Haunted

‘Are you registering a precognition?’

  ‘Please don’t go official on me, Kate. I’m calling as a friend. There is something very wrong at this house David is investigating. I have this feeling of dread for him.’

  Kate was aware that her own anxiety was growing, despite her irritation. ‘If you’re concerned, then so am I. Unfortunately there isn’t much either of us can do tonight. Listen, I’ll contact the Mariells first thing tomorrow.’ She noticed Harcourt in the doorway leaning against the frame, drink in hand, watching her. ‘He should have called me from there this afternoon, but perhaps he was too busy setting up equipment – I understand Edbrook is a large house.’

  ‘Can’t you call tonight?’

  Kate forced herself to resist the medium’s urgency. ‘No, that would be ridiculous. It’s far too late to disturb them.’

  ‘Kate . . .’

  She was adamant, but her voice softened. ‘Please don’t worry, Edith. You know, it really might have been just a bad dream. Don’t you remember we were discussing David over lunch? Perhaps it triggered off something in your sleep.’

  ‘If you won’t, then let me phone the house now.’

  ‘You know that isn’t possible. The Institute’s clients are guaranteed absolute discretion – I can’t even discuss the case with you. And besides, I don’t have the number, I’ll have to go through Directory tomorrow.’ Kate eyed the brandy in Harcourt’s glass, feeling in need of a stiff shot herself. ‘Now please go back to bed and try to stop worrying – this kind of thing won’t do your condition any good at all. I promise I’ll be in touch as soon as I have news, good or bad.’

  ‘Please, Kate . . .’

  ‘Good night, Edith.’

  The medium blinked when the line was disconnected. She studied the receiver for several moments before replacing it. Edith stared at the opposite wall, her mind on David Ash.

  Kate was thoughtful as she turned away from the phone. Her way was blocked by the tall figure of Harcourt. ‘That sounded fraught,’ he said.

  ‘One of the Institute’s resident spiritualists,’ Kate replied distractedly. ‘She was quite upset.’

  ‘Obviously a neurotic type.’ He grinned disdainfully.

  ‘Normally she’s as down-to-earth as you and I.’

  ‘Down-to-earth? Someone who converses with ghosts? Come on, Kate, I accept you take your job of researching such things very seriously, but there must be times when even you find it difficult to swallow.’

  ‘Not very often, as a matter of fact.’ Kate brushed past him, going back into the lounge where she picked up her brandy. She turned to him as he followed her. ‘I think you should leave now, Colin.’

  Harcourt stopped dead. ‘Hey, what did I say? I wasn’t knocking you, nor the Institute. I know how dedicated you are. It’s not always easy for us ordinary folk to understand what it’s all about though.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. But I’m a little tired.’

  ‘Preoccupied, you mean,’ he retorted.

  ‘I don’t want to argue. The evening’s been too nice for that.’

  ‘Well, let’s continue it then. Look, I’m supposed to be away on business.’

  ‘Tell your wife you got through quicker than you thought you would. It’ll be a nice surprise for her.’

  Harcourt was incredulous. ‘You’re serious?’

  Kate nodded, going to the door.

  ‘What the hell’s got into you?’ Harcourt stared at her, incredulity turning to exasperation. ‘Is it something to do with this man you were talking about on the phone? This . . . David, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I’m just tired. Please go, Colin.’

  Harcourt thumped down his brandy glass on a coffee table and strode to the door, collecting an overcoat draped over an armchair on the way. ‘I’ll never understand you, Kate,’ he said with more resignation than bitterness.

  Kate’s reply was apologetic. ‘I’ll ring you tomorrow.’

  He paused in the doorway. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t bother.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  With a twitch of disgust, Harcourt disappeared into the hallway. Kate blinked at the slamming of the front door.

  She sank down onto the sofa, the brandy glass held over her knees. Her face was troubled, and her thoughts were of David Ash.

  Perhaps she should have accompanied him on this case, as she had on other occasions in the past. She remembered the last time, more than a year ago . . .

  9

  ‘When was the last time you went to church?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Now there’s a question,’ Ash said.

  ‘Whatever, there’s a chance for you to catch up on all you’ve missed.’

  He took the vodka from her and pulled a face when he tasted the tonic she’d added.

  ‘Neat poison will kill you.’ Kate sat beside him on the sofa. She pushed at the heels of her shoes, working them off, then settled back against the cushions. She sipped her wine while Ash waited for her to explain.

  ‘An interesting case turned up today, one I’d like you to handle,’ Kate said at last.

  ‘Does it mean taking the cloth?’

  ‘No, but it’ll mean spending some time inside a church.’

  ‘A haunting?’

  ‘More like a possession, from what I’m told.’

  He rose from the couch, going to the cabinet where he added more vodka to his drink. Kate shook her head resignedly.

  ‘So,’ he said, returning, ‘tell me more.’

  ‘Two people came to my office this morning with a strange story, one that, I’ll admit, I had difficulty in swallowing. The fact that they were clerics helped. And both seemed quite rational.’

  ‘Priests coming to the Institute for help?’

  ‘One was a vicar, a Rev Michael Clemens. The other was his rural dean. The vicar’s parish is in Wrexton.’

  ‘Where the hell is that?’

  ‘Not far from Winchester. A small market town.’

  ‘Should be pleasant enough.’

  ‘Not according to our reverend. He’s losing his flock, apparently. His parishioners are becoming frightened to set foot inside his church. It seems they believe demons have taken charge of the place.’

  Ash grinned, unable to help himself.

  ‘Come on, David. The poor man’s sincere. More than a bit troubled, to be honest, but as I said, quite rational.’

  ‘Shouldn’t he and his rural dean be consulting with their superiors rather than us?’

  ‘Oh, they have. Rev Clemens first took it to this rural dean, who then, after matters got worse, referred it to their bishop. It was the bishop who gave them the go-ahead to contact the Institute, but only on the understanding that the whole thing would be handled discreetly.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Naturally. Something like this could make the Church look pretty silly. I got the impression that the rural dean was dead set against the whole thing. He was under instructions though, so had no choice but to agree to a cold, scientific and, importantly, an impartial investigation.’

  ‘This vicar must have been convincing.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘In my experience, the Church – of whatever denomination – likes to take such matters under its own wing. If they have devils to be cast out, they have the know-how. Why bring in outsiders and leave themselves open to ridicule?’

  ‘Because this so-called “possession” has become common knowledge in the town. Some of the townsfolk are enjoying the fun of it all, while others are quite frightened. The bishop wants it stopped before too much harm is done, and he feels an organization of repute such as our own can do just that.’

  ‘I suppose it makes sense. When do I start?’

  ‘We. I’m joining you on this one.’

  Ash was surprised. ‘Any special reason?’

  She looked away from him. ‘It’ll give us a chance to spend a little more time together. We both seem so busy nowadays . . . Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve b
een out in the field, as it were. I need to get involved more directly sometimes.’

  He wondered if there was yet another reason. Was Kate coming along to keep an eye on him? Was adding tonic to his vodka a gentle hint, a way of saying I’m on to you David, I’ve heard the whispers, even received one or two complaints, and now I’m watching you? He knew also that it wasn’t just the Institute’s reputation Kate cared about: she was concerned for him. And he found that more irritating than touching. Drink wasn’t a problem; it was easily handled. No, the disquiet within was the troublemaker, his very own demon; and it was this that was difficult to deal with, for it had no focus. Because of that, because he could not comprehend its source, its pervasiveness was not easy to resist. Alcohol, at least, dulled its effect.

  Kate reached for his hand and he consciously stopped himself from drawing away. ‘I thought we could drive down to Wrexton tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Will you stay here tonight?’ The question was casually put, but her thumb momentarily ceased stroking his knuckles while she waited for the reply.

  ‘I’ll need some things.’

  ‘We could collect them from your place on the way.’

  He wondered why he was searching for other reasons not to stay. What the hell was wrong with him?

  ‘Your enthusiasm is overwhelming,’ Kate said.

  ‘I’d really love to stay tonight. This is me begging.’

  Too late, of course, but her hand tightened over his.

  ‘Perhaps we can talk later,’ she said.

  She meant when they were naked together, bodies touching, darkness isolating them from all else but each other. A time of vulnerability and responsiveness.

  ‘Do we need to?’ he asked, the weight of his question obvious to her.

  She closed her eyes briefly. ‘You know we do.’

  They had needed to, but they didn’t talk later that night. Kate made the attempt, but even she was exhausted by their lovemaking. David might be moody, might be annoyingly introverted at times but, she mused, he never lacked passion. And thank heaven for that.

  Kate steered the Saab off the roundabout, heading for Winchester. There should be a sign for Wrexton soon. She took a look at Ash and saw that he had dozed off, his head sagging forward, chin almost touching his chest. Thanks a bunch, she thought. Always nice to have good company on a long drive. At least he’d offered to use his own car, but one, she didn’t like its condition, and two, she didn’t like the condition in which he sometimes drove. He wasn’t totally irresponsible, but one day they’d get him when he was just over the limit. Might be a good thing if they did.

  David, wake up, she said silently, wake up to yourself. For both of us, before it’s too late.

  ‘Wake up, David,’ she said aloud. ‘We’ll soon be there.’

  He did.

  But, she thought, not to himself. Not yet.

  The church door was half-open. Ash stepped through and received no comfort: if anything, it was cooler inside the building than out. Were churches always this cold? Spiritual warmth was one thing, but attendances might be up if these places of worship also provided physical warmth. He went to the centre aisle, the echoes of his footsteps sharp and loud. He amused himself with the notion of ghostly pacing, a step behind his own.

  Ash paused, looking down the wide aisle towards the nave and altar. Nothing sinister here, he told himself. Just miserable gloom. For Ash, there was nothing uplifting about the high altar with its cross and candlesticks, its linen cloth drably grey in the dismal light from the stained-glass windows. He was about to turn away when he noticed someone kneeling at the communion rail.

  He heard voices behind him, one of them belonging to Kate, and he glanced over his shoulder to see her and, he assumed, the Rev Michael Clemens entering by the door that he, himself, had used moments before. Rev Clemens was in his early- or mid-forties and was thin of face and frame, perhaps his strongest feature the glasses he wore, hornrimmed, the lenses thick around their edges. When Kate introduced the two men to each other, the vicar’s handshake was a single jerked gesture; he offered no smile, only anxiety.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you will be able to convince my bishop that St Mark’s is no longer the place for Christians.’

  ‘I think you’ve got the wrong idea,’ Ash replied. ‘My intention is to prove that there isn’t anything unholy going on here. At least, not in the sense of a genuine haunting.’

  The cleric looked at Kate. ‘But I thought—’

  ‘In most cases of so-called paranormal or supernatural activity investigated by the Psychical Research Institute the cause is usually found to be perfectly natural, although the circumstances may be mysterious,’ she told him. ‘David has a certain expertise in unravelling those mysteries.’

  ‘I see.’ Rev Clemens seemed disappointed. ‘I think you might not be so successful on this occasion.’

  Ash was moderate in his reply. ‘I should tell you that this kind of thing is nearly always the work of vandals or the mischievous. If not, it’s likely to be someone with a personal grudge against the Church or even against you, yourself.’

  ‘I assume you’ve been told what has happened here.’

  Kate answered. ‘David likes to begin his investigations with as little prior knowledge of whatever the occurrences might be as possible.’

  ‘No preconceived ideas, you see,’ Ash explained. ‘But maybe this case could be an exception.’

  Kate eyed him in surprise.

  ‘It might save us a lot of time,’ he said directly to her.

  ‘Blood, Mr Ash.’

  Both returned their attention to the Rev Clemens.

  ‘Blood smeared on walls and statues. Holy vestments soaked with it. I arrived one morning to find the christening font filled with blood.’

  ‘Excrement anywhere?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘People who break into churches with malicious intent like to defile them in the foulest ways possible. Excrement and urine are the easiest and most obvious means.’

  ‘No, nothing like that. Nothing as disgusting.’

  ‘Blood is pretty disgusting. Where are these vestments? We could get the blood analysed.’

  ‘I’m afraid I burnt them. I had no wish to be reminded of such sacrilege.’

  ‘Pity. What other violations?’

  ‘Two nights ago the dossal – that’s the curtain at the back of the altar – was set alight. It was fortunate that the whole church didn’t go up in flames.’

  The vicar led them up the centre aisle towards the nave, pointing at statues spaced along the side aisles as they went. ‘See how they’ve been broken, marked. I, myself, scrubbed them clean of the more obscene and diabolic disfigurations.’

  Ash was curious when he saw that the kneeling figure at the communion rail had gone. A stout pillar blocked his view, but he assumed there was another door just beyond. As they drew nearer to the altar he realized his assumption had been correct, for there was a deep yet narrow recess in the wall. A small side door was just inside.

  ‘The church organ has been battered beyond repair,’ the vicar was saying. He pointed up at the pulpit. ‘The carvings have been chipped, there are scratches in the wood that resemble claw marks. Look at this side door.’ He took them over to the recess Ash had already noticed. ‘It seems to have been attacked with an axe. It’s the same back there with the entrance door.’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed,’ said Ash.

  ‘Why should you? These marks are on the inside. They weren’t made by someone trying to gain entry, Mr Ash.’

  Ash frowned as he studied the smaller door.

  ‘And then there are the candles. More than once I’ve found every candle in the church alight or burned down when I’ve arrived for morning devotions.’

  ‘The vicarage is close by,’ said Kate. ‘Haven’t you heard or seen anything suspicious?’

  ‘Miss McCarrick, I’ve kept vigil through the night on several occasions, and nothing arou
nd St Mark’s has stirred. The only sound I’ve ever heard coming from here in the dead of night is the toll of a single bell. And I think you’ll agree, when I take you up into the bell tower, that none of this is the work of mortal hands.’

  The climb to the belfry left Ash breathless. Shaky too, for the last flight of stairs was of old wood and creaky with wear.

  ‘If you’ll wait one moment, I’ll find the light switch,’ said the cleric as he disappeared through a hatch into the bell room itself. ‘I’m afraid daylight isn’t too good up here.’

  When Ash and Kate climbed after him they saw why: the windows were slatted with angled wood, allowing only thin beams of light to penetrate. A single unshaded light bulb was mounted on a crossbeam.

  Ash pointed at the heavy bells which were mounted over holes in the floor. ‘I see what you mean. No bell ropes.’

  ‘No gongs, Mr Ash. They disappeared long before my time and no one locally appears to know how or why. And the wheels themselves have long since rusted solid. I’m afraid St Mark’s simply doesn’t have the resources to make them good again. Nor do my parishioners have the generosity of heart for the finances to be raised.’

  He leaned forward and wiped dust from the nearest bell with the palm of his hand.

  ‘So you see, these bells couldn’t possibly have rung. Yet one has, more than once recently, loud and clear in the night. To me, it sounded like a death-knell.’

  It was early evening when Kate said, ‘Why the exception?’

  ‘What?’

  She unlocked the door of the Saab. ‘You wanted to know the facts beforehand. I wondered why.’

  ‘A feeling, that’s all,’ Ash replied.

  ‘You suspect “mortal hands” really have been at work here?’

  ‘Come on, Kate. You know that’s the cause.’

  She smiled. ‘That’s for you to prove.’ The smile hardened. ‘David, we didn’t talk . . .’

  ‘They’re waiting for me. Our vicar and his wife will want me there for Grace.’

  ‘Dinner can wait.’

  ‘No. Now’s not the time, Kate. You get yourself back to London, we’ll talk when this is over.’

  ‘As usual, you’re avoiding the issue.’