The Two Confessions John Whitbourn (best books for students to read txt) 📖

young companion (who'd hadher bonnet as protection) was contrastingly white with cold or bad diet - ormaybe anger.

‘Wehave something for you,’ she hissed.

‘I'dsooner have a farewell.’

‘Itmay come to that.’ The Undertaker stooped to open his valise. From that came abox: and from that - gingerly - a skull. He held it base up like a bowl.

‘Nothanks,’ said Samuel, not looking. ‘We've got plenty of ashtrays.’

Thegirl produced an instrument also made of bone: a perforated patella nailed atopa femur. Their parody of a holy-water shaker. Undertaker took it in his freehand.

‘Youfrustrate,’ he accused Trevan. ‘You... disgust. I said that God spits on you. Imeant it literally. You cause God to spew bile. See what you have done!’

Thetool was dipped within the skull and then drawn out dripping with somethingSamuel had deliberately forgotten. It was the same stuff that had melted minepumps and dissolved employees all those years ago. Trevan had zero wish toremember it, let alone renew the acquaintance.

‘Goor I shoot,’ he growled.

Buthe knew he wouldn't. Couldn't. They didn't care - but the Law did. TheLaw would hang him.

‘Theremains of a perfecti may contain it,’ said Undertaker, indicating theskull, ‘but nothing else. Only piety is proof against the wrath of God!’

Heleant past Trevan and shook a few drops into the hallway. Landing, they meltedthe carpet and sank deep into the floor. Straightaway the area smelt like abrew-up of corpse and cheese. Ridiculously, Samuel's first thought was how toexplain it to Melissa. She was fond of that Persian 'Armada weave'.

Whenhe turned back the pair were packed up and ready to leave.

‘Itis a terrible thing,’ said the girl, sounding genuinely sorry for Samuel, ‘tobe spat at by the Almighty....’

************

Trevancouldn't argue with that. Galen House was going to collapse around their earsif the bombardment continued. Already the window frames were riddled withmyriad pinpricks of corruption and threatened to fall out. An inspection of theoutside brickwork revealed huge areas of honeycombing.

Samueldidn't believe it was all personally delivered: he patrolled the grounds dayand night to fend off such attacks. Most of it must be a supernatural rain allthe way from Welcombe.

Almostas bad was the stench. Neighbours first complained and then promised lawsuits.Samuel's best hope was that some immunity would develop - which was a sign ofhow low things and he had sunk. But day after day passed and the nausearemained ever fresh. Their very clothing became impregnated. People wrinkledtheir noses and avoided them on the street. Even Mad-Carol was more fragrantand socially acceptable than the Trevans.

Worstof all, the 'buzzing' - and thus presumably what it betokened - was now in thehouse.

Whilstservants queued to give notice, Melissa got out the scrubbing-brush andperformed Trojan works of spring-cleaning. Her husband knew the effort was invain but allowed the diverting activity. At least it tired her out, taking theedge off difficult questions and demands for explanation.

Then,one evening at dinnertime, the French-window just gave up the ghost and...melted into foul vapour. Fynn, dolling out onion soup for which they had noappetite, looked at the sagging gap for a spell and then simply walked out -out of the room and out of their employ. Samuel was almost glad of it, for theman's clanking armour-array of crucifixes, scapulars and amulets had started toannoy.

Melissaopened her mouth to ask... something. Simultaneously, the door chimes soundedfor the umpteenth time that day.

Trevanknew who it was and, at long last, what to say.

‘Wouldyou excuse me a moment, my dear?’ he asked his wife.

************

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'THE LEWESTIMES & PIOUS INTELLIGENCER'.

The 19th ofMarch 2021 AD.

P. Brazier.Secular and Ecclesiastic Court Reporter.

MAYHEM & FOUL MURDER?

 

‘A most curious incident is reported in the Town last Tuesday night,when Mr SAMUEL TREVAN, gent., of Galen House, Keere Street, was witnessed amok inthat vicinity and further abroad in Southover, all bloody with a sword andbrace of pistols. Cries and shots are reported spread over a prodigious spaceduring the time of darkness, and horrified onlookers testify to seeing bodiesleft just as they were slain in the street. These tales are supported by thequantity of ghastly gore which THIS REPORTER himself observed over the wallsand cobbles of Keere Street, and, in particular, by the Holy Well in St Anne'sChurchyard. However, strange to relate, the men of the Watch, coming upon thescene after seeking reinforcement, found none but the aforesaid TREVAN, armedand in a savage state. We dutifully relate that he offered no resistance to theforces of order and surrendered himself into custody.

Miss Juliet Eyeions, brewster and tapstress of the Lewes Arms, MountPlace, who freely spoke to THIS REPORTER, states on her faith as a Christianthat, coming forth to query the commotion, she saw TREVAN, a man intimatelyknown to her from commerce, discharge a pistol point blank into the pate of anold man (who disdained to beg for mercy), whereof he plainly died. I examinedthe designated spot and indeed found tokens suggestive of such a heinous act;yet of any cadaver not one sign.

TREVAN is committed in restraint to the Castle Keep on charges yet to bedetermined, arraigned for trial at the Spring Assize. Readers of this journalof record may be assured that they will continue to be apprised.'

U[U[U[U[U[U[U

cHAPTER 8

‘You'll excuse me if Idon't get up.’

Itwas meant as a joke but only made Melissa weep. Samuel could see that they wereby no means her first tears of the day.

Actually,he was glad to see it, having assumed she would still be incandescent-angry.After correctly reading his face that fatal night, she'd barred the way, onlyto be lifted aside like a china doll and marooned up high on the mantelpiece. Aservant had had to rescue her later. Even with all the other problems breedinglike cancer around her, she'd not been a happy woman about that.

‘Don'tmourn yet,’ Samuel ventured, mock-jocular. ‘I'm still here. Just because I canrattle my chains doesn't mean I'm a ghost!’

Actuallyhe couldn't, because they'd put him in a straitjacket as well. Otherwise thoughhe'd hadn't fared too bad. His money secured him an above-ground private celland ample food to live on.

Nevertheless,Trevan reckoned he deserved praise for jesting (however feebly) in presentcircumstances - but if so he waited in vain. Mrs Trevan seemed