05 - Mistletoe and Murder (4 page)

Clara wore her blue dress to
dinner. It was not as figure-hugging as some and had a flattering pleat in the
side. Clara was well aware that despite her best efforts she would never be one
of those girls who had perfected the ‘waif-look’ and could wear the straightest
of dresses without showing off even a hint of curves.  She met Oliver on the staircase;
he was looking very striking in an evening suit and bowtie.

“Very smart Mr Bankes.”

“I could say the same Miss
Fitzgerald.” He offered her his arm, “Have you met Mr Elijah Sampford yet?”

“No, have you?”

“I spotted him in the library
about an hour ago. He was talking to a strange-looking man with white
whiskers.”

“Ah.” Clara thought about
this, “Either one of the other Sampford relatives or the ghost hunter he talked
of employing.”

They reached the bottom of the
staircase and found Tommy waiting for them. Mr Humphry was in charge of the
handles of his wheelchair.

“What ho!” Called Tommy, “Are
your rooms as snug as mine?”

“I am opposite the haunted
library.” Clara announced with pleasure, “Annie is quite beside herself.”

“Poor thing, send her to me if
she can’t stand it.” Tommy gave a wink.

“If we might all venture into
the drawing room?” Mr Humphry spoke with his same rather superior tone and not
a whiff of emotion on his face, “Miss Sampford appreciates punctuality.”

“Roll on Jeeves!” Tommy said
teasingly.

This raised a strange look on
the butler’s face, somewhere between bemusement and a sneer of disapproval. He
coughed awkwardly and then pushed Tommy towards the drawing room. Clara and
Oliver followed behind.

Miss Sampford was sitting by
the fireplace trying to look as interested as she could while a man in a tweed
suit was going into great detail about experiments he had done with magnets and
their influence on the environment. There were lots of words such as ‘ether’,
‘clairvoyance’, ‘mesmeric powers’ and ‘electro-magnetism’ being bandied about.

“Ah, Miss Fitzgerald!” Miss
Sampford sprang to her feet, interrupting the man in tweed mid-sentence, as she
spotted Clara, “May I introduce Mr Andrews? He is a ghost hunter…”

“Psychical investigator.” Mr
Andrews interjected promptly. He was the man with the white-whiskers Oliver had
spotted upstairs.

“Ahem, yes, a psychical
investigator. This, Mr Andrews, is Miss Clara Fitzgerald, a private
investigator who has come to assist with this matter.”

Mr Andrews stood. He was a
little shorter than Clara and quite pot-bellied. He had lost most of the hair
on his head, but had a fine full moustache and, of course, those side whiskers
– all snow white in colour. He smiled, but there was something in the
expression that made it appear far from genial. Despite his rather round and
soft appearance he struck Clara as being a very hard man. Clara held out her
hand to shake. Mr Andrews’ face darkened for an instant and he ignored the
gesture pointedly.

“An investigator? And what
does your husband make of that?” He asked.

“I believe I said she was
Miss
Fitzgerald.” Miss Sampford admonished him.

“Oh I see, one of those ladies
who find it necessary to dabble in scientific matters until a man comes along
to occupy their time. I suppose you think you should have the right to vote
too?”

“Well the government has seen
fit to give it to every other idiot going. I am presuming you vote Mr Andrews.”

“Quite.” Mr Andrews gave a
cough, “And what precise expertise are you bringing to this case?”

“I’m sorry, but is there such
a thing as expertise in ghost-hunting?”

Mr Andrews laughed.

“Naturally, dear girl. Not
that I would expect
you
to understand.”

“I just didn’t imagine you
could have an expert in things that didn’t exist. Surely in that case we could
have experts on unicorns and mermaids?”

“I think you are mocking me
Miss
Fitzgerald and in the process showing your ignorance.”

“On the contrary Mr Andrews.”
Clara smiled, “I take all my investigations very seriously. Are you associated
with the SPR?”

Mr Andrews bristled.

“No. I find that organisation
rather stuffy.”

“What a shame. I was hoping
you would introduce me to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, he has done so much for the
Spiritualist movement.”

“The man is a bombastic
cretin.” Mr Andrews spluttered.

“Yes, but look how well he has
done! Who has not heard of Sherlock Holmes, perhaps you should ask him for a
tip or two?”

Mr Andrews was almost purple
with outrage.

“You do look quite queer Mr
Andrews.” Clara said knitting her eyebrows into a look of concern, “Are you
sensing a presence?”

“Yes, a very disagreeable
one.” Andrews snorted.

“How odd, I have been sensing
one just the same since I entered this room. I do hope he goes soon.” Clara
gave a bright smile and excused herself to fetch a drink.

Miss Sampford joined her by
the drinks cabinet.

“Reminds me of the days before
the war.” She said with a grin, “Taking all those chauvinistic fools in
government down a peg or two.”

“I saw the picture of your
glory days.” Clara answered, accepting the glass of tonic water Miss Sampford
offered.

“Those were the days! I threw
a brick through the house window of a High Court Judge.” She glowed with pride,
“I was sent to prison for it.”

“There is still so much to
achieve though before we can consider ourselves equals in every aspect of life
to men.”

“Yes, and it is all beyond me
now.” Miss Sampford suddenly looked sad, “To think of all I went through and
here I am now scared by a silly trick of my imagination.”

Clara placed a hand on her arm
comfortingly.

“Who said it was your
imagination? I’ll solve this Miss Sampford.”

“Thank you Clara, may I call
you Clara? I have more faith in you than that fool with his electro-magnetism
and invisible agents.” Miss Sampford gave a brave laugh, “Now, let me introduce
my nephew.”

Elijah Sampford was at that
age when the body seemed to stretch upwards producing a lanky-looking youth,
with not enough apparent muscle to account for his ability to stand upright. He
was all elbows and knees, a little ungainly, but with a hint of the man he
would soon grow into. He had a very small, oval head on a tall neck, his close
cropped and slicked back hair making it look like a pea perched on the tip of a
knife. He wore small round glasses very similar to his aunt’s and was very
exuberant in greeting Clara.

“I’m so glad you could come!
Auntie said you are the finest, I say this is going to be such a good show!” He
shook Clara’s hand enthusiastically, “Have you met Mr Andrews? I know him
through the university. He is a friend of Professor Graves who teaches biology
and sometimes he comes in and borrows things from the labs. He jumped at the
chance to investigate our ghost.”

“I can imagine. “ Clara
smiled, “And what do you make of the haunting?”

“Well, I try to remain
sceptical.” Elijah nodded seriously, “But really it is very hard with all the
strange happenings going on. I rather like the idea of a tormented spirit, it’s
rather interesting. I’ve read all the books by Mr Frederick Myers and Mr
William Stead on the subject. What a shame Stead died on the Titanic! He would
have loved this!”

Clara found it hard to stem
the tide of Elijah’s enthusiasm.

“And you have seen the ghost?”

“Good lord, no! Damn shame
too. But I’ve heard strange noises, sounds like footsteps mainly. And I once
found the room to my door open when I could have sworn I closed it.”

“That could quite simply be a
case of the servants going in and being careless.” Miss Sampford suggested.

“Really Auntie, you must
always dismiss my experiences.”

“I apologise Elijah. I only
say it to try and comfort myself. I hope there is nothing at all in this matter
except imagination.”

“Don’t worry, old girl, we
have the best minds here to deal with the case.”

“Yes.” Miss Sampford spoke so
only Clara could hear, “And then there is Mr Andrews.”

A gong rang out somewhere in
the house and Mr Humphry appeared at the door.

“May I ask you all to make
your way to the dining room?” He asked the assorted guests.

Everyone filtered through to a
high-ceilinged dining room with a precisely laid table. Clara imagined Humphry
had been going about with his ruler to ensure every fork and spoon was exactly
in its place before summoning them in. Mr Andrews was first to his place. He
immediately removed the neatly folded napkin from his plate and wedged it into
his shirt collar. Then his knife and fork were swopped from their correct sides
and the smaller pieces of cutlery piled up onto a side plate.

“Can’t be dealing with all
these silly forks.” He declared to the room.

Mr Humphry was hardly able to
hide his chagrin at the sight of his precision table setting so disrespected.
Miss Sampford took her place at the head of the table, so Andrews was on her
left and Clara on her right. Tommy was wheeled next to Andrews and Oliver was
seated by Clara, while Elijah sat at the bottom of the table facing his aunt.
Humphry could be heard giving a faint sigh as he walked round with the wine.

Clara took her napkin and
draped it in her lap.

“Is it now time to hear about
the ghost?” She asked Miss Sampford.

“Let poor Humphry serve the
pea soup first.” Their hostess replied, “Mr Andrews are you aware that is a
dessert spoon not a soup spoon in your hand?”

Andrews hastily dropped the
offending piece of silver and picked up another. Miss Sampford gave him a small
nod. Humphry served the soup which was a vivid green with a swirl of cream in
the centre. It had a faint hint of mint. Clara took a bread roll from a plate
the butler offered her. For a few moments there was silence as everyone settled
to their food. They quickly discovered that Mr Andrews had an annoying tendency
to slurp.

“I suppose I should start my
story, as we are all suitably gathered.” Miss Sampford began, giving a hard
look at Andrews’ slurping, “I have to ask you will not consider me foolish as I
speak, I shall give you the facts and not my interpretation and then you will
hopefully understand why I have become so unnerved.”

“It is natural to be worried
under the circumstances.” Mr Andrews said, making an effort to be genuinely
considerate, “Especially at your age.”

Miss Sampford masterfully
ignored him.

“The matter began back in
June. I actually made a note of the date subsequently and I consulted my diary
before coming down tonight. It was the 21 June and it happened to be the summer
equinox. Whether that is significant is for you to decide. In any case I was
lying in bed around two in the morning and I heard the noise of a door opening
and closing on the floor below me. I found that rather odd as everyone was
abed, or at least I thought they were. Naturally I imagined we had a burglar
and I lay very still to try and hear for someone moving about, but there was
not another sound. Neither did I hear anyone climb the stairs as if heading for
the servants’ attic. I must have lain awake for an hour expecting to hear more,
but there was nothing and finally I convinced myself I had been mistaken.”

“When you went downstairs the
next day was anything out of place?” Clara asked, delicately dabbing up the
last of her soup with a corner of bread.

“No. All the doors were shut
and locked, nothing was moved or missing. Naturally I assumed I was mistaken.
But that night I heard the noise again, a door opening and closing. I listened
hard and thought I also heard muffled footsteps, but they were very faint. The
following morning I asked Humphry if any of the servants had got up in the
night, but he assured me they had not. When the next night came I was
determined to be wide awake to hear the noise, perhaps, I told myself it was an
echo from outside that I was misinterpreting. You see, at this time, I had no
thoughts of ghosts, but I was just curious.

“The night came and I sat up
in a chair with a candle, reading a book. I watched the clock carefully and as
two o’clock approached I put down my book and listened as intently as I could.
This time I heard footfalls first, then a door opened and closed, as before. I
could not say which door, but it seemed right beneath me, which would make it
the upstairs drawing room. After that I heard what sounded like shuffling and
then footsteps again, then nothing. It was all very curious and I resolved to
go down at once and discover who was about. I wondered if one of my servants
was suffering from an extended bout of indigestion and was walking about to
ease it. I headed downstairs as quietly as I could, so I would not disturb the
walker, for I still had to wonder if we had an intruder abroad. I reached the
first floor and saw not a soul. Every door was closed and locked and the
hallway empty.”

“Did you use the main stairs or
the back stairs?” Clara had started to make notes in a book she kept for such a
purpose.

“The main stairs, naturally.”

“So, theoretically, if a
person had gone up the back stairs while you were coming down the main stairs,
you would have missed each other?”

Miss Sampford had to admit
that was possible.

“I see you are not very
familiar with the typical conditions of a haunting, Miss Fitzgerald.” Andrews
sat back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach, a smug look on his face,
“If you were, you would be aware that what Miss Sampford has described is the
most common way a haunting begins.”

“Do you deny a living person
might have made the sounds?” Clara countered.

“Facts are facts, Miss
Fitzgerald, clearly the matter did not remain as footsteps alone, and what I am
saying is that in all the cases I have investigated the majority of genuine
hauntings have begun with mundane noises such as footsteps and doors opening.”