The Coming of the Stranger
Ena Sefton was returning from the local grocer, who carried on a
desperate, and fortuitous existence during the winter months, hoping
to reap a harvest in the summer. The place now was derelict, like a
show when the season has finished, and the few inhabitants wandered
round like the survivors of a plague.
Some of the bungalows had wooden shutters nailed over the windows to
save the glass, and looked like houses of the dead. Others showed
through the uncurtained windows dim suggestions of deck chairs, and
furniture covered with sheets. Pebbles and sand covered the verandas,
and pools of discoloured water stood in the rutted road.
There was no symmetry or order about the bungalows; some more
pretentious than others, showed marks of distinction, such as a ship
in full sail over the roof, as a wind-vane, or a conservatory where
languid flowers and shrubs waited for the spring. These were the
aristocrats of Bungalow Town. Nestling between two such, would come a
chubby democrat, quite unashamed of his appearance, made of two
railway carriages with a pent roof over them, and a notice stating
that “This Desirable Bungalow” was “to be Let Furnished.”
In the summer all alike would be crowded with happy people, but now
they were ruinous and depressing.
Ena made her way down the road, stopping now and then as a fierce
blast struck her and a blinding spindrift nearly choked her.
Progress was difficult against the wind bitter with salt and driven
sand, carrying a heavy shopping basket. The stranger almost collided
with her, and drew on one side with apologies. He glanced at the girl,
and then politely asked if he might carry the basket, and with quiet
insistence took it from her.
“The storm is very bad just here between the bungalows,” he said. “I
will come with you for a little way if I may.”
With his cultured tone there was a note of determination, and Ena was
glad of his help, besides being amused at his presumption. He walked
beside her regardless of the pools of water, sheltering her from the
worst of the storm, till they came to her bungalow, which was all dark
and forbidding.
“This is where we live,” she said “but my brother is evidently not
back yet; won’t you come in and wait for the rest of the storm to blow
over, he cannot be long.”
“My name is Halley,” said the man, bowing slightly. “I am staying here
for a short time, but I think I had better get back; I shall have the
wind behind me, you see.”
Ena glanced at him, and noticed in the dim light that he was tall and
fragile-looking.
“Are you afraid of coming in?” she asked with a mocking laugh, “or is
it merely a question of convention?”
“Neither, Miss . . .” he began.
“Sefton is my name . . . Ena Sefton, and my brother’s name is Jack.”
Her manner was refreshing and he judged her very young.
“I will certainly do so if you ask me in that way, but an invitation
in these circumstances is often a matter of form, to be refused like a
dinner invitation when one knows there is nothing to eat.”
They both laughed, and Ena opened the door. Her life was so lonely
that she was rather enjoying the chance of talking to one who was
evidently a gentleman.
He carried the basket in for her, helped her light a lamp, and an oil
stove, which had gone out and had been smoking horribly.
“My brother will be back soon, and you must let me make you a cup of
tea. You see there is something to eat from the weight of the basket.”
He saw a merry smile come to her mouth, and a pair of trusting blue
eyes looked into his.
Soon they were sitting over the oil stove, now giving out a welcome
heat, and had started to thaw.
“I wonder where Jack can have got to?” she said. “He went out for a
walk some time ago.”
Halley thought to himself “And left you to carry the supplies,” but he
left the remark unsaid.
“He has taken lately to these long walks, and I find it rather lonely.
I would like you to see him.”
“I shall be delighted,” answered Halley, amused at her naïve manner.
“I am a stranger here, perhaps the air will do me good.”
She glanced at him, and thought he looked ill, though straight and
very handsome. She imagined he had suffered in health or through some
secret sorrow, and her girlish fancy was already building a romantic
past round him.
The silence was becoming awkward. Outside the rain was streaming from
the roof, and the wind moaned with sullen fury.
“How do you like this place?” she asked, to say something.
“It is quiet, and suits me, but . . .”
“What?”
He glanced at her. “Well, this horrible murder at the castle has
rather upset things.”
She gave a nervous shudder. “It has upset us all. I get quite
frightened, my brother is out so much, and I sit here and listen to
the wind, and imagine all sorts of things.”
“You poor girl!” he said so gently that it took all the familiarity
from the remark.
“The villagers, what there are of them, declare there is a curse on
the Reckaviles,” she said and shivered.
“You don’t believe that?”
“I don’t know, I went and looked at the castle—it’s a dreary place,
and one can picture anything happening there.”
He glanced at her anxiously, this morbid conversation must stop before
he went: he heartily cursed the brother for leaving this sweet little
creature alone.
“May I smoke?” he asked to change the talk.
“Why, certainly,” she said, and bit her tongue with vexation as she
realised she had nothing to offer, but Halley produced his case.
“You don’t?” he asked offering it to her.
“No, that’s not one of my vices,” she laughed.
“Do you know I am so glad; I suppose I am old-fashioned, but I can
never get used to girls smoking, especially young girls.”
“I’m twenty-one,” she said bridling.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Sefton, I was not thinking of any special
case.”
She did not know whether to be annoyed or not, so changed the
conversation.
“The wireless set is our only amusement, but I am afraid it is out of
order.”
He walked across and examined it.
“It is a very good set, but there is something wrong. May I have an
examination?”
“It is not ours you know; it belongs to the house, we only have the
use of it while we are here.”
She watched him under the lamplight, his keen alert face and deft
fingers suggested the artist. He fixed the ear phones to his head and
began juggling with screws and wires in skillful manner. Ena watched
him with the fascination a novice always feels for the expert, till
the boiling kettle drew her to her duties with the teapot.
Halley removed the ear phones, and switched on the loud speaker, when
a faint sound of music came forth.
“There is something wrong,” he said, “but I think I can put it right
for you, if you will allow me to come again.”
“Why, certainly, but come and have a cup of tea now.”
They were soon sitting like old friends over the oil stove, discussing
the place, and again she resorted to the gruesome crime which had
fallen on the village—the murder of Lord Reckavile in his castle.
Seeing that she was bent on discussing it he let her have her way.
“Did you ever see him?” he asked quietly.
“No, you know he very seldom came here. He had only been back from
abroad quite a short time. It is altogether a mystery, but you know
they say there is a curse on the family. No one will go near the
castle now, even in the daytime, and you could not get anyone in the
village to go there at night for any sum of money.”
“He was stabbed, wasn’t he? I read the bare account of the inquest.”
“Yes, in the back, and there was no one in the room,” she glanced
uneasily round the lounge, and listened to the breaking of the waves
and the wash of the sea outside.
His anger rose against her brother for leaving her alone, and though
he knew he had no right to presume on her invitation, he stayed on as
long as he possibly could.
At last he rose.
“I must really go,” he said. “I will come round and put your set
right, and perhaps I can see your brother then.”
“Thank you so much. It has been so good of you to keep me company,”
and there was a wistful look in her eyes.
She came with him to the door, and as he opened it a blast of the
storm struck them, making the lamp flare up. Halley reeled against the
door-post with a quick gasp of pain.
“What is the matter?” she asked anxiously.
“Nothing, just a touch of giddiness, an old wound which troubles me
sometimes.”
She watched him down the rough road, bending with the fierce gale, and
came in with a sigh.
Halley was as good as his word. He came the next evening with a parcel
under his arm. All day Ena had been looking forward with pleasure to
seeing him. She had told Jack of the chance meeting, which news he had
received in a surly manner.
“We can’t afford to entertain, you know, Ena, and I don’t like people
seeing our penury.”
“I am sorry,” she said. “I thought it would be a man friend for you,
and Mr. Halley does not seem the kind of man who wants entertaining as
you call it.”
“From your description he seems a sort of wandering artist fellow, and
I hate that type. I don’t know that I care to see him much.”
“But Jack, you must. He cannot come here and find you out again, and
he is coming to put the wireless set right. You know you would like to
have it working.”
“Oh, is he?” said Jack. “Well, I can tell you what is wrong with it,
it wants a new high tension battery, which costs about a sovereign,
and we can’t afford it.”
Ena started—she wondered if Halley had found that out.
“You will come home won’t you, Jack?” she pleaded.
“I don’t know, Ena. I’ll try, but I can’t be certain.”
There was a shifty look in his eyes which she did not like, but he
jumped up abruptly and left her without further discussion.
When Halley came the storm had gone, and the moon was shining on the
water. He had quite a boyish appearance and came in with a cheerful
smile. Ena greeted him with pleasure, but felt a sense of shame at
Jack’s absence again.
“I am sorry to call so late, Miss Sefton,” he said “but I have been
away all day, and I thought there was more chance of seeing your
brother—besides it will be better for the wireless.”
“Jack promised to be in,” she said doubtfully. “He should have been
here before now.”
He placed his parcel on the little table, and undid the wrapper, and
she saw with misgiving what was inside.
“You have not got a new battery?” she asked, and her colour rose.
“Yes, I thought perhaps that was the trouble,” and he proceeded to fix
it.
She was annoyed. It was taking a mean advantage of their poverty and
she resented it, but what could she say? Offer to pay for it? That
would be an insult again. She feared what Jack would say knowing how
sensitive he was on this point.
“You should not have done that,” she said weakly.
“It is nothing, Miss Sefton. It is too good a set to be idle.”
But there was a feeling of restraint between them which he noticed.
The adjustment made, he turned on the switch, and tuned in. A burst of
music filled the room, and conversation was unnecessary.
The evening was delightful, and he stayed on giving her the best from
the different programmes. At nine-thirty came the news bulletin, and
weather forecast, and after that an announcement. She caught the words
“Portham Junction” and heard Mr. Halley give a quick intake of breath.
Then came the stony words. “I will repeat.” “Missing from Home,
Frederic Summers, Bank Manager from Tunbridge Wells, since January
20th. Aged 40. Tall, clean-shaven, dark. Last seen at Portham Junction
carrying a hand-bag. He had gone on a week’s holiday, and his friends
have heard no news of him since that date.” And then followed the
usual request for information.
Ena looked up, and their eyes met.
“It appears to be one of those mysterious disappearances which baffle
the police,” he said in level tones.
“But it’s so near to this place, and coming after the—other thing,”
she said and stopped.
“There’s no need for alarm,” said he “it may be a simple case of loss
of memory, or some natural explanation.”
“Of course, but this place is so lonely, and Jack is out so much.”
“You must tell him, and ask him to come in earlier, but forgive me, I
have no right to talk like that.” He spread out his hands in apology,
and she for a moment was reminded of something not quite English.
There was just a touch of the alien, not menial, but rather belonging
to the Age of Chivalry, which lives on in remote places.
“We must arrange a definite meeting,” he said. “You see, although this
place is small, and quite unconventional, I cannot come here to see
you. You understand that.”
“Of course, you are right. I will tell him when he comes in.”