The Haunting of Highdown Hall (22 page)

***

When she arrived back at the office, Cash was waiting outside as they’d arranged by text earlier. Ushering him in, she quickly updated him on Highdown Hall as they climbed the stairs.

“Okay, but you’re not going there alone are you?” his thoughts obviously echoing Theo’s.

After contemplating lying for a moment, she decided to come clean instead.

“Yes, yes I am.”

“Are you mad?” Cash exploded, his voice bounding off the walls. “Cynthia is dangerous, she hurt Corinna, she’ll hurt you too. You
can’t
go back alone.”

“I have to.” Ruby was resolute. Trying to lighten their exchange, she continued, “But don’t worry, I won’t go back in the dead of night or anything. I’ll go during daytime.”

“You won’t go there at all, not without me.”

“Cash,” Ruby was getting irate too, “you can’t come with me, not this time. I
have
to go alone. Research only ever offers so much; in fact, it’s offered us barely anything in this case. From everything I’ve read, Cynthia was whiter than white. But if that were so, if it were true, how come she’s stuck here, afraid to move on? We’ve exposed Lytton but still she’s afraid. What of? We’re not going to find out by looking on the internet or in old newspapers, that’s for sure.”

Running one hand over his close cropped hair in a gesture of exasperation, Cash said, “Well, it’s obvious. She doesn’t believe you, that’s all. She thinks the Devil’s still after her.”

“But
why
does she think that?” Ruby felt exasperated too. “And why can’t she remember what happened the night of her death? I mean, I know it must have been awful, but was it
that
awful? I need to find out and the only way I can do that is by connecting again – if I’m alone, maybe, I don’t know...
maybe
I can get her to cooperate.”

“And there’s really nothing on the net or anywhere else? Nothing at all that could give you an insight?”

Ruby shook her head. “You know as well as I do, we’ve exhausted every website, book and record of her there is. Like I said, her public persona, it’s impeccable. There’s not even a hint of scandal.”

“Okay,” Cash finally conceded. “I understand you need to go back but I’m coming too. I’ll wait downstairs, even outside if you insist, but at least I’ll be there if you need me.”

Knowing he was adamant, she changed the subject.

“Show me this website then,” she said, turning to the computer.

“Haven’t you seen it yet? I told you when you emailed me the photos and final copy that I’d put it up live as soon as I’d finished.”

“I thought we might look at it together,” she replied, almost shyly.

Raising an eyebrow at her, he seemed amused by this but touched also, his features definitely softening.

“A grand unveiling you mean?”

“Something like that,” she replied, unable to quite meet his gaze.

Doing as she was instructed, she typed Psychic Surveys into the search engine. Straightaway her company came up, at the top of the listings. There was the bold header: PsychicSurveys.com, under that the sub-heading ‘Surveys and Holistic Spiritual Clearance’ – their final chosen typeface not gothic in any way, but clean and crisp. There was also a picture of the team, one she already had that had been taken for free for promotional purposes by a photographer friend of Corinna’s. It showed the four of them standing outside the office building in Lewes, looking professional but relaxed – approachable. Also on the home page was general information about the company, introducing the team and what they did, as well as the links to more detailed information on the services they provided. There was also a twitter link, a Facebook link, an email contact form and easy-to-find telephone numbers. The whole site looked fresh and modern.

“Well?” said Cash, slightly nervously she thought.

“Well...” repeated Ruby, deliberately drawing the moment out. Turning to face him, she smiled widely. “It looks great, really great. It looks fantastic.”

Before he could reply, she continued, “I have to be honest, I was a bit worried you might make it all dark and spooky with pictures of phantoms and the like, but you’ve done no such thing. You’ve done what you said, you’ve brought us out of the dark ages and smack bang into modern times. You’ve made us look as though we know what we’re doing.”

“I did think you knew what you were doing,” an edge had returned to Cash’s voice, “it’s only now I’m not so sure.”

Ignoring what he was referring to, Ruby turned back to the computer, clicking on various links on the website instead, trying to imagine herself as a potential client reading the blurb, what she would make of it. She had to admit, she’d be impressed.

“Check your emails,” Cash said, his voice still a little tight. “See if you’ve had any enquiries yet.”

She did. “Look, there’s an email from a Mrs Potter in Leeds!”

Mrs Potter explained that she had seen the website and thought Psychic Surveys might be able to help her. She went on to explain she wasn’t sure her house was haunted as such, but she did think it held some sort of negative energy as everyone had been feeling lethargic since moving in. She wondered if a long distance healing could be performed first, as the website suggested, then, if things didn’t improve, perhaps a house visit. While Cash looked on, Ruby responded immediately, saying that she would get her colleague, Theo, who specialised in distance healings, to call her within twenty-four hours to discuss how best to proceed with her case.

Pressing ‘send’, Ruby turned to Cash and said, “Thanks to you, the crusade is already beginning to reach far and wide.”

Well, as far as Leeds anyway.

***

Having finally finished responding to her telephone messages, Ruby drew up a work rota for Theo and Ness when they popped in later that afternoon. The meeting was perfunctory and soon Ruby and Cash were on their own again.

Glancing at his watch, Cash said, “Seeing as we missed lunch, how do you fancy an early dinner?”

“Okay,” agreed Ruby, not sure how dinner was going to go exactly.

Cash had become increasingly distant during the afternoon. Several times she had caught him staring at her, well, frowning at her would be a more accurate description, but she had left him to get on with his work, building another website, this time for an up and coming structural engineering company in Brighton, whilst she got on with hers.

They decided to have a drink in The Rights of Man pub first, Gracie greeting them both enthusiastically, temporarily lightening the atmosphere between them with her chatter. After a glass of wine each, they headed to a family-run Italian restaurant. A few minutes' walk away and a favourite of Ruby’s, she would often meet friends there for dinner. Cash was subdued over their meal, a delicious seafood linguini for both of them, the restaurant’s speciality, and Ruby wondered if this was it – the beginning of the end. What she did for a living was just too much to handle for the average person.

The walk home had been as quiet as the streets themselves, past shop windows dressed-up tantalisingly for Christmas, some of them glittering and bold, others self-consciously tasteful. Both of them came to a standstill outside her front door. Ruby knew it was cold but she could not quite feel it somehow. She felt numb. Stealing a glance at the man in front of her, she had to admit, there was nothing average about Cash.

Lost in thought, it was a second before she realised he was speaking.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked.

“It’s Wednesday, working of course.” Inwardly she winced; she hadn’t meant to sound as snappy as she did.

“You’re not going to Highdown?”

“Not tomorrow, no.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” she said, keeping her fingers crossed behind her back. A childish gesture, she knew, but one she hoped still carried weight.

Leaning over to kiss her on the cheek, he whispered in her ear, “Don’t, just don’t,” before walking away.

Rather than striking dread into her, his words ignited a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, his withdrawal from her today had nothing to do with not caring about her anymore, maybe it was just the opposite, because he
did
care.

Entering her flat, she realised, on her left hand at least, her fingers were still crossed.

Chapter Seventeen

Driving to Highdown Hall the next day, Ruby felt guilty again. She hadn’t wanted to lie to Cash but she’d had no choice, she couldn’t allow him to accompany her, not this time. He, like Corinna, was more vulnerable to the spirit’s anger; she didn’t want him injured in some way too. She pondered over what she knew of Cynthia once more, of her oh-so-dazzling life. Her struggle to become successful and how in demand she’d become after
The Phoenix
had smashed all expectations, no longer having to suffer the indignity of begging for bit parts ever again. They had found some information concerning her early background, it was relatively humble it seemed, but so what? A lot of famous people came from modest beginnings, certain members of The Beatles immediately sprang to mind, as did Marilyn Monroe; it wasn’t a clue. Frustrated, she told herself she had no choice but to try and connect with Cynthia again, in the privacy of her boudoir. Cynthia was the only person who could tell her what she needed to know. Before she ventured upstairs though, she would check out the ballroom again, try and make sense of the anger and frustration she had felt there on her first visit. Who did those feelings belong to? Were they significant? They must have been, to have endured.

Reaching the gates to the hall, she found them locked. Punching the code Mr Kierney had given her into a small box located on the right hand side stone pillar, the gates swung open tentatively. Driving through, they closed again, taking an age to lock her in. Slowly, she drove up the gravel drive, wishing the sky on this mid-December day was blue, not dull grey. Bright skies always helped, if only in a psychological sense.

At last the house presented itself to her, even greyer than the sky and definitely more foreboding. A house that may have once been a happy family home, but which had been devoid of innocent laughter for too long. Drunken laughter? Oh yes, plenty of that had seeped into the walls over the years, but it was not the same thing, not the same thing at all.

Parking her car and walking to the entrance, Ruby could feel Cynthia’s anger before she had even opened the front door. There was no doubt about it, she was increasing in strength. Fear could do that to a spirit. Before stepping over the threshold, Ruby took a few moments to reinforce the white light that protected her, imagining it not only enveloping her, but shooting upwards in a long white ribbon, connecting her to the very fabric of the universe itself. Her tourmaline necklace was firmly in place around her neck and in her pocket she carried an obsidian stone, shiny, round and black, which she retrieved now and held for a few moments in the palm of her hand – the equivalent of a comfort blanket, she supposed.

The grand hall was gloomy. Ruby considered turning the lights on but decided against it as it was daytime. It was also quite empty apart from an old table with barley twist legs, upon which stood an earthenware jug filled with dried lavender, their once glorious lilac colour long since faded. Had it been put there by Mr Kierney himself as an attempt at brightening the house or was it a leftover from Sally? She couldn’t tell. Once again Ruby stared at the wall where Cynthia’s portrait had been, the air around it seemed bereft.

Turning right, Ruby re-entered the ballroom. Another grand room, the grandest the house had to offer. The atmosphere was still but Ruby could easily imagine the decadence of evenings spent here, famous names in showbiz who had come to see and be seen. She lost herself in the glamour of it all for a moment before bringing herself back to the present, reminding herself sternly she was not here to dream, but to work. The emotions she had encountered before, male emotions she’d wager, had been at the far end of the room. She went there again. A cold spot, yes, but it was residual, nothing more. Who had been feeling such a powerful emotion and why? Her lover? There had been so many, that was the problem, but none as prominent as John Sterling, her co-star in
The Elitists.
He was Richard Burton to her Elizabeth Taylor, albeit without the wedding ceremonies. Could it be John who had stood on this precise spot on that Christmas Eve in 1958, looking on whilst Cynthia danced with everyone but him? Feelings of anger, frustration and jealousy emanating from every pore, making their mark. It made a certain kind of sense. John was also the last one to have seen her alive. He had followed Cynthia upstairs, for what reasons Ruby didn’t yet know, perhaps reasons bordering on the murderous? At the inquest, a heart attack had been the verdict recorded, but
was
it? Could John, in a fit of rage, have found some way to have killed Cynthia, some clever way that escaped detection? Poison, perhaps? One that left no trace? She was sure she had read about such things in an Agatha Christie novel, or perhaps it had been a Lee Child. Potassium chloride sprang to mind – she’d have to Google it later. If such a scenario were true, could it be John waiting for her in the shadows, still in the grip of that mad, jealous frenzy, unable to let his lover go? Tormenting her as well as himself? Deep in contemplation, a loud bang from upstairs brought her sharply back to the present.