He descended the wide staircase, tired from the brandy so early in the day, the nips of vodka afterwards in his room. He noticed for the first time how worn the stair carpet was at its edges.
In the drawing room, Robert, Christina and Nanny Tess were waiting for him. Simon closed the door behind Ash, then took a seat next to Christina on a long sofa.
Robert, who had been standing by one of the spacious room’s deep windows, came forward, his smile cool. ‘I wondered if we might have some sort of progress report, Mr Ash,’ he said.
‘Just what stupid kind of game d’you think you’re playing?’ replied the investigator.
Christina jerked in her seat, startled by his response.
But Robert’s tone was mild, and his smile remained. ‘I’m not sure I understand . . .’
‘The incident last night. And today, Christina leading me to the family mausoleum where that bloody dog was waiting for me again.’
‘But I didn’t—’ Christina protested.
He rounded on her. ‘You just happened to run off in that direction, is that it? And the voices I heard in the woods – they were only in my imagination?’ He faced Robert once more. ‘A little while ago, your aunt told me a cock and bull story about another sister of yours, Christina’s twin, who drowned here at Edbrook years ago.’ He shot an angry look at Nanny Tess, who was perched on the edge of an armchair, her frail body rigid. ‘She almost had me convinced. It fits in so snugly with the haunting you’ve asked me to investigate, doesn’t it?’
‘I’m afraid your recent experiences have made you somewhat overwrought,’ Robert said smoothly. ‘Why on earth should we go to such lengths?’
‘That’s what I’d like you to tell me. Is it some nasty little plot you and certain others have hatched to discredit me? Retribution for all the fake hauntings and phoney spiritualists I’ve exposed over the years? Don’t tell me you’ve all got together in a pathetic attempt to undermine those past investigations.’
Robert’s manner remained mild. ‘I wonder if you’re aware of how ridiculous you’re being. Yes, your vendetta against certain psychics and supernatural phenomena is well known; but that’s of no interest to the Mariell family. We’re not involved in such matters.’
‘I only have your word on that. What the hell do I really know about you – any of you?’
Ash glared around at all of them. Christina appeared uncertain, anxious, while Nanny Tess was obviously alarmed at his outburst. Yet Simon was hiding a smirk behind his hand. Which angered the investigator even more.
Robert walked to the empty fireplace and rested a hand on its mantel. ‘We’ve told you everything we thought was necessary. If you feel you need to know more, then we’re willing to co-operate in any way we can. However, it seems you even doubt Nanny’s word.’
‘Only because she spoke of Christina’s twin as though she had died many years ago – when she was no more than a child. So how could Seeker have been her special pet?’ He brushed a hand through his hair, agitated. ‘That’s what Miss Webb told me. Even now he guards the girl’s resting place, she said. Well I’m no expert on animals, but I don’t need to be to see that the dog isn’t that old. Her story was just a stupid lie.’ He waved at the air, shaking his head. ‘And that made me wonder about everything else. The thing I don’t understand is what you hoped to gain by discrediting me.’
‘We only want the truth, Mr Ash,’ the elder Mariell told him. ‘Only that.’
Christina rose from the sofa and went to the investigator, who regarded her warily. ‘David, perhaps it’s your own prejudices that make you doubt us,’ she said.
His answer was cold. ‘I’d say my prejudices are healthy. Unlike your games.’
‘Ah, you really believe this is all a game,’ said Robert from across the room. ‘Then go ahead, prove it’s so. Or, if you can’t do that, prove that the disturbances in this house – and remember, you’ve experienced some unnatural moments here yourself – prove that they’re caused by subterranean springs, hidden faults in Edbrook’s structure, or so-called electromagnetic impulses. Prove the “phenomena” are natural, or prove they’re trickery. You might even show us we’re mistaken in our belief that our home is haunted. We’d all be very interested in your rationalizations, Mr Ash. And, of course, I’m sure the Psychical Research Institute would be also.’
‘Why the hell should I bother?’
Simon chuckled. ‘Because of your own professional curiosity. Why else?’
‘Oh, and I think more than that,’ his brother added. ‘You need your personal belief, Mr Ash, and that’s in your own scepticism. Nevertheless, as a more material reason, I’m willing to treble your normal fee for such an investigation, as well as make a substantial donation towards your Institute’s general researches. The latter counts only if you prove conclusively that there really is no ghost at Edbrook.’ He spread his hands in a placatory gesture. ‘Is it a challenge you’re prepared to accept?’
Ash searched each face before giving his answer. ‘Okay,’ he said slowly. ‘Okay, but I want a promise that tonight, no matter what happens here, none of you will leave your rooms. It’s the only way I can be sure you won’t be involved in any disturbances.’
Robert smiled his assurance. ‘Simon and I will be spending the night in London – we have an early business meeting in the City tomorrow morning – so at least you won’t have to worry about us playing tricks on you. I’m sure Christina and Nanny will agree to your condition.’
The aunt turned away, while Christina looked directly at him and nodded, her former anxiety no longer evident.
‘Maybe I’ll have the answers on your return,’ Ash told Robert.
‘I hope so,’ the other man replied. ‘Yes, I do hope so.’
18
The figure trudged the country lane, thick woodland on either side screening distant slopes, and although still bright, the air itself was more chilled now that the sun had passed its zenith.
Ash pulled up the lapels of his jacket, wishing he’d taken time to go to his room for his overcoat before leaving Edbrook. His stride was brisk, the exercise and the cold having a revitalizing effect, his earlier tiredness shed completely.
Nevertheless, by the time he reached the telephone box, which stood as though planted on a small triangle of overgrown grass at a junction with a wider road, Ash was out of breath, his legs stiff with the unaccustomed exertion. The box was of the older breed – uncompromising red (yet, perversely, just right in any surroundings), with several panes of glass either missing or cracked – and the investigator hoped it hadn’t been forgotten entirely by its overlords. With some effort, he swung the door open and lifted the receiver. Good, it burred. Ash laid a selection of coins on the shelf and found what he was looking for. He dialled a number, paused, pushed in the coin.
‘Kate McCarrick,’ he said.
While he waited for the connection, he looked through one of the small windows back along the lane. His breath misted the glass.
‘Kate? It’s me, David.’
Her voice sounded concerned. ‘David. Why haven’t you called before? We’ve been worried.’
‘I couldn’t,’ he told her. ‘The phone at Edbrook is out of action. Permanently so, it seems.’
‘There’s no telephone listed for Edbrook.’
He frowned, silent for a moment.
‘David, did you hear me? I said there’s no phone listed for the Mariells.’
There was a weariness to his reply. ‘Yeah, I heard. They’re a surprising family. Look, d’you know anything about the Mariells, their background?’
At the Psychical Research Institute Kate removed her reading glasses and laid them on the desk. ‘Only what was in Miss Webb’s two letters, and that was precious little,’ she said. ‘I could try and check them out for you, but I don’t have much time today – I’m preparing for the Parapsychological Conference tomorrow. You know how busy—’ she held the receiver away from her ear as a sudden burst of static crackled through the
line. ‘You still there, David?’ she asked when the interference had passed. ‘This is an awful line.’
‘Do your best for me, Kate,’ she heard him say, his voice faint. ‘I’m not quite sure what I’m dealing with here. I don’t know if they’re frauds or genuine.’
She was firm. ‘If there’s a problem, just drop it. There’s no need to get involved.’
Ash wiped away the mist on the window pane with his fingers. His grin was humourless. ‘You don’t know what they’re offering,’ he said into the mouthpiece.
There was more distortion on the line, the crackling unpleasantly sharp.
‘I didn’t catch that,’ came Kate’s voice. ‘What did you say?’
He raised his voice-level to be heard. ‘It’s not important. I’m going to see it through, Kate. It’s an unusual case. Look, I haven’t got any more coins, so I can’t talk long. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be at the conference. Tell me more about what’s happening there.’
‘I wish I knew myself,’ he answered. ‘But Robert Mariell’s laid down an interesting challenge—’
The urgent pipping informed him his time had run out.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow evening, Kate,’ he said quickly. ‘At home. Tell you more then—’
The line disconnected, burring once more.
In her office, Kate glared at the telephone. ‘David? Damn!’
She replaced the receiver, scowling as she did so. She looked towards Edith Phipps, who was watching her from across the room.
He approached the house through the gardens, leaving the long drive to cut across lawns. Ash stopped to lean against a tree and give his legs a needed rest. You’re getting old, he told himself, feeling inside his jacket pocket for the cigarette pack. He observed the building in the distance, its façade faded and aged, less grand than it obviously had been a century ago. One or two of the chimney stacks had chunks of masonry missing from their corners and even from this far away he could see that paintwork around windows was flaked and cracked, that guttering here and there was loose, tiles missing from the roof. The Mariells had allowed the house to deteriorate, and he wondered why. Was their financial position shaky? Apparently not so bad that Robert couldn’t afford to pay Ash treble his normal fee, as well as donate a lump sum to the Institute itself. In any case, Ash had investigated similar properties, as well as larger ones, whose upkeep had been somewhat neglected by their gentry owners, and often, unless previous death duties had dwindled the family’s wealth, it amounted to nothing more than a peculiar kind of carelessness.
About to light the cigarette, something caught his eye. Ahead of him, and so still he hadn’t noticed, someone else was watching the house. A figure in white.
A cold breeze touched his spine.
It was a girl, dark hair loose around her shoulders.
Ash took the cigarette from his mouth and tucked it into his top pocket. Cautiously he moved towards her, almost as if afraid any noise would make her – would make her image – disappear. A foolish notion, he told himself, but still he trod carefully.
As he drew close, he heard her soft, melancholic humming, a tune he had heard once before, although he could not remember when. A simple cadence, like that of a nursery rhyme, and somehow haunting.
A few feet away, and the hair, the narrow shoulders, were familiar.
Close enough to touch.
The tune stopped. Christina turned and smiled up at him.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he apologized, standing there awkwardly.
‘I was waiting for you,’ she said.
Ash remembered Christina had hummed that same tune on their way back from the station the day before. He walked around the garden bench and sat beside her.
‘Aren’t you cold?’ he asked. Although the dress was long, reaching almost to her ankles, the sleeves touching her wrists, it was of a light material.
She shrugged. ‘You were gone a long time,’ she said.
‘It’s quite a way to the phone box.’
She regarded him quizzically.
‘I had to ring the Institute, let them know what’s going on,’ he explained. ‘Easier said than done, considering I’m mystified myself. Why isn’t the phone in the house working?’
‘Oh, we hate telephones. It’s so nasty talking to discarnate voices.’ She smiled again, that subtle mocking in her eyes.
He ignored it. ‘But how d’you get by? How do your brothers conduct their business affairs?’
‘We manage somehow.’
She began to hum the tune again, as though uninterested in the conversation.
Ash leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Like her, he looked towards Edbrook. ‘Why did you leave me alone in the woods?’ he said.
The tune stopped, and she seemed truly regretful when she said, ‘I didn’t mean to. I thought you were right behind me. Do you forgive me?’
‘Wasn’t it another one of your games? Something that you and Simon – and probably Robert, too – devised among you? Something to give me a little scare?’
The rhyme again, mournfully intoned in a minor key.
‘What business are your brothers in, Christina?’ Ash persisted. ‘How do they manage the upkeep on a place like Edbrook?’
‘I thought I told you. My father left us money. Investments, stocks and shares – I don’t get involved. That’s why Robert and Simon have gone to London.’
‘Yet you don’t have enough wealth to pay for staff. It’s a big estate for your aunt to run all on her own.’
‘She hires people when necessary. In the spring and summer gardeners come in to take care of the grounds. But mostly we like to be alone.’
‘Why should that be?’
‘Because we have each other. We don’t need outsiders.’
He turned to face her. ‘Don’t you ever feel the need to get away, Christina? Don’t you ever leave Edbrook?’
‘Oh yes.’ She smiled at him. ‘Yes, frequently. For long, long periods at a time.’
But now Ash was staring past her at someone standing beneath a group of trees on the far side of the lawns. A diminutive figure, shaded from the sun by overhead branches. A small girl, too far away for him to determine her features or her age. White ankle socks indicated she was very young.
Christina was still talking, unaware his attention was elsewhere. ‘I’m always drawn back to Edbrook. I don’t think I could ever really leave . . .’
He touched her arm. ‘Look, Christina, over there. Can you see her?’
She looked to where he indicated. ‘I can’t see anyone.’
‘There, by the trees.’
She squinted her eyes, peering intently. She shook her head at him. ‘I still can’t see . . .’
He looked at her in surprise. ‘Surely . . .’ Ash gently guided her face with his hand.
But now there was no one there. No figure stood beneath the trees.
19
He wandered through the house, its emptiness an oppressive thing, his footsteps loud, echoing in the hallways. Ash was not completely alone, for Christina and her aunt were in their rooms, yet his sense of isolation was difficult to shrug off. Outside, the night was clear, cloudless, the moon proud and crisp in its uncontested rule; the building’s old walls seemed to be absorbing the atmosphere’s coldness rather than fending it off, for everything, even furniture, felt frigid to the touch.
He had dined alone that evening, Nanny Tess barely speaking when she had set the meal before him. But then Ash, himself, had been in no mood for conversation. When he had enquired after Christina, assuming that her brothers had already departed for London, he was informed by Nanny Tess that her niece had retired early, the late activities of the previous night no doubt having their effect. The aunt had added that last remark as though it was his fault.
In various rooms he checked the detection equipment, ensuring that each piece would function properly should anything trigger it off. He sprinkled more powde
r, finding new locations to layer, then made sure all outside doors were closed and locked. Floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he went from room to room, and where his fingers brushed against walls and banisters, he noticed they came away smeared with dust. Something else he noticed, and which he hadn’t before, were the cobwebs: they hung in dark corners like tattered miniature drapes, matted with dirt, the worst of them in the furthest reaches of the house in rooms that obviously were rarely used. He shook his head in disgust. The Mariells expected too much of their aunt if they imagined she could take care of the property all on her own. No wonder she appeared so agitated.
In one room a spider scuttled across his hand as he reached in and flicked on the light switch. Ash flinched, his flesh crawling at the tickling sensation. He watched the spider disappear into a hole in the skirting board. The light was dim, as it was throughout Edbrook, and he wondered why he hadn’t come upon this particular room before. Then he remembered it had previously been locked and, as the Mariells had alleged no ‘sightings’ inside, he had left it alone. Perhaps they had now left it open so that he could have full run of the house.
The furniture was covered in dust sheets and, above the mantel opposite, was a portrait of a man and a woman, both of them in formal evening dress. He had the eerie feeling of being under their inspection.
There was no doubting who the subjects were, for the woman bore an undeniable resemblance to Christina, although this woman’s countenance was less soft, her hair lighter in shade, dissimilar in style; but the eyes were the same, their hidden amusement skilfully captured by the artist, enigmatic in that they were not quite mocking, nor were they warm. They seemed to express an inner knowledge.
The man was altogether more austere, an older, more rigid, version of Robert. If there was humour in this person’s life, it had been kept well at bay at the time of the sitting. The stern features offered scant insight into the nature of the man.
Thomas and Isobel Mariell, deceased parents of Robert, Simon and Christina. Isobel, sister of Tessa Webb.