Weird Shadows Over Innsmouth

Another attraction for Roberts, apart from the size of the place, which would easily lend itself to further accommodation for friends as well as a large studio and another area which would provide an elegant gallery for viewing sessions for his wealthy clients, was the enormous north-facing window in the area he intended to create his studio. All in all, the facilities already existing would provide a cosy home during the bitter winters Sussex sometimes endured.

So the artist had speedily summoned his wife from their London flat and to his relief she also had become enthusiastic about the place. With its enormous beams and four-inch thick wooden floors it would become a showplace once time and money had been expended on its refurbishment.

Through the good offices of Smithson, Roberts engaged some excellent local craftsmen and stayed on to supervise the work which occupied several months, so that it was not until early July that the couple were able to take up permanent occupation.

Another major benefit for Roberts was that a large stream ran beneath the building, as might be expected as it had been a working mill until about thirty years previously. The stream—though it was more a small river—ran foaming between the massive piles and from a vantage point, obtained via an enormous wooden hatch immediately above the race, he could savour the roar and power of the clear white water which swirled through beneath.

He was told by Smithson that the enormous mill-wheel, which was still in situation, had been rendered inoperable for years and that gratings had been installed to prevent any driftwood or foliage that might come down the stream from causing any damage beneath the building.

Once the hatch was raised and Roberts was able to look down on his first visit to the place, he was impressed with the roar of the water and the great power it would have exerted on the machinery in its heyday. But once the hatch was closed the movement of the water was muffled and, in any case, the living quarters were far above so that the surge of the stream was quite unobtrusive.

During the early days of Roberts’ ownership, his wife, Gilda, who acted as his secretary and agent, stayed in London to supervise the business side of the artist’s work—keeping in touch with clients in New York, Paris and Amsterdam, for her husband was now becoming a sought-after and celebrated painter, after long years of struggle and relative penury.

At this time Roberts had made his studio in the largest lower room of the mill and installed himself in a living room above, where Kent often visited him for drinks and a chat. Or, as the weather got better, the pair walked the short distance to the local pub, The Three Horseshoes, for white wine and the occasional meal. Kent, a strongly built man with an open countenance and black, curly hair, was almost as enthusiastic as Roberts about the new project and gave his friend valuable advice on the conversion and guided him in the direction of reliable specialist craftsmen.

One evening, when the weather was a little warmer and Roberts had finished work for the day on his latest commission, the two men sat in the vast living room with its massive beams and huge stone fireplace.

Roberts suddenly said, “Do you remember that canvas I did some years ago—the one I called ‘Faces in the Fire’?”

Kent, who wore grey slacks and a tweed hacking jacket, was slumped with his legs over the huge arms of the chair opposite. He sat up and wrinkled his brow as he put down his glass on a small table at his side. “You mean the one that was featured in that Town and Country magazine? An oil wasn’t it? I think those people did a very good colour shot. The publicity couldn’t have done you any harm.”

Roberts gave a short laugh. “You’re right about that. It was a bit of an experiment, but Gilda got me a thousand guineas for that one. A wealthy Dutchman bought it and thought it a bargain at the price. Gilda is a very smart girl when it comes to extolling my wares.”

Kent nodded. “She is that. But why do you ask about that work now?”

Roberts was re-filling his glass at a sideboard and didn’t answer for a moment. Then he came back to sit facing his friend. “Well, it’s more in your line than mine,” he began. “You’re the one with the fantastic imagination that you put into those novels of yours. I must have caught something of that from you. It was just a study—you know the sort of thing. In winter if you have a fire, you can stare at it and sometimes it seems as if you can detect faces in the flames.”

“Oh, that,” Kent said. “I quite understand. But I don’t know why you’re asking...”

Roberts held up his hand to interrupt him. “There’s something similar at work in my imagination here,” he said. “It’s to do with the movement of the water. Oh, not up here, of course, where we can’t hear it at all. But when you open the hatch down below, to look at the water, it can be quite fascinating.”

Kent shook his head. “I don’t get what you’re driving at.”