by T. H. Hunter
“Nice to meet you at last, Miss Sheridan,” he said as we shook hands. “My condolences, by the way. It must have been a terrible loss for you.”
“Oh, I didn’t know my great-aunt, to be honest,” I said. “But thanks.”
His smile faltered. He was just about to say something further, but Mrs. Highgarden cut him short.
“Still a few to go, Randolph,” she said affectionately. “Now this is Miss McQuinn’s identical twin sister, Jane McQuinn.”
If she hadn’t said they were twins, I don’t think I would have guessed it. Where Vanessa was arrogant and self-absorbed, Jane was the complete opposite. Her hair was brown – which I assumed was her sister’s natural colour, too – and clipped behind both ears for practical purposes. She wore no make-up or jewellery and preferred to wear various shades of grey.
“Hello, Miss Sheridan,” she said quietly. “I hope you enjoy your stay here.”
“Hello,” I said. “Yes, thank you, I hope so, too.”
“Now then,” Mrs. Highgarden butted in again, clearing her throat. “We’re not quite complete, I’m afraid. Otherwise we could have had our first session today.”
The members of the committee seated at the table exchanged nervous looks. It seemed nobody was too keen on starting early.
“Unfortunately, however,” she said, with more than a note of impatience in her voice. “Mr. Urquhart evidently thought it beneath him to arrive on time. I only do hope he makes it to our first meeting tomorrow, though I have my doubts. Grave doubts.”
She rearranged her glasses back into position as if that settled the matter. After Val had been introduced to everyone, Mrs. Highgarden invited us to have dinner with them. We sat down between Randolph Bolton, the businessman from London, and the shy twin, Jane McQuinn. After a few minutes, dinner was served by a stressed-looking Anita Brown and the sandy-haired workman, Williams, who had picked us up from the mainland. He looked as surly and unfriendly as ever, barely acknowledging the guests that were present.
“D’you come far?” asked Mr. Bolton next to me, his mouth full of baguette.
“Yes, actually,” I said. “All the way from Gloucestershire. You’re from London, I understand?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, nodding importantly and gulping down the contents of his mouth in one go. “Only place to be, of course. No offence. But that’s the way it is in business. You’ve got to be there.”
“Where?” asked Val, who had only been listening in to the last part of the conversation.
“London, Val,” I said.
“Oh, London. Love it!” she said, before turning back to talk to Jane McQuinn.
Soon, the table was abuzz with chatter and laughter.
“We’re getting big, you – our firm, I mean,” Mr. Bolton was saying to me. “Over two thousand employees. Growing every year at almost three hundred percent. Should have enough to retire to some nice place in only a few years’ time if it continues like this.”
My mind began to drift slightly to the strange event that occurred just before we had stepped down for dinner. I had almost forgotten about Barry upstairs. I wondered whether he had found an answer to the elderly maid’s peculiar behaviour just a while ago. Personally, I thought it was more than likely that Mrs. Haughton was simply neurotic.
“Amy,” said Val, nudging me in the ribs, startling me out of my daydreaming.
“Ouch,” I said. “What is it?”
She inclined her head in the direction of Anita Brown, who was standing at the door, talking to Williams.
“What about them?” I asked.
“Well, don’t you think they look… sort of natural together?” she said. “That’s the vibes I’m getting, anyway.”
She was right. They did look natural together. I thought I even saw Williams’s mouth twitch into what might have been construed as the beginnings of a smile. I also thought that they were also standing closer than would otherwise be normal. Anita Brown was talking rapidly about something, and Williams’s face quickly darkened again.
“There go the vibes,” said Val. “D’you want some more Yorkshire puddings, Amy?”
“Oh, yes please,” I said absent-mindedly. “What were they talking about, d’you think? Can you tell?”
“Not exactly, no. That’s very advanced stuff,” she said, taking a bite from her mutton. “But the mood did change quite suddenly. They were flirting one moment, and then… then there was hatred.”
“Hatred?” I said, taken aback. “That’s a pretty strong word. Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” said Val. “Very intense.”
“Towards each other?”
“I don’t know,” said Val, frowning. “But that Williams man is certainly a strange person. Very moody, from what I could tell. Volatile, even, if you ask me. He was brooding a lot on the boat, too.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Wouldn’t put much past him. There’s definitely something funny going on here on the island.”
“Perhaps Mrs. Haughton was right,” said Val, lowering her voice even further.
“What do you mean?”
“About… about the death she was talking about.”
I scoffed.
“You don’t believe her, too, do you?”
“I don’t know,” said Val slowly. “I’m still on the fence about that.”
***
After dessert, the pace of conversation slowed audibly. Most people had had a long trip, so Dr. Linton excused himself shortly after and went to his room for an early night’s sleep. Randolph Bolton had found an eager audience in Mrs. Highgarden in regard to his business exploits, though I somehow suspected that her main interests lay in securing the continued financial support from his company for the committee. Vanessa McQuinn, on the other hand, had been monosyllabic all evening, paying more attention to a fashion magazine than to anything else. She left shortly after Dr. Linton.
Her twin sister, in contrast, had followed the conversations around her quite attentively, though rarely contributing herself. Now that Vanessa had left the table, however, she seemed a lot more relaxed. Val and I even got her to talk a little about herself.
“So, how come you’re in the committee?” Val asked her.
“Oh, it’s a strange story, really,” she said. “Our… our mother died a few months ago.”
“I’m very sorry,” I said.
“Oh, don’t be,” she said. “It wasn’t sudden, you see. She was… ill. For a long time. It was awful to see her in pain all that time. I think she wanted to go in the end. I think she felt like a burden on us. Our father died a long time ago, you see, so my sister and I looked after her. I loved my mother. Even Vanessa did, I think, and that’s saying something if you knew her.”
“You don’t like your sister?” asked Val.
Jane hesitated briefly, then smiled apologetically.
“It’s complicated. A lot happened, you have to understand. But no, we don’t get on very well.”
“But how come you’re both here, then?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, smiling again. “Our mother never liked us quarrelling. She hated it, in fact. She wanted us to be a family. Family was everything for her, and so it had been for my father, too. And so my sister and I had to promise her on her deathbed that we were to attend the annual meeting of the committee together. She loved lighthouses, you see. So, that’s why we’re here. To abide by our mother’s last wish.”
“That’s… that’s very touching,” said Val. “Perhaps you’ll be able to be real sisters again.”
Jane smiled politely.
“Well, that could be possible, of course. But we are very different, after all. I don’t think we see the world in quite the same way.”
We chatted for a little while longer, until Mrs. Highgarden looked at her wrist watch and insisted that we all went to bed in order to be on form in the morning for our first session. After the hailstorm of goodnights, it was only Val and me left in the dining room.
“Amy, I think we�
��d better go upstairs, too,” Val began.
“Yeah.”
We were just about to get up when we heard muffled voices from the kitchen that was adjacent to the dining room. Whoever was in there evidently thought that everyone had gone to bed by now.
“…. Won’t stand for it, Anita,” the unmistakable gruff growl of Williams floated towards us.
“But what can we do? You… you know I love you, but father won’t hear of it.”
“He’d better mind his own business,” Williams said.
“I’ve told him a thousand times,” Anita Brown said miserably. “But he’s still the official owner, Dan. We can’t kick him out so easily.”
“There must be a way,” he said. “We’ve got to get rid of him. I’m going crazy with him wheeling about all over the place, poking his nose into things that don’t concern him. Or tinkering away in his room in the lighthouse every other day, making a hell of a racket. God knows what he gets up to in there.”
Anita Brown was crying softly, which only seemed to agitate Williams further.
“You don’t deserve him as a father, Anita,” he said.
“But what… what can we do?”
“Has he changed his will yet?” he asked bluntly.
“No, but… Dan, you’re not saying…”
“If he doesn’t stop interfering in our affairs,” Williams said grimly. “I’ll kill him with my own bare hands. I swear I will.”
Chapter 4
Val and I looked at each other as if a lightning bolt had just struck the hotel. Williams had just threatened to kill Mr. Brown in front of his daughter. And with Williams, I didn’t think he’d voice such threats lightly. From the little we knew about him, he was one to act rather than talk.
“Come on, let’s go back upstairs,” Val whispered.
I nodded. I got up carefully and gently tip-toed over to the door. But Val must have somehow got her foot caught in the chair and went crashing to the floor with a smack, toppling several chairs next to her.
“Val!” I hissed.
“Sorry, Amy,” Val moaned.
As I helped her to her feet, I was sure that the commotion wouldn’t have gone unnoticed. And sure enough, the door to the adjacent kitchen opened. Williams, his face as grim as ever, stood in the doorway. He didn’t say anything but simply watched us. Anita Brown was busying herself in the kitchen behind him. But I wasn’t going to be intimidated by anyone. As my late father had used to say, the best way to show your enemies your teeth was to smile.
“Excellent meal,” I said. “My compliments to Anita Brown.”
He stared at me, then nodded, though his eyes never left us as he did so. I had a good mind to keep standing there, but Val tugged at my sleeve. With a last look at Williams, I followed Val out of the dining room and into the corridor and up the stairs. Val, undoubtedly keen on anything Barry might have come up with, headed straight ahead to my room.
We found Barry buried beneath a pile of books. Williams or Mrs. Haughton had evidently brought up the luggage in the meantime, and Barry had painstakingly retrieved them from one of the suitcases. His brow was furrowed in concentration, though he looked contented at the same time.
“You won’t believe what just happened,” Val said as I closed the door.
Barry raised his head, his spectacles slipping off of his nose.
“Well?” he asked.
And then, we told him all about the conversation we had overheard between Anita Brown and Williams. And how Williams had threatened to kill her father. Barry didn’t look in the least surprised.
“That confirms my worst suspicions,” he said. “This is no coincidence.”
“What do you mean?” asked Val.
“The elderly maid – Mrs. Haughton – wasn’t playacting. At least, I don’t think she was. Under certain circumstances, hebs can develop supernatural powers, too. It is admittedly extremely rare. I have only been able to find a few recorded cases, though I’m sure there are many that went unrecorded. In the heb world, such claims are rarely believed, as you might imagine, and so those that are concerned naturally keep them quiet.”
“So you’re saying that Mrs. Haughton might be something like a natural psychic?” I said.
“Not a psychic,” said Barry. “A clairvoyant. The fields are closely related, though a clairvoyant may see into a possible future while a psychic is usually constrained to the present. It is an imprecise art, to say the least. Many such prophecies have been uttered without anything happening, though I think we should pay them some attention this time. If Williams is willing to act on his words, Mrs. Haughton might well be right. And old Mr. Brown might indeed be in mortal danger.”
“Should we get the police?” I asked. “I mean, if Williams threatened to kill Anita Brown’s father, we should notify someone.”
But Barry shook his head solemnly.
“It’s not as simple as that, I’m afraid. Intervention is prohibited in heb affairs under magical law. It is very strict in that regard.”
“But we can’t just…” I began in frustration. “I mean, from what I heard and saw, Mr. Brown is awful, I know that, … but stand by and watch him get murdered?”
Barry shook his head solemnly.
“Unless magic or sorcerers are involved, we cannot do anything. Of course, if magic were involved somehow, it would naturally become a different matter entirely. We’ll definitely have to keep our eyes open,” said Barry.
“But what can we do?” asked Val.
“First, we’ll have to test my hypothesis in regard to Mrs. Haughton,” said Barry.
“Test it? But how?” asked Val.
“There are several ways,” said Barry evasively. “We need to establish whether Mrs. Haughton is a genuine heb clairvoyant or simply eccentric. A fine line at the best of times, I can assure you. Though we’d have to be very careful not to get caught. Secrecy protocols.”
“You and your protocols,” I said. “We’ll have to find out right away. We have to do something at least.”
“How exactly do we find out if Mrs. Haughton is the real deal?” Val asked.
“There are certain spells that may help reveal the truth,” said Barry. “We’d need to prepare them up here.”
“Well, I’ve got committee meetings all morning,” I said. “Mrs. Highgarden gave us our schedules after dinner. She means business. I don’t think I’ll be free until mid-day. Val can help you prepare, Barry. But I think we should also keep an eye on old Mr. Brown, too. Barry, you could do that. Heb or warlock, we just can’t let a murder occur on our watch.”
“But it’s cold outside,” he said sniffily. “And with one good gust of wind, I’ll be blown clean off the cliff!”
“I thought cats can survive extreme drops?” I said.
“Not when their bodies are over fifty years old,” he said, placing his paw on his back to stress the point.
“Barry…” I began warningly.
“Alright, alright. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“You’d better,” I said. “Or Mrs. Haughton might well turn out to be right – clairvoyant or not.”
***
I slept very poorly that evening. Nightmares haunted me for most of the night, mostly consisting of Mrs. Haughton pushing Val – who was in a wheelchair – down the stairs of an imaginary lighthouse. Before I could save her, Williams or one of the other guests would suddenly produce a wand and start firing curses in my direction. Fumbling in my handbag, I never seemed to be able to find my own wand in time. But before the spells hit, Anita Brown came rushing in from the kitchen with a tray in her hand, acting as a shield.
Perspiring, I woke up. The events of the day must have affected me more than I had liked to admit. But clearly, I had been rattled by Mrs. Haughton’s utterances – though rationally I still wasn’t convinced that she was a clairvoyant.. Somehow, the possibility of a crime, unknown and hence unsolvable, seemed almost more unnerving than an actual murder. Though I naturally didn’t want anyone to get hur
t, I felt helpless.
At 2 am, I decided to get a little fresh air and went over to the round window to open it. The mechanism was jammed for some reason, so I stepped into the sitting room instead. It felt good to walk around a bit after the restless flailing of my nightmares. Barry was lying on the sofa, snoring slightly. He was sound asleep. Moving over to the far end of the sitting room, I was just about to draw up the window next to the sofa when I saw that there was a light burning outside. At first, I wasn’t sure from where it had come as it faded away as quickly as it had arisen. Was Williams perhaps working very late in one of the workshop buildings?
I inched closer to the window, pressing my eye to the pane. It was quite dirty from the outside, so I undid the latch and opened it for better vision. Immediately, the sound of unseen waves hitting the rocks below greeted me, as well as an icy cold wind that made me shiver where I stood. I squinted my eyes, waiting.
And there was the light again. But it had come from the direction of the lighthouse and not from the workshop as I had initially thought. As Barry grunted in his sleep behind me, I shifted a little in order to get a better view. The lighthouse was throwing its powerful beam out towards the sea, away from the hotel. As a result, the shadowy path leading up to it was hardly visible at all.
Once again, the light faded in and out. It had come from the basement of the lighthouse. Who on earth would be up at this time of night? And then I remembered what Williams had said to Anita Brown when Val and I had overheard them. That her father, Mr. Brown, spent a significant amount of his time there, working on some unknown project.
Waiting for the light to return, I stood there for five more minutes in vain. I was getting very chilly, though I didn’t want to miss the next pulse of light. Something entranced me about it, as though it carried some mysterious relevance that I had yet to discover. But the minutes slipped away and the cold wind cut harder into my cheekbones without the light returning:
“Close the door… trying to work,” Barry muttered in his sleep from behind me.
I was just about to close the window again when I heard a clank of metal in the distance, distinctly audible over the sounds of the sea and the wind. It had also awoken Barry, apparently.