The Wards' Mystery

Chapter 9

On Sunday, while most servants enjoy their free morning basking in beds, I and Lady Jannet sneak out of the house. The anticipation of the discoveries and adventure is a nice change to the dull routine of scrubbing and cleaning.

I climb over the gates and help Lady Jannet to do the same. She refuses to tie her skirt up and it ends up being stuck in one of the gate scrolls. She pulls and I pull. The skirt doesn't budge. We pull harder. Nothing. Suddenly there's a loud ripping sound, and Lady Jannet falls down on the ground.

"That is a good start," she says as I help her up and wipe the dirt from her skirt with a handkerchief. Lady Jannet turns around a couple of times observing the damage. Luckily the tear happened to be on the edge and is barely visible.

"Terrible, but not deadly. We will fix it in town," Lady Jannet concludes, "oh, what a muddy mystery."

We weave through the road trying to avoid the puddles. The dirt loudly squishes under our feet and the dark clouds keep swirling over us. A gust of cold wind makes me shiver. I hope we'll reach the town before it starts raining.

I've walked this road so many times. It's not well-trodden and the forest on each side could be a bit unnerving, but I've never felt unsafe. The animals usually keep away from the roads. But what if when Milly was returning from the apothecary, they didn't? What if a bear or a wolf has dragged her into the forest, and the rain has washed away all the signs of struggle? What if that same beast is watching me now, waiting for the right moment to strike? All my muscles tense, as I hear a twig snap and a murder of crows take off from the trees. I glance at Lady Jannet.

"Look, here are some footprints," she says and takes off to the right side of the road. Her presence calms me down. She'd know if we were in danger. She wouldn't get involved in something she can't deal with. Maybe she's even armed. Could a pistol fit into her purse? I clench the pen with golden vines in my pocket and shove away the unwanted thoughts.

The footprints are barely visible and are distorted by the rain. But they're quite small. Could they be mine? It's been a week since I've visited Lady Jannet's house. Can the footprints last for so long?

I imagine what a police officer would do in this situation. Would he bring the whole town here and make people fit their feet to the footprints? I put my foot next to the closest footprint. It fits! Then I try another footprint. It fits too, and the next one, and the one after the next one.

"These here are my footprints, m'lady," I declare proudly.

"I see. Let us continue," she says.

"Wait, I want to try another one." I'd definitely make a good investigator. This footprint doesn't fit, but I feel something pressing against my foot. I remove it and notice a piece of yellow metal sticking out of the mud. I pull it out. It's a small metal box with inscriptions on top.

"Dr. Martin's Mandrake Pills. What a curious find," Lady Jannet says.

"Wasn't Milly sent to the town to buy those?" I ask.

"Indeed she was. Let me check the date of packaging." Lady Jannet opens the box and takes out a small note. "Third of March. It matches. We need to look around."

"We won't go into the forest, will we?" There is a note of panic in my voice.

"Not deep. We will have to keep the road in sight. We do not want to get lost now do we?" Lady Jannet follows a narrow trail between two old oak trees. I keep behind her. She inspects the trees and the ground and the stumps for something, as I nervously look around.

"What exactly are we looking for, m'lady?" I ask.

"Something unusual."

We trudge for a while. The only unusual thing about this forest is us. We're ill prepared for such exploits. Rotten leaves and mud stick to our skirts, cold water gets into our boots. We stumble and slip a lot. Lady Jannet doesn't complain, but I can feel her irritation grow. Soon she doesn't pay as much attention to the surroundings. Her steps become long and quick. Her thoughts are somewhere far away. When the wind blows hard and the rain comes pouring down, I'm not surprised that she immediately urges us to get back to the road.

"We are going back to the manor," she declares. That I wasn't prepared for.

"But m'lady, the town..."

"Will wait. I am cold and wet. And we can barely see anything in this downpour. I think there is a small rock in my boot. Have you ever tried walking with a rock in your boot? It's very annoying. Stand still, I will try to shake it out." Lady Jannet leans on me and lifts her right leg. Suddenly I hear a howl. A human howl. I flinch and make a rapid step forward.

"Daina!" Lady Jannet barely manages to keep her balance. "I asked you to stay still!"

"Did you hear it?" I whisper.

Lady Jannet puts her leg back to the ground and gives me an angry look.

"My hurt foot will be on your conscience," she says and starts walking back to the manor.

As she passes me, I grab her hand.

"No. Listen," I say.

"This walk evolved from unpleasant to unbearable. Let me go at once," she hisses at me and tries to rip her hand out.

"Don't you hear the howls?" I scream. We stare at each other. Lady Jannet is stronger, but I am more determined. Finally she stops struggling.

"Yes, now I hear them. But I would not call it a howl — more like a cry or a whimper," she replies.

We finally look around. In the midst of rain I made out a silhouette of the burned house. The merchant's house. Could those howls belong to... the ghost? I tell Lady Jannet about the merchant's family tragedy.

"A haunted house! Why did you not tell me about this place before? We need to explore it," she exclaims.

Suddenly the tiny rock in Lady Jannet's boot isn't a problem anymore. She runs toward the house with a wide smile. I've no choice but to follow, as I don't want to let go of her hand.

But quite soon we find that the howling doesn't come from the house. No, its source is closer to the road. Just somewhere farther ahead. We push forward. The wind pushes us back. The howls become louder. It's a dreadful choir of pain and misery. I squeeze Lady Jannet's hand tighter. She stops.

"Do not fret. There are no ghosts here. Look," she says and points to an old well by the road. Not so long ago I hid behind it from our postman. Lady Jannet crouches next to the well and traces her hand over its walls and nods.

"I was right. It is an old well that has many tiny holes. Here and here. These are at fault."

"The holes howl?" I ask with evident disbelief.

"Not the holes themselves but the wind that travels through them. Have you ever tried to whistle? It is the same principle. The well amplifies the sound, and makes the wind's howl sound more like human cries, or howls if you must. I once read an article in Times about a so-called Singing Well in Sheffield with a very detailed explanation of this phenomenon. I wonder what will happen if I open it." She opens the well's cover. "A pity. I would have loved to see the..."

Lady Jannet freezes in place. My heart skips a beat. There, at the bottom of the well, Paul is staring back at me — his eyes dead blue.

"Gods..." Lady Jannet whispers. Her words vanish, as does the rain, the wind and the world. There is only the ground that my feet hit as I run. I run as fast as I can. As far away as I can, until I bump into somebody's belly.

"Tsk..Tsk.. It's alright." Someone's strong hands pat me on the back. Suddenly there is a flash of pain. A moment of struggle. Then even the road becomes no more.

***