Well, it’s just a few minutes from the actual Winter Solstice (15.59), so it’s time for the next chapter of A Walk in the Park.
It’s the first of a quartet of paranormal
stories published as Seasonal Disorders.
If you missed Chapter one, you can find it here:
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A Walk in the Park
Chapter Two
Smiling, she hooked her arm around his, feeling a little giddy and reckless. They walked a little further along the lake then he steered her up a steep path past dense green azaleas. ‘I have taken up residence in the observatory.’
‘You have?’ This made some sort of sense. She refrained from offering up her mistress’s lurid theory. ‘I watched it being built. I love that area of the park.’
‘The gentlemen of science in the town have formed a society, and they are establishing a library. I have been reading all the books, and at night I use the telescope to study the stars and planets.’
‘That sounds heavenly, if you will forgive the expression.’ Goodness, was she flirting? ‘Do they have a lot of books?’
‘Hundreds!’
They climbed the steep, man-made hill, now clad in deep green azaleas, acers, magnolia trees and waxy-leafed camellias, their buds already forming in time for spring. On top, stood the familiar square building, brick on the ground level, finished off in the modern style of black and white timbering.
The patter of claws made them both turn, and the little dog reappeared, a red rubber ball in its mouth. ‘Does he come in with you?’
Bertie patted the dog’s head and lowered his voice. ‘Actually, he is always wanting to play. It can get a little wearing. Sometimes, I give him the slip.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘That is why I went into the observatory in the first place.’
‘Does the old gentleman, Mr Allerton, play with him sometimes?’
‘He is terribly elderly – his joints, you know – and the little boy just is not interested. The dog gets quite cross. So I more or less adopted him.’
‘Or perhaps it is the other way round.’
Bertie grinned. ‘I suppose so. Perhaps he did not want me to be lonely.’
The dog barked playfully and wagged its tail. ‘Time for a game?’ Lilian bent down, picked up the ball. ‘Fetch!’ The animal sprang after it, snuffling happily in the undergrowth.
Bertie smiled. ‘Careful, you will be doing it forever. He just cannot stop.’ Then he paused. ‘Actually, you appear to have some mud on the back of your cape. Let me see what I can do.’ He brushed at the marks, then froze.
‘What is it?’ she asked twisting round to see.
‘Oh, nothing.’ His voice sounded odd. At this point, the dog bounded back, ball in its mouth. It dropped it on Bertie’s boot and backed away, playfully.
‘My turn,’ he said. ‘I have an idea. This should tire him. Come along for a moment.’ He grasped her arm and took her down a narrow path, lined with yew trees. He stopped and pointed downwards. A waterfall tumbled down over artistically placed rocks, before descending in a scenic cataract to the lake. ‘Now, let us just see how far I can throw it.’
Puzzled, she stared at him for a second, watching as hurled the ball into the air, out across the frozen lake, grunting with the effort. There was a dull crack and a muffled splash.
Seemingly unconcerned, the dog charged off and vanished into the shrubbery. ‘But that is so dangerous!’ she cried. ‘He could drown. Oh! Perhaps not, but still ...’
Chillingly, Bertie put a finger to her lips. ‘Quickly. You need to see something.’ He removed his coat and flipped it round, looked at it, then with a grim nod. ‘Remove your cape,’ he said.
Sensing his urgency, she did so.
‘Look. Compare the two.’ He held his coat next to her cape.
Her eyes widened in shock, for in the middle of both were two pairs of muddy paw prints. ‘But-’ She gazed at the marks in horror. ‘They match.’ She swallowed at the realisation. ‘The dog?’
He nodded.
‘So, I did not fall?’
‘And neither did I.’
‘But, he is such a handsome little thing. You do not think he could really mean us harm, do you?’
‘The evidence speaks for itself.’ Bertie’s voice was grim. ‘He pushed us in quite deliberately. There is no doubt in my mind.’
There was a rustle, then the sound of pattering claws. With haste, Bertie helped her on with the cape and put in his coat. A second later, the dog emerged, panting, with the ball in its mouth. It ran up, dropped the ball and nudged it towards Bertie’s foot. Then it sat down, panting, glancing at the ball and then back up at both of them. Its fur was bone dry.
They both stared at him with mounting horror.
‘You still want to play, boy?’ Bertie’s voice cracked.
It let out a happy bark and wagged its feathery tail.
‘Right.’ Giving Lilian a meaningful look, he bent down and picked up the ball, then lobbed it into a pile of leaves. The dog ran off and began nosing around, fully absorbed. ‘Follow me,’ whispered Bertie. ‘Walk slowly, then when I say run, run!’
Hand in hand, they sauntered towards the observatory. The grey dome on top was a spectral blur in the twilight.
‘I can see the entrance!’ she said in a low voice, then her spirits sank. ‘Oh, no.’
‘What?’
‘It’s padlocked.’
‘Don’t worry about that. Now, run!’ Seizing her hand, he guided her up a spiral wrought iron staircase at the back. It led to a narrow door. With a mischievous arch of his eyebrow, Bertie reached to the ledge above and produced a key. He let them both in and he relocked the door, putting the key in his pocket.
‘I thought ghosts could walk through walls,’ she said, amused, despite herself.
‘That is just nonsense. If we could, we would just fall through the ground, too.’
She gazed at him with admiration. ‘You are a truly remarkable young man, Mr Bartholomew Goodman. A perfect example of fortitude over adversity.’
He bowed. ‘Come with me. We should be safe in here. The dog cannot get in. He’s wary of the staircase, thank goodness. I shall show you the telescope – it is a marvel.’
There was a distant scratching at the locked door below, then a whine. They turned to look at one another with mounting anxiety. The whine turned into a mournful howl that echoed across the darkness.
Despite the sense of foreboding, Lilian was struck by a wave of anger. ‘Having passed to the other side is one thing, but to be pursued in this way is becoming just too much. Has he been this persistent before?’
‘Not really. Perhaps he is jealous.’ Bertie’s cheeks coloured. ‘Anyway, we can ignore the noise, if we put our minds to it.’
‘Agreed.’
Lilian allowed herself to be guided up the narrow, wooden stairs to a panelled room, lined with books. At one end, was a large table and at the other, two red leather armchairs in front of a hearth. Bartholomew closed the door and sound of howling faded. She smiled. ‘I wonder what the gentlemen of the club would say about the new female honorary member.’
Bertie laughed. ‘They would be horrified, I’m afraid. Rather last century, those old boys. Mind you, I am one to talk. I’m Victorian – and you are Edwardian!’ The idea seemed to please him and she laughed with him. ‘Now, I shall light the fire – not that we need the warmth – but it makes the room look cosy.’
‘There is talk of a ghost in here, you know.’
‘Oh dear.’ He put a spill to a mound of kindling. ‘Mysterious bumps in the night, I suppose, and unaccountable ashes in the grate.’ He looked over his shoulder and smiled. ‘Now, time to see the telescope. It is right under the dome.’
By now, it was pitch black outside, although a tiny, silver paring of a moon was rising above the trees. They climbed the stairs and lifted back a trapdoor before entering the domed structure. It was a small chamber, in the centre of which was a large, silvery metal tube, seated on a black base, covered in brass knobs and dials.
‘Very grand.’
Bertie reached for a crank and began to turn. A panel opened up in the roof, and the nose of the telescope rose.
‘It resembles a giant cannon.’ She watched fascinated.
‘But this is no instrument of war. It is one of adventure and discovery. We may appear to be trapped in this park, but tonight, I can take you to the moon.’ Bertie smiled and guided her to the eyepiece. ‘You can project the image, too, when it is bright like the sun, but it is safe tonight.’
She squinted for a second, then gasped, as a dazzling blue-white crescent loomed before her, encrusted with mysterious craters and mountains, floating in an endless navy blue sea. ‘I have never seen anything so beautiful. Strange, how I had to die before I could enjoy such a sight.’
Bertie rested his hand on her shoulder and her heart pounded. ‘Technically, we are not quite dead, you know. May I call you Lilian?’
She felt her cheeks colour. ‘Of course.’
‘Lovely name,’ he said.
She leaned into him, suddenly noticing the lettering around the base of the ceiling. “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handiwork.”’
‘I am not sure about that,’ he said, ‘but I do know that there is so much to learn from the skies. The sun, the moon, the stars ...’ He stopped and they both chilled as the sound of baying echoed through the little chamber from outside.
She turned to face him. ‘This is the most wonderful experience, being here with you,’ she began, voice shaking with her boldness, ‘but we cannot just lock ourselves in here, well, forever. I always wanted to travel, even if it was only to Yorkshire. You might laugh, but I had dreams. I know we can watch the constellations and the seasons change, and it is quite comfortable, even in the middle of winter, but ...’
‘What did you say?’ Bertie stared at her, a light dawning in his dark eyes. He pounced on a notebook, covered in numbers and symbols. He tapped his finger on them. ‘Look! Today is the winter solstice. I wonder ...’
‘Of course. The shortest day ...’
‘And longest night.’ He gazed at her. ‘What time were you at the lake?’
‘Oh, around noon?’
Bertie rubbed his chin. ‘I was there around two o’clock. Yes!’ He flicked back through tables of dates and times. ‘And I am guessing that Mr Allerton arrived around three in the afternoon.’ He held out the book, but the numbers meant nothing to her. ‘It means that each one of us arrived in the park at the precise moment of the Winter Solstice!’
‘It cannot be a coincidence,’ she said.
He rose and hugged her close and ran his hand down the back of her head. ‘Your hair is like spun copper. Am I allowed to say that?’
‘I think so, yes.’ For a moment, they stood together, lost in the moment and her world changed forever.
Then the started as the sound from outside turned in a blood-curdling baying that reverberated in the park, making it sound as if a pack of wolves were at the door.
Bertie drew back, still holding her hands. ‘Now, let me think this through. Our arrival, shall we say, happened at the precise moment of the solstice. Did you do Latin at school?’
She shook her head.
‘No matter. The word solstice is derived from the Latin for sun, which is ‘sol’ and the verb ‘sistere’, which means to stand still. So, the earth goes round the sun, and because of the tilt of the earth, it looks as if the sun moves higher in the summer and lower in the winter.’
‘Yet the sun does not move.’
‘Quite. On – or around – December 21, today, it appears that the sun stops all movement to the south, takes a pause, then slowly tracks northward once again. It does not literally stand still, but its highest point in the sky stays the same for a few days, quite close to the horizon.’
‘Standing still, I see. And you think this moment is critical?’
‘I do.’
‘But why doesn’t it happen at the same time each year?’
‘Good question. As I understand it, it is because of the ellipsis of the earth, the position of the sun ... The year is actually 365 and a quarter days long.’
‘And that is why we have Leap Years.’ She peered more closely at the figures. ‘I can see the times change by about six hours each year.’
‘You are quite right. And then there is Kepler’s Law, which states that the Earth moves fastest when it is closest to the Sun, which is early January, and slowest when it is furthest away, in July. This means there are variations in the length of the solar day and in the times of sunrise and sunset.’
‘This is all a bit beyond me,’ she admitted, ‘but does it mean you could predict the next one?’
‘I suppose, within a few hours.’
‘But if we knew the exact moment, then maybe we could reverse the process and escape?’
His dark gaze was full of hurt.
‘No, no. Not that I wish to avoid you – far from it – although we have only just met and ...’ she stopped herself. ‘I am unfamiliar with these peculiar circumstances.’
He took her hand. ‘Indeed. I sense that we are kindred spirits, if you will forgive the expression.’
She laughed, stopping abruptly as a baleful howl erupted from below, followed by an ominous scratching. ‘I have an idea,’ she said, ‘but it is rather unusual, if not positively drastic.’ It took a moment to explain.
Then he nodded. ‘I think I could work it out approximately.’
‘Would the telescope help? Especially nearer the time?’
‘Hm. The trouble is the sun is moving too slowly at this stage of the year. And, of course, it is impossible to detect the actual instant of the solstice as it happens, for we cannot perceive that an object has stopped moving until we make a second observation in time showing that it has not moved further from the preceding spot, or that it has moved in the opposite direction.’
‘I see,’ she said, not really understanding.
‘In primitive cultures,’ he mused, ‘man observed the day of the solstice rather than the instant. But I should be able to narrow it down. However, it will take me many weeks of calculations to be more precise.’
‘We have twelve months.’
‘True. That should be plenty!’ He laughed. ‘But when December 1902 comes around, what about ... you know?’ He gestured outside.
‘Well ...’ She reached into her pockets and produced the packet of aniseed drops she had bought earlier. ‘These might come in handy.’
***
The final chapter will appear tomorrow!
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