“I smiled, in spite of the severity of her manner, and explained that I was a trifle over enthusiastic in my venture and that I had not seen the notice until it was too late. My attempt at justification did not seem to have any effect on her stony expression, and she replied in an equally curt manner that the library had always been closed on Thursdays, and she enquired as to why I might have supposed that this Thursday would be any different.
“Although I could feel my frustration starting to creep up on me I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice as calm as possible, mainly out of respect for the lady’s age. I introduced myself and enlightened her further to the fact that I was not from the town, and so, until that moment, had no idea of the opening times of the building. Furthermore, I stressed that my reason for being so enthusiastic in my attempt to gain entry was because I had inherited a property in the area, and was desperately trying to find out some information about the manor house, and hopefully, something about my distant ancestors who had lived there.
“At the sound of my mentioning the manor, the old lady suddenly appeared to prick up her ears. She asked me if I was referring to Denby Manor, and when I confirmed that I was, she suddenly seemed to grow more receptive to me. She informed me that she was a Miss Wilsby, the senior librarian, and that she could confirm that the library did indeed have in store a couple of books relating the great houses which were dotted around the county.
“I wondered if this new-found benevolence in her attitude towards me might stretch to her affording me entrance to her hallowed building under the circumstances, and, to be fair to her, she was almost apologetic at having to refuse my request. She explained that on Thursdays she was a volunteer for the local hospital, and spent the day visiting those too infirm to make it out themselves - which was where she was off to when she saw me attempting to gain entry to her library.
“I told her that I fully understood, and hoped that she would accept my apology for asking in the first place. However, I purposely did not try to hide the disappointment in my face, and, although it did not incite her to a change of heart, she did however offer me another option.”
“I am sorry that I cannot be of any immediate assistance to you, Mr Ward. However, the library opens tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, but if you like, I am willing to meet you here at eight, so that I can assist you and give you my undivided attention for the first hour at least. How would that be?”
“I could tell from her tone that this offer was a one-off compromise, which she obviously did not make a habit of offering. Therefore, I decided that it was not worth pushing my luck any further, and accepted her kind offer with due gratitude. As we parted company I had a distinct feeling that the old librarian was watching me leave, and, sure enough, when I caught sight of her in the reflection of a nearby shop, she was indeed still standing where I had left her and looking in my direction.
“I put her attitude down to her age and the fact that small-town communities often bred such individuals, each with their own curious caprices. One thing was for sure; Jeffries’ description of the librarian was spot on. I doubted her to be a century, but I would not have been at all surprised to discover that she was in her eighties. The fact that she was still working at the library I also put down to my small-town theory.
“As deflated as I was at not being able to visit the library that afternoon, I decided to make the best of my time so I visited the old churchyard which I had seen from the pub window the previous afternoon. As I approached the entrance to the quaint-looking church I noticed that there was a black hearse just pulling into the driveway, followed by several smaller black cars, each containing several mourners.
“I did not wish to appear disrespectful, so I waited back until the procession entered the church for the service. Once the doors had been closed, I made my way to the graveyard and started to read the inscriptions of the headstones. Most of them, judging by the dates etched into the stones, were from the previous century, although I did find several from around the time of the two world wars. Judging by the size of the available space left, I wondered how it was decided who would be buried there. Briers Market was by no means a large town, but by the look of things the deceased would be hard pushed to be able to guarantee their resting place in those grounds.
“As I turned a corner by the main church building I saw a gravedigger standing by an open plot, smoothing down some loose soil while doubtless waiting for the service to end so that he could complete his duty. He was a ruddy-faced individual of about fifty years of age. He was dressed in a thick check-coloured shirt which was tucked firmly inside his trousers which had thick red braces holding them up. The bottom of his trousers, I noticed, were tucked into his sturdy hiking boots, and he had a pipe lodged firmly in the corner of his mouth.
“I could tell that he had seen me so I waved a greeting, which he responded to, so I decided it might be worth asking him if he knew if my late cousin was buried there. As I approached him he stopped patting down the loose earth around the grave he had dug, and leaned on his shovel. I opened with some small talk about the weather, and how I bet he was glad that it was not raining today. He shrugged his response and grunted, removing his pipe from his mouth before replying to me. Apparently, he informed me, there was no consideration given to him and his co-workers when it came to funerals. Regardless of the weather they were still expected to do their job, without complaint, and often they did not even receive a gratuity from the organisers for their effort.
“I found it easy to sympathise with him. As I worked in a comfortable bank, indoors, naturally, I had often listened to the rain hammering down outside my branch and thanked my stars that I did not have to work outdoors in such inclement weather. I had the distinct impression that the old gravedigger appreciated my understanding, and he began to talk quite amicably for a couple of minutes, informing me about past experiences he had had there over the years. I had the distinct impression that the old boy did not often have anyone to share his stories with, so I listened and did my best to appear engrossed.
“Eventually, I managed to find a suitable gap in the conversation in which to introduce my enquiry. When I mentioned the name of my distant cousin the old man looked straight at me in a quizzical, almost unnerving, way. For a moment he did not reply, and simply removed his flat cap with one hand, and whilst still holding it, used the same hand to scratch his head. Next, he glanced at his wristwatch, and then towards the locked doors of the church before replacing his hat, and digging his shovel back into the ground.”
“Come with me, lad.”
“Before I had a chance to respond, he was off and walking towards the far end of the graveyard. I followed behind, hoping that he had heard my request, and was not just taking me on a merry jaunt as he believed me to be someone who appreciated a good tale about funerals. But then, as we walked, he began to talk, although without turning to face me.”
“That were funny business that, with your cousin, an’ all. There were plenty of talk about here concernin’ how he died. People often listen to gossip an’ start getting’ all fired up for nothin’, but I ain’t one of them. Been around too long to get spooked by nonsense.”
“I waited until he had finished speaking before I asked him to elucidate on the gossip he had heard concerning my cousin’s demise. He did not answer right away, but waited until we had reached our destination in a small alcove behind a jutting wall.”
“I heard that when ‘e was found, your cousin’s face was a mask of sheer terror, like ‘e’d been scared to death. White as a sheet ‘e was. Me mate what works at the funeral ‘ome told me they couldn’t get ‘is eyes to stay closed. They ‘ad to sew ‘em shut in the end.”
“He glanced back at me to see how I was taking the news, and doubtless he could tell immediately from my expression that I was none too enamoured by his tale. Even so he turned back to the plot in front of him, and pointed down.”
“’ere’s where we put ‘im. ‘e’s with his own kind
, now.”
“Just at that moment, we both heard the sound of the main doors from the church opening. I watched the old gravedigger shuffle away as the congregation began to pour out of the church, led by the four stout pallbearers holding the coffin squarely on their broad shoulders. I saw him take up his position about twenty feet away from the open grave, doubtless so that he would not intrude on the mourners as they gathered around for the lowering of the coffin.
“I felt that I was far away enough from the grave site so as not to be seen as being discourteous if I stayed and examined the grave stones that the gravedigger had led me to. There were four in total, all clustered together in a relatively small plot, tucked away in one corner.
“The least unsoiled of the headstones, upon inspection, bore the name of my recently departed distant cousin, ‘Spalding Reginald Hunt’. The inscription below his name was in what I presumed to be Latin, and unfortunately, as I had no Latin whatsoever, I could not make out what it said. Adjacent to the headstone was one which bore the name of ‘Spencer Jethro Hunt, which again had some Latin verse beneath the name, and according to the inscription above he had passed away at the tender age of twenty-four.
“The stone on the other side of my late cousins belonged to a Phyllida Rosemary Hunt Nee Cotton, and from the English etchings it appeared that she was my late cousin’s wife, who also died tragically young at the age of twenty-three. The final headstone stood behind the others and was by far the biggest and most ostentatious. It almost appeared as if it had been designed to allow the occupant of the grave to bare down over the others resting there, as if it were in some position of authority. For a moment it reminded me of my manager back at the bank, who clerks often complained had an annoying habit of appearing behind them and hovering over their shoulders while he inspected their work.
The last stone bore the name of one Artemis Cedric Hunt, and judging by the age at which he died, I presumed that he must have been my late cousin’s father. I stood there for a moment, glancing from one headstone to the next. In the background I could hear the priest repeating the rites of burial and turned my head for a moment, just as the pallbearers were preparing to lower the coffin into its final resting place.
“I found myself making the sign of the cross, feeling that a simple act of respect was quite fitting at that moment. I turned back to the graves of my kin, and a thought suddenly struck me. Could my nightly visitor be my late cousin’s wife, Phyllida Rosemary Hunt? I quickly rooted through my pockets until I found a pen and a piece of paper on which I could write down her name and dates of birth and death. It occurred to me that these details might come in handy the following morning when I was with Miss Wilsby in the library.
“I am not entirely sure if it was as a result of my being in the graveyard, or the fact that I had just witnessed another poor soul being laid to rest, but at that moment it dawned on me that the graves before me would probably never see another visitor after I left, and the thought brought on a profound sadness which I could not easily shake. I remembered passing a florist just outside the main gates of the church on my way in, so I walked along the side wall of the graveyard keeping as closely as I could to the railings so as not to disturb the mourners as they passed on their condolences before moving back to their cars.
“I purchased a bright bunch of mixed-coloured flowers and waited outside the gates as the cars carrying the attendees began to exit. I took the flowers back to the family plot and laid them in front of the lady’s grave, as it seemed the most appropriate. I even found myself speaking to her out loud, asking her if she was indeed my late-night visitor, and telling her that whatever was troubling her I hoped that she would soon be able to find peace. I bowed my head and said a little prayer for the souls of all four of the deceased before me, and when I was finished, I turned back to see the old gravedigger heaving great shovelfuls of dirt into the hole where the coffin had just been placed. Naturally I did not want to disturb him during his labours, but there were still a couple of questions I wished to ask him before I left.
“The sun was starting to wane in the western sky, and I estimated that we would have little more than an hour’s light for him to finish his task which was another reason that I felt loathed to disturb him. But, to my surprise, when he noticed that I was gazing in his direction, he stopped working and resumed his position of leaning against his shovel, almost as if he was waiting for me to approach him.
“Not wishing to allow the moment to pass, I strode over to him and apologised for stopping his work, but I assured him that I would only take a few moments of his time. As it was he seemed almost glad of an excuse to take a break. As I said he was not a young man, and the exertion of his task had left him dripping with perspiration and sucking in great gasps of air. As I neared the side of the grave I could not help myself, so I peered over and was shocked to discover that he had already filled the chasm half way up.
“I am sorry to be a nuisance’, I explained, apologetically, ‘but I was wondering about what you said about my late cousin looking terrified when he was found. I appreciate that you do not like to listen to gossip, but are you aware of any rumours circulating around the town about why he might have died with such a disturbing expression on his face?’ The gravedigger removed his cap once more and wiped away the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked at me as if he was contemplating how much to trust me with what he knew. Fortunately for me, he decided in my favour.”
“You know the Jarrows I suspect; they kept ‘ouse for your cousin. Well it was them that found him that morning, and don’t get me wrong, they don’t gossip neither, they’re good folk, but I sometimes go for a drink in the pub where they work, and one-night Jarrow were sharing a couple of pints, an’ ‘e tells me about the mornin’ they found him. I remember the look on Jarrow’s face when ‘e was describin’ the state of your relative, with ‘is skin pale white as milk, and ‘is eyes open wide, starin’ straight at yer, though without seein’ owt, naturally.”
“I did not know why I had not considered this before myself; of course, it made perfect sense that the Jarrows would have discovered my late cousin’s body, and after the way Mrs Jarrow had spoken to me that morning, it was obvious to me now that if anyone in town knew anything pertinent that might explain my unwanted visitor, it would be them. After all they had worked for my cousin for years, and although I was quite sure from their demeanour that he probably spoke to them as servants and nothing more, there was still a possibility that he had confided in them one night when perhaps he had had a drop too much of port.
“I turned back to the old gravedigger who was waiting patiently beside me, and asked him if he was aware of any reason why my relative may have died with such a terrible expression on his face. At this I could tell that the man was still apprehensive to divulge too much, and I knew that our time was short as he could not afford to waste too much time with me with the light starting to fade. Growing desperate I shoved my hand in my pocket and pulled out all the change I had received from the florist; there was easily enough there to pay for three pints of beer, so I held out my hand with the money clenched in it towards him. He was obviously a man of some pride, and at first, he shook his head as if to refuse my offer. But I kept my hand out and insisted that I was merely being grateful for his kind assistance. Eventually he acquiesced, and quickly shoved the money into his trouser pocket without taking the time to check how much was there. I did wonder if perhaps he was afraid that the priest might see him take it, and, for whatever reason, he was not allowed to accept gratuities.”
“You’ve gotta understand there are a lot of old woman in this town ‘ho like nothin’ better than to make up stories for the sake of it. Years ago, they would’ve bin ‘anged as witches. Any’ow, some of say that there wus some kind o’ curse on your cousin. An’ old gypsy curse which had bin placed on the family from years back, an’ that your cousin had lived with it for years, before he finally died.”
“The old m
an looked about him as if he was suddenly afraid that our conversation might be overheard. Once he was assured that we were quite alone, he continued.”
“Some of ‘em say that it was the curse that done fer your cousin’s wife, and his father before ‘im. All I do know fer a fact is that no one other than the Jarrows were ever willin’ to go there on a regular basis an’ keep ‘ouse fer the old man. Even some of our local tradesmen, big blokes an’ all, not the type to be afraid of nothin’, refused to go there fer work. The Jarrows often ‘ad to arrange for out-of-towners to come in when somethin’ needed doin’ which Jarrow couldn’t do iself.”
“I took the opportunity to enquire further as to whether the old man had heard what form this alleged curse took. The old man shrugged his shoulders in a ‘matter-of fact’ manner and averted his gaze from me, as if to demonstrate that he had told me all he knew, and I was certainly grateful for his candour. But something told me that he did in fact know more and was possibly afraid of being ridiculed if he let on as to what it was. I decided on one more assault, then if he refused to divulge any more I would gracefully retire.
“I waited for a moment for him to turn back in my direction and attempted my most disarming smile. My neighbour, Mr Jefferies, I began, I’m sure that you must know him, he spoke to me only this morning concerning the same subject oddly enough. He seemed to think that the curse might have something to do with a young woman who used to live up at the manor. Apparently, she was killed over by that treacherous embankment not far from my house, which locals have named the Widow-Maker.”
“The mention of Jefferies’ name appeared to stir up courage in the old gravedigger. I surmised that it was because he felt that if a prominent member of the community like Jefferies was willing to talk about the matter, then nobody could accuse him of gossiping. I waited a moment, hoping that the pregnant pause would entice him to continue with what he obviously knew. Finally, my patience paid off.”
Ghost Song Page 13
