Witch Dust

by Marilyn Messik

  “Breakfast.”

  “Enter.” She said. Sod it, I thought.

  “I’m sorry, you’ll have to open the door for me,” I said, “No hands free.” There was a lengthy pause, during which I could feel my sinews straining, then the door swung open and I surged in, desperate to find a surface on which to put the ruddy thing down. It was only because I had no strength left in leg or lung that I didn’t immediately turn tail and flee, screaming. The room was choc-a-bloc, full of people.

  I’m not much given to hysterics, that’s always been Ophelia’s area of expertise and even as a child, I was aware I couldn’t compete, but at this point I was seriously contemplating trying. In my defense, I was tired and it had been, to put it mildly, somewhat of an eventful couple of days, so it took me a good few moments of noisy hyperventilating before I realized what I was surrounded by – they were models, sculptures. And they were good, incredibly good. Standing, sitting, lying, each one totally individual and bursting with petrified life. Full size figures; truncated torsos; faces, numerous differently featured faces – some masks, others full heads – and, reaching from shelves ranged up and down the walls, dozens and dozens of artfully created arms and hands of every shape and size, filling every available space, beseeching, forbidding, beckoning – all with the same incredible quality of movement.

  She’d cleared a small space on a table and on it I plonked the tray. As initial shock diminished, I could see the room was double the size of the other two I’d been in on this floor. Longer and with two of the skylight arrangements, allowing sunshine to flood in unimpeded. In the far corner, under the dormer roof and guarded on either side by more silent white figures, was a neatly made bed. Call me Sherlock, but the room didn’t feel like that of a woman who’d just popped in for a weekend leisure break.

  “Who the hell are you?” I demanded.

  “Felicia. Who the hell are you?”

  “Sandra. Ophelia’s daughter.”

  “Ophelia, gracious, haven’t seen her for a while, you don’t look much like her, do you? Is she here too?”

  “Downstairs.”

  “Really? Well, tell her I’ll try and get down to see her later.” She’d moved back to the door, holding it open and clearly waiting for me to leave. “Thank you for breakfast.”

  “I thought you were a guest.” I said resentfully,

  “I know.” She said, and shut the door firmly behind me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Halfway back down the stairs, I expelled a shaky laugh. I hadn’t even been a complete twenty-four hours in this wretched place, but most of that time had been spent scared witless or ready to commit aggravated homicide with the nearest weapon to hand. I know they say you can choose your friends, but not your relations – even so, I felt fate had dealt me a poor hand. On the plus side though, when it came to putting haunted hotel plans into action, I reckoned I’d have more than enough special effects to do the business and then some. Pulling myself together, I decided to take a swift look at the rooms on the first floor, just to check whether there were any more, up-till-now, unmet family members lurking.

  The room Ophelia and I had occupied last night was now, in the daylight, a little musty and dusty, but nothing a bit of fresh air and a judicious application of polish wouldn’t banish. It had a large window overlooking the garden and each of the two beds had its own material-draped bedside table and pink over-fringed lamp. That the bedspreads bore evidence of long use and clashed more than slightly with curtains boasting a bilious orange motif, wasn’t the end of the world. The room was also big enough to take a neat, two-seater sofa and low table, set in front of a fireplace. Above the mantelpiece hung an oval gilt, mercifully cherub-less mirror and placed at various intervals on the walls, were a couple of landscapes and a still life – an assortment of vegetables on a table with a very dead pheasant hanging folornly over the edge. There was though more importantly, an en-suite bathroom and if, as Ophelia had remarked disparagingly last night it was hardly big enough to swing a cat, it was to be hoped most people coming for a few days R and R, wouldn’t want to. I made a note on my pad to organise the purchase of some good bath sheets. The towel I’d used, after standing for a long time under the feeble shower earlier that morning, was less effective than if I’d drip dried, and I’m a firm believer that the shortcomings of any bathroom can always be ameliorated by a thick and thirsty, body-swamping sheet.

  There were twelve rooms in total on this level, ranged along two corridors which ran from either side of the galleried balcony. Additional doors at the farthest end of each corridor turned out to be sizeable cupboards, unevenly stacked with linen and towels.

  I reflected that this whole property, together with its extensive grounds, must be worth a fair old bit, I’d have to find out if they were already mortgaged to the hilt, or whether that could be a way of them getting some money in hand to fix things – I presumed Roland would be the best person to ask, and made a note to tackle him.

  The six doors to my left were all unlocked and obviously destined for guest use. A couple of them even had four poster beds – great selling point, we could charge more for those and, best of all, they too had their own bathrooms – cramped, true, and certainly nothing to write home about, but there nevertheless, which always beats having to tramp self-consciously down a corridor, complete with towel and toilet bag. I reckoned if luxury was the market we were aiming for, we’d miss by a mile, but we could probably scrape by reasonably well on full-of-character, with good food – Gladys and friends permitting!

  Continuing along the right-hand side of the stairs I opened another door onto Devorah, nursing baby Simona. I apologised, but she cheerfully waved me in. Her room, as I might have imagined, was chaotic with clothes strewn everywhere and a distinct odour which, as I moved over to the window to look at the view, I put down to the discarded nappy on the floor. Simona, happily latched on, showed no inclination to let go but followed me with her eyes as I moved around, little jaws working firmly, matching her mother’s mastication of the ever-present chewing gum.

  “Well?” Devorah said.

  “Well what?”

  “Are we standing by for hordes of guests yet?”

  “Give me a chance – look do you mind if we talk while you’re er…” I indicated Simona who managed the admirable feat of grinning at me, without for one second stopping what she was doing.

  “Fire away, she’ll be on for ages.”

  “I met Henry.” I said.

  “He needs some slapping down.”

  “I noticed. And then I met Felicia.”

  “Ah!”

  “Thought she was a guest.” I said wryly, “I took breakfast up.” Devorah pealed with laughter, shaking Simona up and down as she did.

  “Way to go, Felicia.”

  “Who is she anyway?”

  “Mimi’s sister, Etty’s other daughter. There were three of them originally, Mimi, Felicia and my Grandmother, Phoebe, who was the youngest.”

  “And where’s Phoebe now?” I asked apprehensively.

  “Dead – years ago.” Said Devorah cheerfully. “When Bella was like just a baby, though Etty’s always clammed up whenever I’ve asked about her. Bella was too young to know anything and Mimi’s always so damn vague. But I know Phoebe wasn’t married when she had Bella – big no-no then of course, shit-storm all round. Far as I can gather, Mimi brought Bella up, alongside Ophelia and Roland – God help them all, surprising they turned out so normal.” I snorted, I had my own views on that.

  “Obviously, Etty’s always been around to oversee.” She added. I had my views on that as well, maternal wasn’t the first word that sprang to mind whenever I thought of Etty.

  “And Mimi’s husband?” I couldn’t help but be curious – my Grandfather, after all. Devorah turned her mouth down.

  “Roger?” She shook her he
ad dismissively. “Not good news. Real charmer at first glance apparently, looked very much like Roland does now, but with one of those funny thin moustaches, you know, looks like it’s been put on with eyeliner – I’ve seen photos – bit film-starrish I s’pose he was. Good looker, smooth talker, full of big ideas and money-making schemes, but Etty took against him from the start. Didn’t want Mimi to have anything to do with him. Mimi wouldn’t have it, besotted I gather. Anyway, there were ructions and in the end they eloped, got married, came back when she was pregnant with Ophelia. Don’t know all the ins and outs, although I think Etty was as far from thrilled as it’s possible to get, but because she didn’t trust him, thought they’d be better under her eye than not, so she let them move in.” She shivered theatrically, “Must have been frigging frosty around here for a while.”

  “And what happened?” I asked.

  “He was a thoroughly snide piece of work apparently, up to all sorts and not always on the right side of the law either. Spiteful too; once they were married and he had his feet under the table, the charm went out the window. He was supposed to be in some kind of property business I think, but I don’t know that anybody ever saw him do a day’s work. Course, this is all only what I’ve picked up over the years, but he didn’t treat Mimi well.

  “What, violent?”

  “Don’t think it was ever anything physical, more like, you know, emotional stuff, there’s a special name for that, isn’t there?”

  “Abusive?”

  “No… well yes… but Etty called it something else, talking to Bella once, didn’t realise I was just outside the room, listening to the whole conversation – gaslighting, she said, that’s what he was doing. It stuck in my head because it sounded so odd. It was all like, showing her up, putting her down, making her think she’d forgotten things, unpleasant, nasty stuff. She was pregnant and not having an easy time and even when the baby – Ophelia – arrived, she found it difficult to cope, maybe a bit of post-natal depression, no surprise under the circs. Anyway, he had her convinced she was a sandwich short of a picnic.”

  “And isn’t she?” I asked, from what I’d seen, it certainly looked that way. Devorah frowned at me sharply.

  “She may be now, but I don’t think she was then and you shouldn’t be so flipping quick to judge. I know she plays the daft old bint, but there’s more to her than meets the eye. She was beautiful you know, Ophelia looks like her, I’ve seen pictures – that’s what pulled him in, in the first place I suppose.”

  “So, what happened?” I leaned forward.

  “Well, I think Mimi kept trying to make a go of it, don’t think she could bear to let Etty see how right she’d been, and they went on to have Roland, but things got worse and worse. He and Etty were always daggers drawn, then one day he upped and offed.”

  “Upped and offed?” I repeated.

  “Yup, disappeared. Like, never,” she said with satisfaction, “Seen again.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “No-one knows.” She grimaced and winked, “Or if they do, no-one’s saying.” I stared at her, horrified but wondering and she laughed. “Oh don’t worry, it was all like above board, reported to the police and everything and a big hunt went on, but he just never turned up. Turned out he owed an unhealthy amount of money to the sort of people you really shouldn’t owe money to. The general thinking seemed to be, when no-one could find hide nor hair, he’d gone one step too far, once too often and…” She drew her finger swiftly across her throat. “For God’s sake though, don’t try asking Etty or Mimi about him. Mimi’ll have hysterics and Etty’ll clam up.” She removed Simona, who let go reluctantly, but only after a struggle, and started patting her on the back. “Anyway, why you so interested, it was all way before our time.” The baby let out an enormous belch and looked startled but pleased, and Devorah planted a congratulatory kiss on the top of her head. “Clever girl.” She said and put her on to the other breast, before turning back to me. “If you want, there are some brilliant old photo albums down in the library, they go back years, some of the photos are like – whatdoyoucall’em, funny-coloured things.”

  “Sepia?”

  “Yeah, I’ll show you sometime if you want.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t plan to be around too long, as you know. Although,” a thought occurred, “I wonder if I could take out some of the photos, get them framed and hung – nothing like a bit of sepia for atmosphere – the Americans love that sort of thing. And if Etty won’t talk to me about family history, I can find out more from Felicia.”

  “Shouldn’t think so.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll be lucky if you ever see her again.”

  “No, she’s coming down later. Said she’d be down to see Ophelia.” Devorah laughed, jiggling breast and baby all over again.

  “Felicia doesn’t come downstairs.”

  “What? Never?”

  “S’right. Some kind of a disappointment with a man – don’t know exact details, as I said, everyone’s always so damn secretive around here, you’d think they all worked for bloody MI5. Anyway, she took to her room – and I mean, like in a big way. Hasn’t stepped outside the door in twenty years.” My mouth dropped open as I digested this.

  “You’re kidding me. Bathroom?”

  “Up there, leads off her room.”

  “Eating?”

  “She’s got a little gas ring I think and a sink. Elizabeth buys whatever stuff she needs, leaves it outside the door – Felicia usually won’t open up while anybody’s around, nobody’s been in her room for years, that’s why I couldn’t believe you’d seen her.”

  “Well, she let me take her breakfast in.”

  “No! You’re kidding me. You actually went in? What the hell does she do in there? I hear her thumping around at all hours.”

  “She sculpts.”

  “Scalps?”

  “Sculpts! People, figures, brilliant stuff actually, gave me the most terrible shock.” I paused, terrible shock didn’t even begin to describe how my mind tried to rationalise what my eyes thought they were seeing. “But,” I said, “She must need clay and stuff in the first place, tools all that sort of thing.”

  “Elizabeth again I s’pose, or Alfred. Here, could you?” I looked up to see Simona, finally asleep, head lolling and a trickle of milk on her chin, sailing gently across the room towards me – I automatically put out my arms and she landed solidly in them, Devorah was buttoning her shirt.

  “Bloody hell, I wish you wouldn’t do that.” I said crossly.

  “Sorry, forgot.”

  “Not with other people, I hope?”

  “Course not, Etty’s dead strict about that. But you’re family.” I grimaced, no denying that unedifying fact. I transferred the sleeping, surprisingly heavy and delightfully warm armful to my shoulder. I’d never had much to do with babies, but this one seemed amenable enough and happy to be pass the parcel. I absently rubbed her back as being the sort of thing I’d seen people do and she rewarded me with another fulsome belch.

  “Well done,” said Devorah, to both of us. “You can dump her now.” She nodded towards the cot in a corner of the room with a helicopter and teddy mobile, gently turning in the breeze from the window. I carefully laid the sleeping baby down and covered her with the blanket. When I turned, I saw Devorah had flopped on to the bed in similar boneless fashion. Catching my expression, she was defensive,

  “Night feeds, I’m shattered.”

  “Two more quick questions – where do Elizabeth and Gladys sleep?”

  “Gladys has a room at the back of the annexe – you know, where Bella has her studio. Elizabeth and Alfred have a cottage in the grounds, other side of the pond, well Etty calls it the lake but it’s really not that big. You can’t see the cottage from here, hidden by trees.”

  “And the lake b
elongs to the house?”

  “S’right.” She already had her eyes closed.

  “Listen, I want all of us to meet up, in the library this evening, about 5.00 – Devorah, d’you hear me?” She grunted, which I took to be assent and I shut the door gently behind me, heading downstairs just as Ophelia emerged from the kitchen corridor, looking like the cat that’d swiped the cream.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “There you are my pet.” Ophelia said, “Journalist mission done and dusted.”

  “You spoke to him?”

  “As instructed.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Everything you told me.”

  “How ‘scared’ were you?”

  “Sweetheart, I was Academy-Award-winning scared! And halfway through the conversation I had to ask him to just hang on while I ran and got a glass of water, because talking brought it back so vividly and I’d come over all dizzy.”

  “Well done, that woman.” We smiled at each other, a rare moment of accord.

  “What next?” She said. I looked at her in astonishment, usually one task a morning was all Ophelia liked to undertake before sloping off for an Earl Grey and a nap – not that different from Devorah, now I came to think about it. Still I wasn’t in a position to look any gift horses in the mouth.

  “I’m going to email the paper now.” I said. “You go and check Gladys and Elizabeth have got the kitchen cleaners in, before we poison anyone and make sure they’re doing a really thorough job.” She made a face, “Ma, I’m not asking you to put rubber gloves on and dig in – just see that they do. Also I want everyone together for a meeting at 5.00 this evening. It’s no good me organising all this if the family won’t co-operate, they’re the ones who are going to have to carry on with what I’m getting started. What’s the matter?” She was frowning,