by S M Hardy
‘So did I,’ I said, feeling numb.
Doctor Rani had allowed us to go in and see Simon to say goodbye. A sheet had been drawn up to his chest, his pyjama jacket buttoned and his eyes closed. He looked healthier in death than he had in life. I had hoped for a message. Something – anything – to let me know what had happened. I had been disappointed. If Simon had something to say he was keeping it to himself.
‘How on earth are we going to tell poor Laura? She was so desperate to have some family at last and now he’s been snatched from her.’
I didn’t know either, and unfortunately it would most likely be me who would have to give her the bad news.
‘Do you think you should phone DI I’m too important to be dealing with all this Brogan?’
‘Oh yes,’ I said, ‘and I have a feeling this time he might be interested enough to return my call,’ and I’m sure Emma didn’t miss the bitter tone of my voice.
Emma swivelled in her seat to frown at me. ‘How do you mean?’
‘The woman – the woman we passed in the corridor before the alarm went off – did you think she looked familiar?’
Emma faced forward staring at the windscreen, her brow furrowed in thought. ‘Now you come to mention it … But I can’t quite place her.’
‘Photographs – of a certain police officer we know.’
Her eyes grew incredibly wide. ‘It can’t be. Oh God, this keeps getting worse and worse.’
This was true enough. It couldn’t get much more than it already was. And I was feeling bitter. Was Simon’s death natural? No – I didn’t think so. I might not have still been the best of mates with him any more, but I had been once and I wanted revenge for that long-lost friend. To my way of thinking, DI Brogan was as good a place as any to start. I suspected if, as we thought, he was being blackmailed he might be very interested indeed to hear about the object of his desire having been to see Simon moments before his heart gave out – and I was convinced this is where she’d been coming from.
On the way back we passed the spot where we’d been delayed by the car accident. The white van had gone and I couldn’t help but think if they hadn’t had the accident and if they hadn’t held us up with their bickering for twenty minutes Simon might well still be alive. Oh Simon, why did you have to be such a dick and insist on going private? Had he been in a ward with five other people it couldn’t have happened, he wouldn’t have been alone.
When I pulled in outside the house I found myself sinking down a lot lower than I needed to be. Emma rested her hand on my thigh and when I looked her way and saw her beautiful face I remembered what a lucky man I really was. She was right about one thing: I couldn’t save the world, no one man can, but to my way of thinking I could try and get my friend justice.
Climbing the stairs to go and find Laura was hard to do. Emma held my hand and I was grateful for her being there. Telling someone a friend or family member had passed was never easy, whatever their relationship, but she needed to be told and it was only right she should be the first to know. Next it would be the staff.
It was Emma who knocked on her door. ‘Laura, it’s Emma and Jed. Is it all right if we come in?’ I assumed she replied as Emma pushed open the door and I followed her inside.
Laura was sitting by the window and her face lit up with a smile for a split second before slipping away upon seeing our expressions.
She looked from Emma’s face to mine and her bottom lip started to tremble as she began to shake her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
Laura lips pressed in on themselves and she stood, wrapping her arms around her body as if she was trying to hold herself together. She turned and walked to the window to stare outside.
Emma hurried across the room to lay a hand on her shoulder, while I stood there being pretty ineffectual.
Emma looked at me and gave a nod towards the door.
I cleared my throat. ‘Would you like me to speak to the staff?’
Laura gave a tiny bob of the head. ‘Please.’
Emma gave another nod towards the door. This time I took the hint and left them to it. Now I had to tell the staff.
It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Simon hadn’t been to Kingsmead for longer than short stays for years. They were shocked of course, but there were no tears or dramas. Strangely, I would have said the overriding emotion from Mrs Walters was white-lipped anger. While the staff filed out, she and Mr Walters waited behind; the woman was practically wringing her hands.
‘May we have a word?’ Donald asked.
I managed a tight smile. I hoped they weren’t about to hand in their notices. Laura would have plenty to contend with without having to start advertising for replacement senior staff.
‘Mr Cummings, we wondered if you had any idea what Miss Laura’s intentions are with regard to Kingsmead Manor?’ Mrs Walters asked.
‘No,’ I said, ‘but under the terms of the will she has to live here for at least two years.’
The couple exchanged a glance. ‘We had no idea,’ Mrs Walters said, and she and Donald shared a shocked and somewhat confused look, which I also found a little strange. It was as though they were expecting something else entirely.
Mrs Walters recovered first. ‘Obviously if that’s the case we needn’t worry immediately,’ she said. ‘We just wondered about our positions.’
I gave them what I hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Miss Simmons will need good and trusted staff she can depend on. This is all new to her.’
‘She can depend on us,’ Mrs Walters said. ‘Thank you, Mr Cummings.’
As soon as the door shut behind them I pulled out my mobile. Now for Detective Inspector Brogan.
I wasn’t at all surprised when I was put straight through to voicemail. My message was short and sweet. ‘Simon Pomeroy died this afternoon, just after being visited by an acquaintance of yours. I look forward to seeing you first thing tomorrow morning.’
Let him stick that in his pipe and smoke it.
My next phone call was to Brandon Fredericks. As Simon’s legal advisor he would need to know of his client’s death as soon as possible, and it occurred to me that the Pomeroys were keeping the elderly solicitor very busy at the moment.
My call was answered by a bright and chirpy young woman, who put me through right away. ‘Jed, good to hear from you. I was going to pop by over the next couple of days to see how Laura was settling in.’
I cut straight to the chase. ‘I’m sorry, Brandon, I have some bad news. Simon passed away this afternoon.’
There was a stunned silence at the other end of the phone. ‘Simon’s dead?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear. This is terrible news. What happened?’
I explained about the break-in, which he told me he had already heard about through the grapevine. ‘You know how servants gossip,’ he said.
‘Emma and I went to visit him this afternoon. Laura had a nasty fall yesterday while she was out riding so she didn’t come, which is probably just as well.’ Then I explained what had happened when we got there, though I didn’t mention the mystery woman. She was someone I wanted to keep to myself until I’d spoken to DI Brogan.
‘There’s something else,’ I said. ‘Did Simon tell you we’d been to Goldsmere House?’
There was another silence – a long one. ‘Why, may I ask?’ he eventually said.
‘Did you know Simon’s brother Edward was alive and living at Goldsmere?’
I heard him sigh. ‘Yes. It was I who arranged a place for him there.’
‘Shit,’ I mumbled under my breath. ‘Did you know Oliver took him out of their care before he died?’
There was a sharp intake of breath. ‘What? No. You must be mistaken.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ I said.
‘Then where is he now?’ he asked, his voice strained.
‘I have no idea.’
‘This is dreadful,’ he said and there
was no disguising the panic in the elderly solicitor’s voice. ‘The man’s a monster.’
I was slightly taken aback by his vehemence. ‘Not when he’s medicated, we were told.’
‘Huh, a matter of opinion. But if he’s gone missing, he won’t be medicated now.’ I didn’t reply. ‘Do the police know?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We thought a psychopath being on the loose should be brought to their attention sooner rather than later.’
‘Good,’ he obviously hadn’t got my sarcasm. ‘I’ll need to see Laura at some point, she’s asked me to look into something for her. In the meantime, I’ll check through the family files. There are a couple of codicils to Oliver’s will to do with what should happen if Simon, Edward or Laura should not outlive him by more than two years, and there are another couple of sealed documents that weren’t to be opened until the beginning of next month, but in the circumstances I think now’s as good a time as any. Once I’ve had a look I’ll arrange a meeting with Laura to discuss the implications of Simon’s death.’
‘I thought Laura had been left everything,’ and there was another silence.
‘Who told you that?’
‘Simon.’
‘Hmm, that isn’t exactly the case, or at least it wasn’t. I’ll be in touch,’ he said, and I was abruptly left listening to the dialling tone. Brandon was clearly a worried and flustered man.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘Is Laura all right?’ I asked when Emma eventually joined me in the bedroom. We had eaten dinner alone, Laura choosing to take a tray in her room and Emma had been to check on her before we retired.
She flopped back against the door and grimaced. ‘She’ll be fine. It was a bit of a shock, that’s all. If you think about it, she’s been on a bit of an emotional roller coaster over the past few days. First the inheritance, then Simon’s attack, the horrible effigy in the woods and then the riding accident – now Simon’s dead and for all we know her demented uncle is on the loose somewhere. I’m surprised she’s not a total mess, to be honest.’
She sank down on the bed next to where I lay sprawled out trying to summon the energy to get undressed. ‘I forgot to ask – how did it go with the servants?’
‘All right, I suppose. They were shocked, but I don’t think any of them knew him particularly well so there was no weeping and wailing, thank God.’
‘Hmm, not then, maybe.’ Emma swivelled slightly so she was looking towards me. ‘I popped down to the kitchen just now to get Laura some hot milk.’
‘Hot milk?’
‘I thought it would help her sleep.’
‘Really?’
She made a huffing sound. ‘Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?’
‘Go on,’ I said, sitting upright and plastering an attentive expression upon my face. She crossed her arms, not impressed. ‘I’m listening – honest.’
She gave another huff. ‘Anyway, I went to the kitchen, not expecting anyone to be down there this late and I heard voices.’ She absently picked at a loose thread on the bedspread. ‘When I reached the door I could hear someone crying and then I heard Sarah Walters say “I really can’t take it any more”. Well, I was in two minds as to whether I should go in or not. It was a bit awkward.’
‘So, what did you do?’
‘I could hear Donald Walters making “there, there” sort of noises, which really aren’t particularly helpful when one’s upset, so I poked my head around the door. As you can imagine they both straightened up pretty sharpish and Mrs W hastily dried her eyes, but the poor woman looked distraught.’
‘They hadn’t been particularly upset about Simon’s death, more worried about their jobs, and I did try to put their minds at rest,’ I said, wondering what I’d missed. They’d appeared reassured.
‘Well, I asked if everything was all right, which obviously it wasn’t. I would have had to have been blind not to realise it was something serious as Mrs W was in such a state.’
‘And?’
‘They did the usual servant thing. “Everything’s fine, Mrs Cummings. Nothing to worry about, Mrs Cummings. Is there anything we can help you with, Mrs Cummings?” Anyway, Mrs W heated some milk for me to take to Laura and I left.’
‘They didn’t tell you what was wrong?’
‘Well, here’s the thing,’ Emma said, taking hold of my hand, ‘Mr W came hurrying after me. He apologised for his wife’s tears, which I told him wasn’t really necessary and I only wished I could have been of some help. It was then he told me that they were coming up to the anniversary of their daughter’s death, which was always upsetting for both of them and, with all that had been going on, Mrs W had found it a bit overwhelming.’
‘That’s sad. Did he say how long ago or give any details?’
Emma shook her head. ‘I didn’t really like to ask. He was close to tears himself, poor man.’
I squeezed her fingers. ‘It must be awful to lose a child,’ I said.
Emma looked down at our joined hands. ‘The most awful thing in the world,’ she said. ‘It makes you realise some people have far worse problems than your own.’
‘And ain’t that the truth,’ I said, thinking how poor Simon certainly didn’t have to worry about anything any longer.
‘You ready for bed?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. It’s been a long day.’
She kissed me on the cheek and, with a smile that had me thinking all sorts of things I probably shouldn’t in view of the day we’d had and our recent conversation, I watched her pad off to the bathroom.
I woke with a start, my heart thumping. It was pitch-black and when I peered at the bedside clock it read one-thirty. I’d been asleep only two and a half hours.
I lay back wondering what had woken me. As far as I could remember I hadn’t been dreaming.
A whisper tickled my senses. No, not a whisper, a sob. Someone was crying. My body tensed as I strove to listen and then I heard it again, definitely a woman crying. Laura? No, her room was in the other wing. I held my breath listening and then I heard it again. It had the other-worldly wispy echo of someone communicating from the other side.
Exhaling I tried to relax. This wasn’t anything new. It happened all the time and I was surprised I hadn’t had more of it while I was in this house. I supposed I should be grateful it wasn’t the grumpy old man coming back to try my patience.
I looked over at Emma. She was curled in a ball with her back to me, breathing slow and rhythmically. I slid out of bed, grabbing my dressing gown off the chair and stepping into my slippers. Tying the belt tight I slipped from the room.
The night lights along the landing had been replaced, bathing the lower part of the hallway in a muted glow, which faded to shadows cloaking the ceiling.
Padding along the darkened corridors I made my way down the stairs into the front hall and through to the back of the house, the ghostly sobs leading the way. Other than the intermittent night lights the whole house was in darkness and the passageway leading to the door to the poolroom was the darkest place of all. I stopped, staring into a corridor so black I couldn’t see the end of it.
Another hiccupping sob floated through the ether, calling me to her. I was pretty sure who I would find on the other side of the door. One of the two women from the pool. Maybe their attack on Emma was only to get my attention. Or it could be realising I could see them had brought about this manifestation.
I wished I had a flashlight. I wished I had ignored her call and was upstairs spooning Emma’s back. I wished I didn’t have this gift – but for all the wishing in the world, I did, and I had to answer to the dead when they needed my help. It was an obligation I took seriously.
Stretching out my hands in front of me I started down the passageway. It crossed my mind I must look like the stereotypical image people had of sleepwalkers – or zombies – and, had I been smiling, the thought was enough to creep me out and wipe it from my face.
My fingers touched wood and I groped around trying to find a door
knob.
Help me!
‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ I muttered, still searching for the door handle. Then my fingers found cold metal. I took it in my hand – why was I doing this? Ah, yes, my obligation to the dead. And opened the door.
The moon was bright and the room was bathed in pale light, which reflected off the water forming shimmering, rippled patterns on the furniture spread out around the poolside. The chilled, chlorine-scented air made me shiver, reminding me of early-morning dips during my teenage years spent at boarding school. I’d never given it much thought then, but swimming pools are dead eerie when it’s dark, even without the presence of unhappy spirits.
I walked to the side of the pool stopping about a yard from its edge. I knew I was stupid to come to this place alone, but I wasn’t a total moron.
‘What do you want?’ I asked.
‘Help me!’
Was she trapped here? Tied to this world unable to cross over for some reason? It did happen, but usually because the spirit had unfinished business. Once they had passed on their message or an injustice had been put right, they usually left.
‘What is it you want from me?’
Glancing around the pool, there was nothing other than the silhouettes of what, in my mind’s eye, could have been mythical beasts lying in wait if I hadn’t known them for what they were: plain old sunbeds, tables and chairs. I gave myself an inward shake; letting my imagination run away with me wasn’t helpful.
I padded along the side of the pool, still keeping at least a yard from the edge, my nerves juddering and my heart thumping loud enough I could hear it. Otherwise the poolroom was in silence except for the gentle lapping of water against the midnight blue tiles.
Then another sob from somewhere near the corner of the pool. I strained my eyes to peer through the dark and there, next to the bar, a swirling mist that could have been fairy dust, if I believed in such a thing, glittered and danced and within the sparkling spiral a figure slowly began to materialise. She was trying to make herself small, curled into a ball with her arms wrapped around her legs and head down. I could see right through her, but she was of enough substance that I could tell it was one of the women from the pool − the first one, the one who had wanted something from me. I took a few steps towards her; strangely enough she acted as though she didn’t know I was there.
