The Curse of the Reckaviles
by Walter S. Masterman
Contents
Book I. The Curse
I. The “Final”
II. The Coming of the Stranger
III. The End of the Line
IV. At the Castle
V. The Reckavile Horror
VI. Portham-on-Sea
VII. In the Dark Night
VIII. “The Red Cote”
IX. The Mysterious Bungalow
X. In the Churchyard
XI. The Meaning of “The Red Cote”
XII. The Unknown Speaker
XIII. Detained on Suspicion
XIV. A Vision of the Night
Book II. The Reckaviles
I. The Convent School
II. Flight
III. The Marriage
IV. The Divorce and After
V. The Second Marriage
VI. The Blow Falls
VII. A Nameless Wife
VIII. Roy at Oxford
IX. A Ghost from the Past
X. At the “Black Horse”
XI. Halley Continues the Narrative
XII. The Secret Out
XIII. The Last
[Frontispiece: A man standing before a desk and holding a fire poker
is staring at a white-bearded man poking his head in the door to the
room. Caption: Then, very slowly, a face appeared, a vacant
dead-looking face surrounded by a mass of white hair streaked with
yellow.]
Book I
The Curse
Chapter I
The “Final”
The Final for the Hospital Cup was being fought out between Guys and
Barts, and the usual crowd of joyful medicos were making their way to
the ground, dressed in every fantastic garb, ringing bells and waving
hideous ear-splitting rattles. The crowd watched good humouredly, as
here a coster’s cart passed with donkey and “Bill” and “Liza,” here
the ex-Kaiser with carrots behind his ears, and Joan of Arc and
Humpty-Dumpty, and clowns with balloons and Dilly and Dally, and the
rest. The police had seen it all before, and shepherded them along
with firmness and good temper.
The ground was in a state of pandemonium till the whistle blew, when
silence fell on the spectators, as the teams got down to serious work.
Each was well balanced, but contained particular stars, the darlings
of their supporters; here was Histon the international wing “three,”
who had scored the only try for England in that great tussle with
Ireland, and Blackett the Scottish forward whose name was terror.
Not least among them was Sefton, now in his last year, who was in the
running for his International Cap, on the left wing, a deadly straight
runner, who might easily win the match if properly fed by his centre.
And so they ran through the names, and weighed the chances, while
thirty young Britons in the pride of perfect fitness strove for the
mastery, as many of them had fought in the Great War, with a single
purpose, to win or perish as became them.
Half time came with no score, and the rattles clattered like machine
guns, and the hooters hooted, and drums beat.
Then the struggle became fierce and desperate. Time after time the
grand Barts pack went through with a rush, only to be stopped by the
intrepid Jacks, at full back, who hurled himself on the ball
regardless of life and limb, or so it seemed to the more tender of the
crowd.
Time and again a passing movement on the old Welch lines, en echelon,
with perfect timing nearly let the Guys’ “threes” in, but still the
lines were uncrossed. Histon had tried his dangerous drops, and all
but won between the posts, and Sefton with his marvellous pace had run
right through, to be tackled magnificently by Barron the full back,
and so the tide had veered amidst the wildest excitement on the part
of the spectators.
Time was running out, and many a looker-on glanced at his watch
expecting a replay, when Guys’ scrum half “sold the dummy,” and cross
kicked. Sefton’s inside took it superbly, and ran straight. There was
one chance, and young Sefton took it, crossing inside, he took a pass
at full speed, and raced in between the posts, in a scene of wild
shouting and every noise that could be made.
The match was over, and Sefton was carried shoulder high to the
Pavilion, in a never to be forgotten moment of triumph.
A glorious sense of exhilaration filled him. This was a fitting ending
to his career, he hoped later to get his degree, but what was that
compared to having won the cup.
In the dressing room his hand was nearly wrung off, as he got rid of
the mud of the match.
His one regret was that his sister Ena, who had promised to come to
the match, had not put in an appearance, and the thought of this
disturbed him in an unaccountable manner.
As he came from the dressing room, one of the doctors met him, with a
grave face, which gave him a sense of impending disaster, and drew him
into a small side room.
“I am sorry to say, Sefton, I have some very bad news for you. This
telegram came during the match, and we did not like to give it to you
then. I opened it in case I could answer it for you.”
The words were terrible enough when Sefton read them:
“Come at once Father dying. Ena.”
In the silence of the room, the shouting and cheering outside could be
heard, and a great feeling of bitterness came over Sefton at the
contrast between the happy throng outside, and his own misery. He
wanted to run out and tell them to stop. It was unseemly to cheer when
his father was dying. Then he turned on the doctor angrily.
“Why did you not give me this at once? I suppose you thought I would
leave the ground. Now I may get there too late.”
The doctor laid his hand on his shoulder kindly.
“No my boy, but there was only ten minutes to go, and knowing how keen
you were on the match, we thought you would rather we kept it for that
short time.”
“Forgive me, the news has upset me. Of course if I had got it then we
should not have won, it was selfish of me.”
“I have a taxi here all ready for you,” said the doctor, and he led
Sefton out by the back way, and put him inside.
“I will tell the others,” he said.
The misery of the journey Sefton never forgot.
He knew his father had been in failing health for some time, but had
not expected any sudden failure.
Sefton’s Mother was dead, and his young sister had only left school
the summer before to look after the house.
It was an ugly bleak house in Finchley that the doctor occupied, too
big and poorly furnished, for he had never made a success of his
practice, being far too much occupied with research. When his wife had
been in full health, he had taken in one or two patients who were on
the borderline of insanity, and treated them himself, but his wife’s
breakdown in health put a stop to this source of income, and if she
had known it, of brilliant discovery.
When Sefton arrived, and had got rid of the taxi, he was met by Ena,
on whose face were marks of tears.
“Oh I am so glad you’ve come, father had been asking for you, the
doctor has just left but is coming back.”
“How is father?” he asked.
“Bad, very bad I am afraid. He had a heart attack, quite suddenly,
after lunch, and I thought he had died, but he rallied. Of course, I
could not leave him, and wired for you.”
Jack Sefton went straight in to his father. There had never been much
love lost between these two, for the doctor had been engrossed in some
research work, and did not seem to understand his son, or take any
interest in his career except to urge him on to get qualified. Perhaps
he knew his own days were numbered.
He was propped up with pillows and looked ghastly, with a blue tinge
about his face.
“I can’t talk much, Jack,” he said slowly “and I know the next attack
will be the end, but I must have a word with you alone. I am afraid I
have some bad news to tell you, the fact is I have neglected my
business so much lately that the practice has gone to pieces. And I
have been so careless in collecting accounts that I have had to dip
into the little sum I had stored away for you and Ena. I am afraid
there is little left.” He sighed.
A feeling of bitterness came to Jack. “Do you mean that we shall be
penniless,” then he realised what this meant “that I shall have to
leave the hospital without qualifying.”
“I am afraid so, my boy, unless you can borrow . . .”
“Borrow, who could I borrow from? Why could you not have told me
before?”
“I was afraid to, and I had hoped to have made some money.”
Jack turned away with a movement of impatience.
“Don’t be angry with me now, Jack. I shall not be here much longer,
and I have tried my best. And I have something I must tell you before
I go, come here. It is less strain for me to whisper.”
The doctor spoke earnestly, and Jack bent over him while he told what
had to be said. At intervals, Jack gave him teaspoonfuls of brandy,
for he was weakening. When he had finished he lay back and closed his
eyes. “Better fetch Ena,” he said in a tired voice. Jack went out
quickly and summoned the girl who came in dry-eyed and anxious. Jack
telephoned in haste for the doctor, but before he arrived the end had
come, and Jack and his sister were left to face the world alone.
The days that followed were full of wretchedness for the young people.
There was the funeral, and the settling up, when Jack found that
things were worse than even his father had thought. The house was only
rented and this was behind, and there were debts to be met, even Ena’s
last school bill being still unpaid.
Then he went to see the Hospital authorities, who were very kind as
far as sympathy went, but adamant with regard to the future. Fees were
owing already, and it would be impossible for him to go on for the
next two terms to complete, unless payments were made. They were very
sorry but the rules were strict. Perhaps he could find work, and later
come back and complete his course, and so on.
Jack came away in utter dejection, to the house from which most of the
furniture had been removed, and which they had to vacate the next day
with nowhere to go.
The one bright star was Ena, who faced the situation with splendid
bravery, and refused to despair.
When Jack came in, she met him with a cheery smile, and listened to
his story with sympathetic interest.
“You poor boy,” she said, “you must feel it very much, but perhaps
some day in the near future, things may get better, and you will be
able to get qualified.”
Jack felt ashamed of his despair in face of her pluck.
“I have tried everything, but apart from becoming a professional in
the Northern Union, if I was good enough, I can’t see any hope. How do
we stand?”
She knew what he meant, as she it was who had gone through the
accounts, and settled the bills, as soon as the lawyers had done their
part and taken their heavy toll.
“We shan’t have much, dear, about fifty pounds I reckon, perhaps a
little more, couldn’t you possibly manage on that?”
“Impossible, and you have to live as well, remember,” and he smiled at
her. “No, there is only one thing. If I can get away to some quiet
place, I may be able to do something, there is just a chance. Father
told me a secret before he died, and there may be something in it, or
it may be that his brain was weakening, and that he was imagining
things.”
She looked at him questioningly, but understood he did not wish to say
anything further.
And then the post brought a letter from a school friend of Ena’s, one
of the few with whom she had kept in contact. It was to say that her
parents had a summer bungalow at Portham-on-Sea, which they did not
use in the winter, and that if the Seftons cared to make use of it
they were quite welcome. The key was with the agent, and so on.
“There,” said Ena gaily, “I told you something would turn up.”
“Where is this Portham, I’ve never heard of it?”
“It’s on the South Coast, my friend has often told me of it, shall we
go there?”
“I suppose so, we haven’t much choice, but I should imagine it’s
pretty bad this weather. We can’t stay here, so had better try.”
“Oh! let’s get away from here,” said Ena, in a voice which showed how
the strain was telling on her.
Jack came round and put his arm round her. “Poor old girl, you have
had a wretched time, and all the worry has come on you; let’s get out
of it.”
There was little to pack, and the same afternoon saw them on their way
to Portham Junction, and as the dreary bungalow town opened before
them, hideous and forbidding, their hearts sank within them. Even
Ena’s spirits were damped, and she clung to Jack for a moment.
“I’m afraid, I don’t know why,” she said, “but I feel as though we
were going into a black tunnel, ever so deep and long.”
“Never mind, dear,” he said to reassure her “as long as there’s an
opening the other end.”
So Fate plays havoc with our lives.