Eve felt her heart lurch, as if fear itself had entered the hall. Before her, the swirling specks of dust that had glittered so brilliantly but a moment ago dispersed, then disappeared. Eve either heard, or imagined she heard, a faraway wail that swiftly faded to a barren silence broken only by the rain on the windowpanes.
‘No, wait—’ Eve began to plead but almost instantly there was nothing left of the dancing wraiths or the dust that had constructed them.
Eve’s body sagged as if a peculiar despair had hit her, and she almost sank to her knees. But she soon stiffened when she heard a new sound. Cally had heard it too and she was looking wide-eyed up at the landing above her. Eve slowly turned her head, following her daughter’s gaze, her eyes lifting.
Swish-thwack! The sound came. Again: swish-thwack! A pause, again: swish-thwack. It seemed to be moving along the landing, although there was no one there to be seen.
Swish-thwack! Swish-thwack! Moving towards the stairway.
To Eve it sounded like something smacking leather . . . no, like something smacking against flesh. The swish of its fall, the thwack when it hit.
Swish-thwack!
The loudest of all, at the top of the stairs.
Then, nothing more.
Only the rain continuing to beat against the window.
22: THE CARD
They trudged down the lane, Eve and Cally with their hoods pulled over their heads against the soft rain, Chester trotting alongside them, restrained by his leash which was gripped by Cally. The tufty-haired dog was mindless of the wet, only happy to be free of that cold old house that wasn’t his proper home. Occasionally, he would peer up at his mistresses as if to ask where they were going, but they both just made encouraging noises at him.
The river beside the lane rushed by, journeying in the same direction, towards the sea, its flow much swifter than their pace; white spume washed against the leafy banks and broke over embedded boulders; debris of leaves, small branches and stones were carried in the flux and water spray cast a thin mist over the river’s rough bubbling surface. Trees that edged the lane and the opposite riverbank glistened with silvery raindrops, while the steep verdant cliffs behind them were darkly lush, which somehow made the gorge seem narrower, more enclosed, than it really was.
As they passed the small Norman church of St Mark’s on their left, Eve made a surreptitious sign of the cross over her left breast, offering up a short silent prayer as she did so. Cally barely gave the church a glance; she was too busy trying to keep Chester from running ahead of them.
‘Is it far now, Mummy?’ she asked after bringing the dog to heel with a sharp tug on the leash.
‘You know it isn’t, silly,’ Eve told her, smiling down at Cally and taking pleasure in the rosiness that had appeared in her daughter’s cheeks. ‘You can see the village from here. Look, there’s the big bridge and the shops are just beyond it.’
‘I like walking downhill,’ Cally announced, ‘but I don’t like walking up. It makes my legs sleepy.’
Eve chuckled. God, it was good to be out in the fresh air, rain or not. Good for both of them. And good exercise for Chester, too. He’d almost gone into hysteria when she attached the leash to his collar and he realized they were going for a walk. He couldn’t get away from Crickley Hall fast enough. Before the vision, she had felt the same way.
She wondered at what she and Cally had really witnessed in the sunny, dust-filled hall.
For a brief time, the sunshine pouring through the big window over the stairs had altered the whole atmosphere of Crickley Hall, changing this one room at least from a sombre, dispiriting chamber into an imposing open space, whose panelled walls and flagstone floor embraced the light, became warm, radiated their own glow. (Had this been the original architect’s intention? Had he specifically designed the great hall with its high, south-facing window to catch the sunlight and reveal the room’s true grandeur? If so, it was the only redeeming feature in a house that had all the charm of a large neglected tomb.) It was the sun’s rays that had made the dust visible, draughts and heated air causing the particles to rise and float. And it was the dust that had made the dancing spectres visible; and it was when the sun had been obscured by rain clouds and Crickley Hall was once again cast in shadow and gloom that they had disappeared.
Eve knew in her heart that those visions were the ghosts – if not ghosts, then remembered or recorded images – of the boys and girls who had once lived in Crickley Hall. The poor orphans who had drowned. Eve also knew in her heart, though reason told her otherwise, that there was a link between these spirits, these images, and her son, Cam, whose presence she had felt only yesterday.
It was a mystery – that frightening smacking sound alone was a mystery – and Eve needed help. But not from Gabe, whose pragmatism – and yes, his cynicism – would make him dismiss the whole idea. Certainly, he would be sympathetic, but he would tell her that her grief was ‘messing with her head’. He wouldn’t accept the notion of ghosts.
Eve shivered and it was not because of the rain.
She ushered Cally and Chester onto the grass verge at the side of the lane as a white van approached from the village. The van’s wheels sent up a spray of water that spattered Eve’s ankle boots and Cally’s colourful Wellingtons as it passed by. Chester dodged behind Eve to avoid further drenching. A red Almera followed close behind the van and its two passengers stared at them rudely.
Once the traffic was safely by, Eve, Cally and Chester continued their walk down to the village. The wide bay, filled with the gunmetal-grey waters of the Bristol Channel, spread out below them, the rocky cliffs on either side filled with dampened vegetation. On a bright day, Eve thought, it would have been a magnificent sight, but today the constant chilly rain had muted the scenery to lacklustre hues.
Twice more Eve and Cally had to step onto the lane’s verge for safety as more vehicles going in either direction passed them by, but soon they were at the long iron and concrete bridge which joined the lane to a wider and busier road that also led away from the village but in a different direction. They reached the row of shops lining one side of the harbour road, which ended abruptly at the cliff face.
It was one of the first shops that interested Eve. She stepped into the small porch of Hollow Bay’s general store, gently pulling Cally in behind her. Chester hopped onto the step and busied himself sniffing at a corner by the entrance door.
‘Are we going in the sweetshop?’ Cally asked expectantly, her eyes beneath the hood lighting up. ‘Can I have some Smarties? Please, Mummy?’
Eve had pushed her hood back onto her shoulders and was scanning the cards in the display cabinet fixed to the porch wall.
‘We’ll see,’ she answered distractedly.
She caught her breath, her heart beginning to sink. She recognized some of the business cards and personal ads that had been pinned inside on Saturday, but most of the older-looking faded ones were missing. The particular card she was searching for had gone. Eve gave a little inward groan of disappointment.
Cally was already reaching up and tugging at the shop’s door handle, eager to get inside where the goodies were, and Chester was trying to push by her, just as eager. The bell tinkled as the door opened a few inches and, with a rush, girl and dog had entered. Eve took another quick scrutiny of the cabinet’s contents, then followed her daughter and the dog into the shop.
There were two other customers, both at the cash register counter, one of them sifting through her purse to pay for her goods, the second woman waiting patiently behind her holding a wire basket filled with household items and packets of food. Cally made straight for the sweet shelves, Chester trotting beside her, stubby tail wagging, while Eve pretended to be interested in the magazine carousel. She took one out and flicked through the pages but, even though it was a fashion magazine, it failed to gain her interest.
Behind the counter was the same broad-looking woman who had served Eve two days ago – green apron over blue-spotted dress,
horn-rimmed spectacles, short greying hair permed rigid, severe expression – and she was just giving change to the first customer. Eve remembered she was supposed to do a proper week’s shop today and had intended to catch the bus she knew ran from the village to the nearest town, where hopefully she would find a good supermarket. Well, change of plans. More frozen dinners for the next day or two. Gabe would survive as long as there was quantity, and the girls wouldn’t be fussed either way. Besides, shopping here would help underplay her enquiry.
She slipped the Cosmopolitan back in its rack and went to the corner by the door where the wire baskets were stacked, one on top of the other. Taking the first, she moved to the freezer cabinet and loaded the basket without paying too much notice of what she was choosing; really, she was waiting for the second customer to leave so that she could make her enquiry with as little embarrassment as possible.
At last, the bell over the door rang and the customer was gone. Eve quickly closed the freezer lid and went to the counter.
The shopkeeper frowned at her at first, then looked at her quizzically; some of the hardness left her features.
‘You were ’ere Saturday’ – Sat’day, it was pronounced – ‘wasn’t you? Yer’ve moved into Crickley Hall for a spell, that’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, we’re here for a while,’ Eve replied.
‘Thought as much. Recognized the pretty little girl.’
The shopkeeper smiled down at Cally, who had joined her mother with a tube of Smarties clutched in one hand and holding Chester’s leash in the other.
‘Helped yerself, have yer? Well, I’m sure Mummy don’t mind.’
Eve placed the full wire basket on the counter and took the Smarties from Cally to lay next to it. The tube started to roll away, but the shopkeeper snatched it up and stood it on its flat end.
‘Right then, we’ll ring the sweeties first, shall we? Then little missy can start on them right away.’
Eve returned the smile as the shopkeeper registered the purchase and handed the tube back over the counter to Cally, who took them gratefully.
‘What’s yer name, if yer don’t mind me askin’?’ The shopkeeper took a moment to look directly at Eve.
‘Oh. Caleigh. Eve Caleigh, and this is my daughter Cally.’
‘An’ the other pretty girl with yer on Saturday, the older one . . .?’
‘That was Loren. She’s at school today.’
‘Charmin’ girls,’ the shopkeeper remarked. ‘An’ everything’s okay up at Crickley Hall, is it?’
Eve hesitated before answering, wondering why the woman had asked. ‘Yes, everything’s fine.’
The shopkeeper never took her eyes from the foodstuff she was taking out of the basket and ringing up on the till. ‘That’s all right, then,’ she murmured absently.
Soon, everything was accounted for and Eve, checking the green-lit figures on the machine’s cash window, delved into her purse. When she had passed over the money and was waiting for change, she said: ‘I was, uh, I was wondering what happened to the cards that were in the display cabinet outside.’
The shopkeeper ignored the question while she counted out the correct change into Eve’s outstretched hand.
‘Now, then, what’s that you was askin’?’ she said, leaning her stomach against her side of the counter.
‘The, the cards outside. Some seem to be missing.’
‘Oh them. Lots of them’ve been there two years or more. My husband had a good clearout over the weekend. Was there one in particular you was lookin’ for?’ The woman’s eyebrows rose above the top of her glasses.
Eve reddened a little, but decided to come straight out with it. ‘Yes, there was. The one advertising a psychic. Psychic readings, I think it said.’
‘Ah.’ The shopkeeper straightened. ‘That one. Yers, that was in the window a couple of years or more. Young lady paid for it to be put in, if I remember right, an’ I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her since. Should’ve taken it out a year ago, that card. Long past its rent date.’
‘You’ve thrown it away?’ Eve hid her frustration.
‘Well, that may not necessarily be so. Bin men don’t come ’til Tuesday, so the card yer want will be with the other rubbish out back. Here, let me jus’ go an’ ask Mr Longmarsh. He’ll know what he’s done with it.’
The shopkeeper went to the far end of the counter where there was a closed door that probably led to the back storeroom or living quarters. She opened the door and put her perm-hard head through the gap. ‘Ted, you got a minute? Customer here’s got a query ’bout one of them cards you took out of the window yesterday.’
The woman – Mrs Longmarsh, Eve assumed – came back, her expression a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. ‘He won’t be a minute, dear, he’s jus’ puttin’ his shoes on.’ From behind thick lenses, her eyes bored into Eve’s. ‘So it’s a psychic – one of them clairvoyants – you’ll be needin’, is it?’ Her voice had lowered itself with the question as if any reply would be in confidence.
‘No, no, nothing like that,’ Eve quickly insisted. She could imagine rumours about Crickley Hall and problems with the new folk being passed around the village. ‘It’s just that I’m a freelance writer, you see. I’ve been commissioned to do an article on mediums, mind reading, that sort of thing. I thought the person who placed the ad might be willing to be interviewed.’
Mrs Longmarsh squinted at her for a few moments, suspicion now dominant in her narrowed eyes.
A gruff voice came from the other end of the counter and Eve turned her head to see a portly man had emerged from the back room. ‘What’s that yer sayin’, May? What blessed card you on about?’
He was short as well as portly and wore a brown sleeveless cardigan over a plain white shirt. Oddly, his hair was full and crinkly on the top of his head, but straight at the sides over his ears. He had heavy, thread-veined cheeks and jowls, and his eyes were small, deep-set over an equally small podgy nose.
‘Ted, this is Mrs Caleigh, moved into Crickley Hall for a while. D’yer know what yer did with them out-of-date cards from the shopfront?’
The West Country burr of his accent matched the woman’s perfectly, except his voice had a harsher, no-nonsense ring to it, a brusqueness that made him sound cross, although Eve couldn’t think why. Perhaps he was irritated at being disturbed while he toasted his feet by the fire; Mrs Longmarsh had said he was putting his shoes on.
‘What card are you lookin’ fer exactly, missus?’ he growled.
By now Cally had opened the Smarties and was dropping them one at a time into Chester’s open and appreciative mouth, feeding herself at the same time.
Eve ignored her for the moment. ‘I think it was a yellow card, quite old,’ she told Longmarsh.
‘Well, that don’t tell us much, do it?’
‘No, of course. It was for psychic readings; I can’t remember the name now.’
‘Yers, I know the one. Looked at it myself only yesterday. Don’t know if the woman will still be in business after all this time. Peel, her name is. I know ’cause I noticed when I took the card down. Lillian, or just plain Lili, I think it was. Yers, spelt funny L-I-L-I. Remember thinkin’ it were a nice name. Lili Peel, that’s right.’
He rocked back on his heels and scrutinized Eve in a way that made her uncomfortable.
‘As a matter of fact,’ he went on after a pause, ‘I think yer in luck. I put all the old cards in a plastic bag, then into the wheely-bin with the other rubbish. Luckily, the bag was the last thing in so it’s at the top. I could get it fer yer.’
Again he paused, studying her, and Eve wondered if she was supposed to offer him a bribe for the effort.
‘Now you go an’ fetch it, Ted,’ said his wife, ‘while I’m puttin’ Mrs Caleigh’s shopping in the bags.’
Longmarsh frowned at her as if about to argue, but Mrs Longmarsh had already turned away and was bringing out two plastic bags from under the counter. Her husband gave a long-suffering sigh and ambled b
ack to the open door, through which Eve could now see a blazing fire in the hearth, a comfortable-looking armchair in front of it. Yes, Eve thought, Ted Longmarsh had obviously been toasting his feet.
The long wet hike up the hill was naturally more tiring than the downward trip and Cally was complaining about her ‘sleepy’ legs well before they reached the short bridge to Crickley Hall; even Chester had his head down and his tongue hanging out as he panted. Eve, carrying the shopping, did not feel much better: the walk back somehow seemed a mile longer. Yet it wasn’t so on their first trip to the harbour village and back again, but perhaps that was because they’d broken their return journey visiting the church and chatting to the vicar, Trevellick, and his wife; or perhaps the interrupted nights recently had taken more out of them than she’d realized. Then again, it could be just that they were ‘townies’, worn down by strenuous exercise.
Eve waited by the bridge for Cally and Chester to catch up. They weren’t very far behind – Eve was too wary of passing traffic to leave her daughter out of grasping distance, even though Cally knew her road drill.
‘Come on, slowcoaches,’ she called out, but now saw that Chester was dragging at his leash, holding Cally back. The dog seemed agitated, almost desperate to get away. Was it because they were close to Crickley Hall? Chester certainly didn’t like the house, he made that clear enough. But then, neither did she. That is, not until now for, although she still had reservations about the place, she was drawn to its mystery – and the small hope it had given her.
She heard Cally chastising the dog: ‘Chester, you’re being a very bad boy.’
Eve put the shopping bags on the bridge and strode back to them, taking the leash from Cally’s hand. She wrapped it round her knuckles a few times to shorten its length. ‘You behave, Chester,’ she warned the dog. ‘We’re nearly home and we’re tired, so let’s get inside and then we can all flake out.’
The dog whimpered and tried to pull away from Eve, who tugged impatiently, bringing him to heel. She half dragged him towards the bridge, his haunches inches from the ground, front paws digging in. It took some effort, but she finally got him to the beginning of the bridge. Eve was tired and frustrated, and just a little angry. What was wrong with Chester? She bent down to stroke him, to calm him, because by now he was shivering. His eyes were bulging, staring across the river, and he strained against his leash, front paws hopping off the ground, head pulled to one side as he tried to escape.