he replied, “but then I think that goes for everyone here. It’s hard to avoid when they have a finger in every pie. You see, the Cavetts hold the purse strings for most of the village businesses, funding them where needed and keeping things on the level. In truth, I don’t think there’s a place left here that turns a profit, yet we all get by, so what does that tell you? And, yes, I have been to them cap in hand once myself. It must have been the father of the current lord and master, although they all look so alike it’s hard to tell. “No one goes to the house, mind, business is conducted through the town hall and Mr. Broddick. He’d pass the message to the Cavetts, and shortly after you’d get a visit.” “What sort of agreements did Cavett make with you all?” I said. Jack shuffled his feet uncomfortably and stared into his glass. “The terms were set depending on the request and the circumstances,” he replied, “At the time, they would seem reasonable, a small price to pay for getting what you needed or wanted, but… sometimes, I sit here and think on it, and I’m not so sure.” A dark cloud passed across Jack’s features, and I could see that he was tempted to tell me everything, to unburden himself of some great and tragic secret. I was about to push the matter, but the moment passed as rapidly as it had appeared, and, shaking himself, Jack swallowed the last of his brandy and stood. “Well,” he said brightly, “it’s getting awfully late, and it’s well past my bedtime so I’ll say goodnight. Help yourself to another brandy if you want, and don’t forget to turn off the lights when you’re done.” I said goodnight, and took advantage of Jack’s offer, refilled my glass and spent the next hour deep in thought. My mind groaned under the weight of too many unknowns as I twisted the pieces and tried to make them fit. The clock on the mantle ticked heavily in the silence, a sound like death’s fleshless knuckles rapping out the dying moments of a man's life, and by the time I left the sitting room to retire to my bed the hands read close to one o’clock. Porter did not leave the house that night, of that, I was certain.