The Haunting of Highdown Hall (17 page)

“And you’ll think he’ll buy that?”

“Probably not, no.”

Ruby rang the doorbell.

When the door opened, an old man with blue eyes the exact shade of his denim shirt stood before them.

“Hello,” he said pleasantly.

“Hello,” said Ruby, adopting what she hoped was a gracious smile. “I’m Ruby Davis, this is Cash Wilkins. We’re students from the university. We’re carrying out some research on Cynthia Hart, the movie star. We found your name in the local archives. It seemed you might have known her at one time? We were wondering if you could perhaps spare a few minutes of your time to talk to us about her.”

“Cynthia Hart?” the old man looked confused. After a few moments his furrowed eyebrows relaxed. “Cynthia Hart. Oh yes, of course. Yes, I knew her.”

Ruby looked at Cash, her eyes alight. Bingo! She could hardly believe their luck.

“Oh, great, erm, well, we don’t have to come in or anything, but we would like to ask you a few questions.”

“Nonsense,” Mr Rawlings was having none of it, “come in, come in, it’s far too cold to be standing on the doorstep.”

A part of Ruby despaired at how trusting this gentleman was, inviting a pair of complete strangers into his house. She also marvelled at his friendliness. If this
was
the Mr Rawlings they were looking for, he didn’t seem at all roguish; he seemed very nice.

Following him into his living room, surprisingly warm and cosy, Mr Rawlings waved for them both to sit down. Then he lowered himself into an armchair, a slight stiffness to his actions belying his youthful character.

“Cynthia Hart,” Mr Rawlings sighed. “A wonderful actress, a wonderful woman.”

Ruby nodded her head enthusiastically. “Oh, absolutely, I couldn’t agree more. We’ve seen all her films, haven’t we, Cash?”

“Yeah,” Cash lied, “every one of them.”

Leaning forward in an almost conspiratorial manner, Mr Rawlings said, “Tell me, which one was your favourite?”

“
The Phoenix
,” Ruby said at precisely the same time as Cash said, “
The Elitists
.”

Mr Rawlings laughed.

“Both wonderful films, but
my
favourite was
Intruders,
I love anything by Hitchcock, I do.”

“Mr Rawlings,” Ruby pressed ahead. “You said you knew Cynthia.”

“What’s that dear?” Mr Rawlings tugged at his ear to indicate slight deafness.

Ruby raised her voice a couple of notches.

“You said you knew Cynthia?”

“Of course I did, lovely girl, one of the best.”

“You got on with her?”

“Didn’t everyone?”

Ruby decided to get serious.

“Mr Rawlings, despite what you’re telling us, we know your association with Cynthia Hart wasn’t entirely of a savoury nature.” Blunter still, she added, “We know what you did.”

“What I did, dear? I don’t understand.”

She wondered briefly if Mr Rawlings suffered from some form of dementia – he seemed to have no idea what she was talking about. Deciding it wasn’t worth beating about the bush, she came straight to the point.

“We know you tricked young girls, Mr Rawlings, up and coming starlets mostly, those that were desperate for fame. You threw parties, fed them drugs, promised them the fame they craved if they would sell their souls, via you, to the Devil. We know sex was your motive.”

“Are you alright, dear?”

“Erm... yes... I’m fine thank you. Sorry, did you not hear what I just said?”

“I heard.” Mr Rawlings replied, looking bemused rather than offended.

Cash tried next.

“Mr Rawlings, you said you knew Cynthia.”

“I did,” Mr Rawlings smiled.

“In the flesh?”

“In the flesh?” Mr Rawlings laughed heartily at such an idea. “Oh, I wish.”

“You wish? So you didn’t?”

“Not in the flesh, no, of course not,” the old man laughed even louder. “Oh, but she was breathtaking, wasn’t she? She set the screen on fire did Cynthia. She and that Sophia Loren, oh and Gina Lollobrigida too, I mustn’t forget her. Gorgeous women, all three of them, cracking figures too, they don’t make them like that anymore, do they?” His eyes resting on Ruby, he added: “Sorry, dear, no offence.”

Shaking her head to indicate none was taken, Ruby said, “So you knew
of
her rather than
knew
her.”

“That’s what I said,” the old man beamed happily.

Ruby’s shoulders slumped in defeat. No, that wasn’t what he had said.

Settling back into his chair, making himself quite comfortable, Mr Rawlings continued. “Now,
The Phoenix
, I’ve got a tidbit for you, something you might find interesting. Did you know that Louisa Taylor was originally cast in the lead role, not Cynthia? Sadly for her, Louisa that is, she met with an accident just before filming started, fell off her horse, broke her leg and collarbone, nasty stuff. Tell me, do you think that film would have been just as successful with her in it or do you think Cynthia was the reason it broke all box office records? Her performance really was outstanding after all.”

It was an hour later before they managed to extricate themselves from the first Mr Rawlings. After accusing him of such heinous acts, Ruby hadn’t felt she and Cash could just up and leave. And so they had listened, not only to his musings on Cynthia Hart’s merit as a film star, but also his views on the world in general. In a nutshell, to Mr Geoffrey Rawlings of Mount Pleasant, Brighton, the world was not as gracious a place as it had once been.

Out on the street, Cash looked at his watch.

“It’s nearly half past three,” he sighed, “we’d better visit Rawlings number two.”

The natural light was dimming as they approached their second destination. Finding a parking space close by was not such a problem this time, the Christmas shoppers having thankfully started to thin out.

“What if this Mr Rawlings isn’t
the
Mr Rawlings either?” asked Cash, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he walked.

“He has to be!” Ruby knew she sounded more confident than she felt.

Turning into Oriental Place, Cash looked around him.

“This is a dump too. Brighton’s looking a bit run-down lately, isn’t it?”

Ruby had to agree. Once, Oriental Place had been considered one of Brighton’s most fashionable streets, set as it was in a prime location a few steps from the seafront. In recent years, however, it had fallen on hard times. The many houses in this once-grand Regency terrace no longer belonged to wealthy, upper class families; rather they hid a world of bedsits, as many people stuffed into each house as possible if the bewildering number of bells beside each worn front door was anything to go by.

The house the second Mr Rawlings lived in was covered in scaffolding, as were several others either side of it – an attempt to restore the fading grandeur of yesteryear perhaps, or at the very least to mask its decay with a coat of paint.

“Are we going to say we’re students again?”

“To begin with,” replied Ruby, “but if it’s him, we’ll quickly get to the truth.”

“I hope he doesn’t set his dog on us,” worried Cash.

“His dog? How do you know he’s got a dog?”

“I don’t, it’s just a feeling.”

Ruby raised an eyebrow.

“Be interesting to see if you’re right.”

His flat, 1a, was located in the basement. As they descended the narrow stairs, harsh barking could be heard from within. He did indeed have a canine companion.

“I wish Jed were here,” muttered Cash and, before he could even finish his sentence, Jed appeared.

“Wow!” said Ruby astonished. “Wish for him and he comes. Another protector."

“Another what?” queried Cash.

“Oh, nothing,” Ruby replied airily, ringing the doorbell.

It took an age for the door to open, the dog still barking and a gruff voice inside telling it to “Shut the fuck up.”

All three waited patiently outside.

Finally, the second Mr Rawlings stood before them. Slightly stooped and wearing distinctly shabby clothes, every one of life’s excesses showed in his face, in the grooves surrounding his eyes, his nose and mouth, in his expression even. Ruby knew without a doubt they had found their man.

“What do you want?” his voice was cracked and sore sounding.

“Good afternoon, Mr Rawlings, my name is Ruby Davis and this is Cash Wilkins. You used to know an old friend of ours, I believe; I’d appreciate it if we could talk to you about her.”

“An old friend?” Mr Rawlings was clearly suspicious. “Not bleedin’ likely. Buzz off.”

Ruby tried again. “Mr Rawlings, it really is imperative we speak. Our friend’s wellbeing depends on it.”

“I couldn’t give a toss about your friend’s wellbeing,” said the old man, preparing to slam the door in their faces.

“Mr Rawlings, or Mr Lytton if you prefer, we would really appreciate a few words.”

As Ruby had suspected, her use of his old alias brought him up short.

“Are you the police? I don’t want no bother with the police.”

Ruby was quick to assure him. “No, we are not the police. We simply want to help our friend and we believe that you can help us do so.”

Geoffrey Rawlings stared at them for a while longer, a mixture of emotions flickering across his rheumy eyes, blue just like the first Mr Rawlings but nowhere near as bright.

“Come in,” he said at last, his resentment evident.

Tentatively, Ruby, Cash and Jed entered the flat. The stench of old food, of dust and dirt long forgotten, made her want to gag. She could see Cash grimacing too. It was such a stark contrast to where they’d just been.

Rawlings opened the door to the living room. As he did so, a mangy looking brown terrier rushed out, no longer barking but wagging its tail, seemingly glad of visitors. It came to an abrupt halt, however, at the sight of Jed, retreating backwards, whimpering. Jed looked disappointed at such a reaction. He wanted to play.

The living room was dark with a damp smell to it, the curtains shut tight. The floor was strewn here and there with litter, a tin of beer, some cheap, generic brand, a rolled up piece of newspaper, presumably meant as a ball for the terrier to fetch, any interest in it, however, long gone. The only furniture was an old sideboard, an armchair that looked every bit as worn as its owner and a TV, a surprisingly modern one. There was a table too, up against the far wall and a couple of dining chairs. It was these Rawlings motioned to when asking them to take a seat.

Sinking down into his armchair, Ruby couldn’t help but feel sorry for Geoffrey Rawlings, despite his somewhat lurid past. Whatever he had done, he had done as a young man. He was elderly now and vulnerable by the looks of it. Why weren’t social services or a relative, if he had any, keeping an eye on him? If they had been, she was sure he wouldn’t be living in quite such squalor. Too many people ended their days this way, she reflected ruefully. It was a sad exit from the world.

“This friend,” said Mr Rawlings, interrupting her thoughts, “who is it?”

Ruby braced herself; he wasn’t going to like her reply.

“Cynthia Hart,” she said finally.

Rawlings’ already pale face drained completely of colour.

“But... but she’s dead.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.”

“She has been for years and years, you can’t possibly know her. What is this all about?”

“Please,” replied Ruby, “keep calm. I can explain – if you’ll let me.”

Rawlings fell silent but his whole demeanour had stiffened. Ruby shot a sideways glance at Cash, who looked uneasy too, before pressing ahead.

“I’m a psychic, Mr Rawlings. Do you know what that is?”

“Of course I bloody do. I’m old, not an idiot.”

Chastised, Ruby pressed on. “My company, Psychic Surveys, is involved with, amongst other things, spiritual clearance. We’ve been called to Highdown Hall, Cynthia’s former home. The current owner feels it’s haunted. We’ve visited the hall and verified his claim. It
is
haunted. By Cynthia Hart.”

If Rawlings was shocked by this statement, he hid it well. He simply continued to look at Ruby, his face a mask.

“In death, Cynthia is distressed. Considerably distressed. She is unable to leave this realm and pass into the next. And we believe the reason for this is that she thinks she has sold her soul to the Devil and so she hides.”
Ah, ha!
Ruby detected a visible start at this revelation. “Now, please believe me when I say we are not here to judge you or your past actions, but we do know that Cynthia Hart was a friend of yours from many years ago and that, at one point, the two of you were close.” Although she and the team could only surmise what had in fact happened between Rawlings and Cynthia, Ruby ensured she spoke her next words with absolute conviction. “We also know about the ritual you performed with her and that she shot to success soon after. Tell me, was this ritual merely a ruse on your part in order to sleep with Cynthia Hart?”