Haunted (4 page)

Kate laughed and acknowledged her friend’s point with a raised glass. She sipped the wine, then resumed her halfhearted attack on the salad lunch.

Edith’s expression was serious when she ventured, ‘But David’s conflict is far greater than yours.’ She laid down her fork and drank more of the Perrier while Kate watched her.

‘I don’t understand,’ the younger woman said.

‘You don’t? Surely you’ve suspected? Goodness, you know him too well not to.’

Kate’s tone was mild. ‘Edith, what exactly are you getting at? Are you telling me David has some dark secret he’s kept hidden from me all this time? Something locked in his closet, like his manhood, for instance? I can assure you, you couldn’t be more wrong . . .’

Edith held up a hand, smiling as she did so. ‘I accept your word for that, Kate dear. No, I mean something far more important. Have you never realized that David has the gift? Or perhaps it should be called the curse.’ She gave a brief shake of her head. ‘Oh, his psychic ability is repressed, severely so, but it’s undeniably there. His problem is that he won’t admit it, not even to himself. And I don’t know why that should be.’

‘You’ve got to be wrong,’ Kate protested. ‘Everything he does, says . . .’ She waved a hand in exasperation. ‘He’s dedicated his life to disputing such things.’

Edith gave a small laugh. ‘If you’ll excuse the expression, Kate, it takes one to know one. My thoughts have met David’s more than once, but he’s always managed to lock me out very quickly. It’s like automatic shutdown with him.’ She toyed with her food, her attention elsewhere. ‘Can you imagine the turmoil going on inside his poor mind? As you say, he’s spent years disproving something that subconsciously he knows to be true.’

‘I can’t accept that, Edith. David is far too level-headed for that kind of neurosis.’

The psychic looked directly into Kate’s eyes. ‘Level-headed? Is he really, Kate? Are you honestly that sure of him?’

Kate did not reply to the question; but her uncertainty was evident.

The Wolseley sped through country lanes, the girl by Ash’s side an assured driver (although he would have preferred her to ease up on the speed). The woods bordering the roads were thick, the dwellings sparse. They passed a telephone box at a junction, several panes of glass missing, grass grown high around its base. A rook pecked at a small furry carcass lying by the roadside; the bird hopped back onto the verge as the car passed, something stringy dangling from its beak. Only here and there were there glimpses of fields and hills beyond the trees, such holes in the forest’s fabric quickly passed by.

Ash glanced at the girl occasionally, liking the gentleness of her features, the eyes that held a barely suppressed humour, almost a mischievousness. Christina hummed a tune, something childlike in its simple cadence, and each change of gear was light, despite the vehicle’s age, her hand shifting the lever with delicate grace as if it offered no resistance at all.

The dullness of the day was unremitting, the clouds like one vast lumpy sheet, smudged darker in parts, ragged edges few.

There was no further conversation between Christina and Ash, although once or twice she turned his way to give him a smile, her attention immediately going back to the road, allowing him no time to respond.

Soon the car pulled into a driveway, the large, ornate gates at the entrance open wide, a long gravelled lane in some need of repair stretching ahead. The gardens on each side, after a brief expanse of woodland, were mainly laid to lawn, but the nearer the Wolseley drew to the house itself, the more elaborately landscaped they became. The flower beds, the trimmed hedges and shrubbery, had obviously been designed to present a variety of views, each one depending on how it was approached. The house reared from the gardens as though its architect had intended it to dominate rather than blend with the surrounds: Edbrook was imposing in its greyness and, despite swelling apses and well-ruled bay windows, somewhat disconcerting in its bleakness. Inexplicably, something seemed to lurch within Ash, an abrupt sagging of mood that left him strangely wearied. He peered up at the house and wondered at his own unease.

Christina brought the car to a halt below a short flight of stone steps that led up to Edbrook’s entrance. She switched off the engine and jumped out, taking the steps with energetic skips as the front door began to open.

Ash alighted at a more considered pace, reaching back into the Wolseley for his luggage and standing in the drive for a few moments to take in his surroundings.

A woman was in the doorway above, her face anxious as she watched the investigator.

‘I was late, Nanny,’ he heard Christina say, ‘but I soon found our Mr Ash.’

He climbed the steps as the woman addressed as Nanny opened one half of the double door wide, daylight revealing her grey hair and lined face. She stepped back to allow Christina through and Ash nodded to her as he followed.

‘Miss Webb,’ he said.

There was a nervousness in her scrutiny of him, almost as if she were suspicious as to his true identity. ‘Thank you for coming, Mr Ash,’ she said at last, evidently satisfied.

It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the gloom of the cavernous hallway he found himself in, daylight having little force against the shadows within, while oak panels covering much of the walls added their own sombreness. Directly opposite was a broad staircase rising to a galleried landing, the hallway itself narrowing towards the back of the house, doors leading off on either side.

Two men were waiting by the foot of the stairs.

The elder of the two – in his mid- or late thirties, Ash guessed, and soberly dressed in suit and tie – strode forward, a hand extended.

‘Permit me to introduce myself,’ he said, his welcome as formal as his attire. ‘I’m Robert Mariell, and this is my brother, Simon.’

The younger man came towards Ash with less reserve than his brother, although there was little effort in the handshake. His white open-necked shirt and V-collared sweater over loose-fitting trousers, together with his short hairstyle, gave him an air of jovial boyishness, this abetted by his spoken greeting of ‘Marvellous.’

A stirring in the shadows behind the two men drew Ash’s attention. A sliver of darkness that must have been a partially opened doorway beneath the staircase was broadening, a shape slipping through. There was a low, menacing growl before the dog came into view.

Ash could not help but tense. The dog was unlike any breed he knew, its bulky shoulders standing over two feet from the ground, coat black and wiry, though shaggy in length, its head rectangular and skull flat, muzzle powerful. The animal skulked forward, eyes that were almost oval fixed on the stranger.

‘And this is Seeker,’ Robert Mariell said, stooping to pat the dog’s flank. Its head rose high from its shoulders, and its steady gaze never left the intruder. ‘Don’t let him alarm you, Mr Ash. It takes him a little time to get used to strangers.’

Perhaps not alarmed, but certainly uncomfortable, Ash replied: ‘So long as he’s been fed recently . . .’

Simon Mariell laughed delightedly. ‘We won’t let him bother you. Come on, Seeker, back to the cellar where you belong.’ He ushered the dog to the open doorway and it obediently went through.

On noticing Ash’s puzzled expression, the older brother said, ‘A
Bouvier des Flandres
, Mr Ash. A Belgian cattle dog, in fact, and rather special, don’t you think? They can be very ferocious when roused and they really are as powerful as they look. Rather good, actually, for keeping away unwelcome visitors.’

Ash relaxed only when the cellar door was closed.

‘Now, may we offer you some lunch?’ Robert Mariell asked. ‘You must be hungry after the journey down.’

Ash declined. ‘Uh, no. I had something in the village.’

‘I hope my sister didn’t keep you waiting too long.’

The investigator returned Christina’s smile, then looked around the hallway and at the gallery above. ‘What I’d really like to do is unpack, then inspect the house and grounds.’

Simon rejoined the group, hands in his trouser pockets. ‘But why the grounds? We usually come across our ghostly visitor inside.’

‘There may be outside causes for what’s happening in here,’ Ash answered.

‘Underground springs, subsidence, forgotten tunnels . . .’ Robert suggested.

‘You’ve done your own research.’

‘All from your book on the subject. Nevertheless, I don’t think you’ll find anything like that in our garden.’

‘Do you have a detailed map of the estate?’

Simon interjected. ‘Oh, Christ, you won’t need anything like that. The problem really is inside. Look, we ought to tell you what each of us has seen . . .’

Christina spoke up. ‘No, Simon, Mr Ash doesn’t work that way. He likes to find out these things for himself.’

Ash looked from one to the other. Nanny Tess – Miss Webb – remained by the open door as if she might be expecting him to leave at any moment. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘let’s say I like to sense a mood first, then look for any faults in the structure of the building, the land around . . .’ He walked over to one of the walls and rapped his knuckles against the panelling. ‘Rotten timbers and secret draughts can be responsible for a hell of a lot of so-called manifestations. At some stage I’ll want to talk to each one of you individually, find out what you’ve personally experienced.’

Nanny Tess finally left her position by the door, although still she did not close it. Her voice was anxious. ‘How long will this take, Mr Ash? Will you be here for very long?’

A little taken aback by the earnestness of the question, he replied, ‘That depends. The whole investigation could take no more than a day, or it might take a week. Let’s see if I strike lucky.’

‘You’re our guest for as long as you wish,’ Robert assured him smoothly. ‘We’re all rather keen to get to the bottom of these, er, these disturbances. Perhaps we can discuss them over dinner this evening, after you’ve completed your initial survey?’

‘That’s fine by me.’

Nanny Tess sounded almost regretful when she said, ‘I’ll show you to your room then.’

Ash picked up his luggage, acutely aware that his hosts were watching him closely. He followed the Mariells’ aunt to the stairs, but paused when Robert spoke.

‘There is just one point I’d like to make before your investigations begin.’

Ash raised his eyebrows in question.

‘Nothing you discover,’ the other man went on, ‘must go beyond the walls of this house and the records of the Psychical Institute. We’re a very private family and the locals hereabouts would like nothing better than to have stories of “ghosties” and poltergeists up at Edbrook to giggle over. And God knows what the county rag would make of it.’

Ash nodded in agreement. ‘I may have to visit the nearest town’s council offices or library to look into the history of this place, but don’t worry, I’ll be discreet. All anyone will have to know is that I’m doing a structural survey of the property. And whatever I
do
find here – whether it can be explained or not – will be a private matter between yourselves and the Institute. Unless you change your mind and want the whole thing publicized, of course.’

He began climbing the stairs, but Robert’s voice brought him to a halt once again.

‘Then you do believe certain things are inexplicable. I was under the impression that you held no belief in the supernatural as such.’

‘Inexplicable doesn’t necessarily mean supernatural,’ the investigator answered somewhat resignedly. ‘It only shows we don’t have the knowledge to understand. Not so far, anyway.’

Robert regarded him with a blank expression, but as Ash turned away to resume his journey, he caught the secretive smile that passed between Christina and Simon.