Haunted (6 page)

‘They must have been furious when they saw how it was done.’

‘Yeah, they were. Mostly with me.’

‘You?’ she said in disbelief.

He nodded. ‘I’d shattered their hopes. They weren’t going to thank me for that.’

Christina and Ash walked on in silence for a while. There was incredulity in the girl’s voice when she spoke again. ‘Surely they’re not all fakes? There must be some genuine mediums.’

‘There are,’ he replied. ‘I know several. One or two are even friends of mine. But I can’t explain what they do and how they do it. I’m only certain that they don’t talk with the dead.’ They descended a short flight of steps, the stone path before them branching off in three directions around the flower beds. They continued along the centre path. ‘It’s only when we begin to understand what’s going on inside our own minds that we’ll discover some answers to the paranormal.’

Christina frowned at that: ‘What happened after? You must have been disillusioned yourself.’

‘Not disillusioned. Like I said – it was a huge relief to have my doubts confirmed. Yet I was even more intrigued. Was it all a sham? Everything I’d read about the paranormal, everything I’d heard? I delved further, researched a lot, and before I realized it, the whole business of finding out had become a career. And the more deceptions or mistakes I unearthed, the more angry I became.’ A low wall spread out from the centre of the formal garden, its stonework scarred and crumbling. ‘Then a few years ago, the Psychical Research Institute invited me to work with them. I guess they’d rather I was spitting out than in.’

Christina’s assertion was unexpected. ‘You believe we’re being foolish about the haunting of this house. That makes you angry, too.’

‘Not at all. I just think you’re mistaken. It shouldn’t take long to find out.’

They had reached the knee-high wall and now Ash could see that it encompassed a large ornamental pond, almost a miniature lake, the water stagnant, a murky brown, full of weeds and rotting waterlilies. The sight came as a shock, for although the gardens themselves were not as carefully kept as they might have been, the degenerated state of the pond was surprising.

Ash stared into it, and its sour stench caused him to catch his breath.

He turned to the girl but, unnoticed, she had stopped some distance away. She looked past him at the unwholesome pond almost as if it had come as a shock to her also, that she hadn’t realized they had walked this far. There was something skittish in her movement as she backed away.

‘Christina . . .?’ he said wonderingly.

Behind him, the turbid water rippled, reeds and tendrils stirred . . .

. . . There was a light sheen of perspiration on Edith’s brow. She jolted in the chair and her eyes sprang open, the image in her mind instantly gone.

The elderly couple sitting opposite regarded her with concern. ‘Mrs Phipps?’ the white-haired man said, leaning forward anxiously. ‘Are you all right? You were telling us of our son . . .’

Edith blinked and it was moments before she realized she was in one of the Institute’s private rooms. The precognition had broken through her contact with this couple’s son, a young seaman who had perished during Britain’s last war in circumstances too cruel to relate to his still-grieving parents.

‘I’m . . . I’m so sorry,’ she told them. ‘I lost my concentration. I’ll . . .’ she drew in a breath to steady herself ‘. . . I’ll try to reach Michael again.’

But when she closed her eyes the image returned, although it was unclear.

She was looking up at the figure of a man, someone who had his back turned towards her. Even so, she knew it was David Ash. As well as the odd angle, there was something else wrong with the vision, for it had wavered before her as if . . . as if she were watching him through water . . . dirty, muddy water. There were moving fronds around her, reeds shifting like loose tentacles. Two naked arms reached up for David, slender, pearl-white limbs, fingers clawed. Yet they were not
her
arms, not Edith’s. They belonged to another.

And even though they stretched through the disturbed water towards the man above, rotted plants curling around their wrists, these arms were bloodless.

They were dead things.

The dining room was feebly lit, candles on the long table around which the Mariell family and David Ash sat casting a warm but barely adequate glow, some of the wall lights behind the diners not functioning at all. Ash had half expected a maid or at least a housekeeper to be in attendance, but Nanny Tess herself had served the meal without even assistance from Christina. By now it was apparent to him that the Mariells were not quite as wealthy as they obviously had been in the past. Nevertheless, although he was curious about the family, the financial aspect of their lives had nothing to do with the job in hand. He sipped wine wishing it were something stronger.

Christina giggled at something Simon had whispered to her and, at the head of the dining table, Robert Mariell rebuked them both with a stern glance. His sister raised her fingers to her mouth and cast her eyes downwards, suitably abashed, while next to her, Simon continued to smirk.

Robert directed his attention towards Ash, who sat facing him at the opposite end of the table. ‘How did your investigations go today? Did you locate any secret draughts or leaks that could explain our little mystery?’

Ash cut into the roast beef before him, the meat somewhat overdone for his liking. ‘That’s impossible to say,’ he answered, ‘since I don’t yet know what your little mystery is. But I found plenty of structural faults in this place that could possibly create disturbances of some kind.’

Still grinning, Simon asked: ‘Serious enough to create a ghostly figure, Mr Ash?’

‘You’d be surprised how what may seem like ghostly forms can be caused by dust or smoke. Or how dripping water, channelled through a hidden conduit, can be transformed into ghostly tapping. Regular contraction of floorboards, for instance, starting from the nearest source of heat such as a fireplace or radiator, each board releasing pressure on the one next to it, can sound like spectral footsteps. With some help from our own imaginations, anything’s possible.’

Nanny Tess, seated on his left, and who had hardly touched her food, interrupted. ‘The visions I’ve – we’ve – seen are not just creations of our minds. If you knew—’

Ash raised a hand. ‘Tomorrow. Each of you can tell me what you’ve experienced tomorrow. I want to remain totally objective for now, no preconceived notions.’

‘But I still don’t see how you can know what to look for,’ Christina protested.

‘I’m looking for some kind of phenomenon and I gather it takes the shape of a ghost. That’s all I need to know for the moment.’

The merest smile touched Robert’s lips. ‘Do you believe in such things, Mr Ash? Lost spirits, things that go bump in the night . . .?’

‘. . . Banshees,’ said Simon excitedly, ‘demons, vampires . . .?’

‘. . . Werewolves?’ Christina joined in.

Simon howled like a wolf, and she laughed aloud. Even Robert smiled broadly.

Unamused, Ash looked at Nanny Tess, who avoided his eyes. She, too, did not appear to find their antics humorous.

He addressed himself to the older brother. ‘For a family experiencing haunting, you don’t seem unduly alarmed.’

‘Should we be?’ came the reply. ‘Can such manifestations physically harm us?’

Ash shook his head. ‘Not usually. Any harm is generally caused by the witnesses to themselves when they panic.’

‘Then why should we be concerned? But you still haven’t answered my question: do you, yourself, believe in ghosts?’

‘It depends on how you define such things. Apparitions, telepathic visions, electromagnetic images. You might even call them vibrations of the atmosphere. They can exist without our comprehending their meaning or exactly what they are.’

‘But you wouldn’t describe them as spirits of the dead?’ asked Nanny Tess.

All eyes were intent on the investigator. He cleared his throat, and stared back at them in turn. ‘No, not at all,’ he said. ‘Not in any of my investigations has the existence of life after death ever been proved conclusively to me. And I’ve exposed too many so-called spiritualists as frauds to give conversations with the dead much credence.’

‘So we understand, Mr Ash,’ said Robert mildly. ‘But you don’t believe we’re lying to you?’

‘Of course not. Whatever it is you’ve experienced here at Edbrook is obviously very real to you. Why else would you pay for my services? I’m only saying that what’s happened may have some perfectly rational explanation.’

Simon rested his elbow on the table, chin on his hand. ‘I think you really should be told—’

‘All in good time,’ Ash repeated. ‘Let me find out what I can for myself first.’

‘You may not necessarily experience what we have,’ Robert commented.

‘I shouldn’t imagine for a moment that I would. The psychic link may only exist between you four and whatever’s taking place. We’ll see.’

‘Psychic link?’ Simon sat upright again. ‘What, exactly, is that?’

‘Imagine, if you can, that our minds are like some kind of radio receiver. You, as the occupants of this house, may be tuned in to somebody else’s transmission.’

Simon considered the suggestion as amusing. ‘Somebody’s broadcast from the other side . . .?’ He looked around at his family, apparently seeking approval for his mockery.

Ash did not rise to the bait. ‘Let’s call it a thought process from someone now in another place, or an impression they’ve left behind. It might be that you, because of your association with Edbrook, are tuned in to that particular wavelength.’

‘A very interesting proposition,’ admitted Robert. ‘But not really acceptable, is it?’

‘No less than the idea of ghosts,’ Ash replied.

Christina dabbed her lips with a napkin, the glow from the candles soft in her eyes. ‘And what can we do to help you with your investigations – apart from tell you what we’ve seen for ourselves?’

‘Not much, except stay out of the way,’ he told her. ‘Later this evening I want to set up some equipment around the house, mainly at certain points I think might be susceptible to odd occurrences. Once that’s done I’d like you to keep away from those areas. In fact, it would help considerably if you kept to your rooms for the rest of the evening.’

At this last request the Mariells and their aunt glanced around at each other.

‘That’s a bit drastic,’ protested Simon.

‘Only for tonight,’ Ash assured him. ‘Maybe afterwards we can concentrate on one or two specific areas.’

‘You’ll have our fullest co-operation,’ Robert answered for them all. ‘Is there anything else you need?’

‘Not for the moment. Oh, I’d like to ring Kate McCarrick a bit later, just to let her know how things are going.’

‘Nanny Tess tells me Miss McCarrick was enthusiastic about our choice of you for this investigation. She appears to think highly of your work.’

‘She’s something of an authority on the subject of parapsychology herself. I must admit, we don’t always agree in our views, but then the whole field is more conjecture than proven fact. Incidentally, if my tests at Edbrook prove positive it might be an idea if she came here with an impartial observer.’

The sharpness of Nanny Tess’ response startled him. ‘No, no,’ she insisted, ‘that won’t do at all.’

Robert’s rejection of the investigator’s suggestion was more relaxed. ‘As I’ve already stressed, Mr Ash, we want to keep this affair very low key. I think you can appreciate our reasons.’

‘There’d be no publicity involved,’ Ash promised. ‘It’d just be a matter for the Institute, for the records.’

‘Let’s take your investigation one step at a time, shall we?’ the older Mariell said evenly. ‘That was your own wish, wasn’t it?’

Ash smiled wryly. ‘Okay. No pressure whatsoever from me. It’s all in your hands.’

Robert eyed him coolly from the far end of the table. ‘Not entirely. No, I wouldn’t say that at all . . .’

He jiggled the telephone contacts frustratedly, holding the bulky black receiver close to his ear with the other hand. Not a thing. The line was dead. As stolidly reliable as the machine presented itself, it was useless. Did these old pieces eventually wear themselves out, or was the fault somewhere in the system beyond these walls? Whatever, it was a bloody nuisance.