The Mercer's House (Northern Gothic Book 1) (14 page)

‘Are you going back to the hotel?’ said Will to Zanna. ‘I’ll walk with you if you don’t mind going along the beach.’

He was friendly Will again, and she agreed. The tide was halfway in, and they walked along the edge of the water as Tess splashed happily in the shallows. Will went to pick up a stick to throw, and just for a moment Zanna thought she heard the murmur of voices again. She couldn’t catch what they were saying, and after a minute Will returned and the murmur faded away. As they reached the rocky outcrop they came back up the beach and sat down on a dry patch of sand with their backs to a sand dune. Will rested his elbows on his knees and watched Tess as she ran up and down the beach, while Zanna looked about, mentally framing views.

‘So you’re going back tomorrow, then?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like to stay longer, but I can’t really afford it. Unemployed, you know.’

‘What will you do?’

‘Try and find another teaching job, I suppose,’ she said. ‘It’s difficult at this time of year because all the courses have already started, but sometimes you get a teacher dropping out. There are plenty of colleges in London, anyway, so I expect something will turn up. If it doesn’t I’ll have to get a temporary admin job.’

‘Does it have to be in London?’

‘I suppose not, but that’s where I live, and that’s where most of the work is.’

‘Would you consider moving to another city if you found a job there?’

‘I might,’ she said. ‘That depends.’

‘Then if you can’t find anything in London it might be worth while broadening your search. If we take you on it would be much handier for you to be in Edinburgh, for example. We prefer to represent local artists.’

She glanced up, but his face was non-committal. There was no reason to suppose he intended anything more than he had said, or that he was thinking of anything but business.

‘I’ve never been to Edinburgh,’ she said.

‘It’s a nice place. You’d like it. I’ve lived there a few years now, and I like it better than London. It’s got all the big-city stuff, but it’s smaller and friendlier—or, at least, less anonymous. London will chew you up and spit you out, but Edinburgh’s the kind of place you can settle down in and be happy.’

‘That sounds lovely,’ she said wistfully. Will’s description of London had resonated with her. It was true what he said—London was no place for a lost soul. Perhaps it was time she left, and moved somewhere more welcoming.

They fell silent for a while. Zanna turned to look at the Mercer’s House, looming watchfully over them. It stood out starkly against the sky, picturesque in its loneliness.

‘I wish I’d brought a couple more canvases,’ she said, as she saw Will looking at her. ‘I’d like to come here on a stormy day and do it justice. It’s a beautiful old place.’

‘Beautiful, but expensive,’ he said. ‘Dad should have moved out years ago. He can’t afford the maintenance, and now that Corbin needs care he keeps having to sell bits of furniture just to keep afloat. He won’t sell the house, though. He loves it too much.’

‘Oh, yes, I think I’ve got some of your furniture in my room,’ said Zanna, remembering. ‘There’s a big four-poster bed and a dressing table and a wardrobe. They’re gorgeous.’

‘They gave you the honeymoon suite, did they? You should think yourself lucky. That room is Joe’s pride and joy.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ she said. ‘I love it. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it. And I’ve got it
all
to myself.’ If that wasn’t clear enough, then she didn’t know what else she could say. ‘It’s a shame, though. I’m sorry your dad was forced to sell the stuff. It should have stayed at the Mercer’s House, where it belongs.’

‘At least it’s getting used where it is,’ he said.

The tide had advanced noticeably even in the last few minutes, and the waves further out were crashing onto the rocks. Zanna gave a little shiver, and he looked at her quizzically.

‘I was just thinking of that story your dad told the other day,’ she said. ‘About Sarah Humble.’

‘Yes, it’s the big local history thing around here,’ he said. ‘Everyone likes to make the most of it for the tourists.’

‘Do many people report hearing the voices?’ said Zanna.

He shrugged.

‘I don’t know,’ he said.

‘I’ve heard them,’ she said quietly, after a moment. ‘I heard them on that day you saw me out swimming. That’s what distracted me.’

He turned his head towards her, but said nothing.

‘And I heard them again when I was out on the rocks, sketching,’ she went on. ‘And just now, when you went to get that stick.’

Still he said nothing, and she laughed.

‘You’re thinking I’m mad now, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘I don’t really know whether it was a ghost. It might just have been the sound of the sea.’

‘I don’t think you’re mad,’ he said. He looked down at the blade of seagrass he was holding. ‘I used to hear them too, if you really want to know. I haven’t heard them for a long time, though. Not since I was little. It started after—’

He didn’t need to finish. She knew perfectly well what had started it off. The boy who had lost his stepbrother and stepmother had started hearing ghosts after they had gone. Was that the explanation, then? Was it only damaged, unhappy people who heard the voices? People who were struggling with their own demons? It made sense. Why on earth would people at ease with themselves and the world hear the long-ago screams of a dying woman? Misery attracted misery, presumably. And the horror of what had happened on this haunted beach over two hundred years ago must surely have left its imprint on its surroundings. Enough to add to the unhappiness of a little boy whose family had been torn apart. It was the closest he had come to saying anything about how he had felt at the time, but she didn’t want to press him further. Everyone had a right to deal with their sadness in their own way, she firmly believed. His way was obviously not to talk about it. Hers had been medication and retreat from the world.

She watched him as he tore the seagrass into shreds, and at that moment felt they understood each other a little better. Then he looked up unexpectedly, and their eyes met, and a jolt went through her. He didn’t look away, but held her gaze, and she was suddenly assailed by an almost overwhelming urge to reach out and touch his face, trace her fingers across his lips, feel the warmth of his skin. She blinked, and her heart began to hammer in her breast. She thought he might be about to say something, but before she could find out what it was, the moment was interrupted by a piercing whistle, and they both turned their heads to see Garrett waving at them from a distance.

‘It’s your boyfriend,’ said Will, with a note of impatience in his voice.

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ she said as casually as she could, although her heart was still racing and she felt oddly breathless.

‘No? Does he know that?’ he said, eyebrows raised sceptically.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve known him for years. We’re just friends.’

‘If you say so. But in that case you might need to make it a bit clearer to him, because I get the strong impression he thinks there’s more to it than that.’

She opened her mouth to reply, but had no time because Garrett had broken into a jog and now came up to them.

‘You’re back,’ he said, and threw himself down beside them. ‘Did you have a nice lunch?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ said Zanna, in a determinedly normal voice.

‘That’s good. I went into Alnwick this afternoon. I got you this.’

He handed her a carrier bag, and she looked inside and brought out a second-hand book containing reproductions of paintings by Northumberland artists. She flicked through the pages.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t have.’

He shrugged.

‘What else was I going to spend my three pound fifty on?’ he said. ‘By the way, I forgot to mention that Joe wanted to know if we were eating there or going out this evening, as they’re expecting to be busy. I told him we’d eat there.’

‘OK,’ she said, not looking at Will, who she sensed was giving her an ‘I told you so’ look. It was perfectly obvious that the gift and the remark were intended to assert ownership over her in front of Will, and had Will not been there she would have taken Garrett to task for it—although, of course, had Will not been there he probably wouldn’t have done it in the first place. Still, she had no objection to eating at the Coach and Horses that evening, since it would most likely be her last night there. Her search for Helen had turned up nothing, and she couldn’t afford to stay here forever, so it was time to get back to London. Besides, the mysterious messages and emails had unnerved her more than she liked to say. She had no idea who had sent them, or why, but both instinct and common sense told her that they would stop once she left the area. It seemed clear that by coming here and asking questions about Helen she had disturbed someone—or something—and the messages were designed to frighten her away. Well, that was fine as far as Zanna was concerned. She hadn’t intended to annoy anybody by coming to Elsbury, and since Helen was obviously nowhere in the area, there was no sense in remaining. She would go home and continue her search online.

Still, her quest hadn’t been entirely fruitless, since if nothing else she’d stumbled upon a new possible career opportunity—and, in addition, had met Will. Admittedly, to develop a crush on a man with a tendency to blow hot and cold like that was probably not the healthiest thing for her at present, but there was no avoiding the fact that over these past few days she had felt more alive than she had in months. Whether that was due to Will or something else she couldn’t say, but she certainly had him to thank for his interest in her paintings. And if Lou agreed to show her work at the gallery, then the two of them would be thrown together more in future. She felt an involuntary tingle of anticipation at the prospect.

‘Shall we go?’ said Garrett, tearing her thoughts back to the here and now. He stood up and held out a hand, and she let him pull her to her feet, although she had been quite happy where she was. She glanced back at Will and saw him give the slightest shake of the head. She narrowed her eyes at him.

‘See you later,’ he said, and as they left Zanna glanced behind her and saw him get up and start walking slowly back towards the Mercer’s House, Tess dancing around his feet.

‘So? Am I talking to the next big thing in the art world?’ said Garrett.

‘I’ve always been the next big thing in the art world,’ said Zanna. ‘What I want is to be the current big thing. I don’t know. I think they’re going to talk about it. It seemed to go well. Lou said nice things about my work.’

‘I suppose you’re going to disappear off to Edinburgh and leave me all on my own,’ he said.

‘That’s a bit premature,’ said Zanna. ‘I wasn’t particularly planning on it.’ Although the idea had already been planted in her head once today.

‘Good. I don’t want you that far away. It’ll cost me a fortune in petrol,’ he said.

This didn’t bode well for his keeping his promise to back off, and Zanna sighed to herself.

‘What are you doing now?’ he said as they got back to the Coach and Horses.

‘I think I might go up to my room for a bit. I need to start packing if I’m going tomorrow, and I’ve got stuff all over the place. And I need to find out the train times.’

‘Don’t be silly. You’re coming with me in the car.’

Zanna hesitated. She would much rather not have, but there was no reasonable way out of it, since they both lived in London.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Well, yes. I need someone to change the CDs, don’t I? Can’t do that on the M1 without causing a pile-up.’

‘OK, then,’ she said.

‘And we can go out to dinner when we get back. You know, to celebrate your success, and the fact that you weren’t actually imagining things, and you really were being stalked by the spirit of your dead aunt.’

‘Not funny. It
was
you, wasn’t it?’

He held up his hands.

‘I swear on my life it wasn’t. Why would I do that to the woman I love?’

There was no reply she could make that wouldn’t start an argument, and so she merely threw him an exasperated look and went upstairs. The bulb had gone in the overhead light, and it was difficult to see in the dimly-lit corridor. As she searched for her key outside her bedroom door, she suddenly had the oddest feeling that something was wrong—a feeling which was confirmed when she entered the room and felt the temperature drop, and saw that the sash was wide open, and that the voile drapes were twisting and flapping in the breeze. She went across to close the window. She was sure she hadn’t left it open herself—the weather had been too chilly this morning for that. Perhaps the chambermaid had done it when she came to clean the room.

She turned around to dump her sketchpad and her handbag on the bed, and then bent down to pull off her boots. Whoever had come in hadn’t done a very good job, as they’d left a bundle of old cleaning cloths behind them, which were spread untidily over the bed. Zanna had been looking at it for several moments before she understood that it was not a bundle of cloths at all, and as she realized what it was a chill ran through her. She clapped her hand across her mouth and froze as she stared, wide-eyed, at the seaweed, which trailed across the bedclothes, greenish-black and still glistening with damp, forming a makeshift shroud for the dead seagull that was wrapped in it.