Haunted Read online

  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.

  3

  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 stag
e 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.

  4

  Nanny Tess walked ahead of him along the dim corridor, her small shoulders slightly hunched, her footsteps unusually loud on the wood flooring. There was a dampness to the air, and a smell of dust, as though windows in the house had remained closed for a long time. Curtains at the far end of the corridor were only partially drawn so that light scarcely penetrated.

  The woman in front paused to tell him that the bathroom was further down on the right before opening a door on her left. She allowed him to go through, then stood in the doorway as he dropped his luggage onto the bed. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you at the station . . .’ she began to say.

  He shook his head, tired of apologies. ‘That’s okay – really.’

  ‘Christina can be very wilful.’ Regret seemed to taint her smile. ‘She hid my car keys so that I couldn’t come and fetch you myself.’

  Ash was surprised. ‘She was that keen to meet me?’

  The tone was almost wistful, as though Nanny Tess were thinking of other times. ‘She enjoys her little games. They all enjoy their games.’ She suddenly straightened, dismissing the reverie, her manner abruptly brisk. ‘If you need anything, just let me know – my living quarters are on the floor above this one. We have dinner at seven, so you’ll have plenty of time to look over the house.’

  ‘And the gardens,’ he added.

  ‘Yes, the gardens too.’ She left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

  Ash scanned the room, relieved that at least it was brightened (albeit dismally at that moment) by light from a south-facing window. The bed was large, with sturdy head- and endboards; he tested its softness with a hand and was satisfied that it was more comfortable than it appeared. A bulky oak wardrobe stood against the wall facing the bed, and a high chest of drawers was by the door. Bedside table with lamp, huge rug covering most of the floor, a small writing bureau, this too with lamp. It’ll do, he told himself; for a couple of days, at any rate. Ash saw no reason for the investigation to take longer, even though he had warned the Mariells it might. For some obscure reason, he hoped it wouldn’t.

  He opened up the suitcase after throwing his overcoat onto the bed, and began to unpack equipment he would use in the investigation: magnetic tape recorder, two cameras, one a Polaroid, both with flash and capacitance detectors, extendable tripods, thermometers, magnifying glass, measuring tape, graphite powder and flour, strain gauge/spring balance, as well as other items that might prove helpful such as graphite paper, compass, voltmeter.

  He placed the smaller pieces inside the drawers of the chest and the cameras on top, tripods by the side. A microtape recorder he put in his jacket pocket, a small notebook in the other side. Ash rolled up the heavy cloths that had separated and protected the contents and closed the suitcase, snapping the lock shut. Stretching, he hoisted the case on top of the wardrobe, then returned to the bed and unzipped the holdall.

  He removed underwear and a change of clothing, transferring them to the wardrobe and the drawers not already occupied, then took out toiletries, laying them on the bed for the moment. The last item lying at the bottom of the bag was a vodka bottle. As he reached for it the faint sound of laughter came in through the closed window.

  Breaking the cap’s seal, he went over to look out at the grounds below. He took one swallow of vodka only, then replaced the cap. Ash frowned when he saw someone skulking through the shrubbery outside.

  It was Simon Mariell and he was grinning as he crouched among the bushes. Ash caught sight of another figure approaching. She was dressed in white and, although she had her back to him, he recognized Christina’s auburn-coloured hair, the curls where it touched her shoulders. He heard her call Simon’s name as she searched. She laughed aloud and her brother sank lower in the bushes, a hand over his mouth to suppress his own mirth.

  Ash edged closer to the window, bemused by the childish game being played below.

  Something else moved, not far from the other two figures. Someone by a tree, watching the players too. A younger girl . . .

  Simon was creeping from his hiding place and for a moment Ash was distracted. When he looked back towards the tree, the third figure had disappeared.

  His attention went back to Christina and, foolishly, he almost called out to warn her that Simon was now stalking her. He stopped himself, his knuckles already poised at the glass. He smiled, amused that he had almost been caught up in their game.

  Yet the girl was beginning to turn towards him as if she had sensed she was being observed.

  He held his breath without knowing he was doing so.

  Her head was tilting upwards towards the window, the motion slow and, feeling embarrassed, Ash wanted to step back out of sight. But he was held there in a kind of fascinated paralysis, wanting their eyes to meet.

  Her profile was swinging into view so slowly that he realized his mind had strangely accelerated his own thoughts, creating the illusion of languor in her movement. It gave him time to wonder whose unguarded moment had been invaded – hers or his own? Who was the voyeur – Christina or himself?

  Her face was almost in view, one shoulder pointing at him – when there was a sharp knock on the bedroom door.

  He blinked, startled. In reaction, he turned from the window.

  The door opened. Christina peered in.

  ‘Are you ready to see around the house now?’ she asked, smiling brightly.

  Ash was too surprised to answer. He looked back through the window.
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  The other girl had gone. The garden was empty.

  5

  There was a coldness about Edbrook which only in part was to do with the shift in season. In certain rooms and corridors there was a dankness of air, in others a sense of emptiness that suggested they had not been used – nor, perhaps, even entered – for some years. It was a large house though, and of a type Ash had investigated more than once before: it was not unusual for such homes (mainly due to inheritance taxes if the property was passed down through the family) to be frugally managed. It was not as though Edbrook had been neglected so much as that its upkeep appeared to be economically directed.

  Christina guided him through the upstairs rooms, including those in the attic, then downstairs through the library and drawing room, sitting room, kitchen, scullery, dining room and study. He tested floorboards and panellings, fireplaces and chimney breasts, sometimes rapping against the walls, often just listening for natural sounds, occasionally standing still to feel draughts and determine from where they came. He hesitated at the top of the cellar steps, remembering the Bouvier had been ushered down there. But Christina, already descending, laughed and chided him for his faint-heartedness. She assured him that Seeker would not harm him unless it sensed he was a threat, and that was extremely unlikely, wasn’t it? Ash followed her, albeit cautiously. The dog grumbled from somewhere in the shadows, but did not show itself.

  The cellar contained rows of half-filled wine racks, a fine coating of dust matting the bottles. Oddments littered the area – pieces of furniture, some covered by dustcloths, broken statues, empty picture frames – and on one side there were gloomy alcoves with shapes inside that Ash could not discern. The chill here was acute, which rendered the basement a fine wine cellar; more important to him, though, it indicated that there might be subterranean springs close by or fissures in the immediate strata causing freezing draughts to seep in through the aged and cracked brickwork. An interesting location in terms of the investigation but, mainly because of the unfriendliness of the Mariells’ dog, not one in which he wished to linger for too long.