by Amy Cross
“I saw that you've been doing some work in the garden,” he tells my parents, affecting a much jollier tone, albeit still with a hint of nervousness. “This is precisely what the house has needed for some time. A family. Some noise and happiness, to wash away all traces of the past!”
***
They talk for hours, boring me to tears. I cannot excuse myself, of course, so I sit politely and listen as Mum and Dad tell Mr. Marringham about our recent history, and as Mr. Marringham in turn explains a little of the house's history. Since I am only fifteen years old and therefore still a child, nobody really acknowledges my presence at all. I simply drink tea and try not to let my disinterest show.
“You are a lady,” Mum once told me, “so of course you will be bored a great deal of the time. You must learn to smile and pretend that you care about the topic of conversation.”
If only it were so easy.
Finally, just as the first shades of evening start to smudge the gray sky, Matthew Marringham suddenly announces that he has enjoyed our hospitality for long enough, and that he must be on his way so that he can catch a train to Sheffield. Although I do not show it, I am much relieved, and I can only hope that he does not make a habit of these visits. As strange as the house might seem, it feels stranger still when he is here.
“You must feel free to drop by at any time,” Dad tells him as he follows Matthew to the handsome motorcar that is parked at the front of the house. “There will always be a cup of tea waiting for you. And scones next time, I assure you. We don't usually like to starve our guests.”
“I don't like him,” I whisper to Mum.
“Quiet!” she hisses.
“Well, I don't!” I continue, watching as Matthew climbs into the motorcar. “There's something about him, and I hope he never comes back. Dad's always so keen to suck up to anyone with money, he doesn't see through them at all.”
Matthew starts the motorcar's engine, although it sounds rather rough and after a moment it falls silent once again. He tries a couple more times, with no greater success.
“Oh come on,” I mutter under my breath. “Just get out of here.”
The engine suddenly emits a rather alarming grinding sound. I am no mechanic, but I am quite certain that there is a fault.
“Is it supposed to do that?” Mum asks cautiously.
I open my mouth to reply, but already a hint of steam is rising from the bonnet at the front of the vehicle. A moment later, Matthew climbs out of the driver's seat and makes his way around, and it's clear that something is amiss.
“Typical,” I say with a sigh. “He can't just go and leave us alone.”
He and Dad are already opening the bonnet, although the whole contraption seems too hot for them to touch. I know that Dad loves tinkering with machinery, so he'll probably be in his element right now, but I hate anything that means Matthew Marringham spends even one more second at the house. Even now, as he and Dad inspect the motorcar's damaged engine, I feel a shiver pass through my chest.
“Don't worry,” Mum says, lowering her voice a little, “I'm sure they can fix it. It'll just take a little time, that's all. And then we can get back to normal.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Staying the night?” I stammer, hurrying after Dad as he makes his way through to the front room. “You can't be serious! He's rich! Why can't he go to a hotel? Blast it, why can't he go and buy a hotel?”
“Keep your voice down!” he hisses, stopping and turning to me. “This house belongs to him, remember? I had to offer him a room, it was only polite! I didn't know he'd take me up on the idea, did I? And besides, somebody is coming out to look at his car in the morning, so actually it makes perfect sense for him to stay here!”
“But he's -”
“And I'll have no more of your nonsense!” he continues. “Clara, try to understand that we're paying very little rent for this house. I don't know why that is, I don't have the first clue, but if Matthew Marringham were to demand more...”
He hesitates for a moment, and I can see the desperation in his eyes.
“I need your cooperation,” he adds. “And whatever you do, Clara, make sure you don't mention ghosts to the gentleman. Is that understood?”
“But -”
“Is that understood, Clara Harrison?”
“I suppose,” I reply with a sigh.
He turns to walk away, but I feel as if he still isn't taking me seriously. Mum and Dad might like to remind me that I'm a lady when they want my help, but the rest of the time they treat me as if I'm a child.
“It's obvious why the house is so cheap,” I call after him. “Even if you don't want to admit it to yourself, deep down you know why nobody else wants to live here.”
He doesn't reply, and a moment later he disappears into the next room. Left alone in the hallway, I can't help but feel immensely frustrated by Dad's refusal to discuss the house's stranger aspects. Still, for the first time I think I saw a hint of doubt in his eyes, which is enough to make me hope that he's starting to see things from my point of view. Now I just have to work on Mum, and hopefully we can be out of this awful place by Christmas.
***
“It was my great, great, great grandfather Sir Edward who decided to build the house,” Matthew explains over dinner. “Honestly, I don't know why he wanted to put the place all the way out here, so far from civilization. Perhaps he was simply a rather lonesome man. Or perhaps he simply wanted to make a grand statement.”
He smiles, causing both Mum and Dad to laugh. They're such boot-lickers, and I know they're only being polite. Mum in particular always turns into a mass of jelly whenever she meets anyone who has more than two shillings to rub together. I'm not laughing, but then again Matthew is carefully not looking at me. Perhaps I have inadvertently offended him, or perhaps he overheard me protesting his visit, but either way it's clear that he wants to freeze me out of the conversation.
I would prefer to be involved.
“Why is the house called Blackwych Grange?” I ask.
This time, he has no choice but to glance at me, although he seems very uncomfortable.
“I don't entirely know, I'm afraid,” he says cautiously. “I'm sure it meant something to someone once. I keep meaning to dig further back into my family's history. Perhaps there'll be a clue there somewhere.”
“Perhaps,” I mutter.
“But your family has not lived here for many years, I believe,” Dad says, once again drawing Matthew's attention. “In fact, I heard in the village that you were the last Marringham to make Blackwych Grange your home, and that you left when you were rather young?” He hesitates for a moment, as if he's not entirely sure whether to continue. “The details seemed rather vague. It seems as if, after the death of your father, the -”
He lets out a sudden grunt of pain. The gravy boat wobbles briefly, and it's clear that Mum kicked him under the table.
“Don't pry!” she hisses. “Gerald, really!”
“It's quite alright,” Matthew replies, although his smile seems more forced now. Suddenly he seems far more interested in me, and I can't help noticing that for the first time during dinner he's actually willing to meet my gaze. This man seems to have hidden motives. “Indeed, my father died here at Blackwych Grange, and I was sent to live with relatives. After that, the trustees of my father's estate deemed that -”
“How did he die?” I ask.
Silence falls in the room.
“Clara,” Mum whispers finally, “perhaps -”
“He suffered from an ailment,” Matthew tells me. “At the top of the stairs.”
“So he was sick?”
“He was not know to have -”
“What was he doing at the time?” I add, sensing the man's growing discomfort. “Healthy people don't just drop dead of ailments, do they?”
“He -”
“And what kind of ailment, anyway? That's a rather vague word, is it not?”
“My father -”
�
��And I heard you ran to the village,” I tell him. “That's what someone told me, anyway. That you showed up sobbing in the village, and some men were sent to the house, to see what was wrong. When they arrived, they found your father's body, or what was left of it. They also found a horse belonging to a man who'd recently returned to the village. Daniel Jones, I think his name was? But they never found Daniel himself. He was never seen again.”
Matthew stares at me for a moment, as if he's not sure how to answer.
“And you never came back to the house,” I continue, “until...”
My voice trails off for a moment. The table jolts slightly, and it's clear Mum is trying to kick me. Fortunately, despite her continued efforts, she can't quite reach.
“Well,” I add, “I heard you'd never returned since that night. But that can't be true, can it? Because that would mean that today is your first visit here since the night your father died, which seems like quite an odd coincidence.”
Again, silence falls in the room.
“You must forgive Clara,” Mum says finally, her voice tense with shock. “I'm afraid she doesn't always know when to stop talking.”
“I know when to stop talking,” I reply, turning to her. “I'm a grown-up now, remember?”
“My family's history is certainly a popular talking point in these parts,” Matthew says calmly. “I have long known that people enjoy gossip.”
Turning back to him, I see that he's watching me once more.
“I do not know precisely what caused my father's death,” he continues, “and I do not know what happened to the body of Daniel Jones. I can assure you that a full investigation was carried out by local figures, and no evidence of wrongdoing was uncovered. As for why I chose not to return to the house until now, I'm sure you will understand that Blackwych Grange carries certain unfortunate memories for me.”
“What about Elizabeth?” I ask.
He flinches.
“There's a grave in the garden,” I point out. “Judging by the dates, I'm guessing that you -”
“That's quite enough for one evening,” Dad says firmly.
The table is still wobbling. Mum is trying to kick me, and now she has scooched down quite some way in her seat, but it's still not enough for her foot to reach.
“I'm guessing that you knew Elizabeth Jane Marringham,” I continue. “So you might be interested to learn that I think I've seen -”
“Stop!”
Turning, I see the anger in Dad's eyes, and I can tell that perhaps I've gone too far.
“Clara,” he adds, “you will go to your room immediately. It's quite evident that you can't manage a civilized conversation at the dinner table, so I shall kindly ask you to remove yourself. Leave the adults to talk!”
I open my mouth to ask why he's suddenly using such stiff language, but I know deep down that he's trying to impress Matthew Marringham. Getting to my feet, I feel a flash of anger at the idea that I'm being sent away like some kind of foolish little girl, but I know I won't get anywhere by arguing. Besides, if Matthew is any judge of character at all, he will most certainly have understood by now that I am far more mature than either of my parents.
“Good night,” I say, turning to Matthew. “It was a pleasure to meet you, and I hope you're not unhappy that I asked a few harmless questions.”
“Not at all,” he replies. “An inquisitive mind is a fine thing, Miss Harrison. I'm sure your parents are very proud of you.”
I glance at Mum and Dad, and they look anything but proud. Figuring that I've probably said enough, I turn and make my way out of the room, and I can already hear Dad trying to steer the conversation onto more polite matters. By the time I get to the top of the stairs, however, I can't help looking down at the spot where Matthew's father Sir John must have died.
I'm more certain than ever that the ghost in this house is that of Elizabeth Jane Marringham. I just don't understand what she wants. Revenge, I imagine. But against whom, and for what?
Chapter Thirty-Five
The crashing sound wakes me suddenly, and I sit up in my dark bedroom. Somewhere in the distance, somewhere downstairs, glass is breaking.
For a brief moment, I forget where I am. Back in my old room in London, perhaps.
No, that's wrong.
Blackwych Grange.
A shudder passes through my body.
I'm at Blackwych Grange.
Scrambling out of bed, I stumble across the room and pull the door open. As I emerge onto the landing, I see Mum and Dad coming out of their room, and it's clear that they're equally shocked by the din. The three of us hurry to the stairs and then down to the hallway, and Dad fumbles to get a candle lit. Once there's a little light, we look through to the front room and see that the cabinet by the far wall has been overturned, sending plates and cups crashing across the room. The scene is still now, but evidently there was a great kerfuffle just a moment earlier.
“What in the name of...”
Clearly lost for words, Dad takes a cautious step forward, but now everything has settled.
“What could have caused such a dreadful mess?” Mum asks, her voice filled with shock. “Those are the good plates! They're the ones I got from my mother!”
Hearing footsteps, I turn just in time to see Matthew Marringham coming down the stairs. He immediately looks at me, and I can't help thinking that in some strange way he already knows what has happened, or at least he understands the reason for its occurrence. As he reaches the door and looks through into the front room, his face is filled less by surprise and more by fear. This man knows far more than he's willing to admit.
“I'm sorry you were woken,” Dad stammers, hurrying into the room. “Somehow the cabinet must have toppled over. Maybe it was never properly secure to begin with. I don't know, I thought... I thought everything was alright.”
“That's not what happened,” I whisper, seeing that several plates are over by the far window, as if they were thrown by someone strong.
“There's no sign of damage anywhere else,” Mum points out, stepping around the broken plates as she goes over to join Dad. “Oh, this is quite awful! I promised my dear mother that I'd look after the dinner service, and now look at it! Grandma Beryl would turn in her grave if she could see such a shocking mess!”
As she and Dad start sorting through the broken crockery, I turn and watch Matthew heading back to the foot of the stairs.
“Do you know what caused this?” I ask.
He stops and turns to me, and I instantly see a kind of calm, resigned fear in his eyes. It's as if he's afraid, but at the same time he has accepted what is happening. Maybe he even expected it.
“Did anything unusual happen when you lived here?” I continue, stepping closer. “Did you see things that shouldn't have been in the house? Did you see people?”
He hesitates. I feel as if this man has so much to tell me, if only I can find the right way to ask.
“You didn't just happen to drop by today, did you?” I add. “And your motorcar didn't just happen to develop a fault. You've been waiting, maybe trying to build up the courage to finally come here. And now you are here, you think something bad is going to happen, but you have no inclination to turn around and run. What are you waiting for, Mr. Marringham? What do you think the ghost is going to do?”
“You asked me if I knew Elizabeth,” he says cautiously, “and then it seemed as if you were about to tell me something. Be honest with me, girl... Have you ever noticed anything unusual happening in this house?”
“Apart from plates flying around the room in the middle of the night?”
“Tell me what you've seen.”
“I've seen a woman,” I reply. “Mainly at one of the upstairs windows, but once or twice I've spotted her in the corner of my eye. I get the feeling she's been waiting for something.”
I pause, but he seems genuinely troubled by my answer.
“Or waiting for a person,” I add, keen to see how far I can push him. “Perhaps
she was waiting for someone who refused to come back. Someone who was scared.”
I pause again.
“Someone who finally, tonight, dared to -”
Before I can finish, there's a loud bang from upstairs. Matthew and I both turn and look up, and I can't help noticing that the bang seemed to fill the air all around us.
“I've heard noises like that, too,” I tell him, as I feel my heart pounding in my chest. “Bumps, creaks, shuffling footsteps.” I stare at the top of the stairs for a moment longer, before turning back to him. “Mum and Dad think I'm over-reacting, but I know there's someone else here. Still, she's never caused a real mess before, so the whole thing with the plates and cups is new. I wonder if something changed tonight, if maybe something angered her. I don't suppose she'd be upset about your presence, would she? It wouldn't be you she's been waiting for...”
He continues to stare up at the landing for a moment. When he finally turns to me, I see that the color has drained from his face.
“She's mostly upstairs,” I continue. “That's what I think, anyway. I could be wrong. I'm quite surprised that she's suddenly made a noise down here. Maybe she's just very, very angry right now.”
“I'm so sorry you were woken,” Dad says, hurrying through. “I can't imagine what must have happened.”
“It's quite alright,” Matthew replies. “I wasn't sleeping.”
“Nothing like this has happened before,” Dad continues, as Mum starts clearing the mess. “We keep the house very neat and tidy, we have absolute respect for your property and we'd never dream of causing a mess. I do hope you won't think any less of us, just because one -”
Suddenly there's another bang, again coming from somewhere above us. We all look up, but the house quickly falls silent again.
“Just an old house settling,” I say with a smile, parroting one of Dad's favored explanations for anything that seems unusual. He's had to say it a lot lately. When I look over at Matthew, however, I see that he appears even more scared. I swear, it's almost as if he expects the ghost of Elizabeth Jane Marringham to come screeching down the stairs and dig her fingers into his eyes. “My father insists there's nothing to worry about,” I continue, “and since I'm only a child, I suppose I must listen to him. You don't believe in ghosts, Mr. Marringham... Do you?”