The Haunting of Highdown Hall

by Shani Struthers

  “Who else was she going to leave it to, dear? She had no husband or children.”

  “I know,” consented Ruby, “but to make Sally the inheritor of her estate, that’s quite something. There must have been a special bond between them.”

  Esme nodded.

  “If she’d had children or a husband I’m sure Sally wouldn’t have got a look in, but yes there was a bond between them. Sally wouldn’t have a bad word said against her.”

  “Do you know anyone who did say a bad word about her? Cynthia I mean?”

  “No, dear,” Esme was adamant. “Nobody would have dared.”

  “Dared? Why not?”

  “I told you, it wouldn’t do to cross Cynthia. She had a temper, particularly in the last year of her life; she was always flying off the handle for some reason or other. Even Sally, whom she was usually civil to, came in for a verbal lashing every now and again, although Cynthia was always very apologetic to her afterwards. One of the few people Cynthia ever apologised to, mind. She was a powerful woman, if you upset her, she could destroy you.”

  “And did she?” Ruby probed further. “Destroy anyone?”

  “Not to my knowledge, dear, but then I kept out of the way of both her and her entourage.”

  “Her entourage?”

  “Yes, the band of sycophants she kept around her at all times, hung on every word she uttered they did. If she said the sky was green not blue they would have agreed with her. Sickening really.”

  “Why didn’t Cynthia leave the house to one of them?”

  “I don’t know,” Esme shrugged. “Perhaps she knew that’s what they were; sycophants. Perhaps she knew Sally would look after the house properly. She was meticulous was Sally, a perfectionist. Cynthia was as well, they had that in common. Deep down, and this is only my theory, I think Cynthia might have realised Sally was the only person who genuinely cared for her, not the movie star her, but the real her, the person, as you say, behind the spotlight. The people she surrounded herself with, oh they paid lip-service alright, but only because they wanted a share in her glory. Any fool could see that.”

  “She should have sacked the lot of them,” Cash piped up.

  “But she wouldn’t,” Esme continued. “She needed them. Sally said she kept them round her because she was desperate to be loved, because she wasn’t loved by her family.”

  A tingle ran down Ruby’s spine.

  “Wasn’t she? Do you know that for sure?”

  “That’s what Sally said; that she was a lost lamb in the wilderness was Cynthia – more like a bloody Bengal tiger in the suburbs I’d say!” Esme laughed at her own joke.

  Although she was smiling too, Ruby couldn’t help thinking what a waste of time their trip to London had been. Time they just didn’t have any more. It was lovely to meet Esme, she was a charming lady, and not at all demented as Mr Kierney had suggested, but she hadn’t learned anything new concerning whom might have held a grudge against Cynthia. It couldn’t be someone from her family. If they had abandoned her in life, they probably weren’t around for her in death either. The man in the shadows, he could be anyone.

  Attempting one last question, Ruby asked, “When was the last time you saw Cynthia?”

  Esme didn’t need to think, straightaway she answered, “The night she died. I was there, at Highdown Hall, helping out. Got paid well for working on Christmas Eve we did, made it worth our while. I’ll say this for her, Cynthia didn’t stint when it came to wages.”

  “You were there the night she died?” said Cash, his attention wholly captured now.

  “Yes, I was; what a tragedy, eh? Only thirty-one and at the height of her career too.”

  “Can you tell me exactly what happened that night, Esme?” said Ruby, trying to keep her voice neutral, to stifle the urgency in it.

  Esme was only too happy to oblige.

  “It was a lovely night,” she was misty-eyed once again, “and she looked beautiful in that dress of hers Cynthia did; a dress Sally kept so nice after her death, despite cradling it to her chest sometimes, as you would a child. Even though there were so many lovelies in attendance, Cynthia was the loveliest; there was no doubt about it. John Sterling was there too, her on-off lover you know, well, on for his part, off mainly for hers.” Esme chuckled. “Dashing he was; her match in looks, I can tell you. All us maids were quite agog at the sight of him, and some of the waiters too,” she winked. “But she didn’t dance with him, snubbed him I would go so far as to say. She danced all night but not once in his arms, being swung round and round the dance floor by handsome man after handsome man, breathtaking in her happiness. It was her birthday, you know, Christmas Eve, she was radiant, the world at her feet. And then she disappeared. One minute she was there, holding court, Queen of all she surveyed, and the next she wasn’t. I don’t know why. John Sterling found her upstairs a while later; she died in his arms, a heart attack of all things. Destroyed him it did.”

  Again Ruby’s heart sank. They knew all this; it wasn’t going to help them. Starting to rise, she was about to thank Esme for her time, when she was stopped in her tracks.

  “Two deaths that night... tragic. And it started off so well too.”

  “Two deaths?” Ruby could feel the blood draining from her face. “What do you mean two deaths?”

  “There were two deaths. David Levine left the party around the same time that Cynthia had the heart attack I believe, maybe a bit before, I can’t remember exactly; it’s all so long ago now and my memory isn’t what it used to be. Said he wasn’t feeling well when he asked me to get his coat. And he didn’t look great, I remember that, he was all hot and bothered under the collar. Anyway, he must have been feeling awful, because he crashed his car, not far from the house, a few minutes later. Ran off the road and hit a tree. Died instantly.”

  “David Levine? Who’s he?” said Cash before Ruby had the chance.

  “He was a film director I think, dear. Not big fry, like some at the party, but up and coming. Who’s to say he wouldn’t have gone on to be a big noise had he lived? Another glittering career wiped out, just like that. A crying shame.”

  Unlike Ness, and sometimes Theo, Ruby couldn’t read thoughts, but as she looked at Cash, she knew what he was thinking. Could David Levine be the man in the shadows? The one who waited for Cynthia? And, if he was, why? What had Cynthia done to upset him?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Esme was getting tired; Ruby could see her paper-thin eyelids growing heavy, her almost painfully thin shoulders, formerly upright, sagging. No doubt the rare treat of having visitors was draining her. Armed with their new information, she thought now would be a good time to take their leave and indicated as much to Cash with a nod of her head. Wiping imaginary crumbs from the side of his mouth, he nodded back.

  “Thank you so much, Esme...” Ruby began.

  But it seemed Esme wasn’t quite done yet.

  “I’ve got a box you might be interested in; it’s full of newspaper cuttings of Cynthia.”

  “A box?” Ruby sat back down again.

  “Yes, it was found beside her on the night she died. Sally found it. She had no idea how it had got there, never seen it before in her life. She brought it to me for safe-keeping. Daft old Sally, she seemed to think keeping the box at Highdown Hall upset Cynthia in some way, said it was best if it were removed from the house entirely. I haven’t a clue what she meant, how could it upset Cynthia when she was dead? Would you like to have a look through it? It might help.”

  “Yes, please,” said Ruby, once again glancing at Cash. His eyes sparkled with excitement.

  “It’s in the spare bedroom. In the wardrobe. Run up and get it would you, dear? I don’t think I’ve enough energy to negotiate upstairs at the moment. It’s a brown box, has some gold engravings on it. Not real gold, you understand, it’s nothing special I can assure you. You can’t miss it, there’s barely anything else in that wardrobe.”

  Ruby did as she was told, squeezing past the chair
lift before taking the stairs two at a time in her eagerness. At the top of the landing, she turned right into the spare bedroom. From the lack of furniture – just a wardrobe and a bed with a faded pink counterpane on it – she gathered Esme didn’t have many overnight visitors. She opened the wardrobe doors and found what she was looking for straightaway, a box, lying forlorn at the bottom.

  Bending to retrieve it, she brought the box close to her chest, tuning in for a few moments to see what vibes emitted from it. Although faint, she could detect anger and bitterness, but also surprise – the latter confusing her. It was definitely the odd one out.

  Aware that she shouldn’t keep Esme and Cash waiting, she dashed back downstairs with the box.

  “Is this it?” she asked Esme.

  “Yes, but don’t give it to me, I don’t want it. You take it.”

  “Are you sure?” Ruby was struggling to hide her delight.

  “Of course I’m sure. I’m thrilled to help with your research.”

  “Thank you,” said Ruby, impulsively leaning forward and kissing the old lady on the cheek, her lips touching skin as soft as clouds.

  Esme looked surprised initially and then delighted, one hand reaching up to linger where she had been kissed.

  Saying their warm goodbyes, Ruby clutched the box to her. When the door had been closed on them, she imagined Esme tottering back to her armchair for a well deserved nap.

  Back on the street, the day starting to fade, Cash said, “Well, that was productive.”

  “It certainly was,” agreed Ruby, looking down at the box. “And I can’t wait to look through this. But before we do, do you remember me saying to you, the very first time we drove to Highdown Hall, that we’d passed the scene of a car accident?”

  Cash’s brow furrowed as he cast his mind back.

  “Yeah, that’s right. I remember now. You mentioned a crash, something about residual feelings...”

  “Yes, really heightened emotions, not just the shock of realising death was imminent but anger and triumph too, bitter triumph. You made that joke about the lottery. I assumed the crash had been recent, in the past few years or so. After all, residual feelings don’t come with a date stamped on them. But it could just as easily have been from many years before, from 1958 in fact.”

  “David Levine, you mean?”

  Nodding, Ruby continued, “I think it’s where David Levine passed. Esme said he had looked flustered when he left Highdown Hall. I wonder why? And also, why the dark feelings? Were they to do with Cynthia? Had she crossed him in some way?”

  “How do we find out?”

  “Research again, but also by mentioning his name to Cynthia, to gauge what sort of a reaction we’ll get.”

  “It could be as extreme as last time,” said Cash, wary.

  “It could be. It’s a chance we’ll have to take.”

  While Cash mulled over what she had said, Ruby made a quick phone call to Theo, eager to tell her what they had learnt from Esme.

  “David Levine? I’ll Google him, see what I can find out.”

  Ruby explained about the box.

  “Have you looked through it?” asked Theo.

  “No, not yet, but I intend to soon.”

  “Let me know if you find anything significant.”

  “I will, thanks, Theo.”

  “Shall we meet up tomorrow morning to discuss our findings?”

  “Tomorrow morning would be perfect, say half past ten?” said Ruby. “I’ll text Corinna and Ness and let them know. After the meeting though, we should rest, no more work.”

  “Absolutely,” agreed Theo, “rest is imperative. We need to face Highdown Hall with all cylinders firing. All else can wait until after Christmas, except emergencies of course.”

  “Of course,” said Ruby, remembering the pact they’d made when she’d started the business, never to turn down a distress call. And there was no doubt about it, Christmas could be a busy time, a time when energies in this world and the next stirred themselves even more than usual, an emotional time for so many, not just the living, and not always joyful. But for now, all other cases would be on hold, for a short time anyway.

  As she ended the call, Cash came up behind her.

  “Did I hear you say there’s no more work until the big one?” he murmured into her ear.

  “You did indeed,” she turned to smile at him. “We need to save ourselves for Highdown.”

  “Well, for the rest of the day, can we save ourselves at a pub I know in the West End?”

  “We can, but let’s head to that café we passed on the way first. What was it called? The Mock Turtle or something? I’d like to have a quick look through the box.”

  The café was indeed called The Mock Turtle and it promised not only the finest cakes in the East End of London but also delicious Lavazza coffee. It was also shut.

  “Where now?” sighed Cash.

  Ruby looked around. There was no other café within sight. Unable to wait any longer, she opened the box and looked inside.

  “Anything interesting?” Cash’s voice was eager.

  “Hmmm, not really.” Ruby couldn’t help it, she was disappointed. “Just more magazine and newspaper clippings, I’ve seen most of them before already.” Her shoulders slumping, she continued, “I suppose it’s to be expected Cynthia would have collected such things.”

  “Maybe she was looking through them, just before the party? A little reminder of how famous she was?”

  “Maybe...” Ruby conceded.

  Stepping closer, Cash pointed to one of the cuttings in Ruby’s hand.

  “Who’s that?”

  Ruby looked again. This piece didn’t appear to concern Cynthia at all; instead it featured a head shot of a rather glamorous man, another actor by the looks of it.

  Reading the caption, she discovered he was indeed an actor called Ron Mason who had the same sort of distinguished, serious air about him as his contemporary Sir Laurence Olivier. Although Ruby had never heard of him, he looked familiar.

  Cash seemed to think so too.

  “He reminds me of someone,” he said. Not even two seconds later, he added, a note of triumph in his voice: “He reminds me of Cynthia.”

  Yes! Ruby’s excitement stirred again. Mason had the same shape face as Cynthia, the same dazzling smile. Although the cutting was black and white, she would have bet anything he had also had the same red hair and blue eyes – twinkling blue eyes in fact. The cutting was dated 1941 and the man looked to be in his late thirties.

  Stuffing the rest of the articles back into the box but holding that particular one aloft, she turned to Cash. “We need to do some research on this man, Ron Mason.”

  “He looks like a relation, what do you think?”

  “He could be, perhaps even Cynthia’s father – maybe he wasn’t ‘unknown’ after all.”

  Cash had already got his iPhone out and was Googling the name but unfortunately the search engine was having trouble loading. “Damn,” he swore under his breath.

  “Look, don’t worry about it for now.” Ruby carefully folded the newspaper cutting and slipped it into her coat pocket. “We’ll look into it when we get back to Lewes. We’ve got our work cut out though; we need to find out about him and David Levine now.”

  “Whoever he is,” replied Cash.

  Ruby nodded. “Well, if Google can’t tell us, perhaps Cynthia can.”

  Cash looked at his watch. “Pub?”

  “Are you trying to get me drunk again, Cash Wilkins?”

  “Ruby Davis... it’s not just ghosts you can see through, is it?”

  ***

  “Here it is,” Cash announced proudly. “The Angel and Crown. One of the finest hostelries in London.”

  “Really?” Ruby was unconvinced. “It looks a bit of a dive to me.”

  Its once grand Victorian facade had indeed fallen on hard times, many of its dark green tiles were chipped and its rusty old hanging baskets, which might have cheered it up in spring, dangled s
ad and empty. Only the golden lanterns, placed at intervals around the exterior, looked as though they were taken pride in, they had obviously been recently polished and sent out a soft glow into the winter gloom.

  Cash was undeterred by her general lack of enthusiasm.

  “This is a real old London boozer this is,” he continued, beaming at her. “Your typical gin palace. How a real pub should be. Come on, let’s go inside.”

  As numerous shadows at the windows suggested, the inside was heaving, full of people revving up for the Christmas holidays. So authentic in its ‘London-ness’ it was almost a parody of itself, Ruby did indeed love it – despite being a bit on the tatty side it had atmosphere in buckets, and the fairy lights strung around the bar in honour of the looming holiday gave the whole place a somewhat surreal feel. Laughter filled the air.

  “There’s actually a seat over there,” said Cash, having to shout to make himself heard. “I’ll get the drinks. They’ve got mulled wine on the go; do you fancy some of that?”

  “Ooh, yes please,” replied Ruby, squeezing past various revellers towards the corner Cash had pointed at. Seating herself on the end of a long burgundy velvet seat, the rest of it occupied by a huddled group of friends, she pulled a vacant stool close to her. Placing the box on her lap, her hands hovered protectively over it.

  When Cash eventually returned, he took up residence on the stool. As there was so little room, he had to lean in close, snaking his arm around the back of her. Although she knew it was mainly for reasons of balance, she couldn’t deny she liked the feel of it. He had opted for mulled wine too, both of them clearly relishing its spicy warmth – cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg, shot through with orange and ginger.

  After a few more sips, Cash suggested they take another look through the box.

  “No, not here, it’s far too busy. Like I said, we’ll have time later.”

  “Fair enough,” said Cash. “Hey, I never asked you. Did you finish that book?”

  “What book?”

  “Drive Like Hell.”

  “Oh yeah,” laughed Ruby, recalling the way they’d met. “I loved it, it was really good. Did you finish it?”