They were leaning on either side of a tall gravestone topped with a large cross. I crouch down and read the inscription.
The inscription on the tomb is clear.
In loving memory of Lady Eleanor Thomas-Fulford
Died 26th June, 1933
I shiver, a great violent judder that rocks my body. Then I notice the two smaller tombstones just to the right of Eleanor’s. One of them has been carved with elaborate flowers and buds round the inscription.
To the memory of Lucinda MacDonald of Weston Manor
Died 17th May, 1953
Next to this stone is another of the same height but this one has a small stone angel on the top. I crouch down, even though I know what I’m going to see.
Yes.
Gone but not forgotten
In loving memory of Rose MacDonald
Died 3rd December, 1956
I get up. My legs have gone soft, like all the blood has been drained out of them.
So why – why did I see these two women the other day? Do they come every day?
There’s a soft melodious laugh behind me, like somebody heard me thinking out loud and thinks that I’m stupid or something but that they’re quite fond of me nonetheless.
I spin round but I know that there will be nobody there.
But something else catches my eye. On the opposite side of the path is a tiny gravestone in the shape of a cradle.
I bend over to read the inscription. There’s ivy all over it so I have to poke and pull at the strands until I can make out the carved lettering.
In loving memory of Bertie Thomas-Fulford
Taken from this life aged five on 4th November, 1899
This is all getting too weird.
Who is this child? I can’t recall anybody at the manor ever mentioning a child.
Still – the two old ladies looked kind enough when I saw them before. They don’t look like they’re out to get me. ‘Even if they’re dead,’ I mutter to myself. I can’t quite take in what I’m saying. But it’s true – they didn’t look at all as if they would cause me any trouble.
Unlike their half-sister, Lady Eleanor.
I try to block the image of her stern features looking down from the painting in the hall and I head back towards the manor.
My head is whirling with stuff I don’t much want to think about.
Again.
I sit in the walled garden on the way back and gaze at the pet graves again.
I find them comforting, in a way. Little dogs can’t harm you, whether they’re alive or dead.
Over the wall beyond the ruined greenhouses the top half of Weston rises up towards the sky.
It’s almost as quiet in here as it was in the cemetery.
I look at my watch. I’ve got a few minutes before Mum will be looking for me.
I close my eyes in the sun and lean my head back against the wall. It’s hypnotic out here, with the chirp of the birds and the hum of a lawnmower and the thud of croquet balls from the back lawn and the sun is acting like a drug on my tired sleepless brain and I start to dip into the dark as the breeze tickles my face and the sun warms my cheeks and then it all fades to a fuzz and I sink somewhere warm and soft.
A child whispers my name.
‘Ben?’ I say, waking up with a start and a dry throat.
There’s nobody there. I must have dreamed the whisper. My head aches and I feel even more tired and like I could just lie down and sleep on the paving slabs but I drag my weary bones towards the entrance of the manor instead. Maybe I’ll actually get a good night’s sleep tonight.
There’s a different lady on reception today. She’s older than Dawn, with short grey hair and gold studs in her ears but she’s wearing trendy leggings and a pinafore dress which looks a bit odd on an old person. She must be at least thirty.
‘Hello, love,’ she says as I flick through postcards and books. ‘Can I help you? Dawn’s off sick today so I’ve come over to cover for her. I’m Maggie.’
‘I’m Tabs and I live here,’ I say with a huge yawn. ‘My dad’s the Keeper.’
The woman smiles.
‘I know,’ she says. ‘And a very good one too, or so I’ve heard.’
I smile back. It’s nice to hear Dad being praised for the right reasons rather than for him being tall and handsome and a hit with the ladies.
Just as we’re talking about Dad he comes bounding into the entrance hall with his face flushed and his hair a bit messed up.
‘The cavalry’s here,’ he says to the lady. ‘You go home. I’ll lock up.’
She reaches for her coat and heads off.
I help Dad tidy up her desk and empty the cash till and there’s a bit of a silence between us and then I really want to know where he’s been, so I say: ‘Did you have a good day, Dad?’ and he makes a big thing out of counting five pound notes for a moment. Then he turns and gives me his dazzling smile and says, ‘Manor business – you know. Networking and stuff,’ which doesn’t really mean anything and I wish that I hadn’t heard that Dawn was off today because now my mind is working overtime on things it doesn’t like. But I know better than to push Dad any more because his temper can come out like a sudden sharp whoosh so I button it and follow him back to the flat.
Ben is back. He’s quietly sitting in front of the television fiddling with a box of coloured bricks.
‘When did Mum go out?’ says Dad, filling up the kettle.
I look at the clock.
She’s been out for hours.
‘She must have come back while I was out and then popped out again,’ I say. ‘Maybe she met a friend?’
Dad looks worried now. We both know that Mum left all her friends behind in London.
‘I’ll get supper together and then I might go out and look for her,’ he says. ‘Beans on toast all right?’
I nod and pull Ben on to my lap.
‘Don’t worry,’ I whisper to him. ‘She’ll be back soon. She always comes back, right?’
Me, Dad and Ben sit at the kitchen table as the light fades outside and Dad gulps his baked beans down very fast so that he can go out and look for Mum. He goes into their bedroom to get a jumper as the night’s cooling down outside and then I hear a great shout and he comes out into the kitchen with a grey face and waving a piece of paper in the air.
He’s rambling rubbish so I make him sit down.
Then I take the note and begin to read.
Chapter Fourteen
This is what it says:
Dear Mark,
I’ve decided to go and live with Mum for a while. Please don’t try to get in touch. I just need some time away from this family and from this place. I know you’re chasing after somebody else and I can’t bear to see it happen right under my nose. So I’m going to live with Mum for a bit and get my thoughts together. I trust you to carry on being a good father while I’m away.
Rachel
My legs threaten to collapse so I pull out a wooden chair and let it catch me. When I’ve read the letter again I look up at Dad. His face is grey and his hands are buried in his hair so that the bits between his fingers stick up in little stiff peaks.
‘Is it true, Dad?’ I whisper. I’m hanging on to Ben for dear life, trying to stop him crying. ‘Are you chasing after somebody else? Is that why Mum’s gone to live with Gran?’
Dad doesn’t answer for a moment. When he lifts his head his eyes are heavy with tears, but he looks me straight in the eye and then does just what I don’t really expect him to do.
He nods.
Just one short nod but it tells me everything I need to know. I grab Ben by the hand and pull him into my bedroom. Then I fling myself face-down on to the soft pillow and let all my tears and frustrations have free reign.
I cry for so long that all I can hear is my own snorts and snuffles in my ears, but when I stop at last Ben’s fallen asleep and I can hear something else.
‘No, no, not again,’ I whisper.
The bells. They’re ringing
again. In a really haphazard manner.
They don’t stop ringing.
All night.
There are smells around my bed.
Lavender.
Coal.
Voices whisper from the corners of my bedroom and I can hear the swish of silk going back and forth across the wooden floorboards. My windows rattle and bang and at one point something soft brushes my face and there’s a loud laugh right up against my ear.
‘LEAVE ME ALONE!’ I yell, flapping my arms across my face. ‘WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?’
Dad comes running in when I shout but I turn my face to the wall and tell him to go away.
I don’t get a wink of sleep.
The next morning is black.
Very black.
I get out of bed and my windows are wide open and the rug on the floor is crumpled up like somebody’s been rolling on it.
I look in the mirror and for a moment I don’t even look like me any more but like a worn-out serving maid with straggly hair and dark rings under her eyes.
The kitchen is very quiet without Mum bustling about and making breakfast.
I pour cereal into a bowl and get some for Ben and then I leave him swinging his legs and eating. I shut myself in the bedroom and ring Gran.
‘Gran, it’s me,’ I whisper. ‘I know Mum’s there. But I need to talk to you in private. Can she hear?’
There’s a slight crackle on the line but Gran’s still there.
‘She’s in the shower,’ Gran says. ‘What’s up Tabs? I can’t seem to get a good line to talk to you these days.’
I pull a face even though she can’t see it.
‘It’s this house,’ I say. ‘It’s making weird things happen. It’s probably even made Dad and Mum fall out.’
Gran gives a snort.
‘I know exactly why your parents have fallen out,’ she says. ‘Nothing to do with the house. It’s to do with your father, Tabs.’
My stomach does an uncomfortable lurch.
Gran is always ranting on about men. And she’s never liked Dad. She says that her psychic powers told her right away that he’d cause problems.
And it seems that she’s kind of right.
‘Gran,’ I whisper. ‘I need to talk to you about what’s happening here. You’re the only person who won’t laugh at me. You will believe me, won’t you?’
I can almost see Gran smiling and brushing down the sleeves of her blue woollen cardigan.
‘Always, love,’ says Gran. ‘You’re my granddaughter.’
So I take a deep breath and I tell her what’s been happening to me and I’ve just got to the bit about the gravestones and I mention Lady Eleanor and the child’s grave and then there’s another much louder noise on the line like somebody blowing up a packet of crisps right in my ear and then there’s a high-pitched scream that causes me to drop the phone and clutch my ear in pain.
When I pick it up again Gran’s gone.
I redial straight away but the number just makes the engaged signal over and over, so I give up and go to check on Ben.
We sit in complete silence messing around with cornflakes and milk but not really having the heart to eat it, and then Dad comes in stretching his arms above his head.
‘Right,’ he says. ‘It’s a new day so let’s try and have a new start.’
I glare at him.
How can we have a new start when Mum’s not here? I hate Dad at that moment. I really hate him. I hate the way that’s he woken up from a night of deep sleep and is now humming under his breath to the radio while he makes toast for himself and plans his day in the manor.
I hate that he’s made a mess of everything.
And I hate that Mum is living away from us all and probably crying into Gran’s arms and wondering if she’ll ever come home again.
‘You can do some work for me today, Tabitha,’ Dad says. ‘No argument, please. And Monday you’ll get back to school and catch up on all the work you’ve missed. OK?’
I wonder what on earth we’re supposed to do with Ben while we’re running about the manor but as usual I’m left to sort out all the details. So I get him dressed and tell him that he’s got to be good today and come with me when I go around the big house and he smiles, so I reckon it will be OK.
My mobile rings while Dad’s in the shower.
‘Tabs?’ whispers Mum’s voice. ‘Hello, love. Are you OK?’
Tears well up in my eyes. My throat tightens and threatens to choke me so I nod, which is stupid because she can’t see that on the phone.
‘We’re OK,’ I say after a moment. ‘I’m taking Ben to help out in the manor today.’
There’s a long silence on the end of the phone. I can almost hear Mum wrestling with what to say next.
‘Tabitha,’ she says. ‘Look after yourself. Eat properly and get an early night once in a while, will you? I’ll call you every day, I promise.’
‘OK,’ I say in a small sad voice. ‘When are you coming back?’
Another silence.
‘When the time is right,’ says Mum. ‘When things are better. Dad will take good care of you. And Gran’s taking good care of me.’
I open my mouth to ask if I can speak to Gran. Gran can make sense of everything that’s happening. Gran knows stuff. I’m sure she does.
But Mum’s already gone.
I sit on the edge of my bed for a moment. The smell of lavender is very strong in here this morning. It makes me feel sick.
‘Go away,’ I whisper in what’s left of my voice. ‘Just leave me alone. Please.’
I check my phone.
Jake hasn’t replied to my last text.
Dad gives me a duster this morning and instructs me to dust all the fireplace fenders.
There are a lot of fireplaces in Weston Manor so my heart sinks, but he’s not in the mood to be argued with and all morning he’s been jumpy, looking at his watch and then into reception where Dawn is sitting selling tickets to the visitors.
He’s already come to tell me twice that he’ll instruct me exactly when to come home for lunch and that I’m not to go back to the flat until then.
I’m upstairs polishing a brass fender in the library and Ben is playing on the floor next to me when there’s a loud whisper in my right ear.
‘GET OUT!’
It’s a man’s voice.
I leap up and flee the room, coming back to grab Ben.
It’s lunchtime and, despite everything, my stomach’s growling.
How cross is Dad going to be if I go to start the lunch off without him?
As I pass reception I notice that the hall is deserted. There’s a chill in the air – Dad’s always moaning that the council cut down on heating and that visitors shouldn’t be left to freeze in the house. There’s someone new at the desk, an older woman, also with grey hair but tucked up in a knot at the back of her head.
I sigh. They really ought just to have one person on reception full-time. It’s very confusing.
I say ‘hello’ to her as I go past the desk but she continues staring ahead and ignores me so I decide I’m not going to waste time speaking to a rude receptionist and I head back down the corridor to our flat.
You know when sometimes you have a bad feeling and then you ignore it? It’s just a fleeting pang of something not right but you reckon you’re kidding yourself so you shake your head and carry on like nothing’s wrong?
That’s what happens to me.
I get this real feeling of something bad about to happen and I’m wondering whether it will be the bells again or the smells or the sad lady in the blue dress and as I put my key in the door I’m thinking about all this and really hoping that it all leaves me alone and then I’m seeing two people leap apart and there’s Dad and Dawn on the sofa at opposite ends pretending to be all casual and normal.
I’m still holding Ben’s hand so I back away and pull him back down the corridor and out into the entrance hall of the manor and then I pull him down the steps and outside int
o the warm air and I can’t really drag a scared little boy down a main road so I go round the side of the house and into the back gardens and find a corner of the walled garden near the dog graves where there’s a bench and a lily pond and I sit there and shake and shake even though it’s a hot day and Ben says nothing but just gazes up at me with big frightened eyes.
I wipe my eyes and take some deep shuddering breaths and then I stare up at the dark-green shuttered eyes of the manor and I wonder how everything can have gone so wrong.
It’s very hot.
There are even crickets chirping, like in films. The air is fizzing with them.
I can hear the click and thud of croquet balls out on the main lawns and I wonder if it’s the Alice in Wonderland event but I feel too dazed and shattered to move from the bench. So I carry on sitting there with Ben and wondering if Dawn has left the flat and how I’m ever going to look her in the eye again. I’m so deep in thought and half-asleep from the heat that I don’t notice the man wandering past in front of me at first but it’s only when he’s passed through an arch into the old kitchen gardens that I realise he was wearing a flat cap and breeches and pushing a wheelbarrow full of manure. With a jolt I realise that the kitchen garden is locked and it’s not the day when the manor gardeners come in and then on the hot air comes a stench of something steamy and earthy and I hear the faint whinny of a horse and I’m thinking that we don’t have horses here and it’s coming from the direction of the ruined stables and my skin starts to prickle and my ears buzz and I feel Ben grip my hand a little tighter so I look down at him and say, ‘It’s all right, Ben,’ as I do about a hundred times a day and then there’s a sort of misty haze right in front of me at the top of the steps into the walled garden and it turns into the figure of a woman in a black dress.
It’s the woman I saw on reception.
It’s the woman from my photo.
She walks down the steps, very straight and upright.
Lavender surges into my nostrils.
The sour taste of blood drips down my throat.
She walks right through the sundial in the middle of the garden.
The buzzing in my ears steps up a gear, like somebody turned up the volume dial.
The Haunting of Tabitha Grey Page 11