The Dead of Winter

by Jane A. Adams

Toby grinned at her. ‘Guilty,’ he said. ‘No, actually, I got dragged into this by David, that’s Professor Franklin. He’ll be master of ceremonies tomorrow. I got to know him about eighteen months ago. He’s written quite widely on the use of early photography and also what you could term magic tricks in a religious context. He’s supervising Gail Perry, who’ll be our medium at the seance. Gail is a PhD student writing about the various quasi-scientific movements that sprang up in the North of England particularly, and it was her research that uncovered the strange events here in the winter of 1872. That’s what tomorrow’s reconstruction is all about. Hopefully without the subsequent insanity and violent death.’

  He took a bite of his sandwich, and Rina glared at him, so obvious was his enjoyment in making them wait.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Viv said. ‘They had this seance one night – in fact, the anniversary is tomorrow, which is pretty good timing, don’t you think? They’d had loads before, everyone seems to have been at it back then, but this was different. Everyone involved had spent Christmas and New Year together, and during that time they’d invented a ghost.’

  ‘Invented one?’ Joy was amused. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well,’ Toby butted in, taking his story back again. ‘It actually prefigured a thing called the Philip experiment in Toronto about a hundred years later. A group of Canadian researchers under the direction of a Dr Owen and his wife got together and created a persona called Philip. Over several months they discussed who he might have been, decided he was a seventeenth-century English aristocrat with a string of mistresses.’

  ‘No, just one mistress. She was burned as a witch, they decided, which of course is terribly inaccurate,’ Viv interrupted again.

  ‘Inaccurate?’ Joy asked.

  ‘We hanged our witches,’ Rina told her. ‘Burning was for heretics.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Viv nodded enthusiastically. ‘They did it different in Scotland, but in England it was the hangman who dealt with convicted witches.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Toby laughingly reasserted, ‘in essence, the modern group created Philip, but the Philip they invented and then tried to contact in the seance room behaved pretty much the same way as any other ghostly presence reported in the literature. The table they used was rapped on and moved and even performed on the television in front of the cameras. Of course, it could all be a bit of clever camera trickery and a lot of manipulation—’

  ‘Or it could be that they accidentally stumbled on something real.’ It was the first time Robin had contributed to the conversation. He blushed, Rina noticed, noting too that Viv reached out and grabbed his hand and glared at Toby as his laughter exploded.

  ‘We’re all entitled to our opinions,’ Viv told their professor sternly.

  ‘I’m not saying I believe that.’ Robin was defensive. ‘Just that we should keep our minds open as well as our eyes.’

  ‘Which saying is, I believe, a direct quote from our dear David Franklin.’

  Rina looked sharply at Toby, noting the hardening of his tone and the increased pressure of Viv’s hand on Robin’s. Ah, not so happy families, then, she thought.

  ‘So, you’re saying this Philip behaved as though he was real and not something they’d made up?’ Joy was intrigued.

  ‘Appeared to, yes. There’s a lecture on it tomorrow. I think there’s been quite a bit of follow-up work done.’

  ‘But the interesting thing for us is that they did something just like that here, a whole century before.’ Viv was evidently excited. ‘And we get to reconstruct it and to film the whole thing.’

  Rina wasn’t so sure she shared Viv’s enthusiasm.

  ‘Sounds creepy,’ Joy said.

  ‘Well,’ Toby agreed, ‘we all hope so.’

  ‘But you said that all the people involved had been together over the Christmas,’ Rina objected. ‘Surely, that isn’t the case this time. We only arrived this afternoon.’

  ‘Ah, well, that’s what makes it so perfect,’ Toby reassured her. ‘In the original experiment they brought in observers who stood in the corners of the room. A further two observers actually participated in the seance, knowing nothing about the character they hoped to summon. They were meant to be like controls for the experiment.’

  ‘The analogue for which you’ve scuppered by telling us about it,’ was Rina’s somewhat tart observation.

  ‘Well, yes, but we agreed we had to tell you both something. Tim’s felt guilty as hell bringing you both here and not spilling the beans.’

  ‘I hope he has,’ Rina said, looking closely at her protégé, who smiled sheepishly at her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and she could see in his eyes that he was.

  ‘I should think so too. We don’t do secrets, Tim.’

  ‘No, you’re right, we don’t.’

  She could feel the attention of the group upon them as they made this very personal exchange. Felt their relationship being reassessed, but was satisfied that her Tim really was contrite. She wondered, though, what Toby had said to him to make him even contemplate the keeping of such a secret. Tim was terrible at hiding anything – except, of course, when he was performing. The thought that Tim could have called upon his performance persona and made use of it in the real world disturbed her profoundly. He would not have done this lightly, so what had Toby said or done to make him think, even for a moment, that it might be a proper thing to do?

  Deciding that a full interrogation was in order for later, she turned back to Viv, knowing how much that would annoy Toby – and the need to annoy Toby was oddly insistent. ‘You mentioned death and madness?’

  Viv grinned. ‘Bit of an exaggeration, really. One woman had a fit of the vapours and had to be revived with smelling salts, and another left the room screaming – a man, actually, not a woman. Then there was the mysterious death of Dr Pym, one of the guests that night, one of the neutral observers.’

  ‘He fell off his horse on the way home.’ Toby was dismissive. ‘Too much port after dinner.’

  ‘Ah, but he was supposed to stay overnight, and after the seance he refused to stop and wanted to go home. The servants brought his horse round for him, and there’s eyewitness reports that he and Mr Southam were having a right barney. He called Southam an irresponsible idiot, and Southam called him an arrogant sceptic who would do anything to deny the truth. It’s all in the inquest notes,’ she added.

  ‘Viv has read everything she can lay her hands on.’ Toby got up and refilled his cup. He was drinking coffee, Rina noted, in quantities that would have had her flying without the aid of any special effects or ghostly presences.

  ‘So, what happened to him?’ Joy asked. ‘The doctor, I mean.’

  ‘Weeell, so far as we can make out from the inquest, he fell off his horse and hit his head on a rock.’ Viv shrugged. ‘Apparently, he took off in a right temper, and you’ve seen what it’s like round here. Really rural—’

  ‘Rural?’ Toby laughed. ‘You make it sound like we’re camping up the Amazon.’

  ‘Far as I’m concerned, it might as well be.’ Viv grinned. ‘Give me shops and pavements any time. Anyway, as I was saying, the village is about five miles away, and he took a route across country through Aikensthorpe wood. That’s over that way.’ She pointed at the window at the front of the house. ‘If it ever stops raining, you’ll be able to see it.’

  ‘It’s still on manor land,’ Robin said quietly. ‘The house was named after the wood. Aiken is Old English for “oak”. The local guidebooks say it’s a real, authentic patch of wildwood.’

  ‘Sounds lovely,’ Joy said. ‘Is it walking distance?’

  ‘Only if it stops raining long enough for you to see where you’re going and you have a pair of wellies,’ Viv said.

  ‘Melissa has a stock of wellingtons,’ Toby told them, looking at Joy with what seemed, to Rina’s eyes, slightly predatory interest. Her somewhat irrational dislike of the man increased.

  ‘Well, if it clears up, Tim and I might borrow a co
uple of pairs and go and see,’ Joy said. She reached out and took Tim’s hand, then leaned over the arm of the sofa and planted a very deliberate kiss on his cheek.

  Tim looked surprised, then smiled at her and returned the kiss. He inched his chair closer.

  Rina was pleased at the look of disappointment that flickered across Toby’s face.

  ‘So, accidental death then,’ Joy said cheerfully. ‘He probably rode into a branch.’

  ‘Ah, but what about the look of sheer terror that eyewitnesses report, frozen on his face? His lips drawn back in a rictus or . . . oh, something or other.’ Viv laughed, then seemed to reconsider. ‘Sad though, don’t you think, that a man should die just because he had an argument with a friend? My mum always says you should never let the sun go down on your anger – you never know what will happen, so you should never part with harsh words.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ Toby groaned. ‘Homilies from Viv’s mum.’

  ‘My mum says that too,’ Joy said. ‘Something like it, anyway.’ She smiled at Viv.

  Bridie would certainly express it differently, Rina thought, but she could well believe Bridie would have her version. Rina considered it to be good and sensible advice.

  ‘It was the last seance they held here,’ Robin told them.

  ‘Which is kind of a surprise,’ Viv said, considering it. ‘You’d almost have expected them to try and get in touch with him, wouldn’t you? That’s what they did when the gamekeeper died.’

  ‘Gamekeeper?’ This bit was evidently new to Toby.

  ‘You should have read the background notes,’ Viv chided. ‘The gamekeeper was the first seance, about two years before. He got shot in what was reported as a hunting accident, but there was some doubt. Southam and his little gang decided to do some psychic investigating. Actually, he did some real investigating too. He called in a detective all the way from London to look into things. They had regular seances every few weeks after that, until the one where everything went wrong and the room was sealed up.’

  ‘They called in a private detective?’ Toby seemed to pounce on the fact ‘I must take a look at that. Anyway, that’s the end of the story, really. After that last seance, as Viv said, the anteroom it took place in was sealed up, and no seance ever conducted here again. It was something of a cause célèbre locally though, and it made a splash in the national papers. Various mediums and the like claimed to have been in touch with Dr Pym, and the general shenanigans took a good year or so to die down.’ He got up, and the others saw that as a cue to move too. ‘Viv and Melissa have put notes together for you about the house and such, and there are mini biographies of speakers and such in the conference packs. The other re-enactors will be here for dinner soon. See you all then.’

  Rina felt she could hardly wait. Mac’s offer to collect them early was looking more attractive all the time.

  THREE

  Taken from an article in the Times and Herald, 1870:

  [ . . . ]commiserations must be extended to local philanthropist Albert Southam, Esq. and Mrs Southam, who have returned only a scant month after their marriage to the news of the death. It is understood that Mr Creedy died in a freak accident. Mr Creedy, undoubtedly an experienced shot, and a man well practised in the use of firearms, seems to have tripped and fallen on his own gun. The shotgun discharged and hit Mr Creedy in the chest and abdomen. Those who came to the scene only shortly after discovered the man not yet dead, but mortally wounded. He is reported to have managed to speak a few words thereafter, before succumbing to his wounds [ . . . ]

  An enquiry being held, a verdict of accidental death has been returned. Mr Creedy leaves a widow and two young sons. It is in keeping with the generosity we have come to expect from Mr Southam, Creedy’s employer, that he has assured the family that a small pension will be paid to the widow and that they will be found accommodation on the estate.

  Tim and Joy went to their room. No doubt, Rina thought, to reconcile properly, so Rina’s planned interrogation would have to wait. She wandered back to the nursery wing, taking time to look over the old house. It had evidently been a very rich establishment, and Rina admired the elaborate carving that ornamented the banisters and balustrades and the rather good portraits that lined the first floor corridor, some of which, judging by the costumes, pre-dated the house by a good couple of centuries. She had read that the newly rich in Victorian England often bought the family history of others and put it into their freshly built extravagances. She’d also heard they bought their books by the yard to fill their impressive but unread libraries and wondered how true either assertion was. The library here at Aikensthorpe looked impressive; she must go and take a proper look later.

  She wondered too when the little anteroom the seance had taken place in had been unsealed and had a dreadful suspicion it had been very recent.

  Viv had handed her the prepared information pack as they had parted, and it was now tucked beneath Rina’s arm. It was a substantial piece of work, if the chunkiness of the folder was anything to go by, and Rina guessed that if Viv had prepared it then it would be very thorough. She had engendered a sneaking liking for the mercurial Viv and the quiet Robin, but she was very hard pressed to find anything to like in the outwardly affable Toby; the sensation that he had put pressure on Tim to . . . well, not exactly to lie, but certainly to be guilty of the sin of omission, was very insistent, and she wondered again what influence Toby had that had enabled him to do so. Tim was an honourable and, in all the best ways, a rather simple character, honest and direct. Rina was very annoyed, but no longer so much with Tim.

  Walking slowly along the landing, she continued her perusal of the portraits, finally discovering one of the same Albert Southam who must have built this place. A portly, red-faced man, with rather sad blue eyes, he peered out at Rina, looking as though the artist had caught him in the act of searching for his glasses. She wondered if the painter had been trying to create some sense of the intensity of Albert’s character; in truth, he had made him look ever so slightly constipated.

  Southam’s wife hung next to him on the wall, and she was something of a surprise. Looking at the dates, Rina was surprised to find that both portraits had been executed in the same year. Eighteen seventy, just two years before the fateful seance. And, coincidentally, Rina recalled, the same year the unfortunate gamekeeper had died. Elizabeth Southam was very much younger than her husband and very much prettier too. Her dark hair had been dressed in the fashionable ringlets of the period, and her dark eyes examined the viewer with lively intelligence. The artist had clearly enjoyed painting her far more than her husband. There was, Rina fancied, an intimacy about the painting that belied the formality of the pose.

  The light on the landing wasn’t very good, and Rina squinted, leaning close to try and read the engraved words on the little plaque attached to the frame. The date and Elizabeth’s name and status were in large enough letters to read fairly easily, but the rest was small and difficult to define.

  Rina licked her finger and drew it across the surface of the brass, removing some of the dirt. ‘Painted on the occasion of their wedding,’ she read out loud. ‘So, a rich old man and a pretty young bride.’ Looking at her again, Rina couldn’t believe that Elizabeth had been much more than Joy’s age in this picture. Had she loved Albert? Rina wondered. Was there something about this man apart from his wealth that had attracted this young and very pretty girl? Or had it been a marriage of convenience, a business arrangement between families? Maybe the contents of Viv’s extensive information pack would tell her.

  Rina chuckled to herself. Always interested in the human stories, Rina’s curiosity was often her undoing and, if she was now truly honest with herself, she knew she’d have to go through this weekend just to satisfy it.

  She had reached the stairs to the next floor, and she climbed them slowly, listening to the sounds of the old house as it settled: the clang of pipes not quite up to the job any more, and the creak of wood drying out after years of neglect and damp
. She was glad that someone was restoring this formidable old pile. It deserved the care.

  Two flights of stairs to her floor, and then the corridor to the nursery wing. Had it ever been occupied? Had that young bride gone on to become a mother? Had it been her wish or Albert’s that their progeny should be so hidden away from the rest of the household, or had they merely been following the custom of the times? Or had Elizabeth perhaps been a second wife and any children from an earlier marriage?

  Reaching that upper corridor, only the servants’ quarters now above her, Rina paused to listen. The landing was broad, and a window looked out on to the gardens at the rear of the house. Another flight of stairs rose up to the attic space where the servants would have slept. Her corridor then led back into the right-hand wing, the library and anteroom being on the ground floor of the left. Windows on one side of the hall, rooms on the other – though, so far as she could tell, hers was the only one currently in occupation.

  It was so very quiet. Rain still pattered against the window, the house still creaked and groaned, but other than that there was only silence.

  Impulsively, Rina turned and began to climb that final flight of stairs up to the attic space. The stairs were steeper here, and narrower, and that strange muffling of sound was even more profound than it had been on the lower floors. Rina’s own house was also more than a century old, and also had an attic space that had been the housemaid’s room and was now co-opted for extra visitors, but there the similarity ended. Rina’s house, Peverill Lodge, was never silent. It could be quiet, when everyone was asleep, but sounds of people and music and radio, and sometimes, in the evening, television, permeated even through closed doors. The clatter of cooking pots in the kitchen, of laughter and conversation and the Peters sisters playing songs on the piano that they had performed in their younger days, all conspired to create a friendly background chatter. Rina hadn’t really thought about it until now, but the smothering silence of Aikensthorpe and of this wing in particular brought to mind just how much she missed home and how intensely she loved her noisy, eccentric little household.