“An electrical battery cell powers the false heartbeat,” Miss Appleby said. “Anti-coagulants thin the clogged routes.”
“Is that what brings her back?” I asked.
“No. It’s merely a deception designed to fool her into thinking her body is healthy again. It helps filter unwanted guests, shall we say. She will re-enter. Then, after realising her body is useless, she will hopefully answer the surrogate’s call and join him in his body.”
Pugh cried out. He must have noticed the surrogate nestled amongst the apparatus’s rods, wires, and glassware.
“Calm yourself, man,” she told him. “If the sight offends, then avert your eyes.”
Once again, like last night, I heard the far-off murmuring of voices through the horn. Charlotte’s mouth jerked wide open, remaining fixed that way as though an invisible dental clamp were holding it in place. A woeful groan emitted from her, suggesting extreme discomfort. As this cattle-like bellow grew in volume, Pugh cowered, terrified.
“Can’t you stop that?” asked the doctor. “Somebody is sure to hear. The entire town will awaken.”
“It’s too late now,” she said. “We must wait for her to pass to the surrogate. At the moment she is confused, struggling inside her own wasted body. Don’t worry. This is normal.”
“Normal? I disagree most strongly, madam. You have obviously developed immunity to this vile sacrilege. If I had only known …”
“If you remember, Doctor, I offered sufficient warning. I must remind you of our agreement.”
The horn made a gurgling sound as the groaning from the corpse stopped finally. Charlotte’s dark lips remained frozen open, however.
“Such pain” a voice mumbled through the horn.
“Excellent,” Miss Appleby said cheerily. “We are successful.”
The voice was hoarse and distant, yet also vaguely feminine. “Why … why do this? It hurt so. Let me raast.”
“I apologise for your distress, Charlotte,” Miss Appleby said. “But we need to know what happened to you. Tobias is to hang for your murder.”
“Tob … aah? Baah?”
“Yes, your beloved.”
“Tobah … not …”
“What’s that?”
“Wheel… wheel, can’t fuggus… oh the agony… not meant to appen …” “What’s not meant to happen, Charlotte?”
“Stop it, Tobah! Stop it, I beg you … No! Release me!” A piercing shriek, and then Charlotte’s stiff arm shot out and her blackened hand locked onto Pugh’s wrist.
The gaoler screeched and struggled but the grip would not relax. “Let go of me, devil! Mam … Mammy, help me!”
Miss Appleby berated him. “Quiet, Pugh! Have you no feelings? The poor girl merely seeks comfort.” She asked Charlotte, “Is Tobias angry, my dear? Is he hurting you?”
An odd whimpering occurred that might have been laughter, before a deeper voice interjected. “Yes, he throttled me alright, sent me to Hell where all us whores belong! He’ll be joining us soon. He deserves it!”
“Another is present,” Miss Appleby said, pushing the lever quickly and yanking the wires free. Serum spurted from the tubes.
“Another?” asked the doctor.
“A malign presence followed her through. It’s happened before. Dangerous for the surrogate; therefore, I must shut the procedure down.”
Pugh had finally managed to prise away Charlotte’s dead fingers. He crawled from the trench and ran into the darkness, blubbering for his mother.
“That’s done it,” said the doctor, shaking visibly. “I never expected him to keep his mouth shut. What about refilling this grave? I’m afraid I’m not fit enough to shovel dirt.”
“I have no desire to either,” Miss Appleby said. “Let it be. It’s too late now anyway.”
“Have you no shame? We cannot abandon it in this condition!”
“Doubtless the gravedigger will put it right. Listen, when we return to the house, I want you to arrange for my things to be taken to the station, including this box here. Pay a guard to ensure nobody touches it. Mr. Creswell and I will need to borrow a horse each. We might require a hasty departure. Come, we haven’t much time.”
The doctor looked crestfallen. “Time for what? It’s clear my son is guilty. You heard what the dead girl said. Justice must be served. Tobias shall hang.”
As dawn broke, mist covered the icy bridlepath. I followed her up the hill at a measured canter, my face wet and cold from the dew that brushed off the overhanging foliage. We emerged in a clearing, greeted by a hazy view of great unnatural steps carved in the surrounding cliffs.
“Miss Appleby, what exactly are we doing here?”
“Keep up, Mr. Creswell!”
I pursued her up a steep incline until we reached a settlement of stone buildings where blocks were obviously split with hammers and chisels. We tethered the horses to an iron container crammed with slate panels then continued on foot. The area was deserted, though I imagined men would be arriving soon to begin their shift. Below, a steep gravelled slope with rail tracks led far down into the foggy undergrowth. Rusted wagons sat on these tracks, attached to thick cables that coiled around an enormous drum nearby. From a concealed point beyond the drum, I heard the flow of water.
“Over here,” she said, striding over the crest.
The embankment was thick with ferns and trees, an odd contrast to the otherwise grey wasteland. I pictured the young lovers meeting here, out of sight of the men, far from the prying eyes of the townsfolk, yet near enough for Tobias to return to work if called. Miss Appleby stepped across the narrow footbridge spanning the stream; the dirty water a shallow trickle, but when released from the pond’s dam, I imagined the flow would be substantial. Beside her was the giant waterwheel that powered the drum, a great wooden structure with blades and paddles and riveted iron plates, though motionless now. She pointed at something.
“Do you see that?”
She climbed onto the bridge’s handrail, stretched out a leg, and clambered onto one of the paddles.
“Take care, Miss Appleby.”
She edged around the paddle, shuffled her feet along a blade, until she neared the hub. Reaching down, she untangled something and stuffed it in her jacket pocket.
A picture began to emerge. As a correspondent, I had developed a skill for recalling conversations verbatim and could replay these in my mind like an actor might a memorised script. This, along with keen instincts, allowed me to view objectively, with empathy or detachment, whatever suited the occasion. Sometimes what appeared perplexing on the surface was really quite a simple affair beneath the complex and emotive behaviour of those closely involved.
The wheel… Stop it, Tobias! Stop it, I beg you…
Miss Appleby showed me what she had found. It was a sodden blackish colour but when she squeezed the filthy water out its original scarlet showed. The wool had unravelled at one end where it had been cut, probably with a knife.
“Do you see, Mr. Creswell?”
I nodded. “I remember Tobias hugging the shorter end of that scarf in his cell. I thought it was a hat at the time.”
“I can visualise them walking here holding hands,” she said dreamily, “or perhaps they were warned that Crane had arrived and were making a hurried escape. A gust of wind, the wheel turning, a freak occurrence …”