The White Worm Read online

  I did so, then returned to my seat. Holmes thumbed through the pages. “This is rather lengthy. Might I read it aloud so as to share the contents with Henry?”

  Selton still looked pale. “As you wish, Mr. Holmes.”

  “‘This story has been passed down within our family for many generations, but I at last shall write down the terrible tale of Sir Michael Marsh and the White Worm.’”

  “Worm?” I murmured.

  Holmes’s eyes glanced down the page. “Ah, yes, he means ‘worm’ in the archaic sense of serpent or dragon, not our current lowly earthworm.” He continued reading.

  During the reign of the Mercian kings, one knight became known above all others for his bravery and remarkable deeds, especially the defeat of several terrible serpents who terrified the countryside, slaughtering men and beasts. His last and greatest conquest was that of the worm who dwelt near the sea and the moors of Yorkshire. Though that land was beyond Mercia’s boundaries, its people sent a delegation to the Mercian king, begging him to send help against the clever and powerful dragon. This dragon lived in a grove of oaks on a cliff alongside the sea, a place originally known as Diana’s Grove, but now called lair of the White Worm. Sir Michael went willingly, accompanied by his favorite mastiff, a white stallion and his squire Alfred.

  After a long weary journey, he came at last to the grove. He dismounted and had Alfred help him into his best armor, the plates gleaming silver under the sun, and then the two men knelt down. Sir Michael inverted his massive broadsword, raising its jeweled hilt as a cross while they prayed God to aid them in their combat against the foul creature. The knight remounted and proceeded up the hill, his sword and lance at his side.

  As is often the case, a heavy fog from the sea had risen to cover the land, damp and cold, turning summer almost to winter. The cry of the distant gulls could be heard. The trees had their summer leaves, and the black trunks and greenery could be made out ahead, as well as some ghostly white figures. Wary, Sir Michael drew his sword and held the blade before him. His steed whinnied, uneasy, but the knight stroked his mane and spoke gently.

  As they drew nearer, he could see a number of women, all wearing white robes, all wondrously beautiful and fair, but none could compare with their leader. Many had blond, auburn or pale-brown hair, but hers was like flames, lapping in a fiery halo around her wondrous face. Her eyes were green, a true green like emeralds, her lips a brilliant red. Unlike the others, she wore a white gown which left bare her long white slender arms and clung so tightly it showed her sinuous shape. Round her throat was a necklace of emeralds which rivaled her eyes.

  Despite her great beauty, Sir Michael felt uneasy. He slowed his horse but kept his sword raised high. The mastiff snarled loudly and would have lunged for the woman, but Alfred managed to hold him back.

  “What seek you, good knight? Ours is a humble place of worship, but my votaries and I welcome you. Would you break bread with us?”

  “Of what worship do you speak? Do you believe in Jesus Christ, our Lord, who has redeemed us all through his death?”

  The priestess smiled haughtily. “No, my lord. Ours is an older religion, one that once held sway over all of Britain. The Celts and their Druids knew us well, as did the Romans, some of whom made it this far. Our ancient faith is bound to the earth, the sky, the rocks and water, and the trees of this grove behind us. Still, we respect your faith, as we hope you will respect ours. Come, will you join us for supper?”

  “I seek a dragon—a white worm—a creature of great size whom men, women and beasts all fear. Have you seen him?”

  The priestess laughed heartily. “That old tale! There is no worm here, my lord, only us women. You, a knight with your great sword and lance, can have no fear of the likes of us. Come now.” She held up her hand and turned her palm outward toward him, and its rosy flush shone like the setting sun. “Come join me.”

  Sir Michael glanced down at Alfred. His squire shook his head even as he struggled to restrain the mastiff.

  The woman touched her hips with her beautiful hands, turning slightly even as she lowered her eyes and bowed. “I beg of you, my lord.”

  Sir Michael felt a sudden ache about his heart: he had no wife, and he had never seen so lovely a woman. He lowered his sword. “Very well.”

  The knight followed the women into the misty grove, the dark trunks writhing upward all about them, until they came at last to a stone dwelling of great age. The knight dismounted, and the priestess bade him remove his armor and be at ease. He would take off only his helmet, and he kept his sword sheathed at his side. They came into a great hall where a fire burned before a table set with a wondrous feast. The priestess poured wine from a flagon into two golden goblets, gave him one, then held up her own and drank to his health and long life. The knight had never tasted a wine so sweet and fragrant. He was ravenous and ate the roasted game and fine white bread offered him. The lady, however, partook of nothing, only sipped at her wine as she watched him through her half-closed green eyes.

  After he had eaten his fill, a great weariness came over him. The lady led him to a bedchamber, and he lay down, still clad in his armor. She took up a harp and began a sweet song in an unknown tongue. The knight slept, but his dreams were terrible. He rose once and went to the window of the chamber. In the distance, amidst the trees, a green light glowed.

  In the morning he discovered that the mastiff had disappeared. Alfred bade Sir Michael depart, but the lady stared at him, bidding him stay by her look alone. The knight removed his armor and wandered that day in the shadowy grove. Something unseen followed him through the trees.

  Again he was served food at a great banquet and drank a wondrous wine. He went to the chamber, and the lady sang him asleep. His dreams were worse than the night before. Again he woke once and saw the green glow in the darkness. In the morning his stallion had vanished, and Alfred begged him to depart while they still could. The lady said nothing, but again her look spake more than words. A great weariness came over the knight. He slept most of the day, then came again to the banquet, but his appetite had left him. Still, he drank more of the wine. The lady sang him asleep, and his dreams were full of terror and rapture. He started up during the night and found himself naked. Again he went to the window and saw the green glow. The next morning Alfred could not be found.

  The knight felt sick in spirit, and he wanted only to sleep, but instead he went into the grove. Wandering through the trees, he came at last to dark, ancient stones set round in a circle, and in the center was a black hole which, from the look of it, went to the center of the earth. From its depths came a greenish mist and a foul stench. The knight threw a stone into the pit, but never heard it land. His heart began to pound in his chest, and a great fear seized him.

  He staggered away, went back to the dwelling and found his sword by the bedside. He knelt, raised up the hilt, and prayed to God as he had never prayed before. A certain calm came over him. He went to the evening feast, but ate little and would not touch the wine.

  “Something troubles my lord,” the lady said. Her green eyes stared from within the nimbus of her flaming tresses, and he noticed that her pupils were dark slits rather than circles.

  He looked away and said, “It is only that I am weary.”

  She extended her hand. “Come, my lord.” She led him to the bedchamber, and then somehow she removed her gown without using her hands, slipping free, shedding it like a skin to stand before him, naked and white. The knight could not tear his gaze from her. Her ruby lips parted, and she raised her arms. “Come, my lord. Come to me. Take me. I am yours.”

  The knight did not move, but she stepped forward and used her hands to rip his garments asunder. The knight managed, at last, to look away and saw the harp and his sword lying nearby. He turned and took up the harp. “You have sung to me so often, my fair one. Let me sing to you.”

  She folded her arms across her breasts and stood waiting. He began a song which was a prayer to Mary, the Mother
of God. The lady staggered as if she had been struck, and then her mouth opened impossibly wide, revealing two enormous fangs. “Stop!” she hissed, but Sir Michael sang on, begging the Virgin Mother for aid.

  The lady tried to clap her hands against her ears, but her fingers seemed to take root there, and her arms shrank away, as did her legs. Only her torso, her breasts and fair face remained as she assumed the shape of a great serpent, growing larger and ever larger. Her beauteous white skin hardened, scales forming, and her tail lashed about even as she rose up higher still. A great hiss burst from her distended jaw, and she struck at the knight.

  He thrust forth the wooden harp, which she caught in her mouth, and then he seized his sword. Even as she struggled to free her teeth, he swung with both hands and severed her head with a single blow. With a great shriek, the head fell to the floor, even as a spout of green blood shot from the serpent body. The green eyes stared up balefully at the knight, slowly clouding over as her red hair lost its brilliance.

  The ruby lips formed a cruel smile. “Your sons may be yours, but your daughters will be mine evermore.” Her eyes closed, even as the headless snake’s body toppled over.

  The knight staggered forth, sword in hand. A few of the women in white robes tried to stop him, but he struck them down as he fled. The wind howled in the trees, but he broke free of the grove at last and went downhill out of the mists. He made his way to a nearby village where he collapsed. A priest cared for him for several days, but it was only after he made his confession that he began to recover. Later that summer he returned to the grove, had the pit covered over, the ancient dwelling torn down and a splendid new home constructed. He had determined to live at the site of his greatest triumph.

  Ever after those days, Sir Michael was a grave and unsmiling man. A year later he met a beautiful lady, married her, and brought her to his estate at Diana’s Grove. They had several children, both girls and boys. Sir Michael always had the priest bless and baptize the girls straight away. Golden crosses hung on the walls of their bedchambers, and the knight went to Mass daily to pray on his knees for his daughters’ safe keeping. They were all spared, but his descendants were not so lucky. Thus is it that whenever a girl is born into the Marsh family, there is no rejoicing, but only fear for what the future may bring.

  Holmes set the papers down. “Quite a tale, indeed.” He set the tips of his fingers together and stared at Selton. “I can understand that you might find this troubling. All the same—do you actually see some connection between this tale and the family situation today?”

  Selton’s eyes rose, then fell. “I am not certain. I had heard references to the White Worm and Diana’s Grove before, but I had never actually heard the whole story. Even as a child, I noticed some people were afraid to go near the place, especially at night, and more recently there have been… stories.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  “About some giant… some giant white…”

  “Snake?” I exclaimed, as he could not seem to finish. He nodded. I shook my head. “Oh, that is simply preposterous.”

  Holmes tapped his fingertips together twice, then lowered his hands. “Obviously Mr. Selton does not find it preposterous.”

  Selton thrust forth his jaw, then brought it back. “There is an elderly gentleman who lives near our Yorkshire home, Sir Nathaniel de Salis, and he knows the geography and geology, the animals and vegetation of the region. All of England is riddled with caves and caverns of great depth. Since we know that creatures of great size lived in ancient times, Sir Nathaniel speculates that some great beast might still linger in the depths of the earth. The pit mentioned in the story does exist, and it is frighteningly deep.”

  I shook my head. “Werewolves and vampires are nonsensical enough, but white dragons and beautiful damsels who are actually serpents?”

  Selton thrust his jaw forward again but would not speak. Holmes watched him carefully. “You admire Miss Marsh, Mr. Selton.”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “And yet, you fear all is not well with her. That she may have something of this… serpentine nature mentioned in the story.”

  Selton went paler still. I shook my head and leaned forward. “No, no—please! It is difficult enough with a woman, without introducing—”

  Holmes stared sternly at me and shook his head. Selton wiped his hand across his brow and let his fingers rest in the thick tangle of black hair. “I don’t know what to believe. As I said, it’s all such a muddle.”

  Holmes sat back and crossed his legs, drummed at the chair arm. “Someone is trying to frighten you, that is clear enough. The emphasis, however, is peculiar. That reference in the letter to your manhood, for example.”

  Selton raised his head, opened his mouth, then seemed to freeze even as the blood again poured into his face. “For God’s sake,” I said, “what is it? What is wrong?” He shook his head, unable to speak. As a physician I had a sudden suspicion. “Has something made you question your manhood?”

  Selton sat up, then almost leaped from the chair, even as he made two huge fists. “I’ll not be insulted by the likes of you!” He whirled about and started for the door. Holmes and I both stood, and I shook my head.

  “You are being ridiculous, Mr. Selton!” Holmes cried. “Stop—just stop! No one is doubting your manhood. Be reasonable. We want to help you. You are weary from your journey. Please come back.”

  Selton stood before the door, his massive back toward us, one hand on the knob. At last he let it go and turned toward us. His face was still bright red. “Forgive me. I am… oh, I am a hopeless fool.”

  Holmes picked up Selton’s glass and went to the sideboard. “Have another brandy, sir, and compose yourself.”

  Selton dropped his valise and hat, then collapsed into the chair. “I am tired.” He sipped the brandy. His flush faded more quickly this time.

  Holmes reached for his pipe, but I sternly shook my head. He folded his arms and briefly paced about before returning to his chair. Selton’s eyes were fixed on his knees, and his outburst seemed to have consumed the last of his energy. “Someone wants to frighten you off,” Holmes murmured almost to himself. “Are there any other men who seem interested in the young lady?” He shook his head. Holmes drummed again at the chair arm. “Tell me about the aunt, Mr. Selton. You said she was recently widowed?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to her husband?”

  “It was a frightful suicide.”

  “Ah!” Holmes smiled. “Suicide is always a matter of interest, especially as it often introduces doubt.”

  “Doubt?” Selton asked.

  “Murder often masquerades as suicide.”

  Selton shook his head. “Not in this case. The man blew his brains out in front of his doctor and his wife. There is no doubt there.”

  Holmes nodded. “Now that is rather extraordinary. Is it known why Lord—was it Verr, Lord Verr? Was it known why Lord Verr might kill himself?”

  Selton lowered his eyes. “It seems obvious. He had lost his fortune and was heavily in debt. He also seemed to be going mad.”

  “Going mad.” Holmes nodded thoughtfully, then smiled at me. “More and more interesting. And Lady Verr has moved in with her niece.”

  “Yes. It seemed the sensible thing for them both.”

  “And what is your opinion of Lady Verr?”

  “My opinion?” Selton seemed genuinely puzzled. “Oh, she seems nice enough. She’s a bit eccentric, but good-hearted, I suppose. She’s very… very pretty.” Again some hint of color in his cheeks. “But of course, she is old.”

  “How old?” Holmes asked.

  Selton thought for a while. “In her late thirties, possibly even forty.” I laughed outright, while even Holmes smiled. “What is wrong?”

  “Many would not characterize forty as old,” Holmes said. “And does Miss Marsh like her aunt?”

  “Oh yes, I think so. She appreciates all that she has done for her.”

  Holme
s nodded. “Does this aunt have any suitors?”

  “Not really.”

  “But you seem to consider someone a possibility.”

  “There is a recent arrival from abroad, a Mr. Edgar Caswall. He has returned to reclaim the long-empty family castle, Castra Regis. He is known as the wealthiest man in that part of Yorkshire.”

  “How convenient for a woman left penniless by a suicidal husband.”

  Holmes’s comment didn’t seem to register with Selton. He put one hand over his mouth and stifled a yawn.

  “You are tired, Mr. Selton. We must allow you to get some rest. This has been an interesting conversation, but what exactly would you like me to do?”

  “I want you to come to Yorkshire with me and help find out what’s behind it all. I can pay you well for your help.”

  “Indeed? What do you propose?”

  “I shall pay you ten pounds a day while you are assisting me, and another two hundred when I consider the case satisfactorily resolved. I can write you a check for two hundred pounds immediately.”

  My eyes opened wide. That was a formidable sum. Holmes nodded. “That is more than enough, Mr. Selton. And what would you consider satisfactory resolution? If I could tell you who sent you that letter and why, would that suffice?”

  Selton’s brow was furrowed. “I don’t know. Probably.”

  Holmes sighed. “Tempting. All the same, I am not sure I am currently at liberty—”

  “To decline,” I said. “He will certainly accept. Your offer is more than generous. And I—” it came out before I had time for reflection “—I will accompany him.” Holmes stared at me in disbelief. “The air of Yorkshire is just what you need. We were just now speaking of a—” I realized “holiday” was not the word to use. “Of some time in the country, some work outside the noxious air of London, and this is just the thing.”

  Selton smiled at me, then turned to Holmes, and his smile faltered. “If only you would come, Mr. Holmes. If the money is not enough…”