The Obscurati Chronicles- Chapter 5

 

This is Chapter 5 of The Obscurati Chronicles, a novel I am currently serializing. See here for Chapter 4: http://hpanwo-bb.blogspot.com/2021/04/the-obscurati-chronicles-sample-fourth.html.
 
The rain fell in drops like hammer blows. His shoulders felt like red hot iron. Robin Ursall was running. His legs pumped like steam pistons and his feet plunged deep into the mud and water of the track. He was carrying two wheels, one on each shoulder. The inner side of the rim bumped painfully against his collarbone and his hands ached as they gripped the hub. He and the other cadets ran in single file along the track through the woods. They were carrying other parts of the five-inch howitzer whose wheels weighed Robin down. Despite his discomfort and tiredness, he remembered the first time he did this exercise a year ago and how much more difficult it was back then. He had become fitter and stronger since then. The drillmasters stood at every bend in the pathway, encouraging the cadets with shouts and shoves. The running men emerged from the woods into a lush green field outside the village of Ebesty or Aebaesty. Stiff spring grass cushioned Robin's feet. They puffed and panted. Sweat mixed with rainwater and they assembled the howitzer. It was an old weapon only used for ceremonial and training purposes. The LPDF had no active artillery. Robin's hands were slippery, yet he managed to secure the right wheel to the axle. The cadet carrying the ammunition ran up. The exercise was completed when they fired three blank shells. He was now so used to life in the LPDF that the reports didn't even hurt Robin's ears anymore. The chief instructor pressed his stopwatch. "Well done, chaps." he said. "We just beat the Westies' shortest time for this manoeuvre."
    "Yes." Robin punched the air and the cadets cheered.
    Wisps of steam oozed from their skin as the young men walked back to where the personnel lorry was parked. They drank water and then climbed aboard for the trip back to Rain House. "What are you planning to do this weekend?" asked Patrick, one of the other cadets. Like the other five in Robin's intake, Patrick was a few years older than Robin. He was Irish and didn't like talking about his past, which raised a few eyebrows considering the turmoil Ireland was currently experiencing.
    "My brother is getting married."
    "Really! Well congratulations to him. Where's it happening?"
    "Kimberley."
    "Who's she?"
    He laughed. "It's a place, a town near Nottingham."
    Patrick shrugged. "The things I have yet to learn about this area."
    "You'll get used to... this place." Robin's voice died off at the end of the sentence. He was sitting near the back of the lorry and could see the vehicle's surroundings through the flap at the back of the tarpaulin covering the passenger compartment. The lorry was backing into the carpark of Rain House and just along the street by the main gate of Fort Meltan stood a man. Robin couldn't see much of the man. He was clad in a yellow mackintosh and sou'wester. He was turned away from the lorry, his face was invisible; and he was over a hundred yards away, yet somehow Robin immediately recognized him. A wave of dark terror and horror washed over him.
    "Are you alright, Robin?" Patrick asked.
    "Er... yeah." he mumbled. The lorry passed inside Rain House and the figure went out of sight.
    Robin was trembling. When the lorry was parked and the squad dismissed, he left the carpark and headed away from Rain House into the rest of Fort Meltan of which the academy was a part. The bachelor officers' quarters were on the first floor overlooking the gate. He entered his room and looked out of the window. The oilskin clad figure was still there, standing by the gate in the same spot they had been a few minutes ago. His back was fully turned from this angle. Robin inched closer to the window and looked down on the man. The moment he did so the figure swung round and stared up at the window. Robin jerked back with a yell of alarm. How did the man know he was being watched? Even if he had been facing the window, the darkness inside and the reflective nature of the pane should have made the interior invisible. Robin felt his breath leave him as he remembered the black-eyed child that had turned up on his doorstep three years earlier. It also seemed to sense somebody's gaze through some unknown process. Robin gathered his courage and stripped off his drill utilities. He put on civilian clothes and went down to the main gate. The rain had stopped and the overcast was lighter. He and the guard exchanged an informal salute as Robin skirted the barrier. He walked up to the raincoated man confidently. "What are you doing here?"
    "Ah!" Cassius Dewlove swung round to face him. His lifeless blue eyes burned through the moist air between them. His gleaming polished ivory teeth reflected the cloud-filtered sunlight.
    "What do you want, Cassius?" Robin repeated.
    "Just to see how you are. I'm the area so I thought I'd drop by."
    "You're going to see me at the wedding on Saturday, aren't you?"
    "Of course, but I thought we could spend some time together beforehand." Dewlove's voice was a soft and gentle, quite high-pitched; slightly breathy, almost feminine.
    "Why?"
    "There won't be much privacy at the wedding."
    "Why do you need privacy?"
    "So we can discuss your future."
    He paused. "Cass, look at me. I'm in the LPDF. This is now my future."
    Dewlove nodded. "For now."
    "What do you mean?"
    "Your life will soon take a different path."
    He paused, feeling deep contempt for Dewlove. "Says who?"
    "Says me."
    "Oh, go away!" shouted Robin and strutted off down the street towards Wicker Park. Behind him he could hear Dewlove chuckling benevolently like a kindly uncle.

"I'm sorry; I should have asked you before anybody else." said Will.

    "Don't worry about it." replied Robin.
    "But you are my brother."
    "Don't worry about it." he repeated. "I'm sure Jerry will do a good job. He will be deeply honoured."
    "Thanks, Robin." Will adjusted the tie on his morning suit for the umpteenth time. He had spent the last half hour looking at himself in the hotel room mirror. Jeremiah Hobson was a natural choice of best man for him, Robin thought. He and Will had been moderately friendly at Greyguides. However at Oxford they had grown closer. Jeremiah was at Christchurch and had rowed aggressively against the Balliol boats on the Isis, but he had defended Will from the hostility he had endured from the Balliol socialists. Jeremiah was a staunch Toryist and empire loyalist when the war had thrown such opinions rapidly and radically out of favour. As if on cue, at that moment there was a knock at the door and a familiar voice: "Willie, how are you getting on?"
    "Come in, Jerry."
    Jeremiah was a stiff-limbed skinny young man with thick spectacles and hair that was always brushed in the opposite direction to that of everybody he was with. He stopped in the doorway and looked at Will. A smile slowly broadened over his face. "Well, look at you!"
    "Do I look alright, Jerry?"
    Jeremiah nodded.
    "You do, Will." Robin chimed in.
    Will looked at them and gave a nervous smile.
    "We have to go soon, Willie." said Jeremiah.
    The three young men left the hotel and walked the short distance to the church. The rest of the family were gathered outside the door with the elderly vicar dressed up in his full regalia, ready to conduct the service. He smiled and nodded in admiration. "Well, young, Mr Ursall. Don't you look smart?"
    The congregation chattered with anticipation as they took their seats in the pews. Will and Jeremiah stood at the front with their hands behind their backs pacing uneasily. The vicar smiled affectionately at Will's reticence at he opened the service. The organ played Here Comes the Bride and Lareen walked regally up the aisle with Blanche, her Maid of Honour, behind her. Lareen's father, who ran a cobblers factory, held her arm.
    Robin felt emotions for his brother that he hadn't felt for over a decade. He watched Will and Lareen exchanging vows at the altar and thought how adult his brother looked. He was; a married man, a husband with a wife. Paradoxically though, Robin was now closer to his older brother than he had been since they were small children. For some reason he suddenly recalled the game of train dodger he had played with Will in 1918. Despite his brotherly sentiments during the ceremony, Robin could not shake off a feeling of unease. He looked over to his right and, sure enough, on the pews across the aisle sat Cassius Dewlove. The Ursall's closest family friend was looking forwards towards the bride and groom like everybody else, but Robin felt as if Dewlove were still staring at him, as if he had invisible eyes in the side of his head.
    The reception was held in the church hall. They had a sumptuous wedding breakfast of poultry and spring vegetables. They cut the cake and the band struck up some dance numbers. Robin looked over his shoulder at one point and saw Dewlove talking to a bunch of young women, as usual. He moved to the other side of the room near the toilets and looked again; Dewlove was still in the same place and now had his back to Robin. He heard Dewlove's penetrating cackle as he walked into the gentleman's room. He sighed as he addressed a urinal. He was alone in the toilet.
    "Ah!"
    Robin jumped with shock, wetting his uniform trousers slightly with his own urine.
    "Hello, Robin." Cassius Dewlove was grinning jovially and warmly as he walked into the lavatory. "What a wonderful day; you must feel so proud."
    Robin gritted his teeth.
    Dewlove sighed wistfully. "Sad you're mother is not here to see it." He unbuttoned his trousers and leaned back, glancing downwards as if inviting Robin to look at his penis. "Are you enjoying Wilfred's big day?"
    "Excuse me." Robin growled and marched into one of the cubicles. He slammed the door and covered his ears. He breathed hard and bowed his head. Slowly the background noise eased as Dewlove left the toilet. The door flapped shut behind him.
    "Murderer!"
    Robin jolted upright and looked around himself. He'd heard a voice, a familiar voice. It came from all around, from every direction at the same time. His heart began thudding in his gullet. He panted and his nose detected cigarette smoke; but he was alone in the lavatory. It wasn't just any cigarette smoke either; he recognized the brand. He fled. He burst out of the toilet and bolted towards the church hall door. Outside the weather was damp and cloudy. Birds twittered in nearby trees. Robin rounded a corner and leaned back against the stone wall of the building. The smell had gone, but it was still fresh in his olfactory memory. "Mother?" he whispered, and then gasped. He could hardly believe he had just said the word.
..............
Robin was standing in a short corridor. He wasn't sure where it was. It was somewhat like the downstairs hallway at his family home, but was different in a few ways. It had no windows, or the windows were blacked out. All the photographs, pictures and other decorations were also absent. He looked forward and saw his father sitting in the middle of the corridor on a folding stool, rather like the one Robin saw him sitting on at his mother's wake. He was wearing his black suit, the one he always put on for funerals. Robin looked down at him. "Father, why did mother hate me?"
    His father glared at him accusingly. "You refused to submit! You refused to obey!"
    "Do you know what happened on the 19th of June 1919?" Robin asked.
    Francis Ursall shrugged.
    "Two things. Mother died, but also something else happened. I was given a gift, something I have never had before in my life: a father. Before then I had no father; just a mother and her glove puppet."
    "'Mother died'? What are you talking about, Robin?" Francis chuckled sardonically and pointed. To his right was an open door. The stench of cigarette smoke filled the air and a grating hysterical voice screeched through the door: "Frank!... Frrrrrank!... FRRRRRRRANK!" It was so loud it was deafening.
    "Coming, dear!" Francis whimpered and leapt to his feet.
    Robin screamed in terror and anguish.
..............
Robin sat up in bed, his heart pounding and sweat dripping off his skin. He panted and groaned until he calmed down. It was a sunny spring morning and he could hear birds singing outside the open window of Fort Meltan. He stood up and looked out at the emerald tress and flowerbeds on the street, still trembling. He went to the washroom and splashed water on his face. "It wasn't real... It wasn't real." he kept muttering to himself.
    "Are you alright, Robin?"
    Robin bolted upright in alarm at the sound of Patrick's voice. His friend was standing by the door with a concerned look on his face. "Morning, Pat." he puffed. "Yes, no problems."
    "Another nightmare?"
    "What do you mean 'another'?"
    "You were moaning and groaning in your sleep. I could hear you through the wall." He frowned. "It's not the first time."
    Robin sighed. "I'm fine."
    "Have you seen the BMO?"
    "I'm fine!" Robin snapped.
    Patrick recoiled at his irritable tone. "Sure, Robin. No problem." He walked away.
    Robin stripped off his pyjamas and stepped into a shower cubicle. He turned on the water and let it run down his body. Then the smell of cigarette smoke suddenly entered his nostrils. This time he didn't even check to see if anybody was in the area smoking. "Leave me alone!" he growled. There was a lot of background noise from the hissing showerhead, but he didn't put it down to imagination when he heard the word. It was almost inaudible, a whisper in the air around him. "No!"

Robin apologized to Patrick after his shower. His friend persuaded him to visit the base medical officer, but afterwards Robin decided on an alternative. He took a trip to Mansfield, crossed over to the West and dropped in on the family general practitioner. The thin bald man greeted Robin warmly, not having seen him for a long time. "When did these nightmares begin?" he asked in his educated Scottish accent.

    "About two months ago, shortly after my brother's wedding. I've hardly slept the night through since... I'm hoping to pass out in July! How am I going to cope!? Dr McGrew, you have to help me!"
    "Why didn't you see your medical officer in the LPDF?"
    He paused. "Erm... I feel embarrassed as hell."
    The GP nodded. "Nightmares are a fairly common response to trauma; many men from the War suffer them. You've lost your mother; that can traumatize you in ways you might not even be aware of. Have you ever read von Hartmann's Philosophy of the Unconscious?"
    Robin shook his head.
    "Waking hallucination though, that's more unusual. I think I should refer you to my colleague Dr Priest. He holds a clinic in Nottingham every Tuesday afternoon. He studied under the famous Dr Freud."
    "You mean he's a... psychologist?"
    "Correct."
    Robin gulped. "Could this by any chance be arranged..."
    "Privately? Of course." Mc Grew grinned.
    "Thank you."
    Dr Priest was a large man with white hair which stood out from his head vertically like a seeding dandelion. For some reason he wore small round sunglasses indoors. Despite his rather grotesque appearance his voice was deep and mellow. He spoke slowly and eloquently in an educated accent. His surgery didn't look like a medical office; it had more the atmosphere of a small library. The walls were hidden behind shelves stuffed with leather textbooks and the floor was dominated by a green leather chaise longe. "The colour aids concentration and relaxation." explained Dr Priest. He told Robin to lie back on the chaise longe. Robin did so and began to feel very comfortable. Up until then he had been very nervous. He was even worried that the doctor might recommend a lobotomy. They spent a whole hour going over Robin's life history. Robin felt calm and cared for. He began to open up and speak frankly to this man he had only just met. He had to remind himself he was in a doctor's surgery. At the end of the session he said, almost as an afterthought: "Dr Priest, is it possible to give me something to help me sleep."
    "I'll prescribe you some sedatives, Mr Ursall; but in the long run we need to address the cause of your condition, the nightmares and hallucinations... Do you feel any... guilt related to your mother's death."
    Robin's throat clenched. He inhaled deeply.
    "Tell you what; think that over for a few days and perhaps you could come back next week."
    The psychoanalyst wrote him a prescription which Robin exchanged at a chemists shop for a bottle of white capsules. They worked well and Robin slept the next few nights without any bad dreams. By the end of the week he started going to bed without feeling afraid to go to sleep.
...............
It was July the first, a week before Robin's passing out parade at Rain House. He was taking a walk through The Damwood, a small ornamental park near the centre of the City. He had on his new dress uniform, as he often did at the time, getting himself used to the feel of it so that he would perform at his best on the day. The sun was shining and he felt hot under his stiff tunic. He smiled at passers-by, enjoying their respectful gaze when they saw his attire. He came to a large tree with a bench underneath it. He dropped into it and breathed deeply, glad to be in the shade of its branches. He spotted a human figure out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at it. There was nobody there. He stood up and looked around himself. He frowned; then he shrugged. "My imagination." he sighed and sat down again. The figure reappeared. This time Robin leapt to his feet with a yelp of alarm. Again, he was alone. "Is anybody there?" he asked out loud. There were no sounds except the singing of birds and the chatter of children playing nearby. He slowly sat back down. When the figure appeared a third time, he didn't flinch. He didn't move the focus of his eyes. He sat still studying the figure. It stood completely still to his left side, right on the edge of his peripheral vision. It was too indistinct to make out any details except that it was upright and about five and a half feet tall. "Who's there?" Robin whispered and then shivered, wishing that he had never spoken. Then he heard the voice again: "Bastard!"
    "Oh no! Please, God no!"
    "No son of mine!"
    "Go away, mother!"
    "Murderer!"
    "AAAAHHH!" Robin fled.

Robin opened the bottle and drank. The acidic spirit made him choke. He had never drunk heavily before. The other cadets would sometimes go for wild parties in the pubs of the City, but Robin rarely joined them. He'd had his first hangover the previous Christmas and hadn't even been drunk on his eighteenth birthday the previous year. Now he felt the desperate urge for the calming glow of alcohol. He had purchased a half bottle of Scotch in a corner shop just outside Nottingham railway station and was now in a compartment by himself as the train hurtled southwards. He was glad of solitude at this quiet time of day on the railways. He was sure he looked very poorly at that moment, although he hadn't dared stand in front of a mirror. He was wearing a light summer suit. Before this journey he had only stopped to change out of his number one. He wondered if he should have called or sent a telegram first, but at the time he could think of nothing but getting to the station. He had to change trains in Luton and arrived at Radlett station just after four o'clock in the afternoon. He couldn't remember where Wilfred and Lareen's home was and had to ask directions. He had only been to visit his brother once, shortly after they moved in following their honeymoon on the Isle of Wight. That had been back in March and Robin had been driven there by his father. Radlett was a grand and affluent town right in the belly of the Hertfordshire commuter belt. All the houses were detached with big gardens and privacy hedges. As soon as Robin arrived at the correct address, he ran up to the front door and rang the bell. There was no answer. "Damn it!" He decided to wait and sat on the doorstep. Luckily he didn't have to wait long. He heard a car approach and Will's Ford Model T Runabout crunched on the gravel as it turned into the driveway. He saw Will and Lareen's faces behind the windscreen. The car stopped and they got out. "Robin, what are you doing here?" asked Will as he approached the door.

    "Will, I need to talk to you."
    Lareen looked at Robin in a way that indicated she sensed that something was amiss. "Hello, Robin."
    "Hello, Lareen. How are you?"
    "Not bad." She smiled nervously and opened the front door.
    There was a pause now that the two brothers were alone. Robin looked up at the facade of the house. "Nice place, Will. Never got to see it in daylight before."
    Will shrugged. "It's the Embassy's; we're just living here for now... Shall we go to my study?"
    "Yes please. I need to talk to you in private."
    Will's study was on the upper floor of the mini-mansion overlooking the driveway. Will poured some whiskey for himself and his brother and looked down out of the window as if admiring his car. "What's the problem, Robin?"
    Robin had dreaded answering this question, although he didn't realize it until this moment. "Will... I think I'm losing my mind." He explained everything that had happened over the last three months, bursting into tears occasionally.
    Will put a comforting hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "You know this fellow, Dr Priest; maybe he's got a point."
    "In what way?"
    "This is a tricky subject, Robin; but I know how mother felt about you and how you felt about her."
    "Please, Will! We can't talk to father about this!"
    "I know and I won't. I promise."
    Robin hesitated. "Why did she hate me so much, Will? Why!?... What did I ever do to her to deserve this?"
    "Mother was extremely ill and she suffered..."
    "Oh, don't you start!" Robin shouted. "I'm stuffed to the gills with that, the excuses father made for her! The way he always had a convenient escape route from doing anything to challenge her!"
    Will bowed his head and looked at the windowsill. He took a sip of his drink. "I'm sorry, Robin. I know that was a conditioned family response. Blanche does the same... My only point is that maybe you do feel guilty about mother's death because of your sour relationship with her. The way she died in torment. You never found a way to bury the hatchet. It has left you in a similar kind of torment. That is what this pshrink means by guilt. You should listen to him."
    "I do, Will. I've had five sessions with Dr Priest now, but it's still carrying on! I had another encounter with mother today while I was just going for a bloody ramble in the City!"
    "You did not have an encounter with mother!" shouted Will stamping his foot. "Mother's dead!"
    "Alright, Will. Calm down."
    Will sighed. "I'm sorry, Robin. I'm just concerned. You've always had a weak spot for grandma's spiritual bullshit and I don't want you falling into any delusions about ghosts and the afterlife and all that nonsense. Mother is dead, mother is gone; that's the end of it... That's the end of her. Understood?"
    Robin frowned. That was the kind of thing Will used to say when he was younger, before he became a practicing Christian. "But, Will, don't you believe she'll be lifted up to Heaven?"
    Will blushed and gasped. He looked more embarrassed than he ought to have been. "Erm.. yes, yes. Of course. I just mean she's... er... got to wait until Jesus returns, like we all do. You can't contact her now. That's blasphemous.
    Robin changed the subject. "How are things with you and Lareen?"
    Will's expression changed to one of contentment and relief. "I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you. Lareen's expecting."
    "Oh really! That's wonderful!"
    "She's due in November."
    "Congratulations! I'm really happy for you, Will."
    "Thanks. Don't say anything to father right now. We've decided not to make it public knowledge just yet."
    "Of course." The news Will had just delivered transformed the entire mood of their conversation. They enjoyed another few drinks and then ate dinner together with Lareen. It was eight in the evening when Robin left for the station. Will bade him a warm farewell at the end of the driveway. The brothers embraced. As Robin walked away Will said: "Robin."
    "Yes?"
    "Will you do something for me... I mean for yourself?"
    "What?"
    Will clasped his hands together as if begging, the sunset shone through the hedge behind him. "About what we talked about earlier; your problems... Grandma. Please, don't tell grandma about your problems. You know what she'll think; how she'll diagnose them. It'll be bad for you."
    Robin nodded silently at him and then walked away.
................
Dirk Walsander was waiting at the tram stop when Robin arrived in Wicker Park. The hospital porter greeted his young friend with less warmth than usual, as if he were self-conscious. "What are you doing in the City, Dirk?" Robin asked.
    He paused. "I just dropped by to see your grandmother."
    Robin also paused. "Oh."
    The tram driver interrupted: "All aboard, please."
    "I must go." said Dirk and climbed onto the tram's lower deck. He waved at Robin as the vehicle pulled away with the ringing of its bell.
    Despite his distress, Robin wore a smile of amusement as he rang his grandmother's doorbell. When she opened her front door, her hands were damp and soapsuds spotted her forearms. "Ah, Robin. An tless!"
    "An tless, mameerda." he replied. "Have you had a visitor?"
    She nodded, obviously spotting his expression. She cleared her throat. "Mr Walsander dropped by for tea." She had makeup on.
    "Just tea?"
    "What?"
    He pointed past her at the kitchen washtub which was full of soapy water and crockery.
    She looked away. "I made a Sunday roast for him... and you and myself of course." She turned her back and beckoned her grandson to enter. "There's plenty left if you want a helping."
    "Grandma, are you and Dirk...?"
    "Are we what?" She turned round to look at him again and gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Goodness, no, Robin."
    "I wouldn't mind if you were. I'd be happy for you. He's a good man."
    "He is indeed. Mr Walsander is a very nice gentleman and he and I sometimes meet for tea and conversation. He has been my guest three times including today. I'm surprised he hasn't told you."
    "I saw him just now at the tram stop. He never mentioned that he was socializing with you before then. It's not like him to keep things from me, which is why I thought there might be some romance in the air."
    She shook her head as she lifted the kettle onto the hob. "That ship has sailed for me, Robin. A woman my age tends to have other things on her mind. Mr Walsander and I are good friends who enjoy each other's company. No more is necessary."
    "He would make a good husband; which makes it a waste that he is a bachelor."
    She signed and lifted a tray out of the oven. "If I were twenty or thirty years younger, I might have changed that; but not now. It's a pity we so often don't meet the right people at the right time."
    Robin ate a plate of Sunday roast with vegetables and although Loyl had already eaten, she kept him company with a few green beans. She watched him as he ate with a concerned look. Her sensitivity and familiarity with her grandson meant that it was no surprise when she told him: "Robin, you're not your usual self. Is something bothering you?"
    He shrugged. "Well, I'm passing out next week."
    "I know, I'm looking forward to watching you... but you look haggard, like you haven't slept."
    Robin told her about his frightening experiences. It was such a release. As he spoke the words he almost wept.
    His grandmother listened and then went to make him another cup of tea. "Oh, Robin, you poor thing. I'm glad you've gone to the doctor."
    "What's causing this, grandma? Why does it feel like mother is haunting me like this?"
    "That psychologist is probably right. You're still suffering subconsciously following her death."
    Robin paused. Even with his closest confidant alone with him in this room, he had to collect his words before speaking. "Grandma, is it at all possible... that what I'm encountering really is my mother?"
    "Oh no, Robin. Spirits very rarely interact with the living in a negative manner. Certainly a mother who has passed to spirit would never attack her own child."
    "But... mother didn't hesitate to interact negatively with me when she was alive."
    Loyl sighed sympathetically. "Robin, you and your mother; that was always a difficult relationship. However after death, the veil of earthly woe is lifted and the mind it clear."
    "Not always, grandma. Remember you told me about how they got that wrong at the church."
    "Of course, but malevolent spirits, whether discarnate mortals or aetheric beings, are very rare. They generally don't approach the living through their own initiative. They're most commonly accessed by deliberate conjuring, through magical ritual; or using a milder method, like in the séance we went to."
    "But... what if mother... had a reason to resent me?" Robin almost gasped aloud in shock as soon as he'd uttered these words. He felt a frisson of fear over the route he had suddenly steered this conversation down.
    Loyl gazed kindly at her grandson. "Dear Robin. Your mother loved you. I know she had a bad temper, and you and she never always saw eye-to-eye; but she must have passed over via the usual channel of revelation. She must now only think of you as a beloved one waiting on earth and will be looking forward to your reunion. Do you really think a few domestic arguments would change that fact?" She chuckled affectionately.
    "It may be more than that though, grandma." Robin's heart was pounding, but he felt unable to pull back from what he was about to say.
    She frowned and took a step towards him, alarmed by his tone. "What do you mean?"
    "There may be a special reason for mother to... want to punish me."
    "What reason?" She sat down on a chair opposite him.
    "You know how mother died, don't you?"
    "Of course; she had a seizure brought on by her condition. It affected her lungs and stopped her breathing properly."
    "Well, she had some emergency medication stored in the icebox, all drawn up as injections, ready to go."
    "Yes, I know. It was there to stop the seizures if she had one, but nobody was there so nobody could give the injections... Your father ate himself up about that, bemoaning going to work that day, and not telling you to stay in the house..." Her voice tailed off towards the end of that sentence and she looked at Robin in a way that indicated she already knew what he was about to tell her. "Why?... Why, Robin?"
    "You see... grandma... there was somebody in the house. Me."
    "But... but I thought you'd gone out. Isn't that what you said?"
    "Yes... I lied."
    "Why? Were you in the house when it happened?"
    "Yes, and I didn't give mother her Spasmocurine."
    "Why, were you in the garden and didn't see it or something?"
    He paused. "No, I was in the house."
    She leaned forward. "What are you saying, Robin?"
    "I saw everything. I saw that she was in seizure. I went and collected the syringe from the icebox. I was about to give it to her, then I stopped. I didn't... ever. I watched her die."
    There was a seismic silence. "Robin... are you telling me..." She coughed and rubbed her nose with a trembling hand. "Are you telling me you didn't do anything to save her when you could have?"
    "Yes."
    "You let her die!... You killed her!" Loyl's face turned white. "You killed your own mother!"
    "I didn't plan it! It wasn't intentional!... It just happened." Robin's emotions were split. He felt he had jumped off a cliff and was waiting to hit the ground. At the same time he felt an intense feeling of relief, as if he could breathe again after almost suffocating.
    "Oh, good lord almighty! Why!?... Why did you do it?"
    "Mother was doing everything she could to make my life a misery!" He gave some examples in detail. "She hated me!"
    "She did not hate you!"
    "Yes she did!... And I had to face it alone! One hundred percent alone! Father was completely under her control. He was useless! Will was hardly even around! Even when he wasn't in bloody Russia."
    "What about me, Robin. What about asking me to help?" Loyl was crying. The makeup she had put on for Dirk's visit was running down her cheeks.
    Robin hesitated. "I didn't want to cause friction between you and father." This wasn't true; however he couldn't think of the real reason why he hadn't confided more to his grandmother about his mother and father."
    "You could have, Robin. You could have told me everything and I'd have found some way to help."
    "I wish I had now." Robin felt his own tears rising.
    "I thought there was something wrong. You seemed very cold and unmoved, even at the funeral."
    "When I realized she was dead, it was one of the happiest moments of my life."
    She gasped. "Robin, don't say that!"
    "I can't help how I feel!" he shouted.
    "Shh!" Loyl put her finger to her lips and looked up at the window, as fearing they'd be overheard.
    There was a long silence. Loyl lay back on her chair, panting and covering her face with her hands. "Shall I make some more tea?" asked Robin.
    She nodded. When she was sipping her tea she looked up at her grandson again with a calmer mien. "Robin, this is partly my fault. Your father, I shouldn't have controlled his life so much. I should have let him be freer as a young boy... He grew up wrapped in cotton wool stuffed around him by me. Everything in his education and social life was organized by me. I should have known he was growing up to fear women, to see them as authority figures. That's why he married your mother. One of the first things he told me about her after he'd first met her was: 'She's awfully bossy!' Would he have fallen for her otherwise?... Oh Robin! The warning signs were there all his life. That time when he was fifteen and he ate hardly anything. Half his teeth fell out. His nerves. I should have done something at the time. I made excuses for myself."
    Robin drank his tea and said nothing for a long time. "Are you going to tell anybody?"
    She shrugged. "What's the point? What good would it do? It wouldn't bring her back; and it would only cause more hurt."
    "Are you going to tell the 'DF?"
    She looked up at him and grunted. "Of course not, Robin! I wouldn't do that even if they would take it seriously. I honestly don't think they could charge you with anything anyway. It's not like you're a doctor or nurse or whatnot... And you're right, it wasn't murder. Murder has to be premeditated... What's more, you've probably guessed, your mother wasn't exactly close to me was she?"
    "She used to talk very disparagingly of you behind your back; and in front of father."
    "And of course, Frank would never dare defend me!" Loyl rolled her eyes. "She was never my favourite person in the world, your mother. I felt no grief either when she died."
    Robin stood up and walked over to the window. He looked out at the street. Everything looked normal; the world passed by on this quiet Sunday afternoon unaware of the extraordinary conversation going on in that room. "So, grandma; it is possible mother really has come back to haunt me, isn't it? Am I really being pursued by her angry ghost?"
    Loyl looked as if she were about to shake her head and then stopped. "I'm reasonably sure that what the doctor said is true, Robin. It's your subconscious guilt playing tricks on your mind. Maybe now you've shared your heartache with me the hallucinations will go away... but..."
    "But what? Could it instead really be mother?"
    She sighed. "To be honest, Robin; I can't rule it out."
    "What can I do?"
    "There's only one way to find out."

The passing out ceremony at Rain House was a short and modest affair compared to larger academies. The six cadets stood in a circle around the commandant and drew their swords. Speeches were read, responses were uttered; and it was over. Robin stood to attention in a line while the Duke of Bellswill pinned a ribbon on his tunic. Then all the cadets approached a bench where some papers and pens were laid out and, one by one, they signed their commissions. There was a dinner and party afterwards where the families of the new LPDF officers gathered round to congratulate them. Robin felt very pleased with himself. He liked the sound of his new title Line Lieutenant, the equivalent of a second lieutenant in the British army. However, Robin was keen for the event to end. He kept meeting his grandmother's eyes and exchanging knowing glances with her. His fellow graduates wanted to carry on celebrating their passing out independently in the City's bars and restaurants; but Robin had other plans. He returned to quarters, changed his clothes and headed out to meet his grandmother at the railway station. "Who is this woman we're going to see?" he asked her as the train pulled out of the station.

    "Johner Cartwright." Loyl was studying an advertising leaflet. "A clairvoyant and transfiguration medium from Devon. I called Petra the other day when I heard she was speaking there." Petra was a friend of Loyl's who lived in the area and was the president of a spiritualist church. "Petra has kindly arranged to do a private sitting with Johner for us after her service. Hopefully through her we can find a way to contact your mother." Petra was waiting on the platform when the train arrived in Northampton. She was a jolly elderly lady, similar to Loyl and very typical of dedicated spiritualists. She took them to her church, which was in what used to be a small redbrick house tucked into a terrace. The interior of the house had been gutted and converted into a single chamber which had been furnished in the usual way with rows of wooden chairs for the congregation and a raised wooden dais for the speakers fronted by a decorated ecclesiastical rail. The wall was painted in lurid blue with paintings of flowers, the sun and countryside scenes. Robin was expecting Johner Cartwright to look like most of the other mediums he had met over the years he had been doing the church circuit with his grandmother; elderly, overweight and female, but this time it was different. Mr Cartwright was very young by mediumship standards, probably in his early to mid-twenties. He was a slender and pale skinned man, with thick hair and a beard that was as black as oil and slightly greasy looking. "Good evening, Mr Ursall." he said in a strong West Country accent as he shook his hand. His voice was youthful and husky. Robin looked at his grandmother and saw that she was equally surprised at this break from the demographic norm. The service began at seven o'clock. The door to the church was beside the dais and the forty or so visitors tramped in all at once. It turned out they had come directly from a nearby pub.  After the "starters" as Loyl called it, the clairvoyance began. Cartwright held his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. "I be gettin' a sense o' big young 'un." he drawled. "Passed to spirit'n they war." Cartwright's dialect was obstructive. The congregation members he came to kept having to ask him to repeat himself or translate certain words and phrases. After the service everybody shared the traditional tea and biscuits, and then they left for home. Petra invited Loyl and Robin to accompany them to her house with Johner Cartwright who was staying with her overnight before returning to Devon the following day. They walked along the streets of Northampton. It was raining and the clouds were dark blue as the summer sun descended towards the cloaked western horizon.
    Like many spiritual enthusiasts, Petra had a room established in her home purely for its practice. Her house was smaller than Dia's, where Robin had witnessed a manifestation, as was this room; and it appeared more orthodox to spiritualism. There were no tarot cards or crystals. Petra's husband made them all a pot of tea, but did not enter the room. He didn't appear to be interested and earlier on in the church, Petra had hinted that he was a skeptic. The four of them sat on chairs in a circle without holding hands and said the opening prayers that always precede a private sitting. Then Cartwright attempted to reach the spiritworld. As good sitters, neither Loyl nor Robin gave the medium any information in adcance about themselves. "I be... I be wid a maid, fair as the blossomin' apple, geldy in locks and sky-blue in yar peepers. Do ya be kenny wid tha'?"
    "Sorry, no." said Robin.
    "Righty-ho." The medium made an effort to speak in Standard English. "We goes on... I got me a gentleman. Reckon he be forty year old or there-on. Used to wear a frock coat with brass buttons. Do that ring yer bells?"
    Robin shook his head.
    After half an hour of spiritual endeavour, Cartwright gave up. He looked subdued. "I be sorry, ladies and 'ere gentleman. The spirits don't always be talky-like every day to me."
    "That's alright, Mr Cartwright." replied Robin. "I know these things don't always work out. I appreciate you trying." Cartwright charged three pounds and six shillings for the sitting, which was cheaper than the going rate. Robin wondered if he would have asked for more if he had managed to deliver a message from Maartje.
    "It's getting late, Robin." said Loyl as they drank another cup of tea. "Petra has offered to let us stay tonight as well. You'll have to sleep downstairs on the settee if that's alright."
    "That's good of her, but I have to get home. We have the graduation photograph tomorrow at nine. The last train departs at ten so I'd better head off now." Robin thanked Petra and bid her, his grandmother and Johner Cartwright goodnight and then headed through the falling rain to the railway station. As he walked along the dark street to the main road he noticed a man approaching on the opposite pavement who made Robin stop for a moment in alarm. "Oh no!" he muttered aloud. The man approaching looked very much like Cassius Dewlove. Robin ducked instinctively and hid behind a parked car. The stranger was wearing a black raincoat and a trilby hat pressed down over his thick hair. An umbrella bobbed in his left hand. The man walked swiftly and confidently; Robin could hear his footfalls splashing in puddles. There was only a single gaslight on this small residential street and in the gloom Robin considered if he had been mistaken over recognizing him as Dewlove. The man did not turn his head; he had apparently not noticed Robin crouched behind the car. He passed by on the other side and continued up the street, eventually disappearing into the unlit area away from the lamp. As soon as he was gone, Robin stood up and continued, striding hurriedly up to the main road and turning onto it towards the railway station. He kept looking over his shoulder as he walked, scanning every passing face. He was especially careful to see if anybody followed him into Northampton Castle station. The last train was waiting at the platform and when he boarded it he chose a window seat that could see the concourse. The guard blew his whistle and the train jolted into motion. When it had left the station Robin walked the entire length of the train, peeking into every compartment. Cassius Dewlove was nowhere to be seen. Robin sighed with relief.
    Robin changed trains at Tamworth and it was around ten-thirty when his connection departed for Nottingham from where there was a final short hop to Lancombe Pond. He felt drowsy as he sat in the compartment alone. The late night service only had about a dozen passengers aboard. The coach rocked from side to side as it hurtled along; it growled and rattled as it crossed points. Outside it was pitch dark and the cabin lights turned the window almost into a mirror of the interior. Raindrops coursed backwards along the outside of the glass, blown by the wind. Occasionally lights from passing towns and villages broke through the glare as they shuffled across Robin's tired vision. It had been a long day and Robin tried to sleep. He knew this train terminated at Nottingham so he didn't need to worry about missing his stop. Suddenly there was a loud squeal from below the flooring as the train driver applied the brakes. Robin was jerked forward by the inertia as the train slowed and was wide awake in an instant. Within a minute and a half the train had come to a halt. He was jerked back by the stoppage recoil. There was silence. Robin put his face to the window and held up his hands to the side of it to shut out the light pollution. The outside was lit from the coach windows; all he could see were the bushes and grass of the embankment at the side of the railway. Eventually the condensation of his breathing fogged the window. He sat back and groaned, staring at the fog patch of the glass he had just made. "How long is this going to bloody well take? I want to get home!" He heard footsteps in the corridor and saw a man appear at the compartment and recognized the uniform of an LMS railway guard. He slid the door open. "Apologies for the delay, sir." he said. "We'll be on our way as soon as possible."
    "What's the problem?"
    "Not sure, sir. We got a stop signal at the last marker. We're trying to find out why." He slid the door shut without another word and moved on. Fifteen minutes passed and Robin began to hear the rise of irritated voices from his few fellow passengers. A few passed him in the corridor and he heard the outside door at the end of the carriage behind him open. "Get back inside!" he heard a voice yell, presumably one of the train's crew. The passengers grumbled, but Robin heard the door slam shut and the passengers returned to their seats. Eventually the coach quietened down. The voices rose again suddenly when the lights went out. Robin too yelped in alarm. The darkness lasted a few seconds until some smaller lamps flicked on. "What the hell?"
    The guard appeared again. "Sorry about that, sir. It seems the batteries are flat; there must be something wrong with the electrics."
    "Can't you charge them up?"
    "Not until we're moving I'm afraid, sir. The dynamos are driven by the axles."
    Robin pointed to the small lamps. "Then how come these are working?"
    "Emergency lighting, sir. Each one has its own battery and circuit."
    "How long will they last?" asked Robin, but the guard had moved on.
    It was twenty-five minutes after the train had stopped when a different guard entered the coach and shouted down the corridor. "Alright! Everybody off the train! Exit the left hand doors and assemble on the verge!"
    Robin left the compartment and moved down the corridor. The guard assisted him in descending the ladder built into the side of the coach below the door for decamping when there was no station platform. Outside the rain had stopped, but the air was damp. Drips fell from the twigs of the nearby bushes. The ballast stones were uncomfortable under Robin's feet. One of the other passengers, a well-spoken suited man, was complaining. "I thought you told us all to get back inside!? Can't you people make up your damn minds?"
    "The situation has changed, sir. There's a freight train due behind us in five minutes. In the unlikely event that it collides with us, we need the train evacuated as a precaution... Now please move to the verge as quickly as possible. Thank you."
    Robin's feet sank into the virgin grass and moss at the side of the track. The other passengers clustered into circles, mostly of those who knew each other and started smoking and chatting. The air was chilly and Robin strolled up and down to keep warm. Some of the others were doing the same. He walked to the front of the train. The locomotive was hissing and the residual heat from the boiler was welcome as it bathed him. The steel flanks of the steam engine had a coloured plaque on it with the crest of the network and its name in illuminated letters: London, Midland and Scottish Railway Company. A few yards away at the side of the railway was a wooden pedestal with a telephone on it and a member of the train's crew was talking into it. Robin turned around and walked to the back end of the train. Another member of the crew had set up a large electric lamp on the track that glowed red. When Robin asked why he explained: "Just giving the train behind us some extra warning when he gets here, in case he hasn't got the message yet." Sure enough the rapid puffing of a steam engine slowly emerged out of the night time darkness and a piecing white light suddenly fired at them like a laser. The light brightened as the train closed on them, but even while it brightened the train was slowing and the noise of its brakes added to the sonic landscape. The light eventually resolved itself to be the headlight of the locomotive. The train stopped a dozen yards behind the red lamp, hissing like a dragon, its buffers jutting forward like a boxer's mitts. The driver and stoker climbed down from their charge and walked forward to converse with their passenger carrying colleagues. Robin walked forward to examine the train that had just drawn to a halt. Behind the locomotive, instead of a row of coaches lit by electric lights, there was a procession of black wooden cargo trucks, far longer than the passenger train he had been riding on, stretching back into the infinity of the night.
    Robin wandered back to where most of the other passengers had gathered. He looked at his watch; it was gone half past eleven. He blinked his eyes and trembled with fatigue. He knew it was likely that at this rate he would miss his last connection. His eyes wandered across the land around him. Their immediate locale was vaguely illuminated by the emergency lamps showing through the train windows. Beyond that was darkness. He walked a little way ahead of the train until his eyes adjusted. The cloud blanket above them was as thick and featureless as the ocean. There was no wind, but the rain had cooled the air. In the distance he could see a collection of lights. It then occurred to him that if this were a village there would be a public telephone box in it. He could go there and call a taxi; he had some numbers in his pocket notebook. He wasn't sure where the train had stopped, but it was somewhere in the Trent valley. He couldn't be far from Nottingham or Derby. He could summon a taxi and be in Nottingham in time to catch the last train to the City station. Using the light from the passenger train's headlamp, he explored for a few more hundred yards along the side of the railway. There was a rough wooden fence bordering it, but he soon came to a stile with a footpath leading away up a slope. He scaled it without hesitation and began walking along the path which led in the general direction of the village. Robin guessed that it ended there. Immediately he ran into problems. The light from train faded almost immediately behind the trees and bushes surrounding the footpath and the ground underfoot was very soggy. Robin smelled wet mud and manure as he slipped and stumbled along, tripping over unseen tree roots and patches of grass. Progress was slow. He was feeling his way along by now. He had to test every new footstep with his toes before moving. His leather brogues were useless in this habitat where Wellingtons would have been the appropriate footwear. They absorbed water and filth so easily that within a few steps his feet were as soaked as if they had been bare. He heard cows lowing in a neighbouring pasture. An owl hooted from a nearby tree and a fox quailed in the distance. He could barely see the way ahead. His only point of direction was what looked like a hedge to his left and woodland to his right. The sky remained a featureless soup of cloud. "Shit!" he cursed as he almost slipped over. He didn't care about his shoes; they could be cleaned in a bathtub, but his clothing was newly laundered and he'd like to keep it clean. He stopped and considered going back to the train. He could just see its lights in the distance through the undergrowth. After a moment's indecision, he decided to stick to his original plan. He pressed on. Four steps followed and then the ground gave way beneath his left foot. "Ahhh!" he yelled out and instinctively covered his face with his arms as he felt his body drop and slide beneath the hedge to his left. He plunged down an incline and splashed into what he first thought was water; but by its consistency and stench realized was a pool of mud and manure. Some cattle nearby let out a series of alarmed moos and he heard their hooves thumping away on the sodden earth. Robin choked and retched from the odour of the effluent that now surrounded him. A wave of cold lashed through his skin. "Ah! Fuck it!" he shouted.
    "Hello? Are you alright?" came a voice from above.
    A beam of light descended on him, as if from heaven. Robin exclaimed again and screwed up his night adjusted eyes against the glare. Even against the dazzling light, he could see a set of gleaming white teeth behind it. "Yes, just fell down here."
    "Ah!" the smile broadened. "Robin, is that you?"
    Robin felt a chill that momentarily surpassed that which he had already experienced; the same went for his feeling of disgust. "Cassius?"
    "Yes... Here let me help you out. Take my hand."
    Robin needed to grasp both of Cassius Dewlove's hands. He kicked his legs and dug his feet into the slimy slope until he could crawl on his knees back onto the footpath. He stood up and met Dewlove's necrotic gaze. "Thank you." he puffed.
    "Glad to help, Robin." his old teacher replied. He was carrying a paraffin lamp that cast ghoulish shadows across his face. "What are you doing here?" His voice was the same soft and mellow tenor Robin remembered from childhood.
    He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "I was on a train, but it's been delayed. I abandoned it and headed for the village over there. I need to get a taxi to take me back to the Pond... What are you doing here?"
    "I was just taking a late night stroll. I'm staying in the village right now."
    There was a pause. "Cass, were you in Northampton earlier this evening by any chance?"
    "No." Dewlove answered deadpan immediately, his face expressionless. He did not follow up with a "why did you ask?" or similar phrase.
    "Can I call for a taxi in the village?"
    "Hahahahahahahahaha!"
    Robin recoiled a step or two and put his hands to his ears as Dewlove's deafening laugh probed his eardrums. Birds in a nearby tree woke and scattered with an alarmed twittering
    "Have you looked at yourself, Robin? You are in no state to continue travelling tonight; in fact I doubt if a taxi driver would allow you to sit in his cab. You need to get cleaned up and change your clothes before you go anywhere. The inn I'm staying at has a room free. Why don't you stay the night and leave early in the morning. I have a spare suit I could lend you; we're about the same size these days."
    "We never used to be. You remember me best as being a lot smaller." Robin injected a decisive dose of vitriol into his voice.
    Dewlove either didn't pick up on it or chose to ignore him. "Come with me, Robin. This way." The path led up a slope and opened out into a small village of ancient thatched cottages. There were two gaslights in the middle of the square, the lights Robin had seen from the railway. Moths fluttered round them and bats buzzed back and forth across the track like shuttlecocks. Chickens clucked peacefully from an enclosure in somebody's garden. They came to the inn and Dewlove instructed Robin to wait outside, explaining that it was best if the landlady did not see him in his present condition. Robin stood at the garden gate and heard Dewlove and a woman speaking. "Sorry to wake you at this hour, Mrs Peterson, but I was wondering if a friend could take one of your rooms..." Their voices dropped too low for Robin to hear. Then Dewlove came back out and told him that it was all arranged.
    Robin took a bath in a small outhouse at the back of the inn. Being in this village was like stepping back in time a hundred years. There was no electricity and the room was dimly lit by a small oil lamp. He had to fill the bath from a nearby well with a hand pump and bucket. Hot water came from a big bronze kettle that he heated on the gas hob in the kitchen. He threw his soiled clothes into a laundry basket and scrubbed himself down with black coal tar soap. He rinsed himself in the shallow brass tub, splashing the stained water all over his body. As he did so he heard lilting music coming from the house. He didn't know the tune, but it was jumpy and cheery. It was being played on a solo descant recorder. He got out of the bath and dried his body with a thin cotton towel. When he pulled out the cork plug, the tub drained into a gutter that exited the bathhouse through a hole in the wall. Dewlove had left a dressing gown and slippers for him to wear and there was a path between the bathhouse and main building so his feet only got slightly wet on the rain soaked paving. There was a light in the kitchen and as Robin passed the open door he saw Cassius Dewlove standing in the middle of the room playing the recorder. His fingers tapped skilfully on its tone holes. Robin watched and listened for about a minute, then entered the room.
    "Cassius?"
    "Ah!" He lowered the instrument and sat down at a large wooden table. He had lit a candelabrum and placed it on the table next to a bottle of Scotch and two glasses.
    "Thought you might fancy a nightcap, Robin."
    Robin looked at the clock; it was almost two AM. "It's a little late, wouldn't you say? I've got to be up early as well."
    He held up the bottle. "This is a very fine single malt. It was left open in the public bar. Pity to waste it."
    Robin hesitated then entered the kitchen. He sat at the table opposite Dewlove. The bottle glugged voluptuously as his former teacher filled both glasses. "Cheers." Dewlove raised his.
    "An kkomyt." Robin tapped his own glass against Dewlove's, wondering why he had just responded in Lancine. He sipped and enjoyed the sharp taste of the spirit as it filled his mouth. He studied the copper liquid in the glass, glinting in the candlelight.
    There was a long silence then Dewlove said: "I hope the amenities here are to your satisfaction."
    Robin laughed. "You sound like you work here, Cass. It's a bit strange, not having hot water and electricity, but I know out here in the sticks they're a bit behind modernity. What brings you to a place like this?"
    "I like to get out and about, off the beaten track. I love rustic places like this. The twentieth century is moving forward so fast; it's leaving little places like this in its wake."
    Robin smiled. He felt relaxed at that moment, despite his antipathy for Dewlove. He had a few more sips of the scotch. "I understand the attraction of places like this, although I wouldn't want to live here permanently. I like my modern comforts, electricity, water and everything that comes with it... This village reminds me of the world before the war."
    Dewlove leaned forward. "I know exactly what you mean. I sometimes think that the world has changed so irrevocably over the last few years that we could truly draw a line across the entire human world and label one side 'before the war' and the other side 'after the war'. It really is that extreme."
    "Yes, nothing is the same as it used to be." nodded Robin. He drained his glass and accepted Dewlove's offer for a second shot.
    Dewlove also charged his own glass. He raised the glass to his mouth and then paused. He had placed the recorder on the table beside him and he now lifted it up. He examined it briefly and then put it down.
    "I didn't know you played, Cass."
    "Oh, I like to have a good blow every so often... Actually I have a wide circle of friends in my current hometown and we've formed something of a club. We often get together and play ensembles."
    "That's nice." Robin took another sip.
    "Very... Do you know that the family I play with most closely have sanctified me as their god?"
    Robin chuckled.
    Dewlove remained serious. "They're a couple with two sons. Last week, the elder son was cheeky to his mother while we were all playing. I slapped him round the face and pushed him out of the room. I did it in front of his parents, his brother and all the parents' friends." He shrugged and took a sip of scotch. His voice was as impassive as always.
    "Did his father object?"
    "Not in the slightest. He didn't even flinch. He stood there like..."
    "An automaton?" added Robin.
    Dewlove leered, chuckling humourlessly. "Correct.... I have total power over that family. They worship me. They allow me to abuse their son. Is that not the true definition of divinity? If I ordered the parents to jump off a cliff, do you know what would be the only question they would ask me? 'Where is the highest cliff, Cassius?'."
    "I wonder how the boy is feeling right now."
    Dewlove waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Who cares?"
    "His parents obviously don't."
    "Maybe they would do if it were not for my power hypnotizing them. My maltreatment of their child has actually strengthened the emotional bond they have with me." He laughed. "Can you believe that, Robin?"
    "Believe it? Yes, in fact it sounds very familiar." Robin was starting to feel the alcohol a bit. He averted his eyes with renewed hostility. "I used to ask myself, how much pain and indignity would I have to suffer before my father lifted one single finger in protest?"
    Dewlove sighed. "Robin, I have apologized for how I treated you. It was the wrong way to go about it."
    "What do you mean? To go about what?"
    "I wanted you to understand what it felt like to be a god, a living god on earth."
    "What the hell are you talking about?"
    "To be a god is to have your will manifested, created by others who are helpless before you. Your wish is their command; not just their command, but the entire universe around you. Can you imagine what that feels like?" Dewlove's face shone in the flickering candlelight like a bronze relief. His smile was so broad that is bifurcated his face.
    "I can't." replied Robin.
    "Perhaps I can help you by giving you some news. I know you've experienced frightening visions in the wake of your mother's death."
    "How do you know that?"
    "It doesn't matter, except to say, I know you went to the spiritualists yesterday evening with your grandmother."
    "You what!?... Are you spying on me?"
    "No... I just have ways and means..."
    "Stop messing with me!" Robin shouted.
    Dewlove made a gesture for him to keep his voice down, seeing as it was the depths of the night and the hostess and other guests were asleep.
    Robin complied and repeated: "Stop this drivel, Cass. What do you mean?"
    "I'm sorry, Robin. It's just that I have my reasons for focusing on you and your relationship with your mother... You see, your mother and I were once lovers."
    Robin choked as he sipped his whiskey. "What!?"
    Dewlove nodded. "Yes indeed." Again his voice and manner remained at the usual calm and unruffled constant that was typical for him as he delivered this bombshell. His facial features and body language were the same as always.
    "Wh... When!?"
    "The summer of '13, just for a few months... But it's not just about me is it? You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"
    Robin paused and nodded. "But... but... It was just him!"
    "No, it wasn't."
    "No!... It was him and Caroline..."
    "I'm afraid it wasn't."
    "But she got us all together and they both told us!... They both did! Why didn't..."
    "Robin!" Dewlove interrupted. "You need to talk this over with your father, not me; and maybe after that, get back to me."
    "Get back to you!?... You lied!... She lied!... He lied!... Everybody around me is lying!"
    There was a long silence.
    "Robin." said Dewlove. "Ask yourself, are you really angry with me, or are you instead angry of your father?"
    Robin didn't reply. He was careful not to nod or shake his head.
    "Did you go to the spiritualists tonight because you wanted to contact your mother?"
    He hesitated. "Yes."
    "It may be that she is in a place right now where your run-of-the-mill mediums cannot reach her."
    "Is there such a place?"
    "Yes."
    "Hell?" he laughed bitterly.
    "No. Hell doesn't exist in the popular form most people believe... Communicating with spirits who have passed into some realms requires... other forms of clairvoyance."
    "I didn't realize you knew so much about this, Cass."
    Dewlove shrugged. "I like to develop a broad array of interests."
    Robin drained the rest of his glass. His head wheeled slightly as he tipped it back. "I need to go to bed." He stood up.
    "Of course, Robin. We both should, but if you wish to contact me about this matter or any other, I'll leave my card by your door."
...............
There was an alarm clock on the bedside cabinet in Robin's guestroom and it allowed Robin to rise at six AM to continue his journey home. He had to go outside to the outhouse to use the toilet, which was just a hole in the ground with a seat over it. The smell was terrible. There was no sign of Cassius Dewlove. Either he had got up even earlier and left or he was still asleep in bed. He had shoved his business card under the door to Robin's room. Robin picked it up. He held it over the waste basket, hesitating; then put it in his pocket. There was a public telephone on a shelf outside the inn, but it wasn't working. He paid the landlady for his board and then left. He walked four miles to the town of Ashby-de-la-Zouch. It was a fine morning and he enjoyed his stroll along the country lanes. The rain had gone and a moist blue sky replaced it. The low sun shone through the bushes and trees. He managed to catch a bus to Burton-on-Trent where he could finally board a train that took him home. He arrived at Rain House just in time to shave and get into his uniform before the photo shoot. He lined up with his fellow new officers in the parade ground as the shutter clicked. As soon as the event was over, he walked out of the academy and caught a tram to the Mansfields.
    Robin burst into his family home, but his father was not in. "Of course! He's gone to work." he hissed to himself as he shut the front door behind him and returned to the street. He caught a tram back to the City and strode towards Wicker Park. His father's workplace was one of the administration blocks directly behind the northern end of the Lowdown. The receptionist smiled in greeting as Robin walked confidently in. His LPDF officer's uniform prevented him from having to wait or answer any questions. He knocked on the door of his father's office. There was a brass plaque on the oak panelling that read: Francis Ursall- senior executive for staffing resource policy implementation. Robin snorted as he looked at it.
    "Come!" said the familiar voice from within. The Ursall office was about ten feet square, small for a senior civil servant, but like everything in Lancombe Pond it was miniaturized. The walls were covered in shelves containing box files, leather ring binders and a few loose papers collated with bulldog clips. The desk was covered with more loose papers, pencils, rubbers, pens, inkpots and rulers. Francis was hunched over all this like a gargoyle. He held a telephone receiver in his right hand and looked as if he were about to dial. "Robin." He frowned. "What is it; I'm busy?"
    "I've just been talking to Cassius Dewlove."
    "Jolly good, what did he have to say?"
    Robin paused for a moment to feel his anger bite. "He told me about his affair with mother."
    Francis jerked upright and jumped to his feet. He stared at his son. The colour drained from his cheeks. "Did he?... Oh no!"
    "What? Aren't you going to try to deny it? Can eight years of deception be so easily cast aside?"
    Francis stuttered and his lip wobbled. "Rob... Robin! Please! Don't do this to me!"
    "Is it true?"
    He sighed. "Yes."
    Robin chuckled bitterly. "I see... She never told us!... You never told us!"
    "Robin... please try to understand. Your mother had a very bad upbringing, a very very bad upbringing... and her illness..."
    "Shut up!" Robin pointed his finger at him. "Don't you dare!... Don't you dare! Millions of people in this world have bad upbringings. Millions have illnesses. Most of them are perfectly decent people. They are able to make decisions. They have agency. They have responsibility. They are accountable for their actions! What they do to harm other people is their fault."
    "Please, Robin; can't we just leave this?"
    "No! You both had affairs and she pretended it was only you! She made you take all the blame!... You allowed her to do that to you!"
    Robin remembered the day back in 1917 when his mother called a family conference. These events were a bit of an Ursall in-joke. Maartje sent out a message, usually by letter or phone-call, that everybody's presence was required at a certain date and time in the lounge of the Ursall home. Everybody turned up, chuckling about being "summoned by her ladyship!" Along with the family, Maartje's close friends were invited as well. When her room was full of all the nearby family members Maartje gave them all one of her "looks" that meant they were to be silent. They all obeyed. "I think the time has come to tell you that Frrrrrrrank has had an affair." She went on to explain how her husband had cheated on her with Caroline, Cassius Dewlove's fiancée at the time (He had a large number of them over the years). Whenever she referred to Caroline she used the word "floosie". Her shamed husband sat on a low wooden stool beside her, his hands clasped in front of him so tight his knuckles were white. His face was flushed and he looked close to tears. He remained completely silent and still during the entire judgement. His wife never asked him to speak. Nobody ever asked him to tell his side of the story. At the end of the formal condemnation there was a tense and very sombre atmosphere. Francis walked around the house, fetching cups of tea and glasses of sherry for the family and guests. His hands trembled and he walked unsteadily. The others, especially Maartje's friends, looked upon him with embarrassment and hostility. Robin remembered that even at the time he had his suspicions, but hadn't let himself address them. There had been a big party at the house in 1913 and the participants had all got badly drunk. It was the kind of thing they did a lot in those carefree days before the war. Robin had been unable to sleep because of the noise and had taken a walk in the garden at about three AM to be met with the spectacle of his mother in a loving embrace with Cassius Dewlove. A few yards away his father was doing the same with Caroline. Robin was only ten years old at the time and hadn't thought much of it, although his paternal grandmother, who was staying at the time and he was already very close to, was deeply unsettled and kept talking about it.
    "Why, father!?" yelled Robin. "Why did you let her do that to you!?... She made you do a massive mea culpa in front of half of Lancombe Pond! She humiliated you! And you let her! All the time she did so, she knew that she was equally guilty! You knew that she was equally guilty! Why didn't you say something?"
    Francis sat back down at his desk and hid his face in his hands. "It wouldn't be right. She only wanted to protect you and Wilfred."
    "Protect us by pillorying you?... Not good enough!... Why!?"
    "It would have been... so much hassle."
    "Why? Because of her bad upbringing and illness?"
    He nodded.
    Robin sighed. "Mother's bad upbringing and illness was an altar on which our entire family has been sacrificed." he said, slowly for emphasis. "Your manhood has been sacrificed! Your dignity... Did you not stop for a moment and think: 'I don't deserve this. I'm entitled to be treated better.' Did you? Ever?"
    Francis didn't reply. He might have been weeping, but he kept his face hidden.
    "We have to tell Wilfred."
    "No!" Francis shouted, standing up again.
    "Yes! We have to set the record straight. He and I have both been believing a lie for the last four years."
    "Please, Robin; can't we just forget about this? It doesn't matter anymore! Your mother is dead! It's over! She's gone!"
    "We are still here, father!" Robin pointed his finger at himself. He picked up his father's desktop telephone and asked the operator to connect him.
    The 'phone rang. "Hello, Ursall?" came a voice at the other end.
    "Will?"
    "Robin, hello. What's up? You don't normally call me..."
    "Will, I'm with father. He has something he wants to tell you." Robin handed his father the receiver.
    Francis sat down. He took the receiver as if it were a bar of red hot iron. He put it to his ear while leaning heavily on the desk. "Wilfred... I have to confess something to you. It's about my affair with Caroline... Yes, I know. We did, but there's more to it... I wasn't the only one who had an affair. Mother did too... About the same time... It was... oh God!... It was Cassius... I know and I'm sorry... No, can we talk more about the details later? I'm at work right now and I'm with Robin. We just wanted to let you know... Of course, son. Goodbye." He fumbled badly as he replaced the receiver. He scowled at Robin and raised his eyebrows sarcastically. "Happy now?"
    Robin nodded. "Father, you need help, from a doctor."
    "What do you mean? What can a doctor do?"
    "Actually I don't mean a normal doctor; I mean a psychologist. I..." He stopped himself. He had been about to say: "I've been getting help from one myself", but then decided now was not the right time to break that news to Francis.
    "Why?"
    "They may be able to help you find out why you are behaving like this. They may be able to help you become a stronger and happier person."
    "I'll... I'll think about it." He bowed his head towards the desk again. His forehead was bright red and his hands were shaking.
   "Alright. I have to go now." Robin turned towards the door, but on instinct came back and went to the far side of the desk. He placed his hands on each of his father's shoulders and gave him an affectionate hug. Francis did not reciprocate. Then he left the office without another word. As he walked back out into the sunshine he reached into his pocket and found Cassius Dewlove's card. He pulled it out and looked at it.

Robin was feeling very uneasy as the train rolled down the Tweed valley. The evening sun was hidden by the grassy hills and the light was of that strange kind where the sky is cloudless and sunlit, yet the ground is in the shadow of higher land. His mind kept flicking from one state to another like an electric switch. He had made the decision to go after a lot of thought, yet every so often he scolded himself for an act of insanity. He had never been to Scotland before, but had seen numerous images, usually of rocky mountains covered with snow. The range of hills on both sides of the railway lacked the imposing grandeur of the Highlands. They were smooth earth padded lumps, like a jostling drove of grazing ponies; grass green with heathery brown tops. The train began to slow down as the houses of Galashiels appeared alongside the train. Robin was trembling as he stepped off the train, suitcase in hand. The smile of Cassius Dewlove was so wide it seemed to take up the entire platform. "Ah!" He happened to be standing right next to the coach in which Robin was travelling as the train stopped. Robin reached out and shook his hand. "Thank you for coming, Robin. It's good to see you again." Robin could still feel the pressure of Dewlove's hand against his own as he walked out of the station alongside his old professor. He never imaged that he would ever shake Dewlove's hand.

    The sun was setting as they drove in Dewlove's open topped car up a steep hill above Galashiels. They entered a forest and the orange sunlight flickered through the trees and then was gone. The blue sky at the zenith was framed by the prickly branches of pine trees that closed in tighter and tighter as if absorbing them. Cassius glanced at his passenger and then back to the road. He was wearing pretentious leather driving gloves. "Robin, this coming week will not be an easy or pleasant experience for you. I've never lied about that before and I'm not about to now. However, after it is over, you will feel a lot better. Hopefully you will have some answers to your questions and a sense of closure. These are the usual benefits of this practice."
    "Who's this friend of yours again?" asked Robin.
    "A Mr Crowley. He is one of the world's leading experts in these sciences and arts. We couldn't ask for a better guide."
    "How did you come to know him, Cass?"
    Dewlove glanced at him again. "That is one question I cannot answer at this juncture. Some information must remain confidential for now." The car turned off onto a narrow lane that passed through an open gate between two ancient stone walls. There was the hooting sound of alarmed game birds. They had been standing on the road and took off to escape from the approaching car with a clatter of wings.
    "I appreciate you organizing this for me, Cass."
    "You're very welcome. It was no great effort on my part. You're just lucky enough to know somebody who has the right connections... Mind you, Mr Crowley himself is very illusive. He spends most of his time on Sicily and generally only returns to Britain now and again." The trees parted to reveal a redbrick country house; not quite a mansion, but one with about eight bedrooms, Robin guessed. Dewlove parked in front of the oak double front doors. He knocked confidently, giving the impression he was used to visiting this premises. This was confirmed when the butler answering the door smiled and said: "Dr Dewlove, good evening. It's good to see you again, sir."
    "You too, McTavish. Is Mr Crowley in?"
    "Waiting for you in the drawing room." He looked at Robin. "And this is?"
    "Mr Robin Ursall. Could you take his baggage to his room?"
    "Thank you, gentlemen. Yes I shall, but first I shall inform Mr Crowley of your arrival."
    They were promptly invited into a grand drawing room with velvet settees and gold leaf wall hangings. A number of people were milling around, drinking what looked like red wine. Robin was given only a glass of water. Mr Crowley himself was one of the most imposing individuals Robin had ever met. He was not of huge build or statue, but he gave off such an intuitive energy that Robin felt ambivalently repelled and enthralled by him. "Greetings, young Mr Ursall." said Crowley as they shook hands. "I've heard all about you from Cassius here." His voice was strangely high-pitched, almost feminine, yet his features were very manly. His head was almost bald, but for a tiny down of grey hair. He was middle-aged, but seemed younger. His eyes were wide and his gaze so intense that Robin could not meet it.
    "Thank you for inviting me, Mr Crowley." replied Robin.
    "I'm glad to." He chuckled mildly, but in a way that radiated indomitable self-confidence, maybe arrogance; even narcissism. "We're a closed society, but we do allow observers in special circumstances. When Cassius told me about the problems you're having I decided that this was one of those occasions. Tell me, have you carried out my instructions for preparation?"
    "Yes, sir. I've eaten nothing and drunk only water for the last twenty-four hours."
    "And how does that make you feel?"
    "Hungry." Robin laughed nervously.
    Crowley smiled. "Naturally. Anything else?"
    "Like what?"
    Crowley said nothing to elaborate.
    "No, sir. Nothing else."
    "What about your experiences of contact with your mother?"
    "They have reduced in number and severity, steadily. But they're still going on."
    "What, since you began your preparations?"
    "No, since I confided in my grandmother a few weeks ago."
    "Ah, I hear your grandmother is a spiritualist. Cassius told me she took you to a séance. What happened there?"
    Robin described the events at Dia's house in 1918.
    Crowley nodded knowingly. "Very well... This evening will probably be somewhat different to that."
    An hour later Robin and Dewlove were left alone in the drawing room while Crowley and his friends left to perform a private ritual to mark the sunset. When they came back they were all dressed in black cowls, except for Crowley who was wearing the most astonishing outfit Robin had ever seen, a bright yellow gown and cloak with a headdress that looked like that of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh. "We're ready to begin." he announced in a very serious tone. "For this ceremony you will merely observe. It is likely we will not be able to commune with the ghost of Maartje Ursall tonight. However we will be creating a vibrational conduit into which her spirit may be able to travel at some point during this series of thirteen ceremonies. I think it is very likely that by the end of this process, we will be able to communicate with this ghost."
    Robin was too frightened to speak. He felt the urge to run, leave the house and return to Galashiels station and home. He followed the procession of costume clad occultists as they walked along a corridor and out through a backdoor into the house's large garden. Night had fallen and stars studded the sky. There were no lamps lit in the house to reduce light pollution. Dregs of sunlight stained the western horizon and the hills of the Scottish Lowlands were silhouetted by its pastel pinks and purples. Ahead of the troupe was a peculiar building that looked like an astronomical observatory. It was a rotunda with a domed roof. Very low candlelight could be seen through its tiny windows. He gasped as they entered. The interior of the structure was lavishly decorated in beautiful and ghastly images in dazzling colours that were distinctive even in the candlelight. There were murals all over the walls and ceiling of grotesque humanoid beings, stars and planets, snakes and supernatural monsters. The floor had tiles shaped like some kind of compass rose. Right at the centre of this was an upright object that looked like an ornamental brazier. It was full of fresh black coals. Dewlove directed Robin to a pair of red velvet armchairs by the doorway. "We're going to sit here, Robin; and whatever you do, do not move until the ritual is over." Robin nodded, his mouth dry.
    Crowley and his disciples stood in a circle. One of them lit the brazier with a long taper and small flames appeared. The smoke smelled very strange, making Robin think the fuel was not ordinary coal. He looked up and saw that there was a small hole in the apex of the dome that functioned as a chimney for the smoke to escape. Crowley and the others began chanting in a tuneless manner. What they said was incomprehensible, yet its tones did not resemble any foreign language Robin recognized. Crowley produced a gilded flagon and a series of similar cups with stems on a silver tray. He placed them on the floor by his feet. One by one, the acolytes stepped forward, picked one cup each and then returned to their spot. Crowley walked anticlockwise around the circle filling the proffered cup of each person. Robin had a horrible sense of anticipation. Somehow he knew what was going to happen next. He was right; Crowley picked up one more cup and walked towards Robin. He held the cup out, offering it to Robin. The way he stared at the young man made it unthinkable that Robin would not take it. Crowley filled the cup from the flagon. The liquid was dark red, almost black. For a moment Robin thought it might be wine, but then the smell that rose from it put that possibility out of his mind. The aroma, like everything he had experienced since arriving at this house, was so different to anything he had known before; although he detected a hint of nutmeg. He almost laughed, but stopped himself just in time. He copied the others, sitting still in the same way they stood, with the cup held in front of them in both hands. He wondered why Cassius Dewlove had not been given a cup, but did not look at him to ask. Robin drank the contents of the cup at the same time the circle did. The powerful taste of the fluid bit into his throat making him choke, but he kept swallowing, waiting until the last drop had gone. He couldn't help gagging loudly, pressing his hand to his mouth. The ritual continued and over the following twenty minutes or so, Robin became more relaxed and content. He guessed that the drink contained some kind of drug. Having never consumed any drug except alcohol, this was an alarming thought. He wondered what kind of effect it would have and how long it would last.
    Suddenly the circle gave a loud whoop and they lifted their arms. The brazier began burning more fiercely, as if somebody had stoked it; yet nobody had touched it since the ceremony started. The flames rose higher and higher. Despite this it gave off no heat. Robin was just puzzling over this fact when he noticed that the flames were also forming a shape. "My God!" he muttered.
    "Ssh!" hissed Dewlove, placing a hand over his wrist.
    A distinct ball of organized matter was growing and solidifying within the fire. It suddenly struck Robin that the cloud of ectoplasm that exuded from Dia's mouth in 1918 had begun the same way. The natural flames in the brazier licked around it as if it were a slug of iron ore in a furnace; yet it was also made of fire. Robin gaped, fascinated. In the same way the spirit Aldred had materialized, the ball of fire elongated until it was oval, as if a salamander had laid its egg. Robin half expected it to crack open and a phoenix to emerge. The egg elongated stretching upwards until its top was level with the highest tips of the flames, yet it still too remained composed of solid fire. Its middle then quickly sank inwards and it became wasp-waisted, like an hourglass. The central constriction then moved upwards until it was about two thirds up the structure; there is stopped. The metamorphosis was happening faster now. A pair of protuberances shot out from both sides and began to resemble human arms with hands on the ends, at the very moment the top section warped into a human head. The occultists wailed again, lifting their hands above their head; but Crowley remained completely still and silent. The spirit in the fire wobbled and jerked slightly. For a moment Robin thought it might leap out of the brazier, but then it steadied itself and one side of the head began to form into a human face. Terror flooded through Robin's system as he saw the features warp into a physiognomy he recognized instantly. Even thought it was made of fire instead of flesh, and without her greying black hair, there was no mistaking this apparition. The fire spirit had no eyes, but the two craters of the front of its face where eyes should have been trained themselves on Robin. Its eyeless eyes stared at him. Then its mouth opened. "ROBIN URSALL!" The voice was rough, like grating stone; incredibly loud, almost deafening. Yet even still, the voice was recognizable, as if it was being played by a special phonograph that distorted what it recorded.
    "Oh no!" Robin yelled.
    "Sit still!" shouted Dewlove, tightening his grip on Robin's arm.
    "No!" Robin was writhing internally through fear, but at the same time felt petrified; glued to the spot. Maybe the drug had contributed to that.
    "ROBIN URSALL!" the phantasm roared again.
    "No!" Robin screamed.
    "BASTARD!"
    "Aaah!"
    "MURDERER!"
    "No, mother! Please!"
    "I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU SUFFER, ROBIN URSALL!... I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU SUFFER FOREVER AND EVER!"
    Whether it was caused by the stupefying drug or some kind of black magic, Robin's immobility suddenly failed. He broke free, tore his arm from Dewlove's grip and leapt up from the chair. He burst out of the door of the rotunda and bolted. He ran through the house, fumbled feverishly at the latch on the front doors until they opened. Almost fell over Dewlove's car in the driveway and pelted down the lane into the night.
See here for Chapter 6: https://hpanwo-bb.blogspot.com/2022/08/this-is-chapter-6-of-obscurati.html.