The Ghost of Hollow House (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 4)

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘Do you know when the village was first established?’ asked Mina.

  Mr Honeyacre smiled. ‘Ditchling Hollow has a brief mention in the Domesday Book, the attraction of fertile fields and the mill brook, meaning that settlement was made very early. But it has never flourished,’ he added sadly. ‘It is not as sheltered from wind and weather as it might be. For much of the year the prospect is delightful, but at times it can be harsh.’

  As if in response, the wind cut a severe course across the visitors and Mina flinched and pulled her cloak more closely about her. Dr Hamid did his best to shield her from the gusts.

  Ned Copper, untroubled by the elements, had paused in the graveyard and leaned forward, his fingertips sweeping fallen twigs from a headstone, then he straightened and looked about him with an expression of contemplative melancholy. The rain began to patter again, but he didn’t move.

  Mr Honeyacre pushed open the church door and they walked in, brushing beads of moisture from their garments. ‘Please don’t concern yourselves about the rain,’ he said. ‘I have asked Mr Malling to come for us with the umbrellas if need be.’

  They were standing in a small entrance porch. On one side there was a recess with a place to put muddy overshoes. A board hung there with a sign announcing that Sunday services were conducted by a Reverend Ashbrook. Another sign listed the clergymen who had preached there in the past, the last of whom had been the man Mr Honeyacre had mentioned, Reverend Tolley. A third notice devoted to special services showed that there had been one christening in the last month but nothing was determined for the immediate future.

  ‘Reverend Ashbrook cannot be kept busy here,’ said Nellie.

  ‘Oh, he is not a Ditchling man,’ explained Mr Honeyacre. ‘He resides in Clayton and only comes in for the services. You will see him on Sunday. He is new to the parish and —’ there was a meaningful pause — ‘in my opinion, has yet to wholly understand it. But I am sure he will in time.’

  Mina was disappointed. A new man was unlikely to be such a generous source of history as his predecessor.

  Opposite the recess was a small door. ‘The vestry,’ said Mr Honeyacre. ‘It contains a parish chest of great antiquity and I am sure that if you were to ask Reverend Ashbrook he would be delighted to show it to you.’

  ‘I shall be sure to do so,’ said Nellie, smiling brightly as if she had been promised a great treat.

  As they passed into the nave, Mina became aware of the kind of chill peculiar to churches, a deep ingrained pervasive cold that was part of the stones and the air, an eternal sunless winter. The ancient church smelled of dust and things too old and dry and decayed to recall what it had once meant to be alive. There were no pews. Instead, there were double rows of straight-backed chairs without cushions and a grey stone pulpit that appeared to have grown out of the wall a thousand years ago, remaining there despite all adversity, clinging on like a limpet. The altar, low plain and humble, was covered by a simple linen cloth.

  Mina wondered what a service there might be like and imagined herself seated, shivering on one of those unwelcoming chairs, her back muscles crying out at the discomfort, hands clenched against the cold, trying to draw warmth from Reverend Ashbrook’s words. Did the clergyman’s fervent devotion warm his blood, or did he thrill instead to the asceticism of suffering?

  She glanced up anxiously at the roof timbers above her head, but thankfully there was no sign of their imminent descent.

  They moved down the stone flagged aisle with Mr Honeyacre exclaiming excitedly about the carved plaques on the walls. A few were dated and the names could be read, memories of the village dead, and the same surnames appeared often, like an echo: Copper, Jesson, Tuckfield, Gateley, Parker.

  Beneath her host’s animated chatter Mina heard another sound, a faint shuffling noise. She looked about her, half expecting to see a mouse scuttle across the floor, but there was nothing. ‘Did you hear that?’ she asked Dr Hamid.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, with a frown.

  Mina glanced at Nellie, but she had not put back her hood. Mr Honeyacre appeared not to have heard, but he was deeply engaged in his enthusiasm. He paused to indicate a bronze plaque ornamented with scrolls. ‘And this is of especial interest — the commemorative plaque for the Redwoode family who once occupied Hollow House. I mean to discover more about them if I can, but all I have at present is their names.’

  Mina peered closely at the inscription. ‘In memory of Sir Christopher and Lady Matilda Redwoode of Hollow House, whose generosity gifted the altar ornaments to the Church of St Mond, Ditchling Hollow, for the greater glory of God.’ The altar was bare of ornaments, which Mina presumed were safely in the custody of Reverend Ashbrook. ‘But you said that the Redwoodes are not buried here,’ said Mina.

  ‘Sadly not,’ said Mr Honeyacre. ‘There is no mention of them or any owner of the house in the parish records.’ He shook his head and in that moment of near silence, Mina heard the strange sound again, but only briefly, like the rustling of rodents in a nest. It reflected from the walls, rising and mingling with the wooden rafters until it was impossible to tell its origin.

  Dr Hamid glanced at Mina and nodded to indicate that he too had heard the noise. ‘The proverbial church mouse?’ he queried.

  ‘Is there some difficulty?’ enquired Mr Honeyacre, seeing their worried expressions.

  ‘I heard something just now, which leads me to fear there may be an infestation of vermin in the church,’ said Dr Hamid. They stood quite still and listened, but all was perfectly silent, as if the intruders had also suddenly become still and were holding their collective breath.

  ‘I don’t hear anything,’ said Mr Honeyacre, ‘although I confess my ears are not as they once were. Poor creatures, perhaps they have been driven indoors by the wet. I am loath to deny them shelter, but, of course, we must not alarm the ladies. I will speak to Malling about it.’ He paused suddenly. ‘Unless …’ He looked about him, his eyes darting hopefully to and fro in case there was another explanation. Mina suspected that her host was wondering if, in the darkness of the old church, a spectre would rise up from between the stone slabs in a formless mist, shape itself into a man and shake its gory locks at him. His expression of disappointment told the rest of the tale.

  The tour of the little church was soon done. The rain had eased and they were able to walk around the pathway to view the rest of the graveyard and the narrow track that led to the main street. A man was walking briskly past in the direction of the village. He wore a stout tweed coat and a peaked travelling cap. A leather strap was hung about his neck, supporting a small case of the same material. Mina had seen such cases before, carried by visitors to Brighton who liked to gaze out to sea and knew that it must contain a set of binocular glasses.

  As he passed by he gave a swift glance at the party emerging from the church and there was a small but significant hesitation in his step before he walked on. Mina judged him to be between thirty and forty. He was of medium height with sallow features and a thin mouth.

  ‘Do you know that man?’ asked Mina, since Mr Honeyacre was frowning.

  ‘I have not spoken to him but I believe he may be a land surveyor. He has been lodging at Hollow Farm with the Gateleys for the last few days and spends his time walking about and staring at everything. We get such men here from time to time, as the land is good and city folk, the men of property who employ these persons as their spies, think nothing of the countryside and want to build their horrid factories here.’ Mr Honeyacre gave a sorrowful shake of the head. ‘I hope I never live to see such a thing.’

  When they returned to the front path Ned Copper was still trudging his way between the gravestones, his bristled chin thrust forward pugnaciously. He made little grunting noises as he walked, as if having an angry conversation with himself.

  They had reached the boundary markers and were approaching the steps to the house when something made Mina glance back over her shoulder. She felt sure that Mr Honeyacre had closed the church
door behind them as they left, but now saw that it had opened an inch or two, though what, if anything, lay behind it was concealed in the darkened interior. The door was surely too heavy to be moved by the breeze. As she thought this the door was pressed shut again.

  It was a relief to be back indoors and pass their damp cloaks to the maids. Mina and Nellie retired to the ladies’ parlour and warmed themselves before the fire.

  ‘Poor Mr Honeyacre,’ said Nellie, ‘the very man who most wants to see a ghost and never can.’

  ‘If they exist,’ said Mina, ‘and I cannot say yea or nay since I have never seen one. Do you think some people are more likely to see them than others? I do not speak of séances, of course, where anyone may see a ghost if they pay the medium handsomely enough.’

  ‘Oh, every theatre has at least one ghost and many people claim to have seen or heard them, though I have often thought that spirits of another nature are involved.’

  ‘Did you chance to see or hear anything in the church? Both Dr Hamid and I thought there was a strange noise. I had assumed it was mice, but after we left I looked back and the door was open then it closed again.’

  ‘Well, then it cannot have been a ghost, as they are notorious for walking through walls and it would not have troubled itself to open a door. Perhaps we surprised a traveller come to shelter from the elements.’ Nellie paused. ‘If anyone saw a ghost today it was I.’

  ‘Truly?’ said Mina.

  ‘Not precisely a ghost, but a familiar face and one that I was not expecting. The man we saw walking along the street.’

  ‘The surveyor?’

  ‘Yes, but he is no surveyor. I don’t know his name, but his features are not such as I would forget. I have seen him before and I do not wish to see him again.’ Nellie uttered a sigh and bit her lip before she went on. ‘He is a private detective. I believe he has been engaged by my husband to watch me.’

  Chapter Five

  Mina did not ask Nellie if her husband had reason to distrust her, since she was aware that there was some substance to Mr Jordan’s suspicions. Prior to the marriage, Mina’s brother Richard and Nellie had been far closer in their affection than either would openly admit and it was obvious that the warmth of their regard had not abated afterwards.

  Mr Jordan’s husbandly discomfiture was increased by the fact that the business of his emporium necessitated frequent excursions to the continent to buy fashionable fabrics and view the latest styles. It could not be chance that Richard’s visits to Brighton for the proclaimed purpose of seeing his family had often coincided with Mr Jordan’s absence. On those occasions Richard was usually missing for most of the day, only returning to the Scarletti house in the small hours of the morning, hungry, the worse for drink and in a dishevelled state. Mina had quite deliberately never asked him where he had been. Some things, she thought, it was better not to know. Mr Jordan, however, was clearly determined to find out.

  Another person might have tried to comfort Nellie by persuading her that she was mistaken, but Mina was sure that she was not. She thought of their arrival that morning — the carriage passing through the village, the reflection from the open window which might well have been the detective staring at them through his binocular glasses.

  Fortunately, there would be no scandal for the detective to see, since Richard was in London, lodging with their sensible older brother, Edward. Richard had found employment in the family business, the Scarletti publishing house, making sketches for a ladies’ magazine, The Society Journal. The few shillings he earned hardly paid for his entertainment, however, his mother, who doted on him and declared him to be the handsomest and most agreeable and talented of her children could always be relied upon to lend him money. The fact that their mother was currently staying in London, thought Mina, ought to be sufficient to keep him there and hopefully out of trouble.

  Nellie was clearly concerned — not at the prospect of being discovered in any malfeasance — but by the knowledge that her husband was spying on her. Mina reassured Nellie that even if the spy was to spend all of his days observing her visit to Hollow House he would be obliged to make a report that Mrs Jordan had occupied herself in the most decorous of diversions in the company of respectable people.

  There would be no more excursions out of doors that day as the rain was coming down again, cutting through the air like bright blades, and the sonorous roar of thunder was an ever present though distant threat. Kitty and Miss Pet joined them in the parlour and the little dog amused itself by biting the toes of the visitors and jumping on and off its mistress’s lap in an endlessly fascinating game until it was time to refresh themselves for dinner.

  Mina returned to her room and was composing some notes of the events she had witnessed so far when there was a polite knock at the door and she bid the visitor enter. It was Mrs Malling, showing just the right combination of dignity and respect.

  ‘Miss Scarletti? I just wanted to make sure that you have everything you need. Zillah will be along directly to attend to you.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Malling, everything is more than satisfactory. I am very comfortable here and luncheon was excellent.’

  ‘I am very pleased to hear it,’ said Mrs Malling. She paused. ‘Mrs Honeyacre said that you would like to speak to me.’

  ‘I would — if you can spare the time from your duties.’

  ‘Of course, Miss.’ Mrs Malling remained where she stood.

  Mina smiled engagingly. ‘Please, do sit down.’ She waved at the easy chair beside the fire and Mrs Malling, surprised at being asked to take a seat in front of a guest, hesitated for a few moments before she complied. Mina, hoping to have placed the housekeeper at her ease with the friendliness of her request, took advantage of the other chair, taking her little wedge-shaped cushion and putting it carefully in place before sitting down. ‘I was hoping that since you and Mr Malling have lived in Hollow House longer than any of its current residents you could tell me something of the history of the house and the various unusual incidents that have been reported as occurring here.’

  Mrs Malling looked concerned. ‘Well, I don’t know about incidents, Miss. We’ve had none in the servants’ wing.’

  ‘There have been no incidents of any kind in that part of the house? No hauntings, apparitions, noises that you can’t explain?’

  ‘No, nothing of the sort at all. As to the rest of the house, well …’ Mrs Malling pursed her lips thoughtfully and her fingers moved as if each hand was stroking the other for reassurance. ‘It’s so hard to say. We don’t come to this part of the house at night time when it is full dark. Then, of course, in a half light, one can always see things that —’ she shrugged. ‘My eyes aren’t as sharp as they once were and it’s easy enough to imagine something or make a mistake. One can get quite fanciful in an old house like this one. I wouldn’t trouble yourself about it, Miss.’

  ‘I understand, of course,’ said Mina. She could not help suspecting that the housekeeper was not telling all the story so as to avoid worrying her. ‘I promise that I will not be frightened by anything you tell me, but I am very curious about these things and eager to learn more. Please can you describe what you have seen?’

  Mrs Malling took a deep breath. ‘It was only out of the corner of my eye, but I was up in the corridor, this one, where the bedrooms are, and I thought I saw something. It looked like a lady dressed all in white. I wasn’t afraid — I wondered if it was someone from the village who had wandered in to look about the house. I called out to her, but she took no notice. And then she —’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘That was when I knew it was my mistake, my old eyes playing tricks. She walked right through the closed door of the storeroom. Or at least, the light just seemed to vanish.’ Mrs Malling glanced down at her hands, as if seeing for the first time how work had imprinted its memories on her skin.

  ‘How many times have you seen this?’ asked Mina, her voice firmer, more demanding of a reply.

  ‘Several, now, a
lways in the same place. That’s how I know it was just something about the light. I looked everywhere to see how it came about, but I couldn’t find it.’

  ‘And the thing you saw — it always looked and moved in the same way?’

  ‘It did.’

  ‘And that is all that you have found disquieting?’

  From Mrs Malling’s hesitation, this was obviously not the case. ‘Well — it’s the only thing I have seen. There have been noises — but then all old houses have them, don’t they? Creaks and bumps, and things that sound like footsteps, and sighing noises like the wind, or someone crying.’

  ‘When was the first time you saw the white lady?’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t long after Mr Honeyacre first took the house. But it only happened once or twice afterwards, until …’ She paused and Mina waited. ‘Just lately, I think the house has been — well — stirred up if you like. It was mostly quiet when it was just me and Malling here. But then last year, when Mr Honeyacre determined to come and live here, it all became very busy. There was charladies who came in to clean and then the maids arrived and then the workmen came to finish off the repairs to the roof and there were the decorators, and the plumbers and then the men came to bring all of Mr Honeyacre’s effects. There was that many folk coming and going I hardly knew where I was. All the hammering and sawing made more noise than any ghost. But once that was all done, and I don’t think it was my imagination, I started to hear the other things more. And I saw the white lady twice in one week.’

  ‘Has Mr Malling seen her too?’

  ‘I think so, but he won’t speak of it. He doesn’t hold truck with things like that and if you ask him he won’t admit to it.’

  ‘Tell me about the maidservants. I was told they won’t come here during the hours of darkness.’