Louisa the Poisoner Read online

  Mr. Sheepshead stood dumbfounded. He took out his hand­kerchief and mopped his brow. Visibly he flushed and sweated.

  “You have called this immaculate girl a witch. What then may you be?” Mr. Trevis raised his marvelous and thunderous voice, “May you not be a devil! A devil, sir, who cannot even endure the name of God?” And Mr. Trevis pointed his long finger at Sheepshead. “Answer then, in God’s name, Mr. Sheepshead!”

  Sheepshead’s eyes bulged. He seemed to swell. He jerked at his cravat. He looked like nothing so much as a bullfrog. His lips opened.

  Two or three women screamed.

  For out of Sheepshead’s mouth there dazzled a blue flame, like the forked tongue of lightning.

  Three or four seconds he stood there, the blue lights running out of him, his lips and nostrils and ears, and around the eggs of his poached eyes. And then, and then Mr. Sheepshead—ex­ploded. He burst into a gush of flame that enveloped him from the belly to the crown of his head. His arms were waving flags of flame. His legs buckled and he collapsed, and gouts of incendiary matter burst off him and were fired to all four corners of the court.

  Nearly all the women were shrieking, the men howling. There was a panic rush towards the doors. The police struggled. Young lawyers hid beneath benches. The judge rose like a red carnival, goggling. The press screeched. Only Louisa and Mr. Meadham Trevis preserved their dignity. One in great shock, believing he had caused this. The other knowing quite well that she had.

  Three drops, had said her aunt, and there’s fire.

  The newspapers were to adopt the story with fiendish glee, gloating on every detail as the tissues of Mr. Sheepshead burned and were consumed. Spontaneous combustion was known of, but had seldom if ever occurred before so many spectators.

  She had dropped them in his snuff. She had gambled, (she was canny at games) that inhalation at the nose, as ingestion at the eyes, would suffice. She had not known how long it would require. He might have taken a pinch last night and died. As it happened he had gone up at the ideal moment. An act of God. Trial by ordeal.

  Meadham Trevis was made.

  Louisa would, the next day, be set free.

  * * * *

  When she returned to Maskullance, a downpour deluged the landscape of the moor.

  It seemed to Louisa, as she passed the red stones at the wayside, that now and then she saw on them a cloaked figure, sitting patiently. But she had no intention of stopping the car­riage.

  * * * *

  The manor lay under the midnight rain. Out of the black vegetable of it only two or three windows bloomed with loving lamplight. All the servants, but for the footman Podgers, Prudent and Alice, were dismissed. New servants could be hired very easily, and for now Louisa had chosen of those who had tried to be loyal to her. The rest, sent away with their meagre expectations of the will, had streamed into splashing darkness and were gone.

  Above the main door, the golden ram’s mask wept water. The other masks, skulls and lances dripped and spouted. The mullioned windows showed their spectacle lenses of blank eyes to the night.

  Louisa was in the parlour. She had eaten her dinner there, a delightful dinner cooked gratefully by Alice. Louisa wore black­est mourning of moire silk, a necklace and ear-drops of dia­monds. Her hair was loose, and she sat combing it now before the fire.

  Louisa was happy. Her happiness is hard to describe, or comprehend. The wolf who has killed the lamb and feasts on its chops can feel no pain. And somewhere through the shadows of the house she dreaded no ghostly step. To hear dim echoes of Lord Maskullance, laughing, would only have pleased her.

  Midnight then. A little red wine in the goblet, a late peach from the hothouse on a plate. The firelight licking with its amber at the chimney.

  And from the front of the house a great loud knocking.

  Did Louisa start? No. But she turned her silken head, and her hair, more moire than the moire, shawled over her.

  Podgers came to the parlour door. “Someone’s out there in the rain, Miss Louisa.”

  “Then go and see to it.”

  And Podgers, who was afraid for reasons he could not explain and that had nothing to do with the hour’s lateness or the six murders and one explosion, or the lunatic asylum even, went to the door where the bell had not been jangled and opened it.

  And Podgers jumped back in alarm. And again, did not know why.

  But there at the door stood a man. A large man with a head, a mane, of tawny hair, dressed in a suit of black velvet, a snow of lace, a waist-coat striped like a tiger, and on his hand a ring of tigerseye that winked and fleered and shone.

  “A fine night,” said this man, and Podgers cowered. Know­ing now. For there was no carriage anywhere, and the man who had come stepping through the rain in his buckled shoes, he had not a drop of moisture on him. “I’m here to see the mistress of the house.”

  “Miss—Louisa.”

  “Louisa. Yes.”

  And so final was that ‘yes’ that Podgers stood back, and in walked the big black and tawny dry tiger of a man, and going by, went unerringly towards the parlour, waving Podgers away, so Podgers ran.

  Louisa looked up as the door opened again.

  “Madam,” said the figure and bowed to her, smiling. He was large and he was beautiful, with eyes like a fine old brandy. “May I come in?”

  “I think I can’t keep you out,” said Louisa. Who though she had never worshipped planets, was yet a daughter of the super­natural mire. She did not need to believe in the Devil to acknow­ledge his minions, if she met them.

  The demon, if such he was, came and sat opposite her, cozily across the hearth. And here he tried the wine and ate one half of the peach, cutting it neatly with a silver knife, straight through the stone.

  “Now Louisa,” he said, “why am I here?”

  Louisa lowered her eyes and fanned herself with a wisp of lace.

  “Now, Louisa. Not with me.”

  Louisa looked up. “To take me down to Hell?” she asked.

  The demon—perhaps he was—gave a great and vehement laugh, which was heard all the way to the belowstairs, where Alice fainted again, and some cakes were burnt.

  “Yes, yes, Louisa, you will go to Hell. But have no fear. Hell, you’ll find, is an excellent place. Believe me, the streets are truly paved with gold, which though in places is molten, picturesque detours are provided. Heaven I think you would find a touch insipid. The climate isn’t all it is said to be. Chilly, Louisa. And the air rather on the thin side. But there are exotic plants in Hell and the most enchanting volcanoes.”

  “Surely,” said Louisa, “Hell is a spot for punishment.”

  “Only of those who fall into the clutches of Hell’s demons and haven’t pleased. You, dear Louisa, will be an honoured guest.”

  “I’ve only your word for it.”

  “This is so. But then. Think of the help you have so far had. Isn’t this a token of fair treatment to come?”

  “Perhaps,” said Louisa.

  “Besides, you must consider this, that perhaps these people, and others also, have owed you their lives.”

  “How can that be?”

  “Dear Louisa, if you must ask, I have no means to explain.”

  The demon, (he should be reckoned one) gazed at Louisa, and the firelight showed burning towers in his eyes.

  “Why then,” said Louisa, “you here, sir? So very late.”

  “To congratulate you, Louisa,” said the demon. “And to wish you well in your future career, as a serpent among men.”

  “Thank you,” said Louisa.

  “It is my pleasure,” said the demon.

  “And is that all?”

  “Dear Louisa,” said the demon, “how exquisitely straight­forward. Yes. It’s all. Quite all.”

  And so saying, he stepped into the fire and in a rush of tiger sparks was gone.

  Louisa ate the other half of the peach, (though not the stone as the demon had) and drank the last of her wine.


  Taking a candle, she went her way up the stairs of Maskullance, to her Blue Room of bluebirds and cornflowers, She sang a little as she went, and through the noise of the winter dawn of rain and wind, her voice was sweet as the music of the stars.