Conjugation

A Fantasy/Horror Tale

It was indeed a most strange letter. As the train huffed and rattled its way towards the coast, Edward took the letter from his pocket, extracted it from its envelope, and re-read, as he had so often that he had almost memorised it.

The letter was written on fine quality paper, the penmanship exquisite. The date at the top of the page, July 12, 1909, was elaborately scripted, with an ostentatious flourish underline.

The gist of the letter continued to nag at Edward. Sir Calvin Dellit had written to him at his rooms in London, introducing himself and inviting Edward to spend a brief holiday with himself and his family – a wife and two daughters – at his home on the south coast. Dellit hinted at a possible centuries-old connection between their families, and that this could possibly be of mutual benefit.

This was puzzling. Edward had never heard of the Dellit family. And why had the letter been sent to him? His father was head of the family, ensconced in their home in Somerset. Surely the proper approach would be to him, not his eldest son. And most strangely, how had Dellit learned of his address?

These thoughts again brought on a sense of unease. Edward was by nature cautious and serious. His move to London to study Biology had placed considerable strain on him and he had taken some time to settle comfortably. Fortunately, a generous allowance from his parents ensured a secure base from which to begin his tentative voyage into the world.

He checked his watch. Another twenty minutes. He was to be picked up by at the railway station by a driver then taken to Dellit Manor. Edward shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then once more checked that his valise was stable on the rack above. The compartment had stayed empty, but he did not want to be thought selfish by placing it on the seat or floor. Then he peered out of the window at the unfamiliar scenery. For a moment he felt light-headed, and once more considered not alighting, but continuing to the end of the line and then returning home. It would still be daylight.

Nonsense! He chastised himself again. He was intensely aware of his occasional diffidence and was determined to master it. He’d told no one of this adventure, regarding it as a test, something to be faced up to.

The train pulled in to an empty station. No one else alighted. There was no Station Master, no sign of life but for the exquisite motor car parked behind the station, an expensive Rover. A tall thickset man standing beside the car beckoned Edward to it. As he came closer Edward saw this man was disfigured by numerous scars across his face. The man did not speak, but motioned Edward into the car then got in the driver’s door, started the car, and drove away. For a moment Edward’s sense of foreboding returned but he shouted it down in his mind. He would not succumb to debilitating feelings!

The trip was brief and soon the car pulled up in front of Dellit Manor. As he alighted Edward could hear the sea, a sound he always associated with holidays – a good omen! Down the steps strode a rotund, florid man of about fifty, voice booming.

“My dear fellow, how wonderful to see you! So very glad you could come! Wonderful! Let me look at you.”

He paused a few steps above Edward, then leaned forward and shook his hand.

“Yes, I can see it. You will do splendidly!”

He turned to move up the stairs then stopped and came back down past Edward and picked up the valise. “Profuse apologies, what was I thinking? Robert has gone to garage the car, so I will play the servant.” He picked up the valise and marched back up the steps.

“Here we go. Come, come, you must be thirsty after your trip.”

Edward followed him up the stairs and through the door. Dellit Manor may have been smaller than some of the stately homes Edward knew, but it was decorated and furnished to emphasise wealth. He gazed around in awe.

Dellit put the valise on the floor and smiled. “Impressive, is it not? Our family, like yours, has never lacked for money. The Conqueror rewarded my ancestor with these lands, and despite the efforts over the centuries of others to deprive us of them, they remain in our hands. Tradition, my friend, runs strong and deep in this family.” He paused, then added, “And we will go to any extreme to defend our traditions.”

“Your ancestors, I assume?” Edward gestured towards the portraits on the wall.

“Oh yes. Plenty of stories to tell about these chaps, not always the most elevating of histories. This fellow, for instance.” He walked to a portrait and stood beneath it. He chuckled, “Gilbert the Pitiless. Fought in the Americas, against Washington. The Indians were our allies, you recall; cruel people. They taught him all they knew. It is said that he would wear Indian war-paint into battle, dressed like a savage, and was a most creative user of a knife. He returned home after the war but could not settle and returned to the Americas, went native, and disappeared from the record. No doubt he has descendants in that part of the world too.

“We have his scalping knife somewhere about the place. I will show it to you. You will be astonished.”

What next, some shrunken heads? Edward thought. What a peculiar way to introduce an ancient lineage! Dellit interrupted his musing.

“Come through and meet some of the family. My oldest daughter, Alexandra, is indisposed, but Lady Dellit, and our younger daughter, Emma, await us. Robert will see to your valise. Come.”

They walked through a door into a smaller drawing room. Dellit extended his arm to indicate an older woman who had stood, expressionless.

“My wife, Emilia, Lady Dellit.” The woman was slim and austere. She stepped forward and shook Edward’s hand.

“Welcome, Mr Powell. Excuse me, I will see to some refreshment. Is tea in order?”

“Thank you. Yes.”

She glided past him. Dellit turned to face the other side of the room.

“And this is my youngest, Emma.”

Edward turned, and was shocked to see the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on. She was small and pale, with fair hair and bright blue eyes. For a moment she looked at him, then lowered her eyes, then looked up again. He was incapable of speaking. She began to smile then spoke.

“How do you do Mr Powell? I am very pleased to meet you.” She held out her hand. He took it briefly and thrilled at how her fingers wrapped around his. Then she laughed.

“Oh, you must think me terribly rude, Mr Powell. I should be wearing gloves. My apologies.”

“You had them on a moment ago,” her father observed.

“I was beginning to feel the heat. In the excitement of Mr Powell’s arrival I had forgotten to put them back on. Again, humble apologies.”

Now seemed the moment when Edward should speak. His was not used to mundane chat with pretty ladies. Most of the ones he encountered were accompanied by fierce-looking mothers or aunts, suspicious fathers, boorish brothers, or a combination of any of these. He barely managed to cobble a few words together.

“Not at all, Miss Derrit. I am very pleased to meet you.” Indeed, she had awakened him a powerful aspect of himself that he was not aware existed. She smiled again and his tongue seemed to become unfixed in his mouth.

He was saved any embarrassment by the return of Lady Derrit with tea and sandwiches. The four took a light lunch, chatting inconsequentially until Edward remarked on the possible family connection that the letter had alluded to.

“Later, my boy. We would like to hear more about you. What are your plans for the future?”

Edward thought this sounded like the question of a prospective father-in-law. Emma’s presence disconcerted him, as he was unused to revealing anything of himself. As he spoke, he kept glancing at her. Emma’s gaze never left his face. Each time she asked a question he stumbled over his response and feared that she regarded him with some amusement. Yet whenever he caught her staring at him he fancied he perceived admiration, not mirth. This gave him some encouragement to expatiate upon his ambitions.

“As soon as practical I intend to travel to Australia to study the unique flora and fauna of that land. I also hope to learn something of these from the local natives.”

“Hmph, not likely to glean much from the indigenes other than superstition, but nevertheless, I see here a most worthy ambition.” Derrit asserted, perhaps he approved of the idea of this young man being on the other side of the world from his daughter. Emma, for her part, looked stricken.

Derrit continued. “Therefore, I am prepared to offer you some financial support, to be, as it were, your sponsor. I propose, say, a thousand pounds to support this endeavour.”

A fortune! Edward was stunned. “That is extraordinarily generous, sir, and I thank you most sincerely.” Surely he was not willing to pay such an enormous sum merely to keep a potential suitor away from his daughter.

“Of course, the Derrit name will be prominent on any publications that result from your studies, public lectures, that sort of thing. And…I may have cause to ask a favour in return.”

Later, as they walked through the gardens and nearby wood, Emma was very quiet, walking with her head down. Her father played the genial host and Edward was an enthusiastic listener, as many of the plant species in the garden were not native to Britain.

“While in the Antipodes you may discover some other new species of plant or animal. In naming any of these you will of course remember the name of your generous benefactor.”

They returned to the house and Derrit made an ostentatious show of writing the cheque for one thousand pounds, sealing it in an envelope and placing it on top of the chest of drawers near the manor entrance.

“You must remember to take this when you leave. We will not see you again until some years hence.” Emma choked back a sob and lowered her head. Derrit looked guilelessly at Edward, who was embarrassed by the scene. It seemed to him that her father had been unnecessarily cruel and thoughtless. He was beginning to feel a growing mistrust of Derrit – the man was hiding something, or had some ulterior purpose, perhaps not sinister, but not altogether principled.

Such thoughts returned to Edward after the evening meal, when the subject of the relationship between the two families was finally broached. Derrit’s usual jovial manner immediately became somewhat terse. He claimed that the families had come into conflict on a number of occasions over the centuries. Lady Derrit looked bored; doubtless she had heard such stories many times before. Emma sat stony-faced, silent and lost in thought.

“The most egregious instance must surely be the hanging of my ancestor, the Noble Pirate, Oliver Derrit, a man who never killed but in self-defence, and was generous to the poor and needy.”

“Ah yes, I have heard of him. I believe I see the connection. My ancestor, Asa Powell, is a family hero. He was a captain in the Royal Navy and served his country with honour and distinction. I have heard tales of his encounters with pirates. And other enemies of the King. He received numerous battle Honours. He was a man of science too, an astronomer. We have some of his instruments at home. He would surely have been awarded the knighthood he deserved had his ship not sunk, all hands lost, in a storm off the coast of Venezuela.” Scientific instruments, not a damnable scalping knife. Edward did not like the direction the discussion was taking. Derrit’s ancestors so far seemed to be a collection of rogues and villains, or at least, those were the ones Derrit admired. How had a line of reprobates lead to the wonderful girl who sat to his left?

Perhaps Derrit became aware of this and his tone became conciliatory. “Ah well, this tells me much that I can explore. I am something of an antiquary, you see, and these stories intrigue me. There may even be a book in this one. So, we shall recommence our conversation on other matters, and let old enmities remain interred.”

Discussion now ranged over miscellaneous subjects of no particular significance. Even Emma managed to contribute modestly. Each time she spoke her eyes continues to alight on Edward’s face and he returned such glances with alacrity. He was also aware, as surely she must be, of the discomfit this occasioned her parents. He was both thrilled and anxious as to how this new complication was to develop.

It was late when one of the servants showed Edward to his room. The bed was large and comfortable, but Edward, always a light sleeper, tossed and turned and slept fitfully. Of course, there was no possibility of a liaison between himself and Emma, he had Australia and his future to consider. Her parents clearly disapproved. Yet he could not rid his mind of her.

A somewhat bedraggled Edward presented for breakfast in the morning. He had been told breakfast at eight, but when he arrived, the family, still sans elder daughter, were finishing up. Emma looked as forlorn as he felt; Derrit, on the other hand, was chipper. His wife sat still, enigmatic as usual. He greeted each of them and then sat at the table.

“Apologies for starting without you, old man, but we are in for a busy day. Cook will have yours ready in a moment. The tea, my dear?”

Lady Derrit stood and left the room. “She prepares a special morning brew. It will astound you. Emma?” The girl turned to him. “This morning you are to travel into town with Robert and perform some errands and some shopping for your mother. You will leave in a few minutes.”

She opened her mouth to protest but he interrupted, speaking, to Edward’s ears, rather unctuously. “My dear, you have been rather out of sorts. This will do you a power of good, getting out of the house and mingling with other people. Your mother has a list of tasks for you to perform. Please inform Robert to be ready with the Rover in ten minutes. Off you go, there’s a good girl.”

Emma stared bleakly at her father for a moment, gave Edward an unhappy smile, and left the room. Derrit watched until the door had closed behind her, then turned to Edward, his face not unkind but stern.

“You must know, young man, that any thoughts you or Emma may entertain about any kind of relationship between yourselves is out of the question, utter folly, not to be countenanced. I have indicated that I am a lover of tradition, so even if I approved of you as a match for may daughter, it would be impossible. I am bound by centuries-old traditions. Emma is promised to suitable husband who lives in the North. And that is the end of it.”

Lady Derrit entered with a pot of tea, cup and saucer, and poured Edward a drink. She stood behind her husband, hands behind her back.

Edward knew he was defeated. His feelings for Emma, so overwhelming, so useless. He knew he would cherish her memory, and in time his hurt would fade. He picked up the cup and sipped. For a moment he forgot his suffering, the tea was rich and spicy, a heady brew. He took another sip. The taste filled his chest and seemed to envelop the upper part of his body. Yet another sip, and like a mist it wrapped itself around his mind. He returned the cup to the saucer. A little unsteadily.

“How extraordinary.”

“Indeed,” Lady Derrit crowed. “A special blend from my garden, for just such an occasion.”

“Our ancestors were Crusaders and learned subtle and dark arts from the Saracens,” Derrit added. “Potions, poisons, healing and harming. Now, you will listen to my voice and you will do exactly as instructed.”

Edward’s mind rebelled, but it was as though his whole being had become an exhausted muscle, incapable of exerting any strength whatsoever.

“But first, some history. Our family, as I have alluded to, is steeped in tradition. One such tradition is that we marry, as it were, within the confines of the family. As you know, this practice eventually leads to a kind of enervation, a devitalizing, of the line, which must then be reinvigorated with new, ah, blood. Every third generation, as tradition would have it, we perform the Ritual of Conjugation, to revivify and impart new vigour to our family. Tradition also requires that the conjugation take place between the eldest daughter in the Derrit line, and the eldest son of one of our foes.” He chuckled. “No shortage of those, as you might guess. And strange to tell, tradition has it that the conjugation always takes place in midsummer. Quite a charming observance, the significance of which, however, remains a mystery.

“In a moment we will repair to the chapel where the Ritual will take place. My daughter Alexandra awaits us. The servants have been sent home, Emma will be in town all morning. The Conjugation Ritual will be consummated, you will be remunerated, I shall drive you to the station where you will catch the London train and be home in time for tea. Splendid.”

Edward was appalled – to be used like a stallion or stud bull, the shame and humiliation would haunt him for the rest of his life! He tried to speak but Lady Derrit’s potion had dissolved his capacity to form words. He wondered, bizarrely, how he was to perform the deed in such an enervated condition.

Lady Derrit had vanished. Sir Calvin pulled Edward to his feet, then lead him down the passage to the Chapel door. The young man was powerless to resist, much less flee. It was like a dream where one is both a participant in the action and an observer outside of it.

Derrit knocked three times on the door and a voice from within cried, “Enter! The Sacred Vessel is prepared!”

The door opened and they walked into the Chapel. It was brightly lit by what seemed to Edward a hundred or more candles, arranged on high tables in a semicircle around a bed, strewn with petals. A thick fog of sickly incense assailed his senses. On three sides of this tableau hung heavy drapes. Edward was placed at the foot of the bed. Derrit now donned a yellow robe the same as his wife wore and stood facing her across the bed. He raised his arms and the two began to chant:

“Revivify the blood impure, The Derrit name must endure, Bring new life and so bring forth, Stronger than has been before.”

A part of Edward’s mind wanted to laugh at this inane doggerel, but his critical faculty was stunned into silence as the drapes parted and Alexandra entered.

She was naked. A creature more unlike Emma would be impossible to imagine. She was huge, her body flabby, bloated and ghastly white. Her stomach hung pendulously, her skin was stretched and veined. The eyes and mouth had almost disappeared under the mottled blubber that passed for a face. He hair stood out in wild tangles. She leered at Edward, then, as her parents began a wild ululating sound, the monster began to dance.

Edward’s heart froze. The abhorrent creature twisted and writhed lasciviously. He was revolted to the core of his being. Then, oh most terrible yet, he began to feel a low and wicked pleasure in what he saw. He screamed in his mind to stop it, to cast away the foulness, but it was awful and terrible and would not be denied. His heart filled with unholy music, and as one part of him shrank back in terror, another embraced the hideousness and longed to join in the loathsome dance. He knew now, even as the knowledge sickened his soul, that he would do the deed.

Suddenly the door burst open and Emma flew into the room and screamed, “Stop this! Stop! Edward! Can you hear me?”

She ran to his side and began to pull him towards the door. At this moment he snapped out of his trance. He began to move, as Emma’s imploring face looked up at his. Derrit, face was twisted in fury, bellowed at his daughter.

“Emma! Get out! You do not belong here. Get out, you do not know what you are doing!” He stepped towards her and Edward stepped between them. Derrit paused. “You!” he snarled. “You have ruined everything.” From under his robe he drew a huge knife and lunged at Edward. But the younger man was quicker. He parried the thrust with his forearm, which turned the knife away from him and into Emma’s shoulder. She screamed and stumbled backwards.

“Run Emma!” he cried, as Derrit looked in horror at the red stain emerging on the front of his daughter’s dress. She stared back at him, unbelieving.

“He is mine!” Alexandra screeched and advanced on Emma. Sometimes the body knows what to do ahead of the mind; Edward launched himself at Alexandra, then turned to crash sideways into her. He felt furious satisfaction as her head snapped back under the impact of his elbow. She smashed into one of the tables, the candles toppled into the drapes, and in an instant the room was on fire.

Alexandra struggled to get to her feet. Lady Derrit tried to pull her up but in a moment she crashed to the floor as the drape fell and enveloped them in flame. Edward looked around the room and saw rivers of flame flowing across the ceiling and up the walls. Emma grabbed his hand and was feebly trying to pull him towards the doorway, now ablaze. Pieces of flaming ceiling fell onto the tables and the couch. A foul stench mixed with the smell of heat and burning wood. Edward grabbed Emma around the waist and dragged her through the doorway and out into the passage. He turned to look back into the room. Derrit stood motionless, staring through the fire and smoke. Then, with a loud crash, the roof caved in, and all was lost from view.

Edward picked up Emma and carried her in his arms down the passage, out through the front door, crossed the pebbled driveway, and laid her on the grass. Her face was black with soot, her hair and clothing singed, and her eyes closed. But she was still breathing. Then all at once her eyes opened, she rolled onto her side, coughed, breathed in a shuddering gasp, and sat up. Her wound had stopped bleeding but the front of her dress was red and damp. She turned to look at the east wing of Derrit Manor, black smoke pouring from the windows. Edward knelt down beside her. She looked at him, reached out and held him tight, sobbing.