The Haunting of Toby Jugg (20 page)

To let him know what I know—or at least suspect him of on a basis of sound reasoning—prematurely seemed to me both pointless and stupid; so I have done my damnedest to conceal the change of my mental attitude towards him, and to continue to show the same animated interest in his sparkling discourse as I have done in the past.

But yesterday evening some devil got into me and I was seized with a sudden feeling of recklessness. He was standing in the
south bay window with his back towards me, his legs apart, his broad shoulders squared and his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his plus-fours. He was wearing a suit of ginger tweed, and I don’t know why but country clothes always seem to accentuate his foreignness. In evening dress he looks tremendously distinguished and might easily be taken for the 13th Earl of something, but the dash of Jewish blood that he got from somewhere always comes out when he is wearing country things, and he never looks quite right in them.

As he looked out over the vista of garden, woods and mountains, which seemed more beautiful than ever softened by the evening light, he remarked with a cynical humour which showed that he was not thinking of the view: ‘From the past week’s
communiqués
about the fighting on the Kerch peninsula it is quite impossible to say who holds it now, or even to form an estimate whether the Germans or the Russians are the biggest liars.’

Instead of replying I suddenly flung at him:

‘Helmuth! What the blazes d’you mean by interfering with my mail?’

For a second he remained absolutely motionless, then he whipped round with a broad grin on his face. ‘So Taffy told you about last night, eh?’

I had given vent to my accumulated rancour, and it had not even occurred to me that he would assume that I could have known about his stopping my letters only through Taffy having blown the gaff to me that morning. I saw now that was all to the good, as I could have it out with him on this single issue. I need make no mention of the secret stranglehold that I knew him to have been working to secure on me for the past two months, unless it suited my book. So I snapped:

‘Of course Taffy told me! He is my servant and it was his duty to do so. And you’ll kindly desist from further threats to sack him, or I’ll know the reason why!’

The sardonic grin remained on Helmuth’s face, and his tawny eyes flickered with amusement. ‘If you addressed defaulters in that tone when you were a Flight-Lieutenant you must have been the terror of your Station.’

His gibe added to my wrath, and I retorted angrily: ‘I’ll not have you bully my servants!’

The grin suddenly disappeared, and he said in the harsh voice that now alone makes his Czech accent perceptible: ‘They are not
your
servants. Except for your Great-aunt Sarah’s people, everyone here has been engaged by me. I pay them and I allocate their duties to them. If they do not give satisfaction I shall dismiss them, with or without a character, as I see fit. Also, I bully no one. I simply give my orders and take whatever steps appear necessary to ensure their being carried out.’

‘The staff here are paid by the Trust,’ I countered, ‘and you are only its agent.’

‘Why seek to split straws? At Llanferdrack, for all practical purposes, I
am
the Trust; and you know it.’

‘On the contrary, you are no more than its representative,’ I said firmly. ‘The Board put you in charge here, but it can equally well remove you.’

He smiled again, and his glance held open mockery as he enquired: ‘Are you thinking of asking them to do so?’

I knew that he had me there, for the time being anyway; so I reverted to my original attack. ‘Even if you do regard yourself as answerable to no one here, that still does not give you the right to intercept my private correspondence.’

‘I disagree about that.’ With surprising suddenness his tone became quite reasonable. ‘You have at least admitted yourself that I represent the interests of the Board. In my view it is against their interests, and yours, for them to see such letters as you have taken to writing lately.’

This was an admission that he had intercepted more than one; but I hedged a bit, hoping that he would commit himself further, and said: ‘I have not written to the Board since I came here, and my letter last night was to Julia.’

He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I know it. But what is the difference? If Julia received these letters of yours she would show them to Paul and he would tell the other Trustees about their contents. Besides, I do not wish Julia to be worried either. Your friends have quite enough anxieties these days without being burdened with additional ones concerning you.’

‘For how long have you been stopping my letters?’ I demanded.

‘Since the beginning of April,’ he admitted blandly.

‘And what possible reason can you give as an excuse for ever having done so?’

‘My dear Toby!’ He looked away from me for a moment, then an expression of hypocritical pity came over his face, and he went on: ‘Surely you must realise that for the past six weeks your conduct has been, well—to say the least of it—queer.’

‘In what way?’ I cut in.

‘It would be distressing to go into that,’ he parried. ‘In any case, soon after you came here it was quite apparent to me that your injury had affected your mind.’

‘Such a thing was never even hinted at by the doctors.’

‘Ah, but none of them knew you as intimately as I do, Toby. Besides, the symptoms were only just beginning to show when you arrived here in March. I decided at once that if you became worse the best course I could pursue was to conceal it for as long as possible. That is why I started to open your letters; and later, to account for your not getting any replies from Julia, I invented a story about her having been ill and gone up to Mull.’

I stared at him, almost taken in by his glib explanation, as he continued: ‘I have been most terribly concerned for you; but, as I had accepted the responsibility of having you under my care, I felt that it would be cowardly to off-shoulder that responsibility on to others so long as there seemed any chance of your getting better. And to have let your letters reach their destination would have amounted to the same thing.’

It sounded terribly plausible but I knew damn’ well that he was lying. All the same I felt that there was nothing to be gained by telling him so. That he had been holding up my mail was bound to come out sooner or later; in fact he must have known that there was a good chance of Taffy’s confessing to me his failure to post my letter the previous night, giving the reason, and at the same time blurting it out that for weeks past he had been under orders to take all my letters to the office; and if I had just learned about that it would have been unnatural for me to refrain from making a protest. But to let Helmuth know yet that I believe his interference with my mail to be a move in a criminal plot of the most revolting
baseness would have been to give valuable information to the enemy. So, instead, I endeavoured to get him in a cleft stick by saying:

‘Since you were already under the impression that I was becoming unbalanced before you read my letters to Julia, I take it that their contents fully convinced you of it?’

He nodded.

‘Then why the hell didn’t you do all you could to save me from suffering those terrors that I described to her?’

‘What could I do?’ He spread out his thick, powerful hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘There is no way in which I can prevent your being subject to these hallucinations.’

The time was not ripe to challenge his assertion that my attacks are hallucinations; so I let that pass and cracked in on the target at which I had been aiming:

‘You admit that you were fully aware of the circumstances that caused this queerness that you say you noticed in me, yet you ask what you could have done about it. You could have had me put in another room; you could have got me an electric torch; you could have had that damn’ blackout curtain lengthened; you could have got me a night-nurse or stayed up with me yourself; you could have made arrangements to have me moved from here!’

Then I added, with a guile that matched his own: ‘I cannot understand your refusal of my requests at all, Helmuth. If I did not know so well how devoted you are to me, I should almost be tempted to think that you have become so occupied with running the estate that you have no time left to give a thought to me once you are outside this room.’

‘Toby, Toby!’ He shook his leonine head and looked at me reproachfully. ‘Those are just the sort of ideas which first convinced me that you are no longer your old self, and suffering from a type of persecution mania. But surely you see that my hands are tied. If I agreed to any of these things that you suggest it would mean a departure from the normal routine that we arranged when you first came here, and that would be fatal.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘Because it would draw the attention of the staff to the fact that, at times, your mind becomes unhinged. Don’t you understand
yet what it is from which I have been endeavouring to protect you? If anyone but myself is given cause to think that you have become mental the matter will be taken out of my hands. Your own letters were positively damning, and you know how servants talk. If by any channel it leaks through to the Board that you have become abnormal, and are “seeing things”, they will send brain specialists down here to examine you. In your present state that could have only one result—you would be put into a mental home. Even a short period in such a place might affect you for the rest of your life; and as it could not possibly be kept secret, it would have the most disastrous results on the confidence that all your future business associates would otherwise place in you.’

For a moment I found myself completely bewildered. Could he possibly be speaking the truth? Was I, after all, going out of my mind? Were the attacks really no more than figments of my imagination? Had he noticed the early symptoms of madness in me and ever since been loyally striving to prevent anyone else guessing my condition? Had I shamefully misjudged him?

I have not an atom of proof that he is really plotting against me. My whole theory was based on his interference with my mail and his refusal of all my requests which, in my belief, would have enabled me either to evade or lessen the effect of the attacks. And he had now explained his conduct in both matters.

A little feebly I said: ‘Surely you could find an excuse to have me moved to another room without arousing Deb’s suspicions that I have gone crackers?’

He passed a hand wearily over his mane of prematurely white hair. ‘I’m afraid not, Toby. If only there were another room that was equally suitable I would do so gladly, but as we agreed when we talked of it before, there isn’t.’

‘At least you could get me a torch,’ I hazarded desperately.

‘There are none to be had.’ His voice took on an impatient note.

‘Then get the blackout curtain lengthened. Please, Helmuth, please.’ All the snap had gone out of me now and I found that I was pleading with him.

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Deb is a shrewd young woman. If that curtain is lengthened now she will realise that you must have insisted on it, and attribute your insistence to the moon having an
upsetting effect on you. After that she would need only to pick up another hint or two from your behaviour to guess the truth. Besides, the length of the curtain makes no real difference. What you think you see is nothing but the product of your own imagination, so you would believe you saw it just the same if you occupied a bedroom at the Ritz in London or a mud hut in Timbuctoo. All I can do is to prevent others from suspecting your affliction for a time, and in that way give you a chance to recover from it before rumours of your condition reach the Board and bring about a danger of your being certified.’

So, on the face of it, he and I seemed to be dreading that the same grim fate might overtake me; and, if he was to be believed, he was doing his best to save me from it. For a minute or two he went on to reproach me, with what I felt to be commendable forbearance, for having written to Julia so fully about my fears, yet not having said one word of them to him.

I could only repeat that, knowing how busy he was, I had not wanted to worry him. The discussion ended by his urging me to do my utmost to keep my imagination under control; and my promising that I would not write any more letters which would cause my friends grave anxiety and endanger my own freedom, by giving grounds for the belief that I am going mad.

Later

I am not going to keep my promise to Helmuth.

Last night, after he left me, I was fully convinced that my suspicions of him were unfounded, that I have been the victim of hallucinations, and that he was doing his best to prevent anyone knowing about my mental state so that if it proved no more than a phase I might have a chance to snap out of it without anyone being the wiser. This morning, when I wrote the last entry here, my mind was not quite clear and still partially under the strong influence that he exerts. Now, I am sure that all he said was a pack of clever lies, and am more certain than ever that he is plotting against me.

In order to excuse himself for having held up my letters, he stated his belief that my injury has affected my brain. I did not
prompt him to any such theory; he produced it spontaneously entirely off his own bat. That shows which way his mind is working. He knows from my letters that I fear I may be driven insane. He would like to see me insane. So, as a further step towards his object, he tells me that he believes me to be insane already. That, so far, is his sole contribution towards
helping
me to preserve my sanity.

Let us assume that I
have
shown signs of mental derangement. What would a true friend, who noticed this and was responsible for me, do? As soon as he was certain that I really was becoming abnormal he would call in the best doctor he could get to advise about my treatment; and, in the meantime, if he realised that any special circumstances were connected with my queerness and tended to increase it, he would at once do all he could to counteract those circumstances. Helmuth has done neither of these things, but
the exact contrary.