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Louise said uneasily, ‘She—I think she cursed us. Oh, Harry, I wish she hadn’t.’
IV
It seemed to Louise that her new home was tainted and poisoned by the malevolent figure of one crazy old woman. When she went out in the car, when she rode, when she walked out with the dogs, there was always the same figure waiting. Crouched down on herself, a battered hat over wisps of iron-grey hair, and the slow muttering of imprecations.
Louise came to believe that Harry was right—the old woman was mad. Nevertheless that did not make things easier. Mrs Murgatroyd never actually came to the house, nor did she use definite threats, nor offer violence. Her squatting figure remained always just outside the gates. To appeal to the police would have been useless and, in any case, Harry Laxton was averse to that course of action. It would, he said, arouse local sympathy for the old brute. He took the matter more easily than Louise did.
‘Don’t worry about it, darling. She’ll get tired of this silly cursing business. Probably she’s only trying it on.’
‘She isn’t, Harry. She—she hates us! I can feel it. She—she’s ill-wishing us.’
‘She’s not a witch, darling, although she may look like one! Don’t be morbid about it all.’
Louise was silent. Now that the first excitement of settling in was over, she felt curiously lonely and at a loose end. She had been used to life in London and the Riviera. She had no knowledge of or taste for English country life. She was ignorant of gardening, except for the final act of ‘doing the flowers’. She did not really care for dogs. She was bored by such neighbours as she met. She enjoyed riding best, sometimes with Harry, sometimes, when he was busy about the estate, by herself. She hacked through the woods and lanes, enjoying the easy paces of the beautiful horse that Harry had bought for her. Yet even Prince Hal, most sensitive of chestnut steeds, was wont to shy and snort as he carried his mistress past the huddled figure of a malevolent old woman.
One day Louise took her courage in both hands. She was out walking. She had passed Mrs Murgatroyd, pretending not to notice her, but suddenly she swerved back and went right up to her. She said, a little breathlessly, ‘What is it? What’s the matter? What do you want?’
The old woman blinked at her. She had a cunning, dark gypsy face, with wisps of iron-grey hair, and bleared, suspicious eyes. Louise wondered if she drank.
She spoke in a whining and yet threatening voice. ‘What do I want, you ask? What, indeed! That which has been took away from me. Who turned me out of Kingsdean House? I’d lived there, girl and woman, for near on forty years. It was a black deed to turn me out and it’s black bad luck it’ll bring to you and him!’
Louise said, ‘You’ve got a very nice cottage and—’
She broke off. The old woman’s arms flew up. She screamed, ‘What’s the good of that to me? It’s my own place I want and my own fire as I sat beside all them years. And as for you and him, I’m telling you there will be no happiness for you in your new fine house. It’s the black sorrow will be upon you! Sorrow and death and my curse. May your fair face rot.’
Louise turned away and broke into a little stumbling run. She thought, I must get away from here! We must sell the house! We must go away.
At the moment, such a solution seemed easy to her. But Harry’s utter incomprehension took her back. He exclaimed, ‘Leave here? Sell the house? Because of a crazy old woman’s threats? You must be mad.’
‘No, I’m not. But she—she frightens me, I know something will happen.’
Harry Laxton said grimly, ‘Leave Mrs Murgatroyd to me. I’ll settle her!’
V
A friendship had sprung up between Clarice Vane and young Mrs Laxton. The two girls were much of an age, though dissimilar both in character and in tastes. In Clarice’s company, Louise found reassurance. Clarice was so self-reliant, so sure of herself. Louise mentioned the matter of Mrs Murgatroyd and her threats, but Clarice seemed to regard the matter as more annoying than frightening.
‘It’s so stupid, that sort of thing,’ she said. ‘And really very annoying for you.’
‘You know, Clarice, I—I feel quite frightened sometimes. My heart gives the most awful jumps.’
‘Nonsense, you mustn’t let a silly thing like that get you down. She’ll soon tire of it.’
She was silent for a minute or two. Clarice said, ‘What’s the matter?’
Louise paused for a minute, then her answer came with a rush. ‘I hate this place! I hate being here. The woods and this house, and the awful silence at night, and the queer noise owls make. Oh, and the people and everything.’
‘The people. What people?’
‘The people in the village. Those prying, gossiping old maids.’
Clarice said sharply, ‘What have they been saying?’
‘I don’t know. Nothing particular. But they’ve got nasty minds. When you’ve talked to them you feel you wouldn’t trust anybody—not anybody at all.’
Clarice said harshly, ‘Forget them. They’ve nothing to do but gossip. And most of the muck they talk they just invent.’
Louise said, ‘I wish we’d never come here. But Harry adores it so.’ Her voice softened.
Clarice thought, How she adores him. She said abruptly, ‘I must go now.’
‘I’ll send you back in the car. Come again soon.’
Clarice nodded. Louise felt comforted by her new friend’s visit. Harry was pleased to find her more cheerful and from then on urged her to have Clarice often to the house.
Then one day he said, ‘Good news for you, darling.’
‘Oh, what?’
‘I’ve fixed the Murgatroyd. She’s got a son in America, you know. Well, I’ve arranged for her to go out and join him. I’ll pay her passage.’
‘Oh, Harry, how wonderful. I believe I might get to like Kingsdean after all.’
‘Get to like it? Why, it’s the most wonderful place in the world!’
Louise gave a little shiver. She could not rid herself of her superstitious fear so easily.
VI
If the ladies of St Mary Mead had hoped for the pleasure of imparting information about her husband’s past to the bride, this pleasure was denied them by Harry Laxton’s own prompt action.
Miss Harmon and Clarice Vane were both in Mr Edge’s shop, the one buying mothballs and the other a packet of boracic, when Harry Laxton and his wife came in.
After greeting the two ladies, Harry turned to the counter and was just demanding a toothbrush when he stopped in mid-speech and exclaimed heartily, ‘Well, well, just see who’s here! Bella, I do declare.’
Mrs Edge, who had hurried out from the back parlour to attend to the congestion of business, beamed back cheerfully at him, showing her big white teeth. She had been a dark, handsome girl and was still a reasonably handsome woman, though she had put on weight, and the lines of her face had coarsened; but her large brown eyes were full of warmth as she answered, ‘Bella, it is, Mr Harry, and pleased to see you after all these years.’
Harry turned to his wife. ‘Bella’s an old flame of mine, Louise,’ he said. ‘Head-over-heels in love with her, wasn’t I, Bella?’
‘That’s what you say,’ said Mrs Edge.
Louise laughed. She said, ‘My husband’s very happy seeing all his old friends again.’
‘Ah,
’ said Mrs Edge, ‘we haven’t forgotten you, Mr Harry. Seems like a fairy tale to think of you married and building up a new house instead of that ruined old Kingsdean House.’
‘You look very well and blooming,’ said Harry, and Mrs Edge laughed and said there was nothing wrong with her and what about that toothbrush?
Clarice, watching the baffled look on Miss Harmon’s face, said to herself exultantly, Oh, well done, Harry. You’ve spiked their guns.
VII
Doctor Haydock said abruptly to his niece, ‘What’s all this nonsense about old Mrs Murgatroyd hanging about Kingsdean and shaking her fist and cursing the new regime?’
‘It isn’t nonsense. It’s quite true. It’s upset Louise a good deal.’
‘Tell her she needn’t worry—when the Murgatroyds were caretakers they never stopped grumbling about the place—they only stayed because Murgatroyd drank and couldn’t get another job.’
‘I’ll tell her,’ said Clarice doubtfully, ‘but I don’t think she’ll believe you. The old woman fairly screams with rage.’
‘Always used to be fond of Harry as a boy. I can’t understand it.’
Clarice said, ‘Oh, well—they’ll be rid of her soon. Harry’s paying her passage to America.’
Three days later, Louise was thrown from her horse and killed.
Two men in a baker’s van were witnesses of the accident. They saw Louise ride out of the gates, saw the old woman spring up and stand in the road waving her arms and shouting, saw the horse start, swerve, and then bolt madly down the road, flinging Louise Laxton over his head.
