The Coffin Path: 'The perfect ghost story' by Clements Katherine

Author:Clements, Katherine [Clements, Katherine]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2018-02-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

‘We go on as before. What choice have we?’

There is a pause. All three men look at me, and in each one I read the questions I’m asking myself.

‘Without the income from the fleeces, there’ll not be enough to pay the workers,’ Ambrose says. ‘Harvest is almost upon us and it won’t be long before we need more help with the flock. Without John . . .’

‘We’ve had lean years before and have weathered them, have we not, Father?’

Father is gripping the table edge, fixed on the misshapen lump of metal around which we sit like points of a compass.

‘Father?’

He looks up and stares hard at Ellis. ‘The Booths have been through worse than this and survived.’

‘Then how will you pay wages?’ Ambrose says. Dority will urge him to stay loyal to Scarcross Hall, but he must feed his family and he cannot do so without coin.

I have already decided what must be done. ‘We’ll have to sell the best of the lambs at the All Hallows fair. That will raise enough to keep us fed, if we are frugal, and perhaps leave a little for labour. I’ll do the rest of the work myself.’

Ambrose snorts. ‘You can’t bring in the barley alone. Even you can’t do the work of ten men.’

‘Then I’ll do as much as I can.’

‘I’ll stay,’ Ellis says. He still has not washed, having kept vigil at Bestwicke’s bedside through the day, and his eyes are strangely white against cheeks still blackened by ashes and fire.

‘I can’t pay you what we promised,’ I say.

‘I’ll work for bed and board.’

‘Why would you do that?’ Father asks. ‘Is this the voice of your conscience? Seems to me only a guilty man would feel the need to make such an offer.’

‘Father . . .’ I put a hand on top of his to silence him but he ignores me, sitting forward and fixing Ellis with a condemning glare.

‘You say you were the one to bar the door from the inside. You say you snuffed the only candle, but how do we know that’s the truth?’

Ellis leans back in his chair, expression grim.

‘Father, John Bestwicke would be dead if it were not for Ellis. We should be thanking him, not accusing him.’

‘We have only his word. Had you been drinking, Master Ferreby? Pastor Flynn tells me there is much drunkenness among the workers of this parish – indeed, among my own men. He tells me they’re to be found in the taverns, wasting their wages on liquor and wenches. Are you one of them?’

‘Ellis does not visit the tavern, Father.’

‘We shall see what John Bestwicke has to say when he wakes. Now, there is a good man. An old soldier like him knows the meaning of loyalty. He’ll tell the truth.’

‘I doubt even John will be able to answer this riddle,’ Ambrose says. ‘Mercy, did you see the door barred on the outside? I did not.’

‘No,’ I admit. ‘But I’ve no reason to doubt Ellis’s word. And I don’t wish to speak of it again.

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