The Reichenbach Problem

  If his litany had been designed to make me feel uncomfortable, it had worked. However, it did not convince me that, morally, he was in the right. The church had long condemned such practices as a matter of course.

  “However, doctor, despite what you may think of the church, my objections are not scriptural. Scripture, it is true, plainly tells us that we should have nothing to do with such matters. Nothing.” He chopped a thin cold hand down through the air like a cleaver and went on. “Neither are my objections based on a blind observance of my church’s policy on such matters. Though I would appreciate it,” he said, in a low-voiced pantomime of a person afraid of being overheard, “if we could keep that among ourselves. The Curia has been known to take a very dim view of fellows who choose to flout their carefully constructed and argued formulae in so cavalier a fashion. No, my objections are purely practical and based upon what meagre understanding I have of the psychology of the individual. It is not how innocent and harmless such a meeting may be, or seem to be. The consequences of such behaviour upon the vulnerable and the susceptible are incalculable. People do not understand. They are not well educated and able to observe such phenomena with the scientific detachment that you and I are able to deploy. People, as a whole, are highly suggestible when the mood takes them. It is all I can do to help guide my flock through the perilous difficulties of superstition and folly, when it comes to simple religious and folk practices. So you may well understand how much more difficult it is to ensure such practices as yours are received with equilibrium. Especially if they are delivered to the flock undiluted and unsupervised.”

  “I am sorry. I did not realize. But…”

  “Yes?”

  “But is not Francesca local? Do they not know of her customs and beliefs?”

  “They do. And, it is true, a number of people have come to her for private readings. Mostly divination and general advice about the future. People are always so eager to know what will become of them. I believe it takes their minds off how they should live in the present moment. Francesca and her husband, you should know, regularly attend Mass. It is very difficult for me to accept what she does outside her devotions. But that is a matter between her, her husband and their conscience…” His voice tailed off and his gaze drifted away into the distance for a moment, then he brought himself back to the issue at hand. “The simple fact of the matter is that we have had a dead body brought, in tragic circumstances, down from the mountain, and the very next evening a number of strangers are gathered for some sort of occult ritual. That is, as far as the village is concerned. They are making assumptions that are hard to contend with, as you may imagine.”

  I could imagine only too well.

  “I am only glad that Mr Brown’s body was removed at the earliest opportunity, or speculation as to his own beliefs would have been taken to extremes, too. A pagan? Lying in a house of God? Well, you might easily imagine what further difficulties that would have presented me, you and the whole community. But it is also why I was particularly concerned about the fire in his chapel of rest. You may very well imagine what connections you alone might make out of all these events, doctor. And, whatever connections you do make, you can be sure the community will have made them also. And a dozen more besides.”

  “Father, I am so sorry…”

  “Oh, do not worry, my son. I am sure that it will all blow over in due course. Naturally, it will enter the annals of the village folklore and be exaggerated out of all proportion as each generation tells the next, on stormy nights around the stoves. Nevertheless, your concerns, as opposed to mine, are that your name has been inextricably linked with all these events. In fact, you have been identified as the chief occult instigator and pagan ringleader. Not a healthy reputation, I would imagine, for any visitor; let alone a doctor.”

  “No, indeed.” Any objections I might have wished to raise with the priest during his lengthy exposition were wiped from my mind. I sat for some moments considering the rumours and gossip that must, even now, be spreading like a bush fire through the village. Conan Doyle the warlock. Conan Doyle the wizard. Conan Doyle the messenger of Satan. I shuddered to think of it.

  “Scripture is often filled with great wisdom. Practical advice, albeit wrapped up in religious language. Often, also, tainted with the misconception that it is entirely designed to quash any notions of enjoyment people may entertain. Yet if we were to take many, though by no means all, of its precepts at face value, we would soon come to understand a God who is interested solely in our welfare. Someone whose only concern is in protecting us from ourselves. So, Scripture tells us unequivocally that we should have nothing to do with the sort of matters upon which you and your acquaintances were engaged last night. Practitioners and adherents cry ‘Foul!’ and claim that this is just repressive, orchestrated religious cant. In truth, just as I have demonstrated to you now, it appears that it might just be sound, practical advice after all. It is not the things we do that matter most of the time, it is how they may be perceived by people who do not understand that is the problem.”

  He finished and draped an arm over the back of his chair in a manner that suggested he was now leaving the debating floor to me, should I choose to step upon it.

  I did not. I had the overwhelming sensation that I had just been preached to in a thoroughly organized and premeditated manner. Ordinarily, I would have met such a lecture with good grace. In such cases, a deferential nod and a “thanks for your advice, must be getting along now” species of shuffled but swift departure usually sufficed. Instead I fumed inwardly. He spoke great good sense – that I could not deny. He was neither patronizing nor offensive in his delivery. That, too, was a given. Yet I was incensed that he might suggest that neither I nor his “flock”, as he styled them, were not capable of logical, rational thought when it came to such matters. Yes, I was interested in these things and yes, I even pursued them to a certain degree when I had the time, but it was as a scientific observer. Naturally, one or two people find themselves tripped up by these things, but folk are equally tripped up by church doctrine like as not. To consider that we were incapable of looking after ourselves and restoring our own equilibrium when these affairs turned turtle was beyond the pale. I forbore to give vent to my resentment, however. I realized it would serve no purpose to become engaged in a debate with this man. The only thing preventing me from bidding him good-day was the knowledge that despite all of my indignation, there was no doubt I was culpable. Of course, I still believed he had no actual proof that it was me in the church. Though, I must say, his rationale was compelling. Importantly, I was not about to supply him with a confession. Nonetheless, there was no gainsaying it; I had inadvertently caused the man no little inconvenience in this affair.

  “So, what can I do?”

  “What can we do? Well… I have been giving the matter no little consideration…”

  I did not doubt that he had, for one moment.

  “It seems to me that the best plan would be for you to do absolutely nothing.”

  “Nothing?” I said.

  “Nothing.”

  “This seems to me to be the most inept and – may I suggest? – indecisive course of action. Or rather, inaction.”

  “I quite see how it must look to you. I do not doubt that it is an entirely valid position to adopt. I am sure that there are a number of other courses we could take from this position, all of them possibly fruitful in the end. But I fear that this particular option commends itself as the most useful in our present circumstances.” He looked at me as if he were waiting for permission to expand upon his preliminary hypothesis. I nodded for him to continue. Whether or not I liked his tone, his manner, the way in which he had subtly sought to assert his authority over me, his church’s authority over me, I could not gainsay the fact that he had spoken good sense so far. For the most part. Besides, I was interested to hear what he had to say. I had to admit I was, myself, temporarily flummoxed by the turns of events he had enumerated. I was consequently
at a loss as to what precisely to do next, should I remain unconvinced that doing nothing was the appropriate course. It would be very helpful indeed to hear his perspective; I did not have to follow his advice, after all.

  “I have often found that doing nothing frequently ends up being the most valuable and effective course. Let us look at the facts. The village suspects – I will not say believes – that you are involved in some serious and disturbing occult practices. While they might not think it at present, the connection between you and the sudden death of your compatriot remains one that may well be made at some stage in the future. The more you seek to disabuse them of any of these notions, the more likely it is that they are going to suspect that you do protest too much.”

  I conceded the point, but reserved the right to withdraw from that position, depending upon the outcome of our conversation.

  “So, to go about the village as if you do not have a stain on your conscience appears to me to be the most acceptable and positive option. To leave now would be tantamount to an admission of guilt; to restrict your movements to the barest minimum, remaining immured here, for example, equally so. To spend any time lobbying individuals would also raise eyebrows. So, what are we left with? Simply to get on with your holiday and refuse to allow rumour to spoil it.”

  “This is precisely the thought I myself have had. I will not allow these, by turns tragic and curious, events to upset my plans.”

  “Bravo for you. That’s the spirit.”

  We looked appreciatively at one another for the first time since he had arrived. He continued outlining his thinking. “So, you go about your lawful business. There are some exquisite and stimulating walks I can recommend, and these would get you out of the village for long periods, on logical and incontestable reasons.” He barely hesitated before he asked me his next question, yet I could have sworn the intensity in the way he looked at me changed; as if he had been working all along up to this point. “Have you visited the Reichenbach yet, for example?”

  Did he really not remember that this was the place where Brown died? Was he trying to trick me into an admission of some kind? I hesitated. But only for the merest instant. I was momentarily unsure how to answer. I decided that the honest truth would be better than a lie. Although a lie might place me some way from the tragic scene, it would also, nevertheless, be difficult to sustain. Holloway for one, Eva for another, and Anton for yet another, knew that I had been there.

  “Yes. I have.” I returned his even gaze with equanimity.

  “Pity. I always like to be the person to introduce visitors to that phenomenal act of God. Oh well, it always rewards a second, third and fourth visit.”

  “I am sure that it does. And, I suspect, I shall indeed return one day.”

  “Be that as it may, while you go about exactly what it is that you came here for, I shall concern myself with removing the blot upon your escutcheon.”

  “My name does not need clearing,” I reminded him.

  “Forgive me. By that I meant that I shall spend the next few hours restoring the community’s confidence in you.”

  I was not at all sure how he might manage this or, indeed, whether it was actually possible.

  “I am a priest. I have good standing in the village and the surrounding district. It may surprise you, but the people take what I have to say seriously. By and large. And there is another thing…”

  “Which is?”

  “When it boils right down to it, it is I who could claim to have the greatest grievance in all of this. It was my church that was set alight. It was my parishioners who were the greatest offended by the incursions of visitors onto the consecrated ground at dead of night.”

  “May I remind you that my discussion with you this afternoon is in strictest confidence?”

  And so it shall remain. I will not say it was you that performed the acts mentioned. I will merely say that you and I had a conversation, and that I am satisfied that I can trust you implicitly, and that you are an honourable and decent man. It will be enough.”

  “It will be enough? I should like to believe you.”

  “I should like you to, too. And then there is the matter of the séance. This, again, is a subject of the greatest concern to Holy Mother Church, is it not?”

  “I suppose that it is.”

  “So, if the representative of that church announces, again, that he is satisfied as to your credentials, and that you had attended, reluctantly, merely as an observer and a scientist because you care to investigate such phenomena – possibly even for a future story – then will that not be both a true and an acceptable exoneration?”

  “It will indeed. It is in fact very much the exact case, just as you state it.”

  “I suspected as much.” He leaned back comfortably, like a man who had dined well and was now replete. “You may rest assured that I know just the right people with whom to have a quiet word. Respected and upstanding pillars of the community. Once they are convinced of your innocence, it will take no time at all for these people to convince their peers.”

  I was relieved beyond expression. Almost from the outset, my visit here had become one long and expanding nightmare. To think that restitution might, after all, be the eventual conclusion filled me with hope. Yet there was still one cloud upon the otherwise sunny horizon. I remembered that in my jacket pocket there lay a square of folded notepaper, upon which had been hurriedly written the request for an assignation. An assignation with the central figure in the séance that Father Vernon was seeking to help me disown. The urge to make a clean breast of this information burned within me. Yet, like an errant schoolboy who knew that whatever prank he contemplated would be thoroughly frowned upon, I was loath to offer up the details for inspection. I knew, however, that he should know at least something of this, and that his views would be most helpful to me in determining my own perspective on the issue. So I strove to find a roundabout way to elicit his opinion.

  “Father, I am nevertheless associated with people directly responsible for the séance. How do you advise I treat them if, say, I encounter them in the street, and so on?”

  “Ah well, yes… this is a good question. We should take a moment to consider it…” He fixed me with a questioning look. “You refer, in particular I expect, to Francesca and, to a lesser extent, Hugo?”

  “I do.” I was again astonished that he could be so perceptive. Yet, of course, who else would be so directly connected to the séance? Was this just my guilt unmanning me?

  “It is quite understandable that you should not wish to lose the… refreshing… society of this young woman.” I felt my earlobes grow warm with embarrassment. This was not what I meant at all. Yet it was also perfectly true. Again, I felt as if he could see right through into my most intimate thoughts and feelings. “When God created her, he gave her more than her fair share not only of femininity, but of kindliness and grace. It is a powerful and heady mixture, and it has led her frequently into difficulties. Not, I should hasten to add, of her own devising. For the most part, she is entirely innocent of the magnetic effect she has upon the opposite sex, and the envy she generates among her own. Oh yes, she knows how to turn on her allure when she needs it – as a daughter may wrap her loving father around her little finger. Girls, I believe, learn these techniques from birth. They practise turning heads when they enter rooms, emitting a captivating aura at will. But Francesca is neither manipulative nor malicious. I do not apportion any negative elements in her personality to her experimentation in her ‘gift’, as she might describe it. I believe, in her case, that this ability is one per cent intuition and ninety-nine per cent personality.”

  “She is a fraud, you mean?”

  “Far from it. A fraud, to my mind, is someone who deliberately seeks to manipulate or even have power over another by cynically exploiting the other’s susceptibility. She does not do this. She believes that she is special. No doubt someone has told her this. Over the years, with some scarcely substantiated results, she ha
s been led along an avenue of self-delusion until she has reached a point whereby she is no longer objectively able to rise above how others perceive her to be. She is playing a role that has been laid upon her to the fullest extent of her personality.”

  I considered his hypothesis and resolved to spend some time in the very near future reflecting upon it and analysing it from every angle. I was more than aware that he, coming from the doctrine of the church, might well hold a sceptical view of such phenomena. I was, however, unwilling to enter into debate quite at that moment.

  “This highly attractive personality of hers,” he continued, “naturally leads to a fair degree of… friction… in her relationship with her husband.”

  “Does he beat her?”

  “It is curious how Francesca brings out the protective nature in the male of the species. She unwittingly encourages all manner of men to champion her, to ride like a shining knight out of the mist to slay dragons on her behalf. To rescue her from what appears to them to be a cruel and oppressive marriage.”

  I looked away, ashamed at such a precise definition of my intentions; motives I did not have the courage to admit to myself.

  “I am not revealing any secrets. Hugo himself is entirely open and honest about this. Despite his very public faults, he also comes to Mass every Sunday to seek absolution for his volatile and dangerous constitution. He admits this freely to all his associates. His temper is something with which he struggles on a daily, perchance hourly, basis and I admire him for this heroic labour. But as to whether Francesca needs rescuing from him?” He paused and looked out of the window, as if the answer lay out there somewhere among the mountains. “I cannot say. All I will say is that she attends Mass with her husband, she contributes to the life of both the church and her village, and she seeks only to live peaceably with both her husband and her neighbours. Which is why I do not believe she is as much of a medium as she thinks she is. Not to say that mediums do not go to church, nor do they love their neighbours any less. No, it is simply that her fundamental instinct, the urge that drives her further than any superficial interest in such things as séances, is to be a good daughter of the church. Naturally, I hear you thinking, I would say that, since I am a priest. But I earnestly hope that this is true. She is lost, doctor. And it is my calling to be a shepherd to the lost.”