The Haunting of Hill House (23 page)

“There have been decided manifestations—”

“Well, I'm here now, and we'll get things going right. Where is Arthur to put the car?”

“There's an empty stable in back of the house where we have put our other cars. He can take it around in the morning.”

“Nonsense. I do not believe in putting things off, John, as you know perfectly well. Arthur will have plenty to do in the morning without adding tonight's work. He must move the car at once.”

“It's dark outside,” the doctor said hesitantly.

“John, you astound me. Is it your belief that I do
not
know whether it is dark outside at night? The car has lights, John, and that young man can go with Arthur to show him the way.”

“Thank you,” said Luke grimly, “but we have a positive policy against going outside after dark. Arthur may, of course, if he cares to, but I will not.”

“The young ladies,” the doctor said, “had a shocking—”

“Young man's a coward,” Arthur said. He had concluded his fetching of suitcases and golf bags and hampers from the car and now stood beside Mrs. Montague, looking down on Luke; Arthur's face was red and his hair was white, and now, scorning Luke, he bristled. “Ought to be ashamed of yourself, fellow, in front of the women.”

“The women are just as much afraid as I am,” Luke said primly.

“Indeed, indeed.” Dr. Montague put his hand on Arthur's arm soothingly. “After you've been here for a while, Arthur, you'll understand that Luke's attitude is sensible, not cowardly. We make a point of staying together after dark.”

“I must say, John, I never expected to find you all so
nervous,
” Mrs. Montague said. “I deplore fear in these matters.” She tapped her foot irritably. “You know perfectly well, John, that those who have passed beyond
expect
to see us happy and smiling; they
want
to know that we are thinking of them lovingly. The spirits dwelling in this house may be actually
suffering
because they are aware that you are afraid of them.”

“We can talk about it later,” the doctor said wearily. “Now, how about dinner?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Montague glanced at Theodora and Eleanor. “What a pity that we had to interrupt you,” she said.

“Have you had dinner?”

“Naturally we have not had dinner, John. I
said
we would be here for dinner, didn't I? Or am I mistaken again?”

“At any rate, I told Mrs. Dudley that you would be here,” the doctor said, opening the door which led to the game room and on into the dining room. “She left us a splendid feast.”

Poor Dr. Montague, Eleanor thought, standing aside to let the doctor take his wife into the dining room; he is so uncomfortable; I wonder how long she is going to stay.

“I wonder how long she is going to stay?” Theodora whispered in her ear.

“Maybe her suitcase is filled with ectoplasm,” Eleanor said hopefully.

“And how long will you be able to stay?” Dr. Montague asked, sitting at the head of the dinner table with his wife cozily beside him.

“Well, dear,” Mrs. Montague said, tasting daintily of Mrs. Dudley's caper sauce “—you have found a fair cook, have you not?—you
know
that Arthur has to get back to his school; Arthur is a headmaster,” she explained down the table, “and he has generously canceled his appointments for Monday. So we had better leave Monday afternoon and then Arthur can be there for classes on Tuesday.”

“A lot of happy schoolboys Arthur no doubt left behind,” Luke said softly to Theodora, and Theodora said, “But today is only Saturday.”

“I do not mind this cooking at all,” Mrs. Montague said. “John, I will speak to your cook in the morning.”

“Mrs. Dudley is an admirable woman,” the doctor said carefully.

“Bit fancy for
my
taste,” Arthur said. “I'm a meat-and-potatoes man, myself,” he explained to Theodora. “Don't drink, don't smoke, don't read trash. Bad example for the fellows at the school. They look up to one a bit, you know.”

“I'm sure they must all model themselves on you,” Theodora said soberly.

“Get a bad hat now and then,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “No taste for sports, you know. Moping in corners. Crybabies. Knock
that
out of them fast enough.” He reached for the butter.

Mrs. Montague leaned forward to look down the table at Arthur. “Eat lightly, Arthur,” she advised. “We have a busy night ahead of us.”

“What on earth do you plan to do?” the doctor asked.

“I'm sure that
you
would never dream of going about these things with any system, but you will have to admit, John, that in this area I have simply more of an instinctive understanding; women do, you know, John, at least
some
women.” She paused and regarded Eleanor and Theodora speculatively. “Neither of
them,
I daresay. Unless, of course, I am mistaken again? You are very fond of pointing out my errors, John.”

“My dear—”

“I
cannot
abide a slipshod job in anything. Arthur will patrol, of course. I brought Arthur for that purpose. It is so rare,” she explained to Luke, who sat on her other side, “to find persons in the educational field who are interested in the other world; you will find Arthur surprisingly well informed. I will recline in your haunted room with only a nightlight burning, and will endeavor to get in touch with the elements disturbing this house. I never sleep when there are troubled spirits about,” she told Luke, who nodded, speechless.

“Little sound common sense,” Arthur said. “Got to go about these things in the right way. Never pays to aim too low. Tell my fellows that.”

“I think perhaps after dinner we will have a little session with planchette,” Mrs. Montague said. “Just Arthur and I, of course; the rest of you, I can see, are not ready yet; you would only drive away the spirits. We will need a quiet room—”

“The library,” Luke suggested politely.

“The library? I think it might do; books are frequently very good carriers, you know. Materializations are often best produced in rooms where there are books. I cannot think of any time when materialization was in any way hampered by the presence of books. I suppose the library has been dusted? Arthur sometimes sneezes.”

“Mrs. Dudley keeps the entire house in perfect order,” the doctor said.

“I really will speak to Mrs. Dudley in the morning. You will show us the library, then, John, and that young man will bring down my case; not the large suitcase, mind, but the small attaché case. Bring it to me in the library. We will join you later; after a session with planchette I require a glass of milk and perhaps a small cake; crackers will do if they are not too heavily salted. A few minutes of quiet conversation with congenial people is also very helpful, particularly if I am to be receptive during the night; the mind is a precise instrument and cannot be tended too carefully. Arthur?” She bowed distantly to Eleanor and Theodora and went out, escorted by Arthur, Luke, and her husband.

After a minute Theodora said, “I think I am going to be simply crazy about Mrs. Montague.”

“I don't know,” Eleanor said. “Arthur is rather more to my taste. And Luke
is
a coward, I think.”

“Poor Luke,” Theodora said. “He never had a mother.” Looking up, Eleanor found that Theodora was regarding her with a curious smile, and she moved away from the table so quickly that a glass spilled.

“We shouldn't be alone,” she said, oddly breathless. “We've got to find the others.” She left the table and almost ran from the room, and Theodora ran after her, laughing, down the corridor and into the little parlor, where Luke and the doctor stood before the fire.

“Please, sir,” Luke was saying meekly, “who is planchette?”

The doctor sighed irritably. “Imbeciles,” he said, and then, “Sorry. The whole idea annoys me, but if
she
likes it . . .” He turned and poked the fire furiously. “Planchette,” he went on after a moment, “is a device similar to the Ouija Board, or perhaps I might explain better by saying that it is a form of automatic writing; a method of communicating with—ah—intangible beings, although to
my
way of thinking the only intangible beings who ever get in touch through one of those things are the imaginations of the people running it. Yes. Well. Planchette is a little piece of light wood, usually heart-shaped or triangular. A pencil is set into the narrow end, and at the other end is a pair of wheels, or feet which will slip easily over paper. Two people place fingers on it, ask it questions, and the object moves, pushed by what force we will not here discuss, and writes answers. The Ouija Board, as I say, is very similar, except that the object moves on a board pointing to separate letters. An ordinary wineglass will do the same thing; I have seen it tried with a child's wheeled toy, although I will admit that it looked silly. Each person uses the tips of the fingers of one hand, keeping the other hand free to note down questions and answers. The answers are invariably, I believe, meaningless, although of course my wife will tell you different. Balderdash.” And he went at the fire again. “Schoolgirls,” he said. “Superstition.”

“Planchette has been very kind tonight,” Mrs. Montague said. “John, there are definitely foreign elements present in this house.”

“Quite a splendid sitting, really,” Arthur said. He waved a sheaf of paper triumphantly.

“We've gotten a good deal of information for you,” Mrs. Montague said. “Now. Planchette was quite insistent about a nun. Have you learned anything about a nun, John?”

“In Hill House? Not likely.”

“Planchette felt very strongly about a nun, John. Perhaps something of the sort—a dark, vague figure, even—has been seen in the neighborhood? Villagers terrified when staggering home late at night?”

“The figure of a nun is a fairly common—”

“John,
if
you please. I assume you are suggesting that I am mistaken. Or perhaps it is your intention to point our that
planchette
may be mistaken? I assure you—and you must believe planchette, even if
my
word is not good enough for you—that a nun was most specifically suggested.”

“I am only trying to say, my dear, that the wraith of a nun is far and away the most common form of appearance. There has never been such a thing connected with Hill House, but in almost every—”

“John,
if
you
please
. I assume I may continue? Or is planchette to be dismissed without a hearing? Thank you.” Mrs. Montague composed herself. “Now, then. There is also a name, spelled variously as Helen, or Helene, or Elena. Who might that be?”

“My dear, many people have lived—”

“Helen brought us a warning against a mysterious monk. Now when a monk and a nun
both
turn up in one house—”

“Expect the place was built on an older site,” Arthur said. “Influences prevailing, you know. Older influences hanging around,” he explained more fully.

“It sounds very much like broken vows, does it not? Very much.”

“Had a lot of that back then, you know. Temptation, probably.”

“I hardly think—” the doctor began.

“I daresay she was walled up alive,” Mrs. Montague said. “The nun, I mean. They always did that, you know. You've no idea the messages I've gotten from nuns walled up alive.”

“There is
no
case on record of
any
nun
ever
being—”

“John. May I point out to you once more that I
myself
have had messages from nuns walled up alive? Do you think I am telling you a fib, John? Or do you suppose that a nun would deliberately
pretend
to have been walled up alive when she was not? Is it possible that I am mistaken once more, John?”

“Certainly not, my dear.” Dr. Montague sighed wearily.

“With one candle and a crust of bread,” Arthur told Theodora. “Horrible thing to do, when you think about it.”

“No nun was ever walled up alive,” the doctor said sullenly. He raised his voice slightly. “It is a legend. A story. A libel circulated—”

“All right, John. We won't quarrel over it. You may believe whatever you choose. Just understand, however, that sometimes purely materialistic views must give way before
facts
. Now it is a proven fact that among the visitations troubling this house are a nun and a—”

“What else was there?” Luke asked hastily. “I am
so
interested in hearing what—ah—planchette had to say.”

Mrs. Montague waggled a finger roguishly. “Nothing about
you,
young man. Although one of the ladies present may hear something of interest.”

Impossible woman, Eleanor thought; impossible, vulgar, possessive woman. “Now, Helen,” Mrs. Montague went on, “wants us to search the cellar for an old well.”

“Don't tell me
Helen
was
buried
alive,” the doctor said.

“I hardly think so, John. I am sure that she would have mentioned it. As a matter of fact, Helen was most unclear about just what we
were
to find in the well. I doubt, however, that it will be treasure. One so rarely meets with
real
treasure in a case of this kind. More likely evidence of the missing nun.”

“More likely eighty years of rubbish.”

“John, I can
not
understand this skepticism in you, of all people. After all, you did come to this house to collect evidence of supernatural activity, and now, when I bring you a full account of the
causes,
and an indication of where to start looking, you are positively scornful.”