Sjá nánar

16.7.2006

The Chair of Grace

http://www.netsaga.is/media/files/What%20is%20Love.mp3

I was about to put my feet up to read a good book when there was a knock on my door.

It was a policeman, one Detective Sergeant Rydon.

Rydon and I have worked together unofficially for several years.

Whenever he gets a case that is unusual or involves the occult he'll ask for my opinion.

I invited him in and he explained that he had a mystery for me.

"There's no criminal investigation, you understand," he said, "but a strange discovery was made which might contain a suspicious element. Neither me nor my colleagues can make head or tail of it."

"Go on", I said, thinking this might be more exciting than my book.

Rydon laid out the facts.

A couple had bought a farmhouse in the district with its contents.

They didn't need all the furniture so they decided to store it in the cellar.

As they were shifting a heavy chest it slammed hard against a wall which promptly collapsed, revealing another room.

There were scuff marks on the floor and the room was empty except for the remains of a letter that had been burned.

Its only legible words were "chair of grace".

"Their accidental discovery bothered the couple.

They felt there was something fishy about this sealed room so they came to us.

We've asked the relatives of the previous owner, Robert Grisham, what the words in the letter might mean but they have as little idea as us.

We gave up.

The secret of whatever it was Robert Grisham was storing in his cellar went with him to his grave."

Although the matter was closed, Rydon was obviously still intrigued.

We discussed possible lines of enquiry.

Rydon wanted to know if a skilled practitioner could glean anything from the letter, like the character and state of mind of the writer.

I knew the sort of practitioners he was referring to.

"Maybe," I said, "but they'd need to be able to touch the actual letter".

Rydon smiled and handed it to me.

He said he was off on holiday and wouldn't be back for two weeks.

He'd call me then to see how I'd got on.

Rydon smiled and handed it to me.

He said he was off on holiday and wouldn't be back for two weeks.

He'd call me then to see how I'd got on.

"But don't go getting personally involved!" was his parting shot.

After a week or so of taking the letter round to friends and colleagues, I realised I was getting nowhere.

With just a few days to go before Rydon's return I was determined to come up with something.

Personal involvement it would have to be, I thought.

So off I went to visit the couple in the farmhouse.

They were still hoping that someone would clear up the mystery and gladly invited me in and showed me the cellar.

All they knew about the previous owner was that he was an elderly man who lived alone.

It was his sister, Lucy Grisham, who had sold the house to them.

I asked them what the cellar looked like when they originally viewed the farmhouse.

"It smelt of wet plaster so we asked Miss Grisham if some work had recently been done", they replied.

"She told us someone had accidentally put their foot through the ceiling but quickly emphasised how minor a repair it was."

They pointed out the scuff marks to me.

Clearly a heavy object had been dragged to the middle of the room.

What had happened to it, I wondered.

Was it dismantled, chopped up into little pieces or what?

I promised the couple I'd let them know if I found anything out and said my good-byes.

It didn't take me long to track down the builder who had worked on the cellar.

When I told Mr McKellen I'd been to the farmhouse he wanted to know how the ceiling was holding up.

"You can't see where the foot went through if that's what you mean", I replied.

"Foot!" retorted McKellen, "What foot?

That hole was so big I thought a boom had gone through it."

We puzzled over Miss Grisham's lie and then McKellen remembered that he'd had to refit the kitchen window which was above the cellar.

It had been taken out and he'd asked her why that was.

She had told him to mind his own business.

"I was being paid good money to do the work so I just got on with the job and left.

Never gave it another thought", he said.

As I walked back up the road I realised the identity of the mystery object was beginning to obsess me.

It was at that point that I should have called it a day and gone home.

But I felt I was on such a good roll I just had to continue.

My next port of call was Miss Grisham's house itself.

I knew she wasn't going to be as willing to give out information as the other people I'd seen.

I was going to have to push her a little bit and see what happened.

It was nine o'clock in the evening when I arrived at her grey and neglected looking mansion.

As I walked up the pathway I took deep breaths to steady my nerves.

While waiting for an answer at the door I felt something nudge me in the back.

I turned around to find myself confronted by a large Irish wolfhound.

It jumped upon my shoulders and started barking in my face.

I froze on the spot, nearly suffocating from the dog's hot breath.

To my relief the front door finally opened and a voice rang out,

"Get down Mr Bumble! Down boy!"

The dog did as it was told and ran into the house.

The old woman looked frailer than her voice suggested.

She asked what I wanted.

What I wanted, I thought, was to run all the way home.

But I had to stick to my plan.

"I'm an old friend of Robert's", I said. "I only recently heard that he'd passed away so I've come to pay my respects."

We introduced ourselves, shook hands and I was ushered into the drawing room where she introduced me to her brother and sister, Richard and Daisy.

They asked me question after question, quizzing me about my friendship with Robert.

I managed to bluff my way through it but I needed to take the pressure off myself and put it onto them.

So I vaguely mentioned that Robert had written to me about a chair or table - I couldn't remember which.

As I waffled on I couldn't help but notice the strained expressions on their faces.

Lucy asked me if I'd seen this chair, to which I replied no, and Richard said he'd never heard his brother mention a chair.

Neither said "or table".

They all looked at each other and I could feel the atmosphere changing.

I got up to leave but Lucy asked me if I'd stay for dinner and stupidly I said yes.

Immediately the Grishams became more friendly towards me, even jovial.

I was soon to find out why.

We were half way through the meal when I felt a sudden twinge in my stomach.

The pain got worse, then unbearable.

As I tried to bring my predicament to their attention my whole body went numb.

My head fell back like a loose cannon on a rolling ship, my arms dangling by my sides.

I couldn't have imagined a more undignified position to be in.

Then, to top it all, I started giggling, as if unaware of the mortal danger I was in.

As I looked up at the ceiling I could hear and see perfectly well but I couldn't move.

"Miss Ravenhill?" I heard Lucy call.

But I could not speak.

Then Richard asked, "Is she dead?" to which Lucy replied "No."

In a moment Richard was standing over me with a chopper in his hand.

As he was about to strike Lucy shouted,

"Stop! We don't want any blood spilt in this house. We'll wait."

They all left the dining room.

I knew they had poisoned me but I didn't feel as if I was about to die.

I just felt paralysed.

To make them believe I was dead I closed my eyes - which sounds much easier than it was to do.

After a while they came back and prodded and poked me.

"Is she dead now?" asked Richard.

This time Lucy's answer was yes.

They lifted me out of the chair and dragged me along the floor.

As they took me out of the house I felt a cold breeze blowing against my cheeks.

It felt very strange.

I was placed in a wheelbarrow and moved to the back of the house then on through the garden.

After a few minutes I was tipped onto the ground.

I could smell wet autumn leaves as I landed on my face.

Then I was unceremoniously kicked into a makeshift grave.

Once I felt the walls of the grave I nearly panicked.

I wanted to scream but I knew that the slightest indication I was still alive would make them beat me to death.

Sgt. Rydon's warning not to get involved ran through my mind as they shovelled dirt over me.

I was about to pay the ultimate price.

I was being buried alive but I had to stay in calm control.

After a while my mind started to wander as if in a deep trance.

I saw a white light and drifted towards it.

So long as I stayed in the light I felt safe.

I don't know how much time went by but all of a sudden I had fierce pains in my chest and face.

I thought, this is it - I'm about to die.

Then I was gasping for air.

I opened my eyes and saw the night sky and the trees.

I was alive but who was digging me out?

It was the wolfhound.

I mustered up what little strength I had and encouraged him to continue his work:

"Dig boy! Dig!"

He started licking my face.

Movement was beginning to return to my limbs.

I grabbed the dog's collar and pulled myself out of the grave.

I leant against the beast, panting just as hard as he was, and thanked God and him I was still alive.

I could see the mansion ahead and behind me the woods and freedom.

But I was too weak to move very far.

I would have to get to the house and call the police.

As I started crawling my way back a voice rang out.

Somebody was calling the dog.

At first he wouldn't leave my side but I shooed him away and he sloped off into the woods as if he understood that his muddied paws and jowls would give my game away.

I got to the back of the house unseen and found a window ajar at ground level.

I climbed through but was too exhausted to hold on to the windowsill and fell head first into some kind of storage room.

As I looked around, half dazed, I saw bits of broken furniture scattered everywhere.

But there was something that looked like a seat, covered by a dust sheet.

I crawled over to it and sat down to catch my breath.

All the numbness started to fade.

My chest and neck no longer hurt.

I was getting stronger and at the same time I felt at peace with myself.

It was such an unlikely emotion in the circumstances that I got up, turned on the light and looked at the object I'd been sitting on.

The dust sheet had fallen off to reveal a magnificent chair.

It was like a throne.

After a moment I twigged that this must be Robert Grisham's Chair of Grace.

It was made of solid oak.

Carved deep into the wood were stories from the Bible.

Each letter had a gold or silver infill.

The detail was incredible and the effect was stunning.

I could see why somebody would want to steal it.

Now that I felt "Stay where you are!"

I screamed at her.

I thought she was going to collapse she looked so shocked.

"Where are Richard and Lucy?" I demanded.

"They're out mixing concrete to seal your grave", she replied in a quaking voice.

As we waited for them to return I decided to quiz her about Robert's chair.

She said that Robert had made it to pay homage to the family he had lost.

He had married young and had three lovely children but they all died six years later in a boating accident.

"Robert was inconsolable", she said.

"We didn't know how to help him and whenever we visited he'd be working in his cellar but he would never tell us what he was doing.

As the years went by he shut himself away completely."

After Robert's death his solicitor had handed them a letter in which their brother explained why he had become so reclusive.

He said he loved his wife and children and missed them so much that remarrying was out of the question.

Instead he devoted his time to making the chair.

He wanted them to donate it to the local museum.

"When I saw all the gold and silver work I thought what good was it going to do anyone stuck in a museum", she said.

"So we took the chair, burned the letter and bricked up the wall."

"Why do you still have it?" I wanted to know.

"Why didn't you sell it?"

"Because there's something strange about the chair", she replied.

"Whenever we sat in it or even touched it we would black out and have nightmares for days afterwards.

Only Mr Bumble was unaffected - the dog seemed to like the chair."

Daisy's painful narrative was interrupted.

Richard and Lucy had returned.

Richard was carrying a shot gun.

I hid behind the door as they came in and knocked the gun out of his hands then pushed him to the ground.

Lucy's expression was indescribable as I took her by the scruff of the neck and sat her down.

so much stronger I decided to tackle the Grishams head on, aided by a broken piece of furniture.

The front door was open and there was no sound in the hallway apart from the ticking of the grandfather clock.

There was a phone beside the clock.

I quickly called the police who fortunately knew that Rydon had talked to me.

As I put the phone down I heard a noise coming from the dining room.

I tiptoed over to the door and rushed in.

Sitting by herself at the table was Daisy.

Then Mr Bumble strolled in.

Richard and Lucy screamed at him to attack me.

"Kill her! Kill her!" they yelled but Mr Bumble just walked up to me and lay down.

The Grishams were furious and swore they would have their revenge on me and the dog.

Then the police arrived.

After the court case Robert Grisham's Chair of Grace was taken to the local museum just as he had requested.

It has become a kind of shrine.

People come from all over the world to see and touch it, believing it to have healing powers.

No one objected to me keeping Mr Bumble whose former owners were now serving prison sentences for what they'd done to me.

It was the least I could do for him after he had saved me from them.

It took some time for Detective Sergeant Rydon to forgive me for ignoring his instruction.

In the end he laughed and said,

"You're supposed to help me solve criminal cases not create them."