The Haunting of Highdown Hall

by Shani Struthers

  In pursuit of this vision, Ruby had already discovered it was possible to purchase a website off the shelf, virtually speaking, and to set it up with very little technological know-how. So she had tried – and failed, dismally, her very little technological know-how obviously way too scant. “We all have our strengths”, her grandmother had soothed when Ruby had complained; but business was business, she needed a pro and fast. A shame then, that she couldn’t afford one. Although she charged for what they did, she had to, it didn’t seem ethical to charge too much, certainly not the fees surveyors of more earthly matters insisted upon. Theo, Ness and Corinna thought the same. Each of them agreed that theirs was a service as much as a business, hence their sliding scale of fees and the occasional client who wasn’t charged at all. Corinna didn’t rely solely on her wages from Psychic Surveys; she worked several shifts in a pub in Uckfield too. Theo was retired, and so had her pension. As for Ness, she seemed to have some private means of support, the source of which Ruby didn’t know and didn’t like to ask. Ruby had also worked part-time up until two years ago, in bars and shops mainly, even enduring a stint at Tesco stacking shelves. She’d never forget the store manager’s words to her on her first day:

  “Welcome to the graveyard shift,” he had said. If only he knew.

  Now, she was finally able to devote her time fully to Psychic Surveys, something she was grateful for, even if it did mean she had to rein in her lifestyle considerably: cut down on nights out, eat budget brands and only buy sale clothes, that sort of thing.

  Thankfully, the rent was low on this excuse of an office of hers, procured from a friend of a friend. Set right at the top of a draughty old building that dated back to Tudor times (despite its more recent Victorian façade), she had to climb three flights of stairs for the pleasure of boiling in summer and freezing in winter. One day they would occupy more visible, ground floor premises on Lewes’s historic high street, but for now they were stuck up under the eaves, in a room that, at best, could be described as ‘cosy’, although to be fair it would look much bigger if not for her desk. Made of yew, with an inlaid green leather top, she’d managed to get it for a bargain price at Ardingly Antiques Fair, due to its previous owners’ clumsy or careless natures. Her office chair was equally impressive; a captain’s chair, regal almost, even if horsehair did poke alarmingly out of its parched leather skin. She’d get the seat recovered when she could, but for now a cushion on top would have to do. Sometimes she wished she had chosen more compact furniture, but there was very little she could do about that now. It had taken two strong, obliging men from the solicitors’ below to haul that beast of a desk up here; there was no way she was going to risk their wrath by asking them to take it back down again. Perhaps she’d attack her books instead, there were far too many of them lining shelves, stacked against the walls, on top of the filing cabinet. Most of them dealt with paranormal matters, but far too many were much-loved novels that she’d brought into work to read when things were quiet and had never taken back home. Ruby was the proud owner of a somewhat eclectic collection; Stephen King and Dean Koontz sat alongside Lee Child and Marian Keyes. Some books she couldn’t bear to part with, some she knew she’d never read again. Culling the novels at least might make a difference.

  Ruby’s office was opposite the entrance to Lewes Castle, which was set slightly back from the High Street and reached via a small cobbled square. Sadly, the view from her tiny garret window was not of the grey and crumbling walls of the South and West Towers (all that remained of the imposing fortress built by the Normans after William the Conqueror’s victory in 1066), but of the sky, also grey more often than not, and only fleetingly punctuated by birds. If she stood on her chair she could just see the verdant South Downs that lay beyond the town, but her more usual view was Rowland Hilder’s ‘Morning Shadows over a Country Track’. ‘Borrowed’ from the family home, it graced the wall to the left of her desk – since childhood she had been fond of its oast house, autumnal fields and skeleton trees.

  It wasn’t only tomorrow that was going to be busy, today would be too. She had several reports to type up from various visits carried out last week, plus the team were coming in for their weekly meeting after lunch. Theo had been to assess a house in Sussex for a new client. Buried deep in the countryside, the house had once belonged to a famous film star, someone Theo had admired very much in her younger days. The current owner was spooked to say the least judging by his voice when Ruby had spoken to him on the phone last week. Theo had jumped at the chance of doing the initial survey and they were going to discuss her findings today. His was another word of mouth enquiry. It seemed, for the present at least, the lack of a website was hardly leaving them bereft. Psychic Surveys had never been busier. Which was worrying, really, when she thought about it; so many souls having trouble crossing the great divide, and for so many different reasons.

  Sighing, she returned to her laptop and began typing.

  ***

  “Hi, Ruby,” Ness said as she wandered into the office, heading straight for the kettle which lived on top of a second, much smaller desk, pushed up against the rear wall. Their ‘meeting desk’ as Ruby grandly called it – not an antique this time, but a cheap and cheerful purchase from Ikea around which the four of them would huddle together.

  “Cuppa?” she enquired.

  Ruby nodded her head enthusiastically. Her office had no radiators, only a Calor Gas heater blasting valiantly away. Despite it, she still felt cold – the early December chill permeating the poorly maintained walls of this ancient building and burying itself deep inside her bones.

  As Ness busied herself, Ruby typed the last few sentences of her report on a house in Southover Street, in the bustling city of Brighton, eight miles away. When they had visited, neither she nor Theo had sensed any ‘paranormal’ presence, so Ruby explained that after careful consideration it was their recommendation that the residents call in a plumber. Old pipes often explained the inexplicable, she typed – airlocks could be responsible for some very strange noises indeed. If that didn’t resolve matters, Psychic Surveys would visit again, at no extra cost. Finishing the last sentence, she had no idea whether Mr and Mrs Gill would be disappointed or relieved that there was an apparently ‘normal’ reason for what was happening in their house. It surprised her how often it was the former, as though people actively wanted dealings with the supernatural, to be able to boast to their family and friends that they lived in a haunted house perhaps – everyone loved a good ghost story after all. But dealing with supernatural matters was not what films such as Ghostbusters and Casper made it out to be. There were very few laughs involved and rarely any excitement – what there was, was a whole lot of sadness.

  Turning to Ness, whose winter pale, heart-shaped face was framed by black bobbed hair, most of which was still hidden beneath a woolly cap despite being indoors, Ruby said “The others should be here soon.”

  Right on cue, the ‘others’ walked in – Theo and Corinna. Theo, as ever, was a sight to behold. In her late sixties and almost as wide as she was tall, she was bedecked in an assortment of colourful gossamer scarves and a purple padded coat. Her hair should have been snow-white, but instead it was pink, a soft, tasteful shade of pink, but pink nonetheless. Whenever Ruby saw her, she couldn’t help but think of a line from Clement Clarke Moore’s famous poem, The Night Before Christmas, the one that referred to St Nick as ‘a right jolly old elf’ But Theo was no elfin-like creature; she was actually one of the most formidable women Ruby had ever met, an old-timer in the field. Although it was Ruby’s business, they often tended to take their cue from her.

  Corinna, by contrast, was the youngest of the group. Twenty-one, with a distinct penchant for black clothing, the only colourful thing about her was her long, almost Pre-Raphaelite auburn hair. Despite her preferred ‘gothic’ attire, she had a bubbly personality. Sensitive to the spirit world, she wanted to develop her psychic skills, to do her bit to ‘help’ the spirits when help was needed
. Although her work at Psychic Surveys was not enough to support her financially, if Ruby’s vision came to fruition, Corinna would be employed full-time one day, something Ruby knew she was eager for.

  “Tea?” said Ness, jumping immediately into action.

  Ness, short for Vanessa although they never called her that, was different to the other two. Much quieter, she reminded Ruby of her mother, albeit she was a few years older than her mother, early fifties as supposed to late forties, but both wore a world-weary countenance, very much so. Ness would sometimes work with Sussex Police, on an unofficial basis of course, and Ruby often thought that this must be the reason behind her somewhat subdued nature – she got the feeling some of the cases she had worked on had been extremely gruelling. Ruby had also been approached to help Sussex Police a year or so back but Ness had warned her off. Surely, Ruby had argued, earthbound spirits who had suffered heinously at the hands of others were the most in need of help, the most deserving? “You’d think so,” Ness had replied, refusing to elaborate further. Instead, she had advised Ruby to concentrate on more domestic cases, making a very good case that they were the ones who were often overlooked. Having mulled it over for a while, Ruby had at last agreed. Maybe she’d reconsider in future, but for now, domestic cases were her forte.

  “Love an Earl Grey,” boomed Theo, cutting into Ruby’s thoughts.

  “Black for me,” piped up Corinna, “trying to give up milk. Read some shocking stuff about the dairy industry recently, it’s put me off completely.”

  Eager to get the meeting started, Ruby pulled up her chair. “Okay, what’s to report?”

  Although Theo was clearly champing at the bit to impart her own news, she let Ness, who had come straight from a house in Heathfield, go first. The couple living in the mid-terrace Edwardian house had complained of barking on their landing night after night, despite not owning a dog.

  “Sounds travel, I told them. So I went to investigate, trying to ascertain who owned a dog in the local area. Well, quite a few of them do, but it’s amazing how put out owners are when you even so much as hint that their beloved canine might be making a nuisance of his or herself. Apparently none of them so much as growls, not even at the postman.”

  “So?” nudged Ruby, intrigued. Animal spirits were new to her. Normally, four-footed creatures had no trouble moving into the light, even those who had experienced less than loving homes, their spirits able to remain pure and optimistic against all odds.

  “So, having made sure that a real live dog was not the issue, I returned to the house and tuned in and I did sense something. And that something, this ‘dog’, seems to have one over-inflated sense of loyalty. From what I could gather, he still thinks his main function is to protect and serve the family living there. I tried to communicate with him, to impart that his work on earth is done, but to no avail. When I left, his presence seemed as strong as ever. I recommended to Miss Mills that we go back and perform a cleansing.”

  “Fair enough,” said Ruby, wondering how she was going to succeed where Ness had failed. Perhaps together they would make an impact. “I’ll ring her after our meeting to make an appointment. Now, Theo, what about you?”

  “Weeell,” said Theo, drawing out the word as much as possible, her blue eyes dancing. God, she loved the theatre of it all, did Theo. “I think we’ve got quite a case on our hands.”

  “Oh?” said Ruby, leaning forward. Corinna too looked fascinated, only Ness held back, guarded as usual.

  “There is most definitely a presence at the Hall. I felt it most strongly in the master bedroom, but other parts of the house have a feeling about them too, particularly the ballroom. And yes, I believe that the spirit grounded is Cynthia Hart, the actress. She lived there for five years until her death on Christmas Eve in 1958, which, coincidentally, was also her thirty-first birthday. I was so excited to realise it might be her, I was tempted to ask for an autograph!” Theo laughed, another booming sound.

  “Theo!” Ruby admonished affectionately, her awe-struck reaction really quite amusing.

  “Her boudoir is quite something,” Theo continued, oblivious. “It’s kept as a shrine to her. Although Cynthia died many years ago, her estate was looked after by her maid, Sally Threadgold, whom she’d left it to, apparently as much to Sally’s surprise as everyone else’s. Mr Kierney, Alan, is Sally’s nephew. She in turn left it to him upon her death, another surprise, but then Sally had no children of her own, so perhaps not so surprising after all. Cynthia’s bedroom is the grandest, so it follows Mr Kierney wants it for himself. But Cynthia, she’s having none of it. Every time he even attempts to enter, he fails – pushed out, as he describes it, by unseen hands, an impression of someone screaming in his face. That’s usually followed by quite a bit of banging and crashing. She’s still quite the diva it seems.”

  “How long has Mr Kierney lived at Highdown?” Ness asked thoughtfully.

  “Only a couple of months. He sold his flat in London and moved down. After failing to gain access to the boudoir he resorted to sleeping in the bedroom next door, but the nocturnal noises proved too disconcerting. He sleeps downstairs now, in one of the living rooms, barely ventures upstairs anymore. And supremely pissed off about it he is too. He wants the whole place exorcised.”

  “Exorcised?” said Ruby, stiffening. “You did tell him we are not affiliated with the church, didn’t you? That we use only holistic methods to guide spirits home?”

  “Yes, of course I did,” Theo shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t think he cares either way to be honest, he just wants Highdown Hall to belong to him and him alone.”

  “Okay,” replied Ruby, relieved. “Do you really think it’s her, this actress, Cynthia Hart?”

  “Definitely. I got an impression of a movie screen, an absolutely stunning dress, fuchsia in colour, silk if I’m not mistaken, and gleaming red curls – that’s her alright. I was also given to understand she won’t go easily. She seems... how can I put it? Very territorial.”

  “What caused her death?” asked Corinna. “She was so young.”

  “A heart attack apparently, and yes, she was very young to have suffered such a thing. But that was the verdict recorded, no foul play suspected.” With genuine sorrow Theo added, “A terrible shame really, she was at the peak of her career too, about to star in Atlantic. Adele Hamilton, the actress who replaced her, was no match for Cynthia I can tell you; she just didn’t have her charisma. The film didn’t do nearly as well as expected.”

  “Do you think her sudden passing is the reason she’s grounded?” asked Ruby.

  “Either that or she literally can’t get over missing the boat in Atlantic – although considering that particular boat sank, you’d think she’d be grateful!”

  Once again, Theo laughed uproariously at her own joke.

  Sneaking a surreptitious glance at Ness, who looked far from amused, Ruby announced she’d ring Mr Kierney after the meeting, to organise a time to go over and get a feel for the house herself.

  “Tomorrow, though,” she said, “I have to go to Brookbridge.”

  “Again?” Corinna was incredulous.

  “Yes, again.” Ruby raised her eyes skywards. “Theo, can you meet me in Hove tomorrow afternoon? We’ve got a little boy to send on his way.”

  “A little boy? Oh poor lamb, yes of course I can. At your service, my dear.”

  “And what about ‘Rover’?” enquired Ness.

  “Ah, yes, him too, perhaps I could squeeze him in between appointments. Heathfield is close to Brookbridge isn’t it? I’ll ring Miss Mills in a moment; maybe we can meet there around eleven or so if she agrees? Is that good for you?”

  “It is,” Ness nodded solemnly.

  As Ruby pushed back her chair, intending to make a start on those phone calls whilst the others finished their tea, she was stopped in her tracks.

  “I’ve got a feeling about Highdown Hall...” Theo’s tone had changed, her furrowed brow highlighting her concern. “I think it may take a
bit more than a simple cleansing to shift Cynthia – for whatever reason, she seems thoroughly intent on staying put.”

  “Hmmm...” Ruby’s normally smooth features developed a frown of their own.

  After all, if Theo said they had a problem, usually, they had a problem.

  Chapter Two

  After the meeting, various phone calls and typing up of more surveys, Ruby knew the sensible thing to do was to go home, have a hot bath and climb into bed. But the thing was she could murder a rum and coke. She grabbed the book she was currently reading from her desk, threw it into her rucksack, locked up the office and headed for The Rights of Man pub.

  Next to the Law Courts, The Rights of Man was a favourite haunt of hers, run by the uber-efficient Gracie Lawless, an amusing surname considering the pub’s location and the town’s history. The pub paid homage to its most famous resident, Thomas Paine. Paine, who had lived there for several years in the eighteenth century and even married a local girl, was a radical free thinker whose political ideas and writing were highly influential in inspiring the American Revolution. Friends with none other than Benjamin Franklin, Paine had become known as ‘The Godfather of American Independence’. One of the first places he’d expounded and developed his ideas in was The White Hart Hotel, just down the road from her office.

  Ruby had always felt at home in Lewes, which is why she’d decided it was the perfect place to set up her business. She loved its anarchic side, its liberal attitudes, its highly varied history and particularly the annual bonfire processions on November 5th. Every year the town boarded up its shops and closed its roads to traffic so that different bonfire societies from the town and local villages could dress up in wonderfully ornate costumes and parade through the dark streets to the sound of primitive drumming and marching bands, before eventually setting off huge firework displays around the town. All to commemorate the successful foiling of the Gunpowder Plot to blow up the king in the Houses of Parliament in 1605. It was ironic that this should be such a massive part of the town’s identity now, when the revolutionary Thomas Paine had also had his time here.