I was sent to the country estate of a young lord who passed away quite unexpectedly. I was told very few things about this incident but my instructions were clear: investigate and report on the cause of death. However, the most frustrating part was that he had been cremated the very day he had died.
I arrived three days past his death on a hot afternoon in the middle of summer. I gathered everyone who lived or worked at the estate which I was surprised to see left me with only three individuals in attendance. I decided to interview each of them separately in the parlor. First, I interviewed…
The Gardener
I began with what I consider a pleasant remark, “There are only three of you. That is a small staff for an estate this size.”
The gardener sat opposite me. He was a man in his late forties. When he placed his hands upon his knees, I noted he had seven fingers in total. His head gave a slight, intermittent twitch when he spoke, “Everyone is there, well, except for the groundskeeper but we won’t see him again, I don’t suppose.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I’m not sure,” he shrugged. “He isn’t here now is he?”
“What happened during the hunt where the lord died?”
“Well, I’m not sure. The lord only went hunting with the groundskeeper in attendance. It was quite a terrible thing. I went to do my work in the garden and I saw him. Gutted. The groundskeeper held him. It was quite a sweet thing.”
“What was he gutted with?”
“Well, I’m not sure. Perhaps it was an animal? He was on a hunt. I suppose it would make sense for him to have been gutted by an animal.”
“But you were able to see him from the garden.”
“I heard him from the garden.”
“What did you hear?”
“Well, I’m not sure. How can I describe it? Like- like silent words. Yes! Silent words!” The gardener became remarkably animated. “I knew his silent voice and ran to him.”
“You recognized him without hearing him speak.”
“Yes, sir,” he nodded. “He was a good lord. Enjoyed himself at times like you would expect from a young man but not cruel or incompetent.”
“He liked to hunt?”
“Yes, sir.”
“With only the groundskeeper.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This groundskeeper was at his side when you found the body. Now tell me why isn’t the groundskeeper here anymore.”
“Well, I suppose that’s his business. No lord anymore to serve, I suppose. Sad. He and his lordship got on well.”
“How well?”
The gardener looked up, “The groundskeeper was a very happy man. He seemed to bring the lord happiness as well.”
“Mhmm. And can you describe the groundskeeper for me?”
The gardener frowned, as though the question were more difficult than the others. “Well, I’m not sure… He was… well, some people are easy to describe, I suppose. He was strong. A very jovial man. That’s why he and his lordship got on so well.”
“I require a physical description.”
“I don’t think you’ll find him. He is gone.”
“All the same.”
He hesitated, then gave a small, uncertain shrug. “Well… I’m not sure.”
The Maid
“You are employed as a maid here, ma’am?”
The old maid set down her tea. “A maid- ‘Head maid’ is what his lordship paid me as. I’ve been many a thing here. Oh yes, I was first employed by his lordship’s late father. A wet nurse, I was. I had just had my Marten then—my big baby boy. Off now, fighting somewhere in the marshlands. He’ll always be my baby boy.” She smiled faintly. “The size of him coming out of me…” She waved a hand. “Unseemly. I’ll spare you that. Your wife would know all about it. You’ve children, sir?”
“No children. No wife.”
“A shame. We always need more babies in the land. Good men. Men to fight alongside my Marten.”
“Ma’am.”
“Hmph? Oh, yes. The young lord.” She nodded. “I was nanny next. And other things besides. A good lad he was. Him and my Marten got on well. His lordship was quite sad when my boy went off to war. You’ve heard anything from the marshlands?”
“I haven’t.”
“I hope he returns soon.” She folded her hands. “He’ll be heartbroken to hear of this. Oh, how I cried when they brought him in.”
“They?”
“The gardener- though not much use he was. Led the way, that’s all. No. The groundskeeper carried him. In his arms.” She gestured toward the table. “Set him down right there, he did. I saw the cut. Right across his belly like the dear late lady of the house when she passed giving birth to his lordship. A nice man, that groundskeeper. I think him and my Marten would get along well. A shame he left. A good final act bringing in our young late lord back into his home.”
“Tell me more about the cut.”
“A nasty thing, that cut. Curved like a smile. Oh, how horrible. To talk of a smile when we all grieve his lordship’s passing. Make me speak of it no more, sir.”
I was unsure of how genuine her horror was as in the tone of voice everything sounded a bit dramatized. Regardless, “I’m afraid I must insist. The body was cremated before I arrived so I did not have a proper chance to examine it. Did the cut look a particular way?”
“I’ve never been one for those things men enjoy like hunting. I don’t know what injury it is aside from a cut.”
“From an animal?”
“How should I know?” She gave a small shrug. “You’d do better asking my Marten.”
“Was it jagged? Or clean?”
She frowned slightly.
“I wasn’t looking so closely. There wasn’t much blood.” She looked up. “Strange, that. But he was warm. Like anyone.”
I hesitated, “Tell me about the groundskeeper.”
“Oh, no need to trouble yourself over him.” She shook her head. “Good man.”
I waited.
Finally, she added, “He didn’t kill his lordship,” she said with a smile.
“How do you know?”
“Didn’t seem the type. No… a feeling! Not him. Kind, that man, like my Marten boy.”
“Can you describe him for me?”
“The groundskeeper? I don’t see what for but I would describe him as stable. Warm. Jovial perhaps.”
“I require a physical description.”
“Oh! Um… well he was always smiling. Clean! Very clean. Never had to clean up after him.”
“How about features? Hair color? Beard?”
She paused, tensed her face as if trying to pull an obscured memory. “I don’t really know how to describe him. Maybe a beard. Maybe hair like my Marten, my sweet boy,” she ended with a smile.
“And what hair color does Marten have?”
“A walnut brown. Beautiful. A little tuft on his head like a lion’s tail, he had, when he was born that is. Much more hair now.”
“So the groundskeeper had brown hair? A walnut brown?”
One of her brows raised. “…n- n- no… not that color. Lighter? I… I don’t recall… No point I suppose. He’s gone. Won’t see him again, I’m afraid.”
“And why not?”
“I… I don’t know… I hope my Marten returns home soon.”
The Butler
“And you-”
“I upkeep the house, sir,” the old butler sighed.
“A butler?” I asked.
“If that’s what you will call it. I have upkept it well, don’t you agree?”
“And how long have you been employed here?”
“Longer than the gardener but not as long as the maid.”
“And the groundskeeper?”
“The groundskeeper is the newest addition to this estate. Was, not is, correct?”
“Are you asking me if the groundskeeper is gone?” I was confused.
“Oh, I was merely correcting my own grammar. Sadly, the groundskeeper is gone.”
“Where?”
“I’m not him, correct? Only he would know where he is. Unless, he is lost but I doubt that to be true. He was a very skilled groundskeeper.”
“Yet the lord died while on a hunt with him.”
“Tragic and untimely. You inquire about the nature of the lord’s accident?”
“Accident?”
“Well, you don’t think it was something else, do you sir?”
“Tell me about this groundskeeper.”
“A good man,” he said. “Very good. His lordship trusted him. We all did.” He paused. “He encouraged… ease in the house. Conversation. A drink, on occasion.” A faint smile. “It is a quiet estate. I do admit to the occasional glass of sherry and the gardener has his whiskey. The old maid doesn’t drink. Not until her Marten boy comes home,” he rolled his eyes.
“As the senior servant, you will notify the next of kin.”
“I had assumed that was your purpose.” He studied me. “The estate will pass to the Crown, will it not?”
“I have no such instruction. Why was the body cremated before my arrival?”
“The groundskeeper saw to it.” The butler gestured faintly toward the grounds. “He built the pyre himself. You passed its remnants on your way in.”
“Why was he permitted to do so?”
“He knew what was required.” A pause. “We deferred to him.”
“You deferred to a groundskeeper.”
“He seemed to know best. Good man. Loved our lord. Kind to us. Always smiling.”
“So, I’ve heard. Describe him.”
“Why, yes, he… well, my memory isn’t what it used to be, is it? He was quite charismatic. Smart. Had a way of infecting everyone with his happiness.” The butler grew livelier with every word he spoke, “We all looked at him as he took our late lordship to the flames and were comforted because of his presence. He took care of us before you arrived. I will miss his company. He was quite a jovial man, wasn’t he?”
“Quite,” I fought back my annoyance.
“I require a physical description.”
The smile faltered.
“Yes… of course.” He hesitated. “He was—”
The butler stopped.
“Like the others, I am going to give you some drawing utensils. Please do your best to draw me a picture of him.”
“I find that difficult,” he said.
“Try.”
He reached for the pencil.
“I am no artist,” he murmured.
He drew.
I observed three curved lines upon the page. He paused, studying them.
“No,” he said. “That is not right.”
“No, that’s not right. Less triangular, more round.”
My frustration bled through and warmed my face. I do not know what compelled me then. I took the pencil from his hand and began to draw. The lines came easily. Too easily.
When I had finished I showed the butler what I drew and his eyes lit up and he smiled and exclaimed, “Yes! Yes!!”
“Sir?”
“That’s him!” he shouted with a face contorted in a smile
“Sir?!”
The butler began soiling himself. Repulsed, I stood up..
He continued his frantic excitement, “That’s the groundskeeper!”
From the other room I heard the old maid cry out, “Oh, he’s here. He’s returned!”
I ran to the other room.
The maid and the gardener were both in tears staring out the glass door into the yard. The gardener hysterically sobbed. Tears of joy fell to his knees and he slid his nails down the glass so harshly that it left bloody streaks.
The old maid said, “Oh, I’m as happy as if my Marten were coming home.” She pulled her hair out from her bonnet and dragged it through her fingers. She began to pull out her own hair causing her scalp to bleed.
I looked out the window. Just beyond the tree line I saw a man. Not a man but a glimpse of a man. I could not make out his features easily but it… it was just like my drawing!
The gardener and the maid continued to cry. The man stepped away behind a tree.
The butler came into the room with tears as well and stated, “He is leaving. We will not see him again.”
I put the picture into the butler’s face. “This man. This is the groundskeeper, right?”
The butler responded with a face as cold and calm as a statue, “That picture is just a bunch of lines. Doesn’t look much like anyone.”
I ran outside towards the tree line. Suddenly, I stopped. A foot away from the forest. I could only feel one thing… fear. I placed my hand on my pistol and backed away slowly.
I returned to headquarters and made my initial report of the events. My superiors were unsatisfied and gave me time to draw up a satisfying explanation of events. I delayed.
Eventually, although I struggled to remove the investigation from my mind. Someone found a second cousin of the young lord. He would inherit the estate. Everyone seemed to want the investigation closed. My superiors gave me until the end of the week.
In the dead of night, before the report was due, I lay in my bed trying to think of anything but the estate. As it seemed increasingly more frequent as I got older, I went to use the restroom. On my return, I entered through the open door of my bedroom.
There he was, in the dark. I froze. I did not dare to look directly at his face but I knew it was him. I felt his smile. It was the same. The same as the forest at the estate.
Something in the room was wrong. Not in its arrangement, but in its measure. As though he occupied more space than he should have. His smile was jovial but his unmoving expression instilled me with a terror unmatched.
I kept him in my peripheral vision but as I felt my balance start to shift I was forced to move. I took a step and looked up at him. I have never before been so afraid of death. But he was gone.
The room was as it had been. I stood there for some time. I cannot account for what I saw. Nor for what I believe. But I was left with the same unexplainable certainty I had observed in the others. A feeling. That… thing… was responsible in some way for the lord’s death, and that I would not see him again.
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