Mac laughed. ‘Sounds good,’ he said. ‘We should be OK on the road. The Volvo is all-wheel drive, and it hasn’t let me down yet.’
‘Ha, famous last words. When are you coming over?’ she asked, a note of wistfulness creeping into her voice.
‘First thing in the morning, for breakfast. I spoke to – Melissa, is it? She said that would be fine. I talked to her earlier this afternoon, you were still involved in something, but she said we’d be very welcome. I think she was already worried about the weather; she said she didn’t know what would be going on tomorrow.’
‘Well, it’s got worse since then. We’ll be really glad to see you both, Mac. I just hope you don’t get stuck. You’ve got to be in Pinsent on Monday.’
‘About that, yes. Well, I’ll tell you all when I see you. Miriam’s making hungry noises, apparently dinner is about to arrive. Take care of yourself, Rina, and we’ll be there bright and early.’
She felt both relieved and slightly lonely when she put the phone back on its cradle and recrossed the hall. That feeling of claustrophobia – strange in so massive a house – that had assailed her on the upper floors now seemed to have spread to the lower. Smothering quiet had descended, strange after the noise and bustle of the day, and Rina felt as though a warm fog had settled upon the place, the doors too thick and heavy to permit the reassuring kitchen sounds to escape, deadening even the conversation in the big room where the others had gathered.
Joy looked up with a smile as she entered. ‘I’ve got a plate for you. Hope you like everything.’
‘I’m sure I will.’
‘And I’ve got a pot of tea. Thought it might be a bit too early for the wine.’
Rina sat down beside her at one of the little tables. ‘Are you on your own?’
‘Only just. Tim’s gone off with the camera people to check the set-up – again. Terry went to call his agent from his room. The mobiles don’t seem to be working very well. He thinks the bad weather is affecting the signal – not that it was ever great here. I didn’t really feel like joining the conversation over there.’ She nodded to where Rav, Viv and Professor Franklin were debating something with Edwin Holmes. The old man seemed to be holding his own, his voice quiet and insistent; from time to time objections would be raised before he took control again.
‘Gail?’ Rina asked.
‘Oh, gone off to prepare, I think. She took a tray to her room. Ah, there’s Terry. He’s surprisingly nice, isn’t he? I thought he’d be a real diva. You know, I’ve quite enjoyed today.’
‘So have I,’ Rina agreed. She poked at the food on her plate, not sure if she was hungry. ‘It’s been unexpectedly interesting. It’s made me think, though, about life and so on.’
Joy looked puzzled. ‘Life?’
‘More what I want from it. I think I’ve just realized how much I miss working, being out doing things. Strange, isn’t it, the way ideas suddenly crystallize?’
‘I guess it is. I guess Terry Beal has been more of an influence than I thought.’ She smiled, seeing the subject of their conversation approaching them.
‘Influence? What kind of influence? Bad, I hope.’ He sat down, then got up again. His restless energy was palpable. ‘You know, I think I’ll get more food. Melissa is urging us all to eat, eat, eat, you sort of feel you have to oblige. Can I get you ladies anything?’
‘Chocolate cake, please,’ Joy said. ‘It isn’t as good as the Montmorencys’, but it isn’t bad.’
‘I must meet these paragons of the kitchen.’ He disappeared for a moment and came back with another tray: food for himself and cake for Joy. ‘In fact, I’ve just been chatting to my agent about a certain lady detective, and we both feel that the time might be right for a relaunch.’
‘Really?’ Joy was clearly impressed.
‘Oh, no,’ Rina said. ‘I didn’t mean you to—’
‘Nonsense, this would be a great thing to happen. Now, how would you feel about a guest appearance from, well, a semi-famous action hero type? My agent likes it, says she wants to meet when we finish with this, chase some ideas around and maybe start pitching in the next month or so.’
It wasn’t often that Rina was stunned, but Terry had managed it.
‘You’re serious about this?’ Joy was astonished and, Rina could hear, very pleased. ‘Rina, you’ve got to admit it would be great.’
They turned to look at her. ‘Slow it down,’ Rina ordered. ‘Terry. I—’
‘Rina Martin, you are a talented woman as well as being a truly nice one.’ Terry took her hand. ‘We both know we’re a very long way from making this happen, but let me give it a shot? Yes?’
Rina found she was gaping at him. She shut her mouth with a snap and then nodded. ‘Why not,’ she said, ‘and if it doesn’t happen, then it doesn’t.’ But she’d be disappointed, she realized with a sudden shock. She truly would.
TEN
Aikensthorpe, 1872:
‘Mr Creedy, if that is you, will you rap the table twice for me? ’
‘Creedy? The gamekeeper?’ Albert was confounded.
‘Hush, my friend.’ Dr Pym’s voice was soft but excited. ‘Let the spirits speak.’
Elizabeth felt a brief pang at involving Pym, a genuine honest soul, and another pang – of fear this time at what her husband would do if this worked against her. She pushed that thought to one side. ‘Mr Creedy, if you would be so kind as to confirm your presence here.’
The table rapped. Twice.
‘Your wife misses you, Mr Creedy,’ Elizabeth continued.
‘Ah, the poor widow,’ Spinelli whispered. ‘So alone still.’
Is she really, Elizabeth thought. Or are you ensuring that she does not feel lonely, Mr Spinelli?
‘Mr Creedy,’ Elizabeth continued. ‘We are told that those in spirit understand the world of the living, can still see and hear those they have left behind, can still feel their grief. Mr Creedy, if that is so, then you will know of the rumours surrounding your untimely death, that persist despite the passing years.’
‘Elizabeth!’ Albert was clearly not amused. He had indulged her talent, as he saw it, but he preferred Elizabeth’s spirit encounters to be unknown, romantic.
‘Let her continue, Albert,’ Pym said. ‘This may help to quiet the rumours.’
‘Rumours that have no foundation,’ Albert snapped, but he settled reluctantly and allowed Elizabeth to continue.
‘Mr Creedy, was your death an accident? There are many people still asking this question, and your widow is deeply troubled by it. Please, if you can answer this question, rap once for no and twice to confirm.’
A pause, and then one distinct and careful rap. They waited, but there was nothing more.
‘I say,’ Pym said.
‘Elizabeth, desist now.’ Albert was even more annoyed. He had called an investigator, from London, to look into Creedy’s death when the vile rumours had begun, two years ago, and the detective had found nothing to support any of them. Matter dealt with.
Elizabeth knew she had very little time before Albert broke the circle. ‘Mr Creedy, do you know who was responsible for your death?’
Two raps this time, unhesitatingly delivered.
‘And can you identify this person?’
Two raps again. Looking at her husband, she could see that he was incandescent.
‘Elizabeth, enough!’
‘Is your killer here?’ There should have been more preamble, she thought, but there was no time. Elizabeth gambled everything on one final question.
The table trembled, there was no other word for it.
‘Something else is here,’ Spinelli almost squeaked. ‘Something terrible.’
Bang, and then a second, almost a crash this time, the table lifting beneath their hands and slamming down.
Startled cries, shouts of ‘enough’ from Albert. But Elizabeth hadn’t finished. So certain was she of Spinelli’s guilt.
‘Did you kill Mr Creedy, Mr Spinelli?’
‘Did I
what? Dear lady, how can you suggest such a thing?’
‘Right, that is it. Elizabeth, go to your room.’ Albert stood, the table tipped and fell on to its side.
Pym was fluttering like a debutant. Spinelli stood bewildered, and Elizabeth turned to George Weston for support. Wasn’t this what Weston had told her, what she had believed, what they had plotted for so long to uncover?
He gave no sign, simply looked on with an expression of grave concern on his face. ‘Mrs Southam, are you feeling quite well?’
‘Am I—’ Elizabeth was dumbfounded. ‘Mr Weston, you told me that Mr Creedy had spoken Mr Spinelli’s name. You said—’
‘Mrs Southam,’ Weston said gravely. ‘If I have put you under any misapprehension then I am deeply sorry.’
‘Misapprehension? You said he—’
‘I said merely that Mr Creedy asked for the Reverend Spinelli.’ He put gentle emphasis on Spinelli’s title. ‘A reasonable wish, I would have thought. Mr Creedy knew that he was a dying man.’
‘But—’
‘Elizabeth, you’ve said and done enough. Go to your room,’ Albert interrupted.
‘I’m not a child. You can’t order me!’
Albert turned to the maidservant now cowering by the door. ‘Take your mistress to her room, and Pym, may I trouble you to give her something to settle her nerves.’ Albert’s tone was restrained, but his face was flushed.
‘Settle my nerves? There is nothing wrong with my nerves!’
‘Come now, my dear,’ Dr Pym said. He reached out and patted her hand, then turned to her husband. ‘Don’t be too hard on her, old man, you know how women can be when they are in a delicate condition.’
Delicate! Elizabeth blushed. She had told no one but her husband and the doctor that she was pregnant; to have it announced in such a cavalier manner was too much.
‘Mr Weston, please.’ But even as she begged him to explain what they had done and why, that Weston had heard Creedy’s last accusing words, she knew she had been betrayed. Weston would not help her. Weston had his own agenda.
Without another word, she turned and left the room, the servant rushing after her. Dr Pym paused to offer reassuring words to Albert and then followed them. He would listen to her, she was certain of that.
An oddly celebratory atmosphere prevailed when Rina came back down at ten that evening in preparation for the seance. Everyone had dressed for the occasion, men in suits and woman in the best dresses they had with them. Gail had gone ahead of them into the seance room – to prepare and meditate, apparently – everyone else seemed to be drinking and eating again, and Rina began to wonder if Melissa had threatened to lock them all in until some specific volume of the food mountain had been consumed.
‘So,’ she asked, approaching Edwin Holmes as he helped himself to another glass of wine, ‘do Joy and I get to know anything about this invented ghost of yours?’
The old man turned and smiled at her, his pale blue, rather watery eyes crinkling at their corners. ‘Oh, no, I’m afraid not. You already know far too much. The two, or should I say four, neutral witnesses on that other night knew absolutely nothing. They fully believed in the process, so I can’t tell you more than we already have or it would ruin the whole effect.’
Rina frowned. ‘But we’ve already drifted miles from the original proposition,’ she argued. ‘So far as we know, everyone that night was a believer and, as you say, there was total secrecy when it came to the origin of the phenomena they claimed to be calling up. And,’ she emphasized, ‘we don’t even know who or what they were claiming to be trying to contact, do we? So—’
‘You are, of course, absolutely right. We have only a limited knowledge of the spirit they claimed to be trying to summon that night, but I’d still like to keep as close as we possibly can to the original experiment, even allowing for all of those variables.’ The pale eyes twinkled. ‘Tell me, though, Rina, where do you stand on all of this? Believer, non-believer, or, like our friend Terry, have you not yet made up your mind?’
Rina ignored the question. ‘I thought nothing was known about the 1872 invention?’
‘Almost nothing. I promise, I will tell you everything I know afterwards, but we really don’t want to put any of that into people’s minds. Tonight, we must focus on our experiment – the comparison with theirs will be made after the event.’
Rina frowned. She hated to be kept in the dark, but she let it lie and tried another attack. ‘You said there were four neutral observers on the night in 1872. I though there were only the two Joy and I are substituting for? Dr Pym and this Reverend Spinelli person.’
‘And two servants, drafted in at the last moment. We have Viv to thank for that detail; she found it mentioned in one of the newspaper clippings Melissa discovered a few days ago.’
‘Oh?’ Rina was now intrigued. ‘Where did she find them?’
‘In the seance room,’ Edwin said. ‘In a wooden deed box just inside the door. It was as though someone had put them there right before the door was sealed.’
‘I don’t recall seeing a deed box in the photographs. And I thought the room had been sealed on the night it all happened.’
‘Well, we had assumed that, but to be honest, if any of us had really thought about it that would have been highly unlikely.’
‘The police would have wanted to see the room,’ Rina said, nodding. ‘Even if Pym’s death was ruled an accident, any police officer worth their salt would have wanted to check out the background; he’d want to know what made Pym ride off in such an almighty hurry that night. So, where is this box now?’
Edwin laughed. ‘I’ll get Melissa to sort it out for you later. I think we’re about to go in.’
Rina nodded absently and, with Edwin, went over to where Joy waited for her by the door. Her mind was buzzing, and something was starting to feel very wrong. The photographs she had seen that Melissa had taken spoke of a rapid and final departure. The abandoned glove and scarf; the heavy and rather valuable rose bowl, untouched and locked away as though it had been tainted by events; the shuttered windows, never again to be unfastened, no sunlight or fresh air allowed to permeate the stricken room.
And now the box. Where exactly had it been found? Who had put it there, and when and why? She could understand that Albert Southam might have collected accounts of that night; understand, too, that he might then have thought better of the impulse and wanted the records of such disaster hidden away. But if he wanted rid, why not just burn them? Anyway, it would not have been possible to remove everything from sight or consciousness that might bring a reminder of events. Viv had told them that the investigation and the public interest had rumbled on for the following year.
The other question – a question she should have thought of herself: had the police gone into the little room and poked about, or had they merely glanced inside? And the servants: why hadn’t they been questioned about their involvement? Rina had read through almost all of Viv’s considerable documentation now and could recall no mention of them, unless . . .
‘Edwin, the servants – the butler, Banks, and the housemaid, Sally Birch. Is that who the other two were?’
He looked surprised. ‘Yes, I believe so. Why?’
‘Because, according to the notes Viv gave us, they left the following morning, with Elizabeth Southam. Before Dr Pym was found and before the investigation began. Three people left this house together. My big question is: why?’
Now, it seemed, was not the time Rina would get her answer: they had entered the little room beyond the library. Thick, velvety darkness enclosed them, the only light a single candle in the centre of the rose bowl. Pale pink blooms cast a soft fragrance into the room. Gail was seated opposite the door with her eyes closed. She did not move as they shuffled in and took their seats around the table, Professor Franklin immediately to Gail’s left and Edwin Holmes to her right. Rina, Joy and Terry sat opposite the medium, Rina directly facing the young blonde, whose pale hair and skin now looked silvered i
n the candle light.
Terry is in on the story, Rina thought. So is Tim and Viv and everyone else. Only she and Joy, the so-called neutral observers, had been shut out of what she was now starting to think of as a conspiracy. Her every instinct told her she should leave, now, take Joy and Tim and go and tell the others, even Terry Beal, just what she thought of them and their silly games.
Worse, she now felt angry with Tim all over again. Her much loved mentee had got her into this and had also been part of the group that had planned and constructed this event – albeit not such a central element, as he had spent Christmas and New Year separate from the main conspirators – but she still felt aggrieved.
The four men filming the seance had taken up their positions in the corners of the room: Tim and Toby behind Gail, and Robin and Jay behind Rina.
Beneath the table, Joy grabbed Rina’s hand. Her palms were damp.
‘Are you all right?’ Rina asked her softly.
‘No, not really.’
‘Quiet, please,’ Professor Franklin chided, and Rina glared at him, then squeezed Joy’s hand.
‘We can leave if you want to,’ she said, loudly enough for Franklin to hear.
‘No, I’ll be all right.’
Melissa was sitting between Terry Beal and Edwin Holmes. Melissa was at the wrong angle for Rina to see her face, but she could see that Terry looked oddly tense and ill at ease. He glanced her way and smiled tightly. Only Viv and Rav Pinner seemed truly at ease, Rav glancing around the room as though looking for trickery and Viv grinning at Rina as though she merely felt excited. Happy, excited, intrigued by life, together these seemed to comprise Viv’s default setting, and Rina was oddly glad she was there. Not much would really faze Viv, she thought, and at the moment she felt a real need for calm, unflappable people; Rina found herself feeling anything but calm and unflappable.
Gail opened her eyes, and Rina heard the door behind her snap shut. Too late to back out now, she thought.
‘I feel the spirits are present,’ Gail said. ‘So we will begin.’
It occurred to Rina that this young woman was playing a very odd role. It seemed that she really thought of herself as psychic, as being able to act as a medium between the living and whatever else there might be, and yet here she was tonight, behaving as though all of that was make-believe. Did she feel strange, anxious, somehow traitorous, or had she found a way to reconcile these opposite beliefs? Had Elizabeth Southam, all those years ago, also managed to find a way to ease her conscience?
The Dead of Winter Page 8