The Haunted Lady

by Bill Kitson

  Eve pointed to our left, where a somewhat forlorn figure was standing.

  Not only was Michael bereft of his fiancée’s company, but even his mother seemed to have deserted him. Despite that, I doubted whether his solitude was the reason for his downcast appearance.

  ‘Mother has returned to the vicarage,’ he told us in answer to Eve’s question. ‘News of the discovery of another body quite unnerved her, so I lent her my car, because I wanted to have a word with you. I said I would call her from the phone box when I was ready to go back to Elmfield.’

  He paused and took a deep breath before adding, ‘Chloe wants to break off our engagement because she says it is unfair to hold me to it when we can’t get married.’

  That explained his glum expression. I judged the time was ripe for a little robust but friendly advice. ‘I hope you refuted the suggestion and told her you were not prepared to release her from the promise she made.’

  ‘I didn’t have time to answer her. Before I could say anything, her aunt and uncle whisked her off to Elmfield Grange. All I could do was to say that I would meet her there later.’

  He was right, I reflected, Kershaw and his wife hadn’t hung around once the news of the murder became known. Was that significant? I concentrated on Michael, who still didn’t seem too hopeful of being able to resolve the problem with Chloe. ‘I suggest you tell her straight that you refuse to accept her decision. These things never run smoothly. Tell her if all else fails you’ll abduct her and hold her prisoner until she agrees to your demands.’

  Eve added, ‘Adam is right, the course of true love is beset with problems. I had no end of difficulty getting Adam to the altar. I had to help him solve a string of murders and all but force myself on him before he agreed to don a suit and walk down the aisle.’

  That made him smile, so I seized the chance to make a suggestion. ‘Why don’t we take you back to the vicarage? That will save your mother having to come back into town specially, and give her chance to put the kettle on. When we get there you could phone Elmfield Grange and we could take you there this afternoon. We could distract Kershaw and his wife, which would give you opportunity to talk to Chloe on your own. The rest is up to your powers of persuasion.’

  ‘I think that’s a great idea, Adam,’ Eve approved. ‘What do you say, Michael?’

  ‘I agree, and thank you both. Anything’s worth a try.’

  We waited for Michael to phone his mother about the change of plan. I reflected that Dinsdale, like many rural areas, had not suffered like bigger towns and cities, where phone boxes regularly fell victim to the attack of vandals. Then I thought of the crime scene we had just left and revised my opinion.

  Chapter Eight

  On our way out of Dinsdale, Michael asked me to slow down as I approached the parish church. ‘There’s something I’d like to show you before we go to the vicarage.’

  ‘Can we have a look inside the church?’ I asked, partly as a distraction for Michael from his woes, but also because I was more than a little curious about the apparition said to frequent the Lady chapel.

  ‘That was what I had in mind,’ Michael agreed. ‘If you turn right down that lane there are plenty of parking spaces.’

  Although I had passed Dinsdale Parish Church many times, I had never examined the building closely, merely registering the fact that it was a cruciform church and from a glance seemed fairly ancient. As I pulled into a space opposite the lych-gate leading to the graveyard, Michael filled us in with a little background information.

  ‘There has been a place of worship on this site since Saxon times.’

  His voice registered more enthusiasm than I had heard from him previously, except perhaps when he was referring to Chloe. ‘The original building is believed to have been a wooden construction, but of course this one is much larger.’

  ‘I can’t say that surprises me,’ Eve retorted, ‘this one is more like a young cathedral.’

  As we got out of the car I had chance to inspect the building. Eve was quite correct, it was certainly very impressive.

  ‘It is a little on the grandiose side, admittedly,’ Michael replied, ‘but that’s down to the wishes of the benefactor. A case of “he who pays the piper calls the tune”. However, if you ever get the chance to drive through rural Norfolk you’ll see quite a number of even larger churches than this, all serving small village communities. Even if all the parishioners went to the services – which is almost unheard of these days – they’d never fill those churches.’

  Distracting him from a prospective sermon on the present day’s godless society, I asked when the building dated from.

  ‘Construction work started during the first decade of the twelfth century, although it took a long time to finish it. It was completed to the order of the lady of the manor, Lady Mary Beaumont, widow of Sir Thomas Beaumont. Both she and her husband were Normans, of course, and it is believed that she influenced the design of the building, the conditions attached to it, and the dedication of the church to St Mary Magdalene.’

  ‘What do you mean about “the conditions attached to it”?’ Eve asked.

  ‘One of the stipulations in Lady Mary’s bequest was that part of the transept should be devoted to a Lady chapel, which would be both a place of worship and sanctuary for female parishioners.’

  I could tell that the vicar had mounted his hobby horse and was about to set off at a brisk gallop.

  ‘It sounds as if Lady Mary was an early feminist,’ I said.

  Michael laughed. ‘You could say that. It’s interesting that some local rumours suggest that the supposed apparition could be the ghost of Lady Mary inspecting the building she had paid so handsomely towards. Other stories are of a somewhat ... darker nature.’

  We waited for him to elaborate, but to our surprise he failed to do so. By then we had crossed the churchyard, which was enclosed by a ring of ancient yew trees, the trunks of which were several feet in diameter. As we stood in the entrance to the porch waiting for the vicar to open the door, I glanced back. The grassed churchyard was immaculately kept. This must have been no simple task given the number of stones marking the burial places of former parishioners.

  Michael removed a large key from his pocket and fitted into the lock on one side of the heavy, studded oak door. We followed him into the church and, as we entered the building, the first thing I noticed was the drop in temperature. It was a hot day outside, but inside the church was an oasis of coolness.

  Looking across the nave, I saw a hatchment bearing a coat of arms. As this was in stone, I guessed it to be that of the church’s patron. I glanced towards the chancel, where the nave was flanked by huge stone pillars that rose to support an arch-beam roof. The craftsmanship was superb and must have taken many hours of patient labour. Both arms of the transept were separated from the nave by elaborately carved wooden screens that rose to the roof. Eve gestured towards them. ‘Those screens are magnificent.’

  ‘They’re called parcloses,’ I informed her.

  ‘That’s right,’ Michael confirmed, eyeing me with approval. ‘Do you know a bit about church architecture, Adam?’

  ‘Don’t encourage him,’ Eve muttered.

  It was enough of a challenge to be irresistible. ‘I know about flying buttresses, castellated battlements, ashlars, quoins and fan vaults,’ I said with a touch of smugness. ‘I had a teacher who was a bit of a fanatic.’

  ‘I did try to warn you,’ Eve told the vicar. ‘Adam loves airing his knowledge, but all that really means is that there was one lesson he didn’t sleep through.’

  Eve can always be relied upon to bring me down to earth – usually with a bump.

  Michael signalled to his left, towards the north wing of the building. ‘That screen divides the nave from the Lady chapel. The other transept is used for small events these days, bible studies, confirmation classes and so forth. However, we stay true to Lady Mary’s wishes and the chapel is still reserved for female parishioners to use. It is inside
the Lady chapel that the apparitions have been seen.’ He paused and added with a smile, ‘Before you ask, none of those who witnessed the figure had been at the communion wine beforehand.’

  The empty church echoed to the sound of our laughter. We walked forward and as we reached the transept got our first proper view of the Lady chapel, though on a much smaller scale, like the rest of the building it was impressive. Before the altar, which was a miniature replica of the one in the chancel, twin rows of pews, six in number were positioned for the worshippers.

  We moved into the chapel, passing two small windows on the side walls, and our attention was drawn immediately to one of the most magnificent stained-glass windows I’d ever seen. The window was even more eye-catching than its larger counterpart behind the altar in the chancel, possibly because it dominated the enclosed space. It almost filled the north wall completely. I gasped aloud, a sound that was echoed by Eve. Michael smiled with satisfaction. ‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is truly superb,’ I breathed. The window was in three sections or lights, divided by mullions, vertical stone columns. Above the main panels, the upper sections consisted of a series of armorial decorations. The greater part of the window contained depictions of easily identifiable scenes from the New Testament, with the centrepiece being a portrayal of The Crucifixion. Despite the difficult material used, the craftsman had succeeded in capturing Christ’s agony on the cross dramatically.

  We stared in awed silence for a long time before either of us spoke. Eve found her voice first.

  ‘You’re right, Adam, it is absolutely magnificent.’

  Her voice was hushed, barely more than a whisper, which befitted our surroundings as well as the depth of her feelings.

  After a while the spell was eased, if not entirely broken, and we had chance to look around at the rest of the chapel, our object to attempt to trace the origin of the ghostly figure. Nothing seemed untoward, and there was certainly no clue as to what might have caused the unexplained appearances. The only thing that struck me was the atmosphere. Admittedly that side of the church would be in full sunlight less than the rest of the building, but that fact certainly wouldn’t account for the much lower temperature in there. I noticed Eve shiver, so obviously the sensation wasn’t a product of what she is fond of referring to as my overactive imagination.

  As we made our way past the pews towards the main body of the church, I noticed a strip of wood that was fixed vertically to the stonework. It was about four feet in length, and appeared to serve neither a useful nor a decorative function. I frowned, perplexed as I tried to think what it might be for. In the end, defeated, I signalled towards the timber. ‘What is that?’ I asked the vicar.

  Michael was silent for a moment. ‘That is all that remains of the church’s darkest mystery – excluding the ghost, of course. That piece of wood was placed there to support the frame of a painting. The picture hung from it via a pair of hinges that allowed it to be turned.’

  It took a moment for the significance of this to sink in. ‘Do I take it that this painting was the diptych your mother described, the one that went missing?’

  Michael nodded. ‘Yes, that was the mystery I referred to. There was an image on both surfaces, front and back, and both portrayals were of Mary Magdalene. In the first she is grieving for Christ following the Crucifixion and in the second she has seen him after the Resurrection. It may seem like silly sentimentality but, although the painting disappeared a long time ago, nobody has the heart to remove that wooden support.’

  He paused and sighed heavily. ‘I suppose people are hoping that somehow the lost work will turn up at some point, and I can’t summon up the courage to tell them that the age of miracles is past. Besides which,’ he added with a wry smile, ‘I’m not sure it falls within a priest’s duty to disillusion his parishioners.’

  ‘I’m not sure you’re right,’ I told him. ‘Perhaps miracles do still happen, all they need is a little helping hand sometimes.’

  ‘Does anyone know exactly what happened to it?’ Eve asked. ‘I assume everyone believes it was stolen.’

  ‘I think theft remains the only logical explanation, but if that’s the case, it seems like a terrible act of sacrilege.’

  Michael had a point, I suppose, and I reflected on it as we made our way to the church door. I looked back at the interior one more time. It would take a particularly low character to commit such a wicked act, that was true, but as we had so recently seen the evidence of even greater evil, I was perhaps not as shocked as might otherwise be so by the theft of a painting, or, I corrected my thoughts, two paintings.

  We waited in the porch again, savouring the last of the cool air as Michael closed and locked the church door. Having grasped the ring handle he pulled it sharply, probably the only way to move such a heavy piece of timber. The sound of the door colliding with the frame was sufficient to have an immediate effect, startling a lone bird that had been waddling amongst the tombstones. At the same time, as I glanced to my left, I saw the stranger yet again, standing unobtrusively in the shadow of one of the ancient yew trees, staring towards the church.

  ‘That man gets everywhere,’ I muttered.

  Simultaneously, the bird, disturbed by the slamming of the door took flight, and flew directly across the churchyard from where the man had been only a second earlier. Seeing it caused Eve to call out loudly, ‘Good morning, Mr Magpie,’ at the same time saluting the bird. I was amused by her adoption of the countryside tradition of greeting a lone magpie with respect in order to ward off ill-fortune. Then she looked at me.

  ‘What man?’ she demanded.

  I pointed towards the yew, but the stranger had vanished as abruptly as the magpie. ‘Didn’t you see him, Eve? What about you, Michael? He was standing under that yew tree, just to the right of the lych-gate.’

  ‘I certainly didn’t. I was busy locking up. I only turned round when Eve greeted the magpie.’

  ‘There was nobody there when I looked,’ Eve told me, ‘are you sure you haven’t made it up, Adam? Perhaps it was a trick of the light, or something, a moving shadow possibly.’

  ‘No, he was there, I’m certain of it. What’s more, it isn’t the first time I’ve seen him by any means. He was outside the museum earlier this morning for one thing.’

  I explained the other occasions when I’d seen the stranger and described his clothing, but it failed to register with either of them. It was only when I saw them eyeing me curiously that I realised that they were probably wondering if I, too, was beginning to see ghostly apparitions. I gave up the vain attempt to convince them otherwise and headed for the car.

  When we reached the vicarage, we found that Marjorie Phillips, in addition to brewing a large pot of tea, had also made a huge mound of sandwiches. ‘Blimey, Mum,’ Michael protested, ‘you didn’t have to take the feeding of the five thousand so literally.’

  ‘I suppose I did get carried away.’ She turned to us and explained, ‘After my husband died and Michael went to university I’ve only had to cater for myself. One gets out of practice in providing for others.’

  It was a poignant reminder of how lonely an existence life for someone left on their own could be. I reflected on this sad fact until we were invited to tuck in. Having missed out on the gateau earlier, I was able to oblige. Once we had disposed of all but the foothills of the sandwich mountain, we took our mugs of tea into the lounge, which looked out over the rear of the house, where the well-tended lawns sloped down towards a small brake of weeping willow trees that fringed the stream in the distance. It was a delightful view and, as we sat sipping our tea, I reflected that there must be many worse ways of earning a living than being a parson with a rural parish.

  I listened unashamedly as Michael made his phone call to Elmfield Grange. From the tone of the conversation it was obvious that he was meeting with some resistance to his plan to call on his beloved. ‘I have to see you, Chloe,’ Michael insisted, ‘we can’t leave things as they
are.’ There was a pause and then he said, ‘No, Chloe, it can’t wait. It is much too important to me. No, I have to come with them. I lent my car to Mother.’

  His last statement wasn’t actually untrue, it simply wasn’t the whole truth. Michael had indeed lent the car to his mother, but only for her to return to the vicarage. ‘Very well,’ he told her eventually, ‘we’ll be there at four o’clock.’

  He put the phone down and looked across at us a little anxiously. ‘I hope I did the right thing. Is four o’clock all right for you? I had a bit of trouble persuading her. It wasn’t that Chloe was against the idea but her aunt and uncle aren’t too keen on visitors. They only agreed because it was you. According to what Chloe said, they want to talk to you.’

  I wondered what we’d done to be singled out, especially in view of the less than rapturous greeting we had received earlier.

  As we were chatting to the vicar and his mother, Eve seized on the opportunity to tease me further about the apparition that only I had seen. ‘You told us about some of Michael’s parishioners having seen ghosts,’ she told Marjorie, ‘but it seems they aren’t the only ones. Adam has also started seeing people who aren’t there too, and near Dinsdale Church, which makes it even spookier.’ She gestured with her hands and uttered a sort of moaning noise which I suppose must have been her idea of how a ghost might sound. ‘Actually, to be fair to him, Adam also reckons he’s seen the ghost elsewhere on several occasions. The fact that nobody else has witnessed this mysterious vision doesn’t seem to have registered with Adam, poor soul.’

  Not unnaturally, Marjorie was extremely curious, and asked Eve what form the apparition took.

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ Eve replied with a wicked glance in my direction, ‘you’d better ask the expert. The ghost has chosen to appear to Adam, not me.’

  I bore the jibes patiently, resolving, however, to get my own back at the first possible opportunity. The chance came much sooner than I could have hoped for. ‘I first noticed him when we were getting off the train,’ I told Marjorie. ‘I was helping you get your suitcase onto the platform and saw him a bit further along. I thought at the time that he looked lost, but it was his appearance that registered with me. The man was wearing a leather jacket and hat. I remember thinking how out of place he looked. The next time I saw him was a few days ago in Dinsdale town centre, then at the museum this morning, and later outside the church.’