“These marvellous old tomes were once housed in the local town hall. I am sad to say that they were kept in a very shoddy state, clearly not befitting their importance. I volunteered to keep them here when the town hall was bombed during the war. It was only meant to be as a temporary measure, you understand, but once the town hall was re-built no one ever question my returning them, so here they stayed. I personally badgered the council for the funding to have them re-bound, as they were in a shocking state, not to mention in no particular order, unlike now.
“It was obvious to me that the librarian was extremely proud of her achievement so I took the cue and complimented her on it, which had the desired effect of eliciting a look of appreciation from her.”
“These are not my personal property, naturally; however, as I have put so much time and effort into their maintenance and restoration, I feel that it affords me the right to personally vet anyone who wishes to come down here. I’m sure that you understand, Mr Ward.”
“I agreed wholeheartedly, for I believe not to have done so would have been foolhardy in the extreme. These volumes were obviously her most prized possessions, and as I very much wanted a chance to pour over them at my leisure, I felt that it was best to concur.”
“Now then, Mr Ward, have you any idea in which year this incident you mentioned occurred?”
“I thought for a moment. Taking into account the age of my benefactor when he died, and the date of his father’s death from the tombstone in the cemetery, plus the fact that I had an inkling from what the gravedigger told me about the sequence of events at the manor, I estimated that it was probably best to start my investigation at the beginning of the century and work my way through.
“I explained my process of thought to Miss Wilsby and was grateful that she still did not seem sufficiently inquisitive to ask me exactly what ‘incident’ I was referring to, and at that moment I began to question my reluctance to divulge that part of the story myself. After all, the main reason that I needed to check the details in the paper was because I wanted to find out if there was any reference to Amy and her accident. Therefore, it did not automatically follow that if I were to reveal to the librarian the details concerning my initial enquiry, that she could possibly surmise anything about my late-night ghostly encounters.
“But a part of me, for whatever reason, was still reluctant to expand on my search details to the librarian So, I decided, for the present, that I would persevere myself in the hope of success.
“Having mentioned my interest in the turn of the century, the old librarian had already begun sorting through her volumes, searching for the correct one. I started to feel a tinge of guilt that I had not confided in her the true aim of my task. While I was thinking of how best to broach the subject with her, I listened as she began to recite a potted history of her printed treasures.”
“Our local paper started life, as I believe I explained earlier, as a monthly fact-sheet, back in the mid-seventeen hundred’s. By the early eighteen hundred’s it had grown somewhat in size, and was produced bi-monthly. Then, by the end of the last century, towards the period that you are interested in, it had grown into a weekly publication.”
“At that moment she began to yank at one of the bound volumes which was lodged beneath three others of the same size. I moved over to lend my assistance, and I managed to lift the three top copies just enough to allow her to remove the one that she had been pulling at. Thanking me for my timely assistance, Miss Wilsby carried the leather-bound volume over to a small table which rested directly beneath the lone window.”
“I think that this is what you are looking for, Mr Ward. Every copy for the year nineteen hundred. Four sections, with thirteen copies in each, making a grand total of fifty-two for the year, just as I explained.”
“I stared down at the immaculately bound tome and considered the weight of my task; possibly having to wade through several such volumes until I came across the correct date that I was in search of, and then to discover if the story I was interested in actually existed. Even though I had no specific plans for the rest of the day, I did not relish the idea of spending it entirely in this gloomy cellar. Nonetheless I thanked Miss Wilsby for her patience, and sat down at the table to begin my task.
“The old librarian stayed by my side as I began to carefully turn the plastic-covered pages, showing what I believed was due diligence, so as not to risk damaging any of them. Once Miss Wilsby was, presumably, satisfied of my assiduousness, she turned and walked back towards the bottom of the staircase. Before she began to ascend she informed me that the library was about to open to the public, and as such, she would be needed upstairs. She took the opportunity to remind me once more of the time and effort she had personally put into restoring the pages I was now turning. Doubtless just in case I was still in any doubt of the wrath I would experience if I so much as crumpled one tiny edge of a single sheet!”
“Once I was alone, I systematically began to scan each page of each edition in turn. When I was finished with the first book, I returned it to the shelf from which I had watched the librarian remove it. Considering the weight of the volume, I was amazed that the old lady had managed to carry it without appearing to exert any real effort.
“Although each page of each volume had been carefully secured within a plastic film, some had already developed clear signs of aging before being encased, to the point that some of the pages were barely readable. I skimmed through headlines and stories concerning local fetes and shows, competitions and startling stories concerning new inventions and discoveries that were bound to change the lives of people, forever - most of which now seemed obscure and, in some cases, even obsolete.
“I finished with the volumes covering 1901 and 1902, and was about half-way through the 1903 version when the old librarian came back downstairs. I looked at my watch in the poor light and discovered to my amazement that I had already been down there for close to two hours. Until that moment I had not realised how much my shoulders and back ached from me being seated in such a scrunched-up position for so long, crouched over the fine, almost indecipherable, print of some of the text. I stretched up my arms and did my best to relieve the soreness.
“As Miss Wilsby approached my desk, she could obviously see from my expression that, as of yet, I had had no success in my task. I could not help but notice that as she passed the shelving racks the old librarian made a crafty scan of the volumes, doubtless to ensure that I had been replacing them in the proper manner. I rubbed the soreness from my eyes as she drew nearer.”
“Are you prospering in your task, Mr Ward?”
“Her voice was cheerful enough and that I could tell that she was not making fun of me. I explained that I had had no luck thus far, but that I was willing to persevere, so long as she had no objection.”
“None whatsoever, it’s just a pity that you cannot elaborate a little further on the specifics of what you are looking for. My knowledge of these pages is really quite profound, you know. I made a point of studying them in my spare time. Local history has become a bit of a hobby of mine.”
“I looked up to face the old librarian, and I believe that she could see in my face that her announcement was about to yield fruit. I decided at that moment that it would be in my interest to make a clean breast of things, as hiding it from the old woman now looked to be a futile waste of time. I inhaled a deep breath and did my best to explain to her that my reluctance in revealing the details of the story I was looking into had only been as a result of my not wanting to sound as if I was the victim of listening to local gossip.
“I am not one hundred per cent sure that she believed me, but even so, I continued to explain that the incident in question, which I was trying to verify, involved the death of a young gypsy girl, who may well have met her fate somewhere in the vicinity of my manor.”
“To my surprise, Miss Wilsby did not appear to be at all perturbed by my latest revelation. In fact, I honestly believe that she was more bemused by my,
hitherto, reluctance to confide in her. She returned to the shelving and removed a volume from a different stack and carried it over, placing it beside the one I had last withdrawn on the table. I glanced at the spine and saw that it was dated: 1904. Had I really been only one volume away from finding what I was after? I felt that it served me right if that were the case.
“The librarian adjusted her glasses and began to skim through the pages of the latest volume. After a short while she paused for a moment as if she were checking over some details, before she turned the book around so that I too might see what was written on the page.
“The headline was not particularly unusual for the time: ‘Man Murdered in Highway Robbery’. But as I began to read, I realised the significance of why the librarian had considered the story appropriate to my quest.”
‘Witnesses are being sought after a young man was shot and killed, during a daring highway robbery, which took place on the Bodlin road, just outside of town, last Thursday.
Three men with their faces masked, held up a carriage belonging to local businessman, Artemis Hunt, of Denby Manor. Also on board at the time, were the owner’s son, Spalding, and his nephew
Spencer. The robbers jumped the driver and demanded money from the three male passengers.
During their escape, one of the robbers turned and shot young Mr Spencer, killing him at the scene.
Mr Artemis has offered a substantial reward for anyone who offers information to the local constable, which results in the capture of these miscreants.’
“Beside my benefactor, whose name I naturally already knew, the other two names on the page immediately rang a bell with me, as I had only seen them the day before, etched upon the gravestones in the church yard. I recalled Amy’s message from the séance the previous night, where she stated, through Mrs Jarrow, that it was Spencer’s relatives that she was afraid of. Now I began to wonder of my benefactor and his father might be the relatives that she was alluding to.
“I turned back to the old librarian, who had been standing beside me, patiently waiting, while I read. I asked her if she was aware of any other articles which related specifically to the occupants of Denby Manor, regardless of their content. She paused for a while, as if lost in thought, and then she turned the tome back towards her and continued to turn the pages. She appeared to be scanning each page in turn, and I could feel myself starting to grow impatient with her laborious method. However, I reminded myself that without her kind assistance it could take me a lifetime to trawl through the rest of the volumes to find what I wanted. I sat there and watched her, without making a sound.
“The next time Miss Wilsby turned the book around for me to read, she pointed to a tiny article, barely more than a few lines long, which described the death of a young girl who had been knocked over by a carriage during a storm. There was nothing much I could glean from the article, other than the fact that it mentioned that the girl had been living at Denby Manor at the time of her death.
“As soon as I read the passage, I knew that it must be referring to Amy! The article did not mention her by name, but after the details revealed at the séance, it seemed too coincidental not to be the case. I read the meagre passage several times over in the hope of finding some clue as to the victim’s identity which I might have missed, in my haste. But, the details were so sparse that I soon realised that there was nothing further I could glean from it.
“The article was tucked away in amongst those concerning the more mundane day-to-day local events, such as church affairs, and changes to some of the town shop’s opening hours. Therefore, it struck me that the editor of the paper quite possibly did not feel that the article warranted any special attention. I surmised that a carriage accident at the turn of the century might have been an all too familiar occurrence, which would have explained the lack of enthusiasm for the story.
“Once she was sure that I had finished with the article, Miss Wilsby reclaimed the volume and continued to sift through the pages. This turn took even longer than her last, so again, I waited patiently in silence until she was ready to reveal to me her latest find. This turned out to be a half-page spread for the obituary of Artemis Hunt. I devoured the article like a scavenger at a feast. Unlike the piece on Amy, this editorial went into immense detail concerning the life of the great man, and his successes in business. It elaborated on the fact that he had known a fair amount of heartbreak during his life, with the death of his parents whilst he was still a boy, plus the loss of his younger sister several years previously from typhoid, which she had contracted whilst on a trip to India.
“The article continued to praise Artemis for the fact that he allowed a young second niece once removed, named Elisabeth, to stay at the manor during the school holidays while her parents both worked abroad. Furthermore, he apparently took his nephew, Spencer, under his wing after his mother had passed away, and he apparently brought him up as his own son, right up until he was tragically killed by robbers who attacked their carriage, earlier in the year. The article mentioned that he had been succeeded by his son, Spalding, who would now inherit the family business, along with Denby Manor.
“I was curious to note that although Artemis died at home in bed, it was still thought necessary for a full post-mortem to be carried out. However, the result of the procedure, I read further down the page, only confirmed what his doctor had diagnosed; that he had died from heart failure, the cause of which was unknown. The article went on to elaborate about his funeral, and how the entire town turned out to pay their respects.”
Nineteen
“Once I had finished reading the obituary, I asked the librarian if she remembered any more stories in the paper that might be of benefit to me. This time she did not need to consider the question as she already appeared to know the answer.”
“There’s only one, from a couple of years later as I recall. It concerned the untimely death of your late benefactor’s wife. Would you like me to find it for you?”
“I confirmed that I would be very grateful if she could, and asked if there was any way that I could make a copy of the article concerning Artemis’ demise. Even though I had read it from cover to cover, I did not want to leave the library and think of something which came to me later, resulting in my having to come back and bother Miss Wilsby again.”
“We do have a copier in my office, Mr Ward, but I am afraid that we charge a shilling per copy.”
“I paid over the money, and offered my assistance in carrying the weighty volume back upstairs to her office. But she would have none of it, and instead instructed me to look for the book which covered 1907, which was the one she believed covered the last article I wished to look at.
“I watched the librarian climb the steps at the far end of the room, and, to be fair to her, she did not appear to stumble or struggle at all. She kept the large volume tucked securely under her arm, and walked up with a straight back and a firm step. I set about trying to locate the edition I wanted, and once I had found it, carried it back to the table.
“I carefully leafed through, scanning each page individually, until I came across an article entitled: ‘Young wife passes away in sleep’. I began to read, and sure enough, the piece concerned a Phyllida Rosemary Hunt, Née Cotton, which was the name I remembered from the last gravestone in the cemetery. The report claimed that the deceased was indeed the wife of my late benefactor, and that she died peacefully in her sleep, whilst six weeks pregnant with her first child. The article was not particularly long, so I read this one twice also. There was certainly no hint of anything suspicious concerning the lady’s death, so much so, that, according to the report, a post-mortem was not deemed necessary. The article mentioned that Spalding, the grieving widow, was not prepared to make a statement at the time, but simply wished to be left alone with his grief.
“Just as I finished my second read-through, the librarian started to make her way back down to the cellar. I waited until she arrived back at the table before I swung the book around
and showed her the report, which she confirmed was the one that she had suggested that I look for. She handed me my photocopy, which was a tad grainy, but still readable, and before I could offer my assistance once more, she turned and replaced the weighty tome she had made my copy from back on its shelf. I closed my latest copy, and followed suit.
“Once we were back upstairs in the main building, I noticed several sets of eyes following the pair of us as Miss Wilsby led me back to the main desk. Evidently we had emerged from a doorway that most patrons had not been granted access to, and their curiosity was clearly getting the better of them. There were two young girls and a middle-aged man stationed behind the counter. One of the girls looked up and offered me a smile, which I returned. The other two looked engrossed in their work, so I turned my attention back to the old librarian and offered my hand in gratitude, which she accepted, graciously.
“Once outside, I realised at once how dull and overcast the day had grown. I looked at the time and saw that it was already close to lunch time, and, as I had missed breakfast, I could feel my stomach starting to rumble. I found a corner café with several free tables, and took a seat by the window so that I could watch the comings and goings of the passers-by while I ate.
“I ordered a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee, and while I was waiting for my meal, I took out the photocopy Miss Wilsby had made for me, and began to read through it once more. The way the report had been compiled, it sounded as if Artemis Hunt was an incredibly benevolent individual, with a kind and generous nature. The fact that he had opted to adopt his orphaned nephew, and that he was willing to have his young niece come and stay during the school holidays, did not sound to me like the sort of person who deserved to be the recipient of the wrath of someone’s ghost.
Ghost Song Page 19