“Like what?” she turned to him. “If you walk away from us now, Henry, where would you go?”
He stared at her; his powdered wig sat at an angle on his head, making him look, Alice thought, ridiculous. But, no doubt, he was born a gentleman, and, in Henry’s time, that was what young gentlemen wore.
Alice was what the spirit world called a ‘nanny’. Usually women – although Alice had seen a man once – nannies were people who had adored children in life, and in death collected the souls of babies and children who had passed away. With older children, such as Henry, they gave them the confidence to try to strike out in the world of the dead alone. With babies, all they could do was pray for their salvation and carry the burden of their small souls, until the Lord came to take them. If, indeed, He ever did.
She herself had died aged 32. In life, she had been a housemaid and had become betrothed to one of the footmen who worked in the same grand house as her. As the date for their wedding was set, she had sickened and discovered that she carried his child. Something had gone wrong, Alice was not sure what, but she had awoken one night to soaked bed sheets. She firstly believed it to be her sweat as she had suffered fevers during the pregnancy, but, as she turned the candle to her covers, she saw it was, in fact, blood. Throbs of pain grew each minute as labour pains wracked her body. Alice remembered others fussing around her, trying to deliver the child. Then she instantly found herself standing outside the hall, in the kitchen garden, and unable to be seen by anyone, even her beloved Arthur, her betrothed. She had lost her child in life, and so she decided to help children who had passed, by being their nanny in death.
She had hoped to one day find her child amongst the babies, if indeed she would even recognise it, but she never did. It had obviously passed on. Alice did not even know if it was a girl or a boy. Some said it had gone to hell for being unbaptised and conceived out of wedlock, but Alice would not believe this. God would never turn an innocent away, would He? No, He wouldn’t.
For over 97 years, Alice had walked the earth as a spirit, but she had known those who had been around for hundreds of years, caught in this way like a fly in a sticky web of time. She hoped this wouldn’t happen to her, but that her Lord would send for her and she could glance upon the face of her child for the first time. Some nights she also prayed to see Arthur again; was it too much to hope one day that they would all be reunited?
She turned back from staring at Henry and carried on walking. Ahead, at a busy intersection, she saw Dr Maxwell, looking down at what looked like a crumpled piece of paper on the pavement. As she neared the junction, she said instinctively to the children, “Stay close to Nanny, as the road is dangerous.”
“Horseless carriages cannot harm us, Nanny, being that we are all as dead as an acorn in winter,” Henry whined from the back of the group.
Giving the hand of the three-year-old to a little girl behind her, she walked over to where the doctor stood, staring at the cars and vans hurtling down the road at great speed.
“Good cheer to you, Dr Maxwell. How have you been these last days?” she enquired.
He turned slowly and smiled; he was fond of Nanny. “Very well, Nanny; I’ve no complaints. And you?”
She proffered the baby to him. “I have a newborn, who was just given to me last night; pray our Lord takes him soon.”
“Indeed.” He frowned, then looked back at the ground where a newspaper, damp from the night’s rain, was fluttering in the wind, caused by the traffic. He looked up again. “Look at these objects of speed; an abomination made by man.” He gestured to the cars and lorries speeding past. “There is no need to travel so quickly; one cannot take in the surroundings. It’s all hurrying to get… goodness knows where.”
Alice said nothing. Many were used to Dr Maxwell’s complaints about modern contraptions and how he hated them all.
Seeing that she was not interested in this particular gripe, he gestured to the crumpled piece of paper near his feet. Unexpectedly, he pointed to it with his cane; the movement was so fast that Alice jumped slightly.
“Tell me, Nanny, can you think of a way to get a newspaper page to turn over? I can see half of a story on this page, but I can read no more without the page being turned back,” he questioned.
Nanny looked at the rain-dampened sheet. She simply saw the headline ‘I SEE THE DEAD’. “I cannot advise you, Dr Maxwell, but would only say that to believe in these tricksters will do you no good.”
He tapped his cane at the newspaper harshly, but, of course, it never made contact; it just waved straight through. “No, Nanny, you don’t understand. This is the woman I have been speaking about; she sees and hears us as if we lived. I met her at the hospital when I was there—”
“You should not visit places you knew in your lifetime; it only leads to heartache—”
“Never mind that… I came across her, and she sees us. Do you know how unusual that is? I believe it is a sign; she is the answer, and she will know how to help us crossover. Do you understand, Nanny? I need to find her and talk to her again, to make her realise just what a jewel she carries…”
Alice looked unimpressed. “It is quackery, Doctor, and false hope. The Lord will call us when He is ready.”
Henry appeared abruptly by her side, immediately taking in the scene with his sharp, beady eyes. “What tarries here?” he said.
Dr Maxwell looked at him. “Who are you?”
Slightly annoyed, Henry turned to face him, opened his mouth to say something, reconsidered, and then said, “My name is Henry Swain of Cotterstokes House. I fell from my mount, and you are?”
“Dr William Maxwell, from East London, I…” He hesitated. “Perished in a fire.”
Henry considered this, then looked at the newspaper, damp and crumpled on the floor. “A living woman who sees the dead is a novelty indeed. You want to read this piece?”
“Yes, but the page is folded,” responded the doctor.
“Then we shall unfold it, shan’t we?” Henry walked away.
Dr Maxwell addressed Alice directly. “Who in all that is holy does that boy think he is?”
Alice stared after Henry as he took up a position about ten feet away from them, with his back turned. “He is from an incredibly high-born family of landowners and importers,” she said. “He would have been some kind of lord or senior figure had he lived.”
“Indeed.” The doctor watched as Henry spun around to face them. The boy had a look of mild concentration on his face, his left hand on his hip and his right hand held aloft, the fingers of which he elegantly spun in the air, as if playing an imaginary harp.
The bent page flipped over in a sharp action, allowing the newspaper to be read.
“Sir, your page has now unfolded,” stated Henry with a self-satisfied smile.
Alice looked at him. “Well done, Henry.” She then turned to Dr Maxwell. “Henry has quite a talent for moving objects in the realm of the living.”
Dr Maxwell was not listening; he was bent double, absolutely engrossed in reading the article still stuck to the pavement.
She then turned to her group of youngsters. “Come, Henry… children… it’s time to go now, or we will all catch our deaths,” she said.
Chapter 14
Hidden under the covers, Andy didn’t want to move. In the days since he had visited the benefits office, his mind had been in a whirl. After the job at Miss Simpkin’s flat, he had received two calls from anxious women, both saying they knew Debbie and would he please come and look at their presumed ghosts. Boldly, he had suggested a £500 fee for ridding them of the spirits, which was a complete change of tack from his usual cost of £50 callout and £20 an hour, but, after Miss Simpkin’s financial gratitude, he felt emboldened to push up the cost.
Amazingly, both women had agreed, so he had been on cloud nine. What’s more, both hauntings seemed to probably be the kind of thin
g Debbie had, like a loose pipe or a dodgy radiator. He would have been quids in, but then the benefits thing had happened. Andy had to give it all up to go and stack shelves. Why was life like this? It gave you a ladder, then a snake to slide down.
Goddammit. He had called both ladies to see if they could see him at the weekend, and both said that wasn’t convenient. He kept going over and over how he could change his business hours, maybe tell some fib that ghosts were easier to catch on a Saturday or Sunday, which was a load of hogwash, or come up with some other bullshit to explain his restricted working hours, but he couldn’t. Anyway, many of his customers, especially the elderly, liked him there in the daytime. What was he going to do? He lay there under his bed covers, depressed and hoping an answer would come, but all that did overwhelm him was immense fatigue.
Muffled through the covers, he heard a gentle tap at the door, and it slowly opening.
“Andy?” It was Mrs Braithwaite’s quiet voice.
“I am resting…” he said, still hidden by the duvet.
“See what I have left you on the bed, as it might be helpful,” she replied.
From where he lay he felt a slight weight as something was placed on his covers, then he heard the quiet click as the door closed again.
What on earth had Mrs Braithwaite brought him? Some sort of medicine or a book? He hoped it was not one of her bloody smelly candles again, which she said helped with stress. Whatever it was, he wasn’t interested and fell asleep.
It wasn’t until four hours later, when he climbed from his bed, that he saw the newspaper, folded open on page five.
A woman was frozen in print on the page, staring out at him and looking slightly manic, accompanied by the headline stating, ‘I SEE THE DEAD – LOCAL WOMAN BECOMES PSYCHIC AFTER ACCIDENT’. God, another nutter. The first thing that sprang into Andy’s mind was What if this woman starts ghost hunting? She might take some of my customers. The story had given her a prime position in the local paper, stating that she had the ability to actually see the dead and she could speak to them. This woman could be the ideal ghost hunter, and her ‘career’, if you like, had been launched by this piece, as an unpaid endorsement.
Why had Mrs Braithwaite given him this? To depress him further? He read the story again; within it, Rachel – as her name was – spoke about how some ghosts were seen knees or waist upwards, how they frequently only had banal things to say, and how there were just as likely to be ghosts around in daylight as at night time. Andy put the paper down. This confirmed what he already knew, and he started to wonder if she wasn’t a fraud after all. There were so many misconceptions about spirits, most of them bandied about in books and films, yet she seemed to know quite a lot about the real thing.
With a smash, an idea fired into his brain like a bullet, and his own words from his visit to Miss Simpkin returned to haunt him: “It would be cool if I could find some piece of equipment that could view ghosts and spirits, like I see you, which would make it all so much easier.”
He stared back at the paper, took note of the area she lived in from the article, and smiled to himself. “Ha… sweet,” he muttered.
*
Rachel was back at school again, standing outside Mr Andrew’s office. Although she had awoken feeling unwell, which was very normal now, she had tried to rally herself by saying to her inner mind that this meeting was probably to give her a date to return to teaching. So many thoughts had gone through her head that morning, such as how she would cope with the increased migraines and medication she now had to take, and whether she could just go back to teaching a junior class again. She was so full of self-doubt.
The same familiar walk to the school gates stirred her again. How many years she had walked down this street with its old-fashioned houses, where, every day as she passed them, she had speculated on what the family was like who lived within. Did they have as many problems as her or were their lives free from worry?
This morning, she had actually bothered to put her make-up on and had looked out her smart clothes. Again, hope began to rise as she checked in at the reception, and she smiled at the familiar faces as she walked the corridors to the headteacher’s office.
As if he sensed her there as soon as she approached his door, Mr Andrews opened it and waved her in, and she sat, once again in the chair facing his battered, cluttered desk. Somewhere in the distance, she heard someone coughing, or was it choking? For a second, it filled her head and made her aware that panic had started to fill her body, making her arms and legs tingle. Quickly, she tried to gain control as he spoke.
“Rachel, I am glad you made time to come and see us today.” His voice was low and clipped.
She didn’t have anything to say, so she remained silent.
He picked up a folder of papers, glanced at them then looked up. “I have seen this week’s paper; I assume you have as well. In it, you appear to have given an interview claiming to see… harrumph… dead people? Is this the case?”
Oh God, that interview; what should I say? The truth wasn’t going to wash here, so she heard herself reply, “Oh… er… no, of course not. The man who interviewed me just wanted a story, and, as I was going to probably need some money soon, being on half pay, I thought that… er… that I could just make up an interesting story for him. It’s all false, of course.”
Mr Andrews’s eyes narrowed. “So you made up a totally fake story and gave it to a paper, whilst on official sick leave, and took payment for it… cashing in on your illness? That sounds very poor form to me, Rachel.”
“Oh, no, you don’t understand; it wasn’t like that. He needed a story and—”
“I am afraid I have heard enough. Your condition means you are very unlikely to return to teaching again, and I was considering if we would maybe be able to find you an admin job or a less challenging role in another school, but I am afraid this article has forced my hand. You have brought the school into disrepute, and I am going to have to dismiss you from our employment.”
“What? No…” She stood up. “I have worked here for such a long time, and my friends are here.”
He stood up to match her stance. “I am sorry, Rachel. We have already been receiving calls from parents about some kind of incident involving you at a castle, and now this. We cannot have a teacher who is hallucinating; it isn’t right.”
“I am not hallucinating,” she spat out, now furious. “I am not mad.”
“Please do leave,” he said, and he gestured to the door.
Rachel walked out, with tears stinging her eyes.
Behind her she heard his voice explaining, “We will ensure you are paid what you are owed, and we will send a letter outlining your position with regard to work and references.”
But she wasn’t listening; she had to get out of there. The familiar school walls, the polished floor and her plants – all so well known to her, and enveloping her in their normality – now appeared different and stark, with all urging her to leave. This had once been her second home, but, now, she felt nothing.
She walked the same familiar streets to get back home. On hurrying up the steps to her flat, she saw a man hanging about by the entrance. He was a slightly overweight gentleman, in his forties, wearing a battered bomber jacket and a cap with ‘Roswell’ printed on the front.
She stopped, looked at him and thought, Oh God another reporter; I should have known more people would start contacting me after the story broke.
He looked up, and she returned the glance.
“Miss Holloway?” Andy enquired.
“Yes, that’s me,” she replied miserably.
Chapter 15
They were both sitting in Rachel’s flat, on the sofa.
Andy’s eyes flicked over the slightly untidy surfaces and dusty ornaments. He thought he spotted a pile of clothes peeking out from behind her sofa. What the hell could he say about it? His bedroom was a mess
, and if Mrs Braithwaite didn’t remove his dirty clothes and plates as she did daily, it would end up in a similar state in no time. He eyed the coffee she had made him. It was too weak for his liking, but he wasn’t there to drink coffee. He took a sip to appear polite, but then immediately wished he hadn’t.
He began, “Er… Miss Holloway, I—”
“Rachel, please,” she offered.
“Er… Rachel… OK. Look, I saw the thing in the paper, saying you can see ghosts; is it true? I need to know.”
“Yes. Well, sort of. I had a brain bleed thing. Then, well, I sort of see them now.” She looked at him, realising what she had just said must sound very odd to an ordinary person, but she continued anyway. “I don’t know how it happened, and I know they are there; I am not making it up… or hallucinating. They are everywhere, you see…”
“Everywhere?” His mouth had dropped open.
“They are everywhere, yes. I try to ignore them as they can be… intrusive…”
“You hear them as well?”
“Yes, I hear and see them, like I see and hear you.”
He rubbed his hands together instinctively. “As I told you, I run a psychic-investigation company. Basically, when people have a ghost and it causes problems, I go in and help. I think that, with your ability, you would be an enormous help to me.”
“How?”
“Well, you see them and you can talk to them, right? So I have this idea that, when I next get called to investigate something, you can come with me. You’ll see the ghost, tell it it’s dead, tell it to clear off, and, Bob’s your uncle, we clean up.”
“Er… they usually know they are dead… Besides, they might not want to go. I cannot command them to do anything; ghosts are simply living people who are dead… Some will do what you say; some will tell you to clear off.”
He frowned. “You aren’t winding me up. You really can see ’em?”
“Yes… unfortunately.”
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