Ghost Song

by Mark L'Estrange

  “However, judging by what was revealed at the séance, Amy was quite categorical in her assertion that it was ‘Spencer’s family’ that she was afraid of, and that could only mean Artemis, and his son, Spalding. Furthermore, whenever Amy appeared at my scullery door, she persisted in her assertion that ‘they’ were trying to take her baby. But there was no mention in the paper about her ever having a baby to begin with.

  “When my lunch arrived I carefully placed the paper with the article to one side, so that I did not spill anything on it whilst I was eating. Being as famished as I was, my sandwich tasted even more delicious than I had anticipated. I wolfed the first half down in a couple of bites, and had to force myself to chew it properly to avoid the risk of choking. Once I had finished it I took a sip of my coffee which was still a little too hot for me, so I put the cup back down and returned to my photocopy.

  “The information in the article concerning Amy’s accident had been so sparse that there was really nothing concrete in it for me to learn from. Likewise, the report of Spencer’s shooting gave few details of any note, other than the fact that he had been shot by robbers whilst in the carriage with Artemis and Spalding. I did wonder why it was that only Spencer had been attacked that night, but again, due to the lack of information in the paper, there was no way for me to know for sure what had occurred.

  “It was possible that Spencer may have put up some resistance, and received a bullet for his trouble. Or perhaps all three of them decided to fight back, but the other two surrendered once Spencer had been shot. Then of course, the other thing that was starting to bug me was that Amy had mentioned Spencer’s family during the séance, which, in itself, seemed to me an odd way of speaking. Why had she not mentioned them by name? Presumably she knew them by name, as she was living in Artemis’ house at the time!

  “For that matter, why was she living at the manor? Spencer was a relative, as was the little girl, Elisabeth, so there was good reason for them to be there. But why Amy? Was she perhaps a servant? Maybe she was Artemis’ mistress?

  “I stared at the piece of paper, scanning over the words, although not actually reading them anymore. I felt as if somehow, I was missing something crucial. Somewhere amongst those words was the clue to the next part of my investigation. In truth, I was merely clutching at some very flimsy straws, and I knew full well that the library had been my last hope of finding out anything else about Amy and about the reason why she was haunting me.

  “I still felt as if I had more questions than answers, and I was growing increasingly frustrated at the prospect of never being able to find out the truth. Perhaps the strangest part of all, to me anyway, was that if Amy’s ghost had been haunting my late benefactor for all these years, how was it that he never felt the need to confide in anyone? I could not imagine what it must have been like, especially if, as I suspected, her nightly visits were as disruptive to his sleep, and his mental state, as they had been to mine. Above which I had only had to suffer her torment for a couple of nights, whereas he must have had to endure them for years!

  “I wondered if his resolve was perhaps just that much firmer than mine, that he had in fact learned to take Amy’s torments in his stride without allowing them to take such a toll on his sanity. Or had they had the opposite effect, and sent him mad? If so, how had he been able to hide his condition form everyone? The Jarrows for one, who had seen him every day for years! I considered that being the loyal servants that they appeared to be, would his insanity be something that they felt that they should not divulge?

  “I folded the paper and placed it in my shirt pocket, before lifting my mug and draining the last of my coffee. I had left if for so long that now the remnants had gone cold. I considered ordering another one and turned around in my chair to see if I could catch the waitress’s eye. When she looked up from another customer I waved to her and she nodded her understanding. When she was free she walked back over to me with a cheerful smile on her face.

  “I was just about to ask for a refill, when I noticed her name badge pinned to her uniform; ‘Lizzie’. For a moment I just sat there with my mouth half-open. She must have thought that I was some sort of village idiot for staring at her name badge so intently, without actually saying anything. After a second or two she asked me if everything was alright, and her words brought me back down to earth. I ordered my second coffee, automatically, without even realising I was uttering the words. As she walked away to fetch my order, I retrieved the folded paper from my pocket and began to read through it, line by line, for the umpteenth time.

  “There was something in the report which had stuck in my mind, although at the time, I was none the wiser as to why. Then I found it again. The report mentioned a young distant niece staying at the manor at the time of Artemis’ death. The article gave her name as ‘Elisabeth’. I vaguely remembered Jefferies mentioning to me that when his parents had recited their story about seeing Amy swimming in the lake, she had been with a young girl who was staying at the manor.

  “Was it possible that the young girl, Elisabeth, was in actual fact my father’s older sister, Liz? I tried to do a rough calculation in my mind, and worked out that she would in fact have been about eight or nine when Artemis died, and, if that were so, then she might possibly be the only other living soul who knew anything about what really happened to Amy, and why she would be haunting the manor.

  “I was in a sudden daze, my head spinning from the possibility that the answers to all my questions could actually be in reach. In that moment, I cursed myself for not having kept in touch with my aunt over the years. The only time my parents had taken us to meet her we were both so young, Jane was practically still a baby, and all I remembered about her was being warned by my mother as we arrived not to speak unless I was spoken to. I also recalled my aunt as not being a particularly affectionate or benevolent individual, and in my mind, I seemed to remember her shouting at me when I spilled my orange squash whilst reaching for a biscuit.

  “Even so, that was a long time ago, and was only a child’s perception, so I could not rely upon it now. However, now that I came to think of it, I remembered Jane being in tears when she called Aunt Liz to tell her about our parents’ accident, and the old woman just slammed the phone down on her. Either way, regardless of her attitude towards me now, I had to at least try to see her, because once she was gone, so possibly was my only chance of finding out the truth.

  “The waitress returned with my coffee, and I asked if might pay my bill straight away, and also if I could have some change for the telephone. She obliged my request with her usual smile, and when she came back with my change I left her a tip and stood up to leave. I heard her calling after me that I had not touched my second coffee, so I muttered something about being in a hurry as I closed the door behind me.

  “Once I was out in the street I raced across the road to the telephone box, which typically, was occupied. I looked around for an alternative, but there was none in sight. I waited for the lady inside to finish her call, pacing back and forth like a tiger in a cage. It was only a five-minute wait, but to me at the time it seemed like an eternity. I almost managed to wrench the door out of the poor woman’s hand as I held it open for her to leave.

  “Once inside I called directory enquiries and gave them my aunt’s name, stating that she lived somewhere in the Northumberland area. I was fairly sure that she had never married, so it was a relatively safe bet that she would still be under her maiden name of Ward. The operator came back with three possibilities and informed me that, according to their rules, she could only give me one number per call. I pleaded my case as best I could, managing somehow to keep the irritability out of my voice, and eventually she relented and allowed me access to all three numbers. Using the back of the photocopy I wrote down each of the numbers in turn, and thanked the operator for her understanding.

  “The first number I dialled was picked up by a young lady, far too young to be my aunt, and once I confirmed with her that she was inde
ed the only Elisabeth Ward at that address I quickly explained the reason for my call so as not to worry her and rang off. My second attempt continued to ring unanswered for more than twenty rings, so I replaced the receiver and decided to give the third option a go. This time the phone was answered by, what sounded like, a middle-aged lady, who, when I made enquiries about my aunt, informed me that she no longer lived there, and that she had moved into an old people’s home, about six months earlier.

  “The lady on the phone was initially cautious about giving me any further information, but once I had convinced her that I was in earnest, she located the telephone number of my aunt’s home and allowed me to have it. I thanked her, profusely, before ringing off. My call to the old people’s home was answered by a very young-sounding girl, who confirmed for me that my aunt was indeed one of their residents, and that she was sure that she would be very grateful to see me as she had not had any visitors since arriving. I hastily scribbled down the home’s address, which, typically, was on the other side of the county, and informed the young girl that I hoped to be there within a couple of hours before I put the phone down.

  “On my way to my car, I realised that the sky had turned a heavy dull grey and was so overcast that it felt as if it were far later than it actually was. The wind, too, was bitter and biting, and I could see people on the street huddling into their coats to keep out the cold. I did not relish my journey, but I knew that I could not postpone it, as Jenifer would be arriving the next day and I wanted to be in full possession of the facts before she arrived, so that I could make a definitive decision about how to proceed concerning the manor.”

  Twenty

  “I sat in my car, plotting the route to my aunt’s care home. My estimation to the young girl of approximately two hours seemed a little hopeful as I traced the various ‘A’ and ‘B’ roads I would need to follow to reach my destination. I checked the time on the dashboard, and it was a little after one o’clock, so I started the engine and set off, just as it began to rain.

  “The going was fairly slow, as I had feared that it would be using so many single-lane roads, but the map offered me little alternative other than to take a massive detour to reach the nearest motorway. Several times along the way I found myself stuck behind slow-moving vehicles which took up the entire road, making it impossible to pass them until they were ready to turn off.

  “At one point in the journey, I realised that I had been concentrating so hard on where I was going and making sure that I did not miss a vital turning, that I had not noticed that I was about to run out of petrol. Fortunately for me, I came across a small independent filling station, tucked away, slightly off the beaten track where two ‘B’ roads converged. Outside the kiosk, in plastic buckets, they had a variety of flowers for sale, so I purchased a couple of bunches to take to my aunt as a sweetener. I filled the tank up so that I would not have to worry about running out again for the rest of my journey. The last thing I needed was to end up stuck out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night.

  “The rain was growing heavier by the minute, and, although my windscreen wipers were on full power, they could barely cope with the downpour. Some of the roads I ended up on were virtually dirt-tracks, and with the rain they were well on their way to becoming quagmires, which would be impassable if the rain persisted with its present intensity.

  “I finally pulled into the old people’s home at a little after half-past three. I parked up as close to the entrance as possible, to save me getting drenched on my way in. I held my aunt’s flowers above my head as I decided that some protection was better than none at all, and made a dash for the door.

  “Once inside, I gave my name to the receptionist, and as it turned out she was the young lady I had spoken to on the phone earlier, so she was fully aware of my pending arrival.”

  “I informed your aunt that you were coming in to see her, she said that she was looking forward to seeing you.”

  “I could tell at once from the girl’s facial expression that the second part of her statement was definitely a lie. Not that I was particularly surprised. After all, I had never attempted to contact my aunt before, or enquire as to her welfare, especially after what she did to poor Jane over the phone. Even so, there was a part of me that wished right then that I had made more of an effort. It was a completely selfish reason of course, because now I needed her to be forthcoming with the information concerning Amy, and if she decided not to help me there was not a thing I could do about it.

  “The young girl left her post and escorted me to my aunt’s room. As we made our way down the corridor I began to feel slightly queasy, which I put down to a combination of the clinical odour the place emanated, as well as the fact that I found myself growing more nervous about seeing my aunt the closer we came to her room. I noticed that most of the other rooms on route had their doors open, and as we passed I could not help but notice that they were empty.

  “The girl must have seen me glancing inside some of them, and she explained that it was almost tea-time, so most of the residents would be in the communal dining room. When I enquired as to why my aunt was not in there also, the girl looked embarrassed, and she made a casual remark along the lines that my aunt preferred to dine alone. I accepted her answer, although once again I was not one hundred percent sure that she was telling me the absolute truth, but I respected her discretion.

  “When we arrived at my aunt’s room the door was shut, with a makeshift ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign dangling from the door number. The young girl cleared her throat, and knocked, gently, with the knuckle of her forefinger. At first, there was no reply and she glanced at me, looking slightly embarrassed, before she knocked again, slightly louder.”

  “Read the sign!”

  “The voice that reached us from behind the wooden door, was coarse, and harsh in its tone. The girl glanced at me again, her cheeks reddening by the second. I could feel her embarrassment, and offered a friendly smile in sympathy.”

  “Miss Hunt, this is Verity from the front desk, I have your nephew out here with me. Remember I told you earlier that he was going to call?”

  “The girl spoke through the door, rather than attempting to open it.”

  “And I told you then that you could inform him that I do not receive visitors, or are you too stupid to understand simple instructions?”

  “Verity bit her bottom lip, as if she was not sure how to proceed, so I decided to put her out of her misery and take the initiative myself. I knocked on the door, and did not wait for a reply before informing my aunt that, as I was here now, could she not find it in her heart to spare me a couple of minutes. I mentioned that I very much needed her help, and had no one else to turn to, in the hope that my plea might spark her interest and convince her to see me.

  “It seemed to do the trick, because within a couple of seconds she called out for us to come in. Her room was larger than I had imagined it would be. There was a single bed in one corner, with a nightstand which housed a rather ornate-looking lamp. A large wardrobe and chest-of-drawer’s combination dominated one wall, and a bookcase, full to brimming over, took up most of the other. In front of the bookcase was a comfy, leather-bound armchair, with a standard lamp behind it. My aunt was sitting at a table by the bay window opposite the door, reading. She did not bother to put down her book as we entered, and acted as if she was unaware that we were there.

  “Standing in the doorframe with Verity, I was not sure what to do next. The idea of striding over to her and kissing her on the cheek seemed a trifle too daunting considering her response to my arrival. Luckily poor Verity took the initiative, and announced my presence as if pretending that my aunt was not aware of it. When she mentioned the lovely flowers I had brought, my aunt still did not turn towards us, but instead she sniffed the air with a hint of distain, before announcing that she was not fond of flowers, and instructed Verity to take them away and put them in the communal playroom, where, according to her, all the old biddies sat and played bo
ard games and cards all afternoon.

  “I handed the flowers to Verity, who took them, gratefully; doubtless she was glad of having a reason to leave the two of us alone. I watched her walking back down the corridor before I crossed the threshold and closed the door behind me. I continued to loiter for a while, hoping that my aunt would eventually invite me to join her at her table. But once I realised that such an invitation would not be forthcoming, I crossed the room under my own volition, and took the chair opposite her.

  “We both sat there in silence for a few minutes, while I tried to sum up the courage to speak, let alone broach the subject of Amy. Finally, my aunt closed her book and removed her glasses, leaving them both on the table. She massaged the bridge of her nose between her middle and forefingers, and then she gave me a particularly stern-looking once over. Instinctively, I ran my fingers through my hair. I was conscious of my dishevelled state, considering my hasty exit having woken late that morning. But I did not think that my aunt would be interested in hearing my excuses, so I merely smiled, and attempted to look suitably admonished.

  “And to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

  “My aunt’s words were sincere, but the sentiment behind them reeked of sarcasm. Even so, I was not about to protest, as I needed her company much more than she needed, or wanted, mine. I began by asking her how she was, and whether or not she was happy, in her new environment. My use of the word ‘happy’ struck a dire chord, and I regretted it almost immediately. My aunt spoke at length about the incompetence of the staff where she was living, and the fact that they seemed incapable of understanding the simplest of instructions.