Familiar Spirits by Leonard Tourney Read Free Book Online Page A

know what Malcolm Waite saw in the window—flesh, spirit,
    or image of the mind—but his heart must have been overtaxed by his long illness. The power of suggestion is strong. Hearing her husband’s cry, the wife may have thought —”
    “Yes, that’s very likely it,” interrupted Crispin impatiently, as though he had something else on his mind now and needed desperately to get to it.
    “My sister’s sons must be notified of this,” said Jane.
    “I’ll send someone at first light,” said Crispin.
    “Once again, my condolences to the family,” said Matthew, preparing to leave.
    “I have a lantern. If you do not, Mr. Stock, I’ll see you home,” said the tanner. “You will keep Margaret’s story to yourself, won’t you? We would consider it a point of friendship.”
    Matthew promised he would. He agreed it would only cause alarm if Margaret’s tale were noised around. Surely it would mean more suffering for the widow.
    He went home, Thomas Crispin guiding his way. Later, cracking his shin on the bedpost in an effort to undress himself in the dark, he uttered a mild oath and woke Joan. She wanted to hear the news, she said, every bit of it, and would not be content to wait the light of day.
    • FOUR •
    Matthew kept his promise to the Crispins and—except for Joan, from whom he could keep very little—told no one about the strange circumstances of Malcolm Waite’s death. But his discretion was to no avail. Someone else told and must have told again. By eight o’clock he noticed a crowd gathered outside the Waite house. It was a small crowd and orderly—he thought little of it. Deaths always attracted some attention, questions, sympathy. When at midmorning he took the time to look down the street again, he saw the crowd had become a great one and he went to investigate. It was then he discovered that the appearance of Ursula’s ghost was common knowledge. Most of the crowd were neighbors of the dead man, drawn by curiosity and not a little fear of this new supernatural manifestation. Others were strangers, who, informed of the reason for the gathering, acted as concerned as the neighbors. The crowd remained orderly; they stood in the street in little clusters whispering, watching, and pointing. But the sentiments Matthew overheard as he moved among them were not kindly disposed toward the house or its occupants. The consensus was that if Ursula Tusser had chosen the Waite house to haunt, then that was hardly an endorsement of the godliness of the Waites.
    “Good day, Mr. Parker,” Matthew said to the prosperous corn-chandler, who stood with the others gazing at the house. “Your business has moved into the street, I see.”
    The corn-chandler scowled in response to Matthew’s at-
    tempt at wit. He was a thickset, burly man of about fifty with a broad, flat face, a liverish complexion, and very thick brows. He had been one of the jurymen at Ursula Tusser’s trial and was obviously unsettled by this strange news of her reappearance.
    “I would fain know what you intend to do about this, Mr. Stock,” Parker grumbled, knitting his thick brows threateningly.
    “Is it some disorder you fear?” Matthew asked, looking up at the house, which seemed unusually quiet and deserted for this time of the day. Of course the glover’s shop was closed. A long piece of black crepe had been hung upon the doorframe as a sign of mourning. The upper windows of the house were shuttered, and no smoke curled from the chimney.
    “No,” said Parker. “No riot in the streets, but disorder within the house. We thought we had cleansed the town with the death of the witch. Now it appears she has left behind a nest in which to breed more of the Devil’s vermin. You’ve heard the news?”
    “I have heard that Malcolm Waite is dead,” Matthew replied, pretending ignorance of more in order to determine just what version of the incident had spread abroad.
    “Why, that she-devil herself,