Page 1 of The Peculiar Incident at Thistlewick House

‘Did she survive the night?’ Barnabas asked, his face etched with concern and his lack of sleep apparent from the smudges of grey beneath his red-rimmed eyes.

He’d anxiously grabbed at his housekeeper’s sleeve and was bracing himself for her reply, having stumbled from his bed when he’d heard footsteps on the landing.

The thought that his beloved Emma might have left him alone in this world and passed over to the next was unbearable. She was his everything.

His wife’s fever had been raging out of control the previous day – her breathing laboured, her speech incoherent, and her skin positively afire.

Dr Appleby had expressed grave concern at her racing pulse and then shaken his head, almost imperceptibly, and let her limp wrist drop back down onto the silk quilt.

He’d asked Mrs Drayton to make up some further mustard plasters and apply regular cold compresses to bring down her temperature, but everyone suspected these ministrations were futile because, when the doctor finally took Barnabas to one side, he informed him the outcome was now in God’s hands…

Barnabas studied his housekeeper’s face, frantically looking for an answer to the question before she could articulate her response.

‘She’s still with us, sir. Praise God. The fever’s abated and she’s out of immediate danger but—’

‘Then I must go to her at once.’ Relief flooded through every molecule of his being, and he sidestepped the older lady and hastened down the hall.

‘But I must warn you, sir, that she’s not quite herself…’ Her voice followed him into the bedroom, where he found Emma on top of the covers, wrestling with their housemaid.

‘I want my mummy,’ his wife wailed, clawing at the young girl, who was valiantly trying to tuck her back into bed.

‘Emma, sweetheart.’ He rushed to her side.

‘You’re confused. Your mother passed five years ago.

’ The housemaid took a step back and he perched gingerly on the edge of the bed, reaching for his beloved’s hand.

She immediately snatched it from him and shuffled her body backwards, a look of pure terror in her eyes.

‘Go away, strange man. Everybody go away.’

Didn’t she recognise him? An uncomfortable feeling swirled in his stomach. And then she began to cry like he’d never seen her cry before, launching herself face down and drumming her fists into the bed – a sudden outburst that resembled the despair of a child.

‘She’s been asking for a Zella.’ Mrs Drayton was behind him now. ‘And talking of sleeping in a waggon. It simply doesn’t make sense, sir.’

There was a knock at the open door as Dr Appleby alerted them to his arrival and stepped into the room. Barnabas stood up, walked over to greet him and they shook hands.

‘Your man, Wright, let me in. He tells me the patient has improved considerably overnight.’

‘The fever’s gone, Doctor,’ the housekeeper confirmed. ‘In fact, rather miraculously, most of her symptoms have disappeared, but her mind’s awfully muddled.’

Emma was still wailing into the bedcovers, managing to get a few words out between sobs.

‘Dying hurt. I didn’t like being dead.’

‘My darling, you’re going to make a full recovery. It will just take time.’ Barnabas tried to soothe her. Perhaps it had felt like dying to her, as she’d been awfully close to death.

‘Mrs Shaw…’ The doctor approached her and placed his medicine bag on the floor. He took his pocket watch from his waistcoat and reached for her wrist, but she jerked herself upright and slapped his hand away.

‘Call me properly!’ she screamed, tears still cascading down her pink cheeks. ‘Call me Esfir. And make my legs go short again.’

Emma paused for a moment, then narrowed her eyes. She grabbed the doctor’s outstretched arm and sank her teeth into the crisp white shirt, and consequently the flesh beneath. He cursed and jerked his arm from her grasp. It was a totally unprovoked assault.

Barnabas started to panic and looked to the good doctor for reassurance.

‘What’s going on? I’ve never seen my wife so much as swat a fly. Where’s this anger come from? Is it a result of the delirium?’

Before the doctor had a chance to answer, Emma turned to her husband and shouted at the top of her lungs – which seemed much stronger than when she’d been wheezing helplessly the day before.

‘My daddy’ll get his big gun and make them dead, like I’ll make you dead.’

She jumped from the bed, skirted past the doctor and ran at her husband, her arms flying as she repeatedly pounded him with her balled fists, time and time again.

He managed to pull her close, trying to calm her, but she changed tactic and began to kick out.

He’d never known anything like it in their ten years of marriage.

This was not how his gentle, unassuming wife behaved.

Had the fever left her confused? Had she suffered some kind of damage to the brain?

‘It’s all right. I’ve got you,’ he reassured her, as Dr Appleby rummaged in his medicine bag and pulled out a small red leather-bound box containing his morphine paraphernalia.

The gentlemen exchanged a glance to confirm they both understood what was needed.

Barnabas held her tight as the doctor deftly slipped the needle into her arm, and the effects were almost immediate.

Emma stopped fighting her husband and he felt her body go limp.

After a minute or two, she slumped down and, between them, they manhandled her back into bed.

‘Let her rest a while and I’ll drop by again this afternoon.

’ The doctor hastily checked her pulse as he spoke and then packed up his bag.

‘I’m running late today. Unfortunately, influenza is now rife in the village.

I’ve just been to Low Farm, as their children are showing signs.

Both are listless, with dry coughs, and we know Mrs Shaw was with them last week, helping at the Sunday school. ’

‘I think the kitchen maid has it, too,’ the housekeeper volunteered. ‘I’ve confined her to bed for the moment.’

Dr Appleby sighed. ‘I’m to have a busy few weeks ahead of me then.’

He nodded his leave as a slurred mumble came from the bed.

‘Want my sister. Want Zella.’

But Emma had no sister, and the name Zella meant nothing to Barnabas.

As a man who’d always been open to things outside the realms of rational understanding, he contemplated an alternative explanation.

Because the life she was talking of was not hers – sleeping in waggons, and strange names that didn’t sound English.

Could it be his wife had been possessed of some troubled spirit when she’d been at her most vulnerable?

He’d long since believed in the supernatural and attended many a séance before moving to Thistlewick Tye, repeatedly witnessing the dead successfully communicate through those with a spiritual gift.

But was it possible for one such to enter the body of a living person?

Emma had spoken of dying; of her legs being too long as though she didn’t recognise her own body; of family members that didn’t exist…

He desperately hoped her behaviour was a temporary aberration, but he also knew if this state of affairs continued, and if his suspicions were correct, there was only one course of action open to him.

He headed for the staircase with a heavy heart, because that would mean contacting someone from his past. Someone who hadn’t spoken to him for ten years.

Someone who had every reason to hate him.

* * *

‘We’ll have to start without the doctor,’ Lord Felthorpe said, half a mile away in Felthorpe Hall.

‘There’s much to discuss today and I want it all tied up before I leave for my appointment in Norwich this afternoon.

Ideally, I’d like to give the builder the go-ahead this morning for the repairs to that little row of workers’ cottages near the forge.

The bad weather will soon be upon us and the elderly couple in the end terrace need to be dry and warm or I fear they’ll not live to see the new year. Did you have any business, Reverend?’

Only two of the three members of the Thistlewick Tye Benevolent Committee were present for the weekly meeting – Dr Appleby had failed to appear. Reverend Fallow shuffled the pile of papers before him and peered at his notes.

‘Old Frank has begged that he be allowed another week to find his rent, and the schoolteacher is hoping we can secure the funds to send the Hockley lad to the local grammar school. He shows such promise but his parents don’t have two beans to rub together.’

Lord Felthorpe nodded. ‘Of course, and they’re such a lovely family. Always at church on a Sunday and often give of their time to help out their neighbours.’

At that moment, the door to Lord Felthorpe’s study opened and Dr Appleby belatedly entered. His forehead was furrowed in confusion, and his cheeks pale, as he hurried to take his seat next to the vicar at the large pedestal desk.

‘A thousand apologies for my tardiness, but I’ve just come from tending to Mrs Shaw at Thistlewick House, where I’ve witnessed the most peculiar incident…’