The Shade of Hettie Daynes (6 page)

EIGHTEEN

CHRISTA WAS DUSTING
the living room. She paused as Bethan walked in. ‘Hello, love, did you have a good time?’

Bethan nodded. ‘Yes, Mum, thanks. We played music till late. It was cool.’

‘Crabtrees all well?’

Bethan shrugged. ‘Far as I know. Where’s Harry?’

‘In his room, I expect, glued to that computer.’

Bethan nodded. ‘I’ll take my stuff up, see you in a bit.’

Her brother looked up as she stuck her head round his door. ‘Go to i-photo,’ she hissed, ‘I’ve
something
to show you.’ She dropped her pack in her own room, returned with the camera.

‘Wow!’ Harry gazed at the screen. ‘It’s her all right, Sis. How the heck . . .?’

‘Ssssh!’ Bethan glanced towards the door. ‘Don’t let Mum hear. Me and Aly went up the res last night, she’d kill me if she knew.’

Her brother nodded. ‘OK, only this is
fantastic
, Sis, yeah? I mean, I don’t think anybody’s ever managed to snap a ghost before: not even those paranormal investigators with all their fancy paraphernalia. We’ve got to let someone see this because it’s . . . well, it’s
historic
.’

Bethan shook her head. ‘No, Harry, we
can’t
. I told you Mum’d kill me, and anyway I had this dream.’ Briefly, she described her nightmare. ‘I think she
wants
something, Harry.’

The boy grunted. ‘Like
what
, Sis?’

‘Well
I
don’t know, do I? She was like this.’ Bethan pointed a rigid finger at the carpet. ‘Aly thinks it’s Hettie Daynes, and Mum says Hettie disappeared so it makes sense.’ She gripped her brother’s arm. ‘I want us to investigate, Harry. We’re always looking for adventure and never finding any, and now we’ve found it.’ She looked
into
his eyes. ‘Please, Harry, let’s keep it to ourselves and investigate.’

Harry gazed at the screen for half a minute, then nodded. ‘OK, Sis, we’ll give it a whirl. But I’m saving this, and if we don’t find anything out, we show it to somebody. All right?’

Bethan nodded. ‘Yes, all right.’

NINETEEN

‘FORGAN?’ COUNCILLOR HOPWOOD
was on his mobi. ‘Hopwood here. We met at Rawton Town Hall.’

‘I remember. How are you, Councillor?’

‘I’m fine. Listen. This Wilton Water job.’

‘Yes: nothing wrong I hope?’

‘Not so far, but the Council’s worried about public safety.’

‘I can assure you, Councillor Hopwood, my company’s safety record is among the very best in the industry.’

‘I know, Forgan, I know. I’ve read the literature. It’s just . . . well, I know Wilton people. I should:
most
of ’em worked for my family at one time. They’re stubborn, and they’re nosy. I’ve seen the Keep Out signs you’ve put up, and I can tell you they won’t work. The minute there’s anything to see, folk’ll be swarming everywhere, gawping. Especially the kids. The Council wants to see barriers, Forgan. If somebody drowns, it won’t only be the water company that gets sued, it’ll be us. We think you ought to keep a watchman on site as well.’

‘We don’t employ watchmen, Councillor. We’ve never found it necessary. Warning notices, plastic tape. They work.’

‘Barriers, Forgan. I’ve some influence with the water company, I don’t want to have to tell ’em we’ve no confidence in you.’

‘There’ll be no need for that, Councillor. If you insist, I’ll see you have barriers, and I’ll get back to you on the watchman thing.’

‘D’you know Forgan, I
knew
you’d understand. Goodbye.’

TWENTY

‘YOU GOT A
picture
?’ gasped Rob. It was Monday morning, just before the bell.

Harry nodded. ‘Bethan did. It’s in her camera.’

‘Crikey! What’s she gonna do with it?’

Harry shrugged. ‘She wants to investigate. Reckons the ghost is trying to tell us something. Her mate Alison thinks it’s Hettie Daynes.’

Rob frowned. ‘Who
is
this Hettie Daynes? Name keeps cropping up, never heard of her.’

Harry had just outlined the story his mother had told when the bell rang. ‘Later,’ said Rob. They joined the kids crowding into school. Registration was barely over when a note came
round
from the Head. Hezzy, real name Miss Tate, cleared her throat to get the year’s attention.

‘Note from Mr Woollard. It concerns us all, but particularly those of you who live in Wilton, because it’s about Wilton Water.’ She scanned the single sheet. ‘Apparently the reservoir is undergoing renovation, and the powers that be are concerned that people might be tempted to go sightseeing there while work is in progress. Mr Woollard points out that this could be highly dangerous, and expects all students of this school to stay well clear throughout the four months it will take to complete the project.’ She folded the note, handed it back to the kid who brought it, scanned the class. ‘Is that quite clear to you all?’

It was. Harry would be sightseeing regardless, but he grunted and nodded like everybody else. The Head’s reputation as a disciplinarian had earned him the nickname ‘Well ’ard’, but he lived a long way from Wilton Water. If a couple of kids went roaming its shores on dark winter evenings or foggy Saturday afternoons, how the heck was he going to know?

TWENTY-ONE

AS MISS TATE
was reading out the Head’s note at Rawton Secondary, Bethan’s teacher clapped for attention at Wilton Primary. ‘Listen, everybody.’ The hum of voices faded, all eyes were on Miss Newbould.

‘Hallowe’en is a week on Friday. That’s only twelve days away, so it’s time to start thinking about our costumes for the Hallowe’en Hop. There’s to be a competition, with a valuable prize for the most original outfit.’ The teacher paused, then went on. ‘Remember, I said the
most original
. You’re not likely to win if you come as a witch or a wizard or a skeleton or a vampire, because
that’s
what most people tend to come as.’ She smiled. ‘The challenge is to think up something a bit different. Our Chair of Governors will be judging the competition, and that’s what he’ll be looking for.’

‘Miss?’ Alison Crabtree raised her hand.

‘Yes, Alison?’

‘Miss, is it all right if I come as—’

‘Whoa!’ Miss Newbould broke in. ‘Don’t
tell
us, Alison, or somebody might copy your idea. Keep it to yourself, ask your mum to help with the sewing, surprise us all on the night. All right?’

‘Yes, miss.’

Morning break. Bethan and Alison strolled round the edge of the playing field, talking. Bethan looked at her friend.

‘So what’s this brilliant idea for a costume, Aly? I won’t copy, honest.’

Alison smiled. ‘I know you won’t, silly.’ She put her lips near Bethan’s ear and whispered, though nobody was close. ‘Hettie Daynes.’

‘Hey,
brilliant
!’ Bethan grinned. ‘You know Hettie’s an ancestor of ours, of course. Mum says she used to tear her clothes. You could get a long skirt from the charity shop and rip great holes in
it
. You could mess up your hair and put muck on your face. And
I
know – you could come barefoot, that’s
dead
original.’

Alison nodded. ‘I know. You don’t mind, do you? With her being an ancestor, I mean?’

Bethan shook her head. ‘Course not. I’ll mention it to Mum, but I’m sure it’ll be all right.’ She smiled. ‘At least you won’t need to practise looking barmy, Aly – you do already.’

She skipped sideways to avoid a slap.

TWENTY-TWO

MONDAY, FIVE FIFTEEN
. The Midgleys round the table, eating spaghetti and meatballs in tomato sauce. Bethan looked across at her mother. ‘Mum?’

‘Yes, love?’

‘You know the Hallowe’en Hop?’

Christa nodded. ‘I know
of
it, yes. Week on Friday. You’ll need a costume of some sort.’

‘Yes, only I haven’t decided what to go as.’

Her mother smiled. ‘Isn’t that what the Americans call a no-brainer, sweetheart? I mean, girls go as witches, right?’

‘Well yes, Mum, but you see it’s a competition,
to
see who can come up with the most original costume. A witch outfit might be original at somebody’s
wedding
, but not at a Hallowe’en Hop.’ She pulled a face. ‘There’s a totally awesome one, but Aly bagged it.’

‘Alison
Crabtree
?’ Christa sounded surprised.

Beth nodded. ‘Yes, she’s going as Hettie Daynes.’

Christa set down her fork and whispered, ‘She’s going as
who
?’

‘H . . . Hettie Daynes.’ Bethan could tell by her mother’s expression, the softness of her voice, that this had not gone down well. She gulped. ‘What’s up, Mum?’

Christa gazed at her daughter, spoke softly. ‘What’s up, Bethan? You
know
what’s up. I told you Hettie Daynes was my great, great auntie. She was an actual person, not somebody out of a silly tale. She lived here in Wilton, just like you and me. Something terrible happened to her, and she lost her mind. She wasn’t something to
dress up
as, in the hope of winning a competition. It’s like dressing up as one of those poor starving toddlers in Africa, or somebody who’s been maimed by a bomb. You just don’t
do
that
sort
of thing, Bethan. It’s . . . it’s in bad taste.’

‘But, Mum . . .’ Bethan looked stricken. ‘Aly was so excited when she told me – how can I tell her she’s got to forget the whole thing?’

Her mother shook her head. ‘You must just
tell
her, Bethan. Unless you’d rather
I
told her.’

‘Uh . . . no thanks, Mum – I’ll see to it.’