Halton Cray (Shadows of the World Book 1)

by N. B. Roberts

  ‘She’s always been like it. To be honest, I’m shocked she’s working here, but especially considering the disappearance of that girl. But Stacey must have already heard she’d been found.’

  ‘It was a very odd affair,’ murmured Frances. ‘She vanished into thin air. We found some of her things here on the premises, like her mobile phone. We all got involved in a search but found nothing else of her. You do know that she was discovered at her own home hiding in the loft?’

  ‘What? Was she there all along?’

  ‘Nobody knows. She won’t talk about it. I spoke to her mother, to see if she wanted visitors, but she told me she’s too skittish to see anyone. She’s been acting as if someone’s coming for her.’ Frances bit her lower lip. ‘Very odd, isn’t it? We thought that finding her would be the answer to the big question, but it’s just added so many more.’

  ‘Does that have anything to do with why the other girl left?’

  ‘Rebecca? Oh, I don’t know.’ She paused, taking off her glasses to wipe them. ‘Stacey told me you two have been friends since school, and that you have another job in New Cromley. Did you come straight here from there?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, noticing how she’d changed the subject. ‘It’s one bus. I’ve an hour to get from door to door.’

  As we talked, he, Thomas that is, re-entered the building and began passing us without looking our way. Despite the chilly day he wore his shirtsleeves rolled up, exposing the dark hair on his forearms. By this and his full eyebrows I could see that one day off shaving would leave a mass of stubble on his face.

  While in mid-sentence Frances caught sight of him and breaking away for a moment half turned to call him back.

  ‘Over here, Thom!’ She beckoned softly with a little wave of her hand. He turned his head a couple of inches, gave her a firm nod and kept walking. Frances went on in such a sweet voice that even this dismissive soul could not ignore her. My stomach collapsed as he stopped dead before turning to face me.

  ‘Now don’t let him scare you,’ she whispered.

  I frowned in confusion: scare me?

  ‘Thom, have you met Alex?’

  He stared. Even under the ceiling lights his pupils remained fully dilated.

  ‘In a fashion,’ came his stern reply.

  I grimaced inwardly at what he might say and fidgeted under the desk. Overcoming it quickly, I got up. Although he stood at least three yards from me, I held out my hand for a formal greeting. He looked at it, but did not move.

  ‘I suppose you’re no threat to me today being that you came by public transport.’

  It surprised me he knew that and I wondered if he’d overheard us talking. I wasn’t surprised at the mockery; in fact, I was glad it wasn’t worse. He stayed still and I let my hand fall subtly to the desk, unshaken.

  ‘Are you a detective?’ I cocked my head.

  ‘So where is it?’ he said gruffly, ignoring my remark. ‘Impounded? Abandoned somewhere in a ditch?’

  ‘My stepbrother has it,’ I answered, unperturbed.

  ‘Repairing the damage is he?’

  ‘He’s the owner. I just borrow it now and then.’

  ‘“Now and then?”’ he quoted, supressing a smile. ‘Lucky me! If now and then falls on the waning of the moon.’

  Frances looked at my primed face bewildered. She turned back to Thom, as if to ask what he was talking about. Before she said a word, he was looking at her and talking more of this nonsense as if I wasn’t there.

  ‘If only all the maniacs with a licence to kill were deprived of their vehicles, eh?’

  She didn’t answer him but gave a short baffled chuckle.

  ‘She tried to kill me, Frances. Plunged into me with her monster truck!’

  ‘I tapped him!’ I insisted, wide-eyed.

  He turned his black eyes on me again. ‘And how is it you’ve come to work here? I wasn’t aware that the Cray’s management had agreed to partake in some rehabilitation program, where the mentally peculiar are integrated back into society.’ He leant forward, as if to whisper, but kept his voice at the same pitch. ‘Isn’t someone supposed to accompany you? Where is your attendant to keep you from doing harm? Well here she is!’ He looked back to Frances and directed his cryptic speech to her. ‘I’ve done my best, Frances, to be a good citizen, and pay my taxes, and obey the law. We are the guinea pigs here! Since the crazed are let loose to wander the streets, I want to be locked up in a cell.’

  I felt I needed an interpreter while he talked like this. Goodness knows what Frances was thinking. I decided not to provoke him with wisecracks since he was prepared to go to war with me, and he had more ammunition than I did. Instead, I determined to kill him with kindness. I gave him a generous smile and told him it was nice to meet him properly. To this he elevated one eyebrow, attempted a sneer, and abruptly walked away. Frances smiled as though it was a successful introduction.

  ‘Who taught you to how to handle Thom?’ She giggled. ‘I’ve never known anyone to talk to him like that.’

  ‘My stepfather,’ I blurted in a reflex, and then smiled awkwardly. ‘He had no mercy when it came to teasing me. I learnt fast that I either jabbed him first or refused to rise to it. Either way worked depending on the occasion.’

  I heard that distant echo of a door close. I really didn’t know how to take Thom. One thing I wanted to know: what was his job? From this I might be able to gauge how often I’d have to put up with him. I was about to ask Frances when she said she could hear Doreen coming with the tea.

  ‘When’s your next day here, Alex?’

  ‘Thursday.’

  ‘Until Thursday then!’

  On that said day, while unpacking deliveries in the shop, a baby-faced blonde man strolled in and approached me. He looked like a dodgy car salesman dressed in a dark blue suit that didn’t quite fit, and carried a mobile phone. He stopped in front of me.

  ‘You’re one of the new girls, right?’ He grinned. ‘So which one are you?’

  ‘Alex.’

  ‘Alex Turner?’ His grin increased. ‘As in…?’

  ‘I don’t know him and can’t get you tickets,’ I said in earnest. Some people really did make this leap on what was nothing more than a similar name. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Daniel. Dan, if you like. I’m the assistant curator here,’ he announced proudly. ‘And what about the other one? What’s her name?’

  ‘Stacey,’ I told him, while pulling my hair up into a ponytail. ‘We job share. She was here yesterday.’

  ‘Ah, I wasn’t here yesterday. I was at another site. I’m only here a couple of days each week. I’m surprised Mrs E got a couple of newbies so fast.’

  ‘Well, she was already interviewing for someone to replace Tess. Then of course Rebecca walked out the other day at short notice.’

  ‘It wasn’t quite short notice.’ He frowned. ‘She’s been pretty upset for weeks, not to mention someone here scaring her half to death–’

  His phone rang and without looking at it he said, ‘That’ll be the wife. She’s off work today and so she’s bored. She only calls me when she’s bored! Catch you later.’

  He left the shop hurriedly, putting the phone to his ear. I heard him pass Geoffrey in the entrance hall doing his bit as a tour guide: showing a class of schoolchildren the haunted turret. He told them how the last Cray family had had the spiral staircase removed a century ago, because they could hear the Wailing Lady wandering them. It made me wonder who had scared Rebecca, and perhaps even Tess originally. I listened to the kids go about the corridors of the Cray, screaming intermittently, trying to frighten one another. I found myself reminiscing dolefully my own adventures here at that age.

  For my break I took a snack to the main courtyard and sat on a bench opposing the padlocked cellar doors. Rows of arched windows pierced the enclosing redbrick walls, while the rising White Tower disappeared into the fog above. It was cold out, but the staffroom was a boring stuffy shell and I didn’t have time to wander far.
Frances noticed me from an adjacent corridor and came to ask how I was settling in.

  ‘I won’t stay out long, Alex, my coat is inside. But you look like you need a warmer one yourself.’

  ‘Maybe next payday,’ I smiled, shovelling in more pasta.

  I don’t know from which direction he came, but Thom poked his head out the door to one side of the alley and shouted, ‘Who gave you that fork?’ he demanded, looking straight at me.

  Instinctively my eyes drew down to it.

  ‘Doesn’t anybody know you’re not allowed sharp instruments?’ he continued, shaking his head. ‘Frances? – don’t we have any sponge forks, or foam spoons for the new inmate?’

  ‘Foam what?’ she enquired.

  ‘Never mind!’ He smirked and went back inside whistling a tune.

  ‘Oh!’ She laughed, rubbing her arms to keep warm. ‘He’s a character.’

  ‘Certainly is. A very changeable one.’

  ‘Changeable is the right word,’ she said. ‘Now I’ve got to go and hug a radiator. See you in a bit.’

  On the bus home I phoned my best friend, Beth. We’d gone to school together and Stacey was our mutual friend. Back then Stacey depended on Beth for help with almost everything, to the point where she’d starve than get lunch by herself in the canteen. If I had a pound for every time I just did things for her out of impatience… whereas Beth always took greater pains to encourage her to do them for herself. She would still be playing Miss Helpless now if Beth had time to take notice. As it was, Beth had a young daughter and was training as a nurse.

  ‘That’s so spooky!’ were her first words on answering my call. ‘I was just thinking to ring you. How’s the new job going? I heard from Stacey yesterday.’ She started giggling, almost uncontrollably. She had an infectious laugh. I knew what she was thinking.

  ‘She seems okay there. Steady as a leaf,’ I joked. ‘Seriously though, she hasn’t run out screaming or anything.’

  ‘Yet!’ Beth added. ‘She was talking about going out this Sunday if you fancy doing something? My mum’s offered to baby-sit.’

  ‘Well, she did say she’d visit London Dungeons now. I don’t know if she was serious, but we could do that.’

  ‘God! She is on a fright fest!’ She laughed. ‘Well I’m game, but she’d better not expect me to hold her hand. We could drive to yours in the morning and catch a train from there.’

  We agreed a time and chatted a little before she had to go. My train of thought was that moment derailed. I stepped off the bus and saw Mark across the road, standing outside one of the local pubs: The Grapevine. Recollection grasped me – the strange behaviour, the insult, the phone call. He chatted to a robust man with a goatee who smoked a cigarette.

  I couldn’t help glancing over as I walked. Mark looked up and I saw him fix his eyes on me. They widened as he recognised me. His body automatically shifted in the direction of cover. He withdrew from my sight quickly, as if he were Doctor Frankenstein and I was the abhorred fiend he longed never to encounter again. He tried to obscure himself within the porch and behind part of his companion. He did not succeed but the effort was to assure me I was not welcome. While Mark turned the other way, the fat man with the goatee looked over to me, as if told to. How can I describe the look this stranger gave me? From it I gathered enough: I was clearly both the topic of their discussion and the object of their disgust. I didn’t look over again. I turned into the next street.

  Utterly offended, I felt the unjustness of it, especially with the involvement of a new stranger in some secret kept from me. But what could I do? It was his problem and I would endeavour to let it never bother me to that extent again.

  Five

  CREATURES OF THE NIGHT

  ‘Satan has his companions, fellow-devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am solitary and detested.’

  – Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

  Mrs Evans assigned me to the shop and Stacey to the front desk on Saturday, much to our disappointment; we thought we’d be working together. Since the front desk allowed more freedom to explore the house, I naturally preferred it.

  Mrs Evans’s flushed face appeared before me in the gift shop. I sensed my luck was about to change for the better.

  ‘Alex, I need you to swap with Stacey. She’s such a silly thing! There’s a noise, she says, that’s scaring her. I couldn’t hear anything when I went round, but she said it’s off and on. She’s very uncomfortable to stay there today, so I said you would switch with her as you’re not so fragile about these things.’

  More than happy to oblige I went round to find Stacey shaking at the desk, her face drained of colour.

  ‘You can relax, Stace, I’ve come to relieve you.’ I smiled. ‘Mrs Evans is terrified you’ll quit, so she’s about ready to do anything to keep you happy. What’s this noise then?’

  ‘Oh, don’t make fun, Alex!’

  ‘I’m not making fun.’

  ‘It’s really creepy! It sounds like a fingernail tapping on the wall, over there!’ She pointed to the wood panelling directly opposite.

  ‘Maybe someone was hammering a nail in on the other side?’

  ‘No – the room on the other side is empty. I checked. I’m not that stupid or wimpy. I’m sure it’s something paranormal, because it’s coming from inside the wall! – But you’ll be okay,’ she said, jumping up, ‘because those kind of things don’t freak you out.’

  ‘Well, if I hear it I’ll see if I can work it out for you.’

  Stacey waltzed off with the colour returning to her cheeks.

  The moment she was gone and I sat down…

  Tap – tap – tap

  There it was, a hollow knock drumming out of the wall. After a while, I went to investigate the room behind it. Empty. Silent. I returned to my desk where it soon got quite annoying.

  ‘Yet another foggy day out!’ said Frances on seeing me sat there.

  ‘The Cray does seem to be a magnet for gloom,’ I replied, glancing out the window.

  ‘It must be because it’s situated at the foot of the hill.’

  ‘It never used to be so drab, though. I used to come here all the time and I don’t remember one foggy day.’

  ‘Hmm. Lots of people say it’s been incessantly gloomy for a couple of years now. Very strange, I suppose.’

  ‘Speaking of strange,’ I said, ‘do you know what that drumming noise is?’

  She listened from the desk. ‘I can’t hear anything.’

  ‘It’s stopped again!’ I rose from my chair. ‘Weird! It’s been coming from that wall.’ I pointed.

  ‘Remember, Alex,’ she said with a steady voice, unable to conceal a look of concern. ‘Many people report hearing and seeing odd things in this place. Try to take it all with a pinch of salt.’

  ‘It’s not so much odd as it is annoying. It’s like Chinese water torture.’ I rubbed my forehead.

  Right on cue, it would seem, Thom approached from the other end of the hallway. Evidently, he’d heard part of our conversation, of course. He half-smiled, looking only at one of us.

  ‘I warned you, Frances’ – he ringed his temple with his index finger – ‘she’s a basket case.’ He continued strolling until he was out the main door.

  She seemed unsurprised by his overfamiliarity on this occasion. Perhaps she’d decided, as I had, the best action was to try to ignore him.

  The morning post came and most of it was for Mrs Evans. One letter was addressed to a Mr George Oldham, Curator.

  ‘That’ll be for Thom,’ said Frances. ‘He’s our curator. George hasn’t worked here for years. Just pass it on to Thom, or Dan, his assistant.’

  ‘Oh. So Dan works for Thom. I’ll certainly try and get the thing to Dan if I can avoid being called a maniac again.’

  Frances giggled. ‘Well, you won’t get any personal mail for Thom. His own mail gets taken round the back.’

  ‘His personal mail?’

  ‘He’s a tenant here,’ she said, as if I should know t
hat.

  ‘At the Gatekeepers Lodge?’ I asked, looking out the small side window to the barely discernible cottage across the east lawn.

  ‘No, the caretaker lives there. Thom lives upstairs.’

  ‘I never realised people could live here, I mean, actually in the house.’

  ‘It’s not uncommon.’ She shook her head. ‘Although usually it’s a descendant of the original family, or the owners themselves who get an income from exhibiting the house and historic artefacts. I don’t know how anyone could live in an old house like this, though.’ Frances feigned a shiver of the shoulders. ‘I couldn’t stand to myself, nice as it is, and a great place to work. It’s too deep and dark for me. It would bring me down.’

  I was at that moment thinking how I would love to live at such a place as Halton Cray.

  ‘The estate manager lives in that house over by the stables, but you hardly ever see her.’

  Just as she said this Mrs Evans strolled past and subjoined: ‘If there’s anything she manages so well, it’s managing to stay out of sight.’ And the woman was gone, out the main door, a pack of cigarettes in her hand.

  Frances carried on talking to me.

  ‘Thom lives in what used to be the servants quarters. The last Lady of the house made apartments out of certain upper rooms at the back. Only Thom lives up there now, because the opportunity was given to him when his predecessor left. It’s at the very back, in the attic space above the southwest rooms. His post goes in at that little black door near the alleyway to the courtyard. In fact, I have some time – well, give me five minutes and then meet me in the Colman Smith Gallery. I’ll show you Thom’s office.’

  Good, I thought. While Thom was out of the building I could leave the letter on his desk.

  The moment Frances walked away, the horrid tap – tap – tap returned opposite. I got up now and made my way towards the house’s south extension, where many whitewashed rooms were generally used for modern art exhibitions. These usually bored me quickly. I found more interest in the originality of the house.

  Frances found me there and showed me Thom’s office to one side of the gallery. With the door closed, she didn’t seem to want to knock.