Appleby Talks Again Read Free Page A

about?”
    “I’m bound to say that I had come to regard it as a vanishing legend. For good or ill, these old stories are dying out.”
    Mr Buttery advanced to the chimney-piece and peered up at the carving. “The date is about right, you must agree.”
    “The date is certainly about right.” It was Judith who replied, and Appleby realised with misgiving that she was determined to probe the intentions or persuasions of the old parson before them. “Today is the tenth of June.”
    “Quite so.” Mr Buttery, much gratified, nodded so vigorously that his spectacles appeared likely to fly from his nose. “But I have heard very little talk of it, you know, of recent years. Only now and then, and from the older cottagers. The younger people – and it is they, mark you, who are often out late at night, human nature being what it is – the younger people never report anything. Perhaps because they don’t expect anything – eh?” Mr Buttery glanced at Judith with an air of great acuteness. “But then, of course, I’m bound to say I didn’t expect anything myself. It was entirely a surprise. My mind, naturally, was entirely on the gamekeeper.”
    “I beg your pardon?” Judith was puzzled.
    “No matter, no matter.” Mr Buttery might have been supposed momentarily confused. “The point is that I have seen it with my own eyes. And so I feel bound to get to work.” He turned back to his wooden box. “As you do too. Well, our purposes are not the same, but there need be no conflict – no conflict at all. A great deal in our present ills, if you ask me, proceeds from this disastrous notion of a necessary conflict between religion and science. I have a very cogent sermon on the subject, and I find that there is unfailing interest in it, year by year. I am not without the thought, indeed, of printing it and sending a copy to the Bishop. Between you and me, it might do him good. But here we are, here we are.” Mr Buttery was now rummaging in his box. “Bell, book, candle – surely I didn’t forget the candle? No – here it is.”
    Judith advanced and peered into the box. “You are proposing some sort of exorcism?”
    “Precisely. Not that I consider the manifestation as serious.” Again Mr Buttery glanced up with an air of great acuteness – which had, somehow, the comical effect of exhibiting him as a very innocent man. “I am not at all sure that a single White Paternoster might not very adequately meet the case. Still, one ought to be on the safe side. My reading inclines me to the view that we are dealing with goblins. A really populous affair like this is commonly a matter of goblins. I have little doubt that we shall get the better of them.”
    “Do I understand” – Appleby in his turn had come forward – “that you yourself have lately seen at Water Poole a considerable concourse of what you took to be disembodied spirits?”
    “My dear sir, you are perfectly justified from your scientific point of view in beginning your inquiry in this purely objective fashion. But I am persuaded that you know very well what I saw here last night.”
    “Can you put a name to it?”
    “Of course I can. It was the Naseby Ball.”
    “Exactly – the Naseby Ball. And – as you can imagine – we are extremely interested.” Appleby gave Judith a swift glance which might have been an injunction to accept without more ado the role of psychical researcher. “It would be invaluable if you were good enough to give us a full account of your experience.”
    “By all means.” Mr Buttery picked up his bell, gave it what appeared to be an experimental tinkle, and then addressed himself courteously to meet this request. “The historical background of the legend is no doubt familiar to you. In the summer of 1645 Lady Elizabeth Poole – she was a daughter of the Earl of Warmington – gave a magnificent entertainment here at Water Poole. On any sober calculation, of course, it was no time for anything of the sort, and the