The Haunting of the King's Head

by Amy Cross

  Realizing that I perhaps appear troubled, I make an effort to smile more fully, although I am not sure that I am entirely successful.

  “Everything is running well,” I tell him, “but I appreciate your concern. I shall be sure to ask if I need anything.”

  I wait, but for a moment he simply stares at me, before nodding slowly and withdrawing a little deeper into the darkness of the carriage.

  “That's good, Ms. Hyde,” he says with a chuckle. “I just wanted to see how things are, that's all. One always likes to know the lie of the land, in case one has to make any big decisions. I think we'll be seeing one another more often from now on. I'd hate you to feel neglected, all the way out here at the top of the town.”

  He hesitates.

  “Hey,” he adds, “this might seem like an odd question, but do you happen to know a fellow by the name of Jack Farnham?”

  I hesitate, not knowing how to answer.

  “I believe so,” I say finally. “I am aware of him.”

  “You are, huh?” He pauses again. “You don't happen to know where I can find him, do you?”

  I swallow hard.

  “I do not,” I say cautiously.

  I wait, but he simply stares at me before shrugging.

  “That's a shame,” he mutters. “Worth a try, I suppose. Someone must know where he is. I really would like a word with that man.”

  As he shuts the door and the carriage sets off, I feel a rush of relief now that he's on his way, but I also know that something's wrong. Randolph Hyde would never just drop by like that, and there seemed to be an edge to his questions. I can't shake the feeling that he knows Jack is hiding inside the pub, and that he simply wanted to see whether I would confess this matter. Now that he knows I am keeping Jack's presence a secret, I fear that consequences will follow and that Jack's actions last night might prove to be problematic. I lied to Hayes when he asked if I could help him locate Jack, and the worst part is that I think he knows it was a lie.

  Spotting a face watching me from a nearby house, I turn just in time to see the curtains being drawn. Feeling once again as if I am being watched from every direction, I hurry into the safety of the pub.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Charley Lucas

  Today...

  “Hey, Dad,” I say as I hurry through into the bar area, “did you know that a hundred years ago, a woman died in this pub and then her body was -”

  Stopping suddenly, I see that Dad's sitting with a man who's wearing a suit. They have some paperwork spread out on the table between them, and – while the man turns and smiles at me – I can immediately tell that Dad's not in a good mood.

  “And this must be your daughter,” the man says, getting to his feet and coming over to shake my hand. “Charmed to meet you, I'm Gary Hayes from the brewery.”

  “Hi,” I reply, shaking his hand but looking at Dad and wondering what's wrong. “Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt.”

  “You're not interrupting anything,” Mr. Hayes says. “In fact, I'm pleased to see that the pub is in such capable hands. I'm sure your father's going to make a great success of his time here.”

  “We're opening this Saturday,” Dad tells me, clearly quite uncomfortable with the news. “Not next Saturday. This Saturday.”

  “Really?” I reply. “But I thought -”

  Before I can finish, I hear a chair leg scraping nearby, and I turn to see that there's a little girl sitting in the far corner. For a moment, the sight of her is so bizarre and incongruous, I actually start to wonder if I'm imagining the whole thing.

  “That's my daughter,” Mr. Hayes says, “Matilda. She's off school today, so I brought her with me.”

  “Hi,” I say to the girl, although I'm a little creeped out by the fact that she was sitting there so silently.

  I wait, but she simply stares at me. I know it's wrong to judge, but I have to admit that there's something more than a little weird about her. Then again, I guess that just means I'm a terrible person. The kid can't be more than eight or nine years old. I should cut her some slack so I smile at her.

  Nothing.

  No response.

  Forget it. She is creepy.

  “It's best to hit the ground running,” Mr. Hayes says, as I turn back to him. “The first delivery will be here later today, as I arranged with your father last week, and there's really no better time to get those doors open and drag the first paying customers inside.”

  “Totally,” I reply, before glancing at Dad, “but I thought we were opening next Saturday. Not in two days' time.”

  “We can manage,” Dad replies unconvincingly. “The place is pretty well cleaned up already, and I can get the barrels tapped and ready in time after they arrive. We might not be able to offer much in the way of food during the first week, I still haven't got a chef sorted out, but I guess Mr. Hayes is right, we need to show people that this place is back in business.”

  “That's the spirit,” Mr. Hayes says, “and call me Joe, please. You know, I shouldn't say this, but I've got a very good feeling about you guys. I think within a year, this pub might well be one of our top-performing locations in the entire county!”

  ***

  “Why did you agree to open on Saturday?” I ask Dad a short while later, once Mr. Hayes has left. “I thought you had a proper plan for getting the place up and running?”

  “I did,” he replies, clearly a little distracted and bothered. He's already getting some more cleaning supplies out. “I mean, I do. I mean, it'll be fine, Charley. There's no need to worry.”

  “Saturday is two days away,” I point out. “The place still smells musty.”

  “Then we'd better get to work, hadn't we?”

  “But you said it yourself, the food isn't -”

  “It's going to be fine,” he says firmly, and I can tell that he really doesn't want to have this conversation right now. He sounds super stressed. “The truth is, I misread the terms on the contract. I don't have to open this Saturday if I really don't want to, but I have to start paying the brewery on Saturday and I really can't afford an empty week. I'd have to catch that up later in the month, and I'm not confident that'd be possible.”

  “Are things really that tight?” I ask as I head over and help him sort out the bottles and sprays.

  “Everything's under control,” he replies, “and I promise you, I will make this work. I've already had some replies to my ad, I'm sure I'll have at least a temporary barmaid for Saturday.”

  “I can help out,” I tell him. “If you show me how to do it, I can pour pints.”

  “Not at fifteen years of age, you can't.”

  “I can do something!”

  “You can clean,” he replies with a sigh, “and you can get those posters done. And if you like, you could see if you can come up with some questions for a pub quiz for next week. Quizzes are always a good way to get people through the door. Who doesn't like a good quiz?”

  “Sure. I can do that.”

  “Just don't make it too hard,” he adds. “You know, make it so that... normal people have a chance of answering. Not just teenagers who read a lot.”

  “I can write a quiz like that,” I tell him. “I know what people like.”

  “I just remember that quiz you wrote for school once,” he replies. “It was quite... hard.”

  “It's not my fault if people don't know basic science,” I point out. “Or Shakespeare! Who doesn't know Shakespeare?”

  “If you write the quiz, I can give it a once-over and make some adjustments. You know... to make it... more... doable.”

  “Maybe I'll include some questions about the history of the pub,” I reply. “Dad, do you know about Muriel Hyde and all the stuff that happened here?”

  “Hmm?” He busies himself with some bottles of cleaner, but I can tell that he's trying to avoid looking at me.

  “How come you didn't mention it before?” I ask. “When we found that plaque with the name scratched out, you acted as if it was a
ll a complete mystery.”

  “I really only know the basics,” he replies. “Muriel Hyde was the landlady here back in the day, a hundred years ago or so, and now she's not. There was some unpleasantness and -”

  “She hung herself.”

  He turns to me, and I can see from the look in his eyes that he already knows.

  “In one of the bedrooms,” I add.

  “Apparently.”

  “Which one?”

  “I'm not sure.”

  “Did you know that they dug her up years later and put her on trial?”

  “They did what?”

  “Her corpse was put on trial,” I continue, “in this very room. They had a jury and everything.”

  “Where did you hear that?” he asks. “Charley, I think maybe a few facts have become twisted somewhere along the way.”

  “Muriel Hyde was tried and convicted right here in this pub, probably right where we're standing, and then her corpse was spirited away and never seen again.” I wait for him to reply, but he seems a little shocked by this latest news. “Apparently the pub has had bad vibes ever since. Dad, there's a reason this place ended up shuttered. Are you sure you know what you're taking on?”

  Sighing, he comes over to join me.

  “I know the broad strokes of the pub's history,” he says, “and I also know that it's the future that matters. I can't do anything about the past, and frankly I'm not surprised if some previous landlords blamed Muriel Hyde for their own failures. It's like blaming the brewery when things go wrong, it's an easy choice but at the end of the day a pub is a business like any other. I promise you, Charley, no matter what happens here, you will never, ever hear me say that anything is the brewery's fault, and I don't want you to start using that excuse either.” He pauses. “And you're not going to tell me that you suddenly believe in ghosts, are you?”

  “No, of course not,” I reply, and now I feel a little flustered. I think back to that dream about the coffin, but I know Dad wouldn't take me seriously if I brought it up. “I just think maybe getting people through the door is going to be harder than you anticipated, that's all.”

  “Which is why I need a knockout pub quiz for next week,” he says, “and some great posters for the opening night. Do you think you can manage that?”

  “I'll have the posters for you this afternoon.”

  “That's my girl.” He leans close and kisses me on the cheek, and then he heads back over to the cleaning supplies. “By dinnertime, this whole space is going to be spotless. We've got a big delivery coming tomorrow and I'll need to be ready. It's gonna be all hands on deck for the next few weeks, Charley. This is when the real work begins.”

  As he gets to work, I can't help but admire his confidence. At the same time, I feel bad for causing trouble by bringing up the whole Muriel Hyde thing, and I make a mental note to tone down my worries from now on. Dad needs my support, and that means focusing on the priorities and not arguing too much. So, as he starts scrubbing the bar, I make my way through to the hallway and head up to make those posters.

  Saturday night needs to be a big success. We need to get people into this pub, regardless of its past.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Muriel Hyde

  1910...

  “Randolph Hayes never comes out to pay unannounced visits,” Jack says as he peers out at the square. He's kneeling at one of the upstairs windows, so as to minimize the risk of being seen. “Something's wrong.”

  “You said it yourself,” I reply, “you just need to wait for this to die down.”

  He doesn't reply, and I can tell that he's worried. Whereas last night Jack seemed certain that the trouble with Edward Hayes would quickly blow over, it's clear that he now thinks there might be more problems. For as much as I like to think that I am a woman of the world, I know that in some respects I am quite sheltered, and I always defer to Jack's judgment on these matters. How many times in the past has he soothed my worries and told me that nothing is wrong? And he has always been right. Now that he seems gripped by fear, I find that I too am terrified.

  Everyone knows that if one makes an enemy of Randolph Hayes and his brewery, one is soon in a great deal of trouble.

  “I should leave,” Jack says suddenly, getting to his feet.

  “No!” I gasp, grabbing his arm.

  “It's not safe for me here,” he replies, “and I'm putting you in danger as well.”

  “I need you!”

  “You need to be safe,” he says firmly, “and there's no guarantee of that right now. Do you remember what I told you a while back, Muriel? The best thing to do in Malmeston is to get on with your life and do whatever you can to avoid attracting Randolph's attention.” He pauses. “You have his attention right now, Muriel,” he adds finally, “and that is entirely my fault, but it's not too late. If I go away, at least for a while, he'll move on to some other bugbear.”

  “Why is everyone so afraid of that man?” I ask, unable to hide my agitation.

  “You know why.”

  “But he can't wield that much power,” I point out. “He's just one man, he owns a brewery, that's all.”

  “A brewery that has more money than the rest of this town put together,” Jack replies. “I feel the same way that you do, Muriel, but we have to face the truth. I've seen men go up against Hayes and Storford. Strong men, men with connections, men who thought they could break the company. They all ended up getting chewed up and spat out.” He sighs. “I thought Randolph Hayes would appreciate the fact that I taught his scummy little nephew Edward a lesson, but apparently family ties trump everything else. My only option now is to get out of town.”

  “Can't you talk to him?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “He can't be that unreasonable,” I continue. “A man of his stature didn't get to where he is today by -”

  “He got there by crushing people like us,” he says firmly. “That's how he stays there, too. And the truth is, we can't stand up to him. All we can do is try to find a way to survive in this world. Muriel...”

  “Promise you won't leave,” I say, putting my hands on the sides of his arms. “Promise you'll stay and come up with some other idea.”

  He sighs.

  “Promise me!” I hiss.

  He stares at me for a moment, and then – seemingly exhausted – he nods.

  “We'll find a solution,” I tell him. “I assure you, we'll come up with something. We'll be just fine, so long as we stick together.”

  Leaning forward, I kiss him on the cheek. I know that perhaps this is indiscreet of me, but I feel as if I need to calm his nerves. So long as Jack holds steady, I can take a little time and come up with a solution. I'm sure that Randolph Hayes isn't a completely unreasonable man. I just need to find a way to appeal to his better nature.

  “Everything will be alright,” I tell Jack again. “We just have to stay together.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Charley Lucas

  Today...

  “Come on, not again,” I say with a sign of frustration as my laptop freezes again. I've been saving my work on the poster at every possible opportunity, but it's still annoying to have to keep restarting the damn machine. “I don't have time for this.”

  I tap at a few keys, but I already know that there's no point. This laptop is pushing ten years old, and it's a miracle that it runs any kind of image-editing software at all. I wait a moment longer, and then I hold down the power button so I can begin the long process of rebooting. Sometimes even that doesn't work and I have to physically remove the battery for a few seconds, but I guess all that matters is that I get the poster done in the end. I'm pretty pleased with my design work so far, I just need to make some tweaks. It's three in the afternoon, and I should have this done by four at the latest.

  Hearing footsteps coming to the door, I turn to Dad.

  “I should only be -”

  The footsteps stop, and I find myself staring at an empty doorway. A moment lat
er I hear a flushing sound coming from downstairs, and I realize that Dad must be in one of the bathrooms.

  I watch the doorway for a few more seconds, before turning my attention back to the laptop. This time, the screen still hasn't gone dark, which I guess means that the laptop's guts are really struggling. I wait a moment, and then I turn the whole thing over and start pulling the battery out. As I do that, I hear Dad flushing the toilet again, and I smile as I realize that he must be getting on with cleaning the bathrooms. And then, a moment later, I spot a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye, and I turn once again to look at the doorway.

  There's no-one there now, but I swear I saw someone standing there.

  I pause for a few seconds, before slotting the battery back into place. I turn the laptop back on and then, while it's starting up, I get to my feet and walk over to the door. I peer out onto the landing, and of course there's no sign of anyone, but after a moment I look over at the stairs that lead up to the top floor of the building. I have no idea why, but I have the strangest feeling that I'm being watched.

  Downstairs, Dad flushes the toilet yet again. That thing must be really clogged.

  I briefly consider going upstairs to double-check that there's no-one else here, but then I tell myself that it'd be a bad idea to give in to random fears. There's obviously no-one here, and I really need to keep working if I'm going to have these posters ready before dinner. I watch the stairs for a moment longer, and then finally I take a step back.

  I let out a shocked gasp as my shoulders bumps again someone, and I spin around to see a face glaring at me.

  ***

  Opening my eyes, I find that I'm flat on my chest on the bedroom floor, with my face pressed against the bare wooden boards. For a few second I have absolutely no idea how I got here, and then – as I begin to sit up – I remember standing in the doorway and then feeling someone right behind me.