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“Algernon Swinburne.” Swinburne sighed.
“A pleasure to meet you,” said Hawkins, stepping forward toshake their hands. He was an average-sized and average-lookingindividual whose bland features were at odds with his reputation,for Burton had heard of “Hanging Hawkins,” and knew him for a manwhose cross-examinations in court were probing in theextreme-“savage,” some might say. A hint of this came withHawkins's next comment: “Of course, the dowager's death is more ablow to our opponent than it is to us. A mother's recognition wouldbe virtually indestructible in court, were it demonstrated inperson. Now, though, we can reduce it to the status ofhearsay.”
“Was the man who claims to be her son present at her death?”Burton enquired.
“No. He's already in London. He'll be arriving here tomorrowafternoon.”
“What about Sir Alfred?” Swinburne put in. “Has he beeninformed?”
Colonel Lushington nodded. “About an hour ago. I'm afraid itdidn't do much for his nerves. Jankyn is attending to him. How wasyour midnight patrol? Did you encounter the mice-that is to say,Lady Mabella?”
“Pardon me, what's this?” Hawkins interrupted.
“Oh, just some nonsense about the Tichborne family curse,”Lushington answered. “Utter tosh and balderdash, without a doubt.Young Alfred has got it into his head that the house is haunted. Bya ghost, be damned! A ghost!”
“My word! We mustn't let him mention it in court. He'll lose allcredibility!”
“What if it's true?” Swinburne asked.
Burton jabbed his fingers into the poet's ribs.
“To answer your question, Colonel,” said the king's agent, “no,I didn't see a ghostly woman floating about last night. Nor did Iexpect to. There was, however, a rather remarkable mist flowingpast the house, down the slope, and into the lake.”
“Ah, yes,” said Lushington. “It's a fairly common occurrence.It's a mist, plain and simple. It arises in the Crawls and flowsdown into the hollow. Covers the lake.”
“Intriguing!” Burton exclaimed. “It only forms over the Crawls?Not the other wheat fields?”
“That's so. Absolutely the case. Odd, now that I think about it.I don't know why. Something to do with the lie of the land,perhaps? Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Neither has Mr. Hawkins. Come to think of it, neither have I. Isuggest we have a late breakfast. What do you say? A cup of tea, atleast? Good for the stamina.”
Later that day, while Lushington and Hawkins worked on theirlegal case in the library, Burton and Swinburne sat in the smokingroom and considered the Tichborne poem.
“I'm pretty certain that Eye blacker than Lady Mabella's is areference to the Eye of Naga,” Burton a
“I don't disagree,” said Swinburne. He imitated Lushington: “Ordo I? I don't know!”
“Shut up, Algy.”
“Certainly. Or certainly not, as the case may be.”
Burton sighed and shook his head despairingly, then continued:“And it seems that a considerable part of the first stanza might bea reference to the Crawls.”
Swinburne nodded: “My Lady's round and By her damned charitybound. Do you think the tears that weep might be the mist?”
“I don't know. That doesn't feel quite right to me. What aboutthis line: One curse here enfolds another?”
“Her curse was that the a
“Possibly. But Vexations in the poor enables? Vexations? Whywould the poor respond to a gift of free flour with vexation? No,Algy, it won't do.”
The king's agent struck a lucifer and applied it to his thirdManila cheroot of the day. Swinburne wrinkled his nose.
“If the diamond were buried beneath the Crawls,” Burton mused,“then Consume if thou wouldst uncover becomes a directive: eat thewheat to uncover the treasure.”
“Or burn it.”
“Indeed. However, it's the begi
“For sure,” Swinburne agreed, eyeing his friend's cigar.
Some thirty minutes later, the king's agent and his assistantmet beneath the portico at the entrance to the house. They werewearing tweed suits, strong boots, and cloth caps, and each carrieda cane. As they descended the steps, a voice hailed them from thedoorway: “I say, you chaps, do you mind if I join you?”
It was Sir Alfred, his white hair stark against his darkmourning suit. His face was gaunt, his eyes red.
“Not at all,” Burton answered. “My condolences, Sir Alfred. Weheard the news earlier.”
“My mother lived only for my brother,” the baronet said as theystepped down to the carriageway and started across it. “When he waslost, she began to age very rapidly. The last time I saw her, shewas extremely frail. If the bounder who claims to be Roger reallyis who he says he is, then I blame him for her demise. If heisn't-and I still maintain that he isn't-then I blame him doubly. Ifeel certain that she knew in her heart of hearts that the cad isnothing but a wicked imposter. She died of disappointment, I'mconvinced of it.”
“Yet she passed away maintaining that her eldest son hadreturned?”
“She did. The pitiful wish of a broken woman. Where are wegoing-just for a stroll?”
“I want to have a closer look at the Crawls. I'm curious as towhy a mist arises from them but not from the adjoining fields.”
“Ah, yes. Mysterious, isn't it? I've often wondered myself.”
The three men reached the edge of the wheat field and started toskirt around its right-hand border, walking alongside a lowhedgerow.
“A promising crop this year,” said Tichborne. “Look how green itis!”
“Now that you mention it,” Burton said, thoughtfully, “itappears that the Crawls are the greenest of all your fields.”
“Yes, it's ironic, don't you think? The best wheat we grow, wehave to give away!”
The king's agent stopped walking and looked around at thelandscape.
“I don't see any obvious geographical explanation. All thefields on this incline are equally exposed to whatever weatherconditions prevail. If the Crawls dipped down slightly, I mightsuspect an underground water source, but in fact, if anything, theyappear to hump up somewhat.”
Swinburne squatted, using his cane for balance, and peered atthe horizon.
“You're right,” he said. “It's barely noticeable, but this partof the slope is definitely a little bit higher. My goodness, what ageographer's eye you have, Richard!”
“Enough to know that something's not quite right here. At thislow altitude, mist should form in hollows, not on the raised partof a slope. The only explanation for the vapour is that there's awarm spring beneath our feet. Yet, as I say, it should result in aslight dip in the incline, not the opposite. Let's walk on.”
They hiked to the top of the field and continued on into the onebeyond.
“My hat! The Lady Mabella crawled all this way!” Swinburneexclaimed.
“Driven by the devil.” Tichborne shuddered. “Did you hear herknocking last night?”
“No,” said Burton, quickly, before Swinburne could open hismouth. “Did you?”
“I'm afraid I rather overdid it at supper,” the baronetanswered. “I was oblivious to all from the moment my head hit thepillow-wasn't conscious of a thing until I awoke this morning.”
“Something rather peculiar occurred in the music room. A notewas struck at the piano-”
“-But no one was there,” Tichborne finished. “I bet that put thewind up you.”
“It did. It's happened before, then?”
“For as long as I can remember. Three or four nights aweek-bong!-for no apparent reason. Always the same note, too.”