by Ali McNamara
‘Morning, miss,’ Tiffany says as I enter the office. ‘Ooh, what’s up with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!’
I stare at her.
‘You’re all white,’ she says, looking at me with concern. ‘Do you want a cuppa? I’ve got something a bit stronger hidden in the bottom drawer of my desk if you’d like that? Don’t tell Arthur, though.’
‘No, tea will be fine,’ I tell her. I pull out the chair at my newly created desk and I sit down while Tiffany puts the kettle on.
‘So what’s occurring?’ she asks, perching herself on the edge of my desk now. ‘You’re very pale, you know.’
‘Tiffany . . . ’ I say slowly. ‘This may seem like an odd question, but do you know if this castle is haunted?’
‘Yeah, that’s what they say.’
‘Who says?’
‘Er, people who’ve worked here in the past. I just assumed it was stories – you know like they pass down through the generations for entertainment?’
I nod.
‘Why, do you think differently, then?’ she asks. ‘Have you seen something?’
‘Not seen, exactly, more heard.’
‘Ooh, really? What sort of things have you heard? Like chains rattling and stuff?’
‘No, we’re not talking about a ghost in a Charles Dickens novel! What I heard was . . . ’ – I feel silly even saying it now – ‘ . . . laughter.’
‘Ooh, a friendly ghost, then – like Casper?’
I stare at Tiffany – she probably wasn’t the best person to talk to about this.
‘Perhaps. And perhaps I was just imagining it.’ I shake my head. ‘Never mind. Now, what have you got for me this morning? More bills?’ I look at the paperwork already piled up in front of me.
‘Morning, Arthur,’ I say as Arthur pops his head around the office door later. I’ve just finished dealing with all my paperwork and emails, and after two cups of Tiffany’s overly sweet tea I’ve decided that it was definitely my mind playing tricks on me this morning and nothing else.
‘Morning,’ Arthur says. ‘I was just wondering if you’d rung Doug Longstaff yet? He wants to talk to you about supplying the bread and stuff for the café. Doug is the local baker?’ he reminds me unnecessarily.
‘Yes, I do remember, Arthur. It’s next on my list.’
Arthur just nods. ‘Are you all right? You look a little pale this morning.’
Still?
‘Miss Amelia saw a ghost!’ Tiffany pipes up.
Tiffany still insists on calling me ‘Miss Amelia’. It’s better than ‘madam’, I suppose, or ‘your grace’ as she had on one occasion.
‘No, I didn’t,’ I hurriedly insist. ‘I heard something odd, that’s all – in the Blue Bedroom.’
‘What sort of odd?’ Arthur asks.
Reluctantly I tell Arthur what had happened on my way to the office, feeling quite silly and sure he will simply dismiss it as nothing but nonsense. In fact, instead of pale, my face feels quite flushed when I’m finished.
‘Sounds like Percy,’ he says matter-of-factly.
‘Who?’
‘Percy, he was the fourth Earl. He died in that room.’
I stare at Arthur. ‘Arthur, are you telling me what I think you are? Are you saying this Percy is a ghost?’
‘Ghost, spirit, whatever you want to call them.’ He shrugs. ‘Percy is said to have haunted that room for centuries.’
My eyes are wide now. ‘And you believe that?’ I ask, astonished at Arthur’s calm composed responses.
Arthur shrugs. ‘No reason not to.’
‘Have you seen this Percy, Arthur?’ Tiffany asks, her eyes wide.
‘Nope. I may have heard a few things over the years I’ve worked here, though, and I’ve known a few that claim to have seen him.’
‘And what did they say?’ I ask, still not quite believing we’re having this conversation.
‘Varies. Apparently, the more Percy likes you, the more he’s likely to show himself to you. That’s why not many visitors see him. Percy likes to get to know you before he shows himself.’
‘A picky ghost – nice.’ I have to smile now. This is crazy, and I can’t quite believe Arthur is a part of it. ‘You said this Percy died in the Blue Bedroom? Was it natural causes?’
Arthur looks a little embarrassed and extremely uncomfortable. He fiddles with the green tie he always wears with his tweed suit when he’s ‘on duty’, although, as far as I can see, Arthur never seems to be ‘off duty’, even when he’s at his little cottage with Dorothy.
‘Oh, Arthur has gone all red!’ Tiffany grins. ‘What’s up, Arthur, cat got your tongue?’
‘No.’ Arthur clears his throat. ‘The rumour surrounding this particular Earl’s death is a little . . . how can I put this delicately? A little . . . risqué.’
Tiffany and I exchange looks of amusement.
‘Go on, Arthur,’ I encourage. ‘Please tell us.’
‘It’s claimed – and believe me, I have no proof of this – that he died while . . . ’ Arthur clears his throat again. ‘While in the act of consummating a relationship with a lady.’
My eyes widen and I can feel myself grinning – partly at the cause of the Earl’s death, but mostly at Arthur’s carefully chosen description of it.
‘He died having sex?’ Tiffany states to Arthur’s obvious discomfort. ‘What a way to go!’
‘I believe so . . . ’ Arthur says. He looks awkwardly around the office.
‘Is there more to it, Arthur?’ I ask, sensing this isn’t the full story.
Arthur looks at me in dismay, as though he really doesn’t want to go on with this torment any longer.
‘I bet there is!’ Tiffany says keenly. ‘Let me guess, was it a man in bed with him?’
Arthur pulls a horrified expression.
‘No?’ Tiffany says, continuing unabated. ‘Ooh, what about a lady of the night then? Or his mistress? They all had mistresses back then, didn’t they, these old codgers?’
‘How do you know he was old when he died?’ I ask her.
‘That’s true – was he, Arthur?’
Arthur sighs, obviously deciding it’ll be easier to answer our questions than fight against them. ‘He was a good age for that time, I believe, and yes he was with his mistress. Now is that enough for the two of you?’
‘So that’s why the bed moves?’ Tiffany says, thinking out loud. ‘He’s still there having it away with his mistress!’
Arthur and I both pull looks of revulsion this time.
‘Eww! Tiffany!’ I say. ‘I don’t want to know that, thank you.’
‘I believe Percy simply haunts the room,’ Arthur says, his eyebrows raised sternly in Tiffany’s direction. ‘The reports of people seeing him are usually him simply sitting on the edge of the bed or moving between the bedroom and the dressing room.’
Tiffany looks a tad disappointed.
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ I say, then I hear myself. Wait, we are talking about a ghost here. I don’t believe in ghosts, spirits, an afterlife or anything remotely connected to any of them.
‘Anyway, I must be going,’ Arthur says, looking desperate to get away. ‘I only popped up to ask you about Doug. Oh, and to tell you to expect a visitor later.’
‘A visitor – who?’
‘I think he said his name was Benjamin?’ Arthur says. ‘He telephoned earlier to check you were here, and asked for his visit to be a surprise. I don’t know about you but I hate surprises, I much prefer to be prepared. So I thought I’d better mention it.’
‘That’s fine, Arthur. Thank you for informing me,’ I say calmly, although internally my mind is whizzing.
Benji is coming here – to the castle. But why?
Fifteen
‘Benji!’ I call happily, as he makes his way across the drawbridge and under the portcullis later that day. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Surprise!’ Benji calls back. ‘Although by the look of your calm face perhaps I’m not qui
te the surprise I’d hoped to be.’
‘Arthur may have let slip you’d be calling in,’ I apologise, as Benji puts his arms around me and we hug. ‘Sorry about that. How come you are here, though?’
‘I’ve been up in Scotland visiting my parents – Stirling, to be precise – and I thought I’d call in on my way back down south.’
‘Well, it’s wonderful to see you.’
‘So this is Chez Amelia,’ Benji says, looking around him. ‘Very impressive.’
‘It is pretty special.’
‘You’re getting on all right, then? No teething problems just yet?’
‘Ah, I wouldn’t go that far. But I think it’s going okay just now. Come on, let me show you around, or would you prefer something to drink first?’
‘Tea first, then a tour?’ Benji suggests. ‘I’m parched.’
I take Benji up to the top of my tower, and while he admires the view I make us a pot of tea, then I carry it up the winding stone staircase on a tray, an act I quickly learned requires a lot of balance, and a fair amount of dexterity.
‘You look like you’ve done that a few times before,’ Benji says, taking the tray from me and placing it on the coffee table between the two sofas.
‘I’m getting better at it. The first few times there wasn’t a lot of tea left in the pot by the time I got up here, I can tell you!’
Benji pours the tea and we settle down opposite each other on the sofas.
‘So where have you been?’ I ask him. ‘I tried calling you several times, but you didn’t reply. I was starting to get a bit worried.’ I try to ask this in the lightest, breeziest way I can. But the truth is I’d been more than a little concerned, and I had to admit a little hurt by his lack of contact.
‘Holiday,’ Benji says. ‘I always switch my phone off and leave it at home when I’m away, otherwise I never get a break. The joys of being self-employed.’
‘But what if you need to contact someone? Or someone needs to contact you? Like family, I mean,’ I add, in case he thinks I mean me.
‘I have this!’ Benji says, pulling a phone from his pocket. ‘It’s a spare. I only give the number to close friends and family.’
‘Oh . . . I see. Good idea.’
‘I’ll give you the number if you like?’ Benji says, sensing my disappointment.
‘Oh no . . . I didn’t mean you to think—’
‘Amelia, it’s fine. We’re friends, aren’t we?’
I nod.
‘And I do feel partly responsible for forcing you to come and live here.’
‘You didn’t force me.’
‘Persuaded then.’
‘Helped me come to an informed decision.’
Benji grins. ‘Fair play. So why were you trying to call me? Something wrong?’
‘No, not at all. Well, not now there’s not. It was when Tom turned up here unannounced. I just wanted you to verify who he was.’
Benji looks confused. ‘Tom?’
‘Tom Barber – he restores antiques?’
‘Oh Tom! Is he here, then? I didn’t know if he’d come.’
‘Yes, he’s here; he turned up the same day I arrived, actually. Bit of a shock having to decide whether to hire a new member of staff on the spot.’
‘But you did?’
‘I gave him a trial – which he passed with flying colours, I’m pleased to say. I can’t imagine the place without him now.’
Benji smiles knowingly. ‘I thought he might impress you.’
‘So how do you two know each other? I don’t think Tom has actually ever told me?’
‘I know Tom through one of his siblings – Jo. We used to date.’
‘Ah, I see.’
‘That was a good few years ago now, though,’ Benji says, looking thoughtful. ‘I hadn’t seen Tom for ages when we bumped into each other in a bar. He said he was looking for work so I immediately thought of you. He’s very good, you know.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen him in action already. He’s very thorough.’
Benji grins. ‘Oh, have you?’
‘Not like that!’ I insist, feeling heat spread all the way from my neck to my face. I’m surprised by his comment; the Benji I’d known before had been a little more prim than this. Perhaps I’m seeing the real Benji now that he is ‘off duty’; he seems much more relaxed, and he has an air of mischief about him.
‘Shame,’ Benji says, winking. ‘No, you’ve nothing to worry about there. Tom is as sound as these castle walls.’
‘That’s not a great recommendation; they’re crumbling pretty badly in places, you know.’
‘Ah, well, Tom is still solid. Very reliable chap. Much more reliable than Jo was . . . ’ Benji looks down into his tea for a moment. ‘Anyway,’ he says brightly, ‘other than strange men turning up on your doorstep, what else has been happening since you got here?’
I tell Benji everything that’s happened so far, with the exception of those peculiar events I can’t quite explain. I’m still not sure about those myself yet, and I don’t think now is the time to begin discussing the possibility of ghostly goings-on at Chesterford with him.
After we’ve finished our tea I take Benji on a walk through the castle, introducing him to a few of the staff we meet along the way, then we wander out into the grounds.
‘I wonder where Tom is,’ I say, looking out across the wide expanse of grass that leads down to the front gates of the castle. ‘I’m sure he’d like to see you while you’re here. I think he was helping Joey plant some new trees this afternoon.’
‘You’re keeping him busy, then? He’s not just on restoration.’
‘At the moment he’s covering anywhere he’s needed. But I hope to have him as a full-time conservator when all our new members of staff start work.’
‘Wonderful, he’ll like that.’
‘So how much of your holidays do you have left?’ I ask as we stroll down the hill along the drive towards the main gate. It’s already time to collect Charlie, and we thought it would be a nice surprise for him if Benji came to the school to meet him too. ‘You must have been away a good few weeks already.’
‘That is a very good question,’ Benji says mysteriously.
‘Does it deserve a good answer?’
‘I could be on holiday indefinitely,’ Benji says, not looking at me.
‘How come?’
‘Well, when I said I’d been to visit my parents that wasn’t the whole truth. I was visiting them, but I was also having a good think while I was there too.’
‘About?’
‘About whether to diversify.’
‘Diversify into what?’
‘Writing; I’ve been asked to pen a book.’
‘Really? That’s amazing. A book about what?’
‘It’s a bit of a mish-mash, really. The publishers want a book about how to trace your family tree, but to give it a twist they want me to add my own anecdotes from my years of tracing other people’s.’
‘That sounds great, Benji. Are you going to do it?’ I unlock the small side gate next to the main one, and we step through.
‘That’s what I’ve been thinking about.’
‘Not that I’ve ever been asked to write a book,’ I say, locking the gate behind us, and leading Benji down the path towards the village, ‘but isn’t it a huge honour that they want you?’
Benji nods. ‘Yes, it was a bit of a bolt out of the blue and I’m very keen to do it, it’s just . . . ’
‘What?’
‘They want me to write it in a few months – they have a publication slot available early next year that will coincide with a new TV programme the BBC are showing about tracing your family tree.’
‘And . . . ?’ I couldn’t really see what Benji’s problem was.
‘I can’t do my normal job and write a book, Amelia, it’s impossible. When I’m working on a case it’s pretty full on – people want results as fast as possible.’
‘But can’t you take some time out? You’ve just h
ad a little holiday; surely you could just extend it?’
‘But how would I pay my bills and my rent? I’m self-employed, I don’t get paid holiday.’ Benji sighs. ‘I know I’m sounding incredibly ungrateful; some people would give their right arm to be offered a book deal—’
‘Yes, but they wouldn’t be able to type the book then, would they?’ I wink at Benji, and he smiles.
‘I’m being a churlish fool, aren’t I?’ he says, shaking his head.
‘Nope, but there must be a way around this – let me think about it. I’m good at solving problems.’
‘Economics background kicking in again, eh?’
‘Nope, too many hours with a Puzzler magazine!’
Benji laughs now.
‘That’s better,’ I say, smiling. ‘Ooh, there’s the school bell, we’ll just be on time if we hurry.’
We collect a very hyper Charlie from school, and he becomes even more excited when he sees Benji, and delights in telling him all about his day on our walk back to the castle.
I half listen to them as we walk, but most of my brain is tied up thinking about Benji’s dilemma. There must be a way around this and I’m determined to find it. Benji has helped me, now it’s my turn to help Benji.
*
‘How long are you staying, Benji?’ Charlie asks, as they play with Chester in the late-afternoon sunshine that streams across the castle courtyard.
‘Just a flying visit, my young friend,’ Benji says, throwing Chester’s favourite red ball across the gravel for him to fetch.
In an instant, Charlie’s expression changes from exuberant to miserable. ‘But why can’t you stay with us for a while? We have lots of rooms here, don’t we, Mum? And lots of beds. Some of them are a bit high and a bit stinky, though.’ Charlie wrinkles up his nose.
Benji laughs. ‘That’s very kind of you to offer me a stinky bed, Charlie, but I have to get back to London.’
Charlie throws Chester’s ball furiously across the courtyard so hard it hits the far wall and springs back again so that Chester has to do a sharp U-turn to chase it.
‘Charlie!’ I admonish him. ‘Be careful.’
‘Nearly had my eye out there, mate,’ Tom says amiably as he appears through the doorway next to where the errant ball has just been. ‘Benj!’ he says when he spots his friend sitting beside me on the bench. ‘What are you doing here?’