At the top of the servants’ stairs was a tiny landing and two doors. Rina guessed that the layout must be echoed in the other wing and probably elsewhere in such a big house. Many servants would have been required in Southam’s day, both inside and out, caring for the household and the extensive gardens. She lifted the latch on the right hand door and, finding to her surprise that it was open, she went inside.
The light switch was just inside the door. It was modern and plastic, and the wires were carried up the wall inside equally plasticky white trunking. Downstairs, although it was obvious that rewiring had taken place, the new fittings were brass and the wiring hidden inside the walls. It was interesting though, Rina thought, that the plastic switch and trunking were the only modern interruptions in a room that had barely been touched in a century. Wooden floorboards, a little cast-iron bedstead, a washstand laid with green tiles on which a bowl would have stood, a small fireplace with the grate still in place, and even a candlestick on the plain wooden overmantel.
A small window, dirty and with a cracked pane, was set high up in the wall, and the occupant of the room would have had to stand on the bed to see out. She figured that views were not something servants were expected to look at. A second door led through into another bedroom, this with two beds set at right angles to one another. No new light switch in this room, just signs that it had been used for storage by the electrician. Reels of wire and cardboard boxes still containing some of the new fittings had been set on one of the beds. Another fireplace in this room, another wash stand, and also a small bedside cupboard. Rina could not resist a look inside. Newspaper had been used to line the shelves; Rina recalled her mother and aunt doing the same, though the Peters sisters made certain that in Rina’s house pretty, scented drawer liners replaced the utilitarian newsprint. She took the paper out, loving it when she found such unexpected links to the past and, turning the paper into the light, was happy to see the adverts for Goddard’s powders and Beechams salts. She blew the dust off, fished a second liner from the bottom shelf and slipped them both inside the folder that Viv had given her. She’d enjoy looking through those later. Who could tell what snippet of old news might be hidden there?
A final glance around the room told her there was nothing more to see, unless . . . Rina crouched down by the fire. Paper had been burnt in the grate. She sniffed. Recent burning, she thought, and then poked at the pages, which crumbled away almost to nothing. Almost. One corner of a page remained, a white triangle with a single page number. Rina fished it out, but beyond the number six, it told her nothing. Probably, she thought, something the electrician had burnt. She hoped he’d checked the chimney was working first.
Curiosity largely satisfied, she returned to the landing and closed the bedroom door. The second room was also unlocked, but she got no further than the entrance. This room really had been used for storage – generations of it, from the look of tangled chair legs and boxes and a stack of what might be old curtains just inside. She felt for a light switch, found none. Evidently not even the most desultory renovations had been carried out here. She’d have to find a torch and come and have another look later on. Tim always kept a flashlight in the car; she could borrow that.
She made her way slowly back down the dimly lit stairs. She could make out the pattern of old wallpaper, torn here and there to reveal the strata of earlier generations. The stair carpet was worn sisal, from the time when sisal was cheap and functional and not just a statement of environmental concern. Rina was a fan of good wool twist. You couldn’t beat it for hard-wearing.
Back in her room she put the kettle on for tea, not so much because she wanted it but because the sound of boiling water was a human, familiar sound and the silence in the room was now crowding in on her; even the rain seemed to have stopped, though she’d been unaware of it until now. It was too dark to see much from the window, even when she turned out the light, though she could just make out the heavy cloud and the line of trees. Was that the infamous Aikensthorpe wood? The little clock on her bedside table told her that it was only a quarter to six: still more than an hour to go before dinner. Rina realized with shock that she was actually bored. She could not recall the last time that had been the case.
‘Pull yourself together, woman,’ she chided. ‘Have a bath, get changed, drink some more tea and have a look at that folder Vivian gave you. There, that’s your next hour sorted.’
Feeling better now that she’d made a plan, she went through to the bathroom to see what fancy complimentary bath stuff Aikensthorpe had to offer and turned on the bath taps, glad of the additional noise. Melissa had left three little bottles of bath gel and a basket of pink soaps that looked far too pretty to use. There were still bars on the windows in the bathroom, a remnant from when the room had been the nursery and implying that at some time there had actually been children here. Original feature or not, Rina thought, she’d have had them removed. It made an otherwise spacious room feel oddly claustrophobic. She pulled the blind fully down, hiding them from sight.
In addition to the connecting door from her bedroom was a second exit leading back out into the corridor. It was locked from the inside; the new lock, like the faux traditional electrical fittings, had been selected so it did not look completely out of place in the setting, but it didn’t look quite right either: too modern and just too brassy. Rina turned the key and peered out on to the empty corridor, not sure what impulse had led her to do so. Glancing to her left, she could see the completely new door at the end of the hall that had been knocked through to the outside world. Solid and white, and bearing the legend ‘Fire Escape’, it looked horribly intrusive. Just down the corridor from Rina’s room was another door, slightly ajar.
Rina frowned at it. She’d passed the door before entering her room and could not recall seeing it open then. On reflection, she realized, this was what had made her unlock the bathroom door and glance out: the faint, subconsciously recognized sound of another door being opened.
Another guest, presumably, though they were awfully quiet and why leave the door open like that?
She closed her own and locked it again. ‘Rina, stop making mysteries where there are none,’ she told herself sternly. ‘The sooner you get yourself home and normal again, the better for everyone.’
The bath had run now, and the selected gel filled the room with the fragrance of rose and honeysuckle. Making up her mind that she would knock on the other door on her way down and introduce herself to the new guest, Rina made her tea and fetched her dressing gown.
‘Tea and a good soak, that’s what you need, you silly old woman,’ she chided herself. ‘All this talk of ghosts and death and other nonsense is getting to you.’ But even so, she could not resist the urge to check the locks on both the doors before succumbing to the invitation of perfumed water and hot tea.
Something just wasn’t right here, Rina thought. She’d met ‘not right’ far too often for her to mistake it – and whatever it was, it was certainly present in this beautiful old house.
FOUR
‘I’m still not happy about this, David.’ Gail swallowed more of her drink and refilled her glass from a bottle on the sideboard that dominated this little parlour next to the main dining room.
‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ He kept his voice low, glancing uneasily at the assembled company.
‘None of your business.’ She knew he hated being shown up; sometimes she just enjoyed provoking him. He was such a stuffed shirt.
‘What is my business is that I need you in good shape for tomorrow, so pull yourself together. The Martin woman and Tim’s girlfriend are incidental. We need them to be neutral witnesses, that’s all; everything else is as it was before Simeon left.’
‘No –’ she shook her head – ‘it isn’t. They’re strangers, David. They’ll completely ruin the vibrations.’
‘Oh, now you are getting too precious. Gail, you do what you do well enough, but don’t start believing your own press. This is an
experiment, not a performance.’ She swallowed more wine and glared at him over the rim of her glass. Professor Franklin moved closer. ‘Gail, I want this to be a success, just as much as you do. More, probably, let’s face it; I’ve got rather more to lose here.’
She opened her mouth to retort, then shut it again, turned away from him, pretending to study one of the many pictures on the panelled walls.
‘Gail, tomorrow will be a great success. The first of many. But you have to take hold of your emotions. You are here to play a part, not to live that part.’
‘You just don’t believe I can really do it, do you?’
‘My mind is open. There are, as they say, many things in heaven and earth that—’
‘Go fuck yourself.’
‘Gail,’ he chided. ‘Please. You’re letting your emotional responses overrule your analytic. Deep breath, put the glass down and remember the exercise I taught you. Take control of your emotions, keep focused on what is really important here. Do you really want to be lumped together with the stage magicians and the illusionists and the charlatans? Or do you want to build a reputation as a meticulous researcher? Someone not afraid to delve into the psyche of those who delude themselves, but who can remain separate from all of that, untainted by it—’
‘Have you actually listened to yourself? Talk about believing your own press. David, I—’ She broke off. Tim and Joy had just entered the room, and she fell back into a moody silence.
‘I thought you liked Tim Brandon.’
‘I do,’ she said flatly. ‘That isn’t the point though, is it?’
Edwin Holmes glanced in the direction of the argument raging beside the window and accepted a glass from Rav Pinner. ‘Not a happy bunny,’ he said.
‘Is she ever? But I don’t think David helps. He is a tad sanctimonious.’
Edwin laughed, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘Ah, but he’s a famous man, don’t forget. He has to be aware of how the world sees him.’
‘So he likes being seen as a sanctimonious bastard then? That’s his public persona?’
‘Now, Rav, don’t be cruel. What do you think of our new guests?’
‘I’ve not met them yet. The girl is pretty,’ he said thoughtfully, looking approvingly in Joy’s direction. ‘Toby tells me Tim Brandon is very good, and I’ve seen some film of his work; it seems to me that he understands the Victorian mindset.’ He shrugged. ‘You know Mrs Martin has something of a reputation, don’t you?’
‘Reputation? Of what kind?’
‘I looked her up. She’s made quite a splash as an amateur investigator. It seems she never quite let go of her television role.’
Edwin laughed. ‘I believe she played a Miss Marple type of character, didn’t she? I watch so little television. Have you seen the show?’
‘Yes, a few episodes.’
Jay Stratham had been listening to the conversation. ‘We get them on one of the cable channels back home,’ he said. ‘Very British. Do you think dinner will be long? I’m starved.’
‘We’re still a few minutes early,’ Edwin told him.
‘I suppose we are. Well, Edwin, Rav, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have a talk with Mr Brandon.’
‘You’re going to talk shop,’ Edwin predicted.
‘What other kind of conversation is there when magicians get together?’
‘Quite,’ Edwin said, watching with amusement as Jay strolled over to where Tim and Joy were standing. ‘She is very pretty,’ he added wistfully. ‘Oh, to be a great number of years younger.’
‘Age has its own virtues,’ Rav told him softly.
‘Does it?’ Edwin asked sadly. ‘I’m really not sure I can think of any.’
The dining room was through another door in the main reception area, and drinks were being served in a little anteroom off that. When Rina arrived, Tim and Joy were already there. Joy had changed into a simple, blue shift dress, and she had left her long red hair loose. She looked stunning, Rina thought and noted that the male attention in the room seemed more or less evenly split between her young friend and Viv. Robin stood next to his girlfriend looking very proud with Viv’s hand clasped in his own. On the face of it, Rina thought, they made an odd pair: Viv so utterly confident and self possessed, and Robin shy and uncertain, good-looking in a somewhat understated way with his very dark hair and very bright blue eyes and rather pale skin. He’d make a good goth, she decided.
Viv spotted her and grinned broadly. ‘Red or white? Or I think there’s some sherry.’
Rina went over to them. ‘Sherry would be nice, actually.’ Sherry before dinner was a commonplace at Peverill Lodge. ‘I had a quick look through the information you prepared for us. You’ve done a very efficient job.’
‘Thank you.’ Viv looked both pleased and surprised. ‘Robin gave me a hand. It’s really interesting stuff, don’t you think, and isn’t this just an amazing house?’
‘It is,’ Rina agreed. ‘Tell me though, what do you actually think happened that night? Hype aside, do you think they really experienced anything?’
Viv and Robin exchanged a glance. Rina was slightly taken aback; she’d expected an immediate affirmative from Robin.
‘Weeell.’ Viv stretched the word to breaking point. ‘We’ve talked about it a lot, Robin and me. I mean, I’m a major sceptic, but Robin really believes there is something else out there, you know.’
‘I don’t think it’s all ghosts and ghouls,’ Robin put in quickly. ‘I mean, I’m sure most things that seem strange have a perfectly ordinary explanation, and I’m not sure that calling things ghostly or psychic or supernatural really helps anyone. I mean, they’re happening here, in this world, aren’t they, you know? Which kind of implies that they belong here and not somewhere else.’ He trailed off, and Viv took over.
‘What we mean is that yes, there is something we haven’t explained yet, but it becomes difficult to talk about because of the semantics involved. It separates people into two separate camps, you know, believers and non-believers, when what we should really be saying is we don’t know what’s going on, but something is, so we should just observe, explain what we can and then accept that there are elements we don’t have a handle on yet. It’s like . . . I’ve got a friend who’s doing an archaeology MA. She says that in really important sites they deliberately leave areas un-dug because each generation has better ways of examining the evidence and understanding what went on there.’
‘We shouldn’t be afraid of saying we don’t know, is what we think, I suppose.’ Robin blushed, the pale cheeks flushing a very bright red. ‘And that we need new words, a new vocabulary, so we don’t get tied up in the way all the words we use have extra value and meaning added to them. If I say I want to see a ghost then everyone thinks I must be some kind of religious loony. What I really mean is that I’d like to see something interesting, something I can’t explain and can’t figure out or reproduce using special effects or stage magic.’
‘And that night, back in eighteen seventy two, I think those two groups clashed,’ Viv said. ‘The people who wanted to see, but who also believed, clashed with the people who couldn’t accept any of it. I think they quarrelled because Doctor Pym thought his friends had dragged him into a situation that was pointless or maybe even evil. I don’t know what you’ve managed to read yet, but Pym was dead against all the experimentation that was going on. I couldn’t find out why, but he seems convinced it was dangerous and he thought Mr Southam was becoming obsessed.’
‘It wasn’t the first seance he’d attended though,’ Rina objected. ‘They seem to have been a regular occurrence, according to your very thorough notes.’
Viv looked pleased. She didn’t get much praise for what she’d done, Rina thought.
Robin was thoughtful. ‘I don’t think he was against trying to speak to the dead. He’d claimed to have received messages from his dead wife, hadn’t he?’
Viv nodded.
‘So, what was so different about this time?’ Rina asked.
‘That’s what we think, anyway.’ Robin shrugged. ‘It’s all a bit speculative, but then, all of this stuff is a bit speculative. I mean, we’re not even dead certain their ghost was fully invented.’
‘Oh?’ Rina was intrigued.
‘Well,’ Viv said. ‘One letter I read suggested it was another attempt to contact the gamekeeper. Elizabeth seemed to agree with some of the local gossips that the shooting hadn’t been an accident, but –’ she shrugged – ‘I don’t know. Edwin is convinced it wasn’t about the gamekeeper, so . . .’
‘And what do you think?’ Rina asked them both.
‘I think everyone looks at the evidence and sees just what they want to see,’ Robin said. ‘No change in that. I can’t imagine Mr Southam would have been too pleased to have all of that dragged up again though. I mean, he’d been seen to have done his bit, called in the detective, looked after the family.’
‘Whatever actually happened,’ Viv added, ‘it ended in disaster.’
‘And how do you both feel about this group having invented their ghost?’ Rina asked
‘I’m just intrigued,’ Viv said. ‘I mean, if nothing happens, then nothing happens, but if it does, it’s going to be very interesting.’
‘Have they tried to raise the same character? The same one as the original seance? That’s assuming it wasn’t the gamekeeper, of course.’
‘Well, that’s a bit of a problem too. No one could really agree on what or who that was – assuming it definitely wasn’t Mr Creedy the gamekeeper, that is. It’s not like the Philip phenomena we told you about. That’s well documented: a lot of it was filmed or recorded at the time, and there are tons of notes. What happened here is fragmentary, and a lot of it is from the coroner’s report and eyewitness statements, and Mrs Southam had left here by the time the rest of the statements were taken so we don’t know what she thought about it and that was kind of central to the event.’
The Dead of Winter Page 4