The Ghosts of Sleath (13 page)

If she was taken aback, she disguised it well. ‘What makes you think I haven’t been?’

‘No rings. In fact, no jewellery at all, not even a bracelet. Husbands or boyfriends usually provide such things at some stage.’

‘I’ve never enjoyed those kinds of ornaments.’

‘Husbands or boyfriends?’

Her laughter pleased him.

‘Jewellery, idiot,’ she said. ‘Unless it’s several hundred years
old, of course. As for the other two, well, I’ve had several of some and none of the other kind. I’ll leave you to decide which.’

‘I assume divorce would be frowned upon in a clergyman’s family.’

‘Frowned upon, but not unheard of. Anyway, that would be entirely up to me and my husband - if I’d ever had one. My father’s occupation would play no part in the decision.’

‘You’re not religious?’

‘Not in the sense you mean. I have my beliefs, but I’m not sure I have my religion. How about you? Let me guess - I’d say you were an atheist, through and through.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Oh, your cynicism mainly.’

‘It’s that obvious so soon?’

‘You have an air of cynicism about you, David. Is that suitable for your particular job?’

‘It can be an advantage.’

‘But haven’t you investigated cases where there can be no doubt that spirits, ghosts, poltergeists - whatever you care to call them - are involved? Surely in all your years as a psychic investigator you’ve met with genuine instances of supernatural forces at work? Doesn’t that prove to you that there is life after death in some form or other? David?’

He was avoiding her gaze, looking down into his brandy glass. Grace noticed his shoulders had hunched slightly as though he had literally drawn into himself.

Concerned, she asked, ‘Have I said something wrong?’

He lifted the glass and took a long sip. ‘D’you mind if I smoke?’ he said at last.

‘Of course not. Won’t you tell me what’s wrong, though?’ She shook her head when he proffered the pack, then waited for him to light a cigarette for himself. ‘There is something wrong, isn’t there?’ she said when the ritual was completed. ‘I sensed it about you the moment we met.’

‘Your psychic ability,’ he said flatly.

‘Good old-fashioned woman’s intuition,’ she insisted.

‘Ah, that.’

‘You know, David, even your eyes look troubled.’

‘And I thought they were soulful.’ He pulled the ashtray closer and tapped the cigarette unnecessarily against the rim. ‘We were talking about you, Grace.’

‘All right. I’ve never been married, although I nearly got around to it a long time ago.’

‘Someone local.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I also had a close relationship in Paris, but we broke up a few months before I returned to England. It was inevitable because he already had a wife. Now tell me about you.’

He exhaled smoke, his mind a confusion of thoughts, as well as reservations. He realized that for the first time he wanted to tell someone the full story. Of the house called Edbrook, and the family that had lived there. Of the two brothers and their sister. Beautiful … insane … Christina. God, he hadn’t even told Kate McCarrick the whole story, not even in the intimacy of a bedroom, yet here he was, ready - desperate -to tell everything to this woman whom he’d only met that morning.

‘Grace,’ he said hesitantly. ‘Do you, yourself, truly believe in ghosts?’

‘You’re here at my instigation, David.’

‘That doesn’t mean you believe what’s been seen here in Sleath are ghosts. You might feel they’re nothing more than mental imagery.’

‘But my father, Ellen Preddle -’

‘Forget what they think they saw. Do
you
believe in ghosts?’

She was startled by the intensity of the question. ‘I … I’m not sure.’ She took time to consider and all the while Ash watched her as if her answer was terribly important to him. ‘Yes,’ she said eventually. ‘Yes, I do. I’m not particularly religious in the sense of church doctrine and ceremony, as I mentioned before, but I do believe there has to be something more than just this existence. What we do in this life has to
have some meaning, some relevance. I think that relevance comes afterwards, when we die. Does that answer your question?’

‘Not absolutely.’

She searched for the words to voice her thoughts. ‘My guess is that some part of us goes on after we die. Perhaps it’s our minds, our consciousness - our psyche, I suppose you’d say. Whatever it is, it continues to exist in its own form and, who knows, perhaps it can return to this world in an image of its former self if the circumstances are right, or the will is there. It could be that it’s we, ourselves, who give them that image, our own minds shaping them into something we can understand.’

He seemed to relax just a little.

‘That’s a reasonable hypothesis,’ he said. ‘Simple, but as good as any I’ve heard.’

‘And no doubt you’ve heard many.’

He nodded. ‘But it still doesn’t explain why they come back.’

‘I suppose not. There has to be a reason, doesn’t there? It can’t always be some freakish metaphysical accident, can it?’

‘I don’t believe so. I’m sure there’s always a purpose.’

‘So tell me why you sought my view. It seemed to be an important question to you.’

He looked away from her as if he had found a sudden interest in the garden beyond the windows. The lights outside seemed brighter, the night sky blacker.

Grace studied his profile, not for the first time that day. She was right about his eyes - they did seem to carry the troubles of the world in them. His nose was strong, as was his jaw, and although he wore a tie tonight he still appeared slightly dishevelled. Even his dark hair was tousled, as though a comb had only brought a brief order. At least he had bothered to shave before coming down to dinner, although the shadowy tone of his chin suggested the stubble was already in rebellion. She wondered about the small, thin scar on his cheekbone.

Without turning back to her, he said, ‘I was haunted myself a few years ago.’

She wasn’t sure how to react, for she was aware that the words had not come easily to him. But she wanted to know what troubled him, she wanted to share his thoughts, and so she said, ‘Tell me, David. Please tell me.’

He turned in the chair to face her once more. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘You’re not sure of me?’

He shook his head. ‘Myself. You might think I’m mad.’

She gestured with her hand. ‘After all we’ve told you about what’s gone on here in Sleath? I was worried that you might think
we
were all mad.’

‘It’s … it’s complex.’

‘I’m in no hurry to go anywhere.’

Again he took his time, drawing on the cigarette, then finishing the armagnac. On this occasion, Grace realized, it was to compose himself rather than evade a question.

‘Three years ago,’ he said finally, ‘I was sent by the Institute to a house called Edbrook. It was a huge, neglected place in its own grounds and four people lived there, two brothers, their younger sister, and an elderly nanny who took care of them all, as well as the house itself. They claimed they were being haunted by the ghost of a girl.’

He played with his empty glass, tilting it towards himself as though searching for non-existent brandy.

‘And were they?’ Grace prompted gently. She did not like his grin at all.

‘Oh yeah, Edbrook was haunted. But there was a joke to it all.’

‘A joke? They were trying to trick you?’

‘Kind of. I had a reputation for proving hauntings were no more than geological disturbances, draughts, timber retraction - all manner of normal, physical things. My record was so good I was generally despised by the spirit industry.’

‘But not by the Psychical Research Institute, obviously.’

‘Oh, there are plenty of insiders who detest me. But it’s the
outsiders - the mediums, clairvoyants, and even some faith healers - who hate me most. They feel I’m undermining their credibility. Which I am.’

‘And these people at Edbrook - they were trying to humiliate you in some way?’

Neither did she like his laugh.

‘Yeah, that was about it. They were trying to humiliate me.’

‘And did they succeed?’

He nodded slowly, his shoulders hunched again. ‘They did more than that. In the three days and nights I was there they showed me the truth.’

‘You mean they had you convinced there really was a haunting, and then they showed you how they’d tricked you?’

It was quiet in the dining room. The elderly couple who had been celebrating earlier had left, and the landlord’s wife was nowhere to be seen.

When he spoke it was almost a whisper, and Grace had to lean forward to catch his words. ‘They frightened me. God, they terrified me. And the greatest joke of all, I let myself fall in love with the girl, the sister.’

‘After just three days?’ she asked softly.

‘The first moment I set eyes on her, I think.’

‘She let you down.’

‘She mocked me, Grace.’

Grace frowned. Ash hadn’t struck her as the kind of man who would allow himself to be mocked.

‘They were all laughing at me. Christina, her brothers, Robert and Simon. Even the nanny knew what was going on. I spent three days and nights at that place without suspecting what was going on, why they had brought me there.’

‘You’re sure it was you they were trying to dupe? I mean, couldn’t it have been the Institute itself they were hoping to deceive?’

‘No, it was me they wanted. I was their chosen victim.’

‘But why? It doesn’t make sense for anyone to go to such lengths just to make a fool of you.’

‘I told you it was complex. In the end, you see, they did convince me there were such things as ghosts.’

‘You actually saw these things? You recorded them?’

‘No, I had no evidence. That’s why I couldn’t even tell the Institute the whole story. They’d have had me locked away.’

He looked at her steadily and she was disturbed by the darkness in his eyes, a deep depression that might have emanated from his very soul.

He spoke again, his words measured, almost angry. ‘
They
were the ghosts, you see. Every person in that God-forsaken house, save for the nanny, who was completely mad, was a ghost.’

He was a strange man, Grace reflected as they crossed the road to her car. How seriously should she take his story of ghostly games in mysterious houses? It all sounded so ludicrous. And yet … and yet there was something about David Ash that made his story credible. Or perhaps the truth was there was something about him that made
her
want to believe. He was sombre, certainly, and his cynicism created its own reserve; yet there was humour there, too, albeit of a world-weary kind. Perhaps it was the combination, or even the dichotomy, of moods that made him … interesting. Although his slightly crumpled appearance gave him an air of casualness, his dark, brooding eyes sometimes revealed an intensity that was almost unnerving. And then there was this odd feeling between them, this
knowing
. She couldn’t read his mind, couldn’t perceive his thoughts, but somehow there was an awareness of each other that should have come from understanding; yet she did not understand this man at all. She was confused, and the peculiar sensation that had struck her twice that day - it had been as though mild lightning had discharged itself into her body and mind just moments before she had met him - served to confuse her even more. A psychic experience, David had
begun to suggest before Rosemary Ginty had interrupted them. Could that be possible? Was that the link between them? She dismissed the notion, but it continued to trouble her.

They reached the car and she delved into her handbag for her keys.

‘I’ll need to, uh, talk to you again tomorrow,’ Ash said.

‘Sorry, what?’ She drew out the keyring and looked up at him.

‘I need you to tell me more about Sleath itself. The village’s history, that kind of thing. Background stuff.’

‘Will it help?’

He shrugged. ‘It might. It’s somewhere to start.’

‘I have to be at the community hall first thing, but I can be back at the lodge by ten thirty.’

‘That’s fine.’

He watched her put the key into the lock. ‘Grace,’ he said. ‘Your father. How well is he mentally?’

She straightened and stared at him, shocked by the question. Light from the windows of the Black Boar Inn lit one side of her face and cast the other side in deep shadow. Somewhere in the distance, perhaps up at the church itself, a barn owl screeched. ‘Why do you ask that?’

‘He seemed more than just physically unwell when I spoke to him this afternoon. Look, I don’t mean to offend, but he was a nervous wreck. Or at least, close to being one.’

It was difficult to repress her anger. ‘His village is being haunted. He’s frightened.’

‘Ah.’

It was a small sound and Grace wondered at its implication.

‘I told you, David, we’re all frightened. It’s as if we’re waiting for something to happen, something terrible.’

He stepped a little closer and held her arm. ‘That might be some form of collective hysteria, Grace. I’ve witnessed it before.’

‘Hysteria? You think it’s that simple?’

‘No, there’s nothing simple about it. But when one person
experiences, or imagines they’ve experienced, a supernatural occurrence, the impression can be so strong in his or her mind that it’s passed on to another, and then in turn to another.’

‘Like some metaphysical virus?’

He didn’t blame her for the scorn in her voice. ‘No one knows how it starts, although there have been many studies on the phenomenon. Mass fainting fits among girls in the same school, crowds witnessing miracles - statues weeping or bleeding, levitation - at holy places, even spontaneous riots. It seems the mind can pass on an impulse, sometimes instantaneously, from one person to another, so that a whole body of people is affected.’

‘And you believe this could be happening in Sleath?’ she said incredulously.

‘It’s a possibility, although the form is different here. It’s spreading more slowly, for a start. And those who’ve seen these so-called ghosts so far have suffered a trauma of some kind, which means their minds might be susceptible. Ellen Preddle lost both her son and her husband, Sam Gunstone saw George Preddle burn. Ruth Cauldwell claims she saw the ghost of a man who molested her when she was a child.’