Ash pointed. ‘That’s called a capacitance change detector. Any movement in the room and it’ll trigger off the camera and the tape recorder. I’ll set it later when we’re sure none of us is likely to enter the library.’ He reached into his jacket and produced a microtape recorder. ‘I’d like you to tell me exactly what you saw. For the record.’
Robert’s eyebrows arched. ‘For the record?’
‘For the Institute’s files only. Complete confidentiality guaranteed.’ He switched on the tiny machine and placed it on the corner of a table between himself and the other man.
Robert studied it for a moment or two before speaking. ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘I saw a girl in this room, although she was only a hazy sort of form at first, not clear at all. Definitely a girl though, in her early twenties, I’d say. I saw her – it – again a few days – no, not days: nights – later, much clearer this time, almost as if her presence was growing in strength. I must admit, I felt quite weak at the sight of her.’
‘That sometimes happens. Manifestations of this kind seem to draw off psychic energy from their witnesses, using it to strengthen their own form. They’re able to sap energy from the atmosphere too – that’s why the temperature of a room may suddenly drop. Their presence has even been known to affect electricity.’
‘Extraordinary. But you really are speaking of ghosts, Mr Ash.’
‘No, I’m still talking about unexplained phenomena. Please go on with what you were telling me.’
Robert began to pace, then remembered the tape recorder lying on the table. He returned to his original position. ‘I felt there was something terribly sad about this . . . this “presence” . . . as though she were searching, or perhaps just lost . . .’
The small tape spools turned slowly, absorbing the sounds of the room, catching even the movement of feet on the woodblock floor, the flaring of a match struck by the investigator to light his cigarette.
Kate left the filing cabinet drawer half-open as she went back to her desk to answer the phone.
‘McCarrick,’ she said, then frowned at the buzz of Jenny’s voice on the line. ‘There has to be a number,’ Kate insisted. ‘Did you enquire if it was ex-directory?’
She listened.
‘Not listed? That can’t be right.’ She paused to think. ‘Okay, Jenny, thanks for trying.’
Kate replaced the receiver and drummed the desktop with the fingers of one hand, lost in thought.
The tape recorder was a reel-to-reel, and although not micro, small enough to be easily portable. It was connected to a vibration detector. Simon Mariell watched with interest as the psychic investigator placed the machine and its attachment on a low shelf in the cellar of Edbrook. Set close by on a tripod was a time-lapse camera fitted with an electronic flash unit, which was covered with a filter that would only pass infra-red radiation. The camera used black and white IR film, and was triggered by an in-built IR detector that would sense a person’s presence.
The dankness of the underground chamber was unpleasant, the musty smell an irritant, but Ash ignored the discomfort as he reached for a large greenhouse thermometer and hung it from a wine rack. The single low-wattage light bulb used to illuminate what was a considerable area threw deep shadows into the furthest recesses and alcoves. He slapped his hands together to dislodge dust and turned to the other man.
‘Didn’t your paraphernalia catch anything last night?’ Simon asked.
‘I didn’t set up anything down here.’
‘But the rest of the house?’
‘Not a thing. Still, I hadn’t worked out precise locations for any of the equipment.’
‘Perhaps you should have asked us for more details then.’
‘That wasn’t the idea. I wanted to see what I could come up with myself first.’
Simon grinned. ‘It appears you came up with a bit more than you bargained for.’ He dug his hands into his trouser pockets, seeming to enjoy the moment. ‘So what do you want me to tell you? How I came face to face with the phantom lady down here in the cellar?’
‘I’d be interested to hear. Tell me something else first: how old was your mother when she died?’
Simon smiled at the question, not in the least perturbed. ‘A lot older than our vision, my friend. I think that’s a tree you needn’t bark up.’
‘How did Christina react?’
‘To our parents’ deaths? My God, just like the rest of us – she was devastated! What would you expect? We were very young. It was fortunate that we had someone like Nanny Tess around to take care of us.’
There was a small satisfaction for Ash in that he had finally managed to wipe the smirk from Simon’s face. The other man shifted uncomfortably, annoyance at his interrogator plainly evident.
‘Look, I’d rather talk about our haunting, if you don’t mind,’ Simon told him almost petulantly. ‘This cellar is damp and rather unpleasant.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Ash apologized, bringing out the micro-recorder and clicking it on. ‘Please go ahead and tell me exactly what you saw down here.’
Still irritable, Simon replied: ‘The same as the others. A girl. I’ve seen her lurking or hovering or whatever these bloody things do on several occasions. That first time, I’d come down for some wine and there she was, over there watching me.’ He pointed and shuddered as if for emphasis. ‘The sight made my blood run cold, I can tell you.’
‘Does she look like anyone you know? Have known?’
‘Of course not. In fact, that’s the horrible part of this affair.’ His features contorted in disgust. ‘There was something wrong with her face, her figure . . . something awful. She appeared . . . I don’t know – malformed . . . in some way.’
Ash moved forward with the recorder to catch Simon Mariell’s words.
While in the hall above, Nanny Tess leaned closer to the half-open door to listen.
13
Kate looked up from the typewriter as her office door opened, the reading glasses she wore balanced precariously on the end of her nose. Edith Phipps peered round the door as if she were hesitant to enter. Her face was anxious.
‘You said you’d call me . . .’ There was anxiety in the medium’s voice, too.
‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ Kate said, waving a hand for Edith to come in. ‘But there’s nothing to report, I’m afraid. It’s weird, but the Mariell household doesn’t appear to have a phone.’
The medium took a seat opposite the Institute’s director, her eyes intent on Kate’s. ‘Hasn’t David been in touch with you yet?’
Kate smiled placatingly. ‘No, and there’s nothing unusual in that. He’s a great one for disappearing without trace for days on end. David sometimes becomes so involved in an investigation he forgets he’s responsible to anyone.’ She removed her glasses and rested back in the chair. ‘Anyhow, if they’re not on the phone, I don’t see how he could get in touch, unless he were to call from somewhere outside. Remember though, he’s without a car – I can’t imagine him trudging through country lanes to get to a phone box, can you?’ She smiled again to add lightness to her words.
It had little effect: Edith’s face was pale. ‘The house is that remote?’ the medium said.
‘According to the letters I received it’s a couple of miles from the nearest village. That’s why Miss Webb arranged to pick David up at the station.’ Kate became serious. She had felt uneasy about Edith’s phone call the night before, but the cold light of day had provided some reality to the situation: it was foolish in the extreme to be apprehensive over one day’s loss of contact with David. Although Edith Phipps was a well-regarded psychic, she was not beyond mistakes. No medium was infallible; far from it. Nevertheless, Kate was still sympathetic towards her colleague’s distress. ‘Are you still really that concerned, Edith?’ she asked, her voice softening.
The medium clasped her hands together, shaking them in her lap. ‘The feeling that he was in danger was so intense last night . . .’
‘Yes, I admit you had
me worried, too. But all we can do is wait until we hear from him. He’s experienced enough to take care of himself, you know.’
Edith flushed, apology in her expression. ‘You think I’m being a silly old woman.’
‘I’m too impressed with your sensory ability ever to think that,’ Kate replied soothingly. ‘I’m only asking you to be practical; there’s very little we can do until David gets in touch. Let’s be patient a while longer.’
But her smile this time was less than confident.
14
The day had changed, from dull to bright, from bright to brilliant autumnal glory, a sunny remission before winter took firm, disheartening hold. The air remained chill, but its bite had freshness, its breath had vigour.
They walked through the shaded woods, Christina and Ash, occasionally breaking through to clearings that were alive with russet colours, stopping when a small startled animal scurried invisibly through beds of fallen leaves at their approach, pausing to watch a grey squirrel defy gravity as it leapt from bough to bough. In a denser part of the woods, Christina, who had taken the lead, laughed like a child when she allowed a thin branch to whip back against Ash’s chest. Surprised, but not hurt, he chuckled at her delighted face as she turned to him.
Christina ran on ahead, urging him to keep up with her, chastising him for his ‘decrepit’ slowness. He watched her scramble up a steep incline, using tufts of grass and exposed tree roots to pull herself onwards, her long skirt lifting to reveal slim calves and fine-boned ankles. His mood lightened, perhaps because he was away from the cloying gloom of the house, and partly because her blitheness was infectious.
He slipped as he tried to follow her, sliding back down to the level ground in a flurry of leaves and trickling earth, and this delighted her even more. Christina’s laughter rang through the forest.
He wiped himself down, grinning ruefully, tenseness from the previous night finally lifting. Ash attempted the climb once more, and made it this time, Christina taunting him good-humouredly all the way.
They walked on, enjoying each other’s company, hardly talking, feeling little need to.
After a while, they rested in a glade, shielded by trees from any breeze, warmed by shafts of sunlight. Ash leaned back against the broad trunk of an oak, somewhat breathless, his eyes closed, face upturned towards the sun. Christina sat close by, legs curled under her, one hand resting in the grass.
‘I’m more out of condition than I thought,’ he said, brushing a tickling insect from his cheek. ‘I feel as though I’ve run a mile in lead shoes.’
‘The penalty of city life,’ she said in reply.
‘All that debauchery; it was bound to catch up.’ He reached into his coat pocket for the micro-recorder. ‘D’you mind this while we talk?’
She shook her head and seemed amused by the small machine. ‘I don’t mind at all. What did you want to talk about?’ Her question was almost teasing.
‘About you, your brothers. The house.’
She laughed lightly. ‘That’s interesting enough to record?’
‘It could be.’
Christina opened her hands. ‘Where do I start?’
He switched on the tape. ‘Tell me where you’ve seen the ghost.’
‘So you’re now calling what we saw a ghost?’
‘Only to simplify matters. The difference isn’t important at this stage.’
‘Why are you such a sceptic?’ She appeared genuinely puzzled.
‘I prefer to think of myself as a realist,’ he answered her.
She pondered on this for a moment or two, then said: ‘I’ve seen her in the hallway. In the corridors. I’ve seen her in your room. Once, when I was in the garden, I noticed her watching me from a window.’
‘And she’s never communicated with you?’
Her voice was quiet. ‘I think she wants to. I think she’s desperate to. It’s as if she hasn’t the power, she can only appear, no more than that.’
‘Does she frighten you?’
Christina gave a small shake of her head. ‘No, she makes me sad. She seems . . . so lost.’
Ash took time to consider. ‘How did your parents die, Christina?’
It was as if a shadow had passed over her face, and perhaps one had, the tops of trees shifting across the sunlight, blown by a sudden wind.
‘It was so long ago,’ she said, and he could see the anguish was still there inside her, suppressed but close enough to the surface for others to be aware of its presence. ‘They’d left us in the care of Nanny Tess – she’s Mother’s younger sister. I think my mother loved to enjoy life too much to be shackled by children, so my aunt was a nanny to us even before my parents were killed.’
‘You were just kids when it happened?’
‘We were very young.’
A leaf dropped lazily between them, its edges curled and brown. Another followed. Ash felt the ground’s coldness seeping into him, despite the sun’s warm rays.
‘But you asked me how they died,’ said Christina. ‘It was a motoring accident. They were driving through France, on their way to visit friends in Dijon when it happened. Nobody knows how or why, but apparently their car just ran off the road. Nobody was even sure who’d been driving – their car burst into flames. All that was found inside were two . . . were two charred . . . bodies . . . burnt beyond recognition . . .’
He switched off the recorder and leaned towards her to touch her arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to dredge up such bad memories.’
‘It was so long ago – it’s only a distant thought now, reality hardly plays a part.’
‘You must have missed them terribly.’
‘We were fortunate to have Nanny Tess. And fortunate, too, that there was enough money left to provide for us.’
‘Miss Webb was trustee?’
Christina nodded. ‘Nanny has kept the family together all these years, even though we must have driven her near to breaking point at times.’
Abruptly her mood changed. She laughed at Ash’s quizzical expression.
‘Our games,’ she explained. ‘From the time we were little we’ve always loved to tease, to play tricks on each other. Nanny says we inherited it from Mother – she sometimes used to drive Father frantic with her games. Just as we do with Nanny.’
‘Yeah, I noticed at breakfast,’ he said drily. ‘Doesn’t she ever get mad at you?’
Again she laughed, a light sound, but full of mischief. ‘Frequently. But she’s learned to accept us for what we are.’ She pulled at a blade of grass, played its tip along her lips. ‘She scolded us more when we were children, and that was mainly because we could be particularly spiteful to one another – you know how children are. I was probably worse than Robert or Simon, but then what would you expect of a girl with two older brothers?’
‘You don’t have to tell me how spiteful sweet little girls can be.’
Christina regarded him curiously. ‘You said that as someone who knows from bitter experience.’
He looked away. ‘I, uh, I had a sister myself.’
‘Had?’
He stared into the distance. ‘Juliet. She . . .’ it was as if he found the word difficult to say ‘. . . drowned . . . when we were kids. We both fell into a river, but I was the lucky one – I was pulled clear.’ He remembered the small pale hand disappearing beneath the water’s surface. Its fingers had been outstretched.
Now Christina reached forward and gently touched his hand. He was startled.
‘Are you still afraid of water?’ she asked him softly. ‘Is that why you panicked so last night?’
He didn’t answer, but searched her eyes, her hand still upon his. He turned away again, unsure, flustered.
‘I’m confused about what happened,’ he said at last. ‘But I still have nightmares about Juliet’s death. Maybe they got confused with reality last night.’ He thought of arms pulling him from the water; but was it a memory of hours, or years before?
‘You still think o
f Juliet,’ she quietly prompted.
His reply was cold. ‘I can barely remember her.’
He fumbled in his pockets for cigarettes, drew them out. One was in his mouth before he remembered to offer the pack to Christina. She shook her head, watching him. Ash flicked on his lighter, inhaled smoke. He was about to say more, the flame still alight, half-forgotten, when he noticed her staring at his raised hand. She was gazing at the tiny spear of fire as though fascinated.
She blinked when he snuffed the flame.
And then she was on her feet, brushing creases from her long skirt with her hands. ‘We should get back to the house,’ she told him.
Bemused, Ash stayed where he was.
‘Bet I can get back before you!’ Christina taunted. With a laugh, she whirled and ran off into the trees.
Ash stubbed his unsmoked cigarette into the earth and scrambled to his feet. He called after her. ‘Hey, not so fast! I’ll get lost!’ But Christina ignored him and he could only watch resignedly as her figure moved further away.
He stalked off in her wake, not quite sure if he were irritated or amused by her childishness. The loss of their parents at such a tender age had hardly matured Christina and her brother Simon; but then perhaps that was what they lacked – the firm hand of a father, the steadying influence of a mother. Nanny Tess obviously hadn’t fulfilled either role. Robert appeared to be the patriarch figure, although his manner was one of benevolent aloofness.
He caught glimpses of Christina ahead of him, a bright shape flitting through the trees.
‘Christina! Give me a break . . .’ he shouted, but heard only her distant laughter.
The woods were hushed, the trudging of his own footsteps through fallen leaves the loudest sound. And soon he had lost sight of Christina altogether.
He stopped. Looked around. Had he heard someone behind him? He called her name again.
There was no reply, not even her laughter now.
He walked on, only to stop once more.