Diabolical - Chapter 3 (Patreon)

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The next day, ‘The Bark of Bullen’ set sail for Liverpool. The storm had worn itself out during the night, and the day’s weather was fair --- the sky remained gray, and a light drizzle persisted, but there was hardly any wind; not more than was usual for the coast.

Arthur didn’t wake until late-morning, when Jane arrived with their breakfast. It was the sound of the door opening and closing, and the noise of hustle-and-bustle, that roused him. Wiping his eyes groggily, he sat up and greeted her. “Good morning, mother.” He said, tugging at the hem of his shirt, which had rode-up during the night.

After closing the door, Jane smiled at him and sat down at the foot of the bed. “How formal! Are you practicing for when you meet your grandparents?” She asked, unfurling the paper she was carrying in her hands. She’d brought a few pieces of buttered toast and boiled eggs. She started shelling them over a basket, the one that’d come with the room.

Arthur sighed. “Maybe.” He said, sounding a bit depressed. He realized that’d he’d overslept and had missed the chance to wave goodbye to his father. “Were you on deck when the boat left, mom?” He asked, taking one of the eggs she offered him.

Jane looked at him. She seemed to know what he was thinking. “I was.” She confirmed, but didn’t say anything else.

Arthur felt some relief. He doubted that there’d been a heartfelt parting between them, but it was better than nothing. “That’s good.” He said, taking a bite out of his breakfast. There wasn’t any salt or pepper; fortunately, the egg was cooked as he liked it, with a center that was sticky but not runny, and it was still hot. He gratefully accepted a second, after he’d finished the first.

They continued to chat while eating. When their little breakfast had concluded, Jane wiped her hands and stood. “Would you like to see the ocean?” She asked. Arthur was very young when they’d left for Ireland, so she doubted he could remember the trip.

The youth nodded. “Yes.” He said, reaching for his day-clothes. He could hardly go up in his pajamas, could he? When he’d dressed, they left the room, locking the door behind them. They took the stairs that led to the deck, where they spent most of their day, watching the drifting clouds and the rolling waves.

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The trip took around ten hours in-all. There was a brief stop during midday, at the Isle of Man. The two had gotten off and bought some fish-and-chips by the harbor. After they had their lunch, they boarded --- their ship had only stopped to pick up and drop off passengers, and was soon on its way.

They arrived in Liverpool around five-o-clock. Unfortunately, the post office had closed, but the train station was running. They didn’t usually run at night, but the two of them were lucky: a sleeper train was stopping by, and was departing for Aberdeen at nine-o-clock. There was still time left until then, so they waited at a café inside the station. Jane bought a pack of cards from a little shop, which they used to occupy their time.

Arthur didn’t find it tedious --- Jane was pleasant company, and he enjoyed cards. They had some tea while they waited, and the three-something hours passed easily. The train was a tad late, which was unusual --- that was what he’d gathered from the surrounding conversation. Ten-past-nine, the ticket vendor stepped forward and apologized to the few passengers; it was inconceivable to him, who was used to public transportation of the lowest order, and service to match.

When the train came, they went on and ate their dinner in the cafeteria (they’d only had tea at the station). After they were done, they headed to their room and had a rest. It was early morning when they arrived at Newcastle.

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Jane stepped into the station, clutching Arthur by the elbow. There wasn’t a crowd exactly, but the whole situation had her nervous, so her grip was rather tight. They had arrived earlier than expected --- in retrospect, she should’ve taken a later train. It was her memories of her father that had spurred her on; beatings she’d received for tardiness. She clenched one hand, feeling the phantom sting of a crop across her palm. It was better that they be made to wait than the alternative.

She pulled on her son, intending to make a quick visit to the post office. She would notify them, and Arthur could write to his father, since he hadn’t the opportunity before. “We’re early. I was expecting us to arrive around midday or evening. I’ll have to send a letter.” She said, looking at him. He’d put on his suit and had been quiet since the morning. ‘He must be nervous.’ She thought.

He didn’t reply. Instead, he tugged on her dress and pointed in a direction.

Jane followed his line-of-sight. “What, is there a-…?” She started, intending to ask if he’d spotted a post office, only for her words to stick in her throat when she saw a very unexpected sight.

Newcastle had a small population, without much business to speak of. There was little here that attracted visitors and the station was nearly empty. For that reason, it was easy to spot the figure of a man, stood close to a wall and holding a small blackboard in one hand. In white chalk, two familiar names were written on its surface: ‘Mary Jane Webb’ and ‘Arthur Johannes Webb’.

Jane was so stunned that she hardly noticed when Arthur stood on his tiptoes and whispered ‘I didn’t know Jane was your middle-name, mom.’ into her ear. Instead, she stared at the man’s familiar face, one so well preserved in her memories. Like someone possessed, she drifted toward him, dragging her son behind her.

The man was solidly built and had a respectable jawline. He was clean shaven, with slicked, graying hair, parted to one side. A pair of glasses rested on the tip of his nose and he was sharply dressed, in a dark suit. He wore pointy, black leather shoes and his hands were gloved.

When they drew near, he tucked the blackboard under his armpit. “Good morning, miss.” He said, inclining his head and giving Jane a thin smile.

The woman put a hand over her mouth as she looked him up and down. She seemed unable to believe it. “Why, Mr. Fetcher…! I…we… How did you…?” She started, only to stop as she found she didn’t know what to say.

Mr. Fetcher eyed her over the rim of his glasses. “Never mind that, my girl! Your letter arrived, and I came to get you.” He said, lowering his head to take a look at Arthur. “Both of you, that is.”

Seeing that he’d been noticed, the boy stuck out a hand. “Hello, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He said, staring curiously at the tall fellow. Judging by how his mother had addressed him, he doubted this man was his mysterious grandfather.

Mr. Fetcher took his hand in his own and gave it a brisk shake. “Likewise.” He stated before turning once more to Jane. “Now that you’re here, we must be off. We’ve taken on new staff recently, and they’ll make a mess of things in my absence.”

Jane hurriedly apologized. “I’m sorry for it, but why didn’t they send a driver instead?” She asked. Mr. Fetcher had been the Grimms’ head butler ever since she’d been a little girl, and he usually didn’t deal with chores like these.

After adjusting his glasses, the butler gave a long sigh. “Graham passed away only last month, and we haven’t been able to find another with the right record.” He said, putting a hand on Jane’s shoulder. “Come along, we can’t afford to dally.”

Jane gasped --- it was another familiar name from her childhood. “Shame!” She said, letting herself be led away. She still had Arthur by the arm, so she wouldn’t accidentally leave him behind.

Mr. Fetcher Concurred. “Shame indeed! Although I do wish he hadn’t developed such a fondness for motorcars before his passing. Awful things --- noisy beyond belief, and troublesome to keep running.” He said, sounding like it was something he much lamented. “When I went to draw a carriage, I found that it wouldn’t roll --- neglect from disuse on his part, and I shan’t excuse him. Why if he’d still been with us, I would have-…”

Arthur trailed behind Jane and Mr. Fetcher, listening on absentmindedly as the late driver was badmouthed. His mother tried to intercede on the poor man’s behalf, but it was to no avail. The boy’s face was carefully blank. He wondered if he should ask about his letter; at this rate, it didn’t seem he’d get the chance to post it. In the end, he decided against it --- Mr. Fetcher had made it clear he was in a hurry, so he didn’t want to make a nuisance of himself.

‘If all goes well, I should be able to check it today.’ He thought. As time passed, his desire to interact with the tablet only grew. His curiosity had become so intense that he worried he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he didn’t find some privacy, soon.

The motorcar was outside the station, opposite its entrance. Arthur eyed the vehicle with appreciation. It had a certain look, with shining chrome and gleaming black paint that reeked of wealth. He could see its interior through the clear windows --- genuine, polished leather, from the seats to the steering-wheel and the dashboard, with many shiny dials and knobs.

Despite his earlier complaints, Mr. Fetcher seemed to have no trouble starting the thing. Arthur had taken a seat in the back, next to Jane. He couldn’t quite see how it was done, but he didn’t hear the turning of a key, so he thought that it must have some other mechanism --- a lever, or a button. It rolled onto the road, which was nearly abandoned at this time of the morning. It was a bit foggy, so Mr. Fetcher turned on the headlights. Arthur saw Newcastle for the first time --- there were a few stately buildings, but, as a whole, it didn’t seem very prosperous. ‘It’s a bit strange that a wealthy family would live here.’ He thought. He’d expected them closer to the capital, and to the center of business.

They’d sat in silence for a minute or two when Mr. Fetcher starting speaking. “I’ve some bad news, I’m afraid. He started, sounding grave. “It’s… well, it’s the master.”

Jane swallowed thickly. “What do you mean, Mr. Fetcher? Has something happened to my father?” She asked, her voice concerned. Their relationship was troubled, but he was still the man that’d raised her. She couldn’t help but worry.

The butler sighed. “I believe it was three years ago when Sir caught a mysterious illness. It was only a weakening, at first, but as time passed, he became more infirm until he could no longer walk. After a year, he was completely bedridden and dependent. If only that had been it, if you pardon my saying so. Last winter, he had a terrible fit and fell unconscious. He hasn't woken since. The madam sent for doctors from all over the country, but none were able to relieve his symptoms.” He stated, sounding exhausted.

Jane grew more distressed as she listened. At the end of it, she had put both hands over her mouth and looked about ready to cry. “I-I… how can that be…?” She asked, struggling to come to terms with the sudden revelation. Her father had been the personification of physical imposition; her last memories of him were of a man so vigorous and strong that it seemed he would never die.

Arthur put a hand on his mother’s thigh --- he could sense her shock. He had never known his grandfather, so it was impossible for him to feel much of anything, but he would comfort her, if he could.

Jane absentmindedly gripped his hand, giving it a squeeze. Ideas were swirling in her mind. ‘I… that explains some of it, I suppose.’ She thought to herself. It had been very strange, the treatment they’d received. To send Mr. Fetcher of all people --- she hadn’t been able to understand it. Now, it made more sense. With her father in such a state, and her mother too old to remarry, Arthur had become vital. She had been disowned, so, if here parents were to pass, the Grimm family would be without an heir.

The drive was mostly a silent one, from then on. Arthur stared out of the window, watching as the town passed them by. It soon became clear that the Grimm manor was located elsewhere --- the scenery changed from urban to countryside. Now and then, a farmhouse could be seen, sitting squat against the land. The ride was relatively comfortable, which meant that the road was well kept.

‘It's been an hour, at least.’ He thought. He was becoming more curious as time went on. He wanted to ask his mother where exactly his grandparents lived, but when he looked at her, she’d nodded off, with her chin on her chest. He decided not to disturb her, and to wait patiently.

The grassy, rolling hills gave way to sparse woodlands that grew denser the further they travelled. Arthur was able to catch a glimpse of a sign, stuck next to the road. ‘Rothbury Forest’ was carved onto its surface, in big, round letters.

‘It’s located all the way out here, inside the woods? That doesn’t seem suspicious...’ He thought sarcastically. However, he hadn't gotten the impression that his mother was hiding something, and the butler seemed normal enough. ‘They must be a bit eccentric.’ He speculated --- these were different times, after all, and, in the first place, he'd never understood rich people.

Twenty minutes in, the forest had become thick enough that he couldn’t see more than ten feet into it. Mr. Fetcher had understandably slowed down --- the mist clung tightly to the road, and with the thickness of the canopy, there was little light. If something were ahead of them, given the speed they’d been travelling at, an accident would be unavoidable.

Arthur was starting to become uneasy. ‘We’ve been driving for a good few hours, now. The train arrived in Newcastle at five-o-clock this morning. When exactly did this fellow get up, to be waiting for us when we arrived?’ He wondered. He looked at the side of Mr. Fetcher’s face, and the butler must have sensed him, for he turned and looked at him in return. A shadow was cast over him, with only his glasses reflecting a bit of light. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the road, without saying a word.

Arthur had to fight to keep his face blank. ‘Am I thinking too much, or is there really something fishy going on here?’ He thought. He was feeling a bit of a chill on the back of his neck, but he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it. ‘Well, there’s nothing I can do about it.’ He decided. It's hardly as if he could ask Mr. Fetcher to stop the car so he could let himself out.

It was another twenty minutes before they finally came to a halt. Mr. Fetcher took a lantern from underneath the passenger-side front seat, lit it, and got out of the car. Arthur watched curiously as he walked into the fog. A dozen-or-so seconds later, when only a soft, orange glow was visible, Arthur heard a deep sort of creaking noise, like a big hinge turning. ‘Gates…?’ He questioned. ‘Are they really worried about trespassers, all the way out here? There isn’t anybody for miles!’

The butler came back, hung the lantern from the side of the car, and got back in. He drove for a bit, then got back out and closed the gate.

Arthur got a glimpse of the contraption when they drove past. It was as tall as three people, and made of a dark iron. He imagined he could see a bronze plaque near the middle, but he couldn’t quite make out the writing. It was connected to a high wall that went into the forest, and he couldn’t see the top of it. About three yards of space had been cleared, around the stone surface. ‘I suppose they don’t want people climbing over, but who on earth is maintaining it?’ He wondered.

The drive continued, and it started raining. Arthur leaned past the passenger front-seat so he could see the road --- in the fog, the trees encroached around the path, looking like they wanted to reach out and grab them. Suddenly, they gave way to a hedge, which was well maintained from his observation. An enormous, dark shape loomed in the distance, obscured by the dim weather. The hedge forked, and the car turned right, so he wasn’t able to see what it was, but he imagined it must be the manor. ‘Who puts a hedge-maze at the entrance of their property?’ He asked himself.

He was no longer able to bear this strangeness, at least not alone. He stuck out a hand and tugged at his mother’s dress. “Mom. Mom! Wake up, we’re here.” He whispered. Her head sagged limply to one side, but she didn’t wake up. Feeling a bit frantic now, he tugged again. 

A big, gloved hand clamped onto his shoulder. “The trip must’ve tired her. I’ll send for the head maid --- she makes a particularly rousing brew. Why don’t you come with me?” Mr. Fetcher asked, although it sounded more like a statement than a question. His stared at Arthur with large, dark eyes.

The youth’s gaze flicked from side to side. He didn’t know when it happened, but they were parked inside a room with a solid floor and a high ceiling. Around them were other vehicles --- cars, carriages, carts: all luxuriously lacquered or polished. It was dark inside, but the lantern was still hanging from the side of the car, casting a circle of orange light.

Arthur’s throat was dry. He felt himself wishing he was back in Dublin, sitting at his cramped little desk in his shoddy room --- it wasn’t much, but at least it was normal!

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